bellarke, bra fitting turned to heavy flirting with a flustered bellamy
Clarke pursed her lips and looked at herself critically in the mirror. She slid her thumbs into the cups of her new lace bra and readjusted it. She turned to the side, tipped her head, and frowned again. This was supposed to be a present to herself, a little pick-me-up after her third (and final) break up with Lexa. She’d gone through the usual steps–sitting on the couch with Octavia watching sappy movies, getting her hair cut and dying the ends pink (that washed out before her residency started, thank god–she’d regretted it within a few hours, even though Raven assured her it looked hot), and now she was into the “buying new lingerie” stage of post-break up stereotypes. This one was a lilac push-up that did great things to her boobs, but the straps sat a little too far out on her shoulders and she was worried that the combination of underwire and lace would poke and scratch her over time.
The front door opened and closed and she heard Octavia rustling around in the living room. Since the whole “sexy-new-underwear” thing was all her idea, Clarke figured she might be able to help her decide. She left her room in just her jeans and bra, padding barefoot down the hall. “Hey, what do you think of this one? I’m not sure it’s worth the hassle,” she called as she rounded the corner and squawked in surprise, because that was definitely not Octavia.
“Oh holy shit,” Bellamy swore and spun around to face the wall.
“She’s–uh–she’s–she’s still at work,” Bellamy stuttered. His ears turned a dark red and he kept his back to her.
“And you’re here…because?” Part of Clarke’s brain knew she should go get a shirt, but another part of her brain was far too entranced with this new, flustered Bellamy and she wanted to see how far she could take it.
Because Bellamy was smooth. Bellamy picked up girls at bars without even trying. Bellamy smiled and women and men alike melted. And Bellamy was blushing.
“O sent me over because–because–”
“Because?” she prompted, struggling not to smile.
“Jesus, can’t you go put a shirt on before subjecting me to the Spanish Inquisition?”
Clarke stopped fighting the smile entirely. “Pretty sure you’ve seen a woman in her bra before.”
Bellamy snorted. “Not you. Could you go put a shirt on?”
“What if I say no?” She let her voice drop a little, just to see how he’d react.
“Then I’d have to assume you want me to see you with your shirt off,” he replied, matching her tone.
Even before Lexa, there’d always been something between them. Some sort of tension, some sort of lingering, unresolved need. Now was as good a time as any to figure out where it went, Clarke supposed. She was feeling a little bit reckless, but not destructive-reckless. Just…adventurous.
“No, you don’t want me to see you with your shirt off?” Bellamy asked, still facing the wall.
“No, I’m not going to go put a shirt on.”
Clarke saw the moment her words sank in, because his head snapped up and he curled his hands into fists. Slowly, he turned, his eyes raking over her. “You wanted an…opinion?” He dropped his gaze to her chest and Clarke felt her own blush start to rise.
“I do. I like it, but…” Finishing her sentences was much harder with him looking at her like that.
“But?” Bellamy stepped closer to her, close enough to touch her if he just lifted his hands. They stayed at his sides, though.
Clarke tossed her hair back and watched as his eyes followed the movement. “But the straps don’t sit quite right.”
“Hmm,” he said and trailed his fingers across her collarbone to the edge of the strap. Goosebumps followed in their wake. “I take it you’re worried it’ll…fall?” He nudged the strap and it slipped off her shoulder.
Clarke closed her eyes, because if she looked at him for another second she’d combust. She nodded and Bellamy’s hand came to rest on her waist. The other one curved around her jaw, so lightly it was hard to believe it was even there. When she opened her eyes he was just millimeters away, his breath fanning her skin. She arched her neck, just slightly, so her lips could brush against his.
His tongue slipped into her mouth and his grip on her waist tightened, and she forgot what they were talking about.
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