Archive of Our Own

The camp looks like hell just broke loose. The 100 are partying for the umpteenth time. They aren't even trying to find an excuse anymore, they simply wait for the night and then they all burst into chaos at the same time, as if they were telepathic. Apparently the bigger the dangers, the louder and more frequent their venting moments are.

Clarke rolls her eyes and sighs, trying to mask her annoyed face. She can't bring herself to blame them completely—she understands their point, after all—but she can't stop the irritation from acidifying her throat. The resources are already extremely limited and they all need to rest if they don't want to end up weakened against the threats they face on a daily basis.

Seriously, what the hell are they thinking wasting time and energy and supplies like that?

As she walks toward the exit of the camp she wonders how everything went downhill so suddenly. Normally she can count on Bellamy to keep the situation under control, but this time Octavia had come looking for her and told her to go check on her brother’s hand because he had hit someone.

A right-handed blow directly on the eye, judging from what her sister had told her with a smug look on her face, as if there was really something to be happy about. It hadn't been a brawl, just that one punch, and the victim had already been seen shouting with his friends as if it hadn't even hindered his fun.

Clarke had asked Octavia what had happened and why had Bellamy snapped that way—she had been hoping they were finally over the phase in which Bellamy acted as the entropy variable—but the only answer she had got was her shrug and the slight motion of her head, hinting at the direction outside of the wall where she will find their rebel leader.

Octavia is, without a doubt, the worst liar she has ever seen. It's obvious that she knows exactly what happened, and most likely she had watched the show from the first row. But for some reason she wants Clarke to know the truth from Bellamy.

She reaches the makeshift gate and looks at the darkness in front of her, breathing in the cool air. With the fires and the squalls behind her, she finds a familiar figure leaned against a tree about a hundred meters away.

Clarke sighs closing her eyes, gathering her strength. She hopes they won't end fighting again, because she doesn't think she'll be able to stand it. Not after having her energy drained by Finn’s attempts to make her change her mind about them. So not going to happen. She already has enough on her plate without adding a fight with Bellamy.

In addition, their pact of mutual tolerance has been assuming strange shades lately. Too many times she has surprised herself about to touch him, or has found him staring at her without any apparent reason.

She's never lied to herself, she knows all too well she finds Bellamy attractive. One has to be blind or deluded to deny it. But admitting to being attracted to him somehow doesn't cover what is happening to them.

Again, she doesn't have the time to lie to herself, not here on the Earth with the solid possibility of dying at any moment, dragging their regrets into the graves and leaving things unsaid.

She knows that what she's feeling has nothing in common with what she felt for Finn. He had been easy and immediate, fresh and sparkling. The flirting, the banter, the sweetness, it had felt all natural because he inspires that. He just brings it out of you, willing or not.

But with Bellamy it's different. With Bellamy she's never had to become someone she isn't to adapt to a foreign appeal; on the contrary, he had made his way under her skin with a determination and tenacity that she honestly finds remarkable, until one day, when she wasn’t looking, she had suddenly found him right next to her, in her most inner core.

And the best thing is it seems like he wasn’t even trying to.

She heads toward him, his back on the camp, his gaze apparently fixed on the black forest ahead. For a moment she wonders if he's looking for Grounders, but his posture is relaxed and she can't see any tension in him. He's just lost in thought.

Clarke chooses a particularly dry twig to step on, so that the cluck will wake him up from his stupor before she's close enough to scare him.

As soon as he hears the crack reverberating in the air he turns around abruptly, already on alert.

"Ah, fuck, it's you." He mumbles, deflating, as if the tension had made him hold his breath.

Clarke goes behind the tree and reaches him on the right, imitating his pose but focusing on the stars above, instead of the grim, black forest.

"Were you expecting someone more interesting?" she teases trying to gauge his mood.

Bellamy stays still for several seconds, the shuffle of his clothes hinting at his movement and suddenly she feels her cheeks heat up, just like every time she realizes that he's looking at her. He takes a deep breath before answering. "No, you just took me by surprise."

"Bellamy," she starts, dropping her eyes on the ground as she waits for her blush to disappear. She walks in front of him then, blocking his view of the black trees behind her, “Let me see your hand."

