Chapter Text
Clarke hummed to herself as she shuffled down the hall to the kitchen. After returning from work, she’d immediately traded her art teacher’s patterned smock for one of Bellamy’s oversized grey shirts and her blue sweats, the faded yellow lettering on the left leg spelling out her college’s name. It was Thursday, and so she’d made it back before Bellamy, as expected. The high school usually let out at 3:30, but he rarely ever left before 4:30 on account of a few students who couldn’t help but hang back and chat with him. Especially now that he’d opened up office hours, being the generous nerd he was. He always insisted, though, that he’d be home before 5.
Home. The word still did strange things to her heart, making it twist and thump in her chest every time, setting something aflutter in her stomach until her whole body just felt tingly.
They’d moved in together during their last year of grad school, and so of course for months the place had been an utter disaster - unopened boxes covering the hardwood floor, her portfolio works spread out over the ratty beloved blue couch where they'd had their first kiss, his thesis papers taking up every inch of what was supposed to be the dining table (where they'd proceeded to do more than kiss).
And it was perfect.
After graduation, they’d spent nearly a week cleaning and finally managed to make the place look presentable enough to have people over - namely his sister, who refused to step inside until she could sit on a surface not covered in paint. Now, years into their careers as teachers, they were also husband and wife - two more words Clarke had never thought she’d get used to and now couldn’t get enough of.
At the moment, though, the living room was kind of a sight to behold once more. "Unmitigated disaster" were the words Raven had used, but neither Clarke or Bellamy really cared that much. This time, they were in the midst of packing - well, their version of it anyways, which really just involved finding old memories and making new ones as they saw fit. Most recently on the kitchen floor. And counter.
Clarke grinned to herself, shaking her head. It had been nearly eight months since her mother gave her the keys to the house - their house. They hadn’t been in any rush to take it over, though. Her mom had insisted on getting the place fixed up properly before they moved in, and Clarke let her, knowing maybe the delay was necessary for both of them. And she and Bellamy certainly didn’t mind the extra time, seeing as their “honeymoon phase” - Octavia’s words, not hers - had seemed to last much longer than she expected.
It was still such an odd feeling, to look over at the tiny box on her dresser every night and know that soon, they would be living in her childhood home once more. And as a married couple no less. It was odd in the tickles-on-your-spine, curl-your-toes-and-sigh kind of way. Which was to say, amazing.
Opening the fridge, she was greeted with the sight of Bellamy’s cherry Coke sitting next to the apple pie that they hadn’t finished last night. Or, more accurately, the pie he had been craving and snagged on the way home, only to find her asleep on the couch wearing only his shirt. Pie forgotten, he’d decided to ravish her instead.
She sighed and rested her head against the fridge door for a moment. Maybe we’ll finally get to it today… she thought idly. Then she remembered what one of her students had said that sent her mind spinning and grinned. Okay, maybe not.
Today, as usual, her students had been distracted and gossipy as they walked into her classroom mid-morning. But in the midst of unpacking the materials she’d painstakingly set out from them, she heard pointed sniggering in one corner and decided to call out the three boys in question.
Tapping her foot expectantly, she nearly burst out laughing when she heard the response.
“Travis was just telling me about an awesome pick up line,” said the blonde, and then poked the gangly boy next to him, who was staring daggers.
“Please, enlighten me Travis,” she requested.
The shaggy-haired boy audibly gulped, but to his credit, looked her direct in the eye and said, “I may not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you.” Then his face brightened like a cherry tomato. “I mean, not you, of course but that, uh, that’s the-”
She held up a hand to stop his rambling. “I’m going to try that on my husband,” she finally said, grinning as their jaws dropped in shock.
Clarke was rifling through the kitchen cupboards when the door sounded, and moments later Bellamy walked in.
“Hi husband,” she called out, not turning around.
