Chapter Text
“Oh man, that feels amazing,” Bellamy groans as Kane digs an elbow into his shoulder.
“You have a cut on your shoulder, Bellamy.”
“Yeah, you can thank the Princess for that one. Mother fuck— You feel that knot? Jesus, I feel old.”
Kane chuckles. A couple minutes pass before Kane speaks up again. “You know, I’m proud of you for sticking to this. I know it wasn’t easy at the start…. Clarke can be difficult when you don’t know her well, but, aside from getting slapped in the face, you’ve handled things well.”
Bellamy swallows at the praise, not used to it.
“I think she just needed someone who was willing to challenge her? Someone who wouldn’t give up on her right away.”
“Yeah,” Bellamy responds, earnest. “Well, who knows where you went looking for skaters, Marcus,” he teases finally.
“All the wrong places, apparently.”
“Nothing like a hockey player, my friend.”
*
She’s wearing her skating outfit. It’s skimpy and red and driving Bellamy insane. They’re honing out their Olympic Qualifiers Open routine that they have to perform in three days. The competition is open to all those who qualified for the games, and Clarke insisted they put their haters to rest. He knows the rumors flying around, and he can’t wait to prove everyone wrong. Because, aside from their bickering, him and Clarke are damn good.
It’s less complicated than their long program, in a technical sense, but that means their compensating by heightening their chemistry. They’re there, strength wise, but they still have to work on expressing their comfort with each other, according to Kane.
“Clarke, you have to look like you want to be in his arms,” Kane scolds.
Clarke scowls at Kane.
“Don’t give me that look. The chemistry is there, it just looks like you’re fighting it, Clarke.”
“Alright,” Clarke snaps to him from the other end of the rink. “Can we just start already?” But there’s a different look in her eyes now – determination. She looks the way she does before she lands a triple Salchow. He’s honestly sort of terrified.
Bellamy nods to her, Clarke rolling her shoulders back in response, unintentionally lifting the red sequined halter top she’s wearing to show even more of her midriff.
Kane gets the music ready. They’re dancing to “Sorry”, the first half an indie acoustic cover, and the second the Justin Bieber one. He actually digs it. The slow guitar strumming at the start sets the intimate tone. It’s honestly a pretty sexy routine, and then things just pick up when the chorus hits, merging into the original, upbeat version of the song.
They’re dancing more than jumping, so the chorography was tricky to get down at first, but now that he has it he can focus on driving Clarke crazy with Kane’s suggestion of looking more comfortable.
The song starts, cuing them to skate towards each other. As soon as Clarke wraps an arm around his shoulders he starts spinning as she hangs on. They keep spinning together, pacing it out, until she pushes away from his chest with one hand so they can each do an individual spin. It’s neat, though, because just as they’re each about to jump into the spin, Clarke kicks a leg up and he grabs it, holding it against his waist. Her leg and arm wrap around him, allowing them to spin together, and Bellamy sinks lower, bracing her leg atop his bent knee, so they can keep up their velocity. Clarke spins up and away, a grin on her face, so they can do their chorography side-by-side.
Bellamy turns to pull Clarke against him as the song belts out, I just need one more shot at forgiveness, and he spreads his hands, gripping her bare waist until she’s flush against him. She’s soft and warm against the skin of his hands.
“Come on, Clarke! Look interested,” Kane shouts.
Bellamy can feel her hesitance to fully let go when she’s in his arms, so he slides his hands down further, until he’s brushing the sides of her ass and thighs. He smirks when she leans into his touch before pushing away to do a layback spin.
“There we go,” Kane calls encouragingly.
Bellamy grabs her hand as soon as she’s upright, quickly hauling her back against his chest before they miss their cue. They skate backwards, Clarke’s back to his chest, and she brings both arms up to rest behind his neck. He loves how sturdy he feels this way: Clarke trusting him enough to lean her entire body against his. Bellamy turns his head into her neck before sweeping both hands down her arms. He hides his smile into her neck when she shivers.
He quickly skates under her arm, pivoting with the arm still wrapped around her waist, so he’s standing in front of her. Bellamy smirks at Clarke before she spins her neck 180 degrees and he brings his hand up to hold her jaw so he can lead the motion.
“Alright, now keep your leg straight for the lift, Clarke! Bellamy, make sure you’re lifting her above your shoulders!”
He sort of blocks Kane’s voice out after that, holding Clarke against him and running both hands down her back until he reaches her soft waist. He meets her trusting gaze, lifting her above him, holding her there while he spins, never breaking eye contact. As he’s bringing her down, he does so more slowly this time, running his hands firmly up her body as she slides back down to touch the ice.
