Chapter Text
"When I was a child, my mother used to tell me there was only one thing in this world that could never be taken away from a person." Bellamy lifts the gun from the place on his desk, "Do you have any idea what that could be?" He looks to the man tied to the chair in front of him, not really expecting an answer with the gag in his mouth, "A lot of people think it might be your body or something." Bellamy shrugs, "But that can easily be removed." He steps closer, cocking the gun in his hand, "For example, you might think that these legs belong to you. But one shot in your back from this," He examines the gun, "and I'll take your ability to ever use them again."
Bellamy gives a feral smile at the panic in growing in the man's eyes, "No, the only thing that is truly ours in this world is our word. And I'm a man of my word." Bellamy leans down to be eye level, "And didn't I tell you what would happen if you ever betrayed me?" The man starts to violently shake his head, words muffled. "But here I stand, with a gun you used to take out my men. Men who believed you to be one of their own."
Bellamy quickly stands to his full height, "So we're in quite the predicament here, aren't we? But there must be some way for us to rectify your-" Bellamy is cut off by a door quietly opening, and a figure slipping inside. His eyes cut to one of his men standing near the door, "I thought I made it clear no one was to enter." He grits through his teeth.
"Sir, I-"
"Don't be mad Bell." He hears cooed next to his ear and feels hands slipping around his waist from behind, "Baby just couldn't wait anymore."
Bellamy turns in his hold, his hand palming the barely there bump, "And which baby couldn't wait?"
She covers his hand with her own, "Well this baby really wants some ice cream." She takes a step closer, molding her body against his to leave no doubt in his mind, "But your baby wants something else."
"Baby, I'm working."
Clarke pouts her lips, shoulders slumped, "You're always working."
He quickly grasps her face, "Hey, hey." He peppers kisses from her hairline, down to her nose, on her cheeks until she starts giggling, "Don't say that. You know I'll always put my babies first."
"You're taking too long. I could hear you out there, giving the same old speech you give every time."
"It's all part of the job, baby." He smooths his hands down the sides of her arms, "But I'll finish up here, and then I can help you finish upstairs. How does that sound?" Clarke gives him a small smile, with a twinkle in her eye, and nods, "Perfect, now you run along, and I'll be right behind-"
Bellamy stops himself as Clarke quickly takes the gun out of his hand and shoots the man sitting tied to the chair quicker than he can turn his head.
"There, now you're done." Clarke throws the gun onto his desk, and saunters to the door before looking over her shoulder, "Now come take of your babies."