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thejusticelounge2013-07-04 12:58 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2013-07-04 12:58 pm
there's got to be a morning after
(waking-up ficlets with ollie, assorted)
1. "You mustn’t tell Father."
The pleasant, foggy limbo of consciousness that Ollie had been swimming up through evaporated, fast as a temperamental genie. He reluctantly opened his eyes, only enough to fix a narrow, green glare on the young man whose disagreeable demand had sliced through the last vestiges of worry-free rest he was likely to get for a while.
"Spoken like a true spoiled rich kid." Ollie didn’t bother sitting up, even though Damian was cross-legged and alert next to him on the bed. The double king bed, just like all of Bruce’s, no matter which property. The thought made thin, bitter spit shoot up the back of Ollie’s throat and he added, sharply, “You’re missing a step, though, Damian — the whole point of sleeping with one of your father’s friends is to throw it in Daddy’s face after. It’s a surefire way to get his attention, aww, poor little—"
Ollie didn’t get much farther, because Damian moved through the dim, thick space between them like he had panther blood fuelling those long, lean muscles. He slung one leg across Ollie to press into the mattress next to the older man’s waist, the heel of that hand shoving hard against Ollie’s shoulder; the rest of Damian hovered, not touching, face barely discernible through the grey-brown of the room. All Ollie could make out were knifeblades of features, bridge of nose here, line of brow there, the slash of his bottom lip. Too much damn darkness to figure out the rest, and wasn’t that all too fucking fitting.
"You’re frivolous, Queen," Damian said, his voice curving in a way that made Ollie frown, trying to figure it out. “You take too many liberties, you always have. I may have allowed them when I was too young to redress these grievances, but you will respect me now." His other knee, climbing Ollie’s hip, dug in enough for the bone to grind together, too little skin and flesh between them. Damian reached up with that hand and pushed Ollie’s hair back, clenching into a fist as he leaned down, mouth open and full and wrathful.
And teeth as weapons, too — Ollie grunted when Damian bit his lip open, but otherwise didn’t move, didn’t jerk away, didn’t do a damn thing, just let Damian lap up the blood and wrench at his hair, until finally the boy sat up in frustration. “Is this some trick?" Damian demanded, and Ollie let him manage to get that question barely out before lunging up, bowling Damian over, heavy forearm jammed against the young man’s throat as he landed sprawled on his back across the acreage of the bed his father had paid for.
All that combat training plus the burgeoning strength in Damian’s form (kid was gonna be a match for his old man, someday) would have presented a challenge, if Damian had really wanted to fight. Ollie’d taken the chance that he didn’t, and oh, hey, from the way that Damian’s eyes went instantly darker and the inviting sneer of his bloody mouth, the way that his body rose underneath Ollie’s just enough to seem like fighting and just enough to not be? It seemed that Ollie hadn’t misinterpreted that curve in the voice, a crescent moon of desire as livid as the marks that Damian’s short nails had left in his shoulder.
"Don’t talk," Ollie said, voice dipping deeper, pressing his arm down enough so that Damian’s breath caught in earnest. “Batman doesn’t talk this much."
The bed stretched out around them in the darkness, too far for them to see the end.
2. “If you leave first, then they’ll be the ones who miss you, huh?”
Selina looked up as she was putting on her second shoe, unhurried, unperturbed. “If you leave first,” she corrected, smoothing her skirt where it swerved along her hips, “you can rifle through their wallets while they’re sleeping.” She didn’t quite smile at Ollie, who stayed tangled up in the crumpled white bedsheets but curled onto his side so he could look at her better, grinning.
“Go right ahead,” he told her. “I think I got about eighty bucks and a bunch of almost-complete loyalty cards in there. You could get yourself some free coffee and sandwiches and ice cream in Star City if you want.” Ollie gave a sudden yawn, jaw shifting, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, and Selina did smile then. It was generally a source of amusement to see which men reverted back to boyish behaviour after a night together, although considering Ollie Queen’s usual demeanour, not much of a surprise in his case.
