"I have specific…I…"
Oliver Queen is embarrassed. John's never seen this before. He's also never seen Oliver Queen naked either. Today is a day of firsts.
"Okay John," Queen breathes out. He traces over one of his scars (of course it's the one on his stupidly perfect abs) absent-mindedly. "I like certain things."
"Like men?" John asks, voice soft, sure, plain. His hands shake though. Oliver's fingers over pink, rippled flesh. He's sweating. His pants are suddenly tighter than he remembered. Oliver Queen, womanizer, billionaire and vigilante and apparently gay?
"No! Not exactly. Men, women…I like sex." His eyes meet John's, and though he seems slightly (arousingly) shy and timid, his pupils are blown wide, almost eclipsing the piercing blue in his gaze. "I like it…rough."
John exhales sharply. "Rough?" It is getting warmer.
Oliver grins wickedly his dick (half-hard) twitches. John clenches his fists. Oliver moves in, predatory, lean, muscled. John wants to grab him.
"I think you can help me with that," Oliver breathes. Jesus he is so sure. John is, in contrast, so confused. Oliver always seems ahead of everyone else, even naked and asking for sex, his confidence radiates off him, perhaps even more so than normal.
"How so?"
Oliver's hands are on John's buttons, popping one after the other. "You're pretty big Dig. Strong. I feel like you can handle me."
His teeth, his perfect fucking teeth, nip at John's ear lobe. John is melting. The cool air of the basement-headquarters feels nice against his over heated skin.
"Handle you? Oliver Queen?" John snorts, ironically.
"Mmm," Oliver looks at him, his hands sliding over dark skin as he muses. "C'mon Dig, you've never wanted to push me around a little bit before?"
"Jesus Oliver-"
"It's just sex," his precise fucking hands, at some point he's gotten into John's slacks, his nails scrape over his hardening cock, a thin layer of cloth keeping flesh from flesh. "John."
Dig shoves, hard, throwing Oliver back on to the table he has laid, bleeding, several times before. Oliver grins as John Diggle grips his hips, jerks them together and smashes his lips against Oliver's, biting them open. Oliver's legs wrap around his narrow waist, pressing their pelvises together. Oliver makes a sound, a delicious, shameless noise that John fucking devours. He never fathomed Oliver would be like…this. Of course, he'd never thought about Oliver's sex life before, never mind imagining himself fucking the billionaire. He's seen Oliver clad in just shorts several times, body sheen with sweat, and he's never thought about licking the drops off his glorious fucking chest. Now he's ravishing every inch of Oliver's rough skin, licking up beads of sweat, biting at him, daring him to make more sounds. Oliver obliges, moaning like a fucking porn star. Dig wants to fuck his mouth. Wants to shove his painfully hard dick in the archer and fuck every last perfect sound out of him. His veins ache with the desire.
John is so fucking hard. His nails bite into Oliver's skin, the archer keens in response, whining out John's name. John has known Oliver for a long time and has NEVER heard the man whine before.
He needs to hear more.
"I'm going to fuck the absolute shit out of you," John swears, then sinks his teeth into Oliver's shoulder.
"Yes!"
Oliver sounds positively desprate. John has never wanted to fuck anyone so bad in his life.
He steps back and Oliver literally shivers at the loss. His pupils, blown wide, focus on the other larger man, on his face, his shoulder's, his chest, his hands, his giant fucking dick buldging against his boxers. His cobalt eyes are dangerous.
"Will you beg?"
Oliver moans, gaze softening. "I'll do anything if you'll fuck me."
"Oh," John breaths, trying to calm himself. He feels like a child, more aroused than he can even begin to describe. At this rate, he'll come too fast, he needs to calm down. He also knows very little about this whole dominant thing that Oliver is (apparently) into. He tries to recall anything. Draws a blank. Oliver says he'll do anything. John decides to start by testing that.
"Touch yourself."
Oliver starts with his nipples, (John savors every second because wow Oliver fucking Queen is really doing whatever he says) tweaking them into hardness. His touge lulls over his lips, wetting them, as his hands slide lower, tracing over muscles and scars, over blonde curls, gripping the base of his thick, red cock. Precome beads heavy on the angry head. John is starting to realize how turned on Oliver is.
"Ollie," John says. Oliver is terribly responsive (he fucking WHIMPERS.) "I want you to come all over yourself."
John is sliding off his clothes, slowly, keeping Oliver's lust-hooded gaze as the archer pumps his dick furiously. John smiles, nodding his encouragement, putting on a show of his own as he disrobes slowly.
"Oh my god," is Oliver's only warning before he goes rigid and comes all over himself, just as he was told to, his eyes never leaving his apprentice's.
