Chloe Sullivan woke up naked in Oliver Queen's bed, knowing exactly where she was, and what had transpired there. She woke up alone, but not lonely. The sun was rising, the windows had been opened a few inches to let in air to dispel the stale scent of sex, and she was otherwise surrounded in sheets, a miraculously lofty duvet, and pillows that smelled like the back of Oliver's neck.
With a rueful smile, she remembered telling Lois that her weekend getaway to Monte Carlo with Oliver was a fairy tale. After a night of being kissed and fondled within an inch of her life, she was willing to amend that. Monte Carlo was not necessary.
Rolling over to the middle of the bed, she hugged a pillow to her, tucking her face under it to block the sunlight. The context of his scent had changed overnight. It wasn't as if she had failed to notice that Oliver smelled good. Over the last few years it had become familiar. Oliver smelled like sandalwood and leather, ink and paper, sweat and fabric softener and warm skin, coffee and cinnamon. She associated it with his presence, and knew every version of Oliver's scent—even the liquored up version—as safety wrapped in comfort, support, collaboration, and friendship.
Yep, all that and orgasms, too.
The side of the bed behind her dipped and she felt her heart trip. Too soon. She was still half asleep and she hadn't even begun to catalog how she felt about last night. She couldn't remember the last time she slept so well.
His arm gathered her, puffy duvet and all while his other hand cradled the back of her neck. He kissed her bare shoulder. "I started coffee for you," he said.
Chloe hummed an acknowledgement. That made sense. Oliver didn't smell like coffee and cinnamon, just cinnamon and something spicy, and he was making coffee. Possibly because he was a God among men, or just reasonably smart, plus he had good manners . . . she smiled at her own musings.
"I really, really love coffee," she said into the pillow.
He laughed. "I know you do, baby," he said.
Making a face at 'baby', Chloe decided to table how she felt about that—there was a fluttery little 'aw!' mixed up with an 'oh, no!' that was backed up by a vague feeling of 'baby' being a miss. She didn't want to be anyone's baby. It was probably habit. Poor Ollie, waking up with a woman whose name he knew without having to check her ID while she was sleeping it off. He had probably just gone to a safety endearment out of habit.
She continued stretching to work the kinks out of her spine. Oliver gave an assist. He rubbed her back, following her spine with the heel of his hand, rubbing in circles as she yawned hugely, drawing her knees up and then slowly extending her legs. It didn't help with waking up. She felt boneless, and sleepy, and warm, and very turned on.
The longest time she had ever gone without sex was between her engagement party and now. Until now, she hadn't really felt deprived. She had known that she was deprived, but Oliver was a little like going without chocolate and not realizing how good chocolate was until you had a taste, and then you had to have more.
The more she thought about, the less annoyed she was with him for calling her baby. He could probably call her princess right now and her lust would live on.
She rolled over on her stomach when Oliver's hand reached her butt. Around two in the morning she had gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and started thinking about her exit strategy. When she came out of the bathroom, he was watching her from his bed.
"There's a toothbrush on the counter for you," he said, patting the space beside him.
She had washed the remnants of her make-up off, brushed her teeth, and told herself to kiss him good night and go find her clothes even as he pulled her back down to bed, spooning behind her with a happy, sleepy sigh, finding her hand, and uncurling her fingers.
And her exit strategy died before it ever formed. She resolved not to make a habit of it, assuming that this wasn't a one-time thing.
Chloe was starting to see the upside. Oliver kissed the center of her back, nudging her legs apart as his hand slipped between her legs. She bit her kiss swollen lower lip as they both discovered how wet she was.
She still smelled coffee and cinnamon, and smiled at how her brain was tangling sex up with hot, gooey cinnamon rolls just as his stroking fingers coaxed her into opening her legs for him. She was a little sore. She couldn't quite keep from flinching as his finger penetrated her. He nuzzled her back down to the base of her spine, gently easing his finger out of her.
She stretched again, reaching for the headboard with one hand as she rolled to her side, opening her eyes to blink against the light, and shut them again, pushing back the duvet with her other hand, shivering at the introduction of cool air against her warm skin. Her nipples contracted to taut buds. Her hand brushed his shoulder, and then drifted down over his bare chest before retreating to his neck, finding the rough track of a scabbed over cut on his neck, and the coarse crispness of his hair against her fingertips.
She opened one eye enough to squint at him. "Baby?"
Her critique was completely lost on him. His lips captured a rosy nipple, sending a corresponding pull from his lips on her nipple to her navel. He was half dressed, from the waist down, wearing a pair workout pants that weren't nearly as pleasant on the inside of her thighs as his bare skin. His hands were roaming freely, keeping the chill of the morning air at bay. His lips tugged on her nipple until it left his mouth and then he laved it, taking possession of it again while his right hand cupped her neglected breast.
"Ollie," she breathed his name.
His mouth left her nipple again and he covered it with his fingers, pressing a tender kiss into the tight, delicate skin where her breast met her breastbone.
The smell of coffee was obscured by the stronger scent of cinnamon. "Is there really coffee?" she asked.
"Mm-hm," he nuzzled her throat. "Metro Coffee house blend," he said. "And cinnamon rolls," he added when he reached her jaw. His covered pelvis met hers. "Please tell me that it can wait," he said.
A musical chime trilled, and he tensed, running his hands down her legs as her ankles started to cross behind his back. "Damn it," he muttered, easing back to look down at her.
She pouted. He was still holding her ankles, leaving her entirely exposed. She should have felt vulnerable or at least self-conscious, but the look in his eyes was so nakedly hungry, that she and her goose bumps didn't feel anything but warmly appreciated.
"Be a hero and go save breakfast," she said as his hands stroked her legs down to her knees and his head descended.
The stubble on his chin scraped her thigh. His hands slid down to her butt, squeezing as he held her and his tongue delved between her legs.
Her brief career as uninhibited temptress got a huge green light. She bucked under his mouth, moaning as he licked her. "I'm not done with you," he murmured against her before kissing her clit.
He gave her bottom a squeeze. "Don't go anywhere," he said, heaving himself off the bed to go deal with buzzer in the kitchen.
Chloe's wide eyes followed him out of the room before she released the pent up breath she had been holding in a frustrated moan. She heard him chuckle, and glared after him. Then she flipped him off for leaving her like this.
Shivering with cold and over stimulation, she was half tempted to pick up where he left off, but she got out of bed instead and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and run his brush through her hair. Coming out of the bedroom, she was met by a naked Oliver, sporting an impressive erection. She felt a vague burst of surprise tangled up with an urge to giggle. For a guy who wasn't a super charged meta-human, he looked like a life sized sex action figure.
"Crisis averted?" she deflected, not quite as at ease about parading around naked as he was.
He crooked a finger. "C'mere," he invited, backing up to the bed. He flipped his hand over, waiting for her to take it.
"Ollie," she let him pull her down on his lap.
"Couple of things," he prefaced. His eyes were everywhere, intent, thoughtful—he might have been making a mission plan or sketching a new weapon design. His gaze shifted to meet her eyes. "Get enough sleep?"
She nodded slowly.
"Good."
He swung her over, lowering her to the bed. His hand cradled her head as he kissed her while his other hand caressed the inside of her thigh. Chloe shifted closer, running her hands over his back. He nibbled on her lower lip while she traced a hipbone with her thumb.
"Don't you have to go to work?" she asked.
"Yep," his head lifted. He captured her gaze, watching her eyelids flutter with a delicate shudder of pleasure as his fingertips massaged her clit. "I always make time for you," he said, mumbling against her skin as he kissed her.
