PART 1 LINK UP HERE

PART 2 DOWN HERE

the always kiss

This wasn’t happening.

They were not leaving.

He wasn’t leaving her…

Clarke stared at him, uncaring of anyone’s opinion. His back was facing her, and he was talking animatedly with the two soldiers in front of him. A single glance at him, and you’d think him happy, excited.

But he couldn’t hide it from her. She knew he was afraid of the enemies he was soon to face in battle. Scared of the further suffering he’d see, the murders he’d have to make.

She didn’t care what anyone else said- he was not a murderer.

Or at least, he didn’t want to be.

He was an idiot. A reckless, hot-headed, impulsive idiot. She knew that he’d only signed up for the war out of an act of guilt, and a moronic sense of ignorant bravery.

“All those people up there,” he’d said pointing up towards the sky, “they suffocated, they died, because I was- am a selfish moron. The least I can do is fight for the families that are left, Clarke. I need to do something that will show them how I sorry, I really am.”

He didn’t call her princess anymore.

Octavia slid up next to her, glaring at her brother. It seemed they were on the same page when it came down to some of Bellamy’s recent decisions.

What a fool he was, angering the two women that loved him most.

“He’s stupid. And I’ll kill him before he has a chance to get out of this camp.” Octavia muttered darkly. You’d think she might hate him, if you were to simply only see the heated scowl set upon her defined features, but if you looked closer, you’d see the slight shake to her hands, the single defect in her armour.

Clarke saw it.

Octavia was scared.

Clarke wanted to comfort her, tell her everything was going to be all right, promise a better tomorrow that beat away the icy clutches of today, but then she would be lying, and above all things, Clarke Griffin was not a liar.

And Octavia Blake was not a fool.

So instead, Clarke spoke the only words that she thought could offer comfort, if any were to be found in this nightmarish world.

“I’m scared too.”

Octavia turned to look at her, eyes awash with a gleam of a growing dread- that was something new.

The cracks in her armour grew larger, big gaping holes, voids that only a brother’s reassurance could fill- a brother’s reassurance that would never come.

Clarke pulled Octavia to her, and Octavia let out small sobs into her chest, a broken hope’s desires, and the tears became quicker, and hotter, and suddenly, Clarke felt it tearing away at her defences too, the urge to scream at him until her throat dried up, and the overwhelming need to fall into the deep dark corners of the world and whimper and weep and bawl until the tears could come no longer, until she could wash the sorrows away.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She shut her eyes tightly, pulled up the remains of her defences firmly around her, wrapped securely around her arms to fight away silly things like heart break and hurt.

But Bellamy Blake had condemned her to feelings, and damn him for it.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw them, deep-set brown eyes staring straight back at her.

Oh, damn him to hell.

He wasn’t glaring at her- a common case, she found- or wearing his stupid infamous smirk that made the women of the ground fling, no hurl their bodies onto his, but simply staring, studying.

From the pink swell of her lips, to her falling golden lights, his roamed over her face, and for a single moment, she was reminded of a predator and its prey.

But then his eyes met hers, and suddenly he was everywhere, invading every sane thought trying to squeeze through her mind, polluting it with him, with the simple essence of him, tugging away at her sanity, resurfacing memories she pushed to the back of her mind, dangerous memories, memories that made her feel things, she simply did not want to feel.

Did he enjoy torturing her?

She turned, unable to hold his burning, searing gaze for a moment longer, afraid to what he could do to her with only his gaze.

She looked to Octavia then, still a whimpering mess in her arms, and she pulled her up, away from the fire and the talk of war, and the burning gaze of Bellamy Blake, and tugged her into her tent, where they were safe to cry, and find solace in the silence.

Because silence was always better than the screaming.

The screams awaited them.

—-

When Clarke awoke the next day, the camp was fraught with shouts and calls, and beckons and screams- battle cries.

The soldiers were leaving.

She turned to look at Octavia, who had eventually fallen asleep on the floor, to find her nowhere, already left.

Had he already left?

With that thought, and such a crashing sense of despair, she threw herself from the cold stiffness of the makeshift bed, hurled her body through the curtains.

The only way to describe the camp was chaos, with a mix of panicked shouts and charged screams, and bodies moving so fast that Clarke had to take a step back to avoid being caught in it all.

But then she was, because in the middle of everything, shouting orders for calm and quiet, was Bellamy Blake.

She rushed towards him then, forgetting about protecting herself from further pain and heartbreak, because he was there, and he was leaving.

He didn’t see her running, but when he did catch sight of her, he looked startled, confused, even.

