Chapter 1: Best-laid plans (of mice and men) often go awry
Summary: Clarke invites Bellamy for a study date
Notes: I'm rewatching season 1 and there is this one scene in 109 which doesn't leave me alone. I really, really wanted to use that line under different (happier?) circumstances.
When Clarke invited Bellamy for a study date to her home, she didn't think much of it.
They are both taking the same class and, conveniently so, they are both back in the same town for the break.
They've known each other since childhood; starting out as friends, as much as six to fourteen-year-olds can be; turning to frenemies when puberty hit. They reconnected during college and they've been, sort of, secretly seeing each other for a few months now.
Their "relationship" started in the midst of a heated argument one night, which led to not entirely innocent kisses in the neglected section of the campus library twenty minutes later.
In retrospect, she doesn't know what took them so long to get there.
They've had this thing going on for a while now (four months, to be precise), which meant a lot of making out in the supply closet first; and leading to secret rendezvous in his room, or hers, when the roommates were not around. It's all under control, she supposes, well, most of the time.
In her defense, when she invited Bellamy she did mean a study date. As in the purest meaning of the term. They are not really together together, more like enjoying each other's company, still mostly platonic; more like those people who re-connect after a few rocky years and like making out - like a lot.
So when her mother was called in working the night shift the other night - leaving an empty apartment all to Clarke for the night - it just provided the perfect environment to study. Or so she'd thought.
Truth be told, if it weren't for a Tuesday night, she would have decided for the public library. Tuesdays just meant way too many people with their kids for her liking, when finding a silent corner on the premises was doomed to be impossible. Besides, why to cross half the town when she had an empty apartment on her hands? With a fully stocked fridge and carefully selected snacks (versus the ground floor vending machine), in a five-meter radius, she reasoned.
It just seemed more convenient to stay.
But then she opens the door to the boy with a dusting of freckles splashed across his face, his inky curls falling over his forehead in a beautiful disarray. He also smells amazing, to top it all, a (once irritating now adored) cheeky smile plastered all over his face. He is a sight to look at alright.
She mumbles a silent thanks to heavens that she decided to run a brush through her hair that afternoon, combing it into a loose half top knot; or that she'd picked to wear the green deep V-neck - her only decent (read: clean and comfy) elbow length t-shirt she kept at home for wear. Maybe she'd also thrown on a layer of mascara. Maybe. Just because she was to stay at home she wanted to look nice.
What does it, though, is a glimpse at the faded cut above his lips, as his mouth is twisting up, slow, into a full, toothy grin.
(She's grown to learn over the years that he had an uncanny ability to pull his smiles. Her favourites are the kind of smiles when she feels her knees go weak at the sight. Which used to be exactly the kind of smiles that she'd found just infuriating before. But that was before.)
And his goddamn arms.
A glimpse. One glimpse is all it takes to grab him by the collar and to tangle her fingers in his shirt, - that goddamn deep blue tee showcasing his well-defined arms; that innocent item of clothing he knows perfectly well how much she likes - pulling him through the door and latching her lips onto his.
He doesn't look or feel surprised, far from it, because he instantly deepens the kiss, backing her up. One sneaky hand finds her hips, slamming the door behind him with the other.
They kiss, which feels to be hours, rather than the mere minutes that has actually passed.
They kiss until her back hits the side of the antique mahogany cupboard housing her mother's fancy china.
In the end, it is the rattling sound of the expensive china that makes her slow down and break the kiss.
They are still panting, foreheads pressing together when Bellamy's chuckles pull her back to reality.
"Hello to you, too," he says, giddy, a little bit still out of breath.
His smile, she recognises belatedly, is one of his true Bellamy smiles, the one reserved only for her; a smile that makes her want to grab him by the side of his neck, pulling him down for a long, searing kiss. Again.
"Shut up and get to work," she breathes against his mouth, sounding desperate even to her. Not that she cares.
"Bossy, " he mutters, but he does get to work, chewing his way down already under the sensitive skin of her ears.
Soon enough, his hands are back on her like the glue, palms eagerly trailing down her sides, pausing only at the small of her back, pulling her body into his.
Three hours later and they find themselves lying in her bed, warm under the covers, very much naked and equally sated.