One of her eyebrows lifted, conveying good humored skepticism about that claim.
His middle finger penetrated her while his lips brushed hers. "You are number one on my speed dial," he said as her skeptical expression melted away. He was amused to find himself on the receiving end of her really good coffee face—eyes half closed, as she turned her body into to him, rubbing against his shoulder and chest like a cat.
"Is it good, Chloe?"
She lifted her head, following his mouth, "More," she whispered, kissing his chin when she missed his lips, wrapping her fingers around his cock.
He helped her out on the angle, tucking his chin so she could reach his lips, rotating his thumb over her with just the right amount of pressure as he worked a second finger into her.
He moved between her legs. A moment later he was sinking into her. She eagerly rolled her hips up, tucking her knees on either side of his chest, shuddering at the almost painful fullness. Above her, Oliver's head hung, his eyes closed, his expression a mask of pleasure and anticipation. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling something, like a forgotten well of sweetness, overflow. She found herself touching his face, tracing the shape of his eyebrow, feeling the roughness of stubble graze her palm, seeing sunlight warm the gold in his hair while realizing that it was messy from her fingers.
He turned his head and she traced his lips with her thumb until he caught it, pulling it into his mouth. He rocked against her, almost like he was warning her that he was going to start moving.
His retreat was breathtakingly slow. His hands held her head. When he was almost gone, she arched her back and cried out at as he filled her again.
"Ollie," she tried to get him to move faster. God. She hoped he would take a hint before she had to start telling him what to do.
He shook his head, combing his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. "Relax. We have plenty of time. I'm not going anywhere. We don't have to have sex like porn stars to impress each other," the backs of his fingers brushed her cheek. "Just give this a few minutes, really slow? And if it isn't working for you, we'll see how bendy you are."
She frowned at that. "I'm not."
"Bendy?" he guessed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah," he scoffed, "that's like issuing a challenge," he muttered as he tugged her head to the side. "There's this spot on your neck that I really want to kiss." His thumb traced it until she was shivering and turning her head.
Each slow thrust introduced her to a new aspect of the way they came together. There was the weight of him, carefully balanced between his elbows and his hips to keep from crushing her. As she relaxed her legs, she felt the muscles in his bunching and releasing. She became aware of his arms, framing her, flexing, veins standing out in startling definition.
A different kind of tension started to coil inside her with the sinuous roll of his hips, and the hint of urgency that crept into their slow climb. She found herself bracing her feet on the bed, locking her hands against his arms as she lifted her hips to meet him.
When she slid her hand down between them to touch herself, he didn't object, or complain, or look like she found him wanting. He made room for her to touch herself, and he watched, sliding his arm under the small of her back to change the angle in a way that had her moaning into his shoulder.
"Don't stop," she begged, somehow knowing that he was close.
He jerked her hips against him, higher, tighter, and suddenly it was like the force they had created together took over and it was hard and fierce, crashing together while her mind went blissfully blank and her every muscle in her body clenched in one long spasm before releasing. She flung her arm around his neck and hung on as he drove into her until he shuddered through his own climax.
He rolled off of her, onto his back, sucking air.
"That was . . ." he shook his head, at a loss for an adjective.
Chloe could only hug herself and nod. "Yep," she chirped, and then snickered at the chirpiness of her own voice. God. "It didn't suck."
"Very funny," he said, looking over at her. She was red faced and sweaty, rubbing her arms and shivering, but she was smiling, and he was glad to be a part of putting that smile on her face. "You may think that you sound sarcastic, but at least eighty percent of the awesome was me," he said, rolling on his side.
She gave him an exasperated look, but she didn't stop smiling, even when her eyes closed.
"I'm on an oxytocin high over here," Oliver said. "Cuddling?" he teased. "You know you want to, Chloe. I thought you and my favorite pillow were going to announce that you were dating."
He pulled her over to him and took over rubbing her arms for her after she crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them. "Your pillow had a little more give," she snarked.
He looked smug. "I broke it in myself. Remember last year when I got knifed in the back, and I had those stitches?"
Some of her Brainiac infected months were a little hazy, but she remembered that. She laughed, also remembering the deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face when she told him to take off his shirt. It was a little odd that one of their trust milestones was established when she didn't develop a crush on him based on exposure to his bare chest. She had picked up an ointment at the pharmacy that was supposed to minimize scaring and help control the itching associated with sticthes, and he bitched about it because he insisted that it made him smell like onions.
She told him that he was crazy, and he kept insisting at random times that she had to smell him because he couldn't understand why he smelled onions and she smelled nothing.
The whole time, she was lying. He really did smell like onions, but she figured that it was a small price to pay for product testing a wound treatment that looked promising.
He wasn't sure why she was laughing, but he plucked at the pillow wedged behind his head to remind her that they were talking about his pillow. "I had to sleep on my stomach, but I hate sleeping on my stomach, so I had this guy folded in half length-wise and—"
She looked appalled. "Are you telling me that is your armpit pillow?"
He thought about that. "Well, yeah I guess it was, but I think folding it in half really is the important part for breaking it in."
His hands moved to her shoulders, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. There was something about the cut, and the sunny yellow of it that reminded him of a cartoon character, though he couldn't remember which one. He liked the idea of her as a cartoon character. It made her less garden variety gorgeous, and more adorably quirky.
He grinned at her. "I had this theory about your hair."
Her nose wrinkled. "Do I want to know?"
"When it's all fluffed and curled—it looks like sex hair, and—"
She met his eyes, "But, not so much, huh?"
He shrugged. "Actually, pretty close."
He finger combed her hair until her eyes were half closed. "Mmm, very sexy," he said, congratulating himself on his discovery. He had noticed that she was pretty, and sometimes he thought she was really cute in a brainy pocket sized way, and there had been a few times when he felt an odd little tug in his chest at how beautiful she was. When she smiled? Gorgeous. Sexy was something she kept buried. Though, now that he had seen it, he thought it was going to be impossible to miss.
"Eighty percent, huh?" she gave him a look.
"Do you want to go back to sleep?" he asked. "I've got to take a shower and get dressed for work. Do you need to get in the bathroom first? There is another bathroom, down the hall."
She had spent enough time here over the years to know where everything was, down to his secret weapons locker. Hearing him ramble, she read a little nervousness, and felt strangely moved by it.
She pouted again, re-prioritizing her morning. "I can't believe you distracted me from coffee with sex," she complained. "There is coffee?"
He laughed. "Yes!" he slid out from under her, snorting when she grabbed his pillow. "Don't get too attached," he warned as he grabbed his pants and put them on. He opened a drawer to find a t-shirt for her, shaking it out to decide if it was going to provide adequate coverage before he tossed it to her.
She put it on and crossed the bed to the side closest to the bathroom, looking disgusted when she encountered a wet spot.
When she came out of the bathroom, the duvet and most of the pillows were piled at the top of the bed while the sheets and pillow cases were balled up at the bottom. Oliver carried the sheets into the laundry room adjacent to the kitchen, loading the washer as she made her way to the kitchen, flinching at his cold fancy stained concrete floor. She found a coffee cup in one of the cabinets and filled her cup.
Before Watchtower, she had worked out of the Clocktower when it was inconvenient to run Ops from her hub at Isis. The penthouse suite had been renovated at least twice since then following Canary's introduction to the team and after Oliver's most recent trip though the gutter, but the kitchen was more or less as she remembered.
