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no_true_pairTitle: i fall back (to you)
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Oliver Queen
Rating: (PG-13
Content Notes: No archive warnings apply
Prompt: April Twenty-Sixth - 1 & 4 are trying to get out of the rain and bump into each other
AO3 link
Clark was not having a good day.
The hot water wasn’t working in the morning, he almost forgot to feed Shelby, and a few untimely rescues had him showing up at work late. Thankfully, he wasn’t noticed, but it didn’t get any better.
To finish it all off, he got stuck patrolling in the middle of a rainstorm. Just when he could call it a night, the guy he had stopped from robbing two women had gotten a lucky shot in after he thought he had already knocked him out, hitting him in the side with a blade.
Which shouldn’t have been a problem, except it was. The blade slid into his skin instead of breaking as usual, and he gasped in shock, using what was left of his strength to shove the guy into a wall, this time making sure he stayed down.
That's when the pain hit. He looked down and saw the knife glowing blue, and Clark groaned. Blue kryptonite. Of course.
The rain continued to soak through his clothes and causing his hair to stick to his skin. Except now he could feel the pain and the cold. Great.
Clark knew he had to get the knife out, but when he pulled, it wasn’t moving. Maybe he should call someone for help, but he knew there wasn't any point. He just needed to get to a dry spot so he could try again. Hearing the sirens in the distance and knowing that one of the women must've called the police, he stumbling away toward the edge of the alley before the cops could arrive. He tugged again, and this time, the knife snapped, the tip sticking inside his skin, blood surrounding it, leaving rest of it was in his hand. Way to go, Clark.
Pocketing the remainder of the knife in hopes of finding out the origins later (not like it could do any more damage and he wanted to make sure there wasn't a string of blue k weapons out there), he continued to walk toward the main street. At least the Isis building wasn't that far off and they should hopefully have a pair of tweezers at least, even if he was going to be on the receiving end of a lecture first. Didn’t matter.
But it wasn’t long before the combination of the pain and the rain got to him and he wasn’t there yet. Seeing a covering, he decided to go for the temporary shelter, but as he headed over there, he bumped into someone else, who might've been trying to do the same thing.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Yeah, no problem- Clark?”
Clark looked up and met Oliver’s gaze, whose eyes immediately narrowed upon recognizing him, expression as cold as the weather, and it caused him to ache again, this time in his heart.
“Oliver,” he said.
He took in Oliver’s handsome profile; the other man was in a black peacoat and pair of form fitting jeans, though still wet too. The last time he had seen him was when Lois and he had run into him at the jewelry store and Clark was hit once again with how much he missed him.
They weren’t on good terms and Clark knew it was his fault, for keeping the truth about his parents’ death from him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. Maybe more.
Clark hadn’t expected to get so attached to Oliver, thinking he could keep him at an arm’s distance, especially since Oliver was constantly leaving, but Oliver showing up in Russia to save him and his almost death made it clear that he meant more to Clark than Clark could admit out loud. As a friend. But he was lying to himself, which he had gotten used to at this point.
And he felt terrible for hurting Oliver, but he also didn’t know how to make amends either.
“So lurking for fun?” Oliver said, and Clark was pleasantly surprised he wasn’t just leaving, but it seemed the other man was trying to get out of the rain too.
“Just finishing with patrol,” he replied, and leaned against the wall, hoping that it came off as a casual manner. “Going to head home soon.”
“Sure, I bet you have some wedding plans to make,” Oliver added sarcastically. “Still haven’t received that invite, by the way.”
Clark winced. “Oh, about that … she’s not, we’re not-”
“Engaged?” Oliver offered.
“Or together,” Clark finished. To Clark’s surprise, Oliver’s expression didn’t change. “You knew?”
“Chloe filled me in on recent events,” Oliver responded. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together after that. Made more sense than the impulse engagement.”
“Oh.”
“But if we need two people to go on an undercover mission that involves pretending to a couple, I’m sure you can be in the front of the line,” Oliver continued. “Or maybe just Lois. In retrospect, you were kind of stumbling there."
"You believed me," Clark found himself saying.
Oliver looked put out. "Well, I've gotten used to you hiding things. Wouldn't have been a surprise if you kept this from me. Even the two of you getting together seemed believable. It wasn't that long ago that you two were breaking into my apartment after all to have some fun of your own."
Clark frowned and then his eyes widened when he realized what Oliver was talking about. Valentine's Day. Less than two years ago. "Oh, you- you saw that."
"I have a state of the art security system, Clark," Oliver reminded him, and of course he did. Too hyped on red k and trying to show off, Clark hadn't even considered that. He flushed at Oliver's scrutinizing look, barely refraining from wondering out loud how much Oliver had seen. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice my ex-girlfriend and my ... well, you, showing up out of nowhere?" The stumble hurt, because they were supposed to be friends.
"You didn't say anything," Clark pointed out. It was easy to ignore the pain in the face of Oliver's presence. Even if he wasn't happy to be around Clark, Clark was secretly happy to be around him. Oliver seemed to be scanning Clark since they ran into each other, for what, Clark didn't know, but he couldn't deny having all that intensity focused on him didn't send shivers down his spine in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
Oliver shrugged. "I was willing to let it go. Or maybe I didn't want to know." He looked out into the night, and Clark pretended he didn't mind Oliver looking away. "I should head home too. It's about time you sped off anyway, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Oliver gave him a firm nod and was about to move in the other direction, but Clark couldn't let him leave. He didn't know if and when he would see him again and he couldn't just let him go on such bad grounds.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, regaining Oliver's attention, who stopped in his tracks.
