Chapter Text
When all is said and done, Bellamy would insist that this little incident was the universe correcting itself after he tried to be The Nice Guy for once.
No, really. The only reason he was in that damn section of the ARK station wreckage was to track down Clarke and tell her to keep a low profile, seeing as her mother was on a warpath. Apparently, sneaking the Chancellor's daughter out into the woods along with a few friends and a couple of high-powered rifles to hunt down some real food was considered a Very Bad Thing That Should Not Be Done Ever. Bellamy and Octavia had already gotten the verbal whipping of a lifetime, and he wanted to warn his fellow miscreants before they were subjected to the same rant-lashing by the incensed Chancellor Griffin. You know, because loyalty and shit.
See? Nice guy.
He had checked the mess hall and the med bay, even her tiny ass room, but to no avail. The princess had, it seemed, abandoned her usual haunts. Bellamy had come to realize that if Clarke wasn't eating or sleeping, she would be in the med bay stitching up some lunatic that had tried (and failed) to climb the radio tower again.
(His lips twitched up when he recalled the way her eyes rolled, exasperated, when she had recounted that particular tale to him. "No, really. He tried to climb it twice in one day. Twice. Whichever girl he's trying to impress, I wish she would either put the guy out of his misery or just jump his bones already. We're running out of anesthetics." Leave it to Clarke Griffin to be more concerned about medical supplies than the possible crash and burn of some poor idiot's love life.)
And that's how Bellamy found himself in the engineering sector, thinking that Raven might know the whereabouts of said missing princess. Or at least give him a last-known-location sort of deal.
"Hey, Raven? Have you seen Clarke? Wanted to give her a... heads up..." Bellamy trailed off when he realized he was talking to nothing but thin air and the local scrap metal, with no dark-haired, snark-mouthed mechanic in sight.
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. It was one thing for Clarke to be missing from her normal stomping grounds, but for Raven to not be elbows deep in some sort of machine at this hour was just unheard of. Ludicrous, even.
Bellamy looked carefully around the room, as if the sad-looking scrapped projects and loose wires had all the answers for him. Or maybe he was half expecting Raven to pop out of nowhere and kick his ass for breathing on her machinery without her express permission. Seriously, the mocha-skinned she-devil had put the fear of God into him when he had accidentally dropped one of her contraptions once.
(He had never been threatened with just a screwdriver and a socket wrench before. It was one of the most terrifying moments of his existence, Grounder war included.)
With that particularly horrifying flashback running through his mind, Bellamy was understandably concerned for his life when he heard Raven's voice laughing just outside the door. And right as Bellamy had picked up some funky-looking microchip to inspect too. These two incidents coinciding would surely lead to death. Via screwdriver. Or socket wrench. (He seriously took personal offense against those particular tools now).
Acting on pure instinct, Bellamy took a nose-dive for the nearest cover—a rickety-looking desk that seemed to cough dust as he cowered under it. The desk banged and rattled around, threatening to topple right on top of him, and he let out a quiet string of curses. He quickly shut the hell up and steadied the sorry excuse for a work desk above him just as the door slid open and two sets of footsteps (from what he could tell) came waltzing in.
"—don't really see why it's such a big deal," Raven said, plucking up one of the tools off the desk he was currently sequestered beneath. He resisted the urge to flinch. Ugh. Raven Reyes and screwdrivers in the same room seemed like a deadly combination right about now.
"You should just bang him and get it over with."
Wait, what?
A very put-upon sigh followed Raven's blunt declaration.
"Raven, I don't want to just bang him. I want a relationship. So I have to seduce him."
Crap. He recognized that exasperated I'm-smarter-than-you-but-I-won't-tell-you-that-because-that's-rude tone. If Clarke Griffin walked around the desk to see him eavesdropping, however accidental it was, screwdrivers and socket wrenches would be the least of his worries. The princess was far more terrifying than the mechanic, without any tools involved. Right now his biggest concern was that he was apparently overhearing a Very Important Girl Talk That No Boy Should Ever Overhear On Pain Of Death. A slow, slow death.
"Seduce, bang... what's the difference?" Raven asked.
"The difference is that banging implies a temporary fix, whereas seducing implies a permanent solution. Bang him once and it's out of his system. Seduce him, and he'll be begging for more."
Bellamy squirmed under the desk, trying to tune out the two oblivious girls on the other side of the desk. He shouldn't be listening to this. In fact, he felt the need to jam his fingers into his ears and pretend this wasn't happening. But there was a small niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Who the hell were they talking about? He couldn't think of any guys Clarke had shown an interest in lately. Hell, she seemed entirely too busy to pursue a relationship let alone seduce some poor bastard.
