AN: First Bellarke fic, a short little drabble I couldn't get out of my head. Review away!
They're fighting again. They bicker so often about so many things, and are always revisiting past fights, so it's nearly impossible to determine what set them off this time.
"You're so wrong, Blake," Clarke says, his last name falling from her lips like bile.
Bellamy stares back at her. Their chests rise and fall quickly in unison, fired up from the argument. The air between them grows heavier until suddenly something breaks. Before either of them realizes what's happening, they are kissing each other furiously. Clarke pulls Bellamy's lower lip between her teeth and bites down gently. In response, Bellamy's hands tangle in Clarke's hair and pull to give him access to her neck. He nips at her neck, aiming to leave a mark, and Clarke moans, pushing further into him. He kisses his way back up to her lips. He uses one hand to make quick work of the button on her pants. She pulls at his shirt, unapologetically causing all of the buttons to rip off.
Her hands are all over his chest and he is just about to dip a hand into her unbuttoned jeans when - "Bellamy!" Clarke yells, interrupting his fantasy.
He stares at her, slack jawed, and clears his throat. "Right," he mumbles, trying to remember what they had been talking about before his imagination took a sharp turn into fantasyville, "right. Well. Maybe you're right about this one, Princess," he says in order to escape the conversation as quickly as possible, before she notices the slight budge in his pants. He attempts to look as indignant as possible in conceding this fight to her, "but don't get used to it."
With that, Bellamy turns on his heel and quickly walks away, his eyebrows knit together, feeling confused and guilty. (Not guilty enough to continue the fantasy later, when he's alone in his tent, of course. Just guilty enough where it takes him a half-day before he can look Clarke in the eye again.)
After that, he comes to accept that– at the very least – he's attracted to his co-leader. There is no way she feels the same, he thinks, so he shuts down his imagination as quickly as possible whenever it threatens to get the best of him (it still does, on occasion).
A week later, he is making Clarke laugh. Bellamy is funny when he wants to be. He had years to hone his comedic ability, doing nothing but entertaining Octavia to keep her quiet. Today, his humor is mostly unintentional. They're in a clearing in the woods and he's complaining about Kane. "It's just total crap! He knows as well as the rest of us that there's nothing to celebrate until we know how the Mountain Men are going to retaliate. But instead, what was he saying? Former citizens of the Arc, it is with great honor that we welcome back our younger members, safe from the dangers of Mount Weather. Tonight, let us not dwell on the dangers that lie ahead, blah blah blah."
Clarke knows he wants her to complain with him, but she can't help the laugh that bubbles up inside her when he does a pretty spot on impression of their leader. Bellamy laughs then, too, shaking his head at her. "Say something else as Kane," she says, egging him on.
"Dammit, Clarke," Bellamy laughs, "I'm being serious!"
But Clarke has the giggles, "No, come on, say something else as Kane!"
Bellamy's eyes flash mischievously. "Fine! 'Oh, Abby, you're so sexy,'" he begins, lowering his eyebrows to give the appearance of bedroom eyes.
Clarke's mouth snaps shut in a hard line, biting back her laugh. She punches him in the arm. "You ruined it."
Now Bellamy is laughing outright. "You said-,"
The moment is light and fun and Clarke is abruptly and intensely overwhelmed with desire for him. Something about his laugh emboldens her. She doesn't give herself a moment to second guess before she cuts him off midsentence, pressing her lips firmly against him. He is caught off-guard, pliable, and she takes the opportunity to push him backwards until his back is pressed against a nearby tree. A second later, Bellamy is responding to the kiss in kind. His hands wrap tightly around her waist and she presses as closely against him as physically possible. Clarke runs her hands under his shirt and over his chest, heart hammering wildly in her chest.
She is just about to tear his shirt off when - "Clarke?" Bellamy waves his hand in front of her eyes and she is brought back to reality, Bellamy, fully clothed, not pressed between her and a tree, not kissing her. "Sorry for bringing your mom into the Kane thing, I really was just joking around, didn't mean to cross the line."
Clarke shakes her head and bites her lip hard, trying to move past her moment of wild imagination. "Oh, no, it's fine. No line crossed." She shrugs, pointedly ignoring the fact that she suddenly feels undeniably turned on. "It was pretty funny."
