A series of bellarke oneshots

As east as it gets

Not mine

It begins- like most things do, when it comes to them- with a petty, drawn-out argument that culminates in furious, up against the wall sex.

"Never again," Clarke tells him after, scowling when he bats her underwear over so it hits her squarely on the forehead, "I mean it, Bellamy. This isn't going to be a regular occurrence or anything."

He shrugs, tries to bite back the smirk pulling at his mouth, "Whatever you say, your worship."

It lasts for all of two weeks before she corners him in a closet at Octavia's house, biting at his neck and making him swear against the hollow of her throat, hands digging into hips and kisses harsh.

And so it goes.

+

Bellamy wakes up to the sensation of a sharp, jabbing pain against his ribs.

He swears under his breath, tightening his grip on her waist and easing her to the side in a single practiced movement, nestling closer after. It's a little known fact that Clarke fidgets in her sleep- all flailing limbs and bumping noses- but he's pretty much adapted to the situation. Months of practice tends to allow you to do so.

Her hair brushes up against his nose when she shifts and he groans, trying surreptitiously to dislodge strands of it from his mouth. She gives a half-hearted scoff, all disapproving, before finding his hand and lacing their fingers together.

"You're all sticky." Clarke mumbles, words muffled against the pillow, "It's gross."

"It's hot out," he retorts, burying his face against the crook of her neck all while kicking off the sweaty tangle of sheets down to their ankles, "and you're the who insisted to sleep with the blankets on."

"I can't sleep naked and without a blanket." she grouses, turning over to face him, nuzzling his chest when he tangles his fingers in her hair, working out the knots carefully. Clarke's bed head is nothing short of legendary.

She yelps when he tugs a little too hard on her scalp, pinches at his hip in retaliation, "Don't you have work today?"

"No," he grunts, draping the finished section of hair across her neck and starting on another, "first day of summer, remember? School's out."

She swears, lurching upwards and nearly taking off his arm, "I forgot about that. Shit, I'm going to be late for work."

Bellamy frowns, propping himself up on his elbows, "Do you need me to call you a cab?"

"That'd be good," she says, distracted, shimmying her pants on, "have you seen my shirt?"

He shrugs, rolls over to her side of the bed to retrieve the phone from its cradle. The sheets are still warm from Clarke's body, smelling faintly of her shampoo. He scrunches at the pillows whilst the phone rings, beating out the imprint of her head pressed up against it.

"Cab will be here in a minute," Bellamy calls out just as she barrels back into the room, still shirtless but with shoes on.

"Where the fuck did I leave my shirt?"

"Just use one of mine."

" Seriously? "

Swearing under his breath, he vaults off the bed and crosses the room, yanking one of his creased white shirts off the hanger and handing it to her. She takes it, albeit reluctantly, struggling with the buttons until he gives in and does it for her.

"Thanks." Clarke smiles, dropping a quick kiss against his mouth, pulling away way too quickly for his liking. He pitches forward, cupping her jaw and kissing her, hard, making her laugh against his mouth.