Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3221930.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_100_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Bellamy_Blake/Clarke_Griffin
  Character:
      Bellamy_Blake, Clarke_Griffin
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-01-24 Words: 2500
****** Break My Fall ******
by Cobrilee
Summary
     Clarke is haunted in the aftermath of fulfilling the condition for
     the treaty with the Grounders. Bellamy doesn't know how to help her,
     but there's one thing he *can* do. One-shot, set post-2x8,
     "Spacewalker."
It had been three days since Finn’s death, but to look at Clarke, one would
think it was just another day on the ground. Bellamy had spent plenty of time
with her during those days and she was as stalwart and resolute as ever. Her
eyes held no hint of pain, her mouth never trembled, no tears were shed.
Bellamy found himself wishing she would break, just to let it stop eating away
at her. She’d held onto the agony of watching so many people she loved die;
just once, he wanted her to be able to release it and draw comfort from her
friends.
He wished he’d been able to do what she did, to shoulder the burden of taking
their friend’s life to spare him the agony of being tortured by the Grounders.
The longer he knew her the more he respected her, the more he was awed by her
bravery and strength and ability to do the things that would have broken a
normal human being. She always did what no one else could, because no one else
could. He freely admitted to himself that there was a part of him that aspired
to be like her, but there was no one else quite like Clarke.
He walked into her tent, his mind preoccupied with ideas on how to take Mount
Weather, and found her lost in thought. She stood over a table, staring at a
map, but it was evident her eyes weren’t seeing what was in front of her. He
hesitated for a moment, not wanting to interrupt, but eventually cleared his
throat.
Clarke glanced up at him, her eyes clearing just a bit. “Bellamy. Did you talk
to Raven?”
He nodded. “She said to tell you she’s close to getting that reverse frequency
jammer finished. She and Wick are arguing over some of the final details, but
she’s confident she’ll be done by the end of the day.”
Clarke took a deep breath. “Then I want you to be ready to head out at dawn.
Lexa’s sending a handful of scouts with us to protect our position in case the
Mountain Men realize what we’re doing. We’ll meet outside the back gate,
assuming Raven can get Wick to cut the power to the electric grid again.”
He gave her a half-smile. “Sure thing, Princess.”
Her reaction was immediate and fierce. “Don’t call me that!” she screamed, her
voice breaking, and Bellamy flinched. “No one gets to call me that again!
Ever!”
Bellamy held his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Clarke,” he said quietly.
”I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase something like, “I
didn’t mean to remind you of the guy who loved you who you had to gut like a
fish to keep him from suffering the tortures of the damned,” without sounding
like a real insensitive dick.
She closed her eyes, shaking her head. A tear slipped from below her lashes and
trailed down her cheek, and he felt a sharp tug in his gut. It took so much to
crack their warrior that when something did, he felt helpless. He wanted to
beat it to death with his bare hands. Invariably there was never anything he
could do because it was impossible to kill emotions.
“I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that,” she said after a moment. Her eyes
opened again and he saw the dull ache in them, tears swimming but refusing to
fall. “I didn’t know…” He could see her shut down, unwilling to finish that
thought. “I just don’t want to be called that anymore. I’m not a princess.”
“That’s not why you don’t want to be called that and you know it,” Bellamy
objected, and the ache in her eyes disappeared, replaced with a flash of fire.
“Maybe it isn’t, but I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t have to,” she
snapped, turning her back on him.
He came up behind her, laying a hand on her arm. “You should,” he responded
softly. “You need to, Clarke. You can only carry this weight around with you
for so long before you break.”
“And what, you’ve decided to appoint yourself my therapist?” she sneered.
His jaw tightened and he tried to tamp down his rising anger. She was hurting
and he was prodding at the wound, it was only natural that she’d try to provoke
him into leaving the subject alone. He pressed on. “I’m the least qualified
person around here to talk to you about how you’re feeling.” He paused. “Except
maybe Murphy. But you’re my partner, maybe even my friend, and I need you to be
okay. You’re our leader, Clarke, not your mom, not Kane, and as much as I want
you to be okay for you, we need you to be okay for us. If you’re not on your
game, a lot more of us are going to die.”
