Chapter Text
“I’ve got a problem,” Clarke announced.
“Animal, vegetable, or mineral?” Raven asked, skimming the menu disinterestedly.
“Animal. Or maybe mineral, because it’s a chemistry thing? No, that doesn’t make sense, it’s definitely animal. But it’s bad.”
“I don’t know why I’m pretending I’m getting anything other than the ramen,” Raven said to no one in particular. “Okay, your problem. Spill.”
Clarke buried her face in her hands. “Actually, I need wine first.”
“Way ahead of you,” Raven said, and just like that the server arrived at their table with two large glasses of red wine.
Clarke took one, bolted half of it, and ignored Raven’s surprised look. “So...Bellamy.”
“What about him?” Raven asked warily.
“I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Clarke I swear to god, if you say one thing about getting back together with—”
“No, not like that. Or, I mean, not like...being a couple. I know we can't do that again.”
“Good, because you two splitting up was like my parents getting a divorce, and I’m not about to go through that again.”
“No, I know. We were a disaster, never to be repeated. I just mean, when I’m, you know...with someone else. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
Raven glared at her and took her own healthy gulp of wine. “When you’re fucking someone else, you mean,” she clarified, and Clarke nodded. “Well, then you need to stop that.”
“I’ve tried,” Clarke whined. “Believe me, I’ve tried.” And she had, truly. She and Bellamy had only made it three months. They burned hot and fast and when they burned out, it was a catastrophic explosion that left nothing but ashes in their wake. Raven wasn’t wrong— it was almost like a divorce, the way they had to divide up their time with their friends after everything went south. They were back to being unable to spend time together without hissing and grumbling and sometimes straight up shouting, so it was best for everyone if they simply no longer shared any space.
But oh god, the sex. The sex wasn’t just good, it was the best sex of her goddamn life. And when they broke up, Clarke told herself it wasn’t anything special— she’d be able to find plenty of people who could fuck her like he could. Their chemistry might have been intense, but it wasn’t sustainable. Better to find someone else with whom she could keep the sparks at a more manageable level.
Except it had been over a year and that had not panned out. She’d gone on plenty of dates, some of which even turned into brief relationships, but Bellamy still loomed large in her carnal imagination. It never failed— she’d be with someone else, enjoying herself but not quite making it there, and then she’d shut her eyes and imagine it was him and...bam.
The first few times, she convinced herself it was just a fluke. She couldn’t have chemistry with everyone, and sometimes it took awhile to get used to a new partner’s body and touches, and there wasn’t anything wrong with a little mental stimulation to put herself over the edge. But it kept happening, and happening, and now it was a full-blown problem.
“I can’t stop,” Clarke said, and Raven rolled her eyes. “Like I said, it’s bad.”
“Yeah, it is.” Raven sighed. “You’ve got two choices, the way I see it. Either you knock that shit off, right now, or—”
“Or what?”
“You get him out of your system. Once and for all.”
Clarke gratefully accepted a second glass of wine from the server. “Do you think it’ll work?”
“It did with Roan,” Raven shrugged. “The situation was slightly different, in that we hadn’t banged before, but overall, yeah. I went, I came, I left. Completely over him, never to be repeated.”
“Is he...seeing anyone? Bellamy, I mean.”
“Not that I know of."
"And how much does he hate me?"
Raven considered that. "Probably not as much as you think, but...you're definitely not his favorite person. But I gotta say, this is the full extent of my involvement. You asked my advice and I gave it to you, and if this blows up in your face I’m not cleaning up the mess, okay?”
“Agreed,” Clarke said, and they wryly clinked their glasses together.
Clarke nervously chewed her thumbnail, a habit she thought she’d long broken, and paced in front of Bellamy’s office door. This was probably the most inappropriate way to broach this, but Raven wasn’t about to arrange an in-person meeting for her and he might have blocked her phone number. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and seeing as last night she’d given herself no less than three orgasms with nothing but her vibrator and some vivid memories of the last time he’d gone down on her, she decided that this was it— her most desperate hour.
She saw him first, fussing with the strap of his messenger bag as he walked down the hall. He looked more or less the same as he had the last time, save for a shadow around his jawline. He looked up, caught her eye, and looked down again, never breaking stride. But then he stuttered to a stop barely a yard away when it sank in. “What do you want?” he asked, the color draining from his face.