Oliver came in behind her, passing her with a friendly pat on her ass at the refrigerator while he reached for an oven mitt.
He opened the oven and frowned. "Huh. Probably should have taken these out," he said as he pulled out an aluminum tray of cinnamon rolls that were reduced to little blackened disks. He frowned at them. "Do you think that something went wrong before I turned off the oven?" he asked as he showed her the pan.
"You have to let them rise first, then bake," she said, recognizing the brand of rolls.
He shook his head. "Well, that's ridiculous," he said, throwing them out. "I've got something else. Just," he shooed her. "Go sit." He laced his fingers, cracking his knuckles. "I have to create."
There was a stool that doubled as a kitchen ladder. Chloe sat and watched while he pulled four tumblers down from the cabinet before going to the refrigerator and returning with a half-gallon of juice, a tub of Greek yogurt and a plastic bowl of mixed fruit. She shook her head while she watched him assemble two yoghurt and fruit cups with a scoop of granola from a canister on the counter.
It was probably part of his evil plan for making her eat something healthy when what she really wanted was a cinnamon roll, or a bagel smothered in cream cheese. Her stomach growled.
"Do you want to eat in here, or go outside?" he asked.
She looked down at her bare legs. "Seriously?"
He smirked. "I think your panties are out there, so seriously," he retorted, leading the way to the table. "Hey! Found your skirt," he called out, spotting it on the coffee table. "Bra. I wouldn't have pegged you as someone who was likely to be flinging their clothes around."
"I had help," she huffed.
She scooped her bra up off the floor and laid it on the back of a chair before retrieving her other scattered items of clothing. Her panties and her shoes were still missing.
He used the remote to turn on the television, turning the volume down as he flicked through pre-sets to a business news channel. "Chloe? While I'm in the shower, could you do a digest for me? Just feed me the top of the trees view of stuff I'm reasonably expected to know about the world today. People and their freaking expectations," he muttered eying the ticker at the bottom of the screen. "Damn it!" he blew out a breath through his teeth, "I knew that was going to tank when the T-bill rate went up." He shook his head at having his hunch confirmed.
She looked up at him; amused at the way he read the ticker like it was . . . sports statistics, or something else that she found obscure and impenetrable.
"International, national, local, headlines and politics?" she ticked off.
"Yeah," his eyebrows rose at something else he discerned from the ticker.
She nodded around a spoonful of yogurt and fruit. He kissed the top of her head before taking a seat across from her where he had an unimpeded view of the television screen and the balcony windows at his back. As soon as she finished the yogurt and her first cup of coffee she got up to wake up his computer and returned to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. He brought her untouched glass of juice over and told her that he was going to take a shower.
She skimmed news sites for business, politics, world events, and local events in Metropolis and Star City, typing up a summary with links and sending it to his cellphone.
Gathering up her clothing, she refilled her coffee cup and went back to the bedroom. Oliver's bathroom was divided into two areas. There was a double vanity in front of a wall of closet space and through another door, the shower and commode shared one side opposite a claw footed tub and a wall of vintage apothecary shelves. Unlike the freezing cold bathroom floor, the floor in both halves of the bath was teak, and the bathroom proper's floor was heated and there were several thick spa mats. He was running an electric shaver over his chin when she came in and set her coffee cup down on the counter.
He watched in the mirror as she shut the door behind her. A few minutes later he heard the toilet flush and then, the shower came on. He ran his hand over his jaw to make sure that he hadn't missed a spot, and used the brush from his kit to clean the heads before stowing them in their case. He started getting dressed, selecting a tie from the closet and then holding it up in front of a line of shirts until he hit a combination that looked right. He repeated the process with his suits.
He was aware that he was dawdling. His first meeting was at 10:30, and that wasn't so far away. Almost right on cue, his landline rang. He picked it up in the bedroom. It was Julia, his PA, reminding him that he had a 10:30 meeting.
"I'll be there," he said.
"Would you like me to send a car for you, Mr. Queen?"
"I've got time. I'll walk, but thanks anyway. I'm probably going to stop and get a cup of coffee. Do you want anything?" he asked.
"No, sir," she said.
Julia was promoted out of a Luthor Corp division. He hadn't quite broken her out of the habit of being overly deferential. "Okay . . . I'm going to have lunch in, so place an order for me. I want salad, something in the citrus family, and six ounces of protein, grilled, otherwise, surprise me," he instructed. "Oh, and I'm going to want the quarterly reports to read on the plane, so get that organized and throw it to my dropbox."
"Got it," she said. "Anything else?"
"That's it for now. There's more, but we'll go over it when I get there," he said, hearing the door to the bathroom open. "I've got to go. I'll be there before 10:30," he said.
Chloe had a towel wrapped around her and another wrapped in a turban around her head. She took a sip of her cooling coffee and grimaced.
He pointed to her. "I think your shoes are outside," he said. "I'll go get them. Do you want me to warm that up in the microwave?" he asked.
"Yeah, that would be great," she handed him the cup and started unwrapping her hair to towel it dry while he went to the kitchen to microwave her coffee, doubling back to the laundry room to punch the start button on the load of sheets. One of the quirks to the Clocktower penthouse was that the renovations to the century old building had overextended the plumbing, and running the washing machine sometimes had an unpredictable effect on the water pressure in the bathroom. It was one of several reasons why he had been finding the penthouse less than ideal lately.
He went out on the balcony to find Chloe's abandoned shoes and to collect wine glasses. The balcony was his favorite spot, but it was only useful for half the year. He checked the cushions on the sofa, but her panties were MIA.
He went back to the kitchen for her coffee and decided to give it another fifteen-second blast.
Chloe was mostly dressed and shaking out her damp hair, finger combing it into loose, soft waves when he brought her coffee and her shoes. He leaned against the counter watching her work out that she was going commando. She slipped her shoes on, gaining at least three inches, and gave him an appreciative look as she sipped her coffee. "You look nice, Mr. Queen."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I had a good night."
Her eyes looked suspiciously bright. "I did too. Thank you, Ollie."
"Good," he said softly. Her hair was still damp, and she wasn't wearing any make-up. She looked fresh scrubbed and deceptively carefree. They weren't the sort of people who had mornings like this, and the idea of having mornings like this was ridiculously appealing.
He leaned forward. "You know I have to go out of town?" he was pretty sure that Chloe knew his schedule better than he did.
She nodded, evading his gaze. He wondered if she was feeling it too, and if she was, was she avoiding his eyes because it was too much, or because she liked it more than was comfortable? He was positive that Chloe was less ready for anything serious than he was when he suggested that they get together.
He hadn't completely worked out how ready he was for something serious.
"Do you need me to take care of anything?"
Distracted, Oliver started with, "No," and then, "I don't know." He shook off the questions that had no answers, smiling ruefully. "Probably. Something always comes up. It's not like we don't talk half a dozen times a day," he pointed out, because that couldn't change.
"True," she nodded.
"What I was thinking was dinner. If you can give me a ride to the airport, and maybe we can get something to eat?" he said.
Her expression cleared as she nodded, "I can do that," she followed him out of the bedroom. "What time?"
"I don't know. Seven?" he located his phone on his charger and tucked that in his inside suit coat pocket. He popped his laptop out of its dock and slid it into his briefcase. "If you are leaving, walk out with me?" he suggested.
She looked out to the balcony. "I—"
He winced, shaking his head. "Sorry. I already checked. I can't spare you the trauma if they are hanging off a light post, or decorating a shrub in a planter, but I swear to God, when I say, 'oh, look, Chloe—how do you think those pink lacy panties got there'—it will be because I'm acting like we couldn't possibly know anything about it."
