Alrrrrrrighty squad! Guess who's returned from space (after one year, not six) to collect the love from all of you awesome people. I can't believe it's been twelve whole months since this story has been updated. Unforgivable, I know, but I'm here to keep writing if you guys are willing to give me a second chance.
I promised you I would finish this fic and that's what I'm going to do. Us Canadians keep our promises.
So here it is. The next chapter of Friends (With Benefits). Hope it was worth the wait, and that I haven't lost any readers due to my neglect. Enjoy.
i.
She awakens with a groan, clutching her arms into the softness of her pillow.
She was hungover, and her head hurt like a fucking bitch.
Clarke shifts on the mattress. Her blanket is tangled between her limbs, and she pulls it higher, a lazy attempt to shield against the light shining through her window. It doesn't help, and she reaches for the body next to her.
"Can you close the damn blinds?" she mutters. "I'll throw up. I swear to God I'll throw up on you if - "
Her hand grazes the solid sheets of the mattress, and she opens her eyes, fingers grasping the bare comforter.
Oh.
He's not there.
Bellamy I'll-make-you-feel-better-with-chocolate-and-Netflix Blake isn't beside her
Clarke exhales - not because she's disappointed (or at least that's what she tries to convince herself) but because it surprises her. He was there, secure and warm beside her, and she pushes away the chocolate bar wrappers as she rolls off her mattress.
Her head still hurt like a bitch, and she needed Advil.
(Admittedly, it takes her an extra couple of minutes to actually leave her bedroom. Throwing up after a night of drinking is a completely reasonable and healthy result).
The hallway smells of cheap butter and coffee when she enters, and she quickens her pace down the staircase. She hopes it's Wick making breakfast, or maybe Octavia, or, since she's desperate, just anyone who isn't as hungover as her and is capable of baking edible food.
Clarke stumbles into the kitchen. Her eyes widen at the sight of Bellamy at the stove.
He turns to her. "Good morning," he says, and the grin on his face is almost as marvelous as the batter he's flipping. "You hungry?"
She stares at him. "You're making me pancakes."
"Well, yeah." He places one onto the growing plate beside him. There's maybe four, five - it instantly makes her stomach growl. "I wasn't going to let you do it. You can't cook for shit."
She shakes her head, speechless, and he steps towards her.
"You're in shock, I know. I was expecting this." He takes her hand and guides her to the island. A placemat and cup of coffee are settled in front of one of the stools. "But I got you covered. You don't have to move. Everything you need is right here."
"Bell."
He offers her the coffee mug. "Milk and sugar, right?"
Clarke blinks. "Yeah. Right." She sighs and lowers herself on the stool. "Thank you."
"No worries."
"Seriously, Bell," she says, "this is amazing."
"Good. I figured you deserved a day without anyone being an asshole." His grin turns serious then, calculating, and he glances at her. "How are you feeling, by the way?"
"Better. I'm grateful that I've already had my morning throw up."
"That's good timing."
She nods. "And John Stamos definitely helped last night."
"Mhm."
"And these pancakes," she whispers. She clutches his face between her hands. "And you."
He smirks - that stupid, irresistible smirk, and she leans forward, tugging him against her.
"Ahem."
Octavia enters the kitchen, hands clamped over her eyes.
"Is it safe to look?"
Bellamy exhales, pulling away from her. "Not if you walked in five minutes later."
She sticks her tongue out. "Gross. I hate you." She peels her fingers from her forehead, glare softening when she notices the pile of pancakes on the counter. "I love you."
She stumbles forward, ripping a piece of Clarke's pancake. Bellamy offers her a sympathetic glance.
"God, this is just what I need." She wipes at her mouth, looking at Clarke. "Where did you guys end up last night? I didn't see you for like half of the entire party."
The memory of Dax is profound. "We left early."
"Very early. You wouldn't want to hear about it," Bellamy tells her. He swallows thickly. "How's Harper?"
"That depends. What answer would satisfy you?"
Clarke narrows her eyes. "Knowing she's not dead. Or in a ditch."
"Oh. Then, yeah." Octavia leans over the counter, reaching for Clarke's cup of coffee. "Then she's great. I mean she's throwing up and shit, but she's alive."
Bellamy shakes his head. "That's reassuring."
