Hey! I know some of you were hoping for a "The way back home"-sequel, and I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I just had this idea when I read the first chapter of bri617's story "Love Is A Kind Of Warfare" and I couldn't get it out of my head. So, thanks to Bri for that. ;-) (Even though, this story is nothing like hers, I just want you to know who's ultimately to blame.)
Before we get started, a few words of "warning": If you're looking for a quick Olicity-fix, I'm sorry to say this story might not be your thing. It is turning out to be an even bigger project than I believed it to be when I started writing and there's nothing quick about it. Since this story is far from being done, I will most likely not update multiple times a week like you're used to, even though I'll start by posting two chapters. It's just that the prologue differs so much from the actual story that I felt like putting both out there at once. And I promise: I will update regularly.
Please note that I chose the rating, because the story involves mature content in various forms.
I do not own the Arrow and intend no copyright infringement.
This story is dedicated to Albiona. She is the most amazing person and the only reason I'm posting the story. I hated the fic after a few chapters and was ready to give up on it, but her input and encouragement made me enjoy it again. Her feedback means the world to me and I am thankful for all the time and effort she invested in my writing. All my love.
Okay, more than enough said. I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think.
August 27th, 2007
The sexy secretary thing she had going on was such a turn-on. Hungrily his eyes slipped over her. The sight she presented him really shouldn't excite him as much as it did. There was no cleavage visible, basically no naked skin, no ass tightly cupped by skinny jeans. Instead, he saw a black pencil skirt and a pink blouse that was neatly buttoned up. Still, the idea to peel those good girl clothes away, sliding the zipper of her skirt down and letting it drop to the floor, the mental image of opening her blouse button by button, made him harden. The thought of opening the low ponytail that was tightly tugging back her hair and tangling his hands in her brown locks while he kissed her senseless, the imaginary vision of her looking up at him over her glasses while she went down on her knees and closed her lips around him made him just want to grab her right here and right now.
He wanted to do bad things to this good girl.
Instead, he forced his eyes away from her full lips to settle on her eyes. They were a little unfocused behind her glasses. He had to give her that – she had downed those shots like a pro; there must be a wild side to her. He wanted to explore that, wanted to explore her.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, that's your cue."
He left the imagery he had created for himself and blinked stupidly. "What?"
His question was answered with drunken laughter. A male chuckle came from behind him and he knew that was his best friend, Tommy Merlyn. His chuckle mixed with the female giggling of the girls in front of him, but there was also a deep and heavy sigh by the man who stood on his left. In the next moment that man cleared his throat and stated, "I said: Do you, Oliver Jonas Queen, take this woman to be your wife? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only onto her?"
Oh, yeah, right. Oliver straightened up a little, placing his eyes on the girl standing opposite of him, smirked and said, "I do."
This time there was hooting coming from behind him. Tommy, the best man, patted his shoulder again. Of course he approved. The whole thing had been his idea.
The minister – who, of course, wasn't really a minister, but only some dude wearing the cheapest suit Oliver had ever seen….Seriously, not even his driver would be caught in anything like that. Anyway, that cheap suit now turned to the brunette that had captured Oliver's dirty fantasy about four hours ago. "And do you, Felicity Meghan Smoak, take this man to be your husband? Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only onto him?"
Amusement made her eyes shine as she said, "I do."
Exaggeratedly, Oliver raised his fist in a victorious gesture, before he pointed his index finger at her, "Correctest answer to anything ever!"
He smirked, not caring that his grammar was swimming in a sea of Vodka-Red Bull and that his words were slurred by the Tequila he had added for the simple fact that it had given him the opportunity to make her lick his finger clean of salt. He saw Felicity, the girl he had just married for the sake of a wedding-night, laugh and it only broadened his grin. He placed his attention back on the cheaply-suited chapel employee, "Are we at the kissing part yet?"
"By the authority invested in me by the state of Nevada, I declare you husband and wife. Congratulations. You may now kiss your bride."
"Boo-YA!" That was Tommy.
