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Bellamy Blake is living his best life.
He’s sitting in a tattered lawn chair, legs sprawled in front of him, cold beer in hand. The sun is warm on his bare chest, but not too hot. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and the view—Raven tending the grill in a scrap of cloth she has the audacity to call shorts and a bikini top—is spectacular.
“Clarke!” Raven yells, then takes a swig of her beer. “Are the steaks ready?”
“On the way,” Clarke’s voice says as she appears out the back door with a plate of ribeyes. She hands the plate off to Raven, sees Bellamy and her eyebrow quirks. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely.”
“Good.” She saunters over to him, takes a long pull from his beer. “Proud of you, you know.”
He grins at her and maybe blushes a tiny bit. “Thanks, babe.”
Clarke leans down to kiss him, her breath tangy with beer, her lips soft. “Love you.”
“You too.”
“And you!” Clarke yells out over her shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah.” Raven waves her tongs at them. “Time enough for that later, I gotta concentrate.”
Clarke places another quick, biting kiss on his lips. “I need to go finish the potato salad. Enjoy yourself.”
“I will,” he promises. He watches Clarke walk back inside, then closes his eyes and leans back. He doesn’t know how one started the process of unwinding ten years of stress—of papers and exams and finals and work and research and students and the final dissertation defense—but sitting in the backyard letting Clarke and Raven take care of him is a pretty good place to start. Abby and Marcus were hosting a big graduation party for him tomorrow after the ceremony, but today was just for the three of them.
Two hours later, full of steak and beer and tres leches, Bellamy is laying on the couch when he hears Raven and Clarke whispering and giggling. The sound never fails to make him smile, but the particular tone of this little giggle-whisper session has him a bit…well, worried. Left to their own devices they hatch plots.
So it’s only a little surprising to him when they appear two minutes later, hands linked, and stand in front of the couch, sharing secret smiles.
“What?” He asks, wary.
They eye each other, grin.
Then Clarke turns to him and says, plain as can be: “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” He glances between the two of them, and they’re wearing even bigger shit-eating grins than a moment ago. “Clarke, you’re a terrible liar.”
“She really is.” Raven’s mouth tucks into a smile and she drops a quick kiss on Clarke’s mouth. Clarke moves into the kiss, hand coming up automatically to Raven’s waist and letting her fingers trail along there, and oh. Maybe this is the plan.
Well, then.
++++
The reception after the ceremony is in the small Classics library—there aren’t a lot of Ph.D candidates in Ancient History—but it’s well-appointed with dark wood paneling and the papery-leather smell libraries with old books have.
The reception is one of those family-only things, but he would have never thought when he started undergrad that his ‘family’ list would be so long: Raven and Clarke, Kane, Abby, Octavia, Lincoln, and his nieces Dany and Aine. That there was a whole other party of people waiting for him later—it was more than a little humbling, and meant even more than his doctorate.
Though that was pretty goddamn amazing, too. He did it. Raven and Clarke supported him, especially through the past three years, and he did it. They did it.
Bellamy stands against the wall, watching as his family circulates through his colleagues and friends and mentors, feels warmth and accomplishment rise in his chest.
He sips at his champagne and notices a glance pass between Clarke and Raven. He’s seen that look a few times in the past few years, and the implications of it go straight to his dick.
Sure enough, he watches as Raven extricates herself from Dr. Harrison and her wife, Monroe. Raven walks past him, smiling at him with the sexiest little smile, and continues on through the exit.
To the assistant professor offices down the hall. His new office.
Bellamy lets his eyes trail her down the hall—she really has the most amazing ass and the clingy blue fabric of her dress is only accentuating it—but he snaps his eyes back to find Clarke. She’s deep in conversation with Abby—a Dean at the school—and a professor she had in undergrad. But he and Clarke always know when the other needs to communicate, and she flicks her eyes over to him and arches her eyebrow as if to say, What the fuck are you waiting for?
He tosses back the last of the remarkably good champagne—thank you again, small class size—and puts the flute down on the catering table. His stride is long, and in one minute he’s opening the door to his pocket-sized office. But it’s enough for two chairs and a small desk, on which Raven is perched.
