Work Text:
If there’s anything Bellamy has learnt in all his years of life, it’s that the more alcohol someone puts into his friends, the more ridiculous the texts they send him are.
For example, one time Miller messaged him at half one in the morning asking him if he knew where he could find breadfruit because it was ‘super important’. Another time Murphy sent him the entire Bee movie script, which resulted in his number being blocked for at least a month.
Honestly, those aren’t even the worst of it.
Tonight, he’s decided to stay home, so he’s expecting the usual barrage of texts, as well as a slurred phone call around 1am from someone asking if they can either crash on his couch, or for a drop home.
Sometime after nine, his phone buzzes, and he’s halfway through getting ready to tell Octavia that no, he can’t spare a few hours to come hang when he has a veritable mountain of grading to trudge through, but stops short when he sees that it’s Clarke.
[9:24pm] Clarke: are giving blowjobs like riding a bike???
[9:24pm] Clarke: as in, you never forget how to do it no matter how long it’s been??
His phone doesn’t quite slip out of his hand when he reads it, but comes startlingly close to, and he finds himself fumbling to keep it within his grip, accidentally opening his camera in the process. Meanwhile, the pen cap he was gnawing on while marking essays falls out of his mouth.
The text is still there by the time he rights himself and gets back to his messages, and he fucking pinches himself to make sure he’s not dreaming.
Finally, he manages to gather his bearings long enough to type back,
[9:28pm] Bellamy: How the fuck am I supposed to know???
He’s still staring dumbfounded at his phone, trying to wrap his around all of this, by the time she replies, sending several texts in quick succession.
[9:30pm] Clarke: because you’re the only other mga person in our friend group
[9:30pm] Clarke: well, besides raven, but she only ever dated guys before luna and idk luna that well to ask her about this
[9:30pm] Clarke: but you’ve only hooked up with girls for a while before hooking up with a guy right?
[9:30pm] Clarke: so like, was it hard??
[9:30pm] Clarke: pun intended lmao
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs, after reading over all of that five times just to make sure he was seeing this right. He scrubs a hand down his face, knocking his glasses askew.
[9:32pm] Bellamy: Is this necessary right now?
[9:32pm] Clarke: YES
[9:32pm] Clarke: THE FATE OF MY HOOK UP HANGS IN THE BALANCE
Something twists deep in his stomach when she mentions her hook up, and he sighs again, pushing away his stack of essays before standing up to grab a beer from the fridge, figuring it was time for a break. He cracks it open on a drawer handle and downs half of it before picking his phone up off the counter to finally reply to her.
[9:39pm] Bellamy: I don’t know, I was maybe out of practice for a little bit, but it didn’t matter that much.
[9:39pm] Bellamy: Besides, you’re a hot blonde. I doubt you’re gonna have too much trouble getting someone off. Especially someone with a dick. Dicks are the easiest thing ever.
He doesn’t exactly mean to send the last message, especially not when it sounds half passive aggressive and half wistful, but he does, and when she doesn’t reply immediately like she’s been doing all night, Bellamy is just about ready to google ‘how to delete sent text.’
Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because as soon as he pulls up his browser app, his phone is vibrating with an incoming message.
[9:41pm] Clarke: good point thanks!! xx
It’s the clear end of the conversation, and Bellamy stares at the entire thread until his screen goes black before downing the rest of his beer and heading back to the living room.
The uncomfortable weight that has settled at the bottom of his stomach ever since she mentioned finding a hookup remains, and he tries his best it to ignore it, focusing instead on the pile of essays he has remaining. She doesn’t message him again for the rest of the night, and he tries not to think about it.
Bellamy has known Clarke for more than a few years now, and while they didn’t start off as friends, they grew into it, slowly moving from snapping at each other for every little thing, to biting back grins and shared inside jokes. Not to mention that he’s about halfway in love with her at this point, but he rather ignore that thought. His life is much easier when he doesn’t think about what a total clich é he’s become.
Still, despite all of this, he and Clarke aren’t exactly the types to talk about their sex lives which made last Friday’s text thread more than a little bit strange.
It gets even stranger when he sees her at Octavia’s the next night, and she plops down on the sofa next to him with, “So, blowjobs,” in greeting.
He lifts a single eyebrow as he regards her. “Hi Clarke, how was your day? Mine was fine, thanks for asking,” he says, flat. “Manners are a wondrous thing.”
Clarke rolls her eyes, sneaking a sip of his beer. “Ugh, god, fine; hi Bellamy, glad your day was good, so was mine, now back to the topic at hand: blowjobs.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a one track mind?”
“I prefer the term ‘refusing to beat around the bush.’”
“More like stubborn little princess,” he quips fondly, and she pulls a face.
“You’re deflecting,” she says in a singsong voice, nudging him with her shoulder, “Do you deflect this much when your students ask you questions?”
