Here's another chapter! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing and thanks to everyone who's left lovely comments. Happy reading!
Content note: brief reference to sex work.
Bellamy can't stop thinking about it.
He can't stop thinking about Clarke on his lap, her warmth around his cock, her arms around his neck and her lips against his neck. He can't stop thinking about her taking the lead, telling him to drop his pants and then setting the pace without hesitation. He can't stop thinking that maybe that was a glimpse of the real Clarke, and what a real relationship with her would be like, rather than this giggly stranger.
He can't stop thinking, either, about what he said to Cage. It feels like a betrayal – even though his relationship with Clarke is all a lie.
He deals with all this – or some of it, at least – rather pragmatically, he thinks. He's been spending a lot of time with Clarke recently, and he thinks her love of peaceful compromises over pointless torture must have rubbed off on him. Rather than agonising over the memory of that night for the rest of his pathetic life, Bellamy decides to step up and ask her whether they can spice up their sex life in this one small way more often.
He decides, too, that he will ask it simply and forthright. He will ask it out loud in their room, on the basis she'll presume it's for the benefit of their security eavesdroppers. She doesn't have to know he's asking this selfishly.
Is it selfish, if he thinks she would enjoy it too? He hopes not.
He picks his moment. They're curled up on the couch together in front of some documentary about a long-dead artist. Clarke doesn't seem to be listening to the words so much as looking at the pictures and occasionally kissing his neck, so he figures this is as good a moment as any.
"I really liked what we did in that maintenance closet the other day." He says, carefully light. "Shame we got caught before we could finish the job."
"Yeah? You want to try it again some time? You said Cage had some hints about where we could feel naughty but not cause any trouble."
He smirks carefully. "Yeah. But I didn't just mean the breaking and entering. It was fun to have you on top for a change. I like it when you try to boss me around."
That was a little too close to the bone. He can read it in her eyes, the way her gaze is too thoughtful. She's realised that her bossing him around doesn't exactly fit with their cover story – and perhaps she's already thinking back to the way he used to stare at her lips when she gave orders back at the dropship.
She covers for him quickly, of course. That's what they do for each other. "We could try playing with that." She agrees, frowning as if she cannot quite get her pretty head around the concept.
He sighs in relief. We could try playing with that. Playing – as if she's as naïve as ever, but only excited about a new sexy game with her sexy boyfriend.
That was a good save on her part, and he's grateful for it. He's allowed the lines to blur, hasn't he? He's getting confused between this Mount Weather Clarke who pretends to be in love with him, and the old dropship Clarke he pretended not to be in love with. He needs to remember the script.
But in his defence, the memory of that night would be enough to make anyone forget their lines, he's pretty sure.
"You want to try that tonight?" Clarke asks, a very real eagerness in her eyes, but a more carefully nervous excitement in her voice.
She's a marvel, he thinks. A woman who genuinely wants to have a bit of personality in the bedroom, playing the part of a shy girl who's tentatively trying to give it a go. Feigned excitement over the top of real excitement.
He's going to go mad, if they have to keep this act up much longer.
"Yeah. Definitely. Let's try it when we've finished watching this." He gestures to the TV.
Clarke nods primly. But beneath her carefully curated obedience, he can see that she's a little disappointed by his answer.
Screw it. She really does want this, doesn't she? She does actually enjoy their sex life almost as much as he does, by the looks of things. And she is clearly keen to try something a bit more in keeping with their real personalities, keen to reclaim a bit of agency in her own life after all the decisions that have been taken out of her hands in recent days and weeks and months.
"Or we could get started now."
She doesn't waste a second longer. She reaches up to kiss him. And not just kissing in the sense of lips-against-lips, but her hands are joining the party, too, holding him close as he kisses her back desperately.
She shifts in his arms, keeps moving until she's half-across his lap. This is better. They can reach each other better from here.
But then she doesn't hang around there, either. She's on the move again, unbuckling his belt, freeing his cock which is already hardening beneath her hands.
