Archive of our own
By: Chash
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Clarke isn't really excited about balls.
"I mean," she tells the guy. Blamey? No, that's not a real name. She's pretty sure his name wasn't a real name, but--it wasn't Blamey. It was a different non-real name.
She's definitely going to call him Blamey at some point. It's inevitable.
"You mean?" he prompts.
"Okay, like, dicks? I'm down. Dicks seem cool. Not, you know, assholes, actual dicks."
"I'm genuinely upset I followed that," he says. "Drink this."
"I am not drinking any more."
"It's water. The cap is sealed. It's not roofied or anything. Just--please drink it. I don't want you to die on the floor."
"Aww, thanks." She unscrews the cap, can feel the click of the seal breaking. At least Blamey is an upstanding citizen. "I don't want to die on the floor either." She takes a long drink of the water and then says, "Anyway, dicks."
"Non-asshole dicks."
"Non-asshole dicks. Regular dicks. Those are cool. You know, hard, cylindrical, I've had that basic experience with strap-ons. But balls, right?"
"Non-athletic balls, I assume."
She squints at him. "You're kind of an asshole dick, aren't you."
He breaks out laughing, which, okay, honestly, she's impressed it took him this long. She's being ridiculous. "God, I hope you're this fun when you're sober," he says, when he recovers. "You're seriously afraid of balls?"
"Not afraid," she says. "Just--I dunno. They're weird, right?"
"I've literally had them my whole life. I'm pretty used to them. They're just sort of hanging out."
"I think that's what bothers me," she muses. "The whole--hanging aspect."
"God, why am I not recording this? This is honestly the best thing that has ever happened to me."
"I'm just saying, I would sleep with you--"
"If you were sober, interested, and not afraid of balls."
"WARY OF BALLS," she says, and several people look at her, which is how she realizes she is no longer modulating her voice well. "Oh my god. I can't believe you made me say that."
"In what universe is this conversation my fault?" he asks. "You stumbled up to me, started petting my hair, and then told me you weren't sure about balls. Which I honestly assumed was not the word you were looking for when I asked why you were unsure, but this has been a really enlightening conversation."
Clarke opens and closes her mouth, and then squints at him again. "Is your name actually Blamey?"
"No."
"You are really hot."
"Thanks. You are really drunk."
"Did you know wine is alcoholic?"
"Did you not know wine is alcoholic?"
"No, of course you knew, but did you know? Like, if you drink a lot of it, you will get drunk. But it doesn't taste like that."
"Jesus Christ." He rubs his face, but he's still laughing a little. "Okay, you're--way too drunk. Where do you live? Who did you come with?"
"Um, Raven? And--" she looks around. She hasn't seen anyone she knows in a while. "Octavia?"
"Oh, fuck, you came with Octavia?" He goes into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "Shit, I knew your name sounded familiar. Clarke, right? You don't live with her, though. Fuck, she's going to murder me."
"I live with Raven," she says, frowning. "Why's she going to murder you?"
"She probably thinks you're dead." He pokes at the phone for a while, apparently calls someone, but whatever he's trying to do must not work, because he swears and then says, "O, if you get this, I've got Clarke, okay? I'm taking her home with me, she's fucking wasted and you're not here and I have no idea what your friend Raven even looks like. I'm texting you too. She's fine, I'll give her my bed and figure out where she lives when she's sober. Call me when you get this."
"You know Octavia?"
"Yes, I know Octavia." He sighs and rubs his face. "Drink the rest of that water, okay? I just need to tell my friends I'm leaving."
"I thought you weren't going to fuck me. Because of the whole, you know." She waves her hand. "Balls situation."
"That is really not why I wasn't going to fuck you." He puts his arm around her waist, helping to keep her upright and in moving in the direction he wants to go. "Work with me here, okay? We're just going to tell Miller we're going and then you have to make it to my car. You've got this."