The two of them continue like this for the next month, having moments where all they can think about is each other (or, more specifically, each other's lips). Neither of them can bring themselves to make a move in reality.
The reality is, it's been on both of their minds for longer than they'd care to admit. The reality is, they're both too stubborn to admit that it's more than lustful hormones. The reality is, they show their true feelings in small ways. A subtle touch here, a worried glance there. Clarke and Bellamy depend on one another. Her golden blonde curls are the first things Bellamy seeks out upon returning to camp after a dangerous mission. His laugh, short and gruff and yet somehow full of so much life never fails to draw a smile out of her (usually a begrudging one, as it is often her he's laughing at). They've both imagined kissing the other, pictured the way it would play out multiple times in their heads. When it happens in reality, it doesn't happen as either of them imagined it would. It's not like a dam suddenly breaking in an intense moment where emotions and desire are suddenly unable to be contained. Instead, it's a small moment. A quiet moment. A perfect moment.
Bellamy doesn't stay at the bonfire for very long. Clarke notices him get up and head towards the woods. They are supposed to be celebrating - a month since defeating Mt. Weather, a whole month of peace – but she can tell by the way he walks that he's upset. After a few minutes, she excuses herself and follows after him.
"Hey, Princess," he says when she finds him, despite the fact that his back is to her.
Clarke grins. "How-," she began to ask.
He turns around, cutting her off, "your footfalls. Too quiet to belong to anyone who weighs more than a feather-," (she rolls her eyes) "too sure for anyone who isn't intensely familiar with these woods. No one knows these woods as good as you."
"Besides you," she tells him.
"Yes, obviously, besides me," Bellamy laughs. Clarke is so familiar with that sound that she recognizes the twinge of sadness behind it.
The chirps of insects from the woods around them seem to grow louder as the two fall silent. Bellamy's eyes fall away from Clarke's, but she takes a step closer to him and demands his attention. "Hey," she says, searching his face for some clue about what's going on in his head.
Bellamy rubs the back of his neck. "I'm just not feeling very celebratory tonight."
"Why not? We're all back together. We've all been safe for a month. Mostly thanks to you, need I remind you?" Clarke reached out and grabbed Bellamy's forearms, shaking him slightly, but Bellamy pulled away.
"You definitely don't need to remind me."
Clarke furrowed her brow. "I don't understand, Bell, you're the reason-,"
"I'm the reason the Mountain Men are dead!"
Understanding washed over Clarke. It was true that many of the Mountain Men died in fight. Bellamy killed his fair share of them himself. It needed to be done to ensure the rest of their people's escape. Still, he felt guilt about the deaths he caused. Clarke's heart broke for him – for the guilt he felt. At the same time, however, her heart swelled – this Bellamy Blake was so compassionate, so good, so changed from the vengeful boy who first arrived on the dropship.
Clarke grabs his arms again, tighter this time so he couldn't easily brush her off. "Bellamy Blake," she began, her pulse hitching slightly at their proximity, "you are such a good man. Everyone here is so lucky to call you their leader. You did what you had to do, plain and simple." She knows her words are affecting him by the way his eyes lift from the ground to meet her gaze. "You're a good man," she repeats, tightening her grip on his arms even more before dropping her arms to their sides.
Bellamy lifts one hand and carefully brushes Clarke's hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. "You believe that?" He asks, slowly inching closer to her.
"I know it," she says, mirroring his lean-in.
The two stare into one another's eyes, now just centimeters apart. Clarke's breath is shallow and she gives a tiny nod.
It happens. It is small, and feels natural. It is not discussed after, and it is unknown if it will ever happen again.
Bellamy's lips press against hers softly. It takes her a second before she closes her eyes. When she does, she runs her hands up his arms to wrap them around his neck. He sets his hands gently on her waist. Neither of them attempts to deepen the kiss. A moment later, they break apart.
It is perfect.
Clarke leaves her hands around Bellamy's neck, and - to try and hide the fact that her eyes have gone a bit watery – she pulls him into a hug.
"You're the best leader we could have hoped for," Clarke says in his ear, holding him tightly.
"Besides you," he tells her.
She laughs. "Yes, obviously, besides me."