Look, maybe it's weird to organise a blind date at masquerade party on Halloween, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Clarke actually thinks it's kind of romantic.
She's supposed to be meeting a friend of Raven's, whose name she doesn't even know because Raven refuses to tell her. She says it's more fun that way.
The party is actually a pretty big deal, and Clarke would know because she organised it herself. It's an annual thing, a tradition she and her mom have, trying to outdo whatever they did the previous year.
This year they've rented out a multi-story nightclub, and the professional decorators have really outdone themselves. Clarke swears she could be in a haunted house, apart from the loud music and strobe lights. The cocktails are all Halloween themed for the night, as is the food, and Clarke can't help but feel proud of herself.
"You've done a really good job, Clarke," Abby tells her as they watch the first of the guests start to arrive from the second story balcony. There are already paid actors there, of course, to make it look like the party has already started.
"Thanks, Mom. You too," she grins, although they both know Clarke did most of the work. She pulls her sparkly red mask onto her face and turns to her mother. "Well?"
"You look like a princess," Abby tells her as she pulls her own mask on.
"That's the idea."
"What time is your date getting here?" Abby asks.
"I'm not sure exactly. I'm just supposed to look for somebody dressed as Westley from The Princess Bride," Clarke says, trying to seem nonchalant. In reality, she's buzzing with both excitement and nerves.
"Which is why you're dressed as Princess Buttercup," Abby notes. Abby herself is dressed as Catwoman and Clarke is kind of amazed her mother is able to pull off the ensemble.
"Yes."
"Are you nervous?"
"No," Clarke lies.
"Okay," Abby says knowingly. "I think I saw Marcus arrive, so I'll leave you to patiently await your prince," she teases as she leaves her daughter, making her way to the ground floor to meet her boyfriend. Clarke continues to watch the door from her vantage point, anxiously waiting for her Westley to walk in the door.
She doesn't really know much about her date except that he's male and apparently likes The Princess Bride. But then again that could just be a ploy on Raven's behalf to get Clarke to agree to the date, seeing as she knows it's Clarke's favourite movie. But Raven says she'll like him, so Clarke has put her fate in her friend's hands. What's the worst that could happen?
She does her best to enjoy herself while she waits for his arrival, chatting with friends and strangers alike, but her whole attention is never really focused on them, as she's constantly sweeping the room with her eyes, looking for someone dressed entirely in black, with a bandana and maybe a sword. And then she spots him, and her heart almost stops.
He hasn't seen her yet, but she can't wipe the smile off her face as she walks through the crowd towards him. He's standing by the bar, dressed exactly how she's imagined, sword and all. His costume really is quite accurate. She can tell he's gorgeous, even with the black mask covering half his face, but he's laughing with the bartender and he has a mesmerising smile. He's not overly tall, but she hates it when guys are way taller than her anyway, so really he's the perfect height.
He finally spots her as she gets closer, and his eyes seem to light up under his mask, so she can tell he's recognised her costume.
"I know who you are," she smirks. She may have rehearsed this in the mirror a few times before tonight. And okay, maybe it's a little test to see if he actually likes The Princess Bride. And it's not like it's a deal breaker or anything if he doesn't. But she wants to know anyway.
"Oh?" he replies, seemingly a little confused.
"You're the Dread Pirate Roberts. Admit it," she quotes, and the man before her breaks out into a grin, and his brown eyes fill with mirth. There's something about him that makes her instinctively want to trust him.
"With pride," he bows. "What can I do for you?" Clarke laughs a little giddily and holds out her hand for him to shake.
"I'm Clarke," she says.
"Bellamy," the man in black replies. "Can I get you a drink?"
"Sure," Clarke says. "I'll have a poison apple."
"Okay," Bellamy laughs. "Two poison apples please," he says to the bartender. "I have no idea what a poison apple is," he says to Clarke. "So I'm trusting you that it tastes good."
"Oh, believe me, all the cocktails are nice," Clarke informs him. "I taste tested them all myself. That was probably my favourite part of planning this thing." Bellamy gapes at her.
"You planned this?" he gestures around, sounding impressed.
