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stars, hide your fires

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Clarke manages to last a grand total of three days before cracking.

“Alright that’s enough,” she says, slamming her book down with more force than necessary.

Bellamy just looks up, startled at her outburst, and blinks owlishly. “What's enough?” he asks.

“You'll see,” she mutters, grabbing his book and tossing it in the corner with hers. She ignores his soft cry of outrage and yanks him up, pulling him behind her.

It's not a surprise that he's changed in the past six years-- they’ve all changed, whether it be appearance wise or personality, and Clarke had been ready for it. She’s changed too, using her time on earth to face some very harsh truths and learn how to finally be honest with herself.

But while she braced herself to come face to face with the people she once knew, it was Bellamy’s changed that stuck with her the most.

Personality wise he was mostly the same, still good at giving rousing speeches and wielding a rifle like it was just an extension of his arm, but he’s simmered down a bit, stopped being so impulsive and hot headed.

That’s not what was bothering her though.

No, it was the physical changes.

More specifically, his hair and the pathetic excuse for a beard he grew.

Clarke has grown enough over the past few years to admit that one of her favourite Bellamy Blake features was his mass of rumpled curls, the eternal bed hair that graced the top of his head, just another one of those things that painted him as the past rebel king.

(And okay, yeah, it was kinda hot, especially when paired with the rakish grin that comes out to play when he wants to get things done his way.)

“Seriously?” he huffs when she shoulders open the door to the bathroom inside the bunker.

“I’m surprised you can still see with all that hair in your eyes,” she grumbles, letting the door fall shut behind them. “You need a haircut.”

The bathroom is small and cramped, not nearly big enough for two people. There’s a toilet that doesn’t work and a sink Clarke managed to get up and running again after a few months of repairs, even if it’s just a slow trickle at most.

He lets a lazy smirk pull at his lips as she manhandles him. “Am I finally getting to visit the trademark Griffin salon?” he asks as she closes the lid on the toilet and shoves him towards it. “Is that what this is?”

“This is an intervention,” she corrects him, leaning up grab a pair of rusty scissors from the cabinet before gesturing to his head. “That needs all the help it can get.”

“You know, I didn’t say anything while you avoided using shampoo for a month straight. The least you could do is return the favour,” he drawls, leaning back against the tank with his legs splayed wide.

She drapes an old towel around his shoulders before running her hand through his hair a bit rougher than necessary and he hisses through clenched teeth when her fingers catch on the tangles. “I’m doing you a favour, you dick.”

“Jesus, you go through one post apocalyptic makeover and suddenly you think you know it all.”

“Shut up.”

“Why? It’s cute,” he says, wrapping the lock of fuchsia around his finger and giving it a light tug. “Suits you.”

Pleasure stains her cheeks pink. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s nice.” He lets his hand drop, cupping the back of her neck for a moment, callouses rubbing against her oversensitive skin.

It’s stupid that that simple gesture causes her heart to skip several beats but, well, it’s Bellamy.

“Stop trying to change the topic,” she says, struggling to hide her grin as she ruffles his hair again. He pushes into it, like a cat, and she scritches her nails against his scalp. “Come on, turn a bit so I can do the back. I’m trying to restore your pretty boy status.”

“Funny enough, no one else has complained about my hair,” he says conversationally, turning so that his knees knock against the pipes. “I didn’t think it was doing much damage to my pretty boy status.”

“Yeah, well, none of their hair is looking so hot either,” she grumbles, fingering a lock of his as she tries to determine how short to cut it.

She thinks back to the last time she saw him, when they were both-- not happy per say, but smiling. In Becca’s lab joking about oxymorons. That’s the image of him she’s carried for six years and yeah, maybe it’s a bit selfish of her to try and get him back to that point, but it’s familiar and she misses it.

She makes the first cut, the snip of the scissors sounding overloud in the impossibly small bathroom.

“So what, your plan is to make all of us look pretty again?” he rumbles.

Clarke doesn’t think she can manage this with any of the others. There’s a trust with Bellamy that she doesn’t have with anyone else, even more so now that they were separated for six years. They feel almost like strangers now. Finding him felt like coming back home again.

“Nah,” she says as she cuts off a few more inches. Pieces of dark hair flutter to the ground, some catching on the towel, but most falling in a pile at her feet. “Just you.”

“So I’m special, huh?” he smirks.

His eyes meet hers in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall opposite them and even though the image is blurry, she can still see the heat in them and it sends frissons down her spine.