"You're sorry."
"Yes, I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should've told you."
"I told you- I don't care about the two of you breaking in," Oliver said, waving a hand dismissively. "I would've said something sooner."
"Not about that," Clark corrected, lowering his voice. "About your parents. I should've told you."
Oliver was visibly taken aback, before regaining his composure. "Yeah. Yeah, you should've. I wish you could've trusted me."
"Oliver ..."
"And the stupid thing is I thought I could trust you." He let out a hollow laugh. "Guess not."
"Ol-"
"Don't worry, I know where we stand now," Oliver said, chilly once more. "Good night, Clark."
It felt like goodbye and it hurt worse than the knife, his throat tightening in a way that didn't allow him to say anything else, only watching helplessly as Oliver walked away.
Clark turned around in the opposite direction, shivering once, before stepping forward, losing his footing and stumbling, but before he could hit the ground, he was grabbed tightly from behind, steadying him.
Turning once back on his feet, he was faced with Oliver, who pulled one hand away from his side and glanced at it, looking upset as his hand came back with blood.
"I thought you left," he said dumbly.
"You're hurt," Oliver accused.
"Yes, just a little." There was no point in lying, and Clark really didn't want to in the first place. Not to Oliver. Not anymore.
"You let me ramble on while you, were, what, secretly bleeding?" Oliver demanded. "Have you lost your mind? What happened?" He didn't wait for answers, already pushing Clark's jacket aside, tracing the blood and finding the source easily. "What is that?"
"Kryptonite knife," he answered, wincing as Oliver's fingers grazed the wound. "I tried to take it out and it broke."
"All right, we need to get the rest of that out now," Oliver said sternly. "You're coming with me."
"I was going to Isis," Clark told him, stunned as Oliver put his arm around him and guided him in the other way.
"My place is closer," Oliver said, eyes facing forward, jaw clenched. "I have as many first aid options as Chloe does. Probably more."
"Oliver, you don't have to-"
"Clark." Oliver stopped and forced Clark to as well. "Let's make one thing clear: just because I'm upset doesn't mean I want you to suffer. Ever. And whatever my feelings are, I will always be there for you ... if you need me."
"I do need you," Clark said quietly.
"Of course you do, you can't get back home on your own," Oliver said impatiently as they went back to walking. That wasn't what Clark meant but now wasn't exactly the time to clarify. "Not with that thing in your side. If I left you alone, you'll probably trip and knock yourself out in less than a block." Clark couldn't even bring himself to be offended at his lack of faith. Oliver was saying something about having known something was off under his breath, as they made their way toward the Clocktower, where Oliver had set up residence once more.
"How?" Clark started to ask, but he sneezed before he could get the question out.
Oliver snorted. "I didn't know you could do that."
"You know this isn't my first go without powers," Clark replied.
"Sure, but sneezing is so ..."
"Human?"
"Something like that," Oliver said absentmindedly. "Let's get you inside, before you catch a cold. I'm not sure Tylenol would work on you." They reached their destination, making their way through people who didn't pay them any mind, and Oliver let them into the building. Before long, they were in the elevator, and soon back on the penthouse floor. Oliver hadn't let him go and he wouldn't pretend the touch felt nice, though he would've preferred having Oliver's arms around him in different circumstances.
That's not going to happen. Be grateful he's cares enough to help you now.
And Clark was, but he had always wanted more.
More than what was good for him.
Just ... more.
The penthouse looked exactly like the last time he had been there. He couldn't help but notice the boxes that were situated outside the giant clock, which was the secret entrance for Oliver's Green Arrow room, a spot that didn't seem to have been touched in some time or the empty bottles of alcohol that he could see from where he was standing. Clark silently wondered if he should be worried, while knowing the answer immediately. Stop asking dumb questions. He followed Oliver's lead and shortly, Clark was situated on the green chaise lounge, as Oliver shrugged off his coat, setting it down. He remembered the last time he had been on that and tried not to let it show. Oliver caught Clark's eye and raised an eyebrow, proving he knew exactly where his thoughts went.
"I'm getting a the first aid kit," Oliver said, thankfully cutting him a break. "Don't move."
"Where would I go?" Clark wondered, and heard Oliver laugh as he made his way up the stairs. The sound warmed him up in its own way. He disappeared upstairs and into the bedroom, before returning with a towel, some fresh clothes, and a first aid kit.
"We should dry you up first," Oliver said, wrapping a towel around him, patting the water away first from his face and then soaking it up from his clothes, and Clark could only sit still, unable to focus on anything but Oliver, even if he tried. He didn't remember when he had last been treated so ... gently. Probably in the plane when they were on their way back from Russia, once again by Oliver. No would one expect that Oliver Queen was so soft, but Clark had seen that underneath the sarcasm and the playboy facade was a man who had a big heart, one that was easily broken. If he had any say, he wouldn't be the reason Oliver hurt ever again.
"I can do it," Clark offered, but when Oliver's face shuttered, he added, "But I don't mind if you do." Oliver continued with his task, and once he was satisfied, took a step back, dropping the towel on the floor.
"There we go," Oliver said. "Let's get you fixed up. You might want to take that jacket and shirt off."
He should feel a little embarrassed about undressing in front of Oliver, but he removed his jacket and then his shirt without a second thought, letting it sit on top of the towel. Oliver took a sharp breath but his face was expressionless when Clark looked over so he scooted over instead of speaking to give Oliver some room. When Oliver did get seated, he was still so close on the otherwise small couch that Clark could feel his warm breath on his skin and it took all his willpower not to react to him being so close.
