a/n Welcome to smutty Saturday! Here we have Bellamy figuring out his sexual preferences over several seasons and a miscellaneous canon-divergent happy ending. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this as always!
Please note that there are lots of other relationships in this fic before we get to Bellarke. Bellamy will be paired with both men and women. There's a brief Becho sex scene, so if that's going to be a problem for you please leave now and read something else. There's one moment of dubious consent. There's also some discussion and depiction of various kinks including choking and rough sex. Again, please go read something more to your tastes if that is an issue for you. Apparently I wasn't clear enough about this yesterday so please understand this as a cheerful plea not to fill my inbox with Echo hate this festive season :)
Happy reading!
Bellamy won't remember how it starts.
There's no defined moment when he suddenly figures out his sexual preferences, no flashing neon sign. Sexuality is like that for some people, he knows, but not for everyone, and that's fine too.
There's more a gradual progression, a process of working it out. A bit of experimentation, and some pretty cool people hooked up with along the way.
And at the end of it all? At the end there will be Clarke, and a kind of homecoming.
…...
Bellamy's first sexual experiences are mostly with slightly older girls.
He's not sure whether that's deliberate or not. He knows he's pretty well filled-out for his age, and he thinks it's cool that some older girls seem to be into him, so he gives each of them a try – or more than one try. They blow him in random storage closets, mostly, and it's hardly the stuff of epic romance but at least it shows him the ropes. He likes the way they're confident with him, the way they tell him what to do. But he doesn't always like the tone they take – as if they're consciously teaching him, rather than only leading the way.
He hooks up with a handful of guys in his early years as a cadet. They're closer his own age, and the sex is hot. But he misses the softness and curves of women, begins to wonder whether maybe it's OK to be into both but lean slightly towards girls.
That's fine, right? His sex life is his business, and no one else's, yes?
He's twenty when he realises that's not necessarily true. When he realises that even though his sexual preferences ought to be no one's business but his own, there will always be someone out there who feels the need to pass judgement.
"You going out with Dawn again?" One of his fellow cadets asks, pointed. He's a guy called James, and they hooked up one time last year.
"Yeah." Bellamy shrugs. Surely James isn't jealous? That seems like a waste of everyone's time.
James sneers, and it's not a good look. "She's three years older than you, Bellamy. You got some kind of mommy kink or something?" He spits the words out, scornful.
Bellamy stiffens. He's not heard that phrase before. He's heard people talk about a daddy kink, but he doesn't see why a casual date with an older woman should merit James throwing terms around so angrily. He's pretty sure that if Dawn was three years younger than him, no one would bat an eyelid. And besides which, even if he did have a mommy kink, there's nothing so very wrong with that, surely?
Not that he does. Obviously. He's still figuring out whether he has much of any kink at all.
…...
He thinks about those angry words James threw at him a lot, in the days and weeks and months that follow.
He thinks about them while he's going down on Dawn, dwells far too much on trying to analyse why he gets so excited when she tells him he's doing a great job.
He thinks about them while he's blowing Luke in a storage closet, wonders whether there's something going on with the way he loves to be ordered about and have his lover tug at his hair but then soothe him with kisses.
He thinks about them most of all when he's at home. When he's lying in his lonely bed at night, hating that he'll never be able to have a real relationship. Hating his mother for putting him in this situation, and then scarcely showing him a moment's warmth or gratitude for everything he does to protect her and Octavia. And he knows that James didn't actually mean to make any comment about Aurora that day, but all the same, it occurs to him that there's maybe something going on here. Maybe there's a reason he craves someone to care for him and tell him what to do, all at once. Maybe there's a reason he's just desperate to be noticed and held – held down, as well as held close.
Maybe that's fucked up, he wonders. Or maybe it's only pathetically tragic.
The most tragic thing of all? Twenty-three hookups later, and he's no closer to finding his perfect match.
…...
He tries to teach himself new habits, when his sister is arrested and his mother floated. In his anger, he doesn't believe he deserves softness, so he tries to teach himself to be harsh in bed.
At least he can bring hookups home now. Praise god for small mercies, he thinks – sarcastically and without the slightest shred of faith. Any belief he had in a loving and generous and forgiving god floated clean off the Ark with his mother.
As part of his new experimentation with a rougher sex life, he hooks up with a lot of girls about his own age or even a little younger – all legal adults, but he doesn't want to be mothered, any more.
He doesn't deserve to be mothered.
No. That's not the point. The point is, he's not weak. So he brings home girls and shows them who's boss, shows them that he's got his life – and theirs – under control, that he's coping just fine, thank you very much.
