Bellamy Blake is kissing Clarke Griffin and it's the best thing that has ever happened to him for about four and half seconds.

That's how long it takes for him to realize Clarke's not kissing him back.

He falters, feeling the pull of his heart sinking somewhere deep in his stomach. He almost curses out loud, but refrains, squeezing his eyes shut. His hands are still tangled in the locks of her hair. He slowly loosens their grip, releasing her lips in the same movement.

He pauses then, relishing the puff of her breath tickling his chin and ghost of her mouth on his.

He groans, sitting up fully, covering his face with his palms. "Sorry," he grunts when he feels her shifting uncomfortably between his legs. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

Her warmth leaves him and for a terrifyingly long second he thinks this is where she walks away and pretends he doesn't exist for the next five years, but then the bed dips and suddenly she's beside him.

He peeks out through his fingers, resting his elbows to his knees.

Her cheeks are tinged pink and her bottom lip is caught in between her teeth again, in that way that makes his fingers clench and his face hot.

If there is a hell, this is it—Clarke sitting beside him on his bed, nervous and beautiful, and completely out of reach.

"I'm sorry," he says it again, uncovering his face, because he's a grown man and needs to deal with this problem head on, not hide behind his hands like a coward. He runs his fingers through his hair, shoving the curls away from the sweat accumulating on his forehead. His palm finds the back of his neck and he rubs at it awkwardly, in a way that he hopes appears timid and forgivable.

"You're sorry?" she says and he barely catches it, because it's so soft and quiet; he thinks maybe it was something she didn't intend to say out loud.

He coughs, clearing his throat. "Yeah," he mutters, unable to meet her eyes. "I mean—I shouldn't have done that."

"You shouldn't have?"

"Is there an echo in here?" her asks, hoping it gets her to smile and maybe crack some of the tension in the air between them.

"I don't—" She blinks up at him, swallowing down whatever she wants to say, but he wants her to say it, even if it's something he really doesn't want to hear.

Maybe he needs to.

Maybe hearing it, just once—an actual formal rejection, with no misconceptions or false hopes, will smother the flicker of longing that's been burning a hole through his chest long before the second end of the world. Maybe even longer than he let himself realize before this moment.

He thinks she's been igniting fires in his soul ever since the dropship.

He closes his eyes and breaths through his nose. His knee jerks up, bouncing with nerves and he grips it with his fist, until his knuckles turn white.

"Just say it, Clarke," he pleads, but he can't bring himself to be embarrassed by the desperation in his voice.

Just once, he thinks.

And then maybe he can let her go, even if he has to let a part of himself go with it.

"I don't know what to say," she whispers and he forces his eyes open. They search hers for a moment and he nearly apologizes again, but for what he's not sure—for kissing her—for falling in love with her—for her not feeling it back?

It's then that he finally understands what she means. She doesn't know what to say, because he hasn't really said anything at all. He feels the weight of that revelation crushing his gut and it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs.

He's not the only one that needs to hear it—the confirmation of what's been lingering between them for ages, teetering against the current, threatening to break through to the surface.

"I'm in love with you," he says calm, before he can talk himself out of it.

Her breath catches and her eyes widen significantly. He thinks it can't be that much of a surprise. It's almost comical how transparent—how obvious—he is to everyone, but the one person who knows him best.

She really had no idea.

The heaviness in his chest lifts and the sense of relief he feels at finally saying it is overwhelming. He didn't realize how much those words were truly weighing on him.

He no longer feels like he's drowning.

"I'm in love with you," he repeats, because saying it once wasn't enough, and as good as it felt the first time, it feels even better the second.

"What?" she says quiet, voice cracking.

He keeps his eyes leveled with hers, unblinking. "I said it twice now," he murmurs, lips twitching. Her face is flushed pink, blood still rising to her cheeks. He lets himself smile a little, though not unkindly.

It's kind of nice to see her all flustered over something he's been carrying with him for what feels like an eternity.

It's not doing much for that flicker of want in his chest though and his pulse quickens.

"If you're waiting to hear me say it again, I think you may be pushing your luck," he says, ducking his head to shield his eyes. "I just—" he shrugs. "I thought you should know. I wanted you to know. I think maybe I needed to say it as much as you needed to hear it." He feels himself started to ramble, but doesn't know how to stop it from happening. "I'm sorry—if it changes things, or affects our friendship," he says, needing her to believe it.

"Bell—"

"I just don't think I could keep that to myself for the next five years without going completely mental," he continues. "It was hard enough on the ground and now we're back in space, stuck with each other indefinitely, and I really don't know how I could even stand the thought of looking at you every day without you knowing how I feel—how I've felt since before everything went to shit."

