A/N: Because a tipsy, stupidly, adorably drunk Clarke is something dreams are made of. And also: Raven ships it to the moon and back.
Hope you enjoy!
Raven props one hand on his shoulder to lower herself beside him, the other holding a cup of moonshine she's dangling between unsteady fingers. "Your princess is drunk," she announces all too proud, her lips half caught between a grin and a smirk as her alcohol-filled breath tickles Bellamy's cheek.
"So are you, Reyes," he rolls his eyes, stealing the cup from her and taking a gulp, coughing a little at the taste. "Definitely not Monty's finest," he grimaces.
"Monty's been too busy flirting with Miller lately to focus on anything else," Raven replies, bumping her shoulder to his in a shrug. "It's actually kind of really adorable."
"Adorable?" Bellamy echoes, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Raven Reyes just used the word adorable. You're even more drunk than I thought."
She sticks her tongue out at him, childish and carefree in a way none of them has been in a long time - which is probably why they're throwing a party for no real reason except for being alive. "Shut up. Everybody thinks they're adorable, including you. Don't even try and deny it, Clarke told me."
"You also said Clarke was drunk, so no one's gonna believe you."
And she is, Bellamy realizes as his eyes find her in the middle of the crowd. Clarke's twirling, hands thrown in the air and golden curls flying around, and her cheeks are pink and her eyes gleaming from exhilaration as she's half dancing, half flailing her limbs around, one of her hands accidentally punching Wick in the nose. He watches, amused, as she turns and apologizes profusely, her apology turning into a fit of girly, joyous giggles as Wick just grins and grabs her hand to twirl her some more.
...which just sends her propelling into Harper, almost knocking her out.
"This is just horrendous," Bellamy mutters under his breath, lifting the cup to his lips again for a second sip that tastes no better than the first.
Raven's laugh comes muffled against his shoulder. "Horrendous," he feels her mouth against his skin, her forehead heavy against him as if she were about to fall asleep right then and there. "You're no better, Blake."
"Which is why you don't see me dancing," Bellamy says with a chuckle.
"That's not the reason," Raven replies with a certainty he didn't expect in her inebriated state. He tilts his head to look at her, and Raven's looking up at him from underneath her lashes, her chin propped on his shoulder. "You're not drinking, you're not dancing, and you've been sitting here almost all night." She pauses, her eyes narrowing at him. "You just don't know how to relax, do you?"
Bellamy resists the urge to jostle her. Instead, he gives her one of his charming, winning smiles, but Raven just keeps frowning at him. He sighs. "Maybe this is my idea of fun, sitting there and talking with drunk girls. O came earlier and told me my hair was getting ridiculous. Good times."
"It does a little bit," Raven hums in agreement. "But Clarke loves it."
Bellamy chuckles again, turning his gaze back to the crowd of drunk and dancing kids. "She told you that, too?" he asks, not really caring about the answer. Or believing it. Drunk or sober, Raven just loves teasing him anyway.
He feels Raven shake her head. "No. But I know it. She's kind of an open book, really." She shifts against him, sitting a little straighter, her fingers curled around his knee for balance. "She did this for you, you know?" Raven tells him like it's both a secret and still so very obvious at the same time. "Like, okay, the party's for the entire camp, to cheer them up, but she did it for you. To cheer you up."
Bellamy frowns a little. "I don't need cheering up," he says, confused. "I'm fine."
Raven rolls her eyes. "You're fine, right," she snorts. "This is a party and you're sitting there like a hawk, watching, looking out like we're still at war. Like you expect someone to just come out of the woods and slaughter us all anytime. You're fine, sure."
"Your point?"
She lets out a heavy, aggravated sigh like he's the dumbest person she's ever talked to. "Parties are meant to be fun, so go have fun. Monty and Miller have disappeared, probably to make out at fucking last, and everybody's safe and happy, so, I don't know, give it a try maybe?" Raven says, full of sass and that tender affection she hides behind it.
"Okay, then," Bellamy agrees as he sets his cup on the ground and stands, offering her his hand. "Come on, dance with me, Reyes."
"You're totally missing the point on purpose here," she groans, slapping his hand. "Go dance with Clarke."
"She's dancing with Wick," Bellamy counters.
Raven just glares at him. "They're both dancing in the same space, generally flailing in each other's direction. That's not called dancing with each other. And I promise you, she'll ditch him the moment she sees you walking to her."
"Wick might be heartbroken." Raven just stares him down, arms crossed over her chest, an eyebrow cocked at him, her entire stance screaming that she's not here for this bullshit. "Okay, okay, I'm going," Bellamy finally agrees. "Jesus, no need to look at me like that."
