A/N: *peeks around the corner*

Is anyone still here?

I know, it's been over a month since I updated and I'm a terrible person, especially for leaving it on THAT cliffhanger.

Idk what to tell you except the end of the season killed me...and I responded by writing my own Season 4 ending, which you should definitely read if you haven't. (Shameless self-promotion, #sorrynotsorry)

This chapter should make up for my negligence, just a little. (insert evil grin here)

Clarke heard an insistent beeping, but she steadfastly ignored it, instead focusing on the man in front of her.

Bellamy had her pushed up against the counter, his arms wrapped around her lower back and his body flush against hers.

Clarke wrapped her arms even more tightly around the back of his neck, pressing her torso more firmly against his as they kissed like their lives depended on it.

She wasn't even sure how or when it had happened, or who had initiated it, but their tongues were sliding insistently against each other, exploring and caressing and creating a kind of inferno Clarke didn't even know was possible from a kiss.

Bellamy pulled away, seemingly reluctantly, but didn't go far, just resting his forehead against her hair, his nose bumping her temple.

Clarke whimpered a little at the loss of his lips on hers, trying to chase them with her own.

"The cookies…" Bellamy began, only to stop and clear his throat at the hoarseness he heard when he spoke. "The oven's beeping."

Shit.

Chocolate chip cookies instantly went from Clarke's favorite to her most hated.

"Right," she breathed out shakily, slowly forcing her arms to slide off his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, then stepped back, releasing her. "Can you…handle this?" he asked.

She nodded, trying to make out the expression on his face, but finding it mostly unreadable.

She waited until he'd gone over and sat on the couch, scrubbing a hand over his face, before she turned, grabbing the pot holders and pulling the cookie sheets out of the oven.

Luckily, the cookies weren't burnt, just a little harder than she would have liked.

She set them on the counter to cool, turning off the oven and tossing the pot holders beside the stove.

She glanced back over at Bellamy, finding him sitting on the couch, staring at a particular spot on his coffee table while he absently scratched his arm in what she was pretty sure was some variation of a nervous tic.

Taking a deep breath, she got out a plate and a spatula, scooping half a dozen cookies onto it as she wondered what she'd gotten herself into now.

They'd crossed a new line, and the air between them felt thicker than it ever had, the tension and the desire almost a living thing, pulsing and beating between them…urging them toward each other.

Clarke's body…and her heart…were ecstatic about this new development…but her brain was throwing up red stop signs every 15 feet.

The problem was, the Jack Daniels in her system made them look more like yellow 'proceed with caution' signs.

She grabbed the plate and walked over to set it on the coffee table, then took the seat beside Bellamy. "They were in a little too long, but they should be alright," she mentioned casually.

He apparently took the cue from her, nodding and reaching for a cookie, then biting half of it off in one fell swoop.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, grabbing a half-empty bottle of water that she was pretty sure was hers and guzzling some of it.

"They literally just came out of the oven, Bellamy," she said dryly.

He side-eyed her as he put the cap back on the bottle, then took a smaller bite. "But see, if I eat them all before they cool off, that means you don't get any."

She rolled her eyes, leaning forward to grab one for herself.

He shouldered her out of the way.

"Jackass!" she exclaimed, shoving him playfully.

He put the last bit of cookie on his outstretched tongue, pulling it into his mouth and then smirking at her, and Clarke had a mild hot flash, because, yeah, that did things for her.

She tried to ignore it, hurriedly lunging forward and nabbing a cookie off the plate before he could react, immediately stuffing part of it in her mouth.

"Yeesh," he chuckled. "Never stand in-between drunk Clarke and a plate full of cookies."

"Damn straight," she muttered, finishing off the cookie.

Bellamy was still chuckling as he turned sideways to look at her better. "You've got, uh…" he reached his hand out a little hesitantly, thumb brushing gently against the side of her mouth.

Clarke held perfectly still, watching his eyes as he stared at her mouth. It wasn't until he started pulling his hand away that she saw what he'd been doing.

Apparently, she'd had a bit of melted chocolate on the corner of her mouth, and it was now on his thumb.

His thumb…which it looked damn well like he was about to bring to his own mouth to clean off.

Something flared, hot and bright inside her, and she couldn't stop it…she didn't want to.

