Note: This began with the very simple idea of "What if Chloe came after Oliver in Echo instead of Tess. Then it kind of imploded. Just as a general warning (and maybe excuse), I realize that this maybe slightly out of character for them, but in my mind they're both in a very dark place emotionally here, and that clearly comes to play in their actions.
There's a small chance I may do a follow up of the next morning, but I haven't mad up my mind, but you'll be the first to know! :)
Blue Suede
"Which one is your wife? The short one? Or the ugly one?"
Not his proudest moment. Or his best line, for that matter.
Not that it really matters, he added to himself as he awaited the blow. It came quickly, sending him half-flying. His face was being smashed against the bar with the gunfire blazed behind them.
He wasn't sure if his sigh was one of relief or disappointment when he was suddenly–and unnecessarily roughly–released.
"Seriously?" an oh-so-familiar voice asked and Oliver cringed, not pushing himself up from the bar. Maybe if he pretended not to notice her, she would go away. Her voice was more impatient now. "All of you, clear out!" she demanded, and he nearly raised an eyebrow at her new-found confidence. Hell, even he was thinking of clearing out at the command, but she didn't mean him.
As the few people left in the bar, including a very surprisingly quick bartender, scattered toward the door, Oliver finally heaved himself up, wiping the spilled tequila off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. He didn't turn around. He knew she was standing there, waiting for him to acknowledge her. But he wasn't going to do it. He was going to wait her out.
"Bit far from your tower, aren't you?" he asked without turning. So much for the silent treatment, he rolled his eyes at himself.
She clucked her tongue and finally curiosity got the better of him. He turned and couldn't help raising an eyebrow.
Chloe Sullivan, Tomb Raider, flashed through his mind and he smirked. "Nice outfit."
She was standing in the center of the room, tanner than normal, hair tousled, combat boots, cargo pants, and tank top showing off her figure in a particularly pleasing manner. His automatic reaction was to stop himself from checking her out, then he remembered that he didn't care if she saw him size her up, so he allowed his eyes to roam.
Chloe quirked an eyebrow as he blatantly looked her over, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Don't show weakness. He'll spot it and use it against you. She swallowed and turned her face to the side as she re-holstered her gun as an excuse not to look at him. Once she'd collected herself, she looked back up and caught his eyes, staring him down unwaveringly. "What are you doing, Oliver?" she asked.
He shrugged, reaching across the counter as he spotted an unspilled bottle of tequila. "What's it look like?" he asked, bringing the bottle to his mouth and taking a pull.
Chloe snorted. "Like you're trying to get yourself killed in the most idiotic way available to you."
He signaled with his hand as if to say, "Bingo," without taking his lips from the bottle.
Chloe swallowed again, wishing her throat weren't so dry. Oliver, though very much at his lowest in that moment, looked absolutely sexy. She hated seeing him like this, but there was something about the rugged look he was sporting that was harder to ignore than usual. And that was saying something. Snapping herself out of the reverie, she reminded herself why she was here. "It's time to come home, Oliver."
He chuckled amusedly at her statement. "Uh huh. That's cute." He dangled the now empty bottle from his hand idly.
She didn't laugh. "I'm serious, Oliver. You've had your pity party. It's time to suck it up and be a man."
He glared at her. "Well I don't know what your definition of 'man' is, Chloe, but I hear that most people in our culture celebrate their coming of age with a few shots. Interested?" he smirked.
Chloe rolled her eyes. "I'm not kidding around here. I didn't just wake up this morning and say, 'Hmm, I think I'll visit Ollie in the gutter. That'll be fun.' I'm taking you home whether you like it or not."
"Or we could go back to my hotel room. That'll be fun," he said, knowing it would upset her.
Chloe couldn't help it. Her mouth fell open slightly at the blatant suggestion. She closed it promptly and decided to call his bluff. Crossing her arms she shifted onto her hip and raised a challenging eyebrow at him. "Fine."
He arched his brow. "Excuse me?"
She smirked. "I said, 'fine.' You want to go back to your hotel room? Then that's what we'll do."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "This...feels like a trick."