“Took you long enough,” she grinned. “Lock the door.”
The lock clicks under his fingers. In three steps he is between Raven’s legs.
“Congratulations,” she murmurs between kisses. “This is present one.”
Bellamy trails kisses up her jaw, licking into that spot behind her ear that sends shivers down Raven’s body. It never fails. “Present one? What about yesterday?” Just recalling the three of them on the couch yesterday—him pumping into Clarke from behind as she made Raven scream with her tongue—was enough to make him instantly hard. Fuck, that was hot.
“Mmm.” Raven twines her arms around him, leans her neck into his kisses. “That was…prelude. You have three gifts.”
"Three gifts?" Bellamy murmurs as he works his way down to her shoulder, but Bellamy rapidly forgets the idea of gifts because Raven is right in front of him. He slides the silk strap of her dress off her shoulder, exposing the warm brown expanse of her chest. “Fuck, Raven. You’re so gorgeous. And this blue? It’s driving me crazy.”
“Why thank you,” she says, then gasps when he pushes down her bra cup and gently twists her nipple between her fingers. “But this isn’t about me today, Bellamy. This is about you. And we don’t have long before people will notice we’re missing.”
With that, her fingers find his belt, separate the buckle, then unbuttons his trousers. Her hand slips into his boxers, fingers wrapping around his already-hard cock.
Bellamy moans into her neck as she slides her hand lightly over him, testing first. He loves her hands so much, the perfect blend of calloused and strength from her work, and immediately begins thrusting into her fist.
His hands slide down her side, ruck up her skirt. He goes to hook his fingers around her underwear—and—
“Easy access,” she breathes into his mouth. Keeping one hand on his dick, she fists the other one into his curls and pulls him down on her in a crushing kiss.
He groans, tonguing into her mouth to silence his own noise. No panties to deal with, he slips his fingers into her folds and she’s wet. “How long have you been wanting this, Raven?”
“I’ve been wet all day,” she teases between kisses. “That cap and gown? Hot.”
He slides a finger into her, feels her walls clutch on him. He slowly moves his finger in and out, and she squirms just a bit. “All day? Even on those hard auditorium seats? Nothing to do but wait?”
“Maybe Clarke helped me out.” By the way she says it, he knows it true. He can just see it, the two of them stealing off to some secret dark corner. They loved that we-might-get-caught shit.
“Fuck,” and his hips thrust harder against her hand at the image of it. He already knows what it would be, too, Clarke kneeling in front of Raven, Raven’s leg hitched over her shoulder. Raven returning the favor by finger fucking Clarke until Clarke did one of her lip-biting silent public-sex orgasms.
Raven pulls him closer, and he can tell that she’s just as turned on by the memory because more and more of her wetness comes out onto her cunt with every stroke of his fingers.
“Bellamy,” she pants in his ear. “Inside me. Now.”
“Yeah, babe, I've got you.” He pulls out his fingers, but before he can move his arm around her back she grabs his hand and sucks them lightly. A white-hot current bolts from his fingers down his spine as her hot tongue swirls and sucks in tandem with her hand on his cock. She slides his hand out of her mouth with a satisfied smirk.
Then it’s on.
Unthinking, because he doesn’t have a coherent thought in his head anymore, he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her forward on the desk, parting her thighs with his hips. He’s careful to support her braced leg with his arm, and she pulls her other leg up onto desk, bent with her foot on the edge. Raven is fully open to him, with her gorgeous cunt and all he wants to do is lick it. She guesses what he’s going to go for—what he always goes for—and says, “No. Bellamy. Fuck me. Please.”
That he gets a Real Raven Reyes sex-whine makes him grin a bit, and even through their lust-haze she smirks at him. “Don’t get cocky. Come on.”
“Whatever you say.” He pushes into her and god, it’s good. She’s soaking wet and hot and her position on the edge of the desk but slightly back on her ass is just perfect. He strokes in and out, her pussy clenching on him, her hands on his ass driving him harder and harder.
