A/N: Hey, I know this is later than my normal monthly and I apologize. I haven't been alright this last month and I didn't want to give you guys something I didn't feel good about. I had this chapter planned out but I just couldn't find my voice as I wrote and on top of that I've been sick for about six weeks now. I finally found my tone though and I am happy with this chapter, so I present you a juicy one. It's funny actually. This story was supposed to be a lot more smut and a lot less fluff than Bedside Manner but I scuffed that, didn't I. Enjoy! Be safe.


The day had finally come; It was her debut exhibit at the gallery. Admittedly, she hadn't slept much because her mind wouldn't stop thinking. Always one to worry, she had to play out every scenario that would likely never happen. When her alarm went off it jolted her out of what little deep sleep she did manage. The digital clock on her bedside table only read six-something in the morning and she leered at the idea of how long the day ahead of her may be. She tapped her phone into silence and rolled over, trying to bid herself to sleep longer. It didn't work. Maybe twenty minutes passed by and she relented, peeling herself off of the bed.

Trudging out of her room and down to the kitchen, Clarke got the coffee maker going while rummaging for something to eat. Looking through the pantry, arms suddenly appeared around her waist.

"Morning." The soft voice of a sleepy Madi followed a warm and light hug. She turned into it.

"Morning. What do you wanna eat?" She asked as she looked back to the pantry. Madi peered into it and didn't look for anything in particular. She knew what she wanted without a beat.

"Pancakessss" She drew the word out in a pleading whine and Clarke rolled her eyes.

"Fineeeee." She mocked her child. "I'll cook, you get ready for school."

"You're making me go to school today?" She pouted.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Yes, nerd. You can come to the opening, but you have to go to school. We made this deal like a month ago. Don't give me grief about it now." She dictated while pulling together ingredients. Madi remarked something sarcastic on her way out of the kitchen and back upstairs. Breakfast was prepared and coffee was made, the smell drawing a groggy Raven down to the kitchen. The trio enjoyed fluffy buttermilk pancakes and the older two having hot coffee to awaken their bones. Raven and Madi took off and went about their days like normal which left Clarke in the house alone. This was their routine but today felt different. There was a density to the day, as there should be. The gallery was one of the best in the city and her work was going to be on exhibit. The thought alone made butterflies whirl in her gut as she tried to go about her day normally. Chores kept her busy most of the morning and just after one in the afternoon she got herself showered and ready to leave. Casually dressed, she had her outfit for tonight set aside in a garment bag and essentials packed in a tote to take with her. Ready, she headed to the gallery to set up and perfect every last detail much earlier than she needed to.

At the gallery, Clarke and a few of Lorelai's team spent a few hours transforming the show floor into her exhibit. Faux walls were rolled out that had already been painted and prepared for her, they just needed to display everything. As they had previously collected a bunch of frames from her favorite supply shop, Clarke had come up with a less than standard aesthetic for her exhibit. Breaking away from the tradition of stark white walls with the art framed or often mounted on black matte board, Clarke broke the code. The walls were a dark grey-blue but it didn't make the room look closed off or dark. It looked clean and crisp. Especially because each of her pieces was adorned with a stark white frame. They all varied in style but were painted a flat white to adorn each piece. It made everything look cohesive and didn't take away from the subject of any of her pieces. In all, she had around thirty pieces hanging on the walls when they were done, including the seven she had shown previously. A faux wall sat in the middle of the room. On either end of it were connecting walls fanned out slightly to draw you in. These three walls held the three pieces that meant the most to her. In the middle was the large abstract dancing girl painting she displayed previously. The wall to the left shone the portrait of a crying younger Madi which left the right wall to showcase Bellamy's portrait. She stood there looking at the pieces lined up perfectly on the wall and debated moving the one of him. Did it belong there? The painting was essentially a self-portrait in an abstract way, but only she knew that. The portrayal of her crying daughter before she became her daughter was a poignant piece and the two worked well together, but the one of Bellamy felt off. It was her masterpiece. That was clear, but he's just the neighbor. Should she put something more personal there in its place?

