Life Support

The second time it happens, he’s trying to burn some steam working out and lifting weights. He was pissed off at a lot of things, different events and circumstances that just didn’t seem to be going in his favor lately. Things hadn’t turned out the way he had wanted from the meeting in Gotham. And to make matters worse, the shareholders meeting in Star City had kept him from Metropolis two weeks longer than he had intended.

But the main root of his anger was Chloe Sullivan.

When he had awoken (about an hour or two after they had destroyed his kitchen), he reached his arm out for her; for a second round of the best sex either of them have ever had, and it was then that Oliver Queen had realized two things. One, Chloe was not beside him—she was gone. And two, his door, that was open during their spontaneous sex, that had remained open when he had passed out beside her earlier, was closed.

He last saw her gasping for air on his floor before drifting to sleep, and since then she had successfully avoided every one of his phone calls and ignored even the short and familiar e-mails.

Oliver was frustrated. He understood that she might not want to talk about it—she hadn’t said much that night that led him to believe she would want to talk at all. And it’s not as if Oliver wasn’t use to one-night stands—granted he was usually using one instead of being one.

But when he hadn’t heard anything, not even a simple change of topic e-mail, he knew things were now going to be awkward between them, the last thing he wanted.

He wondered if the team would notice.

During their meeting two days ago, he was almost sure Clark knew, as if his x-ray vision was some kind of black-light and could see the visible awkwardness between Chloe and himself that just screamed: “sex.”

But Chloe carried on as if nothing had happened. At first, that made it more awkward for him, because he was the only one feeling weird about everything.

Then he was relieved. Their friendship could go on as if the whole thing had never happened. As if she hadn’t strolled into his apartment and seduced him, leading him to bending her back against his counter and having the hottest spontaneous sex he’s ever had the pleasure of.

Then he was pissed. How could she act like nothing happened after sex like that? She shouldn’t have been able to move from the floor, let alone sneak out quietly without waking him.

She couldn’t try and pass it all of as him being delusional, or dreaming—because he still had the cuts on his back to prove it had happened, and he would bet his company, she had almost identical matching wounds. And he was willing to lift her shirt in front of the JL if she tried to deny it.

Needless to say, every thing had resulted in him presently obtaining the training room—and he had been in there for almost three hours now, lifting weights, doing crunches, push-ups—the works. The perspiration that slid, glistening his tan skin was evidence of his hard work ethic, and as far as he was concerned, he was still furious, so he wasn’t close to being done.

Between the music, and the vein throbbing in his head, he wasn’t aware of anyone else until the footsteps sounded beside him. Oliver glanced up from his seated position, pausing in mid-crunch to see the blond woman currently responsible for his fuming emotions, standing over him.

She was in the same sweat pants and hoodie she had appeared in at his penthouse over two weeks ago. And his gut was telling him that she probably wasn’t wearing any undergarments again. He tried to ignore the drool welling in his mouth at the thought.

After all, he was still pissed that she had left him naked and alone, on his kitchen floor. He wrung his arms around his knees, as he stayed seated on the floor, casting a glare up in her direction.

They were going to discuss this—what happened between them. And she was going to get a mouthful from him for sure.

He opened his mouth to give her a piece of his mind—and her black sweat pants fell, leaving her smooth legs bare as the dark fabric pooled around her ankles.

Or not.

Oliver felt his mouth almost drop, and without realizing it, he licked his lips as he studied her creamy toned stems. He didn’t know if he should dare himself to see if she was wearing undergarments this time. He wasn’t sure how to react if she wasn’t.

The gray hoodie fell to the side of the pants, and she stepped out from around them, lowing herself to his level.

Oliver leaned back, slightly startled—first time that had ever happened when a naked girl approached him.

He tried to keep his eyes on her face, to figure out what Chloe was doing or feeling, and why. But Chloe’s expression was vague; her green eyes a darker shade than he had ever seen them. They rivaled the leather he dawned in the dark of the night in the name of justice, and they were less transparent than when she normally let her emotions shine through, almost as if these eyes were masking an emotion, a secret identity not ready to be exposed.

Her hands cupped his bare shoulders and she steadied herself to sit on his lap.

