One
No one other than Bellamy Blake is so goddamn infuriating.
It's getting obnoxious and aggravating, with the summer heat and the pestering mosquitoes that think it's pretty funny to nibble every inch of her exposed skin. There should not be a freaking bug bite on her ass. But ah well, that's what the change of seasons brings, a blanket of suffocating humidity and blistering heat, buzzing and harassing bugs zipping through the air; deflected by constant swiping hands, and bare chests. Lots and lots and lots of purely and absolutely naked, toned, muscular, bronze, silky smooth, very enticing, and distracting—
"Like what you see, Princess?"
Chests. Like how exactly he manages to have such flawless skin with all the bugs going around and why is he so muscular—
"Clarke?"
He must be doing pushups or something in his tent every night because is that an eight-pack? No, wait, let's count just to make sure—
"Clarke!"
The blonde jumps: a squeak that sounds painfully similar to seven, her eyes shooting back up to his murky and increasingly amused chocolate eyes. He's wearing this smug grin, the dimple in his chin almost mocking her as he raises an eyebrow at her prolonged stare.
She clears her throat, feeling the rosy heat rise up her neck, creeping up to her cheeks and flushing against the swell of her breasts, and she subconsciously and halfheartedly blames it on the summer temperature.
"I— I um," She crinkles her own eyebrows, biting her lip as she wracks her brain with what exactly she wanted to stay prior to being lured in by his annoyingly attractive body. Suddenly a smile breaks free and runs across her face, her tulip pink lips curling into a wide grin, her eyes brightening and twinkling against the reflection of the glittering sun, and he finds an abundance of warmth flourish inside his lower stomach.
She's already managed to lighten his previously grumpy mood in less than two minutes, her flustered exchange of expressions humoring him. Her smile is contagious, and the arrogant expression he had transitioned to one of a sincere smile; with crinkling eyes followed by a slight shake of the head.
Bellamy's heart picks up in pace, and he tries his best to ignore the fluttery feeling in his chest he can only refer to as a giddiness. The strangeness of it makes him feel lightheaded, though he inwardly blames it on the humidity.
"I am taking the day off."
What.
He must have said it out loud because the relieved grin she wore slips off and shatters to that of an irritated look. She wastes no time beginning to list the numerous reasons why she deserves a day off.
"Look, it is summer, and we don't have issues with anyone outside the walls anymore since the treaty, and no one's been showing up in the medical bay as of late," She emphasizes the last word, creating a 'tsk' sound that sweeps off the look of skepticism he was broadly wearing.
He glances at her with a haughty smile, noticing the red hue that still adorned her pretty face.
"And I've been working my ass off to help repair the rest of the cabins that collapsed after the storm in January, and I need to freaking bathe because I've been wearing the same shirt for the past three days and I'm pretty sure my new natural scent is sweat, and why the hell do I even have to wear a shirt, all of you stupid guys not wearing shirts, I swear one more day in this heat I'm going to go naked, and—"
"Clarke!" He barks, his eyebrows shooting up at the mention of her going nude, and her annoyance with bare chests which explained why she was fiercely glaring at him just a moment ago. She purses her lips, cocking an eyebrow at him, not wanting to leave any room for discussion.
He just kind of looks at her, with that look that makes her insides feel all funny, and her hands begin to tremble and the urge to blush is unavoidable. Clarke unlatches her eyes from his, growing slightly embarrassed at his amused demeanor. She finds a nice patch of grass to stare at as she mutters, "If I get one more bug bite, I'll bite someone's head off…"
His head tilts back and he laughs, a noise that catches her attention instantaneously. The fizzy, childlike vibrancy of his laugh caressed her heart and makes it pound erratically.
She exposes a smile she futilely tried to hold back, the will to be frustrated evaporating at the delicate and simply delicious sounds that push past his parted lips. She's only heard him laugh like this around her, and even if it was because he was laughing at her, she doesn't really mind. A giggle bubbles up inside her that intermingles with his continuous laughter. Unaware of the quizzical and honestly disturbed stares they're garnering from the entire camp, Clarke and Bellamy laugh now as if it was a hundred and something degrees outside and at any moment the world could potentially end.
