From a kissing prompt list going around Tumblr - 25 - "we can't be together" kiss

This skirts the edge of underage, but just barely escapes it. It's pretty harmless, a little sexy, and I think it ends well. That being said, if you're reading this, then drink safely and stay away from older men until you're 22 at least. ;)

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Not So Much Great Expectations As Moderate, Achievable Ones

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Bellamy had always been on the radius of Clarke's life: he was five years older than her, so they never went to school together, but her English Honors teacher liked to call on his memory when giving examples and horror stories. His picture appeared in the sports section of their local paper when he won regional basketball award. Clarke had even met him once when she was seven at a dance recital and her shoe flew off the stage into the audience. It hit a sullen, dark-haired boy right in the forehead, and there was a lot of crying and tantrums on both sides.

By the time she was in high school, his little sister, Octavia, was in Clarke's year, and though they weren't close their friend groups sometimes overlapped. Once Octavia began dating Clarke's BFF-in-art-class Lincoln, Clarke got invited to more of Octavia's upper year shindigs. They were legendary for being low-budget house parties with a lot of booze, fifteen-year-old video games systems, and no parental supervision except Bellamy.

Bellamy was a pretty great chaperon because at early-twenty-something he was old enough to seem cool, not too old to be unapproachable, knew how to mix cheap alcohol into halfway drinkable combinations, and let people stay over until three a.m. Best of all, he had some weird radar for when a guy was giving a girl shit. He would zero in on them like a shark, scare the living shit out of the perp, and offer to arrange a ride home for the other person. One time he literally grabbed a senior named Emerson by the back of the neck, dragged him out of the house, and dumped him on patchy dirt lawn so hard that the boy's feet flew up in the air. Then Bellamy called a taxi for him (because he was the adult here), but for teaching reasons he made Emerson pay for it. When he wasn't scaring years off the lives of disrespectful teenagers, he mostly just hung out on the couch to read or play cards. "Bellamy Watching" was a significant stage of the party game routine for most of the girls Octavia invited over, and Clarke would like to say she was above that sort of thing… but she'd been been a noob once too.

As she went through her junior year, the novelty of getting drunk to sing and dance wore off, and Clarke began spending more quality party time with Raven Reyes. Raven was cracking smart and hilarious, but alcohol conflicted with her chronic medication, so together they became Team Sober & Mostly Sober: Couch Bunnies. Couch bunnies turned into board game friends… and when they were short a player, they'd coerce Bellamy to fill in. This wasn't hard, as they quickly realized that he was competitive to the point of attrition. They played a lot board games and card games that spring and summer, sometimes launching a Risk or Monopoly campaign that spammed two to three parties in a row.

By senior year, games were mostly off the radar. Raven had gotten through her couch phase and was daring herself to socialize more, the attendance count had gotten bigger, and Clarke had discovered she liked grinding. She liked grinding with girls, and she liked grinding with boys, and she especially liked kissing while grinding. On some level she knew it bad form to make out in the middle of the carpeted dance area, but she was seventeen and three-quarters years old, and she'd just discovered her own epic hotness.

She wasn't the only one to make that discovery. One Saturday night in March she was dancing to the latest of Monty's club remixes with a boy named Atom, her back to his front. His arms trailed up her hips and waist, sometimes skimming over her stomach where her top would ride up, and Clarke leaned her head back against his shoulder as they dipped to the metronome beat. Atom's tongue danced along her neck in a really creative way that got even better when he occasionally blew softly puffs of cool air on her skin. When the song pounding around them hit a crescendo, she opened her eyes to see Bellamy Blake standing by the radio equipment and staring at her like he'd been punched in the chest. His eyes were wide and dark, his mouth parted, his neck flushed. Clarke would almost guess he was drunk, except that in two years Bellamy never drank around Octavia's friends. The moment passed when Atom spun her around to dance face to face; when she glanced over at the stereo table, Bellamy was gone.

She didn't catch him looking at her again, but in the next two months she could feel that something was altered. When she saw him at the parties he was casual and friendly, but a little standoffish. The easy vibe from their months of poker and Apples To Apples was gone: he was Octavia's older brother again, reluctant adult dragged to parties, purveyor of booze to underage teens. More than once Clarke asked herself if she'd imagined that moment—his naked want when he looked at her dancing—but she knew that it'd been real. And she didn't even blame him for reacting like this; it was the best for everyone. It was mature, and saved them both a lot of awkwardness.

Could she have Bellamy, if she wanted him? She was young enough and selfishness enough that there were moments when she was certain that she could. It would be so easy—just get Bellamy into a corner and run her fingers through that thick black hair as she licked into his mouth. But Clarke tamped down those fantasies viciously when they arose. She was better than that, and he was obviously trying to be better than that, and all in all it wasn't going to happen.

As a change of pace, Clarke hosted their graduation after-party at her house. It was big, casual, and wonderful. There was music and food and everyone dressed up in fancy clothes. They had a contest for Craziest Accessory, and Raven won with a metal contraption on her waist that radiated colored lights and pre-programmed theme songs depending on who walked up. It was perfect… except for one person missing.

