Celebrating finishing Beyond Description with red wine. I should have known better.
Oliver flinched, body turning to stone, his legs threatening to tremble as the voice spoke in his ear, a blade to his neck.
"Twitch, and I will open your throat."
Still stunned from the sudden attack, Oliver's brain could not register what was happening or what the man wanted. Ollie did not dare break from his strong grasp, his back pressed against his hard chest. His mind was fogged from his near death, body shivering from his icy, water logged clothes, he barely made out the man's next words although he could not fully grasp them.
"How many more are with you?"
"What-"
"You have ten seconds to tell me something I believe before I cut out your voice box."
Oliver ignored his sudden thought about how put on the voice sounded, in favour of stopping himself having his throat cut wide.
"Wait, wait, wait!" he gulped, shivering at the cold mental against his jaw. "Yao Fei sent me here, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't so you could kill me."
"What?"
Oliver moved away as soon as the man allowed him, he did not even take a moment to wonder how the other's voice had changed drastically and the accent that had appeared, till he was turning around...
There stood a woman. She was a good several inches shorter than Oliver, with black short hair, short enough that the top stuck up on end, while the sides were shorter, as if they were growing out of being shorn. Her skin was mocha, her eyes such a dark brown that they almost seemed black, her eyebrows were thick and downcast with anger and distrust, her eyelashes long. With all these features, she seemed Spanish or Italian, maybe even middle eastern. It was hard to tell what kind of body she had as she was wearing padding to protect her chest, a scarf wrapped around her neck, hiding her chin. Her lips were full and red, so kissable, even when they were dry and crack. She was attractive and very deadly.
The woman rolled her eyes and stepped forward, grabbing hold of his shirt and tugging his face to hers. "I don't have all day, kid."
Oliver was honest about the island, not the whole truth, but still. He told people back home how he had been at the wrong place at a very wrong time, and that he was lucky enough to find friends that were stuck in the same boat as he. It was a lot for people to take in, his family more so.
So, one night, he sat down to yet another family dinner, with just his mother, sister and Walter, and Slade had joined, promising to be on her best behaviour, which knowing her, was not much of a promise. However, even though Slade was crass and uncouth by nature, she was loyal to those she cared for, she would keep her promise, even if she had to clench her teeth and put on a show.
She did. For the first time in Oliver's life, he felt like Slade was a real lady. Not female, or a woman. A lady.
Slade ate the food, not using her hands, drank the wine in steady amounts, although she took gulps when the talk got boring. From the way she spoke, you would have thought she was a lady of the highest class but she kept giving Oliver a look that said that she was very un-amused.
Slade's hair had grown a lot since they first met, it would have been down her back, had she not it cut short, leaving her with a pixie cut. She wore a fitting maroon dress that showed off her thin waist and wide hips, hugging her behind and breasts. Her legs were shaven and covered by black tights to hide the soft scars and blemishes. Her shoes were flat, heels were not something she could fake or learn to walk in with such a short amount of time.
"So, Slade?" Walter spoke up. "That's an interesting name."
Slade shrugged. "I like it."
"I have never heard it before. It's lovely."
"Thank you-" she stiffened as the house servant appeared beside her, topping up her wine glass. "Thank you. It's a rather nice wine," she looked over to the married couple. "Where did you get it?"
"I brought it from an old friend," Moira said, taking a sip of the lovely red substance. "A special bottle being as this is a special occasion," Or at least it should have been. Oliver had a woman in his life, who was far from it. The way she slouched, laughed; loud, nose wrinkled, her age, even her job. She had no issue with the navy nor her daughter dating a man in it, but her son? He needed a lady, a wife who would care for their children. Slade was just far too masculine. She was rough and tough woman, void of femininity.
"How much did it cost?" Slade was curious. A bottle like this would have to be over ten dollars, more in the twenty to thirty category. Then again, it could have been an old bottle. Slade need not see the point of such a thing, unless you were trying to make a very good impression. Maybe if the Queen came for a visit. She did not often visit the British colonies but the rest of the royal family might.
"Seven hundred," Moira's lips twitched softly, holding back her glee.
Slade was very thankful she had not been drinking, red wine was rough on the throat if you choked on it. "You're joking, right?" she pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh, then scoffed. "Born in money. I guessed that but still," she shook her head. "This is just mental. I'm used to being on the other end of this. This is far too weird."