"Bellamy Blake," she says, so fond it nearly breaks his heart. Her hand reaches up to cup his face and he leans into without hesitation. His palm covers hers, watching as her hooded gaze lingers over his face, long enough for it to settle his nerves. He thinks he wants her to look at him like that for the rest of his life.

He tilts his head to kiss her palm before he can question it, or realize what he's doing. Something dark and heavy flashes over her face and the hope in his chest burns brighter than ever before.

She swallows and his eyes follow the movement of her throat.

"Oh my god, I'm such an idiot."

Out of all of the things he expected her to say, that definitely wasn't on the list.

She smiles and his heart leaps at the sight of her. She chokes on a laugh and ducks her head, hair fanning over her face.

"Hey," he murmurs, nudging her forehead with is. "What is it?"

She scoffs, pulling away from him, but still close enough that it doesn't leave much room for concern.

It doesn't feel like rejection yet, so he's hanging on to every ounce of optimism left inside him, which apparently is a lot more than he was ever aware of.

"This morning—" she mutters, eyeing him, cautiously, like she might be too embarrassed to finish the thought.

"Yeah, this morning was a bit strange," he relents and it startles a laugh from her that he absolutely adores. "I definitely wasn't prepared for that, I can tell you that much," he grins. She rolls her eyes. "Mildly awkward, all things considered."

"Mildly," she says, flat and amused. He smirks and reaches over to trace a finger down her jaw, feeling her breath catch under it.

He's suddenly so overcome with this unfathomable need to know before she can say anything else—just a taste, just to be sure he's not completely misinterpreting what's happening here.

He leans down to catch her lips, soft and pliable beneath him. She melts into it, pressing back and that's really all he needed.

His tongue flicks out to taste her and she gasps, opening her mouth as he slides into her. It's more than he ever imagined—better than any fantasy he could have conjured in his head.

She giggles, before he can devour her and push her down on his bed.

It's probably for the best, he doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but—god, he wants her—writhing in his sheets. He wants her as weak for him as he's been for her all this time.

She pulls back, slow, maybe even a bit reluctant, but he could be projecting.

He kisses her again, just to settle the possessive desire stirring between his legs.

He releases her enough to let her catch her breath, passing air back and forth between them. He keeps a hand curled around her neck to keep her close without smothering her. His thumb rubs soft circles under her hair, now resting just barely above her shoulders. His touch releases the tension beneath her skin.

She laughs again and suddenly he thinks maybe there's something he's not getting—a joke he's not yet a part of.

"What?" he asks, feeling a tinge of doubt clutching the back of his throat, but it's barely there—a ghost of what once was.

"When I came to you and said—well what I said—" she falters, struggling through her nerves, adorably so.

"You mean when you said we should have sex. Yeah I remember," he smirks, relishing the blush deepening in her cheeks. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Yeah? Me too," she chuckles a bit. "I mean myself, obviously," she rolls her eyes at her own words. "I just—I meant what I said."

His eyes drop and he frowns, uncertain to what she's getting at. "You want to have sex with other people?"

"No," she says at once, eyes widening, and he lets out a breath of obvious relief.

"Then what—"

"I wanted to have sex with you!" she says, finally.

He furrows his brows, though he can't help the wide grin covering his face. "Then why—"

"I freaked out," she confesses, shielding her eyes, all shyness again. "I planned on telling you how I felt right then and for some reason I blurted out the complete opposite of what I intended. Well, not the complete opposite, but you know what I mean."

"I'm pretty sure, I don't," he deadpans. "You're really fucking confusing, I hope you know—I'm getting non-stop mixed-signals here."

She huffs at him, all the stubbornness and hardheadedness he loves. "I wanted to have sex with you, obviously," she retorts. "I just didn't plan for it to come out the way it did—and then you looked at me like you were just as shocked as I was, and you didn't say anything for the longest seconds of my life—don't look at me like that—you didn't! So, I just blurted out the next thing that popped in my head to save myself the humiliation!" she finishes in one breath.

He blinks at her. "Your seduction techniques need work, Clarke. No wonder you couldn't get Harper into bed."

"Shut up, you asshole." She laughs, slapping his arm. "It worked out didn't it. Look where we are!"

"In all fairness, Princess, I believe it's you in my bed," he says smug. "And considering I kissed you—both times, I might add—it seems you're the one getting seduced, not the other way around."

She rolls her eyes, but the heaviness is back at full force when she looks at him. "And am I?" she whispers against his lips, fluttering her eyelashes. "Getting seduced?"

He grins at the challenge in her voice, pushing her back on the bed, so he can hover over her, caging her in at all sides. "You tell me," he says low in her ear, catching her lobe between his teeth. Her breath hitches against his chest.

