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thejusticelounge2012-05-25 06:58 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2012-05-25 06:58 pm
father figure
The house never got too dark at night, given that this was Star City and the windowy Queen Estate was built on a cliff — prime real estate, overlooking most of the city that the Queen family had built or bankrolled in one way or another. And right now with trying to sleep off a truly epic drinking binge, even the soft starlight was too much.
Ollie wandered down to the kitchen in his pyjama pants, blearily opening the fridge and finding a bottle of tomato juice and no other juices. He stared at it, annoyed, then muttered, “Well, can’t blame you for not being orange, can I? Gotta be yourself.”
He drank most of the bottle standing in front of the open refrigerator, swaying a bit from the rum that was still kind of saturating his head and unsteadying his bloodstream, and was about to put a half-inch’s worth of juice back in the fridge when a voice at the shadowy breakfast nook said, “Don’t you dare put that back.”
“Roy?!?” Ollie bent over slightly, squinting in Roy’s direction with the refrigerator door open behind him like a searchlight. “The fuck’re you still doing up? We drank so goddamn much, thought you’d be sleepin’ till Ragnarok.” He scratched his flat stomach idly, slinging the other arm over the door of the fridge and letting the almost-empty tomato juice bottle dangle from his long fingers.
Roy narrowed his eyes, his forearms pulsing in his half awake—totally not going to pass out sort of zombie-like state. Okay. So yeah. They drank a lot but he passed out from that like an hour or so ago only to buzz right back up.
Excuse him for having sleeping issues. This house was too quiet sometimes.
Except for when it wasn’t with Ollie’s nosy self walking around. Roy had glanced at the clock on his way to the kitchen, late, twilight hour of night. Morning had a long way to come and Ollie was being irresponsible. Again.
“You better finish that.” He replied in a soft, almost commanding tone. He eyed the last of the contents critically and wondered vaguely what juice would do to Ollie’s sleeping patterns. If they both were going to be insomniacs, Roy at least wished Ollie would do it /not/ drunk with him.
Never sober. Never what he wants. Sighing softly, he leaned against the entrance to the doorway and crossed his arms. He felt like the adult in their relationship at times. Ollie’s good times fun times attitude getting in the way of a lot of things between them at times.
“eeeeeh.” Ollie twirled the plastic bottle with his fingertips, then tossed it in the air and smacked it with his forearm hard in the direction of the kitchen sink. It banged against the tap and fell in, rattling loudly as Ollie threw his arms up in triumph. “And he scoooooooooores!” He bumped the fridge door closed with his hip and came over to lean on the opposite beam of the doorway, grinning at Roy. “Cleaning lady’s coming tomorrow, she’ll get it.”
Roy was looking back at him. Roy was looking with that *look*, the one he’d developed recently, the one that had way too much shadow in it for Ollie’s comfort and way too much needy for anybody. Man, he thought he was teaching this kid to be self-sufficient! The last thing Ollie wanted was for Roy to become dependent on him. You couldn’t do that. Not in life in general, and sure as hell not in the line of work they were in.
“What’s eating you, kid?” Ollie asked. “Feeling the post-rum maudlin?”
He hoped Roy would actually run with it, make a joke, be chipper for fucking once. He’d always had a solemn streak wide as a buffalo run, but at least before, Roy’d had a manic energy to go with it. Now it seemed like he was always sullen, pissed, angry before you even talked to him.
Ollie sighed. Did Bruce have to put up with this kind of thing?
Roy rolled his eyes. “Real mature Dad.” He said in a tone that was slightly annoyed and more gentle that he should have. Roy’s losing a lot of ground here when he lets the alcohol muddle his thinking for stuff like this.
Roy fidgeted under Ollie’s questioning and he doesn’t want to have this “I can’t sleep” conversation, right now.
“Okay.” Ollie started to leave, but then he felt a sudden, possibly still-slightly-drunk rush of aggravation. So this was the plan? Ollie tries to reach out to Roy, Roy sighs and rolls his eyes and gives the brush, and then later on Roy whines that Ollie never *tried* and was never *there* for him?
Well, fuck that.
“Or,” he said, and then grabbed Roy around his skinny little waist, hoisting him effortlessly and flinging Roy over his shoulder like Viking plunder, “you can go the hell back to bed and stop skulking around here!” He started marching out of the kitchen, arms wrapped around Roy’s thighs.
Roy gave an undignified squeak at being hauled over Ollie’s shoulder. He squirmed, cursing incoherently and having a fit of struggling before he gave up. There was no way he was going to escaping.
“Hey, come on, stop treating me like a kid!! I can walk by myself.” Despite his protests, he stops struggling to simply wait to be put in bed. His hands are bracing himself against Ollie’s back because if he didn’t he’d be flopping against Ollie’s ass.
Sometimes though, he wanted to just see what the big fuss about his Dad and sex. But he knew,Ollie would never touch him like that….christ, soap opera thoughts, is this what happened when you got shitfaced?
Ollie was pleased when Roy stopped struggling (he was liable to get a knee to the stomach or a foot to the nuts that way, after all) and just braced hard against Ollie’s back, like some peculiar red desert fox on high alert. He marched Roy up the stairs and into his bedroom, heaving him off and tossing him down on the bed; Roy’s legs hooked heavily over Ollie’s shoulder, though, and in his half-plastered state he went flopping down too.
“Oooof,” Ollie said belatedly into the sheets. Then he turned over onto his back and sprawled out, flinging one arm low across Roy’s belly and the other with his hand dangling off the edge of the bed. “I should get you a bigger bed. Kingsize like mine. Although I guess you do fine with a queen.” He chortled at his own joke, then shifted till he was more comfortable, yawning. “I don’t feel like moving. I’m just gonna lie here until I fall asleep.”