"With a small amount of help from my mother," Clarke shrugs, trying to downplay it.
"That's amazing," Bellamy says sincerely and Clarke smiles proudly.
"It's kind of like our tradition. Throwing a massive Halloween party," Clarke explains as the bartender hands their sickly green cocktails over. "After my dad died we kind of found it hard to celebrate the normal holidays like Christmas or Thanksgiving or whatever, because my dad always loved them so much and organised everything. It always feels wrong to have a good time without him. So we started our own new tradition and we usually just have a quiet Christmas."
She briefly wonders if she's spilling way too much information about herself and that he might get overwhelmed and be turned off. But Bellamy just nods sympathetically.
"I get it," he says. "My mom died when I was seventeen, so it's just me and my sister now. Not that my mom was a big fan of Christmas like your dad was. We were always kind of poor, so Christmas wasn't really a big deal since we couldn't afford it."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Clarke says, reaching out a comforting arm to touch his. Which is probably a bad time to find out how muscled his arms are. But it's good to know all the same.
"It's fine," Bellamy says. "It's in the past." He takes a sip of his drink and promptly chokes on it, resulting in a coughing fit.
"Are you okay?" she cries.
"Fine," Bellamy croaks. "Just wasn't expecting it to be so sour." Clarke laughs at that and Bellamy gives her a look of amused embarrassment.
"I didn't just ruin my shot here, did I?" he checks.
"Not even close," Clarke assures him. "You want to go and sit down somewhere?" Bellamy nods and Clarke leads him to a room separated from the main bar and dance floor, where there is another bar, along with several secluded booths to sit at. There are a couple of empty ones so Clarke takes her pick and Bellamy slides in beside her.
She feels his knee brush against hers, and it's not that she finds knees particularly sexy, and it's not even like it's bare skin on skin, considering both their costumes are on the fairly modest side. But the contact does something to her anyway, turning her insides to jelly. It's not like her to be this into someone upon only knowing them a few minutes, but she just has a really good feeling about him.
It probably helps that he's really pulling off the Westley costume, and the v neck occasionally reveals a small amount of hard brown chest, which she's finding a little distracting. Then again, he seems to be equally distracted by the cleavage she's displaying in the red dress. (Yes, she's aware Buttercup doesn't actually show any cleavage in the movie. But it's Halloween. She has to show some skin. It's practically the law.)
They chat about their families a little more, and their jobs, and their hobbies, and she's practically hanging off his every word, laughing at even the lamest of his jokes and moving closer so she can press her thigh against his.
"Can I see your sword?" Clarke asks. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, his expression just suggestive enough to make Clarke blush.
"That's very forward of you," he winks.
"Your actual sword," she clarifies and Bellamy just chuckles as he pulls the sword out of its sheath and places it on the table.
"I'm not sure if this is going to make me sound cool or lame, but it's actually an exact replica of the one in the movie," Bellamy says, and it sounds like a brag, but it's definitely on the lame side. To anyone who isn't Clarke, that is.
"Definitely cool," Clarke says in awe as she studies the sword. "I mean, don't go telling everyone or you'll never get invited to any parties ever again because you're a giant nerd. But I think it's cool," she assures him, and Bellamy chuckles. She hands the sword back to him, their hands inevitably touching as his replace hers on the handle, and she can't help but notice how big his hands are. Which, combined with the arms and the chest she's already admired, is a deadly combination, and her breath hitches while her mind wanders to thoughts of the things he could do with those hands.
"Is everything okay?" Bellamy asks her, sliding the sword back into its sheath.
"Yeah," Clarke says immediately. "Yes. I just… forgot how much I love this song. We should dance," she smiles brightly and Bellamy nods. Clarke downs the rest of her drink and takes the hand Bellamy offers to her. He smiles back and her heart skitters as he leads her back into the main club area, onto the dance floor.
Clarke doesn't actually even know the song she'd just claimed to love, but as she dances with Bellamy she finds out pretty quickly that she does love it. Although she's not sure if it's the song or the way that Bellamy pretends to know the words, miming nonsense at her, his eyes bright and his smile wide. Or the way he doesn't let go of her hand, and he spins her around, and she feels more like she's in an eighties movie than a nightclub in 2016. Either way, this is definitely her new favourite song.
