Clarke wakes up with a scratchy throat, but it's quickly forgotten when Bellamy wakes up beside her and lazily fingers her to orgasm. Wells is never in the mood for sex in the morning, preferring to get an extra twenty minutes of sleep, but Bellamy has no such preference, and his fingers are quickly replaced with his cock, quickly making her come again before he fills her with his come.

"I wish we could stay here all day," Clarke complains as Bellamy gets out of bed to clean himself up. She lets her eyes roam over his naked body, enjoying the view. "I just want you to fuck me over and over and over…"

Bellamy smirks at her. "I know you do. But it's better if you have to wait for it."

Clarke pouts. "Do we at least have time for one more before we have to go to work?"

Bellamy tilts his head, considering. "Maybe if we shower at the same time."

That's enough to get Clarke out of bed, and she drags Bellamy to the bathroom, managing to get her lips on his a few times before they squeeze into the shower. It isn't really big enough for two people, but Clarke wants to be as close to him as possible anyway, so it doesn't really matter. Bellamy presses her against the shower wall and fucks her from behind, the hard planes of his body pressed against her back as he kisses her neck and rolls his hips against her slowly.

She's late for work, despite her best intentions, flushed, horny and panty-less. Worse than that, she's more aware that her throat hurts, and by lunch it feels like she must have swallowed a bunch of razors. At around 3pm she starts sneezing, and by the time she knocks off at 5, she has to admit it to herself: she's sick.

She curls up in bed as soon as she gets home, feeling sorry for herself. She knows it's just a cold, but it's only going to get worse before it gets better, and there is no way Bellamy is going to want to fuck a sick person. Not that she can blame him. With the way she's feeling she doesn't think she's up to it anyway. And she probably won't be better until after Wells gets home, so the whole week is ruined.

Bellamy gets home 20 minutes after she does, calling her name, and Clarke wants nothing more than to feel well so he can fuck her into oblivion. Bellamy flicks on the light as he enters the bedroom. Clarke is facing away from him, curled up so he can't see her red and runny nose.

"In bed already?" he says, and she hears him kick off his shoes.

"Bell," she sniffles. "You should go home." There's a pause, and then Clarke feels the mattress sink with his weight.

"Why?" he asks, sounding concerned. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He reaches out to rub her shoulder.

"I'm fine. I just have a cold."

"Oh. Do you want me to get you something? A hot drink? Some medicine?"

Clarke shakes her head, but she still doesn't face him. "I just want you to go."

He still doesn't leave. "Are you sure?" he asks, hesitant. "Wells isn't here to look after you."

"I don't want you to see me like this," Clarke says, and she thinks she might sound like a petulant child. "I only want you to think of me as sexy."

"Clarke," Bellamy says, sounding a little exasperated.

"You'll think it's gross and then you won't want to have sex with me ever again."

Bellamy laughs and Clarke scowls. She feels him scoot closer to her and then his body is pressed against hers, spooning her, pressing his lips to her shoulder.

"Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?" he murmurs.

"Not really."

He laughs again, and Clarke feels a weird tug in her stomach. Does his laugh turn her on?

"Not surprising," he says. "You and Octavia went out, and then you stayed over."

"Right. Is there a point to this?"

"I'm getting there," Bellamy says. "You were both wasted. Even though Octavia was only twenty and I specifically told her not to drink until she was old enough," he says, annoyed.

"Bell. The point."

"Sorry. Octavia passed out on the couch, and I went to get to get you a glass of water and when I came back you were bawling your eyes out. Some drunk existential crisis. You had mascara all over your face and your hair was a mess. And then when I tried to comfort you, you threw up on me. And yourself."

"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?"

"I'm saying I've already seen you at your worst. And I still want to have sex with you. Well, not right now because you're sick. But when you're not sick I promise I'll still think you're sexy."

Clarke chews her lip. Why is he being so nice to her? Sex is off the table and he's still here. She's not sure how she's supposed to feel, what she's supposed to think.

"And remember the time—"

"Okay, I get it," Clarke cuts him off. "No need to bring up every time I've ever been ugly."

"You've never been ugly," Bellamy assures her. "Let me take care of you," he whispers. "I promise I'm good at it."

Clarke hesitates. She still feels like she should say no, but she's not sure why. "Okay," she says. "A hot drink would be nice."

It turns out Bellamy is good at taking care of sick people. He changes her sheets and provides her with medicine and a honey and lemon drink. He cooks for her, and he's actually really good at it, though admittedly Clarke can't taste much while she's sick. They eat on the couch in front of the TV, Clarke swaddled in blankets.

After dinner he tucks her back in bed.

"You want me to go?" Bellamy asks her.

Clarke shakes her head. "Stay," she tells him.

"I can sleep on the couch if you want."

"Don't be stupid," Clarke says. "You won't fit." She grabs his arms and drags him into bed with her, though he's still fully dressed. He pulls his shirt off and Clarke gets her laptop from the bedside table before leaning back against him and hitting play on an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine that she's already seen seven times.

"Oh hey, I love this one," Bellamy says.

"Me too," Clarke says. But she's asleep before it ends.

Clarke checks the time when she wakes up, panicking when she sees it's after ten. She hasn't called her boss to let her know she's sick. She quickly dials her boss's number. She's going to be in so much trouble.

"Clarke?" Diyoza answers.

"I'm so sorry," Clarke says quickly. "I'm really sick. I slept in and—"

"I know, Clarke," Diyoza interrupts.

"You know?"

"Your boyfriend called earlier."

"Wells?"

"Yeah, Wells. It's just a cold, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah."