Chloe lifted a shoulder and dropped it, waiting for him to come up with something else. When he just stared at her, she rolled her eyes and walked over to him, seeing his wallet sitting on the bar. She reached around him to grab it so he wouldn't be able to go anywhere without it and therefore her, but his arm shot out and caught her. Automatically she tried to pull back but he didn't let go, keeping her close to him and searching her eyes curiously.
She waited for him to find whatever it was he was looking for and tried to slow down her heartbeat, which had quickened at their proximity.
Finally he let go of her arm and leaned back again, though he didn't seem to be through with his appraisal. Still surveying her, he asked, "What are you doing here, Chloe?"
She huffed irritably, trying not to show how much his staring was making her nervous. "I told you; I'm taking you home."
He waved a hand dismissing her explanation. "Yeah, yeah. I mean what do you want from me? You obviously need something."
Hurt flashed through her eyes and he felt guilt curl in his stomach unpleasantly.
What do I want from you, Oliver? How about some heroics? How about some leadership? How about my friend? I've got no one left. "I'm flattered that your assumption is that I must want something from you and not that I'm concerned about you–" she paused to let it sink in, "–but I actually am here to drag your sorry ass back home whether you like it or not."
He barely faltered for a second before his arrogant smirk was back in place. "Or," he said slowly, "we can go with plan B about my hotel. I liked that one a lot better." He realized she must have been bluffing earlier, and now he was going to call her on it.
She didn't hesitate, though. "Fine. On one condition."
He chuckled. "Yeah? What's that?"
"I stay the night with you here, you talk to me in the morning."
He snorted. "That's what this is about? You want to psychoanalyze me or something? That's adorable," he patronized her.
"What, Oliver, are you scared I'll find out you're not as irredeemable as you think you are? Or are you worried about being alone in a bedroom with me for a whole night?" she challenged, trying not to think about what that might entail.
Without warning Oliver stood up, suddenly very much in her space. Chloe swallowed tightly.
It's Oliver, she reminded herself. Under all this devil-may-care crap, he's still Oliver and he still wouldn't do anything to really hurt you, not when it comes down to the wire. It's all talk. He just wants to scare you off. Don't let him.
It became less easy to think coherently, though, when he leaned down until his mouth was a breath from hers. "Still sure, Chloe?" he asked. "Hate to think you're losing that bravado." His hand skimmed a trail down her arm and she felt her whole body fly into a frenzy of panic.
She kept her head, though, refusing to be the first to back down. "You can't scare me, Oliver. I know you too well."
He chuckled vindictively, finally backing out of her personal space and heading for the door. "No..." he said without looking at her, "but you could by tomorrow morning if you want."
She glared at his shameless back as he walked away from her before remembering that she needed to pursue him and chasing after him.
This is going to be harder than I thought...
Chloe snorted, flopping into an armchair by the window. "I couldn't make up my mind on the way here if you were a Cancun resort or a roach motel kind of guy at the moment. Pleased to see it's the former." She toed off the combat boots, which felt like extensions of her feet, they hurt so badly, and then pulled off her socks, rubbing her feet as cool air hit them. She looked around the room, taking in the large bed with its white comforter, the bright windows looking out on the ocean, the small kitchen on one side of the room.
He stared at her for a moment as if wondering what on earth she was doing, what her plan could possibly be. Because she was Chloe Sullivan. She always had a plan. Then he just headed wordlessly for the fridge where he pulled out a beer. He slammed the bottle against the counter to pop the cap and flipping it to Chloe, who caught it awkwardly and raised an eyebrow.
"Souvenir from your trip," he smirked before taking a draught of the beer.
She looked sarcastically at him. "I'll be sure to put it in my scrapbook. Oliver, would you please just talk to me here? Why won't you come home?"
"Ah ah ah," he warned, still smirking. "That's not the rules. I don't have to talk to you about anything unless you last the night."
She rolled her eyes. "Well what exactly are you planning to do with me all night, Oliver?"
He raised an eyebrow at her, successfully getting her to roll her eyes again.
"Please. I don't care how low your opinion is of yourself, we both know you won't try anything."
Unamused, he leaned against the counter and asked her, voice eerily devoid of emotion. "And you're sure of this because...?"
"Because even if you do make a move you won't be able to follow through."
He choked on the sip of beer he was taking. "Excuse me?" he demanded.
