Chapter Text
She didn't often let herself go 'too far'.
At least, that is the excuse that she had told everyone and herself the night before. Clarke Griffin was not one for drinking herself into a stupor and doing reckless things. However, a girl's got to escape sometimes, and she may have been using her friends party tendencies as an excuse to get out more.
Buzz!
She groaned at the dull pounding in her head, eyes opening before clenching shut at the unnecessary brightness in the room. The low buzzing continued to sound from somewhere nearby, but not within reach. Who the hell would be calling her this early on a Saturday? She braced herself for the flood of senses as she opened her eyes.
She certainly hadn't made it back to her own bed, she realized while leaning down to scoop her phone up from off the floor beside the bed where it lay in her pants pocket. She quickly typed in her passcode, wanting the incessant noise to cease the havoc it was wrecking on her slightly hungover mind.
Raven: Girl, you dissapeared fast
last night!! I hope you've got aspirin wherever
you ended up.
Monty: Hey before you yell at anyone, just
a reminder that I was the one who tried to
get you to drink more water in between shots
last night.
Octavia: You beast! Lincoln and I had to
head out. early morning tomorrow- sorry to
miss out on the fun!
Octavia: I got home this morning to an
empty house?! Let me know when you'll
be back please?!?
She was giggling quietly to herself when she heard movement from next to her on the bed.
Oh, right.
She blinked at the freckled back that lay beside her. Tanned skin that covered a muscular torso, and a head full of dark hair. He was on his stomach, delicious arms around the pillow with his head turned away. She remembered those arms on either side of her the night before, as if they were barriers from the outside world. The way he towered over her, his hair framing his face and tickling her chest as his lips explored...
She caughtherself before she ran her fingers along the curve of his shoulders and down his back. The slope was so perfectly imperfect, with the freckles arranged in a way that resembled the strong points of constellations. A healed, pink scar about the length of her index finger marked the middle of his lower back. He'd told her that story once, about how he's fallen out of a tree when he was younger.
The way that the (unfortunately still very bright) light cast shadows between his shoulder blades and down his spine in a gradual way... if she could locate a pencil and some paper-
Buzz!
She startled at the phone that was now beside her, hearing a few more of the vibrations as she shook herself out of her appreciative gaze and opened up her texts again. A few more popped up before her sluggish fingers could remember the buttons to get there. Muscle memory was not all that it seemed to be when you were even the slightest bit hungover.
Octavia: Okay, where are you?
Octavia: Oh god, please don't be dead in
a ditch.
Octavia: YOU ARE DEAD IN A DITCH,
AREN'T YOU?!?!
Lincoln: I would suggest texting Octavia
back... she's freaking out.
Lincoln: Not sure how long I can keep her
from calling the police.
Of course Octavia would be freaking out by now. A quick glance at the time, which read 9:21. Luckily it was Saturday, and she had nowhere to be, but she was always up by now. Octavia and Clarke were usually up by seven to spend a few hours together over coffee before they went about their day.
She took a minute longer to regard her bedmate, letting her brain catch up enough to feel the delightful ache that followed a good night. She quietly made her way out from under the sheets, not wanting to wake up the man sleeping peacefully under them.
When she was dressed (in the same clothes from last night) and out in the hotel hallway, she decided to text Octavia back.
Clarke: Hey, I'm alive so don't call the police on
me or anything.
Clarke: I'm just going to grab some breakfast and
be right back home in a bit.
Octavia: WHY DID IT TAKE YOU
THIS LONG TO TELL ME THIS?!
Octavia: oh my god.
Octavia: Did you go home with
someone?
Octavia: YOU WENT HOME WITH
SOMEONE, DIDN'T YOU YOU SLUT!
Clarke: I'll be home in a bit.
Octavia: Take your time!
--------
It wasn't until she was in the lobby that she realized that the breakfast here was not complimentary.
Of course he would choose a hotel that didn't have free breakfast. Jerk.
She approached the desk uncertainly. “Hey, I forgot my wallet upstairs, could I just charge the breakfast tomy room?”
She saw the receptionist, a woman not much older than her, glance slowly and deliberately at Clarke's purse beside her before looking back up, her eyes showing little to no interest. “Room number?” She popped her vivid pink bubble-gum loudly enough to disorientate her customer briefly.
