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She wonders sometimes, usually in the middle of the night when he’s wrapped around her like a vice, his breath hot and wet on the back of her neck, if she’s a masochist.
It’s not true, of course, because it’s not as if she gets off on the fact that they hate each other. No, it’s more that the hate between them fuels the intensity of this thing they are doing, turns it into a fire that burns so hot it’s bound to end with them both in ashes.
That doesn’t stop them from falling into bed a few times a month, harsh comments turning into frenzied hands and mouths, teeth biting flushed skin in an attempt to forget.
Forget what, though, she’s not exactly sure. Their problems, maybe. The fact that they hate each other, definitely.
None of their mutual friends know about what they do. Raven told her once it’s like they are dancing, bodies moving around each other, a push and pull that will eventually lead to them coming together as one solid unit.
If she only knew.
***
“I don’t want to go.”
Clarke folds her arms over her chest, forever the petulant child, and Wells rolls his eyes.
“You have to go,” he says, speaking to her like she’s being ridiculous which isn’t entirely untrue. “I already told Raven you’d be there. Don’t make me a liar in front of my new girlfriend, Griffin.”
She rolls her eyes, even though she’s already heading to her closet to find something to wear. “You owe me so big for this. I fucking hate Bellamy, you know that.”
Well snorts from his position on her desk chair. “Oh trust me, Clarke. I know that. Everyone knows that. Hell, even the pope knows that.”
Clarke huffs from inside her closet. “You’re an asshole,” she says without heat as she eyes the clothes hanging up carefully. She never intends to sleep with Bellamy, because she’s not lying when she says that she hates him, but that doesn’t stop her from pulling out the sexiest little black dress she owns.
Wells almost chokes when she holds it up. “Are you trying to kill him?”
She grins as she twirls the hanger around on her fingertip. “Something like that.”
***
No one really knows why they hate each other.
Hell, she doesn’t even really remember why since they have had the same group of friends for so long. Their first meeting ever was a disaster. Bellamy argues with her over everything and it started on that very first night. She mentioned liking a foreign film she had seen over the weekend and Bellamy tore the movie to shreds. It’s like anything that she likes he automatically despises and he makes sure to let her know every single reason why.
It’s infuriating.
Their friends tried to keep them apart at first but eventually they all just gave up because it was easier to hang out in a group than it was to schedule visitation between them.
Bellamy’s a grad student, two years older than the rest of them, and easily folded into their group of friends because of his little sister, Octavia. Clarke doesn’t see how a sweet and fun girl like Octavia can have such an asshole of an older brother.
Their first night together was an accident.
They were arguing, like always, about something she can’t even remember now and in the middle of a particularly good argument she watched his eyes flick up and down her face quickly before he bent down to bruise her mouth with a kiss. His lips were rough and a little chapped and he tasted like Fireball and Dr. Pepper but suddenly it was like nothing else in the world mattered but that kiss. It was fire, flames flicking around them dangerously, while he pressed her up against the wall of some dingy bar hallway.
He fucked her up against a bathroom wall, his hands holding her arms above her head as he drove into her over and over again. When she came too close to screaming he’d cover her mouth with his, pressing his tongue against hers in the same rhythm that he was using inside of her and it was too much and not enough all at the same time.
“That is never happening again,” she had said, pulling her skirt back down before fixing her hair in the dirty bathroom mirror.
Bellamy had just scoffed as he zipped up his jeans. “Alright by me, princess.” She scowled at the nickname but he just grinned and gave her a little salute before pushing out the door.
But it did happen again. And again.
Every time they got into an argument after that it turned into sex. Usually in public places, hallways and bathrooms. Sometimes he’d follow her back to her place but he never stayed the night. The only time they truly slept together was when she went to his place, because it was a thirty minute train ride from her apartment.
“Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I want you to die,” he’d said the first time she stayed over at his place. “Plus, sometimes I like to cuddle.”
She had just burst out laughing, shaking her head as he shrugged and held up the comforter so she could slide in.
***
The music of the club is pouring into the streets when their cab pulls up out front.
