"Yeah, right there, keep going."

"Mmmm, that's good."

"Don't stop!"

Clarke, as it turns out, is very vocal when Bellamy has his hands on her. She is seated in front of him, fully clothed, as he massages her shoulders, kneads her back and presses his thumbs just below her neck, making small, intense circles.

Bellamy grins at all the noise she's making. It's as if she has no idea how loud she's being. He's pleased and somewhat surprised at the reactions he's able to coax from his normally self-possessed co-leader.

"How did you get so good at this?" she asks, feeling the knots in her muscles release one by one under his ministrations.

"Octavia used to get all kinds of cramps from hiding under the floor. The space was too tiny for a growing kid." He hits a particularly sensitive spot and Clarke moans – loudly. "I read up on pressure points, reflexology, all of that, so I could help her out."

Clarke turns her head to the side. "Well, thanks for offering."

"Not a problem, Princess. You looked tense." He smirks. "Well, more tense than usual."

She slaps his knee lightly. "Jerk," she says without malice.

"So, Clarke." Raven smiles conspiratorially. "What was going on last night? I heard lots of moaning and groaning after you went into Bellamy's tent."

"Huh?" Clarke looks genuinely confused. "We were talking about the winter stores…Oh! He gave me a massage."

"A massage, huh?" Raven gives her an exaggerated wink.

Clarke scowls. "It wasn't like that, Raven. I was just tense."

"Whatever you say, Clarke. Nothing wrong with getting a little help when you're…tense."

Raven flips her ponytail behind her and claps Clarke on the shoulder as she walks away.

"I was just tense," Clarke mutters as she heads in the opposite direction, shaking her head.

A few days later, Clarke pokes her head inside Bellamy's tent.

"Hey," she says, straightening. "Could you help me out, like you did the other day? I have a big knot in my back, right here." She stretches to reach the spot and Bellamy is distracted as her breasts are thrust forward.

He clears his throat and flicks his eyes back up to her face. He covers his interest with a smirk. "Can't get enough of my hands, Princess?"

Clarke huffs and rolls her eyes. "Nevermind."

Before she can turn all the way around, Bellamy grabs her arm. "Sit down, Clarke," he orders, exasperated.

She stares at him warily but concedes. He pushes her hair over her shoulders as he kneels behind her, his knees on either side of her hips. Clarke feels slightly on edge with him in such close proximity, but his hands on her back instantly relax her.

Bellamy starts at the top of her shoulder blades and works his way down. He can feel the warmth from Clarke's body, smell her skin. It's distracting him from his goal. He wants to hear her.

"YES!" Clarke shouts when he reaches the spot she indicated earlier. "That's it!" She smacks her palms on her thighs and groans.

Bellamy smiles widely. It's like he's flipped a switch, causing her to lose all of her usual composure. There's no way she's aware of what she's doing, he decides.

"Harder," Clarke demands.

Bellamy tries to find the last remnants of the knot on Clarke's back, but the fabric under his fingers is interfering with his search. He slides his hand under her shirt.

The sound Bellamy makes when he touches Clarke's bare skin is no match for hers. He's sure the whole camp can hear.

Bellamy's suspicions are confirmed the next morning when Octavia slaps him upside the head.

"Some of us need our beauty sleep, Bell!" she yells as she storms away.

"What's with her?" Clarke wonders aloud as she comes up alongside him.

Bellamy considers telling her that she's the one who kept Octavia awake, but he likes knowing this little secret about Clarke.

"Who knows? Must be her time of the month."

This earns him another slap upside the head.

After a long day of trekking, Clarke is dead on her feet and wants nothing more than to collapse, which she does, face first on her blanket. Sleep is just about to claim her when someone pushes aside the flap of her tent.

"Go away," she mumbles into her makeshift pillow.

"Clarke, we need to talk about who's going on the hunting trip tomorrow." Bellamy sits down next to her and she swats at him ineffectually.

"I don't care. Take who you want and leave me alone."

He chuckles. "Is the princess tired?"

Clarke turns her head to face him and blows a piece of hair off her cheek. "If my feet weren't killing me, I would get up right now and literally kick you out of my tent."

Bellamy glances down at his lap and then back at her face. "I can help you with that, you know."

If Clarke were more alert, she would think he sounds nervous. "Huh?"

Bellamy moves slowly so that she can stop him if she wants. He scoots down and unlaces her boots, pulling them off along with her socks.

Clarke watches him warily over her shoulder but almost immediately flops back down when he presses his thumbs along the arches of her feet. "Ugh, that feels so GOOD."

Bellamy spreads his fingers across the balls of her feet and pulls on each toe. Clarke's fists pound the ground on either side of her head. He is half relieved and half disappointed that her moaning is muffled by the pillow.

"Feeling better, Princess?"

Clarke mutters something unintelligible into the blanket.

Feeling bold, Bellamy moves his hands up to her calves, squeezing the flesh through her pants. He makes slow circles with the pads of his fingers and Clarke groans.

When Bellamy's hands move north of her knees, Clarke falls silent. He kneads her thighs gently with his knuckles, moving higher and higher. The only noise is the sound of their breathing.

When he reaches the tops of her legs, Bellamy traces the curve of her backside once with his thumb and then abruptly removes his hands.

"I'll take Miller, Rodriguez and Schmidt," he says, a little breathless.

By the time Clarke opens her eyes, he's gone.

Clarke makes herself busy the next day. If she's busy, her mind won't wander to the feel of Bellamy's hands on her. She's pretty sure that co-leader duties don't extend to massaging each other's legs – not that she's complaining. It felt fantastic.

Clarke shakes her head and reminds herself for approximately the thirtieth time to stay focused. She looks up when she hears a small commotion at the camp gate. The hunting party has returned.

Bellamy and Miller are carrying a deer between them. They hand it off to be cleaned and cooked. Bellamy's tired eyes automatically find Clarke's in the crowd before he heads to his tent, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck.

Clarke sidesteps the gathering group and follows him. He raises his eyebrows at her when she enters.

"You look tense." She gestures toward his shoulders. "It's time I return the favor."

Bellamy gives her a look. He's thinking about last night.

Clarke flushes. "Just your back, okay?"

He plops down on his bed. "I won't stop you. That deer was heavy as sin."

Clarke sinks to her knees behind him. She presses her lips together and frowns.

"I've never done this before." She runs her fingers experimentally over his back.

"I'm not made of glass, Princess. Press harder."

Clarke applies pressure to his shoulder blades and is rewarded by a grunt from Bellamy. She kneads her way down to his waist and back up.

"Here, Clarke." Bellamy indicates the tops of his shoulders. She grabs and squeezes, moving her hands in toward his spine and back out again. He can feel her little puffs of breath on the back of his neck.

Bellamy's skin is warm through his shirt and Clarke scoots closer until her thighs are pressed up against his hips. She hesitates for a moment before snaking a hand around to his front, resting her palm on the button of his jeans.

"Can I?"

"I thought you said just my back."

"I lied."

Bellamy, as it turns out, is very vocal when Clarke has her hands on him.