She buries her face against his neck. He smells clean and sharp, a good boy smell, and she does like boys. "You're just so much more intimidating to sleep with than girls," she tells him, muffled against his neck, as he mostly drags her towards Miller. "I know what girls have. Breasts, awesome, I can do breasts. I love eating girls out. God. It's the best. But--guys, right? I want to try guys too. Muscles and chests and your soap smells really sexy. You're just--not girls."
"You might actually be the death of me. Tell me about non-binary people. I'm morbidly curious about your feelings."
"I've never dated a non-binary person? Or a guy. Really just girls. But I'd totally date a non-binary person. I feel like I know where to start a conversation with a non-binary person. How do you even talk to a guy about this stuff?"
"Just spit-balling here, but apparently you get fucking wasted, collapse on them, and tell them how weird you find their genitals. You're really set on this one. You've got it covered. I have never met anyone who has less trouble talking about this than you. You're winning. Miller?"
"Clarke," she says.
He chokes on a laugh. "Clarke, this is Miller. Miller, my sister's extremely drunk friend needs to not be here anymore, so I'm heading out. If you see O, tell her I've got Clarke and she's fine? Do you know someone named Raven?"
Some Asian kid says, "I know Raven," at the same time Clarke says, "Your sister?"
"My sister," not-Blamey confirms. "If you see Raven, can you tell her I've got her friend Clarke, Monty?"
"Yeah, will do. I'll text her."
"Thanks."
"You're Octavia's hot brother?"
"I'm Octavia's only brother. I guess that makes me the hot one by default." He pauses. "Who calls me Octavia's hot brother?"
"She's got that--" She waves her hand vaguely and hits him in the face a little. "Sorry. That picture of you from high school graduation, I guess? You're wearing a gown that looks like it's made of a plastic tablecloth and you still look hot. But your hair is really different. It was all slicked back. And you don't have an ugly goatee anymore. I didn't recognize you."
"Also you're fucking wasted. Did you drink all that water yet?"
"I should probably have food. That absorbs alcohol."
"I'm not feeding you before you get in my car. If you vomit, I want it to be mostly liquid."
"Really? If there are chunks, it's a lot easier to--"
"Okay, we are not having this conversation, or I'm going to vomit. Just talk about how weird balls are again, that was funny."
"I do want to sleep with a guy someday," she muses. "Just so I can, you know, say I did. At least. You know, really work my bi credentials. I wanted to sleep with you."
"Thanks, I think."
"I didn't know you were Octavia's hot brother."
"Yeah, I usually go by Bellamy."
"I knew it wasn't a real name!"
He snorts. "It's my name. Ergo, it's a real name. Kind of by default."
"I was close, though. Blamey has a lot of the same letters."
"I think someone's written that on my Starbucks order at least once, yeah."
Outside, she feels slightly more sober, but really it's just enough to remind her how drunk she is. "I'm really sorry," she says, because she's sober enough to know that this is, like--really not a good scene for him. "I'm making you leave."
"Nah, don't worry about it," he says, giving her waist a comforting squeeze. "I was driving, so I wasn't having that much fun anyway. Being the only sober person at a party sucks, especially when you're older than everyone too. You were definitely the highlight of the night."
"Why were you even here?" she asks. "Not, you know, it's cool, but--why?"
He laughs. "Don't get to see Miller much since we graduated. Wanted to meet his new boyfriend. Maybe bug Octavia a little, but she went off with that guy she thinks I don't know she's dating."
"Lincoln."
"Exactly." He searches his pocket for his keys, gets the door unlocked and bundles her into shotgun. "Can you manipulate the seatbelt?"
"Interesting question." She fumbles with it, finds it, but it's stuck, and then she's sort of sitting on her skirt, and Bellamy shakes his head and takes the seatbelt from her. Apparently she cannot be trusted right now, which--yeah, okay.
"How much wine did you drink?"
"A bottle. And then, uh--some shots."
"Jesus, you're lucky you're conscious."
"I have excellent alcohol tolerance. But I think wine is my kryptonite. It came out of nowhere."
"It came out of a bottle. You were drinking from the bottle." He gets the seatbelt buckled and gives her a smile. "You good?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
He shrugs one shoulder. "No problem. You needed it."
