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the classic leave behind

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Clarke has been successfully ignoring her nature since she was thirteen. Well, that’s maybe putting it a bit dramatically, she knows that, but with her killer combination of suppressants and hardheadedness Clarke hasn’t had a slip up in a long time. Her suppressants are practically military grade (perks of having a mom in high places) and she is nothing if not thorough. By now, ten years after originally presenting, she’s got it honed to a fine science. Her designation is more of an annoying blip on her radar at this point, like knowing your period starts on the 18th or that your obnoxious neighbor is going to blast music when they get home from work. Her inner Omega makes quite the obnoxious neighbor actually, now that she thinks about it.

If Clarke Griffin is going to do one thing, it’s out-stubborn anything that comes against her. Her own biology included. She’s so good at it that she actually passes for a Beta more often than not. Abby had painstakingly ensured that Clarke always had access to classes that could teach her to hide her nature. Clarke’s designation had come as a surprise to her family, both of her parents outspoken and wildly successful Alphas. It’s second nature now and it gives her a lot of confidence in her day-to-day.

A few of her Alpha friends had noticed earlier than she expected. When she met Raven it took her all of ten minutes to figure out Clarke’s secret, saying it had less to do with her smell as it did with her general aura. Personally Clarke doesn’t buy into the whole aura thing but when Raven is right, she’s right. Most of their friends are Betas and she blends in well with them. Jasper, Monty, and Harper only found out about her designation because she mentioned it at the bar one night after a pushy Alpha stranger got a little too close and forgot she hadn’t had the talk with the whole group. It didn’t make anything weird though, thank god. She never feels like a token or like her nature is being judged by her friends.

The only friend who has never outwardly brought it up is Bellamy. He knows, obviously, just like she knows he’s an Alpha. A typical Alpha at that, large and present in any situation, always the first to take action. That, his ability to command a room, and his overprotective streak makes Bellamy Blake about the most clockable Alpha she knows. He’s not a dick about it though, not usually. His mom was an Omega herself, one who was never mated or stayed in one place too long, riddled with bad luck and bad choices. Designations are a sensitive topic for him, especially with his internalized issues with anger and protectiveness. No matter what designation, Bellamy always would have internalized it. That’s just who he is.

It doesn’t matter to Clarke that they never talk about it. She kind of prefers it, actually, when compared to the usual interactions she gets stuck with when her Omega status is revealed. Bellamy never once made her feel weird about who she is. He’s her best friend, the best friend she’s ever had (don’t tell Wells she said that). She can almost forget her designation when they’re together.

Almost.

Really heavy on the almost at the moment, actually.

Suppressants or not, the reality of Omega life is her heat is coming. She knows she’s lucky, only going into heat every few months as her medication is able to push it off. And Clarke is a responsible, grown woman, okay? She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her, even if she is an Omega. She keeps an app on her phone to time her cycle; always knows when the urge to nest is on the way and responds accordingly; hell, she has a full linen closet of just supplies for when her heat inevitably strikes. Buried in that closet is the knotting vibrator she refuses to be ashamed of, thank you very much.

Her heat is due in five days. It’s a fine science now, she knows when she will have to shut herself up in her room and she can still function up to that point. So there’s absolutely nothing weird about her current situation, curled up in her apartment with Bellamy as they watch tv. His arm is stretched across the back of the sofa, hand resting just above her shoulder, and Clarke is losing her fucking mind.

Does he know? He must know. If she can smell him like this then surely he can smell her. She tries to focus on the screen, putting extra care into reading the subtitles, but he’s right there, smelling like earth, rain, and god is that eucalyptus? He can wear as much cologne as he wants, there is no dampening an Alpha scent like that. And yet here he is, taking up as much space as he likes, throwing his pheromones at her like he owns the place. She ought to pinch him or something, make him a little uncomfortable to match how she feels.