She swallows, throat suddenly feeling parched. “Immensely,” she nods, and she can’t quite find it in herself to be upset that it doesn’t come out as dry as she intended.

They lapse into comfortable silence as she works, and it’s just the sound of their breathing accompanied the snip of the scissors. He doesn’t seem able to keep still throughout the whole process and Clarke tugs on his hair more than a few times to get him to stop as she evens out the sides and cuts his fringe. Each time he shoots her a sheepish smile in the mirror and she glares back. It’s like dealing with a child.

She finishes soon enough-- after all, she’s been cutting her hair and Madi’s for all these years; she’s sort of a pro.

Clarke takes a minute to admire her handiwork, raking her fingers through his curls one last time and fluffing it up affectionately. It’s surprisingly soft to the touch, and she ends up petting him. Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind judging from the way he tips his head back against her chest, eyes closed, and she bites back a grin.

“You done?” he asks, eyelids fluttering lazily when she finally pulls away, dusting the towel out in the old bathtub.

“Almost,” she says, pushing him back down as he makes move to stand. The air leaves his lungs with a ‘whoosh’.

It gets sucked back in quite quickly in a sharp gasp when she throws a leg over over him and climbs onto his lap.

His hands automatically fly to her waist, grasping the soft skin there, and she wonders if he could feel the way her pulse is pounding in her veins.

“Clarke--”

She shushes him easily, leaning to the side and grabbing an old knife and a tin of aloe vera gel, presenting the items to him. She holds up the knife with a wry half smile while her other hand thumbs the patches of hair that grace his cheeks. For a moment it feels like the whole world stops, and there’s nothing but the two of them here in this moment.

“You need to shave,” she tells him, and her eyes immediately catch on the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“I’m a big boy, Clarke,” he says after clearing his throat twice, “I can shave by myself.”

Her responding smile is more of a bite of the lip to keep it from showing too much and her thumb swipes against the edge of his jaw. “I know, just-- let me take care of you, yeah?” she says, voice soft. “You’ve been taking care of everyone else for six years, lemme return the favour.”

There’s a smile playing around the edges of his lips-- more of a smirk really-- and he slouches down a bit, letting her make herself comfortable in his lap. “Alright,” he nods, and just as she reaches for the tin he tacks on, “But only if I get to take care of you later.”

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t need--”

“I know,” he says swiftly, “But it’s just been just you and Madi for six years. I want to.”

Clarke purses her lips. “Fine,” she gives into it easily enough. She knows Bellamy, knows that when he gets something in his head it’s hard to convince him to do otherwise. “You can do… my laundry.”

It startles a laugh out of him and the sound bounces of the walls, warming her chest. “Is that the current system we have going?” he teases, “One load of laundry in return for a haircut and a shave?”

“It’s a work in progress,” she nods as she flicks off the cap. “Now come on, tilt your head back a bit.”

The gel is cold to the touch, and he yips when she smears it against his cheek. “Baby,” she laughs fondly and he just sticks his tongue out at her.

“It’s cold,” he whines, squirming in place as she rubs it into the overgrown areas and Clarke clucks her tongue, squeezing his hips with her thighs until he stops.

Her thumb traces the seam of his lips and he stares down at her through hooded eyes. The air crackles with electricity between them. The hair is rough against her palms, and she can’t help but let her mind wander, thinking about how it might feel brushing up against elsewhere, and her breath catches in her throat.

Sitting in Bellamy’s lap is probably the worst place to be having thoughts like that but she can’t help it. All she’s had to get by for six years were her hands. She can’t help it that her mind likes to come up with ridiculously hot scenarios that star her stupidly attractive co leader.

Clarke wets her lips and lifts her hips a little bit, shifting in his lap.

“I didn’t know you could grow a beard,” she says, breaking the silence as she makes the first scrape across his cheek. It wasn’t awkward by any means but… tense. Weighted in a way that could only have one outcome in the end.

Her eyes flick up to his and he’s still staring at her like that. Like he wants to devour her and Clarke knows that she would absolutely let him do just that.

Bellamy shrugs, and the hands gripping her waist tug her forward a bit. His belt buckle is digging into her thigh, even through the denim, but Clarke doesn’t mind. A little pain is good; it reminds her that this is real, she’s not dreaming.

“It just… happened really,” he says, drumming his fingers against her back and she tries her best not to squirm.