"What are you now? A party cop? She has a hangover, she'll be fine." She pauses, temporary, and glances around the kitchen. "Where the hell is Raven?"
There's a hiccup, and a hand rises from behind the couch in the living room. Raven sits up, hair plastered to the side of her face.
"Here." She burps, loud and heavy. The pancakes suddenly become distasteful in Clarke's mouth. "What's up party people?"
"What's up? You left me alone talking to Echo and all you have to say is what's up?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to fucking curtsy?"
Octavia shakes her head. Clarke raises an eyebrow.
"You look like hell," she says.
"Really? Because I feel great. Strictly dickly, as they say."
"Who's they?"
Wick appears beside her, head peeking from behind the couch.
"I'm they," he announces, and Bellamy laughs into his mug.
Octavia groans. "Oh, great. Take a look everyone, we have John and Yoko having sex on our shared couch now." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Other people live here you know."
Raven rolls her eyes. "Blah, blah, blah. Do you usually talk this much?"
"You're such a - "
There's a sudden movement, and Wick stands from the couch, stumbling towards the kitchen and bracing himself against the counter.
He leans over it, throwing up into the sink.
"For fuck's sakes."
Octavia growls, muttering under her breath. Clarke pushes the plate of pancakes away with a heavy sigh.
"Guess this means you ain't coming to training, huh?" Bellamy asks.
Wick gives him the finger, throwing up again with a loud groan.
"I take that as a no."
Raven walks towards them, patting his back, and Bellamy turns to Clarke.
She looks up at him. "That definitely wasn't the breakfast experience I was expecting," she tells him. She glances at his gym bag hanging from the side door. "You leaving now?"
"Yeah. Coach wants us early since it's the last one of the semester."
Clarke nods, and the hesitance in her is sudden. Raven glances at him from across the kitchen.
"You still coming to the bar tonight though, right?" she asks. "It's the last squad outing before Clarke abandons us."
"Abandon you? It's three weeks, Reyes."
Octavia drops her head in her hands. "Don't remind me."
Bellamy rolls his eyes. "You'll survive, O." He turns to Clarke. "But yeah, I'll be there."
She grins. "Good."
He winks at her, ruffling Octavia's hair as he walks past her.
Wick throws up again before he even exits the kitchen.
ii.
"This is fucking disgusting."
Raven leans over the counter, scrubbing her gloves at the outer release of Wick's stomach that hangs over the sink. He vomited for another hour after Bellamy left, nearly succumbing to tears, and Lincoln had to carry him to the house like a God damn child.
It was embarrassing - for Raven at least. But Clarke found it hilarious.
"What the hell does this kid eat?" she mutters. She drops her cloth into the wash bucket. "He threw up every colour of the rainbow."
Raven groans. "Can we please not discuss details about what his vomit looks like?"
Clarke presses her lips together. The vomit is gross, for she only agreed to help clean it after she was promised pancakes every morning for a week, and she scrunches her nose as she lifts another cloth to the stained tile.
It feels solid, and her eyes widen when she notices the pigments of a Mcdonald's french fry.
"Aw, Reyes." She bumps her shoulder against hers. "You totally used the Mcdonald's coupons I got you."
Raven glances at her. "Well, yeah. Two can dine for $10.99? That's a damn good deal."
"I know, right? Me and Bell got them the other day. It's - "
There's a motion, and Raven lifts her hand, smacking Clarke hard across the back of the head.
She gasps. "Ow." Her fingers grip her hair as she turns to her. "What the fuck, Reyes."
Raven shrugs, unaffected by her anger, and raises her hand again.
Clarke steps away from her. "What the hell are you doing, psycho?"
"What you told me to," she says. Clarke stares at her, waiting for her to continue. "You said if you ever started to get too comfortable with Blake that I should hit you."
"When the hell did I say that?"
"Don't remember. We were plastered."
Clarke points a finger at her. "I told you to never trust drunk Clarke."
"I know, but to be honest I was kind of looking forward to an opportunity to use it." She sighs, glancing at her from the hood of curious eyes. "So Blake slept over last night, huh?"
Clarke presses her lips together. She doesn't mention Dax, or the aggressiveness that was replaced by Bellamy's comfort. Doesn't mention how much it scared her feeling safe with him.
There's a moment of silence, and Clarke clears her throat.
"Yeah," she says. "It's a long story."