She whirled around, shoving at his chest. “Maybe I don’t want to be your
leader!” she yelled angrily. “I didn’t ask for this role! You did, and I just
had to come in and clean up your messes!”
Bellamy gritted his teeth together in frustration. “Like it or not, that’s what
you’ve become. Our people look to you for guidance. You need to do whatever it
is you need to do to come to grips with what happened to Finn. If you don’t
you’ll end up following him to his grave and you’ll take a lot of people with
you.”
Clarke’s mouth fell open in shock. “’With what happened to Finn’?” she
parroted. “I killed him, Bellamy. I killed him. That’s what happened to Finn. I
tried everything in my power to save him, and instead I was the one who ended
his life.”
“It was a mercy killing,” he reminded her quietly. “You were saving him in the
only way you could.”
He could see the moment his words penetrated the wall around her heart, but
instead of breaking down into tears like he’d expected she wound her arms
around his neck. Her eyes searched his, looking for an answer to an unasked
question. “Who’s going to save me, Bellamy?” she whispered before tightening
her arms and pulling herself up to meet his lips with her own.
His instinct was to push her away, to refuse to allow yet another woman to use
him as a temporary reprieve from the grief of losing Finn Collins, but this was
Clarke. He could deny her nothing. His arms slipped around her waist and
crushed her to him, and the answering ferocity in her kiss nearly brought him
to his knees.
She jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist and clinging to him as her
tongue explored the recesses of his mouth. His hands immediately came up to cup
her ass, both to help support her weight and to feel the firm flesh beneath his
fingers as he’d imagined more than once. She broke the kiss and arched against
him, grinding her pelvis against his. His erection hardened between them and he
swore under his breath.
“My bed,” she gasped. “Now.” He wasted no time in carrying her to the cot and
depositing her on it, yanking his shirt over his head once his hands were free.
Clarke’s eyes landed on his broad chest, the defined muscles and six-pack
standing out in sharp relief. A glimmer of desire flickered there and Bellamy
knew it wasn’t just about using him to banish Finn from her thoughts for a
short period of time. She could have chosen anyone else, certainly someone she
didn’t have to work closely with in the future, but there was a part of her
that wanted this with him even if she didn’t want to acknowledge it. It would
have to be enough for now.
Clarke stripped her clothes off efficiently while Bellamy shucked his boots and
pants before laying down on the cot beside her, his eyes roaming her body
appreciatively. He wanted to enjoy this more than he had with Raven; he didn’t
want to just be the body she rode to orgasm, taking little part in it himself.
His head dropped to her neck and he brushed his lips over her throat, skimming
along her pulse point down to her collarbone, making her shiver slightly. His
teeth nipped at the sensitive skin and he allowed his hand to drift over her
hip, pulling her flush against his body.
Clarke groaned as his erection pressed into her stomach and she reached down,
taking him in her small hand and gliding it along his entire length. Bellamy
hissed as he arched into her strokes, the tip sliding along her skin and
dipping into her navel. She tried to angle her hips up to position him between
her thighs, but he wasn’t ready for that yet and stopped her with a firm grip
on her wrist. She glanced up at him, confusion written across her face.
He drew back from her, slowly pulling himself out of her grasp, and leveraged
his body over hers. Her eyes were wary as he moved down her body, dropping
kisses along her heated skin as he went. He grazed his lips over her pert, pink
nipples, taking one between his teeth and tugging gently. Clarke grabbed his
head, her fingers threading through his hair and pulling sharply, and he smiled
against her breast. Somehow he knew she’d be aggressive. It was such a contrast
to her usually cool and collected outward appearance, but she’d shown hints
more than once of the fire that flamed inside her. He wondered if he was about
to get burned.
Bellamy worked his way down, blazing a path between Clarke’s breasts, nipping
and sucking at the skin of her torso, leaving a trail of heat in the wake of
his mouth. She didn’t relax her grip on his hair, instead guiding him as he
moved lower. He ran the tip of his tongue around the rim of her navel before
scraping his teeth lightly across her lower stomach.
