I posted this drabble on tumblr and ao3 about a month ago so it's only fitting that I post it here too. Started off as a oneshot and then ballooned into a multichap that's basically smut, fluff, and stubborn idiots in love. Happy things really. At least I hope.

take what I can get

The first time it happens he wants to throw his head back and laugh one of those laughs that take root in your stomach with its branches waving lazily in your chest as the leaves bubble through your lips one by one leaving you breathless.

He wants to laugh, but it's hard to do so when Clarke has him pinned against a tree with her lips viciously assaulting his and stealing his breath in the best of ways.

He wants to laugh because it's so clichéd, so predictable, so obvious that he wonders why neither of them had the good sense to instigate it before.

(Okay, so maybe he had wanted to do it before, but he wanted far more than just sneaking around in dark corners for a twenty minute escape that left them both flushed and sated for the time being.) (Bellamy had long come to terms that despite what Clarke may say he wasn't exactly the pinnacle of a good man, so he would take what he's getting with his mouth shut- in the metaphorical sense of course; Clarke liked him better with his mouth open in these cases.)

It becomes a thing then between the two of them, something that happens almost every other day when they were stressed- and they were stressed a lot on this fucking shit hole of a planet. She would find him more often than not, with her bottom lip between her teeth and a slight spark in those big blue eyes and he knew immediately he was fucked (pun intended). Then, they'd be off as inconspicuous as possible to the nearest dark corner or empty tent or storage closet or even the council chambers that one time.

(She had purposefully tipped over her notes when the meeting ended and he had stayed back to help her pick them back up. He didn't exactly know what she had planned, but soon enough she had one hand clenched in his t shirt and the other tangled in his hair, biting off a groan as he slipped his tongue in her mouth. One thing led to another and the next thing he knew, his head was between her legs and her head was tipped back in ecstasy.)

(It was one of his favourite memories)

So that was how things worked between them; when she called, he jumped and did whatever his princess required.

Octavia had sort of figured out what was going on about two weeks in and told him that he was whipped. Bellamy just shrugged and didn't even bother to deny it; he knew that way before their relationship took on a physical aspect. He did throw a nut at her though, just to keep up appearances.

He never really sought her out however, even when he had a bad day, but somehow she just knew when he was upset and made it a point to show up in his tent after he had thrown himself face down atop his bed and slowly work out all the kinks from his sore muscles before mouthing her way across his shoulders until he felt limp and boneless and barely had the energy to roll over so her hips could snap into his.

Today she'd already pulled him into a cramped and dark closet after a council meeting this morning, though that was before he had a session with a group of wannabe guards that ended in disaster.

Like a giant fucking disaster.

He almost got shot twice and two of them thought it was hilarious that a former janitor was in charge of teaching them and decided to make his life more or less hell for the next three hours. Bellamy refrained from punching them, though just barely and only because it would show them that he wasn't a fully capable guardsman. Yet it didn't stop him from making them run extra laps, and he took a sort of vindictive glee in seeing them bent over double and out of breath. Still, he remained pissed off at the end of it, and by the time he showed up for the graveyard shift, the pressure behind his eyes had mounted in to a full blown headache.

Bellamy hated the graveyard shift. In all honesty, he thought it was unnecessary, especially when it was only four guards (half of which were always asleep anyway) and a live fence keeping everything out. Nonetheless, he merely gritted his teeth and showed up on time, spending the better part of the first hour pacing back and forth and the other two seated on an overturned crate, staring off into the still forest.

He's about halfway into the fourth hour when he hears it; the dull clomp of her boots on the wet dirt that drifts over to him just a few seconds before she pops into his line of vision.

"Slouching around on the job, Blake?" she teases, leaning against the metal wall of the Ark next to him. Her hand comes to rest in his hair, stroking lightly in an almost soothing fashion.

Bellamy leans back into her palm with a soft sigh. "It's not like I'm particularly busy right now, princess," he says in turn.

She purses her lips, her hand stilling for a short moment and, before he knows it, she's gone and thrown one leg across his lap and is straddling him right there in the middle of the camp's courtyard.

Bellamy practically chokes on his tongue, even as his hands automatically come up to grasp her thighs. "Clarke, what the fuck are you doing?" he hisses, glancing at his fellow guard out of the corner of his eye.

She laughs lowly and the vibrations he feel having her pressed up against him does interesting things to his body. Her fingers play with the zipper of his jacket for a moment before slowly pulling it down in a way that makes him want to groan. He settles for just digging his fingers into her thighs.

"He's asleep; could've heard his snoring halfway here," she replies easily, looking down at the zipper she held in between her fingers. "Are all guards this inefficient?" she teases gently before looking up at him, eyes wide and glowing and pink bottom lip clenched between her teeth, and this time he can't hold back his groan, tipping his head back so he leant against the cool metal. She drags the zipper down the rest of the way before pushing it off his shoulders. It lands with a muffled thump against the ground and neither of them takes heed to it as her hands slip under his ratty threadbare t shirt, cool against his already heated skin.

Her nails scratch against his muscles, almost making them quiver and Bellamy has to take several deep breaths to gather his bearings before looking back at her. "Twice in one day?" he says, voice low and deep and the devil's smirk pulled across his lips. Clarke clenches her thighs on either side of him and the smirk just grows bigger, fingers thrumming against her.

Not to be outdone, she rocks forward slightly, taking pleasure in the way he stiffens in front her. Her nails are still scratching against his skin and she flattens her palm against his stomach before pushing upward, taking the t shirt with them. Bellamy pulls it off in one quick movement.