"It doesn't have to be."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Raven exhales. "Listen, if you wanted him to stay then you wanted him to stay. There's nothing wrong with that." She shrugs and leans over the sink. "It's probably a good idea to figure out what you are before you leave tomorrow."
Clarke narrows her eyes. She knows what they are. "That's not necessary."
"It is. You really expect things to be the same when you come back?"
"Why wouldn't they be?"
Raven shakes her head. "I mean, you're gone for three weeks, right?" Clarke nods, impatient, and she continues. "Bellamy is a good-looking guy. You might want to talk to him about what that means."
Clarke stares at her. "I know what it means," she whispers.
(She had no fucking idea).
iii.
The bar is already crowded when they get there; inner walls pressed with the regular categories of drunk messes.
It's rather simple to identify, for Category A involves the drunk girls who hang off the counter waiting for free drinks, while Category B consists of the even more drunk boys trying to convince them they're sober enough to go home with them.
It's a terrible cycle, that of intoxicated decisions, and it bothers Clarke almost as much as the cycle of Raven's words tearing through her head.
The words that bother her because, well - they made sense, and she hated that.
He's a good-looking guy, she had told her, and that was supposed to change things.
Clarke exhales deeply, watching as he talks to Wick at the bar after she asked him to get her a vodka cranberry. The first category of drunk girls hover around them, and they're attractive, Clarke notices, but now she can't stop thinking about how attractive Bellamy is and why that's supposed to fucking matter all of a sudden.
"Hey, Amy Dunne." Octavia taps her foot against hers underneath their table. "You finished burning holes into those girl's heads?"
Clarke blinks. "What?"
"You know what I'm talking about. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she says.
"It's not nothing." She touches a stray curl on Clarke's forehead, locking it behind her ear. "This is your only night with us for winter break, tell me what's up so you don't spend it sulking."
"I'm not sulking."
"You are." She presses her lips together and glances at Bellamy from across the bar. "Is it about my brother?"
Yes. "No."
"You're a horrible liar."
There's a grunt, distant at first, and Raven steps out of the crowded bodies surrounding their table. She slides into the booth beside Clarke.
"Damn, people are thirsty tonight." She adjusts the straps of her tank top, smiling when she looks up at them. "What are we talking about?"
Octavia sighs. "Bellamy."
Raven huffs. She glances at Clarke, and she feels the familiar shiver of pain as she kicks her leg underneath the table.
"Raven."
"What? You're acting like a moron."
"How am I acting like a moron?"
"Because you obviously have questions," Raven tells her. "And all you have to do is go up and ask him about them. No one wants to see you sulk."
Octavia nods. "That's what I said."
"Whatever." Clarke closes her eyes. "I wouldn't be sulking if you didn't put all that shit into my head."
Octavia looks at Raven. "What shit?"
"The truth."
"Oh, so you mean the fact that Bellamy and Clarke haven't talked about what's going to happen when she leaves?"
"Ring, ring." Raven claps her hands together. "We have a winner."
Octavia laughs, raising her palm for Raven's high-five, and Clarke crosses her arms over her chest.
"You guys are acting like assholes. I'm fine. Totally and perfectly fine. I'm not - "
A girl steps towards Bellamy at the bar. Clarke narrows her eyes.
"Excuse me."
She shifts in the booth, crawling over Raven as she leans against the cushion. She enters the crowd of people gathering around them, angry, annoyed - because the idea of Bellamy talking to someone else irritates her in ways that she doesn't expect, or even like.
She pushes at the rallying bodies, though the girl is no longer there, having stumbled into another man at the bar.
Oh.
Clarke blinks. He brushed her off.
He brushed her off.
Bellamy reaches for the glass of alcohol on the counter, muttering something to Wick as they turn from the bar. She watches him, calculative, his eyebrow raising when he notices her.
"Hey," he says. Wick moves past them as he stops in front of her. "What are you doing?"
Clarke swallows thickly. "I was . . . " She panics, eyes searching the space behind him. "Going to get a drink."
"A drink?"
"Aye, Captain."
He gestures towards the glass in his hand. "You mean the vodka cranberry you asked me to get?"
Clarke stares at him. It's silent for a moment, at least between them, and she laughs, releasing the tension in her shoulders.
"Sorry, yeah. I was totally scared that you were going to drink it or something, you know, so I just came to make sure . . . that you didn't."
