you're the winners in (and of) my heart though

misssofi199  asked:

Hi, first of all I just want to say that I really love your writing and I hope that you would reconsider writing a Bellarke fanfic based on the movie dance-off (2014), Bellamy as brandon and Clarke as jasmine

+ Anonymous asked : Bellarke + hungry eyes

you’re mine tonight

Her leg was up on the barre, her aching body stretched over it–practice had been tough and long today, because the competition was heating up–when she heard the studio door clang open and shut. 

“Still here, princess?”

Clarke took a cleansing breath, willing her blood pressure to stay at a healthy level. Bellamy drew closer though, his bare feet padding across the marley floor. When he rested his large forearms on the barre and grinned at her in the dim, late light, though, her pulse spiked.

“The studio is closed,” she announced primly. Then she lifted her leg off the barre and held it high before rotating it around into a perfect attitude derrière. 

She nearly lost her balance when he snaked a hand out and gripped her calf. His palm and fingers were warm as they squeezed, then lifted her leg a bit higher. Over her shoulder, she glared at Bellamy, who simply grinned as he let go. Thankfully for her pride, her leg stayed in the raised position, and she kept it there for a triumphant second before lowering it. 

So many years later, and her old dance partner was still challenging her, still pushing her, staring at her with dark brown eyes that taunted you can do more, be more. How disappointed he must be that she had turned into nothing more than a typical prima ballerina. If he hadn’t moved away–hadn’t left her–then maybe she would be different.

Except he had, without even a goodbye. The only dance partner she had ever clicked with, and her best friend, had driven off in the backseat of his mother’s beat-up station wagon with merely a glance in the rearview. Now he was her competition, the captain of her studio’s rival dance team.

“What are you doing here?” She snapped, tucking some stray hairs into her bun. “Spying?”

“Not much to see, since you’re still working on your solo, apparently,” he replied archly. 

She fought to keep her expression neutral. It frustrated her, that he could still read her so well, even after so much time apart. “It just needed some last-minute changes.”

Bellamy snorted. “You haven’t even finished choreographing, have you? You should stop trying for perfection, Clarke. You’re life would be a lot easier that way.”

“Have you even started your solo?”

“Don’t need to,” he answered with a grin. “I’ll just wing it.”

Scoffing, Clarke rolled her eyes, then cracked her bare toes against the floor. “Still practicing bad habits, I see. Indra would be so proud.”

“She liked my improvisation, even if she never admitted it.” 

“You aren’t supposed to improvise when you’re actually given choreography to learn!”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He grinned down at her, oh so very close, and she felt her cheeks flush. “Go away, Bellamy. I’m here to practice. Not to rehash the past.”

His eyes flashed with hurt as she turned back to the barre, her hands resting lightly on the sleek wood. She ignored the guilty pang in her stomach as well as the melancholy realization that she had missed him more than she had thought. As she started doing relevé after relevé, he sighed and walked away. It was only when she heard the electronic synthesizer beats echo in the cavernous studio that she realized he hadn’t actually left. Clarke yelped when a strong arm latched around her waist, dragging her back to the middle of the floor.

“C’mon, princess,” Bellamy teased as she spun out of his grip. “Let’s have some fun.”

“I have work to do,” she growled, striding forward.

He caught her wrists though, arching her arms out, up, and then looping them around his neck. Slowly, his hands slid down her bare arms, fingers brushing briefly over the thin, slippery straps of her leotard before trailing down to her waist. With a firm tug, he brought her closer, dipping his head so that she didn’t have anywhere to look but his dark, hungry eyes.

“Dance with me, Clarke.” 

She inhaled sharply, her breaths starting to come faster. “Think you can still keep up?”

“Try me.”

Then he bent her over, and her leg extended automatically. She came back up on the beat, spinning out of his grip. He chased her, grabbing her hand with strong, sure movements. Using him for balance, she rose up, leg raised, bringing it in then kicking it out. He rolled with her momentum, twisting around her, only letting go of her hand when he knew she could balance on her own. As the music swelled into the chorus, their movements grew bigger, fuller, and their bodies began to use the whole studio. 

They chased each other in the dark room, twirling together and flying apart. Each time they separated though, Clarke missed his heat a little more, craved his strong hands supporting her and his solid muscles lining up with hers so perfectly. She found herself leaping into his arms more often, staying longer in his embrace. Bellamy seemed to linger more too, finding new ways to touch her all over. Hand on her ankle as he ran his nose down her upright leg, palm against her stomach as he bent her backwards against him, each point of contact driving her a little more insane the longer they stayed in each other’s orbit.

The song was mid-bridge when she took a chance: running at him, she flung herself forward, and without hesitation, he caught her, shooting her straight up. Her hands landed on his shoulders, her elbows locking as he turned them slowly. She looked down at him, freckles and sharp angles, and her breath caught at the heat in his eyes. 

Her stomach dropped as he let go suddenly, but her sharp cry was cut off as his arms banded around her hips a second later. Now she was completely pressed against him, her mouth only an inch above his.

“Having fun yet?” Bellamy murmured, his breath hot on her parted lips.

She answered by surging forward, claiming him with a greedy kiss. Bellamy groaned into her open mouth as her hands raked through his hair. Vaguely she felt herself slip down, her toes brushing the floor as his hands sought more from her, running over her sides, her ass, her back. 

“Now I am,” she rasped out when she pulled away, gulping air.

“Told you improvising is fun.”

“Shut up.”

“Gladly.” 

With a grin, Bellamy leaned forward and kissed her again, but slower this time. In contrast, her heart raced even faster, and she melted in his arms, pliant and soft, done in by his sudden tenderness. 

They were still kissing when the music faded, but Clarke just pulled him closer. She was having fun, after all, and even though only one of them could get the trophy at the end of the competition, this–well, this was something they could both be winners of, at least for the night.