It doesn't work for him. Maybe they're too insipid, he wonders. Or maybe he is actually more into guys after all.
So that's why he invites Luke over. He hooked up with Luke pretty often, when he was a cadet. They had something going that was at least a friends-with-benefits arrangement and maybe even verging on a relationship. So Bellamy brings Luke home and grabs at his hair and starts fucking into his mouth, because hot and heavy sex is his thing, now.
Or maybe it's not. Because all at once Luke is pulling desperately away from his rough hands, scuttling frantically across the room, looking up at him with dismay in his eyes.
"What are you doing, Bellamy? This isn't you."
"I can be whoever I want to be." He snaps, harsh.
Luke looks horrified. "Yes. You can experiment. But this? You're a kind guy, Bellamy. That's who you are – you take care of people. And this is not caring."
With that he stands up, heads for the door.
"Luke -"
"I'll be back when you've figured it out." He says, scrubbing a hand across his mouth as if he feels dirty, or something. The guilt of that shoots straight to the pit of Bellamy's stomach.
He doesn't come back, in the end. He never will. Because the Ark plummets to the ground and Luke goes up in flames.
…...
On the ground Bellamy tries to find a halfway house. He keeps himself in the driving seat, because that feels safer. Vulnerability is dangerous, and anyway he needs these kids to know that he's the boss round here. But he thinks about what Luke said about kindness, and tries to blend that in, too. Tries to show that he's a firm caretaker, or a strong protector. Someone who will reward good loyalty by looking out for his people as well as getting them off.
He still craves someone to take care of him, if he's being truly honest. Sure, he likes taking care of people – but he's been doing that his whole life. It would be beyond lovely to have someone to watch over him for a change.
He tries to take the edge off that by choosing confident girls – ones who might speak up in his presence, once in a while, and dare to meet him as an equal, rather than only lie there and take it.
He strides out of his tent, finds Roma standing there and slaps her heartily on the ass. As moves go, it's hardly a subtle one, but he figures it'll do the job.
"You want some company?" She asks. Looks like he was right, then.
"You offering?" He raises his brows at her. He likes making her demand it – he still does have a bit of a thing for being ordered around, it turns out.
At that moment Bree appears, too, looking rather petulant at having been beaten to the scene by Roma.
"Looks like you're spoilt for choice." She says, somewhere between sarcastic and insecure.
It's not pure impulse that makes him suggest they both join him. It's something almost resembling logic, in a twisted kind of way – if making one girl sigh in pleasure quiets some of the angry voices in his head, will two sets of satisfied moans allow him to sleep in peace? If one pairs of tits can distract him for an evening from everything he's done, will two pairs block out the guilt completely?
The answer to both of those questions is no, it turns out. A very resounding no. But at least he knows now, so there's that.
Damn it. He just wishes either of these talkative, sexually confident girls had the strength of will to really step up and take care of him.
…...
Clarke catches his eye. Of course she does. She's caring but confident, bossy and beautiful, maternal yet has mastered the art of taking charge over him already. She's everything he has ever craved in a relationship, he's pretty sure, all wrapped up in five-foot-two of snarky blonde.
So that's why he doesn't go after her. It might seem like an odd chain of reasoning, but it makes sense at the time. He doesn't go after her because he doesn't deserve her, in part. He doesn't deserve to be happy, nor to be so well looked after, not with everything he's done. And it's also because he's honestly not sure she'd say yes.
But more than that, the main reason he doesn't go after her is just how much he wants her. He doesn't just fancy a quick fling with her, a hurried hookup while they're fighting to survive. She's loving and generous and forgiving in a way that makes him want to spend his whole life with her, and he figures that means this is not the time or place to make his move. He wants her personality in his bed, as well as her pussy, and he wants that to the end of his days.
Although sometimes, in his weaker moments, it does occur to him that the end of his days might be very soon, at the rate things are going on the ground. And that even if he doesn't really deserve her, maybe it can't hurt to ask...
No. Scratch that. He doesn't deserve good things.
He tries to distract himself. He tries propositioning Miller instead. Miller is steady and loyal and can be decisive, although he looks up to Bellamy too much as a leader to really be what he's looking for.
It doesn't matter, anyway. Miller is holding out hope of reconnecting with his boyfriend when the Ark lands.
Good luck to him, Bellamy thinks, with a passing thought of Luke.
He tries Raven, next. They hook up in a hurried rush because she's sad about Finn. And it's good in some ways – the fact she takes the lead, insists this is happening, straddles him and shows him he's not the boss of her.