Her eyes got cartoon-character wide at the idea, before a merry peal of laughter erupted.
He shook his head sadly. "I didn't really even get to see them."
"But you know that they were pink and lacy?"
"I saw your bra," he pointed out as he grabbed her trench coat. "Your purse," he nodded to the table on the other side of the coat tree. "Do you want to take your coffee? I was going to stop and get some."
He held her coat for her while she juggled the coffee cup. "I'll take the coffee. I spend too much time at my coffee shop for the barista not to de-code this look," she said, buttoning one handed.
"Give me the cup," he said, hitting the elevator call button. "You might want to flip the collar up on that—you've got a little," he gestured to her neck, backing into the open elevator and holding it with his foot as she swung her purse over her arm. He grinned at her. "Admit it. I was right about the trench coat. It covers a vast multitude of sins on the morning after."
He started to press the button for the lobby and then stopped. "I should drive you home," he said suddenly. Jesus. He was slipping badly if he couldn't remember something as basic as 'see the girl home'. Chloe was definitely in the 'see the girl home' category.
She snorted a laugh. "I know!" she mocked him. "Good thing I'm not your date, Ollie. You'd be crashing and burning on second date potential while I'm standing on a street corner. It's fine. I'm going to walk."
"Really?" he bit back a smirk at the attitude, and hit the button for the lobby. "Okay. That's . . . kind of hot, actually."
"Shut up!"
"So, I guess that means I don't even get a kiss?"
She leaned in and planted one on him. "Black," she said. "Black skirt means . . ."
"Ah . . . black panties," he kissed her back. "Now you are just messing with me, aren't you?"
"I'm sure that I don't know what you are talking about," she murmured while flirting with him with her eyes.
Gorgeous, he thought, ducking his head to kiss the mark he had made on her neck, chuckling when she poked him in the ribs.
"Lobby in three . . . two . . . one."
They parted when the bell chimed. "I'm getting an early 90s rom-com vibe," he muttered. "What is that?"
"My 90's rom-com lead is a little more John Cusack," Chloe told him as they left the elevator.
"Grosse Point Blank," Ollie put in. "Yeah, I can see that." Coloring aside, he saw no reason why he couldn't pull off John Cusack in the role of depressed hit man. In fact, that was a little on the nose.
The security guard/doorman at the lobby desk greeted both of them by name. "It's been a while since I've seen you Ms. Sullivan," he added.
"Good Morning, Dave," she said with a warm smile.
Oliver's cell phone started ringing as soon as he left the building. He checked the caller ID. "I'll talk to you later," he told Chloe before he answered the call.
It was Mia. "Where are you?" she asked.
"On my way to work," he said, momentarily distracted as he watched Chloe head the opposite direction.
"Well . . . you are late. Your assistant is piss-y, and I quit my job," Mia said.
"And, you aren't projecting and displacing like mad," he joked. "I'm having lunch in, so why don't you come by around noon, and have lunch with me. What are you going to do until then?"
"I don't know," she sighed. "Stand in line at unemployment?"
"Right. Do you know where that is?" he asked.
"7th and Vine. Duh."
"Pat yourself on the back for your wage slave savvy. For reasons that are pretty obvious, I don't know about stuff like that, except in a second or third hand way. You are so smart. I'm proud of you," he admitted, and then wondered if it was too much. Did he sound like a demented life coach? Or too Clark Kent?
"Oliver? Are you on drugs? You are in a good mood," Mia sounded suspicious. "Why aren't you mad at me for screwing up?"
"Because you didn't clue me in on the screwing up part, and I'm sure that you had a really good reason for quitting that you'll tell me about," he pointed out, feeling magnanimous enough to ignore the crack about being on drugs. "I'm about to get in line to get coffee—I'm pretty sure that if you are a jerk who is on the phone while you order coffee, there is a special mark on your cup, and bad things happen."
The barista three people ahead of him behind the counter peered over. "Generous tipping mitigates poor cell phone etiquette," she called out.
"Okay," Mia caught enough of that exchange. "I don't care what you get for lunch, as long as there is pie at the end. I need pie, Oliver. I really, really need pie, and maybe ice cream. For me. Not you. You can be all smugly whole grain and watch me eat it."
"Right. It's a pie and ice cream level crisis. I got it. Lunch at noon." He tucked away his phone. Give me two of something tall," he scanned the menu, "caramel macchiato and a medium roast coffee," he pulled his wallet out and gave her a twenty, waving off the change.
Five minutes later he delivered the caramel macchiato to Julia at her desk. "Say: Oliver," he ordered, "Go!"
"Oliver?"
"Easy! Stop calling me sir."
"You brought me coffee?" she looked at him a little funny. "I have a boyfriend who is in law school at Met U."
"Random, but good to know that you are working on that sharing thing. How am I doing on time?"
"You've got twenty minutes," she said as she popped the lid, and sniffed. "Caramel? I like caramel."
"Everyone does," he confided. "But, yes, I'm an awesome boss."
Julia gave him a grudging nod. "Ms. Mercer's assistant looks like someone hit her with a cattle prod, so on the Mercer scale, you are a nine."
"8.5 would have gotten you a better Christmas present," he joked. "Okay. I want to look at our cash flow. I think the bond market may get a little tight by the end of the week. Mia is joining me for lunch, and she needs pie and ice cream."
"Defcon Two," Julia guessed. "Fifteen minutes," she updated him on his time balance. "Your messages are going to your phone now, and Ms. Mercer wants you to stop by if you are going to the Daily Planet."
He nodded. "I'll call her now, and get that over with. I'll be in my office. Tell my 10:30 to—"
"Barge in," she nodded. "Yes, ss—" she caught herself. "I'll take care of that Mr. Queen. And, we'll see about the first name basis after Christmas. Feel free to call me Ms. Collins."
"Well played, Julia," he called back, barely avoiding a mail cart in the hallway.
"Sorry!" the mail clerk moaned.
"We're good," Oliver called back as he key carded into his office. His intercom buzzed. "Tess Mercer ringing on one," Julia told him.
Oliver put it on intercom while he docked his laptop and logged in.
"Mercer," Tess answered.
"Did you see what is going on with our number three investment banking partner? Yeah? Cause I'm thinking: liquidity. We've got some big construction loans out there. Do we have any draws coming due?"
"Uh—yes," she took a deep breath. "Let's look at that before the end of the day?"
"That's where my head is at."
"You are really back, aren't you?" Tess said. "This is good. I'm glad, Oliver."
"Thanks, Mercy. I'll call you later this afternoon. I'm pretty booked up today, so please check with Julia Collins, and she'll make sure that I get back to you."
Tess, who was prone to strategically dramatic interruptions, acknowledged the request before hanging up.
"I am back," he said, looking around his office. Ever since he bought a controlling interest in Luthor Corp he had felt like he was stranded behind enemy lines. Then the hits started rolling in. He'd been thinking that the Luthor Corp board needed an overhaul, but losing all of them to an explosion hadn't been part of the plan. He went off the rails and took out Lex. His rekindled relationship with Tess went nowhere good, and somewhere along the line he forgot that he was good at this part of his life.
His office door opened and he smiled as the team working on the recovery plan for the geothermal plant filed in. "Okay. Let's get to work," he said, moving to the sideboard to fill a pitcher of water as the team took their seats. "Start with the good news, and then we'll work the problems."