It’s too intoxicating to baptize his office in this filthy way—the scent of their sex in the air, the sound of their fucking, the slight sheen of sweat on Raven’s skin, their mouths fused together.
“Turn me over,” she pants into his ear. “Fuck me over the desk.”
Bellamy pulls out for just a moment, uses his big hands to flip her in one swift motion. Raven reaches behind her and holds the skirt, spreads her legs and arches her ass up to him.
He can’t help but play at her entrance, pushing just his head in and out, until she mewls at him. It’s the best to make Raven frustrated with something she can’t quite control, and then to give her the ultimate satisfaction of an orgasm.
Bellamy enters into her with one hard motion. Raven gasps, clenching the desk with her fingers. His fingers dig into her ass as she thrusts back on him and just the sight of it—his hard dick spearing into her, her perfectly round ass over him—makes him go a little crazy.
“Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy,” she whisper-cries with each thrust. He’s bottoming out with each thrust, punishing and fast, and he can feel his orgasm build with an unbearable tightness in his abdomen, his dick, his balls.
He thrusts his hand around her hips to her clit, presses the heel of his palm into her clit. He’s desperate that she comes with him. “I’m close Raven, I’m close.”
“Yes, yes, yes, me too, fuck, Bellamy!” She’s fucking both his hand and his cock, and suddenly her body clenches with orgasm, muscles rigid, then releases into shuddering waves.
With one last thrust he pours into her throbbing cunt, groans her name into her neck. They stand there, swaying together for a moment, him murmuring I love yous into her ear, her smiling sweetly up at him.
“Happy graduation day, baby,” Raven says a few minutes later after they clean up. She and Clarke really had planned this, because out of Raven’s huge bag comes wet wipes, underwear, and even a change of boxers for him just in case.
As they exit the office, he files away desk is perfect sex height into his mental notes.
++++
Marcus and Abby live in a beautiful house set back in the woods, forty-five minutes from Seattle. As Clarke steers them into driveway Bellamy can’t help but feel a pulse of anxiety. Everything about this weekend has been incredible, and Marcus and Abby are awesome, but it’s a huge party. Cars are lined up along the street, parked alongside the winding driveway. It’s all people he knows—but still.
The thing is, for all that he’s good in a crowd and with people, Bellamy is actually pretty introverted. After a long week of parties and receptions and ceremonies and speeches and well—the party is that last thing he has to do. And it’s something he wants to do…but he can’t wait until he gets to spend all day in bed with Raven and Clarke tomorrow, nothing to do, nowhere to be.
Clarke notices and reaches out her hand. “It’s going to be fun.”
“Totally,” Raven sits up from the backseat and squeezes his neck lightly, massages her fingers into his curls. “Just think about how good the food is going to be.”
“True. They got catering from Chez Nous.” Clarke hits the garage door opener her mom gave her and pulls into the space.
His mouth waters at the thought, but Jesus. “They’re so...them...sometimes,” he laughs.
“They love you,” Clarke says simply. “They’re proud of you. We all are.”
They enter the house with a huge chorus of Congratulations. He’s immediately handed champagne—even better champagne than the reception—and roped into the crowd.
Several hours later, at that perfectly-buzzed point where conversation is easy but you’re still self-aware enough not to be an asshole, he realizes that still, he needs a minute to collect his thoughts.
The Griffin-Kane house is huge, larger than it looks from its tasteful-modern Pacific Northwest facade, but he knows it well. Bellamy heads for Clarke's old room. It’s still the room that they share when they stay the night on Christmas Eve. He walks through the two hallways that separate the bedroom wing from the common area, and the sounds of the party fade behind him.
This wing of the house is quiet and cool. Kane has a photography hobby, and the hallways are lined with his photographs of Mt. Rainier and Cannon Beach and the San Juan Islands. Bellamy’s seen them before, but he stops and looks at them again, taking his time to unwind.
Finally, reaching the end of the small gallery, he goes to the bathroom, shuts the door, and lets out a breath—sweet privacy.
A few minutes later, after he’s peed and sat on the toilet reading from an old New England Review in the magazine rack (thank you, nerdy teenage Clarke), there’s a light knock on the door.