But she's not Clarke. She has none of the softness, doesn't have a healer's hands. She doesn't smile when she's putting him in his place, not like that wonderful little smirk of Clarke's.
He's got it bad. He wonders whether craving Clarke will be the end of him.
…...
It nearly is, as it turns out. She walks away from him at the gates of Camp Jaha and he could swear it breaks his heart. They've never even been together, of course, but in his heart it was only a matter of time. Even when she sent him into the mountain, she implicitly admitted to feeling something for him, and he left holding out hope that they'd fix things, in time. That maybe if he saved his people on this dangerous mission he might finally deserve to claim the woman of his dreams.
So that's why he gets with Gina. Whereas Clarke was kind but beneath a tough exterior, Gina is all kindness – so much of it that she can be almost sickeningly sweet, at times. She's kinder to him than he deserves, consistently and always, and treats him like he's fragile.
Clarke wouldn't do that. She'd know how to bring out the strength in him.
But as it is, and as his heart is breaking, being with Gina is good for him – or at least better than the alternative. It's better than being alone. And she's a little older and wiser than most of his past partners, and has this kind of maternal warmth about her that can be really lovely.
She touches him a lot when they have sex. Tonight, for example, he's trying to fuck her and forget the world, but she will insist on cupping her hand around his cheek and whispering his name and all round forcing him to stay in the moment and remember who he is, what he's done.
"Could you talk less?" He asks her, huffing for breath. He feels foolish phrasing it like that, but he's not sure how else to approach the issue.
"Sorry." She freezes, evidently horrified that she's disappointed him. "Sorry, honey. I'll be quieter."
"No. It's OK." He stops thrusting his hips. He thinks maybe they should finish this conversation first. "If you're really into it you can keep talking to me. I just – it doesn't really do much for me."
It's a lie. It's a total and utter lie. He dreams almost every night of Clarke murmuring his name while she holds him tight. But telling that lie seems kinder than telling the truth, in this moment.
"OK. Fine. Sure."
"Sorry."
"Don't you be sorry." She says, as if she would protect him from all the guilt in the world. That's not what he needs, damn it. What he needs is for someone to help him face up to his crimes, support him while he works through his penance.
"I do like it when you touch me a lot. Especially when you wrap your arms all around me." It's not a subtle hint, but at least it's honest.
She takes him up on that. She holds him tight and lets him get on with it, and honestly, it's pretty good. It's comforting and protective and there's even some strength to her fierce embrace.
He'll feel even more guilty, when she's dead. He'll feel guilty most of all for never loving her as well as she deserved.
…...
He hooks up with Roan one time. Honestly, he doesn't even know why he bothers. He doesn't actually like the man. But there's something about his fierce sarcastic bossiness that Bellamy supposes might at least fulfil that need he has to have someone else take the lead.
Sure enough, Roan does take the lead. There's nothing soft or caring about him at all as he bends Bellamy over onto all fours and pounds into him. But maybe that's understandable – it's hard to be soft and caring when there's a crisis to deal with. And as hot and heavy sex goes, he's certainly had worse. It's a while since he's taken a cock, too, so at least there's a bit of variety here.
Who is he kidding? It's a total waste of time. He could be spending these ten short minutes on desperately trying to make up with Clarke, or protect her, or show her he's still devoted to her despite the mistakes they have both made.
He could just spend them looking at her, and honestly, that would probably be more productive. At least if he stares at her hard enough he'll be prepared to protect her from any unexpected danger that should shoot her way.
…...
He doesn't bother hooking up with anyone else while the world is ending. He's a little more honest with himself, now, and has moved on from telling himself he craves someone to take care of him whilst taking the lead to admitting he wants specifically Clarke to do that for him.
And honestly? She's doing that for him anyway. They're not sleeping together, but they're still supporting each other in every other way. She's even there to meet him at the rover when he drives home from his missions most days. Each and every time he sees her standing there he thinks it might be the best thing that's ever happened in his life – to have someone who cares about him that much, who watches over him in that particular way. And she fusses around him at other times in other ways, too, making sure he's eaten or slipping a pillow beneath his head while he's dozing on her couch.
He doesn't need to have his face between her legs to know she's devoted to him, just as he is to her.
…...
It's when their days are numbered and Clarke is far away at the island that his resolve weakens and he takes Bree to bed. It's something to do, more than anything else. A way to take his mind off mortality and impending doom and suchlike. He seriously considers calling Clarke on the radio instead, but he decides that wouldn't be fair to her. She's got enough on her plate, without a needy friend calling her. Just because he apparently has something of a mommy kink doesn't mean he needs to act like a pathetic child around her.