It was Chloe's turn to smirk as she watched him sputter. "I mean that I'm not some random slut you met in a bar. You may hate yourself completely, Oliver, but we both know there are some lines you won't cross."
"Pretty confident in yourself there, aren't you, Sidekick?" he said unthinkingly, growing more and more irritated with her, and Chloe hoped the return of her nickname was a good sign.
"Like I said, Oliver, I know you. And I know that you're not going to hurt me."
He caught her eyes again and Chloe didn't like what she saw there. "Define 'hurt.'"
She swallowed as he stalked toward her.
"You're so sure you know me so well," he said in a threatening voice, leaning down over the chair she was in and caging her beneath him. The mingled smell of sweat, lime, and liquor invaded her senses. "I've got news for you, Chloe," he leaned still closer, "I'm not the hero. I'm just some jerk you used to know."
Summoning up the last of her courage, Chloe spat out the words, "Prove it," before she could stop to think of the repercussions those words might produce.
Oliver's mouth descended on hers before she knew what was happening, and Chloe gasped for breath in shock. He took advantage of her open mouth and plunged his tongue inside, dominating hers instantly.
He was half-drunk, depressed, and angry, and he was still frighteningly good at what he was doing. She didn't know what to think of it when her hands gripped his shirt. She didn't tug him any closer, thank God, but she didn't push him away, either.
Oliver hadn't been expecting this. He knew he was attracted to Chloe. Hell, he was attracted to a lot of women. But he hadn't expected that kissing her would feel so...good. After week after week of feeling nothing but disgust, anger, and guilt, something felt good and that scared the hell out of him. He meant to pull back, but then she released a small groan and all of a sudden he was dragging her out of the chair and bending her body back beneath his, hand fisting tightly in her hair as he ravaged her mouth.
Holy shit.
Chloe didn't let go of him. She wasn't sure whether she was kissing him back or not; it was difficult to be anything other than passive to his attack of lips, teeth, and tongue, but she was fully aware of the fact that she seemed incapable of letting go of him. It might not be tender or comforting or remotely what she needed, but it was human contact and that was something. She'd been isolated...alone, and now for the first time in weeks, she actually felt like she was back inside her own body. She was feeling something and she didn't want it to stop. She needed him not to let go.
Finally coming up for air, Oliver's lips released hers and Chloe gasped as he moved on to her neck, biting, licking, sucking, clearly doing his best to get her worked up to see what would happen.
That's what you get for poking the bear, Chloe, a vindictive voice in her head pointed out. After all, she'd provoked him. She'd thought he was bluffing about seducing her.
...seducing her? "Oh my God."
"Yes?" he asked against her pulse point, voice a whisper as he waited for the send-off, for her rational mind to come back to her. Good girl, Chloe. Now a nice sound slap to his jaw before you storm out and wonder what you ever thought you were doing. And then he'd have won.
Right?
Chloe took advantage of his momentary pause, although his lips were still brushing against her neck which was more than a little distracting, not to mention his hands had a wonderfully tight grip on her hips. She collected her thoughts as best as she could in spite of the circumstances and finally came to one shocking conclusion. With a shuddering breath she murmured, "Don't stop."
As if in exact contradiction to her words, Oliver froze. He had to have misheard that. He pulled back and searched her face again, wondering what had happened to the Chloe Sullivan he knew. She was letting him take advantage of her? Was it possible she was in worse shape than he was?
She could see the concern, the worry, flickering in his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. He was still in there somewhere. He could pretend all he wanted, but he still cared.
His hand brushed her hair out of her face and his other stroked her back suggestively before he leaned down and kissed her again, differently this time, softly, thoughtfully.
God, she feels good, he thought as he tasted her swollen lips again, more curiously now. His tongue stroked hers and she flicked hers back, hands finally releasing their knuckle-whitening grip on his shirt in favor of sliding up to cup his face and neck.
A small whimper escaped Chloe's throat as his hands caressed her, hands trailing over her back, her thighs, over her side to graze her breast...she could feel her panties growing wet and she hated that she wanted more. She knew Oliver was screwed up right now, but that didn't make it any less pleasant to feel wanted, noticed. It was a terrible, terrible idea to let this happen, but as his hands found her ass and squeezed it, pressing her body flush against his, she didn't have it in her to stop. He ground his hard-on against her and she whimpered again, thighs clamping together with need.