He should hit him for that joke. No really he should—
SMACK
“That’s not funny,” Roy growled as he hit Ollie’s stomach and laid, sprawled next to the other on the mattress. He swallowed a bit because this is getting a little too surreal. Kind of like that dream he had when he—
And he’s not continuing that thought because Ollie’s shifting closer and they’re like two peas in a pod, except one pea is overgrown and lays heavy on the other. A part of Roy is really enjoying this, the other half is kind of mad, drunk Ollie is more pliable to weasel into his bed and the smaller part of his conscious is telling him not to do it.
God fuck, but he /really/ wants to…
It takes all of Roy’s self control to just not lean over and place his mouth over Ollie’s and —fuck, he’s really doing it. He’s seriously pressing his mouth against Ollie’s lips in a small kiss, his hand holding his ‘dad’ down with his palm on his chest. Scraggly hair getting in his face, his eyes closed and fuck.
He’s so dead right now.
Ollie kissed back drowsily, biting at Roy’s mouth to encourage him to open it; when Roy did with a startled, needy noise, he wrapped one big hand around the back of Roy’s head and kissed him harder, with growing fierceness. There was an intoxicating nervous desire in that initial kiss, whirlwind of desperately angry hormones and *want* tempered with the lingering sweet gold of rum.
Ollie licked all the warm soft places in Roy’s mouth, chasing that taste down mercilessly, forcing Roy to open up wider for it. He clenched a fist in Roy’s silky too-long hair, holding him still as Ollie rose from the mattress some, turning towards him. Roy’s hand curled against Ollie’s chest as his sweet little tongue caught between Ollie’s teeth, one narrow hip coming to rest against Ollie’s as he shifted closer, and, and —
— oh, GOD.
Bolting suddenly upright, Ollie scrambled off the bed and stood at the side of it, scrubbing at his mouth and staring at Roy with wide, wild eyes. “Jesus,” he panted, “jesus *christ*, Roy, I — “ He held out his hands, fingers splayed, palms down as if he was trying to calm an untamed animal. “Just … don’t freak out, okay? Don’t freak out.”
God the kiss is like sex and fuck, no, it’s better than that. So much better because it’s Ollie who’s pulling him closer. It’s Ollie who wants to devour his mouth and then some to hear the sounds come out of his mouth.
And this is a little embarrassing but he’s hard just from Ollie’s lips on his own, the way his hand tugs on his hair and how warm Ollie feels against him. Roy’s having the time of his life right up until Ollie wrenched himself back and away in a blurry mess of limbs and panic.
Roy blinked, confused and lost and just fuck, he felt—
His chest just throbbed with pain and he slowly started to panic. Was this what rejection felt like?
… And the kid was freaking out.
Ollie backpedaled until he hit the wall, and he just stayed there, like that, frozen for a while as he caught his breath and looked at Roy slowly starting to unravel. What the fuck had even just *happened*? One minute everything’s fine and dandy, middle of the night joking in the kitchen, and the next …
“Are … are you okay? Kid?”
Roy flinched at the word and Ollie dug his nails into his palms. Was that fucked up too, now? Any sort of trust the kid had in him?
There’d been enough grown superheroes with beautiful young sidekicks for there to be rumours — what actually happened in-between fighting crime, what grown men could want with these pretty boys running around at their sides. Ollie’d always shrugged the speculations off. He’d grown up shrugging off the made-up machinations of the press; it was easy enough to apply that ability to Green Arrow.
And now … this. This to throw a helluva wrench into the works.
“Roy,” he said. He didn’t move from the wall. He wanted to stay as far away as possible so Roy wouldn’t be afraid that Ollie would do anything inappropriate. “Roy, you gotta talk to me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t — I dunno what happened. I’m sorry.”
What? Sorry? But he was the one that—
And it all sort of just clicks into place. Falls into the nice little slots that people like to use as metaphors for when your brain finally picks up what’s going on and starts playing along with everyone else. Roy watched him carefully but not in the way that Ollie was assuming why he was staring.
He just…he wanted to get this straight in some sort of way even though it was already fucked up and he could totally put all the blame on Ollie. He could say Ollie was the one with a thing for his sweet, tight ass. That Ollie wanted to have sex with his sidekick or that Ollie was really into the Daddy kink area of their relationship.
But he doesn’t do that because Roy knows that deep down, it’s really him with the sick and twisted thoughts. He’s the one that’s been festering over Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow, since he was really little and thriving to become so good at archery just because Green Arrow was the best. Is the best.
Will always be the best.
Swallowing hard, he sat up onto his hands and knees, crawling to the other end of the bed to look down at him, still confused to all high hell. “Um…I didn’t—you weren’t—” He scrubbed angry, frustrated hands through his hair. How the hell do you explain to your dad that you totally wanted some of his sugar?
“You didn’t do anything wrong…..I..I started it..” He looked down at his lap, a little ashamed because now he’s in trouble.
“You … hah.” Ollie slumped against the wall, unconsciously mirroring Roy as he tore his hands through his hair. “Roy. That’s not how this works, buckaroo. When a grown man frenches the sixteen year old who’s supposed to be his ward and closest thing to a *son*, there ain’t nobody in the world gonna say it was the sixteen year old’s fault. Hell, nobody *should*.”
Shaking his head, Ollie thumped one of his fists gently, rhythmically against the doorjamb before asking, “So why’d you do it, anyhow?”
That was really the part that was confusing him. Roy’d always seemed on the needy side, yeah, but he’d never given any indication of being a queer. Always running after that pretty raven-haired Wonder Girl, or talking about his special maiden back on the reservation — whatever her name was — or leering at the women Ollie brought home. Or the ones they met when Ollie took Roy out. Hell, Roy’d fucked a few of them, if Ollie wasn’t mistaken.
So what the hell was this?