Bellamy's favourite song, as Clarke finds out a minute later when it starts playing, is the Time Warp, or so he claims.
"This is not your favourite song!" Clarke accuses, having to shout over the music.
"I swear it is!" Bellamy insists, and Clarke isn't totally convinced but she dances to it with him anyway. At least, she tries to dance to it. It's not that she doesn't know the moves to the Time Warp, after all, it's very straightforward, but she keeps getting distracted by Bellamy and not really listening to the words, so she's stepping when she should be jumping and she probably seems like the most uncoordinated person of all time. And then the song fades into the next and Bellamy grabs her around the waist and pulls her into a closed position, leaving her short of breath for a second.
"That was the worst rendition of the Time Warp I've ever seen," he says, leaning in close to her ear, while shifting from foot to foot to the music.
"I resent that," Clarke says haughtily.
"You have no rhythm or coordination," Bellamy teases, and Clarke is immediately determined to prove him wrong.
"Oh yeah?" she challenges. She pulls herself out of his grasp, though she doesn't put any distance between them. If anything she moves closer, brushing against his chest, biting her lip and eyeing him seductively. She runs her hands down his chest, which is just as firm as she'd imagined, and she thinks she sees him swallow, his eyes are dark with lust. It feels only slightly weird to be sexy dancing in a floor length medieval style gown, but Bellamy seems to be into it, his hands finding her waist, pulling her in tighter.
She can feel the sizzling electricity between them, the music and her head throbbing, along with lower, less rational parts of her. God, she wants him. And if the less-than-subtle way his eyes roam from her lips to her cleavage and back to her lips again is any indication, it's pretty clear he wants her too. His eyes manage to meet hers, questioning, leaning in just a little further, his lips parted ever so slightly.
Clarke lets her intuition guide her, fisting her hands in the soft cotton of his shirt and pulling him to her so she can kiss him. Her tongue meets his ever so gently at first, and his mouth moves slowly against hers, applying varying pressure, giving her a kiss that she feels all the way down to her toes.
Clarke opens her mouth further, letting his tongue explore her mouth while she runs her palms up his chest and shoulders to cling around his neck, pressing her breasts against him wantonly.
Her teeth drag at his bottom lip, gently enough and she can practically feel the low growl that vibrates from his chest.
"I want you," she murmurs into Bellamy's ear, and his hands, fairly well behaved until this point, drop to her ass, giving a squeeze before he spins her around so her back is flush to his chest, her ass pressing against his groin, which, yeah, it's pretty obvious he wants her too. The pressure of his hard cock against her only makes her want him more, and she can tell that he isn't exactly lacking in that department.
His hands are on her waist again, but he's fidgety and she knows they want to wander, and she longs to feel him touch her in the places she's aching for him.
"Where can we go?" he asks her huskily, pressing his lips against her neck. It takes her a second to get her head straight so she can consider the options. She doesn't want to leave the party yet, but she doesn't think she can wait to have him until after it's done. There must be somewhere secluded in this nightclub where they can be alone for an hour. She hopes it will be an hour.
"There's a room we decided not to use for tonight. It's not sectioned off or anything but the bar isn't manned and the lights probably aren't even on," she remembers.
"Do you want to go?" Bellamy asks. Clarke doesn't need to be asked twice, and she grabs his hand and practically drags him upstairs in the direction of the room she'd mentioned. She sees her mom and successfully avoids her. Not that she's opposed to Bellamy meeting her mom. But now is really not the time for introductions.
As Clarke predicted the room is dark and empty, and although she was wrong about it not being sectioned off, there's only a simple rope barrier in the doorway, which is easy enough to step over, even in her floor length dress. The only light in the room is some dim wall lights, but it's enough to see each other and that's all they care about anyway.