Moira saw her moment and took it. "I have some shop brought brands, if you would prefer."
Others at the table may have missed the hint, it seemed that Oliver sure did, but Slade did not. Moira was implying that she was common. That Slade should go back to her cheep drinks and takeout.
Slade stood from the table, grabbing her light coat from the armrest of the ridiculously huge dark camphor wood dinning chair. Who brought chairs made of camphor wood? They looked to be a thousand dollars a piece, at least. It was a better investment than the wine at least.
"Slade," Oliver stood.
"Sorry kid, but this is all kinds of wrong," Slade said, tugging her dress down. Damn thing kept riding up. "I serve, I work hard to earn my money and that's how I like it," she frowned, "This poxy dress is where I drew the line."
"You look nice," Oliver said, standing.
"This dress is riding up my arse," she tucked at the back which was giving her a serious wedgie. "I need jeans and beer."
"At least let me walk you home."
Slade waved him off. "Nah. Takes more than that to get me drunk, kid. Plus, I've got my knife strapped to my thigh."
Oliver grinned. "I wouldn't put it past you," he said, stepping over.
"Don't be such a girl," Slade mumbled but allowed Oliver to walk him to the front door. "Nice meeting you all, for what it's worth," she called over her shoulder.
Thea giggled. "I like her."
As a man, Ollie found it hard to resist checking Slade out.
Her cargo pants were tight, showing her firm legs and bum, which were just right; sizeable but solid, with only the lightest of jiggles when she moved. When she took off her buttoned up grey shift, under was a black vest. Her breasts were large, just enough to not look out of proportion with her lean frame.
Her name was Slade Wilson, a bad-arse, if not a little manly, name. She was an agent for the Australian government, and she trained with an iron fist. She worked Oliver like a dog to get him fighting fit, after he had punched her in the face to prove his worth.
The way her body had just swung back, with a chuckle that made his body sink to the floor, was all too unnerving.
He always seemed to lower himself to her, trying to make himself not look like a threat but she hated that, although enjoyed it at the same time. She wanted him to fight but that was not to say she did not love to break him down.
Being saved by Slade, watching her kill, was terrifying. And Oliver would have never believed that she would have come after him when he did not return with Yao Fei to the plane, and kill her old partner in order to save him. But it seemed to Ollie, that part of her needed to do that. It was the first time however, that he had seen real emotion on the woman's face. Wintergreen had been her friend, he could have been more but Oliver did not ask. Months later, she would tell him how very stupid it would be to sleep with someone you work with like that, even when, at that point, Oliver and Slade had slept with each other many times over.
Slade appeared to have no fear or shame, Oliver had first saw this a few days into her recovery from the infection in her arm. It was the night before Oliver had took the risk to get her some medicine, she had stripped down to a black sports bra and a pair of boxers -she did not like the elastic around the legs in women's underwear-, and she did have a bra under that, a simple black one which she unchipped from under the sports bra, before pulling it out from under arm.
The only place she shaved was her arms pits, she did not really care about any of the rest. Ollie had grown used to dark arm hair and he loved her snail trail.
She had got into bed, woke up half an hour later to put on her clothes, then ten minuets later, she took them off with a growl.
"You okay over there?" Oliver asked, running a hand through his hair as he sat up in bed.
"Get over here."
Oliver blinked. He must have misheard that. "Sorry?"
"This fever is pissing me off. Get over here," Slade said, already rolling onto her side to make room.
Oliver just looked at her for a second before he stood, making his way over slowly with his thin travel pillow and blanket in hand, half expecting her to snap at him, demanding what he was doing. He placed the blanket over her before he got into bed, keeping his space in the limited area.
Slade reached back, grabbing hold of his hand and pulling him close so that his chest was to her back, his hand at her ribcage, dangerously close to her breast. The force of the pull had his cock pressed right up against her behind, nestled between her cheeks. They were just as firm as he thought they would be, with just the right about of soft. She was not remotely flustered by it. Her naked skin was soft with a few scars which Ollie really wanted to explore.
"Get a boner and I'll break it," Slade warmed under her breath.
"Hey! You pulled me here," Oliver whined, wiggling his hips back.
"Just move away enough so you won't poke me," Slade said sleepily, eyelids already falling shut.
Oliver shimmied his hips as far back as his body and the bed would allow.
Slade chuckled softly. "Show off," she smirked.
Oliver found himself smiling.
