Bellarke One-Shots [A Collection of Stories]

The Art of Falling

{Guns and Kisses}

Together, Bellamy and Clarke return to the weapons bunker in search of gunpowder and ammunition. Only this time, the co-leaders find themselves in a very different situation. Love runs deeper when lovers start off as friends - only then, does love have a chance to truly blossom.

The air inside the bunker was suffocating and smelled of dust - dust that was hundreds of years old. And there was also the tangy taste of cold metal that seemed to adhere to one's tongue.

Although, Clarke had to admit, it wasn't as bad as their last visit to the underground warehouse. She ducked her head, not wanting Bellamy to see her blush. The last time they were there he had taught her how to shoot, how to use a gun. She still remembered it - his hand on her arm, his breath stirring her hair, his steady presence behind her as he patiently instructed her how to aim. The makeshift target was still there, a constant reminder.

"Kane said there was a lot more gunpowder down here, near the back of the bunker," Bellamy said and Clarke saw him, out of her peripheral vision, glance at the target he made. He quickly turned his head and cleared his throat. "Apparently, we didn't search well enough last time."

And he had the nerve to stare at Clarke as if it were her fault.

Bastard.

She had a torrent of backhanded remarks at the ready, but he had already shouldered past her. Bellamy Blake was the most unnerving, self-important, vexing... there wasn't enough adjectives in the English vocabulary to describe how infuriating her co-leader was. Clarke huffed and followed him into the darkness.

She found Bellamy hunched over a box of bullets and gunpowder, rummaging through it like it was a Christmas present. Clarke hopped up onto a steel table next to him and watched as he went about sorting through metal containers. She watched as the shirt he was wearing strained across his back and how his dark, curly hair hung over his eyes. His brows were furrowed in concentration and his jaw worked as he inspected each and every gun. As if sensing her gaze, Bellamy glanced up at her.

"See something you like, Princess?" He grinned and cocked an eyebrow. "You do realize you can get up at any time and come help me."

"I could, but you're the gun expert." Clarke replied teasingly, adding air quotes around the word expert. Bellamy set the stack of bullets he was holding onto the ground and sauntered over to where she sat on the table.

"Are you mocking me?" Bellamy asked, coming to halt in front of her.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "Since when does anyone mock Bellamy Black and survive? I actually value my life."

Bellamy chuckled and pressed closer. "There are only two people on this Earth who can tease me - Octavia and..."

"And...?" Clarke prodded, expecting to hear her name. Bellamy bent down his breath against her cheek, his hands traveling down her waist to her hips. Clarke refused to shudder beneath his touch.

"Murphy." He said, finishing her sentence. Clarke's hands stopped at Bellamy's sides. She broke away slightly and stared up at him.

"Murphy?"

"Murphy."

"You've got to be kidding me." She grounded out, her voice sounding somewhat raspy.

"Oh, I never kid, Princess," Bellamy said, moving forward, easing her legs apart. "Especially when it comes to kissing you."

"What did you just say?" Clarke's voice rose in pitch. Her hands were on his lower stomach. His muscles were hard underneath his thin shirt. Clarke's hand slipped up his chest, meaning to push him away. Instead, she pulled him forward.

"Beautiful..." he murmured.

Before she could respond, their lips met. Clarke's brain clicked off as her fingers dug into his shirt. Bellamy's kisses were deep, scorching her lips as his hands tightened around her waist, pulling her against him.

Bellamy kissed as though he were a man desperate for water. His teeth caught her lower lip and when he pulled away, he only came back for more. She kept telling herself that she shouldn't be doing that - kissing him, even as she slid her hands up his chest and encircled his neck. Bellamy's own slipped under her shirt and Clarke's vision began to blur. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer - if that was even possible.

Touching him was like having a fever. She was on fire. Clarke's body burned. The world burned. Against his mouth, she moaned.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" Bellamy asked, his voice husky as he took a moment to break away from her.

"I'm not doing anything."

Bellamy growled, actually growled.

Cupping Clarke's cheeks, he exhaled a soft groan and he deepened the kiss until they were both breathless from its intensity. She wanted him closer, so much closer. Bellamy suddenly lurched forward, and Clarke was unable to carry the unexpected weight. She collapsed backwards and brought Bellamy down with her against the table.

The full contact of his body, flush against hers, sent Clarke's breathing into overdrive. His tongue swept over hers as his fingers splayed across her neck. Bellamy's hand slowly slid down her side, gripped Clarke's hip and urged her closer. The kisses slowed and he pulled away to smile down at her.

Her heart stopped beating as Bellamy hovered over her with an expression that tugged at her chest. He smoothed a fingertip over her swollen, bottom lip before pulling her up against him.

"I don't think Kane or your mom would appreciate it if we got distracted..." Bellamy murmured, breathless. Clarke nuzzled his neck and Bellamy tightened his hold around her waist.

"Let's be real, mom and Kane probably take a trip to make-out bunker every night." She snorted into his shoulder.

Bellamy laughed - like really laughed. He laughed so hard that Clarke felt his chest heaving against her own. She had never seen him like this, almost in hysterics - it was contagious. When he placed his forehead against hers he was still chuckling.

"I love you, Clarke." Bellamy whispered into her hair as he kissed her temple.

"I love you too, Bell."