Here's the last chapter! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this along with everything else. There's also going to be a little epilogue, hopefully next week - but perhaps not the epilogue you were expecting!
A few people have asked what happens next. I haven't decided what I'm doing regarding multi-chapter fics after this. I'm finding that fewer and fewer people in this fandom follow and support WIPs, which is probably only to be expected given the show is now over and finished how it did! I have a couple of ideas I might write. Or I might just write oneshots for a while. Even Penguins who write quick have to worry about their real life and/or mental health sometimes.
Happy reading!
Bellamy wakes up the next morning with his nose pressed against Clarke's neck. That's pretty normal. He wakes up to the soft sound of her breathing, the much loved scent of her. All part of his usual morning routine.
He wakes up with a raging erection, too.
That's not unusual, of course. It's a pretty common side effect of waking up next to Clarke, her body soft and warm in his arms, and of the way she seems almost to cling to him in sleep. But usually he tries not to make a big deal out of it. Usually he tries to roll away, or think thoughts about how stressful their circumstances are and will his erection to subside. They don't really have time to mess around with such things on a normal morning, when they both have work assignments to get to. And seeing as this relationship started out as an exercise in staged sex, Bellamy has never liked to pressure her into sex more often than she actually wants it.
He doesn't roll away this morning, though. He doesn't try to convince his cock to soften. He just sort of... leaves it. He acknowledges that he's hard, that he'd like to have sex with Clarke, and waits to see where the morning might take him.
He thinks a little while he waits. Nothing particularly wild or kinky, just musing on how much he loves Clarke's body, how much more he loves the energy and personality she brings to the bedroom. He reflects on how much he's learnt about sex from her, these last few weeks – or from the relationship they have nurtured together. He's learnt that sex is about feeling good and having fun, not about proving himself or making a point or drowning out the negative voices in his head.
Most of all, he's learnt that it's fine to wake up in the morning with an erection, and leave Clarke to decide what she makes of it. So that's what he does.
She wakes up in her own time. She starts shifting in his arms, snuggling closer to him than ever. He's not sure whether she's deliberately grinding against his cock or whether that's just a natural side effect of their current position.
"Morning, Princess." He murmurs.
"Morning. Is that a pistol tucked in your belt or are you just pleased to see me?"
He laughs. "Admit it – you find it hot when I get all serious about shooting."
"I find it hot when you breathe." She says, apparently unconcerned by the scale of that confession. "But yeah, that shooting lesson was a high point. And that time I was asking whether you had a gun and you did that casual little hip-reveal." She muses, giggly lightly.
He likes that. He likes it a lot. He likes that Clarke giggles for real, now, when something entertains her and she's feeling lighthearted. It's not like the giggling she used to put on for show, a fragile veneer over the top of her serious concerns.
"I might have been trying to impress you." He admits, laughing. "Just a little bit."
"Even then?"
"Even then. Even before I realised I was falling in love with you, I still wanted you to like me and respect me."
She hums, a warm, happy sound. "You managed that pretty early on." She grinds against him a bit more. "Come on – are we lying here reminiscing or are you lending me your cock?"
"Up to you. Whatever you want." He says at once.
"I could fuck." She says, laughing a little, making a show of thoughtfulness. "We don't have anywhere to be right now, do we?"
"We still have a couple of hours before we head back to Arkadia." He confirms, starting to slide a hand to her bare breast.
That's the decision made, it seems. He figures that out fairly swiftly when Clarke rolls over in his arms and starts kissing him hotly, one hand shooting straight to his erection to rub him lightly.
Well, then. Someone's not hanging around.
"We're not in a rush." He reminds her. As he said, they have a couple of hours before they have to go anywhere.
"But I've already kept you waiting a while." She points out. "I could kind of feel it while I was dozing and starting to wake up. I was lying there still mostly asleep but thinking that's Bellamy's cock and I want it."
He grins, reaches in for another kiss. It ends up messy and a little sloppy, but who's counting? Clarke doesn't seem to care.
