Love, Sex and Heroism (sarcastic_fina) wrote,
Love, Sex and Heroism
sarcastic_fina

All His - NC17 - Chloe/Oliver - OneShot

Title: All His
Category: Smallville
Genre: Romance/Humor
Pairing: Chloe/Oliver
Rating: NC17
Prompt: Picture by ellashy 
Word Count: 3,691
Summary: The nights, the few where neither of them were not heavily involved with paperwork or toddler tantrums or cousin-based emergencies that more involved man-(read: Clark) bashing, were all his.


ellashy 


All His

-1/1-

Chloe's life was hurried; it was hectic. She balanced work with the league, with her home life, and it all had its connective dots that argued for attention. Tonight, she helped bring down a company with big dreams of killing people and making money. She was the voice in the ear of a band of heroes that lived solely for the thrill of knowing the bad guy was beat and they'd have a beer later to celebrate their victory. She was the brains, the global intelligence, the 'Don't do that, do this,' that kept them alive and saved lives with the click-clack of fingers on a keyboard and too many hours to count spent digging up every detail possible.

With her ear piece safely put away, her day-job as a computer technician (in which she made the hours and got herself into some highly sensitive places to hack some serious Intel) put off until needed once more, and her one and a half year old son tucked away in his crib, snoring and holding tight to his favorite rabbit Hiccup (for reasons unknown to anyone but Bart), she had only one person left to give her attention. She didn't count Archie -who was pawing at her bedroom door for some attention- a must on her list, especially since he spent most of his day following her around at the Watchtower getting pet and fed treats he didn't earn.

No, the nights, the few where neither of them were not heavily involved with paperwork or toddler tantrums or cousin-based emergencies that more involved man-(read: Clark) bashing, were all his. There were two glasses of white wine, barely touched, left chilled and sweating on the kitchen counter. What had started as flirty banter and a relaxing drink took the same turn it often did…

"Dark circles under the eyes a new fad, Professor?" he asked, staring at her with undisguised concern. The purse of his lips was an argument waiting to happen.

Hoping to put a stop to it, she grinned. "You were in Milan last week, you tell me."

The corners of his mouth quirked, but he wouldn't be so easily distracted. "What happened to eight hours of sleep and not taking that last tech job?" He cocked a brow. "What you said would only be three hours was just as many days…"

Sighing, she lifted a shoulder, not really apologizing for her behavior. "We got a great lead out of it; what's a little lost sleep?"

He reached for her, large rough hand palming her cheek, thumb rubbing gently along the puffy sign of dedication beneath her right eye. "A little lost sleep here or there isn't bad, but you make a habit of it."

"I also make a habit of catching the bad guy and this was just another step toward that." Wrapping her own fingers around his wrist, she swiped her thumb along his pulse and felt it hammer as if every fiber of him was so keyed into her just her touch set his blood pumping. "Besides, I handed the reins over to Victor, despite my inner-protests; you should be doing a little victory dance."

He held his other hand aloft. "Wanna join me?"

She grinned. "As long as you don't touch the stereo… Connor's too light a sleeper and I don't want to put him down for a third time." She cocked a meaningful brow.

He had the good grace to wince. "Sorry… I missed him today and I'd hoped to be back before bedtime… I didn't think the door would whine that much. We should

probably oil the hinges," he mused.

She snorted, and after dropping her wine glass to the counter took his hand and let him draw her into his embrace. Chests flattened together, her head tipped back to stare up at him. Frowning at his unruffled appearance, she shook her head. "How is it you work about the same amount of hours and you still look as good as ever?"

He grinned. "Queen family secret."

"Yeah?" Dragging her fingers up his neck, she buried them in his hair, nails grazing lightly along his scalp. "I can be very persuasive, you know…"

He barely suppressed a shiver. "Mm…" Leaning until their foreheads met, he murmured, "Until you say yes to my proposal and share my name, the family secret is strictly forbidden."

Nuzzling his nose, she returned, "Forbidden is my forte." Nibbling his lower-lip with her teeth, she promised, "You'll crack."

"Gimme your worst." He caught her lips as a breathy chuckle escaped and before long, she was pressed against the kitchen counter, his hands roaming down her back, shoving clothes out of the way, exploring familiar curves.