Oliver slowly disinfected and numbed the wound before grabbing a pair of tweezers. "This is going to hurt," he warned. "You're lucky the guy didn't hit anything vital or I would have to call an actual doctor. If you want, I can get you a shot- of vodka or tequila, now that alcohol may actually make you feel something."
"I'm ready," Clark assured him. "No shots needed."
It did hurt, and Clark was unable to stop himself from letting out a noise of pain but Oliver didn't stop working. He was quick and precise and before long, he had the knife shard out and was covering the wound.
"What should I do with this?" he asked.
"It needs to be away," Clark told him. "The rest of the knife is in my jacket pocket."
Immediately, Oliver searched for and found the remainder of the knife, pulling it out by the handle. "Why do you still have this?"
"I wanted to do some research and see if there was anywhere they're selling blue kryptonite weapons," Clark explained. "See if it was a threat."
Oliver made a humming noise. "I'll look into it." Wrapping the knife and the shard in a towel, he took it away. Once Oliver was a short distance away, Clark could feel himself healing. He peaked into the covering and yes, the wound was closed and he knew that the rest of his powers were probably returned too.
"All good?"
Oliver had returned and Clark could just nod. "Yeah." He showed him the now healed area. "All good. Thank you."
"Sure, any time."
"You're good at this," Clark commented.
"I've had to do it for myself plenty," Oliver responded. "And when I was on the island, I didn't exactly have any painkillers or disinfectants. No big deal." He offered Clark the clothes. "Here, I doubt you want to put back your wet clothes. You can change in my bedroom."
"Oliver, you've done enough-" He trailed off at Oliver's expression, and then just accepted it without a second protest. "Thank you."
"It should fit you better than last time."
Last time. When they were in the plane and had realized the sweater Oliver had brought for him was too small. Oliver literally gave him the shirt off his back and changed himself.
Clark still had the dark blue pinstripe dress shirt. It had a hole in the back from where the arrow had gone through, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. Ridiculous, but he had always been too sentimental for his own good.
He made his way into the aforementioned bedroom, and did change- the clothes a little snug but fitting and when he came back, Oliver was standing by his desk, lingering in front of the photo that Clark knew was of his parents and him. The wistful expression hit hard and he wished that he had the kind of relationship that he could do something- give him a hug. Anything.
For now, he was determined to at least find his way back to Oliver's good graces, because he had lost enough and he wasn't going to lose Oliver. If Oliver wanted Clark out of his life, he was going to have to physically kick him out and tell him to stay gone.
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.
Walking over at normal pace, he made his way to Oliver's side. "Oliver."
"Well, looks like it fit," Oliver said, clearing this throat and stepping back. "Do you want me to throw that shirt away? I'm guessing you have about fifty of the same type so I don't think you'll miss it."
"Oliver ..."
"No need to return those," Oliver went on. "They didn't fit anymore. I was just going to donate it."
"Oliver."
"Not even worth writing off really ... maybe I should start a clothing brand for superheroes. Get your bullet proof shirts here."
"OLIVER!"
"What, Clark?" Oliver snapped. "What? You're back on your feet, the rain is dying down ... what are you doing here? You can speed off any time you like."
"I'm sorry."
"So you've said." He lifted a hand tiredly and Clark caught it with his own. Much to his relief, Oliver didn't pull away, just stared at their joined hands slack jawed.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I told myself that I didn't tell you for your own good, but it was selfish on my part. I took the easy way out and it wasn't fair to you, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I ... I don't want to lose you. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you and it's done."
Oliver gently tugged at his hand and Clark reluctantly let go, and he used that hand to rub his eyes, now frustrated.
"It is really hard to be mad at you, you know that?"
"I don't think most people would agree with that," Clark said wryly.
"Well, it's hard for me," Oliver insisted. "And that's annoying. It sucked- knowing that you knew and didn't tell me, but you know what the worst part was?"
"What?"
"You were right." Oliver gestured his surroundings. "I didn't take it well. I have probably been drinking too much, can't even go out as Green Arrow ... I've been basically useless since I found out."
"You're not useless," Clark said fiercely and Oliver's eyebrows furrowed.
"Clark ..."
"You're not." Clark took a deep breath. "You found out some awful news and you needed time to recover. That's okay."
"Not when my attempts at recovering was drinking and sleeping with all the wrong people," Oliver corrected, and Clark couldn't help but the pang of jealousy he didn't even have a right to have. "It was better that I ran into you today, because I was just heading to the Ace of Clubs and I probably would've done something stupid." He laughed weakly. "I think I was mostly over it too, but then I saw you and Lois at the jewelry store, telling me you were engaged and-"
"And it all came back?"
"Kind of," Oliver said, walking behind the desk and sitting on the chair. "I was also jealous."
"Right." And his own jealousy returned. Remembering Lois's own remorse not that long ago, he pushed aside his feelings and decided to try to be a good friend. "Look, Oliver, Lois and I aren't together. If you want to give a chance, maybe she might be op-"
"No." Oliver cut him off. "That's not- I wasn't jealous over Lois."
"Then wh-" If Oliver was jealous but it wasn't over Lois, what could he be jealous of? It didn't make any sense.
"It doesn't matter," Oliver said suddenly, standing up again. "You don't ... and even if it was Lois, I've been a pretty bad boyfriend. Ask any of my exes. Not reliable enough for anyone."