For a moment, looking at Roy anxiously shifting from knees to all fours and back to sitting on his heels on the side of the bed, Ollie felt true, deep, resentment for the kid. This was … this was the worst. This was a complication Ollie didn’t want — and even more than that, didn’t NEED. Roy could get laid anytime he wanted. Hell, with a man, if that was what he was really into. Why disturb what he and Ollie had going? Just to be fucking difficult, was probably why.
Would serve the kid right if Ollie *had* gone through with it, even a little. Taught Roy what it was the fuck he was asking.
Oh god. He feels like shit. Like the lowest of the low tier of criminals they bust and put away in jail. No. He’s worse than that because honestly, if Ollie could have responded any other goddamn way, it had to be like this.
Great. Yeah. Totally what he wanted. What he needed. His own ‘dad’ looking down at him for being well—fucking in love with him. Yeah.
Totally should have said something from the start. Would have saved them this mess from the get go. Great Roy, no seriously. You’re one of a kind. Really.
Fuck up some more why don’t you?
All the judgement Ollie’s sending his is just as suffocating as his own silence in the room. Sighing softly, he tugged at his hair and glared angrily at Ollie because it’s how Roy lashes out. It’s how he protects himself.
“Fuck, seriously?! I don’t give a shit what other people think. I did it because I wanted to and I—” He glanced away, swallowing and tugging hard at his hair because he can’t just say it. Not like this!!
“Why are you staring at me like I’ve fucking kicked your dog and fed it to hyenas, huh? Am I really that much of a disgusting little shit to you that you don’t want to have sex with me? I’m just here for shits and giggles? Huh? Is that it?”
Ollie rubbed his eyes vigorously as this sunk in. Well, as he tried to let it sink in; that wasn’t working too well. Roy’s words were just sort of swimming around at the top, too buoyant to drop down into cognition to be sorted through and made sense of.
“I’m not — it’s not that I think you’re disgusting. Roy. It’s nothing like that at all. And *I* give a shit about what other people think, because if they think I’m fucking you, they’re gonna take you away and throw me in jail. D’you get that part of it? Because that’s a pretty BIG part.”
It didn’t look much like his words were getting through, so Ollie sighed and pulled himself away from the wall, coming over to sit at the edge of the bed and lightly, distantly pat at Roy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting and yet detached gesture. “I didn’t take you in as some kind of reserve lay, Roy,” he said. “You’re not here for … that. Or as some kind of cruel joke. I took you in because I liked you, and because Brave Bow asked me to, and because I thought … it might be good for you. To have somewhere.”
Ollie tapped his fingers along Roy’s shoulder blade. “Now tell me, even knowing all that and having lived with me this long and knowing what I’m like and how I think of you, would you still wanna have sex with me? Or d’you think maybe you’ve just got a lot of emotional stuff going on and you’re getting a little confused?”
Roy grit his teeth in resentment.
“You’re always blaming my fucking hormones when we both know what’s really going on here! Why can’t you just accept that this is what I want? We don’t have to tell anyone about us. No one has to know, and if anyone can keep his mouth shut on secret’s Ollie, you know it’s me.”
He’s rambling, saying whatever comes out because Ollie isn’t getting it. That or he does get it and he’s blaming Roy’s emotions as a deflection. Fuck. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want distant or Daddy dearest. He just wants Ollie and his head is starting to pulse with the force of his growing headache.
It’s from holding back his growing irritation. His eye is twitching at the hand that’s supposed to be comforting. At the man that moved closer to try and quell his hormonal teenager with words instead of acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he seriously wanted this.
“This is my somewhere, Ollie…Being right here…with you and being needed…it’s what I want. Why can’t you see that? I’m not confused, I swear to god I’m being serious right now.”
“You’re being serious.” Ollie pulled back and stared at Roy. “You’re being … *serious*.”
This was a fucking trip. All this time he’d been puzzling himself in circles trying to figure out what the hell Roy’s teenaged major malfunction was, imagining bad friends and maybe too much drinking and maybe having lost a fight or something, and the problem’s been THIS.
Anger rising in his throat, Ollie rubbed one hand over his mouth and chin and then scratched at the corner of his jaw, still staring at Roy, working this out. Roy stared back at him, mutinous, stubborn, sullen. Convinced that this was the only thing Ollie could do to make him feel accepted. Determined to hate Ollie otherwise. “Okay,” Ollie said, finally, tightly. “Okay. This is what you want to feel like I care for you? Like I want you here? This is the only thing that’ll convince you? Then okay.”
Ollie put his forearm against Roy’s collarbones and bore him down to the mattress, moving swiftly on top of him and dropping his head low enough so their noses brushed when he talked. “You want this from me, Roy, I’ll give it to you. It’s not gonna help things. I can tell you that now. But you’re not gonna listen to me otherwise, so I don’t see what choice I have.”
Leaning more pressure into his arm braced against Roy’s chest, Ollie kissed him again, keeping himself levered above Roy with his free arm. This time he didn’t bother trying to make it nice. He pushed his tongue into Roy’s mouth, past lips and teeth, as deep and choking as he could make it.
This doesn’t make him feel satisfied. He isn’t given a sudden washing sense of relief when Ollie says okay and pushes him back onto the mattress. His chest actually tightened in fear because Ollie’s never looked at him so coldly before expect that time he fucked up an—
Shaking his head quickly, he tried to focus. Attempted to zero in on what he should have been feeling this whole time. Elated happiness that Ollie was going to have sex with him. To make love to him.
This though. This is not that moment.
He could see it in his eyes. And it simply broke his heart into pieces. Why can’t he just ever get a break? Just one thing to go right for him?
I mean, it’s bad enough he feels cursed. But now, with the way Ollie kissed him and how he tried to make it as hurtful and detached as possible—no sort of love or affection or even desire in it at all—a kiss of rejection; Roy felt that even through this, he was not allowed to have happiness, that the people he wanted would continue to slip right through his fingers.