Clarke shifts in her seat, her dress this side of too short, and Wells snorts when he sees her fidgeting.
“You’re the one who insisted on wearing that,” he teases and she flips him off before pushing open the door.
“Just pay the man, Wells.”
Her best friend hands some bills to the driver before unfolding himself from the back seat. They spot Raven almost as soon as they walk through the door, her brown hair flying as she spins around with Jasper on the dance floor.
“Should I be jealous?” Wells looks at her with an amused smile and a raised eyebrow and Clarke snorts.
“Not even,” she says. “Raven is totally into you. I’m gonna go grab a drink, you want anything?”
Wells shakes his head and waves her off as he heads over to take Jasper’s place with his girlfriend on the dance floor.
Clarke has just ordered her first rum and coke when she feels a strong, hard chest pressing up against her. She’s about to throw her newly acquired drink in some asshole’s face when he speaks.
“Having fun, princess?”
She groans, mostly in annoyance but also a little because his breath is hot on her neck and it makes her think of last week when he took her from behind in her shower.
“Actually,” she says, turning around sharply so it causes him to take a step back. “I am.” She raises her glass and takes a sip, watches Bellamy’s eyes darken when he follows the movement of her lips wrapping around her straw.
“I’m surprised you’re here,” he says indifferently, motioning for the bartender to bring him a Stella. “Raven said you probably weren’t going to make it.”
“So now you’re asking about me?”
Bellamy flushes just a little but she still catches it. “Hardly.”
“Sure.” She pats his arm a little condescendingly and he scowls. “I’m surprised you’re here. Don’t old men usually go to bed way before now?”
Bellamy huffs out a laugh. “Do you always have to be such a brat?”
Clarke shrugs. “Do you always have to be an asshole?”
“Just around you,” he says as he tosses a twenty down on the bar. He motions towards Clarke’s drink and tells the bartender that he’s got her next round.
“Why do you think that is?” she asks because she’s genuinely curious.
He doesn’t look at her when he says, “I don’t know,” but his voice is a little strangled like he’s been trying to figure out the same thing.
She doesn’t seem him again until an hour later, when she’s a little light headed from the lights and music and needs some fresh air.
Bellamy is smoking outside, one foot resting behind him on a brick wall, and she’s never been a fan of smoking but he makes it look so sexy it’s criminal.
He rolls his eyes when he sees her walk towards him but he doesn’t leave, just takes a long drag and blows the smoke in the opposite direction.
“Princess.”
“Asshole.”
Bellamy chuckles a little as she settles herself against the wall next to him. “Club too much for you?”
“Something like that,” she says, leaning her head back against the cool brick. “You?”
“Old men don’t generally like loud music,” he says wryly and Clarke laughs softly when he takes another drag.
“Didn’t know you smoked.”
Bellamy shrugs. “Didn’t know you cared.”
Clarke huffs and turns so she’s staring at him. “Why do you have to be such a fucking prick all the time?”
Bellamy doesn’t look at her, just stubs his cigarette out with the toe of his boot before throwing the butt in the garbage can.
“Now you can’t even answer me?” she asks, her voice a little shrill despite how badly she wants to appear unaffected. “Typical Bellamy Blake, too cool for everyone else, right?”
She expected him to walk away but he doesn’t, instead he surprises her by pressing her up against the wall, his hands on either side of her head as he glares down at her.
“I’m the prick? You’re the one that makes it impossible to be around.”
“I make it impossible? You’re the one that argues with me over everything! Is that like foreplay for you or what?”
Instead of answering her he just kisses her, the pressure toeing the line of painful and incredible. She moans when he bites at her bottom lip, tugging it until she opens her mouth for him. Her shoulders are scratching against the wall where her dress has left them bare but she doesn’t care.
Bellamy groans a little when she presses against him, canting her hips so she can feel him, hard and ready for her, and he lifts her effortlessly so her legs are wrapped around his waist.
They barely make it to his apartment and later, when she’s breathing hard and covered in sweat, he says nonchalantly that she can stay if she wants to.
“Because you like to cuddle?” she teases but he just shrugs, wraps one arm around her and pulls her against him.
“Something like that.”