Bellamy’s soft laugh reached her ears. Dropping his things in the living room, he strode to the kitchen and wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling his face into her shoulder. “Hi wife. Or should I call you princess wife, like that movie you made me watch again on Sunday?”
“Shut up," she said even as she snuggled closer. "It’s Princess Bride, and don’t even try to pretend that the second copy is Octavia’s because I know for a fact it’s not.”
“Didn’t hear you complaining while you recited every Inigo Montoya line from memory.”
“You know you loved it.”
Laughing, Bellamy kissed her cheek with a wet smack, bringing a smile to her face. “Very well. How was your day, Mrs. Blake?”
“Not bad. A few of the students actually provided decent entertainment. How about you?”
He grunted. “I’ll answer that once I’ve seen how many people actually handed in their paper on time.”
She giggled at his familiar irritation. “As if you were such a model student,” she teased.
“Hey, I was there when it counted,” he protested weakly, lightly pinching her sides. She yelped and swatted at him, only to be swept up into a proper kiss that made her melt in his arms instead.
When he let go, she had no choice but to wipe the smirk off his face with another kiss until the oven timer made them separate. “I’m amazed the house hasn’t burned down yet with the way you distract me,” she grinned and turned back to the counter. Bellamy only hummed and dragged his lips down her neck until she shoved him away with a laugh.
As he ambled around the kitchen, she decided to dive right in, a little eager. “So some of my students were feeling particularly cheeky today. One of the girls was even insisting that her work would down in history some day.”
Bellamy scoffed. “Sure. Is that before or after she looks up from her phone?”
Clarke chuckled at his derision. He couldn’t stand people checking their phones during class, and made no secret of it. Batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, she asked, “Do you think I’d go down in history?”
She could already see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to figure out where she was going with the question. Finally he answered, “Maybe. Depends, what for?”
“My brilliant artistic skills, of course.”
Bellamy tapped his chin in mock thought, a smile looming. “It’s possible.”
“That’s it? It’s possible?”
“Come on, I have to see empirical evidence before making my final decision.”
There was her opening. Grinning slyly, she lifted an eyebrow, hooking her fingers around his belt loops to haul him close. “Well, I might not go down in history, but I’ll go down on you,” she leaned in to nibble his lower lip, only to have him burst into unrestrained laughter. A little startled, she jumped back just as he doubled over, slapping a knee.
“Did you just use a line on me, Mrs. Blake?” He asked gleefully.
“I-” Flushing hotly, she could only watch Bellamy chortle loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. She pouted. “I th-” She was cut off by his phone blaring on the counter. Miffed and a little bit embarrassed, she pushed him away, pointing at the ringing phone.
Still chuckling, Bellamy answered it and plopped down on the couch with a sigh. “Hello. Hey, man. Yeah I’ve got their papers here. Why?” He dug down to rifle through the bag he’d dropped on the floor after walking in. “What’s the last name? Castor? Sounds familiar, hang on…”
As he muttered to himself, Clarke opened and closed the cabinets a little forcefully, her ego still bruised. She’d been so sure that would work… well, she’d at least hoped it would start something instead of getting her laughed at. As much as she loved making Bellamy laugh, that had not been her intention this time around.
Throwing the remaining spices into the pan, she set it on the warm rack in the oven and closed it with a sigh. Bellamy’s voice rose again.
“Miller, come on, you had that girl’s sister in your class last year. They’re both completely spoiled and their parents practically own half the town. No, I’m saying that means you should absolutely give her a C. Teach her the meaning of actual work.”
He was getting riled up, an arm hanging loosely over the back of the couch as he spoke. The same couch they’d decided to keep out of affection for the memories it held, though they'd picked out a few throws and pillows together after wandering from store to store for nearly half the day, arguing over color patterns and textures. Even now, the thought of something that was theirs made her heart happy.