And that’s the only word racing through his head. Rejection. Rejection, rejection…
Ollie slowed, paused, came to a stop and pulled away from Roy. “Oh, what’s the matter, kitten?” he asked. Roy was stiff as a plank, laid out with his arms at his side, eyes turned away. “Don’t actually like it when it actually happens? Don’t you worry your little head about it. Daddy’ll make it better.”
The frightening part of this was how gruesomely easy it came. All Ollie had to think about was the way his father’d spoken to the endless parade of very young, very beautiful, very eager to please secretaries and assistants he’d had around. All he had to do was turn off the endless looping voice in his head saying this is your son, you sick fucking bastard.
Moving his forearm from Roy’s chest, Ollie stroked Roy’s red hair back from his face, all the places it was sticking (sweat? tears? teenaged oiliness? Ollie couldn’t tell), until Roy’s face was laid bare. “There, that’s better,” he purred. “Now I can see your pretty face.” He dropped a kiss on Roy’s nose, then his downturned mouth, gentle this time, pushing his tongue against Roy’s lips in the same rhythm he was using his thumb to stroke Roy’s forehead.
Roy closed his eyes after the pet name. The last thing he needs is Ollie calling him kitten and getting off on it. A part of Roy is trying to rationalize that Ollie isn’t patronizing him. That this is going to go down the way he wants it to and things will be totally alright between them, finally. But Roy’s a possessive and needy teenager.
The only reason he’s so mad is because Ollie’s just always ignorant of how he really feels and then is totally dandy with the bare minimum or just the plain old lie to the face. Either way, he’s okay with both and Roy can’t be serious with himself anymore if that continues. It’s leading into dangerous territory. He can already note the signs.
Relaxing just slightly, Roy opened his pale colored orbs, staring at him as intensely as a glance like that can garner. The second kiss is gentler and he responded to that. He may be hard from being pinned but he felt less like a wretched person when Ollie pretended he wanted to take his time with Roy instead of just fucking the queer right out of him and leaving it at that.
“Hmmmmm,” Ollie said, contemplating Roy for a moment. “Not very talkative, are you? Well, I don’t need ‘em to be, is what I always say.” Robert Queen’s voice, Robert Queen’s words. In a demented way, it was all kind of ironic, wasn’t it?
He moved further up the bed, putting an arm around Roy’s waist to drag him up as well. “Now,” Ollie continued, “how about we see our way to getting you more comfortable, sweetums?” He slid a hand up the thin, soft t-shirt that Roy habitually wore to sleep, rucking it up over Roy’s chest and off over his head with a rough, quick tug. The kid was breathing rabbit-fast, pulse practically beating up through his skin.
This was as wrong as fuck. Ollie wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t see that, wasn’t able to turn his mind off enough to block out the screaming *wrongness*. But there was that cruel, ravenous side of him that was enjoying every bleeding second of this, of seeing the naked longing and conflict in Roy’s face, of his own rising consuming self-disgust, of the thrill of being able to seduce fucking anybody into fucking anything. Even Roy, and even himself. When it came down to it.
Pushing his nose into the damp, darkened hair curling under Roy’s ear, Ollie murmured, “How much do you want me to fuck you right now, Roy?” He wasn’t going a step further before Roy talked to him. Ollie would obviously have to be the one doing the work physically, but he couldn’t bear the idea of Roy staying silent through the whole thing. This was bad enough without Roy never saying a word either way.
Ollie says that like it’s matter-of-fact.
Like this is someone else he’s about to fuck. Like this is just some sort of game. I don’t need em to be, he says as if Roy’s just as disposable as the girls Ollie brings home.
He swallowed hard again, his chest rising quickly as he watched the shirt come off and felt the way Ollie’s face is being pushed and buried into his hair and he really doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to say no. But Roy knows this isn’t right. He knows that Ollie isn’t going to fuck him because he wants to.
Roy turned his head away from the mouth, closing his eyes and pushing his hands against Ollie’s chest. “Stop…..I lied…” He huffed, trying to stop his racing heart as he pushed more aggressively. “I lied..”
Ollie let himself be pushed, falling away from Roy, propping himself up on his elbows. “Good,” he said after a while. “I’m glad you came to your senses.” He felt nauseated with himself, with what they’d been doing, with the whole fucking situation. His head was spinning. “This is for the best,” he said, finally, as his stomach stopped turning and everything was slowly replaced by a flat white numbness. “You’ll understand that in time. I’m your guardian and your … your *father*, Roy. I might not be much of one, but that’s what I am. And I’m never gonna feel any other way.”
He got up from the bed, aching all over, and scrubbed his palms against his pyjama pants. He could still taste Roy, smell him, and it was worse than he ever could have feared. He’d never be able to forget it. “I can’t give you what you want,” Ollie said. He couldn’t stand to look at Roy right now. “It would kill me to do that with you, Roy, d’you understand that? I can’t do it.”
Ollie trudged to the doorway, feeling twenty years older. “By the way,” he said belatedly, “I’m heading out of town tomorrow, for …” He couldn’t even come up with a good excuse. Probably he didn’t need to. It would just be insulting to them both. “…For a couple of weeks. Hold down the fort, kid.”
Roy wanted to just kill himself and let it be over with.
Thanks a lot. Drive the knife in deeper, no really. It’s not like he was already broken enough. This is good. This is progress. Roy now knows that he will never get what he wants just by asking. That he will have to grow up big and strong to avoid feeling like shit and a waste of space if he was going to continue this gig with Ollie.
Feeling more empty inside with each passing minute, Roy just aimlessly nodded his head in response. Yeah whatever attitude. He curled into the mattress, dragging the blanket over his head and he willed Ollie to just leave so that he could take care of his ‘sinful’ thoughts in peace.