"So you'll be back Friday."

"Okay."

"See you then, Clarke." Diyoza hangs up and Clarke puts her phone down, confused. Is Wells home? Does he know she's sick?

Bellamy walks into the bedroom. "You're awake," he says.

"What are you doing here?" Clarke asks. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"I called in sick. I also called in sick for you."

"Oh. Did I get you sick?"

"No, I just thought you might want some company," Bellamy shrugs. "You want something to eat?"

Clarke nods. "Just some toast please."

"I'll make you some tea as well. How are you feeling?"

"Crappy."

Bellamy gives her a sympathetic smile. "Take a couple more tablets. It'll help with the symptoms."

Clarke nods and Bellamy leaves the room to make her breakfast.

He stays with her the whole day and they watch a movie and play some video games. Clarke finds herself actually enjoying his company, despite the fact that her nose keep running and her chest is all congested.

Maybe it's odd that she and Bellamy never really became friends. She and Octavia met in freshman year of college when they were assigned as each other's roommates, and she's known Bellamy just as long, since he was the one helping Octavia move in that day. But Clarke had always found him annoyingly overprotective of Octavia, and somehow he always managed to ruin their fun. He acted more like Octavia's father than her brother most of the time. Which he had to be, in a way, Clarke supposes. Octavia's father was never around and Aurora, Bellamy and Octavia's mother, died young, when Octavia was fifteen and Bellamy was twenty.

Bellamy is definitely more fun now.

It looks like he's still planning to stay the whole week, and honestly, Clarke is grateful. It's not that she doesn't like being alone, but being sick and alone kind of sucks. And she finally has some competition at Mario Kart, since Wells sucks at it.

Bellamy makes soup for dinner, and they eat in front of the TV again. They're halfway through watching an episode of The Bachelor that happens to be on (though both of them claim they don't want to watch it), when Bellamy's phone rings, and it's Octavia.

"Hey," he answers, muting the TV. "What's going on?" Clarke watches him as he listens to whatever Octavia is saying. "Oh, uh… I'm at Clarke's, actually." A pause. "What? Clarke and I are totally friends." He rolls his eyes and Clarke bites back a smile. "Don't be stupid. She's sick and I'm looking after her… that's correct, he's not here… I don't hate him. Okay, maybe I hate him a bit." Clarke raises her eyebrows at him and he pokes his tongue out. They're obviously talking about Wells. "Ha, very funny. I won't. Okay, love you too, bye." He hangs up.

"What was that all about?" Clarke asks.

"She wanted to know why I wasn't home," Bellamy says. "She was hoping I'd cook her something because she can't be bothered," he rolls his eyes.

"She could come here," Clarke suggests.

Bellamy looks taken aback by the suggestion, like he'd never considered it. "She might get your cold," he says.

"Fair enough," Clarke shrugs. He doesn't seem to care if he gets her cold though. "Do you really hate Wells?"

Bellamy shrugs. "Kind of."

"Why?"

"He's pretentious," Bellamy says. "And he's always up on his high horse, acting like he's some kind of morality god."

"You hate him because he's a good person."

"Shut up," Bellamy says, nudging her with his shoulder.

Clarke studies him for a moment. "You're a good person too, you know," she tells him.

Bellamy gives her a sceptical look. "Pretty sure if I was a good person I wouldn't be secretly fucking a woman who has a boyfriend. Even if I hate that boyfriend."

Clarke reddens. "Well. Apart from that." She's well aware this means that she is also a bad person. But she's known it for a while now, and it doesn't really bother her anymore.

Bellamy throws his arm around her and pulls her in close. He grabs the remote and unmutes the TV. "Who cares, anyway? Being good is overrated."

They both go to work on Friday, and Clarke is feeling a lot better, though she's not totally over her cold. But if she's well enough to go to work, she's well enough to have Bellamy eat her out tonight. She still doesn't want him to kiss her face until she's better, but it's too much to be around him all week and not have him get her off somehow. Then again, she doesn't know if she'll be satisfied with just that, and she'll probably end up begging him to fuck her. Being sick and horny at the same time kind of sucks.

She gets home and showers, and then patiently waits for Bellamy to get home. Only, when the door finally opens, it's not Bellamy, it's Wells. Clarke's stomach drops.

"Hey!" she says, jumping up from the couch. Her voice is too high, her eyes too wide, but she hopes Wells doesn't notice her panic. "You're home early!"

"Yeah," Wells smiles. He drops his bag and pulls Clarke into his arms and kisses her. "I missed you. We finished early so I figured I may as well come home tonight instead of tomorrow morning."

"That's great!" Clarke lies. All she can think about is how Bellamy's things are still in their bedroom, and that in a few minutes Bellamy himself will probably be walking through that door.

"Hey, you know what we should do?" Clarke says. "We should go out for a drink and maybe dinner!"

"Yeah, okay," Wells smiles. "Just let me get changed."

"No!" Clarke says quickly. "You look great like that."

Wells gives her an amused look. "Okay," he agrees. He looks Clarke up and down. She's just wearing underwear and a robe again. "What about you?"

"Right! I'll be two minutes. Wait here."

Clarke grabs her phone and hurries into the bedroom, texting Bellamy as she goes.

Wells home. We're going out so you can grab your things and hide any other evidence you were here. I'm sorry.

She sends the message and throws on a dress and some heels before dragging Wells out of the apartment. She tries to tell herself the heavy feeling in the bottom of her stomach is guilt. Maybe that would mean she's not as terrible as she thinks she is. But she knows it's not really guilt. It's crushing disappointment.