Strangers in the Night
"Tommy, I have no interest in going to a strip club," stated Oliver Queen, his eyes roving over the establishment. It was dimly lit, the theme for tonight "Under the Bigtop", the words emblazoned on a banner by the door. His only exit. Tommy seemed to hear the thought emanate from Oliver because he grasped his best friend's fore arm and led him to a table right in front of the raised runway. They sat in the comfy chairs, ordered two beers, and waited. The place was packed, both men and women seated at circular tables around a glossy dais. Everything glittered in red, black, and white. A heaviness hung in the air—an aura of expectation—a palpable tension.
What are they waiting for?
The women emerged from the shadows, like snakes with mice in their domain. They all wore the same outfit: a top hat, fish nets, black underwear, a white corset, and a red suit jacket with tailcoats. It seemed as if they were trained to walk in the most appealing way possible. No matter where Oliver tried to turn or avoid making eye contact, another feline of a female blocked his view. A hip there. Curled hair another way. Red lips by his ear.
"Hiya sugar, want a dance?" A woman with raven hair whispered, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine.
"No, thank you," Oliver replied, keeping his tone light and playful, "but I do believe my friend here wants one." She gave a lewd grin, lipstick on her teeth and sauntered to Tommy, promptly straddling him. She began to writhe accordingly.
Suddenly the stage lit up in light. It was a typical runway with a pole at the front. Oliver usually enjoyed beautiful women moving their bodies in fascinating ways, but ever since returning from the island, his priorities were different. He was different.
Tommy placed money in the woman's corset as she sidled off him and to another patron. "Ready for the show? I heard it's amazing."
"Not likely."
Tommy's face fell a little, his blue eyes turned pleading. "Come on Oliver, live a little. I want you to have fun, like old times."
The old times are gone friend, they're gone forever.
If only he knew how much Oliver wanted to reverse time. Life was simpler before the island, less dark. But now, now Oliver had a new goal, to save his city.
A beat began to play—slow, tempting—the music swelled. Lady Gaga's Sex Dream started playing. A woman emerged from behind the curtains, bedecked in a revealing outfit of gold. She was beautiful, all tan skin and curves, her hair a mess of blond curls that he longed to run his fingers through.
Pull yourself together Queen, it's nearly laughable. One moment you're over this whole thing and now you're nearly salivating at the sight of one girl.
But she wasn't just any girl. It was the way she moved, stalking towards the pole like a lover in heat. The passion plain in her blue eyes. She wrapped herself around it in an embrace, her toned leg caressing the steel. She turned around, ass kissing the metal as she slowly slid down. Oliver nearly fell from his seat. The lights cascaded down on her form, rendering her a kaleidoscope of mismatched colors and silky skin. The affect was both erotic and numbing, frightening and bold. She was a wraith of want and need—a battle between wanting to touch her, and needing to run. Her hips swayed and bucked, her body bending and twirling beautifully, seductively. This woman was a spell.
When the performance was done, the surrounding audience threw money on the stage. Not Oliver Queen though, he stood.
"Oliver, where are you going?"
He had nearly forgotten about Tommy in his haze. "To find that girl."
Tommy smiled in delight, "That's my Oliver! Yes!"
Oliver strode quickly to the alcoves lining the room, entering one and seating himself on the red chair in the middle. The rooms were small, but comfy, all pillows and velvet seats. The walls were lined with mirrors, so that a thousand Olivers stared back at him. Was he an awful person?
A woman entered. She asked,"what service do you seek?" Russian, most likely, judging by the accent.
"A dance," he swallowed nervously, "from the woman who just performed on stage."
The woman sneered frightfully, "She does not give dances, choose another."
"I'll pay anything."
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "As you wish, I'll have Ms. Smoak come to you right away."
Smoak, Smoak… why is that name so familiar?
The blonde entered the room, her outfit now like the rest of the women, a top hat set dazzlingly upon her curls, and fishnets that outlined her legs. She took one look at Oliver and gasped.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice a tinkling of bells. He was surprised at the sound of it. "I just didn't expect to see Oliver Queen at our fine establishment. What is it I can do for you, Mr. Queen?"
"One dance, please er…"
"Felicity."
His hands shook in his lap. It was as if he were a schoolboy with no idea how to behave. "Felicity," he repeated.
He was Oliver Queen, CEO of Queen Consolidated. He had been with many women: beautiful, foreign, cultured, and experienced. He shouldn't be so frightened by one other. But there was something about her, the careful way Ms. Smoak watched him with her eyes, as if she already knew him to his very soul.
They stared at each other a moment longer, until Felicity cleared her throat. "Jesus you're good looking. Sorry. Right, dance, okay." Her cheeks had reddened and he almost couldn't contain the laugh that nearly escaped him. She was adorable.
It was all business for Ms. Smoak from then on. She set her iPod to a song, and dimmed the already dim lights.
Uh oh, uh oh uh oh oh nana. Uh oh uh oh uh oh oh nana.
Crazy in Love poured in from the speakers, the sultry tones calming Oliver as Felicity began to roll her shoulders. It was a build up, he could tell. From the way she slowly unclasped her suit jacket and let it fall to the floor, to the way her hands roved up her thighs as she swung her hips back and forth.
Heat rippled across his body in anticipation of her touch.
You got me looking, so crazy, my baby
She walked behind, and ran a finger across his shoulders.
I'm not myself, baby I'm foolish, I don't do this
He shivered, she used it to her advantage. Back in front, she deliberately spread her legs wide, dropping to the floor in a crouch. Then brought her behind up, back bent in the most alluring fashion, standing up again.
The chorus swelled, as she straddled his hips and began to grind on his rising erection. It was all business, until it wasn't. Her eyes met his, their noses brushing against eachother, gasps intermingling when—
he kissed her.
It was all fire and need and heat, their tongues grappling in a war. His hands touched her back, her ass, her thighs, tangling in her hair as he pulled her head back to kiss her neck.
Felicity pushed him away, her face flushed, chest heaving.
"What was that?!" she asked.
Oliver breathed hard. "I don't know."
"I'm.. I'm not allowed to kiss customers. You, you can't tell anyone, I'll lose my job. This never happened." Felicity drew herself up and dusted herself off, straightening the crooked corset and running fingers through her hair.
Hair you had your fingers tangled in just a second ago—
"Will I see you again?" Stupid Oliver, stupid. But he was still so hopeful. This girl, this woman, was different. There was something between them, he was sure of it.
"No."
All his hopes deflated in an instant.
"We are just strangers in the night, nothing more. Keep your money, I don't want it."
And she left, in a whisper of perfume and swirling curtains, she was gone.