This is so fucked up. I wrote this at around 2:00 am, when I should have been sleeping. Stream-of-consciousness type deal, no real idea of where it was going... But then - of course - MarinaBlack1 and Persepholily goaded me into posting it, so here.
THIS IS ON YOU, PRINCESSES.

Not beta'd but I guess that's okay. I'd still love to hear your thoughts...?

Lexa had warned them all about the field at the top of the western hill. It was beautiful to look at, but on the first full moon of spring the tall, brilliant purple flowers shed their broad petals, allowing the wind better access to the pollen-laden stamen within. The entire meadow turned into a hazy silver cloud as the pollen danced and stirred and swirled on each tiny gust of air, buoyed along toward freshly-exposed pistils. Animals avoided the area; young lovers tried to sneak into the field without their parents' knowledge.

There were... stories.

Nyko admitted - with a rare smile - to having spent more than one youthful spring night in that field. Octavia asked Lincoln if he had gone too, but the warrior would not answer despite all her begging. For the first time in their relationship he refused to cave in to her, and she was left to assume his silence meant he had, indeed, visited the field during a pollen-storm.

"...Which is why we have to go this year," she finished, intense wide eyes following Raven's every move for some sign of her thoughts. "If he's been there with someone else, Raven..." Octavia's voice faded as she pictured Lincoln and some gorgeous, nameless, faceless Grounder woman in the throes of pollen-induced passion.

Raven sighed and glanced around Camp Jaha's outdoor bar. She was tempted to say no to Octavia; they had too little information about the flowers. A couple wistful Grounders telling romanticized tales of young love seemed more like fantasy than reality. But then Wick sauntered past their table, and he did that thing - that thing he did a lot, which she had assumed was meant to irritate her but suddenly seemed like it could have a completely different purpose - of rapping his knuckles lightly, twice, on whatever surface was nearest her. Tonight it was their table, and he actually had to go out of his way just a couple steps to do it. She caught his eyes this time, and the tall engineer smiled in an irritatingly cocky way that made her want to... to...

"Yeah okay. Let's do it," Raven agreed quickly, before she could change her mind. "But just who exactly is involved in this 'we' of yours?"

"Um. Me and Lincoln. And you and... whoever, I guess. Who are you into? ...My brother?" Octavia looked lost, and possibly worried she might have just said something offensive. Raven squirmed uncomfortably.

"Bellamy's not my type," she finally managed. No need to share just how thoroughly she knew they weren't a good match. "I say we just let everyone know, quietly. And see who shows up."

Clarke frowned as she neared the field, cursing when she stumbled over a root in the dark forest. This was pretty much the stupidest idea Octavia had ever had. It probably wouldn't have been so bad, if Monty and Jasper had not been told. That had really been the worst move: within a day, everyone under the age of twenty-five knew about the impending pollen-storm. Now Clarke had no choice but to follow the rest of them, carrying as many med kits as possible. Nobody had listened about the possibility of allergic reactions. Nobody had thought maybe, just maybe, this pollen wasn't some wild aphrodisiac. It could be as deadly as the Mountain Men's acid fog, for all they knew.

"I doubt Nyko would have let them go if it was dangerous, Clarke," Bellamy pointed out from a few feet behind her. He sounded pissed. "And I really doubt you'll need this many supplies." She didn't bother to look at him; she knew he was just upset about having to help her carry all the medical equipment.

"Bellamy, how many times has Earth proven to be a dangerous place?" It was a rhetorical question; he was wise enough not to answer. "Anyway, we're here. You can set the supplies down by that tree." Bellamy unloaded the gear and turned to Clarke, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

"How are you going to keep yourself from being affected?" he asked suspiciously. "You're human, Clarke. One whiff of that pollen and you could end up trying to get Murphy out of his pants." Bellamy seemed... Upset. Protective, maybe? ...Jealous?

"I'll stay right here, where I can keep an ear out for problems. I'm not going in that field unless it's absolutely necessary."

Bellamy tilted his head for a moment, watching her. She blushed, and that's when he said it.

"Well, I'm going."

Clarke wondered if he knew what that intensely cruel sentence did to her heart.

She had almost fallen asleep when Bellamy's voice beckoned to her from somewhere just out of sight.

"Clarke, hurry!" She sat up too fast, and had to wait a moment for the little sunbursts behind her eyes to fade. Clarke stood carefully, then called back for Bellamy. She followed the sound of his voice to the edge of the clearing.

"You have to see it," he declared as she broke the tree line. He was two meters away and all smiles, a bright grin that drew gorgeous happy creases around his mouth and lit his eyes beautifully. She pushed all that aside - the same way she had been pushing it aside for months - and looked around.

It really was amazing. They had walked the perimeter of the field only a few days ago, when the whole place was chest-high in vibrant violet. Tonight the flowers had fallen, leaving a forest of tall green stems towering over a sea of dark velvet petals. Hovering above it all, and hiding the rest of their friends from view, a thick silvery mist... although not a mist, not cold and damp but powdery-soft, dry. Despite her better judgment Clarke ran her hands through the cloud, mesmerized by the way the pale pollen glowed as it clung to her skin.