“Bellamy?” Clarke’s voice says, soft, on the other side. “You okay?”
He puts the magazine back and lights with anticipation—present two.
Bellamy opens the door, and closes it—locks it—as soon as Clarke brushes past him. She notices and her eyebrow lifts.
“Present two,” she says, mouth tucking into a cat-got-the-cream grin. Her pale cheeks are flushed with a bit of sunburn, a bit of anticipation.
“Present two,” he smiles at her.
Her heels give her the height to press easy kisses on his mouth, and they just stand like that for a moment, kissing and holding each other. Clarke massages his shoulders lightly, presses her thumbs at the base of his neck. Tension leaves his shoulders, unwinds from his chest.
“How’re you doing?” Clarke murmurs as her mouth leaves his, trails down his neck.
“Better now.”
“Good.” Her eyes lift to him. “Do you want this? This is about you. We can just sit here if you want.”
“Mmm.” He cups her head in his hands, brings their foreheads together and just rests for a moment. “This is nice, but after Raven’s present this morning…I have to say I’m curious.”
Clarke kisses him, soft and lingering. “Okay, then.” Her fingers find the buttons of his shirt, starts popping them open one by one. Her hands slide over his undershirt, pushing it up to feel his abdomen. “God, I’ve always loved the way your skin feels,” she says. “You’re always so, so warm.”
And it’s true—he runs warm, she’s always cool. She nestles into him during the winter nights, feet and hands freezing, and then she pulls Raven to her. It’s absurd, but even then, she still needs blankets.
She starts bending down slowly to place kisses along his stomach, and his skin prickles in anticipation. The thing is, Clarke loves giving head—to women and men—and her enthusiasm and skill makes her incredible at it.
Bellamy knows, in some distant part of his mind, that they don’t have all the time in the world to disappear together, but she’s acting as if they do. Clarke unbuttons his pants, hooking her finger and sliding them off slowly. She sucks at his skin, along the V-ridge of his hips, into his inner thigh, carefully avoiding touching his cock. Her hands run up and down his legs with the perfect amount of pressure, massaging his thighs. He groans at the pulling tensions of anticipation and relaxation, and his eyes flutter close as her mouth get closer to him.
“Bellamy.” Her voice is soft, but demanding. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.”
She’s starts warming him up, hand stroking along his length, eyes glinting up at him. As he watches, she snakes a hand under her skirt and starts playing with herself. He can’t see it, just the motion of her wrist, but still, shit, it’s hot.
Her mouth is warm and wet, and she sucks harder with each stroke, goes deeper with each stroke. Bellamy’s hands fist into her silky-fine blond curls, tilting her head back a bit because if his eyes are open he wants to look at her, see her pretty mouth take his cock.
And fuck.
She’s so into it, eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling, mouth grinning over his dick like it’s the best thing ever. Her grip tightens and she twists her fist along it, pulling her mouth all the way off and her fist following over his head. His hips start to thrust into the motion and she accepts him eagerly, relaxing her throat so he can go further in with each stroke.
Bellamy can’t help but talk to her when she’s like this, telling her how good she is, how hot she is, how it feels to fuck her mouth. Clarke gets off on it and he watches as her wrist moves faster just out of his sight. She’s trying as hard as she can to not lose her rhythm on him while her own pleasure is building, but that makes it all the more hot as she stutter-stops on him, continues harder, stops again halfway off to throw her head back a little when it gets too good.
“Babe, let me.” He grips her hair tighter, like she likes. She moans around him as he sets the pace, fast but not to fast, taking over enough control for both of them to be able to come.
Clarke goes first. Her knees splay further out on the tile, her hand working furiously at her cunt, and she can barely keep her mouth on him as she groans.
“Fuck, Clarke! I’m going to—” He can feel his orgasm about to break--
—She straightens up, takes him all the way in her mouth. Bellamy’s legs tremble to stay upright with the force of the orgasm, hands flexing futile in her hair as he releases into her mouth.
After a few moments Clarke slides off. Bellamy hauls her up to him, tonguing into her mouth, wanting the her/him taste in his mouth too. She moans, clings to him, meeting him in the hot, open-mouthed kiss.
