check your dance card

[bossymarmalade]

The Abigail Horton Charity Ball was not one of Star City’s more glitzy or titillating yearly events. Instead, it was a sort of party anachronism, a perfectly and unchangingly orchestrated snobfest that had somehow endured in a city increasingly derisive of any social caste system. One of the reasons for this longevity was most likely the continued and considerable support from Oliver Queen, who had dutifully attended the Ball almost every year since its inception.

This, however, was the first year he’d actually brought somebody with him.

“Did you get a look at the cloakroom?” Ollie nudged Kate as, coats checked, they strolled through to the cocktail area of the enormous venue. “There was so much fur in there it was like some Guy Maddin windchime, all those little fox paws knocking against each other. The saddest clapping in the world.”

A waiter whisked a gleaming tray of champagne flutes in front of them, and Ollie swiftly appropriated one for each of them before the waiter disappeared again, having said nothing at all. Ollie grinned at Kate, resisting the urge to loop an arm around her, kiss her perfect hair. They had the whole party to ride out, after all; he needed to pace himself. Instead he gestured around with his glass before sipping from it. “I know you’ve been to some upscale soirees, Katie, but I’ll bet you’ve never been to a real dyed-in-the-silk, old money, pearl-clutching and monocle-popping kinda gig. Get ready to be scrutinized from stem to stern by every wealthy family that’s creaked out of the crypt and gussied up to be here.”

Apart from the waiters, they really were among the youngest people in attendance.

“You totally just brought me along so you’d have someone to snark to, didn’t you,” Kate murmured back in Ollie’s ear. She’d mastered the fine art of holding a pleasant-yet-uninterested expression a long time ago (it was sort of a job requirement), and she kept hers on even while making observations like this.

Ollie could get away with being overheard. Kate was many things that he wasn’t that made her only on the edge of suitable for attending, not to mention female as well. The expression wasn’t quite a mask; it was, she figured, what would be construed as civility…even if behind it, she was anything but. Or maybe it was from some bone-deep sense of self-preservation. Or both. It was hard to say.

Gently putting her hand on his shoulder, to turn a little, she took a sip of her drink and noted, still sotto voce, “To be honest, I’m stunned the animal-rights activists aren’t camped outside, because this would be seriously easy pickings, especially for Star City. Or am I missing the discreet police presence keeping them 100 yards away?”



The fact that they were indeed the youngest people there despite being in their late-30s, and the fact that Oliver Queen had brought a date, also meant they were pretty much already being stared at. Attention seemed to be acting in an outwards ripple. It made Kate mentally roll her eyes at the rude audacity of it. “You do bring me to the nicest places, cielo. Diners, cocaine processing plants, charity events,” she added. “Please tell me the food’s going to be good, at least, before I go insane from hunger and start punching snide older 1% ladies in pique.”

Actually, that mental image was kinda fun.

“Oh, the food will be a parade of cliches that inevitably involves beef wellington, a salmon equivalent, waldorf salad, and a completely tasteless and impenetrable offering calling itself ‘napoleon’ for dessert. If we’re lucky, this will be one of the years they do some kind of seafood in endive for the hors d’oeuvres and not pears and blue cheese.” As if on cue, one of the silent waiters swooped a wide french curve around them, bearing a platter with small pastries obviously comprised of pear and cheese.

Ollie snickered against Kate’s hair for just a moment before they heard a forceful male voice exclaim, “Young Queen! I was counting on seeing you here, Oliver!”

“It begins,” Ollie intoned direly to Kate, before turning to greet the white-haired man who clapped his shoulder and started instantly speculating on all the yachting Ollie must be doing to keep in such good shape. It was at least three minutes into the conversation before Ollie got a chance to introduce Kate, during which time the wife of the yachting man and the wives of two other men who joined the conversation bracketed her, smiling identical coral-lipsticked smiles over their champagne flutes.

None of them said anything, though, not until Ollie stroked his hand down the back of Kate’s arm and said, “—please meet Kate Spencer, my peerless companion and a brilliant attorney based out of Los Angeles.”

“Oh, are there Spencers in Los Angeles?” the coral lipstick with an obscenely large amethyst cabochon inquired, her question directed to a point above Kate’s right ear. “I wasn’t aware that any of the family had branched out of Atherton at all.” She paused while the other corals drank champagne in tandem, and added, “In order to find legal representation.” Another champagne pause. “And so forth.”

Ollie pinched Kate’s elbow.

This guy was really fucking into yachts, Kate realized, though how the hell he figured someone looked like Ollie only from hobby yachting was beyond her. Then again, a good chunk of Star City seemed wilfully blind to the fact that their local hero had distinctive facial hair and a young blonde protege, stunningly similarly to friendly neighborhood billionaire Oliver Queen. Sort of like Clark’s glasses made him invisible in Metropolis, perhaps? Kate put it down to not being completely and utterly jaded by tabloid media.

She had started to zone a little at the talk of yawing and rigging and drag, nibbling on her canape (god, who had thought about ruining perfectly good pears with bleu cheese in the first place, was it the French? they needed to be kicked hard)…but then she registered the appearance of the First Wives Club with significantly less Bette Midler. And then, then Ollie had to draw attention to her. Goddamn it. She was going to kick his ass for this.

Kate only had two real options, because she wasn’t going to pretend to be naive or flustered, that wasn’t her style. So she could either be completely and utterly uncouth in response (probably what they wanted) or she could take the moral high ground in a way that let them know she knew what they were doing and wasn’t going to take their shit.

The insult, she figured, was primarily for the sport of las perras ricas because they didn’t have anything else to occupy their time. She would have felt a little pity if they hadn’t been deliberately cruel. “Oh, I’m afraid the Los Angeles Spencers are merely part of the hoi polloi,” she said, with a faintly amused smile just tingeing her lips. “As is most of the city, hence why I’ve set up my shingle in the courtroom. But even my Knight relatives tend towards hands-on work. I find it’s far better for the soul, don’t you think, having a calling?

“By the by, have you met my grandmother Sandra? Perhaps not, I know getting to know people elsewhere can be so strenuous, and Opal City is a bit of a trek.” Her tone was syrup, languid and sweet, but with pure fire waiting for it to hit one’s throat—a comparison might be to Drambuie, perhaps, or Goldschlager. If they unpicked all of the retorts in her last impeccably polite and faintly self-denigrating statements, maybe they’d taste it.

“Sandra Knight? Of the Opal Knights?” The coral whose cuff bracelets necessitated her using both hands to get her champagne flute to her lips shared a glance with the other two. “Of course we know her, dear. Or rather, *I* know her — Felicita and Barbie don’t.” Cuff Coral managed to hoist her glass aloft with one hand in order to press the other one against Kate’s back, drawing her in slightly, creating distance between the two of them and the two remaining corals.