John is on him blindingly fast, his training with the Hood paying off as it would seem. Oliver loves how easy John lifts him off the table, clad now only in navy blue briefs and Oliver's scent.
"God yes Oliver," John praises, kissing, biting, and licking everything he can get his mouth on. He leaves bruises on Oliver's collar, likes how they look, likes how Oliver whispers his satisfaction in the form of John's name, over and over. He's so responsive. So animal-like. It's making John feel like an animal himself.
"Wanna fuck you so bad," he groans into Oliver's ear. Oliver smells so good, covered in sweat and come, he smells like pure ecstasy to John.
"Please do," Oliver laughs. John thinks it's the best sound he's ever heard.
He lays Oliver on the table (captivated by the goosebumps that light up Oliver's skin when it meets the cool metal) and peels off his last article of clothing. Oliver smears his come over his fingers, looks John Diggle in the eye, shoves two fingers up his ass (the look on his face and the cry of John's name that gasps from his lips are going to ruin him for the rest of his life he thinks) and John fucking looses every semblance of his perfect composure.
He groans, the first sound he's made. It's deep and primal and John jerks himself off watching Oliver Queen fuck himself on two slender fingers.
"Fuck John," Queen laughs, and he sounds kind of crazy, like he's snapped. John gets it. "I'm gonna come so hard with your dick inside me."
"Yeah?" He thinks he could make Oliver come all the time. Thinks he was never meant for anything but sticking his dick in a billionaire's perfect fucking ass. He's never felt more alive.
Oliver bites his lip, his fingers slide out and John is right there, head pressed against his come-slick hole. He smears the head of his cock there, makes Oliver tremble.
"Dig." Oliver's eyes slip open, the name escapes his lips like a prayer.
John loves making Oliver Queen beg. Crazy. Madness. What a time to be alive.
"Ollie, you want me to fuck you?"
"Please," Oliver whines, his eyes snap open and lock on to the larger man's. "Please fuck me. Never wanted anyone so bad. Dig please. Please!"
Oliver's voice cracks as he begs. John can't wait anymore. He pushes in, bottoms out in one stroke. Oliver screams his name. His toes curl. Dig is never going to forget this.
"Jesus Oliver I could fuck you forever," John decides. Oliver moans his agreement, gripping for some leverage. John laces their fingers together. Oliver's whole gaze softens, his moans become quieter, less showy, more personal. They take the form of John's name. They can't look away from each other. John leans down, his pace slows, but is perfect, hits the right spot in Oliver, feels his body tensing.
"John-"
"I know," John smiles against Oliver's lips. They kiss. Oliver whines and comes, John's stomach rubs against his dick as it twitches out his release against their bellies. He scoops Oliver up in his arms, still inside his teacher. Oliver laughs in post coidal bliss, his face and chest are flushed.
John burries his face in Oliver's neck, ruts furiously, breathes in his scent, savors the scratch of his stubble against the his check, sighs his name and comes, harder he thinks than he ever has in his life.
They wind up on a training mat. John sinks down, Oliver in his arms, with ease. Oliver is still grinning wildly and John can't pry his face away from Oliver's skin. They'll never have a casual sparring session again, he decides as a resigned sigh falls from his lips.
"Wow." Dig speaks first.
"I'll take that as a compliment." Oliver, still grinning, seems complacent. Dig can feel his muscles, loose and relaxed, under his fingers as they roam his boss' exposed flesh.
"Oh will you? Maybe I thought you were awful. I mean you just laid there."
Oliver laughs. Dig smiles.
"C'mon, let's get dressed before someone comes looking for us. Hardly in the mood to traumatize Felicity." Dig speaks, soft, a large hand rubs Oliver's back.
"Trust me Dig, she'd hardly be traumatized. Also, it's four in the morning, no one is looking for us." Oliver pops right up, stretches, makes his way over to the sink. He wets a small hand towel, wiping away his dried on cum. Have they really been fucking for two hours?
John has a lot of questions, mostly "why now?" and maybe "why not sooner?" He bites them back and watches Oliver dress instead. He pulls on his white button down, it sticks to his come slicked chest. He wants a shower. Needs some air. He's hungry and his skin smells like Oliver and every time he blinks he sees the archer's face, masked with pleasure.
"Go home Dig," Oliver sighs out. "Get cleaned up. It's late."
"But you-"
"I'll be finished here soon, Dig, don't worry. I'm right behind you."
Dig thinks 'is it not I who is behind you?' but he just nods and exits the Arrowcave, 100% sure of just one thing.
Oliver Queen is quite a man