"You're there for me."
"You're you." That was vague. "The point is that ... look, I accept your apology. We're fine."
"Will we ever be good?" Clark questioned, still curious about his unfinished sentences, what he was going to say, but Oliver didn't seem interested in elaborating.
"In time," Oliver said solemnly.
That's more than he thought he would get. "Okay. Thank you, Oliver, for tonight. It's fortunate that you were there at the right time. That you came back. What made you come back?"
"You were moving wrong," Oliver said, sighing. "I couldn't place it, but something felt off from the moment we ran into each other and when I turned, and you hadn't sped away, I just felt the urge to go after you."
"Huh." Oliver read him well, too well, and Clark didn't know how to feel about that. It certainly wasn't a bad feeling.
"Yup. So ... I'll reach out when I find out something about the knife."
And it was pretty much a dismissal, and Clark should leave, but instead he gave into his urges to walk over and hug Oliver. Oliver froze, but he didn't push Clark away, instead slowly wrapping his arms around him, chin resting on his shoulder. Oliver felt good, smelled better, and Clark never wanted to leave his embrace.
He did eventually pull away, but didn't separate and if Oliver wasn't going to move, Clark couldn't bring himself to either. Oliver was so close that if Clark leaned just a little closer, he could kiss him but that thought was pointless and inappropriate so he chose to focus on the moment. "What you said earlier ... it goes both ways, you know that, right? If you need me, for anything, I'll be there. Whether you're in danger or just want to talk."
Oliver chewed on his bottom lip, brown eyes the color of chocolate and that reminded him of home for some reason, drifting from Clark's eyes to his lips, lingering on his mouth for a few moments, before meeting his eyes again. "I know, boyscout. Can't get rid of you if I tried apparently."
"I've been told I can be pretty stubborn."
For the first time in far too long, Oliver rewarded him with a smile. He missed that smile. "Just a little. I like that about you."
"Lucky me." Clark grinned and Oliver's own smile widened. Again, he should go, but he really wanted to stay and testing his own luck just a little further, he tried, "Can I ask you something?"
"Bet you're going to do it anyway, so go ahead," Oliver said, dropping his arms.
"What were you jealous of?"
"You really can't let go, can you?" Oliver didn't seem upset, more accepting than anything.
"Maybe not, but if it got to you that much, it's important to me."
"Don't ask questions if you're not ready for the answers," Oliver warned.
"Wouldn't be asking if I wasn't," Clark said, without hesitation.
"I don't want to take a step back when we're going forward." Weird, now Oliver sounded a little desperate. "I don't want to ruin things."
"It won't." Clark infused the steadiness and confidence he felt into his voice. "It can't. You have me." In whatever way you want. If Oliver only knew.
"That's the problem."
"Oliver ..."
"Did you know that you're basically the only one who has never called me 'Ollie'?" Oliver asked and Clark frowned. He never thought of it. "You always call me, 'Oliver'."
"That's your name." 'Ollie' just didn't sound right.
"I know, and I like it," Oliver said. "But it feels ... special. You're special. And you've been getting under my skin since the day I've met you."
"I don't understand."
"No, I guess you wouldn't," Oliver said, resigned. He closed the space and cupped Clark's face in his hands. "See, you're not just under my skin, Clark." Oliver's touch, the look on his face ... Clark didn't want to get his hopes up, but if Oliver was saying what he thought he was, Clark was about to get everything he wanted and it was almost overwhelming.
"Where am I?" He needed to know for sure, before doing something rash.
"You're in my heart," Oliver confessed. "I wasn't jealous over Lois. I was jealous of Lois- for having you. When you disappeared, I think I realized that my feelings were a little more than friendship. That's why I was so mad at you. If it had been anyone else who hid it, I don't think I would've felt this strongly, but it was you and I just couldn't deal." His hands slid down Clark's face and before he could remove them completely, Clark covered them with his own, not ready to lose that connection. "And you can't be mad at me, because you asked. I don't plan to do anything about it and If you're the one who needs some space though, I will completely-"
That's when Clark couldn't control himself any longer, leaning forward to shut Oliver up with his mouth. Oliver made a muffled sound, eyes widening before drifting shut, responding to the kiss. Clark let Oliver's hands go, moving to rest at the small of his back, so he could pull him closer, flush against his body. Oliver's hands went back up to his face, resting on his cheeks.
Kissing Oliver was better than Clark ever imagined and he never wanted to stop. One long kiss turned into a few small ones, as they separated only to be drawn back together. He didn't know where the time went but when they accidentally shifted and bumped into Oliver's desk, they finally stopped, foreheads resting against each other.
"Clark," Oliver said, breaking the silence, slightly out of breath- face flushed and lips swollen. "You- are you sure?"
"Now you're asking me this?" Clark teased. "After I kissed you?"
"You don't need to feel like you owe-"
Clark kissed him again before he could finish that sentence, long and lingering, and a small moan escaped Oliver's lips, caught in between their mouths. He pulled back to nuzzle his nose against Oliver's cheek. "I want this. I've wanted this. I just didn't think I could have it."
"I'm your's, Clark," Oliver said, hand running in Clark's dark hair, and leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip.
"I'm your's too."
"Good."
"Good."
"Should we talk about this?" Oliver asked, but he didn't look all that interested in pursing a conversation.
"Later?" Clark wasn't either. He had spent too long without Oliver as it was.
"Later," Oliver said, and kissed him again.
They had time.