No sooner are they in the room then Clarke turns to start kissing him again, and Bellamy guides her backward until he has her pressed against the bar. With his mouth on hers, greedy and insistent, she barely notices the hard surface digging into her back, she's only aware of him and how desperate she is for more.
His hands roam her body, straying from her waist to her tits and she arches into his touch. His lips are on her neck then, and her breathing is coming heavy. Clarke pulls at his shirt and he aids her in tugging it over his head, and Clarke pulls the bandana off his head so she can run his fingers through his messy dark curls. Bellamy rids himself of his sword and holster so it doesn't get in the way and he goes to remove the mask as well, but Clarke stops him.
"Leave it on," she commands.
"As you wish," he says with a smirk as his mouth descends on her collarbone, making his way down to the valley between her breasts.
She knows she's sopping wet between her legs, probably has been since the moment she first touched his arm, and the ache for his touch there is only intensifying as he kisses her, his hands on her thighs, so close to where she really wants them.
"Bellamy," she moans.
"What do you want, Clarke?" he asks, his low voice laced with lust and seduction, sending a thrill straight to her clit.
"I want your mouth on my pussy," she tells him, and he groans at her words.
"As you wish," he whispers, dropping to his knees, and if that's not the sexiest thing she's ever seen and heard she doesn't know what is. He keeps his eyes on hers as his hands skim her legs, under her dress, pushing the red material up and out of his way.
Clarke spreads her legs subconsciously as Bellamy reaches the apex of her thighs, and the anticipation has her on edge.
"Hold this," he says, pushing the red fabric into her hands and Clarke clutches it obediently. His index fingers slide under her panties on each side and hook around the top and he edges them down, revealing her wet slit. Clarke swears she sees him lick his lips as he finally breaks eye contact and gazes upon her exposed pussy. She's experienced the wonders that tongue can do on her mouth and she can't wait to feel him work his magic on her clit.
Bellamy leaves her red silk panties (to match the dress of course) around her knees and brings a finger to her slit sliding just the tip along them seam, gathering her wetness on his finger. Clarke whimpers at his touch, willing for more yet savouring the sweet torture of his leisurely exploration.
"Very wet," he hums in approval, as if she hadn't already known.
"Uh huh," she agrees. She's about to tell him to get on with it when his finger makes contact with her clit and she bites her lip to stifle her squeak of pleasure and surprise. Clarke spreads her legs as wide as she can with her panties around her knees, restricting her somewhat, but somehow that only turns her on more.
Bellamy leans in, finally replacing his finger with his tongue, licking a wide stripe along her slit and Clarke can't stop the noise that escapes her this time. Bellamy licks at her again before his tongue zeroes in on her clit, circling the sensitive bud, and Clarke clutches her dress tighter as her head rolls back and she moans again. She can feel Bellamy's answering moan vibrate between her legs and she thrusts against his face involuntarily, which she would be embarrassed about but it just feels so fucking good to have his face between her legs that she can't bring herself to care.
Bellamy's hands rest on her bare ass cheeks, holding her steady as he flicks her clit with his tongue, gently, then rougher, then gentle again, the ebb and flow bringing her closer to her climax.
"Bellamy," Clarke pants, as she nears the point of orgasm, and he squeezes her ass as he begins to really fuck her with his tongue, and the noises coming out of Clarke's mouth are high pitched and incoherent, much like the thoughts in her head, and then she's tumbling over the edge, almost blacking out for a second, and it's lucky for the sturdy bar behind her and Bellamy keeping her upright because her knees buckle and she can barely stand. The dress falls from her hands and over Bellamy's head.
He keeps his hands on her as he pulls his mouth away, removing his head from under her dress and letting it fall back to the ground as she comes down from her orgasm.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he tells her. "Can you stand?" he asks. Clarke would call him out for being cocky, but the truth is she's not entirely sure she can stand and she thinks he's just being thoughtful.
"Yes," she says and Bellamy finally removes his hands from her ass, watching her cautiously. But Clarke isn't really in the mood for caution, and she grabs his arms and pulls him to his feet, kissing him hungrily, tasting herself on his tongue.
