Author's Note: A drunk Clarke stumbles into Bellamy's tent.
"Bellamy!"
He groaned. It appeared sleep was going to have to wait. He'd desperately tried to ignore her, but she was persistent, outside his tent calling his name. And she was going to wake up the entire camp.
"Bellamy. Stop ignoring me!"
"Calm down. I'm coming," he mumbled quickly throwing on his pants which he'd lazily tossed on the ground when he'd walked in. He was just about to put his shirt on when he heard a whistle from behind him. Clarke Griffin had taken it upon herself to invite herself into his tent.
"Oh, you don't need to put that on," she slurred, stumbling towards him.
"Are you drunk?!" he demanded, but the stench of the alcohol answered his own question.
"Drunk on... on love," she giggled, reaching forward to stroke his arm.
His heart hammered within his chest, he'd been waiting for this. He felt so strongly for her, but he'd never got the impression she felt the same way.
"Clarke. Clarke, stop," he said, pulling his arm back to avoid her. "Don't do anything, or say anything you wouldn't if you were so intoxicated right now."
"But... I want you," she breathed, moving closer to him. Her arms moved downward to remove her shirt, and he quickly reached out to stop her.
"If you tell me that when you're sober, you can have me, but for right now... How about you get some rest?"
"Not tired," she said, though her drooping eyes suggested otherwise.
It was then that she faltered, her legs giving up from under her, but he'd been waiting for that. He managed to catch her and guide her down to his bed. His comfy bed that he'd spent so much time making so he could have a great sleep. It looked like he'd be sleeping uncomfortably tonight, but as he looked at her face, eyes already closed... He didn't mind so much.
And even though he'd slept on the hard ground, when he'd woken up to her, very much sober, admitting she still wanted him... He decided it was all very much worth it.