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The storm was still going strong and a lightning illuminated her desperate face.

Everything was going wrong. Her life had turned out to be a whirlwind of bad decisions and even worse consequences. If only there was a way to go back in time. But… but there wasn't and she had to face the music as it was.

She was on freaking Earth now; the safety of the Ark was just an illusion here. No father to hide behind, no mother to pull the strings behind the scene and control the backlash of her rash decisions, no rules she could follow just outside the line. Clarke was one of the hundredth, one of the delinquents; she served a different purpose now – prove that Earth was habitable even if it the price was her life.

It only took two weeks to turn her world upside down. Her best friend was dead because of a confused little girl seeking an end to her nightmares; she had hated him for all the wrong reasons because she couldn't accept the truth that her mother betrayed her father and was responsible for his death, and when finally she found a sanctuary in Finn's arms – it proved to be just another dead end. Another brick wall that caged her in, another obstacle set on making her stumble and lose her path. Not that Clarke was sure if she had a path, let alone if she was on the right one.

If she had to be honest with herself she always had dreamed of Earth – the blue of the endless oceans, the green of the virgin mountains, the purity of the clouds, the wonders of the animal world, and the diversity of the nature. Ever since she was little and Wells would give her something to draw with, be it a pencil, chalk or simple graphite, Clarke would recreate birds and wild cats, flowers and trees, landscapes and sunrises. Her dream was to set foot on Earth, to breath the air, to lay on the leaf covered ground and to swim in the clear water, to simply escape the bleakness and the depression of the falling apart grey Ark, the monotone of the life there, the constant feeling of being still and feeling numb.

Her wish came true but she never imagined it like this – the price was unreasonably high and it made her crave the familiarity of the Ark. Then again, life in space was bound to end in four months. Death on Earth or death in space – really, there was no significant difference.

Deafening thunder interrupted her self-pitying party and shook the life pod that the group had isolated as one of the few sleeping quarters and in which she was taking cover from the storm.

Her hands were still covered in Finn's blood. Funny how looking at it now made her shake like a leaf. She wasn't particularly squeamish but thinking back on the operation she did on Finn, how she had his life in her hands, it made her nauseous. A broken laugh escaped her cracked lips and she hurried to muffle it. It proved to be useless and a minute later her whole body was shaking with hollow laughter and dry sobs.

Clarke fell to her knees. Her blood covered hands clutched her shoulders in a desperate attempt to stop the shaking of her limbs. She could feel the blood seeping through her clothes, seeping through her skin marking her forever. The voice of her mother was resonating inside her head; it was a poison eating her from the inside – the voice of the person that killed her father, the person that tore apart her happy family; that plunged her life into darkness.

'Clarke, Clarke, Clarke…' it whispered inside her mind, like a broken record, as if her mother was worried, as if she cared. 'Clarke, Clarke, Clarke…' it went on, and on, and on, as if her mother never killed her father. It was wrong, it was so wrong to pretend that nothing happened, that everything was the same. It wasn't, it never would be.

She had no wish to talk with her but she wasn't skilled enough to save Finn on her own. So Raven helped and they saved him. And God, Raven… the accusation was clear as day in her eyes, the subtle dislike and the 'stay away from him' attitude.

It bloody hurt – her mother's betrayal, Wells' death, Finn's concealment, Raven's hate.

'Clarke, Clarke, Clarke…'

"Shut up. Shut up! SHUT UP!" Clarke screamed again and again until her voice was no more and her tears stopped.

She took a deep breath and then let it whooshing out. Two tries later and she was back on her feet and out under the rain. She needed to wash away the blood. And the voice. And the guilt and the heartbreak. Everything. But even the freezing rain and the sinister thunders couldn't quell the inferno of thoughts that was her consciousness in this moment.

"Careful, princess, you'll catch a cold and then who's going to make my life difficult?" fortunately or not she was capable of recognizing that tone even in her sleep and she could see the mocking smile even without turning around. Bellamy.

The voices in her head quieted down.