Bree serves his purpose well enough – and he seems to serve her purpose well enough, too. He can remember why he used to sleep with her so often back at the dropship. She's confident and can be demanding, and it doesn't hurt that she's blonde, too.
She's not Clarke, of course. When she sits astride him her breasts aren't large enough to hang in his face and smother him.
Good god, that's a hot idea. Just another experience he supposes he'll miss out on, seeing as they'll all be dead within days. Just another dream which will have to fall, forgotten, by the wayside.
…...
He doesn't die, with his last thought a regret about never telling Clarke outright how he feels.
No. It's worse than that. She dies. He leaves her behind, and she goes up in flames.
It's like Luke, only a thousand times worse.
…...
His relationship with Echo starts out as sexual attraction and vague friendship, but it lasts because the sex is good.
She chokes him and he likes it. It's as simple as that. He likes surrendering control to her – he likes to be ordered around in bed even more since he left Clarke behind, since he blamed himself for closing the door on her. It feels right that he shouldn't be trusted to take charge any more.
The other thing he likes about the choking? It's a reminder that she could kill him with her bare hands, but she chooses not to. It reinforces that he was right to forgive her, that she's on his side now.
She takes good care of him, in her own rather brusque way. She is generous with hot sex, she leaves him alone when he needs to be left alone, and she makes sure he eats meals when he's feeling low. What more could a heartbroken guy want?
A little more softness. That's the answer. A little more of the tenderness and gentleness Clarke used to balance with her decisive pragmatism.
He asks for it. He's proud of himself for that. He can't remember the last time he felt confident enough in his own self-worth to ask for anything for himself.
"Could you be more... tender with the choking today?" He asks her before they get started.
She frowns. "Tender choking?"
"Yeah. You can still be firm with it. Just – tenderly? As if you're doing it because you care about me?" It sounds even sillier said out loud than he feared it would.
Echo nods, a thoughtful look on her face. "OK. I'll try. I do care about you."
"I know." He says, because he does know it. They care about each other, even if they're not good at showing it. Even if it's not the kind of care either of them ever expected to build a relationship out of.
She's as good as her word. When things get heated, when she's sitting aside him and reaching for his neck, she's smiling a surprisingly soft smile at him as she goes.
Huh. This is promising.
She's a little slower and more careful than usual as she closes her fingers around his throat. She's still holding him firmly like she always does, but it's as if she's put more thought into exactly where she places her fingers. And she's stroking at his skin a little, too, soothing him before she begins to press down on his bloodflow.
Then she starts squeezing, and his world starts to blur. And as his smudged vision and the darkened room and the gentleness of her holding him down blend together, just for a moment, he could almost pretend she's blonde after all.
…...
When there is peace in Sanctum, he breaks up with Echo. He wonders whether he should have done it sooner, in fact, but between the criminals and the bodysnatchers there hasn't been a whole lot of time for relationship drama.
He's sad about it, in a way. Echo did her best. She took care of him as best as she could while he was hurting over Clarke – and now he's breaking up with her because Clarke is alive. They both know that's exactly what's going on here.
He doesn't make a move on Clarke right away. After all these years loving her he's not quite sure how to actually act on it. He still asks himself whether he deserves her, sometimes. After all his many failures to look after other people, does he really deserve someone special to take care of him?
And anyway, she has Madi. She's very preoccupied with her child. She doesn't need him to look after, too – at least not right this second. Maybe he'll find the courage to find out whether she's interested in a less platonic relationship between them once Madi has stopped having nightmares about Sheidheda.
He tries distracting himself with Gabriel.
Gabriel is a kind guy, but he also has the sheer physical size to be a bit of a dominant force in the bedroom, Bellamy hopes. He seems like a good candidate to fulfil a daddy kink craving, at least.
Bellamy isn't disappointed. Gabriel is kind and warm and thoughtful and sucks him off as if his cock is some kind of precious gift, then kisses him soft and sweet and tender.
OK. Bellamy is a little disappointed. Because however lovely Gabriel is, he's not Clarke. He has none of that determined protectiveness, none of that fiery burning need to take care of the people that matter to her.
Screw it. He just needs to make a move on Clarke.
…...
Getting with Clarke turns out to be the easiest thing, in the end.
He drops some food off at the apartment she shares with Madi, one evening. It's something he does pretty often – he doesn't expect it to turn into everything he's ever dreamed of.