Before she could let her mind nag over and over about it Lorelai pulled her from her thoughts.

"Perfect." Her heels clicked as she moved next to Clarke who reacted with a bit of surprise. Really? This arrangement was perfect? Pink rose on the apple of her cheeks but she didn't know why.

"Go grab dinner." Lorelai checked her watch, a dainty gold band with an analog clock face. "We open the doors in less than an hour. Get a meal in you and get ready. I'll have the guys clean up and finish labeling things."

"Alright, thanks." Clarke smiled and Lorelai returned it. She took to the stairs to collect her purse from the basement where she had her belongings in a small room. "Oh make sure they-"

Loralie dismissed her thought by raising a hand and smiling, "I know. Not for sale."

"Thank you, Lorelai." A heartfelt appreciation was left as she bounced down the stairwell and unlocked the basement door. She grabbed her wallet, went back upstairs and out the back before wandering off down the street to find food.

After grabbing a quick pita Clarke snuck back into the gallery and slipped into the basement where she got ready. In that little room which was bare except for a small side table and armchair, she had her bag, garment bag, and portfolios for all her art. Clarke stripped down to her bra and panties. In the moments it took her to get into the garment bag she felt odd being in such a state of undress in the basement of an art gallery. Quickly, she found the skirt hanging in the bag. A white skater style skirt, clean, chic and simple. She stepped into it and zipped up the back. Next, she slid on a simple, sleek black sleeveless top. In the tote were one of her favorite pairs of heeled booties, a simple black peep-toe style she could slip-on. Out in the main room, she looks in the large mirror nearby to check her hair and reapply a nude lip. Ready to go, she tucked things back away in the room, locked up the basement door and headed back upstairs slipping the key and her phone into the pockets hidden in the skirt. It was time to face her debut.

As the hour rolled around, they let people in. It wasn't a slow trickle, it was a quick-fill. The room had people all over it and the building wasn't that big. Lorelai stayed with Clarke and showed her off to people she knew, be they art dealers, industry people, or collectors. It took up a lot of the evening between meeting new people, fielding questions, and offers. The offers were overwhelming. Almost everyone she spoke to over the first two hours of the event were friendly and charming. Most of them wanted to know about her, her process and her inspiration. A lot of attention was spent on the portraits of Madi and Bellamy and a few people asked who they were. She explained and left it at that, but some people pushed. Some people prodded and nearly demanded she sell those two pieces. One woman hounded her about Bellamy's portrait but Lorelai handled it. At one point, just wandering by herself and meeting people Clarke overheard a guest gushing over the man in the portrait and how delicious he was. Something about the way she said it felt like a violation. That was hers. The art piece, of course.

Free of the barrage for a bit she got to hunt down her family. She found Abby, Raven, Madi and Marcus looking at the main trio on display.

"Hey." She smiled and interrupted something Abby was saying.

"Honey, congratulations." Abby hugged her daughter proudly and Marcus followed.

"It's amazing to see all of these pieces together." He gestured around the room. "I always knew you were talented but you've never let us see it like this and now look, your own exhibit. You must be proud."

Nodding, "I am. It's overwhelming but it feels good and it feels right." Beaming, she pulled her kid in for a hug. "And this one is a hit. So many questions about her portrait." And offers, but she wouldn't say that.

"I bet they are more curious about that one." Smugly, the pre-teen pointed to the charcoal rendering of their abnormally gorgeous neighbor and Clarke blushed, gently squeezing Madi's shoulder.

"You're not wrong." She laughed and they all chuckled.

"Speaking of." Raven cleared her throat with a grin and nodded toward the door. It would appear that the subject of discussion had just entered the building and his sister and Lincoln were by his side. It occurs to her in that moment that they didn't know Bellamy was a subject of one of her pieces, or so she assumed. She was proven right when Octavia barreled over to them in a less than classy fashion and her jaw rolled to the floor.