"We're not done yet," she tells him, which he seems to agree with judging by the way his tongue pushes into her mouth eagerly as he presses against her. Clarke manages to slide a hand in between them, running her fingers down his chest and abs before pressing her hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants.
"I want your cock," Clarke manages to pant against his mouth, and he groans as she continues to rub him over his pants. "I want you to fuck me on this bar."
"Anything you want," Bellamy manages. He slips his hands under the v of her dress, pulling it off her shoulders and down to her waist, and he drops his head to her bra-clad breast, sucking at her skin just above the cup while Clarke finishes the job of removing her dress, pushing it down to the floor and her panties with it.
Bellamy lifts her onto the bar then, her bare ass landing on the cool surface, and then he's kicking off his shoes, and his pants and Clarke bites her lip in anticipation as his underwear is the last thing to go. She practically groans at the sight of him. His body is nothing if not perfect, his cock thick and long and she feels herself getting wetter just looking at him, her juices slickening her thighs at the counter beneath her.
He doesn't give her long to admire him, however, advancing on her wearing nothing but the mask, which, despite wanting to see his face, she makes him keep on because she still thinks it's fucking sexy.
She still has her own mask on too, the only other article of clothing being her red bra, which Bellamy makes quick work of, discarding it on the floor along with their other clothing. Clarke leans down to kiss him again before he lifts himself onto the bar beside her.
He lets a hand trail down her body to between her legs, gently massaging her folds as he leans towards her and she falls back, lying down on the bar. Bellamy keeps his fingers in her slit, pushing them inside her as he moves over her, kissing her mouth, then her neck. Clarke can't even make a sound as his fingers delve inside her, gently fucking her.
"Fuck me," she begs. "I want your big cock inside me."
"As you wish," Bellamy whispers, pulling his fingers from her. He groans then, more in anguish than in pleasure and his heads drops to her shoulder. "Fuck," he swears.
"What is it?" she asks worriedly.
"I don't have a condom. I wasn't exactly expecting this to happen," he admits. "Do you have one?"
"No, I… I wasn't planning on this either," Clarke says. "But I'm on the pill and I swear I'm clean."
"I am too," he tells her. "Do you trust me?" She searches his deep brown eyes for a second, and it's weird because she's only known him an hour or so, but she does trust him.
"Yes," she breathes. "Now, fuck me. Please."
Bellamy doesn't need to be told twice, and Clarke gasps as he pushes the tip of his thick cock between her pussy lips. He takes it slow, gently easing into her so she can get accustomed to his girth, which she is grateful for, but at the same time it's driving her crazy because she's so desperate to have him inside her.
She wriggles her hips underneath him and Bellamy moans.
"Don't do that," he warns her.
"Why not?" she teases.
"You're driving me crazy," he tells her. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't hurt me," Clarke promises.
"Be patient," he says kissing her. He pushes in further, his cock stretching her wide, and she feels so full she thinks he must be all the way in, or at least pretty close. She whines and bucks her hips, ready for him to start fucking her properly. "Just another inch," he tells her.
"Another inch?" she gasps, not totally sure how it's going to be possible to get all of him inside her. But then he thrusts against her and she feels his skin against her ass and, fuck, she's never felt so full and stretched and she's pretty sure she's close to coming already. She wraps her legs around him and arches against him, wanting him as close as possible, and then he pulls out slightly and thrusts into her again, his cock hitting her right where she wants it. She feels her walls clench around him, gasping for breath and clutching at his back as she shudders through her second orgasm of the night.
He starts fucking her for real then, building up such a pace that she has to let go of him and cling onto the bar beneath her for fear that she might fall off. His name rolls off her tongue over and over as he ravages her, fucking her deep and hard, just like she wants it. She feels herself getting close to the edge again, and she wonders how close he is.
"Bellamy," she pants. "Are you close?" It takes him a few seconds to respond.
"Yeah," he manages finally.
"Me too," Clarke says breathily.
"Fuck," Bellamy swears, and Clarke takes that to mean he's about to come.
"Come inside me," she commands, and that's all it takes to bring him over the edge, dragging her with him as he shoots his load deep inside her, and only the two of them can hear their combined cries of pleasure over the pounding music playing in the rest of the club.