"Here. Some bread for the morning." He says lightly, handing it over while he hovers on the doorstep.
"Thanks, Bellamy. It's sweet of you. You do so much to take care of us and I'm always wondering who's looking after you, these days." She says, pointedly, fixing him with a look that suggests he will not be able to worm his way out of this impertinent question.
He tries to play it off with a laugh. "Pretty sure you're the only person who's ever dared to try to take care of me, Clarke."
She smiles sadly. "Echo seemed good for you."
This is it. This is a chance better than any chance he's had before – or will have again, he's pretty sure, based on his crappy luck to date.
He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage.
"We were good together. But she wasn't you."
Clarke doesn't pretend to misunderstand him. She reaches up, pulls him straight into a kiss, decisive and demanding and utterly dominant despite her shorter stature. It takes him a moment to catch up with her, honestly, to start kissing her back and cradling her head and showing her that he still plans to treasure her, too, and that he wants them to take care of each other.
It isn't until he finds a loaf of bread poking him in the ribs that he pulls away.
"Shall we take this inside?" Clarke asks, more request than suggestion.
"You mean you don't want to make out on the doorstep holding a loaf of bread?" He asks, teasing.
She grins at him, sets the bread carefully on a nearby table. Of course she does. That's his Clarke – pragmatic to the last, unable even to discard a loaf of bread in the midst of getting together with her best friend after so long.
At least, it feels like it's been a long time coming to him. He can only presume she feels the same, based on the excitement and relief and sheer joy in her eyes.
"Come on." She tells him, clasping his hand and leading the way down the hall.
He likes that. He likes her taking charge, but he likes the way her hand is soft and warm in his, too, and the way she keeps throwing little glances at him as she walks.
"Is this really happening?" She pauses to ask the question, just outside her bedroom door.
"I sure hope so. I've been waiting for it a while." He tells her, bending to press a kiss to her forehead.
That's what does it. That's the moment she relaxes utterly, and steps forward to pull him into an enthusiastic hug, of all things.
"I love you." She whispers against his neck. "I want to tell you that before we go find out whether or not we're at all compatible in bed."
"I love you too. And I know we'll fit together perfectly." He says, because really, he has been craving Clarke in his bed for years. And not just on some superficial level, not at all – he's thought about what it is that she has and he wants in probably far too much detail.
It occurs to him rather suddenly that he's thought much less about what he can offer her. Oh god. He's spent all this time trying to look out for her and lift her spirits, but he has no idea how that will carry over into the bedroom. He supposes he's at least generous in bed, but is that enough on its own?
He doesn't have time to stew in his insecurities for long. Clarke flings the bedroom door open, tugs him inside, and gets started on removing her boots.
He follows her lead, reaches for his own laces. But suddenly her feet are already bare and she's crouching to stop him with a firm hand.
"Let me do that." She demands.
He nods, wordless. She leads him to the bed, sits him down and kneels to unlace his boots.
While she's unlacing, she talks. "Any preferences I should know about? What do you want us to try first?" She asks.
"I've thought about this in too much detail." He admits, with a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm going down on you for a bit first. And then you're getting on top. Does that sound OK?"
She nods eagerly, slips off one of his boots and moves on to the next one. "Perfect. But promise me you won't freak out if it doesn't go exactly according to your plan, OK? We'll have other chances. And I know how you get when you're feeling guilty about something. Just promise me you'll give yourself a break and try to enjoy this however it goes?"
"Yeah. Of course. Thanks." She doesn't seem to think that thanks is weird, and he's pleased about that. He really is grateful to her for what she just said. That's what he needs in a lover and has always found in Clarke – someone brave enough to remind him to take a break from blaming himself once in a while.
She's done with his boots, now. He decides it's time for him to respond in kind, so he raises her to her feet and tugs her shirt off over her head, kissing her mouth and neck and shoulders and really as much of her as he can reach while he works. She rises to his implicit challenge, gets him shirtless and then stands back, just for a second, just looking at him.
"What?" He prompts her, self-conscious.
She reaches out to run a single finger down his chest and stomach. "I've been wanting to do this for years." She admits, laughing at herself slightly.
He laughs in turn, reaches out for her. They start kissing messily, touching each other urgently, and Clarke manoeuvres them swiftly towards the bed. It's even better making out with her lying down, it turns out. It feels more intimate and sexual.
He lasts maybe two minutes before he's reaching for the clasp of her bra.
"Can I please see these?" He asks her, smirking what he hopes is a more cheeky smirk than desperate smirk.