His shoulders stiffen. "Who told you?" he demands in a voice that sounds too much like a low growl.

Clarke slowly touches the arm with the injured hand near his elbow, giving him the time to back away in case he doesn't want the contact. He lets her, so she brushes down until she reaches his wrist and she encircles it with her fingers, bringing his knuckles under the moonlight to observe the damage. They're swollen and reddened, but it doesn't look like there's any fractures.

"Can you bend your fingers?" she asks gently, completely lost in her task, trying not to think about the fact that she's holding his hand, even if for all the wrong reasons.

"Who told you?" Bellamy insists, stepping forward and blocking what little light is shining on his hand.

Clarke immediately lifts her eyes. "What?"

"I'll ask you one more time, Princess, then I'll assume that the piece of shit had you cornered and I'll feel the right to go and rearrange his facial bones. Who. Told. You."

Clarke's pupils widen as soon as she gets the threat. She has no idea what he's talking about. Piece of shit who? "Wait, wait! Who're you talking about? What happened?"

"Clarke..." It sounds like a last call, and Clarke feels a light tingling at the base of her back. Bellamy is emanating pure rage.

"Bellamy, calm down, Octavia told me. She came to me and told me to check your hand because you had knocked someone out."

She sees him sighing and leaning against the tree, somehow managing to lose the feral aura he had just moments before. "OK. Good."

"What happened?" she can almost taste her curiosity by now.

"So you had sex with Spacewalker, huh?" is the only answer she gets, and she immediately feels her blood turn to ice. He pulls back his arm right after, leaving her empty hand stretched out in what now looks like a caricature of someone asking to be held.

It isn't exactly something she is trying to keep secret anymore, considering how the only person who shouldn’t have known, Raven, had deduced it the very first day she arrived.

Still, she finds herself terrorized by the idea of what Bellamy may think about her now that he knows.

"It was...nothing." She justifies with a huff of breath. She turns away, scratching her nape, suddenly desperate to find something to do with her hands. She puts one in her pocket while with the other she pretends to untie a tangle in her hair. This definitely isn't what she was expecting. "What does this have to do with you punching someone?" She asks, hoping to change the topic.

"You had sex with someone already taken, Clarke. Now that you're alone again you've become the morsel anyone can have because you're easy."

Bellamy's words come out like a river of acid, and her ears start ringing as she begins to register what he's said. To comprehend the full implications of what he's said.

"This shouldn't have happened." Clarke exclaims in a whimper.

As if finding herself in the middle of a love triangle—when the only thing she had done wrong was trusting Prince Charming—wasn't irritating enough, now the camp is probably doubting her ability to make decisions for the group because, clearly, she hadn't been able to do it for herself. Or maybe worse, they're starting to think she has time to waste on friends with benefits.

"You should have thought about that before opening your legs." Bellamy replies coldly. Clarke stares at him with wide eyes, feeling her heart beating madly against her ribcage. She can't believe that he has the nerve to reprimand her because of this.

"Are you serious?! You're one to talk, you had your harem ready 20 minutes after landing here!" She snaps back, feeling her blood boiling.

"None of them were risking their lives to get to their boyfriend."

"I didn't know she existed!"

"Exactly! Next time you want a fuckbuddy, at least ask him his particulars. "

"He wasn't just a fuckbuddy!" Bellamy gets silent all of a sudden, and Clarke immediately regrets opening her mouth. "I mean—"

"Yeah, sure, I know. Forget it." He turns his back on her, looking at the forest once again, his neck stiff from the tension he's holding in.

The conversation is going in a completely wrong direction and Clarke runs a hand over her forehead, "No, you don't understand. I trusted the wrong guy, I thought we were friends, and he betrayed my trust." She says, trying to justify herself.

"Did he spill your secrets?"

"Uh, no."

"Did he turn his back on you when you needed him?"

"Not really..."

"Did he openly lie about his girlfriend?"

"Hey, omitting is lying!"

"I'm sorry, princess, but I'm afraid you built a castle in the sky with him. Condolences for your impossible love."