Heady breathes were exchanged; she inhaled while he exhaled and vice versa, panting against mouths and necks and bare shoulders. He yanked her soft blouse out from the confines of her skirt and tore it open, smirking as buttons scattered across the floor. She cocked a knowing brow at his impatience. His face fell level with her chest, mouth scattering hot, wet kisses down pale, open flesh. He dragged his teeth along the tops of her breasts, delighting in how she shivered for him, her hands squeezing his shoulders tightly. Long, dexterous fingers slid down her back, taking her shirt with them, letting it slip from his grasp and fall lightly to the floor beneath. He tugged at her skirt, drew her so close she could feel the outline of his erection against her thighs.

She moaned in appreciation; eyes fluttering to half-mass.

Buttons and zippers were undone and lowered, hands gripping either side of her skirt and pulling until it came lose from her hips and pooled at her feet. He didn't waste time before lifting her up, drawing her legs around his waist and walking away from the scattered clothes and forgotten wine. En route to the bedroom, he hardly looked where he was going, trusting his feet to just get them there while he managed to unlock her front bra-clasp with his teeth.

She laughed. "Skills," she praised.

He grinned up at her before nuzzling the green lace cup of her bra out of the way, his cheek pressing warmly against the soft cushion of her breast. Chloe dragged her fingers through his hair, inhaling sharply as his tongue reached out to stroke her pebbled nipple. Rolling it between his tongue and teeth, he teased a breathless sigh from her lips, her legs squeezing tight around him. Hooded eyes stared down at him, darkening to a lustful green he welcomed every time.

When his legs hit the edge of the bed, he laid her back and knelt between her parted thighs. As he reached for his tie, she sat up, swatting his hands away before untying it for him and tugging it quickly out of the way. While she worked to undo each button on his shirt, he drew her bra over her head and down her arms before tossing it away to the floor. Unbuttoning his cufflinks, he shrugged away his shirt as she finished, parting the fabric and running her hands up the expanse of toned chest revealed.

Leaning down, he caught her mouth once more and leaned her back on the bed, the heat and weight of his body covering hers. Hands clasping either of his biceps, she sprawled beneath him, knees drawn up, soft thighs shaking as he slid between them. For a minutes it was just hands and mouths; fingers wandering and tongues tangling, she writhed as she fell happily into the drowning heat of them. Chloe was hard-pressed to remember a time when she and Oliver hadn't been together; when she hadn't felt the almost overwhelming rightness of their relationship. If she took the time to delve into her memories, she'd be awash in the years before him; of a heart often broken by the neighbor farm-boy and later taped back together by a goofy photographer. The pangs of a girl often overlooked were that of a past she was glad to be rid of. She wasn't the same girl who fell for Clark or the hopeful woman who wanted normal with Jimmy. She was a whole new breed of Chloe Sullivan; a woman who found herself after years of being lost. And after stumbling into Oliver's arms, she never wanted to leave.

If the way he still looked at her, still spoke of her and held her, was anything to go by, he didn't want her going anywhere either. If that weren't enough to convince her that forever was found and happy with him, she'd only have to listen and answer one of his many marriage proposals. It wasn't that she didn't want to be Mrs. Oliver Queen. After six years, a son, and a lifetime commitment to their band of heroes, she didn't think she was going anywhere, but sometimes she worried if she labeled it, if she put too much stock into it, it would disappear before her eyes.

Right now, there was just a very keen Oliver willing to do whatever he could to please her, to make her and their son happy, and she would rather deal with now than later.

His arousal lay hard against her soft stomach, his chest heaving with the effort as he dragged his hands down her sides and slid them between their bodies to cup and stroke her wet heat. Her toes curled tight as his fingers slid along her folds, thumbs rubbing circles into wet, sensitive flesh. A spasm rocked her hips forward, seeking the length of his finger buried inside her. He circled her clit instead; making her knees dig hard into his sides. As she panted, her attention more on his fingers than his mouth, he buried his face in her neck, lips journeying down her throat, across her heaving chest and lower still. His wet hands slid away, cupping her thighs as his mouth fell level with her navel, teeth nibbling along her flat stomach.

"Try to keep it down," he told her teasingly.

She glared as he chuckled before he lowered his face between her thighs and drew his tongue up between her parted, dewy slit.

As a heartfelt moan pleaded to escape, she bit her lip hard to keep it in. The last thing she wanted interrupting this was her son's cries for attention and as soon as her voice rose, she knew he'd be calling for them. Fighting the need to cover her mouth with her hand, she gripped the blanket tight in her fists and tried not to rock her hips up to his questing mouth. He'd only tease her more; she knew. His hot breath skittered along her splayed femininity; lips pressing light kisses, tongue stroking at random. Her lungs tightened as she forgot to breathe; as she fought the urge to beg him. Regardless of how much she wanted it, she refused to ask. His smirk would only lengthen and his ego was big enough.