She nods. "Thank you for asking nicely." She says pertly.
He chuckles a little. He loves this dynamic even more than he ever dreamed he would – which is saying something, because he's fantasised about this a lot. He unclips her bra, gasps a little when her breasts fall down onto her chest. They look heavy and soft and gorgeous and he wants to get his face on them.
He forces himself to wait.
"Can I please touch them?" He asks now.
She nods. He cups them in his hands, feels them spill heavily from his fingers. The sensation of it shoots straight to his cock. And then he stops to analyse why, realises that he's turned on by the thought that even though she's a small woman her breasts are bigger than his big hands, and – well. That has him even harder.
"You can put your mouth on them if you like." Clarke prompts him, an instruction dressed up as a treat.
He doesn't make her repeat herself. He scoots down the bed a little, rests his head on her stomach. And then he cranes his neck a little, takes one nipple into his mouth and suckles gently.
She gasps loudly, suddenly, as if abruptly overwhelmed by the sensation. It's honestly the hottest thing he's ever heard. He's used to thinking of Clarke as a pretty calm and collected person, so it's incredible to hear her losing her mind like that.
He suckles a little harder, reaches up to knead at her other breast with a hand while he does so. And Clarke clearly rather likes this, because suddenly she has a hand cupped around the back of his head and is pressing him closer against her breast.
Huh. That's a shame, in some ways. He quite liked resting against her stomach like that – it was sort of soft and peaceful. But if she wants him to bury his face more deeply in her chest, he'll do that, of course.
He'll do whatever the hell she wants him to.
He stays at her breasts for a long time. Too long, probably. Or with any other woman it would seem too long, too weird or kinky or just downright unnecessary. But Clarke doesn't seem to object, and she gasps just as loudly when he switches to suckle on the other nipple, so he figures that's OK.
He really likes her breasts, in case that wasn't clear.
He knows he should move things along. This is a bit of a detour from that plan he had in his mind – although, to be fair, she did want him to not get too tied up by the plan. But he figures it's wise to move things along, too, because Clarke is already panting and his cock is already throbbing and he doesn't want to get them both so excited that they come the second things actually start to get truly interesting.
He lifts his head, spares a few moments for some deep and rather damp kisses. But then he's scooting down the bed, dragging Clarke's trousers down her hips and getting ready to get his mouth on her.
"I need you to undress too." She tells him, tone tender, but not to be argued with.
He nods right away, starts shucking his own trousers.
"That's better. I want to be able to see you." She admits, flushing slightly.
He kisses her on the thigh for that. He can't say he's ever felt an overwhelming need to kiss anyone on the thigh before now, but Clarke's thigh is there and it's beautiful and today is a day for new things, it seems.
He stops dawdling, then. He gets to work going down on Clarke, teasing her with his tongue even as he reaches up to caress his breasts. He can do two things at once, he figures. He loves doing this, loves the feel of her writhing against him and her legs clamped around his neck. He can even feel her gasping for breath by the way her chest stutters beneath his hands where he toys with her breasts.
The best thing of all, though, is the way she talks to him. He can't always hear her clearly, she's got her legs so tightly around him. But he picks out enough to get the message – encouragements and words of praise and even the occasional unexpected use of baby.
He could swear he feels his cock jerk against the mattress quite of its own accord every time she says that. He just never imagined she'd be into pet names like that, but now that he's heard it, he can't imagine her calling him anything different. What other word does justice to the way she cherishes him so desperately?
She comes soon. That's no surprise – he could feel her getting excited even before he got his mouth on her. What's more of a surprise is the sheer length of her orgasm, the way she has her hips pressed up into his face and her pussy clenching for several long seconds.
Well, then. It seems like he's in for a treat when he gets his cock in there.
He eases gently away from her and scoots back up the bed. He figures she might want a moment before they pick the pace up again, and anyway, he hasn't kissed her in a few minutes and he misses her lips already.
They kiss for a while before Clarke pulls back and grins at him.
"You taste like me. It's so hot. It's all over your lips. I mean, I already liked your lips, but now..." She trails off, grinning at him.
"You know, all I'm taking from that is that you have a thing for my lips." He jokes.
"And that you need to eat me out more often." She says, totally matter of fact.
"That too." He concedes with an easy smile.
"Thank you, baby."
That's what does it. That's what has him deciding his throbbing cock deserves a bit of attention, thank you very much. It's time for Clarke to take care of him.
"Will you fuck me now please?" He asks her, smiling sweetly, cupping her breast as if to promise he'll make it worth her while.
