The Cat's Grip

Oliver gave a fake smile at her retreating figure before turning to interrogate the man beside him, "What happened?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," the dark haired man tried to play coy.

Oliver glared, "There was an uncomfortable awkwardness between you two, and now she left to go speak to a politician… Willingly. That's not normal for Chloe."

The brunette only took a sip of his champagne, and gave a half-shrug, "Maybe you don't know her as well as you'd like to think."

"Bruce," Oliver warned, "I left her in your care… " They had thought her relationship to the Justice League might have been exposed, so Oliver hid her until their mission was complete, and naturally, he thought the safest place for her would be at the Wayne manor, considering there was a good hiding place below it. "If something happened to her while I was gone—"

"Her safety was never compromised," Bruce interrupted him, stealing a glance at Oliver from the corner of his eyes, as if to test his reaction.

Oliver had known Bruce Wayne for ages. Besides Alfred, he could probably read through Bruce's behavior and actions better than anyone else. Which is why the look didn't go unnoticed, and Oliver felt his patience wearing thin. "Well what was compromised?"

The dark billionaire only smirked in response causing Oliver to frown.

Oliver felt his whole body stiffen and he gave a stern look to his old-schoolmate. "I swear to God, if you're implying what I think you're implying… " It didn't matter if they were surrounded by the rich and powerful at the moment, by big-political congressmen, and oblivious people laughing and dancing without a care in the world. It didn't matter if this was a charity-hosted event; that just so happened to be at the Wayne Manor.

If what Bruce was suggesting actually occurred, Oliver wouldn't be able to wait till they were both under different identities, and supplied with weapons of offense and defense. He would punch that smirk off of his long-time friends face here and now, in front of the band, his partners, reporters, and Chloe, without hesitation, and he'd like to see Superman try and pull him off of his target of rage.

Bruce chuckled, "Don't be so melodramatic, Queen." He added more emphasis to Oliver's last name, teasing him for the feminine behavior. His dark eyes then drifted to Chloe's form for a moment and then returned to meet Oliver's furious gaze. "I didn't touch your Watchtower."

Something was off about his words, and it left Oliver feeling a little uneasy despite the admission.

Chloe turned to look over her shoulder at him then, and Oliver held her gaze for a moment, and then noticed she turned away as soon as Bruce directed his attention in her direction.

"What did happen then?" Oliver was never afraid to ask the right or wrong kind of questions. But for the first time in a long time, he was scared of what answer he may get.

Bruce Wayne seemed unaffected as he swirled his glass, studying the crystal as if Oliver's answer were inside it. "An incident might have occurred, where I accidentally walked in on her exiting the shower."

"You what?" Oliver's voice carried over, drawing the eyes of everyone standing within ten feet of them. "How do you accidentally walk in on her exiting the shower? You have fourteen bathrooms!" Oliver hissed.

A cocky smile overlapped Bruce's lips, "I know, imagine the odds that I'd pick that one… "

Oliver's face turned as hard as stone once more, "A better question might be why you weren't using the one in your master bedroom?"

"Out of shampoo," he gave the famous, innocent-Wayne-smile, which wasn't fooling Oliver one bit; Alfred always kept everything in the manor well stocked.

"I-I can't even believe you right now," Oliver shook his head, trying to erase the bloodthirsty images overlapping in his mind.

Bruce shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly.

"You're not even feeling any remorse," He stated accurately. "Did she say anything to you? Because the Chloe I know would have bashed your skull in."

Bruce's composure faltered at that moment, the corner of his lip twitching slightly.

"Oh," Oliver spotted the hesitation easily. "I have to hear this part," he could feel his grin growing.

Bruce rolled his eyes, "She didn't bash my skull in…"

"But… "

"But, she might have said something,"

"Hopefully she called you a scoundrel, and as a reporter threatened to blackmail you," Oliver felt relief wash over him, and taking a sip from his neglected champagne, he stole a glimpse at Chloe and her backless dress. Despite how stunning she was in her green flowing dress, he had other images flooding through his brain. Right now, he was picturing her naked, just stepping out of a shower, fresh and clean, water drops sliding down her slim figure… He took another drink from his glass, feeling incurably thirsty.