Maybe one day, Ollie will realize that this relationship had nothing to do with getting a home or receiving a new family and life for the better. On day he’ll realize that this was just Roy, loving him from the get go and struggling to deal with the issues that git ignored in this house with long, solo trips to nowhere.
Ollie wandered down to the kitchen in his pyjama pants, blearily opening the fridge and finding a bottle of tomato juice and no other juices. He stared at it, annoyed, then muttered, “Well, can’t blame you for not being orange, can I? Gotta be yourself.”
He drank most of the bottle standing in front of the open refrigerator, swaying a bit from the rum that was still kind of saturating his head and unsteadying his bloodstream, and was about to put a half-inch’s worth of juice back in the fridge when a voice at the shadowy breakfast nook said, “Don’t you dare put that back.”
“Roy?!?” Ollie bent over slightly, squinting in Roy’s direction with the refrigerator door open behind him like a searchlight. “The fuck’re you still doing up? We drank so goddamn much, thought you’d be sleepin’ till Ragnarok.” He scratched his flat stomach idly, slinging the other arm over the door of the fridge and letting the almost-empty tomato juice bottle dangle from his long fingers.
Roy narrowed his eyes, his forearms pulsing in his half awake—totally not going to pass out sort of zombie-like state. Okay. So yeah. They drank a lot but he passed out from that like an hour or so ago only to buzz right back up.
Excuse him for having sleeping issues. This house was too quiet sometimes.
Except for when it wasn’t with Ollie’s nosy self walking around. Roy had glanced at the clock on his way to the kitchen, late, twilight hour of night. Morning had a long way to come and Ollie was being irresponsible. Again.
“You better finish that.” He replied in a soft, almost commanding tone. He eyed the last of the contents critically and wondered vaguely what juice would do to Ollie’s sleeping patterns. If they both were going to be insomniacs, Roy at least wished Ollie would do it /not/ drunk with him.
Never sober. Never what he wants. Sighing softly, he leaned against the entrance to the doorway and crossed his arms. He felt like the adult in their relationship at times. Ollie’s good times fun times attitude getting in the way of a lot of things between them at times.
“eeeeeh.” Ollie twirled the plastic bottle with his fingertips, then tossed it in the air and smacked it with his forearm hard in the direction of the kitchen sink. It banged against the tap and fell in, rattling loudly as Ollie threw his arms up in triumph. “And he scoooooooooores!” He bumped the fridge door closed with his hip and came over to lean on the opposite beam of the doorway, grinning at Roy. “Cleaning lady’s coming tomorrow, she’ll get it.”
Roy was looking back at him. Roy was looking with that *look*, the one he’d developed recently, the one that had way too much shadow in it for Ollie’s comfort and way too much needy for anybody. Man, he thought he was teaching this kid to be self-sufficient! The last thing Ollie wanted was for Roy to become dependent on him. You couldn’t do that. Not in life in general, and sure as hell not in the line of work they were in.
“What’s eating you, kid?” Ollie asked. “Feeling the post-rum maudlin?”
He hoped Roy would actually run with it, make a joke, be chipper for fucking once. He’d always had a solemn streak wide as a buffalo run, but at least before, Roy’d had a manic energy to go with it. Now it seemed like he was always sullen, pissed, angry before you even talked to him.
Ollie sighed. Did Bruce have to put up with this kind of thing?
Roy rolled his eyes. “Real mature Dad.” He said in a tone that was slightly annoyed and more gentle that he should have. Roy’s losing a lot of ground here when he lets the alcohol muddle his thinking for stuff like this.
Roy fidgeted under Ollie’s questioning and he doesn’t want to have this “I can’t sleep” conversation, right now.
“Okay.” Ollie started to leave, but then he felt a sudden, possibly still-slightly-drunk rush of aggravation. So this was the plan? Ollie tries to reach out to Roy, Roy sighs and rolls his eyes and gives the brush, and then later on Roy whines that Ollie never *tried* and was never *there* for him?
Well, fuck that.
“Or,” he said, and then grabbed Roy around his skinny little waist, hoisting him effortlessly and flinging Roy over his shoulder like Viking plunder, “you can go the hell back to bed and stop skulking around here!” He started marching out of the kitchen, arms wrapped around Roy’s thighs.
Roy gave an undignified squeak at being hauled over Ollie’s shoulder. He squirmed, cursing incoherently and having a fit of struggling before he gave up. There was no way he was going to escaping.
“Hey, come on, stop treating me like a kid!! I can walk by myself.” Despite his protests, he stops struggling to simply wait to be put in bed. His hands are bracing himself against Ollie’s back because if he didn’t he’d be flopping against Ollie’s ass.
Sometimes though, he wanted to just see what the big fuss about his Dad and sex. But he knew,Ollie would never touch him like that….christ, soap opera thoughts, is this what happened when you got shitfaced?
Ollie was pleased when Roy stopped struggling (he was liable to get a knee to the stomach or a foot to the nuts that way, after all) and just braced hard against Ollie’s back, like some peculiar red desert fox on high alert. He marched Roy up the stairs and into his bedroom, heaving him off and tossing him down on the bed; Roy’s legs hooked heavily over Ollie’s shoulder, though, and in his half-plastered state he went flopping down too.
“Oooof,” Ollie said belatedly into the sheets. Then he turned over onto his back and sprawled out, flinging one arm low across Roy’s belly and the other with his hand dangling off the edge of the bed. “I should get you a bigger bed. Kingsize like mine. Although I guess you do fine with a queen.” He chortled at his own joke, then shifted till he was more comfortable, yawning. “I don’t feel like moving. I’m just gonna lie here until I fall asleep.”