"What the fuck is your problem with Finn? I'm telling you that I wasn't looking for a one-night-stand and that the guy you punched—and who knows how many others—has the completely wrong idea about me. "

"Are you sure? Because it seems to me that a little flirting is enough to have you. "

Clarke once again swallows what feels like a boulder, shocked by the venom that Bellamy is pouring on her. How long has he been thinking this? How is it possible that after all the work they had done together, this is all it took to erase the respect he had for her? So now because of a stupid mistake she has to bear the label of the easy one who doesn't join parties but that will gladly let others join her in her tent? And of all people, it's Bellamy the one taunting her.

After all they'd been through together.

Her throat contracts as if she were drowning, concern for her own safety momentarily eclipsed by the unbearable idea of having lost Bellamy's esteem. She waits for the chance to meet his eyes, holding tightly the faint hope to see him realize he has just vented his tension on her. A tension she still doesn't know where it comes from, and that she'd come to discuss with him to begin with.

But Bellamy's gaze stays focused over her shoulder, devoid of emotion. Gone is the anger, the aggressiveness, the anxiety. Suddenly Clarke feels on her skin what it means to be invisible in front of Bellamy, and in that moment she realizes she had never been a no one for him, from the very first moment they had arrived on Earth.

She feels the remorse and disappointment make room for numbness, when the fear of having gone a step beyond repair gets a grip on her heart. Maybe there's no hope of getting through this together, like all the other times they had to deal with a threat.

Clarke feels a last and stifling wave of need towards something she has lost even before actually owning it. Like mourning the death of a dream that didn't have the chance to be desired, before vanishing. An unnatural calm rains over her and squeezes her in a grip of bitter resignation.

Staring at an empty spot in front of her, she crosses her hands on the edge of her shirt and slides it upward, pulling it off.

"What the fuck are you doing now?" Bellamy immediately asks, looking at her as if she has just lost her mind.

"I'm easy, right? So what do you think I'm doing?"

"I have no fucking idea, but cover yourself."

She wastes no time and undoes her bra, letting it fall on the ground unceremoniously. It's amazing how calm she's feeling, it's like watching herself from somewhere outside her body.

Clarke looks down and, pressing the tip of one boot against the heel of the other foot, she slips the shoe off, then repeats the gesture with the other one.

She attacks the button of her pants and she's wondering if she should just pull down her panties altogether, when two hands grab her wrists and violently drag her against the tree, the bark immediately marking her bare back after the impact.

"Clarke, what the fuck do you think you're doing." Bellamy's voice drops an octave and she can swear she hears it vibrating against her diaphragm. His grip on her wrists hurts, but the feeling is strangely comforting compared to the numbness she's feeling inside.

"With very little effort on his part, I gave it to someone I shouldn't have trusted," She arches her back, rubbing the hem of her unfastened pants against Bellamy's. He draws back as if she were burning, but doesn't let go and doesn't stop staring straight into her eyes. "You, however, it makes sense to trust you, doesn't it? You don't even need to flatter me."

Judging by the expression on Bellamy's face, he's having an internal battle. About what, is anyone's guess. Finally he sighs and closes his eyes, lowering his head slightly. "Okay, I shouldn't have said it. I was wrong, I'm sorry. Now get dressed, please."

He releases her wrists, confident that Clarke is going to retrieve the shirt, instead she unzips her trousers. Bellamy immediately reaches for her wrists again and presses them against the hard trunk, above her head. Suddenly it seems like all the anger that Bellamy had managed to suppress is now returning to the surface.

"Clarke, don't play with my patience tonight. You’ll be sorry. "

"I want you to tell me what's going on. You defend me in front of the others and then in private you call me a whore. Don't take me for an idiot." Clarke says, trying to read his expression. He's not making any sense.

"I'll say it again: go away or you'll regret it."

Bellamy's threat only has the effect of making Clarke arch her back, bringing her bare breasts against his chest.

"Clarke, this is the last warning I give you." He growls, and she feels again that delicious tingle, as if she were on the brink of the most exciting precipice. She wants to know what's going through Bellamy's mind, and all this is shortening his quiet isolation. She wouldn't stop for anything in the world.

Holding her breath, she slowly raises her knee and rubs it along Bellamy's thigh, heading toward a very clear direction.

