Chapter Text
Clarke hates college parties. She always thinks she won’t when she’s getting ready to go to them, which is probably why she keeps going. Like tonight, she pre-gamed with Miller and Jasper and Raven, and she’s so excited when people start arriving. But then people actually do get there and she has one interaction with Bellamy and she remembers how much she hates them. It’s her sophomore spring. She’s meant to love parties. Instead, here she is, fighting with Bellamy, and hating them.
“No, no, no,” she says when he cracks some joke to her. Something so wrong and having to do with doctors and stereotypes and sticks up asses that ‘no’ doesn’t even cover it.
“Have I mentioned no?” she asks because she’s feeling a little dramatic tonight. Whatever. Bellamy deserves it. Plus, she may be a little bit drunk.
He laughs, which only pisses her off more. “I don’t think you had enough ‘no’s in there to convince me.”
She opens her mouth to retort but hears Murphy shout from across the room, “Careful, Bellamy. Heard from Finn that Clarke here’s got claws!”
Clarke crosses her arms across her chest and turns to glower at him. “Shut up, Murphy. Don’t you have an emo convention to get to you.” She makes a pointed look at his eyebrow ring and black clothes.
This makes him narrow his eyes at her, and there’s the feeling of a potential fight breaking out. The Finn Debacle happened only last term, and she hates to admit it, but there’s still some sensitivity there. It worked out for the best though. In the end, she got one of her closest friends, Raven, out of it. Usually, her friends avoid the topic, but of course, Murphy can’t resist bringing it up.
Raven makes a point of going over to him and grins. “At least she manages to get laid.”
Which is when Jasper shouts, “Who wants to play Dance Dance Revolution?”
This is met with a smattering of drunken cheers and half-assed supportive thumbs up from the group who’ve been high since they walked in the door. Which includes Monty, who, really, did he have to eat two whole brownies? Clarke rolls her eyes. No way is she going to play.
Bellamy has other plans. “What do you say, Clarke? Wanna challenge me?”
She flicks her eyes up and down his frame and smirks. “Please. You wouldn’t recover from the ass-handing.”
“Ass-handing huh?” He returns her smirk with an even more smug one of her own. Honestly, she’s surprised the expression isn’t permanently fixed on his stupidly attractive face. She wishes she could find a way to get rid of it permanently. But the more she goes after him, the more he seems to like it. “I see a lot of talking and not a lot of actual action.”
What an ass. She knows better, really, she does. Or, at least, she likes to think she does. But she can’t resist when he questions her abilities like this. Plus, she might be just the slightest bit competitive. Clarke sucks on her teeth.
“Fine,” she settles it. Then she points a finger at his chest. “But you’re going down.”
Bellamy leans in and Clarke matches him, getting right in his face, not wanting to back down or even give him an inch. It’s the last thing his ego needs.
“We’ll see,” he says, and damn him, he winks.
They step up to the mats in front of the crappy TV she and Jasper lugged all the way from the pawn shop on Seventh and Spruce to the basement dwellings he shares with Monty. Everyone calls out who they’re rooting for.
“Kick his ass, Clarke!” Raven shouts, saluting her with her red solo cup.
“Don’t worry,” she says, meeting Bellamy’s eye for a second. He’s all lazy composure while she’s tense and ready for the game to start. “I will.”
He rolls his eyes and grins. “Just start the game, Clarke.”
“How about you start it?” she counters.
She might be more than a little drunk. Doesn’t matter. She could take down Bellamy in her sleep if she wanted.
“I’ll start it,” Jasper intervenes, before their bickering gets even worse.
Jasper gets a look of glee on his face as he stares at the two of them that’s a little unnerving. No one seems more entertained by her and Bellamy than him. She doesn’t know what’s up with it, but she has a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with the way Monty and Jasper exchange one-dollar bills whenever Clarke and Bellamy get into an argument. They’re a great group of friends, but she has no idea what’s up with them obsessing over how she and Bellamy clearly hate one another. Maybe hate is a strong word. But she doesn’t know how else to define it.