Clarke feels curious eyes drilling holes into her skin and at the back of her head and the giggles slowly cease. Bellamy must feel it too, since he shares a small smile with her, before clearing his throat, dismissing the lingering eyes to mind their own business. He puts a hand on the back of his neck, rubbing the skin there almost nervously as he catches her gaze again.
"Go have a day off. You deserve it."
The words seem oddly similar to the ones he had said on Unity Day, and they both experience a case of Déjà vu.
"Yeah, okay. So do you."
She beams at him, her gaze falling to his chest as she subconsciously counts eight to herself, receiving a questioning and entertained look from the great Bellamy himself. Turning on her heel in the direction of her own cabin, she glances back at him briefly with a shy grin, something somewhat unlike anything he's seen from her before. Clarke then hastily rushed off.
She leaves a pleasantly surprised Bellamy, a big goofy smile sprawled out across his handsome face, his eyes dipping to the ground before returning to her departing body. He snickers again when he sees her hastily scratch the pestering bug bite on her left elbow, positive that she was probably cursing under her breath and grumbling about how there were no bugs on the Ark.
There it is, his heart thumping against his ribcage again and that annoying flustered sensation coming on, as he replays their conversation over and over helplessly in his mind. He stalks off, going to help with the continuous work of rebuilding and building homes, that silly, toothy grin not once slipping.
It's all so innocent, everything she does and everything she is, to her subtle touches and her big, blue eyes and that damn freckle above her lip. Her golden locks that he really wants to play with during meetings, and all sorts of girly junk that he had no idea when he became so infatuated with.
It's so innocent.
But maybe that's just what being raised as a princess results in.
Two
Clarke Griffin often finds herself thoroughly exhausted after every day of working long hours, plagued with bloodied fingertips and squirming bodies limping through the medical bay. It only makes sense that when she finally does get some peace and quiet, she can fall asleep in a snap.
But today, when she plummets face-first into her makeshift mattress full of animal furs she's collected, she's almost shocked that sleep doesn't consume her. It's damn hot, there's really no ventilation in the small two-room cabin of hers besides that measly window near the entrance of her abode, and she squanders no valuable time in peeling off her grossly damp shirt and kicking off her pants that had stuck to her like a second skin.
It's still hot as she's lying on her back staring at the ceiling basking in the summer light that's slithering into the room that licks at her exposed skin and leaves it a flushed pink. She grumbles out, 'fuck it,' and forces her arms back to unclasp her bra and halfheartedly hurls it across the room, the pitiful fabric smacking the wall with enough force to create a 'wap,' sort of sound.
"Serves you right," she mutters before letting out a relieved gasp at the loss of constriction surrounding her chest. She pauses, thinking to herself, 'I really need to stop talking to myself,' while stripping off her last modest undergarment, the panties flung high and slinking down the front of her door.
She sighs a breath of reprieve, her sun-kissed chaos that is her hair damp and stuck to her forehead, tickling the back of her neck and shoulders uncomfortably. She brushes it all up while momentarily pushing her body up, then instantly slamming right back down on her back calmly, feeling the slightly cool air caress her nude hourglass body and busty frame.
Her eyes flutter closed, and she wills sleep to overwhelm her, to take her into its comforting and blissful ignorance.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
She squirms trying desperately to get comfortable, smacking her head against a poorly made improvised pillow, throwing the covers over her, then cursing at the searing heat encased in their embrace. She throws the multitude of suffocating, fluffy blankets off in a frustrated fashion, whipping her upper body up and blatantly glowering at the closed door in front of her.
It's too hot to sleep and too hot to function.
She plops down again on her back miserably, her dark and lengthy eyelashes tickling her cheeks as she blinks, sinking into her bed and reluctantly closing her eyes again.
Just think, and eventually, you'll go to sleep.
Think.
Instantaneously she's filtering through memories like flying through pages of a magazine, scanning them, and dismissing them. She reminisces on the near-death experiences, the losses of Wells and Charlotte, and her father.
She feels a weight heave down onto her chest, her breath hitching and getting caught in her throat, her hand sliding down her face in anguish.