It’s times like these that Clarke yearns for the invention of suppressant boosters, something she could take when she feels overwhelmed to bring her back to normal. But alas, science seems much more interested in curing baldness and limp dicks than it ever will be in helping an Omega live easier.

“You busy this weekend?” Bellamy’s voice cuts through Clarke’s thoughts, his eyes drifting to her for a second before returning to the tv. Like nothing weird is going on and her heart isn’t inappropriately pounding. Dick.

Clarke clears her throat. She can’t tell him the truth of what she’s doing because it’s too embarrassing, (“fucking myself until it’s safe to return to society” yeah right, like she’s telling him that) so she aims for casual when she says, “I’m swamped with a deadline, actually. I’ll probably just end up locked in my room for a few days until I can get it all done.”

“Oh that sucks, I negotiated a new exhibit at the museum about ancient influences in modern art, I thought you might want to check it out.”

Okay, now she feels a little bad about lying. Just a little. “That sounds amazing! Maybe we can go a different time before it closes?”

Bellamy hums, a noncommittal sound, still focused on the tv. It occurs to Clarke how comfortable he looks in her space, how confidently takes up as much room as he wants. His legs are spread, one ankle balanced on the opposite knee, both his arms across the back of the couch. He looks like he owns the place. Bellamy fills every room he enters, she’s always thought so. But for some reason tonight it’s too much, almost oppressive in a way. He’s dressed in old jeans and a worn t-shirt from some conference he attended a couple years ago. It’s officially spring in DC, meaning he also has his favorite sweatshirt to fight off the lingering cold, but he abandoned that on the coffee table as soon as he got inside. His hair is longer than usual too, messy and curly, but in that boyish way that works on him.

Not that she’s particularly interested in his hair. She just noticed.

And honestly, it would be hard not to notice with the way he swipes it out of his eyes every five minutes, sending over that god forsaken Bellamy smell of his, practically strangling her in her own home. Her thighs press together but at least she’s able to suppress the urge to squirm.

This is so embarrassing.

The worst part about it is that he seems to have no idea what’s going on in her brain. He’s just staring at the tv blissfully while Clarke burns alive in his pheromones. Fucking Alphas, always clueless about what they do to Omegas. At least her suppressants are working well enough to hide the scent of her slick from him. If he could smell her pheromones the way she can his he’d probably bolt out of her apartment.

There’s a reason they never talk about their designations. He isn’t straightforward about it, bristles any time it’s even brought up. If he knew she’s sitting a couple feet away from him with her Omega stirring it would only freak him out. Probably ruin their friendship, even, because he might think she only sees him as an Alpha. A cock to ride to make her heat a little easier. Someone like Bellamy, if he wanted an Omega he would have one. Or a roster of them if he didn’t feel like committing. She wouldn’t even judge him for it, to be honest. If her pride didn’t stand in her way she’d sign up for a spot in the rotation any day.

Clarke takes a deep breath to refocus and ends up even worse for the wear when his scent all but chokes her. She needs to put space between them before she does something stupid. “Do you, um, want something to eat?” Her mouth is so dry she fumbles over her words.

“Don’t try to pawn your leftovers off on me, Princess,” Bellamy chuckles. He stands and stretches his arms up in the air, cracking his neck a little as he goes, that rain and earth smell spinning in the air after him. “And anyway, as much as I’m fascinated by reruns of Gossip Girl, I should really head out. If I don’t put some work in tonight Cadogan is gonna have my ass.”

At the same time she thinks thank god, a more primal part of her brain says, make him stay.

“He should be paying you a lot more if he gets your ass on demand,” Clarke says, smiling sweetly.

“Har har.” Stuffing his phone into his back pocket, Bellamy offers her a hand. “You should get up and eat something though, you look distracted and I know you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Clarke takes his hand against her better judgement. His hand engulfs hers and as she pulls herself up his thumb presses into the gland on her wrist, scenting her. She can feel the blood rush to her face as she reacts to the sensation. Did he do that on purpose? There’s no way. Bellamy has never even acknowledged their designations, he wouldn’t cross a line like that unprovoked. Bellamy doesn’t do possessive Alpha behavior. He drops her hand as soon as she’s on her feet and walks toward the door to get his shoes. It takes a mortifying few seconds for her brain to reboot enough to allow her to follow him.

