Octavia pretty much sucks at Scrabble, a fact which Clarke had already known. Octavia isn't really one for sitting still for long periods of time, and she thinks board games are for nerds anyway.
"Why did you even come when you hate Scrabble so much?" Bellamy asks, exasperated, after Octavia has complained yet again that her letters are terrible and that they should make it more interesting by making up words.
"Because I felt sorry for you," Octavia huffs. "I thought you were moping by yourself because no one wanted to come and play this dumb game with you."
"Well, I appreciate it, but Clarke is here and she actually likes Scrabble, so you can go now."
Octavia squints at him. "I'm staying," she says adamantly.
Bellamy looks to Clarke, thoroughly unimpressed. Clarke averts her eyes before Octavia can catch the look between them. She's even more worried now that Octavia suspects something is up.
"It's getting late," Clarke says. "Maybe I should just go home."
Bellamy gives her a look of surprise. "You're not staying?"
Clarke glances at Octavia. She had been planning to stay, of course. But she hadn't exactly brought anything with her that would indicate to Octavia that she was staying. Pyjamas, for example.
"You should stay, Clarke," Octavia says.
"Where will I sleep?" She assumes Octavia will take the couch.
"You and I can sleep in Bell's bed and he can take the couch."
Bellamy rolls his eyes. "Great," he mutters. Clarke bites back a grimace. Not exactly what either of them had planned on.
"I didn't bring anything to sleep in."
"You can wear something of mine," Bellamy says. And yeah, okay, she likes the idea of that. Bellamy gets to his feet. "Come on, I'll find you something."
"I'll help," Octavia says, though her help is completely unnecessary.
Clarke follows Bellamy to his room, Octavia trailing behind them. Clarke can't help but feel uneasy. She can't tell if she's being paranoid, or if Octavia knows what's going on. And it's not like she can ask her. She just has to wait until either Octavia accuses her of something, or the whole thing just blows over.
Octavia lounges on Bellamy's bed while he goes to the closet and pulls out a clean shirt for Clarke to wear. He hands her the shirt, and Clarke gives him a meaningful look, trying to silently tell him she needs something to wear on the bottom as well, seeing as she has temporarily misplaced her panties. Bellamy tilts his head, not understanding. Clarke glances over her shoulder at Octavia, who is currently distracted by her phone.
"Underwear," Clarke mouths at him. Bellamy raises an eyebrow, and then he gives her a smirk, though what he could possibly be smirking about Clarke doesn't know. Everything seems to have lost its humour after Octavia almost caught them. And there's still a good chance she knows exactly what's going on. Octavia's very presence has Clarke on edge.
Bellamy gets a pair of his boxers out of the top drawer of his dresser and hands them to Clarke.
"I'll let you get dressed then," he says, heading for the door. He gives her one last glance before shutting it behind him.
Clarke stands there for a moment, holding Bellamy's clothes in her arms. It occurs to her then that she can't very well get changed in front of Octavia. Under normal circumstances she wouldn't care, but she really doesn't want Octavia to know she isn't wearing a stitch of underwear right now. Plus, though she'd cleaned herself up a little earlier, before the second round of Scrabble, while Octavia was busy ordering pizza, Bellamy's come is still leaking out of her, and her thighs are sticky with it again now.
She heads to the bathroom instead, not bothering to tell Octavia, lest Octavia start asking unwanted questions. She locks the door and strips off, then uses a washer to clean her thighs and pussy, hoping that's the last of it. She slips Bellamy's shirt over her head, then pulls on his boxers, getting a sick thrill at the thought of wearing his underwear. Yeah, wearing his shirt is hot. But somehow, wearing his underwear is even hotter.
Clarke walks back to the living room, finding Bellamy alone on the couch reading. Octavia must still be in his room. She pads over to him, and he looks up, his eyes raking over her, taking her in.
"You look so fucking sexy in my clothes," he murmurs. He puts his book down and takes her hand, tugging her closer. He looks up at her, running his hands up the outside of her thighs. "In my underwear."
"Maybe you could wear mine sometime," Clarke smirks. She's half joking, but Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her in interest.
"You'd like that, would you?"
"Maybe. Would you?"
Bellamy considers. "If you liked it, I would like it."
Clarke grins. What she'd like more than anything right now is to slide onto his lap and grind against his bulge. Bellamy brings his hand between her legs, stroking her softly.
"Octavia might walk in," Clarke whispers. Bellamy sighs and drops his hands, and Clarke can't help but feel disappointed. She bites her lip. "Do you think she suspects something?"
Bellamy considers. "Even if she does, she's got no proof. So if she asks, just lie."