"Nah," he says, "vodka's not really my taste."
She grins. "So it seems."
Bellamy nods. His eyes are calculative as he stares at her.
"You good, Griffin?"
She clears her throat. "Yeah. I'm good." She takes the glass from his hand. "We're all good."
His gaze narrows, and she see's him analyzing her, notices the measurement in his depths as he watches her. It's uneasy, having him know her so well, and she takes a sip of the drink before he knows too much.
"Come on," she whispers, pulling him against her, "it's the last night before I abandon all of you, remember? Let's have fun."
Bellamy hums. "Aye, Captain," he mirrors, and she laughs; guiding him back to the table while the cycle of Raven's words continues to pulse irrationally inside her head.
iv.
She finishes three more vodka cranberries before midnight, and God damn it - Bellamy Blake was right.
Vodka makes her fucking horny.
She pulls him into his room hours later, stumbling with intertwined limbs as he pushes her against his door. His breath smells of beer and rum, further intoxicating her with his kiss, and she mewls into him, warm and fuzzy, allowing him to guide her towards the bed.
He lowers her onto the sheets and peels off his shirt. Her hands wander to the waistband of her jeans.
"God damn it," she hisses. Her fingers fumble with the buttons. "My fucking - Bellamy. Help me."
He laughs. "You're kidding."
"Not kidding. I need your assistance." She props herself onto her elbows. "And make it fast. I'm fucking - "
"Horny? Yeah, I've noticed."
He unclasps the pin hovering the waistband of her jeans, and she exhales, leaning into the mattress as he hovers above her.
"It's because of the vodka," she tells him as he trails his lips down her throat, "not because of you. In case you were wondering."
"I wasn't."
He pushes the jeans down her thighs, exposing her panties, and he groans when he feels the dampness gathering the material.
"Fuck, Clarke." Even the God damn heaviness of his voice makes her squirm. "Are you sure you can handle the next three weeks?"
She wraps her legs around his waist. "Depends on how satisfied you leave me tonight."
He curses, and her body feels heavy with warmth, arms encircling his shoulders to pull him closer. He kisses her in the way that leaves her gasping, the way that consumes her, and it angers her how the feeling is ruined by his stupid words and her even more stupid thoughts.
She rolls her head to the side. "Wait," she whispers. His mouth hovers above hers. "Hold on."
"What's wrong?"
She breathes. "I have a question."
"And it needs to be answered right now?"
She looks at him, calculating. Her groan is a result of frustration. "Yes. Yes, it does. Just - " She sighs heavily and places her palms on his chest. "I'm leaving for three weeks."
"I'm aware."
"Okay. I think . . . I don't know. Maybe we could call this thing off for now."
Bellamy stares at her, gaze hardening with confusion, and it terrifies her - the not knowing. Not knowing what he thinks or feels, what he wants. It's almost as terrifying as her not knowing either.
He nods, expression blank, and begins to pull away.
Clarke tightens her legs around his hips. "Stop. Listen for a second. It's just that - you'll be here, and there'll be parties and girls and . . . " She sighs heavily, one that releases her tension. "We should be able to do whatever we want. No strings attached. Right?"
He nods. "Is that what you want?"
"Maybe. I don't know." She presses her lips together. "Things could change while I'm gone."
"It's three weeks. Not three years."
"Khloe Kardashian and Lamar Odom got married after a month."
"Great story," he says, "but I don't think it applies to this situation."
"Whatever. Point is, I don't want you to feel like . . . I don't know like we're dating." The word tastes funny on her lips, not strange, just - different. "If something happens over break, that's fine."
His expression softens, though it remains blank, and it scares her. He touches a curl on her forehead.
"We'll see what happens," he says.
Clarke blinks. "Yeah. Okay." She swallows thickly. "We'll see what happens."
He nods, eyes bare of any emotion, and traces a hand down the span of her stomach. She whimpers when his fingers reach her panties, and she lifts her head, wants to feel his lips against her own, but he leans back, avoiding it.
"What are you doing?" she whispers.
"Just giving you something to think about, for when you're gone . . . " His palm moves tortuous against her, in a pace that agonizes her with painful pleasure. She braces her hands on his shoulders. "And you won't be able to find anyone else who can make you feel like this."
He enters a finger inside of her and she moans, shifting beneath him.