"Oh my god," Clarke says between heavy breaths.
"Yeah," Bellamy agrees. He sits up, swinging his legs over the bar. "I hope they wipe this thing down before the next time they use it." Clarke can't help a tinkling laugh from escaping her mouth. She doesn't think she's ever felt so light and fluffy. Like nothing can bring her down.
"Should we join the party again?" she suggests. Bellamy screws up his nose.
"I suppose we probably should," he agrees. "Before they catch us in here and we're never allowed back." He slips down off the bar and starts putting his clothes back on. Clarke follows his lead, locating her underwear amongst the folds of her dress.
"Oh, shit," Bellamy says, and Clarke looks up as she fastens the clasp on her bra to see him looking at his phone.
"What is it?" she asks.
"My sister," Bellamy sounds concerned. "She's called me like six times. I better call her back." Clarke nods and continues redressing while Bellamy calls his sister.
"O? Slow down, what happened?" he says into the phone. "Okay… okay. I'll come get you. No, it's fine, I promise," he glances at Clarke and she nods. "It's fine," he says again. "See you soon," he tells his sister before ending the call.
"I'm sorry," he says to Clarke. "She was at a party and her ride got drunk and then ditched her and she doesn't know anyone who's still at the party. She's only twenty, so…" he trails off, looking apologetic.
"It's fine, I understand," Clarke says, and she does, but she's disappointed nonetheless. Bellamy grabs his bandana, which is the last of his clothing he isn't still wearing and kind of stands there for a moment looking guilty and at a loss for words.
"Look, I really like you and I-," he starts, but Clarke cuts him off.
"I'll call you, I promise," she smiles. She can get his number off Raven. "Go and save your sister." Bellamy nods, hesitates a moment before kissing her.
"Hear this now, I will always come for you," he quotes and Clarke swears her heart has never beaten so loudly.
"But how can you be sure?" she continues quoting the movie, wondering if he'll dare say the next line.
"This is true love. You think this happens every day?" he smiles and Clarke smiles idiotically back at him, and it should be too soon to know, but somehow she's never been more sure of anything in her life.
He kisses her again then before racing from the room. Clarke watches him go, feeling a twinge in her gut, but also feeling giddy and satisfied. True love or not, she has a feeling this is the start of something really good.
She takes a deep breath and goes to head back out to the party, hoping she doesn't look like she's just been fucked on a bar top. She almost trips on something on her way out and when she looks down she can make out Bellamy's sword in the dim light. She knows she won't catch up to him now, but she picks it up, figuring she can just give it to him on their next date, and then sets off the find Raven to thank her.
She's on the lookout for someone dressed as a sexy robot, seeing as that's what Raven had told her she'd be dressed as, so she isn't expecting it when someone dressed as what looks like some kind of Spanish pirate jumps in front of her, grinning. Clarke frowns in confusion.
"I've been looking for you," the guy says.
"Who are you?" Clarke asks him.
"I'm your blind date. I think. You're Buttercup, right? Raven set us up?" he continues.
"What?" she huffs. What is this guy on about? Clarke has already met her date.
"I'm Wesley," he says. "You killed my father! I'm going to kill you now! That's how it goes, right?"
"That's Inigo Montoya," she informs him, which looking at his costume again, it seems that he's dressed as. She's about to tell him so when Raven appears looking cheeky and smug.
"I see you two have met," Raven sings. "Clarke, this is my friend Jasper. Jasper, this is Clarke."
"This is the guy you're setting me up with?" Clarke says in disbelief. She doesn't mean to be rude, it's just… if this is the date then who the fuck was the guy she'd just been fucking?
"Wow," Jasper says, looking hurt.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Clarke hurries to explain. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just… there was someone else dressed as Westley," she swallows. "Raven, can I talk to you for a second?"
"Um, okay," Raven agrees, looking considerably confused. Clarke grabs her arm and drags her to the bathroom. "What's going on?" Raven asks once they're in the bathroom, which is empty, much to Clarke's relief.
