...

Chapter Two

Rules Are Made (For Breaking)

The following morning, when Clarke wakes up in a naked, heated mess of blond curls and underlining satisfaction, white sheets tangled around her lethargic frame, she's oddly confused. That is until her eyes trail along the wrinkled fabric finding none other than a dormant Bellamy Blake beside her.

And just like that, all that morning glory she had built up in a matter of those short waking moments before the utter realization, had crumbled.

Her first immediate response was to keep still and close her eyes.

However, when she opens them after a moment, and Bellamy's figure still lay there, mere inches away from her, the dreaded realization this was not, in fact, some sort of twisted dream she had somehow managed to manifest, began to taunt her.

She had slept with Bellamy Blake, again.

Fuck.

Her second response was to carefully climb out of bed and slip out of there unseemingly, but one glance at the clock that read 7:38am, and she jolted up in mid-panic making Bellamy shift about. As if not already adding insult to injury, her alarm hadn't gone off that morning and her shift started in twenty-two minutes.

"What time is it?" He grunted half sleep. Clarke directly took this as her exit sign to get up, quickly wrapping one of the sheets around her figure.

"You're awake. Good." The Blond replied promptly in attempt to remain positive as the cognizance of Bellamy's injures snuck upon her. She was supposed to keep him awake—he was at risk for a concussion and instead of keeping an eye on him, she had fallen asleep.

"Barely—what time is it?" He repeats turning over to face her.

"7:40." She answers frantically in search for a clean pair of scrubs. "Oh god." Bellamy groans in a pillow, pulling the covers higher. "Go back to sleep, Clarke."

This, of course, takes the last straw for the Blond for she stops dead in her tracks, facing him. "Go back to sleep?" She repeats his request, nothing but the virtue of utter annoyance dripping from every syllable in the simple sentence.

And just by the nature of her voice Bellamy knows he's hit a nerve.

"I am going to be late!" She shouts, clearly irritated.

"Explain to me how this is my fault?" The Blake inquires, and although he's still lounged across the warmth of her queen mattress, he smiles in amusement.

"Get up!" Clarke barks, she simply didn't have time to play his games. "God, what if they saw us last night?" She mumbles to herself slipping on a clean scrub top, hands fumbling around her bottom drawer for a pair of underwear attempting to ignore the way Bellamy was basically undressing her with his eyes.

"What if Octavia and Raven came home last night—looking for you, and saw us... together?!" The panic running through her system was definitely raging now. She dropped the sheet now that she was semi-clothed, effortlessly pulling her hair up into a ponytail, eyes still on a hunt for bottoms. "I'm pretty sure if my sister caught us, we would've been well aware of it." Bellamy teases, sitting up with a tendering yawn. "I'm sure she just crashed at Lincoln's... again." He added taking note of the Blond's close proximity as she sought out her phone by the nightstand.

"We've been over this Blake, they're engaged—it's normal for—" But before she has a chance to finish her train of thought Bellamy's quick to seize her with a playful grab, pinning her back against the bed under his body weight. The heat of his breath along the side of her bare neck paired with the devilish smirk upon his face, sends warm shivers down her spine, as his hands work their away across her body.

"Round two?" He suggests. The words sink into her skin and she's eager to absorb them.

"Bellamy..." Clarke mumbles. It's meant as a warning, but the delivery fails. And she almost allows herself to get lost in his touch until the unyielding reality sets in once again. She pushes him aside and he willingly draws back in a relinquished sigh.

"I'm serious." Clarke gets up once again, quickly straightening herself out. "I'm late for work, and you," She points his way in almost a delirious manner for she can't believe the impulse of her actions. "you won't get out of my bed—and I'm pretty sure this is your longest record for time spentafter the one night stand, right Bellamy?" Her remark surprises him in an odd, amusing manner as he watches her attempt to cipher the very reasoning behind their previous endeavors.

"So as you can see—I'm a little pissed at the moment and honestly, debating my ability to make appropriate decisions under such pressure—"

"Whoa there, that's a pretty heavy accusation there, Princess. I didn't pressure you into anything." He stated as a matter-of-fact raising his hands up in willing surrender. "You did everything you wanted—don't blame me for your poor ability to resist me."

