"Oh god,"
Clarke reaches for a bar on Bellamy's headboard as he thrusts into her. Her head falling back as she tries to lose herself in the rhythm. He feels so right pressed up against her bare skin, his hands on either side of her as his mouth trails across her neck. She can feel herself coming close, but she needs more, she needs to feel connected, in control.
Clarke runs her hands through his hair, grabs it, drawing his attention to her face as his thrusts became more frantic. She looks between his eyes and his mouth and she can't help but smile as his brows furrow in question.
Without warning she wraps an arm around his back and flips them over, Bellamy still buried inside her, hitting her in a new place that has her vision blur and his name pouring out of her mouth.
The walls of his bedroom are thin, and Clarke spares a second to thank whatever had Octavia out of the apartment so early in the afternoon before her attention is pulled back by Bellamy's mouth kissing his way across her breasts. She brings his face to meet hers - kissing him until her chest feels like it'll explode before pushing him away, so he lay staring up at her while her nails dig into his tan chest.
Clarke watches the lust in Bellamy's eyes as she lifts herself up and falls back onto him, watches his eyes trace her face and then her chest as her head lulls back and she comes undone on top of him. It's only moments later as she's riding out her orgasm that Bellamy topples over the edge with her name on his lips.
She traces the red marks on his chest with her index finger as she rests beside him in the tangled sheets.
"Sorry," She whispers, looking up at him to find he had been staring at her already. Her heart fluttering like a fool as a smile breaks out across his face.
Bellamy props himself up on his elbow beside her, "Sorry about what exactly? Now I've got something to show off to the lads."
Clarke bites her lip, and gives Bellamy a shove so he falls back into the pillows, "You wouldn't dare!"
She leaps up to straddle him, like they had been minutes before, except this time, there was a fondness in his face, warmth in his smile that Clarke noticed. Something that couldn't be mistaken for lust, and that scared her a little. But it also drew a smile out of her as well, and she leans down to brush the curls from his forehead.
She needs to tell him about the dinner, about Cage. But this moment feels so far away from all that, so safe and personal. So instead she sits there, running her finger down the bridge of his nose. She lines the curve of his lips while his hands trail down her bare back, and she takes in how it feels to have her naked body lean against his in a scene so incredibly domestic. The intimacy of it leaves her feeling as though her heart is breaking inside her chest. Clarke marvels at how naive that sounds, and as a woman of science she nearly scoffs at the idea of a heart breaking. But there is no scientific way to explain the pressure building in her chest, and the sorrow she feels at imagining her life without moments like these.
"Bellamy I," Clarke's voice came out barely above a whisper, and suddenly the loud knocking on the front door drowned it out. Bellamy leans over, grabbing his trousers from the floor, and makes a quick exist to answer it.
Clarke can only make out segments of the whispered conversation but she knows instantly that it's about money. By the time she hears the door slam shut she knows it was Bellamy's landlord asking where the rent money was, threatening to throw him out on the streets, and swearing that he should never have trusted his kind.
While Clarke's family had made it through the Depression without much scathing, people like Bellamy and Octavia fought with tooth and nail just to stay alive. She knew they had problems with money, but he never wanted to talk about it, he had always insisted that he was fine, but she knows it ate away at him. He had had such a bright future. Bellamy is so incredibly smart, and not the kind of smart like the men in her classes. He has a real drive to learn, reading any spare second he can, with such an innate passion for understanding that makes him light up about the most boring of subjects.
When Bellamy comes back into the room the smile that had previously lit up his face is replaced by the furrow in his brow, which often takes permanence on his thoughtful face. He leans down to grab his shirt, and Clarke notices as he slips a piece of paper into his back pocket. She wants to ask him what it was for, but she thought it best not to, maybe she wasn't supposed to have heard all those other things as well. The walls are thin, but she knew better than to bring it up.
As he buttons up his shirt Clarke admires his smooth, muscled chest, and leans back in his bed to watch him run his hands through his hair and grab a belt from his dresser. "Clarke?"
She pulls herself out of her haze, "Sorry?"
"You had started to say something," Bellamy's mouth pulls into a quick smirk, "before?"
"Oh yes," She sits up, and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and reaches for her slip. She thinks about bringing the dinner up again, but she decides against it. He was going through enough at the moment. She could handle it without worrying him. "I was just going to say that I have to be going."
"Don't feel like slumming it all afternoon?" Bellamy finds her red DuBarry dress and hands it to Clarke as she tries her best to pretend that it didn't cost more than the three months rent Bellamy owed.
She slips into it; letting him help her with the buttons she could have easily gotten herself. But she doesn't mind as his hands linger on the back of her neck where she swept away the curls. She sighs, "Well not all afternoon dear, I do have some errands I have to run."
