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The first thing Clarke did with Bellamy Blake was fight him.
He was twelve and she was ten and he'd just moved to town to live with his grandmother, whom Clarke was like 95% sure was a witch, because she had chickens. Who kept chickens? Witches. No one else would keep chickens in their backyard when they didn't live on a farm.
Anyway, Bellamy and his little sister moved in with their grandmother, and Bellamy started getting in fights. Which, honestly, didn't really surprise Clarke. Everyone got in fights over the summer. It was just kind of what you did; all the kids had their own little gangs and territories and if another group of kids came into your territory, you fought them.
The internet wasn't really a thing yet, okay? They had to do something to keep occupied when school was out.
Bellamy didn't fight like the other kids though, not at first. Bellamy fought like there was a demon in him.
"He's not messing around," Wells told Clarke, and Clarke ignored him, because Wells always worried about stuff like that. But Clarke was fast and smart and everyone always underestimated her for being a girl, so there was no way some random dude was going to show up and win a fight in her turf.
And, she was right. She picked a fight with Bellamy and she won because he's kind of reluctant about beating up girls, and she bites more than most people, and he just wasn't really prepared for the whirlwind that was Clarke Griffin in a fight.
And then, in the way that only works when you're a kid, or in a video game or fighting anime, they became friends, because that's what happens when you beat someone up and you're a kid. They were allies from them on, and she felt unstoppable.
*
"Hey, remember how I used to kick your ass?" Clarke says. They're playing Tekken and she has her feet in his lap.
"In what universe did you kick my ass?" he asks. "You're not even winning this fight."
"This is Tekken. I meant in real life. You have never beaten me in a fight."
"There's no way that's true."
Even though they'd become allies after that first fight, they still brawled a lot. Clarke doesn't know if everyone spent long summer nights having massive brawls in their neighbor's backyard, but she certainly did. It was the best.
"Nope. I have won one-hundred percent of the fights we've had."
Bellamy successfully wins the Tekken match and raises his eyebrows at her. "Is there a reason you're bringing this up now? Did you lose a fight? Are you feeling threatened in your fighting places?"
"I'm just having nostalgic childhood memories."
"About kicking my ass."
"About kicking your ass."
"I let you win," he says.
She snorts. "Oh, you did not."
"You were a kid! I didn't want to beat you up. You were like three feet tall. You had pigtails."
"I kicked your ass."
"Keep telling yourself that."
Clarke is a mature, responsible adult, which means there's only one way to deal with that statement.
She jumps on him.
Bellamy's laughing, but Clarke bites his arm, hard, and that's enough to get him to take the fight seriously. Or more seriously.
"Jesus Christ, Griffin, do you actually have rabies?" he asks, trying to get her in a headlock. Clarke twists out of it and pushes him down, but Bellamy hit puberty since the last time they had a real fight, and he's bigger than she is, more muscular, and suddenly she's flat on her back on the couch with him on top of her, and they both freeze.
Clarke has never slept with Bellamy, which mostly confuses people when they find out. Something about we've been friends forever makes people assume they at least dated at some point, but Bellamy's not interested in her, and she's never been so desperately in love with him that it seemed worth the risk to make a move.
But now he's on top of her, pinning her down, and she's pretty sure there are only a few more breaths between them before they start making out.
Bellamy wets his lips, staring down at her, and Clarke tries not to stare at his mouth.
"See?" he says, voice a little hoarse. "I let you win."
She's competitive enough that it breaks the mood, because there's no way Bellamy is winning this fight just because she wants to make out with him. She's still quick and decently strong, and she leverages herself well enough to push him back and off her, onto the couch.
Except there isn't really enough couch for him to go back to, and she ends up kind of on top of him, in his lap, in very direct contact with his dick.
They stare at each other again, and there's the kiss.
She's honestly not sure which of them starts it; she knows she's moving in, but he is too, and her hands tangle in his hair just as his find her ass, pulling her in hard against him, hot and close. Bellamy kisses like they're still fighting, all teeth and tongue, refusing to give her an inch of control, and Clarke twists her fingers hard in his hair, until he whimpers.
"Fuck," he says, gasping, staring up at her with wide eyes. Clarke goes back in to kiss him again, softer, coaxing, not quite an apology, more like a plea. He has to want this. She can't go back to not knowing what he tastes like. "Clarke," he says, sliding his hands up her back.
