Are you taking prompts? It's totally cool if you're not, but if you are, that sex toy prompts list also had "✥ this sculpting class is the bane of my existence and for the final project (where i’m supposed to use a non-clay medium) i’m going to troll my teacher and make a bunch of silicone dildos. will you donate your dick to my cause?" And that just seems like such a Bellarke situation.
Alright, I finally did it! It turned out a lot less smutty than the prompt suggests though and a lot more fluffy, I hope that’s okay. Thank you for prompting this - and yes, I do take prompt, always!
“You need what?“
Bellamy can’t believe what he’s hearing. To be honest, he’s not entirely sure he isn’t hallucinating this entire conversation, tired as he is. The last few weeks have been brutal, and he’s barely managed to make the deadline for a paper that could make or break his career. So when he comes home after finally sending it off and then having to teach three classes back-to-back and reassure a bunch of panicking freshmen that they’ll get an extension on their own work, it seems perfectly plausible that he is in fact imagining it when he opens the door to find his best friend standing outside and exclaiming:
“I need your dick.”
It doesn’t sound any less crazy the second time, and Bellamy closes his eyes and pinches his arm, hard. But when he opens them again, Clarke is still standing outside his door, wearing tight jeans and a light grey, v-necked shirt and looking at him pleadingly. Not a hallucination then, even if the combination of that expression and that request – more like a demand, really, because Clarke is bossy as hell – seems to come straight out of one of the more vivid dreams he’s been having recently.
The thought must be showing on his face, because Clarke gasps and goes beet red.
“Not like that!” She pushes past him, smelling like the perfume he and Octavia chipped in together to buy her for her last birthday, and Bellamy takes a deep breath and then immediately feels pathetic.
“Well, what else would you need it for?” He snaps, a little defensive now because it’s hard to keep his cool around Clarke when he’s at his best, but dealing with her when he’s exhausted and she’s making nonsensical demands is damn near impossible.
“My sculpting class,” Clarke huffs, as if that would be sufficient explanation, then spots what he’s sure is a less than intelligent look on his face and keeps going. “We’re supposed to do a piece in a non-clay medium for our final project, and I want to piss my professor off.”
“The smug sexist one?” Bellamy asks, because even when his head feels like it’s filled with cotton balls, he apparently still remembers all the times Clarke ranted about the professor teaching her “Introduction to Sculpture”-class.
“Exactly. You know how he’s always showing us his “phallic art pieces” that are just plaster casts of his dick and making everyone uncomfortable?”
Bellamy nods. That habit in particular is one Clarke has been fuming about all semester.
“Well, I figured I’d give him a taste of his own medicine and make him look at someone else’s dick for a change. Or perhaps a whole bunch of dicks. A bag of dicks, so to speak.” She giggles a little at her own joke, then grins deviously. “So obviously, it’s got to be a better dick than the one he keeps shoving in our faces.”