He should hit him for that joke. No really he should—
SMACK
“That’s not funny,” Roy growled as he hit Ollie’s stomach and laid, sprawled next to the other on the mattress. He swallowed a bit because this is getting a little too surreal. Kind of like that dream he had when he—
And he’s not continuing that thought because Ollie’s shifting closer and they’re like two peas in a pod, except one pea is overgrown and lays heavy on the other. A part of Roy is really enjoying this, the other half is kind of mad, drunk Ollie is more pliable to weasel into his bed and the smaller part of his conscious is telling him not to do it.
God fuck, but he /really/ wants to…
It takes all of Roy’s self control to just not lean over and place his mouth over Ollie’s and —fuck, he’s really doing it. He’s seriously pressing his mouth against Ollie’s lips in a small kiss, his hand holding his ‘dad’ down with his palm on his chest. Scraggly hair getting in his face, his eyes closed and fuck.
He’s so dead right now.
Ollie kissed back drowsily, biting at Roy’s mouth to encourage him to open it; when Roy did with a startled, needy noise, he wrapped one big hand around the back of Roy’s head and kissed him harder, with growing fierceness. There was an intoxicating nervous desire in that initial kiss, whirlwind of desperately angry hormones and *want* tempered with the lingering sweet gold of rum.
Ollie licked all the warm soft places in Roy’s mouth, chasing that taste down mercilessly, forcing Roy to open up wider for it. He clenched a fist in Roy’s silky too-long hair, holding him still as Ollie rose from the mattress some, turning towards him. Roy’s hand curled against Ollie’s chest as his sweet little tongue caught between Ollie’s teeth, one narrow hip coming to rest against Ollie’s as he shifted closer, and, and —
— oh, GOD.
Bolting suddenly upright, Ollie scrambled off the bed and stood at the side of it, scrubbing at his mouth and staring at Roy with wide, wild eyes. “Jesus,” he panted, “jesus *christ*, Roy, I — “ He held out his hands, fingers splayed, palms down as if he was trying to calm an untamed animal. “Just … don’t freak out, okay? Don’t freak out.”
God the kiss is like sex and fuck, no, it’s better than that. So much better because it’s Ollie who’s pulling him closer. It’s Ollie who wants to devour his mouth and then some to hear the sounds come out of his mouth.
And this is a little embarrassing but he’s hard just from Ollie’s lips on his own, the way his hand tugs on his hair and how warm Ollie feels against him. Roy’s having the time of his life right up until Ollie wrenched himself back and away in a blurry mess of limbs and panic.
Roy blinked, confused and lost and just fuck, he felt—
His chest just throbbed with pain and he slowly started to panic. Was this what rejection felt like?
… And the kid was freaking out.
Ollie backpedaled until he hit the wall, and he just stayed there, like that, frozen for a while as he caught his breath and looked at Roy slowly starting to unravel. What the fuck had even just *happened*? One minute everything’s fine and dandy, middle of the night joking in the kitchen, and the next …
“Are … are you okay? Kid?”
Roy flinched at the word and Ollie dug his nails into his palms. Was that fucked up too, now? Any sort of trust the kid had in him?
There’d been enough grown superheroes with beautiful young sidekicks for there to be rumours — what actually happened in-between fighting crime, what grown men could want with these pretty boys running around at their sides. Ollie’d always shrugged the speculations off. He’d grown up shrugging off the made-up machinations of the press; it was easy enough to apply that ability to Green Arrow.
And now … this. This to throw a helluva wrench into the works.
“Roy,” he said. He didn’t move from the wall. He wanted to stay as far away as possible so Roy wouldn’t be afraid that Ollie would do anything inappropriate. “Roy, you gotta talk to me. I’m so sorry. I didn’t — I dunno what happened. I’m sorry.”
What? Sorry? But he was the one that—
And it all sort of just clicks into place. Falls into the nice little slots that people like to use as metaphors for when your brain finally picks up what’s going on and starts playing along with everyone else. Roy watched him carefully but not in the way that Ollie was assuming why he was staring.
He just…he wanted to get this straight in some sort of way even though it was already fucked up and he could totally put all the blame on Ollie. He could say Ollie was the one with a thing for his sweet, tight ass. That Ollie wanted to have sex with his sidekick or that Ollie was really into the Daddy kink area of their relationship.
But he doesn’t do that because Roy knows that deep down, it’s really him with the sick and twisted thoughts. He’s the one that’s been festering over Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow, since he was really little and thriving to become so good at archery just because Green Arrow was the best. Is the best.
Will always be the best.
Swallowing hard, he sat up onto his hands and knees, crawling to the other end of the bed to look down at him, still confused to all high hell. “Um…I didn’t—you weren’t—” He scrubbed angry, frustrated hands through his hair. How the hell do you explain to your dad that you totally wanted some of his sugar?
“You didn’t do anything wrong…..I..I started it..” He looked down at his lap, a little ashamed because now he’s in trouble.
“You … hah.” Ollie slumped against the wall, unconsciously mirroring Roy as he tore his hands through his hair. “Roy. That’s not how this works, buckaroo. When a grown man frenches the sixteen year old who’s supposed to be his ward and closest thing to a *son*, there ain’t nobody in the world gonna say it was the sixteen year old’s fault. Hell, nobody *should*.”
Shaking his head, Ollie thumped one of his fists gently, rhythmically against the doorjamb before asking, “So why’d you do it, anyhow?”
That was really the part that was confusing him. Roy’d always seemed on the needy side, yeah, but he’d never given any indication of being a queer. Always running after that pretty raven-haired Wonder Girl, or talking about his special maiden back on the reservation — whatever her name was — or leering at the women Ollie brought home. Or the ones they met when Ollie took Roy out. Hell, Roy’d fucked a few of them, if Ollie wasn’t mistaken.
So what the hell was this?
For a moment, looking at Roy anxiously shifting from knees to all fours and back to sitting on his heels on the side of the bed, Ollie felt true, deep, resentment for the kid. This was … this was the worst. This was a complication Ollie didn’t want — and even more than that, didn’t NEED. Roy could get laid anytime he wanted. Hell, with a man, if that was what he was really into. Why disturb what he and Ollie had going? Just to be fucking difficult, was probably why.