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing/Characters: Clark Kent/Oliver Queen
Rating: (PG-13
Content Notes: No archive warnings apply
Prompt: April Twenty-Sixth - 1 & 4 are trying to get out of the rain and bump into each other
AO3 link
Clark was not having a good day.
The hot water wasn’t working in the morning, he almost forgot to feed Shelby, and a few untimely rescues had him showing up at work late. Thankfully, he wasn’t noticed, but it didn’t get any better.
To finish it all off, he got stuck patrolling in the middle of a rainstorm. Just when he could call it a night, the guy he had stopped from robbing two women had gotten a lucky shot in after he thought he had already knocked him out, hitting him in the side with a blade.
Which shouldn’t have been a problem, except it was. The blade slid into his skin instead of breaking as usual, and he gasped in shock, using what was left of his strength to shove the guy into a wall, this time making sure he stayed down.
That's when the pain hit. He looked down and saw the knife glowing blue, and Clark groaned. Blue kryptonite. Of course.
The rain continued to soak through his clothes and causing his hair to stick to his skin. Except now he could feel the pain and the cold. Great.
Clark knew he had to get the knife out, but when he pulled, it wasn’t moving. Maybe he should call someone for help, but he knew there wasn't any point. He just needed to get to a dry spot so he could try again. Hearing the sirens in the distance and knowing that one of the women must've called the police, he stumbling away toward the edge of the alley before the cops could arrive. He tugged again, and this time, the knife snapped, the tip sticking inside his skin, blood surrounding it, leaving rest of it was in his hand. Way to go, Clark.
Pocketing the remainder of the knife in hopes of finding out the origins later (not like it could do any more damage and he wanted to make sure there wasn't a string of blue k weapons out there), he continued to walk toward the main street. At least the Isis building wasn't that far off and they should hopefully have a pair of tweezers at least, even if he was going to be on the receiving end of a lecture first. Didn’t matter.
But it wasn’t long before the combination of the pain and the rain got to him and he wasn’t there yet. Seeing a covering, he decided to go for the temporary shelter, but as he headed over there, he bumped into someone else, who might've been trying to do the same thing.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Yeah, no problem- Clark?”
Clark looked up and met Oliver’s gaze, whose eyes immediately narrowed upon recognizing him, expression as cold as the weather, and it caused him to ache again, this time in his heart.
“Oliver,” he said.
He took in Oliver’s handsome profile; the other man was in a black peacoat and pair of form fitting jeans, though still wet too. The last time he had seen him was when Lois and he had run into him at the jewelry store and Clark was hit once again with how much he missed him.
They weren’t on good terms and Clark knew it was his fault, for keeping the truth about his parents’ death from him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. Maybe more.
Clark hadn’t expected to get so attached to Oliver, thinking he could keep him at an arm’s distance, especially since Oliver was constantly leaving, but Oliver showing up in Russia to save him and his almost death made it clear that he meant more to Clark than Clark could admit out loud. As a friend. But he was lying to himself, which he had gotten used to at this point.
And he felt terrible for hurting Oliver, but he also didn’t know how to make amends either.
“So lurking for fun?” Oliver said, and Clark was pleasantly surprised he wasn’t just leaving, but it seemed the other man was trying to get out of the rain too.
“Just finishing with patrol,” he replied, and leaned against the wall, hoping that it came off as a casual manner. “Going to head home soon.”
“Sure, I bet you have some wedding plans to make,” Oliver added sarcastically. “Still haven’t received that invite, by the way.”
Clark winced. “Oh, about that … she’s not, we’re not-”
“Engaged?” Oliver offered.
“Or together,” Clark finished. To Clark’s surprise, Oliver’s expression didn’t change. “You knew?”
“Chloe filled me in on recent events,” Oliver responded. “It wasn’t hard to put two and two together after that. Made more sense than the impulse engagement.”
“Oh.”
“But if we need two people to go on an undercover mission that involves pretending to a couple, I’m sure you can be in the front of the line,” Oliver continued. “Or maybe just Lois. In retrospect, you were kind of stumbling there."
"You believed me," Clark found himself saying.
Oliver looked put out. "Well, I've gotten used to you hiding things. Wouldn't have been a surprise if you kept this from me. Even the two of you getting together seemed believable. It wasn't that long ago that you two were breaking into my apartment after all to have some fun of your own."
Clark frowned and then his eyes widened when he realized what Oliver was talking about. Valentine's Day. Less than two years ago. "Oh, you- you saw that."
"I have a state of the art security system, Clark," Oliver reminded him, and of course he did. Too hyped on red k and trying to show off, Clark hadn't even considered that. He flushed at Oliver's scrutinizing look, barely refraining from wondering out loud how much Oliver had seen. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice my ex-girlfriend and my ... well, you, showing up out of nowhere?" The stumble hurt, because they were supposed to be friends.
"You didn't say anything," Clark pointed out. It was easy to ignore the pain in the face of Oliver's presence. Even if he wasn't happy to be around Clark, Clark was secretly happy to be around him. Oliver seemed to be scanning Clark since they ran into each other, for what, Clark didn't know, but he couldn't deny having all that intensity focused on him didn't send shivers down his spine in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
Oliver shrugged. "I was willing to let it go. Or maybe I didn't want to know." He looked out into the night, and Clark pretended he didn't mind Oliver looking away. "I should head home too. It's about time you sped off anyway, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Oliver gave him a firm nod and was about to move in the other direction, but Clark couldn't let him leave. He didn't know if and when he would see him again and he couldn't just let him go on such bad grounds.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, regaining Oliver's attention, who stopped in his tracks.