Clarke’s biting her lip, trying to hide her grin, when she spins off so they can do side-by-side shotgun spins. The music picks up, finally, when they straighten and Bellamy knows he’s grinning, too.
They follow the quick-paced tempo through the rudimentary steps taught to them, always right next to each other. Bellamy does an exaggerated shimmy of his hips on the dragged out singing of “sorry” and Clarke bursts out laughing, following his steps in a less overstated, but still sensual, manner. They’re perfectly in sync.
She’s still laughing when he skates and crouches in front of her so she can plant a skate onto his thigh and lift herself up. He exerts all his strength into his thighs as he glides slowly across the rink, so she doesn’t teeter as she spreads her arms and leg out overtop him. Clarke holds her position before tucking in her arms and Bellamy lifts his thigh infinitesimally to indicate she’s good to jump off of him. When she launches into an axel and lands perfectly, his chest blooms with pride.
The verse, cause I’m missing more than just your body, comes up and he can’t help pausing to squeeze her waist as he’s caressing down her body, from her chest to her lower thighs. When Clarke spins so she’s facing him again, she has a devious smirk on her lips. Planting both her arms on either side of his neck, she moves her face impossibly closer, until they’re sharing the same air, as he skates her backwards. He pulls her gently by the waist against him so she doesn’t lose her balance before bending one knee, just as I’m sorry blares through the rink again. Bellamy brushes his lips against her naval before Clarke pushes against his shoulders, hauling them away from each other.
He skates after her, catching her by the hand and swinging her into his embrace before launching her up and into an overhead lasso lift. He spins until the song reminds her she needs to come down, sliding down Bellamy’s front and ending their routine pressed up against one another.
The song ends and he’s so close he can see the faint freckles on her nose, is nearly panting into her mouth. The hand she has perched on the side of his neck travels until it’s grasping the curls at the base of his neck, prompting his hand to slide lower, until he’s cupping her ass.
Kane’s loud clapping breaks them out of their reverie. “Amazing, you two. Perfect!”
They break away from each other hurriedly, Bellamy nearly falling on his ass in his haste to put as much space between them.
They lock gazes, Clarke’s arms crossed defensively over her chest, both of them knowing that was their best skate yet.
*
He’s going crazy trying to decide what he should get Clarke for Christmas. Should he even get her anything? Is it weird? What if she doesn’t get him anything in return?
He calls Octavia, because he’s about to pull his hair out.
“I don’t know, Bell. What does she like? What are her interests, besides skating?”
Bellamy sighs. “I dunno, she reads a lot, I guess. And she likes essential oils and shit. She’s always making new concoctions and trying to get me to smell them.”
Octavia laughs through the phone. “Okay, maybe we’ll leave the oils alone. You could get her a book she wants.”
But that entails knowing what book she wants to read next, or what books she’s currently reading now, and Bellamy has no fucking clue.
The next day at practice, during their twenty-minute break, Clarke gets comfortable on her armchair beside the rink and pulls out a book from her gym bag. She’s been more at ease since they placed within the top three at the Olympic Qualifiers.
He tries to be discreet, truly. He also doesn’t think he’s being obvious, because he always leans against the boards playing on his phone sipping some Gatorade.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“What? I’m not.”
“Yes you are, Bellamy.”
“I’m not, Clarke. What are you reading?”
She rolls her eyes at him. He grins at her until she relents.
“Wide Sargasso Sea” she says, squinting her eyes at him, suspicious.
He hums. “I think my sister read that one before. What’s it about?”
She gently closes her book, placing it on the armrest, before getting up to lean against the boards beside him, arms crossed over her chest. She’s facing her armchair, her back to the rink. Bellamy turns his head to the right so he can look up at her better from his slouched position.
“It’s a postcolonial novel. Jean Rhys wrote it in response to Jane Eyre. The protagonist, Antoinette, is stuck in a controlling patriarchal society. She doesn’t really fit in because she’s mixed race. It’s interesting – it makes you realize just how much Jane Eyre played a role in Antoinette’s oppression through her marriage to Rochester. She gets deemed the insane woman in the attic. It’s bleak and sort of terrifying, but it’s one of my favorites.”
Bellamy watches her, fascinated. As she’s been speaking, she’s opened up more and more, her crossed arms flailing in front of her the more she speaks.