“Good luck with your deadline. Don’t forget to take water breaks.” His voice is teasing and light, his hand already turning the doorknob.

She scrapes her throat and tries to look unimpressed. “Go mother hen someone else.”

The door shuts behind him with a heavy thunk and Clarke can feel the energy shift immediately. She’s moving around the room before she knows what she’s doing. Something is off, like her skin feels too hot. She’s flushed and jittery. It’s too early for this. It’s exactly five days too early for this and it’s making her nervous. Before she knows what she’s doing she tears off all her clothes, too hot to bear anymore. The cold air hits her flushed skin, causes her nipples to harden, and she can feel how little time she has before all this becomes too much.

Clarke tears open the linen closet that holds all her best blankets and pillows. Ordinarily she would build her nest in the bedroom but the second she stands in the doorway she knows it isn’t right. No, this nest needs to be in the living room where she can still smell her Alpha.

No! Fuck. Not her Alpha. Just an Alpha.

She finishes her nest at record speed, having shoved the coffee table out of the way to give her the room she needs. Every pillow and blanket in the house is precariously fluffed in a mound on the floor but it’s missing something. She knows instinctively that there’s something else she needs even if her nesting closet is completely empty.

That’s when she sees it.

Bellamy’s favorite sweatshirt--the one he wears so often Clarke makes fun of him for it--is laying across her couch’s armrest. He must have forgotten on his way out. The second the hoodie is in her hands her inner Omega is singing. Alpha. She buries her face in it and inhales deeply, moans at the way the scent sends a new wave of slick to her core. Even in her overheated state she can’t help putting it on. It’s far too big for her, covering her hands, the band at the hem hugging the top of her thighs, just long enough to stay decent.

She falls to her knees in her nest with a pained groan, trying desperately to find a way to get comfortable. Already panting, Clarke’s hands roam her own body the way she thinks her Alpha’s would. She pretends her hands are bigger and rougher, teases her left hand down her torso until it sinks in between her thighs and finally hits home. The second her fingers brush against her clit Clarke’s back arches, throwing her head to the side with a cry. Her face buries into the hood and shoulder of Bellamy’s sweatshirt and she swallows the scent of him between her heaving breath. The sleeve is so long on her that she feels her slick sticking to the cuff, mixing their scents into the most incredible combination of earth and raw sugar.

With her free hand Clarke reaches under the hoodie to fondle her breasts, tweaking her own nipples in time with her two fingers as they pump into her cunt. They’re not enough, not nearly enough. She needs more than this and it’s driving her insane. Every inch of her body feels like it’s on fire, begging for a relief she can’t give herself, making her nearly sob with frustration. Her eyes shut tight so she can picture him, her Alpha, promising to make it all better. Alpha knows what she needs. Bellamy’s scent carries stronger, heightened by the way her body craves him. Every gasping breath she takes makes it seem closer. It starts to overwhelm her, makes the circles she draws on her clit move faster and faster. She feels it, the rising heat in her belly, the way her nerves start to spark as she nears release. Clarke traps her lip between her teeth and keens, letting her thighs fall open as wide as they could. She’s on the precipice, gasping for breath, finally--

The front door opens.

“Clarke? Sorry I forgot my hoodie and made it halfway home before I realized.” Bellamy’s deep voice cuts through the room, the only thing she hears other than the embarrassing sound her fingers make in her slick and her soft whines.

Alpha. Alpha knows when we need him. The sound of his voice and the explosion of his scent as he reentered the apartment is enough to push her over the edge, a hoarse cry falling from between her lips. She keeps her eyes closed through the aftershocks, too far gone in her desperation to realize what had just happened.

