A/n: I actually had quite a bit of fun writing this chapter.
1234123456785678: Yes, she will have scenes with the others, but they won't know the true extent of their relationship. The next few chapters would be revolving around the other few characters.
Mellow: Not exactly. It revolves more around the concept of power play between two certain headstrong individuals.
FireBreeze1: I agree with you completely. Ra's should be the ultimate mastermind, with contingency plans for his contingency plans. The show didn't do his brilliance justice.
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Chapter: 3
Nyssa felt a mixture of weaknesses, from being unnecessarily vulnerable to disadvantageously exposed.
A lengthy black dress adorned her lean figure, the fabric wrapped tightly around her bosom, with uncovered shoulders that warmly gleamed, reflecting the restaurant's soft lighting. The dress brushed against her ankles with each step she took, with silts that ran up her thighs, revealing toned muscles underneath. She would have preferred her usual outfit, the cloak that shrouded her from head to toe, perhaps even the winter clothing they wore daily back at Nanda Parbat.
Right now, she was anything but comfortable.
She didn't exactly have a choice. When Oliver made his decision to run for Mayor a week ago, he insisted on having her accompany him on his fundraising events. They spent most of the night walking around the restaurant, greeting and shaking the hands of those she would most likely forget the next day. She hung by his side, almost as though being paraded to those around them. She felt dozens of lingering stares that night, and knowing how the Mayors of Starling had the tendency of being attacked in broad daylight, it made her more than a little uncomfortable. It made her wary, cautious of their intentions.
But as the night went by, she soon realized that it wasn't Oliver, but her who caught their eyes.
"Are you uncomfortable?" He asked shortly after they excused themselves from one of the prominent Starling families. She had wanted to complain, to oppose his choice of clothing, to criticize her inability to properly move in that dress were they to enter a difficult situation. But as she began to grumble, he interrupted her, his statement sending her into a stilled silence.
"You look beautiful."
She caught her own reflection by the mirror to the side, it shocked her, she could barely recognize herself. It wasn't hard to imagine the reason for all of the given stares. She looked away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. She hated the way he looked at her, his eyes, although gentle, felt as though they could see right through her. She felt like a stranger in her own skin, something beautiful, fragile, like even the tiniest of a push could send her breaking into a million pieces. She did not like that feeling one bit, it wasn't her, wasn't tough old Nyssa.
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As they were in the limousine on the way back to his mansion afterwards, it was clear how affected by the heels she was. Oliver knew that Nyssa grew up differently from all of the girls he had ever encountered, while they were playing with their Barbie's and dressing themselves up, she was taught to kill, to be ruthless in her conviction, to never show mercy.
It also meant that she wasn't exactly used to wearing such tall heels.
He could tell from the way she rested her leg that she wanted nothing more than to take the shoes off, to relieve herself of their stress. But she remained quiet, not wanting to appear weak in front of him. Neither was she willing to ask for permission to do so.
Yet it was like he could read her mind. One moment she was staring out at the passing buildings, and in the next, Oliver moved to the seats beside her, her legs gently scooped up onto his lap.
"If you're uncomfortable, you should say so." He said, as a matter-of-factly.
"I'm not," she shot back instantly, "you are mistaken."
"I can see you fidgeting from a mile away," his voice was replaced momentarily by the soft clicking of her heels as he unclasped the shoe.
Having his fair share of ever-changing girlfriends back during his wilder days before the Island, there were a few tricks that stuck to him whenever they complained of leg pains after a long day of wearing heels. He never thought it would come useful again one day.
"Is your ankle still hurting from before?" He asked, his fingers gently maneuvering her foot, guiding it slowly in circles like an athletes' warm up.
She felt herself tensing up almost immediately, not from pain, in fact, his movements brought quite the complete opposite. The tensing came from the contact of his hand, his fingertips digging into her flesh, finding all of the tensed muscles, pressing against them, pushing into them. The unwinding pressure sent waves of uninvited pleasure up her calves. After an entire day in those torturous shoes, nothing felt better than a simple ankle massage.
Putting her first foot down, Oliver moved on to the next, this one with added carefulness. It was the same that swelled up from their sparing session a few days back. Latching onto the arch of her soles, his fingers dug into her strained tendons, repeating the actions from before.
Being too caught up in the sensation, it was a little too late when she noticed of the tiny mewl that slipped between her lips. It was barely above a whisper, but the gratifying whimper was heard clearly between both. She immediately pulled her legs back to herself, clearly embarrassed at the sounds that she made.
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She approached Oliver again later that night, when she realized that she couldn't exactly undress herself without help. Nyssa half contemplated slicing the dress apart with her blade, but she was quite sure it was something that he would frown upon. So she headed for his room, the soles of her feet digging silently into the carpeted floors as she stood outside of his quarters.
She waited for a long time before ultimately conquering the side of her that wanted nothing more than to head off in the other direction. She knocked only once and took a step back. A few seconds passed before Oliver greeted her with nothing more than a towel around his waist. From his still wet hair and hastily dried state, it was quite obvious he just gotten out of the shower.
They stared at each other for a long while, before he asked, almost too casually, "yes?"
"My zipper," she focused onto his face, unwanting to divert her eyes elsewhere, "it's stuck."
She caught something of an amused glint flashing across his eyes before he widened the door, "come in."
She followed him in, noticing the dozens of scars that littered the back of his body. In a way, they reminded her of her own, but hers were not as deep, as prominent. She wondered what could cause those, the effects it would have on a man like him. They stopped by the center of his room, his right hand raised up, his fingers twirling, indicating for her to turn.
Holding her hair up for him to gain access to the zipper, she turned and waited. She could feel his nearing presence, his fingers pulling onto the metallic zip. She could hear the sound of it running down her spine, before it came to a stop halfway through. He tugged onto it for a brief moment, apparently stuck where she was.
After a while, she felt him lean forward for a closer look, his heated breath flushing onto her exposed back, sending her into a slight arch at the sudden sensation. It didn't take him long to remove the fabric trapped underneath the zip, allowing him to slide the entire thing down in a single swoop. Nyssa's arms shot together as the dress loosened around her, catching onto the front before it slid completely down.
With a hastily muttered, "thanks", she left the room.
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