"No fu-" She paused and clocked Abby and Madi, rethinking her language use. "When? What?" She pointed to her brother, the 2D version of him.

"Chill O." Bellamy's voice was soothing and calm. Lincoln moved to her side.

"Wow." His one-word felt powerful and Clarke blushed again. She felt like it was her on display, not her artwork. In reality, it was her on display though. Each piece was part of her in a way, an expression of herself. Even the random one somewhere by the door that was just a skyscape of space in a watercolor.

"Uh." Clarke didn't get a chance to explain anything when Lorelai called for her a few lumps of people over. She beckoned her. "Boss is calling me, I'll be back." Fervently, she left feeling bad for not having an excuse for why she drew him. When she really thought about it though, there wasn't one. Look at him. That was muse enough and when he is around his sister and he's happy and calm he seems his best. That boyish smile she captured was because of Octavia. She probably could have said that. Now she knew what to say when she had a chance to chat with them again. Others had plans though.

"Mr. and Mrs. Norris, this is Clarke Griffin, the artist to this beautiful collection." Lorelai introduced her to another person, another handshake, and more questions.

Politely, she greeted them and they bid her congratulations on the exhibit. She learned of how they knew Lorelai and they showed an interest in a few of her pieces. As they walked the room together, they rounded back to the trinity on display and stopped. The wife spoke up first.

"These two pieces." She paused, as if speechless, shaking her head. "I don't have words."

"Thank you Ma'am." Clarke smiled.

"It's a shame you're not selling, the duo would be the perfect pair. Is there any chance you'd reconsider?" Clarke rolled her eyes, if only in her mind. Lorelai went to speak but Clarke beat her to it.

"I appreciate the compliment, but I couldn't do that. This here," she gestured to the portrait of Madi, "is my daughter. I'm sure you can understand why I couldn't sell that."

The woman nodded. "I completely understand, and I assume this one is your husband?"

A red peppered her face instantly and she shook her head, trying not to choke as she spoke. "Oh, no. That's my neighbor."

"Oh." The woman looked at her as if she had so many more questions that would clearly not be appropriate to ask.

"And that piece, of course, is also not for sale." Lorelai stole the attention from Clarke's red cheeks and the woman's imposing glance. Her husband even looked confused and they snapped out of it at Lorelai's voice rejoining the topic. She mitigated what could have been a very awkward situation.

"However, everything else on display is up for discussion. Mingle, enjoy the exhibition and let me know." She ushered them off and away from Clarke before leaning in. "How about you take a break from the crowd for a few."

Clarke silently nodded and took the offer eagerly as she made haste for the stairwell, disappearing into it.

After explaining to Octavia that he didn't know about the piece until recently, which appeased her prying any further, Bellamy was with his family and Clarke's just wandering the show and keeping to themselves. He clocked Clarke looking very uncomfortable in her conversation from across the room. Seeing her nearly run away from the gathering he worried, as was his second nature.

"Hold my drink, I'll be right back." He leaned into Lincoln and handed him his open beer. The other man nodded and took the drink, dismissing him from the group. Bellamy weaved through an even larger mass of people than there was twenty minutes ago to find Lorelai.

"Excuse me." He politely got her attention.

"Yes?" She turned to him. "Oh, Bellamy, isn't it?"

He looked bewildered but realized why she'd know him; the drawing. "Yes. Do you know if Clarke is alright?" He asked.

Lorelai sort of shrugged. "Debut can be tough and some people don't like being told no. I told her to take a break, she probably went downstairs."

"Oh." He acknowledged. "Do you mind if I go check on her?"

A flourish of her hand and a shake of her head later, "Of course, but you'll need the key. Here." She reached into the pocket of her tailors cream suit and pulled out her keyring. She pulled the one key off of it and handed it to him. "Bottom of that stairwell." She pointed to the back of the room where a dimly lit stairwell was seen. He saw it, he saw where she went.