Clarke nods. "Goodnight." She wants to lean down and kiss him, but she doesn't want to risk getting caught.
"Goodnight, Clarke."
Octavia is in bed when Clarke returns to the bedroom. She looks up from her phone when Clarke enters the room, but she doesn't say anything. Clarke crawls into bed beside her, and Octavia puts her phone down, turning on her side to face Clarke.
"So you're suddenly really into Scrabble, are you?" Octavia asks.
Clarke does her best to keep her face impassive. "I've always enjoyed board games."
"Right."
Clarke huffs. "If you've got something to say, just say it."
"Something is going on with you and my brother. I don't know if you're sleeping together or just flirting or what, but it's something."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Why are you spending so much time alone with him lately?"
"I spend time alone with you. I spend time alone with Raven. It's called being friends," Clarke says. Octavia isn't convinced.
"Uh huh, and you always wear my underwear too," Octavia says pointedly.
"It's just clothes, Octavia."
"It's weird. Unless you're sleeping together, it's weird. Even then it's still kind of weird."
"It's not that weird."
Octavia narrows her eyes. "Clarke," she says firmly. "I'm just going to ask you once, and whatever you tell me, I'll believe you, so you better tell me the truth. Are you cheating on Wells with Bellamy?"
Clarke looks Octavia dead in the eye. "No."
Octavia eyes her suspiciously for a moment, then seems to decide she's telling the truth. Clarke tries not to seem too relieved.
"Well. Good then," Octavia says. She doesn't apologise for her accusation, and Clarke doesn't bother trying to make her. Octavia seems about to say something else, like there's something else bothering her. But then she just says, "Goodnight. Don't snore," and rolls over onto her other side.
"Goodnight," Clarke mutters in return.
Clarke sleeps restlessly, perhaps plagued by Octavia's suspicions, or perhaps just annoyed that she has to sleep next to Octavia instead of Bellamy. And if she thinks she's going to get any alone time with Bellamy in the morning, she's sorely mistaken.
Octavia, normally a late sleeper, is already up when Clarke wakes up. Clarke follows the sound of voices to the kitchen, where Bellamy and Octavia appear to be making breakfast.
"Good morning," Bellamy says, oddly chirpy for someone who slept on a too small couch last night. "Want some bacon and eggs?"
"Yeah, okay," Clarke agrees.
The three of them eat together, sitting around Bellamy's small dining table, and while Bellamy seems perfectly happy, Octavia is pretty silent the whole meal. Clarke can't help but wonder if she's still harbouring some suspicions about Clarke and Bellamy's relationship.
Clarke is kind of hoping that after breakfast Octavia will leave, but instead she curls up on the couch and puts the TV on. Clarke sighs, looking to Bellamy, who rolls his eyes.
"I guess I should go," Clarke says.
"You don't have to."
"No, I should."
"Okay."
Clarke heads to the bedroom and puts her clothes from last night back on, leaving Bellamy's clothes folded on his bed. When she returns, Octavia is on the floor, packing up the Scrabble from last night, and Bellamy is in the kitchen washing dishes. Clarke walks up behind him and wraps her arms around him, taking the short opportunity to be close to him while Octavia is out of the room.
"You really don't have to go. Octavia will leave eventually," Bellamy says.
"She asked me last night if we were sleeping together," Clarke murmurs, her head pressed against his back. "I convinced her she was wrong, but I don't need her getting any more suspicious."
"Okay," Bellamy says. He loosens her arms around him so he can turn around and face her.
"Can I have a goodbye kiss?"
Bellamy smiles, leaning down to kiss her, slowly, sweetly. She wants to melt into him. They break apart and Clarke steps back, putting a respectable distance between them. Bellamy's still smiling, and Clarke can't help but smile back.
The door to the kitchen opens, and the both turn their heads to see Octavia stepping into the room, holding up a pair of lacy black underwear between her fingers. The smile instantly drops from Clarke's face, and her stomach sinks.
"Tell me these aren't yours," Octavia says to Clarke.
"I—" Clarke starts.
"They're not hers," Bellamy says quickly. "Must be the girl I had over last weekend."
"Oh really? What was her name?"
"Can't remember."
Octavia turns her attention back to Clarke, clearly not convinced, and clearly pissed off. "Prove it."
"What?"
"Prove to me that these aren't yours, and I'll never say anything about it again."
"How?"
"Show me your underwear."
"O—" Bellamy tries to interrupt, but Octavia isn't having any of it. Clarke's face is bright red, and she's pretty sure there's no way out of it.
