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"Fuck," says Bellamy. "I don't think we can keep going."
Clarke is frowning herself, watching the rain lash down on the windshield. It started raining while they were at dinner, and it seemed fine at first, but after an hour, Clarke had been starting to think it wasn't going to get better. Honestly, she would have suggested they stop herself, but she knows Bellamy too well. He can be kind of stubborn.
"How much longer is it?" he adds. He's been concentrating too hard on following the road to look at the GPS, to Clarke's relief.
"Two hours, with traffic."
"Fuck," he says again. "I should stop, right? We can get in tomorrow. Nothing's happening until dinner, right?"
"Yeah. It's your sister," she can't help adding. "And you're the driver. It's your call. But if it was me, I'd stop for the night, yeah. I wouldn't want to be driving."
"Yeah," he agrees. "Okay, uh--watch the exits? Next one with lodging, let's just stop. I'll text O, she'll understand."
"I can tell her now if you want," she says. "Get it over with."
"No, just find us a place to sleep. It's not like she's not going to be pissed. I assume she knows the weather is shitty. And I wasn't going to see her tonight anyway."
She hesitates, and then reaches over to squeeze his arm. "You're doing great, by the way. I'm really glad I'm not driving right now."
They're stopped behind a long line of bleeding red headlights, so he looks away from the road to flash her a quick grin. "Yeah, me too. I love your creative swearing when you're driving, but I'd be fucking terrified with you behind the wheel in this shit."
"Shut up," says Clarke. "My phone says there's an inn at the next exit."
"An inn, huh? Fancy."
"Yeah, we're really fancy right now."
They're not the only ones getting off the road, and not the only ones pulling into the inn. Which is definitely just a cheap motel, one of those flat, L-shaped buildings with rows of numbered doors lined up next to each other. It looks like the kind of place where they find the body in a Lifetime original movie about the dangers of meeting people online.
"Really fancy," Bellamy says, and Clarke shrugs.
"It beats driving, right?"
"Only one way to find out." He parks the car and scowls at the universe at large. "Do you have an umbrella?"
"Nope. We can run, though."
"Luggage."
"We don't need it now. Maybe the rain will calm down before we're going to bed."
"Maybe," he says, sounding unconvinced.
Clarke doesn't push it. He's stressed about this weekend, and she doesn't blame him. His sister is getting married, and she knows he's happy for her, but also that the wedding is nothing like what he wanted her to have. It's small and inexpensive and perfectly suited to Octavia, but to Bellamy, it's just another reminder of all the things he's never been able to give his sister. Personally, Clarke thinks that even if Bellamy was the richest person in the entire world, Octavia would probably still be getting married on a mountain in the middle of nowhere Virginia, but she knows that it's different. Choosing not to have something is very different from not having the option in the first place.
"Come on, let's go get rooms. I want to see how many gross stains there are on the walls."
"Wow, you make it sound so great," he teases, but it's enough to get him out of the car.
It isn't far to go to the motel office, but they run the whole way anyway, and they're still plenty wet when they arrive. There's a couple at the desk, and they shake themselves off waiting for the receptionist to be free.
She greets them with a bright smile. "You two are lucky. You're getting our last room."
"Perfect," says Clarke, with a wide smile. "Is American Express okay?"
"Clarke--" Bellamy starts.
"I've got this," she says. "You're driving, I'll pay for the hotel. No big deal."
His expression goes soft, and Clarke tries not to melt. "Thanks."
"Like I said, no big deal."
The receptionist runs the card and hands over two keys--actual keys, not key cards, which Clarke hasn't seen for as long as she can remember--to room 18.
"It's at the other side of the inn, but there's an awning, so I don't think you'll get too wet walking down. the woman says. "I know it's raining cats and dogs out there.
Bellamy gives her one of his best smiles. "Yeah, I think we'll be fine. Thanks for your help. I'm just going to grab the bags," he adds, to Clarke.
"You sure? It might get better."