He trails kisses over her jaw, down her neck to the exposed swell of her breasts, sucking her skin there, growling when he leaves a mark. He's going to leave marks all over her body, he swears it.

"Only in places I can cover up," she pleads, sighing into his touch. He falters for a moment, not realizing he was speaking aloud.

"If you're lucky," he recovers quickly, shoving the neck of her shirt down, along with the cup of her bra, so he can latch himself to her puffy pink nipple, sucking it into his mouth. "Jesus, Clarke, you have no idea what these tits have been doing to me."

"Yeah?" she moans, arching her back into him as he throws her leg over his hips, grinding down on her hot center.

"You never said," he groans against her skin.

"What?" she breaths, blinking up at him with a hooded gaze, filled with want and need and—something else he thinks he recognizes, but needs to hear her say it.

"How you felt," he murmurs, moving back up to brush her lips against hers. She runs her fingers down his arms, sending chills through his spine. "Tell me," he demands with a kiss, biting her bottom lip, until it's as puffy and red as her erect nipple. He growls, losing his will to stop himself from giving in completely and ripping all her clothes off with his teeth. "I think I've waited long enough."

"You have, haven't you?" she says in awe, touching his cheek with her fingers. He latches onto two of them, sucking them into mouth. Her eyes flutter closed and he pinches her hip in retaliation.

"Don't make me ask twice," he warns, releasing her fingers and lifting his shirt over his head in one movement. He grabs for hers next, tugging the bra off with it, tossing them both across the room, not caring where they land, or if she ever finds them again. "You're testing my patience," he murmers, kissing down the soft, newly exposed, skin of her midriff to the clasp of her jeans. He pops the button open with his mouth.

"Am I?" she asks, feigning innocence with those big, ridiculously blue eyes. He raises his brows.

She's enjoying teasing him entirely too much, he decides, ripping her jeans off, leaving her underwear in place. She tenses when he throws both her legs over his shoulders, dragging her down to the edge of the bed, until his knees hit the floor.

"Do I need to make you say it, is that it?"

She squirms under his palms, squeezing at her hips. "You'd like that, huh, Clarke?" he says, rolling his tongue over her name. "Does this get you all hot and bothered?" He snickers at the thought, "I wouldn't have guessed—considering you're a bossy little know-it-all half-the-time." He huffs, nipping the inside of her thigh. "You should have said," he murmurs, peppering kisses up to the apex of her thighs, where he can see she's soaked though her panties. He hovers there, breathing in her scent and blowing air over the fabric, until he sees her muscles clench with need.

"That's all for show, yeah? You like being told what to do, don't you, baby?" he murmurs over her, tugging the hem of her panties over her right hip, placing a soft kiss to the mole there.

"Bellamy." She pants, chest heaving. He slides his palm over her center, smirking when she jerks her hips up and whines when his hand leaves where she wants it most, reaching up instead to squeeze her breast. She yelps when he catches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching slightly. Her hips wiggle, lifting up to feel something, but he pulls back before she catches his chin.

"Tell me what you want, Clarke," he says, grabbing her other breast with his free hand, so they're both getting the same attention. She moans, arching her back, pushing them into his palms.

"You," she huffs all annoyance and need. "I want you. Please, Bell," she begs.

He's painfully hard in his pants now and immediately regrets not taking them off sooner—she all but cries out when his hands leave her body to free himself from the rest of his clothes.

"What about what I want, Princess?" His hands return to her skin, trailing over her thighs.

"Anything, anything, anything," she chants. "Please, Bell, please. It's been so long," she sighs and he relents a bit, kissing her clit through panties, letting her rub up against his face.

"Yeah?" he mutters over her, before sucking her clit through the fabric. He grabs her hips, shoving them down, spreading her thighs with his shoulders. "I know baby, I know," he croons. "I'm going to take such good care of you, Clarke, don't worry. You'll get there."

He pushes her panties out of the way, brushing his fingers over her entrance. "Jesus, you weren't kidding," he says in awe. "You're dripping.

She huffs, sitting up on her elbows to glare at him. "If you're quite finished indulging your galactic-sized ego, I'd very much appreciate getting off now."

His eyes widen at her stormy expression and he chokes back on a laugh. "I was getting to that," he says impassive.

She groans, throwing herself back on the sheets. "Bell," she keens, squirming her hips. "You're killing me."

"Poor thing," he grins, licking up her slit.

She cries out when he sinks two fingers into her easily, curling them up, hitting her right where she needs it. He teases her with his tongue and sucks down, vibrating her clit with his groans, until she's shaking with need, puckering around his fingers, knuckle deep inside her.

