Becoming an art teacher was an easy choice for Clarke. Upon graduating high school she knew she didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps (much to Abby’s dismay). She didn’t want to spend all her days elbow deep in a trauma ward, watching children die too soon because of avoidable tragedies. She couldn’t stomach it. So the next logical step was art and Clarke’s always been good with kids. It was a no-brainer at the time.
Student teaching was an absolute hellhole but that’s true for everyone. Every second of her senior year felt like a punishment and she almost stopped wanting to teach because of it. Then, after graduation, the mounting student debt began to pile up in front of her and she had no choice but to start applying to any open position she could.
That’s how Clarke ends up at Mount Weather Middle School, where she’s been for the last two years. And she loves it, she really does. The students are great, most of them just old enough to have a real interest in art that Clarke gets to nurture in their time together. Almost every white cinderblock on her classroom wall is painted by students, personalizing the room in a way no other teachers had the opportunity to do. It felt like her safe space with a quickness that surprised her, more supportive than any environment she had worked in before, for a lot of reasons.
Not least of which is Bellamy Blake. He started at Mount Weather three years before Clarke, already situated in his place and the work culture by the time she came crashing into her first faculty meeting. She had heard of him, of course. Mr. Blake’s reputation proceeds him in any room, whether it’s from the students or the other staff members. He’s young, brilliant, and knows how to work with kids like it’s on instinct. He’s won awards for his teaching, had been voted the students’ favorite teacher for three years running before Clarke swooped in and stole the title last year.
The first time they met face to face Clarke literally tripped over him. About a week into the new job she was speed walking (her teacher specialty) across the main hall to turn in her attendance roster and use the copier when the door to one of the classrooms opened, catching her foot just as she was walking by. It shocked her so much that the papers in her hands flew out onto the floor of the empty hall, Clarke just able to catch herself by reaching out for the nearest steady object. The nearest object happened to be Bellamy Blake’s arm, which reached out to catch her as soon as he noticed what was happening. She remembers looking up at him completely fuming, embarrassed and ready to give him a piece of her mind, but when they locked eye contact the words died on her tongue.
He smiled at her, an obvious apology in his expression. “Shit, I’m so sorry. You must be Miss Griffin.”
“I--” Clarke looked at her hand which was still tightly gripping his bicep and flushed. She let the hand drop away. “You can call me Clarke.”
“Let me help you with your stuff.” Before Clarke could even begin gathering the papers on the floor, Bellamy was already on his knees stacking them back together. She joined him and it only took a minute before he was handing the stack to her with a smile. “I’m Bellamy. I teach seventh and eighth grade history.”
They got put on lunchroom duty together a few weeks later and their fate as best friends was sealed. Over the next couple years Bellamy starts bringing Clarke around his friends, introducing her to his sister, and just generally welcoming her into his life. She fit in by his side like a puzzle piece.
It’s really a wonder it took so long for them to start hooking up.
The first time it happened was about two months ago after a Thursday night happy hour that left them both clutching their heads and dimming the lights the next morning. First they were drinking with their friends, engaging in their usual back and forth banter that makes at least one person at the table fake gagging when they flirt too obviously. Then there was dancing, obviously, because drunk Clarke never could say no to blasting pop music. The blur of alcohol and flashing lights made Bellamy’s hands on her waist feel harmless. When he dropped his lips to her ear and gruffly asked her to come home with him it was a no brainer.
And fuck did Bellamy know what he was doing. Even with the healthy buzz they both held onto into the night he was still able to get her off three times before his belt was even undone. Clarke woke up the next morning to his alarm blaring in her face, her naked body pressed up against the length of him. Hungover or not, neither of them could ignore the opportunity, so they ended up fucking slow and deep that morning before Clarke had to leave to get new clothes from home and avoid any rumors.
The transition from friends and colleagues to friends who fuck whenever they’re left alone was easy for both of them, not that it’s surprising.
The only part that’s not easy for Clarke is keeping her feelings out of it. Bellamy is no stranger to casual sex. When Clarke started hanging out with his friends at girls’ night she quickly discovered more than half of the group had been in Bellamy’s bed. Each of them have stories about Bellamy’s incredible game, how he can walk into a room and pull the hottest person there without even trying. It’s exactly because of that that Clarke knows this is just sex for him. She certainly won’t fuck up the best sex of her life by bringing her stupid heart into the mix.