"Bellamy."
She reaches forward again, desperate to feel more of him, and he gently pushes her back down into the sheets.
"Or go crazy like this, or touch you like this." He leans forward and whispers the remaining words into her ear. "You won't be able to find anyone else who can."
He peels the panties down her legs, giving him more territory, making her yearn him. Her hips jerk with each flick of his wrist, rocking into him; though he keeps her still against the mattress, only allowing limited movements in her craving.
It takes moments; but she comes undone, hard and with hunger, hands clenching to fists in the sheets.
Bellamy removes his hand, kissing her jaw as she recovers. She pulls away from him once he reaches her lips.
"I think you're forgetting how competitive I am," she whispers, and he smirks, letting her push him onto his back and straddle his hips, the uncertainty of them easing from her mind.
v.
He brings her to the airport in the morning, and she leaves thinking it doesn't matter what happens.
She was going home, and that made her more nervous than the mere possibility of Bellamy not being hers anymore when she returns.
Because home was different to her now, it felt and looked different. Her father was dead, her mother working on finding a new one to replace him, and she was terrified to see them, the apprehension within her only increasing when she lands in Boston hours later.
Her mother stands at the bottom of the escalator, holding a sign that says Griffin, and Clarke drops her head in embarrassment.
"Mom," she laughs, wrapping her arms around her, "I thought we agreed on no more signs."
Abby smiles. "I know. But I missed you, and there's still leftover glitter in your bedroom."
The moment she walks into her house, she knows that things have changed. The walls seem brighter, chairs containing more cushions than the last, and there aren't as many pictures of their life before her mother's new boyfriend.
But, admittedly, Clarke doesn't really mind; Marcus is nice, and more importantly, he's nice to her mother, and even more importantly - he can fucking cook.
That night, he makes them steak and mashed potatoes. The wine that her mother sets on the table is from Italy.
"So," she sits in the chair in front of her, "how is he?"
Clarke raises an eyebrow. "Who, Finn?" She shakes her head. "I told you we broke up."
"Not Finn, silly. The new guy you're seeing."
"What new guy? There's no new guy."
Her mother smiles. "Oh, honey. A mother always knows." Clarke sighs, pouring another glass of wine, and Abby gasps at her confirmation. "Is it someone I've met?"
"It's no one, mom."
"Right. So it's Bellamy."
Clarke's eyes widen. "Mom."
"What?" Her mother takes a bite of the apple pie Marcus baked for them. "Who else would you be more embarrassed by than me?"
"I don't know. Donald Trump."
Marcus laughs. Abby rolls her eyes.
"Such a drama queen," she mutters, but she's smiling. "I always thought you two had a thing."
"It's not a thing. It never will be." Clarke takes another sip of her wine. "He's still an idiot."
Abby nods. She stares at her with pressed lips.
"What does that look mean?"
The grin she gives her is smug. "Nothing for you to worry about," she tells her. "I'm sure you'll figure it out soon."
They finish dinner, and then dessert, and it continues like this for the next two weeks; eating, talking and drinking - then just drinking when her mother tries to reminiscence about childhood stories and old photos of when Clarke looked like a fucking dude.
She texts Octavia through it all, and Raven, but never him, because he needed his privacy and she needed hers, and she didn't need to know what he was doing.
Didn't want to know, she thinks, but she tries not to think too hard about the reasons.
On New Year's Eve, her high school friends invite her to a house party downtown.
It's odd, she hasn't seen them since the summer, and they ask her about Octavia, about Bellamy, and she finds herself hiding from them on the upstairs couch before the fireworks even start.
It's not she was uncomfortable, but things haven't been the same since high school, none of them had, and she wasn't interested in pretending that they were.
Wells finds her an hour before midnight, rambling through the fridge in the corner of the attic.
He shakes his head when he notices her. "Well, I'd be damned." She glances at him, confusion turning to recognition. "Clarke Griffin without the mighty Finn Collins by his side. Now that's a visual."
Clarke smiles. "Wells," she squeals, and she jumps from the couch, pulling him against her. "It's been too long. How are you?"
"I'm alright." He wraps his arms around her waist. "How's Virginia?"
"Oh, you know. Virginia. Lots of cows and country music."
He makes a face. "That sounds terrible."
"Not so much," she tells him. "Just slightly horrible."
