Author's note: This exists in the same universe as my other Oliver/Claire ficlet. Because me, being a very twisted shipper, won't believe that Oliver and Claire never had an affair before Andre and co. showed up. I'm a very stubborn person, I know, and very strange, but hey, there's been stranger. Anyway, here's a little drabble written for an old 15minuteficlets word. Please review, hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own, please, please, don't sue little, old me.


She was warm and comely, but she wasn't delicate. He could grip her tight, and she wouldn't break, she would defy. Her hair was soft and fiery, her dark eyes concealing all but her strength, and her lips, her lips were demanding and feminine and insistent and denying him what he wanted.

He wanted love and comfort and assurance. He wanted her touch to be tender and sweet and yearning. All he could get from her was demanding, desperate clutches and insistent nails against his back. He heard only commands, not pleas. He gave her rough, because she wanted rough, she needed it to feel. He needed soft, because he'd had his fill of rough.

She was always a spy or in hiding, sheltered as much as possible, and she had grown numb. She came to him to feel, to claw at him, punish him for putting her in such a position and force him to give her everything her brother would forbid from her.

He was always leading and fighting, seeing things most men would not stomach and handling it with ease. He was apathetic to the cold, hard world he lived in, while she longed to be there, longed to be free of restraint and let her own mind be ruined by war. He craved gentleness, soft, tender contact, everything he could not get from his war or his wife.

They both had loved ones, they both had families. She had her brother who would have her run and hide. He had his wife who would do whatever he wished of her except respond of her own free will. There was nothing but walls around Claire, and nothing but a corpse in Oliver's bed.

The Lord and the Lady, warrior and spy, and they were on the steps, and he gave her what she wanted, right there where they could be found but wouldn't be, and he sated her lust and his own, but the ache still tugged at his insides.

He took her under the stars and the moon, and gave her what she wanted.

She accepted his gift beneath the night sky, and never gave him what he wanted.