Wow. Just wow. This is exactly what he was dreaming of – Clarke taking the lead, Clarke showing him how eagerly she wants him. This is so very like what they shared in that maintenance closet, in fact, but without the stress of being caught and the impending interruption.
She's unrelenting as she rubs his cock into hardness, as she climbs into his lap and sinks down onto the length of him, as she starts moving right away. She doesn't give him a moment to catch his breath, and he likes it that way. He's practically dizzy with stunned pleasure already.
"Is this OK?" She asks now, carefully coy. "Is this the kind of thing you wanted me to try?"
"Yeah. Perfect." He half-growls it, capturing her lips for another kiss. He wants to touch all of her, all at once – lips on lips, his hands curling around her, even pressing his chest up against her as close as he can.
It ought to be a bit seedy, this, he thinks. Tasteless. A quick animalistic fuck with the TV still blaring – the kind of thing his mother used to be obliged to do for a living. And then there's the fact that they're probably being watched, even now. Bellamy can just imagine Cage Wallace being all too fascinated by this, actually.
And yet despite all those issues, Bellamy could swear this is the most fun he's had in his life. Despite the circumstances, this feels like a moment for them. It feels like they're taking a little ownership of their sex life, seizing a moment they can both enjoy, and with every moan they're secretly saying up yours to the people in power at Mount Weather.
The faster Clarke's hips start to shudder, the more he starts to lose his mind. He knew she was capable of this kind of heated passion, damn it. This suits her much more than all that careful, girlish giggling. Her kisses are getting messy, now, as she really lets loose and rides him hard.
Clarke's getting herself off on his lap. He wishes he could tell the lost, angry Bellamy who first landed on Earth that he had this to look forward to.
"So hot, Princess." He tells her. It's not even half of what he wishes he could say, but it's both honest and appropriate for the confusing mess of their relationship, he decides.
She gasps out a breathless laugh. "Feels so good. Can you grab my tits?"
No. No, he can't, because she's wearing far too many clothes.
Well, then. He knows how to deal with that. He needs to give her what she wants, so he'll simply have to rip her clothes off. He tugs her shirt over her head as swiftly as he can, unclasps her bra and sort of leaves it hanging there, half in the way, as he impatiently grabs at her tits. He dares to go a little rougher than usual – she seems to be in the mood for that.
She likes it. He can tell from her heated groan, from the way she leans into his hands, pressing her breasts more deliberately against his palms. He gives her a little more, enjoys too much the feel of her soft skin under his fingertips, the heavy weight of those gorgeous breasts.
She gets there first, but it's close. She comes just as he's clinging to the shreds of his sanity, held back entirely by the sharp stress of his own performance anxiety. He can't come first. He simply mustn't. If there's one thing in all this crazy life he needs to get right, it's sex.
He manages it. She comes, sinking right into his lap, and he lets go at last.
"Your timing is always incredible." She notes, in a quiet whisper meant more for them than for security, he realises. "How do you do that?"
He snorts out a hollow laugh. "I don't know. Desperation? Coming is all about letting go, isn't it? So I guess I just... refuse to let go." He tries, carefully light.
She hums against his neck, evidently unconvinced. "Isn't it more complicated than that?"
He settles in for a good murmured argument. "It's about relaxing, right? Letting go of the sexual tension? And I find it really difficult to relax unless I know I've made it good for my partner. So I wait for you."
"But you're not waiting for me in a good way. You're not waiting because you want to draw it out or because you like the teasing or whatever. You're waiting because you're scared of getting it wrong."
He gulps. You're scared of getting it wrong. Put like that, it's rather stark. Rather brutal and impactful and true.
But isn't that what his relationship with Clarke is built on? Or what their friendship is built on, at least, even if he must remember that this romantic relationship is all a lie. But him and Clarke are all about stark truths, and about surviving the most brutal challenges together.
Maybe it's time to trust her with the truth of this.
He swallows tightly. "I guess I have some baggage when it comes to sex. I struggle to relax and just think of it as something fun or that brings me closer with my partner or whatever."