“I’m Mari-Anne Montenegro,” she continued, leading Kate towards the display of charitable works that the Horton Society was responsible for (Ollie’d been whisked off somewhere himself, it seemed), as Felicita and Barbie trailed sullenly behind. Mari-Anne looped her arm into Kate’s, losing the champagne glass to a silent waiter along the way so she could press her hand against Kate’s arm. “My husband Alexi and I are well acquainted with your lovely grandmother. Now where in the world has Oliver been hiding a pearl such as you?” She leaned closer, tone confiding. “We were practically his parents after his own … well, *you* know.”

“Oh, yes,” cabochon-decorated Barbie interjected, clearly unable to stand this any longer. “It seemed a natural progression, given how close you were with Robert Queen, after all.”

Felicita, perhaps sensing an opportunity for an in, timidly patted at Kate’s bare back. “You have such lovely fresh skin, dear,” she warbled. “And such a pretty colour! When I was a girl I was roses and cream, but being sun-kissed seems to be the thing nowadays!”

Show them you know what they’re doing, then play the right card. God, old money were just as heinously predictable as the nouveau riche. Admittedly, it had been a while since Kate had had to play this game, but it was like riding a bike.

“Lovely to meet you all,” she said, and pondered her options. This card, admittedly, had the benefit of being the truth, though Kate knew Sandra well enough by now; she’d likely spent every moment with women like Mari-Anne mentally gritting her teeth and imagining their humiliation in multiple forms. The former Phantom Lady, former spy? She’d dealt with bigger fish in the sea than petty amusements of the bourgeoisie and anything they could imagine.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she said to Mari-Anne, the smile coming naturally—it only took a little effort to turn the feral grin into a pleasant one, though it took a substantial amount not to recoil at being touched by the First Wives Club, how goddamn rude. She decided her imaginary happy place, unlike Sandra’s, was to picture the myriad ways she could rip Ollie a new one for leaving her in this situation.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been getting out of Los Angeles too much, socially,” she continued generally, and finished her own champagne, ditching the glass, even as she desperately tried not to wince at the microaggression. She wasn’t certain she wanted to face the ‘not white, gringa’ aftermath on top of all of the rest of this fresh hell. “Star City’s such a lovely little town. Oliver’s very focused on its improvement, after all, so I hope to spend more time here, if my schedule permits it.”

Oliver whose ass was going to be kicked very firmly once they got out of here.

“You must tell him to bring you to see Alexi and I,” Mari-Anne rallied, redoubling her grip and claim on Kate with a glare at the other two. “Perhaps we could go yachting—”

“Perhaps, but that’s a story for another day. And right now I need to reclaim my lovely date from you ladies, if you’ll forgive my having presumptions on her company.” Ollie swept in and wrapped his arm tight around Kate’s waist, causing Mari-Anne to detach instantly from her other side.

“Of course, Oliver,” she demurred, stroking her hand quickly down Kate’s upper arm before stepping back into the circuit of her two companions. Barbie rolled her eyes and added, “Your second parents are dying to spend some time with your new paramour, it seems,” as Felicita waved her hands in the air like they were seaweed and damply said, “And such dark hair, oh my! What a Spanish rose you’ve found for yourself, Oliver dear!”

Ollie couldn’t hold back a snicker at that last one as he wheeled Kate away, towards a waiter with more alcohol and shrimp puffs. “Did they get the chance to find out yet that my Spanish rose comes complete with thorns?” he murmured, pressing his nose against her hair briefly. “Or were you saving that for the dancing?”

“They’ve been ever so charming, Ollie, truly unique—Lovely again to make your acquaintances,” Kate said to the women with a pleasant smile and a look she knew they’d interpret as ‘so sorry, you know how men are’, before she let Ollie sweep her off towards the side of the room. God, she’d never realized how literally touchy-feely privileged people could be. Spanish rose, madre di dios, she would have to try not to puke.

Once they were out of earshot, she nicked a martini off the waiter, sipping it daintily, before muttering back, “First and foremost, la rosa Chicana is going to take this evening out of your ass, Oliver Queen. Just to make that clear from the outset. Possibly more if I have to think of suitable excuses to avoid that ridiculous pastime known as yachting.”

Ollie snorted faintly, an amused smirk just barely playing on his lips, to which Kate gave him a slow, steady look to indicate how very not joking she was. “If they didn’t figure out the thorny part from the five or so veiled barbs I shot at them, then they’re clearly better at dishing them out than actually understanding when they’re being insulted. When it comes to the dancing, though…”

She considered this for a second, then continued in the same sotto voce level. “Were you talking rose in the teeth tango scandalous? Or did you have something else in mind? Because we might be able to pull it off without causing an irreparable scene, if only because they think I’m fucking exotic.”

“Oh, I’m sure you sank most if not *all* of your barbs, my pearl of a girl. They’re just good at playing dumb if they need to, so they can return in kind and look innocent doing it.” Ollie swirled his own martini briefly in the glass before taking a healthy draught. “If it sates the schadenfreude of your wicked little soul, while you were fending off the harpies I was subjected to a diatribe about how our preferred and deserved lifestyle as Rich White Men is under siege in this country. They literally said *siege*.” He shook his head, holding the lemon twist against the side of the glass with his thumb while he finished off the martini. “I had to take a page outta the Bimbo Bruce Playbook and divert with a phenomenally stupid aside about Vikings and horned helmets and that fermented shark they serve in Iceland.”

Dropping the glass of with a convenient waiter, Ollie cocked his head at Kate and asked, “Were those women … *touching* you a lot? I distinctly thought I saw one of them tickle her fingers up your spine or something. Not that I blame her, god—” Ollie swooped around behind Kate, gazing appreciatively at the strong, sinuous curve of her back where her dress dipped down, “—it’s all I can do to keep my hands off you. Unfortunately all they’ll play is waltzes, so we might end up groping each other through the Laendler instead of doing a tango.”

“Definitely not all of them. They weren’t worth everything in the arsenal.” Kate grinned, showing more than a few teeth in the process, that ever so faintly feral expression. “I recognize that insults are their main form of recreation, but a courtroom prepares you pretty damn well for learning how to be incredibly insulting under the facade of civil discourse, it’s not quite like British parliamentary question time.”

She stretched a little, idly stabbed the olive in her martini, then ate it before noting, “I take it none of these people actually pay attention to the news or to what charities everyone else donates to, or they’d have figured out that I’m That Vigilante Girl Kate Spencer and that you’re the closest thing a billionaire can be to a pinko commie. I guess they’ve never learned to Google, or they have people to do that for them. By the way, Ollie, did you have to donate that much to MoveOn? Russ Feingold’s got a progressive election PAC that’s less hinky…”

It took some resisting to keep from snagging another drink right away; instead, Kate nibbled on some passing fruit salad in lieu of water or juice. Ollie’s presence behind her made her trail off the snark, mostly because he was just close enough for her to know he was that intimately near. Yet, at the same time, he was frustratingly keeping from touching her—the one person in the room she wouldn’t have minded that from. “Ugh, waltzes,” she murmured, shifting backwards just a little so she could speak to him over her shoulder. “Even so, yeah, I’ll take your hands all over me instead of the soft cold-cream pats of the cotillion. In fact, I’d say bring it on, at least I know why you’re touching me.”