"I'm not going to want to move again once I'm in there," he says. "I'll just take a shower. Then I'll be wet on purpose."
Clarke rolls her eyes. "Your call. I'm going to go to the room and be dry."
"Suit yourself."
"My husband would do the same thing," the receptionist says, sounding fond, and Clarke thanks her instead of correcting her about their relationship status. It doesn't seem like it's worth the bother.
But apparently she really should have, because she opens the door to the room and sees one huge king-sized bed in the middle, and nothing else. No couch, no cot, nowhere else for one of them to go to avoid, well.
The bed. The one bed.
"Wasn't even that bad," Bellamy says, coming up behind her. "I think it might be--oh."
"Last room," says Clarke, not letting herself look at him. "It's not like they had options."
"They probably have a cot or something, I can--"
"It's a king-sized bed, Bellamy," she says, without much actual input from her brain. "We can share. No big deal. We've been in the car all day, we deserve a good night's sleep."
He wets his lips. "Yeah, I guess. Not that it looks like a great bed, but--"
She elbows him. "Aren't you the one always telling me I'm a snob? Don't you have a story about how you've slept in way shittier beds or something?"
"Yeah, I have. That means I know exactly how much it sucks."
"There we go. That's the Bellamy content I'm looking for."
"Shut up." He puts their bags down and prowls around the room, like he's still hoping he might find some hidden other option for where one of them can sleep. "Do you want to take the first shower?"
"You're the one who's soaked," she points out.
"Yeah, but I want to call O."
He probably wants privacy, so Clarke grabs her pajamas and toiletries and heads into the bathroom. The shower sucks and there are some weird stains on the ceiling, but she tries not to let it bother her too much. The room was cheap, and she feels better being off the road, somewhere warm and dry, without Bellamy's hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.
And, okay, she wouldn't exactly say she's excited about the bed situation, but she's more excited than not. They're already sharing a room at the wedding itself, but that's a room with two queen beds, like normal friends. No giant bed, no Bellamy next to her, nothing special.
But she can pretend for tonight. She can enjoy it.
She changes in the bathroom, goes back out in her shorts and tank top. Bellamy's sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at his phone with a frown.
"Did you get her?"
"No, she's probably busy with wedding stuff. I texted." He rubs his face. "I know it's not a big deal. But I wanted to be there if she needed me."
Clarke sits next to him. "You're going to be. It's only two more hours. If we leave early enough, we can be there before she wakes up."
"Yeah." He lets out a breath. "Like I said, I get that it's not a big deal and I'm being stupid, but--"
"You're not being stupid. It's her wedding, of course it's a big deal. But this definitely isn't a crisis, and you should go take a shower. You'll feel better. And if Octavia calls back, I'll pick up and I won't let her off the phone until you're back."
"Nothing like a long-distance hostage situation between friends," he says, but he's smiling now. "Thanks, Clarke."
Once he's in the bathroom, she stretches out on the right side of the bed with her phone, checking in on her email and social media that she neglected while trying to coach Bellamy through not dying in the sudden rain storm. And her eye does keep straying to his phone, waiting for a call or text from Octavia, something that will calm him down, reassure him that his sister isn't mad at him.
And maybe something that will distract her from the sound of the shower, and the thought that there's just a single thin wall separating her from a wet and naked Bellamy Blake.
It's so inconvenient, being in love with your best friend. Clarke does not recommend it.
Bellamy's phone buzzes right as the water shuts off, and she picks it up immediately when she sees his sister's picture on the display.
"Hey, Octavia, it's Clarke. He's in the shower."
"Hey! I'm glad you guys stopped, it's awful out. Lincoln's friends took us out to dinner and it was bad enough driving home from that. Where are you?"
"Still Pennsylvania, I think? At the first motel we found."
Bellamy comes out of the bathroom in nothing but flannel pajama pants. He's switched his contacts for his glasses, and he's actually a little difficult to look at, he's so attractive. Clarke doesn't know how she functions, sometimes.