Her lips fell open in a wordless gasp when his mouth reached the apex of her
thighs. He gently parted them, spreading her open to his devouring gaze. Clarke
whimpered when his tongue traced the seam of her lips, collecting the arousal
that had bloomed there and drawing it upward to coat the tender pink skin. Her
legs began to tremble when his tongue finally caressed her clit, softly
pressing against the sensitized bundle of nerves, and she let out an
involuntary cry.
Bellamy curved his palms under the backs of her thighs, lifting her up to meet
his mouth. She yanked at his hair a little harder, trying to pull him deeper
into her. He was intent on his purpose and barely noticed the sting as he
feasted on her, his lips and tongue seemingly everywhere at once and drawing
out her pleasure, his fingers slipping into her with ease. She tilted her hips,
meeting his mouth and fingers with each thrust, seemingly desperately to
achieve her release.
He drew back and lifted himself over her again, bracing his upper body with his
arms and thrusting into her with one sure stroke. She bit her lip to stifle her
cry of pleasure as he settled himself against her. He pulled out slowly before
easing into her again, taking his time, but Clarke wanted none of that. She dug
her fingers into his ass and pulled him harder into her, telling him without
words that she wanted him to take her forcefully. Bellamy was willing to
accommodate her.
He drove into her, his hips pistoning back and forth at a rapid pace, his
strokes bruising and punishing. She moaned underneath him as he buried himself
inside her over and over, stoking the fire that raged within. Her legs came up
to circle his waist and she urged him on, arching her back to meet his every
forward thrust. Little gasps were torn from her throat and he knew she was
close, so he slid his hand between their bodies and rubbed her clit as he
continued to move against her.
Clarke’s eyes were passion-drugged as she gazed up at him and Bellamy found
himself wanting to break that spell. His brown eyes glinted with a determined
light, sweat running from his temple into the edges of his too-long hair, as he
pounded into her as hard as he could. In the back of his mind he wanted to
gentle his movements, to not hurt her, but she’d made it clear what she wanted
and by damn he was going to give it to her.
Her legs were shaking and the whimpering cries were building, and Bellamy
increased his efforts. His fingers were slipping over her clit and he added his
thumb, applying firmer pressure. Her lips parted and he dipped his head, fusing
his lips to hers as she burst, swallowing her scream to keep the whole camp
from hearing. She convulsed under him and the tightening of her walls around
him brought him over the edge as well. He buried himself deep one last time as
he erupted, filling her to overflowing.
He rolled over, his chest heaving from exertion and sated desire while he
propped himself up on his elbows. He chanced a glance down at her and saw that
he’d indeed broken the spell of passion. Instead of seeing her looking at him,
however, Clarke’s eyes were vacant and she appeared to be looking right through
him, seeing only the memories that haunted her.
Without saying a word, she fled the cot and began tugging her pants up her
legs. Bellamy turned to his side, watching her as she struggled to dress
hurriedly. “Where’s the fire, Prin… Clarke?” he asked, his casual tone belying
the disappointment of realizing she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“There’s work to do,” she answered firmly.
He rolled his eyes. “There always is. Take a few minutes for yourself.” He
reached out, placing his hand on her arm to get her attention and maybe make
her stop moving for a damn minute.
“I just did,” she snapped, yanking her arm away.
Bellamy tried to hide his surprise and the sting caused by her rejection, but
Clarke’s vision cleared long enough for her to see it. She stiffened. “Do me a
favor, Bellamy,” she whispered, her eyes going hard and cold. “Don’t fall in
love with me. It won’t do either of us any good.”
He smirked, knowing he had to go along with the fantasy in her head of how this
would all play out or risk alienating her. “Trust me, there’s no danger of
that, Queen C,” he returned easily. She glared at him and his eyes followed her
as she flung the flap of the tent aside and rejoined their people.
She would never know how much it hurt to lie to her.
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