That shift was too much for Ollie to resist and he leaned in, pressing his mouth to Kate’s shoulder and breathing her scent in deep. Familiar and warm and only discernable this close to her skin, his own little privilege, this red and brown fragrance of heat and scorch. “At this rate I dunno if I’ll make it all the way to dancing,” he confessed in a murmur, his lips dragging against her before he stood upright again with a sharp breath, gathering himself. “Although if you keep campaigning for Progressives United while I’m trying to seduce you, it might knock the wind outta my sails some.” He grinned. “And *then* who’ll take you on your new favourite pastime, yachting?”

Fishing a piece of melon from Kate’s fruit salad, Ollie popped it in his mouth just as dinner was announced. “Oh, you’ll like this,” he said, licking his fingers clean and then hovering his hand over her hip to guide her towards the dinner tables. “There’s a dry little speech first, somebody talking about Abby who never knew her but has very nice things to say about how she looked out for orphans and how she had an indomitable fighting spirit.” Ollie grinned. “Little do they know that the fighting spirits she preferred were title bouts and whiskey, and the way she looked out for *this* precious orphan isn’t exactly material for public speeches.”

They were seated and he flicked at his shirt cuffs and then his napkin, continuing, “Then they’ll choose one woman in attendance and crown her with a wreath of peonies, and she’ll represent the virtue of public service and, I suspect, the shapeliest ass in attendance, and be hounded by these old billy goats and biddies for the rest of the night.” Ollie clasped Kate’s hand in his own under the table. “And guess who the likely lucky lady will be tonight, Ms. Spencer?”

Having Ollie that near, feeling the brush of his lips (it felt as if he’d left a mark, a slow sweet burn that went straight through her) was almost irresistible—almost, though, seeing as Kate hadn’t had that much to drink. Certainly not enough to start necking in front of judgmental old biddies. “I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I need to cold-shower you,” she replied with a soft laugh, looking at him once more over her shoulder (and if it was a little come-hither, then it was his damn fault). “As for yachting, god, can’t we tell them I get seasick or something?”

She let herself be led to the table, let the chair be pulled out for her, though it was the kind of courtesy that grated on her nerves, then eased into the seat. After murmuring thanks for the water that was poured for her by the waitstaff and the napkin placed in her lap, she continued to Ollie, “She sounds like my kind of lady, the ideal type to look after poor orphan souls. At least this on—”

Which was about the time she processed what he’d gone on to say, and what he was implying, and she hissed, sotto voce, fingernails digging just a little into his hand for emphasis. “It’s really hard for me not to think you knew this would happen, Oliver,” she muttered, though her tone might have given away that she was half-pleased and amused as much as irritated. “You didn’t mention being named Queen of the fucking May as a part of the package.”

Some guy in an impeccable suit was droning on elsewhere about the levels of contribution that had occurred over the past year, and unfortunately, she then had to let go of Ollie’s hand for a moment to golf-clap.

“Might as well be Queen of May when you’re as fond of a nice big maypole as you are, darling—” Ollie started, smirking, before he let the innuendo drop in order to join in the applause. The man next to Kate surveyed her in what he likely thought was a surreptitious manner, taking particular note of her jewellery and then reported to the woman at his side, who nodded and leaned forward over the table so she could see past her husband to address Kate directly.

“That’s an intriguing piece you have on,” she remarked, clasping her own sapphires. “I’ve never seen anything like it at one of these functions, so charmingly ethnic! Is it something popular among … younger people? Oh, or are they the family jewels?”

Ollie snickered into his fist at the unfortunate turn of phrase (if they were gonna be subject to remarks about “younger people” and the like, might as well be immature about it) and leaned forward himself to join the conversation. “Actually, she keeps the family jewels for special occasions,” he interjected. “More private affairs.”

The woman frowned and was about to ask something further when Kate’s name was suddenly announced from the podium, where the Horton family representative had been making his speech about women in public service. He gestured grandly towards their table and a gawky teenage girl scampered over and placed a wreath of fat, bobbling peonies in white and pink and crimson atop Kate’s head as all the guests applauded politely. Ollie stood with Kate, and as he leaned in to kiss her, he murmured, “If I prompt them to demand a speech from you, will that totally demolish my chances of getting laid tonight?”

Kate shot Ollie a wryly amused look at his innuendo, and was about to say something like ‘how old are we today, twelve’ when she noticed the discussions about her jewelry. To be fair, the necklace was indeed from her abuela’s wedding jewelry (it had been either that or hijacking Ollie’s bank account to even remotely compete at this kind of event, and Kate loathed the idea of buying expensive stuff she wouldn’t wear again). However, she’d been of the understanding it was about as exotic as maybe a Swanson tv dinner tamale.

It seemed like this evening was an exercise in trying not to wince openly at awkward remarks, and while it was testing her will, she managed to persevere. “It’s a family piece, yes,” she said, “though I suppose this style’s becoming popular again among the, uh, younger set. I believe my grandmother had it from an independent jeweller in Los Angeles…”

Even with the being immature, she gratefully let Ollie cut her off before she had to make MORE small talk about the necklace, which her abuela hadn’t particularly liked anyway, though it looked nice on Kate herself. Madre di dios, definitely twelve, she thought to herself.

And that was about the time that someone called her name. Kate mentally groaned, but stood up, blushing, and allowed herself to be bedecked in peonies (at this time of year, what the fuck?). She leaned in to kiss Ollie and murmured against his lips, “I’d say about a nine on the Richter scale, yeah. Though if you really want to hear me to shill for progressive politics and the welfare state…go right ahead.”

Even so, maybe she was enjoying this in sort of a sick way, being an infiltrator into the unsuspecting rich gringo realm. And hey, maybe someone here would learn something this evening. Doubtful, but not impossible.

The rest of the dinner section of the evening passed in a rather more-of-the-same way: old-fashioned menu selections (although thankfully, the hotel had a chef who’d worked at Michelin starred restaurants, so they were prepared beautifully), rude and invasive questions posed with total aplomb (for some reason, many of the comments were about how the colour of the peonies looked well against Kate’s dark skin and hair), and even more liquor (which these guests for all their advanced age seemed to be hammering back eagerly).

“Jesus, you’d think they were as anxious to get out of here and screw as we are,” Ollie remarked after one dowager practically lurched into their table on her way past. He turned in his chair to face Kate, taking her hands. “So,” he said, “how about we take one spin around the floor for propriety, then haul ass upstairs to our nice big passingly-soundproof room? I’t been fun watching you sport fishing all evening, but I am increasingly less interested in your educating the clueless upper crust and more invested in you teaching *me* a thing or two. My education is sorely lacking in the areas you’re an expert at, my dove. Not to mention—” Ollie drew back a little, raising one eyebrow in appreciation as he swept his gaze across her breasts and down to her hips, “—I’m dying to divest you of this gown as soon as possible.”