Breath.
She takes a deep inhale, letting the air linger in her lungs, and whistle out through her nose. She steadies the rampaging emotions creating a whirlpool in her heart and raging war in her mind and lets her pestering mind drift to simpler things.
The bunnies hopped about in spring, nuzzling their pink noses into the grass, sniffing the crisp scent of dancing flowers, and listening to the wind getting intertwined in the branches of dozens of swishing trees.
The sparkle and shimmer of sunshine illuminating the clear, crystal blue of the lake, the feel of refreshing water accepting and nourishing her skin.
Rough, calloused, and tan fingertips, the feel of his hands brushing against hers, the tingles of delight and the embellishment of shy reassurance, the tenderness of his voice, the harsh husky tone that entangles in the depths of her thoughts.
She blinks, slightly surprised that the thought of Bellamy's hands was so deeply engraved into her brain, and she sighs a bit. In just the same way he had the ability to rile her up until she saw red, he also always had this way of calming her down, when nothing else could. She can't help but keep thinking about him, if only just to fall asleep.
Clarke inwardly insists on this as she slowly unravels- unwilling to feel overly cautious and in denial that there was any other reason as to why her brain went instantly to him.
His smile, the way it mesmerized anyone who caught a glimpse of it, by the way, his lips curled in a crooked curve. His bottom lip seemed faintly bigger than his top, how he had that barely chipped tooth from getting into a fistfight with a grounder that stood out against the other pearly whites. Maybe it was how his dimples only exposed themselves when he genuinely laughed. It was a sporadic sight and an enchanting experience to see that smile.
Whether his smile was hesitant and minor, or immediate and immense, whether a frown keeps her from discovering that smile, she can't help but yearn for it.
That smile, mischievous, a mystery in itself, can bring her anticipation and cause her heart to ache.
Her right hand unconsciously traces her bottom tulip lip, tickling the skin as she barely brushes the tip of her tongue to her fingertip, before continuing her agonizing leisure pattern of grazing it against her top lip, then bottom, then top again.
She can't help but wonder curiously, maybe he's yearning and craving my smile as well. Maybe he has thought of my smile as many times as I have thought of his. Maybe my smile lurks in his dreams, taunting him and causing him grief.
The mere thought is silly and exceptionally ridiculous, but she can only imagine him getting all flustered over it. A giggle fizzles up, and she continues to let her mind wander to the many impossible possibilities and scenarios of a certain infuriatingly and annoyingly beautiful man.
His calloused hands and freckled fingertips, the shape of his palms, and his slightly bent pinkies. When he is quick to react when she says his name when his soft lips form a charming sincere smile when they make small talk privately. Those rare times when she looks up and catches his face brightening in the most wondrous way. That mischievous twinkle in his murky eyes, enraptured with so much feeling.
His confident stature and assertive attitude, the vein that pulses on the underside of his jaw when he yells, the strain of tension in his muscles when he argues.
The almost distraught and desperate touches when they debate, the grasp of his hands on her wrists or shoulders, his abrupt impulsiveness that usually propels him to stomp out of her cabin, muttering about needing air.
His scent of firewood, musky dawn, and apples; it's all him.
Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.
She doesn't notice her once limp arm moving up to trace scribbles of swirls above her navel, the nail skimming the delicate blushing skin of her stomach, her lips trembling as her heart begins to pick up the pace.
His expressive russet-colored eyes held depths of emotions that simply take her breath away.
What they would look like observing her, all exposed and breathless. If they would shy away or simply stare.
One hand drifts to the soft milky mounds of her breasts, scarcely pinching the susceptive pink tips, a slight gasp echoing throughout the fiercely quiet and increasingly heated room. Another hand slips from the dip of her navel to her untouched curls, ghosting her fingernail against the flesh of her inner thighs, skating around the aching and yearning want that demands attention, nested in between her legs.
Would he touch her like this? Would he whisper teasing things in her ear?
Naughty Princess.
A gasping whimper trembles through her, and despite the rising temperature, she gets goosebumps.
She finally allows the mischievous finger to slip against her already damp slit, brushing against the bundle of nerves at the top, easing the wetness to coat her entire little finger.