Somewhere inside Oliver, something was telling him to stop. That this was Chloe, and he wasn't supposed to touch her. She was off-limits, one of those creatures you put on a pedestal and admire and protect but never touch. He shouldn't be treating her like some common tramp. If he left her in the morning it would be proof that he was irredeemable, and surely he wasn't so hopeless as that.
A low growl sounded from Oliver's throat, determined to prove the voice wrong, to show it that yes, he was that hopeless, he was that much of a villain.
He reached between them and cupped Chloe's center through her jeans, watching with relish as her head fell back and she moaned, bucking her hips involuntarily. He rubbed over her slowly and firmly, teasing her, enjoying the way her face flushed and her breathing became more shallow. He pressed harder and she moaned, trembling hands clinging to him for support. The more he watched her, the more he wanted to be inside her, to prove to her once and for all that there was no line he wouldn't cross, not even with her.
He yanked his hand away and she whined in protest, her body thrumming with unresolved need. Then he was tugging off the gun holster, giving it an amused look before dropping it to the floor.
Was it bad that without it she suddenly felt infinitely more vulnerable?
He didn't give her long to think about it, though, when his warm hands shoved up her shirt and grasped her breasts, eliciting a groan and a rush of liquid to her panties. He rubbed circles over her peaks through her bra until he felt them pebble and tighten. Without warning he pinched them hard and Chloe cried out, pricks of tears forming in her eyes as lust shot through her. He rubbed them soothingly before flicking his thumbs over them and then pinching them again, and her voice began to crescendo. How could he make her unravel like this through only a few strategic moves?
And then his hands were gone and she moaned again until she felt him yanking her shirt over her head and throwing it in the corner. And then his fingers were tugging insistently at the button and zipper of her pants, forcing them open and shoving them down roughly.
Insecurity flooded her and she closed her eyes in embarrassment, and Oliver watched the reaction in wonder.
She really doesn't have a clue how utterly gorgeous she is. Those bastards. The silent condemnation was meant for the vague cluster of men in her life that had made her so insecure, but he didn't allow them to have faces in his mind's eye as he stripped off his own shirt, her hands dropping from him and her eyes opening again.
He waited, ready to smirk with triumph when she flushed or stared openly at the sight of him shirtless, but it didn't come. Chloe eyed him with a completely closed, blank expression and he felt disappointed, even angry when she didn't react any further. He cupped her ass again and shoved her against him, rubbing his erection over her cotton panties, watching victoriously as she shuddered at the reminder of where this was going. He stroked her thigh before roughly hiking it over his hip, pressing harder against her, smirking when she moaned and rubbed herself against him in need.
Turning her slightly he lowered her back onto the bed, never letting go of her, wondering if and when she would realize what she was doing and run away like she was supposed to do.
When she wrapped her other leg around him, drawing him closer, heels digging into his ass, he suddenly became fully aware of the fact that she wasn't going to stop him. Was she completely insane?
To his shock, she reached between them and unbuttoned his jeans, shoving a hand inside and rubbing her palm over his dick. He groaned hoarsely, eyes clamping shut.
"Just so you know, Oliver," she said calmly in his ear, "I'm not going away in the morning, and neither are you. You don't get to run away this time." She pressed her hand a little harder against him and his hips bucked as anger filled him. She kissed his ear softly. "I won't disappear like you want me to. And don't forget," she brushed her lips over the shell of his ear before sucking on the soft spot behind his ear, causing his tongue to get stuck. "We have a deal."
Oliver had had enough. He wrenched her hands up and pinned both of them over her head, glaring down at her so that her stomach flipped nervously. He ground down on her soaked panties and watched her moan with need. "I've got news for you, Chloe," he said, releasing her hands to pry her legs from around him. "You don't make the rules." Without prelude or preamble he pushed her panties aside and shoved two fingers inside of her, smirking when she cried out from the intrusion and her body convulsed in surprise. She pressed her head back into the pillow and her fingers grasped fervently at it on either side.