The food was considerably more edible than Kate had pictured it being when she’d been told fucking beef Wellington, though she could think of a wide number of haute cuisine dishes that she’d prefer in this situation. The edibility factor was a challenge, regardless, particularly when she was only apparently supposed to pick at her food and look bored at it.

Not that she had much time to eat, seeing as everyone seemed to want to talk to her, spout banal problematic quips that were supposed to be funny, maybe. At least that meant she didn’t drink too much, either, and at least Ollie was at her elbow, schmoozing like hell, because otherwise she would possibly have gone postal.

“They probably are,” she murmured back in his ear. While to observers, the press of her hand seemed light, feminine against his shoulder, the reality of it combined with the way she met his eyes and her faint smirk put greater import to it. It was the way that he’d looked at her that did it, that and how he was asking for it—for everything. “In awkward ways I don’t want to think about. So yeah, show me the floor, cielo. I’m feeling…” She licked her lips and eased to stand. “…overdressed.”

Ollie had meant what he’d said about enjoying the sight of Kate acerbically fending off the more cloying and barbed overtures of the moneyed set — it was something he had fun doing himself sometimes, although *his* act was somewhat less delicate and involved more of getting totally hammered and gleefully skewering their entire social class for its excesses and hypocrisy. But fun as it was, he didn’t want to subject Kate to this for *too* long; she wasn’t easily wounded, but now he was actually *hearing* some of the things that people said to her? Ollie would’ve flipped his shit entirely about a half-hour ago.

Standing with her, Ollie hovered his hand against her back — close enough to feel the warmth rising from her skin, but not quite touching — and they moved out to the dance floor together, where other pairs were finished up the last waltz. “Thank you for coming to this with me,” Ollie murmured as he settled his hands onto her, finally, in the quiet moments between the end of one tune and the beginning of the next. Kate turned her gaze to meet his and Ollie caught his breath. Sometimes it hit him just like that, still, the idea that this woman was going to love him and be his to love forever and ever.

Kissing her softly, he added, “I promise the Queen Industries do’s won’t require you to enjoy them on an ironic level to get through ‘em. Less stuffy, for one, and a vastly more varied demographic for another. Plus the man in charge is a dashing young fellow with exquisite taste in exotic girlfriends and an all-consuming passion for yachting, I hear.”

The not-losing-her-shit had been the reason Kate had decided to avoid the alcohol; the last thing she needed right now was to screw around with her impulse control. Admittedly, not letting loose a right hook on the next person to use the word exotic to describe her was only half of it. The rest consisted of not dragging Ollie off upstairs cave-person style for doing things like he was doing now, his hand just.there. in a way that made her bite her lip.

The thanks though, caught her by surprise, a little, and she turned to look at Ollie, only to catch him watching her like he’d never seen her before and was entranced. It made her smile, even as it made her just the tiniest bit weak in the knees. She leaned in for the kiss, then pressed her cheek against his so she could speak into his ear.

“You know, I’ve heard about that guy,” she said, breath warm against his skin, even as she was angling them subtly for the quickest possible polite exit. “He’s apparently the man to meet if you want to get to know Star City intimately. Do you think you could be a sweetheart and arrange an invitation for this exotic nymph? I’d even deign to go yachting, if it came to that.”

“I think I could swing that, if I tried. You happen to be just his type. A little ornery for a nymph, perhaps, but as far as I know, he likes a challenge.” Ollie laughed and gathered Kate in his arms enough to dip her for a kiss and then swing her back up, lifting her off her feet for a twirl. “Your high spirits will put the rest of us to shame, young man!” one of the passing waltzers said, trying and not quite succeeding in keeping the admonishing tone from his voice.

That was enough of *that*. Kate had maneuvered them close enough to one of the hallways that it was an easy matter to go back into classic waltz mode and surreptitiously move out of the main ballroom, jogging down the corridor until the music faded behind them and they came out in the main lobby. “A successful escape!” Ollie declared, and gestured to the concierge. “C’mon, let’s get the key and ascend to our lovenest for the night.”

He swept Kate over to the front desk, where the concierge processed their check-in while smirking patronizingly at Kate’s circlet of peonies as much as possible. Finally, Ollie snatched the keycard from the man and plucked the flowers from Kate’s hair, jamming them down on his own head. “Honey, you know I hate when you borrow my wreaths,” he scolded her, then made a face at the concierge as they headed to the bank of elevators.

“You’d think he’s never seen a gorgeous woman crowned with blossoms before,” Ollie said when they stepped into the car. The doors barely slid shut behind them and he was already pulling Kate close, kissing her deep, one hand cupping her ass to hoist her against him. He’d spent most of the evening imagining what she would feel like through this slinky, expensive dress, and being able to put his hands on her was almost a relief. Growling, Ollie gathered up a handful of the soft fabric and yanked at it, hard, the sound of stitches giving way making his blood go even hotter.

“I’ve heard he likes them ornery,” said Kate, before she giggled (couldn’t help herself) as Ollie spun her about and kissed her. That was, until her squee was harshed by one of the Elder Statesmen—clearly they couldn’t get out of the room soon enough. One of the benefits of the hero/vigilante gig was the ability to spot an exit, and she was glad to find that Ollie had his eye on the metaphorical ball.

Even if they had to sprint like teenagers down the corridor, her heels tripping her up just enough to mean she was stumbling a little, and even if the concierge was going to be a total douchebag. Kate settled him with the ‘your salary is paid to be polite, little boy’ gaze, which unfortunately didn’t do much; he was clearly inured to most things from rich guests. She smirked, though, when Ollie plopped the peonies (now starting, slightly, to wilt from heat and movement) on top of his head. “Sorry, dear,” she replied to him, chipper as hell, “but the thorns were all taken.”

It was about then that she started laughing again and didn’t stop until they got to the elevator, and the doors shut, and Ollie cut her off with a scorching kiss, the kind where Kate hadn’t realized just how much she needed it until it was done. “oh my god,” she moaned, leg drawing up against his side, ass pushing back into his hands, and dragged her teeth against his lower lip, hissing. “Damn it, Ollie, you know how much I fucking paid for this dress.”

Not like she was stopping him from tearing it further.

“I do,” Ollie murmured, still kissing her. “And it’s served its purpose.” He grabbed hold of the back of her dress in both hands and ripped it open, the tearing sound startlingly loud in the elevator confines, and couldn’t hold back a hungry, appreciative noise when he pushed the ruined top half down to expose Kate’s chest. He skated his palms over her collarbones and down her arms, and was just cupping her breasts when the elevator dinged.

“Goddammit,” Ollie said, reluctant to stop touching her, but Kate shoved him back enough to gather up and clasp her dress against her front before the doors slid open and Ollie pointed them down the hall. “All clear,” he promised, then noticed Kate kicking off her heels. She had enough to contend with considering the state of her dress, so Ollie scooped up her shoes and, clasping their free hands together, they hurried together through five doors’ worth of hallway before reaching their own room.