“You know, my old partner, Wells?” He perks up at that, swallows his surprise so he can nod. “He used to laugh at me, because I’d be reading Wide Sargasso Sea and Jane Eyre while everyone else in my class would be reading books about mythical creatures. He used to buy me supernatural books to try and get me to lighten up and appreciate the magic in the world, but I could never get into them, you know? Not because they weren’t any good, but because I could just never wrap my head around that kind of thing being possible.”
“I guess Wells had a point then,” he responds softly.
She smiles sadly at him, briefly, before looking down. “After he died,” she shakes her head, and he’s stunned when he sees a glassy sheen over her eyes, “I must have stayed up for two weeks straight reading every single one he bought me. Wells always saw the magic in the world. It was so easy for him. I’m just too much of a pragmatist,” she shrugs.
He swallows, bumping his shoulder with hers, gentle. Her bright blue gaze meets his. “You ever give mythology a try?”
Clarke’s brows meet in thought. She shakes her head, “No, not really.”
“Oh, grasshopper. You’ve so much to learn.”
Her expression softens and he has to look away. He clears his throat. “I’ll lend you one of mine, if you want.”
He looks up, sees her nod.
“Cool.” He smiles a little. Somehow, she still manages to take him by surprise.
*
He’s never felt more out of place than he does at the Griffin’s Christmas party.
He’s speaking to Kane, because he’s the only person present Bellamy currently feels comfortable around, when Clarke comes to stand beside him.
“You having fun?” She asks him, a peaceful expression on her face. She’s wearing a black flowy dress that slips off both her shoulders. Bellamy assumes it’s a fashion thing; it’s working for him. Her collarbone and smooth shoulders are bared to him, and he can see the dip of her cleavage where the dress meets and slopes slightly.
Bellamy meets her gaze again. “Fun may not be the right word,” but he smirks to assure her that he’s teasing. Partially.
He doesn’t fit in here, and Clarke knows it.
“Hey, come with me for a minute, yeah?” And then she’s smiling at Kane before she pulls him by the arm, through the crowded hallway and up the spiraling stairs. Bellamy nearly swallows his tongue when she leads him into her bedroom.
“Clarke?” He asks, because this is strange, even for them.
Clarke’s paying him no mind, though, because she’s reaching inside her closet for something. When she comes to stand in front of him again, she’s holding a well-wrapped gift. “Here. I figured you deserved it.” She pauses before continuing. “I know we bicker, but. You’ve been a big help, Bellamy.”
He swallows before accepting the gift from her small hands. “Yeah, well. You’re not such a bad partner yourself, Princess.”
“Are you going to open it or just stare at it in your hands forever?”
He smirks, ripping into the fancy wrapping paper. His stomach drops when he lays eyes on what she got him: a leather-bound limited edition of Homer’s Works. It probably cost her a fortune. He knows immediately it’s the 1780 edition with the illustrations inside. He remembers reading somewhere that there are only about 400 copies. He gently pulls the book from its sturdy slipcase. There’s real gold on the spine, too. He’s fucking sweating.
“Clarke,” he starts, voice strangled, but he can’t finish.
“Save it. You can accept it and you will. You’re always going on about Odysseus and Greek gods. You deserve it.”
When he glances up at her, Clarke has a gentle smile adorning her lips, her crossed arms against her chest the only indication that she’s a smidge anxious.
“Thank you. It’s -- Jesus, it’s amazing. Really.” Clarke looks pleased with herself, arms dropping and hands dipping into the pockets of her dress. “I, uh. I got something for you, too. One sec.”
Bellamy ducks out of the room, running an anxious hand through his hair. He pulls the wrapped gift out from under his bed in the guest room, one level upstairs, before rushing back down.
Clarke’s perched on her bed, deep in thought, when he walks into the room. He sits down next to her, thrusting the gift in front of her. She startles a little, before smiling down at the small gift in her hands.
“Nice wrapping,” she notes softly.
“Shut up.” He wrapped the damn thing in five minutes, before he had to run downstairs and join the party. “We don’t all have maids who can wrap our gifts for us while we get ready,” he mumbles, no bite.
She lightly punches him in the arm before unceremoniously ripping the paper. He doesn’t know if the grin on her face is because they both got each other books, or because she really likes what he picked out for her, but either way, he’ll take it.
“Bellamy,” she whispers, and it sounds awe-struck. “How did you – ” She trails off, shaking her head. She finally looks up at him, a raw expression on her face and an openness in her eyes that startles him. “I’ve been meaning to buy The God of Small Things. Arundhati Roy is fantastic. Thank you,” she says before throwing her arms around him, stunning him again.