“Umm,” Clarke paused, trying to remember the plaque that had been on the door she'd shut behind her. “242?”
Pop!
The lady nodded, typing the number in before glancing back up from the screen, “Name?”
“Blake.”
No hesitation there. The lady's ruby lips twitched into a small smile before nodding. “Go right ahead... Mrs. Blake.” Clarke ignored the slight question in the receptionist's voice and decided to just go with it.
Why not.
“Thank you.” She smiled back. She had started to turn around before she saw the hotel stationary behind the desk. She paused. “Could I... Could I borrow a few pieces of that paper?”
The lady raised an eyebrow, but chose not to question her before giving her what amounted to be only one sheet of paper. She returned to her screen without saying a word, no doubt scrolling through facebook since the morning rush was nearly over.
Clarke collected the paper and a hotel pen from the jar before heading into the area set up for meals. The breakfast is only open for about another half hour, so she is glad to sneak in there before they start cleaning up.
Hotel breakfast food is notorious for being bland, and just as uniform in look as their rooms were. This hotel was no different, even if you had to pay for the weird state-shaped waffles and tiny little muffins. Clarke chose to grab a few of the muffins and a yogurt, staying clear of the unnaturally waxy looking fruit that was piled there as well. When were bananas shiny?
She sat herself in the far corner, choosing to ignore the political station that was being shown on the television,as well as the few stragglers who were shuffling around the area, and started to sketch.
--------
She was enjoying the rather sub-standard meal by herself when she heard the elevator ding loudly. She glanced up, jerked out of her sketching to see who walked out of the elevator.
Oh.
He hadn't even attempted to tame his hair before making his way down here, that much was obvious. His shirt look rumpled, his jean pockets still turned out. He leaned against the counter, thosearms crossed andwildly framed head tilted in that way that he knew would get himself noticed, gathering all of the receptionist's attention. He talked with her for a moment, Clarke rolling her eyes when she saw him smirk and the poor girl's cheeks redden.
He nodded at something she said, turning his head casually to scan the dinning area while she talked. When his eyes landed on Clarke they stopped, and that smirk returned. Clarke sent back an overly sweet smile, waving lazily with the hand that held the pen she'd been drawing with, before returning to the paper before her.
He stalked into the room, his figure had a presence that grabbed attention in the room without having to try. She glanced up to see him filling two cups with coffee and smiled to herself, fixing a curve that she could now see she's gotten wrong.
A plain white paper cup full of what was supposed to be coffee appeared in front of her with a soft noise.
“So, no note?” Bellamy's laughing tone taunted her. She accepted the cup and gave a slight nod in thanks, taking a small sip of the detestable liquid. “I was informed that the Princess had left the ball when I got a call from the front desk about putting breakfast on my bill?”
“I've got places to see... people to do.” She informed him, delighting in his breezy laugh. The air between them was light, easy. The way it should always be.
“Yes, but you could have at least invited me along,” She observed her favorite dimple as it made an appearance on his left cheek, and the way that the fluorescents made his faint freckles seem flat. His lips tugged upward. “...Mrs. Blake.”
She laughed at that. “Yeah, I didn't want to pay for hotel breakfast, so I just put it on your tab.”
He snorted. “And I do?
“Whatever, just be happy that Octavia left early and we could actually get away last night.” He nodded thoughtfully at that, though she could see an all too male smugness in the corners of his eyes as he looked down at the cup in his hands. He was leaning forward in the chair, legs apart. Though he assumed this position, he still held a confident air about him. She wondered how she could capture that air in his shape...
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, Bellamy stealing a muffin of hers and tearing it apart with his fingers instead of taking bites.He watched the way that she drew in fast, easy strokes over the paper, easily recognizing the subject. They'd established long ago that he was her muse. That was the excuse that she used when they were ever alone (which wasn't as often as he wanted).
“You didn't have to leave so early, you know.” he put in for good measure. He took a sip from his overpriced coffee, wincing a little at it's taste and watching the thin liquid for a moment before glancing back up at her through his lashes. “Our morning after sex is always the greatest, in my book.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed back, taking a sip herself. “I was inspired. There was no paper in the room, so...” She shrugged as a way of closing off her statement.
He regarded her closely as she sketched away on the paper in front of her. Freckles here, freckles there... “Are you going to get around to painting that this time?”