“No, because my students don’t ask me sexually explicit questions. Surprisingly, they know better than that.”
“Come on Bellamy, help a girl out. I need to prove my hypothesis.”
He places his bottle on the table with a definitive thud, wiping his hands on his pants. “I still don’t get why you’re asking me about this; you’re the one who had a hook up last night. Surely now you have a data point to work with.”
“I didn’t actually.”
His neck almost cracks with the speed in which he turns to look over at her. “What? Why?”
She just shrugs, disinterested. “I bailed. I haven’t interacted with an organically grown dick in a while and I figured being out of practice might backfire on me.”
“Oh, well that sucks. Or rather, doesn’t,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, and she snickers at his lame attempt of a joke, “But at the same time, please don’t ever use that statement ever again. You’re going to ruin organically grown produce for me.”
“Especially those eggplants, huh,” she nudges him, biting back a smirk, and Bellamy groans out loud, shoving her in the shoulder.
“I fucking hate you,” he says, even as his lips twitch up at the corners, and he leans his head back, throwing an arm over his eyes.
Clarke’s laugh rings out bright and loud, garnering stares from everyone else in the room. “Such a baby,” she says affectionately, tickling his side, and Bellamy flips her off with a harrumph.
He’d like to say that that was the end of all blowjob related topics of conversation.
However, that would be a lie.
Bellamy is by no means a prude, but he just can’t have these types of conversations with Clarke, not without going red and stammering, mostly because when he imagines these types of conversations, there’s far less talking and far more… other activities.
(He also fantasises about mundane things as holding her hand in the supermarket and doing the dishes together at the end of the day because he is in deep and it’s maybe a little bit of a problem.)
“Seriously, you know there’s the internet for all of this, right?” he says, exasperated, one evening after she brings it back up yet again .
Clarke nudges him with a sock clad foot. She’s sprawled out on his couch, scrolling through his Netflix queue while eating his stir fry, the one that she pointedly stole before he could get his hands on it. “Yeah, but you’re an educator, so y’know… educate me.”
“Funny enough, the semantics of giving a blowjob isn’t on the high school history curriculum,” Bellamy says drily, batting away her foot.
Clarke just furrows her brows, pointing a chopstick at him. “Did you use ‘semantics’ on purpose to be punny or…?”
He groans, throwing a piece of sweet pepper at her. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re deflecting again,” she clucks.
Bellamy shrugs, not bothering to hide it. “I am, because what you asked before was just plain gross.”
“You work with teenagers all day and you’re telling me that that’s gross?” she asks skeptically. “Sometimes people come on you. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah, no, I never understood the appeal of that,” he huffs, and he’s fairly certain he’s red all over. “It just seems unhygienic.”
“You would think so,” she says, smiling fondly as she sits up, “But don’t worry, I don’t really get it either. Besides, I prefer to swallow.”
He doesn’t let his mind wander when she says that; he refuses given that Clarke is sitting right there on his couch next to him and there’s a fine line between jokingly talking about sex with your best friend and imagining having sex with your best when she’s sitting right there.
It doesn’t stop him from huffing again though, even as he fidgets in his seat. “Seriously, what is the upside to having someone… having that .”
“You’re such a prude, it’s adorable,” she says easily, patting him on the leg, “And I guess there’s some science behind it.”
He stares at her in abject horror. “Oh my god. Please don’t.”
“Shut up. There’s like, protein and enzymes and stuff in it. There was a Cosmo article about it a while back.”
“Yes, because Cosmopolitan is the peak scientific resource,” he mutters under his breath.
“Hey, I was an almost doctor,” she points out, placing the take out cartons on the tabletop and curling her legs beneath her, “I know these things, and the science checks out.”
He levels her with a flat look. “You’re not an almost doctor,” he says, “You did two and a half years of premed, stopped, got in a fight about it with your mother, and then lived on my couch for the better part of a year while bemoaning about being unemployed.”
“That doesn’t mean some things didn’t stick ,” she says with a roll of her eyes, “Intercostobrachial nerve. Phenylketonuria. The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”
“God, you’re a dork.”
Clarke just clicks her imaginary finger guns at him. “I’m a dork who’s good at giving head. At least I think I’m good at giving head. No one has complained before.”
“Why do we always end up back here?” he groans, looking heavenward.
“Because we still haven’t come up with an answer to the question I asked two weeks ago,” she replies. And then after a pause during which Bellamy does not stare at her biting her lips, “And also because it’s kind of fun seeing you all flustered like this.”
“I’m glad my discomfort amuses you,” he grumbles, pushing to his feet.
“It kinda does,” she muses, “I mean, I know you’re a nerd, but I’ve also seen you manage to wrangle hookups and even threesomes in the past without doing much work, so it’s funny watching you stumble your way through a discussion about blowjobs .”
