Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3532970.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      The_100_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Bellamy_Blake/Clarke_Griffin
  Character:
      Bellamy_Blake, Clarke_Griffin
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Alternate_Universe_-_After_College/
      University, One_Night_Stands, Drunkenness, Fluff, Smut, PWP_really_if
      we're_being_honest, I'll_be_here_in_denial, Oral_Sex, Drunk_Sex, Just_a
      lot_of_sex_okay, Morning_After, Did_I_Mention_Fluff
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-13 Words: 3289
****** The Start of Us ******
by winterwaters
Summary
     Clarke wakes up in Bellamy’s bed and quickly begins to piece together
     the night before as she prepares to leave. Then she realizes she
     might not want to go at all.
     Title from the song Last Night Last by Lady Antebellum
Notes
     This one's for jmurphythetrashking (now oftheskyepeople) on Tumblr.
     Stay strong, love! We can get through this <3
Clarke slowly cracked an eye open, then immediately shut it when sunlight
practically blasted her vision. She retreated further into the welcoming, dark
cocoon of her covers, ready to let the darkness soothe her back to sleep.
Everything was warm and fuzzy, and she was perfectly content to stay where she
was, wrapped in her blankets and snuggled up against-
Wait.
She stopped her wriggling, realizing the warmth at her back was coming from
more than just blankets. Glancing down, she found a tanned arm curled around
her waist, fingers splayed over her stomach.
Holy shit.
Which led her to another realization - she was completely naked.
Trying to fight the growing dread inside her, she laid still and tried to sort
through her hazy thoughts. But all her body wanted to do was focus on the bare
legs that were currently tangled with hers, the soft breath on her neck, the
hard length pressed up against her backside.
She knew exactly who all of those things belonged to, because nobody else could
elicit a reaction like this within the span of mere seconds.
Then the man in question released a longer breath, a sigh. “You even think
loudly,” Bellamy mumbled, voice rough with sleep, and Clarke blushed hotter
than the sun because oh, god she had been so fucking loud, hadn’t she?
She tested his grip, finding she was able to turn in his arms but not quite
remove his hold altogether. She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not. Okay, she
wasn’t sure if she should like it as much as she did.
Carefully, she twisted onto her back, her eyes drifting up to meet Bellamy’s
sleepy, sweet gaze. His dark hair was a wild mess atop his head - which she
distinctly knew was her fault, with the amount of times she’d rucked her hands
through it the previous night. Not that he'd been protesting in the least. As
if called by the thought, her fingertips itched to do so again.
She grasped the blankets instead.
This was so, so bad.
He hadn’t said another word, but a smile played at the corner of his mouth, as
if he was following her increasingly panicked thoughts. But, being Bellamy, he
only asked, “Did you sleep okay?”
Even though the question hadn’t been intentionally bold - it hadn’t, right? -
Clarke still wanted to hide her flaming cheeks under the covers. Although, she
realized belatedly, she had slept okay, aside from… that. Better than okay, in
fact. Sleep had come quick and dreamless, and she now remembered rousing only
twice - a record, for her - and thinking just how at peace her mind was before
snuggling back into his warm, secure grip. And this morning, waking up wrapped
in his arms… well, there were worse things.
She swallowed and offered a shy smile. “Yeah, I did. You?”
“Like a baby,” he replied, and there was that cheeky grin she’d been waiting
for. Her heart flailed in a million directions, as if hoping just one would
lead to him.
Then her stomach grumbled.
With an embarrassed moan, she smashed her face into the pillow, hearing
Bellamy’s soft chuckle. Her arm shot out, blindly aiming for any part of him
she could reach. He easily swatted her away, and then the mattress shifted as
he swung his legs off. At his grunt, she peeked up to see him holding his head.
“Piece of advice, get up very slowly,” he muttered.
She winced. She’d lost track of just how much alcohol they’d gone through last
night. Well - after the third bottle of wine, she figured it was just better to
stop counting. With his sister out of state visiting her fiancee’s family, and
the two of them in pissy moods (she was arguing with mom again, he’d said
something stupid to O again), alcohol had seemed like the best option.
There had been shots, too, at some point, but Clarke’s bleary mind was in no
mood for chronology at this point.