When she can breathe again, Clarke opens her eyes to find Bellamy standing at the edge of her nest, his eyes practically black as they stare at her. He’s taking deep breaths, she can tell by the way his shoulders are moving, probably taking in the heady scent of sex in the room. Her fingers are still pressed to her clit, his sweatshirt still covering her body though her legs were open and spread. Bellamy has a full view of her cunt, wet and aching for attention.

For a moment, neither of them move, both frozen in place and staring into each other’s eyes. Then she can’t take it anymore, can’t bear how much she needs him.

Alpha,” she breathes, begging.

Bellamy’s eyes flash as soon as the word leaves her mouth and suddenly he’s on top of her, trapping her hands against the nest next to her head. He settles between her thighs and she’s effectively pinned under his weight, only able to squirm and whine as he finally breaks their stare and lets his eyes drop to where the peaks of her nipples strain against the fabric of his sweatshirt. She feels her thighs get wet as another rush of slick gushes, driven to a new level of need from just the way he looks at her tits.

But he’s not touching her, not really, just holding her wrists and hovering his weight above her. Hasn’t said anything either. Her Omega starts to panic. Alpha is disappointed. We’ve been bad. She pouts and squirms again, trying to grind her center up against the rough denim of his jeans.

Omega,” Bellamy’s voice booms, the warning makes her freeze entirely and stare into his eyes. He looks from one of her eyes to the other and tsks at her. “Poor little thing. Worked yourself up as soon as you’re left alone, hmm?”

He transfers her wrists into one of his hands, holding them together above her head so he can have a free hand to trace her cheekbone. Goosebumps erupt all over her body at the soft touch. She whines and arches her back enough that her breasts press up into him.
“Need something, Princess?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, like he’s getting off on delaying what she needs.

And right now Clarke needs. She needs him to be the one to give it to her too. But she’s so far gone by this point that all she can do is whine and spread her legs further, presenting for him, trying to entice him. Show Alpha what’s his, her inner Omega purrs.

Bellamy’s eyes roam her body, taking in every inch of her as she trembles underneath him. He’s so close. If he would just lean down another inch or two Clarke could reach the scent gland on his neck. Before she can stop herself she tries to reach for it, lips open, ready to lick her scent onto him so everyone would know who she belongs to. She stops short, unable to reach, and Bellamy laughs at her. Actually laughs like denying her is some kind of game. Fucking Alphas.

He drops his head into her neck, his nose pressed above her own scent gland, drinking in the way their aromas mingled. He growls and his tongue presses harshly to her skin, scenting her there too, making her cry out and turn her head to the side to give him more access. “Sweet thing,” he murmurs against her neck and her Omega practically sings at the attention. “What am I going to do with a greedy little Omega like you, hmm?”

“Please, Bell,” Clarke begs, a sob escaping from her chest, her hips finally canting up enough to drag her clit against the rough fabric covering the fly of his jeans. It earns her another growl, though this time Bellamy doesn’t deny her. No, much the opposite, he grinds down against her center. “Please, I need it.”

She sounds pathetic to her own ears, the way she begs for relief from him before he’s even so much as kissed her. “I know what you need.” His voice is rough, deeper than she’s ever heard it. It’s enough to make another wave of slick between her legs, staining his jeans an even darker blue. “You want your Alpha to make it better?” Clarke nods frantically, earns herself another opportunity to grind on his leg. “Who’s your Alpha, baby?”

Clarke’s eyes sting with tears. Why isn’t he fucking her already? How strong does he have to be to resist? Her Omega prickles with anxiety. Is he going to deny her? Make her beg for it and then tell her it’s not his responsibility?

Bellamy’s free hand wraps around her jaw, the tips of his fingers pressing into her face so she can’t turn away from him. “I said, who is your Alpha?” His breath is hot on her face, his eyes hovering just above hers and holding her eye contact. She doesn’t dare look away.

“You! You--God, please, I belong to you. I’m yours!”