He leaves her to it. He's not going to complain if she wants to start things out with her hand, if she wants to dive straight in and not keep him waiting any longer. The Bellamy of last month would have been worried about how this would affect his performance, he thinks. He'd have been lying here trying desperately to analyse how close he got to coming, how quickly, and wondering whether he needed to get Clarke to back off so he wouldn't come first.
This Bellamy doesn't care. He cares about making it good for Clarke and giving her something she likes, of course. He cares about being a generous lover and leaving her thoroughly satisfied. But he's not keeping count of orgasms any more, nor worrying about who comes in what order. If he comes first, they can fool around until he's ready to go again, or else he can get her off with his mouth or his hands or even, when she's feeling very needy, the firm muscle of his thigh.
Maybe he ought to find her a dildo. They must have dildos in this place, right? They seem to have stockpiled every other luxury object known to humankind.
She's not particularly trying to get him off yet, as best as he can tell. She seems to be playing more than anything, and saying good morning to him and his cock. The kissing is good, too, as he relaxes and lets himself go with the flow.
He's getting a lot better at relaxing in general.
Time passes. He's not sure how much time – he doesn't greatly care. All he knows is that it's time well spent, touching Clarke, kissing her, feeling her determined yet gentle fingers wrapped around him.
There comes a moment when she seems to decide it's time to change things up. She nudges him onto the bed until he's lying flat on his back, straddles him confidently.
So this is what they're going for this morning, then. He's not complaining – he does love to watch her ride him like this. She gets herself comfortable, starts working up and down the length of his cock with long, slow rocks of her hips.
"Can we start every morning like this?" He asks, with what he hopes is a winning smile.
She snorts out a laugh. "I wouldn't complain. It might not be practical every day though."
He grins. Standard Clarke. He can just imagine how much she would hate to run late, one morning, because of impractical sex.
They talk less as Clarke moves faster. Fewer jokes, more heartfelt sighs. Until sighs become moans, and moans become groans, and Bellamy is beginning to realise he won't last much longer.
Which is fine. Clarke's close too. She's had a good time with his cock, and he knows she will be happier if he stays relaxed and whatever may happen, happens. She doesn't like it when he gets tense and puts pressure on himself to perform in the bedroom.
"I'm close." He tells her, because communication is what they do best.
"Me too." She agrees, with a smile and a frantic little nod. A nod which tells him he's safe, and she's got him, and she loves him to the Ark and back for reasons that stretch far beyond what happens in this bedroom.
He's there. He's coming, his world narrowing to Clarke above him and astride him and around him.
She's not quite there, though. The moment he's done she's lifting off his cock and sitting herself on his face instead. He can taste the sharpness of his own come alongside her arousal, and he likes it. He likes how confidently and smoothly she decided to just hop on top of him. That's the kind of easy intimacy they have mastered, lately.
He reaches up to grab at her hips, urges her to come a little closer. He wants to show her she's allowed to sink her weight right down onto him.
But it almost doesn't matter, in the end. She comes right then, with a loud moan and a firm squeeze of his hand.
When she is done, she lifts off him a little. Just far enough to scoot backwards and uncover his face, to look down and meet his eye.
"Good?" She asks simply.
"Great. You?"
"Perfect."
"Breakfast?" He offers. He imagines she will want to get up and get on with her day.
She hesitates a moment, wearing a thoughtful expression on her face.
"Clarke?"
"Another five minutes cuddling, then breakfast?" She suggests by way of compromise. "I like the way we're both more relaxed now. We don't need to rush anywhere."
He smiles up at her. "That sounds perfect." He agrees, all raw honesty. "You're right. It's good to feel safe and like we don't have a thousand things to do."
She nods as she climbs off him and settles against his side for a hug. "It's not just that though, is it? I think we're both more relaxed in ourselves. I've learnt that I don't have to do everything myself all the time. I'm allowed to take a break or share the load with you or a friend. And I get the feeling that you don't think you're such a monster any more."
He clears his throat. There seems to be something stuck there, all of a sudden, since Clarke made that rather serious point.
"You're right." He tells her, quiet – but not as quiet as they used to whisper, back when this all started. "It's like – I'm more at peace with myself than I used to be. I'm coming to terms with some of the mistakes I've made." He swallows hard. "And I guess I'm less worried about making new mistakes than I was when we first met."