The door shut behind them and Ollie hugged Kate close, luxuriating in the feel of her bare, smooth back, before dropping slowly to his knees. The dress dragged down with him, and he pressed his head against her for a moment, eyes closed. There were peonies crushing against Kate’s skin, he’d forgotten he was still wearing them, but he wanted to just *hold* her like this for a little bit first. Feel her breathing fast and steady, feel her fingers in his hair, breathe it all in.

Kate had liked the dress, so the part of her that wasn’t hopelessly horny resolved to insist Ollie buy her a replacement. Eventually. When they weren’t fooling around in the elevator. Or screwing hot and needy and slow for most of the evening, as she’d put on her mental itinerary for about five minutes from then.

Or hell, screwing in the elevator, because if Ollie kept his hands there, his mouth just there, made that kind of noise much longer, she was going to grab him and—

Fucking hell. The bell dinged, and she pushed back enough to get herself vaguely covered (decent was not a word that was going to fit) and shoes off fast enough to get out and down the hall, then through the door to the room. Leaning against the wood, Kate caught her breath, wove her hands through Ollie’s hair as he went down on his knees for her, almost agonizingly slow.

She’d think about the dress (and what the hell she’d wear out of here in the morning) later, she decided, her fingers smearing pink against her skin and into the gold of his hair. While she hadn’t ever thought about peonies and sex much before…if ever…the scent of her and the clean satin of her lingerie and the smell of the flowers merged perfectly. It made her smile, make a soft, pleased noise, as she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the door.

Ollie could stay there for a minute. She needed him close, just for a moment—and besides, she was interested to see how long it would take for him to no longer be able to hold back.

Tipping his head up so his chin pressed against her, Ollie waited until Kate looked down at him, his fingers stroking along the back of her thigh and tangling in the ribbon running along the back of her silky knickers. “My Katie,” he murmured, letting himself revel in the sight of her, the tilt of her breasts and the gold of her skin and the points of her mouth before tugging down that satin underwear, dragging his lips against each newly-uncovered inch.

And since he was wrecking all her clothes anyhow, Ollie slid his hands up the sides of Kate’s thighs and beneath her underwear, using the flimsy material to yank her closer for him to duck his head down and push between her legs with his tongue. The taste of her made him moan, the intimate familiarity of it and the discovery that she was wet already, wanting him. He’d normally spend a good long time going down on her, it being one of his favourite things to do, but the wetness of her — Ollie felt desire twist in his belly, and he stood up, swinging Kate off her feet (out of her destroyed dress, as well) and throwing her on the bed.

“No time to waste,” he said, prowling onto the mattress over her. “I can’t deal with dragging it out any longer, goddammit, Kate — this whole bloody evening’s been a protracted exercise in foreplay and forbearance. I need you right fucking now, honey, I want you to get those long legs up in the air for me, c’mon.” Ollie delivered a smack to Kate’s hip, pulling open his clothes haphazardly and not taking his gaze from her for a second.

Usually Kate would have held Ollie down there, demanded without words that he kept his mouth on her, pulled his hair to beg that he stayed, her legs spreading a little. Unfortunately, he’d gotten up before she could react much more than moaning low at the dichotomy of satin and wet heat from his tongue, and fortunately before he completely ruined the briefs she’d happily picked out.

She laughed and lay back on the bed where she’d landed, completely naked save for her stockings, half falling down along her thighs. Spreading her legs, she made no secret of the fact that the urgency of the situation was turning her on even more; however, she wasn’t about to let Ollie get away with everything turning out exactly how he wanted, not after the crap she’d been through that evening.

“You’re wearing way too much for that, cielo,” she drawled, voice low and syrup dark, hand slipping between her thighs to stroke her clit as she watched him. Her fingertips moved slowly, idly, grazed in the wetness before shifting back upwards a little for ease of movement, and she looked straight at him as she did it. Let him see it all, and if he was so damn interested in being assertive, he’d have to get rougher.

Not like she’d mind either way, at all. She was just as hungry for it, for whatever they were going to have. Tonight she’d let him call some of the shots, then tomorrow get her own back. It would be sweet.

“Woman,” Ollie grunted, hopping off the bed long enough to take off his pants and boxer-briefs. His tie had gone off somewhere, jacket already puddled where it had landed halfway across the room, and he scowled as his cufflinks went scuttering god knows where when he carelessly tugged off his shirt. Pausing, Ollie held his arms at his sides, palms turned towards Kate so she could get a good look. “Undressed enough for you?” he asked rhetorically before getting back on the bed, crushing the discarded peonies.

The way she was lazily tickling at her pink, softly swollen clit made his mouth water, but Ollie reminded himself that there would be enough time for that — the whole rest of the night, in fact — and right now he wanted something rather more direct. His cock was already heavy, hard, and he licked his lips as he slid his hands up Kate’s legs, breath catching when the sensation turned from the faint rasp of stocking to taut naked skin. “I don’t know why you’re being so difficult,” Ollie chided her, pushing Kate’s legs together and then hoisting them up, nestling her ankles against his left collarbone so her hips raised off the bed a little. “You want this as much as I do, if not more—”

He pushed his fingers between her legs, sucking in his bottom lip when they met the slick folds of her. “Were you this wet for me while we were down there, fending off the moneyed elite? God, tell me you were, Kate. Tell me you were sitting next to me with those damn flowers in your hair, primly eating that stupid sorbet and hoping you wouldn’t soak through those expensive panties.” Ollie twisted his fingers on that last word, knowing it irked Kate for whatever peculiar reason she had, wanting to rile her more at the same time that he wanted to hear her confess her desire for him.

Kate cocked her head at the rhetorical question, solely to be a smartass about it, though she was seriously, seriously enjoying the view. That was obvious in the smile playing over her lips, in the way she flicked further wetness over her clit—and she could see Ollie watching that, debating his next move for a second even though he had plans in action, and it made her smile even more.

He pulled her legs up, and Kate reluctantly let go, sucking slowly on her wet fingertips as he did. “I’m being difficult because it’s far more fun this way,” she noted. “Don’t play the who wants it more game with me, Oliver. Aching for a fuck? Sure I am, but the way you’ve been looking at me all night and how damn hard you are right now makes that a littl—”

She was cut off by the way he slid his fingers in, callouses just barely meeting any resistance, just enough to make how he sank into her cunt even more delicious. Deciding in a split second she didn’t feel like pretending to be coy, Kate let her head fall back against the mattress, moaned deep in her throat for a moment. After a moment to regain composure, hard-won from the dirty images Ollie was currently evoking with words and fingers, she shifted one leg over his head so her legs were spread for him. She couldn’t bear down like she wanted to when he twisted his fingers, not like this, when her ass was in the air, and so she almost futilely rolled her hips instead, hissing.