"Oh—" She murmurs as she plunges it inside her throbbing warmth, tantalizingly slowly, her other hand pinching her hardened nipples punitively before motioning to rub against her pearl.
His thick fingers and calloused hands would be rough against her smooth skin.
He'd scrape his teeth against her nipples, flinging teasing taunts at the way she won't be able to keep her noises down.
"Oh, Oh fuck…"
She's increasing her frantic pace, her finger slightly bent to get a deeper angle as she shoves another one along with it.
Two of her fingers are probably the same size as one of his.
She's feverishly rubbing her clit; only pausing for a split moment to press her fingers into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them to muffle the spewing moans resounding in the room around her.
There's a plethora of warmth flourishing in her core, the heat intolerable, almost like a coil being bent to the point of snapping. She's beginning to see stars, her vision flickering in and out with specks of black, her lips parted as she mews and gasps at the continuous pleasurable torture.
Bellamy… Bellamy…
She's so close it aches, a bead of sweat dripping from her forehead, cascading down her rosy cheek; her tongue tasting the flavor; salty.
Her walls are pulsating against the thickness of her two fingers working restlessly inside her, the delving rhythm becoming shaky and sloppy.
She can almost hear his raspy, hoarse voice. Her breathless panting and high-pitched cry ricocheted off the walls of her room as she teeters over the edge.
So close, almost there.
Bellamy.
Bell—
BAM.
An unforeseen and abrupt slam of a door halts her movements in an instant. Clarke springs up in the bed with disoriented panic, her fingers scrambling away and her body aching at the sudden loss. She's almost lightheaded at the whiplash, vision a sway of colors before her sight fixates on the figure standing there with the door open.
To her absolute horror, it's no one other than Bellamy Blake.
Three
In his defense, he had every right to barge through her door.
They had scheduled a meeting to discuss the progress of rebuilding homes and sending out a group of people to scavenge for more food an hour before sundown.
And well, the sun was already beginning to set and the hustle and bustle of teenagers swarming around campfires and gulping down that cursed moonshine had begun to take place, and she still hadn't shown up.
He had figured it was because she had either forgotten, or had fallen asleep, but he also knows her too well, and that she was never one to take naps or be scatterbrained and forgetful.
So, when Miller, Octavia, Lincoln, and Raven were all discussing the need for storing water and needing more wood for cabins, he had begun to feel slightly irritated at her lack of presence.
"Where's Clarke anyways, Bellamy? I haven't seen her all day." Octavia speaks up, noticing the deep scowl inscribed on her brother's face, his furrowed eyebrow, and his hunched shoulders as if he's lost in thought. Her suspicion that he's worried about Clarke is confirmed when he jerks his head up and locks eyes with her, staggering in his response, caught off guard by the sudden question hurled his way.
"Uh, she requested a day off, and went to her cabin earlier today, and I haven't seen or heard from her since." All their gazes are directed toward him, everyone sharing the same apprehensive and inquiring expressions.
"Clarke taking a day off? Never thought I'd see the day." Raven remarks while shaking her head slightly, half smiling whilst pulling at the back of her lengthy ponytail, making it nice and snug against her head.
"She should still be here though," Bellamy mutters grumpily, crossing his arms in front of him, appearing like a child pouting about not getting his way.
"I can go get her, really quick," Octavia announces whilst bouncing up out of her seat, flashing a quick, uncertain smile towards her exhausted and irritated brother.
Bellamy shakes his head 'no,' pressing his hand to her shoulder in a way that demonstrated authority. She rolls her eyes, sitting back down reluctantly and gradually at the slight pressure on her right shoulder, flickering her eyes back to Lincoln, a grin quirking the corners of her lips.
"You're just pouting because she hasn't been giving you attention." She mumbles out, sharply sensing the heat of Bellamy's glower directed at the side of her head.
"I don't care if she takes breaks. But she shouldn't bail on a meeting. It's unprofessional." He remains speaking grouchily to the side of his sister's head, feeling his frustration churn in his stomach when he sees her roll her eyes again at Lincoln, Lincoln, in turn, trying and losing a battle at smiling an amused grin.