"Clarke," Octavia says firmly. "All you have to do is show me the waistband of the underwear you're wearing right now, and I'll know that this is all just a big misunderstanding."
Clarke stares at Octavia, her face burning, words failing her. Instead, she steps forward and snatches the panties from Octavia's hand, her face burning. "Fine," she snaps. "You were right. We're sleeping together, are you happy?"
A look of surprise flits across Octavia's face, just for a moment, as if she wasn't really expecting Clarke to admit it. Then her mouth forms a thin line, unimpressed and disapproving.
"I want to talk to you alone," she says to Clarke.
"O—" Bellamy tries again.
"You're next," Octavia snaps at him. Octavia grabs Clarke's wrist and drags her out of the kitchen and into Bellamy's bedroom. Once the door is shut behind them, Octavia turns on Clarke.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
Clarke is already in full defence mode. "Look, I'm sorry I lied to you but—"
"This isn't about you lying to me. That's whatever. This is about you cheating on your boyfriend with my brother."
Clarke winces.
"How long has this been going on?"
Clarke sighs. She figures there's no point in lying now. Talking about it with Octavia may even help her clear her head. "Since your birthday party."
"My birthday party? When you kissed him in spin the bottle?"
Clarke nods shortly. "I didn't mean for it to go this far! I just can't seem to stop."
"Well it has to. God, Clarke. I didn't think you of all people would be a cheater."
"Don't say it like that."
"Well, it's true."
Clarke flushes, knowing Octavia is right. "Whatever," she mutters.
"So are you going to end it?" Octavia presses.
Clarke shakes her head slowly. "No."
"What the fuck, Clarke? Are you insane? Why not?"
"Because!" Clarke snaps. "It's nice to be wanted by two people. I've got the best of both worlds. Amazing sex and a great boyfriend who loves me."
"You shouldn't need two different guys for that," Octavia snorts.
"Don't judge me," Clarke huffs. "You don't get it. Wells just can't do to me what Bellamy does to me."
Octavia screws up her nose at that. "Ew. I really don't want to know that. But if Wells isn't giving you what you need… then end it with him."
"What?"
"End it with Wells. Be with Bellamy."
Clarke hesitates. The thought has never occurred to her before. "Bellamy isn't the boyfriend type."
"What? Bellamy isn't good enough to be your boyfriend?" Octavia snarls, getting defensive on her brother's behalf.
"That's not what I meant!" Clarke groans, frustrated. "I just mean… I don't remember the last time he had a girlfriend. I don't think I've ever seen him date someone for more than a couple of months."
Octavia rolls her eyes dramatically. "That's because—" she cuts herself off. Clarke waits for her to continue. "Because he hasn't found the right person," Octavia finishes.
"I'm hardly the right person."
"How do you know?"
Clarke sighs. "Because I love Wells. I want to be with Wells. This is just… it's just a phase or something. I'm not going to throw away a seven-year relationship on a phase."
Octavia shakes her head, clearly upset. "You're an idiot if you think this is going to end well."
"Just don't tell anyone, please?"
Octavia lets out a short, humourless laugh. "Whatever you want, Clarke. You should probably go now. I need to talk to Bellamy."
"Fine," Clarke mutters. "Just let me put my underwear back on."
Bellamy is waiting anxiously in the living room when Clarke and Octavia come out of the bedroom. He stands up, and Clarke wants to go to him, but she doesn't know what's appropriate now that Octavia is around. Instead she makes for the door, grabbing her purse from the floor by the couch as she passes.
"Clarke—" Bellamy says.
"It's okay," she assures him. She glances at Octavia. "I'll call you later."
"How was Scrabble?" Wells asks when Clarke gets home. "Did you win?"
"Nope," Clarke sighs. "But at least I did better than Octavia."
"Well, that's the important thing," Wells grins. Clarke smiles back. She studies him for a moment, sitting there on the couch, on she feels her heart squeeze. She does still love him, then. And she hates what she's doing to him. And she swears she'll end it with Bellamy eventually. Probably. Just not yet.
Clarke takes a shower, then retreats to the bedroom, dialling Bellamy's number.
"Hey," he answers.
"Hey," Clarke murmurs, careful to keep her voice low, so that Wells doesn't overhear.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, are you?"
"Yeah."
"What did Octavia say?" Clarke asks.
"Doesn't matter. It doesn't change anything."
Clarke breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. Do you think she'll tell?"
"I don't think so. She'll probably make snide comments about it when no one else is around though."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Clarke chuckles. The knots in her stomach unwind a little. They're still safe, for now. "I better go."
"Okay," Bellamy says. "I—" he stops. "I, uh… I'll see you."