Now, after a few weeks of falling into bed (or car. Or desk. Once on her kitchen table so hard the legs squealed against the tile floor) together, neither of them can keep their hands off each other. He’s just hot, okay? And he fucks her like it’s her birthday every time. He’s a fucking dream boat and Clarke is nothing if not an opportunist. It’s not like she’s going to let the best dick of her life just get away like that.
They agree to keep it a secret from their friends and coworkers. Especially their coworkers; if word gets out around school that Miss Griffin and Mr. Blake are screwing in the faculty parking lot they’ll both be fired at the very least.
The worst part about it is that both of them get off on breaking the rules. It’s hot, being bad and sneaking around. Maybe they’re both a little fucked up for it, but it certainly works for them. All Bellamy needs to do is give Clarke a dark look and glance at the door. All Clarke needs to do is swing her hips a little and exist in his space to convince him to drag her off and take her.
The first parent/teacher conferences of the year always make Clarke’s palms sweaty. Sitting there talking to parent after parent about their child’s work when parents don’t see the value of her art program sucks. It just does. How many times has Clarke tried to engage parents to talk about how their kids are doing at school just to notice they’re too busy waiting for the next teacher’s line to go through?
The school sets every teacher up at a desk in the cafeteria by section. Clarke sits next to Luna, the ceramics teacher, and they both share knowing looks whenever a parent passes them by with their noses in the air. Bellamy, however, is on the other side of the room with a line always at least three kids deep. Every once in a while she can hear his laugh ring out, deep and genuine, and it takes everything in her not to look directly at him every time just to catch a glimpse of the way his eyes crinkle at the edge.
It takes everything in her, too, to not notice the lingering touches and over the top laughter Bellamy gets from some of the moms. It’s like these women think their only chance at getting him is to remind him they’re responsible for the kids he loves so much. She swears she sees moms from previous years stop at his table even when their kids aren’t in his class any longer. And she gets it, obviously. It’s no secret Mr. Blake is the most attractive teacher at the school. It would be hard not to notice, considering he fills up any room he’s in and his student can never stop raving about him.
Right now there’s a single mom at his table, sat across from him but leaning in like whatever he’s telling her is some fascinating secret. She doesn’t even have her kid with her, it’s just her pretending she cares about how her son is learning about the Crusades more than the way Bellamy’s lips curled around his words. Clarke is sat here with nothing better to do but draw circles on her paper and very distinctly not notice the way this woman giggles at everything Bellamy says.
“You’re going to set her on fire if you keep staring like that,” Luna says casually from beside her, flipping through a magazine.
Clarke bristles and refuses to look at her friend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mhmm. Sure. Maybe if you said that without looking like you’re trying to snap that pen in half, I’d believe you.”
Feeling her cheeks flare hot and pink, Clarke clears her throat and pushes back from her table. “I’m--I have to pee.” She’s walking away from the area before Luna can respond, but she’s sure she hears Luna snort mirthlessly before returning to her reading materials. Whatever. Clarke knows herself better than to think she would actually be jealous of some women fawning over Bellamy. Bellamy isn’t even hers, there’s no reason to be jealous. He can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.
Clarke finds herself in the family restroom off the teacher’s lounge, washing her hands with ice cold water to try to quell the annoying heat in her chest from her frustrations. She’s not new to casual sex, not even new to casual sex with coworkers after she tended bar through college. If Bellamy wants to get it in with some PTA bitch who is she to say anything?
The door behind her pushes open, making Clarke jump as she realizes she forgot to lock it. She’s about to let the person on the other side know it’s occupied when she looks up and makes eye contact with Bellamy in the mirror. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, locking it with a soft click.
A surge of annoyance floods through Clarke. “Hey,” she says shortly.
Bellamy’s smirk only grows when he hears the annoyance in her tone. “Hey, Princess. You okay? I saw you run out of there pretty fast.”
“Yes well, not all of us have a line of admirers waiting to blow smoke up our ass.” She busies herself with drying her hands on scratchy paper towels, steadily avoiding eye contact. Bellamy is practically buzzing next to her.
“You’re jealous,” he says, looking at her like prey who walked right into his trap.
Clarke snorts, throwing away her soiled paper towels and finally daring to look him in the eye through the mirror. “Jealous of what exactly?”