"Octavia's right. You're only in a good mood when she's around you. Seems like you have a thing for her, the way you follow her around like a sick puppy." Raven snickers, her chocolate eyes glancing up to catch Bellamy's residual glare. She has the nerve to even laugh at his ridiculous reaction to her words.
"I do not!" Bellamy's voice picks up in a higher tone in denial, frustration interlacing throughout the words at the quiet laughter surrounding him. He even hears Miller trying to stifle a chuckle and clenches his jaw at the feeling of being made fun of. He huffs, spinning around, and stomps out through the door, tossing the words, "I'm going to get her," over his shoulder and sulks off.
Raven turns to face Octavia with an incredulous appearance, the amusement still lingering in her words, as she tilts her head towards the route the ill-tempered man just trudged off in.
"What's up with him? We were only kidding."
Octavia's features brighten, her head leaning against her hand picking up, as she shifts to move upright in her seat.
"I know! Bellamy and Clarke? There's no way."
'I do not follow her around like a sick puppy.'
Bellamy protests inside his head, catching the glances of a few teenagers as he makes hurried steps towards Clarke's front door, hesitating before knocking, his brain in disarray with the thought of her.
Sure, they are together most of the time, and he does check up on her at the medical bay four or five times a day for nothing in particular, but that doesn't mean he's following her around.
And sure, she does get him in a better mood than anyone else can; besides when they're in a heated argument, and she's the only person that can get under his skin and defuse residual anger or make him second guess himself in his decisions.
And well, there are times when he does prefer her over anyone else because she's easy to talk to and she has the capability of making him laugh at her mischievous behavior.
There are also times when he gets so frustrated thinking about her that he can't sleep, and other times when he wants to touch her for no appropriate reason, and those times when she gets all close and personal and all he can focus on is her lips and not the fuming words spewing out of it.
But that does not, in any way possible, mean that he had a thing for her.
She's too insufferable, always so intense and serious, and exasperatingly beautiful.
She can make his stomach do that aggravating jittery thing, but that's it.
He cannot have unnecessary feelings for her. She is his partner, the co-leader in running this mess of hormonal teenagers and pandemonium, his somewhat friend that seems to know him better than himself, and the thought of anything else is foreign, strange, and off-limits.
He shakes his head and lets out an exhale, his unscrupulous dark curls getting tangled in his eyelashes as he motions a step closer to the daunting and unnerving door.
His hand gently rests on the doorknob, about to turn it, when he recognizes a trembling voice that sounds distinctly similar to Clarke's.
"Bellamy…"
He pauses, before opening the door timidly and leisurely, reluctantly treading into her vacant living room. He rakes a hand through his locks, pursing his lips as he inspects the place.
No blonde girl is rummaging about, and for a split moment, he thinks he's going partially insane at the thought of hallucinating her saying his name.
"Clarke?"
He mutters gently, stepping nearer to the door of her bedroom, wavering at regaining his composure.
There's no response, and he contemplates that she's sleeping until a muffled, breathless scream reaches his ears.
"Bellamy!"
His instincts jump-start, his heart kicking into overdrive as he jerks the door open hastily, his hands clammy and his mind sifting through depictions of her in grave peril.
But nothing could prepare him for this.
She's got her head tilted back, her plush pink lips parted and panting out moans, her impatient fingers thrusting inside her recklessly, her back arching off the bed in a desperate yearning for release.
Her blonde hair spilled everywhere around a pillow, her bare body glistening from sweat, her generously large breasts pressed up into the air, the sensitive hardened tips swollen at being fondled and pinched.
His mind goes blank, not aware of his boot stepping precisely on her discarded panties, his hand still outstretched, grasping onto the knob of the door in a tense, stationary motion.
Her display is cut off in the spur of the moment, her hands jolting back at the sound of his entrance, her upper body flinging forward, her usual wavy golden strands bunched up in curls falling on top of her shoulders and cascading down her back. Her eyes are a frantic and electric blue, the misty arousal still lingering there before vanishing immediately at the sight of him.