She hugs him closer still, her face still pressed against his neck, his cock still sitting limply inside of her. "I guessed. You want to talk about it?"
Another sticky swallow. "I don't know. I don't know what to say or where to start. Sex is how I distract myself when I'm feeling shitty about something. It's something I get a buzz out of being told I'm good at. And I guess – it's also a power thing, like back at the dropship. And it doesn't help that my mum used to use sex to pay for food for Octavia, either." He concludes.
"And you've never just had sex to... feel good?" Clarke whispers back to him. "Just to feel pleasure and feel close to someone you like?"
He frowns deeply. He debates how honest to be with her, takes a moment to simply hold her in his arms and feel the calm steadiness of her – simply holding him, breathing, existing.
He gathers his courage.
"I have. One time – just now. That was really fun. It felt really good. And – you're a total thorn in my side, Princess, but we're a team, too. So I guess that was fun sex just to feel pleasure and be close to someone I like." He concludes, heart hammering as he wonders whether he's just destroyed the easy intimacy of this fake relationship.
He hasn't destroyed anything at all, it turns out. Clarke makes that quite clear to him, pressing a kiss to his neck and squeezing the hug a tighter still.
"Yeah. It was like that for me too." She agrees, as if the words come as easily to her as this act they have fallen into so seamlessly.
He smiles slightly. He's glad to hear her talk like that. However this ends, as long as they're both still breathing, he's sure he'll have Clarke in his life in one way or another. They're not going to dissolve into awkwardness. That's a steady certainty of a kind he's never felt before – the idea that there is someone in his life who genuinely quite likes him, and who will stick around out of choice rather than familial obligation.
Silence sits for a moment – or at least, there is a lull in the conversation even as the TV goes on playing. Over Clarke's shoulder, when he peers up, he can see some painting of a wide blue sky.
He knows they ought to take advantage of this cuddle, this whispered conversation, to press on with making a plan. They need to decide whether they have enough information to try to negotiate with President Wallace, or whether there is more acting and snooping still to be done. They need to -
"Can we talk about the plan?" Clarke whispers.
Great minds think alike, it seems. "Sure."
"I'm sorry. I know I'd rather just sit here but we can't." She murmurs sadly. "I've been digging around med bay – Dr Jones keeps letting slip things I think she's probably supposed to keep secret. It sounds like they're hoping our people can be better than the treatments from the grounders. They probably won't use blood because there are only fifty of us so they'd run out too quick." She says, sharp.
He hugs her a little tighter. They'd run out of blood too quick. What an horrific thought.
Clarke continues. "So I figure there are two options left. They might want our eggs and sperm and want to try to breed babies with some radiation resistance, or they might want our bone marrow. I don't really know the science behind either – this is way above a half-trained medical apprentice." She laughs nervously.
"You're doing great. It's incredible how much you've figured out already." He reassures her right away.
"My mum would know more." She says, so quiet he has to strain to hear her.
He doesn't have an answer for that. He only has a hug. He wonders how they will both cope, after they call this charade to a close, with not having an excuse to hug each other every time they need a moment of comfort or reassurance. It's one thing to know they will still be friends, still be a team. But it's not the same as this, is it?
Clarke shakes herself a little. "I can't know everything. I don't have to do it all alone, right? I keep telling myself we're in this together." She tells him, with a stiff sort of self-deprecating laugh and another kiss on his neck.
In other words, she makes it perfectly plain that she's still failing miserably, that she's still trying to take everything on herself.
That's why he speaks up next. "When you want a meeting to negotiate with President Wallace, let me know." He suggests. "It makes most sense for me to arrange it – I can go through Cage."
She nods against his neck. "Yeah. Thanks. I think we want to have all the information before we play our hand. We don't want to go in there half-prepared and blow our cover for no gain."
"I guess you're right. I want to get on with fixing this – I hate sitting still while our people might be in danger."
"We can go for it if there's any sign that anything is changing or they're making a move on our friends." She reminds him.