“You guys are an amazing tag-team,” he says, a few moments later, stroking his hand through her hair.
“I know.” Satisfaction permeates her tone. They spend the next minutes cleaning each other up, kissing lazily.
“Am I good?” She does a little twirl. “Don’t look too outrageously used?”
In truth—only he and Raven would know what the swell of lips and the soft, hot look to her eyes would mean—so when he says, “Only to us,” she grins.
“Good. Now let’s go get some cake.”
++++
All of this leads him, of course, to wonder what the hell present three could be. Honestly, he didn’t expect anything—not these fun sexcapades, but also not anything else. That’s just not how they really operate.
But they land in bed after a furious undressing, Bellamy in the middle with Raven’s back curled against him and Clarke curled onto him, arm reaching over to stroke Raven’s hip. Soon both Clarke and Raven are both asleep, and he drifts off thinking that present three couldn’t possibly top this.
++++
Warm afternoon sunlight streams into their bedroom, the insistent kind of light that tells you wake the fuck up. He looks at the clock: 12:34.
Bellamy scrubs his hands over his face and into his hair, groaning and stretching out his limbs. Raven is still asleep, curled in a ball on her side of the bed. He turns his head to find Clarke, who is sitting up and reading. She grins at him and kisses him softly, as she does so, the movement in the bed stirs Raven.
It’s nice, this kind of kissing and playing: just the three of them lazing about. In the past years they haven’t gotten to do it that often, between Clarke finishing nursing school, Raven and her intense work schedule over the past year, and all of his own graduate school work. It’s always been go go go, but now…Clarke is a clinical midwife with a practice she loves. Raven oversees energy efficient construction projects. And he just completed his doctorate and has a roster of classes for the fall semester that he (mostly) likes. He knows that there are difficult times ahead for them—he’ll have to decide, eventually, what to do if he doesn’t get a tenure track position, and Clarke, at some point, wants to move into being a delivery midwife which will mean on-call work—and Jesus, kids—
But for now. For today, and for the next little while, this will be them. Laying around in bed on weekend mornings, Raven’s fingers finding him and coaxing him hard so she can slide on top of him.
“You’re already so wet,” his tone is part teasing, part gasp.
“Mmm,” she’s still not completely awake—it takes her a while—and she rocks her hips over him at a leisurely pace. He holds on to her ass, keeping her steady, loving the feel of her flesh in his hands. She is so warm, her inner skin so velvety.
Clarke lays her book on the nightstand and joins, unspeaking. She just watches them for a moment, participating with little touches and with her eyes. Bellamy knows sometimes Clarke takes a little longer to get into sex, to get out of her mind and into the moment. Raven and Bellamy are so tactile with each other, with Clarke, in bed, ready for it. But sometimes Clarke just starts by watching, absorbing them. It took him awhile to get used to it, honestly, awhile for him to understand what she was doing—but once he did, her presence as she watched them, became so erotic. He turns his face to her, to watch her watch, her eyes bright, bottom lip tucked in her teeth.
Eventually, Clarke moves over to Raven, trails her lips up Raven’s thigh, nips her hip— “Clarke!” Raven gasps—then kitten-licks up her ribcage. Clarke moves so she’s behind Raven, straddling Bellamy’s thighs. Her wet-heat radiates from just above him, but she’s not giving the grind to herself yet.
Instead, her hands stroke up and down Raven. One finds the cleft between Raven’s thighs and the other Raven’s breast. Raven’s head tips back to find Clarke’s mouth, but she can’t quite reach, and Clarke doesn’t want to move her hands. Clarke laughs softly, instead placing kisses at the back of Raven’s neck, in the spot that Bellamy and Clarke know sends shivers up Raven’s spine.
“Oh shit, Clarke,” Raven’s voice is still rough with sleep, and she doesn’t even care to keep the plea out.
“Yeah?” But at just that moment, Clarke adds another finger to circle Raven’s clit, pinches a little harder at Raven’s nipple, and Raven is speechless again.