With a sigh, Bellamy rose from the bed. Clarke tried and failed not to stare at
his gloriously naked form - a herculean effort, by any standard - as he moved
around the room. The sunlight filtering in through the blinds danced across his
body, highlighting curves and shadows that made her mouth water and her hands
tingle. She was fairly certain she'd gotten to see those up close last night,
though under what circumstances, her mind was a bit hazy. Somehow it didn't
feel like enough, though.
The line of his shoulders boasted red scrapes, and she had to bite her lip when
she realized they were her doing. Those, she recalled making distinctly,
because they'd made him lose his slow rhythm and begin driving her into the
mattress in time to her moans. He'd been whispering in her ear, how beautiful
she looked and how good she sounded and how he wanted to taste her next and
feel her come around his tongue...
She clamped her legs together, trying to get her breathing under control.
Bellamy chose that moment to glance over, and she snapped her head back to the
pillow so fast her neck protested.
Something soft landed next to her. There was a smile in his voice when he said,
“Feel free to wear that, until you… well, you know.”
Clarke lifted her head to find his worn black t-shirt lying next to her. The
same one she had so hastily ripped off him last night before pushing him onto
the bed, crawling atop him and laving her tongue over the defined grooves of
his torso. His muscles had trembled under her touch, his voice strained, and
shit if she hadn't liked the sound of that. Shit. Shit shit shit.
Timidly, she slipped the shirt over her head and slowly got to her feet,
pretending not to notice how his gaze wandered over her barely covered legs or
how his sweatpants hung low enough on his hips that she could still feel the
way she’d run her nails along the sharp vee of his hipbones.
Bellamy tapped her elbow, making her jump. He raised an eyebrow. “I said, uh -
you can use the blue towel behind the door, if you want to shower?” He asked.
She nodded, grateful for his perceptiveness. “Thank you, that’d be nice.”
He nodded too. There was a lot of nodding. Because neither of them seemed sure
what would happen after the shower. More nodding, probably. God, I hope I can
find my bra. And then maybe I can just crawl into a hole and-
Bellamy cleared his throat, making her glance up from the incredibly
interesting thread she was unraveling at the edge of his shirt. Then,
tentatively: “I’m going to make a fresh pot of coffee. Do you want a cup?”
Clarke had to smile, because he knew better than anyone how she inhaled coffee
like it was oxygen, but here he was asking the question anyways, not presuming
a thing. What a gentleman, she thought wryly. Yet another side to Bellamy Blake
that only a few people got to see. She was suddenly very thankful to be
included among them.
“I’d love some," she answered honestly. "Thanks, Bell.”
His mouth curled slightly. “No problem, princess.”
The nickname was like a trigger. A flush covered her head to toe as she
remembered, all too vividly, the most recent time he’d called her that - his
head between her legs, fingers crooked inside her as he looked up, his mouth
swollen and wet with her. It was simply not fair for him to be talented in that
many ways. God, she might have even said as much, if memory served her right.
If Bellamy’s suddenly red ears were any indication, he was reliving the moment
as well. Though, from his vantage point, Clarke could only imagine what a
picture she’d made, unashamedly spread out over his sheets, practically
offering her cunt to him while calling his name. Jesus, Clarke.
Now Bellamy’s eyes were like dark orbs, searing a path as they traveled down
her body, then back up. She gulped.
He smiled, slow and utterly devastating in its warmth.
Clarke backed away. “So, uh, I’ll just be…” she slipped into the bathroom
without another word. It took another several minutes to calm her breathing,
and even then the reflection that stared back at her from the mirror was was
flushed and wide-eyed. Tilting her head, she caught sight of a dark bloom
forming just below her ear. Oh god. She’d only encouraged that one, gasping and
clutching at his wonderfully broad shoulders as he fastened his lips to that
spot without mercy, his weight deliciously pressing her into the mattress.
When she removed the shirt, another dark spot waved from directly above her
left breast, and fuck, she’d definitely missed that - probably due to the fact
that she’d been desperately writhing on his lap at the time, completely
distracted by the feeling of him hard and deep inside her. She did, however,
remember how the moan wrenched from his throat when she rolled her hips sounded
even better when it was vibrating into her skin.
She put a hand on the counter, steadying her shaky legs. She was going to be
blushing forever, it seemed.