"I'm glad you got a place," Octavia is saying, although Clarke is barely paying attention. All of her effort and brain power is going into not staring at Bellamy, with limited success.
"Me too. Here's your brother."
She gives the phone to Bellamy and tries not to eavesdrop too much. Not that they're really saying anything she's not supposed to hear, but it just seems polite.
Plus, focusing on her own phone keeps her from watching him as he paces back and forth in front of the bed, toweling off his still-wet hair. And that's really fucking important right now.
"We're only two hours out," he's telling Octavia. "So we should be there by noon at the latest. And that's just if Clarke really doesn't want to wake up."
"I can wake up," she grumbles, and he flashes her a grin. "Shut up."
"Yeah, we'll text when we're on our way. Can't wait to see you."
He hangs up and flops down on the bed next to her. It's large enough they're not touching in any way, not even close to touching, but it still feels overwhelming. He smells clean and sharp, and there's so much bare skin on display she doesn't know where she can safely look. Bellamy without his shirt on is actively overwhelming.
"See?" she says, keeping her voice bright. "I told you it would be fine."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. And I feel better being out of the fucking car."
"I told you we didn't have to drive down in one day."
"And we're not, so--congratulations." He stretches out. "Are you sure about the bed? I can sleep on the floor or something. No big deal. This isn't even that comfortable."
"You're not sleeping on the floor. It's just a bed, Bellamy. I think we can share it without anything catastrophic happening."
"If the hotel catches on fire, I'm blaming you," he teases.
"Is that supposed to be a punishment for our premarital bed-sharing or what?" she asks. "Is this a wrath of god situation, Bellamy?"
He snorts. "Yeah, definitely. All the times we've shared a bed with someone we're not married to, and this is the time that we're going to get punished for it."
"Sounds good. If that happens, it's definitely my fault." She fluffs her pillow a little, settles in more comfortably. "Want to see if anything's on TV?"
The TV is as old and crappy as everything else in the motel, but they manage to find some sitcom reruns to watch, and that, combined with the successful call to Octavia, seems to relax Bellamy. The tension of the drive and the day and the general situation drains out of him, and by the time the second episode is over, he's half-asleep.
Clarke turns off the TV and nudges him. "Come on. Bedtime."
"I guess." He wets his lips, looking serious. "Are you sure this isn't weird?"
"How many times do I have to tell you?"
"A lot, apparently. Just--you're already coming to my sister's wedding to keep me sane. I don't want to make this even weirder for you."
"You're my best friend, Bellamy. It's not weird. You'd do the same thing for me."
"Yeah." He takes off his glasses and slides under the sheets. "Fine, I'm done. It's not awkward. Sorry in advance if I somehow spoon you in my sleep."
"Apology preemptively accepted," she says. "Lights off?"
"Yeah."
She gets under the sheets herself and turns off the light. The space between their bodies is large, and she can't imagine either of them is going to cross it by accident, but she still wants to. All she wants to do is roll into Bellamy's side and cuddle up close, wrap herself around him and listen to the sound of his heart in his chest.
And, okay, she wouldn't mind if sex was involved too, but she is tired. What she really wants is to be tired with him.
But she makes herself close her eyes and tries not to think about it. Not his proximity, not his smell, not how easy it could be.
And then, the noise starts.
It maybe shouldn't be a surprise. It's cheap motel, and she knew from listening to Bellamy in the shower how thin the walls were. And they got the last empty room, so of course they have neighbors. She could hear some murmuring next to them, earlier, but it somehow hadn't occurred to her that it might turn into the rhythmic creaking of bed springs, and then, well, moaning, gasping, giggling. It's unmistakable, what's happening here.
The worst part is that it's honestly kind of hot. Clarke's always been into the vocal part of sex, especially from girls. She figured out she was bisexual in college, when her boyfriend wanted them to watch porn together and she realized the part she was most enjoying was the girl's gasps and pleas and little hitches of breath. Whoever's on the other side of the wall sounds like she's having a great time, and it's getting Clarke kind of hot and bothered, like being next to Bellamy wasn't bad enough all on its own.