“Clarke, Bellamy,” he says, his tone so dramatic it makes half the room scoff and the other half laugh. “Do your worse!”
Then the game starts, and all Clarke can focus on is crushing Bellamy.
He’s good at this game, she has to acknowledge, even though she doesn’t want to. Then, she already knows that. This isn’t the first showdown the two of them have had. In fact, the very first night she met him, they played. It’s how they met. She was boasting about her skills, and he asked her to show him rather than tell. He beat her so badly she got uproariously drunk.
That’s how she met Finn, dancing on a table in this very basement. He came up on the table too, and because she was pissed at Bellamy and herself for losing, she kissed him. Raven was away in Hong Kong for study abroad. When they found out the truth, the two of them ditched him immediately. While it took a solid two and a half months, and there’s still some leftover tension, they eventually became friends.
Clarke wishes she could erase the whole term. But since she lost her dad her senior of high school, she’s learned some hard fucking truths. One of them? You can’t go back and erase time. It’s always gonna be there.
“You going easy on me, Clarke?” Bellamy teases, drawing her out of her thoughts, no doubt spurred on by the amount of beer she’s had.
“You wish,” she says and does a spin on the mat that nearly doubles her points.
“I think you can do better than that,” he adds while he does his own stunt that she should’ve thought of already.
It only encourages her to try harder.
She’s thinking about beating Bellamy so badly he cries, when she actually does make him cry. Even if it’s only for a second, and by accident. Clarke’s so busy throwing up her arm in a move, that she doesn’t notice Bellamy in her trajectory. Not until she hits him so hard in the face her arm aches. He stumbles back a little and puts his hands to his nose.
“Oh my god,” Jasper exclaims. “Clarke just tried to take out Bellamy over a game of Dance Dance Revolution!”
She’s never been so horrified in her life.
“Bellamy!” Clarke exclaims. He’s still holding his nose, which she sees is bleeding a little. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it, I promise. I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
He takes his hands off his face, there’s some blood there, but it doesn’t look nearly as bad as she originally thought.
“Wow,” he says. Then he starts laughing, and that makes her both concerned that he has brain damage and pissed at the same time.
“This isn’t funny!” she protests.
“Of course it is,” Murphy says, taking a sip of his beer. “You nearly killed him over a video game.”
“I didn’t try to kill him.” She shoots him a glare. Then she turns back to Bellamy. “I didn’t try to kill you, I swear.”
He snorts. “I believe you.” She feels relief, until he teases, “But it is a way to take out the competition that never occurred to me you’d stoop to.”
She shakes her head. “Very funny.”
“I like to think that I am,” Bellamy grins, and he goes to give Murphy a fist-bump, but looks a little woozy as he does.
Alarm rings in her head, cutting through her tipsiness like a bucket of ice water. He could be really hurt. Maybe a concussion. Or worse. She steps toward him and takes his face in her hands, pulling him closer.
“Shit, Bellamy, you’re not okay,” she says.
He tries to get out of her grip, but she refuses to budge. “I’m fine,” he argues.
She lets go, even if it’s only to look at him in a way that’s only slightly condescending. “Who is the snotty pre-med student?” she asks.
He rolls his eyes and answers, “You, obviously.”
“That’s right.” She grabs his arm. “Now, come on, I stashed like five First-Aid kits in Jasper’s bathroom when the term started.”
Before Bellamy can properly protest, Clarke’s leading him by the arm towards the bathroom. On the way there, he makes claims that he’s “fine” and she “didn’t even make a dent in his thick head”. She turns around and tells him that if he’s starting to be self-deprecating, then that’s truly a sign that something’s wrong. They pause in the kitchen where she grabs a couple of bottles of water. If she’s gonna make sure he’s okay, she needs to sober up a little.
He turns and pauses in front of the bathroom door. “How much have you had to drink?”
She hates the little smirk he’s giving her. Like he’s somehow superior because he has a higher tolerance. Then she immediately feels guilty. She did hit him in the face. Maybe she can let some light teasing go.
“Not that much,” she defends. He gives her a look. So she pushes him into the bathroom. “Whatever, do you want me to make sure you’re not going to die or not?”