"You're sorry."
"Yes, I'm sorry," he repeated. "I should've told you."
"I told you- I don't care about the two of you breaking in," Oliver said, waving a hand dismissively. "I would've said something sooner."
"Not about that," Clark corrected, lowering his voice. "About your parents. I should've told you."
Oliver was visibly taken aback, before regaining his composure. "Yeah. Yeah, you should've. I wish you could've trusted me."
"Oliver ..."
"And the stupid thing is I thought I could trust you." He let out a hollow laugh. "Guess not."
"Ol-"
"Don't worry, I know where we stand now," Oliver said, chilly once more. "Good night, Clark."
It felt like goodbye and it hurt worse than the knife, his throat tightening in a way that didn't allow him to say anything else, only watching helplessly as Oliver walked away.
Clark turned around in the opposite direction, shivering once, before stepping forward, losing his footing and stumbling, but before he could hit the ground, he was grabbed tightly from behind, steadying him.
Turning once back on his feet, he was faced with Oliver, who pulled one hand away from his side and glanced at it, looking upset as his hand came back with blood.
"I thought you left," he said dumbly.
"You're hurt," Oliver accused.
"Yes, just a little." There was no point in lying, and Clark really didn't want to in the first place. Not to Oliver. Not anymore.
"You let me ramble on while you, were, what, secretly bleeding?" Oliver demanded. "Have you lost your mind? What happened?" He didn't wait for answers, already pushing Clark's jacket aside, tracing the blood and finding the source easily. "What is that?"
"Kryptonite knife," he answered, wincing as Oliver's fingers grazed the wound. "I tried to take it out and it broke."
"All right, we need to get the rest of that out now," Oliver said sternly. "You're coming with me."
"I was going to Isis," Clark told him, stunned as Oliver put his arm around him and guided him in the other way.
"My place is closer," Oliver said, eyes facing forward, jaw clenched. "I have as many first aid options as Chloe does. Probably more."
"Oliver, you don't have to-"
"Clark." Oliver stopped and forced Clark to as well. "Let's make one thing clear: just because I'm upset doesn't mean I want you to suffer. Ever. And whatever my feelings are, I will always be there for you ... if you need me."
"I do need you," Clark said quietly.
"Of course you do, you can't get back home on your own," Oliver said impatiently as they went back to walking. That wasn't what Clark meant but now wasn't exactly the time to clarify. "Not with that thing in your side. If I left you alone, you'll probably trip and knock yourself out in less than a block." Clark couldn't even bring himself to be offended at his lack of faith. Oliver was saying something about having known something was off under his breath, as they made their way toward the Clocktower, where Oliver had set up residence once more.
"How?" Clark started to ask, but he sneezed before he could get the question out.
Oliver snorted. "I didn't know you could do that."
"You know this isn't my first go without powers," Clark replied.
"Sure, but sneezing is so ..."
"Human?"
"Something like that," Oliver said absentmindedly. "Let's get you inside, before you catch a cold. I'm not sure Tylenol would work on you." They reached their destination, making their way through people who didn't pay them any mind, and Oliver let them into the building. Before long, they were in the elevator, and soon back on the penthouse floor. Oliver hadn't let him go and he wouldn't pretend the touch felt nice, though he would've preferred having Oliver's arms around him in different circumstances.
That's not going to happen. Be grateful he's cares enough to help you now.
And Clark was, but he had always wanted more.
More than what was good for him.
Just ... more.
The penthouse looked exactly like the last time he had been there. He couldn't help but notice the boxes that were situated outside the giant clock, which was the secret entrance for Oliver's Green Arrow room, a spot that didn't seem to have been touched in some time or the empty bottles of alcohol that he could see from where he was standing. Clark silently wondered if he should be worried, while knowing the answer immediately. Stop asking dumb questions. He followed Oliver's lead and shortly, Clark was situated on the green chaise lounge, as Oliver shrugged off his coat, setting it down. He remembered the last time he had been on that and tried not to let it show. Oliver caught Clark's eye and raised an eyebrow, proving he knew exactly where his thoughts went.
"I'm getting a the first aid kit," Oliver said, thankfully cutting him a break. "Don't move."
"Where would I go?" Clark wondered, and heard Oliver laugh as he made his way up the stairs. The sound warmed him up in its own way. He disappeared upstairs and into the bedroom, before returning with a towel, some fresh clothes, and a first aid kit.
"We should dry you up first," Oliver said, wrapping a towel around him, patting the water away first from his face and then soaking it up from his clothes, and Clark could only sit still, unable to focus on anything but Oliver, even if he tried. He didn't remember when he had last been treated so ... gently. Probably in the plane when they were on their way back from Russia, once again by Oliver. No would one expect that Oliver Queen was so soft, but Clark had seen that underneath the sarcasm and the playboy facade was a man who had a big heart, one that was easily broken. If he had any say, he wouldn't be the reason Oliver hurt ever again.
"I can do it," Clark offered, but when Oliver's face shuttered, he added, "But I don't mind if you do." Oliver continued with his task, and once he was satisfied, took a step back, dropping the towel on the floor.
"There we go," Oliver said. "Let's get you fixed up. You might want to take that jacket and shirt off."
He should feel a little embarrassed about undressing in front of Oliver, but he removed his jacket and then his shirt without a second thought, letting it sit on top of the towel. Oliver took a sharp breath but his face was expressionless when Clark looked over so he scooted over instead of speaking to give Oliver some room. When Oliver did get seated, he was still so close on the otherwise small couch that Clark could feel his warm breath on his skin and it took all his willpower not to react to him being so close.