"Guess it's just your lucky day," she murmurs before leaning forward to place a kiss right over his heart. She can feel his pulse racing beneath his skin because of her. She feels powerful.

"Anyone can see us." His voice is strained and she can feel the vibrations against her lips.

"It's the middle of the night," she reminds him, mouthing her way up his sternum. "It's dark." His fingers dig into her thighs almost painfully and it sends a flash of heat through her core. "And cold." Clarke rocks into him again and he sucks in a harsh breath. "And I haven't seen you since morning." She presses a chaste kiss to the hollow of his throat.

Bellamy doesn't try to stop her again as she makes her way up his neck before dragging her lips across his jaw. During this time he allows his hands to climb higher up her legs until he's grasping at her hips, thumbs dipped underneath the waistband of her jeans, almost pulling her flush against him. She places a small kiss to the corner of his mouth and the whole world stills.

She kisses him like she fucks: slowly, possessively, and controlling. Already he can feel the pounding in his head begin to recede and the stress slowly start to drip out of his body. Her mouth flutters open in a sigh when he begins to kiss her back and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, using it to coax out a groan or two from her, even as she twists her hand into his hair while the other digs into his bare shoulder. Another gasp floats pass her lips when he lets one hand skim up her side and squeeze her breast through her shirt. It just makes her press her mouth against his harder, moving them in a slow, torturous rhythm that, try as he might, she won't be dissuaded from.

(He secretly loves her like this, not that he would ever tell; Clarke likes to tell everyone that he has a big ego but they way she would preen if he let slip just how easy it was for her to get him off would be damn near suffocating.)

A grunt escapes him when she grinds herself down into his lap again, and then, if that isn't enough, she nips his bottom lip hard before sucking it into his mouth. It takes all of self restraint to not take her then and there. It's like the two of them are oppositely charged, so wherever they touch, sparks fly. His blood is fire in his veins and it roars like storm in his ears when she grazes his lip with her teeth.

Without warning, Bellamy detaches his mouth from hers and almost smiles at her soft sigh of disappointment before kissing down her jaw and neck, letting his teeth scrape against her pulse so that he sends it skittering. Unlike him, she still wears her t shirt and he's too caught up in all of this to pull back and let her take it off, so he merely pushes down the sleeve before biting into her shoulder. Her moan is one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard in his life and if he wasn't on fire before, he would definitely have been now. He lets his tongue flick out against her skin, tracing her bra strap twice before pulling it down with his teeth. She moans again and his blood sings.

He goes back to that spot on her shoulder, the one he bit before, and truly sinks his teeth into the skin before laving the stinging spot with his tongue. The brief flare of pain makes her pull on his hair and her legs to tighten around him. They've left marks on each other before, though it was usually thin, angry red claw marks down his back from her. Only a handful of times had he left a mark on her, and even then it was on her breasts or ribcage or the inside of her thigh. Never once has he left a mark somewhere as brazen as her shoulder, where her shirt only needed to be moved a quarter of an inch for everyone to see. A thrill shoots through him at the thought and he bites on the spot again, sucking hard. There would be a bruise there come morning. A spot the size of his mouth, angry and purple and standing out against her pale skin.

"Bellamy," she sighs and her hand snakes around his shoulders to sloppily rub at the knots there. A groan falls from his lips. He moves on, letting his teeth brush across her collarbone and then places quick kisses, barely a feather brush of his lips, at the collar of her shirt. He lets his nose prod at her breasts through the worn material before kissing the available skin at the bottom of the V of the neckline.

He straightens back up, only slightly and lets his forehead rest against her, both of them panting and flushed. Her eyes are dark, lips red and swollen and he always thinks that she's the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen when he gets her like this. One of his hands comes up to cup her cheek of its own accord and she leans into it. The scene is far too intimate for two of them, so without allowing any sorts of awkwardness to fully set in, Bellamy kisses her soundly before pulling back fully.

(He may have let his hand linger on her cheek for a second or two.)

"You should go to bed, Princess," he sighs, resignedly, once again leaning back on the cool metal wall behind him, trying to get his heart rate down, trying to cool the fire that she ignited in his veins.

In all honesty, he expects to pout and say no or scoff and demand him to get back to it because she's Clarke and she's pushy and likes to boss him around because she knows he likes her to boss him around. To his surprise though, she clambers off his lap and turns so that her back is facing him. Something akin to disappoint settles in his stomach and he tries to push it away. Tries.

"Fine, I'll go," she says. He watches her take all of three steps forward before she reaches down to yank her t shirt over her head and pelts it at him without looking. "Only if you join me, of course," she adds before glancing over her shoulder with that damned look in her eye and lip between her teeth. Clarke doesn't wait for a response and sashays across the yard in just her jeans and bra to her tent, leaving Bellamy gaping and clutching her shirt so tightly in his hand that his knuckles turn white.

A beat later he scrambles up, though not before grabbing his clothes from the ground and jogs after her, already loosening his belt.

(Nearly an hour later he could be found taking back up his position in that darkened little corner on the crate, feeling as boneless as Clarke was when he left her with a sloppy kiss on the cheek mere minutes before. His back feels like it's on fire, but it just causes a lazy smirk to unfurl across his lips when he thinks about why.)

(He's known that he's been in love with her for a long time but it's times like these when that love threatens to burst open his chest.)

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