They drifted off for a while, tangled up in each other and all that, study be damned.
What wakes her are his fingers trailing up and down her back, soothing, tracing the dips and rises running along her spine. He stops at her hips from time to time to rub a few light circles into her skin. His fingers are slow and determined, affectionate.
It's the lazy times like this when she feels those unspoken words, heavy, however innocent they might be. Nevertheless, she feels them on the tip of her tongue, more often than not lately, and she's convinced that something silly is dangerously close to bubble out of her.
In all honesty, it all feels like a dream.
It will come out eventually, she knows. But until then, she has him now, like this.
They are back to the kissing agenda, soon after, and it's not like she wants to bail on that. She likes kissing him.
Kissing Bellamy starts like it always does: small and sweet and cautious at first, more like soft, lazy nibbling on the lips, which then blooms into something hot and passionate.
They can truly get lost in each other, it doesn't matter the act.
By the time she hears Bellamy breathing the words in the crook of her neck, they are fully awake and into it.
She blames it on his sinful lips, which are distracting enough on their own. And then there's also the way he looks at her: his gaze touches her to the core. So, of course, she doesn't recognise the words at first.
His hands are trailing dangerously high up on her inner thigh when the meaning behind the words actually hit her.
Your mom's early.
"What?" she asks slowly, coming out of a daze.
"Your mom's early," Bellamy murmurs, louder this time, fanning the words into her skin, as he's continuing his mission of planting small kisses along her skin. He's kissing down her neck, soft lips leaving a trail of wet and hot on her body, goosebumps rising in its wake.
"WHAT?!" she freezes suddenly, eyes growing wide in panic.
"Your mom's early-"
"- I heard you the first time," she mumbles, a bit annoyed, yet mostly horrified, already pushing him away.
At last, she hears the entrance door slam shut, keys jiggling down the hall, right before she registers her mother's voice ringing through the closed bedroom door. "Clarke? Honey, are you home?"
Clarke Griffin is nothing if not prepared for all contingencies. So she straightens her back, takes a deep calming breath and whispers (sounding more like a hiss): "Get out."
Bellamy stops in his ministrations, cocking an eyebrow at her as if to say 'Are you serious?', instead, he says: "What?" rolling his eyes.
"You heard me," she mumbles. "Get. Out!"
A surprised Bellamy is glaring at her, his eyebrows furrowed into a grim line.
"You can hide under the bed," she teases, fighting a smile.
"What?! No! I'm not hiding -" he protests, pursing his lips. He's cut off by Clarke's hands on his mouth in an instant and she's climbing on top of him, practically straddling him.
His hot breath is fanning her skin, she can also feel his tongue darting out, licking her palm, which is just ... besides being several levels of cute is also really distracting.
She groans.
"What I meant is," she starts, carefully lifting her hand and placing them on his shoulders instead. "That you could hide under my bed until I ..."she pauses, tilting her head to the side, eyebrows knotted in a furrow.
Until what, Clarke? she asks herself, pondering.
"Okay... "she pinches her nose and takes a deep breath, solidifying in her newfound resort.
"Just stay here, okay?"
He nods and she brushes her lips against his before pushing herself up.
"I'll go and talk to her."
So she does what she does best: taking things in a stride.
First, she combs her fingers through her hair, resembling a bird's nest by now, she's sure.
Then she grabs the blanket, effectively tugging it off of Bellamy and leaving him naked (very naked and distractingly so) on the bed. She wraps the thin material around her body, taking a deep breath to calm herself, and she storms out of the room without any further hesitance.
Abby is in the hall, hardly standing on her feet. Her eyes wide and tired, silently questioning.
"Mom, before you say anything …" Clarke beats her, "I'm legal and I'm not alone."
She can hear Bellamy's uncontrollable guffaws behind her as she steps into the hall. They will have to talk soon about labels and stuff, and probably, she should introduce him to Abby at some point. Well, very near into the future, within a few hours seems like it.
She shakes her head as if to clear it and turns to Abby, taking a deep breath - steeling herself for whatever it is to come.
Arguing with Bellamy is fine, fairly enjoyable at times, but kissing him is the best. She's pretty sure that she's going to keep him around.
End notes: Thank you all for reading and I hope you liked it; kudos & comments are a great way of showing that
