Summary: Two things Bellamy Blake knew about Clarke Griffin before the Ark mission, and two he learned on the Ground.

1. What she looked like.

Whether you were from the upper sectors or the lower sectors, you knew who Clarke Griffin was. Her father was the Head Engineer and her mother was a Councilwoman and Lead Doctor. The Griffin family name was just as well-known to the citizens of the Ark as the Chancellor's; and Clarke, as the legacy of the family, was about as close to royalty as you can get.

But it was Clarke as herself, as well, that people whispered about in the halls of the two classes. She was intelligent, clever, and presented a certain charm people loved to fixate on. Her beauty was commented on in the way people mentioned the beauty of what Earth once was; natural, fresh, and brightly lit.

But those were just rumors. In reality, the people of the lower class rarely even caught a glimpse of the privileged children, let alone knew any facet of their personality.

It wasn't until Bellamy's second month of training as a guard that he was entrusted with securing the 'common room' of those privileged children. In between classes –and the courses offered here in the upper class were so, so much more than anything the underprivileged could even dream of- they would gather among couches and gaming systems to bide their time until afternoon classes.

Bellamy positioned himself at the right side of the automated sliding entrance door and Shumway stood to the left. Both, instructed to remain absolutely silent and on guard, had little more to do then observe and sneak a peek at the privileged life.

He didn't notice her at first. She was just another face in the lot of the spoiled, not paying any attention to the world outside their safe bubble.

Bellamy said nothing as the door slid open and Wells Jaha brushed past the two guards without so much as a glance. As the Chancellor's son, Bellamy was sure the kid was used to having guards surrounding him always. Even so, his place in the social hierarchy was clearly the highest in the room and required extra attention.

Despite this, Bellamy tried (and failed) not to eavesdrop, even when he heard the name of another one of the often spoke about children.

"Clarke!" Wells called, standing just in front of Bellamy.

A blonde figure turned from the opposite side of the room. She had been facing the window, so when she turned at the name, her back drop was the stars.

Despite his training, Bellamy shifted.

Clarke Griffin- had to be, there was only one Clarke aboard the Ark- smiled and shut the black leather-bound book she had been writing in before pushing off the wall and walking toward the Chancellor's son.

Bellamy swallowed. Up close, he could really see her.

She was short, much shorter than her friend and much shorter than Bellamy. Light hair, braided back down the side of her head and secured by a dark headband; round face, unblemished apart from a darkened freckle above her lip, and green eyes. Earthly green eyes, noticeable even as Bellamy himself remained completely unnoticed by her.

An Earthly beauty, he thought, deciding the rumors were- for once- on point.

2. Clarke Griffin (unknowingly) saved his and Octavia's life once.

Having a younger sister was hard work.

Having one that lived under the staircase lest she be found and executed? Well that was even harder.

It wasn't that Octavia herself was difficult- minus a few deserved meltdowns, she was actually very behaved and easy to get along with. Bellamy would do anything for his sister; something that he, his mother, and Octavia knew for certain.

It was this unconditional love that led Bellamy to perfect the art of stealing. A biscuit here, a scoop of nuts there; he had long since grown used to having his portions cut in half to feed Octavia, but as they both grew older and older, one person's rations were hardly enough for him, let alone both of them. So he took to taking small amounts that no one would notice or miss.

The fact that guards get extra rations was a blessing, but old habits die hard and even the extra handful of food wasn't enough to feed a growing teenager and him.

He'd only ever been caught once. It wasn't even his fault really, no one was supposed to be down in the kitchens at midnight- let alone Clarke Griffin.

He had turned a corner, handkerchief filled with bread and slices of meat when he glanced up and locked eyes with a pair of dark green ones.

Bellamy froze and Clarke's gaze dipped down to his looting.

"Ms. Griffin," Bellamy cleared his throat, "It's late. Shouldn't you be in your sector asleep?"

"I could say the same about you." she tilted her head and looked him up from head to toe. Her voice was much huskier than he had remembered it from that brief times he'd heard her speak, and it was never directed at him. She nodded at the bundle in his hands, "Dinner was hours ago."

Bellamy didn't hesitate, "Guards get extra rations. I was here to collect mine."