He nods. He knows that will have to do. Even here and now – perhaps the most calm and at peace he has felt since coming to Earth – they are still sitting back and waiting for the next disaster to come to them.
…...
Clarke takes her sketchbook for some alone time again the next afternoon. It's something she's trying to make a habit of doing every few days for the sake of her sanity.
She's not sure it's working. The longer she lives this relatively peaceful life, free from imminent threat of death even if there is still very real danger afoot, the more she has time to get stuck in her own head and in a downward spiral of worry. She coped better, she thinks, when she was trying to run the dropship camp and keep the kids alive. Now she finds herself more often missing her father or worrying that her mother died hating her.
She tries to push that out of mind, as she settles into her favourite corner of the bunker and pushes pencil across paper. She tries to focus on the flow of lines on the page, on picking out the trees she remembers overhanging the dropship camp, or else the creases around Bellamy's eyes when he smiles.
She really does seem to draw Bellamy a lot, these days.
She might start putting them up in their apartment, she thinks. Maybe the place would feel more like home with a couple of sketches of her fake boyfriend's face on the walls.
Or maybe that's a little weird, and she ought to drop the idea.
She doesn't think he'd mind, actually, if one or two of her sketches hung over their bed. They seem to be in a pretty comfortable place in their fake relationship right now, where they've sort of become good friends who sleep together by force of circumstance along the way – and don't exactly hate doing so.
Sometimes she likes to torture herself by imagining there's more than that going on. Moments like they shared last night make it all too easy to kid herself that he's interested in her as more than a convenient friend. There's a genuine, honest intimacy to their conversations that she's never shared with anyone else, and a sort of conspiratorial look in Bellamy's eye whenever they're together that makes her feel like she's his partner in crime in every sense of the word.
She's almost wondering about inviting him to join her for a sketchbook afternoon one of these days, actually. He showed real vulnerability with her last night, and she's been thinking ever since that it might be sensible to invite him into her confidence and into her private moments. That's the kind of thing which would only strengthen their friendship and working relationship further, right?
There's that, and there's the fact she thinks it might be nice not to be so lonely any more. She thinks it might be good for her, to truly leave solitary after all these months.
She doesn't stay in her little sketching corner very long, today. Maybe because she's just decided it would be good to share this place and some of these afternoons with Bellamy, or maybe just because more time on her own is not what she needs, in this moment.
Whatever the reason, she leaves the place behind her without looking back, after only an hour or so. She heads back to the apartment she shares with Bellamy, and drops off her sketchbook, and washes the graphite from her fingertips.
And then she heads for the dorm. Bellamy and Wells are in that dorm, playing chess together. A whole host of her other friends are likely there too, of course.
But she knows who she really wants to see, just now.
…...
Bellamy is surprised when Clarke walks into the dorm – surprised, and really quite flustered. He's not surprised that she's here at all, of course. She usually does come here after some sketching time. But he's surprised that her sketching time is evidently already over.
He's flustered, too, because he's right on the point of losing a chess game to Wells. Defeat hangs in the air, just a couple of moves away. And to be honest, he doesn't like it when Clarke sees him fail.
He forces himself to stop dwelling on that. He ought to be spending his energy, instead, on wondering whether she's OK and why she's back so soon.
"You doing alright?" He asks her, feels his brow crease as he searches her face.
She nods easily, and gives a convincingly bright smile. "Yeah. I felt like heading up here to hang out with you guys rather than drawing all afternoon."
He simply looks at her for a moment, considering. She sounded reasonably honest there, he thinks. She sounded like she genuinely has come back to the dorm by choice, made a positive decision to seek out his company and that of Wells and her other friends rather than staying alone.
Is that a good thing? He hopes so. Maybe he'll ask her later, with his lips against her neck.
But first, he decides, there is something else to sort out.
"You want me to fetch you a chair?" He offers. "Or we can share -"
He never makes it as far as finishing that suggestion. She's already on his lap, leaning back against his chest, her sketchbook propped carefully against the chair leg.