She grabbed his wrist, her gaze catching his surprised one. She slowly, deliberately, drew his hand back toward her, then kept her eyes on his as she brought his thumb to her mouth.

It was the swipe of her tongue, the gentle scrape of her teeth, and the barest hint of chocolate on her taste buds…and then he was surging forward to kiss her, barely managing to get his hand out of the way before his lips connected with hers.

She ended up leaned back, against the arm of the couch, her legs stretched out over his lap as he was turned sideways, pressing into her, one hand grasping tightly to her thigh.

As they kissed deeply, passionately…a little frenzied…her hands made their way into his hair, running through the dark curls that were so soft under her fingers.

She was a little obsessed with his hair, and she wasn't even sure why, but having the freedom to touch him like this while she was kissing him…it made it all the more heady.

Clarke wasn't sure how long they kissed, but she was starting to get a little light-headed from lack of oxygen…(or was it just from him?) by the time he moved his lips from hers, pressing kisses down her cheek and then onto her neck.

Clarke's head fell back against the arm of the couch involuntarily, both because his lips on her neck were a whole new kind of delicious torture…and to give him more room to keep inflicting said torture.

He made his way down, pressing a few kisses to her bare shoulder, but she noticed he made no move to go lower, even though her shirt had an extremely wide neck, which would have made it easy.

By some sort of silent mutual agreement, they both slid down, until they were both lying down, her on her back, him leaning over her a little, his face still buried in her neck.

She used her hands, which were still tangled in his curls, to pull his head back up to hers.

They kissed more slowly this time, some of the frenzy having worn off now that they both thought this might be more of a marathon event than a sprint.

He licked into her mouth, and she couldn't stop the soft moan that came from her throat.

He pulled back, staring down at her, a bit of wariness on his face. "Are you drunk?"

"No."

He looked at her like he didn't quite believe her.

She couldn't help the grin the crossed her face, because God, he was such a gentleman. In a handy case of reverse psychology, it only made her want to tell him to shut up and get back to kissing her.

"Hey," she said, thumb rubbing just below his ear as her hand rested on the side of his neck. "I'm good, I promise. I'm…really good with this," she whispered, referring to whatever it was they were doing…although she wasn't really sure what it was they were doing, truth be told.

She suddenly remembered how much Bellamy had drunk, and then she started to wonder if she was the jerk. "What about you?"

"Hmm?" he asked, a bit distracted as he stared at her lips.

"Are you drunk?"

He scoffed. "No."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I'm not," he insisted, as his eyes locked on hers. "Besides…" he said, his thumb rubbing slow circles onto her ribs. "…we're just…kissing…right?"

She stared up at him, her fingers flexing on the back of his neck as she started drowning in the tiny bit of brown that was still visible in his eyes.

She knew what they were doing: they were both wondering if this was okay…if they could convince themselves that this was okay, and it had little to nothing to do with alcohol consumption.

"Right," she answered, her voice barely a whisper.

She raised up at the same time he leaned down.

They kissed and they kissed and they kissed until Clarke was dizzy with it.

They varied…from playful…to passionate…to sweet…and so many other variations that Clarke didn't even know how to name, but they were all amazing.

She knew she'd been calling what they were doing before 'making out,' but those seemed like grandmotherly pecks compared to this.

She guessed it would be like what most people did in high school…making out on your parents' couch but knowing you couldn't take it any further. But honestly, she'd never experienced anything like this in high school. She didn't think she'd experienced anything like it ever.

His hand was rubbing up and down her side, he was caging her in, surrounding her until he was all she could feel…was all she wanted to feel…and he was kissing her like he meant it.

It was so goddamn good.

She loved him so goddamn much.

He moved back to her neck, mouthing at it for a minute before his head fell to her shoulder.

He huffed a soft laugh.

"What?" she whispered.

He kept his forehead against her shoulder.

She tugged on his curls a little. "Bell, what is it?"

He pulled back to look at her, his face bright and a little unsure, as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening.

Yeah, well, that made two of them.

He shook his head, a little dazed, his eyes soft. "I love kissing you," he admitted, a smile on his face but his voice almost…reverent.

She couldn't stop the sweet, blinding smile that crossed her face as a breathy chuckle escaped her. "I love kissing you, too."