“Really? I know it’s not much –“ But he stops when her arms tighten around him at that – at the feeling of her shaking her head, no, against his neck – and hugs her back, just as tightly. He closes his eyes and allows himself this one moment of peace in what has been a stressful past almost-year. He breathes in her citrusy shampoo smell, wraps a hand around one of her shoulder blades and smiles a little. Because, at the end of the day, he knows they’re a team.
*
“So could you lift me? Spin me around on your shoulders like that?”
He rakes his gaze over Gina, the bartender, slightly intoxicated. “Definitely.”
Gina smirks. “Find me before midnight and maybe we can test that theory out.” She pecks him on the cheek before making her way to the other end of the bar.
So he’s smirking like a tipsy loon when Clarke comes to stand beside him, immediately after Gina vacates the vicinity, gesturing to the other bartender for a glass of water. She side eyes him and promptly rolls her eyes before accepting the drink.
“What’s that look for?”
Clarke watches him as she sips her water. He doesn’t like that it feels scrutinizing. She shrugs, “What look?”
He spins on the barstool, away from her judgmental gaze, so he’s facing the crowded living room the Griffin’s converted into a dance floor. Everyone’s wearing his or her obligatory New Years headband.
He leans his elbows against the bar’s counter, feels Clarke’s warmth beside him. He glances over at her, eyeing the clear liquid in her glass.
“You know, I think even you’re allowed to drink on New Years Eve,” Bellamy tells her. She probably despises the fact that he’s halfway drunk when they’ve got practice early tomorrow morning.
She doesn’t meet his gaze when she says, “We have to wake up at six tomorrow, Bellamy. I don’t need to be exhausted and hung-over.”
Bingo, he thinks.
“Clarke, it’s the celebration of a new year. France is in two weeks. After tonight, there’s gonna be no more time for fun. Take advantage of this time while you can.”
Clarke meets his gaze then, looking both irritable and miserable. Gina comes up to him before she can respond. Before he can try and take that look away.
“Hey, it’s almost midnight.” She perches a headband atop his head, messing his hair up further, he’s sure.
“Is it?” He asks, adjusting the headband. He turns his head, about to ask Clarke where her headband is, but she’s gone. He cranes his neck, spots her pushing her way through the crowd towards her father’s office, probably.
“Alright, folks! Grab that special somebody – it’s nearly time!”
She disappears from view. Gina pulls on his sleeve.
It’s her he kisses at midnight, Gina’s hand too gentle in his hair, softly brushing the curls at the nape of his neck. His hand drops to her waist, the sharp jut of it pressing against his fingers uncomfortably.
*
Practice the next day is positively grueling. Clarke nearly bites his head off and spits it out at his feet fifty times, and he’s left standing there trying to figure out why.
Kane will tell him his energy levels are worrisome and Clarke will laugh, all mean, and bite out, “I wonder why.”
Kane scolds him for lifting Clarke up too quickly, for spinning them too slowly, for struggling to catch up with the blonde’s quick strides across the rink. Every time, Clarke scoffs impatiently and agrees. Every time, she looks ready to kill.
“Bellamy, your footwork is sloppy,” Kane tells him after their fifth run-through of the same damn routine.
Clarke snorts. “That’s an understatement.”
“Give me a fucking break, Princess. I’m running off three hours of sleep here.” He turns to Kane then. “We all know I’m not usually like this, so can we lay off on the criticisms?”
“Take a break, before you two kill each other.”
“I don’t need a break. We’re fine, let’s keep going,” Clarke declares, arms crossed in front of her.
“Speak for yourself, Princess,” he tells her, plopping down on his ass at the edge of the rink.
“Get up, Bellamy. We need to practice,” she grinds out, looming over him.
“Lay off, would you? Let me just catch my breath for five minutes.”
“Clarke,” Kane calls, “Come on. Take a break.”
“You know what? Fuck this. Clearly I’m the only one taking this seriously,” she snaps, marching off the ice towards her bag.
Bellamy eyes her carefully. “Clarke.”
She ignores him, her face flushed and posture stiff.
“Hey,” he tries again, “I’m good to go. Stop being dramatic.”
She ignores him again. Continues to ignore him even when he gets up to lean over the rink’s board to watch her furiously stuff her skates into her bag. Kane, unsurprisingly, stays quiet.
“You through yet?” He prods one more time, because seriously what the hell is her problem today?
She marches out of the rink though, throwing a furious “Go fuck yourself, Bellamy,” over her shoulder before disappearing.