Would serve the kid right if Ollie *had* gone through with it, even a little. Taught Roy what it was the fuck he was asking.
Oh god. He feels like shit. Like the lowest of the low tier of criminals they bust and put away in jail. No. He’s worse than that because honestly, if Ollie could have responded any other goddamn way, it had to be like this.
Great. Yeah. Totally what he wanted. What he needed. His own ‘dad’ looking down at him for being well—fucking in love with him. Yeah.
Totally should have said something from the start. Would have saved them this mess from the get go. Great Roy, no seriously. You’re one of a kind. Really.
Fuck up some more why don’t you?
All the judgement Ollie’s sending his is just as suffocating as his own silence in the room. Sighing softly, he tugged at his hair and glared angrily at Ollie because it’s how Roy lashes out. It’s how he protects himself.
“Fuck, seriously?! I don’t give a shit what other people think. I did it because I wanted to and I—” He glanced away, swallowing and tugging hard at his hair because he can’t just say it. Not like this!!
“Why are you staring at me like I’ve fucking kicked your dog and fed it to hyenas, huh? Am I really that much of a disgusting little shit to you that you don’t want to have sex with me? I’m just here for shits and giggles? Huh? Is that it?”
Ollie rubbed his eyes vigorously as this sunk in. Well, as he tried to let it sink in; that wasn’t working too well. Roy’s words were just sort of swimming around at the top, too buoyant to drop down into cognition to be sorted through and made sense of.
“I’m not — it’s not that I think you’re disgusting. Roy. It’s nothing like that at all. And *I* give a shit about what other people think, because if they think I’m fucking you, they’re gonna take you away and throw me in jail. D’you get that part of it? Because that’s a pretty BIG part.”
It didn’t look much like his words were getting through, so Ollie sighed and pulled himself away from the wall, coming over to sit at the edge of the bed and lightly, distantly pat at Roy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting and yet detached gesture. “I didn’t take you in as some kind of reserve lay, Roy,” he said. “You’re not here for … that. Or as some kind of cruel joke. I took you in because I liked you, and because Brave Bow asked me to, and because I thought … it might be good for you. To have somewhere.”
Ollie tapped his fingers along Roy’s shoulder blade. “Now tell me, even knowing all that and having lived with me this long and knowing what I’m like and how I think of you, would you still wanna have sex with me? Or d’you think maybe you’ve just got a lot of emotional stuff going on and you’re getting a little confused?”
Roy grit his teeth in resentment.
“You’re always blaming my fucking hormones when we both know what’s really going on here! Why can’t you just accept that this is what I want? We don’t have to tell anyone about us. No one has to know, and if anyone can keep his mouth shut on secret’s Ollie, you know it’s me.”
He’s rambling, saying whatever comes out because Ollie isn’t getting it. That or he does get it and he’s blaming Roy’s emotions as a deflection. Fuck. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want distant or Daddy dearest. He just wants Ollie and his head is starting to pulse with the force of his growing headache.
It’s from holding back his growing irritation. His eye is twitching at the hand that’s supposed to be comforting. At the man that moved closer to try and quell his hormonal teenager with words instead of acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he seriously wanted this.
“This is my somewhere, Ollie…Being right here…with you and being needed…it’s what I want. Why can’t you see that? I’m not confused, I swear to god I’m being serious right now.”
“You’re being serious.” Ollie pulled back and stared at Roy. “You’re being … *serious*.”
This was a fucking trip. All this time he’d been puzzling himself in circles trying to figure out what the hell Roy’s teenaged major malfunction was, imagining bad friends and maybe too much drinking and maybe having lost a fight or something, and the problem’s been THIS.
Anger rising in his throat, Ollie rubbed one hand over his mouth and chin and then scratched at the corner of his jaw, still staring at Roy, working this out. Roy stared back at him, mutinous, stubborn, sullen. Convinced that this was the only thing Ollie could do to make him feel accepted. Determined to hate Ollie otherwise. “Okay,” Ollie said, finally, tightly. “Okay. This is what you want to feel like I care for you? Like I want you here? This is the only thing that’ll convince you? Then okay.”
Ollie put his forearm against Roy’s collarbones and bore him down to the mattress, moving swiftly on top of him and dropping his head low enough so their noses brushed when he talked. “You want this from me, Roy, I’ll give it to you. It’s not gonna help things. I can tell you that now. But you’re not gonna listen to me otherwise, so I don’t see what choice I have.”
Leaning more pressure into his arm braced against Roy’s chest, Ollie kissed him again, keeping himself levered above Roy with his free arm. This time he didn’t bother trying to make it nice. He pushed his tongue into Roy’s mouth, past lips and teeth, as deep and choking as he could make it.
This doesn’t make him feel satisfied. He isn’t given a sudden washing sense of relief when Ollie says okay and pushes him back onto the mattress. His chest actually tightened in fear because Ollie’s never looked at him so coldly before expect that time he fucked up an—
Shaking his head quickly, he tried to focus. Attempted to zero in on what he should have been feeling this whole time. Elated happiness that Ollie was going to have sex with him. To make love to him.
This though. This is not that moment.
He could see it in his eyes. And it simply broke his heart into pieces. Why can’t he just ever get a break? Just one thing to go right for him?
I mean, it’s bad enough he feels cursed. But now, with the way Ollie kissed him and how he tried to make it as hurtful and detached as possible—no sort of love or affection or even desire in it at all—a kiss of rejection; Roy felt that even through this, he was not allowed to have happiness, that the people he wanted would continue to slip right through his fingers.