She blinked up at him, hand pausing as she considered her words. She was an art student with a small apartment that she shared with Octavia and Raven. Her painting area consisted of their shared living room. That is where the four windows grouped together faced the Commons and let in the most light. If she were to paint this sketch, she would be painting it out in the open. So, if she wasn't over thinking this (which would also be entirely possible)...
He was asking if she was going to tell Octavia about them.
Sure, it had been something that had been on both of their minds for a while, but that would mean that this (whatever this was) would be something solid. Clarke Griffin was known for having her 'outs' in any situation. She was afraid to do things that could seem permanent. Hell, a year ago she was a med student. She'd also been dating someone with a fiancée (not that she'd known anything about said fiancée, of course).
Now she was here. An art student with her frequent lover (who she may actually love, if the sketchbooks filled with sketches of his eyes, hair, arms were an indication of anything) skirting around the topic of being official. Would she be able to do that? Could she be 'official' with the man before her? She slowly let her eyes look up at him, heart pounding.
At her tensed look he nodded to himself, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. She felt the disconnect between them and caught herself leaning forward to make up for it. When had they gotten so serious? She worried her lower lip with her teeth, a small smile tugging at the edge of her mouth as his eyes shot down to track the movement. His mouth was open slightly, tongue flicking out to wet his lips. The energy about him seemed to suddenly change.
“I think that they are trying to close down the breakfast.” He observed, watching the lady at the desk glance their way. “Want to head back up to the room and finish this conversation?”
She held back a giggle, although her voice held laughter in her reply. “No, I should be getting back before Octavia freaks out again.”
He smiled warmly at the mention of his 'baby' sister. She felt her heart tug.
“How long are you in town?” When are you leaving me?
“Oh... I thought I'd crash at Miller's for a while, maybe look for a place of my own out of town.” Never.
“You could just crash with 'Tavia. If you want, that is.” In my bed. If you want, that is.
That beloved smirk reappear on his face. She watched the way his eyes seemed to catch the smallest of light from the window next to them, creating impossible depth to their dark color.
She decided to take the leap. Why not.
“I've got to stop by my studio and pick up some paints and a canvas or two...” she moved to collect the sketch she'd set on the table, watching the way his eyes paid close attention to the page. “... you can come along if you'd like?”
Bellamy raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the chair enough to lift two legs off the floor. His reply was more blank than incredulous. “You want me to come to your studio with you?”
“Well!” She straightened herself up, chin held level and made sure to put the sketch carefully in her purse. “How else am I going to know what colors to choose?” How else am I going to go through with this?
It took a short moment for him to read between her words, and when he did he nearly fell out of his chair. He caught himself by grabbing the table, leaning forward, re-establishing that connection. His eyes narrowed, searching her face for something, anything to go on. “Oh?” Really?
Something about his sudden, deep attention on her made her mind back-peddle into the negative. “Um, well, I was thinking about going with a warm pallet, but I don't want to choose something that would offset your skin tone, that would make everything clash-”
He laughed heartily at her babbling and leaned over the table, hands cupping her cheeks. He brought his lips to meet hers swiftly, ending her uneasy rant.
This she could do. She inhaled his heady scent hungrily, mouth moving quickly with his own. This was how they always were- fighting for the lead, both the leaders in their relationship. Both equals battling it out.
When he pulled away, he hovered over the table still, eyes never breaking contact with hers. One of his hands still held her head, thumb stroking her cheek in a gentle way that contrasted their kiss. “Soo...”
She took in a breath deep enough to feel her lungs inflate with his air, grounding her. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Bellamy's smile grew into something she nearly didn't recognize on him.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Bellamy-”
“Okay, okay!”
This next kiss was slow, though just as deep. Not as hungry, but just as satisfying. It was like the end note to the grand finale, a settling score. When it ended, she rubbed her nose against his, giggling as he scrunched his. He leaned back slightly, toying with the end of one of her curls for a short moment, not ready to physically let go yet. They stayed in that comfortable silence for a while, eyes not leaving the other.
An older lady shuffled in from one of the back rooms with a cart, shooting the two a dark look as she passed. Clarke tore away from Bellamy's gaze to see the lady unplugging the breakfast food, and stood up quickly. “Maybe we should...”
“Yeah, let's get going.”
They left the hotel hand-in-hand.