A/N: First things first, this chapter does NOT take place ten years in the future - that'll begin in chapter 2. Second, this is an extremely edited version of this chapter since the original is smutty and I know FFN doesn't really approve, so if you want to read the unedited version you may do so here at AO3. If you'd rather not it's okay, everything you need to know in the story is right here, and the only thing you'll be missing out on is smutty, angsty Bellamy :)
Thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoy!
She tastes different than he thought she would. But then again, this is not how he imagined their first kiss – full of blinding anguish.
He wants her, has wanted her for a long time, or maybe not that long – once again he's amazed when he remembers that they've only been on the ground less than two months – but he doesn't want her like this, grabbing and clawing her way into him not because she's desperate to be closer to him, but because she's desperate to escape her pain.
She's only using him, and if he were the same man he was two months ago he'd be more than happy to let her. Probably even smirk and say something awful like, how he knew she wanted him, or how it was only a matter of time before she came begging for it.
But he's not the same man anymore. Nowhere near.
And that's because of her and the forgiveness she so freely gave him.
And so he's tried to become someone who deserves her forgiveness. He's sacrificed himself for the good of others, tried to do right by their people, and asked for nothing in return. And somewhere during all that he fell for her. Hard. Her strength, perceptiveness, and intelligence pulled him in, and then, when even her condescending attitude began turning him on, he knew he was lost.
So yes, he wants her. But he wants all of her. The good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the absolute perfect and the totally screwed-up. And he knows some quick fuck up against a wall won't be anywhere near enough – knows it will probably ruin any kind of chance they might have together.
His thoughts help him to break away from her brutal kiss.
"Clark," he croaks, before she attacks his throat – all teeth and lips and fucking amazing tongue – making him unable to remember his own name, much less whatever the hell he was about to say. But he somehow finds the strength within himself to gently push her away, detaching her beautiful mouth from his overheated skin, and he's able to regain some kind of brain function.
"We shouldn't be doing this," he says tenderly. He doesn't want to hurt her – doesn't want her to think he's rejecting her.
She stares at his chest before finally meeting his eyes. The angry determination he finds in hers almost scares him.
She steps away and removes her shirt and bra with a blank face – as if she's not showing him the most stunning sight. And he watches – of course he does – as her breasts rise and fall with her rapid breath. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about them, fantasized about them – even in the beginning when he couldn't stand her. He's only human after all, and they're fucking gorgeous even covered in a ratty shirt.
He swallows before looking back up to her face. He's no longer sure if he's strong enough to stop this train wreck from happening.
"Take off your clothes," she says, firmly.
Suddenly his blood's gone cold, and he's pulled back to a time, not so long ago, when another girl was demanding the same thing from him… to help her forget the pain of losing the same boy.
Because dammit, that's what he is- was, wasn't he. Finn – he was just a boy. The kid annoyed the living shit out of him, and they rarely agreed on anything, or even got along for that matter, but he was one of the 100. He was one of Bellamy's people. And Bellamy had done everything he could to keep him alive – and now he's dead. A seventeen year old boy is dead – executed.
And he's jealous of him.
A deep-seated feeling of self-loathing rises up within him. She would never be with him if Finn were here, he morosely thinks. But then he remembers that hug. How she practically attacked him, throwing her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder, holding him tight, even while he was too surprised to reciprocate.
He stares into her cool blue eyes – usually so full of life, but now so cold – hoping he can silently show her with his eyes that his rejection has nothing to do with her, not really, just that the situation they're in right now is really fucking shitty – as always.
He shakes his head slightly. "We're not doing this." It comes out even harder than he'd wanted and he sighs, hoping he didn't hurt her. But it's already too warm again as he stands there, crowded between the wall and her half naked body. He just needs space. He needs to get out of this damn room – which anyone can walk into at any moment, he realizes. So he slips away and starts making his way towards the exit.
"Please. Please, don't leave me," she whispers.
He stops but he doesn't turn around – only listens to her as her voice breaks his heart.
"We could die," she says, voice cracking.
He thinks she's crying but he's too terrified to turn and find out – he'll never be able to leave if he does.
"You could die," she whispers, "and I-" She stops here and he waits for her to finish. But she doesn't, and he needs to know. He needs to know what she's thinking, what she's feeling, why the hell she's doing this to him.
"What?" His voice sounds like it's been dragged through gravel, and he hates how easily it reveals the emotional upheaval inside him. "You, what?"
She doesn't say anything for a long time, the room filling with a thick silence, and he thinks if his body weren't so attuned to hers he probably would've assumed she'd left.
But then she finally speaks.
"You could die," she repeats, her voice much firmer, "and I need you."
I need you.
He drops his head and releases a quick breath, unable to stop the physical reaction his body has when she says those words. The same words she gave him before – the same words that made him stay before.
He chose to stay the night Dax tried to kill them, and after that, the change in their relationship was so quick it nearly made his head spin, adversaries who were sometimes begrudging allies, to co-leaders with the utmost respect for each other. Even now things were different – ever changing. They were more than just friends. But not lovers. What they have is something deep that he doesn't know how to describe. She's his partner in nearly every sense of the word. He believes in her, trusts her, respects her, needs her.
He needs her.
In this extremely fucked up world he needs her, just like she needs him, and he hopes and prays that if he gives in right now it will somehow mean something to her. And perhaps their relationship will change yet again, and one day, he'll be able to say the words that he's certain she's nowhere near ready to hear from him right now.
Just like that he's made his choice.
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Their rapid breathing and the blood rushing through him are the only things he seems to hear. He rubs a thumb across the angry marks and bruises he's sure that he left on her thigh, and she sighs against his temple. It sounds happy and satisfied and his heart feels lighter thinking that maybe she feels it too – that simmering intensity and deep devotion between them that has no words. And when she nuzzles his face, he feels hopeful that she won't run away from it.
xxxxxxxxx
Later that night, when she tells him to leave – tells him his life is worth risking – he's sure that Octavia and Raven can feel the pain that must be coming off him in waves. He tells himself that he was a moron for ever thinking he deserved her. There is no reward for redemption – he supposes it's, its own reward – and he will have to pay the price of hurting others for the rest of his life. His life is worth risking, because it's the price he must pay for having once thought so little of the lives of others
She must know all that too, he thinks, as he lies awake that night, unable to sleep from both the pain that sits heavy in his chest from her indifference, and the fear roiling inside his gut at what he will face in the mountain. Lying there, staring up at the sky he fell from, he couldn't really say which was worse.