She nods. She hugs him tighter still, squeezing her arms around his chest.
"It's good." She says simply.
He has never agreed with her more.
…...
Clarke is happy. Or at least – she thinks she is. She's honestly not sure she would recognise happiness if it slapped her in the face and told her to get a grip. She's been so long without it, if indeed she ever knew it at all. She's not even sure she was happy as a kid on the Ark. It was tricky to relax and have a happy childhood while her mother was always coming home fretting that she couldn't save a particular patient because of medicine rationing, and her father was always worried that there would be some major failure of the Ark. She used to look at the two of them – her mother in particular – and think that her life would look a lot like that, in the future.
She was wrong.
She was beautifully wrong, and she loves it. She's genuinely hopeful that this peace will last, and that the respectful nod from Anya as they parted ways means peace with the grounders lies ahead, too. Most of all she's looking forward to living on a planet where there is air and food enough for everyone, unlike the Ark.
No. Sorry, that's wrong. What she's looking forward to more than even that is living life at Bellamy's side.
They're out and about again today. Bellamy is sitting up front in the rover, this time, driving for the first time while their companion from the Mount Weather guard watches closely. Clarke is sitting as close to him as she can, practically hanging over his seat as she tries to keep him company whilst sticking to her place in the back of the rover. She wants to be there to watch while he does this thing he is so excited about.
She also wants to watch because he looks damn hot doing it, as it happens. His strong hand on the shifter, the look of concentration sharpening his jaw. He makes driving look sexy, she has decided.
Maybe she's just so far gone she thinks he makes everything look sexy.
She thinks the driving is going OK. There have been a few odd lurching moments, and they're not going as quickly as the more experienced drivers tend to go. But besides that, she cannot see any reason to complain.
"You're doing great." She tells him. She knows he often needs more encouragement than he likes to admit.
"We're going twenty-three miles an hour." He counters, laughing a little.
"That's not too shabby for a beginner on this track." His instructor reassures him at once. "Relax. Keep to a speed you feel comfortable with – that's fine."
Bellamy nods, eyes still fixed ahead. They meet a slight hill, and he shifts gear, and Clarke stares shamelessly. She wants that hand for something else, later, she decides. He does have such lovely hands. She wants -
They squeal to a stop, all of a sudden. There's not quite a cloud of dust – they weren't going fast enough for that. But all the same, it's a little unpleasant, and Clarke finds herself jolted in her seat.
That'll serve her right for leaning over to watch Bellamy.
She looks around her rapidly, wondering why they have stopped. Is there danger? Should she tell Bellamy to get down? There's someone in the road ahead, as far as she can see. That must be why he stopped. He stopped so as not to hit that person.
That slim, dark-haired woman.
It's Octavia, Clarke realises. It's Octavia, and she doesn't know how, but it's definitely true. Bellamy is jumping from the rover, running to his sister, pulling her into a heartfelt hug.
Well, then. Clarke thought she didn't know what happiness was, just a few short minutes ago. But here and now, as she watches Bellamy reunite with his sister, she's pretty convinced moments don't get much happier than this.
…...
Bellamy can scarcely believe it, but this is definitely Octavia. She's alive and well, and she's hugging him fiercely, and by some miracle everything is going to be OK.
Well, maybe that's a little bit of a leap too far. But most things will be OK, he's pretty convinced, as long as he has both Clarke and Octavia in his life.
"It's really you! You're here! How are you here?" He asks, barely coherent, as he hugs her tight.
"Lincoln saved me." She says simply, pulling back from the hug at last. "He's not far away. He wanted to keep to the trees – he wasn't sure how welcome he'd be."
"He can come out." Bellamy says at once. "I swear we won't hurt him. I owe him an apology – I can see that now."
"Not you. We knew you wouldn't hurt him again, not after you trusted him to save me. But what about your friend?" She asks pointedly, with a nod at Sargent Thomas.
"Oh. Right – Lincoln's safe with him too. He's a friend now."
"So it's true? What they're saying about you?"
"What are they saying?" Bellamy counters. He cannot answer a question he doesn't understand.
