If he'd been allowed two minutes without bickering, Bellamy would have realized that something was off the moment the rations hit his tongue. If Clarke wasn't being Clarke with her morals and declarations and commands before they'd left camp, he could have packed better rations for the trip. But he had agreed to go with Clarke to cover his escape from the 100, so the ensuing situation was his own damn fault.
Without knowing the effects of the food were starting to take hold, Bellamy had assumed his need to be near Clarke was simply out of necessity. It was a safety precaution. If he'd let her try and shoot a gun in that bunker without some kind of guidance, she'd probably have erroneously murdered them both. After all, princesses generally weren't taught how to handle firearms back on the Ark. His was set to instruct her the way he'd been trained as a cadet: posture, breathing, focus. The only thing he hadn't accounted for was the fact that it was Clarke whom he was coaching.
"So, I just hold it to my shoulder?" Clark questioned, awkwardly adjusting the rifle. She hunched forward trying to hold up the weight of the gun. Bellamy stepped behind her bringing their bodies closer to adjust her form. "Yeah, a little higher." He placed his hand on her shoulder to help square her body to the target, and that's when he forgot how to breathe. The moment Bellamy made contact, his fingertips began tingling as if a current ran from Clarke's body to his. Clarke, seemingly unaffected, continued to try and focus on the target while Bellamy struggled to make sense of what the hell was happening to his hand. He stared at the curls trailing down Clarke's back for what seemed like an eternity, before collecting himself enough to move. Stepping away, he cleared his throat. "Yeah, uh, it's good."
Clarke continued to wiggle her body as she prepared to shoot, unknowingly drawing Bellamy's attention to her shifting hips. Bellamy's stomach muscles tightened as a million tantalizing thoughts flashed through his mind. He must have been blind to have not noticed her body before. Wait, what? He gave his head a shake, derailing that train of thought, and grabbed his own rifle. He rudely crowded Clarke's space, effectively forcing her to move without any bodily contact. "Watch and learn," he said gruffly, trying to clear his mind of her presence. She stepped aside, waiting for the explosion of gun powder, only to be rewarded with a click and a grunt from Bellamy. He glanced at her, an annoyed expression on his face, before he looked at the gun, cocking it once more. He took aim again with the same result. Clarke smirked. "Still watching," she drawled.
Bellamy shrugged off the malfunction. "My bullets are duds. Try yours." He stepped back again to allow Clarke room to shoot, making sure to train his eyes on the target this time, and not her adjusting form.
She took a breath, squeezed the trigger, and was immediately knocked off balance by the gun's kickback. Bellamy caught her as she teetered backward against his chest, her laugh covering his gasp as her soft body sank back against his rigid form. She spun around, a smile on her face as she looked up. "That was amazing." Her breath caught.
Bellamy's face was a mask of tension. His dark eyes narrowed, taking on an unusual gleam. His jaw tightened. The hands that had stopped her fall, now contracted, drawing her forward. She became suddenly aware of the tingling sensation that was slowly working its way down her arms and chest, radiating from the places Bellamy's hands were gripping her shoulders. "Clarke…" He breathed her name, his voice rasping over her. She shivered and opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Bellamy leaned fractionally forward, trailing his hand down her arm to take her gun, and then propping it against the barrel next to them. She could feel the heat of his breath on his lips when that same hand grazed back up her arm to the spot where her neck and shoulder met. He applied gentle pressure, stroking his thumb down toward her collarbone.
"Bellamy, what-" Clarke swallowed as another shiver trembled through her.
His reply was strained, his voice gruff. "I'm going to kiss you, Princess. I- I can't explain why, but if you don't want me to, you need to go outside. Now." Confusion and desire warred in his expression.
Clarke was frozen in place as she glimpsed a rare moment of vulnerability in Bellamy's eyes. Later she would rationalize that it was the tingling sensation that had caused her temporary paralysis which was why she couldn't leave when Bellamy told her to. And why, instead of being a rational human being, she instead tilted her chin up so that her lips were a breath from his when she demanded, "So kiss me."