*
Clarke wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, which is at least an improvement over waking up with someone else in an unfamiliar bed after a night of heavy drinking. It's a nice bed, too, not one of the dorm ones, queen-sized, with soft linen sheets. She's still dressed except for her shoes, and she doesn't even feel that bad, until she sits up.
When she sits up, she is hungover, all at once, like she got hit by a truck.
Once she recovers from the initial wave, she checks out the place. It's a decently sized bedroom, clearly a guy's, with some art prints on the wall, a desk full of books, a few clothes scattered around. There's a bedside table with a bottle of Gatorade, a protein bar, aspirin, and a note on it, and she chugs half the Gatorade and three of the aspirin before she even tries to read the note.
'Eat the damn protein bar if you're having aspirin, there is like nothing in your stomach right now except alcohol. Or you can come get breakfast, your call. I'll give you a ride home whenever you're ready.'
She blinks a few times, and then remembers, in scattered pieces. Octavia's hot brother. She met Octavia's hot brother at the party, draped all over him, and rambled at him until he decided she was too drunk to function.
Given what little she remembers of the conversation, he wasn't wrong.
There's no mirror in his room, so she just makes sure her clothes are relatively straight and then tries to pat her hair down, which is a mistake, because her whole scalp hurts when she touches it. So she gives up on that, drinks the rest of the Gatorade, and eats the protein bar.
The apartment is small and fairly tidy, with a kitchen attached to a living room, where Octavia's hot brother--Bellamy, she really hopes--is sitting on the couch with a laptop. He's hotter than she remembered, which sort of makes sense, given how hazy her memory is, wearing a gray tanktop and flannel pajama pants, and some glasses she thinks he didn't have last night? It's hard to be sure.
He looks up when he hears her and offers a smile, which she sheepishly returns.
"Is there a stronger word than sorry?" she asks.
He laughs, and it opens up his whole face, which Clarke is not prepared to deal with at this time in her life. He's not just Octavia's hot brother, he's Octavia's unfairly hot brother, and she is hung over and kind of smells and she doesn't remember exactly what they talked about last night, but she knows she said the word balls a lot, and he might have accused her of being afraid of his genitals.
"It's fine," he says, still smiling. "Apparently you didn't realize wine was alcoholic."
She groans. "Oh my god. I did! I just--I don't feel it when I'm drinking it, and I wasn't paying attention, and Raven and Octavia couldn't tell how drunk I was either and I thought it was important to hide it from them, so--" She blanches. "Fuck. They must be so worried."
"No, it's fine, don't worry about it," he says, voice going serious and a little gentle. Fuck. "I talked to O last night, let her know where you were, and she said she was with Raven." He gives her a wry smile. "Apparently Raven was still worried I couldn't be trusted, but Octavia talked her down from trying to come over here."
"Did I lose my bag?"
"No, it's--" He frowns and looks around, comes up with her purse from somewhere on the floor. "You dropped it when we were coming in, I forgot to bring it in to you."
She takes it and then sits down next to him on the couch. It's probably weirder to hover, right? Or maybe not. Everything is so weird it's hard to really figure out her best move.
"Did you carry me inside?"
He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Kind of."
"Fuck. Is there also a word stronger than thank you?"
She has a couple missed calls from Raven and Octavia and a bunch of texts ranging from whar r uuuuuu to how did you find Octavia's hot brother. She texts them both back a quick I am massively hungover and embarrassed, but alive and then turns her attention back to Bellamy.
"This is awkward, but your name is Bellamy, right?"
"Yes." He shoots her a teasing grin. "You went with Blamey last night."
"Again, so sorry."
"Stop apologizing. You were cute. Do you want to take a shower? Are you hungry? I haven't got much food, but there's some bacon and I think eggs? Maybe bread? I need to go shopping today."
"You can just take me home, I don't want to put you out," she says, automatically. Her brain is still stuck on you were cute, because is that, like, puppy and kitten cute, or if you were sober we could have made out cute?
"It's fine. I need to eat too."