"Alright, that's it." Bellamy's control snaps in that instant, he grabs her raised leg, putting it on his side, and reaches out to take the other one, lifting her off the ground.

As soon as she's secured around his waist, he makes a stride forward, making her collide violently against the tree. A pained moan escapes from her lips but he doesn't seem to even notice it, his face reaching for her neck to bite hard the joining point with her shoulder, coaxing another whimper from her.

"Bellamy!" Clarke exclaims, grabbing his hair and trying to pull his head back to look at him. Bellamy apparently reads the gesture as an invitation and presses more of his weight against her, almost knocking the air out of her.

The point he's biting seems to go on fire every time he rubs on it with his teeth, his hands firm under her thighs to keep her at the right height. When she finally lets out a sigh in response, he pushes his pelvis against hers, and Clarke starts forgetting what the point of all this was.

Bellamy's mouth breaks away from her skin with a pop. "How many times?" He asks in one breath, before licking her throat, going back to her jaw.

He pushes again with his hips, creating a gentle pace which at regular intervals presses the scratches on Clarke's back against the trunk, sending electric shocks from her nape to her kidneys.

Clarke knows she has to answer the question, but she doesn't seem to be able to understand what he means, nor can she recall how to speak. All she can feel is Bellamy pressed against her, and the only thing that's going on in her head is that she should have done this a long ago.

"W-what?" She finally manages to exhale.

Bellamy bites once again her jaw before heading to her ear, and licks her earlobe. She hears him smile in a light puff of air as a shiver runs from her shoulders to her toes. "I said, how many times have you been with him?"

To feel the vibration of his low tone so close to her eardrum is one of the most delicious things she has ever experienced, and she instinctively wraps her legs tighter around him, pressing herself more against his crotch. "Once. Only once. "

He grunts in response, finally moving his hands and sliding them down to her buttocks. He grabs them in his hands, continuing to rub his now complete erection against her. Clarke's breathing is so labored that she feels light-headed.

"I swear, if someone else dares to touch you, I'll break their neck." He murmurs against her windpipe, and Clarke suddenly realizes what Bellamy's problem is.

"You're jealous." Clarke says in a whisper, betraying the laughter rising in her throat. For some reason, knowing that Bellamy has gone out of control for that reason is rapidly melting the ice that had gripped her stomach during their argument.

"Shut up." Bellamy huffs, then finally falls on her lips. Clarke opens them the second she feels their softness, hungry for something more from him.

Bellamy immediately brushes her tongue with his own, making them both moan, taking his time in massaging her lips and tasting her mouth.

Clarke caresses his neck with one hand and slides the other down his back, clutching the fabric in her fist and lifting it up. He breaks away from her just enough to slip out of it, Clarke keeping her balance with her legs crossed on his waist.

---

As soon as Bellamy throws away the shirt, he stops for a moment to absorb the vision before him. Clarke is clinging to him covered only in pants, her lips red and moist with a mark at the base of her neck that is clearly a claim of possession. He drags his gaze down on her hardened nipples, and suddenly he doesn't know whether it's time to feast on them with his mouth or to come back to kiss her.

He resumes holding her under her legs, and the contact opens another series of interesting options too. Damn, he wants so many things all at once that he doesn't know where to start.

"Bell," she whispers, distracting him immediately from his existential doubts. It's the first time someone has called him that, besides his mother and Octavia. It warms his chest to the point that he feels his lips pull into a smile. "You'll have all the time in the world for the foreplay, for now just fuck me." And there the smile dies and the heat falls way down in his body.

He let her come down with her feet on the ground, pushing her pants and panties down together, then turns her around and makes her bend forward with one hand on her head. With the other one he unbuttons his pants and gives his cock a couple of strokes to spread the precum on himself. Clarke leans both hands against the trunk to give herself a lever and spreads her legs as much as her pants around her knees allow her.

Bellamy comes up behind her, aligning his cock against her opening and pushes hard, sinking completely. The groan that comes out of Clarke's throat shoots him a pang of pleasure down his back, and he pulls back until he's almost completely out, observing with fascination his member sliding out of her.