He raises his hands in defense. “I would love to not die because of you hitting me in the face with about as much power as a feisty hamster.”
She gives him a fake cheery smile. “That’s what I thought.” Then she takes out the First-Aid kit and puts it on the vanity.
He goes to say something else, but then she hops up on the bathroom counter and pulls him to her by the shirt. She hates to even think it, but the look on his face is kind of cute when she does. And he makes this little noise like the air’s been knocked out of him. As soon as the thought lands, she dismisses it. Nothing about Bellamy is cute, she reminds herself. Because they kind of hate each other. Obviously.
“This is a little much, don’t you think?” he asks, voice a little strained, which she doesn’t really understand.
She pulls out cotton swabs and some alcohol. “This is gonna sting.”
He looks unimpressed, but when he winces slightly as she puts the cotton to his nose she raises her brows and can’t help but smile.
“You’re a very mean doctor, you know,” he says, but it doesn’t quite have the bite of his normal remarks.
“Shut up,” she retorts as she continues to clean up his face so she can see it properly. “I’m still fixing you, aren’t I?”
He acts all petulant and she ignores the feeling it evokes in her stomach. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her tonight. Normally, it’s so easy to completely ignore the fact that Bellamy’s hot. Mostly because he’s so annoying. She doesn’t understand why this night is so different.
“There isn’t much to fix.” He grins. “My face is perfect.”
She pauses dabbing away the last of the blood and just stares at him. He shakes with his laughter.
“Fine, fine, even that was a bit much for me,” he relents.
“As long as you admit it,” she says and returns to her work. Finally, she checks his eyes to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion or anything, though he tries to argue with her the whole time. When she’s satisfied, she nods and tells him, “Okay. I am convinced I am not going to be the cause of your untimely death.”
“Oh, joy,” he deadpans. “I couldn’t have guessed that.”
This is when she figures he’ll step away and she’ll jump off the counter and they’ll go back to the party. That doesn’t happen. Bellamy doesn’t move away. And she doesn’t get off the counter. Or even move to. Or even ask him to let her. Instead, he gives her this look. It confuses her, at first. But then once she gets used to it, she finds she doesn’t mind it. Really, if she’s being honest, she likes it. A lot.
“What?” she asks. A piece of her really is curious, wants to know why he’s looking at her like that. Why he’s never done it before. And, if possible, can they both do something about it?
He swallows. “Nothing, I just, um…”
“Um?” she repeats and screws up her face. Maybe she’s just imagining the look on his face. Maybe she’s much drunker than she thought was even possible on the four beers she’s had.
He doesn’t give her any more answers though. Well, at least not in words. Just as she’s expecting the moment to break between them, for him to step away and go back to the party, he does something that she would've never guessed would happen with Bellamy before they walked into that bathroom.
He kisses her.
It takes Clarke a second to even realize what’s happening. His mouth is hard and soft all the same time. And warm, too. He pulls away after only a moment though. Before she has the chance to respond.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, worry set in his eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
She cuts him off by kissing him this time. Her hands go to his shoulders and she drags him closer. Her legs spread enough for him to step into the gap. They get lost in each other after that. Their lips meet again and again. Half of it feels like they’re still fighting, but the other half...Before she can stop the thought, she wonders why they’ve never done this before.
Grinning against her mouth, his hands go up her shirt and under her bra to her breasts. He teases her a little and she moans in the back of her throat. When her nails dig in a little at his shoulders and he groans, it’s her turn to grin.
Moving at a rapid fire pace, her hands go to his belt and once it’s off, he helps her sit up so she can get her shorts off. It’s not elegant, and they’re half-laughing with each movement, trying their best to stay quiet. But it feels way more natural than it ever did with Finn.
He teases her where she’s already wet with his fingers, helping her sit up so he can hit an angle that feels just right. In return, she slides one hand down from his shoulders so she can wrap it around him.
Then Clarke feels Bellamy wince a little as they’re kissing and realizes she completely forgot the purpose of coming into the bathroom.