"Thanks. I'll return this to you." He bid her a nod and went for the stairs.

He walked down the stairs and could hear her heels clicking against the polished concrete floor. Following that sound, he found her pacing. She looked nervous but glowing. The lighting was bright and clean for being in a basement and it made her look almost ethereal.

"Clarke." He softly let her know he was there and she looked up, but she didn't stop pacing. "Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yeah." She said in a tone that made him think she was lying. He moved in toward her but kept his space, his fingers idly messing with this keyring in his hand.

"There are so many people upstairs." She said with a sigh as she finally stopped and turned to him. She seemed frantic or just stressed out. "I needed a break." A feigned smile spread across her lips. He didn't fall for it.

"Yeah, you pulled in a crowd." He grinned, proudly.

She nodded and hummed an agreement. "And an onslaught of questions."

"How do you mean?" He leaned against the wall.

"Like, I knew to prepare for if someone wanted to buy something. We didn't preorder prints because we wanted to gauge the desire but I keep getting hounded for pieces I don't want to sell or nagged about selling the original. Lorelai warned me but I couldn't have fucking prepared for that." Her hair flailed up to the ceiling, gesturing to the people above her. She almost seemed angry.

"You don't have to sell what you don't want to."

"I know, I just feel targeted. They try to make me feel bad for not wanting to sell things." She starts pacing again, the topic making her anxious.

"I would say tell them to fuck off but…" They both chuckle.

"I know I'm just being dramatic." She groaned and stopped, leaning against the wall.

He stepped toward her. "You have the right to be. It's a big day and people with money get greedy. They want what they want, so they demand it."

"I just wish they would respect me, my art. I said no."

"So, why aren't you selling? Your art is amazing."

"I am, just not two pieces and they just so happen to be the ones no one will leave me the fuck alone about despite the nice big 'not for sale' signs next to them" She announced with a flourish of frustration. Her heeled clicked on the cement to punctuate her lack of ease.

"Oh" He sounded to know she wasn't keeping everything off the market. "So what aren't you selling, if you don't mind my asking?" He pried. There was a pause and the air in the room changed.

"The one of Madi." A pause followed. "And the one of you." She didn't look at him and it confused him.

"I don't mind-"

She looked up. "I do."

"Clarke, I get why you won't sell the one of Madi but you why me?"

Tension grew in the air.

"It feels wrong."

"Why?" His voice was low, the room felt still and quiet. They were maybe six feet apart at this point and she barely stopped to an awkward stance at the wall, a long tall credenza lined the wall next to her with a large mirror hung behind it.

Her hands were met in front of her, just at the front of her skirt. She was ringing them together anxiously now. "It's private." She started. "The piece, not the reason. Not only is it you but I think it's my masterpiece. I can't sell that. I know it seems absurd, I randomly drew you and it turned out to be the best thing I've ever created somehow." She rambled anxiously. "Like I know I wouldn't be selling you but you never gave me permission to draw that and I just drew it. You were burned into my mind, how happy you are around Octavia. I had to draw it, just like the image of Madi hearing her mother had died. I had to draw it. I can't sell those moments. I captured them, but I would never want to share them like that, not for money. Not with random people who have no respect for you or her or the subject and emotion and ugh." She vented off the steam she had been holding in with one long-winded statement. Her eyes found him and they were a bit glazed.

The words she used, which likely felt like words vomit to her, felt like a beautiful song to him. They pulled on his heartstrings and tugged on something carnal inside him. Every feeling he couldn't explain was stirring and heat, a desire, a need rose inside him. He felt like she was protecting him in a way which didn't make sense given she was talking about her art and not about him but he couldn't stop the feeling it gave him. The same feelings he had when she took him to her room and showed him the drawing. He was blown away which was a very common thing to feel around this woman. The weight he had sitting in his chest and the heat rising through him were heavy. A whirlwind of thoughts plagued him in those seconds after she said what she had and he had to decide if he was going to act on the idea that had arisen in the back of his mind. That split-second agony of decision making. He made his choice though, agony aside.