He releases her from his mouth, letting his thumb take its place, rubbing fast circles over her clit. He crawls up her body and her hips thrust up where he's no longer holding them in place. He stills his fingers inside her as he lays down, pressing his dick against her hip, grinding into her side.

"That's it, fuck me back. Come on, Princess."

"I'm close." She gasps and then, "Please."

He jerks his fingers, meeting her thrusts and quickens the pace of his thumb. She flutters against him, legs shaking, as he keeps at it, slowing down when he feels her slump into his side.

"There it is." He breathes out, kissing the crown of her head. "My sweet girl."

"Oh my god." She moans, panting into his neck. He continues brushing her clit, softer now, coaxing her down. "I love you."

He grins, nudging her with his head, so her can see her face all flushed and gorgeous. "Now, that wouldn't be, because I just gave you the best orgasm of your life, would it?"

She kisses him gently, licking his lips to taste herself. "How do you know it was the best?" she says, smiling into his mouth. "You haven't even seen what my hands are capable of."

He snorts and rolls himself on top of her, taking control of kiss, until they're both out of air. Her breasts push up against his chest and he adores how her skin feels, bare and naked beneath him. He reaches up to tease her lips with the fingers he fucked her with minutes before. She scrunches her nose at him before sucking them into her mouth, licking them clean. He ruts against her, burying his face in her neck.

"I want you inside me," she says when he pulls back, removing his fingers from her mouth.

"Say it again," He murmurs over her lips, lining himself up.

"I want—"

He rolls his eyes, shushing her with his mouth. "No, not that. The other thing."

"Oh," she says, soft.

He lifts himself up to look down at her expression, watching her eyes drop and her mouth open, as he presses into her slowly, restraining himself from sinking into her heat in one quick thrust. "You're beautiful, Clarke."

"I love you," she moans, wrapping her legs around his waist, pushing his ass with the back of her heels, until he's bottomed-out inside her. "I'm so in love with you, Bellamy."

"Fuck," he groans, dropping his head to sink his teeth into her breast, biting down and then sucking, soothing the bruised skin with his tongue. "I love you, too, baby. I love you so much," he whispers, peppering her chest with kisses. "Are you good? I'd really like to fuck you now."

He jerks when she clenches down around him, milking him with her muscles. "Please," she begs.

He's pulling back before she even finishes the word, lifting her hips off the mattress, squeezing her thighs, and pounding into her hard and fast. She cries out when he hits a spot she likes and he slows his pace a bit, wanting it to last. He throws one leg up over his shoulder, pushing her back and fucks into her, slow and steady.

"There, there. Right there, Bell. Oh," she whines, clasping her arms around his back, scratching her nails into his skin, when he thrusts into her harder than before.

"You feel so good, babe. Is it always going to feel like this?" He grunts into her neck, licking up to her ear. "I swear you're never going to leave this bed if you always feel like this, Clarke," he growls. "I'm going to tie you down, so you can't move—fuck you, until that's all you know how to do."

She heaves against him, kissing his cheek, searching desperately for his mouth. "Yeah?" she hisses.

"Yeah, babe, you'd like that, huh? Does it get you off?"

She can't answer coherently by the time he starts pounding into her again. She clenches down, crying out, coming undone around him, teetering quickly into the next one, bringing him over the edge with her. He jerks, humping into her erratically, before collapsing on top of her, breathing heavy.

He pants over her for a moment, waiting until he gains most of his sense back, before pulling out of her warmth, shushing her with a kiss when she whines against him. He hauls himself off of her and tugs her into his side, wrapping an arm around her body.

"Fuck," he says, for lack of a better word.

"That was—"

"Yeah," he breathes, clearing his throat. "Sorry if I got a little carried away."

"I didn't think you'd be that much of a talker," she smiles soft, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes.

He stifles a laugh, pulling his head back to study her face. "I'm not usually. Well, not like that," he relents. "But—" he pauses. "You seemed pretty into it, which was like really fucking hot, and then—" he shrugs. "I guess I'm into it too."

"You guess?" she teases.

He laughs and kisses her, chaste. "Okay, yeah, I'm totally fucking into it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

She shrugs her shoulders, pressing into his chest. "It was good, right?"

"Yeah, Clarke," he says, smiling fondly. "It was good."

"Good," she sighs, snuggling into him. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, pressing a kiss to her hair. "You never did get to look at it."

"What?"

He nods at her. "Your hair," he grins. "What if you hate it?"

"I'll break up with you, obviously," she scoffs.

"Yeah, okay." He rolls his eyes.

"The mirror's not going anywhere, Bell. I'll see it later," she replies with a yawn, kissing his chest. "I'm sure it looks lovely."

"It really does," he agrees, letting the silence and her breath against his neck lull him to sleep. She'll be there when he wakes up.