“Could we talk?”
“Whatever you left at my place I threw away,” he said, shouldering her aside to unlock his door.
“It’s not that.”
“Fine,” he mumbled.
Clarke closed the door behind them. “You look good,” she said, as nicely and not-awkwardly as possible. “How was class?”
“Clarke,” he sighed, tossing his bag behind his desk. Thankfully the other grad students who shared his office weren’t there, or else this would have been even worse.
“Right right, okay. So first of all, know that I know I have no right to say this, or ask it, or— really any right to be here, after how things ended. And if you say no, I promise I’ll walk away and not tell a soul, and if—”
“Stop rambling and get it over with,” he snapped.
She lifted her chin defiantly, his annoyance rousing her old fight-or-flight-instinct. “Fine. I want to fuck you one last time.”
Bellamy blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“No, I don’t think I did. Because what I think I heard was you, coming into my workplace to demand that I fuck you, and I don’t think even you would be that out of line, princess.”
“I didn’t demand anything. I just offered. I think I need to get you out of my system.”
“And what do I get out of this?” he asked, crossing his arms threateningly.
“A really great bang,” she shrugged, like this wasn’t the most terrifying thing she’d ever done. He’d seen her naked hundreds of times, but she’d never once felt this vulnerable.
Well, maybe one time. But this was different.
“Compelling argument,” he scoffed. “Did you want to lock the door and get it over with right now, or did you have something more private in mind?”
“You know I didn’t mean right here.”
“I do? How the fuck am I supposed to know anything with you, princess?”
They were veering into old, familiar territory and she needed to right the ship before everything got even worse. “I’m sorry, I thought— I just thought we might need to get this out of our system. I shouldn’t have come here, and I shouldn’t— I’m sorry,” she repeated.
It looked like Bellamy was about to say something in response, but she left before he got the chance.
Clarke had just settled onto her couch with a giant glass of wine, ready to try and forget her embarrassing attempt to set up a hook up with Bellamy when her buzzer rang. “I swear to god,” she muttered, because the guy in 4B was always writing 4D on his delivery orders. “If you’re looking for McCreary, he’s 4B,” she said automatically into the speaker.
There was a pause. “Nope, not looking for someone else,” a familiar voice replied, and she nearly dropped her wine glass.
“Bellamy?”
“Yeah. Are you going to let me in, or are we gonna have this discussion with me out here?”
She buzzed him in and set her wine down carefully. She ran her hands through her hair, wishing she was in something a little less revealing than her sleep shorts and tank top, but it was too late to change.
She opened the door before he had a chance to knock. “Hey,” she said, a little breathlessly, and didn’t fail to notice that his eyes dropped quickly to her cleavage and then darted up just as quickly to her face.
“Hey,” he said awkwardly. He had changed from earlier, now in dark jeans and a flannel she had spent far too many saturdays wearing around his apartment. She ignored the sad little flop her heart made at the sight of it, because that part of their relationship was dead and buried.
“Can I get you something to drink? I’ve got some wine open,” she offered, more to fill the silence than out of any real instinct to be a good hostess.
“Yeah, sure. Wine. That sounds good.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets while she poured and she stood a safe distance away from him, leaning against her kitchen island while he remained near the table. “So...earlier today,” he said, focused on swirling the wine in his glass. “You were serious?”
“About the sex?”
He snorted. “Yeah, that. About what you said about getting it out of our system, one last time.”
She wrapped her arms around her stomach and shrugged one shoulder. “I thought...maybe I was stuck under your skin the way you’re stuck under mine.”
“You think that highly of yourself?”
“When it comes to sex and us, yeah, I do,” she retorted. “I know what we had.”
“Pretty bold, suggesting that after everything we went through,” he observed.
Clarke shrugged again. “Like I said, sex was never our problem,” she said, instead of the truth, which was I knew I could because no matter what, I’ve always trusted you. Even at our worst, I always had that.
“No, it wasn’t,” he said, a glimmer of a smile on his lips. He took a sip of wine and set down the glass, eyes locked onto her. “You were thinking just...once?”