She decided she didn’t care as she crushed her lips against his.

He was resistant towards her for about half a second, but then her hands were in his hair, and she was grabbing at him and he broke.

He brought his hands to her waist, and it was desperate as he pulled them impossibly closer, and it was shattered as their tongues met, and it was frantic as she fisted his curls in her small hands, tugging and pulling, and wanting more and more and more…

They fell apart from one another, gasping, still remaining so close that she could see his pupils dilate, and he could see the tiny curls in her golden hair.

He closed her eyes, and nuzzled her nose against his.

 “You come back to me, you hear me?” She murmured softly, her fingers on the back of his neck.

He pressed his lips against hers again, in a soft, chaste kiss, just a sweet touching of the lips, and she felt the hope bloom in her chest, bursting through the crumbling of despair.

He smiled.

“Always, princess.”

the jealousy kiss

She knew that she shouldn’t care.

She knew that she should leave Bellamy to his own sexual escapades.

She definitely knew she shouldn’t want to rip that little bitches head off.

Yet strangely, she still did.

It was all his fault, really. He was the one that insisted they needed to spend more time together- as leaders. He was the one that’d said that it would be better for the camp if they put up a united front, and showed that they at peace with one another. She’d really no choice but to eventually, reluctantly agree to his plan. She knew he was right.

But she also knew he was maddeningly infuriating.

It really hadn’t worked at first; it’d actually resulted in more arguments, more screaming at one another, and a lot less of a supposed ‘united front.’ They’d yelled so many obscenities at one another, that they’d almost scraped the entire idea.

But then something strange happened- he made her laugh. And it wasn’t just a tiny, little laugh, but a bellowing raucous laughter, that he’d eventually joined in, because she was just making such a fool of herself.

He’d told a stupid joke- one ironically enough, she couldn’t even remember now- but she’d found it simply hilarious, and she’d howled with laughter, until breathing had become a difficulty.

They’d decided that maybe, they would continue with this idea of his.

It’d worked, and they’d formed a bond, and for a while she was happy with this, happy that she wasn’t now always on the end of some serious Blake attitude, but from the friendship, had stemmed something more, something that by the time she realised it’d grown, taken on a deeper form, it was too late to halt it in its path. And now consequently, she knew what it was like to be on the other end of unrequited emotions.

The end where you felt like crap every time you saw the other person parade their latest conquest around camp, that was.

Oh boy, if he didn’t parade those girls.

The latest one he was working on was Harper, and she was practically frothing at the mouth with excitement of the attention.

Like she was special, Clarke couldn’t help but think bitterly.

She really wasn’t though. Clarke couldn’t help but notice the steady increase of girls in Bellamy’s tent in the recent months, and their quality had begun to drop.

In fact, one of her favourite games had become mentally insulting the girls that came out of Bellamy’s tent at shameful hours.

She knew it was petty, but there was very little entertainment around here, and she found it was quite an excellent stress reliever to doctoring patients for the entirety of the day.

“Wonky tooth- damn if she’s not awkward to kiss.”

“Strange obsession with nuts.”

“Believes in a pancake entity.”

“She smells weird.”

It really was, very amusing, and she didn’t even care that she felt just a smidge pathetic.

That was, until now, as she watched Harper and Bellamy talking, her leaning over to whisper something in his ear, and him smiling awkwardly. She inwardly scoffed. How pitiful could this girl get?

And then (finally) something snapped inside her. She was the one being pitiful, and it was all for just a boy. There were clearly more pressing issues at hand, so why was she concentrating so much on this? She had patients waiting!

She shook her head, angry at herself for how pathetic she was being, and walked over to a small fire, intending to sterilise a needle for one of the patients. She held it over the fire carefully, concentrating on keeping it directly above it, and ignoring the heat as it grew warmer on her skin.

Her concentration slipped momentarily as a shrill laugh pierced the dull, droning sound of quiet talk. Clarke turned her head, and saw Harper with her hand on Bellamy’s arm, and though he did look just a smidge uncomfortable, it wasn’t like he was pushing her off.

She fought down the jealousy, and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest.

She was distracted just long enough for the needle to slip from her grasp.

She gasped, instinctively dove her hand forwards to get it, but just as her forefinger came in contact with the convulsing blaze, she actually realised what she was doing- trying to grab something out of a burning fire- and pulled back just in time for a sharp gulp of pain envelop her finger.

She hissed in a quiet irritation, more than in injury, but people still turned to look at her. She yelled for someone to put the fire out, and Octavia was by her side, hauling a bucket of water over the small inferno, and Clarke smiled in gratitude, grabbed a cloth and picked the needle up, her hand safely tucked away from its heat.