Resigning herself to the fact, Clarke turned on the hot water, sighing when she
stepped under the steady spray. Letting the water cover her, she ran her
fingers through her hair, slowly unknotting the snarls.
Bellamy’s hands had twisted into her hair many times last night - a habit she’d
only supported - but she thought her favorite might have been when she had her
mouth wrapped around the head of him and he’d grabbed her hair like an anchor,
hips jerking unsteadily. It was one of the only times he seemed to lose his
careful control, and she relished every second of it. Each of his choked off
moans had sent a bolt of heat straight to her cunt, and by the time he’d yanked
her upwards she’d slid down on his cock without any resistance.
Her inner muscles ached at the thought, snapping her out of the haze. A little
vehemently, she scrubbed her skin with his small bar of soap, finding herself
rather turned on by the thought that she’d smell like him the rest of the day.
When her thoughts began to wander to the idea of him joining her in the shower,
she nearly slipped on the tile and had to grip the shower bar until her
knuckles were white.
Okay, shower’s over.
Wrapping the towel securely around herself, she headed into his room to dig for
her clothes. It was a struggle to avoid the bed - now tidily made, of course,
because this was Bellamy, neatest of freaks - and the memories that came with
it. Most prominent - his mattress creaked. A lot.
She bit back a groan. There was no doubt his neighbors had heard them. She’d
made absolutely no secret of what she liked - which was just about everything,
apparently - not to mention the sounds that emerged from her mouth only seemed
to spur him on to no end. What had he said? I just knew you’d make the best
noises… Clarke stopped.
No. No, that couldn’t be right. Because that would mean he’d thought about
this, about them, doing things. To each other.
Which, okay, so had she, clearly. But Bellamy was her friend. And her best
friend’s big brother, to boot. He was the guy who binge-watched and argued
House of Cards with her and Octavia, who helped her toilet paper her cheating
ex’s house on her birthday, who tucked her in on his couch when she’d had one
too many fights with her mother.
He was also, apparently, the guy who knew that she liked hearing his voice in
bed, who knew what she smelled and tasted like and enjoyed it, who sent her
pulse skyrocketing just by smiling at her with those beautiful sleepy eyes.
Motherfucker.
Quickly, she located her black bra - draped so carefully over his desk chair
that she just knew it hadn’t ended up there by accident. Not with the way
they’d practically flung clothes out of the way, his mouth eagerly latching
onto her breast and swirling around her nipple while she clutched at his hair
and sighed nonsense into the dark…
Focus, Clarke! She spun in a circle, searching for her jeans.
That was how Bellamy found her a few minutes later, clad in striped panties and
her ratty blue tank top - also folded atop his chair - trying not to mess up
his hopelessly organized room in search of her pants. She thankfully noted he’d
put on a shirt by now.
The crooked smile that spread across his face alternately made her want to run
for the hills or drag him back under the covers for the rest of the day. (Rest
of the week. Month. Year.)
“I… uh,” she cleared her throat a few times. “Have you seen my jeans?”
Not a question she wanted to be asking.
But to her surprise, Bellamy rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Ah, shit. Sorry. You
don’t remember, do you?” At her blank look, he elaborated. “You spilled wine
all over them last night, so I promised I’d put them in the wash this morning.
Which… I just did.”
“Oh.” Clarke blinked. “Well, thank you, I guess.”
“Yeah. Sorry. Listen, here, just wear these.” He rummaged in his dresser and
held out a pair of grey sweats. “It won’t be long ‘til the washer’s done, and
you can have your coffee while they’re in the dryer.”
So much for escaping with any dignity - not that she had much left. With a
small smile of thanks, she took the pants and pulled them on, folding the
overlong cuffs at the bottom and trying to ignore the delighted expression on
his face. “What?” She finally asked when it didn’t wear off after two full
minutes.
He laughed then, a short, nervous thing. “Nothing, just… you look good.”
Yeah, she was going to be permanently red, she thought, feeling her skin
prickle all over again.
To her relief, the coffeemaker chose that moment to beep, signaling it was
done. Bellamy grinned when he saw the hopeful look wash over her face at the
prospect of fresh coffee. Standing aside, he swept an arm out. “After you,
princess.”