"Oh, don't flatter yourself." Clarke shoots back, storming her way to the bathroom before he has a chance to retaliate.

"Don't you have work or something?" She questions in attempt to prompt him out of her bed.

"It's Sunday." He replies from the other room.

"Is that supposed to mean anything?" When he doesn't answer she assumes it's because her plan is working, and he's currently picking his clothes off her bedroom floor. But then a pair of warm hands slide along her hips from behind and she finds his looming presence embracing her.

Fuck.

She instantly relaxes against his touch, the way his fingers glide against her hips before digging into them makes her mind go blank. "You were saying?" He whispers. The words wrap themselves along her gravity as she subconsciously pushes back against him, wanting to feel his weight against her.

Clarke inhales sharply. She could do this all day, there was no question.

"Bellamy, I'm late." She groans after a moment. The realization dawning against her for what felt like the millionth time that morning. "So you've said—but I don't see you in such a hurry, Griffin." He defends slyly, lips busy teasing the lobe of her ear. And as his tenacious, calloused hands run up across her stomach, all she can think about is how nice it'd be if all her mornings came with a tall brooding man who knew how to use his hands so well.

But she quickly snaps out of it, bringing herself to walk away even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. "If I miss my rounds I might as well fire myself…" She whines not able to contain her amusement from the disgruntled look spelled across Bellamy's face as she slips out from his welcoming touch.

"Pick up your clothes on the way out!" Clarke shouts on her way out, leaving a defeated Bellamy Blake standing naked in her bathroom.

...

The rest of her day is stupid crazy—stupid in the sense of the terrible management of time she performed under. If she even had five minutes to herself, other than her lunch break, she simply wouldn't have known. Her day started with rounds and ended with an exhausted Clarke in the small of the elevator after a myriad of diagnosis, bad news, prep., surgeries and ignoring the constant lingering stares of one Finn Collins.

But she used to it; the fast paced adrenaline that came with the rush of the job. She thrived on it, ate it for breakfast, and was definitely not susceptible to the obstructions that came with its disadvantages. If her mother, the only woman in her class at the time, managed to work under old unregulated time constrictions, become chief resident and raise a daughter at the same time, then Clarke could at least stay up on her feet after a 48-hour shift.

Some days she felt like superwoman, fluxed with this rush of indestructible force. Dr. Clarke Griffin off to save the day with a scalpel in her hand—off to make a difference in the world and save lives. But then come the days when she's exhausted all her efforts and there's still nothing in her power she can do. And it's those days that take her by complete surprise and remind her of the mortality present in every patient, hell, in even herself.

Today was one of those days. They had lost a trauma patient with crush injuries just as he came out of recovery, under her watch. It wasn't her fault, she knew that. There was nothing to indicate the inclination of heart failure. But still, the allotted shock lingered about, weighing her down. This, of course, was not the first time she had lost a patient and definitely wouldn't be the last. And she liked to believe she had gotten over the overpowering shadow of death, but sometimes, it came back to bite her when she least expected it.

Lunch was particularly eventful when Octavia dropped by, wedding magazines in tow. Her presence was usually welcome, Clarke found a distracting comfort in her wake. But today, as she forced bites of her sandwich down, all that was running through her mind was, 'I slept with your brother last night', over and over again. She couldn't think. Her mind was clouded with the image—scratch that, the reality, of Bellamy's solid figure, stretched across her bed this morning.

Fuck.

Every inch of her being want nothing more than to reach across the table and shout, 'I slept with Bellamy last night, and I need you to know that because you're my best friend and I'm freaking out, but I also don't need you to know that because you're his sister and he's forbidden fruit!'

But instead, when Octavia gushed about Lincoln's recent proposal, going over the various options of wedding dress colors, Clarke just smiled, nodding along. "What about white?" She suggests attempting to at least sound as if she wasn't freaking out inside.

"Ugh, I don't know... I feel like white is too..." Octavia grunts, the expression on her face scrunching in objection. "virginal." She ends, and Clarke nearly spits her coffee out at the sudden declarment.