Ordinarily, she might insist, but she's hungry and she really wants to shower and--she doesn't really want to leave yet. "Then, yes, please. That sounds awesome."
He picks a pile of clothing up off the couch. "This is Octavia's, she left it here last week. If you don't want to change into your stuff after you shower."
"Thanks," she says, trying not to melt. Octavia's unfairly hot and considerate brother. This is not good.
After the shower, she feels a lot more human, probably both because of the shower and because the aspirin is kicking in. She pulls on Octavia's shirt and skirt, which fit well enough, even though she's got a few pounds and a cup size on her. She even looks kind of cute. Make-out cute, hopefully.
Bellamy's at the stove when she gets back, and he offers her another stunning smile, which is--seriously, this is so bad.
"Feeling better?"
"Physically, anyway. Can I help?"
"See if there's bread in the freezer to toast?"
They putter around each other, getting set up. Clarke drains an entire mug of coffee right off the bat, making Bellamy laugh, and takes the second slower.
"You just moved back here, right? At the start of the school year."
"Yeah, I'm getting my PhD. I've been back for about a month." He flashes her another grin. "Was Octavia actually pissed, or did she just want to give me shit?"
"Pissed?" Clarke asks, blank. "No, she was thrilled. She was so happy."
He ducks his head, a pleased smile on his face. "She told me I was being overprotective and it was totally unnecessary for me to come back here. But it's a really good program, and they gave me a full ride. And I missed her."
"She missed you too. Don't let her fool you."
"You're older than she is, right? A junior?" There's something in his tone that makes her heart speed up, a kind of casualness that sounds forced.
"Yeah. I actually just turned twenty-one on Monday, that's why the, uh, bad choices."
"Happy birthday."
"Thanks. How old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"Cool. That's, uh--good to know."
He smirks at her. "As a warning, I do have balls."
She groans and drops her head onto the counter. "Did I really say--whatever shit I said about that? What did I say?"
He pats her back consolingly. "It was hard to follow, but I got the impression you're bi and have never dated a guy because you're--god, what did you say, it was the best. Wary of balls."
"Did I seriously say wary of balls?"
"No. You yelled it."
"Fuck."
"Most fun I've had at a party in years."
"Thanks. Always glad to help."
"Sit down and eat your eggs, Clarke."
He takes her home after they eat, and Raven wants a full rundown of the night, which is not happening, because Clarke will take this to her fucking grave, but at least she's clean and fed and medicated.
She's lying in bed trying not to have flashbacks to last night--did she actually tell Bellamy he'd be better off with chunky vomit in his car?--when her phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
so seriously, balls: dealbreaker y/n, and then, a minute later, this is bellamy. I hope obviously
Clarke bites back a grin. n
awesome. want to get dinner with me when you're not hungover?
*
"Okay, are you ready?"
"Bellamy--"
"I just don't want you to be caught off-guard. I know this is a big deal for you. I've never had a girl flee my bedroom in terror before, so--"
"Bellamy, I'm going to murder you."
"Do you need a paper bag or something? In case you start hyperventilating."
"If you're not naked in thirty seconds I am going to flee your room in terror just to fucking spite you."
Bellamy flashes her a grin, and Clarke is stupidly fond of him, even when he's teasing her. They've been going out for a month, and she actually is nervous about this, their first time sleeping together. The teasing helps, and he knows it.
It's probably not stupid, really, how fond of him she is. He's pretty great.
He tugs his boxer-briefs off and raises his eyebrows at her, standing naked in the middle of the bedroom, with his hands on his hips. She makes a show of checking him out, which isn't difficult, given he's unfairly hot and all.
"Yeah, no, it's totally weird," she says. "I don't get the appeal at all."
He laughs and tackles her back onto the bed for a long kiss. "Jesus Christ, I hate you, you're the worst."
"This is why I don't pick up people who drunkenly rant at me about how weird they find key parts of my anatomy at parties," she says, grinning at him.
"Your loss." He kisses her again, softer. "You sure you're okay?"
She bumps her nose against his and slides her hand down to wrap around him, making him groan.
She grins. "I'll get used to it."