Raven’s first orgasm is one of those low, gentle ones, and she shakes a bit in Clarke’s arms as Clarke kisses her down, helps Raven off Bellamy and back to the bed. It’s all so lazy and slow.
Except now…
This whole thing has been so perfect, right? And it’s been that way because of them and suddenly Bellamy wants to give back. He wants Clarke to come undone underneath him, for Raven to have the kind of release that leaves her in a relaxed puddle—for them to all be a mass of sweat and breath. The desire for it comes on so strong, that before he really thinks about it, he crushes Clarke to him, grabs for Raven with his other hand to link them.
“Bellamy?” Clarke breaks the kiss, looks at him.
“I want to fuck you. Both.”
Raven smirks at him. “What do you call what we just did?”
He grins back at her. “Waking up?”
Raven and Clarke lock eyes for a moment, heat passing between them, then they turn to him. They know he wants—needs—something else.
“Okay, Bellamy,” Clarke says, rising on her knees to kiss him. “Fuck us.”
Bellamy thinks for just a moment—threesomes are always a bit of a dance, even as comfortable as they are, but especially when it’s one like this with a current a thick, unnameable emotion between all three of them.
He’ll start with Clarke. He can tell that part of her is still wound up from her shifts over the past week, from the parties, the endless to-do lists in her mind. Raven loves to watch, and having just had an orgasm—her having time to watch and play with herself will leave her ready.
“On your back, Clarke.” She rolls onto her back, obedient, and he pulls her to the edge of the bed. Her legs automatically open for him, and her cunt glistens in the afternoon light.
Honestly, Bellamy wants to fuck right into her. He’s stiff and ready, and she’s turned-on from watching him and Raven, but the goal…the goal is undone. And to get Clarke undone you have to unwind her first.
He drops to his knees between her legs, places feather-light kisses along her thigh, runs his morning stubble along the sensitive skin. He can hear Raven kissing her above, murmuring to her, the silky slide of skin on skin.
Bellamy drags his lips along the outside of her folds, using just the tip of his tongue to taste. Clarke moans, her hips already flexing just a bit to him.
“Patience,” he says into her cunt, then traces his tongue with just the barest of pressure from her entrance to clit, circling there a few times.
Clarke sucks in a breath and her fingers slide down to touch herself. He noses them out of the way. “No, Clarke. Not yet.”
But he gives her what she wants and starts licking her in earnest, exploring her, swiping over her clit. There’s no pattern to it, just letting himself taste, respond. Her hips rock over his face and he withdraws, moving down to her entrance, fucking into her with his tongue.
With each stroke he draws her come out over her labia, onto her thighs. His movements are controlled, but he knows that the filthy feeling of having her come spread all over loosens something in her, always does.
“Fuck, Bellamy, yes, just like that.” Clarke’s hand shoots down between her legs, grabs his hair, pushes his face into her. Bellamy flicks his tongue against her clit, alternating that with hard, generous licks around her entire cunt. She’s starting to vibrate, that low and slow pull when all of the sensations start to circle together—so close to coming—
Bellamy slows his tongue abruptly, stops with a kiss to her clit.
“No!” Clarke cries, sex-distraught. “No, Bellamy! Fuck! Please! You can’t!”
Clarke launches herself up to him, grabs him by the shoulders, pulls him to her. He grins at Raven, grins at Clarke, and she’s so pissed and gorgeous and also completely out of control and it’s incredible. Clarke bites into him, sucking at his bottom lip, desperate for a taste of herself. He gives back just as good, pressing her into the mattress with his body, hard as he can, wedging his hips between her thighs so she can feel how hard he is.
Before she can even get a grind on him, though, he pulls back. “Touch yourself, Clarke.” Her eyes light, and he grins at her. “But not too much.”
Bellamy moves over to Raven, fisting his hands in her hair, bringing her to him in a hard kiss. “You okay, babe?”
Raven hums an assent, presses in for another. “Yeah. You should have seen Clarke’s face, Bellamy.” Raven’s eyes darken as she looks at him.
He groans, feels his cock jump at the thought of both of them on the bed. “I want Clarke on top of you. So you can help me hold her still,” he whispers into her ear, follows it with a gentle bite on her neck. Raven looks up at him, her lips part just a bit.