Maybe he's asleep already. He was clearly tired. She could go into the bathroom now, just get herself off quickly. It would probably help. It's been a long day, and she could use a little relief. Just the thought of it is honestly enough to make her mouth water. She could slide her hand between her legs, touch herself hot and fast and--
"Oh fuck," gasps the woman next to them, and Clarke groans in frustration, rolls over to just get out of bed and deal with it when Bellamy says, "Oh fuck is right," and she freezes.
"Free show, I guess," she says, keeping her voice as casual as his.
"Should have put that on the sign."
"Harder!" says the woman next door, and this is a situation Clarke has absolutely no idea how to deal with.
"She sounds pretty good," is what she ends up with. "Better than Skinemax."
There's a pause, and she wonders if her voice gave her away, if he can tell that she's wet and wants to roll on top of him and see if they can go louder.
But all he says is, "You don't miss the visuals?"
She bites the corner of her mouth. "I have a pretty good imagination."
For a second, she's nervous, but then, impossibly, she feels him shift. He doesn't roll into her, but he moves closer, and his voice is husky when he asks, "Yeah? What are you imagining?"
She rolls back over to face him as best she can in the dark. The sounds from the other room are still going, but they've faded into the background. All she can focus on is Bellamy, the way he's watching her, the way his voice sounds.
"I was going to go to the bathroom and get myself off," she admits. "I was thinking about how good it would feel."
"Jesus, that bathroom is the least sexy place I've seen in my life, Clarke," he grumbles, and she lets out a surprised laugh and closes the distance between them, pressing her mouth against his.
To his credit, he's not so distracted by the unsexiness of the bathroom that he doesn't respond to this kiss. He does it instantly, hand sliding into her hair, mouth eager against hers. When she presses herself right up against him, he slides his other arm under her to pull her in, and then just gives up and rolls her onto her back on the mattress, making their own springs groan with the movement.
It's enough to pull him out of the moment, and he pulls back to look at her, eyes wild.
"I, uh--" he starts, watching her carefully. "Which part of the fantasy is this?" he finally asks.
"This is the main event of every fantasy I've had for at least the last year," she tells him, brushing his still slightly damp hair off his forehead.
"The noisy springs?" he suggests, but he's smiling.
"Exactly. I'm totally in love with noisy springs."
He leans back in, kissing her slow and sweet, unhurried, and Clarke lets her hands trail down his bare back, mapping the path of his spine. His dick is hard and obvious against her leg, and she wants to do something about it soon, but not yet.
First, she wants to kiss him until she melts, and he seems happy to oblige her.
"I couldn't stop thinking about this," he says, when he does pull back. It's just far enough so he can nose under her jaw. "I didn't think I could be in the bed and not kiss you. It's hard enough not kissing you the rest of the time."
"Yeah, you should stop trying not to do that." She's smiling so hard she thinks her face might split. Why was she trying to be an adult about this? She should have just jumped him the second they saw the bed.
Or, really, she should have jumped him as soon as she realized she wanted to. Apparently he wouldn't have minded.
He nips at her neck lightly. "Thanks for letting me know. Are you sure you want to do this now? They're going to hear us."
It's not an unreasonable question, but she can still feel his dick against her leg, and she's still so wet she can't quite think straight. So she arches up against him for some friction, and he groans low.
"That's a yes?"
"That's a please," she says, and he bites her shoulder this time, making her gasp.
"All you had to do was ask," he says, and then they're kissing again, wet and dirty, with the kind of intent that makes her toes curl. She's seen Bellamy with hookups before, the smooth flirtation and easy charm, but she's never seen him like this. She didn't know how he actually was in bed, but the desperate press of his open mouth against hers is exactly how she wanted him to be.
His hands slide up under her tank top, rough fingers skating over her skin, and she gasps and jerks her hips into him.