Oliver didn't need to be told that twice, he reached for Felicity's face and pulled her to him. His lips crashed on hers and he opened his mouth instantly, kissing her deeply and demandingly. Oh fuck, she tasted so good. She felt good. She brought her arms around him and closed the gap between them. Her body aligned to his perfectly, adding friction where he needed it, but not enough, not as much as he wanted. Right then he knew that he had done the perfectly right thing to follow Tommy's suggestion.
"Wow," that was the maid of honor, the red-headed friend of Felicity whose name Oliver hadn't even tried to remember, because she really didn't matter in this scenario. She was nothing but Tommy's lay of the night. "Mr. and Mrs. Queen, get a fucking room!"
That caused Oliver to break the kiss. "Yes," he breathed, "let's do that."
August 28th, 2007
It's all fun and games until you wake up hung over and married to a stranger.
Yesterday, Tommy's suggestion had made perfect sense. Since Felicity had claimed to not be the type of girl to just take any guy home, it had been the logical conclusion that he needed to propose to prove that he wasn't just any guy. When he had been wasted, that had been the smartest solution to a problem in, like, ever.
Of course, Oliver's brain had been in his pants by then.
What exactly Felicity's excuse for agreeing was for all of this, he wasn't exactly sure. But as he now glanced around her room (her childhood bedroom actually), he guessed that she should be smarter than that – at least, according to the trophies lining up on the shelf opposite of the bed he was laying in. The engravings made it perfectly clear that he had scored his first ever mathlete last night – proof that you didn't have to be a cheerleader to be crazy flexible.
Last night had also proven that this thing about never judging a book by its cover was true, too, because Felicity most definitely turned out much more memorable than he had expected her to be. Glancing down at the still sleeping girl, curled close to him in her tiny bed, he couldn't help but smirk. Part of him was tempted to wake her up with kisses and ready her for round two... which would technically be round three. The smirk grew wider. That thing she had done with her tongue had been amazing. Maybe, he could teach Laurel how to do that...
Inwardly, he groaned. Way to rain on his own parade! Laurel had asked him to move in with her last week. It had been her first open request that they should take the next step and become more serious. She had said all those things, because her previous, more subtle hints hadn't gotten a reaction out of him. Oh, he had noticed and understood, but he had chosen to ignore all of them because he wasn't ready to settle down yet.
The irony of having that thought while looking down at a girl that was technically his wife wasn't lost on Oliver.
But this wasn't settling down, he knew – and he knew that Felicity knew, too. Last night had been drunken fun. It would turn into another bad-boy Oliver story like the time he had pissed on that cop or when he had drunkenly driven his Porsche into that Lamborghini-store – he had managed to turn the latter into an symbolic act, his friends in the party scene had eaten that one up. Now he had added a drunken marriage in Vegas to a sexy nerd... Could be worse. Still, right then he couldn't help but wonder how much she would cost him. Or, rather, how much she would cost his father.
Maybe, he could call his lawyers and get them to handle this thing without it turning into a big deal. Maybe, Laurel wouldn't have to know. Maybe he could keep the drunken "I do" from his on-off girlfriend who was definitely "on" at the moment and waiting for a proposal... His on-girlfriend who he had cheated on. Again. The on-girlfriend he had cheated on again while also leading on her sister, Sara. Okay, when you put it like that, it really didn't sound good. Not even in his own head.
Maybe, he should take his father up on his offer and go on that yachting-trip with him. Would be nice to be far away when this whole thing became known, would be nice to be far away from the trouble, unreachable on the Queen's Gambit. It would be even nicer if he had somebody to fool around with...
He placed his attention back on the brunette, who was now stirring next to him. That would work out perfectly, he decided, and bent down to kiss her naked shoulder, which was peaking out from under bright pink covers.
The sudden touch startled her so much that she awoke and scrambled away from him – right out of the small bed. With a thud she hit the ground. Still smirking, Oliver leaned forward and looked down at where she lay.
