Bellamy Blake Imagines

Blue Earth P4

Warnings: More Smut

It had been three days since Bellamy Blake had last touched you. Three days since you'd felt his lips on yours or his hands on your body; three days without his long slender fingers running through your hair or brushing your cheekbones. 

Three days since you had spent one amazing night with him, indulging yourselves in each other's arms, only to get no more than a few moments alone with him in the days following. Three days, and you were about as grumpy as a bear woken mid-hibernation. 

It wasn't like you couldn't physically see him; he was around camp, helping to erect the wall, solving any problems that arose, walking around in the clothes you'd found in the bunker, and looking so damn good in them. That would've helped to tide you over, but the fact that right now it seemed seeing him from afar was just about all you could do only served to make you more frustrated.

One consolation was that Bellamy's mood didn't seem to be any better than yours. You could see it in the downturn of his mouth, the impatience of his posture when speaking with someone, in the dark circles under his eyes. 

You knew he was feeling just as unstated as you in the way his gaze hungrily followed you whenever you were around camp; whether you were helping dress kills or chopping wood for the wall you could almost always feel Bellamy's eyes on you. 

You liked that; it made you feel like you were not alone in your frustration, in your restless nights, struggling to sleep alone again after knowing what it was like to drift off while cocooned in the warmth of his body.

You and Bellamy had agreed to keep your relationship from public eyes, both of you preferring privacy, and therefore less drama. 

You'd been the one to suggest it because you knew how fast gossip could spread in a group of teenagers, and you were glad you had, up until the end of the first day. Keeping your relationship private meant no public displays of affection, so you couldn't brush the hair from his forehead when it fell into his eyes, or slip your hand in his when he received bad news, nor could you massage the tension away when you saw his shoulders bound tight with stress. It also meant that he couldn't be seen entering or exiting your tent, so sleepovers were out of the question.

Not being able to feel him, to taste him, after knowing what it felt like to be in his arms, to touch him and be touched by him, was absolute torture. You awoke before the sunrise, early in the morning on the fourth day, feeling twice as grumpy as the day before, determined to sleep in as long as possible to postpone the day. 

Your plan almost worked; you were just drifting off when you heard someone messing with the ties to your tent. 

They worked hastily, their eagerness making them clumsy, but they woke you nonetheless, the thought of an intruder snapping you to full alertness. You quietly rose and reached into your backpack for your gun, standing in front of the entrance in only a relaxed, faded maroon colored sweater and black panties, your hair hanging loose around your face and your weapon raised.

The last tie was undone and a large male figure hunched into your tent, straightening up to his full height before re-lacing your tent closed. In the pre light of dawn it was hard to make out his face, but your heart started to pound when you saw the familiar slope of his shoulders and his mane of shaggy dark hair. He turned around when he finished, facing you and putting his hands up when he saw you brandishing a gun at him.

Hardly daring to hope, you breathed, "Bellamy?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replied quietly, the white of his teeth showing as he smiled, "I'd say put that gun damn, but you look pretty damn sexy right now, all riled up," He canted his head to the side, saying, "Come here, Beauty"