This is where I finally use that prompt.
This turned out to be three chapters of pure fluff I guess. Sorry for the induced cavities, y'all.

"How does it feel to graduate in a few months?"

They're settled on the floor of Clarke's kitchen, loose notes and textbooks scattered everywhere.

Bellamy lifts his eyes from his textbook to glance down at the blonde lying on his lap. Her hair is splayed out, and she looks as radiant as the sun itself. He blinks away.

"Weird, I guess. Exciting. I keep being thrust into these situations when I'm not ready - Octavia's birth, Mom's death, being fostered by the Millers." He lets out a breath. "This finally feels like a step I chose to take."

She smiles and squeezes his hand. It feels like it's on fire. "It's going to be strange without you here."

He laughs at that. "You'll get used to it. It'll be like high school. I graduated, Octavia joined; that turned out all right, didn't it?"

"It's not the same, Bellamy."

"Isn't it? It might even be easier. Wells left for Australia back then; it was hard on you. You'll still have Raven. Jasper and Monty. Harper. You'll hardly notice I'm gone." She's lying there, head warm in his lap. A rush of bravery courses through him, and his voice sounds different - lower- when he adds, "What'll be so different?"

She twists her head to look at him and opens her mouth, on the brink of saying something.

And Bellamy suddenly realizes he doesn't want to hear it. Because nothing good can come of it, really; he's long understood that all the nice things that happen come with a price - one he might not always be willing to pay - and bad things just suck.

So much for that fleeting feeling of bravery.

So he says the first thing that pops into his mind, which is of course, "maybe Finn can keep you company."

He doesn't know why he said it.

Well, yeah, he does - but h's not happy about it. Jealousy is an ugly thing, and Bellamy is not that type of man.

At least, he doesn't want to be.

Clarke seems to have forgotten all about what she was going to say, as she sits up and gapes at him. His lap feels cold.

"What?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm just saying. You looked like you were getting along the other day. How was the end of the date?"

She rolls her eyes and stands up, before heading towards the sink. "It was fine. He's nice, but it was nothing to write home about, if I'm going to be honest. He hasn't even called me back since."

"Do you want him to?" He swears he couldn't care less, but his mouth seems to not give a shit about that.

"There was no...spark." She leans against the sink and takes a sip of water. "Not like there was with Lexa - even though we had our problems, for sure. And sometimes I think there might be something -" she stops abruptly as her gaze falls on him and she blinks.

"Yeah?"

There's a beat of silence before she turns away. "Nothing."

Bellamy knows the current tightening in his throat is called disappointment; the sinking feeling in his stomach called dejection, and he decides he can't stay here - in Clarke's kitchen, within touching distance of her - any longer. Not right now.

"I have to go, Clarke," he says, standing up. "I'll see you later."

"Wait, Bell," she reaches him as he nears the door, slips under his outstretched arm and bars his way. "Where're you going?"

"Octavia has a history test coming up. I'm going to help her study," he lies.

"Octavia's going to the movies with Harper," she replies flatly. "Try again."

He really has to start thinking about getting a new circle of friends.

She doesn't let it drop, though. "What's up with you lately? You've been acting strange for the past few days."

"I just have to go, Clarke. Please just...can I go?" He can't look at her in the eye. He hears the hurt in her voice, and that's already enough.

"Not until you tell me what's going on with you. Come on, Bell," she grazes his arm, "tell me."

There's a pause during which he hears her breathing, soft and steady; his own pulse feels erratic in comparison, and a stray thought crosses his mind. Now or never, Bellamy.

"You don't know what you're asking." He still refuses to look at her, focusing on her fingers around his forearm instead.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I tell you what's going on, and things are going to change, Clarke."

He hears a sigh of impatience. "We've been awkward, Bell. We're never awkward. You're leaving soon, and I don't want us to part on these sort of terms." She huffs, and jerks her hand away from his arm to cross them over her chest. "Anything is better than this."

He finally chances a look. Clarke is all crossed arms and pursed lips, crumpled large t-shirt and messy blond locks - and he decides he doesn't want to look away. Ever. He takes a step closer. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Fine." Another step closer.

"Fine." Her tone shifts. There's a challenge in her blue eyes and it sends a thrill up his spine. She knows... Maybe-

One more step, and he backs her up against the door. "Ready for a change?"

He tumbles forward in surprise when she yanks on his collar and pulls him close. "You're all talk," she growls, before giving one last tug and pressing her lips against his.

Clarke is big enough to admit she's thought about kissing Bellamy before. More than once, as a matter of fact. She's seen him kiss other people plenty of times, and Raven spilled all the details after an incident involving a douchey now-ex-boyfriend and many, many shots.

