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It's been three months since Clarke came home, and things are, finally, pretty good between the two of them. They've even been flirting back and forth a little these the last couple weeks. Of course Bellamy and Clarke always had a way of staring at each other like everyone else in the room had disappeared, but simple flirting for amusement's sake is a recent development. The atmosphere between them is soft and genial as they head out of camp on an exploratory venture to the abandoned amusement park about three miles East. Sinclair's orders are clear: record any useful remains of scrap metal, electronics, or wire cabling, but don't grab anything unless absolutely necessary. Explore, report, and return.
The amusement park is haunting and weirdly beautiful; like so many parts of the old world, it was long ago consumed by nature. They climb up into a lookout tower that managed one of the roller coasters, and when they get to the top it's a small room with a full viewing window. Under the window is a massive control panel covered in buttons and little digital screens. It spans the width of the tiny room, and tilts at a slope toward where the operator's chair would have been.The interior of the tower room is painted with huge, garishly-colored animal characters in the theme of the park.
Bellamy whistles. "Look at this place."
Nodding, Clarke joins him at the view. "You can see the whole park from here. What do you think it was like, back then?"
"Probably cleaner," he says with a shrug.
"Life must have been so different for the people here," she muses, gaze jumping from attraction to attraction. They're all in disrepair, but even beneath the greenery it's possible to guess what they might have been.
"I don't think they were that different from us," he replies at last. "People fight, people screw, people waste a lot of money and time on things that don’t matter."
Clarke nudges him with her elbow. "Cynical." Then her eyes go wide and she steps back a few paces, pretending to examine the small room in order to hide a sudden, uncharacteristic grin.
Of course he notices. "What?"
Clarke bites her lip, then lets out a small giggle as she asks, "Do you think people ever hooked up in here?"
In front of the window, Bellamy glances to his left, where a faded cartoon rabbit is still visible on the wall. The proclamation 'FUNLAND IS THE PLACE FOR SMILING DREAMS' floats in a word bubble beside its face, where the smile itself is entirely too large, and full of more teeth than a cartoon rabbit probably needs.
He snorts, dryly. "I doubt anyone could hook up if they had that thing staring at them all day long."
Clarke raises her eyebrows at the mural. "Oh, I don’t think it’d be too hard."
His hand had drifted to fiddle with some levers on the control panel in the course of their discussion, but now Bellamy pauses to give Clarke his full attention. "Really?"
She shrugs as if to say ‘sure’, and Bellamy turns to face her. Setting his rifle down, he leans against the control panel with his back to the enormous window, and his palms settle on the edge, resting on either side of his hips. "You’re pretty confident," he observes.
When Clarke moves, she doesn't so much walk toward him as slink. His legs are canted slightly open, and she gets close enough to stop right between them. "Distracting a guy so much that he forgets the scenery? Not even a challenge. Guys are easy."
Bellamy deliberately relaxes, tilting his head as he watches her part in awe, and part in daring. She clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and lifts one hand to drag it along his thigh. The finger grazes him in a sinuous line through the fabric of his trousers, stopping at his belt.
"It’s different with girls," Clarke tells him idly, almost humming. "Girls are always in their heads, always thinking two steps ahead."
Her fingers dance along his belt, then gradually slip the leather strap out of the buckle. Bellamy doesn’t move.
"Guys, however, are all about the here and now." As she says ‘now’, her hand slips into his pants, and grabs him. He was prepared for it, hoping for it even, but Bellamy still jerks a little. His hands lock onto the edge of the control panel and he holds himself in place.
Words dance beneath his tongue, but he bites them back. There's no chance he's gonna interrupt whatever Clarke has it in her mind to do right now—not when she's got her hand on his dick, sliding it up and down while she implies that men are just dumb animals controlled by their genitals.
Normally he'd argue that, but it's getting increasingly difficult to see a flaw in her assessment.
Clarke grins, and twists her hand as she slides it from his base to his head. Bellamy is so hard for her that if she stops, he'll probably beg.
"What are you thinking about?"
He manages to keep his voice steady, if a little rough, when he blurts, "That rabbit monster on the wall is painted the wrong shade of pink."
With an idle, "Uh huh," Clarke pushes him to lean back with her free hand, then drops to her knees. She holds his gaze as she dips forward to lick a stripe along one side of his cock, from bottom to tip.
Bellamy swallows, and his knuckles are almost white because he’s holding too hard onto the panel edge. He chokes, "This whole place is weird. It probably has ghosts."
Clarke wiggles her eyebrows, then wraps her mouth around his tip. She puffs out her cheeks in exaggeration, then pulls them back in to suck hard. Bellamy’s hips jerk involuntarily, and he lets out a sound almost like a breathy whine. Clarke opens her mouth and inhales just above him, then breathes out again. Her warm breath passes over his sensitive skin, and his whole body shivers.
"Clarke," he moans.
"Shut up Bellamy," she says, "Now look at me."
Breathing through his teeth, he hisses "F-Fuck. Yes. I’m looking."
Keeping eye contact till the last second, Clarke opens her mouth and pushes her head forward, like she’s swallowing him. Stunned, Bellamy watches several inches of his cock disappear into her lips—more than he’d have thought she could take—then her throat flutters around him and he can’t stop himself from touching her head. His fingers wind into her hair on instinct, but he doesn’t pull at all.
She moves and he lets her, her movement slow at first, then aggressive. The hand that's still locked on the edge of the panel twitches with the effort not to grab, because Clarke is fucking him with her mouth and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his whole goddamn life. She retreats, dragging her teeth along the top of his flesh as she goes, then swallows him again.
Bellamy’s eyes roll back in his head, and if anyone were to ask him right then about the mural on the wall, he wouldn’t even know what they were talking about.