"What?"
"This doesn't count as you beating me."
She lets out a surprised laugh and nips his lip. "Who's on top? I'm on top."
"Having you on top of me is seriously the opposite of me losing," he points out. He wets his lip and looks at her, face open and hopeful. "This would be a really shitty way to win a fight."
She has to laugh, and she leans in to kiss him again. "I don't need to make out with you to win a fight," she says. "I can do it all by myself."
"I'm just saying, I let you win."
"I'm just saying, we could be making out right now," Clarke says, grinding down against him deliberately. He's fucking hard and it's about the best thing in her life. She's turning Bellamy Blake on.
"Clarke--" he starts.
"If you say this is a natural reaction to proximity and it has nothing to do with me I'm going to fucking murder you," she says, and he stares at her.
"I, uh--" He rubs his face, blushing. "I was going to say I'm going to need you to agree to a minimum of five dates before I put out. We don't have to go on five dates before I put out, but--yeah. It has everything to do with you."
Clarke leans down and kisses him again, longer and slower, like she's always wanted to kiss him, and his hand is in her hair now, holding her close. "Ten dates," she says, against his mouth.
"Fuck, that's so many dates," he says, tugging off her shirt. "We're never gonna come up with ten different dates. Five was already going to be tough."
"Pizza, movie, sushi," Clarke says, kissing his jaw.
"Laser tag."
"Literally just beating each other up in an alley."
"That's not a date, that's fight club."
"It can be both." She pulls his shirt off too and presses him back on the couch. "And then we just do all of them again and that's ten dates."
He runs his hands up her bare back, stopping when he hits her bra. His fingers flirt over it. "Why didn't we do this years ago?"
"Because the last time I pinned you, neither of us had hit puberty."
"That must be it." He unhooks the bra, and she lets him slide it off. She's gratified when he just stares at her breasts, because--okay, it's kind of objectifying, but he mostly just looks genuinely awed, like he has never seen breasts this awesome. As he should. Clarke has seen a lot of breasts, and she's still very proud of her own.
He flips them back over and stares down at her for a long minute before he leans in to press wet, open kisses against her breasts. She stifles a moan for no good reason, because it's not like he's not going to want to hear her, and she just lets the next one out. Her walls are pretty thick. Her neighbors will deal.
"Bell," she says, breath catching, almost choking up, because--it's him. His mouth on her, his hands sliding down to the button on her jeans. It's too much and not enough, all at once. "I love you, okay? It's not--I love you."
He looks up at her, smiles. "Yeah, okay. Good." He presses a kiss against her stomach. "We should have done this years ago."
She laughs, and then gasps as he pulls her jeans and underwear down and off and settles between her legs. She's wet from the fight and the kissing and just the fucking proximity, and when he nuzzles her thigh, stubble rasping against her skin, it sends another wave of arousal through her. "That's the worst response ever to someone saying they love you."
"Yeah," he agrees, and presses a kiss against her leg, right below where she really wants his mouth. "But I'm going to eat you out, so that's pretty good."
She squirms a little, pressing closer, and tugs his hair again. "This from the guy who didn't want to hook up until I said I'd date him."
"I love you too," he says, and licks inside her, tongue hot and wet, and it's been way too long since she did this, and way too long that she's been waiting to do this with him. Her leg goes up over his shoulder as she tries to push closer, take him deeper, get more. He laughs against her, bringing his thumb up to rub circles on her clit, and Clarke would say something, but all her brain is focused on the feel of his mouth, and it does not seem at all worth it to think about something else.
She tugs him up for a kiss after she comes, licks the taste of herself out of his mouth as she shoves his jeans off. His dick fits just right in her hand, and he drops his forehead to her shoulder, groaning, as she jerks him off with quick, steady movements.
"If I knew you were going to fucking tackle me, I would have brought condoms," he observes, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, everything in reach.
"If I knew I was going to tackle you, I would have bought condoms."
"Who doesn't have condoms?"
"It's been a while, okay?"
His lips find hers again, and they're still kissing when he comes.
"You're going to need condoms," he tells her, collapsing against her.
"I know. I want to get laid after my ten dates." She presses a kiss to his sweaty hair. "I definitely kicked your ass there."
He laughs and tugs her back against his chest. "Call it a draw."