"That you made a deal with the Mountain. That's why we're walking to Mount Weather today. When we heard about some young couple negotiating the peace deal to end all peace deals I just knew it was you and Clarke."
"You knew that even though we weren't a couple when we last saw you?"
Octavia grins slightly. "I was starting to wonder whether you might be, one day."
Clarke has joined the party, now. She's got down from the rover and walked here in time for that comment.
"Why is everyone's first response always I told you so?" She asks, teasing, as she reaches out to hug Octavia in her turn.
"Maybe I used to be a little too obvious about staring at you." Bellamy jokes.
"You both were." Octavia concludes. "Come on – we have to go meet up with Lincoln. He'll want to tell you all the news."
They start walking, Sargent Thomas joining them, too. That's just how this alliance works, now. Thomas is a good man, and although Bellamy is not anywhere near so close with him as he is with Lovejoy, he thinks it counts in his favour that he was one of the first to take a seat with Jasper and Monty at supper on returning home from Camp Jaha last night.
Within a few minutes they find Lincoln. He seems to simply appear from the forest, as if stepping out from behind a tree. Bellamy dreams of a day when he will be that comfortable and confident in these woods.
"Lincoln. It's good to see you." He says, a little stiff.
"Are you well?" Clarke adds.
Lincoln nods, calm and slow. "I'm well. And you both?"
"Yes, thank you." Clarke says.
"It's good to see O again. Thank you for taking care of her." Bellamy tries, inadequate but heartfelt.
To his surprise, Lincoln laughs softly. "I did my best. We take care of each other really. Isn't that how any good relationship works?"
Bellamy nods urgently. That, at least, is an idea he can relate to. That is some common ground he shares with this near-stranger his sister loves.
"Who's your new friend?" Lincoln asks, dry, with a nod at Sargent Thomas.
"Sargent Thomas, sir." He answers for himself, with a flustered salute.
Lincoln narrows his eyes, evidently surprised by that show of respect. "No need for all that. I'm not exactly the Commander. So it's true, then? We're all friends now?"
"It's true." Clarke confirms with a decisive nod.
"We heard something about it from Trikru. That's why we came looking for you. Anya likes this idea – I think you've won her over, Clarke, even if you never realised it at the time. I understand she's sent word to the Commander calling on her to support this alliance."
"So it's working?" Clarke asks, eager. "We'll have peace?"
Lincoln shrugs slowly. "Hard to say. The word is that Azgeda don't like it – but Azgeda never like anything. It's a start at least. You did well." He pauses a moment, thoughtful, before pressing on. "I never saw this coming when you captured and tortured me." He says outright, mouth a tight frown as if wondering whether it was wise to go there.
"Me neither." Bellamy says. He is more comfortable owning to his mistakes now he knows that he can do better. "I am sorry about that, Lincoln. I look back on that day now and can't believe I thought that was the right thing to do."
"I'm sorry too." Clarke adds, and Bellamy notes that she is quieter than her usual strident self.
Lincoln nods and smiles cautiously. "I understand. We all do foolish things when we're frightened. And we've come together in friendship now, haven't we?"
"More than that. You're family now." Octavia pipes up to correct him.
"I'd like that." Bellamy rushes to agree with his sister. "I was just thinking yesterday that I only have O left as blood family, but that I'm building a new family out of love." He swallows carefully. "You're family to me too, Lincoln, if you want to be."
Lincoln snorts, a cynical sort of laugh. "Since I am not so welcome in Trikru these days, I guess I should accept that offer."
Bellamy nods, grins, tentatively joins in the laughter. It's not quite a declaration of brotherly love, perhaps, but he thinks it's a damn good start.
…...
Clarke still doesn't know where home is, as she sits by the campfire in Camp Jaha and takes part in the festivities to celebrate peace. She and Bellamy haven't decided yet where they will live in the long term, whether they want quarters here, or at Mount Weather, or back at the dropship. Maybe they will start again somewhere totally new, in fact – the possibilities are endless. And although she's delighted to see Octavia safely back with Bellamy, she must admit she was almost looking forward to going to search for her. It would have been pleasant, she thinks, to take a road trip with Bellamy and not have to lead anyone at all for a little while.