"Hey there. I mean no harm."
Brushing her hair out of her face, she pushed herself up. For a moment she just looked at him and he could practically see her collecting her thoughts. Finally, she came up with something to say. "Oliver..."
"The one and only." He held his hand out to her. "Come back to bed, baby."
But she made no move. "Don't 'baby' me. I hate it when guys call me that."
"Fair enough. I still want you to come back to bed." He sent her his most winning smile and added, "Mrs. Queen."
That had been the wrong thing to say. He could see it in her face, which momentarily lost its color. Her blue eyes grew huge and the thought that this deer-in-headlights-look shouldn't turn him on so much popped up in his head. Now her hand flew to her forehead. "Oh my God!"
"Yeah, that's what you said last night."
Apparently, she didn't find him as funny as he believed himself to be. "How can you be so calm about this? We made a huge mistake last night. We did a stupid, stupid thing!" She was taking really fast. "I told Vicki that every time I drink Vodka something bad happens. And back then I was talking about the time I tried to secretly puke in her mother's fern. This here, this is worse than fern-puking... And now I kinda wish I hadn't told you that, because that's a really disgusting story you really didn't need to know. I will stop talking in three... two... one."
He just smiled at her. That was so dorky, but strangely cute. Yeah, he could totally go for another round with her.
Sadly, she wasn't sharing his line of thoughts. She was still in panic-mode. "I grew up in Las Vegas. How could this happen to me? We make fun of tourists that get wasted and married! Because it's a stupid, stupid thing!"
"Well, I am a tourist."
Again, there was no positive reaction from her, no sign of amusement or humor. "We need to do something about this!"
He made a dismissive gesture. "My lawyers will take care of that." He patted the mattress. "Now, are you coming back to bed or what?"
Staying on the floor, she blinked up at him, "Your lawyers."
"My lawyers," he repeated. "We should take a trip while they sort this thing out. I want you to join me on my father's yacht. When we come back, the officials will know how much money you get."
"Money?" She stared at him in complete disbelieve, "I don't want your money. We should just go and get an annulment. In Vegas that's as easy as getting married."
"Seems like a whole lot of effort for something that other people could do for us."
Her mouth fell open slightly. She even made that look sexy, Oliver thought. Or maybe it was just the memory of what she could do with those lips. Lips that now formed very unsexy works, "Wow, I married an asshole. How could I miss that last night?"
He kept from telling her that the alcohol had most likely been the reason and simply sighed, "So you won't go on a cruise with me?"
"Of course not! I won't go anywhere with you! Fall term starts in three days and by then I'll have to be back in Massachusetts."
"You're a buzz-kill," he said and sat up, his naked feet coming to rest on her soft, yellow carpet.
Her blue eyes darkened as she pursed her lips. "What about the annulment?"
"I told you, my lawyers will take care of it. Just give me your number and let them handle things."
He got up. When she realized he was naked, she quickly glanced away and he smirked. There was no reason to be shy now. There was nothing she hadn't gotten a good look at last night. Just like he had seen what a perfect sight she was. It really was a pity. They could have had fun on his father's yacht, really live it up. The alternative was inviting Sara. He knew she wouldn't say 'No.' Yes, she was a perfect plan B. Reaching for his underpants he decided to give plan A one more chance. "I can take you to the East Coast, if you want to," he suggested.
She frowned, "What do you mean: take me to the East Coast? How?"
"With my plane," he said as he pulled his boxer-briefs up.
"Technically, it's my father's plane."
"Your father has a plane. And a yacht. And your lawyers will handle the annulment." Her eyes snapped to his and realization set in. "Oh no! You're a trust fund baby."
He hated that expression with a passion – because even he knew that it fit perfectly. Still, he'd be damned if she'd get a rise out of him. "We call ourselves 'where the party is,' baby." He reached for his pants. "But, fine. Fly coach. I was just trying to be polite." And with that, it was settled for him. Sara was about to get an offer for one hell of a life-changing trip. He would rock her world.