She stood in the kitchen and just watched Bellamy for a moment longer, the way he’d put a pen between his teeth and cradled the phone on his shoulder so he could wave his hands about even though Miller obviously couldn’t see him. It was just how he was. And she loved him all the more for it. He always got so passionate about his students. About a lot, really.
Her eyes drifted to the TV, where ESPN was on. A common occurrence, in their apartment. They spent maybe a little too much time arguing over football and basketball. Baseball on the other hand, neither of them had the patience for.
Bellamy grunted and raked a hand through his hair again, making it sticking up wildly every which way after. He was annoyed. Add that to his crisp white button up rolled to the elbows, still tucked into his dark work slacks, and he made quite a pretty picture in their living room.
Feeling a bit devious, Clarke made note of the oven timer before wandering over, purposely staying behind the couch. Knowing Bellamy was thoroughly distracted, she took her time shaking out her hair from her messy braid. Then she stripped off her shirt, hanging it over the back of a chair - one of a set she’d convinced him to buy, if only to distract from the hideous old table he’d insisted on dragging from his apartment when he moved in.
Finally striding casually into view, she grinned when his face stayed firmly trained on the notebook in front of him. That was, until she stepped directly between his legs, and then he nearly dropped everything, his face going slack-jawed at the sight of her just a teal bra and sweatpants.
Clarke winked, then knelt down. Her hands traced light circles over his knees before drifting higher up his thighs. Bellamy released a strangled noise and hurriedly coughed to cover the sound.
“So-sorry, man. Can you, uh, repeat that last part?” He asked, voice wavering.
Grinning, she purposely pushed her breasts together while leaning up to swiftly bite his chin, nibbling along his beautiful jaw for an extra second. Then she’d gotten his belt buckle open and was eagerly reaching in to stroke his length over his briefs. His mouth formed a silent o, one hand on her shoulder and the other gripping the phone, knuckles nearly white.
“Yeah, yeah, I agree,” he choked out. She stifled a snort, wondering if he even knew what he’d just said yes to.
One hand crawled under his shirt, nails tracing his abs until he was squirming in place. Bellamy's fingers slid up her neck, winding into her hair. Dispensing with the teasing, she freed his cock from his briefs, sighing quietly at how warm and firm he was in her hand. She ran her fingertip along the prominent vein, following its path all the way up to the dark head. Desperate, the hand in her hair gave up all restraint and closed around hers, guiding it to wrap around his cock. She grinned. A few quick pumps, and she could feel him grow harder. When she absently licked her lips, Bellamy whispered a curse, his head dropping back.
She giggled softly, making him crack his eyes open to meet hers again. She could hear Miller still chattering away on the phone, but it didn’t look like Bellamy was even listening. Or even remembered the phone was on.
She wiggled her eyebrows, then leaned forward to take a long lick up the length of his shaft. A soft groan reached her ears, his hand tangling deep into her hair once more. Humming in agreement, she repeated the motion a few times. A quick peek upwards showed his head resting on the back of the couch again, eyes shut in bliss. Smiling, she closed her mouth over the tip of him, lapping up the liquid that had gathered before sucking gently.
“Shit-” His hips jerked wildly. The hand in her hair tightened to a fist, only spurring her on as she flicked her eyes up at him. Bellamy’s breathing came ragged, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Bracing herself against his knees, Clarke swirled her tongue around the head of his cock, taking more of him into her mouth. She loved the taste of him, salt and musk with the soundtrack of his sighs playing like a loop in the background.
Bellamy gulped hard and then coughed again, speaking into the phone. “Hey listen man can we finish this later, Igottago-” he cut off the call without waiting for an answer, immediately groaning loudly. “Jesus fuck, princess.”
Smiling, she continued to bob her head up and down, relishing the cut off curses that reached her ears. He was so close to losing control, she could feel it. He was always so quick to make her feel good; her favorite thing was being able to return the favor. The thought had her thighs squeezing together, the dampness in her panties only increasing by the second.