"Of course, baby."
He huffs out a breathless laugh. "You have no idea what hearing you call me that is doing to me."
"Yes I do." She tells him, with that rather challenging look he remembers her wearing right back at the dropship. "Why do you think I keep saying it?"
He laughs a little more, decides to let her have that one. They both win, as far as he can tell. So it is that he simply lies back and keeps hold of her as best as he can while she straddles him and sinks down onto the length of his cock.
He's imagined this a lot of times. And objectively he knows that her vagina cannot possibly feel much different from any other vagina he's ever come across – or come inside, more like. But in this moment he could swear she feels more wet and welcoming than anyone else he's been with before.
But then it gets better. Then she leans forward, tips her breasts towards his face.
He takes her up on that hint, of course. He reaches up to get his mouth on them. And it's good, but it's not quite enough. Not quite what he's been imagining all these years.
He lies back down, looks up at her. She's already growing breathless again, grimacing slightly from the tension. But he wants to ask for a little selfish gift before she makes herself happy.
"Can I get more of your tits? Please? Can you lean further forward so they're right in my face?"
She strokes a confident but rather gentle hand down his neck and over his chest while she thinks about his request.
"We can try that, baby. But I'm a lot shorter than you." She points out, ever the practical one.
"It'll work." He says. If there's one thing he's confident of, it's that his face was made to be buried in Clarke's breasts.
She gives it a try, leans further forward over him. It more or less works – sure, she's a little on the short side, but the soft skin of her breasts is brushing against his nose and lips and that's a start.
"More. Please, Clarke. More." He begs her, aware he probably sounds somewhat pathetic. But he feels so comfortable here with Clarke that he honestly doesn't mind sounding needy or vulnerable.
She gets the message, then. She lets her weight sink right down over him, her breasts crushing into his face. He tilts his head slightly, reaches for a nipple and starts suckling, hard. Clarke rewards him with a needy little moan.
She can't really ride him so effectively from here, so he takes over, thrusting up into her. He gets his hands on her hips, holds her carefully while he moves against her. He can't breathe too well like this but that's sort of the point. He loves the feeling of being utterly surrounded by her breasts even as he's struggling with the breathlessness of arousal, too.
"Yes, baby. That feels so good." She tells him, reaching down to tug lightly at his hair.
He thinks that's a request to be more demanding with her breasts. He gives that a try, sucks harder.
This time he gets an incoherent moan, followed by a noise that might be baby or might be Bellamy or might be half way between the two.
He's starting to struggle for self-control, now. The way he sees it, the foreplay between them has lasted centuries. And then this evening they have built things up for a while, too, and he's here with a face full of Clarke's breasts and his cock buried inside of her and he's genuinely losing his mind. But he wants her to come again before he does. He's determined on that point. He may love her for the determination she shows to take care of him, but taking care of her will always be his priority, when all's said and done.
She warns him, this time. Or maybe she tried to warn him last time but he couldn't hear with her legs around his ears.
"I'm there, baby. Yeah. Yeah. I'm coming. I'm -"
She trails off, words giving way to a long shuddering sigh.
She's quiet, when she's done. But just for a moment, of course, because Clarke can never be still or silent for long. She sits up, and he misses her breasts right away.
Then she climbs off him, and he misses her even more.
It's fine if they're done for the day, of course. He wants her to have fun more than anything. But all the same he was pretty close and he'll be really disappointed if this is the end of the night.
"I want you on top now." Clarke tells him without preamble. "We've done what you had planned. We're going with my plan now."
Of course they are. Of course that is how this ends – with him falling in with Clarke's plan, as she no doubt always intended he would. It's so perfectly them that he cannot resist the urge to press a soft kiss to her cheek.
"Whatever the hell you want." He tells her, smirking slightly.
She flushes. "Yeah. Some of that. And please don't be freaked out by the way I'm going to shamelessly check out your shoulders while you're fucking me. I haven't had much chance to do that yet."
He smirks wider. This is an interesting development. He always thought he craved someone to take care of him just in the straightforward ways – things like physically protecting him or holding him tight or ordering him to forgive himself, once in a while.
Today is the day he learns that he loves Clarke for taking care of his ego, too. Maybe that makes him selfish, but she makes him feel attractive in a way he hasn't felt since he was twenty-three years old, he's pretty sure.
He moves over her, slips inside and gets to work, thrusting against her a little quicker than he managed when she was on top.