Raven was silent for a few moments. "I'm not sure if that statement was ridiculous or brilliant."
Clarke snorted. "It was definitely brilliant."
"So, if you're so smart about banging versus seduction, why are you asking me for advice about this, of all people? I mean, why not Octavia? She's probably the only girl in camp who actually understands the guy."
Octavia? Now Bellamy was thoroughly confused. Did Clarke have a crush on some Grounder? A Grounder that Octavia had introduced to her? And Octavia was the only one in camp that understood this mystery person, so he didn't speak English? Oh dear God, what if he was as tatted out as Lincoln? Wait, that wasn't the main problem. How the hell had Bellamy missed Clarke sneaking out of camp to cavort with some nameless, possibly inked-up Grounder warrior dude that didn't speak English? For some reason, the thought made his upper lip curl.
The thought that he had missed her sneaking around. Out. Sneaking out. He couldn't give a shit who she snuck around with, tattooed and non-English-speaking or not. Really, they needed to improve the patrols around the fence asap if the princess was managing to ditch camp on the regular.
(Bellamy didn't realize it at the time, but he was so fucked. So very, very fucked.)
"Okay, for one thing, that would be weird. Like, seriously weird. And second, you've actually slept with the guy. I figured if I could ask anyone about seducing him it would be you," Clarke said.
"Good point."
Bellamy literally felt his brain melt out of his ears, and ooze onto the floor. And then it did a back flip while it was at it. Okay, so Clarke was interested in some possibly inked-out Grounder warrior dude that didn't speak English she had met via Octavia, and the man had already slept with Raven? Wasn't there some Girl Rules that this violated, or something? The Bro Code was a little more lax about these things—he assumed. Bellamy had never encountered a situation quite like this one before. But Girl Rules seemed like they should be a little more extensive about such matters. Right?
"So? How did you do it?" Clarke asked. Bellamy heard one of the girls scuff their feet on the floor. "How did you get him to sleep with you?"
"Ah, c'mon, Clarke. This is Bellamy Blake we're talking about. All I had to do was take my clothes off and I had him in the bag."
It took a sorry amount of time for Bellamy's brain to catch up to what was actually happening in that moment. Then a few (billion) thoughts flew into his mind all at once:
Holy shit!
Clarke wants to seduce me.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
Wait, Clarke knows about me sleeping with Raven? Awkward.
All it took was a pretty girl taking her clothes off to get me in bed. Does that make me easy?
Clarke Fucking Griffin is out to seduce my poor ass. I. Am. Screwed.
It took every ounce of his self-control not to squeak like a little bitch.
"Did you hear something?"
Okay, maybe he did squeak like a little bitch, but he would never admit it even under duress.
"I didn't hear anything. Anyway, I don't think that would work. Suddenly stripping seems more like banging sex than seduction sex," Clarke said as he heard her plop down into one of the stools near his hidey-desk.
Through his haze of holy shit Clarke Griffin wants my body confusion, Bellamy tried to picture what she must look like right now, all wide (seemingly) innocent eyes and blushing cheeks. She wasn't a particularly shy woman, but he knew she liked to keep things to herself, especially personal things. And this particular conversation seemed like a Very Personal Thing. Even though she was apparently the one seeking out sex advice (holy shit!), he imagined she must be giving a tomato a run for its money by now. Hell, even his temperature had spiked a bit. He blamed it on the small space he was squeezed into. Stupid desk.
Raven sighed.
"Well, I'm not sure what other methods of seduction would work on the guy. I mean, he's pretty thick sometimes. Blake wouldn't know subtlety if it slapped him across that obnoxiously attractive face of his."
Bellamy pursed his lips. Well, that stung just a little bit. Just because he preferred the direct approach over dancing around the damn bush didn't mean he wasn't capable of being subtle when the situation called for it. It just so happened that Bellamy never felt like the situation called for subtlety. Nothing wrong with that.
One of the girls (he guessed it was Clarke) hopped off her seat and started pacing.
"Problem is, he can't feel like he's being seduced, or it won't work. It has to feel as natural as possible."
"Okay. So how does one naturally seduce Bellamy Blake?"
"I don't know! That's why I was asking you. C'mon, Raven!"
"Alright, alright. Let's start with what Bellamy cares about most in the entire world."
"Sex?"
Bellamy silently choked.
"Eh, close, but try again."
"...Octavia?"
"Exactly. We all know that he's the protective type, right? So let him think that you care deeply about the same thing he does..."
"But I really do care about Octavia."
Bellamy could practically hear Raven's eyes roll.
"Then tell him that, blondie-pants."
"Okay, so I tell him I care about his sister... and then I take my clothes off?"