She turned, walked into the drop ship, and held a finger up to gesture to the patient that she’d just be a sec. She dropped the needle on the side, and ran her finger under some cold water as a remedy.

She sighed in silent relief.

So maybe it stung, just a little.

She closed her eyes, allowing her thoughts to gather.

That was so his fault.

“Clarke?”

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“Yeah?” She called back as he came to stand by her.

“Are you alright?” He asked in concern, eyes darting to her finger positioned under the tap.

She waved his little distress away. “I’m fine, barely touched the fire.”

He still looked slightly worried, but his features softened into a smile, eyes taking on a familiar twinkle. “Oh, you wild one, you.”

She rolled her eyes, but offered up an impish grin, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

“Haven’t you heard? You can’t tame this.” She gestured down to herself.

The atmosphere changed.

His eyes smoothed over her body, catching every curve, every smooth arch of her body. He did this both uncaringly and carefully, uncaring of an audience, careful to inspect her every feature.

Was that lust tangled into those deep, dark eyes?

His gaze met hers.

Hunger sparked through.

“Clearly.”

His voice sent chills down her spine.

Someone coughed awkwardly in the corner, bringing them both crashing back into reality.

“Oh!” Clarke breathed out, remembering the kid in the corner. Oh, god. He actually made her forget about another presence in the room.

Those stupid eyes.

“I’m sorry. We’ll just-“

“Leave.”

Clarke’s rushed out apology was cut off by Bellamy’s deep voice cutting through the internal panic attack she was having.

The kid was more than happy to comply.

“Bellamy! What the hell? I need to-“

Her scolding was cut off as he reached and brought her hand away from the tap, flicking it off, capturing it in his firm grip.

She looked at him hesitantly.

“What are-?”

He brought her finger into his mouth.

She gasped, though didn’t try to pull away. He sucked at the minor burn, teeth grazing further up her finger, and all the while keeping her gaze steady.

She was surprised, to say the least.

“What are you doing?” She managed to croak, feeling just a tad light-headed. Oh god, what was this man doing to her?

He smirked, releasing her finger. “Being a gentleman, and treating the lady’s burn.” His smirk grew wider.

“By sucking it?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged.

“Sucking’s always a good remedy.”

He did not.

He savoured the look on her face.

This was a perfect time for Harper to come crashing in.

She ignored Clarke’s presence almost completely, and smiled seductively at Bellamy. Clarke thought she probably should have just spread out her legs, and wore a sign that said ‘come hither.’ That would’ve been more discreet, at least.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go and chat. Y’know, somewhere private- away from prying eyes,” She looked pointedly at Clarke- god, petty much? “Maybe your tent.”

Really? Really? She was offering herself up on a platter, and she didn’t even know his age. Well, technically, Clarke didn’t either- but she wasn’t the one offering sex.

The jealously there again, stabbing at her vividly. And though she couldn’t see Bellamy’s face, she imagined him smirking at his consequent- happy with how this had all panned out. He had Clarke, here at his damn mercy, and a girl all but throwing herself at him.

Why should he be happy, when she’d spent the last months miserable? He did not have the right to flirt with her, and then go and have sex with another girl.

She tried to piece together a really good excuse for what she did next, but she could really only put it down to impulse, as she spun him around, and landed her lips on his.

He was shocked at first, but through Clarke’s unwavering confidence as the firmness of her lips against his, his shock melted into desire, and he kissed her beck with equal amounts of sexual frustration. Her hands were on his back, nails digging into him, but he could barely register the pain, when he had Clarke here, wrapped up against him.

Now he was the one feeling light-headed.

She broke away from him, and his lips found her throat. She looked over his shoulder to Harper, whose emotions were a mix of dejection, rejection and a broken hunger.

Shame, that.

Clarke smiled sweetly at her. “As you can see, Bellamy’s going to unavailable tonight- and every night after that, just in case you got any ideas. But you know- nice try.”

Harper glared at her, but Clarke kept the smile upon her face, shamelessly enjoying the other girl’s resentment towards her.

“Bye, bye, now.”

Harper finally turned and left them alone in the drop ship, where Bellamy was chuckling quietly against her neck. “Every night, huh, princess?” He questioned casually, resting his palms on her hips.

She pulled on his hair lightly, pulling him up to meet her eyes, the only light in the darkened space.

“Damn right.”

the passionate kiss

“No.”

Bellamy stood directly across from Clarke in his tent, his brown eyes clouded over in stubbornness. Was she really suggesting this? Really?