"It's safe," Bellamy said, a shadow of that grin still playing about his features. He was so much closer now. "It's just pollen, Clarke. It's not... magic. Or poison. Nyko told me earlier: the stories are an old-wives' tale."

Clarke furrowed her brow, then suddenly sighed with relief. She looked around the field and almost laughed. It was oddly quiet for a place teeming with couples, and she realized the cloud must also be dampening sound. "Nobody else knows it's a sham," she pointed out.

"That's right. They don't. Nyko said it's better to keep the story alive, because when people come here they believe the pollen is in control. They're more honest with themselves."

He was really close now. He was... touching-her-waist-in-all-the-right-ways close. Clarke swallowed. So his hand on her hip wasn't because of the pollen. The glimmer of something soft and also terrifyingly hungry in his eye... That was just Bellamy. Clarke felt unsettled. It would have been easier to understand him looking at her like that if she could believe it was drug-induced.

Then he smiled again, half a smile really, tentative and slightly nervous about her, and Clarke realized she was actually ready for this, had been ready for a while.

"So then... if I did this..." and she pushed up onto her toes, her lips parting a bit as he easily lowered his mouth to meet hers in a kiss that should not have been so instantly comfortable but was, "... I can't say the pollen made me do that, can I?" she whispered.

"Well, you could if you chose someone else, who didn't know the truth," Bellamy whispered back. His voice was strained. Clarke nodded against his chest, wanting to admit she couldn't do that. Wanting to admit there was only him. The words stuck in her throat.

"Clarke?" he continued.

"Mm-hm?"

"... Don't pick someone else." The way he said it, like he was asking her to save him from some terrible fate...

Clarke grabbed the bottom of his shirt and yanked up, and bit her lip at the heat radiating from his taut bare torso. She bent forward just enough to place a soft kiss over his heart while her fingers ran down his abdomen, stopping in frustration at the top of his pants. She lifted her face again, searching out his mouth, running her tongue softly along Bellamy's lower lip until he moaned into her, until his mouth was consuming hers. When her hands - deft, skilled, the hands of a field surgeon - had finally gotten his fly open and his pants were hanging low on his perfect hips she pulled back just long enough to help him strip her of her shirt.

"Shit, Clarke," Bellamy's voice was sandpaper rough, but his hands were surprisingly gentle as they drifted across her skin. He had her bra on the ground a moment later, and sank to his knees before her, his palms pressing into her back, his mouth seeking out her round breasts. Clarke tried to stay quiet but as his tongue rolled over one small hard nipple she shuddered and gripped at his dark curls; they glowed faintly, moonlight reflecting off the silvery pollen that had caught there.

"Bellamy," she moaned softly, and it was as though he had been waiting for just this confirmation, had been waiting to hear his name on her lips said in just that aching, needy way. He tugged Clarke free of her pants, leaving her standing in the pollen-storm in nothing but her underwear as he peeled off the rest of his own layers.

He pulled her close then, kissing her until she could feel only the softness of his mouth, the hard pressure of his cock pushing against her hip, the telltale ache of her own need building steadily behind her bellybutton. He stretched her out on a blanket of violet petals softer than anything the Ark or the drop-ship had ever offered. She sighed happily, enjoying the sensation... but when Bellamy's lips descended over the fabric of her underwear she shoved her fist against her mouth to keep from crying out. His fingers slid along the waistband, teasing her, as his tongue stroked over the core of her again and again until she was a panting mess of desperation.

"Please," she begged him, as he finally did away with her panties and his tongue sank into her more freely. "Please, Bellamy. I need you." Her voice was ragged; she wasn't sure he had heard her. But he lifted his head for a moment to shoot another grin at her, and kissed his way up her stomach until he had found her breast again, and that's when he pressed into her, gently at first. She no longer cared if the rest of their friends could hear her or not; she no longer even cared where they were. She rocked forward, pulling him more deeply inside, and cried out with pleasure at the heat of him, the length of him, the way he filled her and then had the audacity to be so damn good at making sure she was enjoying herself. His hands roamed her stomach, her breasts, her thighs as they made love, and Clarke lost track of what counted as an orgasm and what just felt fucking incredible.

Bellamy watched Clarke, his face a happy grin; he had never considered that she would be so loud. He loved it. Being inside her, holding her, listening to her moan and sigh, watching her writhe beneath him... all of it was better than any of the endless ways he had imagined sex with Clarke Griffin. When she tightened around him, biting her lips together in a belated effort at decorum, Bellamy lost all control. With a low curse he exploded into her, shuddering when her final orgasm hit a moment later and sent fresh waves of bliss through them both. He let his head fall to her shoulder, panting, finally making note of the stinging sensation at his shoulders where she had clawed lines into his skin.

"Bellamy?" He looked up, looked into those blue eyes, the gateway to her soul. Through those eyes she had hated him, had feared him, had doubted and then trusted him, had befriended him...

"...Don't pick someone else," she whispered back. And finally, her eyes told him she loved him.