This is the closest she’s ever been to him, in this precariously intimate position, and it’s fucking with her a mind a little, especially with his hands on her, the idle touches that he gives without a second thought.

She keeps talking to keep from thinking about it.

“You used to shave everyday down here.” It’s more of a statement than a question and he nods, taking care to mind the blade sliding across his cheek.

“Yeah. We couldn’t really control much back then. I took what I could get.”

“Nice coping method,” she says, and he snorts.

“Something like that,” he agrees, eyes following as she knocks the blade against the sink. Her hips lift off his when she stretches to reach, and she settles back down, twisting as she makes herself comfortable once more.

There’s a twitch of interest from his cock against her ass, and the heat coiling in her belly flares hotter.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, breathing deeply through his nose. The tips of his ears are tinged red. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she says, cradling his jaw and turning it to one side. She can feel the muscle jump in his neck and she bites down on her lip for a second.

The blade is a little dull but it gets the job done, even if it’s slow going. Each swipe reveals a swatch of tanned skin flecked with freckles, bringing him back closer to the Bellamy she once knew.

And each time she stretches to rinse the blade, her hips lift off, and each time she sits back down, her centre drags against him through layers of denim and and thick canvas cloth.

By the time Clarke is halfway through, he’s hard against her ass and her panties are a little slick, need building between her legs. It’s taking all of herself restraint to stop from grinding down on him then and there. She has a job to do. She can’t stop halfway through shaving his face and get off on him just because she hasn’t gotten fucked in over six years.

It’s fine though. She can deal with this.

Bellamy doesn’t mention it.

Bellamy doesn’t do anything really, just stares at her, eyes dark and wanting with his mouth hanging open a bit as he breathes heavily. She can feel his breath hot on her skin, and it just makes her even wetter.

“Tilt back a bit,” she whispers, her thumb brushing over the divot in his chin. “Just this part left. Almost done.”

He does as he’s told, wordlessly arching his neck for her, and Clarke slides forward to better reach it, her legs bracketing his torso. His hips push up a bit, almost unconsciously, and she feels her cunt clench down on nothing.

Bellamy huffs out a laugh, screwing his eyes shut, and she pinches the soft skin of his inner arm, making him yelp.

“Easy,” she says, barely hiding the laugh in her voice. “Don’t be jerking around when I have a knife to your throat.”

He glares balefully at her. “Yeah, well, you’re not making it easy if you keep poking and prodding me like that.”

Clarke can’t help it, “Oh, I’m making things hard for you, am I?” she asks slyly, snickering.

Bellamy manages to keep a straight face for all of two seconds before he cracks up, a deep belly laugh that effectively breaks their moment. Clarke can’t but help joining in, letting the knife hang loose in her hand as she clutches his shoulder and laughs until her side hurts.

“That was terrible,” he says once they’ve managed to catch their breath, his hand wide and warm as it pets down her spine.

“You missed it,” she teases, and the remnants of mirth on his face transforms into something else, wistful and longing.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a hand skimming up the side of her body to cup her jaw. Clarke’s eyelids flutter as he rubs his thumb across her cheekbone. “I missed it.”

She lets herself indulge for a moment before pushing it back down. “Come on, almost done,” she says, running the blade under his chin.

Bellamy shifts again, more deliberate this time, grinding his cock into the back of her thigh and she shoots him a glare.

“Just getting comfortable,” he smiles at her, and she tries her best to ignore the pulsing need between her legs.

Let me finish, ” she tells him, wrapping her fingers around his throat and pushing up. It’s just a few more measly strokes to get rid of all the hair and then neaten up the line of his jaw, but Bellamy is making things mighty difficult right now.

“I’m not stopping you,” he says with his hands holding on tight to her hips. Even through all the layers of fabric they’re both wearing she can feel him, hot and hard and ready, straining against the zipper.

“Yes you are,” she whines, “You’re distracting.”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Almost immediately after the words leave her lips, a glint of mischief joins the dark heat smouldering in his eyes and he smirks.

Distracting ?” he asks, voice dropping at least two octaves, and it sends a shiver through her. “What’s distracting, princess? This?” His bare hand creeps underneath her shirt and squeezes the slight softness of her stomach, his callouses rough against her skin. Clarke takes a shaky breath and glares at him, and Bellamy bares his teeth in a sharp smile.

“Or this?” He ruts against her again, and when he lifts his hips up, the muscle of his leg flexes, causing her panties to slide against her heated flesh, wet and dirty and Clarke can’t help the little gasp that escapes her.