Neither the exploding of the bullet nor the kick back of the gun, could have prepared Clarke for the intensity of Bellamy Blake's kiss. Where she expected a mad clashing of lips and teeth and tongues, she was instead greeted with the breathtaking slide of his mouth against hers. He applied achingly slow pressure, unhurriedly coaxing her lips apart. She gasped as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and swept his tongue along the sensitive interior. She could hear his breath catching as he repeated the caress. When she thought she'd go mad with wanting, his deepened the kiss, tangling his fingers in her hair to angle her head. His tongue began a sensuous slide across her own, stroking into her mouth again and again until a moan ripped from her throat. And that guttural sound was what made Bellamy lose any sense of restraint.
His hands slid down to the backs of Clarke's thighs as he spun her and pressed her against the wall. In a frantic response, she wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him closer, as her hands slid under the hem of his shirt to his stomach. He groaned low in his throat as her fingers glided across the smooth, hot skin there pulled taut over his clenching muscles. He rocked against her once, twice and tore his mouth from hers to bury his face in her neck. "Bell," she moaned and slid her fingers into his curls. His mouth was doing delicious things to her, causing her to arch and press their bodies closer. He rocked against her again more insistently and gasped against her mouth, "God, Clarke." He delved back down for another kiss, sliding his hand down her body to pull her closer. He nipped her bottom lip when her mouth suddenly released his. She yanked her head back against the wall, panting. They stared at each other with glazed eyes.
As if suddenly coming back to her own body, Clarke stiffened in his arms pressing back against his shoulders. "Bellamy!" His eyes widened and then darkened as he fully realized the very intimate position they were in. His fingers flexed low on her body and she sputtered. "We— You and I—" she gasped, "We can't do this. We can't- For god's sake, Bellamy, put me down!"
Her tone snapped Bellamy back to sanity, and he nearly dropped Clarke in his haste to disentangle himself from her.
She huffed, trying to tidy her slightly disheveled appearance. He turned his back to her willing his blood to stop pumping vigorously. Willing his now rather tight pants to loosen up even as her voice reached out to him. "What the hell was that?"
"You're asking me?" He fairly shouted over his shoulder. He suddenly had a very vested interest in straightening the cuffs of his jacket. "It's not like I planned this, Princess."
"Oh, I'm sure," she spat back. "Because you've never done anything like this with all the other girls from the ship, celibate soul that you are." Her words dripped with sarcasm.
He spun back to face her, pointing. "Trust me, if I'd had any control of that situation, it would never have happened. Ever." The blatant lie tasted foul in his mouth, but he pressed on. "Whatever that was, it was a one time thing, Princess."
"Damn right it was!" Clarke exclaimed, despite the fact that his rejection made her eyes sting.
He saw the change in her expression. Had he offended her?He decided to err on the side of arrogance over sensitivity. "I find it comical," he said with forced smugness, "That you're suddenly so indignant, when not two minutes ago, you were moaning my name and practically disrobing me!"
"I was not!"
"Ohhhh, Princess, you definitely were. You—" He stopped suddenly as the room began to tilt. He shook his head trying to clear the dizziness and only made it worse. "Princess?" His voice sounded oddly far away, echoing in his head. When he looked up at Clarke, her face twisted and swirled. He staggered once and fell to his knees.
"Bellamy, that's not funny," she said, uncertainty lacing her tone. She stepped toward him. "You're still… still… in trouble. Whoa." She blinked rapidly looking around the room. "Why… are the walls… melting?" The words tasted like bits of dust on her tongue. Clarke watched Bellamy topple to the ground. She bent to assess him, but instead ended up sprawled on the ground next to him, her hand reaching. Bellamy's voice groaned her name, but the sound somehow dripped from the ceiling instead of reaching her ears. The world began to tingle and swirl, and just before it disappeared completely, she felt his fingertips graze hers.