"Virginal?" The Blond repeats once she draws enough air to breathe.

"Yeah, white is so... traditional. Although Bellamy would love it, I don't want to stand up there looking like the freaking virgin mary." She adds.

"I hardly think that's what anyone thinks of when they look at you and Lincoln, O." Clarke chuckles, quick to invalidate the ridiculous nature of her best friends rather, exaggerated belief. "Okay, okay... you have a point there, Blondie. Anyway... I was thinking more along the lines of ivory... or blush pink—you know, something subtle but modern."

The Blond nods, offering her a reassuring grin. "Yeah, I could see that."

"So, how was last night with Bellamy, he didn't give you too much trouble, did he?" Octavia then questions, too busy trailing over the myriad of colors in her magazine to notice the sudden panic in Clarke's eyes as she mentions her brother.

"Uh, no. He was fine." The Blond offers vaguely. "Surprisingly no concussion, but he needed stitches." She continued taking a sip of her latte in hopes to pace herself with the response. "Thanks for dealing with him, I probably would've just made things worse."

"Thanks for dealing with him, I probably would've just made things worse."

"Well, I had a little talk with him about everything. So, I'm hoping he'll grow up and finally learn, but you never know with him he's a little... unpredictable."

"A little?" Octavia questions in amusement. She idolized her older brother, but she couldn't deny her distaste for the protective nature he held her in. Now, the Blake sister realized it had sprung up long ago when he was handed custody of her and it would never really prove to disappear competently. But she at least hoped it would fade with time as she grew into an adult.

However, that was not the case.

"Anyway, what happened exactly? I mean, Jasper sort gave me the gist of everything but, you know…" Clarke shrugs, inclined by the missing details.

"It honestly was nothing, really," Octavia reveals. "This guy—probably had a few too many, came on to me. I said no, but apparently, he wasn't getting it. And before I could say anything there's Bellamy swooping in." She shakes her head in disappointment. "He started shouting, and getting in his face. The guy, of course, felt threatened and started swinging and then I don't even know... it just escalated in all forms of stupidity." She shook her head. "I'm actually surprised Bell managed to stay on his feet long enough to get out of there after that blow."

"Well," Clarke's eyebrows shoot up. "as you've stated, he is full of surprises."

"I get his need to protect me—he practically raised me after mom, but he needs to realize I can take care of myself." The Blake sister continued. "That's what I said," Clarke added in agreement. Octavia sighed, shaking her head for this was a sour subject.

"What time did you guys get home last night?"

"Around 4:30,"

"God, I'm sorry Clarke if I knew—"

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad he didn't run into more trouble." Clarke shrugged making nothing of it. And after a moment she cursed to herself for the way she phrased the sentence. Because based on her the definition of trouble, it was only partially true.

...

It's later that evening when Octavia is perched over the stove busy making dinner that the disruptive trio of loud, hungry boys bursts through that front door.

"Ooh, whatcha making there?" Jasper's the first to ask, magneting toward the kitchen where his continues to stick his nose anywhere but where it belonged. "Hands off!" Octavia groans slapping his prying fingers from the hot dish. "What are you guys doing here?" She barks in a scolding manner for she already knew the answer.

It was pretty clear, they were there to eat.

"We practically smelled it from the other side of the building." Monty shrugged innocently. "You can't really blame us..." Bellamy appends, adding the cherry on top.

"You guys are just lucky Raven's on duty and not here to kick your asses. What is this like, the sixth time this month?" She shook her head in disappointment watching the boys comfortably situate themselves upon her couch. "Oh, no no no. I'm not your mommy—you don't get to just sit there while I make the food—it doesn't work like that!" At that point, Octavia knew there wasn't anything she could do to get them out of there without a full stomach, however, that didn't mean she was about to make it easy for them.

"You're all grown men. You should know how to feed yourselves!" She went on, making her way into the living room before them in a berating manner. "Now, get up and help me!"

"Clarke home?" Bellamy asks, trudging back to the kitchen behind Octavia.

"In her room, what do you need her for?"