And that’s the only word racing through his head. Rejection. Rejection, rejection…
Ollie slowed, paused, came to a stop and pulled away from Roy. “Oh, what’s the matter, kitten?” he asked. Roy was stiff as a plank, laid out with his arms at his side, eyes turned away. “Don’t actually like it when it actually happens? Don’t you worry your little head about it. Daddy’ll make it better.”
The frightening part of this was how gruesomely easy it came. All Ollie had to think about was the way his father’d spoken to the endless parade of very young, very beautiful, very eager to please secretaries and assistants he’d had around. All he had to do was turn off the endless looping voice in his head saying this is your son, you sick fucking bastard.
Moving his forearm from Roy’s chest, Ollie stroked Roy’s red hair back from his face, all the places it was sticking (sweat? tears? teenaged oiliness? Ollie couldn’t tell), until Roy’s face was laid bare. “There, that’s better,” he purred. “Now I can see your pretty face.” He dropped a kiss on Roy’s nose, then his downturned mouth, gentle this time, pushing his tongue against Roy’s lips in the same rhythm he was using his thumb to stroke Roy’s forehead.
Roy closed his eyes after the pet name. The last thing he needs is Ollie calling him kitten and getting off on it. A part of Roy is trying to rationalize that Ollie isn’t patronizing him. That this is going to go down the way he wants it to and things will be totally alright between them, finally. But Roy’s a possessive and needy teenager.
The only reason he’s so mad is because Ollie’s just always ignorant of how he really feels and then is totally dandy with the bare minimum or just the plain old lie to the face. Either way, he’s okay with both and Roy can’t be serious with himself anymore if that continues. It’s leading into dangerous territory. He can already note the signs.
Relaxing just slightly, Roy opened his pale colored orbs, staring at him as intensely as a glance like that can garner. The second kiss is gentler and he responded to that. He may be hard from being pinned but he felt less like a wretched person when Ollie pretended he wanted to take his time with Roy instead of just fucking the queer right out of him and leaving it at that.
“Hmmmmm,” Ollie said, contemplating Roy for a moment. “Not very talkative, are you? Well, I don’t need ‘em to be, is what I always say.” Robert Queen’s voice, Robert Queen’s words. In a demented way, it was all kind of ironic, wasn’t it?
He moved further up the bed, putting an arm around Roy’s waist to drag him up as well. “Now,” Ollie continued, “how about we see our way to getting you more comfortable, sweetums?” He slid a hand up the thin, soft t-shirt that Roy habitually wore to sleep, rucking it up over Roy’s chest and off over his head with a rough, quick tug. The kid was breathing rabbit-fast, pulse practically beating up through his skin.
This was as wrong as fuck. Ollie wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t see that, wasn’t able to turn his mind off enough to block out the screaming *wrongness*. But there was that cruel, ravenous side of him that was enjoying every bleeding second of this, of seeing the naked longing and conflict in Roy’s face, of his own rising consuming self-disgust, of the thrill of being able to seduce fucking anybody into fucking anything. Even Roy, and even himself. When it came down to it.
Pushing his nose into the damp, darkened hair curling under Roy’s ear, Ollie murmured, “How much do you want me to fuck you right now, Roy?” He wasn’t going a step further before Roy talked to him. Ollie would obviously have to be the one doing the work physically, but he couldn’t bear the idea of Roy staying silent through the whole thing. This was bad enough without Roy never saying a word either way.
Ollie says that like it’s matter-of-fact.
Like this is someone else he’s about to fuck. Like this is just some sort of game. I don’t need em to be, he says as if Roy’s just as disposable as the girls Ollie brings home.
He swallowed hard again, his chest rising quickly as he watched the shirt come off and felt the way Ollie’s face is being pushed and buried into his hair and he really doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to say no. But Roy knows this isn’t right. He knows that Ollie isn’t going to fuck him because he wants to.
Roy turned his head away from the mouth, closing his eyes and pushing his hands against Ollie’s chest. “Stop…..I lied…” He huffed, trying to stop his racing heart as he pushed more aggressively. “I lied..”
Ollie let himself be pushed, falling away from Roy, propping himself up on his elbows. “Good,” he said after a while. “I’m glad you came to your senses.” He felt nauseated with himself, with what they’d been doing, with the whole fucking situation. His head was spinning. “This is for the best,” he said, finally, as his stomach stopped turning and everything was slowly replaced by a flat white numbness. “You’ll understand that in time. I’m your guardian and your … your *father*, Roy. I might not be much of one, but that’s what I am. And I’m never gonna feel any other way.”
He got up from the bed, aching all over, and scrubbed his palms against his pyjama pants. He could still taste Roy, smell him, and it was worse than he ever could have feared. He’d never be able to forget it. “I can’t give you what you want,” Ollie said. He couldn’t stand to look at Roy right now. “It would kill me to do that with you, Roy, d’you understand that? I can’t do it.”
Ollie trudged to the doorway, feeling twenty years older. “By the way,” he said belatedly, “I’m heading out of town tomorrow, for …” He couldn’t even come up with a good excuse. Probably he didn’t need to. It would just be insulting to them both. “…For a couple of weeks. Hold down the fort, kid.”
Roy wanted to just kill himself and let it be over with.
Thanks a lot. Drive the knife in deeper, no really. It’s not like he was already broken enough. This is good. This is progress. Roy now knows that he will never get what he wants just by asking. That he will have to grow up big and strong to avoid feeling like shit and a waste of space if he was going to continue this gig with Ollie.
Feeling more empty inside with each passing minute, Roy just aimlessly nodded his head in response. Yeah whatever attitude. He curled into the mattress, dragging the blanket over his head and he willed Ollie to just leave so that he could take care of his ‘sinful’ thoughts in peace.
Maybe one day, Ollie will realize that this relationship had nothing to do with getting a home or receiving a new family and life for the better. On day he’ll realize that this was just Roy, loving him from the get go and struggling to deal with the issues that git ignored in this house with long, solo trips to nowhere.