"At midnight?" Clarke glanced behind her briefly, before turning her attention back to Bellamy.

"As good a time as any."

"Hmm." She took a step forward, "How long have you been a guard?"

What was she playing at? She hadn't called for anyone, even though she clearly knew something wasn't quite right. Bellamy narrowed his eyes at her nonchalant tone. "Couple of months."

"Long enough to know that extra rations are collected at the time of dinner so they can be catalogued and restocked as necessary?" Clarke Griffin crossed her arms and raised an eye brow. "Long enough to know that stealing food gets people floated?"

Ah yes, a councilwoman's daughter. Of course she knew the laws.

Bellamy didn't respond.

He could think of nothing but Octavia. How would she be able to survive without him? His mother couldn't take care of her on her own, she could only do so much to keep her own self alive. And what would happen when they searched his rooms for other evidence? Would they find her? Would she even know they were coming?

Bellamy opened his mouth to beg her for silence, but she leaned forward and grabbed the edge of the handkerchief. Bellamy let it slide open without a word and reveal the contents of his failed trip.

"It's stale," Clarke said, "What do you need this food for anyway? It's not like Guards are starving."

Bellamy bites his lip to keep from reminding her that not everyone gets treated to lavish dinners like the privileged. Instead, one last lie to keep himself (and Octavia) from being floated.

"It's for a friend," he muttered, "He's sick. He was throwing up all day and he's hungry."

Her eerie eyes cut through his bullshit faster than he could tell it.

"Right." She replied shortly, and he was prepared to tell a bigger lie, a better one, anything that might offer him a chance to fool the pretty privileged princess. But she backed off. Literally and metaphorically. She back up a couple of steps and glanced around the edge of the next hallway. "Well, I hope your friend has a good reason for needing it.

Was she… was she letting him off?

Her name was called by another voice and Bellamy cursed.

There was a reflective panel just above where Bellamy and Clarke was standing and reflected, Bellamy could see the Chancellor's kid walking down the hall.

It was over. Even if he really just lucked out with Clarke Griffin not ratting him out to the other guards, there was no way Wells Jaha would second the motion. The kid lived and breathed the Ark laws and his very father was the one who enforced them.

Clarke let out a breath and turned around, jogging down around the corner and down the hallway toward Wells and Bellamy ran a hand through his hair. Maybe they would grant him one last time to see his mom and sister. Maybe they'd have mercy on her because now, she would be the only child. Maybe this would be good for Octavia.

He looked up at the reflective glass as Clarke became visible. Wells greeted her, walking a couple more steps forward, "Hey. We still going to the theatre?"

The theatre that you could only get to by passing through Bellamy's hallway.

Clarke looped an arm through Wells' and turned them around, "I was thinking I'd rather go to the library instead."

"The library?" Their conversation grew quieter with every passing moment as they walked further and further away from him.

Later on- for the next week, Bellamy went out of his mind trying to gauge when the Guards would come bursting through their doors, ready to arrest him for the thefts. But they never did. (Well, they did, but that was much later for an entirely different reason.)

(And whether or not that moment, when the Princess Clarke indirectly saved his life by not mentioning to anyone about his late night trip to the kitchens, factored in when she was dangling from his arm above a hole filled with Grounder spikes- well that was his business.)

1. That she loves to draw.

It's funny; the things that give you the greatest pleasure are sometimes the littlest of actions.

For Bellamy, it's watching Octavia smile or laugh or forget about the times she was made to suffer for something she couldn't control (her birth).

For Clarke, it's drawing. Or sketching, she so quickly corrects him when he caught her, that first time. She had been out by the river, laying on her stomach against the rapidly cooling rocks, barely moving her pencil in rapid jerks on sheets of ancient paper. Every so often, she would switch sides of the pencil and spend a few moments erasing.

He snuck up on her and nearly paid for it. Turns out Princess had fast reflexes and a wickedly good arm for rock throwing. He only barely managed to miss it.

Now though, she's more open about it. At least to him, she is. She once caught Miller poking around her papers and nearly flipped her shit on him, snapping about trust and privacy. Bellamy had to send him out with a hunting party for a day to appease her.

Currently, she's leaning back on the Panther fur that currently lines the bottom of Bellamy's tent.