“Wait, your face,” she says, but his shirt is still bunched up in her free hand and while she pauses the movement with her second, she doesn’t move that one, either.
“Screw my face,” he replies and kisses her again, hard.
She can’t but pull back and grin. “Really? Because all you had to do was ask.”
He nearly chokes, and it’s so worth the possible embarrassment of the joke. “Jesus Christ, Clarke, you might kill me after all.”
“Not yet.” Then she pulls him in towards her again.
This time, the kiss is hotter. All tongues and teeth and speeding past the steps she took so painstakingly with Anya in high school. She doesn’t want to go slow. Not right now, at least. Not with it feeling so good with Bellamy.
Her hand continues to work him and he moans so loud she worries people will hear them. The thought only concerns her for a moment, because then Bellamy’s fingers crook inside her and she pants out a soft moan when they break their kiss to breathe.
“Clarke,” he says, stopping his movements, his chest is heaving a bit. She whines and bites her lip. He squeezes his eyes shut. “You’ve been drinking, I don’t want to—”
“Kindly shut up and stop ruining this,” she states, with much more gusto than she ever thought was possible for her. He gapes at her for a moment and she softens a little. “It’s okay,” she says, and kisses him, lightly, this time. “But seriously, don’t stop.”
“Going. To. Kill. Me,” he tells her in between kisses, each one dirtier than the last.
She rolls her eyes but can’t stay concentrated on being annoyed for too long. Not when he finally gives her what she wants and is finally inside her. Clarke clings to his shoulders and then tangles one hand in his hair. He places searing hot kisses along her throat. It sends her head spinning. He grips onto her hip hard as he continues to snap his hips against hers as best they can given their positioning in the small bathroom.
“You feel so fucking good,” he says before nipping at the place behind her ear.
She feels herself melt a little at the sound of his voice, and while part of her wants to be pissed at her own body’s reaction, she can’t bring herself to be. Bellamy picks up on it, which normally she’d expect him to be all smug about, but instead, he pulls back and looks at her with something a lot like awe. The look holds too much, so she pulls his lip between her teeth and feels his smirk. That feels better, she thinks, in the only coherent part of her mind she has left while Bellamy’s wrecking her. More like what this actually is.
In the moment, she thinks it lasts forever, it feels so amazing. But later, she realizes it’s ten minutes or so. Which she does get, he is only twenty-two, after all.
Clarke doesn’t think anything can ruin the moment. It’s never been like this for her. Even during that first time with Finn, both of them drunk and clawing at one another’s clothes. Even though the hook-up with Bellamy is all heat, it’s somehow so much more precise. But she doesn’t let herself think about it too long, and throws herself into how good it all feels. When he sends her careening off the edge, she knows she makes some obscene throaty plea. He comes not long after, his head buried in the crook of her neck.
And then it settles around them.
The weirdness.
Silently, they pull on their clothes and straighten their hair as much as possible. Clarke isn’t sure she’s ever felt so awkward after sex in her life. She knows she has to say something though.
“That was...Fun,” she finishes, so lame she wants to die.
He looks a little dazed but manages a nod. “Yeah, it was.”
She gives him a tight smile. From outside the door, she hears Raven call out, “Where the hell is Clarke? Clarke! Come help me crush Jasper and Monty at beer pong.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” Bellamy says and nods toward the door.
“Right,” she huffs out a laugh. She bites her lip and thinks about saying more, but in the end, she only tells him, “See you out there.” And she walks out without another word.
The rest of the night is fun, really. Her and Raven do indeed crush Jasper and Monty. But the whole time, she can’t stop thinking about Bellamy. Before she even has a chance to talk to him again though, he takes off.
It’s the last time they really hang out until they have that last awful conversation. And then he graduates.
Murphy does love sleeping with Raven, even if she talks way too much about how it’s a ‘one-time thing’. It’s been a one-time thing for months now. They go back and forth debating this. Her, deciding they’re done. Him, smugly telling her they’ll see about that. Her, texting him in a moment of weakness. On and on it goes. With seemingly no end in sight for either one of them. Not that he’s going to complain about it while she’s riding him.
