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Bellamy discovers Clarke’s public sex kink in honestly the most predictable way.
It’s late on a Thursday night, and he’s in the library, looking for the most obscure book on the most infuriating topic he’s ever had to write a paper about. He’s normally all about history and Latin and all that jazz, but when he decided to take Latin in History, he thought it would be more about the actual history than the Latin. So he’s in a section of the library that looks like no one’s been there for years, trying to find a book about Proto-Romance sound changes, when he sees Clarke.
He knows Clarke, in the sense that she’s friends with his sister and they see each other in that context sometimes, and whenever he leaves he has to remind himself that she’s Octavia’s friend and he’s not allowed to go there. He knows Clarke, in the sense that she’s also taking Latin in History this semester and they grumble together sometimes, even if she is actually in it for the Latin.
He knows Clarke, in the sense that he’s completely floored by the realisation that she’s sitting in a corner with her eyes closed, one hand in her pants and the other disappearing up her shirt. Of all the situations he would have expected to run into her in, this is definitely not one of them. It’s not even that she’s in public, where anyone could just walk in—like he just did—but the fact that he generally associates her with Octavia, and this isn’t something he wants to think about in the same sentence as his baby sister.
His dick twitches, however, noting that it’s definitely something he wants to think about in general.
Clarke makes a soft noise, and he starts out of his thoughts, letting out an involuntary yelp. Her eyes fly open, going wide when she sees him staring at her with his dick straining visibly against his jeans.
“I, um—” she starts, at the same time as he says “Sorry, I was just—” she laughs, breaking the tension a little, but makes no move to withdraw either of her hands.
“I was going to say as you were,” Bellamy comments, finding his words, “but that seems a little creepy. I’ll just, uh… come back later. Fuck Latin, anyway.”
He’s already turning away, trying his hardest to commit to his memory the image of Clarke with her cheeks slightly flushed and her hair falling out of its braid, when she tells him to wait. “You could, uh,” she says, clearly trying to find the right way to phrase whatever she’s trying to say. “You could stay,” she says finally. “I wouldn’t mind.”
It takes Bellamy a moment to process this. “You mean like, to watch?” he asks, not knowing which answer he’s hoping for. On one hand, he feels like he could plausibly watch Clarke get herself off forever and die happy when he eventually wasted away from starvation, but on the other… his dick twitches again, and god, he’s dying to touch her.
“Do you want to just watch?” she asks, like she already knows the answer.
“Fuck no,” he breathes, sitting on the floor beside her and pulling her into his lap. She finally removes her hands from her body, tangling them in his hair instead as she kisses him, and he sends up a silent prayer of thanks for Latin in History and fucking Proto-Romance sound changes.
There’s a moment or two where he’s entirely too aware of the fact that they’re in the main campus library, but then she moves her hips in his lap, and he honestly couldn’t care less if the dean himself walked in on them. He’s resolutely avoided thinking about Clarke like this since he met her, knowing that she’s Octavia’s friend, but her tongue is in his mouth and her small hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt and she started it, so he figures it’s safe to let her divest him of his shirt, to do away with hers as well, to unhook the bra that she’s already half hanging out of after her earlier exploits.
She sighs when he breaks the kiss, but he ducks his head to tongue at her breast, and she sighs again, in pleasure this time. Her hands explore the planes of his back, and he shivers when she ghosts over the nape of his neck. She soon grows bored of his back, though, and her fingers drift around to find the button of his jeans. They’ve managed to get rid of both their jeans through a series of frankly impressive manoeuvres when he realises—”Shit, I don’t have a condom.”
“What kind of boy scout are you?” she teases, but she’s already pulling his boxers over his hips and taking him in her hand. “It’s okay,” she says, and lowers her mouth to his dick without warning. He hisses at the sudden contact, unable to believe diyarbakır escort that this is actually happening.
“Jesus, Clarke, you don’t have to—”
She lifts her head for long enough to say “but what if I want to?” Then she winks at him—actually winks—before adding, “plus, less mess this way.”
He makes a strangled sound. There’s no way the girl he’s spent two years telling himself he’s not allowed to think about is actually sucking his dick in the library. But she wraps one her hands around the base of his cock and his head falls back against the wall, and he can kind of feel the impact. Surely if this was some kind of fantasy he wouldn’t feel the pain.
He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so he ends up awkwardly putting them on her head. He’s worried it’s too controlling, but she sighs in what can only be construed as encouragement, so he keeps going, running his fingers through her hair and destroying her braids for good.
Clarke seems to know exactly what she’s doing, and it’s not long before Bellamy feels himself getting closer and closer to the point of no return. He figures she probably knows what she’s doing, considering the wink and the less mess comment, but he’s a big believer in open and honest communication, so he manages to articulate “fuck, Clarke, I’m going to come” or something that sounds roughly similar about seven seconds before he actually does.
Clarke, to her credit, was right—there is less mess this way. She lifts her head and grins at him, and Bellamy just flat out stares at her in admiration for a moment before taking her face in his hands and pulling her in for a kiss. “Your turn, princess,” he whispers in her ear as he pulls away, and he’s called her that before but it’s never made her whole body tremble the way it does now.