His grin widened as he leaned down, bumping his nose against hers before he kissed her top lip. "Yeah?" he asked, a little playfully.

She responded by leaning up and kissing his bottom lip. "Yeah."

It was a little hard to kiss each other properly with the giant grins they were both sporting, but they eventually figured it out, soon becoming a tangle of limbs as they melted into each other.

Clarke would have been content to stay wrapped up in this bubble with him for…well…always, but it soon became hard to ignore her bladder, which had decided it was full.

Seriously, what was it with her having to pee at the most inopportune times?

Damn Jack Daniels.

"Bell," she murmured against his lips.

He hummed in response, but it didn't really seem to register.

She pulled back a little, but he chased her lips, catching them again, and it was such a rush she immediately forgot what she was trying to do, until a minute later, when her bladder protested again.

She put her hands on his shoulders, pushing a little. "Bell, wait."

That finally got through his kiss induced fog and he pulled back, looking at her worriedly, as if afraid he'd done something she didn't like.

Idiot.

She leaned up to press her lips to his quickly, both to reassure him…and because she just couldn't help it. "Everything's fine," she promised, sliding away from him to sit up. "I just have to pee."

He sat partially up beside her, and she couldn't resist leaning in again, pressing short kisses to his mouth in-between words as she stood up. "I'll…be….right…back," she promised, finally tearing herself away from him to walk to the bathroom.

She quickly took care of her whiskey problem, then stood at the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she washed her hands.

She took in her appearance: red, swollen lips, her hair tangled and disheveled beyond all repair…her eyes sparkling and a seemingly permanent grin on her face.

She looked…happy.

Clarke dried her hands, then took a second to swap out her sweater for one of Bellamy's softest t-shirts. She'd pretty much been experiencing a permanent hot flash since they'd started, and she'd rather not pass out in the middle of…whatever it was they were doing.

She walked back out into the living room, scarcely feeling her feet touch the floor.

Bellamy had sat up properly on the couch, and he glanced up when he heard her coming.

She had to tell herself to keep going, because the way he looked almost stopped her in her tracks.

He had a similar version of the disarrayed hair, swollen lips, and stupid grin going on, but when he looked up and saw her, something that looked an awful lot like possession entered his eyes, and Clarke felt it all the way to her toes as something visceral in her own body answered.

She walked to stand in front of him, grinning down at him. "Hi," she whispered.

He moved forward, interlacing the fingers of both their hands, then tugged gently, getting her to lean down, until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. "Hi."

She closed the last few centimeters between them, pressing her lips to his.

He responded eagerly, trying to pull her closer, but their positions weren't very conducive to that.

Some combination of him pulling backward and her moving forward found her straddling him on the couch, a knee on each side of his hips.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her closer.

She rested her arms on his shoulders, looking down from a bit of a height advantage.

"You're wearing my shirt," he said, voice low.

"Mmhmm."

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love it when you wear my clothes?" he asked gruffly.

Clarke's grin widened as she leaned down, teasing him with a brush of her lips against his. "Yeah?"

He responded by catching her lips with his.

Clarke wasn't even sure how or when it happened, but they ended up back in their previous position, laying down, him slightly over her.

She was lost in it…the feeling of his weight on top of hers, the rhythmic push and pull of their lips and tongues, the way their hands roamed and caressed, creating a delicious sort of friction and leaving goosebumps in their wake, even though they were both careful to stay in neutral territory.

When Bellamy shifted a bit, moving his lower body away from her, Clarke made a frustrated noise in her throat and tried to follow, wanting to feel as much of him against her as possible.

It wasn't until she'd swiveled her hips and pressed against him that she realized why he'd moved…because his erection was now resting hard and heavy against her hip.

Bellamy froze, then pulled away, an almost embarrassed look on his face.

He winced, looking somewhere near her shoulder. "Sorry."

'Idiot,' she again thought fondly.

"Bell…I'd be a little offended if that didn't happen at some point."

His eyes swiveled to hers, a little surprised, a little relieved, as he huffed out a laugh.

"Do you…need a minute?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Thank God," she responded, pulling his head back down to hers.

But, it only took a few minutes for Clarke to realize that she'd made a terrible, terrible mistake.

She'd thought she was keyed up before…but it was nothing compared to how she felt now, proof of his desire resting just inches from where she really wanted it.