Meanwhile, Wells is putting the final nail in the coffin of this particular chess game. Bellamy leans awkwardly forward round Clarke to push over his king in resignation.
"You win again, Jaha. Shocker. Who saw that coming?" Bellamy asks, a little upset, trying to cover it with a determined smirk.
He knows it's only to be expected that he still sucks at chess. Wells has been playing all his life, and Bellamy has been playing for a matter of weeks. But all the same, Bellamy really does hate feeling inferior. It's something he's had to deal with all his life and has never made his peace with. And there's something sour simmering deep in his gut at the thought of losing to the Chancellor's son, a spoiled kid from Alpha station, the childhood best friend of his too-good fake girlfriend.
Even if that guy also happens to be his friend these days, more or less. His friendship with Wells is still somewhat complicated, in short.
"You're getting the hang of it pretty quick." Wells says, giving him a respectful nod. "Most people take a lifetime to master this game but you're already thinking like a real chess player."
Bellamy allows himself to smile. That's a decent compliment under the circumstances, he thinks. He's well on the way to being a real chess player.
Not that he cares about this stupid game, of course. But he does care quite a bit about the opinions Clarke and Wells might have of him.
"You want to play the next game with me?" Clarke pipes up from her place on his lap.
He stiffens. He can't think of anything worse, actually. He can't think of anything more humiliating than watching her beat him, one move at a time, every play reminding him all over again that he's not good enough for her. Reminding him that he's letting his heart get carried away with him, whenever he dwells too long on the close friendship and fun sex that seems to have sprung up between them.
"I don't think that would make a good match." He says, carefully light. "I'm still pretty bad at this. You'd get bored. You'd beat me too easily."
To his surprise, she laughs and twists in his arms to press a kiss to his cheek. "I didn't mean with you, Bellamy. I meant with you." She says, as if that explains anything.
He kisses her on the cheek in turn, because that seems like a better move than making himself look any more stupid. He may not be a master chess player, just yet, but he thinks he has the tactical side of this fake relationship pretty well worked out.
"We could play as a team." She continues. "That could be pretty fun, right? We can sit here together whispering about all our moves and throw Wells off his game. If you want to, of course." She concludes, suddenly sounding nervous.
He almost laughs. As if there's any chance of him turning that down – an excuse for more time spent cuddling Clarke, and cooperating with Clarke, and claiming Clarke as his in the middle of this dorm filled with their friends.
Oh. Right. He's probably not supposed to get so possessive over a fake girlfriend.
"I'd love that." He admits easily, kissing her cheek once more for good measure.
Clarke visibly brightens. "Great. Set the board." She says, with a nod at Wells.
Wells groans theatrically. "I don't stand a chance. You beat me more often than not anyway, and Bellamy has this really dangerous creative streak."
"I do?" He asks. That's news to him.
"Yeah. I've managed to shut you down so far, since you're still learning. But that paired with Clarke... I'm screwed."
Bellamy grins. He manages to be a bit more magnanimous in his friendship with Wells when he doesn't feel totally outclassed, it turns out. "This sounds like fun." He offers brightly.
Wells, of course, subsides into a nod and a smile. He's basically incapable of being even mock-annoyed about anything that will make Clarke happy, apparently. Bellamy has to admit that Wells is a pretty good guy. He's certainly pleased he saved him when the grounders attacked the dropship, back before they found themselves in Mount Weather.
Maybe that's because they can both agree on the most important thing – that Clarke's happiness is their priority.
They start playing, then. Wells takes white and makes the first move, on the basis that it seems only fair when he is playing against a team of two.
Bellamy isn't expecting to contribute much to that team, in all honesty. He figures Clarke will play the game, and he figures that he is just here to look ornamental and fond. He's here to hold her, and press kisses to her cheek or the back of her neck, and distract her with silly compliments. Isn't that the role he is playing, these days? That of a lovestruck and rather cocky fool?
He is surprised, then, when Clarke makes a point of soliciting his opinion just a couple of moves in. Wells has made an aggressive start to the game – or as aggressive as Bellamy has ever seen chess get.