He laughs, and it becomes easy with him, sitting with him and talking while the party continues downstairs. He's different than she remembered, more muscular, and his jokes aren't as corny as they used to be.
At midnight, the strike of a new year, he leans in to kiss her.
She pulls away before their lips can even touch.
"Wells." She doesn't know why she stops herself, doesn't know the main reason amongst the many, and it frustrates her as much as it confuses her. "I'm sorry. I can't."
He blinks. "Shit. I'm sorry." He shifts on the couch, away from her. "I thought you and Finn broke up."
"We did."
He raises an eyebrow. "Oh."
Clarke stares at him. She feels useless, and she lifts herself from the couch.
"I'm sorry," she tells him.
She turns away from him, stumbling down the staircase and pushing the past the crowds of people who stand at the bottom. She clutches her stomach as she walks onto the porch, mind racing with thoughts and ideas and stupid feelings that she doesn't fucking want or understand.
She felt lost. She was home, and she was fucking lost.
Clarke sniffles. She pulls out her phone, scrolling through the text messages from her friends on campus, the photos and voicemails that Octavia and Raven have been sending her. She goes to Bellamy's names and clicks on his mobile.
He answers on the third ring.
"Clarke," he answers, and God damn it the roughness in his voice is refreshing.
"Bellamy." She exhales deeply. She hasn't heard his voice in weeks. "Hi."
"Hi." There's a pause. She can almost hear the smile in his voice. "Are you drunk?"
"No. I mean, kind of. I - " She shakes her head. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing special. The guys are throwing a party."
"What a surprise."
"Yeah." He laughs. She loves his laugh. "I really wasn't expecting it."
Clarke smiles. She misses them, misses him and the routine that she's created there. It's her home, she realizes, and it becomes quiet for a moment, music fading in the background of his end before he speaks.
"Clarke." His tone is cautious, always concerning. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." She presses her lips together. "I think I'm just ready to come home."
"You are home."
"I don't know," she whispers. She glances at the party behind her, at the people she doesn't know anymore. "Doesn't feel like it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I want to go home," she clarifies. "To Virginia."
Bellamy breathes heavily. She wonders what he's thinking, always wonders what he's thinking.
"Well," he begins, and it sounds calculative. "You'll be back soon. Three more days, right?"
"Right." Clarke smiles. "Been counting down, have you?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Griffin. It's kind of hard to forget when Octavia won't stop reminding me every God damn day."
Clarke laughs, clutching her heart. "Oh, that's adorable. She misses me."
"Yeah. Don't get too comfortable." His tone turns sour, and she almost imagines the hardening of his expression. The way his eyes narrow when he's bitter. "She'll forget who you are the moment she's with Lincoln."
"Good."
He scoffs. "Good?"
"Yes, Bell. I believe that's called happiness."
"Yeah." He breathes heavily. "I guess it is."
It's quiet, peaceful, and then the echo of screaming releases in the background, loud and profound. Clarke removes the phone from her ear, though she can still hear the sound of Bellamy cursing.
"Wow." Clarke blinks, laughing. "I guess I should let you get back to your party, huh?"
"It's not much of one."
"Doesn't matter. It's New Year's Eve." She presses her lips together. "Have fun - and protect the cupboard for me. I'm serious."
"Will do." He exhales, and this time she can feel it, can see the outline of his smile. "I'll see you soon, Clarke."
She echoes the words back to him, hanging up, and for the first time since she arrived in Boston, she felt like she belonged.
(The feeling scares her more than it reassures her).
vi.
Her mother drives her to the airport on Wednesday; placing Marcus' apple pie in her suitcase and a Chili's coupon for Octavia in the carry-on.
It's emotional; Clarke admits. She loves her mother, more than she used to love Boston, and she almost wishes that she could bring her with her, bring everything - the house and Marcus and all of his homemade pies.
But she can't, and she leaves her with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to see her in the summer. Then it's over.
She arrives in Virginia before midnight.
It's odd; becoming used to the smell of manure, but she is, and it almost welcomes her when she enters Octavia's truck. It's not that she's missed the scent, but the normalcy of it, and she allows Octavia to play John Denver on the ride home.
They pull into the driveway of the sorority house an hour later. Clarke enters to darkness, screaming when Wick jumps from behind the living room couch.
"Surprise!" he yells, oblivious to her alarm, "Welcome home, Griffin!"