She's as good as her word on the matter of checking out his shoulders. It's like she can't keep her hands off them, clasping her eager fingers around the muscles there. But then she seems to decide she's interested in his back, too, and then his arms, and somehow it's like she's touching all of him at once with the way she's running her hands all over him. He's always liked physical contact, found it really comforting. But this is incredible on a whole new level.
She's still talking to him, too.
"That feels so good, baby. Yeah. Uh."
She's got her hands on his butt for that one, pulling him deep inside her as she gives a breathless groan.
"You're doing such a good job. Perfect."
She really is going to inflate his ego at this rate. Maybe that's what she's aiming for, he decides.
"Yes, baby. Right there. So good."
Her sentences grow shorter, and become phrases. And then phrases become words. And then he doesn't really know what happens next because he stops hearing anything beyond the pounding of his heart in his ears and his own frantic breathing as he falls apart and spills inside of her.
He lies there for just a moment, savouring the last aftershocks of his pleasure, feeling Clarke's soft and slightly clammy skin against his chest.
Then he slips out and lies close by her side.
"You want me to try for a third?" He asks, hand already skimming down towards her crotch.
"No thanks." She smiles sweetly. "I'm good. Very good." He doesn't bother arguing with her. She knows her own libido.
"Me, too." He says easily, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I – uh – I really get off on that dynamic. You know, with you taking care of me and ordering me around a little bit all at once. I guess you already figured that out." He gives a small self-conscious laugh.
"It's a good thing I get off on it too." She says simply.
"You do? That's why I wanted to mention it. I just wanted to check, I guess. We can mix it up more in future if you want." He offers, desperately hoping he's not wrong to presume this has a future.
"I guess variety can be good. We can certainly try some other stuff. But I really do like that." She swallows loudly, snuggles into his chest. "It makes me feel human. Like I'm not the Commander of Death or the leader of the human race. Like I can just be Clarke, a person, Madi's mum and – and your lover."
"That makes sense." He says easily, because it does. "I guess it's a bit like that for me too. It makes me feel like you're caring for me because of who I am, as an individual. Like I'm really loved."
"You are really loved." She reminds him firmly. "I love you."
"I love you." He echoes, still somewhat stunned that he gets to say that, now.
She stretches her back slightly, reaches up with her arms, yawning widely, before settling against him once again – more closely than ever, he notes.
"Is it just me, or does this feel really... comfortable?" She asks him quietly. "We've been circling around this for years and now it feels so easy I wonder why we waited so long."
"Because we were scared. Or because we didn't feel ready to deserve it." He suggests from his own experience. "But you're right. It feels really natural."
"You're staying the night." She informs him, totally matter of fact.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
She presses a kiss to his chest. "Big spoon or little spoon?" She asks.
He considers it for a moment. He knows what answer he wants to give, but he wants Clarke to be happy too.
Honesty is the best policy between them, he decides.
"If it's OK with you I'd prefer little spoon. But if you want me to spoon you I'll happily do that."
"That's OK, baby. You can be little spoon." She murmurs, with another kiss to the chest.
God. That baby is even more dangerous after sex, he decides. When he's aroused it makes him feel like he's about to come in his pants. But after? After it makes him feel like he's about to propose marriage, or something.
No. Best leave that till tomorrow at least, he figures. They've had a big day. And even good changes can take a while to adjust to.
He rolls over slowly, gives Clarke time to shift her grip as he moves. Her arm stays looped around his waist which he expected, but he's pleasantly surprised to find her reaching an arm under his neck, too, and then folding it back round the top of his torso in a move that's somewhere between hugging him tightly and showing him she could choke him from here, if she wanted to.
No. That's probably not what she means by it, he figures. She probably is just trying to give him a really tight hug. But he thinks maybe he'll ask her if they can investigate the choking angle another day.
He sighs deeply, settles right into her embrace. He's pretty sure he's never been so happy in his life, which is impressive, given he's recently settled on an alien moon over a century from the place he used to call home.
"Goodnight, baby."
"Night, Clarke. Love you."
"Love you too."
He thinks a little, as he lies in her arms and feels sleep creep up on him. He thinks about how safe he feels here, and how precious to her, too. He thinks about the feeling of being utterly and totally at home.
He thinks about what James said all those years ago, needling him about a mommy kink. But he gets it, now. What he craves in a sexual relationship is not something that can be boiled down to that simple, crude phrase. It's not that he's embarrassed to use it – he decided to own to his sexual preferences years ago, early on in his relationship with Echo. It's more that the phrase James used doesn't cover the main point, the key thing he's been looking for all these years.
All he's ever really wanted is someone to watch over him.
a/n Thanks for reading!