Slade was a very unique woman. So beautiful in body and personality but fooled with scars on both, and that's what made her perfect.
Ollie should have known that Slade would have got irritated, she was a very "spend what you earn" kind of woman, and after hearing his mother talk about all the places they had visited, their brand new cars brought, so causally, like it was a every time adventure, which it was, and how they had all been born into it, all provided by men. He should have known Slade would have a blowing point. Although, to be fair to Oliver, he had thought his mother would be the one running the company, not Walter.
Everything had been too far out of Slade's world for her to stay. The mixture of overuse of money would not have gone well with the almost pushed upon ideas that the men worked while the women looked pretty and kept people happy.
So, the second time Slade met people from his life, was just the following day for a cup of coffee at this little Café, she could easily leave within ten minuets if she chose. The fact that Slade wanted to go at all was a surprise, but then again, it should not have been. Slade was not the kind to pout and mope. If there was one person who would be able to stand up to the challenge of his mother, it was Slade. Not that they were dating... Oliver had no idea what they were.
Anyway, this was how found himself sitting down with Tommy, Laurel and her sister Sara, each with cups of coffee. Slade would be there shortly, so Ollie had gone ahead and ordered hers.
"Black coffee, no sugar," Laurel hummed. "Sounds like my dad. This guy must be interesting."
"Thea said we would be in for a big surprise," Tommy continued.
Oliver huffed a laugh. "I guess if that's what you think of Slade, you will be."
"Why?" Sara asked.
Ollie's eye flickered over to the door as he heard it open, smiling he saw Slade.
"What's kind of guy is Slade anyway?"
"Not a guy at all," Slade said, strutting over.
The group turned, eyes flying wide.
Slade was stood tall and proud like she always had, a way in which Oliver had always cowered to her when they first met, which had him almost forgetting how short she was in comparison. She an olive pair of tight cargo pants, a simple black short-sleeved shirt that hugged her frame, along with a leather jacket thrown over her arm, a motorbike helmet in her other hand, and her Keffiyeh wrapped around her neck, raised to cover her mouth and nose. Most noticeable of all, there, strapped to her hip, was her desert eagle. The one thing she loved about American, unbelievably relaxed gun laws.
"Well, that was unexpected," Sara pointed out.
Oliver shifted so Slade could sit down, pushing over her coffee.
"Cheers," a smile appeared as she pulled down her scarf.
"Sorry about last night," Oliver said.
"What happened last night?" Tommy asked.
"The duchess doesn't like me very much," Slade rolled her eyes.
Laurel blinked. "Moira?"
The Aussie nodded, then shrugged. "I tried my best and failed."
"Well, I guess..."
Slade's eyes shot to him. "You guess? Listen here, jailbait; I wore a dress, I don't wear dresses or make-up, I sat there for three hours, listening to her talk like I was some sort of mutt, and that someone, you were the one protecting me on the island. No one has ever gotton away with looking down on me and insulting me, to my face, like that without getting a punch in return."
Oliver was getting annoyed now. "You could have just said something," He said Russian.
"Yeah, well she's your mother and you're you, and I love you, so-" Slade's teeth snapped shut, narrowly missing her tongue. "Oh, fuck me dead," she groaned, forehead hitting her plan. Already feeling the tips of her ears burn in embarrassment.
The other three looked upon the twosome, wondering what was going on. Sara was the one to speak up.
"What did she say?"
Slade shook her head, about to tell her it was nothing when she saw Oliver. He had on the largest smile, and not one of entertainment but of joy, that kind of smile she had caught him wearing the times he had watched her sleep, or as he pulled back from a final kiss when they were salted from sex.
"What?"
"I do too," Oliver said, "You know."
Slade could tell without having to see her own face, that it was pink. She liked her privacy, but she had to admit, that her gut did wrench, her chest filling with a familiar, Oliver made warmth. She turned away and scoffed. "Don't be such a girl."
Oliver wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so her head was to his chest. He kissed the top of her head.
"Christ, do I need to buy you tampons?" She grumbled, pushing at his chest but with no real force.
Oliver knew she was throwing insults at him to hide her embarrassment. It was cute. He let her go, his smile growing back in jerks as she stayed sitting close.
"Well, aren't you too cute," Laurel grinned.
"Be nice," Oliver warned.
"I'll shoot you in a minuet," Slade growled, but, for Slade Wilson, it was soft.