He pumped into her a few times before sliding his fingers all the way in and then rotating them slightly, feeling her tight, wet channel flutter and clench around him. He moved them in a circle, stretching her and causing her thighs to quiver on either side of him, and then he crooked his fingers and moved them back and forth over her G-spot, relishing the way her body writhed and the cries that tumbled from her mouth. Just as he felt her getting close to that precipice, he pulled out, wicked amusement on his face as she groaned in anguish, body arching in frustration. He let her writhe for a moment before pushing the cup of her bra aside and sucking on her breast, flicking his tongue over it. He moved up to her mouth and kissed her softly before pulling back a fraction.
"Last chance," he murmured, giving her one more opportunity to get out.
Chloe's body was screaming with frustration and she could barely center her thoughts on him, but his words registered and she realized what was happening. It was like he wanted her to go. He was doing this to prove her wrong, to prove how horrible he was, but he didn't want to cross that line. He didn't want her to be another casualty. And a sick part of him wanted her to leave and hate him like he seemed to think she was supposed to so that he could feel sorry for himself.
She wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel about what she was doing. Part of her suspected she should be feeling guilty, but she and Jimmy had been over for much longer than either of them had cared to admit. She'd been divorced for months. Yes, she had loved him, but ever since his death she'd suspected it wasn't in the way she was supposed to love him. She wasn't sure sleeping with Oliver necessarily qualified as a healthy beginning to moving on, but strangely enough, it didn't feel like a bad idea either.
And more importantly, she could see, deep down, that he was scared, scared of what would happen if she gave up on him, too. And so she told him what she knew he needed to hear.
"I'm not going to leave you."
He almost shuddered at her quiet words, and his knee-jerk reaction was to say he didn't believe her. But part of him did, part of him was relieved at the determined, comforting look in her eyes saying that no matter what he did, she wasn't going to give up.
But she should, he thought suddenly, jaw ticking. She should realize by now that there's nothing left in me to believe in. She of all people needs to hate me.
And so without response he lifted her torso and broke the clasp on her bra, tossing it aside. He reached down and tore her panties, knowing that tomorrow when she tried to get dressed it would serve as the perfect stomach-churning reminder of what she'd let him do. He shoved his jeans and boxers down and kicked them off then hovered over her entrance, locking eyes with her stubbornly, frustrated that she met his, that she didn't waver or look frightened or anxious, that there was no trace of regret in her eyes. So he sank into her, determined to show her how foolish she was.
He'd intended to fuck her senseless, to take her hard and rough, but the quiet gasp she let out when he buried himself in her made him pause. And then she skimmed the back of her fingers over his cheek and buried them in his hair, thumb brushing the nape of his neck as she adjusted, her eyes squeezed shut and her muscles tense. He held still for her, waiting for her to be ready, his breathing becoming labored with the effort. He brushed a thumb over her parted lips before kissing her softly, tugging gently on her lower lip. He stroked her side tenderly, his hand dragging all the way up her thigh before he brought it back and brushed his thumb over her clit. She gasped again, her body taking him in the rest of the way as her muscles unclenched. He began rubbing the bud slowly until she bucked her hips in encouragement and then he pulled out of her, almost to the tip before refilling her with deliberate slowness. She groaned with pleasure thighs tightening around him.
Her head pressed back into the pillow and he wanted to kiss her again, couldn't help how good it felt being inside her, how much better it felt than anything else he knew. He continued pumping into her with achingly slow strokes, his thumb rubbing circles over her clit as she continued whimpering beneath him. She was beautiful.
So he did kiss her again, leaning down to capture her mouth, to caress her tongue with his, and swallow every feminine noise of pleasure she made as he filled her over and over, trying to ignore the need to go harder and faster. He wanted her to say his name while he watched her fall apart in his arms, and he wanted it as many times as possible.
He released her lips almost reluctantly as he increased the pressure on her clit, noting her reactions with satisfaction. "Come for me, Chloe," he whispered in her ear, and she moaned. "Come on. I want you to come."
He pinched her clit gently and that was all it took, Chloe's cry of relief and ecstasy filled the room as she came around him and Oliver continued riding her, finally increasing the pace ever-so-slightly. It was all he could do not to come undone with her, to explode inside of her and collapse, but he didn't want to miss a single moment of her orgasm, and when it was over, he wanted her to do it again.