"Um. Yeah," Clarke agrees. "Bye."
For Raven's birthday, they're all going out for drinks. It's been a couple of weeks since Octavia found out about Clarke's affair with Bellamy, and as far as Clarke can tell, nothing has changed. Octavia hasn't brought it up once.
Clarke has only seen Bellamy a couple of times in those two weeks, so she's hoping tonight they can find time to slip away unnoticed for half an hour or so. The thought of doing it right under Wells' nose gives her a little thrill.
She puts on a tight, low cut top, showing off way more cleavage than she usually would. She honestly doesn't even think Wells will notice, but when she walks out of the bedroom, dressed and ready, his eyes are focused on her chest.
"What?" she says, self-conscious suddenly.
"That's what you're wearing?"
"Um. Yes? What's wrong with it?"
"You know other people are going to be there right?" Wells says pointedly.
"They're just boobs, Wells," Clarke huffs.
"My girlfriend's boobs," Wells counters.
"So what?"
"So other men will look at you."
"Why do you care all of a sudden?" Clarke snaps. Wells is not the jealous type. He's never once mentioned that it concerns him that other men look at her before.
Wells sighs. "It's stupid," he says. "Octavia called me."
Clarke freezes. Obviously Octavia hasn't told Wells that she's cheating on him with Bellamy, or the conversation they're having would be much different. But what could she possibly have said to him?
"What did she say?" Clarke asks, her heart pounding.
"She said she thinks Bellamy might be into you."
Clarke scoffs. So Octavia couldn't get Clarke or Bellamy to end it of their own accord so she went to Wells instead.
"And you believed her?"
"Yeah, I mean," Wells shrugs. "It seems pretty obvious now I think about it. You've been spending a lot more time with him lately. Octavia said Bellamy was flirting with you at Scrabble night. And now you're wearing… that."
Clarke sighs. "Look, even if Bellamy is into me, which I don't think he is, that's got nothing to do with me. I'm not going to change what I'm wearing just because you're uncomfortable with another man staring at my tits."
Wells flinches. "Right. You're right." He looks so ashamed that Clarke almost feels bad for a moment.
"Let's just go, okay?" she says gently. Wells nods. He holds out his hand and she takes it, and they head to the bar in an uber.
The others are all already there when Clarke and Wells arrive, squeezed into a booth at the back of the bar. Clarke's eyes are only on Bellamy as they approach the group. His gaze lands on her tits, and then he meets her eye, raising an eyebrow as he takes a sip of his beer. Yeah, he knows exactly why she's wearing a top like that.
Wells snakes his hand around Clarke's waist, and she knows he noticed Bellamy looking. They slide into the booth, Wells next to Monty and Clarke on the end, directly across from Bellamy. She glances at him and he's staring at her tits again. She leans forward so he can get a better view.
The booth is pretty squashed with eight people in it, and Clarke can't help but wish it was Bellamy's thigh pressed against her own, instead of Wells'. Maybe he'd squeeze her thigh with his big hand. Or better yet, slide his hand up her skirt and finger her under the table. Bellamy watches her, as if he knows exactly what she's thinking.
Wells arm drapes across Clarke's shoulder, and he presses a kiss to her cheek. Clarke smiles at him, and then looks over at Octavia, who's glaring at her disapprovingly. Clarke grabs the jug of Sangria from the middle of the table and pours herself a glass.
"Happy birthday, Raven!" she cheers, raising her glass.
"Happy birthday!" the others chorus, clinking their glasses with each other.
After her second glass of Sangria, Clarke starts to loosen up a little. Octavia stops glaring at her, and the mood around the table is mostly light and joyful. Clarke sinks into Wells embrace, and she kind of likes that he's much more affectionate than usual. Sure, it's probably for Bellamy's benefit, but it's nice all the same.
Bellamy on the other hand, doesn't seem too impressed. He's mostly silent as he sips his beer, his eyes watching every move of Wells' hand on Clarke's body. If Clarke didn't know better, she'd say he was jealous. Is it wrong if she kind of wants him to be jealous?
"I'm getting another beer," he says, the first time he's spoken in ages. "Anyone want anything from the bar?"
"We need another jug of Sangria!" Raven tells him.
"I'll come," Octavia says, crawling over Shaw and Raven to get out and follow Bellamy to the bar. The conversation at the table continues as if Bellamy had never interrupted, but Clarke tunes out, unable to stop herself from watching Bellamy and Octavia as they talk at the bar. What Octavia is saying to him, Clarke doesn't know, but she seems pretty riled up about it. Bellamy is facing away from the table, so Clarke can't see his expression, but he's nodding. Clarke has the sinking feeling that Octavia is talking about her.