“Billionaire billfolds certainly have come down in the world since my heyday,” Selina said as she turned to pick up her purse and earrings, leaving him to puzzle out whether she was referring to Bruce or not. She wasn’t completely certain herself, but that was beside the point.
From the irritated grunt behind her as she slid the backing onto her second earring (beautiful little baubles of amethyst, she’d earned them by retrieving a … misplaced … timepiece that was serving as a very handsome ASIS agent’s way to smuggle code, what a charming distraction that had proven) Ollie had gone with the Bruce explanation and didn’t like it. Some boys were too easy to read.
Not that it was exactly a strike against him. Selina had dealt with many men who were impossible to read, and nearly all but one had tried to hurt her somehow. “Well, some of us are just that uncomplicated, what can I say,” Oliver finally said from the bed as if he’d followed her train of thought, sitting up with his knees over the edge and hands loosely between them. Turning from the mirror, Selina made a little faux-sympathetic moue.
“Poor petit,” she said, not quite a purr. This one didn’t need too many niceties. In fact, he raised an eyebrow and smirked at her choice of endearment, settling his hands behind him on the mattress and shifting his hips in rebuttal.
Tipping her head, Selina threw her purse on the bed and took a swaying step closer. “Oh, I see. Did I wound your pride, Ollie?” Another step. “Would you like another chance to change my mind?” One last step and she was close enough so he could smell the lilac hotel soap scenting her skin. Selina touched the side of Ollie’s face, more claws than fingertips, leaned in … and picked up her purse.
“I deal entirely in complications, Mr. Queen,” she said as she headed for the door, smiling as she closed it on his laugh.
3. "Where am I? Did you boat-nap me?"
"What?" Ollie looked over at Steph as she came stumbling up out of the cabin, blinking in the bright unadorned sunshine of mid-morning out on the water. “Boat-nap? Wouldn’t that mean I kidnapped a boat?"
Steph gave a long loud “UGH" at that and Ollie laughed and held up a glass in her direction. “Come have some orange juice and you’ll feel better," he promised. “There’s breakfast, too. Pastry things and cheese and fruit and — oh, you’re already in it, never mind."
The girl had come over to where he was sitting, the little arrangement of table and lounge chairs on the deck of the yacht, and helped herself eagerly to the food before accepting the glass of juice as well. “At least you feed your boatnap victims well," Steph allowed, eyeing him.
"Yes, well — I need to keep ‘em strong for when they’re hoisting the topsail and swilling out the bilge later. Or it’s the plank for you, missy." Ollie gave Steph a slightly taken aback but still amused look. “You don’t remember how you got here?"
Steph snorted and ate some more strawberries. “Of course I remember," she said, shrugging enough that her loose cover-up slid off one shoulder to display the reddened mark there. “Captain Hickey-Pants sure left enough evidence for me to remember." Ollie harrumphed in protest at the nickname but Steph sailed on: "—the boat wasn’t MOVING when we were doing that part, though! I didn’t expect to wake up and find us out on the open sea!" She drank most of the juice in one go and picked up a cinnamon twist, pulling it apart with her fingers and munching down the pieces as she continued, “What if I had important things to do? On land? And now we’re in the middle of the ocean and who knows how long it’ll take to get back and there’s a very specific way that —"
"There’s dolphins," Ollie interrupted mildly. Steph stared at him, cheeks full of food. “Come again?" she said. Ollie grinned and pointed out behind her, and when Steph spun around to look at the water she could see a pod of dolphins approach, hanging around the boat, splashing and making adorable dolphin noises.
"Okay," she said, standing up and whipping off her cover-up to just her panties underneath, already heading to the edge of the deck to a place where she could jump off and join the dolphins. “You’re forgiven."
"Oh, thank goodness," Ollie said, getting up and taking off his t-shirt. Steph grinned at him from the rail and as she jumped over, squealing in excitement, he heard her add, "—Captain Hickey-Pants!!"