“As long as I’ve got your permission,” he yells back, skating to a furious stop in front of the doors.
Kane simply shakes his head at them.
*
He’s stuffing his luggage into the trunk of the monstrous SUV when he hears someone calling his name.
He turns, sees Jake Griffin making his way over. “Don’t forget the tickets for your family.”
He accepts the tickets for the finals in France with a nod of thanks. “We’re excited to meet your sister and friends. All of us,” Jake Griffin tells him.
He tries a smile, feels more of a grimace on his lips. “I, uh. I tried saying bye to her, but. No answer.”
Clarke’s father eyes him sympathetically, like he knows the feeling of being given the silent treatment from Clarke, he’s sure. “Yes, I think she was sleeping. I’ll let her know you tried, though.”
Bellamy smiles genuinely at that. They both know Clarke wasn’t sleeping. It’s ten in the morning on a weekday. “Right. Well, I’ll see you in three days.”
Mr. Griffin pats him on the shoulder, friendly. “See you.”
The flight to Pittsburgh from New York is less than two hours, so when he lands it’s still light out.
Octavia is waiting for him beside her parked red Beetle, glaring at the parking enforcement officer who is steadily making his way over, handing out tickets.
He grins, finally makes eye contact with her. She runs into his arms and he catches her, spinning them around.
She laughs in his ear. “Missed you too, big brother.” He smacks a kiss to her cheek before throwing his bag into the backseat.
“Let’s get out of here,” he tells her, eyeing the parking officer.
“Perfect timing, bro.”
They arrive at Miller’s bar in less than thirty minutes, and as soon as he walks in, he’s met with welcoming shouts and smiles.
He makes his way over to Miller, who’s cleaning a glass with a rag, patting multiple shoulders on his way.
Moving behind the bar, he pulls his best friend into a strong hug.
“Look, it’s my favorite figure skater,” Miller chuckles, patting him on the back.
“Patrick Chan’s got nothing on you, Bellamy,” Raven’s voice chimes in.
He nearly cries at seeing her, he missed her that much.
“Gross. When did you get so strong?” Raven questions, faking mortification, at his bear hug. She hugs him back just as tight, though.
Miller chuckles behind them. “He’s been lifting skaters in the air. I knew my boy would come back stronger. And you were worried.”
“Oh man. I missed you guys,” Bellamy tells them.
“So, is Ice Princess still busting your balls or what?”
“Yeah, tell us stories, Blake,” Miller chirps.
Bellamy plops down beside Raven on a stool. “It’s fine. She’s fine.”
Raven and Miller eye each other before eyeing him. “Seriously?”
“Yes. What? Why are you guys staring at me like that?” He examines his hand, feels uncomfortable discussing Clarke without her being there.
“Because last we heard, you two were ready to kill each other.”
“I mean, at first, sure. It’s good now. We’re good. She’s- she’s good.” He accepts the beer Miller hands him gratefully, gulping down a generous amount so he doesn’t blurt out any more nonsense.
Raven lifts her eyebrows quickly. “Huh.”
Octavia comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “So, when do we leave for France?”
Miller and Raven freeze. He smirks at them.
“Bellamy Blake,” Raven begins, grave, “Are we fucking going to France to watch you skate your gorgeous ass off?”
He chuckles.
“Damn right we are,” Octavia shouts, excited. The warmth in his chest grows.
He’s missed his family.
*
“What the fuck is this?” He asks without thinking, simply mortified at the sequined embellished sash being placed over his dress shirt.
Abby Griffin sighs loudly.
Clarke looks up, confused. Her eyes twinkle in understanding and amusement. A seamstress is measuring her legs, trying to determine how short her skirt should be. She’s wearing a sports bra and some spandex shorts, and Bellamy’s trying not to think too much about it.
“What’s the problem, Bellamy?” Abby asks him, displeased.
He clears his throat. “Look. I don’t mind sequins. My masculinity is not that fragile. But this,” he plucks the sash away from his body, “is going to get in my way. Or Clarke’s. It’s unnecessary and uncomfortable. It’s already scratching up against my hands.” He promptly yanks the damn thing off, causing Abby to gasp.
Clarke snorts, ducking her head on a smile. “What? It’s not like we don’t look hot enough already,” he tells Abby.
Abby shakes her head at him, but he swears he sees a hint of amusement in her eyes.
“Now, some of those diamond buttons I’m cool with.”
Clarke’s laugh is loud, washing over him head to toe.