#bjj2020

He was soaked within moments, hair and clothing clinging to his body like a second skin. It was only after he pushed back the heavy fall of hair plastered to his face that he spotted it, a flash of yellow several yards away, standing out blatantly against a blurry landscape of greens, browns, and grays. Any real details eluded him through the blinding sheets of rain, but it was still enough to electrify every sense and fill him with a dangerous sort of hope. 

His heart pounded, hammering out a desperate tattoo in time with the rapidfire mantra of her name in his head. Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. He fought desperately to keep his hopes from rising too high. Gabriel may have claimed she was in the clear, but nothing in this place had been trustworthy from the moment they landed. Still, despite himself, he started moving without conscious choice, and just as he was about to start running, that tantalizing glimpse of color became abruptly clearer as a familiar beloved figure raced toward him. 

Clarke’s absence over the past days, from her supposed death to her life hanging in the balance for the hundredth time since the Dropship, had been a desperate misery bourne of knowing what it was to lose her, ripping and tormenting until he was forced to slap a bandage over the gaping wound of her loss in order to make that wretched deal with Russell. Losing her was the equivalent of having his heart torn away from the very core of him, only to be hastily returned shattered and broken from the moment he met Clarke’s soulful eyes and found an imposter looking back at him. 

The overwhelming longing and ache to have her back at his side had fuelled his every moment since realizing she was still alive, and now here she was, propelling herself towards him with that same desperate need that had been haunting his every breath and step. 

They finally drew close enough to one another for their eyes to connect and Clarke nearly sobbed with relief, the naked awe and love etched across his face all she needed to abandon her reservations and fly into his arms, strong and warm as he wrapped them around her. She clung to him, revelling in the real, tangible evidence of Bellamy pressed against her. 

Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze and speak, she paused as he raised a hand to cup her cheek, a calloused thumb tracing the progress of the soft smile she gave him. A beat of something heavy and unspoken passed between them, and then Bellamy dipped his head to brush his lips against hers. Once, twice; soft, tentative, and questioning. Lips parted just enough for a shuddering breath to fill the air between them and then they collided together, desperate and hungry for contact. 

Strong hands found her hips, lifting her to him and her legs locked around his waist, anchoring her to his body. Their hands were anything but idle, his caressing her hips and back as she arched encouragingly into his touch, hers stroking his jaw and neck, tangling in his hair, tugging and urging him closer and closer still. Anything to erase the infinitesimal space between them, until she would never have to part from him ever again. 

The rain continued to pelt down against their skin, cold and biting, but Clarke hardly noticed as Bellamy kissed her with an intensity akin to a starving man presented with a feast. His heat was intoxicating, scorching her everywhere and burning her from the inside out. Eager to explore more of her, he broke the kiss to trail down to her neck. She gasped and hummed in approval, but the absence of his mouth on hers, consuming her every thought and sensation, brought forward a whisper of doubt in the back of her mind. A reminder of everything she had seen and felt in the mind prison Josephine trapped her in, how real and tangible it all had been, and the cold, heavy weight of doubt began to plague her. 

What better way for a sociopath hijacking her brain to make certain she faded away quietly than letting her believe she had escaped and gotten everything she wanted?

Fear settled heavy and tight in her chest, a low whimper rising in her throat. Bellamy paused his attentions, uncertain for a beat whether the sound was one of pleasure or distress, question answered when he licked his lips and realized he tasted salt. She was crying. 

Clarke was crying and he panicked. If he had misunderstood, if he had crossed the line, misinterpreted the signs from her, he would walk himself out into Sanctum’s wilds and be done with it. 

“Clarke...Clarke, what’s wrong? Did I...I thought you wanted...did I hurt you?”

She vehemently shook her head in denial. The day Bellamy Blake touched her without consent was the day she could be sure he had been bodysnatched himself. “No, Bell, it’s not…” she trailed off, face collapsing into an expression of abject misery, and he immediately cupped her face in concern. 

“Talk to me, Clarke.”

She sobbed and his heart twisted, helpless and raging against all those who had ever hurt her. Her eyes were dark and haunted, red-rimmed with tears, and he struck by a profound desire to bundle her up and take her far, far away, leave behind all the chaos and pain and finally have the time to heal in peace. 

“Is this real?” she pleaded brokenly, and that longing only continued to grow. “Please, Bell, tell me this is real?”

He took her hands, placing one against the pulse in his neck, slipping the other beneath the collar of his shirt to rest over his heart. “This is real, Clarke. I’m real. I’m right here. Can you feel me?”

Clarke nodded, focusing on the palpable proof of his life and his devotion, the steady beating of his loving, loyal heart. “Bell,” the whisper of his name was soft and tender as she tipped her forehead against his and held his gaze.