“I didn’t give a shit if I did soak through them,” she growled, her eyes meeting his. “How could I not be fucking wet for you, darling? With the way you were touching me, how your breath felt against my ear when you had something pithy to say, how every time you looked at my dress it was as if you were picturing me half out of it. And all under the veil of bullshit propriety…”

Reaching up, half sitting up, she slid her still-damp fingers into his hair, tugged a little, knowing he could smell her. “It made me ache,” she murmured, “hurt so goddamn sweet.”

Ollie closed his eyes and butted his head against her fingers in his hair, the smoky timbre of Kate’s voice doing just as much to stir him up as the way she opened her legs for him, the scent of her. “Was thinking of throwing you onto one of the tables and screwing you right there, in front of them all, to hell with the spotless tablecloths and crystal wineglasses and gossipy tongues.” He blinked open and kissed the inside of her knee, slightly dazed by the force of his own fantasies. “I want everybody to see us, Katie, how much I love you, how much I want you. What you mean to me. I want everyone to know.”

Moving forward on his knees along the mattress, Ollie let Kate’s legs slip down his sides so he could put his arms around her waist, hoist her up and against him. Her arms went around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world, her body settling along his like it belonged there. As if it was a universal truth that they should fit together.

“C’mon, sweetheart, get yourself on my cock,” Ollie urged, licking gently at her nose and eyelid and forehead, tasting her. “I wanna see you sink down on me, take it all, right up to the hilt. Wanna watch your face, how much you love being filled up with me.”

He dug his fingertips into Kate’s skin, rolling his hips up slow, cock slipping along the lips of her pussy but agonizingly not inside her, not yet. Ollie kissed her, sucking on her tongue and nipping the inside of her lip, coaxing her to do what they both wanted. “Except I want it more,” he murmured against her mouth, finishing the thought out loud. He didn’t mind losing the who wants it more game. “I’m aching for you, Kate. Give it to me.”

Kate would have been smirking that she’d won, save for the fact that she was so fucking turned on that she didn’t give a damn anymore. The image of them screwing on the table, to shattering crystal and outrage and the sharp taste of champagne muted by Ollie’s mouth on hers—that led to a needy, soft sound in the back of her throat, which came forward again, harder, as he pulled her up.

She pressed her chest against his, breasts aching, needing the friction that he’d provide, and bit into her lip at the sweet shift of his cock, slick against her lips, firm against her clit. “They’ll all know,” she said into his ear. “We’ll show them, I don’t know how, but we’ll show them, Oliver.”

Arching her back, Kate moved a little—if Ollie hadn’t been so desperate himself, hadn’t admitted as much, soft and honest amidst the urgency of everything, she would have sworn he was teasing the hell out of her by not moving in, but she knew better. He was waiting for her instead, and somehow she could almost taste the pleasure of it, savor on her tongue. “Never say I’m not obliging,” she replied, voice husky, as she sank down onto him, taking it slow because it felt even better that way.

Kate didn’t give a damn what she looked like just then, head thrown back, eyes wide and dark, as she took his cock into her, but from the expression on Ollie’s face, it must have been something worth seeing.

“Ahhh, *fuck*.” Ollie groaned low as Kate’s body swallowed him up, her mouth parting and eyes going round as the slow, slow sensation. Once he was fully seated inside her he moved one hand to the back of her neck and wrapped his other arm around her hips, holding her there while Ollie rocked upwards. “That’s perfect, fucking perfect.” She was liquid heat around him, silky smooth and tight, and Ollie kissed Kate hard, burgeoning lust catching up with him and sweeping away any notions he had of taking his time. “You’re the most obliging woman I’ve ever known,” he grinned, leaning Kate back enough so he could lower his head to her breasts, take one of her stiff nipples into his mouth.

The feel of her pebbled skin under his tongue just made him even hotter, and Ollie lunged forward with a growl, pushing Kate down on the bed, hauling one of her legs up onto his shoulder again. He sucked on two of his fingers and ran his hand down the back of Kate’s strained thigh, to the curve of her ass, and then inside of her, wetness of his spit and her cunt easing the way just enough.

“I’m gonna fuck every single part of you, darling,” he promised, biting down on her nipple and then moving to her other breast. “Come in your cunt and mouth and ass, taste every inch of you. D’you want that? Tell me you want it. Tell me what you want, I’ll do any of it. I can’t get enough, Katie.” Ollie pushed his fingers deeper into her ass and pulled his hips back, driving in again as he kissed her chin. The angle of Kate’s leg up on his shoulder made her more open, harder for her to control the pace of their screwing, and Ollie smirked against the corner of Kate’s open mouth as he twisted his fingers, just a little.

“Less obliging and more that I want you so damn much,” Kate retorted, regaining a bit of mental equilibrium even as they began to move, this familiar enough that she could think just a little. The fit of Ollie inside her, the way he kissed her and how she kissed back, the push and pull of their thrusts, the slight edge of his teeth on her breast; even while familiar, it still felt new enough each time to drive her wild.

And then, knowing they’d found a pace and that she was accustomed to it, Ollie would do something like this, completely unanticipated. Bowl her over, yeah, that she was ready for, even as his mouth was still on her, the shift making his teeth dig in. It was just painful enough to make her even wetter, thinking she’d be fucked into the bed hard and fast. But his fingers, slipping rough but steady into her ass, that she hadn’t planned on, and her eyes widened again, further this time, along with her hoarse cry (both surprise and pleasure, it didn’t hurt enough to do anything more than add to the sensation).

Kate was not fucking complaining, though. Even though he was taking it almost too slow for her taste, and she couldn’t do much about it save buck her hips downward as best she could with one leg in the air, trying to get more of his hand, his cock, his body against her clit, anything.

“Every fucking inch of me,” she whispered, just before Ollie twisted his fingers inside her and she cried out, head hitting the mattress hard as she arched her back and clenched around him. When she could get words out again, they were raw, each breath sharp as a knife. “jesuschrist, Ollie,” she hissed. “Do it, then. Fill me up, make me whole again. Come in my cunt, so I can lick you clean and take it down my throat, then take all night to fill my ass. Want to walk out of here with you on my lips and running down my thighs, knowing you’re mine, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Ollie said, and pushed the knee of Kate’s free leg out wider, bowing her hips open as he lunged forward. He held there for a moment, then began working into her, his cock sliding easily enough in their combined wetness to let him get up a punishing rhythm of thrusts. Kate’s cunt clenched down on him with each stroke and Ollie let his hand drag down her leg, snagging into the lace band on her stocking. “As long as *you* understand, sweetheart, that you might have to walk out of here wearing nothing except my suit jacket and your heels and my fingerprints all over you.”

The sound of her silk stocking ripping in his grasp was loud even over their panting breath, loud even over the slap of their bodies meeting. He kept the filmy lingerie tangled in his fingers as he pushed at her knee again, keeping Kate open for the battery of his thrusts, feeling the muscles of her legs tighten with each pass.