Even as she thought it, she knew she'd be begging, asking, pleading soon enough.

If there was an award for bed play, Oliver would have won it every year in a row. Quite possibly the most giving lover that ever lived, Chloe swore to all that was holy that he made her body an instrument of singular euphoria each and every time. With roaming fingers that touched at just the right angle at the right time and a mouth that followed the same line of thinking, it never took long for her to start writhing beneath him. After all their years together, he always knew when she was about to climax and he lived on prolonging it. When she'd beg him to speed up, he'd slow down. When she could feel it right there, right at the precipice, he would stoke the fire but not let it roar. Until she was nearly in tears, nails scoring his shoulders, and then he'd give in and he'd make sure she felt it, three times over.

Lying back on the bed, panting harshly, she could still feel the tremors coursing through her body. She pressed a hand to her heart as if she feared it would jump right out at any second. He climbed up her body slowly, slow kisses along her ribs, tongue reaching out to swipe away a bead of sweat. His hips fell between hers and she could feel him hard and ready against her slit and even as she felt her swollen core still vibrating from the onslaught of his tongue, she arched up, wanting him inside. He chuckled against her neck, his smile widening. With a nibble to her earlobe, he rolled her onto her side and slid up behind her, arm anchored around her waist, and then in a move he'd perfected some years ago, lifted them up to their knees, her legs parted.

She fell back against him, her head rolling to his shoulder. His hands slid down her bent legs, massaging the tops of her thighs in slow, kneading circles, before he splayed his wide palms along the flare of her hips, squeezing. Face buried in the crook of her neck, he kissed a path all around and up along the shell of her ear. Arms wrapped around her, muscled biceps flexing at her sides, he slid one hand down to cup her heat while the other palmed her far breast. Mouth parted, she gasped low and breathy, eyes fluttering. His fingers parted her folds, rubbed her clit gently but enough to get her hips rocking in response. She turned her head to look at him, at the tight planes of his face that wanted nothing more than to bury deep inside her and stay there. The brown of his eyes had darkened to near black, a tell-tale sign she'd learned long ago meant any control he had left was slipping away. Her lips curved. She loved that she had that affect on him.

Arching her hips back, she swirled them, letting her wet heat rub down against the length of his cock caught between her thighs. Without taking him inside, she let her folds envelop him, her arousal coat him. With a hiss in her ear, he clutched her breast harder and jerked against her. Reaching her arms back, she slid her fingers through his hair before dragging them down his neck and scraping her nails across his shoulders. Just as she had expected, he responded to the faint pain and drew back quickly before angling and pumping inside her. Her cry was muffled as his mouth found hers, lips sealed against her own, tongue probing, finding and dancing with hers. He was still for a long moment and she could feel every inch of him, confined tight inside. She clenched, smirking as his arm tightened around her.

Their mouths parted slowly, panting breaths between them, and she lifted up a few inches, feeling as he slid out of her. Their own brand of see-saw followed, with her lifting and him falling and then vice versa. His hand stayed busy between her thighs, the other occasionally tweaking her nipple between his ring- and pinkie fingers. She had to bite her lip to keep from crying out; instead letting out low grunts from her chest. Before Connor, they could have been as loud as they wanted and they quite possibly pushed the sound barrier, but since his birth they'd had to keep it down. Oliver had a running joke of just making their bedroom soundproof and at the moment, with him thrusting deep inside and a scream desperate to escape her raw throat, she really liked that idea. In fact, if she could move a meeting she had tomorrow, she was having a contractor come in to do just that and then she and Oliver were going to test it, over and over and over again.

But for right now, she had to keep it in. So when her orgasm crashed over her, sending little shards of pleasure all throughout her body, she threw her head back against his shoulder and clenched her teeth tight. Her hips arched, jerking hard as she wanted more and yet wasn't sure she could take it. He nibbled the tendon of her neck, swirled his hips and slowed down, letting her come back and calm a little before he'd do it all over again. He panted against her cheek, his hands falling to rub at her stomach and her sides, soothing and warm, and she swallowed tightly. Oliver had a way of making her feel cherished with every little thing he did. It wasn't the security of never having to worry about money with him or knowing that no matter how bad the world got she had her own personal hero. It was the knowledge that this man, flesh and blood, cared so much for her he would do absolutely anything in the world to make her happy. She'd never quite known that before him.