Three hours later, he managed to get a moment to call Chloe, and manfully resisted when he saw no email or texts from her. Instead, he read several emails about cash flow and responded with some questions of his own before reading a report before his two o'clock meeting.
After his meeting he opened his email to find an email from Chloe.
From: cstorch
To: OJQ
Sent: Wednesday, February 2, 2010 2:12 PM
Subject: Five Reasons Why We Should Not Update Our Non-Existent Facebook Status
• Lois
• Clark
• My privacy
• Your hobby
And last, but not least, this contestant on America'sTop Models who lists you as her future sugar daddy.
I won't stand in the way of true love.
TTFN,
Chloe
He rolled his eyes as he clicked on the link, and up popped a window with Chloe's smirking face. She pointed at him. "Already checking out other women," she shook her head sadly. "I thought our love was good for at least another 24 hours before your eye started wandering—"
He leaned back in his chair. "Chloe," he warned. "You lost a billion cute points, there."
"Turns out that we've got some pop-up action with Canary in Montreal. I don't think I can make it for dinner."
Damn you, Dinah, Oliver thought, keeping a light smile on his face despite this set back. "That's too bad. I was going to ask Mia to come with us. She quit her job and she's a little . . . you know what? That's a terrible idea. You've got enough uncooperative, stubborn, proud, ingrates to manage. I don't know what I was thinking," he said.
"So, do you want me to get in touch with her while you are out of town?" she asked.
He chuckled. "I don't think so. I like your nose exactly the way it is," he said. "But, is it okay if I give her your number?"
She nodded. "Absolutely, Ollie. I can dust off my under qualified social worker cred, and—"
He just smiled, shaking his head. "And, you've already got a bunch of ideas," he finished for her.
She smiled back. "One or two," she downplayed it. "This day is really flying by, and, I—" she looked at a loss for words for a moment. "You know what? This is as normal as I've felt in a long time."
"Who's your superhero, baby? That's right. Me," he answered. "If you get free for dinner, let me know, otherwise, I'll probably check in sometime tomorrow." His gaze flicked from the screen to his intercom, blinking red. "I've got—"
"Another call?" she guessed. "Signing off," she sang out, terminating the connection.
He sat up and tapped the intercom. "Go, Julia,"
"Ms. Mercer is on her way to you," she said as Tess pushed through his door.
"Got her. Thanks," he added, cutting the connection and resolutely setting aside his one setback—minor setback, he reminded himself—for the day to work the biggest problem the corporate ship was steering into.
"I can't believe I didn't see this coming," Tess said on entry.
Oliver waved that off. "We've been here before. More money out than in, and we've got some big projects. The banks are going to slow walk our construction draws, because we are way ahead of schedule on our biggest project," he summarized. "The money market is tightening."
Her lips tightened to match it. "So, we go abroad. To Dubai. China. Russia."
He did a little back and forth with his head. "I'm thinking a little closer to home. Reduce a shift at the RAO Tower, and the Geo-thermal plant—" she was already shaking her head. "Hear me out," Oliver temporized, "I'll delay my trip to Star City and head to Gotham tonight, and then to New York. I'll shake the money tree, and we'll still be way ahead of schedule."
"Gotham? Bruce Wayne will not do business with Luther Corp," Tess told him. "He and Lex had a thing, or a hostile non-thing."
"Well, Bruce and I went to school together, too" Oliver made a face. "He doesn't like me less than he doesn't like about 70% of the world."
Tess's eyebrows rose. "I don't even know what that means."
"It's worth the detour and I think he's persuadable. I just have to kiss his ring, and endure the Zen master stare for a couple of hours," Oliver said.
"He's . . ." Tess shook her head. "Insufferable," she said.
Oliver tilted his head. "Come with me. You can throw on something sparkly and let him pinch your ass."
Tess' eyebrows shot up. Early in her career, she had broken an investor's nose with a hair trigger elbow to nose move.
Oliver shrugged. "When you've spent Saturday night in detention starching boys underwear together, the mystique takes a huge hit. I know what to say and how to say it, and its 50/50, but worth the detour," he concluded. "So we're good? You have to slow RAO down for a week? Maybe two?" She looked at him like he was telling her that she had to pull teeth. "You know that we need the time to finesse the liquidity, Tess."
That reached her. "Fine," she growled. "Get the money, Oliver. Promise me that you'll personally guarantee it if we are still here at close of business on Monday."
He looked at her like she was crazy. "Uh, no," he shook his head. "That's bullshit. I've already got a huge stake in LuthorCorp, and I'm not buying more stock or writing loans to the company. It's a business, Tess. It's not personal."
"It is personal, Oliver. I went into this partnership looking for someone with the kind of resources that would make an unstoppable force. You are back on the job, and doing your part, but I've carried you, and I expect you to return the favor."
He shook his head. "Not going to happen," he retorted. "I'm going to remind you that I'm actually opposed to taking a huge gamble on an unproven technology, but the board approved it, and I'm doing my part to fix a problem that your partner created by ramping up so fast. We're square."
Her eyes narrowed. "Just get the money."
"That's the plan. Wow. Good talk," he said sarcastically. "Do I need to remind you I warned you ten days ago that we were overextended?"
They glared at each other, neither willing to back down.
He saw her expression shift as soon as she realized that he wasn't going to give on reducing the pace of construction on the tower. "I'll take care of it," she said, still bitter.
"Thank you," he was equally curt. "If you'll excuse me, I've got meetings to re-schedule," he escorted her out of his office on the way to Julia's across the hall.
"Conference call," he reeled off four names for Julia. "We are clearing my calendar for Star City, and starting over with Gotham and New York. Let the Star City office deal with cancelling and rescheduling, I need you building a new calendar and coordinating support for the next two days. When you've got everyone rounded up, send the call to my office, and bring your laptop," he said.
Julia looked startled, but she nodded. "I'm on it," she said as he headed down the hall to round up a couple of LuthorCorp PR people to sit in. He spotted Tess's assistant coming out of the kitchen. "Go see if Julia needs your help," he ordered while Tess nodded her agreement.
"This place is like a tomb," he complained.
Tess gave him a sideways look.
"What?" he asked.
She shook her head. "You are in a good mood today," she said. "It's been a while since I've seen you in your 'c'mon people, let's kick ass and take names' mode."
He smirked. "Yeah. Like I need their fucking names, Mercy."
That surprised a chuckle out of her. "Go get 'em, Tiger," she mocked, but her eyes followed him with a hint of warmth that hadn't been there in a while.
Three hours later he was shooting out of LuthorCorp. When he was heading to Star City, he had no need to pack. He had a penthouse in the city. Now that his plans changed, he needed to pack to avoid the need to shop. Julia was following in her car to continue to coordinate his trip. He told the guard at the desk to send her up on his elevator when she arrived, and he went up to start pulling things out of his closet for his trip.
He heard the elevator arrive. "You can work from my desk," he called out.
"What am I working on?" Mia called out.
Oliver came down the hallway. "My assistant is on her way. She's going to work at my desk. My plans have changed a little. I'm still going out of town. I'm packing," he explained.
"You want me to get lost?" Mia guessed.
"Or stick around, and you can drive me to the airport and have dinner with me. I'm starving," Oliver admitted.
Her expression cleared. "Yeah, I can do that," she nodded. "Go on, and pack."
He pulled his garment bag and a suitcase out of the hall closet. "Keep me on time. I need to be on the road by 7:15," he said.
Mia nodded. "Got it," she unwound a colorful scarf and took off her jacket to hang up.