“Fuck yeah,” Raven breathes into his mouth. “Fuck yes.”
Raven rolls back on the bed, scoots up. Bellamy helps her situate her hips and legs until she’s comfortable, stroking down her thighs, dipping his fingers into folds. She grins at him—thrusts at him.
“Come here, Clarke.” Her voice is gentle, and Clarke, already mostly-wrecked, eyes Bellamy for permission. He nods at her. Clarke straddles Raven’s hips, brings her head down to kiss her, blond curls curtaining them both.
Raven then pushes Clarke’s hips back and over. Clarke, intuiting what Raven wants, straddles Raven’s thigh, pressing her own thigh into Raven’s cunt.
Raven moans, then starts to rub herself up and down on Clarke. Clarke reaches out and laces her fingers into Raven’s hand.
Clarke whispers, “You like that babe?” in between kisses. Raven twists her hands into Clarke’s hair as an answer.
Raven breaks the kiss a moment later, her free hand holding on to Clarke's hip. “We’re ready for you, Bellamy.”
Bellamy bites his lip and groans, heart thudding painfully at his chest seeing both of them intertwined together like they are. He loves them so much it’s unreal, needs them and they need him. That love, that need, spurs him to action. They have great communication out of bed, but in bed, together, is where Clarke can say what she can’t say, where Raven can ask for what she can’t ask for, where he can let go when letting go is the hardest thing in the whole fucking world for him to do.
He lines up his cock at Clarke’s entrance, pushing just his head into her at first.
“Bellamy,” her voice is a plea-murmur, and she tries to thrust back on him but he pulls away.
“Slow, Clarke.” He brushes the hair off her back, leans over and kisses her shoulder. “We’ll get you there. Do you trust us?”
“Yes.” She flexes her hand into Raven’s. “Yeah.”
Bellamy sinks into her in one motion. Clarke groans, tries to fuck back on him, but he flexes his fingers into her hips. “No, babe. Trust us, remember?”
She nods wordlessly, turns her frustration onto Raven, kissing her all over, kneading her breasts.
Bellamy grips into Clarke’s hips, keeping her still between Raven and him, and then pumps into her again, his head bumping into her cervix.
Clarke keens, an almost otherwordly noise. “More.”
He does it again.
“Again.”
Bellamy pumps into her, hard, balls smacking against her cunt. This time he doesn’t stop, he and Raven holding her still as they can. Each time he thrusts into Clarke, Clarke's thigh presses into Raven, and Raven's whimpers are added to the sex-chorus in their room. Clarke's lack of control, plus already being half gone, means that in less than a dozen strokes he can feel her orgasm begin to pulsate around him.
Raven breaks the hold she has on Clarke's hip, thrusts her hand between them, furiously working at Clarke’s clit. Seconds later, Clarke's cries out, body arching, head snapping back with the intensity of the orgasm. Bellamy pulls out--he can feel his own orgasm building, and he won't be able to stop if he stays in her. She moans at his sudden absence, but Raven replaces him with soft petting, bringing her slowly down, down, down.
Bellamy can see that Raven is close, wants to give that to her too, and in that unspoken way they have Clarke knows. She slides off Raven after a moment, lies boneless beside her, slips her hand onto Raven’s clit. In less than ten seconds, he’s gone from Clarke’s cunt into Raven’s. He fucking loves that transition.
“Bellamy.” Raven has her bottom lip trapped with her teeth. Whereas Clarke needs it controlled and rough to get uncontrolled sometimes, Raven needs it deep, slow, thorough. Needs to know, in an unspoken sort of way, she’s being looked after.
“Yeah, baby? You like this?” He rocks into her, savoring the difference, loving the sight of both of them together. Just like Raven did earlier, now Clarke is murmuring filthy things into her ear, playing with her folds, licking at her nipples.
He grinds into Raven, giving her just the pressure she needs, and god, he’s close. Bellamy pulls her flush against him, holds her legs around him, works on finding that perfect friction for her—and there, fuck, yes, her cunt grips around him, her face goes tense before she cries out.
