#bob-morley

“So, what?” she demands, sneering. “You called me here just to yell at me for leaving some stuff lying about at your place?”

“There’s that,” he remarks, dry, “and also because I want them out of my apartment. Make sure you check the bathroom before you go, too.”

Her face tightens with an emotion he can’t seem to place, something akin to hurt flickering in her eyes. It dissipates just as quickly, though, is replaced by something vindictive and vicious. “What?” she goes, saccharine sweet. “Did my tampons and hair brushes and bobby pins ruin your chances of getting laid?”

He reels back at that, stung- his heart squeezing painfully in his chest at the thought of Clarke wrapped around someone else. “No.”

She falters at that, teeth snagging against her bottom lip. Then, hesitantly, “I thought… Octavia told me you were seeing someone. Gina.”

“It was a blind date,” he scowls, rucking his fingers through his hair. “She set me up because she was tired of me moping.”

Over you, he doesn’t add, swallowing hard. Looking at her now, it’s hard to believe that they’ve once screamed at each other until he’d gone hoarse, that she had burst into tears in the aftermath and proceeded to freeze him out for weeks. The anger and fear from before feels cold and small now, somehow. Distant. All that’s left is yearning and want and a urge to just fucking hold her in his arms so bad that his hands shake with it.

Her tongue darts out to wet at her lips at that, the silence only growing. “Okay.” She says finally, dropping her gaze to the floor.

He’s scrambling for a way to break the awkward silence when it comes to him, the words spilling out in a rush, “Wait. You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“No!”

“Octavia wouldn’t tell you about Gina voluntarily,” he points out, stepping cleanly in her path and backing her up against the wall. “You asked her, didn’t you?”

She blinks, the motion rapid before she composes herself, raising her chin defiantly. “So what if I am?” she challenges, jabbing a finger against his chest.

“So what?” he asks, incredulous. “Fuck, Clarke. You don’t have the right to keep tabs on me when you’re the one who broke up with me.”

“Because all we did was fight!”

“Yeah, but I never wanted you to give up on us!” He explodes, shaking. “You just— You—”

“I ran,” she goes, finishing his sentence. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, the corners of her mouth quivering as she regards him. “Because that’s what I do when I’m scared. I thought— I kept thinking if that I avoided you, I’ll stop obsessing over how I just made the biggest mistake of my life—”

“Mistake?” he interrupts, trying valiantly to tamp down the surge of hope that rises in his chest at that. “You think breaking up with me was a mistake?”

“Yes,” she says plainly, wringing her fingers together as if bracing herself for something. “Do you—” she trips over the words, her breathing heavy in the quiet of the room, “— do you still…?”

He kisses her before she can finish the sentence, pushing her back against the wall and twisting his fingers in her hair. She gives a little gasp at that before recovering just as quickly, raking her nails down his back and kissing him so hard that he pulls away feeling distinctly lightheaded.

“God,” she keens when he drags his lips down to bite at her neck, soothing at the skin with his tongue after, “I was— did you have any idea how jealous I was of Gina? I actually looked her up on Facebook. I downed a whole bottle of tequila after because I couldn’t stop thinking about you bringing her to our date spots.”

He laughs, the sound lost somewhere in the crevice of her shoulder, fingers fumbling over the clasp of her bra before he finally unhooks it, dropping it to the ground. “Yeah, but I wasn’t the one who brought Finn as a date for that corporate retreat.”

Clarke nips at his jaw then, hands working at the hem of his shirt and pulling them over his head. “Trust me when I say he was the last possible option.”

“Sure,” he replies, easy as can be, his fingers easing her underwear to the side before sliding one in, making her moan with it. “You didn’t just bring him along to piss me off as much as possible, right?”

“I considered it.” She mumbles, the rest of her response lost with the twist of his fingers, her head thumping back against the wall almost painfully as she grapples for balance at his shoulders. “Bell.”

He pauses, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of her mouth. “What?”

“Don’t tease.” She manages, freeing him from his pants clumsily. “Not now, okay?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, because it’s Clarke and he’s never quite learned how to say no to her, anyway. Stroking at her cheek, he hitches her dress up to her waist, lining up against her entrance. “Just— are you sure?”

The promise in her eyes makes his breath hitch, as does the soft kiss she presses against his lips. “Yes, Bell.” She tells him, quiet. “More sure than anything.”

(She asks him again after, when they’re both sated and sweaty and sprawled across the living room floor; apprehensive and hopeful in equal measure.