"Nothing, just a question about my head." He justifies rather casually. "Well, you know here it is..." His sister sighs, turning her attention to the two anxious boys before her. Bellamy makes his way down the hall to the Blond's bedroom.

Her room is cold and dark. White curtains dancing in contrast from the late evening Seattle breeze that runs through the open window. A mountain of clothes—scrubs, he notices, form a trail toward the bathroom.

A devilish smirk appears on his face as he makes a pass at the door, without any further hesitation, making an almost naked Clarke jump. "Holy shit Bellamy—!" She nearly shouts before quickly catching herself. The absolute last thing she needed was alert Octavia.

Yet the Blake just smiles in amusement from her jumpy nature and somehow manages to wrap himself around her in a matter of seconds. "What the hell are you doing?!" Clarke snaps, her words are quiet but sharp, not wanting to lose any sort of emphasis in the context.

"I have a question." He replies smoothly, breathing in her nearly exposed body.

"And this couldn't possibly wait until after my shower?" Clarke retorts suddenly noticing the lack of space between them, and how his hands were still pulling her closer to him.

Behind them, the thick steam from the running shower rolls beyond the glass, evaporating into the air. Somehow, the Blond snaps out of his trance and spins around pretending to keep herself busy by rustling through the medicine cabinet.

"It's important." Bellamy presses, giving her a second. "It's about my head."

"What about it?" Clarke bites her lip feeling Bellamy closing in on her from behind, hand resting on the countertop beside hers, head cocked, breath rolling down her collarbone.

"You see, it kind of hurts." She can tell it's just a cover. That he's not being serious. She knows why—or rather, what he's here for, but yet for some reason, she still finds herself playing along.

And just like that, she's not so tired anymore.

"Hm... what do you want me to do?" She's toying with him now, the slow steadiness of her voice purely eminent with the lack of air dissipating from the room. The Blake simply shrugs, pressing himself against her, lips now just barely tracing over her shoulder at a teasing will before running up her neck at the crook of her jaw.

And before she could have a second to react, he spins her back around. Tasting her rosy lips on his, testing the waters in a deep but toe curling kiss before the speed kicks in—before his is demeanor set and Clarke finds herself sandwiched between the countertop and Bellamy.

For the first time, she wonders where all this intense sexual tension came from. Before last night she and Bellamy were close, sure—he was her best friends brother, they'd known each other for years. And although their interactions were filled with all the components of healthy feuding paired with the occasional casual flirtation, it never escalated past that.

Well, except maybe one drunken night a year ago after both their worlds exploded.

None-the-less their relationship had always been simply platonic. So one would completely understand the confused nature of Clarke's mind at the moment when Bellamy's hands couldn't get enough.

"I don't know, Dr. Griffin... I was kinda hoping you'd make it feel better." He replies through breaths. She doesn't understand how, but he did it. He managed to pick her up so, even in her exhausted state. However, Clarke's mind is currently split between the fantasy of his hands tangled in her hair, wrapped around the back of her head, and thinking what Octavia would do to them if she walked in right then.

"Does your head still hurt?" She questions after a moment attempting to get the image of his sister out of her head.

"Oh, you're definitely making it better, Princess."

His mouth is sending violent ripples through her ridding of all the all remaining air between them. And Clarke hoists herself up on the counter, quickly helping take his shirt off, legs so effortlessly draped around his waist as Bellamy struggles with the lock on the door.

And for the second time that weekend she's making out with her best friends brother. She doesn't know how she gets herself into these situations.

It's maybe a minute later when she's fumbling with the button on his jean's it hits Clarke that her best friend—his sister, is only two walls away probably wondering what on earth Bellamy was doing in her room for that long. "Shit, shit!" She gasps through the thick atmosphere trying to come to her senses.

"What the hell are we doing?!" She shouts pushing him off.

"Apparently, not that anymore." He mumbles in confusion but stops noticing her present hesitation. "Your sister is right out there!" She exclaims alarm.

"I'm well aware —that's what makes this so fun." He smirks reaching in to kiss her once again, but she swiftly avoids it.