"I thought I was on a date with another guy!" Clarke groans. "I mean he was dressed as Westley and I assumed he must be my date and he never corrected me…" she trails off, trying to sift back through the night to see if she'd ever brought up Raven, or the blind date. And she realises she never said anything about either of her things, so this whole thing is probably her own fault.
"Shit, Clarke," Raven laughs. "Only you would do that."
She'd just been on a date with the wrong person. And yet she can't help but feel he was actually the right person. And maybe it's just because he fucked her so good, but maybe it's because she felt a connection from the second she saw him, and that's not something that happens all that often.
"I really liked him too," Clarke says forlornly. "He quoted The Princess Bride with me."
"Well, I'm not going to force you to go out with Jasper. If I'm being honest it was more of a favour to him than to you. So if you like the other guy better then it doesn't matter," Raven shrugs.
"It's not that," Clarke groans. "I don't have his number. Or his last name. Or even his whole face! All I have is his first name and this sword."
"Why didn't you get his number?" Raven chastises.
"I thought you would have it! Seeing as I thought he was your friend," Clarke sighs.
"Well, you're basically fucked then," Raven shrugs.
"Thanks for your help."
"Hey, let's just go and enjoy the rest of the party. I'll help you try to find him tomorrow, okay?" Raven offers. Clarke nods pathetically and Raven places and arm around her shoulder and leads her back to the party.
Clarke wakes up the next morning in her own bed, but with Raven passed out next to her, still in her sexy robot dress from last night.
The rest of the party hadn't been horrible, and Jasper was actually an alright guy, though it had been pretty clear the two of them weren't compatible.
Clarke looks at Raven snoring softly and wonders if it's too early to wake her friend up so they can start looking for Bellamy. It's 10am, so she must have had about eight hours sleep. Still, Clarke heads to the kitchen to make some coffee before prodding Raven awake and shoving the coffee in her face before she can complain.
"You're lucky," Raven says instead, accepting the mug and taking a sip.
"We have to find Bellamy," Clarke says, getting straight down to business.
"Who?"
"The guy from last night! You said you'd help me find him," Clarke reminds her.
"Right," Raven nods. "So all we know is his name is Bellamy and he has a cool sword. And a great dick."
"Raven!"
"Please, he must have been good if you're this desperate to find him," Raven scoffs. Clarke really can't be bothered arguing, maybe because she doesn't have any counter argument, so she just huffs.
"We should start by looking at the guest list," Clarke says.
"Didn't you invite everyone?" Raven points out.
"Technically, yes. But I didn't invite each person individually. I sent out invitations to different organisations and charity groups and things and they decided who would go. So there was plenty of people there I didn't know," Clarke explains.
"Guest list it is," Raven concedes. Clarke grabs her computer and opens the guest list, searching for the name Bellamy.
"Here he is," Clarke exclaims excitedly. "Bellamy Blake," she smiles as his name rolls off her tongue. "He's from the Arkadia Historical Society Museum."
"Didn't you guys discuss your jobs?" Raven rolls her eyes.
"He said he worked at a museum, he didn't say which one."
"Search him on Facebook," Raven suggests. Clarke takes the advice, but the search is fruitless. "Who doesn't have Facebook in this day and age?" Raven snorts.
"Now what?" Clarke wonders aloud.
"Call the museum."
"It's a Sunday, they'll be shut."
"Wait until tomorrow and then call."
"Fine."
The wait until Monday morning is absolute torture, and Bellamy is constantly on her mind. She wonders if he's thinking about her too.
Raven tries to take her mind off it, but she's pretty useless in her hungover state. So Clarke keeps fantasising about meeting him again, what she'll say, what he'll say, and all the things she'll do to him once they're alone. But then she has a terrible thought.
"Raven," Clarke shakes her friend awake where she's napping on the couch.
"What?" Raven groans.
"What if it was on purpose?"
"What was on purpose?"
"That he took off without giving me his number or getting mine," Clarke asks her anxiously.
"It's a possibility," Raven says, not easing Clarke's fears at all.
"I mean, I said I'd call him, and he didn't say, okay, here's my number. He just left," Clarke remembers.
