Bellarke One Shots Book 1

39) The Unsubtlety of Drug-Induced Glompage

The Unsubtlety of Drug-Induced Glompage

Bellamy's beginning to doze off, the constantly nagging worries and battle plans and who we have to be to survive finally beginning to fade into the background when someone comes stumbling into his tent, cooing and giggling like a wasted teenager.

He rolls out of bed with a huff, too exhausted to come up with a lecture about the consequences of drinking and tent-hopping. A simple "Get out" will do the job nicely, he decides, and the words are halfway out of his mouth before he realizes who this wasted teenager actually is.

" Beeeeelllamyyy! " Clarke sings, throwing her arms up like she means to embrace him, her blonde hair spilling in wild tendrils around her shoulders. She staggers, listing too far to one side, and instinct has him lunging forward to steady her and keep her from breaking something - namely, herself.

"....Clarke?" He can't quite keep the confusion out of his voice, and things take an even sharper turn when she looks up at him and giggles.

Clarke Griffin just giggled .

"Hi." She breathes, giggling again, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. "I like your hair. It's almost as pretty as mine."

"Uhhh," He stutters, frozen as her hands start to explore him, running down his face to his shoulders. "What's up with you?" He manages, taking a half-step back when her hands start to wander a little too far, still trying to process that Clarke and giggling actually go together.

"I don't know, Bellamy," she says, closing the distance between them again, reaching out to trail her fingers down his stomach, her touch making him feel things he really shouldn't be feeling right now. "What's up with you? "

Was that.

Did she just.

Her mouth curls up into a sly grin, "I know something that's up with you."

Fucking hell.

He grabs her hands before she can do any more damage, pulling them up to his chest. "Clarke," his voice cracks and he has to clear his throat, and his pulse is pounding in his ears despite the fact that all of his blood is trailing elsewhere , "what the hell did you drink?"

She bites her lip thoughtfully for a moment, only making it that much harder for him to resist the urge to let her hands roam freely, his own still locked around her wrists. "I like your freckles." She says with another goofy smile, and he groans, because god damnit she's fucking adorable, even when she's too wasted to stand up straight.

"Okay," he says, his wavering voice mirroring his resolve. He releases her hands, which immediately find their way back into his hair. "You need to sleep this off." He doesn't see how to get her back to her own tent without causing a scene, so the next best option is having her stay here. Like that won't get everyone talking. Fuck.

He starts to walk backwards, guiding her to his cot, all the while enduring her hair-grooming and the occasional coo about how soft it is.

"Bellamy Blake," she stops suddenly, glancing at his cot with wide eyes, "are you asking me to sleep with you? "

Technically.

"No." He nudges her toward the bed, careful to keep her wandering hands above his waist. "I'll take the floor." God knows he isn't going to get any sleep tonight. He can still feel her touch, her tiny hands brushing down his chest, and that alone is enough to keep him up all night. In more ways than one.

"I bet we could both fit on this cot," She suggests, tugging playfully on his arm, trying to pull him closer to her. "We would definitely have to snuggle, and I looove snuggles!" He's standing too close to her again, but he can't bring himself to pull away. "Do you like snuggles?" She asks, and a low chuckle escapes him.

"Occasionally." He concedes, dipping his head in a slight ascent. Too close, he's way too close, but somehow it's still not close enough.

"You know what's even better than snuggles?" She's giving him that look again, fire in her eyes and sweet promises in the curve of her lips, and he's sinking fast, too fast.

"What?"

"Snuggles without clothes." Her hands are under his shirt before he can react, pulling desperately at the worn fabric.

"Clarke," He groans, feeling that last sliver of self-control grating with every tug, every brush of her skin against his. "Stop." He pulls her hands away gently, his heart hammering in his chest. He wants her, wants her more than anything or anyone he's ever wanted before, but not now. Not like this.

"Fine, I'll go first." She declares, and before he can stop her she's pulling her own shirt off. Fucking fuck. If fully-clothed Clarke almost got his clothes off, a half-naked Clarke would be his utter undoing. She pulls the material in question about halfway over her head before it gets stuck and she's squirming in front of him, nearly half naked, moaning like she's about to die.

"Pleeeeaaaaaaaaaaaseeee Bellamy," she says, wiggling her trapped arms desperately, "take it oooooooofffff!"

No.

No.

No .

He reaches out, trying to pull her shirt back on, but she's wobbling all over the place and he can't hold her steady and this all somehow ends with her falling onto the cot and him landing on top of her, both their hands tangled up in her shirt. She wriggles beneath him, making everything that much worse, and he's about two seconds from losing it when someone else decides to barge into the tent.

"-Bellamy, you need to get out here right - oh. Oh. "

O.

Shit.

"Octavia, wait, it's not what you think-"

"-Octaviaaa! " Clarke sings, her voice slightly muffled by her shirt, "tell Bellamy how much fun snuggling is without clothes on!"

His sister slaps a hand to her lips, trying in vain to stifle her laughter. "Bell, we, uh, we have a problem."

"Can it wait?" He glares, still trying to pull his hands free, "I'm a little tied up at the moment."

Octavia snorts, raising her eyebrows. "It sort of involves your predicament." Her eyes move to Clarke, still struggling to remove her shirt. "Clarke, did you eat any of those mushrooms? The ones with the yellow spots?"

She murmurs some kind of affirmation, and after another moment of unbearable squirming, manages to get her head free. "They were yummy!"

"I'll bet." Octavia replies, fighting back another grin. "They're making everyone a little crazy. Just get her to medical when you can, okay?" She ducks back out of the tent before he can ask for her help, or for a goddamn sedative, and when he glances down at Clarke again she's staring at him, her pupils the size of saucers.

"Hi." She says, smiling with a blissfulness that suddenly makes a lot of sense.

"Hi." He sighs, offering her a rueful smile. "Let's get you to medical, huh?"

Fin