Written for the prompt "silly kiss."

Clarke has seen Bellamy drink before, several times. Unity Day was the first, but there have been a few others: the night of their official truce with the grounders, after they'd gotten most of their friends back safely from Mount Weather… even a few birthdays, here and there. Whenever there's cause to celebrate Jasper's allowed to get creative, and Bellamy likes to partake just as much as anyone else, so the sight of him drinking is nothing new.

This is the first time she's ever seen Bellamy really drunk. It's… surprisingly cute.

"Princess," Bellamy rasps, flopping his head back on her lap. They're all sitting around a series of campfires, and over the past thirty minutes he's gone from sitting upright by her side to flopping half-on, half-off the log. He keeps grabbing idly at stuff and fiddling with it: twigs, leaves, her fingers. "Hey, Princess."

"Yeah?" Clarke asks, attempting to ignore the way he's tracing lines on her palm, the soft tickle of his hair against her stomach where her shirt has ridden up.

"I'm pretty special," he brags, and when she can't contain a scoff he gets this indignant little wrinkle in his forehead. "No, hey, it's true. I've… I've got O. Nobody else's got an O. Cause she's mine. M'sister."

And then he's beaming up at her, smile so proud and wide and carefree that Clarke can only… smile back, and it's been like this ever since he wandered over to her log on the outskirts of the group talking about how this version tastes so much better than the last one, Jasper's really got it this time - he's so much softer than usual, looser and more open and happy and for some reason Clarke can't help but melt a little in the face of it. Plus, she's not exactly sober herself, so her defences are down.

He never would have ended up with his head in her lap or her hand in his if not for that, she tells herself.

"Actually," Bellamy says, "no, actually O's the special one. She's… really special, she's the most special one actually. Not even you are as special as her, Princess."

"Oh no, really?" Clarke asks, and yeah, it's gotta be the moonshine because she's pretty sure she just pouted, and there's no reason humoring him has to go that far.

"Yeah, no. Sorry, but - hey, c'mere, lemme tell you something cool," Bellamy says, sounding sincerely apologetic and concerned and dammit, she's melting a little bit inside again, letting him reach up and tug her down so her ear is positioned just above his lips.

"You're almost as special," Bellamy whispers, hot breath making her squirm, and then - he leans up a little and there's a sudden pressure, a loud noise right in her ear, and she's jolted back up in her seat before it's even really hit her that Bellamy just kissed her ear.

She gapes down at him. He links his fingers with hers and looks immensely self-satisfied.

"Told you it was cool," Drunk, god he must be so drunk, Bellamy says.

And for some reason she can feel her face getting hot, her tongue tied, can barely croak out a faint, "Yeah."

Bellamy grins wide again and Clarke thinks she's never ever letting Jasper use this recipe again, and she maybe kind of also strokes his hair with the hand that's not holding his.

Just because she's kind of tipsy too.