“I’m going to end up stabbing you if you aren’t careful,” she says shakily, even as she moves, just a slow roll of her hips trying to alleviate some of the pressure building there.

Bellamy rocks back against her and fuck, it feels so good. He’s not even touching her in earnest yet, just teasing, keeping her on the edge, but she’s forgotten how it felt to be held by another human being, nothing but the sound of their harsh breathing in the cramped bathroom.

“Almost done, right princess?” he asks, as she struggles to make the final few strokes. They’re short and messy and she has to keep going over the same area because she’s shaking so much. Bellamy doesn’t help of course, grinding into her heat every couple of moments, and her cunt is aching for something sweet to fill it.

“Yeah,” she pants, rocking down on him so that her clit drags against the rough cotton of her underwear, “Yeah, almost.”

“Thank fuck,” he breathes, and his hands tighten their grip on her hips, holding her in place so he could grind hard into her ass. “Fuck, I needed to get my hands on you yesterday , babe, jesus.”

It gets a laugh out of her. “And you choose now to do that?” she asks, grinning.

“Sorry my restraint doesn’t extend as far as you sitting in my lap,” he grumbles, holding her steady and rocking up against her. He’s got a good rhythm going and Clarke is just about ready to combust, especially he kneads her breast, thumb sneaking into the cup to flick at her nipple. “You just look so good like this, babe. Feel good too.”

“Yeah, well, you could have done it the same day you came back down and I wouldn’t have complained,” she says, washing the knife and returning to the last bit.

“Yeah?”

It’s the tinge of awe in his voice that causes her cheeks to pink and she grinds down hard onto him.

“It’s been six years, Bellamy,” she says softly, running her knife over his neck, “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want during that. And it’s you.”

His eyes soften at that and he leans into her palm when she strokes his cheek.

“I want you too,” he says, sneaking a quick kiss to her wrist. “I still want to fuck you when we’re done here though.”

She laughs, bright and loud. “You are such a boy ,” she says, scraping off the last bit of stubble from his chin.

Bellamy just huffs. “Clarke,” he whines, flexing up into her and making her moan with it.

“Alright, alright,” she says, throwing the knife into the sink to deal with later, “I’m done.”

“Thank god,” he sighs, and then all but tackles her, kissing her deep and hot and making her toes curl.

It’s not the first kiss she imagined they would share, all careful and precise. Instead it’s wet and messy and maybe a little bit desperate the way their teeth clack together and his tongue flicks at hers, but still so, so good. He feels familiar in a way that she can’t quite name.

There’s still some aloe smeared across his cheeks and it gets all over her face, sticky and wet, but she doesn’t care. Her hand tangles in his hair, tugging on his curls until he grunts into her mouth, and Bellamy thrusts up on her again, giving them both the friction that they craved.

It’s hard to ignore her need now that there’s nothing to distract her from it, and she mewls low in her throat, hips jerking helplessly against him.

“Fuck, Bellamy,” she whines, dragging her cunt over the bulge in his pants. “Come on .”

He huffs out a laugh against her cheek. “Oh, so when I wanted to get right to it you had a problem, but now that it’s you--”

“Shut up, god,” she grumbles, clutching at his shoulders, hips moving in a rapid back and forth as she chases release, “If you’re not gonna do it then I will, dammit.”

He laughs again, and then drops his head to sink blunt teeth into her breast through her shirt and she keens with it.

“I mean, I’m definitely not opposed to that idea,” he says, the hand on her hip slowing her frantic pace down to a leisurely back and forth that’s so much better and so much worse at the same time. They’re rocking together in tandem and Clarke feels like she’ll die if she doesn’t get to come soon.

Bellamy nips at her collarbone, “But since I did promise to take care of you after…”

She shudders in his arms and makes a plaintive sound when his hands trails down her belly. “You adding this to the laundry?”

“Friends and family discount,” he says, dry, as he works the snap on her pants, “I’m throwing in an orgasm for free.”

Clarke laughs, but it’s cut off by a sharp gasp when he finally wriggles his hand into her pants and gets his fingers on her.

“Jesus ,” he hisses. His fingers trace up and down her slit, just ghosting over her clit but it’s enough to make her breath feel tight. “You’re so wet.”

She just buries her face in his neck, moaning quietly. “Come on, Bellamy. Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a chance here, huh?” he says, nuzzling the top of her head before tweaking her clit and making her whole body twitch with it, “You’re so bossy.”