Clarke freezes, caught in a shamefully unthinkable predicament, too frightened to break eye contact with him as they both gape at each other, eyes wide and jaws slack, disbelief and astonishment scrawled across both of their faces.
"Shit." He utters finally, too stuck in bewilderment to glance away.
The silence engulfs them in its strained and ridged embrace, her heart's heavy pounding reverberating in her ears, and pulsing against her ribcage, the thumping sound so loud she's almost terrified he can hear it. In the way he's intensely watching her— she's sure her fears are confirmed.
His usually softened chestnut eyes, are now dilated, and churning with rampant emotions she doesn't quite fathom,his pupils lost in the vast expanse of his brown eyes, profound darkness much like a starless night sky.
But suddenly there is something there in those resigned eyes of his, a spark that ignites the lavishing fire within, his still and motionless body moving, his lengthy calloused fingers that she'd shamefully fantasized about- slipping off the smooth doorknob. His slack jaw clenches and his thick eyebrows crease, casting his roguish features in a shadow of intimidation and desire.
She can't stop staring, stock still and trembling, with every step he takes closer to her bed, her own gradual movement propelling her backward. Her knees slowly shift to shield her bare body as best as they can, her heart's continuous thudding quickening in pace. For a pause of silence- she can't quite remember how to breathe.
He doesn't take his eyes off her, doesn't let them wander curiously to places below her neck. An act of endurance, he is to bound her in a relentless battle of will, his hands curling and clenching into locked fists, a tense exhales flaring his nostrils.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
He's taken three steps closer, his tall and lean body towering over hers as he motions to the side of her bed. She doesn't recognize the barely audible whimper that passes past her lips as her own, her eyes wavering as she scoots farther away from him, in turn causing him to inch closer.
He's so terribly close, close enough to see every sprinkle of freckles over the bridge of his nose, scattering over his cheeks in clusters. It's a seemingly innocent feature for such a perpetually sharp and menacing face; with his locked jawline and slopping nose, and that vague scar that coils against his cheek like a lopsided smile, another scar running shortly in between his eyebrows.
He's so beautiful, and it has always… kind of pissed her off.
He's crawling onto the bed in a sloth-like motion, one knee pressing into the cushion, sinking the edge of the bed somewhat, while his arm goes out in front, holding his weight up as he maneuvers nearer to her. There's a foreboding comprised in that penetrating stare of his.
She pulls her plump bottom lip between white teeth, the sweat that left a clear sheen against her pale skin seeming to stick to her in a suffocating grasp, her body nearing the other edge of the bed. He doesn't seem to notice her efforts to distance herself from him- as his mind is entangled in a web of her, locked in a haze of her saying his name. It's as if she has her own magnetic pull, an invisible force pulling him closer and closer.
She was saying my name.
She was thinking of me.
She tries to compose herself as best as she possibly can, besides the fact that she's completely and utterly naked. It's perhaps a miracle when she wills herself the ability to even speak.
"Bellamy…"
It's supposed to come out as solid and threatening; yet it becomes dwindled and incomplete, a whispered plea, truly desperate for him to leave, for him to stop decreasing the space in-between their hammering hearts.
She finally manages to look away, frantically scouring the room for those abandoned blankets lying limp against the floor directly next to the bed.
It's just an arm's length away…
It's a flustered barrage of moments, with her body turning and her arm reaching out in haste to grab at the sheets. Bellamy is one step ahead of her; his body jerks into action as he grasps her wrist in his hand, thrusting her back onto the bed.
She lets out a gasp of air, the makeshift pillows cushioning the fall of her head with a soft sigh of cotton. He holds her seemingly captive; her arm being extended up above her head, held in place by his clutch. He traps her in between his legs, his knees on either side of her thighs, his other hand finding and catching her other wrist, pressing it up above her head.
His toned yet clothed chest presses into her bare breasts, his warm breath hitting her lips in the proximity of his leaned-down face, and they lock gazes once again. She squirms as if on cue, the gentle skin of her hips nipped at by the jagged indent his jeans were made against them. Bellamy tenses at her movements, if only to keep her in place.