He leaned down and latched a mouth over her breast, sucking on it before gently grazing his teeth on the bud, listening to her cries and getting her worked up again. He circled his tongue around the hardened peak and flicked it a few times before moving onto the other breast to do the same. He came back up and kissed her hard as his hands grasped her thighs and lifted her slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. "Good," he said against her mouth. "Now, again."
Chloe gasped at his words as he thrust harder into her, the tip of his cock pressing against that spot inside of her that made her toes curl. He refused to pick up speed no matter how she bucked her hips at him as she felt a second climax curling in her stomach, and each time he slammed into her he pinched her clit, causing her to cry out, until finally:
"OLIVER!"
The sound of his name was all he needed to come with her, spilling inside of her as she quaked and then reluctantly pulling out of her, his body almost as spent as hers. He trailed his lips over her body, skimming across her stomach and dipping his tongue inside her navel, grinning when she jolted from the sensation, groaning. He lowered himself further and gave her core a good, long lick, letting his tongue enter her just slightly before coming up to flick her throbbing, swollen clit. Chloe cried out and he placed a light sucking kiss over it before dragging himself back up her body to kiss her again. Exhausted and barely able to keep her eyes open, Chloe's hand tangled in his hair again, holding him in place as she returned the kiss languidly, tasting herself, wondering what on earth they'd just done.
She knew what she'd been expecting; she knew what it was supposed to be. They were just supposed to fuck, so...why did it feel like they'd just made love?
Her hand tightened in his hair, and she wrapped her other arm around him, clutching him, feeling–dare she say it?–peaceful for the first time in quite possibly a year.
His lips left her mouth again to explore her throat. He bit her collar bone gently then nipped at her neck lightly before seeking out her pulse point and sucking hard enough to leave a mark, a reminder for the next several days that she'd been with him. She groaned, her eyes rolling back. Vaguely she determined that she no longer blamed all the women lining up to sleep with him if this was what he was like.
Oliver's heart was pounding, and it hurt in a distinctly different way than it had been for such a long time now. He wasn't supposed to let her be special. The whole point had been to make her feel like she was just a worthless screw to him, but in the end, he'd failed. He cared about her, and to his growing horror, he liked having her in his arms. He liked having her beneath him like this, body flushed from pleasure that he'd given her, snuggling into him as he continued to...what exactly was he doing?
Hopelessly confused he used all of his will power to pull back from her. Her eyes opened tiredly to examine him, and he felt panic building inside him. He pushed himself up and stood up from the bed, not bothering to cover himself as he headed back to where he'd left his beer sitting on the counter.
Chloe crawled into a sitting position and watched him, feeling an unbidden pang at the callous actions, knowing she should have expected them.
She shook her head, sighing. Close, Oliver, but no cigar. A deal's a deal, and I'm not leaving. You're going to have to talk to me whether you like it or not.
Crawling to the edge of the bed she reached down and found his white shirt lying on the ground. He'd accidentally torn a couple of buttons, but she was still able to put it on and button it most of the way.
Feeling less vulnerable now that she had something on, she padded over to him, noting that he was determinedly not looking at her, almost as if he were afraid to, and she tugged the bottle from his surprised hand. She took a swig of the now room-temperature beer for herself and he watched her curiously. Catching his eyes, she poured the rest down the drain in front of him.
He swallowed as she stared him down, wondering what she was thinking about, resisting the urge to sweep her into his arms and start kissing her again because she looked so incredibly perfect in his shirt. When the bottle was empty she set it on the counter again and then reached up to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down to kiss her. He was almost too surprised by the action to respond, and she released him almost as quickly as she initiated it. Looking him in the eye when she pulled back, she said simply, "You look like hell. You should sleep." And she walked back over to his bed and threw the covers back, climbing in herself.
He had no idea what thoughts passed through his mind as he followed her like a mouse after the Pied Piper. She settled back in the bed and he thought he saw the trace of a smirk on her lips when she pulled him down on top of her.
Finally giving in, he scooped her up into his arms and rolled them over so she was tucked into his side, head on his chest, leg wrapped around his thigh, hand resting on his stomach.
What the hell is this? was his last conscious thought before the two of them drifted to sleep.