"I believe her exact words were: 'Cat got your tongue?' actually," said Bruce, causing Oliver to turn to him once more.

"Hmm," Oliver tilted his head. "Sounds like a certain reporter has a source or two about a few of your late, rooftop meetings."

"Yes," Bruce narrowed his eyes. "Well, wouldn't have mattered if she knew or not—nothing was going to happen from the incident."

Oliver thought his ears might have fallen off at hearing that statement. "I'm sorry, I think your ego is fractured, because it sounds like Bruce Wayne is admitting to not being able to seduce a woman."

"I'm sure I could have seduced her," Bruce stated, and then at Oliver's fierce glare, he quickly added: "If I had a horrible fashion sense, and dawned green leather at night."

Oliver felt his pulse quicken, "I'm not sure I'm following you."

"Sure you're not," Bruce stared at him with doubt. "But let me tell you; that incident took place over a week ago, and we've been in each other's company just fine, since."

A frown returned to Oliver's lips, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Bruce nodded his head at the person of interest of their topic. "I'm not the one making her nervous."

Oliver's eyebrows drew back, "Are you accusing me of—"

"Not having any balls?—Yes," Bruce interrupted him, knowing full well that wasn't what Oliver was going to say.

"You're way off-base here batter," Oliver set his empty glass down on the table beside them, and stole a glance for the nearest exit.

"You know that evergreen shade of her silk dress?—She's not sporting it for any other man here tonight."

Oliver scowled, wondering when Bruce Wayne had decided to play matchmaker. "Chloe looks good in green, the color brings out her eyes," Oliver reasoned.

"She looks good naked too," Bruce dared to trudge on a dangerous line. "But she still chose to wear green."

Oliver's jaw flexed, and he had to hold back his fist with almost all of his willpower. He couldn't get it out of his head. All he kept seeing was the image of Bruce walking in on a naked Chloe… He could only imagine them staring at each other. Sure, Bruce said she gave him a quick-witted comment, but he hadn't mentioned the fact that she had covered up or made the move for a towel… Was that his way of saying she didn't?

Chloe had been his friend, his teammate, for years. And he hadn't made a move for several reasons. Her cousin, Jimmy, the JL, wanting to remain professional and keep their friendship, etc… He just told himself over and over for years that their relationship was just simply platonic and meant to be nothing more. It didn't matter that in their work, they were on a chessboard, with knights, and pawns, and she was the only piece that sat next to him on the throne.

He wouldn't say he was possessive… But her safety always came first, and it even impaired his judgment sometimes—like how he ever thought it was a good idea for her to stay with Bruce Wayne.

His eyes swept over her, enchanted by how ethereal she appeared tonight. Under the chandeliers glow, her skin seemed slightly sun-kissed and warm, complimenting the gown that Bruce had called evergreen. But as Oliver's eyes swam over her, he was positive the shade of the silk that clung to her every curve perfectly, and dipped low in the front teasingly, was a deep emerald, and not just because she was priceless.

Could Bruce be right about her reasons for wearing the dress? To these parties, she did usually wore a champagne, or silver and black, classy evening dress. But was she really wearing it for him?

Oliver flung himself away from the host, and their conversation, and headed towards the bombshell that had started this whole ordeal. He crossed the floor to her in seconds, grabbing her by the elbow and whisking her away from the Senator of New York with a small "Please excuse us," before she could protest.

She only had time to pick up the skirt of her dress, to keep herself from tripping as Oliver pulled her out of the ballroom and down the dark corridors and up the stairs of the mansion she had suddenly become so familiar with these past few weeks. Too familiar with, he thought bitterly as he opened a door down at the end of the hallways passage and thrust her into the room.

As he shut the door behind him she whirled around to face him, "Oliver, what the hell—"

His fingers trailed from the skin of her neck, down the silk fabric of her side with such an intense heat, her words faltered.

"I'm green with envy here, sidekick," his admittance was barely above a husky whisper.