Her hands are on his chest, and he’s on the floor. His hands at her hips, gripping them so hard he bets they’re leaving marks. Raven likes that though. She told him after the third time this happened. He’s so focused on how great she feels that he doesn’t even think about the likely colony of bacteria living on Jasper’s bedroom floor. The carpet might be gross as hell, but it sure beats the bed.
When she pulled him into Jasper’s bedroom while everyone else was distracted by a game of flip cup, he paused before she tried to fling him onto the bed.
“No way am I fucking you on Jasper’s bed,” he said.
“Ah, cute,” she replied. “Friendship.”
Murphy snorted. “Please. I just don’t wanna catch anything.” She considered that and agreed.
Hence, the floor.
He breaks apart their kiss just long enough to start to ask her a question, one she apparently already knows he’s going to say.
“If you ask me about my fucking leg one more time, I’ll walk away right now,” she gets out, a little breathless.
He rolls his eyes and squeezes her hip a little tighter, and feels how much she likes it. “Like you would even seriously think about it.” And she doesn’t move, which only makes him feel a little more daring. Then he adds, “And I apologize for being such a considerate hook-up.”
She leans down and kisses him again, dragging her lips away after a moment, taking any coherent thoughts with it. “No one asked you to be considerate, Murphy. That’s not what this is. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” he replies and thrusts a little bit harder.
It’s true. This really is just sex. For the both of them. He doesn’t harbor any secret feelings or anything like that. This is fun. An escape. A way to not have to worry about arranging crappy sex with a rando. Besides, they can barely stand one another on the best of days.
This time around, it goes faster than normal for them. As much as she protests admitting to it, Murphy knows Raven likes it when he takes his time. Paying attention to every detail. Every place he’s learned over the past couple of months. The ones she likes the best. The ones she didn’t even know about until he came along. But given the party just outside the door filled with their friends, they both know they don’t exactly have the luxury to do whatever they’d like to one another.
He still makes sure she comes first though. He’s nothing if not a gentleman.
After, they make sure to clean themselves up, and Raven stands with some amount of effort and help from Murphy. “This is the last time,” she says to him before she leaves Jasper’s bedroom. “I mean it.”
Murphy smirks and rolls his eyes. But he allows it, for now. “Whatever you say.”
As it turns out though, it really is the last time. She doesn’t text him for a hook up again, and then he finishes school. And that’s the end, he figures.
About 12 Years Later
Bellamy and Murphy planned to move back to Arkadia in the winter, but then things got side-tracked and instead, it becomes the spring.
“Look what we got,” Murphy says as he comes in through the front door of their shit apartment. Part of the reason why they’re leaving New York. A major one, if Bellamy’s honest. Arkadia might not be the center of the universe, but the rent’s manageable.
Bellamy frowns at the fancy envelope in his hand. Then it clicks, and he rolls his eyes. “Wedding invite? Seriously, when will people figure out we’re only in it to sleep with the bridesmaids or unhinged cousins and stop inviting us?”
Murphy shrugs. “Might be fun.”
Bellamy snorts. “I doubt that. Who’s selling away their souls this time?”
Murphy hesitates for a moment before he admits, “Harper and Monty, from college.”
That gets Bellamy’s attention, even though he does his best to cover it up. Murphy smirks. “So I’m guessing we’re going.”
He tries to play it cool, really, he does. But Murphy sees right through that. “Your little obsession with Clarke Griffin is showing.”
Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Shut up, it’s not an obsession. ” But it doesn’t have the bite he intends. So, he adds, “I don’t care, really. Probably won’t even go.” Because obviously this will make things better.
Murphy raises his eyebrows at him for a minute, unwavering in his stare, and Bellamy cracks. “Fine, it might be worth seeing what she’s been up to.”
He shakes his head. “I’m disappointed in you, really. I expected just a touch more resistance.”
“Like you’re any better!” Bellamy gestures towards him. “I mean, you’re the one who suggested going to the wedding in the first place.” He grins. “And I know exactly why. There’s only one person who can get you to actually want to go to a wedding without the only intention being to get laid.”