He fucks around a bit more, just because, spreading her wide open, teasing her entrance with his fingers, and bearing his thumb down hard on her clit. She mewls again into his neck and bites down on a chord of muscle, making him laugh and kiss her temple. The arm banded around her waist holds her steady and she can’t buck up into him like she wants. It makes her huff.

“You want my fingers, Clarke?” he murmurs, voice just barely cracking through the fog in her mind right now. He can’t stop from rutting against her thigh once more. “Huh? You want my fingers inside you?”

“Fuck. Yes please,” she nods, scritching down his chest and dragging her nails over the lip of his trousers. “Do you want me to…?”

Bellamy kisses her again, quick and chaste, and she feels his cock twitch again. “After,” he say voice gruff and pupils blown wide, “You first.”

Clarke blinks and then grinds down on his palm as best as she can. “Yeah,” she pants, “Yeah okay. I’ll fuck you after. Now gimme your fingers, please.”

“Bossy,” he says again, grinning, but then finally, finally, gives her what she wants.

He slides in two, easy, and then three when she whines and bucks against him, and then she groans at the full sweetness of it all, leaning into his chest a little bit.

The world gets blurry after that and she lets Bellamy take over, fucking her nice and deep with his fingers, thumb bearing down hard on her clit. She bites his neck to keep from crying out too loudly even though they’re alone in the bunker. She’s close, can feel her orgasm building as her cunt clenches around him at irregular intervals, and he laughs, short and gruff.

“That good, princess?” he asks, lips in her hair as she shivers. Clarke can’t talk with how good it all feels, the bump of his knuckles, the rough pads of his fingers dragging against her, and her walls squeezes them making him laugh again.

“I can feel your cunt getting all sweet for me, babe,” he murmurs, nipping at her ear as his hips push against her. “Shit, Clarke. You’re close aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” she whispers, tripping over her words, “Yeah, fuck, I’m so close, fuck.”

She’s teetering right on that edge, waiting for the push to send her over, and he doesn’t disappoint, hoisting her up just a little so that the angle changes, and Clarke chokes on a gasp when his fingers hit her deep and perfect.

The tightness in her stomach suddenly bursts as she trips into her orgasm, that warm thread unspooling and flooding her entire body as she rides it out, gasping. Bellamy sees her through it, murmuring all sorts of things about like how pretty she looks and fuck, he can’t wait until it’s his cock in there instead of his fingers, grinding up relentlessly until she has to push him away.

“Bellamy,” she laughs a little, body jerking when he leaves with one last flick of her clit, and he smiles somewhat helplessly.

“Too much?” he asks, and she nods, still giggling when he slants his mouth over hers again.

His cock still hard against her thigh, no doubt aching to be freed from its confines, but Bellamy kisses her slow, almost lazy as she comes back to herself, his free hand rubbing at her cheek.

Her hands drift to his hair, playing with the ends and he pecks her nose, laughing when she scrunches it up.

“Good?” he asks, nuzzling her cheek.

“S’alright I guess,” she shrugs, blasé as she bites down on her lip.

Clarke just has to take one look at his faux stern expression before bursting out into laughter again, and Bellamy just huffs, grumbling as he pinches her stomach.

“I try and do something nice for you and this is what I get,” he sulks, wiping his hand on his pants and grumpily sliding her pants back in place. “Ungrateful.”

She leans up and kisses him, just because, and he continues grousing the whole time making it hard for her to keep a straight face.

“Well, I could give you a little something else,” she says slyly, scooting down a bit and widening the vee of her legs. “Just to make it up, of course.”

Her hands drop to his stomach, raking her nails across his sensitive skin and feeling the muscles jump in response. Clarke presses soft little open mouthed kisses along the column of his neck before nipping at his jaw and pulling back so that he can see her wicked grin.

She deftly undoes his fly and pulls his cock out, running a teasing finger down his length and now it’s Bellamy’s turn to whine, hips pushing up into the circle of her hand.

He bites his lip when she runs her thumb across the tip and gathers his slick, looking up at her through hooded eyes, hot and wanting and also a little soft, and not for the first time Clarke thinks about how much she loves this man.

She’ll tell him one day-- soon now that she knows what it feels like to have him ripped from her grasp, but for now she just settles on kissing him and grinning bright.

“Your turn,” she says, pecking his cheek before getting to work.