She licked her lips and they parted open as she hesitantly chose her next words: "What's there to be envious of?" The volume of her voice matched his, as if the room was possibly bugged.

His left hand slid under the strap on her shoulder as he pulled it down slowly, exposing her shoulder's complete bare skin, while holding her gaze, "Someone's had a look at all of the Watchtower's… gadgets."

She raised an eyebrow at his allegory but didn't miss a beat of their play, "You show me yours Arrow, and I'll show you mine," she smirked up at him, and he felt himself fall completely undone.

He ripped off the annoying black-tie from his neck in response to her words, and as soon as his collar was open, he smoothed his thumb over her cheek before leaning in, crushing his lips on hers.

When his lips touched hers for the first time, he couldn't remember the reasons he had listed earlier for holding back from her for so long. He was so caught up in the smooth texture, the way her lips melted and meshed with his in perfect harmony, he didn't even realize he had slammed her ruthlessly between a bookcase and his frame, until she gasped, and opened her mouth in surprise.

Oliver couldn't resist the opportunity for entrance into her mouth, and without a second thought, his tongue dove in, tasting her in every corner in the small cavern. His fingers enslaved themselves in her blond locks as he held her head up at the perfect angle. Forgetting to breathe, his lungs burned slightly, and he pulled away long enough to inhale a shallow breath as he placed small kisses down the crook of her neck.

"Take off the dress," his voice was dark and low as he pleaded his request.

"Just tare it off," she whimpered as she grinded her hips against his, and he wondered if her impatience was any sign that she had been waiting for this moment as long as he had.

"Don't. Want. To," he said in between the kisses he placed on her collarbone and shoulder as he removed the strap on her left that had been shielding her perfect skin. "We're framing it when we get home."

A small giggle surpassed her lips, but she didn't argue with him. Instead she pushed him off of her with little force, and slid the silk down her body, letting it pool at her feet, leaving her bare chested and clad in green panties and garter stockings.

His mouth watered at the sight of her so bare to him, and he almost couldn't blame Bruce for his boasting earlier. Almost.

Oliver's eyes drank her in; from the curves of her round breasts, to her perky nipples, and down to the perfect triangle below her hips.

"Ollie," her voice rang with a touch of annoyance, in his ears that brought his eyes back to hers. "Touch me now or help me put my dress back on."

He wouldn't dream of denying her (or dressing her for that matter). He kept his gaze on hers as he bent down on his knees in front of her, and heard her sharp intake of breath as his fingers drew up and over her stockings, until he was unbuckling them from her garter and rolling them down her smooth, shapely legs. Once they were off, he sprawled his fingers over her legs and ran them up her thighs.

Chloe gasped in surprise and entangled her fingers in his hair, tugging on them and pulling him closer to her.

Oliver traced his fingers on the inside of her thighs before swiftly snaking one hand to cup her buttocks, while the other hooked a finger underneath the band of her panties and yanked them down from her hips and legs, leaving her completely nude and beautiful for only him to see.

He subconsciously licked his lips in anticipation, and treading his hands to rest on her lower back, he pulled her to him, and placed one kiss on her inner thigh, causing her to murmur incoherently. He smiled against her skin and pursed his lips against her flat stomach, causing her head to fall back. Oliver lowered his lips, kissing his way down from her stomach till his mouth met her eager wetness.

Gliding his tongue over her clit teasingly, barely touching, she shook with desperation while a moan escaped her. Chloe bucked her hips, "God, Ollie… Please! We've had years of foreplay." She cried out, trying to reason with him.

Oliver couldn't agree more, and therefore didn't need anymore convincing. Standing hastily and kicking of his shoes and tossing his jacket clear across the dark room, he wrapped an arm around her waist before hauling her body against his. She yelped in surprise, while he pushed her under an archway, and didn't stop till her back was against the cool bathroom tile of the enormous walk-in shower.

Realization dawned on her, "This is—"

Oliver crashed his lips against hers once more with evident need and fever, leaving her sentence to hang forgotten in midair as she met his lips with as much passion. Her fingers raked over him: down his back, up his chest, till they met the opening of his shirt. Grabbing it tightly, she ripped it open, and pushed it off of his shoulders.