She wanted to grab his hand and push it underneath her leggings, so he could feel the proof of just how badly she wanted him too.

She wanted to open her hips, shifting until he rested exactly where she wanted him.

She wanted to beg him to make love to her.

Clarke was struggling, the physical pleasure and need thrumming through her body making it almost impossible for her to think straight.

She remembered Raven, and even her own mother telling her how much Bellamy loved her…how rare the kind of relationship they had was…and how she'd be a fool to waste it, and she started to shift, spreading her legs.

…and then she remembered what she'd told Raven, about how this wasn't the time…how she didn't want to take advantage of his grief.

She pulled away abruptly, sliding out from under him and almost falling off the couch in her haste to get up.

"Clarke?" Bellamy asked, confused.

She didn't turn around, practically jogging to the bathroom and quickly shutting the door, leaning against it as she caught her breath.

She had to wait a minute for her body to calm down before she could even begin to think, rubbing her hands over her face as she tried not to cry, the physical let down and the emotional turmoil a little too much to handle all at once.

Finally, she walked over to the tub, sitting on the edge as she leaned forward, resting her head in her hands.

"Clarke?" Bellamy's voice called from outside the door. "Is everything…okay?" He asked, and he sounded worried.

Of course he was the one checking on her, even when she was the one fucking everything up.

"Yeah," she called out, then wanted to curse her voice for shaking. "I'll be out in a minute."

She could tell he stayed there for a moment, probably uncertain about whether he should leave or not, but he finally did, his footsteps moving away slowly.

Honestly, it made her want to cry even more, because he deserved so much better than her lightning fast flip-flopping and her inability to make a decent decision, even when he was depending on her.

So many things were telling her that this was okay…that they loved each other and the timing didn't matter…but then she realized that he'd never expressed any sort of romantic feelings for her.

He'd been good with this newfound physical aspect to their relationship, yes, and his body had indicated a desire to take it even further…but he hadn't attempted to take it any further. He'd also been the one that had made sure to review the new boundaries of their relationship earlier tonight, just as they'd gotten started.

Maybe he was just seeing this in the context of a special circumstance of their friendship.

After all, more than a few friends had a fuck buddies sort of relationship and it worked out fine. Mutual needs were met and fun was had, and all with someone you trusted instead of a stranger you picked up at a bar or on Tinder.

Actually…that was a lot of what the old version of Bellamy had done...the one she'd known her Freshman year of undergrad, when she'd still considered him an ass. His 'relationship' with Roma had mostly consisted of bar dates and sex.

His odd foray into an exclusive (although short) relationship with Gina notwithstanding, maybe that was all Bellamy wanted…someone he could have sex with occasionally and it not go any further.

Clarke's heart broke a little at that thought. She didn't want that for him, even if he didn't want to be with her.

Honestly, Clarke almost wished she was a little stronger…that she could handle being his 'friend with benefits'…because she could only imagine how amazing the sex would be.

Making out with him was pretty much her best sexual experience to date, so the thought of actual sex with him…

Clarke shook her head, trying to get rid of that train of thought.

There was no point.

She knew she couldn't do it. She couldn't make love to him and not tell him she was in love with him. She couldn't make love to him and not be with him.

She wasn't really sure how she was supposed to go back to 'just friends' after everything they'd shared the past few days.

Now that she knew what it was like to kiss him…how was she supposed to not?

She put an end to the tortured merry-go-round her mind was on, getting up to splash some cold water on her face and take a deep breath…or 7…before slowly making her way back out into the living room.

She couldn't get over how different it was from the last time she'd done this, which couldn't have been more than an hour ago; this time, both of them looked like they were standing on eggshells.

"Are you okay?" Bellamy asked, concern evident on his face. "Did I…do something wrong?"

"No!" she answered adamantly.

He looked unconvinced.

She sat gingerly on the couch beside him, careful to leave a little space between them. "We've always had a good…chemistry…right?"

He looked at her a little oddly. "Chemistry?"

Clarke was 100% certain her face was currently somewhere between the color of a tomato and that of a fire engine. "We're comfortable around each other, we have a good rapport, we find each other…attractive."

"Okay. Yes." he replied helpfully.

"We're obviously…physically compatible…" Clarke muttered, gesturing to the couch and then clasping her hands and staring at them.