“Chloe—”

Her perky nipples brushed against the sleek, naked flesh of his chest as she leaned in and captured his lips and Oliver could only groan in appreciation.

Superman’s weakness was kryptonite.

Oliver Queen’s “Achilles' heel” happened to be sex with women.

Her fingers spread over the hard skin of his chiseled chest and up his shoulders, resulting in small jolts of shivers from his sensitive skin. Chloe shoved him hard, sending his back colliding against the wall behind him, while she hoisted herself above his lap, eager hands dipping low, passed the waistband of his pants.

Her supple lips don’t break contact from his once, while she completely unhinges him from his body. Oliver believes this is an out-of-body experience. Because while he can feel Chloe’s hands, her lips, her breasts brushing against his chest with every breath she intakes, and every push and move she makes, and he knows that all of that is in fact real—at the same time it’s like she’s hitting him with another three-ton truck, pushing him over the ledge just to pull him back again.

She doesn’t kiss like the reporter he knows—like how he would have thought modest Watchtower kissed. She doesn’t kiss like any woman he’s ever known either—she’s everywhere. Like he’s her favorite Almond-mocha latte and she needs her taste buds to be drenched in his existence, swallowing every last drop of him.

He gulps, suddenly picturing the devotion of her mouth placed on his erection, and he swears he almost swallowed her tongue. With a forceful nudge, she sends him smacking his head against the wall, and he’s about to apologize for his carelessness when she lowers herself onto him, enveloping him in a hot, slick path that he swears he could call sanctuary.

Oliver’s eyes flutter closed, and he moans in response, overly pleased with her actions. And while he’s not use to the woman dominating, and taking action in the bedroom (even though, so far, he and Chloe had yet to make it to one), he’s enjoying the benefits immensely.

Chloe’s hands are back on his shoulders for support. Her thighs tighten, her knees cornering into his hips as she steadies herself while straddling him. He feels her breathe, her chest pushing against his again, rather than hears her inhale, and she lifts her hips slowly, drawing a slow breath from him as she does.

She slid back down on him as if she was in slow motion, and Oliver hissed in response, his eyes springing open.

Her leisurely methods are too slow for him, as if she’s trying to torture him for information, and he’s too aware they’re not touching enough.

Pushing up to meet her hips, he collides into her in a way he’s sure he didn’t remember correctly—because he seriously underrated their sex before.

She gasps at his sharp thrust, and her hips lift up, hovering and shaking. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her so tightly against his body, he can’t tell where he ends and she begins.

One hand steady on her lower back to keep her still, his other hand glides up the spine of her silky smooth back, tenderly, skimming back down and repeating the action, causing her to quiver against him, shaking him from her inside and out.

His brows furrow for a moment as he realizes she’s not sporting his matching battle-scars from their last session.

Before he can dwell on the thought however, Chloe arches into him, the friction of their bodies pressing together, burying him into a side, an angle of Chloe he had yet to explore.

An incoherent murmur escapes her lips, and before he can decipher whether it was from pleasure or pain, the back of the brick wall is jutting into his bare skin as he sits smothered between it and Chloe.

Her lips are more feverish than when they last brushed his, and he’s holding in the air in his burning lungs just to keep up with her.

She plants her hands on each side of him, trapping him and clutching the brick wall for leverage as she pulls herself up. Her hot passage gripping him up, until only his tip remains inside of her.

Oliver blinked, trying to acknowledge the sensation rippling through his body, from his skin to his inner and core muscles. And he feels himself gulp with anticipation for her next movement.

Instead of sheathing him once more, she flicks her hips, and his head falls on her shoulder.

“Damn it, Chloe,” he curses through gritted teeth.

She only responds by rotating her waist slightly, causing him to take a sharp intake of air.

He whisks one hand up the nape of her neck, and through her soft hair, gripping her by the flaxen locks as if holding onto her like this is the only way to remain sane while she tortures him with another slow grind. Her breath hitches by his ear as she lowers down on him again, the hot heat over his ear, tensing him.

Oliver tugs on her hair using one-tenth of his strength, pulling her head back and exposing her neck to him. He leans in, touching his lips to her throat, a rapid pulse right below his mouth. The beat only makes him want to devour her more, and he grazes his lips straight down, right in the valley in between her breasts, darting his tongue out to appreciatively sample her.