“Bellamy, I know how it sounds, but-“

“I really don’t think you do, because it sounds like you pity the bastards, Clarke.”

Unlike Clarke, who was at least attempting to stay calm, it seemed as if Bellamy was seconds away from erupting, spitting out cruel and vile words all over her.

“Bellamy, some of them, they’re innocent! They weren’t all fighters! There are-“

“They tried to kill us, or have you forgotten that already?”

Clarke sighed. She really was getting sick of being interrupted now. And he was just too blinded by a growing wrath to see it.

“Of course I haven’t. But what I’m saying is-“

“What you’re saying is you want to invite them here, so they could put their feet up, sleep in the tents of the people they killed. Of the people that are rotting beneath us!”

“Bellamy, you’re not-“

“Listening? Of course not when you’re talking shit.”

She clenched and unclenched her fists, praying to whatever entity existed. Her prayers were for Bellamy Blake to shut the hell up and let her get a single sentence out.

But then he wouldn’t be Bellamy Blake, would he?

“Bellamy-“

“Clarke-“

“CAN YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR ONE SECOND?”

She was screaming now, angered by his insolent ignorance. Could he not see that she was trying to mend the relationship between the grounders? Try and establish some peace between them- minimize the number of deaths. Did he not see just how hard she was trying?

She stared at him, and saw nothing beyond the scalding glare set upon his face.

No, no he didn’t.

“I am trying really hard here, Bellamy. And I need you to just hear me out on this. Okay?” She was close to pleading with him now. She wasn’t thinking about herself, but the campers, wasn’t thinking about all the dangers that could come of it, but the positives, the wrongs they could amend.

His face did not deter from the hard lines it was set it. Did not falter for even a second, still unforgiving, and untrustworthy.  The single word he spoke was all it took for her resolve to break.

“No.”

He really should have listened.

Her face fell, no longer pleading, she scowled at him, waves of hostility coming out chokingly thick.

“You are a selfish, moronic, fascist son OF A BITCH!” She started out calm, collected, but now, like always, it was going to end up with them screaming at one another.

An internal Clarke sighed. Here we go again.

“Me? Me? I’m selfish? The last time I checked I wasn’t the one that wanted to bring FUCKING MURDERERS INTO THE CAMP!” He screamed back at her, drawing closer to her, and using his height as an advantage.

Clarke despised looking up to yell at him.

“OHH, I’M SURE THEY’D FIT RIGHT IN!” She spat, as they stood tightly against one another, chest to chest, (sort of) eyes ablaze, and both caught up in the viciousness of the argument.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” He growled down at her.

“Well, you’re no angel.” She said back, though not shouting, her voice still carried a cold menace.

“I never said I was.”

She glared fiercely at him.

“You think you’re any better than those grounders? The ones that tried to kill us? You are depriving innocent people of life; you’re not giving them a chance to show they’re not a threat. And you just want us to stand idly by, and let them die?” She shook her head in disgust.

“You really are a monster.”

He stared down at her.

He was no monster.

And he would prove it.

He told himself he did it so that she wouldn’t be able to call him that again, argue with him some more, or maybe he did it because he was caught up in the moment- he wasn’t exactly known for making good decisions when he was angry, but he had this sinking feeling, that he had kissed Clarke Griffin, because he wanted too.

He expected her to pull back in repulsion, maybe even wipe her lips of his, but she didn’t. She stood still, not exactly kissing back, but letting herself be kissed.

But that wasn’t what he wanted.

He wanted her to respond.

And with that thought, he bit her bottom lip.

She gasped, and it was enough for him to slip his tongue into her mouth, his hands tangling in her hair. And finally, she gave into him, and dug her nails harshly into his shirt, her tongue battling for dominance with his.

And damn she felt good.

He gripped her thighs, lifting her into the air, and laid her on the bed. Surprisingly, she let him. She pulled away to breathe for a moment, and he began to trail hot, careful kisses on her neck, stopping and doing a particular something to her sweet point. She moaned in his grasp.

He loved it.

“We’re going to have to, talk about… it… eventually, you know.” She gasped out as he continued his torture on her neck.

“I know.” He murmured against her skin. And he knew they would have to, eventually.

Just not now.

Definitely not now.

—-

God if I didn’t feel awkward writing that last scene.

I’m not too happy with these kisses, but I had to put this up. It’s my birthday tomorrow, (SQUEE!) and I want to wake up to everyone raving how awesome this. (Kidding- but it’s still awesome.)

(I EXPECT BIRTHDAY WISHES FOR ALL MY HARD WORK. Just kidding. BUT I’M NOT.)

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