What came after red? Maroon? Clarke was fairly sure she was now maroon.

"I just…think it would be really easy for us to fall into the 'friends-with-benefits' category…and I don't want that," she held up a hand, pretty sure she knew what his first response was going to be. "I know, I'm the one that suggested…this…and I don't regret that. Not at all. I think it was what we both needed. But…"

"But now you think we should stop," he finished for her, his voice and face both carefully neutral. "Just…go back to the way things were?"

"Part of me doesn't want to," she admitted quietly. "If tonight was any indication…we'd be great together. But those kinds of relationships never work out, Bell. Not when you're as close as we are. You go in with these 'no-strings' expectations, but then one person wants to end it and the other one doesn't, or one person gets jealous, or things get awkward and I just…" she let out a sigh, trying to stop rambling. "As great as I think we might be together…physically… You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you. I'd rather have you as a friend than have a few months of 'with-benefits' and then…nothing."

She waited a few beats and then looked over at him.

He was staring somewhere near the TV, a slight frown on his face.

"Bell?" she asked quietly, hesitantly.

His gaze flicked to hers. "No, I get it. You're right."

She was simultaneously relieved and disappointed to hear him say that.

He ran a hand agitatedly through his hair, closing his eyes with an almost pained expression. "I need to go to bed. Today has been…a lot."

When he opened his eyes, he found Clarke looking a little horrified.

"No, no, I didn't mean this," he insisted. "I mean…the funeral…the park…it was a lot."

"I know, but I just hate if I made it worse…"

He patted her knee a little self-consciously. "You didn't. You were right. This was what I needed. It's what…endorphins and stuff, right?"

Clarke felt her heart sink. Yes, technically, kissing released feel-good hormones, but that hadn't been the reason she'd done it, or at least not the paramount one. But if that's how he was categorizing it… "Right. Dopamine and oxytocin too," she added, each word breaking her heart a little more.

He nodded. "I'm going to lay down. Do you want to take the bed? I can sleep out here," he replied casually, looking somewhere near her knee.

It really was incredible how quickly Clarke had gone from a feeling of euphoria to one of despair. "Bell."

Her softly worded plea got him to look up.

"Don't do that. Nothing's wrong, right? We said that this wouldn't change anything, and I don't want it to."

He nodded, and they moved silently, awkwardly, to lay down on the couch, as if deciding by silent mutual agreement that moving into the bedroom…and into the bed…wasn't a good idea at the present time.

Clarke laid there, facing the blank TV, and she could feel Bellamy behind her, although he was trying his damndest to stay as far away from her as possible.

She stayed there for a while, telling herself that she could deal with it, until she felt him shift behind her, and she knew he was as uncomfortable as she was.

She turned over, looking up at him. "Are you mad at me?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, and he seemed sincere.

"You're still my best friend," she whispered, placing her hand gently on his cheek. She was pretty sure it was the alcohol lingering in her system that made her continue, "I still love you."

He was staring into her eyes intensely, his head leaning unconsciously into her touch, and Clarke felt the magic web being woven between them again just like that; they were the only two people in the world and everything would be okay if she could just get closer to him.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to just…" he stopped, either embarrassed or frustrated, or maybe both.

"Supposed to just what?" she asked.

"Just stop kissing you."

Yeah, that was a problem they both had, apparently.

She felt her resolve weaken with each second they spent gazing into each other's eyes.

"Today has been…a lot," she said, repeating his words back to him. She didn't really want to say the word 'funeral' right now. "We should stop…after tonight, right?"

After all, if this was going to be the last time she got to kiss him, she didn't want to waste it.

She went to move forward, but he stopped her.

"Clarke…are we okay? You're right, it's not worth it if we're not going to be okay."

She hadn't really been aware your heart could physically hurt from something as simple as a sentence until she fell in love with this man. "We're okay, Bell."

He nodded, and it looked like he started to move toward her until he paused this time. "I don't want…don't do this if it's some attempt to comfort me," he said, his eyes intense on hers. "Only do this if you want to."

God, he had no idea.

She leaned forward, gently pressing her lips against his and instantly feeling the world right itself, even as her heart continued to break.

A/N: Listen...I said this chapter should help.

I didn't say I was done with the angst. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Who doesn't love Bellarke and their platonic make-out sessions?!