The unexpected action causes her to jump, her muscles tightening and squeezing him. His head drops to her shoulder, and he hears a moan croak out, but he can’t tell if its his, or hers, or both.

Using the wall beneath her palms again for leverage, Chloe started to increase her pace, all the while constricting her lower muscles each time he’s fully inside her.

Oliver hissed, and spread his fingers along the smooth skin of her hips to try and steady her rhythm, kneading her skin under his fingertips with slight pressure as he pulled her against him. Chloe pushes herself down on him in response, gyrating her hips.

Squeezing her body tightly against his, he thrusts upwards, almost in complete fulfillment at the feeling of their skin, sweaty from the friction, crashing against the others.

“Oliver,” she moans his name like a warning, and for the first time all night, he realizes how long he’s been waiting for her to utter his name, and it’s just the motivation he needs to anxiously pound up into her even harder than before.

Her breathing’s coming in shorter gasps, completely uneven as she’s coming undone herself, and as Oliver continues to meet her hips with as much fury as the last. He feels like it’s his first surf lesson in his favorite vacation spot, all over again. Riding against Chloe was like riding against the waves.

Each crash against her left him with more adrenaline and determination, and somehow thirsty for more. When her waves of passion collapsed over him, swallowing and drowning him in something that would definitely change his life after he caught his breath. She clings to him the way he would cling to his surfboard—determined not to go under, as their bodies’ rock against each other’s. But as she shook in his arms, he knew they both already had, and he felt himself give in completely.

A low shudder passed through his own body, and Oliver felt Chloe’s body slack into his, her arms falling from the wall and down at his side as she tried regain her breath.

He pulls back, and Chloe cranks her neck back to look up at him. Her green eyes wide and still dark, and Oliver swears she’s about to say something about what’s transpired between them, maybe the why of it.

But instead of an explanation she breaks from his gaze, and lowers her eyes to fixate on the corner of the room.

Without a second thought, he throws her down on the gym mat a few feet in front of them, sending her lying naked, flat on her back, a stunned look on her face.

Before she can move, Oliver kicks off his sweat pants and sends his green boxer-briefs off from him, and somewhere in the training room instead. Lowering himself down to her, his hands grasp her hips with insistence and he pulls her forward, just letting his already hard again, length press against her slick entrance in both a teasing and foreshadowed manner.

“Round two, sidekick,” He says while flashing a smirk at her.

Even though he’s pretty sure it’s technically round three for them total. Regardless, Oliver’s always preferred it when his sports went into overtime, so he’s not counting on round two, or three to be their last.

He had possibly exhausted himself too much—after their third time that night, Oliver doesn’t remember much afterwards. He can recall all the ways she gasped and moaned, the way her hips would accommodate him, the feeling of her shaking with another orgasm in his arms… But he doesn’t remember falling asleep.

There’s a loud cough that disturbs his ear, and he wonders if maybe they should move off the floor so she doesn’t catch cold.

“Dude,” a baritone voice breaks.

Oliver’s eyes shoot open, and he immediately turns to his side, reaching out, trying to find Chloe to cover her form, and once again, he comes up empty handed. Just as before, she’s re-demonstrated her disappearing act, leaving him naked on the floor—This time for others to find.

To his humiliation, he's completely exposed to his teammate's eyes, though now Victor and AC are avoiding his gaze.

Thankfully, neither Clark nor Dinah were present.

He extends his arm, hurriedly reaching for his discarded sweat pants that are a few feet from him. And pushing himself up, off the gym mat that sticks to his skin awkwardly, he tries as best as he can to shield himself from further embarrassment, while he feels his skin flush at his mortification.

“So… Um, boss-man,” Bart’s eyes shift uncomfortably over Oliver. “Do you always sleep in the training room… Naked?”

Oliver cast a glare in his direction as he stepped into his pants, but the warning goes unread.

“Who knew you could be so freaky… ”

The corner of Oliver’s lip quirked, “I’m not freaky.” Oliver frowned, “And trust me, people will surprise you.”

However, as far as Oliver Queen was concerned he was done with surprises. He was going to find Chloe, and this time, he wasn’t getting left naked on the floor with no answers.

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville, nor do I claim to own any other characters therefore owned by DC comics.