Bellarke One-Shots [A Collection of Stories]

Burning Kisses

{Of Steam and Showers}

Excerpt: "Only one person in the entire camp was bold enough to come into Clarke Griffin's rooms uninvited"

Clarke Griffin loved hot showers. She loved the feeling of warm water scorching her skin and pores, cleansing her body and mind. She loved the feeling of being clean, of being free from dirt and mud.

Showering in the late evening was perhaps the most blissful of experiences. In the late evenings Clarke was reprieved from her duties, her responsibilities, her leadership roles. Clarke was allowed moments of peace.

Here, in Arkadia, in her own rooms, she was free to be herself, free to laugh, to cry and free to reminisce.

Because Clarke was so wrapped up in her own thoughts, and because the spraying of water was so loud, she didn't hear the knock on her door. She didn't hear the opening and closing of her door.

"Clarke?" A familiar male voice spoke into an empty bedroom. The voice was deep and carried over into the bathroom.

Clarke's hand froze mid-shampoo. Only one person in the entire camp was bold enough to come into her rooms uninvited.

Peaking around the glass wall, Clarke noticed Bellamy's hazy figure leaning against the doorframe. He was surrounded by steam, only discernable by his broad silhouette. His arms were crossed as he stared at her.

"Getting a little steamy in here, Clarke." He remarked, his tone hinting a little tease.

"Funny," she replied, standing straighter but remaining mostly concealed behind fogged up glass. "I don't remember inviting the Chancellor to my bedroom."

Bellamy snorted and tilted his head, a small smile on his face. "I just came to say goodbye to the Commander before she left for Polis."

For a moment, the two leaders stood there at separate ends of the bathroom, listening to nothing but the sound of water pouring from the showerhead. They were studying one another, watching one another. Clarke couldn't see Bellamy's eyes, but she could feel them. She could feel his desire and, more importantly, she was certain that he could feel hers.

A deep yearning for him erupted from somewhere deep within her body. Seeing him standing there, his hair curling and jaw working, Clarke experienced a different sort of wetness.

Without taking his eyes off hers, Bellamy took a step into the bathroom and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted and scarred chest. He slowly stepped out his pants, tossing his underwear and clothes aside, not once breaking eye contact with Clarke.

Clarke stepped into his view, her hand slipping down and away from the glass as she gradually walked backwards.

Up until then, everything had been moving in slow motion. Now, as Bellamy rushed forwards, everything exploded, exploded in bright colors and symphonic sounds. He couldn't get to her fast enough. And Clarke, Clarke wanted him, wanted him now.

As Bellamy came to her, she reached for him. She reached for him the same moment his body slammed against hers, as his lips slammed against hers.

They backed up against the wall and Bellamy's hands went from Clarke's cheeks to the wall behind her, trapping her between two well-muscled arms. Her own hands went up into his inky black hair and tugged, earning her a deep, pleasurable growl. She loved the feeling of his curls and Bellamy loved it when she played with them. She loved knowing that she could make him growl at the mere tug of his hair.

His lips danced across her lips. Danced across her cheeks, her nose, her neck. His lips traveled down, biting, sucking, indulging. Clarke gasped as he moved down her stomach, as he went on his knees kissing her inner thighs.

"Bellamy..." she moaned, finding what little strength she could in order to keep herself standing upright.

The ground was slick with water, the room becoming steamier by the second. As Bellamy came back up, Clarke pulled him directly under the showerhead. Water trickled down both their faces, both their bodies – like rivers running towards the ocean.

Bellamy's curls fell against his forehead, his dark hair becoming plastered to his skin. As Clarke kissed him, as her tongue explored his mouth, the world burned, she burned. She craved Bellamy in a way that she never craved Lexa. His body, his mind, Clarke was the light to his darkness. He was the heart and she was the brain.

Her hands slipped down his chest, caressing each scar, tracing every muscle. Her hands slipped and slipped. When Clarke could go no further, she smiled against Bellamy's lips as he gasped at the tug of her hand.

"Damn, Clarke..." he huffed, gathering her in his arms as he fell back against the wall, bringing them out from under the water.

The moment Bellamy was pinned, Clarke bit his lip and tugged again, sending him into a wild and lustful state. Picking her up like she weighed nothing, he turned and slammed her against the wall, careful of her head. Immediately, Clarke's legs came up and wrapped around his waist, her feet running up the back of thighs.

She reveled in the taste of his lips, loved the way his hands moved across her naked and wet skin. And he had such nice hands, so powerful and large they could break a man's neck.

"Bell," she groaned as he sucked the soft skin just above her breasts.

He paused at the sound of her voice. He stopped kissing her skin and looked at Clarke, his pupils so dilated that his eyes were nearly as dark as the blackness of space. Her fingers came up and briefly traced the freckles upon his face.

He cupped her check and whispered, "Say that again, my name."

"Bell," Clarke murmured, bringing her lips to his ear. "Bellamy Blake I want you."

"When?" He asked softly, his fingers rubbing her lower tailbone. Clarke felt his heart rapidly beating against her own.

"Here, now...always." Clarke kissed him again, only this time, it was a promise. When she pulled away she whispered, "What are you waiting for?"

"You to stop wasting water." Bellamy teased, his voice deep and throaty and husky.

She shook her head and gave a short laugh as she cupped his cheeks and kissed him, "You're such a dick."