It had become increasingly frequent to find Clarke relaxing in Bellamy's tent toward the late hours of the afternoon. With the colder weather sneaking in, the 100 call earlier ends to workdays. And earlier workdays meant less work-injuries, which led to Clarke having free time.

Her tent is on the opposite end of camp, far away from the bonfire they've taken to lighting at night, so most nights Bellamy and Clarke spend their growing time together strategizing various plans of defense.

But not all nights. Sometimes, even the mighty Bellamy and Clarke (who've become more of a BellamyandClarke) need to not think about the Grounder situation.

Clarke props her head up with her elbow and sketches something in her book.

"What are you drawing?" Bellamy leans back on his bed, tossing a dud bullet up and catching it with rotating hands. "Let me guess; your name and Spacewalker's name in a heart with an arrow going through it."

He doesn't even need to look down on her to know she's rolling her eyes. Bellamy grins minutely up at the ceiling of his tent. "No? Maybe just a portrait of his smiling face then."

"It's not Finn." Her voice is bland.

His serious princess, Bellamy thinks, then backtracks the thought.

If she wanted him to know, she would have told him. Bellamy respects that, so he shrugs the curiosity off and thinks of ways to sort out his and Octavia's most recent tiff.

He was entertaining the notion of flowers and butterflies for Octavia when he feels something smack against his stomach. He leans up just a bit to see Clarke sitting up cross-legged on the fur and looking up at him in invite. Her book of sketches balances on his abs.

He flips it open and sits up.

They were amazing of course- even with no color. The pages were filled with various snapshots of the 100's camp life; the bonfire, tents, the wall. Then there were several scenes of trees and rivers and wildflowers. There was even one of the Ark.

No portraits though, which was a pity.

"When do you have the time to do any of this?" He handed back the book and laid back on the bed, "When you're not with me, you're working at the infirmary or with Jasper and Monty, or sleeping."

"I find time for it."

"Why?"

"Because it's important." she says shortly, and Bellamy leans up again to eye her sudden shift in mood.

"Important," he repeats, more to himself then Clarke. He opens his mouth in rebuttal, but thinks better of it. So he just responds with a simple, "Okay."

It's impractical and a waste of time, but if it makes Clarke happy…

Well then it's just fine by him.

2. She kisses like she lives; intense, never holding back.

It's in the heat of the moment when he finally does it. It wasn't planned, probably wasn't even very smart of Bellamy to choose that exact moment, but he does and she does and they do and the bottom line is: it happened.

They are fighting about something or other; really they're always bickering back and forth, but this was different. This was pre-hallucinogenic nuts fighting. This was fighting in the period of time he convinced himself that he hated everything about Clarke.

"Goddamnit, Clarke," he snapped, turning away from her, so he wouldn't act too rashly and say things he would regret. "Why can't you just for once see that what I'm saying is right?"

"Because you're not," He cheeks are flushed despite the low-level of her voice. Another thing that's different about them, where Bellamy prefers volume allowing the world to know of his displeasure, Clarke was calculated and steely, only loud when the situation truly called for it and she could no longer hold back her emotions. Sometimes that made it worse. "You're not right, Bellamy. This," she waves her hands in demonstration, gesturing to nothing really, but the point came across, "this is not right."

"Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things!" His voice raised even louder, somewhere above them, birds raced from the trees, "I've told you this! I've told you it a hundred times."

"This isn't survival!" Her voice raised to match his and finally he saw her demeanor begin to crack, "This is you being only concerned about yourself and your quest for power."

Bellamy turned sharply back to her, and his voice lowered, though his dark eyes were screaming enough for him. He stomped to her, leaving only inches of space between their faces. "Is that what you think I care about? Because I don't. I don't care about any of it, the only thing I care about on this goddamn planet is you," Clarke's eyes flickered, "and Octavia. Hell and keeping our people safe."

They both say nothing further for a few moments. Gazes locked on each other, the distance between them seemed to evaporate. Clarke lets out a tiny breath and for the briefest moment, her eyes flicked down to his lips.

That was good enough for him.

He surges forward and slides his fingers up her neck and through her hair, kissing her with the fervor of a thousand suns burning up. Clarke doesn't hesitate, she's kissing back with full force, shoving against him for dominance, opening her mouth and letting him explore her like he's wanted to for months.

