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“You want us to do what?” Clarke shrieked at the same time Bellamy yelled, “What the fuck?”
Roan looked placidly between them. “It’s our ritual. It’s the way we bond contracts. If you two weren’t together--”
“We’re not together,” Bellamy and Clarke answered in unison, to which Roan only raised his eyebrow and continued, “--then I’d just have sex with one of you. But out of respect for your bond--,” and Roan waved his hand to ward off any more protests, “I’ll allow you two to have sex together. But I’ll be masturbating.”
“This...this is just…”
“You can’t expect us…”
Roan shrugged. “Do you want the force of Azgeda behind you or not?”
Clarke swallowed and looked at Bellamy. A flush so red he was sweating colored his face; he couldn’t even look at her.
“Just...just give us a minute,” she said, eyes pleading. Roan smirked, divided another look between the two of them, and left the room.
*
In the end, they had to have the Azgedan forces. There was no way around it, no way to save the planet and build the shelters necessary without all the people available.
Clarke and Bellamy both stood in a dark corner of the throne room, resolutely not looking at each other as Roan spoke to the crowd in trigedasleng. Clarke’s robe was coarse, and her nipples hardened as the wool scratched them. How in the hell were they going to do this? How was she going to...fuck...Bellamy… in front of this crowd of people. She was so embarrassed that she wanted to cry.
“Hey, are you okay?” Bellamy whispered, not turning his face but leaning into her shoulder.
She bit her lip. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Look, we don’t have to---”
“Bellamy.” Her voice took on a note of pleading. “We have to have that army.”
“I just…” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”
Clarke huffed a short, quiet laugh. “We’ll get through it, right? We always do.”
He met her gaze then, and something rose in the undercurrent and then washed away. “Yeah.”
There was a pause in Roan’s speech, and the crowd parted in front of them. Clarke schooled her features into a neutral look and, reassured by Bellamy’s presence behind her, stepped forward to Roan.
A mattress, covered with furs and ornate blankets, sat in the center of the room. They stopped in front of Roan, who swept his arm out in front of them, said something else in trigedasleng. The crowd murmured and clapped, and the excitement of the room began to palpably rise.
“Remember what we talked about, Clarke.” Roan looked at her intently. “At the end.”
She could feel Bellamy’s body tense, and she reached out and grasped his hand to still him. Clarke could only hope that somehow, maybe in the heat of the moment, this would all somehow work.
“I remember,” Clarke whispered, voice steely. “We’ll do our part. You just do yours and keep your word.”
Roan lifted an eyebrow as he began sliding his robe down. “I keep my word, Clarke. You should remember that.”
Clarke flushed, knowing exactly what he was referring to, but let the feeling of defiance bolster her. She turned to Bellamy, watched as he swallowed hard, willfully lowered his gaze to hers. “How do we do this?” She couldn’t keep the twinge of fear out of her voice, not with him.
Bellamy’s eyes gentled, even though the flush stayed high on his cheeks. He seemed to settle on a plan, right then, the expression on his face going from unsure and calculating to determined. “We act it, Clarke. Okay? Put on a facade, a charade.” He lowered his head to her. “You’re beautiful, and you know it. You’re gorgeous, princess,” he enunciated the last word, it felt like a silken whip cracking over her skin. Clarke’s cunt gave a long, slow pulse just listening to Bellamy’s gravelly voice. “And these people want to see us fuck,” he breathed the last word right into her ear as his hands found the tie of her robe. “Can you do that?”
Clarke’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. That’s exactly what this was, a performance, nothing more....nothing more. “Yes. I can do it.”
“Time’s up, you two.” Roan gestured to the mat. “However you want to proceed.”
A performance. A performance. A performance.
As Clarke stepped forward as the robe slid off her shoulders and bared her body to the Azgeda nobles, to Roan, to Bellamy, the noises faded around her. A feeling of power, of command, surged in her body. As she took her final step towards the bed she was surprised to find her thighs slick with arousal, her breasts heavy and nipples rock hard. The knowledge that Bellamy was behind her--and just then, the feel of his warm, broad hand on her lower back--sent shivers up her spine and more moisture onto her cunt.
Fuck...she was liking this. And more, liking that it was Bellamy who was going to fuck her.
As if reading her mind, her flush cheeks and wide eyes and parted lips and shallow breath, Roan smirked from the other side of the pallet. Clarke's eyes were drawn to where his hand moved, stroking slowly over his dick, huge even in his muscular hands. Precum glinted in the low candlelight, and her mouth watered at the thought of what was to come later.
The excited murmurings of the crowd bubbled back into her consciousness as Clarke climbed onto the fur-covered pallet. Anticipation feathered up her skin as she placed herself in an all-fours position, and she tucked her lip under her teeth as her hips involuntarily canted back. Shit, she was turned on, and her cunt felt achingly empty.
“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy whispered behind her. His voice had a hint of wonder in it as he said, “You’re wet...so fucking wet.”