When Julia arrived, he heard the low murmur of their voices, and went back to throwing together toiletries. He laid out his clothes on the bed as he pulled them, which helped for making sure that he had everything before he started packing.
"Ollie!" Mia called out. "Your cellphone is ringing. It's your ex-girlfriend's boyfriend."
He walked out to the top of the hallway. "Go long," he said.
Mia laughed, and threw him the phone. He caught it and answered. "Clark. What's up?"
"Checking in," Clark said. "Are you patrolling tonight?"
"Nope. I'm flying out tonight. Chloe has my schedule," he said, which Clark would know if he was talking to Chloe. He shook his head. "I'll be gone for a couple of days, back very briefly, and then gone again," he said.
"Is everything okay?" Clark asked.
"Yeah, it's just business," Oliver said without elaborating. "Let's do something when I get back," he added as he scanned the items spread out over the bed, trying to figure out what his brain was warning him was missing.
Socks. He nodded to himself. "Anything up with you?"
"No," Clark said, and then practically tripped over himself to rush into, "Valentine's Day is coming up. Lois says that she doesn't observe V-day, but I think if I don't do something—"
"No," Oliver interrupted. "Don't second guess that one. A woman that calls Valentine's day V-day is not testing you."
He heard Clark sigh on the other end, and smiled. Poor guy. He really wanted the big sappy Valentine's Day, which led to the next amusing thought: Clark was the woman in the Lois and Clark relationship.
Oliver kept that to himself. "Anything else? I'm a little busy, but I've always got time to be your Ask Aggie," he said, referring to the popular advice column the Daily Planet ran that was handled by a revolving cast of interns lodged next to the mail room. Aggie was an enormous Himalayan rescue cat that roamed the Daily Planet, and was the eighth cat to bear the name since the column was created in the mid-eighties.
The interns were required to write from the perspective of the cat, and it was a weirdly popular, hugely competitive gig at the paper. Lois loved mocking the cat/ghost writers.
"Not even flowers? Candy? Just ignore it?" Clark sounded disappointed.
"Buck up, man. It's Lois. Get her a six pack and a well done extra-large extra cheese pizza, and you're golden."
Clark laughed. "Before Lois I had no idea that there was such a thing is well done cheese. Okay. You're right," he conceded. "Call me when you get back."
"Aren't you number five or six on my speed dial?" Oliver retorted. "Hey, keep in touch with Chloe. She knows where everyone is, and if you don't tell her, she's going to figure it out anyway, and then it is just awkward."
"What are you saying Oliver?"
"I said what I'm saying, Clark," Jerk. Oliver shook his head. "Take care, man."
"I heard that—" Oliver hung up before Clark could finish telling him that he could hear his lips moving.
"That guy," he muttered. He didn't want to fly in a suit, so he changed clothes and added workout clothes, a shirt, and an extra pair of jeans to his bag before he closed it.
He was pulling his baggage down the hallway when he heard Mia and Julia talking, and paused to eavesdrop. "Look! Wine glass, with lipstick. Then, Ollie doesn't make coffee for himself, and there is two cups, no lipstick—"
"Ergo . . ."
"Aw!" Mia mocked Julia's 'ergo'. "No lippy means it all got kissed off," she said sweetly. "We should start a pool on Oliver's mystery date," she said.
"Hey!" Oliver protested. "What the hell, Mia?"
She spun around with a guiltless expression. "Tell me that it's not your ex-girlfriend, because she's just a heat wave and blast of humidity away from big southern hair. And you are friends with her current boyfriend. In girl-code, that's . . ."
Mia looked over at Julia. "Yeah, I just got there, too," Julia said. "No offense, but your friend is kind of a skanky jerk-face."
"I prefer to think he's socially challenged, or an alien unaccustomed to our strange earth ways," Oliver told Julia while enjoying the inside joke.
"I put your dishes in the dishwasher, took out the trash, and put your sheets in the dryer," Mia enumerated. "And then I got an idea," she mimed a thought bubble exploding out of her head. "I could clean houses for people who can't pick up after themselves."
"And feed pets, walk dogs, re-stock refrigerators, run the cars through the car wash," Julia ticked off before Oliver could argue that he did pick up after himself. "It's not a bad idea," she spun around in Oliver's desk chair. "She'd need to be bonded, but we could get some word of mouth going at work."
Oliver looked from Julia to Mia, and shrugged when Julia spun back around. "You should make a flyer and give it to Oliver's doorman," she said.
Mia's eyebrows rose when Julia threw her hands up. "Genius idea. No applause necessary. I'll help you with the flyer. Wear something a little less illegal street racing, and we'll borrow my roommate's dog for a candid dog walking photo. Little bag of groceries, dog," she pointed at Mia. "You should put your hair up in a ponytail. So, so cute!" She turned back to Oliver. "I just updated your calendar. Your plane is fueling. Wheels up at 8:30. I told them that you are starving and to expect you to arrive at the last minute."
Mia gave him a questioning look and a head tilt in Julia's direction.
Oliver's head dropped. "No, Mia. I'm not dating my assistant. That's a rookie move."
Julia grinned, looking over at Mia. "I have a boyfriend," she added helpfully. "He's a law student with an engineering degree at Met U. And he's cute. Plays softball. Likes model trains a bit too much, but as nerdy hobbies go, that's okay. At least it isn't comic books or video games."
"You are like my new best friend," Mia marveled. "This morning I thought you were bitchy and on the rag."
Oliver looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head.
Julia nodded. "I bought cool but wholesome clothes for you on my first day, and surprise! That turned out so much better than I thought it would."
Oliver dialed Chloe while they bonded over managing the weirdness associated with him. As if he was the one who was weird, or they managed anything. Kids!
"Ollie?"
"Hi," he said. "Are you still tied up?"
"Just finishing. Do you need a ride to the airport?"
"I think I do," he said, ready to let Mia and Julia carry on with their bonding. "And I'm starving. I'll pick you up in ten minutes?"
He looked up to see Mia and Julia watching him. Mia, with transparent interest, and Julia with a sympathetic smile. He was being pretty obvious. "You know what? I don't need you to take me to the airport, I just want to spend some time with you before I leave," he said. "Is that okay?"
"I'll order in," Chloe said.
"Great," he said as Mia patted her heart and gave him her 'aw' face.
Julia got his briefcase for him as he hung up, handing it to Mia. "Laptop and charger in the briefcase. There is a benefit at the Gotham City Observatory tonight. I've got a friend in the development office, and he's going to text me if Wayne is there. He'll get you in without any attention. He says suit and tie is fine. You are staying at the Grand Gotham, which is widely known to be a terrible booking. It's under renovation and notorious for bedbugs. I don't have friends that would let me stay there—"
Oliver started laughing. "That's good."
"If you do have friends that would let you stay there, text me with the 911 and I'll get you a better place. When you get to New York, you'll be at Morgans."
Mia took the briefcase. "I can be helpful," she said. "So, now that Jules and I are besties, we're going to order pizza, and put together that flyer. You could have stayed," she said as she hit the call button. "When you get back, I'll have an order form, but just because it is you, Ollie, I'll throw out your moldy food and sour milk for free—this time."
Oliver and Julia exchanged glances.
"Don't call me Jules," she said.
"Got it," he joined Mia on the elevator.
She waited until the door closed, and then gave him an expectant look. "What am I supposed to think when you don't want me to know about your girlfriend?"
He looked down at his shoes for a long moment. "You could think that it isn't something that you and I are going to talk about," he said mildly. "Because she and I haven't decided what it is, and that means questions aren't welcome and well wishes are premature."