Oliver slowly disinfected and numbed the wound before grabbing a pair of tweezers. "This is going to hurt," he warned. "You're lucky the guy didn't hit anything vital or I would have to call an actual doctor. If you want, I can get you a shot- of vodka or tequila, now that alcohol may actually make you feel something."
"I'm ready," Clark assured him. "No shots needed."
It did hurt, and Clark was unable to stop himself from letting out a noise of pain but Oliver didn't stop working. He was quick and precise and before long, he had the knife shard out and was covering the wound.
"What should I do with this?" he asked.
"It needs to be away," Clark told him. "The rest of the knife is in my jacket pocket."
Immediately, Oliver searched for and found the remainder of the knife, pulling it out by the handle. "Why do you still have this?"
"I wanted to do some research and see if there was anywhere they're selling blue kryptonite weapons," Clark explained. "See if it was a threat."
Oliver made a humming noise. "I'll look into it." Wrapping the knife and the shard in a towel, he took it away. Once Oliver was a short distance away, Clark could feel himself healing. He peaked into the covering and yes, the wound was closed and he knew that the rest of his powers were probably returned too.
"All good?"
Oliver had returned and Clark could just nod. "Yeah." He showed him the now healed area. "All good. Thank you."
"Sure, any time."
"You're good at this," Clark commented.
"I've had to do it for myself plenty," Oliver responded. "And when I was on the island, I didn't exactly have any painkillers or disinfectants. No big deal." He offered Clark the clothes. "Here, I doubt you want to put back your wet clothes. You can change in my bedroom."
"Oliver, you've done enough-" He trailed off at Oliver's expression, and then just accepted it without a second protest. "Thank you."
"It should fit you better than last time."
Last time. When they were in the plane and had realized the sweater Oliver had brought for him was too small. Oliver literally gave him the shirt off his back and changed himself.
Clark still had the dark blue pinstripe dress shirt. It had a hole in the back from where the arrow had gone through, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it. Ridiculous, but he had always been too sentimental for his own good.
He made his way into the aforementioned bedroom, and did change- the clothes a little snug but fitting and when he came back, Oliver was standing by his desk, lingering in front of the photo that Clark knew was of his parents and him. The wistful expression hit hard and he wished that he had the kind of relationship that he could do something- give him a hug. Anything.
For now, he was determined to at least find his way back to Oliver's good graces, because he had lost enough and he wasn't going to lose Oliver. If Oliver wanted Clark out of his life, he was going to have to physically kick him out and tell him to stay gone.
Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.
Walking over at normal pace, he made his way to Oliver's side. "Oliver."
"Well, looks like it fit," Oliver said, clearing this throat and stepping back. "Do you want me to throw that shirt away? I'm guessing you have about fifty of the same type so I don't think you'll miss it."
"Oliver ..."
"No need to return those," Oliver went on. "They didn't fit anymore. I was just going to donate it."
"Oliver."
"Not even worth writing off really ... maybe I should start a clothing brand for superheroes. Get your bullet proof shirts here."
"OLIVER!"
"What, Clark?" Oliver snapped. "What? You're back on your feet, the rain is dying down ... what are you doing here? You can speed off any time you like."
"I'm sorry."
"So you've said." He lifted a hand tiredly and Clark caught it with his own. Much to his relief, Oliver didn't pull away, just stared at their joined hands slack jawed.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I told myself that I didn't tell you for your own good, but it was selfish on my part. I took the easy way out and it wasn't fair to you, and I don't expect you to forgive me, but I ... I don't want to lose you. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you and it's done."
Oliver gently tugged at his hand and Clark reluctantly let go, and he used that hand to rub his eyes, now frustrated.
"It is really hard to be mad at you, you know that?"
"I don't think most people would agree with that," Clark said wryly.
"Well, it's hard for me," Oliver insisted. "And that's annoying. It sucked- knowing that you knew and didn't tell me, but you know what the worst part was?"
"What?"
"You were right." Oliver gestured his surroundings. "I didn't take it well. I have probably been drinking too much, can't even go out as Green Arrow ... I've been basically useless since I found out."
"You're not useless," Clark said fiercely and Oliver's eyebrows furrowed.
"Clark ..."
"You're not." Clark took a deep breath. "You found out some awful news and you needed time to recover. That's okay."
"Not when my attempts at recovering was drinking and sleeping with all the wrong people," Oliver corrected, and Clark couldn't help but the pang of jealousy he didn't even have a right to have. "It was better that I ran into you today, because I was just heading to the Ace of Clubs and I probably would've done something stupid." He laughed weakly. "I think I was mostly over it too, but then I saw you and Lois at the jewelry store, telling me you were engaged and-"
"And it all came back?"
"Kind of," Oliver said, walking behind the desk and sitting on the chair. "I was also jealous."
"Right." And his own jealousy returned. Remembering Lois's own remorse not that long ago, he pushed aside his feelings and decided to try to be a good friend. "Look, Oliver, Lois and I aren't together. If you want to give a chance, maybe she might be op-"
"No." Oliver cut him off. "That's not- I wasn't jealous over Lois."
"Then wh-" If Oliver was jealous but it wasn't over Lois, what could he be jealous of? It didn't make any sense.
"It doesn't matter," Oliver said suddenly, standing up again. "You don't ... and even if it was Lois, I've been a pretty bad boyfriend. Ask any of my exes. Not reliable enough for anyone."