She may not know where home is, but at least she has learnt who her home is in recent weeks. They're all here, now – Wells and Miller and all the rest of the hundred, passing around the moonshine. Abby talking quietly with Jackson and throwing Clarke a warm smile every few seconds. Octavia and Lincoln trying to integrate with the group and more or less succeeding.
And most important of all? Bellamy, sitting by her side with a casual arm thrown over her shoulders. He always has been better at that kind of relaxed intimacy than she is.
"I should hug you more." She muses out loud.
He turns to look at her, frowning. "What do you mean? I wouldn't complain or anything but I feel like we're already pretty affectionate with each other."
She shakes her head firmly. "No. You're affectionate with me and I'm crap at showing you affection in turn. I'm sorry. It's been like that right from the start."
To her surprise, he laughs. That's not the reaction she was expecting, and it has her frowning at him until he sees fit to explain himself.
"There's no point looking at it like that, Clarke. Sure, you don't have your arm around my waist all the time. But I think I grab you like that enough for the two of us." He says, with a cheeky squeeze of her hip. "You show it differently. You're more vulnerable with me than you are with anyone else, even when we're just chatting or sharing a meal or whatever. You don't put that leader face on with me. And you show it in your eyes most of all."
She swallows. She practises something she has been working on a lot in recent weeks – trusting Bellamy Blake.
"OK. If you're sure. But I don't want you to feel... unappreciated."
"Trust me, I don't. I feel more appreciated than I ever have in my life before."
She hums quietly, leans closer into his side. She likes the sound of that. They're doing pretty well, all things considered.
She supposes she ought to make the most of the party sooner or later. She's been looking forward to the festivities, to a chance to let loose and remember how to have fun – but hopefully without the disasters of Unity Day. But she's so comfortable and peaceful, here, that she's not sure she can face standing up to get a drink.
It doesn't matter, in the end. The drinks come to her. There's Wells walking straight towards her and Bellamy, focussing closely on the three drinks balanced in his hands.
"You want a hand with those?" Bellamy asks when Wells is within earshot.
"No. I'm good. Thought you two deserved to take a break for a change. I figured the least I can do after everything is get you a drink."
"You don't need to look at it like that." Clarke rushes to assure him. "You did your part, Wells. You took care of the kids and took care of us, too. Your support kept us going."
Wells rolls his eyes affectionately. "I know you both love me. Now take the damn drinks."
Clarke laughs and does as she is told. Wells sits in the space on Bellamy's other side, reading their warm welcome for the implicit invitation it is. She really loves the way that she and Bellamy have managed to become a couple without making their old friendships awkward along the way.
In fact, she loves most of all the way that Wells and Bellamy have grown so close. That's what makes her ask the question.
"Did anyone bring a chess board?" It's half teasing, half deadly serious.
Both men laugh, and Bellamy answers easily. "No. No one brought a chess board to this party, Clarke. You'll get your chess tournament soon enough, but not tonight."
"Yeah, I wasn't thinking of chess." Wells agrees. "I was thinking this is a nicer fire to sit and watch than the last one we watched together, isn't it Bellamy?"
"What do you mean?" Clarke asks, puzzled.
"The fire at the dropship. Barbecued grounders." Bellamy remembers, heaviness in his voice. "We were cowering together in this tunnel watching everything go up in flames and wondering whether we'd see you alive again."
"Called it." Wells says, laughing a little. "I knew you were thinking of Clarke even then."
"I might have meant you plural. As in all our friends, including Clarke." Bellamy protests ineffectually.
Neither of them even bothers answering that. Clarke knows full well that he was thinking of all his people to some extent, because that's Bellamy. But he was thinking of her as an individual too, and that's just how it is.
"Thanks for running to help Wells out that day." She says instead of answering Bellamy's feeble point. "I've never said that, have I? Thanks for saving him. But if either of you ever puts yourself in danger to save the other again I will be furious. I need you both alive, thank you very much. That's what I was thinking while I was watching you run out into that fight."
"Yeah. I figured that out now. Couldn't see it at the time." Bellamy murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.
Clarke hums in agreement. She thinks they are all seeing the world rather more clearly now the fog of war has passed.
Thanks for reading!