"God, you're so--" He laughs, sounding so perfectly happy that she can't quite deal with it. She's never heard him laugh like that, and it's all she wants now. She wants to make him sound this happy forever. "I'm barely even doing anything yet, and you're already this into it."
"I must really like you," she says, and pulls the tank top off herself, when he doesn't seem to be doing anything.
The open admiration in his stare is gratifying, all the more because of the way his eyes sweep over all of her, not just zeroing in on her breasts. But she really does want him to just fucking touch her.
"Fuck," he breathes, and she grabs his wrist and pulls it up to her breast.
"That's the idea," she says, and he kisses her again. He gives her breast an experimental squeeze, strokes his thumb over her nipple, testing out what he can do to make her break the kiss to gasp. Which is basically anything. His hands feel so good she can barely even think.
"God, Clarke," he says, kissing down her neck. "This isn't just tonight, right? Please tell me you're not--"
"I thought you got the subtext of I love noisy springs," she teases. Her hand slides into his hair as he keeps moving down her body. "I'm yours, Bellamy."
He exhales a shaky breath, right against her breast, making her shiver. "So we don't have to do everything tonight."
"No."
He bites the curve of her breast, light and teasing. "But we can try."
She'd like to reply, but he moves up, wrapping his lips around her nipple in time with sliding his hand over her clit through the fabric of her shorts. It's not what she wants and he knows it; he's delighting in it not being enough for her. Her whine at the inadequate friction makes him grin, and he presses a light kiss to her breast.
"You're such a fucking asshole," she tells him, and he laughs.
"You already told me you're in love with me," he shoots back. "So you must be into that."
She switches tactics. "Bellamy, please. I'm so wet, I need you to--"
He rubs harder, making her hips jerk into his fingers. "Tell me," he says. "Tell me exactly what you want."
"I want you to fuck me," she says. "God, Bellamy, I just--I need you."
He lets out a long, shaking breath. "Okay," he says. "Okay. I've got you." He presses a soft kiss to her breast and then grins. "I should have known patience wouldn't be your strong suit."
"We're waking up early tomorrow," she points out. "You can make me beg for it later. When we're home."
He grins and hooks his fingers in the band of her shorts, pulling them and her underwear down together. "Looking forward to it."
"Me too. But tonight--"
"Tonight I'm fucking you," he agrees, sliding down and settling between her legs. "Right after this."
She'd object, but he's stroking his fingers against her, sliding inside, two right away, thick and perfect, curving up inside her, and his mouth is on her clit, and it's so good that she doesn't care. She's thought about this a thousand times, thought about it while she pushed her fingers inside herself, wishing they were his, and there's no comparison.
She tells him as much, words spilling out of her mouth. "Bellamy, fuck, that's--god, you feel so good, you're so--fuck," she gasps, and she thinks it's quiet, but some part of her brain knows that their neighbors must be able to hear her, must know.
She hopes they'll be jealous. That other sex sounded good, but there's no way that couple was having as good a time as she and Bellamy are.
The first orgasm doesn't take long. She comes gasping and shaking, and Bellamy pulls back to smirk at her.
"I'm going to go down on you longer next time too," he teases. "I barely even got to enjoy that."
"I'm disappointed too," she says, tugging him up to kiss him. "But you can fuck me. If it'll make you feel better."
"Maybe," he says, grinning. "Let me try it out."
He presses one more quick kiss to her lips and then rolls off the bed, crossing the room to open up his bag.
"Hoping you were going to get laid at the wedding?" she asks, smiling.
He steps out of his pajamas and settles back on the bed next to her, naked and gorgeous. Clarke lets her fingers skate up his bare chest, reveling in the ability to touch him as much as she wants.
"We were sharing a room," he says, sliding his hand into his hair to kiss her again. "I thought I might get my nerve up to do something about it."
She grins and rolls on top of him, pushing him onto his back with a grin and straddling his hips. He looks awed and just a little goofy, and Clarke leans in to kiss him.