"What do you think we should do?" Clarke asks in a whisper, prodding lightly at his arm. "We have to react to this, right?"
Bellamy frowns a little. It's odd, he decides, to be plotting with Clarke in a whisper over something as inconsequential as chess. It makes a nice change from blood and secret revolution.
"Don't get drawn in." He suggests, eyes narrowed at the board. "Don't rise to it. Do something he's not expecting instead. Get your knight out into play."
"Our knight." Clarke corrects him sharply, before doing exactly what he just suggested.
Right. Yes. Our knight.
Maybe he's more than just a pretty face to her after all.
Maybe, on his really good days, he could dream of being more than a friendly fake boyfriend, even.
…...
Clarke didn't plan to decorate the whole apartment.
Really, she didn't. She's just been having a quiet afternoon, while she doesn't have a shift in med bay but Bellamy is out at training. She thought it might be sweet to put up a couple of her sketches on the walls, to make the place feel a little more like home.
And now? Now she's been tacking drawings to the walls for the better part of an hour, and there are literally dozens of them. It's not quite what she was intending, to be honest. And she's found herself putting quite a lot of thought into which sketches to select, and where to position them, and -
And she thinks she might be losing her mind.
Should she take them all down? Is this sentimental or foolish or silly? Bellamy doesn't want to live his life surrounded by her indifferent drawings. Of course he doesn't. He's a good friend, yes, but he's not exactly sharing a room with her by choice. He doesn't need to be drowning in the fruits of her labour of love.
And besides which, he might find it upsetting to have so many sketches up of the dropship, or of his sister, or of the delinquents they lost along the way. He might -
He's opening the door, right this second. She's caught, red-handed, still clutching a stack of sketches.
She watches him take in the scene around him. His gaze flickers over the walls, dwells a little longer on the portrait of his sister that Clarke has hung over his bedside table. It's not a good drawing, honestly. She had to do it from memory and she just couldn't get the ears right. It's -
"Can I help?" He asks simply.
"What?"
"Can I help? Have you got more still to go up? This is such a good idea. You always have the best ideas." He says, light and teasing, pulling her in for a good afternoon kiss.
And then as he pulls back, somehow he seems to be holding the stack of sketches she was clutching so recently. He's looking down at the topmost image – one of himself smiling sleepily across his pillow at her this morning.
He's looking down at it like he doesn't hate what he's seeing.
"This is really good. They're all really good. Thanks for doing this – best surprise ever." He says easily.
"It is?" She presses, still not quite sure she can believe that.
"Yeah. Definitely. It makes it feel so much more like home."
She nods, smiles as bright as she can. He's saying this out loud, in a voice for the bugs and for the security team. That must be why he's so vocal about his approval, right? Any lovestruck boyfriend would be pleased at the thought of making this place look like home.
But maybe, just maybe, a lonely friend would feel that way too? A lonely friend who has found true companionship in this apartment, and in this fake relationship?
She's just daring to begin to wonder that because, in all honestly, that's how she feels.
She gathers her courage. This feels like a big moment, somehow. She's really quite moved that Bellamy has been so warm in his praise for her silly scheme to make the place theirs.
"So you're going to help me put the rest up?" She asks. He did offer just now, didn't he?
"I'd love that. Where shall we start?"
Clarke swallows down the lump in her throat and points at a bare patch on the wall.
She knows this doesn't solve everything. She knows that, above their heads, hundreds of grounders are still trapped. She knows that the medical team of Mount Weather want her people for blood or bone marrow or babies – and knows, worst of all, that she doesn't know which they want. She knows that putting these sketches on the walls is a case of papering over the cracks at best, shoring up this life she shares with Bellamy. Preparing their base, perhaps, in readiness to make their move.
Plotting a revolution with him is a bit like playing chess with him, she thinks. She's sitting here, shuffling pieces slowly around the board, trying to look at the bigger picture.
But even as she's trying to keep her eye on the board, she's looking to him and hoping he'll suggest taking a knight out on some chaotic rampage.
Thanks for reading!