"There's no point stressing about it. You won't know until you ask him," Raven tells her logically.
"But what if he thinks I'm a stalker who can't take a hint?"
"You are a stalker who can't take a hint."
"Raven!"
"Look, why don't you just go see him at the museum and say you found his dumb sword and wanted to return it," Raven suggests, and it's so obvious Clarke wonders why she didn't think of it herself.
"Okay," she agrees.
"Now, can I finish my nap?"
Technically Clarke is supposed to have work on Monday morning, but seeing as she works for her mom in a private medical clinic, it's fairly easy to pawn a couple of appointments off to other doctors, once she explains the situation to Abby. As long as she makes up the hours next weekend.
So Clarke brings the sword with her to the museum, feeling anxious as she pulls up in the car park outside. There's every chance that he's going to take the sword and send her on her way, but there's also a chance he's been thinking about her too, and that's what she's holding out for. If she can bring herself to get out of the car.
She does get out, eventually and approaches the front desk in the foyer of the museum.
"Hi," the woman behind the counter smiles brightly. Clarke glances at the name tag which reads Harper. "What can I do for you today?"
"I'm actually looking for someone who works here," Clarke tells her. "Bellamy Blake?"
"Oh," Harper says knowingly. Clarke has the urge to tell her it's not like that, except Clarke very dearly hopes that it is like that.
"I have his sword," she says instead. "Do you think I could return it to him?"
"Sure," Harper says. "I think he's in the medieval times at the moment. Go straight and then to your left."
"Thanks," Clarke says, following her directions. She spots him immediately. He's talking to an older couple at the moment, probably tourists, so Clarke stands back, waiting her turn. He spots her as he's halfway through explaining the feud between Matilda and Stephen when he spots her and stops mid-sentence. The couple seems to think he's finished and wander on through to the next exhibit, while Bellamy continues to just stare at Clarke.
He looks different in the light of day. Less like a mysterious sex god and more like a sex god who plays scrabble and saves kittens in his spare time. Or maybe it's just that he's wearing normal clothes and doesn't have a mask covering half his face. He has freckles spattered across his whole face, which Clarke hadn't realised at the party, and somehow he manages to look adorable and sexy at the same time.
"You forgot your sword," Clarke says finally, when it's apparent he isn't going to speak. She walks over to him to hand him the sword.
"Uh, thanks," he swallows. "How did you find me?"
"Guest list," Clarke tells him.
"I was worried I wouldn't see you again," he admits, and all Clarke's anxiety dissipates and she feels herself smiling.
"You were?"
"Yeah, I left in a hurry and you said you'd call, but it wasn't until the next morning I realised we never actually exchanged numbers. So then I thought you were just saying you'd call me so I'd feel better," he explains and Clarke can't help but laugh. His paranoia levels seem like they were on par with her own.
"I have to admit something," Clarke says.
"Don't tell me you faked all those orgasms," he says, and Clarke feels herself blush.
"I think it's pretty obvious I didn't," she chuckles. "No, it's something else. My friend Raven had set up a blind date for me that night. I thought you were him."
"Oh," Bellamy says, then his eyes widen. "Oh. Because I was dressed as Westley?"
"Yeah," Clarke laughs.
"So who's the other guy? Do I need to duel him?" Bellamy grins.
"Definitely not," Clarke assures him. "Anyway, he doesn't even have a sword. It wouldn't be a fair fight."
"Okay," Bellamy says, studying her face.
"What?" Clarke says self-consciously, rubbing at her forehead.
"You look nice without a mask. I like your face," he says.
"I like your face too," Clarke grins.
"Do you want to go on a date with me? A real one this time," he says.
"Yes," Clarke says, feeling giddy.
"I'm going to kiss you now," he says, stepping closer. He gently tips her chin up and lowers his mouth to hers. It's soft and slow and sweet, with the promise of something more. He pulls away before they can let it advance to something more indecent.
"Take me on a tour?" Clarke suggests. She still has the best of an hour before she has to be back at work.
"As you wish," Bellamy grins.