"You're definitely going to get laid at this wedding," she promises, and she takes the condom out of his hand.
Bellamy's dick is--impressive. It's not really a surprise; Raven told her, at one point during her have you considered just marrying Bellamy already campaign, that Bellamy had a truly amazing dick, and she should get on it, ideally literally. But it's different seeing it in person, knowing it's about to be inside her.
"Do you mind if I'm on top?" she asks, and he laughs.
"That's so fucking polite," he teases. "Hey, would you maybe let me ride you? Jesus Christ, of course I don't mind. Please do that."
She grins, opens up the condom and rolls it down his dick. It's hard to resist touching him more, but she's the one who's on record as wanting him in her, as soon as possible, and even though she already came once, she still can't wait for it. She leans up for another kiss, and he returns it greedily, tugging her back on top of him.
She's wet enough the lack of lube doesn't bother her; he slides in easily, and they both gasp as she settles on top of him.
"Good?" he asks, thumb stroking against her hip.
"Yeah. But it's been a while," she admits. She leans back in, brushing her mouth against his, and starts to roll her hips slowly. It's strange, given how desperate she's been feeling, but she wants it to be slow this time, wants to savor the closeness and intimacy, wants to make it last.
"Now that I'm going to get off, you want to go slow," Bellamy teases.
"Sucks to be you," she tells him, and leans in to kiss him again.
The slow pace doesn't last, of course. The desperation to come again builds from her toes, and she starts to move in earnest, and he responds in kind, thrusting into her hand and fast, hitting her just right, and she comes loudly enough she might wake the neighbors with it. It's not her fault; he's just that good.
He comes himself after a few more hard strokes, and then she collapses on top of him, breathing hard, laughing a little, giddy and breathless, when his arms come up around her.
"I love you too," he says. "I think I was too busy worrying you just wanted to get laid to say it before."
"I figured it out," she says. "But thanks for saying it anyway." She presses her lips against his collarbone. "I'm glad we stopped for the night."
His own laugh is breathless too. "Yeah," he says. "Best night I've ever had in a shitty bed."
"It's not even over yet," Clarke points out. "I bet we could get to best night ever."
He laughs and tugs her back in for another kiss. "Only one way to find out."
*
Bellamy's alarm goes off at six the next morning, and he groans, grabs his phone, and resets the alarm for nine before curling back around her.
"It's fine," he says, before she can say anything. "O doesn't need us around for a while."
"If I'd known all I needed to do to calm you down about this whole wedding thing was sleep with you, I would have done it earlier."
"If I knew sleeping with you was an option, I would have done it earlier too," he shoots back, kissing her shoulder, and she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.
Nine does feel a lot better, and Clarke rolls out of bed to get dressed without any trouble. They didn't really unpack much, so it doesn't take long to get their things back together and be ready to head out. Bellamy texts his sister that they're grabbing breakfast somewhere and will be there by noon, and he really does seem a lot more relaxed.
And he keeps kissing her neck, as a bonus. It might be the best morning of her life, too.
"I'll check out, you can pack the car up?" she offers.
"I think you're overestimating how long it's going to pack the car up," he says. "But yeah, sure, we can do that. I'll see if I can find somewhere for us to get coffee."
She leans up for another kiss. Probably the novelty will wear off eventually, but she hopes it takes a while. "Sounds good."
She can't help a glance at the room next door as she goes out. It feels weirdly like she should slide a thank-you note under the door or something, leave some acknowledgment of the most bizarre connection she's ever had with strangers.
So of course, the door opens, and a pretty woman comes out, makes eye contact with Clarke as Clarke watches. There's nothing really to say, of course; it would be even more awkward to say something than it would be to have passed her a note.
But Clarke gives her a smile, and the woman smiles back, and that's it. Bellamy asks, "Everything okay? We ready to go?" and Clarke turns her smile on him instead. He's the one who really deserves it, after all.
"Yeah," she says. "All set."