As soon as he sees the head of his cock he stops, grabs the hair above her nape and thrusts again with momentum, pulling her head back at the same time. Clarke moans, arching her back more, and Bellamy begins to fuck her with a steady pace, trying desperately to hold off his orgasm to last long enough.

If he were to let go, it would be a matter of seconds with how tight she is and how fucking gorgeous she looks like that, but the details are constantly threatening to make him lose his mind: Clarke's voice distorted by the pleasure he's giving her, the way she pushes against him asking for more, that beautiful skin he can finally touch, the hair in his fist he now knows is exactly as soft as it looks, her wonderfully tight pussy that he had already found wet for him.

He would never be able to last long enough for this round.

A low moan escapes her and Clarke tightens against his cock, immediately coaxing a groan from the bottom of his throat. "Shit, Clarke—" he chokes, breathing heavily.

Clarke's only answer is a wordless whine as she sways more sinuously against him, changing the pressure he's feeling on his entire length.

"We'll have time for slower things, Bell. I want you too much right now. "

Bellamy leaves her hair and grabs her hip instead, while his other hand goes at the base of his cock and he pushes it down, thereby changing the angle and pointing directly at that magical bundle of nerves inside her.

Clarke's reaction is immediate and she straightens up, pressing against him with all her back and offering her mark to his lips. She doesn't have to ask him twice and he bites with the same violence as before, walking forward until she's again against the bark, so that with every thrust her nipples will rub against the rough surface.

He increases the pace and Clarke's moans becomes a continuous melody, punctuated by occasional "Oh, Bell-"s, and the latest "Yeah, right there!"

It won't be the longest fuck of his life, but he certainly won't come without giving her a nice ride first.

"Bell, please!" She pleads. After passing the initial period of hypersensitivity, he's now finally starting to have more control. In a bit he'll be able to make it last as much as he want.

"What, princess? Tell me."

Clarke takes a few seconds to respond, probably because she has never been forced to be so honest and vulnerable. Bellamy gives her time to think about it, focusing on hitting her g-spot with every thrust, going back to torturing her purplish lovebite.

"I want to feel you come inside me." She confesses at the end, turning her face slightly towards him.

Bellamy looks at her from under his eyelashes, without stopping the suction at the base of her neck, and exhales forcefully, before slowing down his thrusts to regain sensitivity. Clarke instinctively clenches around him, thus giving him a delicious friction to use.

Without warning, Bellamy begins to fuck her harder, cutting the length of his thrusts but gaining in speed, and Clarke's muscles contracts in what has to be a pretty nice spasm, if her sudden silence is anything to go by.

The hand that is gripping her hip will probably leave a mark, but in that moment he can't bring himself to care.

With his thumb sideways across his cock he keeps it in the correct angle, while the rest of his fingers brush his balls, adding a whole new set of sensations.

He lets out one last moan as he feels the wave of the orgasm approaching, then finally the pressure in his back snaps and he begins to come inside her.

Clarke stands still and relaxed as Bellamy loses rhythm and rides the last tremors of his orgasms. Hearing the mad thudding of his heart in his ears, he sighs and eventually pulls out, mirroring the lament uttered by Clarke as soon as his cock leaves her.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks, worried about her silence. He strokes her bare back, now covered with a thin layer of sweat.

Clarke turns to him, lifting her underwear and pants which were planted at mid-thigh, murmuring a "Ugh, I really need to wash." She has an angry red line across her thighs, from where her clothes had digged into her skin. Looking down at her body he notices the marks of his fingers against her side, her nipples swollen and reddened from the friction against the tree, the huge bite at the base of her neck. Bellamy almost gets another hard on just by looking at her.

"What did you say to that guy?" Clarke asks, watching him as if she were in doubt about what to do. In the end she takes a deep breath and puts her arms around his neck, kissing him languidly. Bellamy waits for her to stop before replying, having no intention whatsoever of ceasing the sweet contact.

Eventually she does and he sighs, already missing her mouth on him.

"I told him that you were mine, and I illustrated the concept with a very graphic death threat."

Clarke chuckles, seemingly satisfied, and Bellamy thinks he has never seen her being more beautiful than she is now.

"Well said." She answers, then rewards him with the kiss he was longing for.