Mia's eyes narrowed. "You like her. A lot."
The odd thing was that he didn't want Mia to think that he didn't like 'her' a lot. He wasn't sure why that was the case, but it might have more to do with Mia, and his brand new discomfort with being the kind of jackass that had meaningless sex with women he really didn't want to bring home.
He was also reminded of Carter Hall, telling him that he was a jackass because he didn't let people know what they meant to him. It applied here. He really hated that guy, and he wasn't really crazy about the guy Carter implied that he was.
"You have people in your life, and sometimes you don't pay enough attention to them. They are just there, and you can't imagine what you'd do without them because it's become unthinkable that they wouldn't be there."
Mia frowned. The elevator opened to the parking garage. "What does that mean?"
Oliver got his keys out. "Exactly," he said as he unlocked the trunk. "I've been in love twice, and that would not have described either of those women."
"Huh," Mia shook her head. "Yeah, that's something to think about. Try not to hurt yourself."
He put his suitcase in and laid his garment bag over it, filling the trunk of his Jaguar C-X75. Mia handed him his briefcase while giving the car a look that would have melted stone.
"Do you need a moment alone?" Oliver deadpanned after he shut the trunk.
"Nooo," Mia used her elbow to rub out a smudge on the lid. "She's a sexy, classy hybrid little darling," she said. "The cornering—"
Oliver nodded. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he sighed. "While you are getting acquainted with your new BFF, her boyfriend is probably going to end up being a patent lawyer, and I'd guess he's aimed at Detroit, so future career path? Engineering, law school, own one of these before you are thirty."
She snapped her fingers, pointing at him. "It's that or a life of crime." She waved, backing away to the elevator, miming 'call me', and something else Oliver wasn't able to decipher as he got in and started the engine.
He parked in the garage behind the Watchtower building in a space he rented for his own use, and headed up to see Chloe, feeling ridiculously happy about the prospect of seeing her and eating take out.
He felt better about feeling ridiculously happy when he came through the doors and she did a bouncy little thing behind her favorite work station, flashing a dazzling smile his way.
Oh, thank you Jesus, it's not just me, he thought.
"The food just got here!" she exclaimed. "Canary, are we done? Arrow is here."
Dinah's voice came over the speakers. "Yeah, let's call it a wrap and let me know what we've got later. Canary out."
Watchtower's computerized voice announced that Canary was offline.
She was wearing a cute little top in a print with cherries, a red cardigan and jeans, and a pretty, glossy red lipstick that went with the idea of cherries perfectly. He caught her around the waist. "This was a terrible idea," he said. "Now I don't want to get on a plane."
She met his eyes after a moment of close attention to the open neck of his shirt. "Hi," she said.
"Hey, Sullivan," he waited for her eyelashes to sweep down, before he followed with a slow kiss.
"How long are you going to be gone?"
His hands framed her waist, feeling her lean into him as her arms went around his neck. How had he not seen how irresistible she was? He kissed her again, tasting the residue of sweet milky bitter coffee while he absorbed the whole body impression of her smaller frame. He smelled spring rolls, and his stomach growled.
"Couch?" she said when their lips parted.
He grinned. Spring rolls and sex. He was living right. He shook his head. "Desk," he countered, following the waistband of her jeans to the front to pop the button. "Trust me," he said, backing her up to the desk, scanning visually over her shoulder for breakable objects. She was pretty neat about her things, fortunately.
"Don't throw my clothes around," she warned, slipping out of her cardigan, and turning sideways while he pulled her shoes off to reach for a keyboard.
"Right, like that was all me," he retorted as he unbuttoned her jeans at the waist and slid the zipper down.
The monitors flickered and went to sleep mode. The system would receive messages and alerts, but it would require authentication from Chloe inside Watchtower to open a link from the outside. Oliver tugged her jeans down, taking her panties with them.
Then it was just a matter of freeing himself from his pants and helping her remove his shirt.
"You know how you were really opposed to the idea of having sex here because I work here and it could get awkward?"
"I'm an idiot. Why do you listen to me? I'll have sex with you anywhere you want," he said, pulling her toward him so he could untie her halter top.
Her head fell back. "Oh . . ." she nodded. "Yeah, I think that works for me too. Except, next time, we need to put the elevator on lock down."
"Right," he agreed, kissing her throat as she took matters in hand, guiding him to her.
He should have known that he was pushing his luck. They had had sex three times in the last twenty-four hours.
"Don't freak out," Chloe began.
"Okay . . ."
She reached over and snagged a picture frame, moving it away from the edge just as he realized that it was Jimmy and Chloe's engagement picture. It had been on her desk for months, and he paid no attention to it.
She looked at it for a long moment, before setting it down, facedown, on her blotter. "I'm okay," she said, peering at him. "Still with me, Ollie? Are you okay?"
She was evil. Was he okay? She had her hand wrapped around his cock and she was rubbing him against everything he wanted to touch, and taste, and lose himself inside of. It wasn't like he had been married to Jimmy. He barely started to warm up to the idea that Jimmy was someone he might want to know before he was killed. Oliver was totally prepared to start finding him annoying if he messed this up for him.
"Uh-huh," he grunted. "If you keep that up, I guarantee that I'm not going to over think it," he managed to say.
She shifted around, changing the angle, working the head of his cock against her clit like he was her own personal massager.
Her eyes got heavy lidded and her breasts heaved as she squirmed, trying to find a better balance on the desk.
He ran his hands over her legs, guiding her a little, but letting her take the lead, gritting his teeth when she guided him into her, and then blocked him with her grip on his shaft, then starting all over again at the top. Multicolored late afternoon sunlight from the stained glass windows painted her pale skin in a wash of pretty water-colored light.
"Let go," he urged. "Come on, Chloe, just let go."
Through the haze of lust, he saw a spark of mischief in the double meaning. "Ollie, I'm not as inhibited as you think."
He hooked his arms under her knees and pulled her to the edge of the desk. "Yeah, I'm all caught up on your hidden sex kitten, cock tease side," he said. "Let me in, Chloe."
She arched her back, and he started to slip inside of her again, but her hand was still preventing him from going further than a few inches. She traded his support under her legs for locking her ankles behind him as he bent over her to get at her breasts, and her throat, and her mouth.
"I really want this," she moaned as he slid his hand under her neck.
"Let go," he demanded, thrusting into the shallow depth that her hand left to him. "Come on, baby. You want all of it, inside you . . . deep . . . hard," he was a little unnerved by how much he wanted to make her lose it completely. "You just need a good, hard, fuck, don't you?"
"Ollie," her grip relaxed and he had her hand free and his fingers laced through his faster than the thought fully formed.
He pinned her hand down to the desk and fucked her, hard, hanging on by a thread as she drove him crazy with her little whimpering moans and her hard little fingernails scratching his skin. The legs of the desk barked as their bodies came together, again and again. "Next time, you're going to be the one bent over," he panted. "Right here, on this desk—"
She was tightening around him, her free arm around his neck. "I'm going to come," she whimpered.
"Damn straight," he gritted out. "Now," he urged.
The hard little convulsive roll of her hips did him in. He held on for a few more strokes while she clenched around him and then he was right there with her.
"What we really need around here is another desk. For guests. Or for emergencies," Oliver said, and he only sounded a little testosterone addled.
Chloe's nose scrunched up. "There's something stuck to my back."
Oliver checked. "Post it note," he announced with manic cheer. He read the note, frowning. "It's a bunch of numbers and dates," he said.