Clarke shakes her head, telling herself to get a grip. This paranoia she's constantly having is going to be the death of her. She has no reason to believe Octavia is talking about her. Clarke turns back to the conversation, trying to catch up with the story Jasper is telling.
When Octavia and Bellamy return to the table with the Sangria, Bellamy has gone from looking sullen to looking troubled. Clarke taps his leg with her foot and he looks up at her. She tilts her head, asking the silent question, are you okay?
Bellamy shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. Anxiety swirls in Clarke's stomach, though she can't even pinpoint why. She wants to drag Bellamy aside and find out what's up with him, but she can't risk Wells getting any more suspicious. Instead, she waits for Bellamy to finish his beer and head to the bar again.
She follows him, claiming she's sick of Sangria and wants something else.
"Hey," she says, leaning on the bar beside him. She glances back to the table. No one is watching them.
"Hey," Bellamy returns.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, of course."
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely."
Clarke gives him a relieved smile. "Good," she says. She glances back at the table again before leaning into Bellamy, her smile turning flirtatious. "So, you should meet me in the men's room later. I need you inside me so bad."
Bellamy steps back a little, shaking his head. "I don't think so, Clarke."
"Oh," Clarke swallows, feeling like an idiot. "Is it the men's room? Because we can do it somewhere else."
"It's not that," Bellamy says. Clarke doesn't like his tone, serious and a little apologetic. His expression resigned. "I think maybe this thing has run its course."
Clarke swallows, dread filling her gut. "What are you saying?" she asks, though she understands perfectly what he's saying. She wishes she didn't.
"I'm saying… we should end this. Before someone gets hurt."
Clarke's throat goes tight, and she feels like she's been punched in the stomach. She wills her voice to stay even. "I thought you didn't care about Wells?"
Bellamy snorts humourlessly. "I don't."
"Well then who do you think is going to get hurt?" Clarke snaps, turning to anger rather than let him know that she's already hurt. "Me?"
"I don't know, Clarke, I—" Bellamy groans.
"You think I'm in love with you or something?" she scoffs.
Bellamy's face hardens at that. The muscle in his jaw ticks. "No, Clarke," he says flatly. "I would never be so delusional as to think you might be in love with me," he says scornfully.
"So what then?"
"It's just—it's wrong, Clarke. You know that. I don't want to do it anymore. I know you thought you'd be the one who ended it, and I get why you're annoyed. But I don't want to be your dirty laundry anymore," Bellamy says.
"That's it then?" Clarke asks, and if Bellamy notices the way her voice trembles, he doesn't show it.
"Yeah."
Clarke stares at him, not knowing what else to say, until the bartender asks them what they want.
Bellamy turns to the bartender. "You know, I think I'm just going to go home," he says. And then he brushes past Clarke towards the exit, leaving her there by the bar to process what had just happened. She looks back to the table where her friends and boyfriend are laughing, totally oblivious to the exchange that had just taken place between her and Bellamy.
She feels sick all of a sudden, and she doesn't think she can face going back to the table just yet. She strides towards the bathroom instead, emotion bubbling up inside her, threatening to burst out. She locks herself in a stall, and that's when her tears start to spill. She sobs raggedly, leaning against the stall door, face in her hands.
She doesn't even know why she's crying. It's so stupid. So her fling with Bellamy is over, so what? She always knew it couldn't last forever. So why does this feel like a break up? Why does she feel hollow inside, like she's lost something? Why does her heart fucking ache?
Someone raps on the stall door, and Clarke chokes back another sob. She wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
Octavia's voice comes through the door. "Clarke, are you in there?"
"I'll be out in a minute," Clarke says, her voice surprisingly even.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I think I just drank too much."
"What happened to Bellamy?"
Clarke's bottom lip trembles, and she has to give herself a second before she answers, or she knows she'll start crying again. "He had to go."
"Okay."
"You'll be happy to know that it's over between us."
Octavia hesitates. "Good." She pauses. "I'll see you back out there?"
"Yes. I'll be right out."
Clarke waits for Octavia to leave before she opens the stall door. She stares at her face in the mirror for a moment, red, blotchy and tear-streaked. She runs her hands under the tap and pats her face with cold water. Her make up has looked better, but she doesn't think it's totally obvious she's been crying.
She takes a deep breath, telling herself he just took her by surprise. The guilt finally hit her, maybe. That's why she's crying. She'll wake up tomorrow and be totally fine. Just like he will be. It will be like it never happened.