Clarke pulled her defences back up and her mask was once again on when she faced him. The rain had long ago washed off her tears. She couldn't afford to appear weak in front of him.

"Can I help you?" She brushed past him and took off her shirt, she was dripping water everywhere.

"Well, you were fast to escape from your heroic deed and your admirers. Don't tell me that after all you have done until now you happen to have stage fright at right that moment?" His eyes sparkled with amusement and something else Clarke was too tired to try and comprehend.

Typical Bellamy trying to flaunt his testosterone driven thoughts and sarcasm in places no one wanted him to.

Clarke rolled her eyes and squeezed the water out of her hair. "I needed a change of clothes."

His eyes left burning trails upon her skin as they carefully assessed every inch of her body. "And a shower apparently." He nodded towards the wet shirt she just had hanged up to dry and the rest of the clothes she still had on.

"I felt like it." Her voice came out sounding too defensive to her liking. He always made her feel so vulnerable. Bellamy had the rare talent to see right through her and it scared the shit out of Clarke. She was accustomed to being the strong one; the stubborn individual that was constantly right and always knew what to do. But the Murphy situation proved that to be wrong.

Bellamy with his bullshit attitude and strong charisma, sharp wit and silver tongue, combined with the pleasant to the eyes physique and inborn leadership aura was a temptation she couldn't afford. She had no time for bad boys seeking redemption; her plate was full with problems as it was.

"Do you mind?" She motioned for him to turn around as she was ready to get rid of the rest of her wet garments.

"Oh, no, I don't mind. Not at all." He had the insolence to cross his arms in front of his chest and lean back against the wall of the pod. Looking straight into her eyes Bellamy smirked and silently urged her on to continue with her undressing.

Clarke gritted her teeth and counted to ten until the impulse to bash his head against the wall of the pod disappeared. Bellamy was dangerous to her temper. As well as to her libido, not that she was ready to confess such a thing to herself.

"Is there something you want from me?"

"I want great many things, princess. The real question is are you ready to deliver?"

Yes, head, wall. Her hand twitched.

And while imagining what sound his head would make while hitting the metal surface she didn't think what his hair would feel like. Nu-uh. Because it would be weird and totally not like her to wonder if it was as soft as it looked or not. Weird and twisted, and her mind was complicated enough without random thoughts about Bellamy's hair, thank you very much.

"You don't look that good, princess. Trouble in paradise?"

Her mask was starting to crack. Damn him for asking, for caring in his own way. The rain was drumming nature's music on the metal roof of the pod.

"If it has escaped your attention, Bellamy, we're not in paradise. And don't call me that." It came out colder than she intended it to be.

His dark eyes narrowed. "Does Spacewalker have special dibs on the nickname, princess?" the amusement was gone from his voice.

She flinched at the mention of Finn and he noticed. And damn him for being so observant.

"Worried about him that much? Don't be, after all dear mommy Griffin helped you save him."

Clarke was pretty sure she had stopped breathing. The thoughts were back. And the voice. She could see the image of her father being ejected into space as if it was happening right now. The consolation of her mother that was oh so fake. Blood, Finn's blood. The hurt of seeing him with Raven. The loss of Wells. The fear of the Grounders. She was running as fast as her legs could take her but the thoughts kept catching up to her. There was nowhere to run.

"Princess?" Bellamy frowned. "Clarke?" He took few steps forward and called her name again.

She was hyperventilating. Was she going into shock?

He grabbed her left shoulder, her skin felt freezing under his fingers. "Clarke?" his other hand cradled her face and he tipped her head back. Her gaze was fixed somewhere, she wasn't really seeing him.

Bellamy applied pressure on her jaw line and repeated her name again. A moment later she blinked one, two, three times and her eyes found his. She looked so lost and scared. Just a little lonely girl, desperately seeking help but everyone was expecting from her to be strong every minute of her life and they were blind to her chaotic roaming.