His grip on her jaw relaxes just a little, enough to show her that she’s done well. “That’s right. Your Alpha is going to make it all better.”

Finally, finally his lips drop to hers. She’s so ready for it that her mouth is already open when his tongue presses in. If she thought his scent was overpowering, it is nothing compared to the taste. Clarke savors it like ambrosia, lets his tongue take over her own. Bellamy’s hips are still pressed against her so she rolls against him, moaning wantonly. He takes pity on her, presses harder and lets her steal a moment of relief. He must be able to feel her slick where it soaks the front of his jeans. The thought alone is enough to make her eyes roll back.

Bellamy ends the kiss, dragging his lips down over her jaw, down her neck, biting into the fabric of her (his) sweatshirt above her shoulder with a growl. “I knew you were close. I could smell it on you the second I opened your front door. Could barely get myself to leave before I did something stupid.” His hand finally releases her wrists and she grabs at his wide shoulders to ground herself. He slides his now free hand underneath the hoodie, drawn to her breasts like a magnet. The tips of his fingers ghost over her nipples until they ache, each teasing touch making her want to scream. “Just the look of you in that fucking sweatshirt. Do you have any idea what you do to me, Princess?”

Clarke shakes her head rapidly, needing to hear more. His voice rasps against the shell of her ear, capturing her ear lobe to worry between his teeth.

“I don’t believe you. I think you know exactly what you do.” Both hands are now under her hoodie, pressing her breasts together, pushing the fabric up until he can see them. He sits back on his heels, staring darkly at her, like he’s ready to devour her entirely. “I couldn’t help leaving my scent on you. The thought of someone else taking you when you smell so sweet… I’d kill them.” Even though Clarke already feels like she’s on fire, she feels herself flush deeper. Her entire body is on display for him, pinned open like a butterfly on a board underneath his watchful gaze. Her legs are bent open and back, baring her cunt as it continues to leak obscenely, staining the nest below her. Her inner Omega preens at his rapt attention.

In her oversensitive state she can feel the cold air on her bare skin, reminding her that he is entirely clothed while he stares at her nakedness. That won’t do. Clarke needs skin on skin, needs to feel his chest press tight against hers, needs access to his cock before her head explodes. As if he can read her mind, Bellamy reaches for the collar of his shirt and tugs it off, baring bronze skin and corded muscles before her. That’s as much as she can handle before she pounces at him, landing in his lap and claiming his lips for her own.

Her forwardness surprises him enough that he forgets he’s supposed to be in charge, too distracted by the feeling of her breasts against him enough to make him growl deep inside his chest and Clarke is thrilled. His arm bands around her back to hold her as close as she can get but it’s still not enough. She wants to be closer, to crawl inside of him and envelop herself in her Alpha.

One of Bellamy’s hands sneak between them while she’s distracted, and the end of his middle finger just barely brushes against her clit, a teasing hello meant to bring her focus back to him. “So wet,” he groans, almost to himself, before moving to cup her cunt entirely, claiming his territory. “Who got you wound up like this, Princess?”

“You,” she moans, grinding her hips down on his hand. “It’s all for you.”

He hums approvingly. “Good girl.” He circles her clit as a reward, making her cry out and throw her head back. “Don’t worry, your Alpha is going to make it all better.” If Clarke wasn’t beyond the point of words she would have begged for more, but Bellamy is so in tune with her needs that he plunges two fingers deep inside her, to the knuckle, and curls them to stroke her g-spot. She can’t control the way she grinds down on them, fucks herself hard on his fingers until she’s gasping for breath and clutching his shoulders for dear life. “That’s it. Take what you need, Princess.”

B-Bellamy.” Her voice sounds far away to her own ears, like she’s talking under water.

“You want my cock, Omega?”

“Yes! Yes, God, please!”

The heel of his hand starts grinding against her clit in time with the movements of his fingers inside her. She can feel herself clenching down on him like a vice, desperate cries so loud and obscene that she almost can’t believe they’re coming from her. “You want it, you earn it. Cum for me.”