1. "You mustn’t tell Father."
The pleasant, foggy limbo of consciousness that Ollie had been swimming up through evaporated, fast as a temperamental genie. He reluctantly opened his eyes, only enough to fix a narrow, green glare on the young man whose disagreeable demand had sliced through the last vestiges of worry-free rest he was likely to get for a while.
"Spoken like a true spoiled rich kid." Ollie didn’t bother sitting up, even though Damian was cross-legged and alert next to him on the bed. The double king bed, just like all of Bruce’s, no matter which property. The thought made thin, bitter spit shoot up the back of Ollie’s throat and he added, sharply, “You’re missing a step, though, Damian — the whole point of sleeping with one of your father’s friends is to throw it in Daddy’s face after. It’s a surefire way to get his attention, aww, poor little—"
Ollie didn’t get much farther, because Damian moved through the dim, thick space between them like he had panther blood fuelling those long, lean muscles. He slung one leg across Ollie to press into the mattress next to the older man’s waist, the heel of that hand shoving hard against Ollie’s shoulder; the rest of Damian hovered, not touching, face barely discernible through the grey-brown of the room. All Ollie could make out were knifeblades of features, bridge of nose here, line of brow there, the slash of his bottom lip. Too much damn darkness to figure out the rest, and wasn’t that all too fucking fitting.
"You’re frivolous, Queen," Damian said, his voice curving in a way that made Ollie frown, trying to figure it out. “You take too many liberties, you always have. I may have allowed them when I was too young to redress these grievances, but you will respect me now." His other knee, climbing Ollie’s hip, dug in enough for the bone to grind together, too little skin and flesh between them. Damian reached up with that hand and pushed Ollie’s hair back, clenching into a fist as he leaned down, mouth open and full and wrathful.
And teeth as weapons, too — Ollie grunted when Damian bit his lip open, but otherwise didn’t move, didn’t jerk away, didn’t do a damn thing, just let Damian lap up the blood and wrench at his hair, until finally the boy sat up in frustration. “Is this some trick?" Damian demanded, and Ollie let him manage to get that question barely out before lunging up, bowling Damian over, heavy forearm jammed against the young man’s throat as he landed sprawled on his back across the acreage of the bed his father had paid for.
All that combat training plus the burgeoning strength in Damian’s form (kid was gonna be a match for his old man, someday) would have presented a challenge, if Damian had really wanted to fight. Ollie’d taken the chance that he didn’t, and oh, hey, from the way that Damian’s eyes went instantly darker and the inviting sneer of his bloody mouth, the way that his body rose underneath Ollie’s just enough to seem like fighting and just enough to not be? It seemed that Ollie hadn’t misinterpreted that curve in the voice, a crescent moon of desire as livid as the marks that Damian’s short nails had left in his shoulder.
"Don’t talk," Ollie said, voice dipping deeper, pressing his arm down enough so that Damian’s breath caught in earnest. “Batman doesn’t talk this much."
The bed stretched out around them in the darkness, too far for them to see the end.
2. “If you leave first, then they’ll be the ones who miss you, huh?”
Selina looked up as she was putting on her second shoe, unhurried, unperturbed. “If you leave first,” she corrected, smoothing her skirt where it swerved along her hips, “you can rifle through their wallets while they’re sleeping.” She didn’t quite smile at Ollie, who stayed tangled up in the crumpled white bedsheets but curled onto his side so he could look at her better, grinning.
“Go right ahead,” he told her. “I think I got about eighty bucks and a bunch of almost-complete loyalty cards in there. You could get yourself some free coffee and sandwiches and ice cream in Star City if you want.” Ollie gave a sudden yawn, jaw shifting, rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, and Selina did smile then. It was generally a source of amusement to see which men reverted back to boyish behaviour after a night together, although considering Ollie Queen’s usual demeanour, not much of a surprise in his case.