There was a long silence while Bellamy contemplated the probability of his heart failing right there under that damn rusty death-trap of a desk. Really, there was only so much a man's heart could take in the span of ten minutes.
Then the dark-haired mechanic cracked up. He could only imagine the look on the princess' face.
"Oh my god, Raven! I don't know what I'm doing!"
"Calm down—"
"I've never had to woo someone before! I was always the one being wooed!" Clarke cried. The pacing steps intensified.
"Wait, wait. Let's back up," Raven's voice calmed from her manic laughter, but there was still a hint of snickering in her next few words. "Maybe you shouldn't try the traditional methods of seduction, okay? How about we try something that's a little more your style."
Bellamy perked up a little, curiosity piqued despite the utter awkwardness and slight humiliation on his end.
"Alright. So say you find Bellamy in his tent at the end of the day, like you usually do. What do you do?"
"I don't know. Talk about the day's work, and what needs to be done the next day?"
"Damn. You two are boring as hell. Try again."
"I bring up Octavia?"
"Ding, ding! What about Octavia?"
"She hasn't been eating enough since we brought Lincoln back a while ago."
Bellamy winced. So he wasn't the only one who noticed his sister's lack of appetite. He really needed to talk to her about that. The Grounder had improved since they brought him home to Camp Jaha, but his sister had still been reluctant to eat. It was like she was waiting for Lincoln to completely recover before enjoying a full meal. Bellamy had to grudgingly admit that if that wasn't a show of O's feelings for the Grounder, then he wasn't sure what else was.
"Good," Raven continued. "Then what?"
"I'm not really sure." Bellamy could imagine Clarke's shrug. "I guess we would keep talking?"
"Yup. And all the while you would have been subtly scooting closer to him, right? And by the time you both get into a deeper conversation, you're practically breathing each other's air, then you wait for the right moment, and BAM!"
"Bam?"
"Jeez, do I need to spell it? You make out!"
Bellamy listened to Raven's rant in stunned silence. He could almost picture the scene in his head. Clarke would walk into his tiny, standard ARK dorm looking like death-warmed-over from a long night in the med bay. She would plop down on his cot like she owned it, like she had done it a million times (she had), and then she would spill her guts about her worries--worries they shared because they were the leaders, even without the formal titles. He couldn't deny that if she mentioned O, he would crumble into a puddle of Blake-flavored goo at her feet. It was his one weakness, and Clarke knew it. But he wouldn't resent her for using that tactic—in fact, he would've probably been grateful to have someone to talk to about his brotherly concerns.
But he knew that O wouldn't have been their only topic of discussion. That would have just been the opening. He knew that once they got rolling, they would talk about anything and everything—fears, dreams, triumphs and failures. Eventually they would have gotten to the topic of their dead parents, and one of them would've inevitably broken down (but only one of them. That was how they worked, him and Clarke. If one broke then the other had to put the pieces back together). And after the silent crying was over with, he would have given her a big hug, because damn it, they both could've used one.
Then he probably would have kissed her. Or she, him. And if she had pushed beyond that, well he certainly wouldn't have complained. She would have gripped his shirt, because she was the type of girl who needed an anchor, something to keep her grounded while the rest of her tried to fly away. She would plop into his lap and she would kiss him like she was dying, like it was their last kiss, because Clarke Griffin had lost too many of her loved ones to take anything for granted anymore.
Then he would have gladly given her anything she wanted. Anything.
It all felt so natural in his head that he couldn't believe it actually hadn't happened—that it was a fantasy and not a memory.
Bellamy felt his head start to spin.
(He was so fucked.)
He heard some more feet-scuffing.
"But we talk like that all the time and it never led to, well, that before."
He dragged a hand down his face. If he'd known their conversations might've lead to that then he would've made a move a long damn time ago. Or started having extra conversations.
"Wait. You're telling me that you and Bellamy have been having long, drawn-out heart-to-hearts but haven't had any long, drawn-out rolls in the sack?"
"No?" Clarke squeaked.
"That's kind of sad, actually."
Clarke seemed to squirm. Good. At least he wasn't the only one.
"I can never tell what he's thinking. He doesn't look at me a lot when we're talking, so I don't think he's interested in me that way."
Shit, shit, shit. The only reason he didn't look at her too much when they spoke was because he was trying to stare, damn it. Not because he wasn't interested in jumping her bones! Because he was. Oh he was. And he could finally admit it to himself now because Clarke Griffin wanted to seduce him.
Was this real life?
"That's a lie," Raven replied. "You're the only girl he pays any attention to besides his sister. Yesterday I saw some chick walk up to him with her boobs falling out of her shirt, and he didn't even do a double-take."