Around one a.m., Clarke stole Octavia's phone and sent a text: "Something's up, you should come over. Ask for Clarke at the door. #### address."

About twenty minutes later Bellamy stalked up to her at the punch bowl and demanded over the roar of R&B music, "What's wrong? Where's Octavia? This place is so fucking busy I had to park like two blocks away. Are you alright?"

Clarke waved her hand, and grinned. "Octavia's fine! She's great. I stole her phone to text you. My bad."

Bellamy stared at her for a moment, then slipped his hand into hand and tugged her out onto the front porch. From here the party music was audible, but soft and distant. He dropped her hand and spun to face her. "What's the 'something' that's happening? Are you okay?"

Clarke smiled, because even though he's dropped her hand he was still standing closer than normal, and from here she could see little details of his face—the long eyelashes, the freckles that dotted his earnest expression, the faint stubble from where he hadn't shaved very well.

"I'm fine," she assured him, trying to make her voice soft and mellow, so he'd calm down. "I just wanted to see you. You've been at every party of my wild youth but then this one happens and just because it's at my house, you aren't here. It didn't seem right."

Bellamy shifted on his feet, opened his mouth, but didn't actually say anything. He was mostly staring at her eyes, but at odd moments his gaze would flicker down to her mouth, and that's when Clarke knew her suspicions the last couple months were spot on.

Twisting his hands in his pockets, he finally got out, "Clarke… look. I… whatever you think this conversation is, it's not going to happen. Everything's alright here, so I'm gonna walk back to my car in a minute and go home. I don't…do this with Octavia's friends. You should know that by now."

She found his reticence charming, and it was all going to be fine, because Clarke didn't want a boyfriend right now anyway. She definitely didn't want a boyfriend who was older than her and at a different point in his life and who she'd probably have to break up with anyway once she left for college in August. But this was the last day of her high school experience, and she wasn't about to let Bellamy escape completely unaffected.

"Listen, Bell," she said, and he blinked when she used the pet name. "I don't want to weird you out or trap you or drag you back to my bedroom for a roll in the sheets." At that his eyebrows shot up, and Clarke winked because now he was definitely thinking about the two them upstairs rolling under her sheets. She stepped closer, so that her breasts almost brushed his chest.

"So what do you want?" he asked, voice suddenly low. Despite his big talk a moment before, he didn't back away.

"I want to touch your cheek," she said, and reached up her hand to caress him. "And I want you to lean down…" She moved her hand, and like compulsion he moved with her, until their foreheads almost touched.

Clarke breathed against his lips, and she ended with, "And just once, for the sake of knowing, I want to kiss you."

As if entranced by her words, Bellamy closed the last centimeter and met her mouth in almost desperate movement. His hand snaked into Clarke's hair as one of hers climbed his neck and the other dug into the small of his back. For a few seconds the kiss started out romantic, but Clarke wasn't here for romance and it became so hot, so fast, that she almost swooned. She wrapped both arms around him and jumped; Bellamy instinctively caught her, then staggered over to the porch railing and set her atop it. With her feet digging into his thighs, Clarke kissed him like this was the end of the world.

It was almost criminally unfair how well they fit together. Clarke had guessed they would, but feeling something and knowing it through physical experience are two different things. Now she had her tongue in his mouth, his belt pressed against the front of her dress in exactly the right place to get her worked up, and everything was perfect until he stopped.

Bellamy backed away from her mouth, panted, and dropped his forehead into her shoulder. "Holy shit," he whispered.

"Yeah," Clarke agreed. She scraped her fingers over his scalp, and he let out a small noise of pleasure against the skin of her shoulder. The dress was strapless; Clarke was nothing if not a planner.

"Obviously I'm not as mature and cool about this as I thought," he murmured. "I mean, fuck, Clarke. You're intense and beautiful and way too young and you call me all the way over here to tell me that you don't want to hook up with me… then you kiss me and jump me like a cat. That's a lot."

"Hey…" She caressed the back of his neck with her fingers, until he finally lifted his head, and met her eyes. Clarke pushed him backward with a gentle gesture, and hopped off the railing. Then she leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Don't worry about it," she said as she stepped back. "I'm letting you go now. I'll be going to school in the fall, and I'm gonna be busy. But if you end up in the city at some point, then…" Clarke smiled, and he couldn't keep himself from smiling a little in response to it. "Well, maybe then things will be different."

Bellamy let out a giant sigh, and nodded. "I'll take that deal," he said. Stepping away, he threw his shoulders back and stretched his arms till they made a cracking noise. Then he fished his keys out of his pocket and, because he figured he could, let his gaze roam over her from head to toe. When he met her eyes again, his lip pulled to one side. She let hers do the same. They stood there for a while, smirking at each other, until he finally waved a vague goodbye and walked down the porch steps.

"Bellamy!" Clarke called, and he paused to look over his shoulder. "I'm glad you came over."

He grinned, and it lit up his whole face like the sun. "Same here." Then he ducked his head, turned, and disappeared down the block.