Clarke moaned and canted her hips back again, seeking him out behind her. Then, suddenly, there he was, his cockhead rubbing against her folds. She heard him murmur a prayerful shit as he dragged his dick from her clit to her entrance, another murmur of how good she looked. Bellamy teased her entrance, drawing out her come, then painting it over her rim and down her cunt---
Another wave of arousal crashed through her, caused her to quake in her joints, when she realized that Bellamy was now getting off on this, too. He was playing with the crowd, forcing them to watch as he teased her, drawing out her moans for their pleasure, and damn. It was driving her crazy how much she just wanted him to fuck her, and how much she wanted to perform, too.
So she gave into it. Fuck it. Clarked groaned louder, threw her head back. She caught the eye of one beautiful woman across from her and grinned, just a little, reared back to show her awesome tits. The woman blushed, but kept her gaze, let her own hand travel down her own decolletage.
Bellamy’s hands smoothed over her back, and brought her immediately back to them. And yeah, her cunt ached to be filled, but to be filled by him, by Bellamy, and now.
Clarke turned her head over her shoulder and looked at him. Bellamy already had a fucked-out look on his face, she could hear men and women in the crowd encouraging him, complimenting him, telling him how gorgeous he was, and shit, she had to agree. He was built like a god--how could she never have noticed?
“Fuck me, Bellamy,” she whispered. “I want you to.”
He grinned at that, eyes still a little unfocused, but he pressed his cock lightly back into her entrance. “Say it again.”
“Fuck me, Bellamy,” Clarke pitched her voice above the crowd, now actively goading them both. Then added, in an aching voice, and said only to him: “Please.”
Bellamy gave a half-nod, and she watched him, as if in slow-motion, lean over and kiss the nape of her neck. Part of Clarke wanted to say to him this wasn’t the agreement! But just as she thought it, he pushed his dick into her and her she had no words.
Only the feeling of him stretching her insides, thick and hot and filling her up, almost too much. The crowd fell away, again, this time it wasn’t just her and her thoughts, it was Bellamy.
He pulled out, dick dragging just right inside her, then fucked back in. Clarke yelped at the force of it, then thrust her hips back over him, not wanting to let him go. They set a punishing rhythm between them. She caught Roan’s gaze, his fist fucking over his dick, his mischievous eyes approving.
Pleasure tightened in her belly, harder still at the thought of Roan watching them fuck. She was so close though, and somehow she felt that Roan could tell, because he began moving towards them, preparing for the final act.
Bellamy changed positions, locking his arms around her, hauling her up, pressing her against him.
Clarke’s head snapped back on his shoulder. Bellamy cupped her neck his hand, keeping her against him, and she pressed her mouth against his cheek as his other hand lowered to her clit.
“Roan,” he whispered to her. It was hard to pay attention as he gently rubbed her clit with his fingers. “Remember?”
Fuck, shit, Clarke had almost forgot--they weren’t allowed to orgasm before Roan.
Clarke looked up to see Roan standing over them, balls tight against him, dick flushed, veins swollen.
“Open your mouth, Clarke.” Bellamy stilled inside her, and her orgasm--so fucking close-- thrummed inside her flesh, pressed at her tits and her ass and her thighs. Throbbed against his cock.
Clarke dropped her mouth open at the same time Bellamy did. His hand flexed into her cunt, and she felt his sweaty-sticky chest panting against her back. She realized that he was turned on by what Roan was about to do, too, and that made her even more hot.
She twined her arms around his neck, thrust out her breasts, pressed her cheek closer to him.
“Shit, you two,” Roan murmured, pumping his dick, shallow strokes right over the head. A little sardonically, a little sincere: “So sweet.”
Roan’s eyes fluttered shut as he came, dick spurting thick white come into their mouths, striping their chests and cheeks with it. Clarke and Bellamy turned their faces to each other, both groaning. Clarke leaned forward and lapped the come off of Bellamy’s chin, licking right into his mouth, both of them sharing the tangy-salty taste of Roan’s come between them.
“Make her come,” Roan ordered, a bit breathless. “Then it’s done.”
It didn’t take much. Bellamy’s hand was slick with her, ground against her just right, the crowd clapping and hollering as he thrust into her once, twice, and then a third time. Her orgasm ripped through her, chaotic and violent, made her yell out as Bellamy released inside her. He held her as they swayed with the force of it, bodies stuck together by sweat and come, unwilling to let each other go.
Belatedly, Clarke realized that Roan was motioning for the crowd to quiet. The clapping and cheers quieted. Roan’s robe was back over his shoulders, a fur mantle across his shoulders. There was a respectful silence as he spoke.
“The contract between Arkadia and Azgeda is therefore sealed. Our forces--and our people--will be joined. Like Bellamy and Clarke of the Sky People and I were joined this night.”
The crowd clapped again, enthusiastic, a few whoops in the back.
“Now let us all adjourn. Tomorrow we shall make our plans.”
The world blurred out over the next few minutes as attendants handed them rags to clean up, robes to put back over their shoulders, goblets of wine to drink. Bellamy and Clarke turned to leave, a strained awkwardness between them that would have to be addressed once they got to their room, Clarke knew. But she still reached out for his hand, and he took it, giving her a small, bashful smile.
“Not together, huh?” Roan called from behind them. They turned to him, in unison, and then to each other, and grinned.