Chapter Text
“So, I hear I’m pretty good at cunnilingus.”
Clarke groans, dropping her face into the crook of Bellamy’s neck as his chest rumbles with laughter.
She’s not actually embarrassed, can’t find it in herself to be when she’s so happy, but it’s safe to say she probably won’t be living this down for a while. Not that she doesn’t deserve the teasing, because she definitely does. Accidentally drunkenly confessing that you’re in love with someone while not even realising you’re on the phone to them is the kind of thing that qualifies for getting laughed at.
“Shut up,” she mutters, and has to bite back a smile when Bellamy starts rubbing her back, placating. He can’t really stop touching her. Not that she can blame him; she can’t really stop touching him either.
“You told me I could ask you about it today,” he points out, voice warm and teasing, nosing at her hair a little. “In fact, if I remember correctly, which I think I do — a lot better than you, anyway — you definitely asked me to bring it up.”
“You can’t hold my drunken words against me.”
“No?”
There’s no hint of worry in his voice, and his body remains completely relaxed under hers; nothing about him indicates he thinks she might regret what she said, or anything that’s happened today, but still, she pulls back, leaning up on Bellamy’s chest to look down at him with a stupidly big smile on her face, one he returns easily. His eyes are brighter than she can ever really remember seeing, hair a mess from how much she’s played with it, and his skin is warm and golden in the late morning light. It’s a lot to deal with, but she manages.
“Okay, you can. But only when I tell you sober as well.”
His face somehow softens even more, and her heart flips in her chest.
“Which you did,” he says, no longer talking about her praise for his oral skills, still sounding vaguely awed.
“Which I did,” she agrees, ducking her head on a small laugh.
She didn’t waste much time in finding him this morning — in the kitchen, after spending the night on the couch — to make good on the promise she gave him last night and tell him she loved him, sober and in full control of her words. He said it right back, smile wide and perfect as he looked down at her, and when he kissed her, she all but melted into him, the last week of anxiety fading away with the feel of his lips on hers, the sound of his words echoing in her head, replaced with a warmth that spread through her whole body, the early thrumming of need at her core.
They managed to control themselves enough to eat some breakfast, to accept Raven’s teasing as she left the apartment and pointedly said she’d be out all day, but it wasn’t long before Clarke was tugging Bellamy back in for another kiss, pulling him into her room and pushing him onto her bed. Which is where they’ve been ever since, kissing and talking and laughing and fucking, naked and holding onto each other, unable to really get enough.
And Clarke will admit, she was kind of surprised when Bellamy didn’t go down on her basically immediately, that even now after a few hours he still hasn’t, after everything she said, but apparently he’s been building to it. The fucking dork.
She looks back at him again, bites at her bottom lip and doesn’t miss the way Bellamy tracks the movement, his eyes darkening slightly.
“So, I guess I should go on the record about this as well, then,” she says, hands sliding up his chest the thread into his curls, tug just a little. “Bellamy Blake: really good at cunnilingus.”
He chuckles, but the sound is low and rough, and when one of his hands slides down her back to give her ass a squeeze, the other coming up to settle on the back of her neck, pulling her closer, she feels the familiar flickers of heat from his touch.
“Just really good, hm?” He murmurs, so close she can almost taste him.
“I don’t know,” Clarke says, her voice not much more than a breath now. “You might need to remind me.”
She barely gets the words out before Bellamy’s pulling her down, catching her mouth in a hot and hard kiss, and she feels herself whine when he deepens it instantly, tongue sliding past her lips to taste her properly, teeth nipping a her just slightly. His hands find her hips and she’s expecting him to roll them over, get her on her back beneath him and press his lips to her skin, mouth his way down her body, but instead he helps her straddle him properly, urging her to move her legs either side of his waist as he kisses her harder, longer, hot and wet and perfect.
It’s nothing Clarke minds, can’t with how good Bellamy feels under her, but she’ll admit that she’s beginning to get a little desperate again, that the need at her core is starting to spread, heat thrumming beneath her skin and arousal pooling at her cunt, and she’ll probably be urging him on soon.
But apparently Bellamy wasn’t actually planning on making her wait, he just had a different position in mind.
He breaks away from the kiss just as Clarke starts to grind a little against his stomach, breathing hard as he looks up at her with half-lidded eyes, a wolfish grin on his face. Slowly, pointedly, his hands slide back to her ass, giving her a rough squeeze before he urges her forward. It doesn’t click straight away, and Bellamy’s mouth tugs up even higher.
“Come on, princess,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble as he gives her another squeeze. “Get up here.”
It dawns on her all at once, and Clarke feels herself flush immediately, feels herself get even wetter as she realises what Bellamy wants — her, straddling his face, riding him.
“Yeah?” She asks, and he just chuckles, leans up to steal another kiss from her, quick and sharp.
“Yeah,” he says, and this time when his hands urge her on, she begins to move easily, eagerly. “Lemme taste you, babe.”
“Fuck,” she breathes out, nodding as she moves up his body. “Yeah, fuck, of course.”
He shuffles down a little, giving her enough room at the head of the bed, and she continues forward until she’s straddling him, thighs either side of his face and pussy brushing lightly over his mouth. A whisper of pleasure runs down her spine, and when Bellamy’s hands move back to her hips to bring her down just slightly, settling her over him properly, she feels it again, stronger this time, straight to her cunt. She gets her hands on the headboard and closes her eyes, lets out a shaky breath as Bellamy leans in to get his first proper taste of her, tongue sliding between the lips of her pussy.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, and he gives her a soft squeeze in response.
He starts slowly, just lapping at her, tongue swirling teasingly around her clit, easing her into it while she gets used to the feel of being on top of him like this. It doesn’t take long, of course, not when it’s Bellamy, and not when she can already feel how desperate she’s getting, anticipation prickling at her skin and heat pooling at her cunt.
She begins rocking her hips against him, giving herself more control, and Bellamy responds easily, letting her take what she needs from his mouth, urging her on with pleased little noises against her cunt, with the feel of his hands rough and perfect on her hips. It builds, and Clarke starts to grind on him harder, faster, finding the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm, sparks of pleasure beginning to curl into hot tension at her core. She feels her thighs start to tremble and her skin begin to flush, and she drops a hand down to Bellamy, curling her fingers tight into his hair, something to anchor herself to.
“I’m close,” she says, the words coming out breathy, and Bellamy groans into her, helps her roll her hips into him just once, twice, three times more before the tension breaks and she comes with a broken moan.
Release crashes over her as waves of pleasure roll through her, and Bellamy takes control again as she shakes above him, works her through it with gentle laps of his tongue on her clit, making her feel like magic, until she has to push him away, too sensitive.
It takes her a minute to come down enough to get her legs working again, and Bellamy helps her, thumbs running soothingly over her hips as he guides her back down to him, helping her settle half on top of him again. She finds his mouth immediately, catching it in a slow, easy kiss, and can’t help but whimper a little at the taste of herself on his tongue.
“So, I hear I’m pretty good at cunnilingus,” Bellamy murmurs when she pulls back, voice rough and perfect, and Clarke just laughs, once again dropping her head into the crook of his neck. He runs his hand up her back and she presses her lips to his skin.
“Yeah,” she says, unable to fight her smile this time. “Pretty damn good.”