"Oh is that right," As she turns to face him, the smile is back and it makes her heart leap again. The rate at which this happens around him had her wondering at what risk she was for heart failure when even the mere sight of him could conjure such a reaction. She smirks at the playful challenge, and takes a step into the common room of the apartment, Bellamy watching after her as he leans in the doorway between his room and the one she's standing in.
"I would love to stay," Clarke mock sighs, "I mean it is no personal criticism, but I just happen to find the bank teller more interesting."
Bellamy laughs into the crook of his elbow, "And what exactly do you like about him so much?"
Clarke makes a move toward him, "Well you see, you have some lovely qualities too. You're rather handsome I would say,"
"How generous."
Clarke hushes him, and she watches as he tries not to laugh again as she circles him, running a hand across his chest, " You're tall, and muscular, and smart. Some would say you're even pleasant to talk to."
When she gets back to his face she is biting her lip to keep from laughing, "You're quiet good in bed, it's just that the bank teller has – "
"Money?" Bellamy lets out, and Clarke smacks him with her purse.
"I was going to say a rather intriguing glass eye!" And with that they both give up their pretenses and brake out in laughter. She hardly notices Octavia make her way into the apartment.
"What in hell?" She questions as she closes the door behind her.
Bellamy is still shaking with laughter but takes a moment to fix his sister with a glare, "O, watch your language."
"Why? I live here too, at least for now," Octavia was usually a bright, pleasant young woman but she glares at Clarke with a venomous look before shoving past her brother towards her room, and whispers after them, "And I'm not up to pretending we have a virtuous Lady in this house."
Clarke shifts uncomfortably on her feet, before unconsciously grabbing at the open collar of her dress. She was a modern woman, and she prides herself on being such, but that doesn't stop the shame from rising in her cheeks.
"Clarke," Bellamy takes a step toward her, "She didn't mean that, Pike must have caught her on the way up and harassed her for the rent. I'll deal with it."
He gives her a quick peck on the cheek before turning and making his way into Octavia's room. She stands for a moment in the empty room, looking around at the life Bellamy and Octavia lived, hating herself for knowing that she doesn't belong. Hating the way she feels at having someone, even just Octavia, know how dirty she feels for it.
She doesn't resent Bellamy, not even for a moment would she regret what they had. She cares for him more than she could ever put into words. Sometimes even thought about it. Love. Letting it slip through her lips at tender moments, or when passion has her firmly grasped, crying out in pleasure. Clarke wants to tell him, she just knows he would push her away for it. This was never meant to be something more than it was. What it was wasn't quite the same anymore but she doesn't dare bring that up out of fear he would suddenly disappear forever.
Instead she rights her hair in the mirror and steps out of the apartment.
"Afternoon," There was a southern drawl to his voice, the man who stood in the doorway of the apartment next door, in nothing but his boxers and an undershirt. Murphy, Clarke remembers Bellamy mentioning his name before. Either way she feels the heat set in her cheeks again, as he looks her up and down, taking a drag of his cigarette.
She begins walking away slowly at first, but hears him call after her - "You sounded much more agreeable through the walls," - And she bolts.
Clarke doesn't actually have any errands to run, so she takes to walking around Bellamy's neighborhood for a while before jumping in a cab and making her way home. She had forgotten all about the dinner and the Wallace's, and her impending engagement by the time she walks through the door, shivering and swearing herself out for forgetting her gloves on Bellamy's countertop.
"Clarke!" Her mother was in full dress; her pearls and all, snapping Clarke back to reality. "How could you be so late on a night like this? The Wallace's will be here in less than an hour!"
"Mother –" Clarke starts, but Abby puts her hand up in protest.
"Yolanda!" Abby yells up the stairs, "Start the bath, Clarke has decided to grace us with her presence."
And with a stern look and a shake of the head her mother makes her way to the kitchen, probably to check on dinner.
Clarke sighs but doesn't protest, a warm bath sounds like the perfect remedy to her freezing hands and feet. Not to mention that feeling tracing her skin since she'd left Bellamy's, like she needed to wipe herself clean of Octavia's words, and Murphy's stare. Or perhaps it was her own shame that had her feeling this way.
She ran the hot water over her naked skin; rubbing the cloth where hours earlier Bellamy had touched her, showered her in kisses. The memory made her shudder with pleasure, and she tries her best not to feel guilty for it. She should have told him about tonight, told him that she would have to smile and talk to, and most likely flirt, with another man when all she wanted was to be with him. She wonders if he would care. She would most certainly care if she knew he as getting on with another girl, and it suddenly dawns on her that maybe he is.
Maybe Octavia was right to think of her as just another trollop Bellamy brings home, maybe she was fooling herself into thinking she was special. They had certainly never talked about such matters. In fact the whole affair had happened rather innocently at first, and simply escalated into such circumstances - of which Clarke isn't too sure. It had been nearly a year now, but that seemed almost too soon for her to be certain of her feelings, especially if she was not sure of his, right?