Raven just gives him a smug smile. "Good boy."
Raven was right, which Bellamy will never admit to her face, or to anyone, really. He's barely made his way through the crowd, getting a slap on the back from Murphy because wow, the king has finally graced us with his presence, when Clarke turns and spots him, beaming smile and arms open and reaching out for him.
"Bellamy!" she half tries to whisper, half shouts as she runs and bumps into his chest, her arms wrapping loosely around his waist in unabashed affection.
(It is a general rule that Clarke is an affectionate person, Bellamy's seen it up close. In the morning, when he tries to gently wake her up, she always ends up snuggling against him, sleepily begging for five more minutes. When he comes back from hunting or a trade with a Grounder tribe bearing gifts, she does this sort of half-hug, pressing herself to his side, and a secret smile just for him on her lips. But drunk Clarke? That's a new one.
And she's kind of adorable, yeah.)
She lifts her fingers to his mouth, tracing the edge of his smile. "You're smiling," she says, adorably confused. "I thought you hated parties."
Her hand falls to his collarbone, and he takes it in his. "Not yours," he replies simply. "It's a nice party. Monty and Miller have stopped being idiots apparently, so yeah, this is on you, Princess."
She's beaming, happy and a little smug like it is her doing, and Bellamy can't help mirroring her. "What about you?" she asks, "Having fun?"
Clarke's still smiling, but her gaze seems a little less dazed than it was minutes ago when she was giggling at Wick's antics, and her voice is just this side of concerned and serious like his enjoying himself is important enough to her to sober her up. So Bellamy nods his head, squeezing her hand. "Yeah," he grins. "How could I not? You were giving quite the show out there."
Clarke aims to punch at his chest but she ends up patting him, light and a little awkward with her other hand still clasped in his. "I'll have you know I'm a great dancer," she says, as serious as she can. Bellamy's unimpressed. "I am!" she pouts.
"Sure you are," Bellamy chuckles teasingly, which only makes Clarke pout more - which only makes her look cuter, of course. "Wanna dance, then?" he offers, casual and a little bit smitten with the way her face illuminates.
They end up dancing in the same space, generally flailing in each other's direction like Raven said; if Clarke's a terrible dancer, Bellamy's more of the guy nodding along to the music, pretending to feel the rhythm when he really doesn't. Clarke never lets go of his hand, tugging at it to make him move or using it to make herself twirl, and Bellamy just watches her with a smile, pulling her to him when she gets too close to bumping into someone else.
The dancing's horrendous, but at the same time it's really not. It feels nice. Pretty great, even, especially when after twenty minutes or an hour, Bellamy doesn't even know, Clarke ends up leaning against him, half asleep and yet still refusing to go to bed. "Just - don't let me fall, okay?" she murmurs against his chest.
"Never," Bellamy replies quietly, honest and earnest, as he keeps swaying her to a gentle rhythm that doesn't match up to the one Monroe's setting at the drums for the rest of the kids who seem to be ready to keep going all night. "This is fun."
"Yeah?" she asks, lifting her head up to look at him beneath fluttering lashes.
"Yeah," he promises. "The kids needed this." He pauses, lifting a hand to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Clarke's skin is soft and warm from the alcohol and the dancing, and she makes this sort of noise - something caught between a whimper and a moan as he tangles his fingers in her hair. "And I needed this. It's nice, not worrying for a night."
"You worry too much," Clarke agrees.
"There's no such thing as worrying too much down here," Bellamy argues, "but maybe I could learn to relax a little."
She laughs against his neck, warm and soft and happy. "More than a little. You're even worse than me."
He laughs, too. "Oh God, I'm doomed then," he teases, and she laughs again, and his skin feels warm wherever Clarke touches it and he can't even blame it on the two ridiculous sips of moonshine he had. "No, but let me be real for a second," he says after a moment, pushing lightly at her shoulder so she's facing him and not melting in his chest. "We all needed to catch a break and I'm terrible at relaxing, yeah? So thank you for doing this."
Clarke gives him a smile, a little dazed still but definitely not as much as it was before, huge and genuine, before she burrows against his chest again. "Just promise me one thing, okay?" she asks softly.
His reply comes easily. "Anything."
Hers is a whine. "Don't let me drink this much again."
(During the next trade, he gets his hands on Grounder wine, something sweet made with strawberries that doesn't make her head pound the next morning, but still twice as affectionate.
Raven high-fives him.)
to be continued