Bellamy doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he just flips her off, grabbing their empty take out cartons to dispose off in the kitchen. When he comes back, she’s settled on rewatching an episode of Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey , and waits until he throws himself back down on the couch, purposefully jostling her in the process, before she starts it. She does however make sure to elbow him in the stomach when she presses play though, just for propriety’s sake.
Halfway through the show and several bad sex puns later, he finally caves and asks, “If you had the answer to the first question you posed, would you finally drop this and go back to being normal?”
Clarke falters for a second, an unidentifiable emotion flittering across her face too quick for him to decipher. “You think I’m not being normal?”
“I think you’re being weird ,” he grouses, glancing over at her, “So weird; in fact, next time we go out I’m willing to wingman you just so you can find someone to test your ridiculous theory on.”
It’s a testament to just how fucking strange it’s been that his heart only gives a little twinge at the idea of him helping her find someone else to hook up with.
“Right,” she says, voice a little bit odd, “Thanks for that. In advance I mean.”
He stares down at her, brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Clarke physically shakes herself and sends him a quick but weak smirk. “Yeah. I’m fine. I was just thinking, finding someone to do this with means I’ll have to tell them about all of this, y’know? And then I’d have to blow them again.” She looks sidelong at him, pointedly drumming her fingers against her jaw. “If only there was someone who already knew of it and was willing to take part.”
“What,” is all he can say, frozen in place.
She leans into him, pressing her face against his bicep. “Come on; it’ll be fun!” she cajoles, “Unless you have serious objections of course. Then we can forever ignore this moment.”
A hand drops on his thigh and he jerks as if startled when it traces the seam of his jeans. “What the fuck- now ?” he asks, voice strangled. If he had pearls, he’s pretty sure that he would be clutching them at this instance.
“No time like the present,” she says with a toothy smile before sliding off the couch to kneel between his legs.
“Fucking Christ,” he swears, even as he slouches lower in his seat, widening the vee of his legs to make room for her. Despite the increase in blowjob related thoughts Clarke has inspired within him over the past few weeks, never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that they would ever turn to reality. But alas, here they are, Clarke on her knees in front of him while slowly stroking him through his jeans.
Fuck, he’s going to be so be easy.
“I can’t believe you’re going to blow me while Neil Degrasse Tyson talks about the atmosphere of Venus in the background,” he says mildly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up at her touch and struggling to remain some semblance of chill.
She cocks an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, is this not hot for you? Doesn’t all the obscure knowledge really get you going?” she snorts, undoing the snap of his jeans before looking up at him for a second, “Want me to stop?”
“Fuck no,” he shakes his head emphatically, swearing again when she slips her hand into his boxers. “Jesus.”
“Just Clarke is fine,” she snarks, and he tugs on her hair in retaliation. She worries her lip between her teeth, glancing up at him. “Don’t get your hopes up too high though; it’s been a while.”
All in all, it’s a good thing she doesn’t give him a chance to respond, choosing instead to get her fingers wet and free him from his underwear, since Bellamy is pretty sure that he would have said that having her here is all he could need, or something equally as sappy. Instead, he just tips his head back and groans, letting himself be consumed by her touch.
If he’s being honest, it’s probably not the best blowjob he’s ever received. Clarke is obviously out of practice and takes some time getting back into the groove of things, but at the same time, it’s Clarke and he was about ready to bust a nut the moment she got her hands on him. So really, it’s no surprise that after maybe fifteen minutes or so his hand tightens in her hair, and he comes with a guttural groan.
“Fuck,” he pants, head still tipped back as his heartbeat slows to a dull roar in his ears. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she stands up, and Bellamy tugs her to him, pulling her down for a kiss.
At first she’s stiff in his hands, and he thinks that he’s made a terrible mistake. But then, she slides her hand in his hair and parts her lips, letting him lick into her mouth as he chases the taste of him on her tongue, mewling when he nips at her.
“Couldn’t do that if you got come on you face,” he mutters when they part, effectively ruining the mood, and Clarke laughs low and husky.
“That could be someone’s kink; don’t kinkshame, Bellamy,” she tells him, even as she squirms, trying to inconspicuously rub her legs together.
He notices immediately of course, and a sly grin unfurls across his face. “Need a hand there?” he asks, looming over her, letting his hand slide down her side to curl his fingers through her belt loops and tug her to him.
“Please,” is all she says, and Bellamy figures that if this really is just one wild dream, he might as well make the most it, so he slips his hand down the front of her pants and swears when he finds her already wet and wanting. He gets her off twice, just like that, letting her bite his shoulder to muffle her moans, and figures that this has been the hottest hour of his life thus far.
He doubts nothing could ever compare to this and, fuck, he hopes she doesn’t want this to be a one and done kind of thing. If she does, he’ll probably fucking cry .