Clarke seemed to contemplate that for a moment, while Bellamy tried to remember encountering said boobs-falling-out-of-shirt girl. There was a girl who was in front of him in line at the mess hall yesterday who may have said a few words to him, but he had been looking around for Clarke to see if she had snagged them the good seats near the exit doors...
Oh. He sort of had it bad, didn't he?
"So!" Raven chirped. "What will you do to him once you get his clothes off?"
Bellamy was going to get whiplash from all the shocking turns this conversation was taking. Now it was Clarke who seemed to choke on nothing.
"Raven!" Clarke coughed out. "I wasn't planning on going into detail with you about that."
"Oh, c'mon! We're both girls here. And I've already slept with him." Seriously. It was so awkward that Clarke knew about that. "So really, there's no reason to be shy."
Yes, yes there were plenty of reasons for her to be shy! As in, poor Bellamy Blake was going to die of asphyxiation if this conversation went into any more detail.
Clarke paused for a moment, then dropped an atomic bomb:
"Well, I wanted to try using my mouth."
He was dying. This was what death felt like. A weird combination of awe, disbelief, and arousal.
"Oh, ho! Kinky, princess. So you're into that, then?" Raven said with what Bellamy could only imagine was a glib expression on her face.
"N-no! I've just never done it before. I was sort of hoping he would show me how..."
He felt a hot stab of pleasure pierce his gut as his body responded to her dirty implication.
He could imagine most of it—her shy smile as she asked if she could try something, his fingers tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear as she lowered her mouth over his abdomen, slowly working her way lower with his gentle guidance. He could practically feel her nails lightly scratch his abs as she took that first taste—
He almost groaned aloud.
This was officially the most surreal experience of his young life. Hiding under a death trap disguised as a desk as two girls discussed the most effective way of seducing him while he sported an awkward boner. Seriously, he was a few seconds away from pinching his arm to see if he was actually sleeping.
Speaking of awkward boners though, he really needed to, ahem, adjust his. The girls continued to chit-chat (moving on to more PG topics, thank fuck), so he figured now was his best chance to move if he didn't want them to hear. He shifted a little bit to the side, carefully stretching out his legs so the crotch of his pants wasn't strung too tight across his groin. However, right as he was relaxing into place, one of his boots nudged the desk leg. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the rusty piece of shit made the loudest creeeeaaaaaak he had ever heard.
He froze.
"What the hell was that?"
Fuck! Of course the princess was paranoid enough to pay attention to every little noise. It was one of the things he liked about her—that she paid attention to possible threats—but still!
He was preparing to meet his maker as he heard the two girls walking over to his side of the room. This was it. This was how he died. At the hands of two of the most intimidating women in the world while he, Bellamy Blake, Bad-Ass Extraordinaire, cowered beneath a desk.
Then suddenly, salvation.
The door slid open, and in walked another set of footsteps. Heavier, this time.
"Well, hello ladies!" It took a moment for Bellamy to place the voice as Wick's, the guy who had eaten with them a few times in the mess hall, much to Raven's annoyance. "Watcha doin' in here all by yourselves? Wait. I'm not... interrupting am I? I mean, by all means, don't let little ole me stop you... Do you mind if I sell tickets to this?"
"Can it, Wick. We're busy, so fuck off," Raven hissed. The girl's advance on Bellamy's hidey spot halted, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
"Language, little lady. And no-can-do. Got strict orders from the higher-ups to design a new sustainable energy source. Gonna need the room for that, dearest."
Then the heavier footsteps of the three headed toward Bellamy's side of the desk, and he began to panic once again. Wick's eyes would be drawn to him immediately when he rounded the corner, and then the girls would wonder what the hell he was looking at and come to investigate, and then he would be murdered with a screwdriver and a socket wrench—
But as Wick's legs came into view, he never looked down. In fact, he walked right up to the desk so that Bellamy's face was awkwardly right at groin-level. Bellamy leaned away as far as the desk would let him. Then turned his face away for good measure. Nothing was more weird than being at crotch-level with someone you weren't about to fuck.
"Whatever. Let's go back to my room, Clarke."
"Oooh, can I watch?"
"Fuck off, you damn pervert!"
Wick chuckled until the door opened, then closed again, leaving a weird silence in the room that left Bellamy's ears ringing.
"So, Bellamy Blake. Do you make it a habit of hiding under old desks to eavesdrop on unsuspecting girls, or was this just a one-time sort of thing?"
Bellamy groaned, and shoved the other man away by his legs (avoiding all contact around the groin area) as he crawled out of the small space with as much dignity as he could muster. He swore the desk spit at him as he straightened up.
"Not one damn word, or I will shoot you," Bellamy said, wishing he could spit venom as he watched Wick's eyes crinkle in amusement.
"Only if you tell me everything you just heard, you lucky bastard."