“Billionaire billfolds certainly have come down in the world since my heyday,” Selina said as she turned to pick up her purse and earrings, leaving him to puzzle out whether she was referring to Bruce or not. She wasn’t completely certain herself, but that was beside the point.
From the irritated grunt behind her as she slid the backing onto her second earring (beautiful little baubles of amethyst, she’d earned them by retrieving a … misplaced … timepiece that was serving as a very handsome ASIS agent’s way to smuggle code, what a charming distraction that had proven) Ollie had gone with the Bruce explanation and didn’t like it. Some boys were too easy to read.
Not that it was exactly a strike against him. Selina had dealt with many men who were impossible to read, and nearly all but one had tried to hurt her somehow. “Well, some of us are just that uncomplicated, what can I say,” Oliver finally said from the bed as if he’d followed her train of thought, sitting up with his knees over the edge and hands loosely between them. Turning from the mirror, Selina made a little faux-sympathetic moue.
“Poor petit,” she said, not quite a purr. This one didn’t need too many niceties. In fact, he raised an eyebrow and smirked at her choice of endearment, settling his hands behind him on the mattress and shifting his hips in rebuttal.
Tipping her head, Selina threw her purse on the bed and took a swaying step closer. “Oh, I see. Did I wound your pride, Ollie?” Another step. “Would you like another chance to change my mind?” One last step and she was close enough so he could smell the lilac hotel soap scenting her skin. Selina touched the side of Ollie’s face, more claws than fingertips, leaned in … and picked up her purse.
“I deal entirely in complications, Mr. Queen,” she said as she headed for the door, smiling as she closed it on his laugh.
3. "Where am I? Did you boat-nap me?"
"What?" Ollie looked over at Steph as she came stumbling up out of the cabin, blinking in the bright unadorned sunshine of mid-morning out on the water. “Boat-nap? Wouldn’t that mean I kidnapped a boat?"
Steph gave a long loud “UGH" at that and Ollie laughed and held up a glass in her direction. “Come have some orange juice and you’ll feel better," he promised. “There’s breakfast, too. Pastry things and cheese and fruit and — oh, you’re already in it, never mind."
The girl had come over to where he was sitting, the little arrangement of table and lounge chairs on the deck of the yacht, and helped herself eagerly to the food before accepting the glass of juice as well. “At least you feed your boatnap victims well," Steph allowed, eyeing him.
"Yes, well — I need to keep ‘em strong for when they’re hoisting the topsail and swilling out the bilge later. Or it’s the plank for you, missy." Ollie gave Steph a slightly taken aback but still amused look. “You don’t remember how you got here?"
Steph snorted and ate some more strawberries. “Of course I remember," she said, shrugging enough that her loose cover-up slid off one shoulder to display the reddened mark there. “Captain Hickey-Pants sure left enough evidence for me to remember." Ollie harrumphed in protest at the nickname but Steph sailed on: "—the boat wasn’t MOVING when we were doing that part, though! I didn’t expect to wake up and find us out on the open sea!" She drank most of the juice in one go and picked up a cinnamon twist, pulling it apart with her fingers and munching down the pieces as she continued, “What if I had important things to do? On land? And now we’re in the middle of the ocean and who knows how long it’ll take to get back and there’s a very specific way that —"
"There’s dolphins," Ollie interrupted mildly. Steph stared at him, cheeks full of food. “Come again?" she said. Ollie grinned and pointed out behind her, and when Steph spun around to look at the water she could see a pod of dolphins approach, hanging around the boat, splashing and making adorable dolphin noises.
"Okay," she said, standing up and whipping off her cover-up to just her panties underneath, already heading to the edge of the deck to a place where she could jump off and join the dolphins. “You’re forgiven."
"Oh, thank goodness," Ollie said, getting up and taking off his t-shirt. Steph grinned at him from the rail and as she jumped over, squealing in excitement, he heard her add, "—Captain Hickey-Pants!!"