Things are never that easy though, because as soon as Clarke catches her breath, she pulls away, leaving him strangely cold.
“I should go,” she murmurs, straightening out her shirt and looking anywhere but him.
“Right,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow even in his own ears. He tries to keep his face expressionless, even as his heart sinks, and Clarke stands up.
“I’ll come back tomorrow though,” and although he knows it’s meant to sound placating, it just sounds awkward, and they both cringe. The previous light mood has dissipated, and Bellamy wants to kick himself. This is what he was worried about whenever he thought about pursuing an actual relationship with Clarke, and he’s honestly scared that their friendship could end for good.
So of course, instead of backtracking and trying to smooth over the situation, Bellamy figures he might as well bite the bullet. Go big or go home, right?
She dawdles as she pulls on her shoes and coat, giving him enough time to build up the courage to finally ask, “Or you could stay here?” eyes screwed shut as he braces for the rejection that never comes.
Her hand stills on the coatrack and she turns around to give him a surprisingly shy smile. “Yeah?” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Yeah. Uh, if you want to. You don’t have to, obviously,” he babbles, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s up to you to choose, I won’t mind if you say no-”
“You’re terrible at this,” she interrupts, biting her bottom lip as she smiles, “Honestly, I can’t believe I ever thought you had game.”
“I have game,” he mutters sullenly.
Clarke tips her head back and laughs, crossing the room and reaching for his hand, twining their fingers together. “No, you really don’t.”
“Shut up,” he tells her, and then can’t even be mad because it gives her an excuse to lean up and kiss him again, short and sweet.
“This would make testing out my hypothesis much easier,” she teases as she leads them off to his bedroom.
He rolls his eyes, even as he continues to smile so wide that his cheeks hurt. “I can’t believe I’m your lab rat ,” he laments before pushing her up against the door to kiss her more soundly.
“Yeah you seem really upset,” she breathes when they part, her fingers twined in his hair as he nuzzles her cheekbone.
They don’t do anything else besides make out that night, Bellamy making it his own personal mission to catalogue every sigh and moan he manages to extract from her, and they eventually fall asleep, Clarke curled into him, her face pressed into his neck.
In the morning though, she wakes him up, telling him that it’s time for her to repeat her experiment, and while Bellamy is pretty sure there isn’t any discernable difference between last night’s blowjob and this morning’s one, he does get to eat her out after, getting her off until her muscles are shaking and they’re both drenched in sweat, so he figures it’s a win.
“I can’t believe this actually worked,” she admits, sitting up on the counter while he makes them breakfast. She’s wearing nothing but one of his t shirts, and it’s more than a little distracting.
“I can’t believe you actually planned it,” he shoots back, adding to green onion to the omelette, “You could have just asked me out like a normal person.”
“I was trying to!” protests Clarke, “It was supposed to be a pick up line! ‘ Are blowjobs like riding a bike?’ ‘Oh I don’t know, maybe you should test that out.’ ‘You’re right; wanna help? ’ See? Easy!”
He plates her breakfast and hands it to her with an unimpressed stare. “That is the shittiest pick up line I have ever heard,” he tells her as they head over to the table, “You don’t get to tell me I have no game when you have negative game.”
“It worked in the long run,” she mutters mulishly, stabbing a piece of bacon viciously.
“ Negative amounts of game, Clarke.”
“I don’t even know why I like you; you’re terrible,” she says, kicking at his shins.
Bellamy just leans over and swipes her other strip of bacon, ignoring her gasp and stuffing it into his mouth. “It’s because I cook for you and let you use me in your dumb experiments. Now eat your breakfast before it goes cold.”
She sticks her tongue out at him, but does as he says nonetheless, and they eat breakfast in companionable silence.
“You know,” she muses once they start clearing away the dishes, “Another thing I picked as I became and almost doctor was that the best way to prove your hypothesis right was through repetition.”
“Oh really.” He watches her as he lets the sink full, noting how she bites her lip as she looks up at him from beneath her lashes, and twists the hem of her shirt in her hands.
“I figured, now that I have a boyfriend, I could use him to gather more data points,” she says impishly, running her hands across his shoulders.
“Oh yes, we must take advantage of that,” he agrees, turning the tap off before pulling her to him with a squeak.
She’s still giggling when he leans down and takes her mouth with his, kissing her impossibly slow and deep, and making her toes curl with it. He loves the feel of her pressed against him, loves how she has to roll up onto the balls of her feet just to meet his lips, and he grins into it. Bellamy leaves his arm around her waist when the part, and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose, smiling when she wrinkles it.
“I’ll be happy to help you gather all the data you need,” he says, she grins up at him, letting her head fall onto his shoulder.
“Good. I’m glad we could come to an understanding,” she says, looking at him incredibly soft, “It’s a long term experiment.”
This time, he kisses the crown of her head. “I’ll be here for how long you need me.”