"I'm sorry but…" He quickly closed the gap between them and his hand closed in, cupping the side of her neck below her ear. Before either of them knew what was happening his lips had crashed into hers in a chaotic and passionate collision. He was sure she'd fight back, shove him, maybe punch or slap him but she didn't. He didn't feel any hand of protest meet his body in any way. The only thing he did feel was her soft lips kissing back. It was a few seconds that felt like a few eternities, but he drank it in until those hands came to ruin the show. She pushed his chest, gently.

"What the-"

Before she could continue, he defended himself. "I'm sorry, I had to." He took a step away from her.

"The drawing, your passion, you. You drive me crazy."

His words barely left his mouth before she had lept back onto his lips. It would seem he had said the right thing to her or at the right moment because, in that very one, all was lost. The aura in the room had changed to nothing shy of heat lust. Clarke's hands pulled on the front of his button-down and they softly crashed into the wall behind her, him against her. What was only a minute or so of fervent kissing felt like an eternity of hunger that wasn't being fulfilled. Eventually, she left him empty again, breaking from his embrace. Just when he was getting his fill of her she pulled back and took it all away.

Clarke separated from him and moved a foot or so over to the credenza beside them. She locked eyes with him through the reflection in the mirror. He watched her every move and the next one would steal his soul. Like the devil itself was taking over her, she flicked that pretty white skirt up and presented a perfectly creamy white ass barely covered with a black lacy panty. If he had any coherency left in his body, it was gone. His eyes flickered between what she had on display back to those gorgeous eyes that were begging him with lust. He needed no more. Autonomously, he moved behind her and his hands slid under the fabric and onto her hips, his lips found skin at the back of her neck just under her hair. Clarke pushed back against him, only the fabric he wore protected either of them from what was happening and it was proving too much protection for Clarke because one of her hands left the wood in front of her and found itself on the front of his pants instead. The pressure made him jump. Her hand was delicate but against his growing arousal, it felt like torture. As quickly as she had palmed his cock through his pants, she was unzipping them and he knew there was no foreplay.

She smelled amazing. Her scent was sweet but not obnoxious and he just wanted to inhale more of her. Shy of nipping her flesh, he focused his lips on her skin while freeing himself from the fabric between them. Meanwhile, she slipped out of her panties and poised herself against the credenza, ready and wanting. He looked into the mirror and found her looking back, challenging him, waiting for him. That was his cue. With little to no guidance, he took himself in hand and with the other felt between her legs. She was radiating heat and already slick with anticipation. He slid a finger along her slit and lined up with her hole before putting his hand back at her hip. She didn't let him wait. Feeling him close, her hips just couldn't help but push backward and he slid into her. Both hands now back on her hips, he pulled her into him and filled her. She gasped and he twitched at her reaction. Once he was buried inside her, she dropped her eyes from him and held on to the table.

Clarke was pushing back against him just as much as he had a grip on her hips and was thrusting into her. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, but she couldn't look at him, her head was down or her eyes were closed while they fucked, rattling that table against the wall and shaking their reflection in the mirror. What he did see was her biting her lips and gnawing at it causing it to swell ever so slightly, like she was trying to not make a noise. They were the only two people in that room or even on that floor and he would have died to hear her moan in that moment. Though to be fair, it would have been his undoing. She was breathing heavier and the faintest of noises escaped her which sounded abnormal. He wanted to yell at her to let him hear her.

Her knuckles grew white while she grabbed the table and she hunched over even more, her forearms flush with the table. He leaned in over her just a little and he ramped up his pace. On a whim, his hand fell in front of her and slid over her public mound and in between her folds before finding that precious little button. Finally, he got to hear something from her when a moan mixed with a gasp escaped her throat in surprise. He almost thought for a moment that she had glanced up at him while he ran a circle around the nub, but he was entranced by the feeling of what was happening. This pattern of events leads to a very quick crescendo and another beautiful but soft noise from her. What came out as more of a whine led to her body tensing up and shaking. He felt her walls close around him and he held her up against the table as he plowed into her even harder and came. A groan escaping his own throat. Her orgasm literally pulled it out of him and they slumped forward a bit for a few moments before.