Ollie pumped his fingers into the hot grip of Kate’s ass a few more times before pulling his hand away, wiping it briefly on the sheets and moving Kate’s ankle off his shoulder. He took her wrist and raised it to the mattress beside her dark head, pinning it there. “My beautiful Kate,” Ollie rasped, voice made gutteral and jolting from the force of his fucking deep into her. “There were a billion things more he wanted to tell her, babble out to her and fill the air around them, but fucked if he could remember any. All he could think of was coming inside her, seeing Kate buck her hips up to receive it, hear her shriek in ecstasy.

Which would take some more attention and care than just him pounding her into the mattress; god knew they both loved that, but if Ollie knew Kate, there was one other thing she’d want in order to to get there.

He bundled her torn stocking in his hand and reached down between them, pushing the lace band against her clit with his thumb.

“Was planning on wearing it well,” Kate retorted, voice a throaty rumble. She barely got it out, though, before she was moaning, a gasp and cry each time Ollie thrust into her. Her body was reacting without her thinking about it now, cunt clenching with his every move in a futile but ridiculously pleasurable attempt to keep him there, buried within her as deep as either of them could go.

(Actually, she’d been planning on wearing his underwear, or alternately taking some of his clothes hostage until he went out and got her a track suit or something, but Kate had other, far more pleasurable, things to think about at that moment.)

She did want bruises from him painted all over her, her hips, her thighs, her breasts, but as she was going to tell him as much, his fingers withdrew from her ass, and she whimpered a little, needily, at the loss. “Cielo,” she groaned, half-lost in the sound of him ripping her stockings and the cool air, a momentary feather brush before his hand was on her, against sensitive skin. Being pinned down with his other hand, though, even just a little, made her buck and thrust against him as best she could—not so much fighting it as working into it, knowing from the sound of his breathing, the tense of his shoulders, that he was close.

Very close, if the way he was touching her now was indication, and she’d happily welcome the help.

Keening softly, Kate shifted up into the scratch of the lace, the incessant pressure of Ollie’s fingertip against her clit, and rolled her hips just once or twice before she could feel her orgasm threatening, just on the edge. She made a sound, reached out for him with her free hand to fist it in his hair and meet his eyes, needing him to see her and know right before she came.

It was violent, this time, pleasure ebbing out of her in rough jerks and low cries that were his name but without words. Kate kept her eyes on Ollie’s though, hand and gaze not letting him look anywhere else but at her face as she came, having him see everything he’d dragged out of her.

That was all he needed to let go too, to the sound of Kate’s ragged calls and his own panting response, his belly and thighs and balls tightening in the few cresting, blinding moments before release. Ollie held that gaze between them as they both rode out their orgasms — no choice in it, not with Kate’s fist in his hair and the endless deep dark of her brown eyes — and sprawled out the hand that was pinning her wrist, sliding it up to clasp their fingers together.

Ollie lowered his head just enough to touch their noses together, then their lips, still drawing breaths too shuddery and irregular to commit to proper kissing. Everything felt warm and fluid and sticky in the most delicious way, the way Kate’s skin was soft and salty and perfumed, the way her body was holding his cock inside like she wanted them to never be apart. “Everything is perfect with you,” Ollie murmured, and finally, slowly, lowered himself onto her, rolling them over so she was on top of him.

He brought up the hand that was tangled in the remains of her shredded, soaked stocking and used his teeth to pull it off, sucking for a moment at the lace before dropping it off the side of the bed. “So pretty,” Ollie said, twirling some of her hair around his damp fingers, then grinned slowly. “All the exoticness, must be.”

Kate had guessed that would bring Ollie along with her, and she was glad not to be disappointed, swearing she could almost feel the hot rush of him inside her even as she was so damned immersed in her own. Her fingers twined automatically with his as she tried to breathe, shakily and raggedly, against his mouth. It wasn’t particularly effective, but it didn’t have to be, sharing air and heat and warmth between the two of them.

Ollie shifted her on top of him, and she gasped, clenched momentarily and unconsciously, at the movement, which meant he made a short soft needy sound that he probably wouldn’t ever admit to. It made Kate smile, and she leaned down to kiss him again, the tangles of her hair where it wasn’t intertwined in his fingers falling about her shoulders, along with a crushed stray peony petal or two fluttering to land on his chest.

“See, here I was thinking it was my inherent amazingness,” she said, easing to sit back up after she kissed him. She was planning to keep him inside her as long as possible, didn’t think she could bear anything less; if anything, she’d be begging for his fingers in a few minutes time, fucking her so impossibly filthy and wet and sweet. “But if you insist, it can be the awe-inspiring power of the brown lady, by all means. I’m happy to maintain the illusion for the sake of observers.”

Ollie’d thought Kate would settle down with him, snuggle in to gather their wits and energy for the next round — whatever that would be — maybe have some of the champagne that was shifting ever lower in its bucket of melting ice, or raid the mini-bar for six-dollar M&Ms. But instead she put her hands against his chest and unfurled herself, and Ollie breathed in long and loving at the sight of her perched on top of him. “Awe-inspiring would be just about right,” he said, reaching out to skim his fingertips along her thighs, her hips, down her forearms to cover her hands with his own.

“I can see that if I expect you to attend these shindigs with me, I’m gonna have to account for hotel rooms as nearby as possible afterwards,” Ollie noted. “Lest we be overcome with lust and do it in the caterer’s pantry among the parsnip terrines and quenelles of quail.” He sighed dramatically, lifting one of her hands to his mouth to nibble at her thumb. “If I knew there would be such exorbitant prices to pay, Kate, I might have considered just asking you to go grab some pad thai with me at that place with the soup I like. Quick and cheap and…”

Ollie trailed off, glancing over at the swatch of lovely crimson red lying by the door that had been a very expensive gown not half an hour before. “Then again,” he said, clearing his throat and grinning wickedly up at her, “I might just create a specific fund for you to spend on clothes for me to destroy in the throes of passion. I specifically requested that our room have no bathrobes, y’know. Didn’t want you to have that option.” Ollie pushed his hips up against Kate, cock still snugly inside her. “Nice big bath sheets, though. Maybe you can rig yourself some kind of toga?”

“Hell, Oliver, it was sarcasm,” Kate pointed out, but she didn’t protest much further, not with how soft Ollie’s eyes were, just for a moment. She reached down, brushed back some hair out of his face with her fingertips, then caught his hands with hers at just about the same time he reached for them. It was some of that fantastic post-sex synchronicity.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t planning for round two, mind, just that she was fairly sure she’d doze off a little if she lay down with him for more than a moment. It was something to blame on the beef wellington, for the most part, which was heavy as hell, not the company or the activity, both of which were frankly scintillating. Though the thought of parsnip terrine made her make a face. “I like that place with the pad thai,” she pointed out, shifting her thighs a little against his so they didn’t stick, though it had the side benefit of feeling really good. “And they don’t ask questions about my abuela’s necklace, which is a definite bonus. If you’re taking me to places like this, the least you can do is hold off until we get back to the room.”