She tastes like wild berries and Clarke and it's enough. His hands slide down from her neck, touching, feeling, and burning everywhere he can. She gasps a little and his hands slip down to her legs, encouraging her wordlessly. Her legs come up to hook around his waist and Bellamy wastes no time in picking her up until he was stumbling forward and slamming her against the trunk of an old oak tree. Clarke is strong, he thinks, she can handle it.

She can. She disconnects their lips only for a moment to shove off his jacket and yank up his shirt. No complaints here, even as she rakes her nails down his bare back. If anything, Bellamy grins at it, because that is so Clarke, if she's going to have marks on her back from the tree, then he can bet his ass he will get some from her nails.

He slides her shirt up and off, breaking away from her lips to explore her neck, cataloging each sound made, each whimper, and filing it away for further use. Like how she moans when he rakes his teeth over her pulse point, or sighs when he uses his tongue to soothe the burn- all filed away.

He lowers to her chest, kissing down, paying close attention as it rises up and down. He stops when he gets to the ridge of the bright white material of her bra and looks up at her.

Eyes hooded with lust, lips swollen, he's never seen her so beautiful. It's driving him crazy, it's making heat surge all over him. Bellamy slides his hands up her sides, leaning back up to kiss her lips as he unhooked the clasp at her back.

She gasps, when the article is discarded and her chest is bare. Her head hits the trunk of the tree and he lowers his head, making sure to caress, explore every single fucking inch of her, to have her writhing against the tree murmuring his name.

Clarke's hands go to his jeans and she unbuttons the top two buttons, sliding the tips of her fingers along the edge of where jean met skin.

"Clarke," Bellamy growls as she dips lower, "Not yet."

"Now." she disagrees, leaving one hand to trace his skin and another to get tangled in his hair. When he doesn't move immediately, she pulls at the roots.

"Okay, okay," he snaps, using his chest to push her more firmly against the tree trunk. She grinds against him as he shoves his jeans down and then hers. His fingers trace the sides of her blue underwear, before snapping them off her sides. Clarke jumps, but doesn't complain.

Foreplay is luxury neither of them particularly care about at the moment. There will be time for that later.

He looks into her dark green eyes, mind for a minute jumping back to the first time he saw her, leaning against the stars. Princess of the stars, she had been. But now she's queen of the Earth.

He slides forward and shuts his eyes when Clarke moans. Her hands rake down his back again, seeking to pull him closer, mark him, whatever. At this point, he didn't really care. She could do whatever she wanted with him, to him, as long as he could have this- have Clarke.

It happens too quickly- anything that's not forever is too quickly. Clarke's breathing increases and Bellamy feels a tightness down in his stomach increasing rapidly with every movement they make and every sound.

She whispers his name in that husky voice against his neck and it's enough to send him over, pulling her with him.

Afterwards, they rest against the tree breathing even harder than they had been when this all started. Clarke's forehead rests Bellamy's shoulder and Bellamy is tracing the ridges of her spine. All too soon, the moment has to end and Clarke slides down to grab her clothes.

"Feel better?" She asks, zipping up her jeans.

Bellamy laughs lightly, pulling his shirt up from the ground and sliding it on, "Much better."

"Good," she says trying to hook her bra in the back. She winces and Bellamy leans over to see rough scrapes down the expanse of skin.

He gestures to the area and takes the clasp from her hands, securing it with as little pain as possible. "I wouldn't go swimming for a while."

"You too," she winces, "I'm sorry. You're back is bleeding."

He brushes it off, "There are worse ways to get scratches."

Clarke catches his gaze for a moment, "We should probably get back to camp."

"Probably." he agrees, but not making a move forward.

Finally Clarke does and Bellamy follows silently, taking a moment to breathe and watch her.

She looks back after a moment and he grins, hastening his steps to catch up enough stay at her side.

Where he should be.

So that took me awhile But it was actually a lot of fun to write! Still loving the 100 and Bellamy and Clarke had such great scenes the last episode.

First sex scene too, so I hope it was decent?

Read, Review, Share, Request,; I love it all and I love to hear what everyone thinks.

Thanks!