In the pocket of her skirt, her phone buzzed a few times repeatedly. They both knew that was probably more than a sign that they needed to return to the real world above them and end this little fantasy trist they were in. He backed up from her and tucked himself back into his pants. She adjusted her skirt back down and her hair, keeping her eyes on only herself in the mirror.

"I should go back upstairs." She finally said.

Bellamy wasn't sure what to say as reality set in. He and Clarke had just fucked against a mirror in the basement while a hundred or so people wandered above them looking at her art and likely looking for her. She was supposed to be up there networking and mingling, not down here with him. They weren't even down there for ten minutes but it felt so much longer to him. Now he just wondered what she was thinking and how she was feeling. Before he could bother to ask, she made a move to the stairwell.

"Thanks." Was all she said before disappearing into the stairwell. He blinked in confusion. Did she thank him for fucking her or for going out of his way to find her and make sure she was alright? In thought, he looked at the mirror and brushed the clammy dew off his skin and into his messy hair before sighing and pushing his thoughts aside. Moving to leave, his foot hit something soft on the ground and he looked down to see her panties there, the tiny pile they made. Rolling his eyes, Bellamy picked them up and slipped them into his pocket before rejoining the event one floor above them.

Clarke could feel a pink in her cheeks when she hit the top of the stairwell. She moved quickly though because she knew Bellamy was behind her and a room full of people who could have guessed what they were doing down there for the last however long stood before her. Luckily as she re-entered the room, no one was the wiser to her absence or the reappearance. A bit relieved, she used the moment to sneak off to the bathroom to clean up from what just happened only to realize she didn't have her panties on. Horrified, as she left the bathroom she turned for the stairwell only to stop when she saw Bellamy come out of the doorway with his hand at his side. Their eyes met and the look on his face turned to one of knowing as his hand tapped his side. She knew. He had her underwear. Part of her was mad but she was mostly relieved. No one would randomly find her panties downstairs but now she had to get them back from him and she had to face what just happened at some point. For now, she would let it go and let herself disappear into the group which is exactly what she did.

The rest of the event went by painfully slow for her. It felt like a game of tag, avoiding Bellamy and dodging people begging to buy his drawing or the one of her daughter. She ended up being more forward and hearing fewer arguments from people who felt they could convince her to sell the work. Luckily Bellamy being there made a lot of attention go onto him. People who came through the exhibit recognized him as the subject of her centerpiece and it garnered him a lot of attention. Particularly female attention, or so she noticed. By the end of the event Clarke had amassed business cards, a few unreal offers, some commission offers and sales. She and Lorelai closed up the gallery and bid one another a goodnight before she left for home. Raven had taken Madi home a while ago and by the time she got home herself, they were both asleep even though it was only around ten. The event probably tired Madi out and Raven had a long workday. After helping herself to a snack and some water she climbed the stairs with her heels in her hand. Once in her room, she abandoned her heels on the floor and clicked the door closed behind her letting out a sigh of relief that the day was over. Unaware of the smile on her face, she felt very successful but very tired.

Clarke gave her body a good stretch before going to the dresser in her closet to change into something comfortable. As she stepped out of her skirt she remembered what else had happened tonight when she felt a distinct lack of panties on her now naked body. Suddenly aware of her nakedness in her own room, she froze a little before slipping into some shorts and a tank top before turning around. She found herself trying to act nonchalant in her own damn house because she was very aware of her window and her neighbor and what had happened with said neighbor tonight. Luckily as she turned to face the window and she looked out across the lawn, the windows of that house were all black. Relief washed over her that she didn't just give him another show but a pang of disappointment sat in the background. Clarke ignored it and went to bed, to sleep off her very... different day.