Murphy scoffs. “I’ll have you know that getting laid is very high in my intentions for this wedding. In fact, it is the only one.”
Bellamy only found out about how Raven and Murphy slept together for a solid three months after they both graduated. He told him one night once they’d finished their first week of working real adult jobs and got drunk as hell. In turn, he admitted that he and Clarke hooked up at a party a couple of weeks before graduation.
Neither one of them has been back to Arkadia since, and don’t even know what the two are up to these days. Both Raven and Clarke deleted any social media for a solid two years after Bellamy and Murphy graduated. They’ve since returned, but with so much protection he’s never seen any of her posts. As much as Bellamy wants to follow Clarke on practically everything, he’s never had the guts to do it. Murphy’s the same.
The wedding might give them another chance to hook up with them again. Though both of them don’t want to admit that they still want to, that they even still think about them. Especially after all these years.
“Good to know you’re still a romantic,” Bellamy tells him.
Murphy grins. “Who said anything about romance?”
Bellamy just raises his brows vaguely at that but doesn’t reply. He does stare down at the invitation before him. As much as he doesn’t want them to, his thoughts drift towards Clarke. What she’s been up to recently. What she’s doing. He’s not even ashamed to say he also wonders who she’s been doing. And if possible, that could be him, at the wedding. If he’s lucky.
He looks up and Murphy’s got the smuggest expression he’s ever seen on his face. “So, we’re going, right?”
Bellamy ticks his jaw, trying to hold out. In the end, he can’t. “Yeah,” he says, still thinking about Clarke’s laugh. The way she kissed him that night in Jasper and Monty’s apartment. “We’re going.”
“Madi!” Clarke calls. “You and Robin better get down here or you’ll be late for soccer practice!”
“Coming, god, don’t lose it yet!” her daughter shouts from the opening where the pole for the old firehouse comes down into their living room.
Everyone thought her and Raven were crazy for selecting a beaten down building for their home, but they love it.
Then Madi adds something in Tagalog, just loud enough for Clarke to hear so she knows it’s on purpose. While Bellamy might not be in her life, mostly because of the small, incidental detail that he has no idea she exists, Clarke decided to have her daughter learn the language. It felt important when she started pre-school. Still does. But usually these days Madi uses it to come with new ways of talking back.
Clarke sighs, a little exhausted from the endless chaos of her life. They’re definitely going to be late.
“Sorry Clarke!” comes from Robin. These days, Raven’s kid seems to respect her far more than her own. She wonders if it’s genetics or just the beginning of the Dreaded Teen Years, almost a year and a half early.
Raven emerges from the kitchen with two travel mugs of coffee. “The ‘tude is reaching new levels.”
Clarke accepts one of the mugs and takes a long sip. “Oh, you have no idea.”
“Robin’s the same.”
To that, Clarke snorts.
“I’m serious,” Raven goes on. “Yesterday she asked me if I grew up with black and white movies. Black and white, Clarke! She’s becoming more and like,” her voice gets the usual quiet tone they both have whenever they discuss Madi and Robin’s dads when they’re in the house, “Murphy every day.”
“Yeah,” she returns at the same volume and nods. “I think Madi’s definitely got Blake written all over her teen years.”
Raven groans. “It’s gonna be hell.”
They’re serious for a moment before the two of them burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” she relents. “They could be worse.”
Clarke has to agree with that. “I definitely was.”
Raven clinks her coffee mug against her own. “Me too.”
Robin and Madi come sliding down the fireman's pole, faster than they're supposed to, and set off towards the door.
“Come on,” Madi calls over her shoulder. “Or we’ll be late.”
Clarke might kill her, just a little. She dismisses it for now though, shakes her head, and heads out.
As difficult as her life is, and certainly has been in the past twelve or so years, she wouldn’t change any of it. She loves Madi more than she can ever articulate. She doesn’t regret the choices she’s had to make in order to keep her safe and (hopefully) happy. Raven feels the same. They’ve had that conversation before. In fact, they’ve had it multiple times. Each with the same conclusion.
As long as Bellamy and Murphy never find out the truth, they’re golden.