A chuckle emitted from his lips, "I take it you really did want me to rip the dress off of you."

Her greens darkened, her smoldering gaze commanding him to quit talking as she moved her hands over the belt on his pants. Oliver removed the plain white shirt he had worn underneath his tux, pulling it up and over his arms and head, he tossed it aside, and bent down to kiss and suck on the tender flesh of Chloe's neck as unbuttoned his pants, and shoved them and his boxers down, freeing the real hunter that had remained beneath is clothing till now.

Reaching out, she grasped him in the palm of her hand curled her fingers around him as she flexed his hard member in her hand.

Oliver hissed through gritted teeth, and pulled her grip off of him, "Like you said, years of foreplay." He reached up behind her and turned on the water, setting it to the perfect degree. Pushing her against the wall once more, he grabbed her hips and picked her up. Chloe wrapped her legs around him instantly, letting out a low breath at the feeling of his pulsing cock jutting against her entrance.

The hot water fell, soaking them within seconds, and his grip on her tightened, careful not to let her slip. In a steady breath, he drew himself upwards, towards her entrance and in one fleeting motion; he buried himself deep inside of her. Oliver choked at the feeling of her surrounding and gripping him, and he dropped his head to her shoulder the water rinsing down on them, almost drowning out her mutter of praise to him, or to God, he couldn't really tell if they were even two separate beings to her.

Holding her hips in place, he pulled out and thrust back into her, this time slower than the last.

"Oh God!" Chloe mewed, her arms hooked under his as she tried to steady them both while attempting to meet his thrusts. Using his shoulder, she pulled herself up, only to grind herself back down on him.

"Fuck," Oliver growled, and pushed up and into her harder. Blinking the water out of her eyes, Chloe's gaze locked with his and he completely lost himself. Groaning, he began a sturdy rhythm with slow precision, stroking her from the inside with every rock of his hips.

The water trickled onto them, slicking their bodies as they slid against each other in passion. She rolled her hips enthusiastically, clashing against his with more dedication as she got closer and closer to her orgasm.

It wasn't until her moans had escalated, and the muscles in her taut stomach began to tighten, almost causing him to lose complete control of their pleasure; that he had realized how fast and hard he was pounding into her, and he knew at the rate they were going, they couldn't hold out much longer.

His name came from her lips in chants, and he echoed hers in reply, as she dragged her hands down his back, clawing her nails a path into his wet skin. The last of his restraint breaking when he felt her clenching around him, causing them both to shake limb from limb, and he lost himself within her.

Oliver held her firm against the wall, leaning into her, as they both tried to catch their breath. Even while gulping for air, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. His desire for her hadn't been subdued at all. If anything, it flaring higher than any degree it had been before.

She smiled up at him and slicked a hand up through his wet hair, gripping, she tugged him closer to her, and darted her tongue out to lick the water beads that slipped down his neck and over his chest.

Oliver felt his chest tighten, and he mirrored her actions, already feeling himself hardening again as he cupped the side of one of her breasts that he had regrettably, neglected tonight.

Before he could say anything, the sound of footsteps closing in on them echoed from the tile floor, and Oliver snapped his head up, and glimpsed over his shoulder to see a frowning Bruce Wayne. Which would be expected, considering it was his master bathroom, in his master bedroom, in which he just caught them in the after throws of hot, steamy sex.

"What's wrong Bruce?" Oliver couldn't fight the insistent smirk forming, "Cat still got your tongue?"

The corner of Bruce's lip twitched, "I'd worry more about the cat's grip that you seem to be in Oliver." His eyes drifted to Chloe, who still had her limbs encircling Oliver, from his neck and waist.

Oliver shrugged his shoulder. Whether she knew it or not, Chloe Sullivan has had her claws in him for a long time, and he wouldn't prefer it any other way.

Bruce sighed, "My master bathroom? Really?"

A cocky smile tugged at Oliver's lips, "Well, I figured since you don't use it… "

Written for Wander_lust_79

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