“Just once,” she agreed. Her heartbeat picked up as he stepped towards her, but she made herself stay still, letting him come to her. “And then I can stop—” she broke off, but it was too late.
Bellamy grinned predatorily at her. “You can stop what, princess?”
“Nothing.”
“If we’re going to do this, the least you can do is be honest with me.”
Clarke braced herself against the counter, chin up. “Fine. Then I can stop thinking about you whenever I’m fucking someone else.”
Bellamy’s throat worked hard. “I'm that much of a problem for you, huh?” He finished closing the distance between them and his eyes dragged up and down her body, heavy and dark.
“Key word being problem, ” she said archly, but she knew her pulse was pounding hard enough for him to see it.
His fingertips skimmed along her neck, trailing across the strap of her tank top and down her shoulder. “That does sound like a terrible burden,” he smirked.
Clarke narrowed her eyes even as she let him stand between her legs, effectively trapping her. “Seeing as you’re here, I’m thinking you had the same problem.”
Bellamy’s other hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb sweeping back and forth across her cheek. “I don’t know that I’d call those memories a problem, per se,” he said, and there was a hazy, lost look to his eyes that was all too familiar. His thumb traced the bow of her lip and he pressed down on her jaw, opening her mouth just enough for her tongue to slip through and lap at his fingertip. “More like...the easiest way to make sure I come.”
His thumb was still lingering on her lips and she nipped it. “I never knew you to take the easy way out,” she teased.
He curled his hand around the nape of her neck and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “Yeah well, you were always my exception.” His knee slid up, pressing into her center, and she rolled her hips against it, needing friction.
“I have condoms in the bedroom,” she whispered, chasing his lips while he pulled back, infuriatingly just out of reach.
Something flashed in his eyes. “No. No beds. I’ve got a condom with me,” he said. “And I want you here. Right here.”
Her stomach curled inward on itself and she grabbed his face in her hands, dragging him down to kiss her.
Clarke would never admit to it now, but kissing Bellamy had been her favorite activity, even more than the sex. His lips were always soft, always the right mix of gentle and demanding. His tongue moved slowly alongside hers, teasing and retreating and tracing her lips until she had no more oxygen in her lungs and she had to pull back.
Bellamy lifted her up onto the counter and fit himself more closely between her thighs. She clawed desperately at his shirt, clumsily peeling it back until she had access to more skin, and he dragged hot, open mouthed kisses down the side of her neck.
Everywhere he touched her burned. His fingers were like brands, marking and claiming her with each touch. He shoved his hand up her tank top and palmed her breast roughly, her moan shortly echoed by his own when she sank her teeth into his shoulder. He tipped her back, trapping her nipple between his teeth, and she locked her ankles around his waist for leverage.
It was like they were on borrowed time, racing against the clock and the ticking time bomb that was them whenever they were together. She dragged his mouth to her other breast and rocked her hips against his cock, thick and hard through his jeans, and Bellamy jerked back abruptly to pull her shorts and underwear down with rough, sure movements. He left her top on, pushed up to keep her breasts bared.
Clarke spread her knees wider and he bent over, kissing down the soft curve of her stomach while she leaned back. He kept flicking his eyes up at her, gauging her reaction, and she fought the urge to brush his hair back from his forehead. That felt too tender, too intimate, for what this was supposed to be. Instead she braced herself, first on her palms and then on her elbows as he crouched down to kiss the inside of her knee. He hauled her hips forward so she was balanced precariously on the edge of the counter, one hand coming up to pinch at her nipple and send another surge of wetness to her center.
He nuzzled her thigh and trailed his fingertip through her soaking folds, so lightly she cried out. He smirked at that, eyes dark, and kissed her hip while his fingers explored her. He was teasing her, touching her gently even while she ached for roughness and friction, and his tongue drew patterns across her skin, so close to where she wanted him but not there, not yet.
It should make her angry, but she was lost. Lost in him, lost in how good it felt to have him touch her again, lost in the slow, deliberate way his fingers danced at her entrance, drawing out her wetness while his eyes burned into her. And then finally he parted her with his thumbs. She nearly sobbed with relief when his breath skated across her skin, but then she realized he wasn’t moving. He was watching her, goading her into begging him, and she broke. “Please,” she moaned brokenly. “Please.”
