Bellarke One-Shots [A Collection of Stories]

Of Shirts and Kisses

{Blue Shirt}

Bellamy and Clarke get into a heated argument - over Bellamy's missing shirt.

"Clarke, have you seen my shirt?" Bellamy asked, fumbling around her tent - shirtless.

Damn, why did he have to be so loud? It was probably six o'clock in the morning and he was stomping around like his feet were made of iron.

Clarke rolled onto her stomach with a moan and covered her ears with a pillow. She had been sleeping, quite peacefully, until Bellamy had barged in demanding his favorite goddamn shirt.

Really, she didn't ask for much - just for the solstice of one day, one day to sleep in past seven.

"Clarke!"

"Mhmm go away Bellamy..." her voice was muffled by her pillow. She was so tired, so incredibly tired. It wasn't like a bare-chested Bellamy Blake was distracting or anything.

Most girls would...

"Princess," he barked, grabbing the pillow from her hands. "I need my shirt back."

With her eyes closed, Clarke swatted her hand at him, cursing him under her breath. "Bell, you have plenty of clean shirts," she mumbled still on her stomach and her head resting on folded arms.

"My blue one," he replied in an annoyingly deep and attractive voice. "And...are you wearing it - Clarke!"

"I swear to God," Clarke grounded out, her eyes still closed. "If you try it -"

Bellamy leaned over and flipped Clarke onto her back, his hands at her shoulders. She blinked up at him, scowling. He was studying her with a lazy grin on his face, his eyes traveling the length of her torso.

Why did he have to be so beautiful? His hair freshly tousled by sleep, his skin smelling of nighttime - his shirt...

Shit.

"You slept in my blue shirt?" Bellamy raised a suggestive eyebrow.

Clarke's face immediately fell as Bellamy climbed into bed with her. She had forgotten that he'd left his clothes in here the other day. Clarke must've donned his shirt in the middle of the night. After all, it was comforting to be encased in Bellamy's scent. When she wore his clothes she felt safe, protected.

She glanced over at him and, suddenly, all sorts of things began to run through her mind - like his lips on hers, his hands running down her stomach...

"So? What are you going to do about it?" Clarke raised her chin, her expression teasingly defiant. Bellamy grinned, rolling on top of her and pinning her to the mattress.

"Oh, I can think of plenty of things I'm going to do about it..." he murmured, stroking her cheek, studying her face as a painter studies a canvas.

There wasn't a moment of hesitation. He bent down and pressed his lips to hers. And, as her hands came up around his neck, Bellamy shuddered and there was a sound from the back of his throat, half growl, half moan. Little shivers of pleasure shot through Clarke's body as he deepened the kiss, parting her lips.

His hands were moving down, under her shirt, his fingers skimming over her soft, milky skin, sending a rush of heat from her lips to her toes. The feeling was mind numbing. It was intoxicating.

Clarke's hands went down his bare chest. His stomach was hard, dipped and rippled in all the right places. The scarring across his skin did little to diminish his beauty, his innate ruggedness.

"Bell..." she moaned as his lips traveled up and down her body, exploring, tasting.

"Should've given me my shirt back," Bellamy teased in a deep, husky voice, and the sound seemed to reverberate throughout her entire body.

Clarke ran her fingers down to the waistband of his pants. By now, their bodies were a tangle of legs and hands, moving and exploring. Hips molded together and moved against one another. Bellamy's hands tugged at her shirt, edging it upwards over Clarke's head. Her own hands caught his at her upper waist.

"I'm not going to let you win that easily," she whispered against his ear. Bellamy growled in response, a raw and masculine sound. He crushed her against his chest, his hand slipping between her legs. At this point, Clarke was swimming in raw sensations.

Bellamy was murmuring things against her swollen lips, things she could not discern. The deep kisses left little room for thought. There were only the feelings of want and need. Clarke wrapped her legs around Bellamy's hips, pulling him closer, telling him what she wanted with soft moans. She reached up and tangled her hands in his soft, black hair. They were devouring each other, consuming one another whole.

It was like this every time with Bellamy Blake - hot passion and fire.

He caught her hands against his chest and pinned them to the mattress. Clarke attempted to wiggle out of his hold but he was too strong. Bellamy smiled against her lips and in one smooth motion drew off the shirt.

Clarke growled in frustration, wrapped her legs around Bellamy, and easily flipped him onto his back. She pulled away from him ever so slightly, her lips a hard line.

Bellamy Blake was grinning like the very devil himself holding his fucking shirt. A shirt that was now drenched in sweet smelling sweat.

"Looks like I won," he grinned, triumphant.

Clarke rolled her eyes. "I let you win."

"And why is that?"

"Because, now I'll just have to get it back from you..." she breathed and leaned down to kiss him.

Obligations forgotten, Bellamy dropped the shirt beside the bed and pulled Clarke closer, his hands running up her bare back.

"Challenge accepted."