"Get out—"

"Wow, it's like morning all over again."He sighs but remains assertive. Clarke hands him his shirt shaking her head. "This is wrong." She reminds him for what certainly feels like the millionth time, yet he just rolls his eyes.

"Why? Because of that stupid, might I add, nonexistent girl code? Clarke that's crazy—"

"No, what's crazy is this," She trying hard to hide her sense of dismay but fails for Bellamy see's right through it, realizing she's just as disappointed as he is. "doing, whatever it is we're doing, when everyone's out there... can we just talk later?" She's defeated now, coming down from the accelerating high Bellamy so effortlessly offered.

He nods in agreement, seeing to it she's already made her mind. "Fine. We'll talk later."

...

"It's late, I'm going to bed," Clarke announces with an agonizing yawn, peeling herself off the living room floor. The rest of the gang were stretched lazily across the couch and floor, full from dinner, being lulled by the moving television screen before them.

"Night, Clarke." They all nearly mumble in their exhausted states.

And as she sets her plate in the sink, Bellamy stands following her. "Uh, I forgot my jacket in your room last night." He announces attempting to justify his actions before the tired crowd. They don't notice, and Clarke simply shoots him a just glare that apparently has no effect for it doesn't stop the persistent pace he makes back to her room.

The Blond drops to her bed to moment the door closes behind them, thankful she wasn't working the early shift tomorrow morning. She'd have to catch up on her much-needed sleep and would have to make it clear he was definitely not part of that equation.

"I'm seriously tired, Bellamy."

"That's fine. I won't keep you long, but you said we'll take later. Now is later."

"Right."

He was using his own words against her but then again, he wouldn't be Bellamy if he didn't. "Talk." She exhaled sharply gazing up at him from where she was laying on the bed. But when finally being presented with the opportunity, he had no idea where to begin.

And after a moment of lingering silence, Clarke spoke for him. "What are we doing, Bellamy?" She whispers gently. The words float into the dim light hanging around them. "This is so weird—"

"Why?" He suddenly demands. And Clarke's quick to reply with a significant frown. "Because of you're my best friends brother."

"I don't think I've been so aware of that fact in the last 48 hours." He jokes attempting to lighten the mood. The Blond sits up, running a hand through her hair in a deep sigh. "I don't know what we're doing," He admits, shrugging. "but I know that I like it. And I know that I don't want to stop." His statement takes her by surprise. Bellamy was usually a lot more complex than that.

Clarke nods, coming to the same ultimate conclusion, but hesitating before she had a chance to voice it. "Okay, what does that mean?" She mumbles, biting her lip in a nervous manner. Bellamy was a lot of things, but she knew she could trust him to be honest with her.

"You tell me..." He dances around the question attempting to see where her head was at. She of course notices and makes him well aware of that fact. "I'm just trying to figure out what you want out of this, so answer the damn question."

"Fine. I don't want anything heavy—all that relationship crap? I don't want to deal with it." He attempts to read the expression on her face for she doesn't offer him anything for a moment just registering his words. But then she smiles, and relief flood through him.

"Perfect."

"Perfect?" He questions in confusion. Clarke nods encouragingly. "Looks like we're in the same boat, Blake."

"Good." There's such determination in his voice that her heart races, satisfied with his reply. If he's going to make this easy, then she would too. They shouldn't beat around the bush when it came to things like this. It was completely nerve-racking and unnecessary.

"Okay then. If we're gonna continue this we need a set of rules."

"So, you're saying you want to continue this?"

"You don't?" Her eyebrows raise, challenging his question as she smiles in amusement. "Oh, no. I definitely want to continue this."

"Good. First rule." Clarke starts before she could stop the words slipping from her mouth. Of course, every part of her brain contemplated her actions, or at least attempted to. Doubting her every word, coming up with endless reasons why this was a horrible idea, yet, somehow, she managed to stay ignorant of all them.

"It's just sex—it's simple and casual—for the benefits of having a healthy sexual life. No feelings." She tries to medically justify this and Bellamy can't help but grin. "Do you listen to yourself sometimes, Princess? You sound like a textbook." He teases making her roll her eyes.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Okay. No feelings. What's next?" Bellamy presses.