Still, she's not prepared for this - for the pressure of his tongue on her lower lip and the way her body shivers when his thumb graze the skin above her shorts. It's intoxicating, and all she wants is more. She buries her fingers in his hair and tugs softly.

Bellamy readily responds, cupping the back of her head with one hair and pulling her away from the door with the other, index hooked on the belt loop of her shorts.

She leans her forehead against his chest, catching her breath. "We should have done that weeks ago," she laughs softly.

Bellamy can't quite believe this is happening, not even when he feels her pulse against his palm, nor when he presses his lips against her hair. "Try waiting years," he lets slip.

Her eyes are wide when she looks back at him. She mouths years? Deciding he might as well be totally honest now, he lifts four fingers. She shakes her head. "You're a very patient man," she mumbles against his shirt.

He grins wickedly. "I'll show you just how patient I can be."

Her laugh turns into a gasp when he pulls her closer by the hips. "So, uh... you and me," she swallows as his hands trail up her waist, and she bumps into her tiny, rickety dining table, "we're a thing, now?"

He snorts. "You really have a way with words, don't you, Princess?" But his voice is light and teasing as he uses her old nickname, and he pauses to look - really look - at the woman before him. Because though he's known her for years, a nervous Clarke is a rare and precious sight, one he intends to carve in his mind forever.

She blushes, a deep red that makes that golden halo of hers pop out even more, and something in Bellamy's chest clenches at the sight.

Oh, ha, he is so screwed it isn't even funny. (Clarke has never been a joke.)

"Yeah," he finally answers her question, leaning his forehead against hers so that the tiny gray flecks in her eyes are all he sees, "if that's what you want."

He's a sap, he knows he is, because he's drowning in those eyes, those stormy blue depths he's never been able to refuse (though he's tried, many times, to kid himself he could if he wanted to).

She locks her hands behind his neck and pulls him against her, until he doesn't think there's any space left whatsoever between them - Clarke is all curves and warmth-, and then he stops thinking altogether.

Suddenly, something vibrates against his hip, causing Clarke to arch against him. He's pretty sure whatever sound he just made can barely be qualified as human.

"Sorry," she breathes against his ear, and he actually hears the smile in her voice as she (purposely, he knows) reaches between their still-molded bodies to retrieve her goddamn cellphone.

He buries his face into her neck. "Really?" he mutters, nibbling along her jaw.

She lets out a few quick puffs of laughter which abruptly stop. "Shit. Finn."

He stiffens. "He's got a hell of a timing, doesn't he? Thinking about a movie night right after this make out session with your best friend?" He hates the coolness of his voice, and the bite he's given to the last few words but they're out now, and he can't take them back. All he can do, as the phone continues to vibrate, is watch Clarke warily as she turns to face him with a furious glare and was that... exasperation?

"Seriously, Bellamy?" she eventually spits, the glint in her eyes challenging him. "You want to know why our date was only 'okay'? It's because you were in the back of my mind all along. And when I'm around you, it's like... there's no one else, Bell. I can't think of anyone else. God! You're such an ass."

Bellamy's the first to break the ensuing silence as he pulls her in for a searing kiss. "Answer the phone Griffin," he whispers as his lips trace the shell of her ear, and his hands slip under her shirt. She lets out a hiss. "And put the boy out of his misery."

She manages to tell Finn it's over - before it ever started, really - barely suppressing a moan when Bellamy discovers a particularly sensitive spot on her collar bone. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, he grabs the phone, ends the call and tosses it behind his shoulder, where it hits a wall lands somewhere in her minuscule living room with a soft thud.

Clarke pulls back and hits him lightly across the chest. "If it's broken, Bellamy, I swear," she wags her index finger under his nose, "you're getting me a new one."

He catches her hand and slips his fingers through hers. Bringing them closer to his face, he brushes his lips against her knuckles and revels in the way her entire body shivers under his palm.

"You should be illegal," Clarke mutters.

"And what exactly are you going to do about it?" he smiles, peppering kisses on the inside of her wrist, her forearm, the crook her elbow.

She can't stop the laugh that escapes as she pushes him onto the sofa and straddles his hips. Her chest expands and something flutters in her belly at the sight of the mussy-haired man tracing lazy circles on her inner thighs, and she realizes she's happier than she's ever been in a long time.

She can't remember why she ever thought fighting this - these feelings - was a good idea.

"Stop talking, and I just might show you." She brushes a dark curl away from his forehead and he closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. "After all," she traces constellations on his freckles, "we've got four years to catch up on."

He feels decidedly less loquacious after that.