And the only thing he asked in return, the only thing that was sure to make him as happy as her, was that she break down and say yes to his proposal. But even that wasn't something he forced on her. She could see sometimes that faint disappointment as his smile faded ever so slightly when she dodged yet another suggestion that they get married and she hated it; hated that her saying no could hurt him even a little bit. He and Connor were her everything and she would do anything within her power to keep them happy. Her fears had no logic behind them, not really. To say yes didn't mean he was going to up and disappear on them. This was real; this was their life. And her accepting, becoming his wife, would only be one more step toward their happily ever after.

Nearly all thought escaped her then as he sped up once more, moving deep and quick and filling her every shaking inch. It would go on for an hour before he'd give in to his own desires. His lips parted at her cheek, panting harshly, her name a cracked exclamation as he held her tight and arched his hips hard up into hers. Delirious, her eyes nearly closed, she'd cry out his name without thinking. "Yes, Ollie! Yes!" And they'd float there a moment, each of them blissfully unaware of anything but each other. Of sweat-slickened skin and deep, heaving breaths, and her soft cheek beneath his mouth, his nose nuzzling her lightly. Until finally, he'd rest his chin on her shoulder and just hold her, their hands stacking atop each other's at her waist. She'd lay her head sideways, letting their cheeks touch and for a moment, she swore she could feel his heart against her back, beating in time with her own.

"Mummy-Daddy! Mummy-Daddy!" Connor cried out then.

Chloe's lips curled at the corners.

"Your fault," Oliver said, amusement filling his voice.

She half-rolled her eyes but didn't argue.

He kissed her shoulder and sat back. "I'll get him."

"Mummy-Daddy! Mummy-Daddy! Og-Key! Og-Key! Og-Key!" Connor excitedly yelled again, no doubt jumping in his crib.

Archie pawed the door again as if he knew Connor was calling for him, too. His Og-key.

While she laid back on the bed, still humming all over, she watched Oliver stop in their bathroom, clean up and bit and then don his house coat. She grinned again. As a not so subtle hint last Christmas, Oliver had bought her a green silk robe to match his, even having her initials embroidered on the pocket. Except that it read CQ rather than CS… And as her chuckle faded she remembered the conclusion she'd come to before.

He was reaching for the door handle when she called his name.

"If you're about to ask for coffee, no way. You're cut off. You need to sleep and caffeine is only going to encourage you to work." He narrowed his eyes at her playfully.

She licked her lips, torn between arguing that coffee would be good right now and letting it go. "No, not that… Although I have a valid argument just waiting…"

He half-rolled his eyes, grinning to himself.

She took a deep breath, wondering how to word it and then frowned. "Yes," she finally said.

"Yes?" His brows furrowed and he shook his head. "Yes to wh—" He paused, suddenly staring at her thoughtfully. His brows arched high, wide and… hopeful. "Yes?"

She nodded, chewing her lip.

He laughed then, a low rumble of approval, and crossed the room, bending next to the bend to take her face in his hands and draw her in close. "If I knew a few orgasms would change your mind…"

She laughed, slapping his shoulder playfully. "Shut up."

He kissed her again, lingering, leaning her back against the bed once more.

"Mummy-Daaaddyyyy!" Connor squealed again.

Sighing, Oliver drew back. "Okay… I'm going to go put him back to bed… Cover your ears, I might have to sing." She chuckled. "And then I'm making sure you don't change your mind." He kissed her once more, short but hard, and then stood up and backed toward the door. "Still yes?"

She waved him off, snorting.

With a smirk, he left the room to tend to their son and Chloe laid back, head atop the pillow and smiled up at the ceiling. It hadn't caved in, the world still spun, Oliver was still there and judging by his off-key singing in the other room, he and Connor weren't going anywhere. Letting her eyes close, she accepted this fate with arms wide open and refused to let her fears get the better of her.

A half hour later, when Oliver returned to find her fast asleep, he didn't wake her. They could celebrate in the morning. Now that she said yes, he wouldn't let her go back on it. It only took six years of convincing, but he'd finally gotten what he'd always wanted. Her. She was all his and he wasn't giving her back.

[End.]

 
Tags: fic: all his, oneshot - smallville - chlollie, rating: nc17, ship: chloe/oliver, status: complete
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