It’s not a command, not technically, but it’s so close that Clarke can’t help herself. She breaks, head thrown back and mouth open in a silent scream. Her walls flutter around his fingers, gush her slick over his hand and down his wrist but he doesn’t stop moving inside of her until she’s whimpering and twitching from over stimulation.

It’s only enough to sate her for a moment, her eyes stay shut tight until she catches her breath. When they open again Bellamy is staring at her, watching over every inch of her face with his hungry eyes, pupils blown so wide his eyes are black. “So gorgeous,” he whispers, reaching to tuck her sweaty hair away from her forehead.

Next thing she knows he’s rolling away from her to shuck off his jeans and she can’t help but steal a glance at his length. It knocks the wind out of her, makes her feel emptier than she ever has before. He’s going to break her in half. Once Bellamy is fully naked before her, he reaches to remove the hoodie from her body so they are both bare to each other. He’s hovering on top of her again, the length of their bodies pressing together. Alpha takes care of us.

Nosing at her scent gland, Bellamy purrs, a rumbling deep in his chest. She can feel him, hard and long, pressing against the curve of her hip. He rolls himself against her once experimentally, earns himself a whine from Clarke. “Are you ready, Princess?”

She almost laughs. She’s been ready since the second he stepped into her apartment with that goddamn scent of his. But because she’s so far gone all she can think to do is nod her head and look up at him with wide blue eyes. He has her complete attention, every nerve in her body standing on end just for him. Hand disappearing between them, Bellamy slips his fingers through her folds before taking his cock in his own hand and stroking her slick across the length of it. He teases at her entrance, thrusting against her but not inside her. The head of his cock presses against her clit, makes her whine in a way that must thrill him because he takes to just tapping himself against her, making her squirm. Soon she can’t take it anymore, starts whining under him and pulling at his hips with her legs as they wrapped around his waist.

“Please,” Clarke begs, a sob in her throat. If he doesn’t give her what she needs soon she’s sure her body will burst into flames. “Please, please.”

He likes that, she can tell by the way he growls under his breath and positions himself directly at her entrance. Bellamy presses forward just enough to create a pressure, enough for her to feel the thick head of his cock tease as he savors the last moment of her sinful anticipation.

He presses in in one thrust, buries himself all the way inside with ease. Clarke’s vision whites out when he bumps up against her cervix, sliding deep without resistance despite his size. It’s perfect, he is perfect. He fills her in a way she has never felt before, so big her cunt spasms against him pointlessly. She can practically feel him in her throat.

Bellamy lets her adjust to the intrusion, but only barely. Before she can fully catch her breath his lips drop to hers to swallow her gasps and he pulls out halfway before thrusting back in and grinding his hips against her. Every inch of him drags against her walls and the tears that threatened to spill over before finally run down her cheeks. He pulls back from their kiss enough to tenderly wipe away an errant tear, shushing her sweetly, his movements entirely at odds with the way he’s spoken to her all night.

“You feel that, Princess?” He punctuates his question with a hard thrust, knocking a gasp out of her. “You feel how well you take me? Fucking made to take my cock.” Clarke’s hips roll against him in time with his thrusts, her fingernails digging into the soft skin of his upper arms to ground herself. She’s sure she’ll break skin if she keeps clutching at him in this way but every thrust makes her hold tighter.

Clarke forgets everything that isn’t Bellamy immediately. Her world revolves around him as he thrusts into her brutally, met with no resistance due to the obscene amount of slick dampening both of their thighs. She gives as good as she gets, caging him in with her legs so he can’t go too far, can’t go back to that awful teasing. Her inner Omega sings. Alpha wants us. Alpha will breed us. The thought alone sends Clarke spiraling into another orgasm, her walls clenched around him like a vice.

“That’s it, sweet thing.” Bellamy’s voice coos at her in her ear, his mouth moving a centimeter down to suckle at her scent gland again, making Clarke scramble to hold onto him as she whines. “You like that?”