“Clarke-” Bellamy gasped and tugged a little at her hair, and she looked up in question, releasing him with a soft pop. Without warning, he hooked his arms under hers and hauled her to her feet, yanking her sweats and underwear down at once and leaning forward to bury his face between her legs. Pleasure sizzled in a hot stripe up her spine.
”A-aahhh, god-” Even as her voice gave out, her fingers automatically curled into his thick hair, holding his face to her cunt. She felt his mouth curve up, the cocky jerk, but any scolding simply died on her lips when his tongue dipped hotly between her folds. A high keen was what resulted instead, most definitely in the form of his name. Bellamy moaned appreciatively and her knees nearly buckled but for the strong arm he had around her waist. Relentless, his tongue swept through her warmth in broad strokes until her toes curled and her hips began to tilt frantically. When his lips closed over her clit, a familiar knot began to unravel low in her belly. She dug her nails into his shoulders.
“Bell, I- shit, wait, I want you, please-”
After taking a final long lick that made her shudder, Bellamy stood. Clarke immediately pulled his red mouth to hers in a hungry kiss, sighing when he pulled her flush against him. He palmed the swell of her ass, grinning at her low whine, then braced his hands under her thighs, picking her up with ease. They both groaned as soon as her heated core came into contact with his cock. She looped her arms around his neck, turning her attention to the spot along his throat that she knew was particularly sensitive. Moments later, his soft curse sounded in her ear. Her smirk was only broken by a shiver when her bare back hit the wall. Bellamy sucked hard at her pulse, positioning himself at her entrance, and her hands wandered over his shoulders for purchase when he teased her a moment too long.
“Bellamy.” In retaliation, she bit down on a chord of muscle in his neck, determined to leave a mark his students would see the next day.
He grunted and gave in, slowly pushing into her. Clarke’s head tipped back. Her legs locked around him tight, her slick heat welcoming his cock with ease. “Damn, Clarke.” Bellamy’s sigh sounded harshly against her ear, and then he smiled so sweetly her heart nearly burst. “You’re perfect, you know that?”
In reply, she lifted his head up for a messy kiss. Bellamy didn’t waste any more time, pounding into her over and over, the slap of flesh echoed only by their rising moans. She clutched at his shoulders, nails scraping his skin as her muscles began to spasm uncontrollably.
“That’s it, come on, princess,” Bellamy murmured. He knew all too well how his low voice affected her. She fought for breath, instead letting out a choked whimper. "I know, I know-- come on, Clarke, baby, come for me," he whispered. His hand snuck between them to rub at her clit, and she cried out against his lips, calling his name. Bellamy gripped her tightly as he fell apart seconds later, with her right behind him. Gulping for air, she rested her cheek on his shoulder. His chest heaved similarly against hers, his harsh pants the only other sound in the room.
Then he shook a little, his grip slipping. “Sorry,” he murmured, “can’t keep us up longer.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered, still boneless.
They slumped to the floor with her still in his lap, arms and legs loosely wound around him. “Fuck, Clarke,” he said hoarsely.
Her answering smile was equal parts dazed and smug. “I concur.” She nipped at his nose as he rested his forehead against hers, breathless, shoulders shaking in a laugh. Smiling happily, she snuck her hands inside his shirt to trace the cut of his pectorals as they sat curled together on the floor. After a few minutes, she looked towards the kitchen. “I think dinner is officially burnt.”
“I don’t care about dinner,” he muttered.
But five minutes later, he was forced to care when the smoke alarm went off. Giggling, Clarke found herself standing on a chair waving a handtowel under the beeping detector while Bellamy hurried to shut off the oven and remove the charred remains of their meal.
“Thank god Gino’s was still open,” she called. “How long did they say the pizza would take?”
Bellamy’s grin was feral when he approached. Without warning, he tossed her over his shoulder. “Just long enough for me to have an appetizer,” he declared, and set off down the hall to their bedroom.
Her bright laughter was all that echoed back.