Octavia laughs; because of course they planned this, and Raven runs towards her with wide arms and an even wider smile. She pulls her into a hug, and Octavia joins, and then Lincoln, and Clarke laughs as she's squished in the middle of all their embraces.
"Alright, alright." She hears Bellamy's voice before she sees him. "Let her breathe for a God damn second."
Octavia scoffs, snuggling closer. "You're just saying that because you haven't seen her tits in three weeks."
Clarke rolls her eyes, but they disperse moments later, and then there he is - standing in front of her with that damn smile on that damn face.
"Hey," he says, soft, and yeah, it's good to be home.
He pulls her against him, arms strong around her waist, but it's brief; too brief despite the days lacking him. Octavia pulls on her elbow, dragging her to the kitchen to try the parmesan that she cooked, and Raven is already opening the bottle of wine that she took from Marcus' cupboard.
"Y'all can talk later," Wick says, slapping Bellamy on the back. Clarke offers him a sympathetic look. "For now is the time of feasting."
Lincoln glances at the clock above the stove. "It's 1:00 am."
"Who cares," Octavia says, "Clarke's home."
It's like that for the entire night, talking to each other as though they haven't seen her in years, eager to know about Boston, even more eager to learn about Marcus. It feels nice, and she guesses this is how it feels to have a family so close, one that doesn't rely on anything but genuine care for each other.
But the reunion doesn't last as long as she'd hoped, and she almost laughs at Bellamy's expression when Octavia and Lincoln leave before the dishes are even off the table.
"That was a quick encounter for someone who missed me so much," Clarke says once the door closes.
"Don't get too used to her presence this week," Raven tells her. "Her and Lincoln just found out this new thing on - "
"Reyes," Bellamy warns, "please don't finish that sentence."
She raises an eyebrow. "As if you and Clarke haven't done every position on every surface of this damn house."
Clarke glances at him, sheepish. He returns her grin with a shake of his head.
"Speaking of." Wick stands from the table. "You ready to go?"
"Hell, yeah. We only rented that porn film for three days." She takes Wick's offering hand. Her expression is hesitant when she glances at Clarke. "You can leave the dishes here if you want. I'm sure someone will do them eventually."
"It's fine. I'm used to cleaning up after you anyways."
Raven laughs. "Please. Let's not pretend this was Octavia's original job." She presses a kiss to her cheek, purposefully loud. "I'm glad you're back, Griffin. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah," she whispers. "Tomorrow."
Raven nods. She turns, waving to Bellamy as her and Wick exit through the side door of the kitchen - and then it's just them, alone; the momentary breeze from the night refreshing against the warmth that grows inside her.
Bellamy stands at the table, eyes hard. She clears her throat.
It's Bellamy, but she's fucking nervous.
"Uhm," she whispers. His expression is soft; still overwhelming her. "You don't have to stay, you know." She grabs one of the dishes from the table and steps towards the sink. "I know it's late. I can handle the - "
But she doesn't finish the sentence, doesn't even finish her fucking breath, because Bellamy is there, pulling her against him and capturing her in a kiss that is both consuming and gentle; hard and tender.
Thank God.
She clutches his face in her hands, and the plate she's holding shatters beneath them. She laughs, because she doesn't care, doesn't even flinch, and he stumbles with her towards the table, pushing off the dishes as he lifts her onto the surface.
Clarke settles on the wood, exhaling. She wraps her legs around his torso.
Bellamy presses his lips against her jaw. "I've been wanting to do that sine you walked through the door."
His mouth continues to trail her skin, craving her; her neck and her mouth and her ear, and she pulls away from him momentarily, leaning her forehead against his.
She swallows thickly, catching her breath as she looks at him.
"Has there been anyone else?"
His response is soft; it makes her shiver. "Not even close."
She nods, releasing a long breath she didn't realize she was holding. She crashes into him, kissing him, and he lifts her into his arms again, bringing her upstairs while the dishes lay broken and cold on the table.
annnnnnnd that's the end of chapter nine! Definitely beginning to see those feelings rise between them. What do you think? Did Bell hook up with someone while she was gone? Will she tell him about Wells? Guess you'll have to find out in the next chapter!
Should be up within a week or two. Thank you and much love to those who read this and have been waiting for months for another chapter! I love you guys! xo