Without thinking about it Bellamy angled his head and crashed their lips together. He always wanted to shut her up like this. It was cold and wet, but it was also soft and innocent.

Clarke was frozen in shock. Heat was spreading through her whole body from where Bellamy's hands were touching her skin. And his lips were a fire against hers. Her mind shut down, the thoughts disappeared. She was kissing Bellamy Blake.

She raised her hand and slapped him, hard. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Her lips were tingling pleasantly and blood was rushing in her ears.

He didn't look too happy about the slap but before she could berate him further he wove his hand in her blond hair and yanked. She yelped more in a surprise than in pain and he dove for her mouth. There was nothing gentle or innocent about their second kiss. It was hot and heavy and punishing. He bit her lower lip, soothed it with his tongue and then coaxed her tongue to dance with his.

Clarke wasn't a kissing expert but this was exquisite. She needed to breathe but she didn't want to break off the kiss either. Bellamy was kissing her like a dying man starved for oxygen. His unrestrained passion was burning her to her very core until the only thing she was aware of was his body heat against hers, his hands on her skin, and his tongue doing that wonderful thing.

They parted for air and then continued kissing, the intensity going up with every meeting of their lips. Clarke gave into her desire and ran her hands through his dark messy hair – it was softer than she had imagined it to be – and she tugged on it in warning when he bit her lip again.

His other hand traveled down her back and pushed her tank top up until his fingers touched chilled skin and then spread his palm against the small of her back, pushing their bodies closer in the process. His warmth was an addiction Clarke couldn't get enough of. Reluctantly her hands let go of Bellamy's curly locks and explored his hard chest, which proved to be just as good if not better. His lithe muscles twitched with every touch and when finally she laid her hands on his hot skin he groaned in pleasure. It excited her and she wanted more. Their hands were in frenzy to divest each other of their respective restricting clothing, to try and reach more flesh, to elicit more moans and whimpers. Frustrated with the situation Clarke pushed Bellamy back and set on taking his shirt off, dragging her nails along his skin and laying kisses on every perfect inch of skin the clothing revealed to her hungry gaze. Finally done taking his shirt off Clarke aimed for his lips, putting all of her in the kiss. It was slower than the rest, deeper, more meaningful than they both expected it to be.

Blue eyes met dark brown and Clarke's tank top joined Bellamy's shirt on the floor, followed by her bra.

His strong big hands felt wonderful on her cold skin, setting on fire everything they touched. Bellamy started slow – he rubbed soothing circles on her hip bones, touched her quivering belly, went up along her ribs and finally covered her breasts with his palms. Clarke moaned, the pressure was incredible and then he squeezed her nipples and her mind went blank. He laid wet kisses along her neck and sank his teeth where her neck met her shoulder, marking her for everyone to see. Clarke threw her head back and bit her lip in an unsuccessful attempt to stop her moans. She wasn't aware that she found little bit of pain that erotic. He did it again and then licked and nibbled down her chest and around her nipples before he took one of them in his mouth and sucked on it, while pinching the other one between his fingers. The torture continued on for what seemed like forever. Her nerve endings were aflame from the pleasure and wet heat pooled between her thighs as her legs turned to jelly. Bellamy was fast to hold her and pushed her backwards until her back met the cold wall of the pod and caged her in with his arms, kissing her until the both of them were out of breath.

It was madness and Clarke lived for it, for this moment of feeling nothing but Bellamy.

The real struggle began when he tried to take her trousers off. The material was wet and sticking to her body and refused to let go. Few pulls, two sets of hands and a snap of a button was all it took to take them off; her shoes got lost along the way as well. Bellamy ran his fingers along the newly exposed skin and hooked one of her legs around his waist. He motioned to her to do the same with her other leg and a moment later they both groaned at the feel of his hardness pressing into her heat. Clarke clenched her legs tighter and moaned at the grinding motion it caused. Bellamy's whispered fuck against the sensitive skin of her neck was spot on.

