Clarke’s world was a swirl of red.
It seemed to be the only constant in an ever-changing life, whether
it be the strange, wilting flowers that bloomed in the spring outside Camp
Jaha, or the beckoning of blood that stained her pale hands evermore. It never
washed away, either, no matter how hard she’d scrub and scrub and scrub, she remained
dirtied by the mouth of war.
Sometime after the defeat of Mount Weather, she’d met a girl
with red eyes. If she didn’t stare, spoke to her without truly seeing, she
could pretend that she was fine, and that her eyes didn’t unnerve her, an
When she looked back, she could see the red, and taste in
the back of her throat the hot, thick blood as it began trickling into her
stomach, and she could look no more.
She began to see red differently, however, the first time
Bellamy had kissed her.
It was, as with everything on the ground, without patience,
or structure. They’d been arguing, she knew, when suddenly there was only him, crowding her body with rough hands
that felt clean, and with heat on his
lips that burned.
And he’d pulled away, stuttering out an apology with lips
bruised red, and she’d wasted no time in pulling him back to her, swallowing
the words and claiming the red of his lips.
Things had moved quickly between them, and neither of them
regretted a second of it. They’d barley made it back to his tent, before they
were tearing away offending clothes and delving into the secrets of each
other’s bodies. And as Bellamy had settled between her legs and made her scream
his name into the night, filling the empty sky with memories that blistered the
mundane existence around them, Clarke had clutched to the red, pulling his head
from between her legs so she could revel in the taste of him, and of herself on
As he had pushed into her, framing her face always to
confirm her certainty in the situation, she’d ran her fingernails along his
back, biting into the skin as the pleasure mingled with pain, and reaching down
to connect their lips once again as delighted desire had consumed her body,
hands fisted in unruly curls.
There had been blood under her fingernails, just a little,
and at the sight it now seemingly seductive,
she had been unable to keep the smile off her face.
The next day, Bellamy had smirked at the stumble in her
step, hands confident and fingers bold as he whispered unto her body gentle
caresses and promises that bit into the coldest regions of her heart labelled logic.
He’d stopped smiling, however, as a member one of the
visiting tribes (friendlies) had attempted to seduce Clarke, biting on her
bottom lip and keeping physical contact at all times, whether it be holding her
shoulder, or brushing away non-existent specks of dirt.
Clarke had smiled at the woman, but otherwise hadn’t reciprocated
her actions, though still enjoying the way Bellamy’s features had darkened
considerably, a furious blush leading an enticing path down his thin shirt.
Unable to resist herself, she’d leaned over to whisper
something in the woman’s ear, (Lexa, she’d said her name was) which had been
along the lines of: ‘You’re awesome, but I have something of a boyfriend watching,
and he’s getting jealous and it’s really funny so could you help? Also, there’s
a mechanic here I have to introduce
you to.’ Lexa had looked slightly disappointed, though the smirk that toyed
with her lips had shown her willingness to help.
After Clarke had introduced Lexa to Raven, she’d been gladly
pulled into the alluring darkness of Bellamy’s tent, whereas she’d ended up straddling
him as he sat, sucking a hickey onto her neck.
She would’ve complained, had it not felt so fucking good.
The next day, Bellamy had hugged Clarkes body to him, her neck sporting the fruits of his labour and his
hands a possessive grip on her hips, to which she’d rolled her eyes and shoved
him off, intending to find Lexa to say goodbye before she left.
Bellamy had tugged her back gently, leaning down to whisper
the words that left her grinning until her lips seemed to ache.
“You look good in red.”