"You're there for me."
"You're you." That was vague. "The point is that ... look, I accept your apology. We're fine."
"Will we ever be good?" Clark questioned, still curious about his unfinished sentences, what he was going to say, but Oliver didn't seem interested in elaborating.
"In time," Oliver said solemnly.
That's more than he thought he would get. "Okay. Thank you, Oliver, for tonight. It's fortunate that you were there at the right time. That you came back. What made you come back?"
"You were moving wrong," Oliver said, sighing. "I couldn't place it, but something felt off from the moment we ran into each other and when I turned, and you hadn't sped away, I just felt the urge to go after you."
"Huh." Oliver read him well, too well, and Clark didn't know how to feel about that. It certainly wasn't a bad feeling.
"Yup. So ... I'll reach out when I find out something about the knife."
And it was pretty much a dismissal, and Clark should leave, but instead he gave into his urges to walk over and hug Oliver. Oliver froze, but he didn't push Clark away, instead slowly wrapping his arms around him, chin resting on his shoulder. Oliver felt good, smelled better, and Clark never wanted to leave his embrace.
He did eventually pull away, but didn't separate and if Oliver wasn't going to move, Clark couldn't bring himself to either. Oliver was so close that if Clark leaned just a little closer, he could kiss him but that thought was pointless and inappropriate so he chose to focus on the moment. "What you said earlier ... it goes both ways, you know that, right? If you need me, for anything, I'll be there. Whether you're in danger or just want to talk."
Oliver chewed on his bottom lip, brown eyes the color of chocolate and that reminded him of home for some reason, drifting from Clark's eyes to his lips, lingering on his mouth for a few moments, before meeting his eyes again. "I know, boyscout. Can't get rid of you if I tried apparently."
"I've been told I can be pretty stubborn."
For the first time in far too long, Oliver rewarded him with a smile. He missed that smile. "Just a little. I like that about you."
"Lucky me." Clark grinned and Oliver's own smile widened. Again, he should go, but he really wanted to stay and testing his own luck just a little further, he tried, "Can I ask you something?"
"Bet you're going to do it anyway, so go ahead," Oliver said, dropping his arms.
"What were you jealous of?"
"You really can't let go, can you?" Oliver didn't seem upset, more accepting than anything.
"Maybe not, but if it got to you that much, it's important to me."
"Don't ask questions if you're not ready for the answers," Oliver warned.
"Wouldn't be asking if I wasn't," Clark said, without hesitation.
"I don't want to take a step back when we're going forward." Weird, now Oliver sounded a little desperate. "I don't want to ruin things."
"It won't." Clark infused the steadiness and confidence he felt into his voice. "It can't. You have me." In whatever way you want. If Oliver only knew.
"That's the problem."
"Oliver ..."
"Did you know that you're basically the only one who has never called me 'Ollie'?" Oliver asked and Clark frowned. He never thought of it. "You always call me, 'Oliver'."
"That's your name." 'Ollie' just didn't sound right.
"I know, and I like it," Oliver said. "But it feels ... special. You're special. And you've been getting under my skin since the day I've met you."
"I don't understand."
"No, I guess you wouldn't," Oliver said, resigned. He closed the space and cupped Clark's face in his hands. "See, you're not just under my skin, Clark." Oliver's touch, the look on his face ... Clark didn't want to get his hopes up, but if Oliver was saying what he thought he was, Clark was about to get everything he wanted and it was almost overwhelming.
"Where am I?" He needed to know for sure, before doing something rash.
"You're in my heart," Oliver confessed. "I wasn't jealous over Lois. I was jealous of Lois- for having you. When you disappeared, I think I realized that my feelings were a little more than friendship. That's why I was so mad at you. If it had been anyone else who hid it, I don't think I would've felt this strongly, but it was you and I just couldn't deal." His hands slid down Clark's face and before he could remove them completely, Clark covered them with his own, not ready to lose that connection. "And you can't be mad at me, because you asked. I don't plan to do anything about it and If you're the one who needs some space though, I will completely-"
That's when Clark couldn't control himself any longer, leaning forward to shut Oliver up with his mouth. Oliver made a muffled sound, eyes widening before drifting shut, responding to the kiss. Clark let Oliver's hands go, moving to rest at the small of his back, so he could pull him closer, flush against his body. Oliver's hands went back up to his face, resting on his cheeks.
Kissing Oliver was better than Clark ever imagined and he never wanted to stop. One long kiss turned into a few small ones, as they separated only to be drawn back together. He didn't know where the time went but when they accidentally shifted and bumped into Oliver's desk, they finally stopped, foreheads resting against each other.
"Clark," Oliver said, breaking the silence, slightly out of breath- face flushed and lips swollen. "You- are you sure?"
"Now you're asking me this?" Clark teased. "After I kissed you?"
"You don't need to feel like you owe-"
Clark kissed him again before he could finish that sentence, long and lingering, and a small moan escaped Oliver's lips, caught in between their mouths. He pulled back to nuzzle his nose against Oliver's cheek. "I want this. I've wanted this. I just didn't think I could have it."
"I'm your's, Clark," Oliver said, hand running in Clark's dark hair, and leaning forward to nip at his bottom lip.
"I'm your's too."
"Good."
"Good."
"Should we talk about this?" Oliver asked, but he didn't look all that interested in pursing a conversation.
"Later?" Clark wasn't either. He had spent too long without Oliver as it was.
"Later," Oliver said, and kissed him again.
They had time.