He reaches down to her underwear, the only item of clothing she’s still wearing, and slips his fingers past the waistband, finding her wet and warm and waiting for him. She moans a little when he finds her clit, giving it the lightest flick before pulling his hand away so he can get rid of the underwear. When the underwear is gone, he dives right in, spreading her thighs with his hands and licking at her entrance.
Clarke must have been close when he walked in on her, because it hardly takes him any time to get her whimpering, and he knows that it won’t take much to push her over the edge now. He replaces his tongue with a finger and licks her clit instead, dragging his tongue over it slowly. Moments later, she’s clenching around his finger, muttering curses under her breath.
They don’t bother to get dressed, since no one ever comes to this section of the library. Bellamy finds his hoodie and drapes it over them like a blanket, and they sit against the wall, with his arm around her and their legs tangled together.
“So… do you often ask people who walk in on you to join you?” Bellamy finally asks. He doesn’t really think this will clarify the situation, but he has to start somewhere.
“I wouldn’t know,” she muses, “it’s never happened before.”
“How often do you get off in the library, anyway?” he asks, figuring that she’ll make some excuse about a nosy roommate or a really stressful paper, but.
“In the library specifically, or in public?” she asks, completely serious.
“Um,” he says, not really sure how to react to that.
“Because, like. It’s a public sex kink, not a library sex kink, if that’s what you’re wondering. Although the library does have a lot of great places no one goes.”
Bellamy hadn’t been expecting her to be this upfront about it, so he finds himself struggling to find the appropriate reaction to this. His brain is still kind of stuck on ‘public sex kink’, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. “Is it still a public sex kink if you’re getting yourself off?” he asks. “Wouldn’t that be more like a public masturbation kind of deal?”
Clarke laughs at that. “I tell you I’m into getting off in public, and you start questioning semantics? Really? But to answer your question, it doesn’t matter to me if it’s me getting myself off or someone else doing it for me, so. Public sex kink it is.”
“And you’ve really never been caught before?” He’s catching up now, but he’s still incredulous. “What’s the most public you’ve gone?”
“I mean, there’s been a couple of really boring lectures this semester…” she says, and his jaw actually literally drops.
“You—lectures?” she laughs at his reaction again, and he gets the sense that düzce escort a lot of the conversation has gone like this, him being shocked and her being incredibly amused by his shock.
“It’s not like I’m the only one, either,” she says. His shock quota is probably full by now, because he’s finally beginning to accept that okay, apparently there are people who like to touch themselves in lectures. And Clarke is one of them. And once the shock clears out, there’s room in his mind to start visualising it, which… he probably shouldn’t do with Clarke right there. So he visualises something else instead.
“Okay, so. Public sex kink, never got caught before. I’m beginning to think either you’re not getting off enough, or you’re not in public enough. And lectures are definitely plenty public, so…”
“Are you implying I’m not good enough at getting myself off?” she asks, and he has to laugh at the indignation in her tone.
“I’m just saying, with a good enough orgasm people are bound to notice. It seems suspicious that no one has.”
“Is that a challenge?” she asks, and there’s something dangerous in her tone.
“Maybe it is,” he says, meeting her eye. “Alright, so we should set some terms for this, then. How many shots do I get?”
“Three seems like a solid amount. So, you have three tries to make me come in public so hard that someone notices. Who defines public?”
“Anywhere with other people around, or where people could easily walk in. Am I allowed to use extra help?”
She looks at him suspiciously. “What kind of extra help are you thinking?”
“I have some ideas,” he says. “I’m not telling you yet, though. You can veto it when the time comes if you need to.”
“Sounds fair. Should we shake on it?”
“Wait, hold up. What do I get when I win?” he asks, and she laughs and shoves him.
“I don’t know, we’ll figure something out. What do I get when I win?”
“I don’t know, we’ll figure something out,” he parrots. They shake on it, and Bellamy’s already forming a plan.
The first time he tries, a few days later, he fails. But he is impressed.
He wants to test her claim that she does it in class, so he sits next to her in the back of one of their Latin in History lectures, casually dropping a hand on her knee when the professor starts lecturing. He takes his time, stroking his way up her leg, playing with the inside of her thigh and stroking her through her jeans before finally undoing her button and slipping a hand inside.
Obviously, whenever he’s with anyone, Bellamy’s goal is always to get them off, but he tries harder this time. He does everything he can think of, drawing it out for as long as possible, pushing her to the edge of orgasm and leaving her hanging what must be dozens of times before finally letting her tip over minutes before the lecture is over. The whole time, she just sits there, pen poised over her notepad. She’s not taking notes, and he can see that her eyes are a little unfocused, but anyone looking over from further away would be convinced. He hears her breath catch as she comes, but apart from that she remains silent. No one so much as turns their head in her direction.
She takes a moment to compose herself, then turns to him with a grin. “Is that all you got?”
“I was just trying to establish a baseline,” he says. “Now I know what to aim for.”