By the time Clarke has dressed, and set her hair, she is almost amidst a panic attack. And for some one about to be forced into a marriage with Cage Wallace, logically her priorities were not in the right place.
Love makes you do stupid things, that's what her father always said.
Love.
Clarke was standing in the floor length mirror, staring at herself in the midnight blue evening dress her mother had laid out for her, and adjusting her diamond earring when she finally admits it, even just to herself. She loves Bellamy, and that was far scarier than anything that her mother could put her up to tonight.
She watches her chest rise and fall in the mirror, much quicker than one should normally be breathing she noted, Clarke sighs to herself, "Dammit."
She is being foolish, she was putting her heart on the line, and for someone she wasn't even sure felt the same way.
Clarke hadn't even noticed Yolanda had slipped into her room, "Miss?"
Clarke looks up, "Ah, the Wallace's have arrived have they."
It isn't a question, she can hear them talking downstairs as the music drifts up and it churns Clarke's stomach, but Yolanda nods nonetheless.
"You look radiant Miss, the young Mr. Wallace would be lucky to have you even glance in his direction." Clarke smiles, and gives the older woman a kiss on the cheek before slipping out of her room. It takes her a moment, and a big breath of air before she finally descended the stairs.
Because it isn't just a glance in his direction that Cage is expecting from her; nor were his parents or hers for that matter. Her father's research, her mother's lifestyle and her future rested on this night.
As they sat in the parlor, pleasantries having gone as awkwardly as expected, Clarke sits as straight as she can, pretending to intently listen to stories of Dante Wallace's skiing escapades, while Virginia Wallace eyes her from across the coffee table. The older woman looks to be the grumpiest person Clarke has ever laid eyes on, and even when she smiles, or laughs it seems riddled with dejection. Either she is simply a rather sad person, or Mrs. Wallace is just upset externally as Clarke is on the inside.
Clarke takes another sip of her chardonnay, and dares a glance at the woman, who seems to still be eyeing her. She is in fact, and without looking away Clarke bravely fixes her with a smile, which has her shaking her head and turning her attention back to her husband.
Clarke has that tenacious gift of making grown woman shake their heads in disapproval and it makes her grin before she turns to stand and retrieve more wine, realizing Virginia Wallace wasn't the only one staring.
Cage had been standing behind her, and he doesn't seem to shy away as Clarke walks past him to the bar in the corner of the room, out of earshot of their parents.
"That dress is quite something Miss Griffin." Cage gawks and coupled with his false niceties Clarke tires her best not to roll her eyes.
"Well," Clarke refuses to turn toward him, his chest already so close to her shoulder that she fears doing so would bring her closer to his face than she would ever want to be, "I'll be sure to let my mother know you appreciate it. Because it was most certainly not my idea."
"Why must you be so formal Clarke?" Cage laughs and the sound makes her chest tighten. "After all, we do know each other quite well. Three years of laboratories and lecture halls together can make certain people more fond of one another don't you agree?"
No, she wants to yell it in his face. Scream out all the hatred she had pent up inside about the names she's heard those men call her. All the unwarranted looks, and touches she's received which make her look back at these past three years with disdain. Where Cage sees an institution built for him to succeed and flourish, Clarke sees a system that tries everything it can to crush her spirit. And he is part of it all.
She puts down the bottle of wine she had been pouring and glances at him, "Can we speak frankly?"
Cage seems only for a moment caught off guard, like there was a shift in the rules of the game, but he is still certain he could win, "Of course darling."
She tries not to physically cringe, "Why are you doing this?"
"Playing along, just as you are." Cage shrugs, "My father gets his share of the Griffin fortune, both of our families gain in stature, and personally I profit from that firm ass, and top notch brain."
He is smiling now, and Clarke would most certainly have reached out and struck him if she wasn't so shocked by his candor.
He reaches across the space between them and taps on her chin, "Don't looked so shocked dear, you're quite the catch, and your impressive research proposals on bacteria suggest you could help me publish award winning medical journals. That is if you do the smart thing and play the game."
"But your father?" Clarke lets out in a single breath.
"Thinks I've fallen head over heels," Cage smirks before plopping an olive in his mouth.
"Cage," Clarke starts before Yolanda announces dinner has been served and he quickly walks off toward the dinning room.
Clarke makes her way, her feet pushing her forward in a mechanical familiarity as her mind spins. Abby grabs her by the elbow and drags her into the front foyer before she has the chance to topple over. Everyone else already having gone through to the dining room Abby asks, "What did he say darling?"
"He," Clarke feels sick, her mother's nails digging into her arm expectedly, "He just wants money, and prestige and oh god mother I can't."
Abby's grip tightens, "I don't care if he wants you to put a basket of fruit on your head and sing God Save the Queen, Clarke." Her mother looks through her with an intensity that make Clarke's eyes water as she bites into her bottom lip. "For God's sake we need the Wallace's so it is best that you make a good impression or it's ruin for us all."