Prompt from jasminenightshade on tumblr: Clarke and Bellamy and the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle.

When Clarke shuffles sleepily into the kitchen wearing Bellamy's shirt and a pair of socks, Bellamy's sitting at the dining table surrounded by the New York Times. The oversized mug that's decorated with a little bone and the words I found this humerus that he bought for her when she got her radiology fellowship is sitting in the tiny bit of open space left on the surface, steam still curling up from it.

"I love you," she sighs as she sits in the seat next to him and wraps her hands around the warm mug. His is next to it, already empty, and Clarke smiles when she notices it's the one she gave him when he got tenured: I have a black belt in history.

Bellamy mumbles vaguely in response and frowns at the Sunday crossword puzzle. Clarke scoots her chair closer so she can lean against him and peer down at the clues.

"'Spartan colonnades'?" Clarke reads aloud.

"Stoas," he says in a distracted tone. "I already got that one. They're like Greek covered walkways." Then he groans. "I know I know this one. It's on the tip of my tongue."

"Which clue?" she asks. He shifts the paper so it's a little closer to her and points.

"Nine down, twelve letters. 'To throw out a window.'"

"Defenestrate," Clarke replies immediately, and takes a huge gulp of her coffee. It's prepared just the way she likes it, milky and sweeter than any human being should be able to tolerate, as Bellamy likes to tell her.

Bellamy promptly fills in the word, then turns to look at her and raises an eyebrow. "That was quick."

She shrugs. "It's a hard word to forget. High school, AP European History, we learned about the Defenestration of Prague. Some Catholics were thrown out of a window and fell seventy feet but survived because they landed in a––"

Clarke's cut off in the middle of her sentence by Bellamy's mouth on hers. She squeaks in surprise, but then she smiles against his lips and kisses him back. When he finally pulls away, he doesn't go far, just leans his forehead against hers.

"What was that for?" she asks breathlessly, still smiling.

"You know I love it when you talk history to me," he says with a grin, and presses another hot kiss to her lips. Clarke moans into his mouth when he sucks her bottom lip, and she blindly sets her mug back on the table so she can thread her hands through his messy bed hair.

In between kisses, Bellamy asks "Did you––know that was––actually––the Second––Defenestration––of Prague?"

He wraps an arm around her waist and hauls her off her chair and into his lap. Once she's straddling him, his mouth goes straight to her neck.

"Really?" she pants. "Why don't you––oh––teach me about it?"

"I don't know," he replies, tugging the collar of the shirt down so he can nibble on her clavicle. "I'm in the middle of the crossword. And it's a very stimulating puzzle this week."

Clarke huffs. "Well, here's my clue for you: seven letters, 'I'm not wearing any blank.'"

Bellamy pauses in the middle of unbuttoning the shirt and pulls away to look at her.

"Pajamas?" he says slowly.

She bites her lip to keep from grinning and shakes her head. "First two letters are right, though. Oh, and the last one."

(It only takes him one more guess, but he gets it exactly right.)