“You know we slept together last night, right?” she asks, a glint of amusement in her eye. “You couldn’t use that as your baseline?”
“Hey, you’re the one with the kink here. I didn’t know how much that was going to affect it.”
She smiles, all fond amusement, and starts packing up her stuff. “Whatever you say. Will I see you tonight?”
They’ve seen each other every night since the incident in the library, and Bellamy’s been focusing on his plans for their challenge in an effort not to overthink it. So far, it’s working okay, but Clarke is looking at him questioningly, still smiling, and it’s messing with his control.
“Yeah, just come over whenever,” he tells her, still trying not to think about what any of this means.
The second time he tries, it’s almost successful. Almost.
He kicks it up a step this time. It’s Octavia’s birthday, and she’s invited all of her friends out for drinks, and that includes him and Clarke—although Octavia doesn’t know that it’s sort of him and Clarke now. He’s not sure he knows it either.
Octavia’s still underage, but there’s a bar in town that his friend Miller works at where she edirne escort and her friends can get served, because he knows all of them and okayed it with Bellamy the first time they showed up. Bellamy doesn’t really care, to be honest, but it’s nice that Miller did.
Clarke had come over to his place for a lazy afternoon before they headed out, and is just about to start getting dressed when Bellamy tells her to hold on a minute. He retrieves a box from under his bed, and hands it to Clarke. “Extra help,” he tells her. “You can veto it if you want… if you’re scared?”
She looks him dead in the eye, already opening the packaging. “You wish.” She pulls on the vibrating underwear and strikes a pose, showing off for him for all of two seconds before collapsing into giggles.
They get to the bar at the time Octavia specified, but somehow everyone else is already tipsy at the least by the time they arrive. Bellamy fiddles with the remote control for Clarke’s underwear in his pocket, turning it on for just a moment to remind Clarke of its presence. She gives him a look, but doesn’t react in any other way.
For the rest of the evening, Bellamy isn’t great conversation, as most of his attention is devoted to monitoring Clarke. He’s constantly trying to surprise her with the vibrations, and sometimes he even succeeds, but most of the time she controls her reactions almost stupidly well.
By the end of the night, he hasn’t let Clarke come yet, but he’s realising that all of their friends are too drunk to notice much of anything. He turns the underwear off and waits a few minutes, lulling her into a false sense of security, then turns them up as high as they go. She grips the table in surprise, knuckles white, and moments later he can see her climax on her face. No one else, however, seems to have noticed anything, so—as she gleefully informs him later—technically, she’s still winning.
The third and final time, he finally does it.
She’s on the phone with Wells, her best friend who goes to school across the country, and he’s lying on the couch with his head in her lap. They still sleep together regularly, and Bellamy still doesn’t really know how to classify their relationship, but he’s content with it for now.
He doesn’t have a specific plan for his third attempt, but as she runs a hand through his hair an idea begins to form. He sits up, and Clarke looks at him, concerned. He motions for her to keep talking, and picks her up, carrying her from the couch to his bed. She’s still looking at him, questioning, but he just winks and holds up three fingers.
Clarke’s eyes go wide, but she nods, accepting the challenge. It’s the first really warm day of spring, and she’s wearing a sundress in celebration, which makes his job so much easier. He lifts it up, kissing the skin he reveals as he goes. He licks around her bra as he reaches it, before reaching around to unhook it and take a nipple in his mouth.
Clarke always spends ages on the phone with Wells, so he knows he has time. She keeps up a steady stream of conversation as he plays with her breasts, and doesn’t even flinch when he pushes her underwear down with one hand and begins to stroke her. He licks and kisses down her body slowly, one hand still playing at her entrance. She’s still talking, and brings a hand to his head to tangle in his hair again, but she gasps a little when his tongue comes into contact with the wetness between her legs.
“What? Oh, nothing, Wells, I’m fine,” he hears her say and begins to fuck her in earnest, exploring her as far as his tongue could reach. Her conversation has dried up to the occasional “uh-huh,” and he knows he’s about to win this. He finds her clit with his fingers, rubbing it in small circles, and she moans as she comes, her grip on his hair tightening, the hand clutching her phone falling to her side. “Oh my God, Bellamy,” she says. He can hear Wells’s tinny voice coming out of the phone, and after a moment, she puts it back to her ear.
“I’m really sorry, Wells, I have to go”, she says, smiling at Bellamy. “What did you think that was?” she listens for a moment, and says “then yes, that was exactly what you thought it was.” She listens again, then says “I’m sorry, Wells, it’s just—remember the new boyfriend I told you about?”
Bellamy’s heart skips a beat, and he looks up at her, but Clarke lifts her finger, telling him to hold on a moment. “Yeah, it’s that thing. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Okay. I’m going to go now, okay? Bye, Wells.”
She’s barely put the phone down when Bellamy’s already kissing her, cradling her face in his hands. “Boyfriend, huh?” he asks, grinning.
“I told you we’d figure something out when you won,” she replies with a grin of her own.
“I think I can live with that,” Bellamy says, and kisses her again.
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