She lets out an exasperated huff, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze as she spews out in a sarcastic tone, "Let me go, asshole."
His eyes narrow as he notices her dodging his impending inspection. He takes both of her wrists in one of his hands, allowing one of his hands to freely roam. The callous of his palm cups the flushed side of her cheek as he gently nudges it, encouraging her to look at him again.
"Not until you tell me why you were saying my name."
It's as if the syllables are compressed together as he murmurs them through clenched teeth. The line of his jaw locks and he swallows down a hallow sigh as she squirms again, the milky smooth skin of her inner thigh brushing against him.
It's obvious she feels the building strain in his jeans, and she gapes at him. A rosy blush consumes her face as her eyes stray from his, looking anywhere that's not him, but finding it quite difficult with his lips so tauntingly close. Warmth flourishes in her stomach, her cheeks burning, the heat seeping to the tips of her ears, chills whispering down to her toes.
Goddammit. Was I really saying it out loud?
Her face blooms in a splash of cherry.
"Fuck."
It's as if he's read her mind, an immensely smug and boastful smirk breaking through his tense expression, his dark eyes lightening in amusement at the color consuming the blonde's cheeks. She takes notice of this by the way he lessens his grip on her wrists, and she puffs out her cheeks in a humiliating pout, her nose scrunching up as she launches a menacing glare at him.
He has the audacity to laugh, his back straightening up while still straddling her, his head tilting back slightly, his soft and mischievous curls bouncing as he laughs in the most wondrous way.
It kind of pisses her off again how he's so beautiful. Laughing with those damn dimples peeking out, the vibrations trembling through her like a wavelength, and she shivers. She inwardly rejects the feeling of her frustration evaporating at the mere noise of his deep laughter, and, if possible, she blushes even harder than before. She chokes on a breath when the bottom of his shirt tickles her stomach, and with newly released wrists, she wastes no time crossing her arms over her breasts.
But then he glimpses back at her, that slathered-on smirk lessening to just a quirk of his lips, as he moves down abruptly, his head in the crook of her neck as his lips barely hover over the shell of her ear.
"If you wanted me, all you had to do was ask."
She tenses at the suggestive whispered words, her arms uncrossing from her chest as another wave of heat hits her full force, the remnants of warmth pooling between her legs.
His breath is hot and quiet as he gently presses his soft lips to the delicate and sensitive area below her ear, dipping the tip of his tongue out to taste the flesh of her skin and sucking, his teeth skimming the flesh. Clarke tremors, the sensation of his voice fizzling down into her core.
A gasp and a shudder of her fingers, and she has to restrain herself from reaching out and raking her nails through his untamed locks. She shifts, accidentally nudging the growing bulge of his jeans again and he takes a shaky intake of air. Bellamy continues his parade of feather-light kisses, Clarke's breath hitching after each one, a silent battle of self-control.
He's teasing her into insanity, and she knows he wants her to say it; to say those embarrassingly crude words. His gentle kisses trail down to her shoulder, unexpectedly taking a quick bite, his teeth sinking into her flesh before his tongue slithers out and nourishes the tender skin.
"Ah..." She gasps in surprise, her little noise causing his kisses to become rougher and seemingly depraved- his mouth sucking and leaving imprints of reddish blue. His hips press forward and it's impossible for her to ignore the impression of his pulsating heat against her core.
"Why did you say my name, Clarke."
He mutters in almost a growl, not breaking the pattern of love bites trailing from her shoulder and back up her neck.
"I-I…ah!"
She whimpers, cut off by her own little gasps at each brush of his clothed cock against her wet slit. She quivers in shame at the thought that the slickness between her legs was seeping into his jeans.
The rough cotton fabric encounters her overly sensitive nub of nerves as he pushes against her rigidly, his subtle groan muffled into the underside of her jaw, the sound intermingling with a breathy moan of her own.
"Tell me, or I'll stop."
Deep down she knows he would, that he's just as stubborn as her, and that it's always been a struggle of conflicting personalities and stone wall boundaries. She knows that if she plays into his ultimatum- that everything they once were, all they always were, will never be the same.
She will never be the same.
"I wanted you, Bellamy."