"Bellamy? Earth to Bellamy?"

I'm considering poking him when Bellamy jerks and seems to come back to himself. "Sorry, I was just thinking," he says.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

He nods, though his face doesn't look like it's saying yes. "What is it?"

"I'm just thinking about Octavia…"

He says it reluctantly, and I instantly feel a wave of guilt. Who am I to keep him away from his sister?

"You can still go back," I say softly, my insides clenching.

Bellamy shakes his head.

"But you miss her," I protest, hoping that he ignores me.

"I'll miss you more," he says simply. "Come on, this tent won't pack itself up."

Over the last two weeks, we've managed to make enough kills to cobble together a rough hide tent, which certainly makes things a lot easier. Both of us are slightly on edge, knowing that we need to find a place to winter as soon as we can. I find myself looking at Bellamy's ass as he bends down to take out the tent pins, and flush.

Of course, I am well aware of how much I've come to rely on Bellamy, but being alone with him, without a thousand responsibilities has made me start noticing him more. How he always thinks of me and my feelings before he speaks, how he glances around every few minutes just to check I'm ok. His every movement shows how much he cares about me… and I realise that he's not the only one. Somehow, Bellamy has become way more important to me than I had ever intended.

It's worse than that, though. As much as I try to deny it, I'm spending way too much time staring at him, at the way his body moves, the way his hair lies on his forehead when he's sweaty from a long hike… Every time I feel myself starting to get wet just looking at him, I force myself to think of the most gruesome Grounder attacks I can, which helps… for a while.

I'm not attracted to Bellamy. And he's not the most important person in my life. We're just travelling together because… I get stuck there. I repeat, not attracted to him, not the most important person in my life. The last thing I need is to get even closer to Bellamy – he'll be dead for sure. I need to get a grip on myself before I end up hurting him too.

I feel a wave of tenderness as he shoulders the lion's share of the load, giving me a tiny pack. Not that I'm going to let him get away with that.

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying my share," I say, giving him a stern look.

Bellamy laughs. "Relax, Princess, I'll be fine."

"Seriously, Bellamy, give me the pack. You're no good at packing equal loads."

Bellamy smiles and dances away from me as I reach for him. "We need to get going," he says, turning and heading east, as usual.

"Bellamy!"

We bicker for about an hour before we both become tired of it; I resolve to steal his pack somehow tomorrow.

Bellamy manages to bag us a pheasant for supper – my heart isn't beating faster at the sight of him smudged with blood from his kill – and we've almost decided to stop for the night when I hear a sound that's all too familiar. I spin around, just in time to see the arrow coming straight for my face.

I don't even have time to scream. Then something blurs in front of me and I hear a dull thunk. Everything comes into sharp focus. "Bellamy!" I scream.

"I'm ok," he says, staggering up, yanking the arrow from his shoulder. "Come on."

We do what we have become so good at: we run.

I don't know which tribe's territory we've trespassed on, but we keep going for half the night before deciding we're out of their range. If I wasn't so afraid, I would have been impressed that we managed to lose them – we really have become good at running.

Finally, I push Bellamy against a tree and tell him to wait. I set up the tent in record time and shove him in. I have his shirt off before he has even sat down, my eyes frantic, terrified of what I'll see.

The bloody rag that Bellamy has been holding against his shoulder is soaked through. I gently pull his hand away to see the wound. Some small part of me sighs in relief – this isn't too bad, I can treat this – but the look of pain on Bellamy's face twists my insides.

There seems to be a vague buzzing in my ears as I go through the motions of making a fire, cleaning and stitching up his shoulder, then bandaging it up. As soon as that's done, I scuttle to the other side of the tent, as far away from him as I can get, and try to control my breathing.

"Clarke? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I ask, my voice getting shriller by the word. "I knew this would happen! I shouldn't have let you come with me, Bellamy, you're hurt because of me, you're going to keep getting hurt because of me, you need to leave, first thing tomorrow, I can't let you die, I won't –"

I stop speaking abruptly due to the fact that Bellamy's lips are covering mine. Before I can think better of it, my body is responding, my hand twisting in his hair, a low moan coming out of my mouth as our tongues lock.

I break away. "Bellamy –"

"I'm fine, Princess," he says. "I'm ok, and we'll be ok." His hands trail down my back, sending sparks of fire through my whole body.

He pulls away, keeping just my hand, leading me to our makeshift bed. I hesitate. I know I shouldn't be doing this. There's a reason, a very important reason… I just can't hear it over the beating of my heart right now.

With a moan of surrender, I basically pounce on him, my mouth frantic on his, my hands roaming over his chest, my body pressing down on his… He moans my name, his voice gravelly with need.

Whatever rational part of my mind still exists, it completely disengages. Bellamy's breathing is ragged as I pull down his pants then yank at my own, desperate to get rid of the thin cloth barrier between us.

My panties are already soaked through when I throw them away. My breathing is hot and fast as I lock mouths with Bellamy again. He arches up against me, and I can feel his hard cock pressing against my stomach. I can't wait; my body is screaming, and his eyes show the same desperation I feel.

I sink onto him, groaning at the sensation. Bellamy grunts as he automatically thrusts upwards. "Bellamy," I gasp breathlessly, my hands twisting in his hair.

I grind down onto him, feeling the fullness of him inside me. My head falls back as I moan and pound harder. Bellamy's hand comes down between us to touch my clit. I scream and press further into him, desperate for the slick, wet sensation of pure pleasure. "Don't stop," I beg as he works my clit between his fingers. "Oh, please, Bellamy –"

All words fail me as my orgasm sweeps over me. My legs clench and my hands in his hair tighten as I pull his head up for a kiss. His whole body jerks as his own climax overcomes him. The waves of pleasure own me, my body moves of its own accord on top of his, pushing, pulsing, feeling his writhing form underneath me. Finally, it fades and my movements slow. I collapse to the side, breathing hard.

Bellamy pulls me around for another kiss. This one is languid, lazy, carried away on the haze of pleasure. "Clarke," he says, but I put a finger to his lips. I feel so peaceful, so right at this moment, I don't' want to ruin it with words.

"Go to sleep, Bellamy," I say, stroking his wet hair off his face. He nestles his face into my breasts and breathes deeply. He is asleep in minutes, and I don't take long to follow suit.

To be continued