He steps forward and cages her against the counter with his hands pressing flat on either side of her hip. She feels his chest against the line of her back, his breath on her neck as he noses the loose waves of golden hair away from her skin. He hums and she feels it before she hears it. “I dunno,” he whispers into her ear, letting the fingers of his right hand trail up Clarke’s arm slowly, tickling the skin, before sliding back down, and all she can do is watch with bated breath. “Maybe someone is getting a little territorial, hm?”
“I’m not territorial.” Her insistence is immediate, all her self control going to ignoring the things Bellamy could do to her behind this locked door.
“Aren’t you?” Bellamy’s lips ghost over the shell of her ear. He keeps eye contact through the mirror, daring her to look away.
“You’re not my boyfriend,” Clarke says primly, setting her face in a defiant look. “Why would I be territorial over something that isn’t mine?” She sees his eyes flash, just for a moment, before he leans into her, rocking her more firmly against the countertop and making her hip bones ache.
He brushes her hair over one shoulder, leaving the opposite side of her neck free. His hand lays heavy on the slope where her neck meets her shoulder. Slowly, slow enough that Clarke bites her lip to avoid an embarrassing groan, Bellamy presses hot open mouth kisses against her throat. He still stares at her in their reflection, something dangerous behind his eyes.
“I suppose that’s true. Maybe I’ll ask for the next one’s number, take her home and grind her into my mattress until she’s screaming for me.” He rolls his hips against her ass as he says it, mimicking the way he slides into her when she’s on her knees in front of him. “You wouldn’t mind, Princess?”
Clarke grits her teeth and the tips of her ears turn pink, but she refuses to react more than that, to let him win his stupid game. “Whatever.” Her voice is breathy even in her own ears as she feels his tongue press against her pulse point.
“There are a few who’ve offered, you know. Lonely after their divorces, ready to ride some stranger until they get their fill. Maybe they’ll even come back for seconds.”
Clarke’s eyes shut, determined not to take the bait he’s offering, but Bellamy isn’t discouraged. He just lets the tension settle deeper around them and traces her jaw with the bridge of his nose. Loose curls tickle her cheek on the way down and make her take a steadying breath. One hand drifts from laminate by her hip and follows the motion of her breathing on her stomach.
A soft kiss lands on the crown of her hair, then another, at odds with the low and weighted tone of his voice. “Maybe one of them will even come looking for me in here after you leave.”
That does it. Clarke rolls her eyes and pushes against his hold on her. He startles, taking a step back to give her space, worry and rejection in his eyes. She turns, hopping up to sit next to the sink and tugging him into the space between her legs. Her fingers begin pulling roughly at his belt and shoving his shirt away from the waistband of his slacks. It takes him by surprise as if Clarke has ever been able to let Bellamy have the last word, but he recovers quickly. One hand finds her lower back and makes her arch into him and the other winds into her waves to take a handful at the nape of her neck in his fist.
Their lips melt together more than meet, tongues already moving to explore each other. It’s filthy, the way the taste of cheap mints he’d nervously chewed one after the other all afternoon is now in her throat. Her hands finally free his erection from his slacks, shoving his boxers low enough to expose him for her. His lips leave hers so he can watch his hand disappear under the flowy skirt of her dress.
Clarke leans back on her hands to help him tug her panties down, pulling one leg out and leaving them hanging off her opposite knee. He’s half-hard already and before he can claim her mouth again Clarke licks her left hand from wrist to fingertip and strokes him, twisting her wrist teasingly at the end. Bellamy hisses as he chases her touch, his own hand going to cup her bare cunt.
“Hurry up. We only have a co-ahh—,” her whispered warning cuts off before she can finish it as Bellamy plunges two fingers inside her. He shushes her and crowds into her space so closely she has to lean back, his fingers drooling against that spot inside her that makes her breath stop short.
“What’s wrong, Princess? I thought you wanted me all to yourself?” He’s still holding her hair in his fist, keeping her still so he can speak directly against her lips, Clarke completely unable to do anything but try to chase them. His thumb is circling her clit, adding pressure until she squirms under him and then switching to a soft, barely there taps to take her back down. It’s infuriating her, making her so wet her inner thighs are sticky with arousal.