He nipped at her inner thigh, a little too hard to be purely playful. “Please what, princess?”
She reached for her anger but couldn’t find it. In its place was a white hot need, not just to come but for him to make her come, with his tongue and fingers and those dark eyes that never left hers. “Lick my cunt,” she whispered, and the second she said it he touched her clit with the tip of his tongue.
This was the point with other people where she’d have to close her eyes, but with him she didn't need to. He never once looked away from her, not while his tongue moved from her entrance to her clit and back again, and not when he spread her even wide her to press his tongue deep inside.
She keened and he made a satisfied noise that rumbled through her. She dug her heel into his back and for the briefest of seconds he turned his head to kiss her thigh like he used to, but then he was back to licking so deeply into her she couldn’t think coherently.
She’d missed this. This was what she craved, what she had to imagine to get herself off. He knew her perfectly, knew the exact pressure she needed and touches she needed, and he always gave them to her. Sometimes he made her wait, or wanted her to beg, but he always, always gave it to her in the end.
Bellamy circled her clit with his tongue and pushed two fingers inside of her, crooking them up and flickering his tongue against her until she was a trembling, sweating, needy mess. And just when she thought she might black out, he pressed against that spot deep inside her just right.
Her back bowed off the counter and she moaned, her throat wrecked. She fell to pieces, waves rolling through her so quickly she couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. Bellamy kept lapping at her, more gently now, and bit by bit she came back to earth.
“That as good as you remember?” he growled, pulling her into a sitting position and undoing his jeans.
“Better,” she said breathlessly. Bellamy chuckled. He pulled a condom from his pocket and rolled it on, adjusting her jellied limbs around him to push inside of her.
Clarke gasped, the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippling through her, and she drew his face down for a messy kiss. He moved deeper into her, his cock filling her and stretching her with an ache so perfect she thought she might have imagined it. But no sooner had she gotten used to the feeling of him inside her again than he pulled out. “Not like this,” he said, shaking his head. “Over there, against the table.”
He pulled her down from the counter and she tossed her tank top over to the side, her movements clumsy but purposeful. She bent over the table and he pushed back into her immediately, and yes, this. She couldn’t kiss him like this but he was deeper, her breasts pressed tightly against the wood and her hips pinned between him and the table.
Clarke spread her arms wide and he covered her with his body, one hand on her shoulder to pull her back against him with every thrust. His wine glass rocked precariously and Clarke wondered if she’d have bruises on her hips, a small part of her hoping she would so she could remember that this happened, this was real.
“Fuck I love your cunt,” he groaned, leaning over her to whisper into her ear. His breath was hot and she shivered, twisting her head to kiss whatever part of him she could reach. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, and she whimpered. “Please, touch yourself,” he said again, and this time she heard the note of pleading in his voice. “I want to— I need you to come again, come on my cock. Please,” he said, and Clarke could never turn him down, not like this.
She slipped her hand between her thighs, her clit still sticky and swollen from before, and drew it in tight, rough circles. With every pass of her fingers she brushed against his cock, pistoning in and out of her, and Bellamy let out a shuddering breath against her neck. “Goddamn, yes, like that,” he urged, and she kept going, the heat inside of her building as his pace picked up and then stuttered, his cock swelling inside of her and his moans getting louder, more desperate.
He came first, spilling into the condom with rhythmic thrusts that tipped her over the edge. Her walls fluttered and then clenched, drawing out the rest of his come while she moaned and writhed underneath him.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. His chest rested against her back, his face buried in her neck, and she wondered what would happen next. She hadn’t planned for this part, hadn’t really thought he’d take her up on it, and she didn’t know how they were supposed to finish it.
Bellamy solved that problem for her. He pulled out, tying off the condom and tucking himself back into his jeans, which never made it farther off than down his hips. Clarke stood and stepped back into her shorts, avoiding eye contact with him as best she could.
He finished dressing first and picked up his still-half-full wine glass, draining it in one gulp. “I guess that’s it then,” he snarked, his eyes hard.
“Bellamy—”
“This was the deal, right? Once more, and then we’re done.”
“It was, I just—”
“Then consider my end of the bargain fulfilled,” he said flatly. “Thanks for the fuck, princess.”
And then he was gone.