Her clenching draws out his own release. Bellamy groans as he comes, dropping his forehead against her chest.
A few second later, when he can actually stand up straight, he grabs some tissues off the nightstand and wipes himself. He helps Raven clean up with another tissue, then bends down to pass a playful lick along her slit, which earns him a yelp and a soft swipe on the head. He grins.
Bellamy throws the tissues away, then climbs on to the bed. Clarke is still limp as a fucking noodle, sprawled across the bed with abandon. Raven is stretched out against Clarke, long and limber, between them. Bellamy wraps his arms around them both, drops his chin on Raven’s shoulder, and dozes.
+++
Later, way later, when their breath has slowed and the sweat has dried, when the afternoons sun dips below the trees throwing their room into cool shade, Raven looks over at Clarke. “Clarke?”
Clarke lifts an eyebrow at Raven, who grins back at her. Bellamy watches, amused. Jesus, he’s had about all of the presents he can take. At least for now.
“It’s time for your present.”
“Another?” He pushes himself up to seated. “I’m not really sure that I’m up for a present four…”
Raven grins. “But what just happened wasn’t a present. This is present three.”
“Still…” He divides a look between them, feels heat rise in his neck. “Guys…”
“Shut up, dumbass,” Raven kisses his cheek and snuggles into his shoulder while Clarke rolls out of bed and walks over to their packed bookshelf. She pulls off a neatly wrapped box, and he’s already touched when he can tell that it’s wrapping paper she made herself. Of course it is.
Clarke sits on the bed facing him, and both she and Raven go quiet with anticipation.
Bellamy slides his finger under the tape, carefully dislodging it. The wrapping paper is really gorgeous, frame worthy, though Clarke would never let herself think it. But he’ll keep it, and frame it, and put it in his new office.
Bellamy lifts the lid and finds a folded sheet of paper. It takes him a moment to register what he’s seeing, then after the wave of shock passes he can finally read it:
Travel Itinerary, June 8-July 2
Bellamy Blake, SEA to ATL.
Bellamy Blake, ATL to Paris
Bellamy Blake (four days later), Paris to Athens
then ten days later
Bellamy Blake, Athens to Rome (three days)
Bellamy Blake, Rome to London (four days)
Bellamy Blake, London to ATL
Bellamy Blake, ATL to SEA (with a large, squiggly HOME!! encircled by hearts, thank you Clarke)
He’s speechless. Under that top sheet of paper are two more, identical, but with the names Clarke Griffin and Raven Reyes on the top. And suddenly, so much of the past year clicks into focus. Clarke and Raven shutting down the computer when he would enter a room (”guys, don’t be ashamed if you’re looking at porn”), how both of them resisted eating out so much, how Clarke took up an interest in couponing. He thought back through how neither of them shopped as often, how they both picked up extra shifts and overtime…and he’d been so busy with school…
Honestly, it takes him a moment to completely parse how he feels. Bellamy has never had something of this magnitude gifted to him, and his first instinct—stupid, he knows—is to say no. What has he done to deserve this?
But they both see it—were both prepared for that reaction, he can tell—and suddenly both of them are on him.
“Stop thinking, Bellamy,” Raven says, squeezing her arms around him. “You deserve this.”
“We have it all planned out,” Clarke agrees. “We’ve asked your boss. We’ve taken the time off. Octavia is going to house sit. It’s all prepared.”
There’s a lump in his throat and tears prickle his eyes. There are no words, at this moment, that can convey what he’s feeling.
But they know, of course they do.
“Thank you,” he says, voice gruff, kissing both of them in turn.
+++
“Happy graduation,” Raven murmurs to him later. They’re sitting on the deck, drinking beers, watching the stars flicker on in the indigo twilight.
“We’re proud of you.” Clarke squeezes his hand, holds her bottle up for a cheers. “To the Parthenon! To the Eiffel Tower! To the British Museum!”
Raven leans over, taps her bottle. “To the nerdiest vacation for our lovely nerdy partner.”
He clicks his bottle against Clarke’s bottle, against Raven’s, settles back in his chair with a smile.
Bellamy Blake is really living his best life.