Kate’s gaze also traveled over to her…well, former…dress, then snapped back to Ollie as he mentioned the lack of bathrobes. The grin made her scowl at him, even as the movement of him inside her caused a brief, sweet clench of her cunt in response that made her bite her lip a little. “Oh hell no,” she said, grabbing his hair playfully to bare his neck to her, bending down and nipping at the skin. “I am not walking out of here in a towel, Oliver Queen, not even for you. In fact, I may just take those underwear of yours hostage and appropriate them in the name of Spencer.”

“Take ‘em, take ‘em,” Ollie laughed, the sensation of his skin pinching between Kate’s sharp teeth sending a wriggling jolt through him. “I surrender them gladly as recompense for being so ungallant, and all that. But darling, don’t expect me to be sorry for wrecking all your clothing options. I was always the kinda boy who’d tear through the wrappings to get to his presents. And then showed them off to everyone. Can’t break the habit of a lifetime.”

This was embellishing the truth a little — when his parents were alive, he’d shown off a few times before he got too obnoxious and his mom put a stop to it, and when they were dead he was lucky if Uncle Thomas remembered his birthday at all — but absolute truth never made for snappy banter and wasn’t the priority right at this moment anyhow. Not with Kate swiveling her hips slowly on top of him, her lips brushing the corner of his jaw. Ollie brought his hand up to touch her necklace when it bumped gently against him, and she pulled back enough so he could look at it.

“It’s exquisite on you,” he said, trailing his finger along the metalwork, warmed by her skin. “I’m gonna cover you in jewelry, see if I don’t. Then you can wear it all at once for me while we screw, like a living Faberge.” He tugged her down for another kiss. “I won’t even need to paint you gold. Your skin does that already when you’re happy and sleek and warm and sexified.”

“Dare I ask what you do when your presents bite back?” Kate asked, smirking with a flash of sharp teeth to punctuate the statement. She’d figured on the hyperbole and accounted for it in the back of her mind. “There’s only so naked I can be, after all—even if your money could buy us out of an obscenity charge, amado.” She sat back a little as he looked at her necklace, setting not only that on display but her hair, her collarbones, her breasts, as well.

She was a little reluctant to move at all, seeing as his cock slipped out of her as she did, but she resettled, leaving a streak of wetness on his hips, thighs, as she could feel the coolness when their juices slipped down her leg. It made her lick her lips a little, shift even more, just a bit as Ollie’s thumb moved over the gold and precious stones.

“Mm,” she murmured at his proposal. “I’d rather you still did. Anoint me with oil and gold dust, then lick it all off over the course of the night, nice and slow. That’d be even better than necklaces and bracelets, though I think the sound they’d make as we screwed…now that would be really fucking sexy. Not both at the same time, though, that’d be way too much of a good thing, sensory overload.”

“I’ll do ‘em in whatever order and combination you prefer, m’dear,” Ollie said agreeably, since really none of it sounded bad to him at all. Kate was the one whose fantasies were more ordered and particular; he didn’t mind switching up on the fly or getting sidetracked by something else entirely. As long as it was with her. The way she pushed her shoulders back to show herself to him, offer herself for him to look at, it was … it wasn’t as if Kate had ever been shy. And she’d always liked the way he looked at her, because they both knew she could see everything, *everything* on his face, in his eyes. But that one deliberate movement that bared her breasts and shoulders and neck for him, coils and curls of her dark hair touching her skin so lightly — it felt like she was doing more than being coquettish. It felt like she wanted to be as naked with him as she possibly could.

Ollie brushed the backs of his fingers along the curve of Kate’s hip, watching their passage, the fine supple softness of her skin shadowing under them. “I never had a present before that bites back,” he mused. “I think I like it. I think I want her to bite right down deep into me, because that’s what I’m doing with her.” He took a proper hold of Kate’s hips and shifted her beside him, onto the mattress, so he could lean over her and kiss the dip between her collarbones, the point of her chin. “And I am so, so grateful that she’s letting me taste every single part of her, Kate, because I love her too much to hold back.”

Kate made a soft pleased noise as Ollie pulled her down, a smile flickering over her lips, across her face. She found she was hungry for him to look at her, to keep looking at her—yeah, that was usually the case, true, but this time it went down past winding each other up, past admiration and even lust. She just wanted him to see her, know what he saw, and keep watching.

“I promise not to bite too hard,” she said, lifting one arm so she could graze her fingernails, just lightly, down his back. “Unless you really, really deserve it. I figure that’s what you’d be doing with me, after all. Assuming that you like what you taste.” Shifting a little, she tried to speak into his ear as he kissed her, arching her back to drag her breasts against his chest, the faintest drag and catch of friction catching her nipples. “Okay, fine, I know you do. And speaking of tasting…”

A brief amused chuckle escaped Kate as she considered her next words, then decided to hell with it. “Were the plans for you to fill as much of me as you could this evening put on the back burner for something slightly more traditionally romantic, Ollie? I can go either way, personally. I’m easy.”

Groaning, Ollie pressed his forehead between Kate’s breasts, saying, “That *setup’s* too easy, honeydrop. Gimme at least a couple more hours of doing dirty things to you before I add calling you slutty names into the repertoire.” Her abuela’s necklace brushed against his hairline as he shifted, and Ollie reached up behind Kate’s neck to gently, carefully remove it, put it on the nightstand.

“Don’t wanna injure it in the course of romping,” he said, resting his head on her chest again and bringing one hand up to cup her breast, thumb her nipple. “I like traditionally romantic, don’t get me wrong, but we already agreed on a plan and I’m loathe to change at this point in the programme.” He kissed her breast, the dark velvety skin of her aureole, and then rolled off of her onto his back. He wasn’t exactly hard again, not yet, but he could get there easily with a little bit of coaxing. With a smirky grin, Ollie licked his palm and wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking himself surely, lazily.

“So, next on the agenda involved your mouth, I believe…”

“Aw, but slutty names are easy,” Kate said, shaking her hair back so it didn’t catch in the necklace as Ollie took it off. The gentleness of the touch made her blush a little, for reasons she couldn’t entirely articulate, nor wanted to. The way he touched her afterwards, though, that she responded to before she even realized she was doing it, making a sweet tiny sound at the back of her throat, shifted her hips.

“If I’d known there’d be an agenda, I would have taken notes,” she added, after a moment of getting herself back together, and watched him with dark, narrowed eyes. After a moment, she couldn’t resist anymore, leaning up on one arm to trail kisses over his chest. Teeth grazed one nipple, moved lower, and lips dragged deliberately slowly over his skin.

“So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to review next steps,” she finished in a low drawl, lingering at his hip, breath warm and hot and travelling just far enough for him to feel it on his hand, barely lingering on his cock. “Just so we can get on the same page and agree on some actions, Oliver. See, I get the feeling this meeting’s going to take a while, and I am entirely okay with that, but I do like to know where I’m heading…”