A series of bellarke oneshots

Body Paint

Not my story.
Bellamy squirms on his bed at the feel of cold paint being brushed over his skin.
"Hold still!" Clarke scolds, pressing her left hand to his shoulder.
She's sitting on his back, using him as a canvas. She didn't even ask, she sorta just started painting when he was sleeping, and now he was awake he didn't have the heart to tell her to stop. He didn't particularly like body paint so much, but Clarke seemed to love painting on him, so he put up with it for a while, but now it's starting to tickle and itch in places.
"It tickles," he whines, moving again.
"I'm nearly done," she says, then resumes her painting.
"At least tell me what you're painting," he bargains.
"This was so much easier when you were asleep," she mutters.
"Hey!" he protests.
"Well it's true!" she defends, then takes the brush off his back. "I'm done anyway,"
"Finally," he mumbles. "Can I get up now?"
She grumbles something, but stands up anyway, letting him follow suit. He stares at her fondly for a second, then notices that she only has paint on her hands.
"You know," he says. "You're looking suspiciously paintless today,"
"Yeah, we have that dinner, remember?" she absently replies.
"Oh, what a shame," he smirks, and reaches over to grab one of her paintbrushes still sitting on her palette.
She freezes, and turns around slowly. His smirk morphs into a wicked grin as she takes a step back.
"Bellamy Blake, don't you dare!" she threatens.
Or, at least, she tries to threaten. With her eyes wide and her hands up, she doesn't look particularly frightening, especially because she's backing into the corner.
"Don't I dare do what?" he muses. "Stand here with a paintbrush, or..." he reaches out and paints a lazy stripe on her cheek.
"Bellamy!" she gasps, her eyes going almost comically wide.
He grins again, then lunges forwards, trapping her against the wall. She gives a slight scream, and he manages to get half of her face covered before she gets out of his grasp. She heads straight for a tube of black acrylic paint, and spurts it at him, covering his chest in the goop.
"Hey!" he laughs, then runs a finger through the wet paint and slides it down her arm.
They tussle for longer than usual with the paint, smearing it over each others bodies and hair, before they finally end up kissing. Almost all their fights end this way now, with one of them kissing the other. This time it was him kissing her - at first, he meant to distract her. Now though, it had gotten somewhat out of control. Slick fingers are travelling over hard muscles and soft curves, leaving visible trails. Tongues met to the taste of paint - something that was normal for the pair of them. When they eventually pull apart, they lean against each other, breathing hard.
"I need to shower," Clarke mutters, and pulls away from Bellamy.
He stares after her, a forlorn expression on his face.
"Please, by all means, feel free to join me," Clarke calls, just before she closes the bathroom door.
He feels a flash of astonishment, and scrambles to join her, pausing for just one second to grab a towel on his way. And as he closes the bathroom door, he thinks that maybe body paint wasn't so bad after all.
May we meet again.