Chloe snatched it out of his hand. "It's . . ." she waved the note impatiently. "It's . . ."
He just shook his head at her flailing. "It's one of your top secret projects," he guessed. "You'd tell me, but you'd have to kill me, or have me kidnapped and stuffed in a pine box—oh wait," he pointed at her. "We've done that one."
Her post coital glow was red-faced and sweaty, and it was sexy as hell. She frowned at him. "You are never going to let it go, are you?" she complained.
"If I kidnapped you and stuffed you in a pine box, would you let it go?" he countered.
She made a face and tilted her head. "Been there, done that," she admitted. "Wow. You really are bucking for sainthood with the Zen-like calm and forbearance," she marveled as he handed her the cardigan that she had been wearing earlier. "Panties?" she asked hopefully.
He held up a plain white cotton pair. "Let me guess. Because white cotton and blue jeans are a classic."
Her eyes sparkled with laughter. "Great minds, huh?"
She snatched her underwear out of his hand and shooed him off. "Go to the kitchen and get paper towels. This is going to be messy," she predicted with dour humor.
He brought the whole roll of paper towels back and the carton of spring rolls. "Ollie? Don't eat all the spring rolls," she warned as she tore off a couple of sheets like she was getting ready to mop up a major spill.
He rolled his eyes. "It's barely two tablespoons of—" he caught her horrified look, and rolled his eyes, "What?"
"Don't call it something gross."
"Seminal fluid?"
She made a face.
"Starts with 's' and rhymes with junk?"
She shook her head. "Ew! No. I don't like that one either."
He took another bite out of a spring roll. "Interesting," he said as she finished cleaning herself and the desk off before slipping back into her panties. "You don't fuck like a prissy girl." His eyes widened at her expression. "What?" he teased.
She waived her hand under her nose. "The smell of testosterone is getting a little thick."
Chloe disposed of the paper towels and helped him collect the rest of their dinner from the kitchen counter. He pulled a beer out of the refrigerator for himself before asking her what she wanted to drink.
They ate out of the containers at the couch. "Maybe I should get a table," Chloe said, looking around at the space around them for a place to put it.
"By the kitchen, in the corner," Oliver said. "Get Bart on it," he suggested. "He's been dating this girl in Keystone with a booth at a flea market."
Chloe looked surprised. "How do you know that?"
Oliver shrugged. "We've been getting caught up. What's going on between the two of you?" he asked.
Chloe shook her head. "I don't know," she hedged. She had an idea of what was wrong, but she wasn't going to go into the details. "He's been . . . distant," she said. That had started around the time that her marriage started to fall apart. His blatant flirting had become a little strained. He had been at the funeral. She remembered that, but then he was gone, and it had taken her longer to figure out that he was avoiding her than it should have since it was more or less the universal reaction.
"I guess, he's disappointed with me," she said, accepting it. She looked at him. "It could be bigger than retail therapy."
"Or maybe it isn't you at all," he said.
She gave him a long look.
"Okay," he agreed. "But, a friend of mine," he tilted his head towards her, "got me thinking that the way you get back to what you want to be is to just do it every day until one day . . ."
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Let me guess? Lois?"
"Yeah. She'd make a great coach. She does a good pep talk, and she isn't shy about talking smack and occasionally following it up with a well-timed punch."
It wasn't the most obvious thing about Lois, but true, and Chloe found herself nodding. "I need to learn how to punch people without getting my ass handed to me."
He smiled. "You should train with Mia."
Her expression was a little iffy on that. He guessed that it was the training part.
"Fine. I'll call Bart."
"Did you taste this?" he fed her a piece of the shrimp in coconut breading. "I can't believe how hungry I am."
She was reaching for a spring roll and he wanted to snatch it back.
"Aren't you going to be late?"
"I'm going to Gotham. My calendar is all re-arranged. You should probably look at it again," he said. "I have to go scare up some money," he rolled his eyes. "It's complicated, but I did get Tess to agree to cut a construction shift for the RAO Tower, so we've got a little more time."
"Ollie—"
"I know—are you going to eat that?" he asked.
She bit into the spring roll.
"That was the last one?"
He got another head tilt.
"It sounds crazy, but the board approved the project, so it's a fiduciary responsibility. I have to deal with the money, even though I want to kill the project. Is that really the last spring roll?"
Chloe laughed and got up on her knees on the couch to feed him the rest of it. Her jeans and top were still on the floor, so it was just Chloe in her panties and cardigan. He hugged her, rubbing her bare legs. "Best take out ever," he said. "Did you try the spicy chicken?"
"Too hot," she made a face. "Oliver?"
"I know. I'm going to have a few more bites, and then—" he kissed the corner of her mouth, "yeah, I've got to go."
"Do you want to take some of this with you? You've got a microwave on board don't you?"
"I'm going to a cocktail party when I get to Gotham, so I'll have little pigs in blankets and tiny corn to snack on."
"Question?" she dragged one leg over his, sitting lightly on his thighs.
"Yes," he nodded. "It's the answer to all questions that start with you half naked, on my lap." He waved her on. "Hit me."
"Do you think that you are going to want to do this again when you get back?" she asked. Before he could answer, she pressed her fingers against his lips. "Keeping in mind that I remain emotionally and romantically unavailable," her nose wrinkled. "You can do better, Ollie."
He pulled her fingers away from his mouth. "No TOS? Or product safety warning?" he teased, playing with her fingers. Stalling. He shook his head. "You are talking about more than a couple of days from now, Chloe," he pointed out.
"I'm living pretty day to day," she said, avoiding his eyes.
Under the surface, she looked a little tired. When he came back, he thought the thing that was different about her was the wariness that made her look like she was always on the verge of pulling back. Since then, he caught hints of how exhausting and joyless her life had become. It used to be easier to hurt her feelings or disappoint her, and now, not so much. He thought she was just hiding it better at first, and then he realized that things that would have bothered her a year ago just slid off her new, scary coating of emotional Teflon.
"I have no expectations other than that you will continue to be an important part of my life and work for the foreseeable future," he drew her closer, turning to lay her on her back, across the seat of the couch. "I've seen you smile and heard you laugh more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in a year, and I kind of feel like I took out a 33.1 facility single-handed, so . . . I'm looking forward to a couple of days from now."
Her eyes filled suddenly, and she looked away, bringing their joined fingers to her lips. He kissed her cheek and leered at her breasts until she got over her moment and elbowed him. "Since I actually have feelings that might get hurt, if you decide that you've had enough fun, you should lie and tell me that you are a lesbian. Pictures would help sell it," he teased. "Get Canary or Zatana to help out."
Chloe grabbed a throw pillow and started hitting him with it while laughing. "Go!" she shooed him.
He managed to steal a kiss first before hoping up while Chloe started throwing pillows at him. "Going. Jesus. So violent," he muttered. "I'll probably get an email telling me that my limited access fun pass is revoked."
Chloe snorted. "I almost want to steal that," she admitted. "Don't you dare drunk call me at two in the morning, Oliver. I'm sleeping in my bed in Smallville, and you'll wake Lois up."
He checked his watch. It was 8:15. He might actually make it to the airport on time-ish. Within ten minutes, which was pretty much on time when you were the guy paying for the jet fuel.
He did a last minute check at the door to make sure that he had his phone, wallet, and everything was zipped and buttoned correctly. He looked around at the mess they made. "Chloe. This place looks like hell. Do something about it, okay?" he said with a smug grin as he walked out the door.