He allowed her to move against him few more times before he pushed her back against the wall and griped her hips to stop her squirming. Annoyed at being denied her pleasure Clarke dragged her nails up his back and smirked at the hiss Bellamy let out. He got back at her when he nibbled on her ear and then pulled her hair at the same time as when he moved his hips in circular motion. If she wasn't so into it she would have probably been mortified at the wanton moan she let out of her throat.

One of his hands sneaked between their bodies and pushed her underwear aside. He kissed her again and muffled both their groans when his searching fingers found out exactly how hot and ready she was for him. He gave in to his wishes and sank two of his fingers in her wet warmth. She was so tight and he couldn't wait to be inside her. Bellamy withdrew his fingers, loving the whimper of loss from Clarke, and with her help he unbuttoned his pants and finally freed his cock.

Neither of them had the patience to tease or wait so with the next meeting of their lips he pushed slowly into her heat. He could feel every minuscule twitch of her inner walls, every brush of her nipples against his chest, her teeth against his neck and her nails on his back and it was pleasure like no other.

"Fuck." Clarke couldn't stop the word from leaving her lips even if she had tried. This was so different from her experience with Finn; hotter, better, more passionate, just more.

"I plan to." Oh how she wanted to wipe off that arrogant smirk of his face.

But then Bellamy moved and all thoughts of Finn left her; she could only think 'do that again'. And he did. And again, and again, and again, in and out, and in again. It was a never ending rhythm of pleasure, one which Clarke never wanted to stop or get away from.

She had no idea how long they kept going on like that but her orgasm hit her out of the blue. It was an exploding burning liquid that engulfed all of her senses, an intense pleasure that made her deaf and blind to all of her problems, whiteness that swallowed all of her worries and left her feeling only him.

"Bellamy." Her voice cracked and turned the second half of his name into a delightful moan.

He stilled and came inside of her with a nearly silent groan resembling her name and a bite on her shoulder. They were both trembling, hands running over each others' bodies saying what their minds refused to utter, soothing each others' hearts. They stayed connected for few more minutes, trying to normalize their breathing patterns.

Clarke's mind felt so peaceful. The whiteness wasn't as bright as it was a while ago but it was just as saturated. It engulfed her whole being and muffled her thoughts and her worries, her guilt and her hurt. It made it easier to deal with her problems when they weren't all screaming at her at once. This whiteness was her salvation, her safe haven.

She unlocked her legs from around his waist and Bellamy helped her steady her feet when they touched the ground.

"This was-"

"A mistake."


Clarke glared at him and his laughing brown eyes.

"Admit it, princess, you'd love a second round." He let her push him back and watched her dress with a heavy smug gaze when she didn't immediately refute his statement.

"Don't get strange ideas, Bellamy. This was a onetime thing." It came out sounding really unconvincing and truth to be told Clarke didn't believe it either. Bellamy was the forbidden fruit she wasn't supposed to taste. But she did and now she was addicted.

Bellamy tugged on his pants and sat on one of the makeshift beds all the while watching Clarke. He ran his eyes up her long silky legs and flat belly, over her round breasts and her pale shoulders, her red puffy lips and rosy cheeks until he reached her shining blue eyes. He licked his lips as he remembered how good she felt in his arms, arching up to meet his mouth, how her body fit against his as if she was made for him. This one was worth keeping.

She was still glaring daggers at him. Oh, yes, definitely worth keeping.

He let one small self-satisfied smile grace his face when he spotted the bite marks he had left on her. As he moved around to get a better view he winced when he pulled one of his muscles and felt the angry red lines on his back. His princess gave as good as she got.

The rain had slowed down to a drizzle.

Clarke was done dressing and was trying to fix the mess her hair had become. With her still wet clothes and post-orgasmic bliss written on her face Bellamy found her adorable. But he kept that observation to himself.

She turned around and left the life pod without looking at him.

"See you later, princess." Bellamy called after her and laid down on the bed. He wasn't overly concerned about her sudden indifference.

She will be back in his arms soon.

Bellamy was her whiteness.

And they both knew it.