Clarke rolled her eyes, ignoring the tiny shiver that snuck down her spine. But
entering the kitchen didn’t prove to be the distraction she’d thought it would
be. If anything, she was just remembering things with greater clarity.
Like how she’d hopped up on the counter to tease him while he dug around for
proper glasses - “I refuse to drink wine out of a measuring cup, Bell” - and
how her breath had caught when they later ended up in the same position, only
then he’d stood between her knees, large hands spanning her thighs as he leaned
close for a kiss…
“Clarke?”
She jumped. Bellamy was looking at her in concern. “Sorry,” she squeaked. “Um,
mugs?” She asked even though she knew perfectly well, having been here many
times.
After a moment, he answered slowly, “Top left.”
“Right.” She hurried over to the cabinet in question, yanking it open a little
more forcefully than necessary. The blue and red mugs that Octavia had gotten
him as a housewarming gift beckoned from the top shelf. Clarke stretched to her
tiptoes, her fingers just grazing a handle but only succeeding in pushing it
further back. She made a noise of protest and reached up again.
Suddenly Bellamy was directly behind her, his chuckle low in her ear. “Hold on,
I got it.”
Clarke turned at the same time he reached up, and then all she could focus on
was him. The dimple in his chin that she’d leaned up to bite, drawing her name
from his throat in a soft whine that she wanted to hear again. His broad chest
that she hadn’t explored nearly enough, and still desperately wanted to draw
and kiss all at once. The same chest she’d been enfolded against in her sleep,
feeling more secure than she had in a long while. And then there was the
constellation of freckles on his cheeks that she’d taken the time to trace
afterwards while lying atop him, his mouth curling sweetly when she kissed each
dot and admitted she'd always wanted to do so. They were the same freckles she
now knew for a fact extended elsewhere.
Standing there in the kitchen, Clarke realized she in no way wanted the
previous night to be a one-time thing. She wanted Bellamy. And not just for a
moment, or a night. For a long time.
By the time her mind stopped spinning, stuck on that single conclusion, Bellamy
had retrieved the mug and settled it behind her. But he didn’t move his arms,
leaving her caged between him and the counter. It was only natural for her
hands to splay on his sides, fingers bunching ever so slightly in the cotton of
his tee shirt.
It was as if she drifted out of her body for a second then, watching the scene
unfold in front of her, and all she could think was that it was incredibly good
and right. They were just Bellamy and Clarke, standing in their kitchen one
morning while the coffee got done, starting their day together. She hadn’t even
realized she was smiling.
Then she blinked and she was back in Bellamy’s arms, the only place she wanted
to be. She felt his ribs expand and contract under her as he took a deep
breath. A puff of air fanned her cheek as his head dipped down. “Clarke,” he
said softly. Just that - just her name in a single breath, low and wistful, and
she knew she was done for.
Clarke raised her eyes to find him staring at her with the same undisguised
longing - not just for her body, but for her.
She wasn’t sure who moved first, only that the outcome was something they both
agreed on. Her mouth opened willingly, welcoming his searching tongue as his
arms wrapped around her, lifting her to her toes. Clarke lost herself in it -
in him, this man who’d been by her side for years and somehow wound his way
into her heart without her even realizing it.
They parted only for a breath before coming back together. Bellamy eased the
kiss into something soft and patient, a promise that left her head spinning and
her heart pounding until she couldn’t do much more than gasp.
Wrenching her mouth from his, she pressed her face into the crook of his neck.
He kept his arms around her, swaying a little on the spot as they just held
each other for a long moment. She finally peeked up to find him smiling
happily, and the sight nearly took her breath away all over again.
“Shit,” she breathed dazedly. “I owe your sister 30 bucks.”
Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. Bellamy threw back his
head and laughed, loud and clear. Then he framed her face in his hands and fit
his mouth to hers in another long kiss that left her clinging to his arms and
thankful for the counter at her back.
“Well, seeing as she now owes me 30 bucks, I think we can call it even,” he
whispered, grinning wildly.
“What?” She giggled, feeling light enough to float away. “You bet on us?”
“Of course I did.” Her heart gave a joyful flutter when he nuzzled her cheek.
“I always will. We’re unbeatable.”
It was hard to argue with that.
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