He takes her up, up, up again so close that her walls start to flutter around his fingers, and then pulls his hand away completely. She’s just about to tell him exactly which circle of hell she hopes he dies in for that when his wet fingers press against her lips and find their way to her tongue. Tasting her own slick makes her whine, making his two fingers press down on her tongue to keep her quiet. They’re both unbelievably fucked if anyone realizes what they’re doing but when he guides the head of his cock against her center she can’t remember why she cares.
Wasting no more time, Bellamy buries himself inside her with one thrust. His hips meet flush against hers, her legs coming to bracket his waist and keep him inside. Feeling him fill her all the way to the hilt with that first thrust always steals the breath from her lungs. The stretch still twinges a little every time, but Clarke stays silent and looks up at him with pleading eyes.
“That’s my good girl,” Bellamy says approvingly. His voice is hoarse and makes her shiver. Both large, tan hands slip under her ass, pulling her hips to the very edge of the counter and angling them up so he can take her hard and fast. Each thrust has his cock dragging against her g-spot at this angle. Neither of them will last long like this.
“Fuck. Fuck, Bell!!” Clarke whispered, her fingers curling around his biceps to hold on.
His head drops down onto her shoulder, lips mouthing mindlessly at her neck. “Are you gonna come on my cock, Princess? Gonna make a big mess, make sure no one comes near what’s yours?”
Staying quiet is nearly impossible but Clarke holds on with only short whining sounds, wanting to be a good girl for him. Her lower lip is trapped between her teeth with her efforts so all she can do is nod against his hair.
“Yeah, you’re going to come. This little cunt is so tight I can feel you trembling for me.” He lifts her a little higher and pistons into her, their skin slapping together with the force of his thrusts. “Perfect, aren’t you, Clarke? And so neglected. Soaking fucking wet with jealousy at just the thought of me entertaining someone else. Go ahead and touch yourself, baby. Show me how you touch your clit when you miss me.”
She leans back enough for him to watch. Her fingers find the nub above where he’s filling her, swiping back and forth and bringing her ever closer to release. Bellamy’s hips are moving faster now, his eyes darting back and forth between her face and where her fingers dance between her legs. “I could watch you all day, Clarke. If I had more time I’d bend you over in front of this mirror and make you see how gorgeous you are when you’re desperate for me. So pretty when you take my cock. Why would I ever look at another woman when I’ve got something so sweet right here?”
“Bell, I’m—“ Clarke cuts herself off, too focused on the feeling coiling tight and hot in her belly.
“I know, baby, I know. So close. Come on, let me see you go. Be a good girl and come on my cock so everyone knows it’s yours. Oh there you go, sweet thing. There it is, good girl. Fuck!”
Clarke’s lips open in a silent oh as she’s swept into the waves of her orgasm. Her walls flutter around him, milking him for all he’s worth as he joins her falling off the edge. Bellamy grinds his hips in circles against hers as they ride it out, his lips pressed in a kiss against her forehead.
As she catches her breath, Clarke feels her cheeks heat for an entirely different reason. She can’t believe they just did that, fucked at work with parents wandering the school. And worse than that, they did it because she was so overcome with jealousy at just the thought of other women flirting with this man who is decidedly not her boyfriend. Bellamy tucks himself back into his pants and fastens them closed before using the toilet paper behind them to clean her up. She looks up at him when he disposes of the tissue to find him watching her with a look of concern.
“No one’s going to know,” Bellamy reads her mind, helping her get her leg back in her panties and pulling them back into place. “We weren’t gone long enough.”
“You’re right.” Clarke’s voice is small with her embarrassment. “Thanks.”
She scoots off the counter and runs her palms over the front of her skirt, no less nervous than she was before he spoke.
Bellamy reaches out and tucks his finger under her chin, lifting her face to look at him. “Hey.” A little reluctantly, she meets his gaze. “I meant what I said. I’m not looking at anyone else, not when I could be looking at you.”
A sense of warmth blooms in her chest at the honesty in his dark eyes. She can see him struggling with the idea that she might not believe him. Leaning on her toes, Clarke gives him a soft kiss, chaste and entirely at odds with how they were moments ago.
She reaches up to fix the mused curls over his forehead. “Are you saying I’m your girl?” There’s a hint of teasing in her voice.
“Of course you’re my girl.” There is no hesitation when he says it, like it’s as obvious as the weather outside. Clarke smiles.
“Well you’re mine too.”
Bellamy snorts and pulls her into a hug, nuzzling his nose into her hair. “I’ve been yours for a long time, Princess.”