She’s almost too far gone for words, her eyes glazed over with pleasure. Her words come out disjointed and stuttered as she pants. “Al--pha.”

“That’s right, baby. Your Alpha is going to take such good care of you. I’m going to fill you up until you can’t take it anymore. Ruin you for any other Alpha who even tries to look at you.” The thought makes him growl and pump into her even harder. His voice is deeper than she’s ever heard, low and rough against her neck. “Going to knot you over. And over. And over.” He punctuates each word with harsh thrusts that make Clarke’s eyes roll back. By now she’s holding on for dear life, allowing her Alpha to give her what only he knows she needs. Clarke can hear herself begging breathlessly when he mentions his knot, feeling it form at the base of his cock.

“Gonna give you everything you need,” Bellamy continues to pant against her neck. “Make you feel so good you can’t remember your name.”

Clarke reaches up for his face and drags him into a filthy kiss, sucking his bottom lip between her teeth. “Need your knot,” she mewls, breathy and insistent.

His thrusts stutter for half a heartbeat before his hand presses against her stomach, pinning her hips down as he pounds into her with new vigor. “You want my knot? Want my cum so far inside you you get nice and pregnant?”

Clarke’s eyes spring open at his words, locking with his gaze, so dark she knows he means it. All it takes is a more insistent press from his hand, sprawled across her stomach, reminding her where he plans to make her swell with his baby. Her mouth opens in a silent scream as she comes, legs tightening around his hips while they shake. His knot pushes in with an embarrassing wet sound, locking him inside. Bellamy is still growling something obscene against her lips but Clarke can’t hear him, her ears ringing. The last waves of her orgasm coax his knot to swell and then he’s spilling inside her, warm and right, painting her walls. She can’t help her broken moans and though she’s exhausted and he’s already stuck inside her, Clarke still grinds her hips against him in an effort to take him deeper. The movement throws Bellamy through another wave, filling her so full she aches.

They stay like that, gasping for breath while his forehead rests on hers. She thinks she could hear his heart beating if he wasn’t purring so deeply in his chest, rumbling against her, making her feel tingly. Bellamy’s weight sags down against her a little, like holding himself up takes more energy than he has left. They’re both covered in sweat, their thighs damp with her slick. For a while, they keep their eyes shut and neither of them move. Then she feels his hand drift down to where he is trapped inside her, stroking her sweetly before he reaches up to taste her on his fingers. Clarke whines and chases the taste with a kiss, feels yet another rush of his spend that makes her walls flutter.

Bellamy’s eyes are still closed when he clears his throat, his voice coming out in a hoarse, low whisper. “Am I crushing you?”

Their noses bump together as she shakes her head minutely, her face then tucking down into his neck. She gives his scent gland little kitten licks, laving over it slow but greedy. Despite her response, he turns them so they’re both laying on their sides, her leg hitched high over his hip to accommodate for where they’re still joined together. Bellamy wraps his arm around her and draws long figure eights on her back with his finger tips. Clarke thinks, briefly, that she’s never felt more safe.

His voice is a little more steady when he speaks again. “I’ll get you water and make you something to eat after. You need to rest before it starts again.”

“Bellamy--”

“Did you go shopping before it started?”

Clarke has to repress a sigh. Apparently they aren’t going to discuss the fact that he is literally still stuck inside of her and cradling her against his chest. “I wasn’t supposed to start until the weekend,” she admits quietly.

He pauses, clearly thinking about the implications left unsaid. He had triggered her heat just by sitting in her living room. “Does that happen a lot?”

Clarke’s cheeks heat with embarrassment. She’s glad her face is still hidden in his neck. “No. I’ve never been early before.”

Bellamy nods a little, then presses a soft kiss to the crown of her head. It’s not much, a silent offer of support when he’s too nervous to try to speak. But it’s something, and Clarke snuggles into him as her own peace offering.

They can talk about it when it’s over.