"No one can know about this." She declares without hesitation. She couldn't run the risk of Octavia finding out. "That's fair. Wouldn't want my sister to find out—well, at least you wouldn't." Clarke shoots him a playful glare. "They can never know." She insists making sure it's engraved in the etching of his mind.

"Sounds like a challenge. I like it." Bellamy comments with a smirk. "Oh, I got one... non-exclusive."

"Why? So you can give me an STD in the process? I don't think so." Clarke's quick to deny. "I'm just thinking of you, Princess." Bellamy shrugs. She peers at him in confusion attempting to understand what he meant before he explained it. But she was coming up short.

"What about the moment you come to your senses and realize that Collins is the right one for you, huh? What?" He tested consciously. "You're gonna call me in the middle of the night to break off our little arrangement before jumping into bed with him?" He chuckles shaking his head. "I'd rather save my sleep, thanks."

"Hey, that's not fair!" She retorted. If she was going to take any shit about her and Finn's complicated relationship, it was going to be from her mother, a justified role—definitely not from one Bellamy Blake who had no say at an opinion in the matter.

"Finn and I? That's over—god, I'm not discussing my past romantic failures with you."

"Failures?" Bellamy comments eyebrows popping up in question. "The guy proposed to you Clarke, I'd hardly call that a failure."

"Yeah? And where are we today, Blake? I'm alone and live with Raven and Octavia."

"You know, I actually never understood why you said no." He questions in a vexing matter. "Doctor, 401K plan, not too bad looking… you had everything you'd ever need with him. So why'd you leave?" And what started out as an innocent tease suddenly turned serious. Clarke found herself without an explanation.

"Finn he..." She shook her head trying to find the right words to explain the dilemma. "he wanted a wife, a house on Mercer Island three doors from my mother, two and a half kids and I..." Clarke reveals, trying hard not to let the emotion slip out with her words. "I couldn't give him that."

"Why not?" Bellamy's question turns genuine. He'd always had this slight suspicion that no matter how hard Clarke fought against it, she would never defer from the lifestyle her mother had so willing carved out for her.

"I'm a surgical resident, Bellamy. And as much as my mom was a big influence in that decision, I actually love it." She watches as he attempts to cipher her the entirety of complex nature. "She taught me that the thing I can really count on in life is my career. Because it's never going to wake up in the morning and tell you it doesn't love you anymore. And she's not wrong."

And although there's a part of him that has to disagree with that statement, Blake brother nods, seeing her point. He knew it wasn't her intention, but he couldn't get the thought of how sad and lonely that sounded out of his head.

"Doesn't mean I didn't love him." Finn was a touchy subject for the Blond. Mostly because growing up, she had three supporting constants in her life, her father, Wells, and Finn. And ultimately, she was left with only one.

"It was one of the hardest things I had to do. So, no... I'm not going to be changing my mind anytime soon." She offers a confident smile not wanting to look so vulnerable in Bellamy's eyes.

"That's fair."

"However, I see your point." She exhales, realizing how far they've managed to veer off topic. "Non-exclusive, I guess it couldn't hurt. What's next?"

"Uh, no dating—I don't want to accidentally get dragged along to one of your mother's famous brunches—no offense," Bellamy adds, dismissing that part of him that urged to hear more. And Clarke immediately agrees, much to his surprise. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone..." Together they laugh and suddenly her mind is so clear and de-clouded from the clutter that Bellamy had left behind with all that unresolved sexual tension. Not that she had the courage to admit it aloud at the moment, but she was kind of glad they were doing this.

"Anything, else?" She asks when nothing comes to mind.

"Not that I can think of, but four simple rules seem like a good start."

"Okay," Clarke reaches over to her bedside table, tearing a page from a notebook. "Rules," She writes at the top. "Number one, no feelings."

"Two, no one can know," Bellamy adds following along. "Three, nonexclusive. And four, No dating." She finishes, drawing two X's where they both sign.

"Guess it's official then Blake." She beam up at him folding the paper.

"I guess it is."

...