REDgreen

Title: REDgreen
Type: Slash, bromance, angst, non-com, lost episode scenes
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing/s: Clark/Oliver, Collie, Oliver/Victoria (Hardwick, once featured love interest of Lex Luthor)
Episode Setting: Post-Identity, Pre-Bloodline
Word Count: 9988

Summary: Given their recent fallout, Clark travels to Europe in order to reconcile with Oliver during the proposed summit of heroes he had obliged to hold there. However, with wounds still sore things turn ugly after Clark finds Oliver there with Victoria Hardwick, and Oliver receives a visit from one side of Clark that he’s never met before, but is sure to not soon forget. Could there be a pot of gold at the end of this turbulent rainbow?

Warnings: May be slightly spoilerish to those who have not seen the Season 8 episode “Identity” or some other episodes aired prior to that, includes some sexual references and events of an erotic nature. Those looking for immediate excuses for spiteful smut may not have the patience needed to appreciate the series. Also, slightly non-com in parts, so if that offends you, please turn away now.

Disclaimer: Don't own Smallville or the characters, just like writing about it and them.

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Fretful of how Oliver would receive him, especially unannounced, given the dark cloud that hung over their last inopportune encounter, Clark found himself hesitating as he stood at furthest end of the path that lead to his chosen destination. Clark took in a deep and somewhat pensive breath as he approached the Spanish beachfront mansion that Oliver had rented, not knowing he was underdressed for the occasion within the confounds of these well put together dark glass walls, but then such naiveté was not only to be expected, but also part of the unassuming alien’s charm. Others may have considered the sense of company and decoration that Queen typically kept, yet Clark barely even paid mind to the fact that Oliver’s present gathering was one intended to introduce a goodwill and unity amongst an alliance of heroes. Instead, so far as Clark’s limited concern allowed, he was simply here to see his friend, whatever other details may have been were just dwindling by untouched by his focus or care. Before opening the large doors that now stood before him at the end of the path his feet had followed, Kent paid slight note towards how impressively these glass walls encased the volumes of sound coming from within them, which had only become obvious to Clark now that he had gotten so close, a faint yet wrenching din of music and crowd noise reverberating just passed the thick, treated panes that refined this incomparably chic domicile. When the doors swung smoothly open, it was as though the range of his already enhanced earshot had been instantly displaced to a realm of music and social calamity, sound bleeding in to an aura of previous silence that enveloped Clark. The handsome powerhouse hung his head for a moment, eyes searching for something that hid beneath the floor, a small thought of large disappointment washing over him for just a moment; this is how the side of Oliver that Clark resented operated, and so well, hiding worlds of unknown frivolity beneath a clean and shining surface. As though those of a lost lamb that had been sent out to a field of wolves, Clark’s eyes failed in the fight to flinch, too cautious to really transfix upon any of the many individuals so enjoying the settings and amenities available to them within Oliver’s rented abode, which was even more lavish and elaborate inside that it’s prominent outer frame was able to suggest.

Eyes of amusement and unkind sympathy fell upon Kent’s apparently unfitting presence, causing the gentle giant feelings of anxiety; his ultimate self doubt that of not never truly fitting in, always being different, alone, unaccepted. Apprehensively , Clark took an uneasy pace further through Queen’s Kingdom, more accurately described as a jungle of unrestricted leisure and percolated misbehaviour, still reluctant to catch the direct glares of anyone else’s eyes with his own soulful emerald orbs. As though his body acted on autopilot, instinct fuelled Kent’s journey to the socially safe luxuries of the bar, out of the zone of engagement, his elbows resting on the marble surface there despite the fact that he had no intention of intoxicating himself with any of the available fluids the hired barkeep might offer him. And suddenly Clark’s eyes ceased to mildly wander, his heartbeat slowed with the rest of time, and no incriminating looks upon him or hammering melodies seemed to matter. He had found his golden friend, outshining the rest of the crowd, and while Clark didn’t know it, his lips had elected an upwards curl at either corner. However, such warm expression was not to die long after it’s birth, as Clark’s witness extended to less favourable facts attached to his wealthy and enviously charismatic friend. The Kryptonian had seen her before, the beautiful woman who shared playful rhythmic embraces with Oliver, and on the arm of his previous best friend no less. Clark made effort to not compare Oliver with Lex again even if in the privacy of his own thoughts, as this never concluded to any good between he and his current cohort. Clark could not fathom why of all people, Victoria Hardwick would be here, and so particularly involved with Oliver; he knew that Oliver’s hatred for Lex was not surpassed by many things, but he had hoped that basic logic was one mountain it could not conquer. Charged with bitter taste towards the canoodling Oliver had chosen to do, and with whom he had chosen to do such with, a before hesitant Clark hastened towards the secret archer with a portion more aggression in his step. Clark’s blood boiled further as he watched the smiles shared by Oliver and Victoria devour one another, so much so that by the time he had forced his way through the crowd with an unusual recklessness, to insist audience from the elitist pair, he stood before Oliver with an atypically unforgiving expression.

“We need to talk.”, Clark sharply informed his dexterous blonde ally, eyes visibly tempered at even the chance that they might fall upon Victoria.

“Clark, you made it-”, Oliver made a mockery Clark’s attempt at demanding serious conversation by washing it away with indifference delivered with a jovial tone, letting the larger man know that not only did he not answer to him, but he also found the concept of doing so amusing. After all, Clark had accused Oliver of playing games with him, and Oliver had always been a firm believer in doing that which he had already been blamed for, “-I’d offer to reimburse your travel expenses, but then something tells me you didn’t have to clock in any frequent flyer miles to get here.”, Oliver casually gave reference to Clark‘s superhuman ability to get from one place to another which put even the greatest vehicles to shame. Queen proceeded to compose himself, still keeping his body language open to Victoria, who did not stray far away from him in spite of Clark’s invasion of their recently exclusive social bubble.

“I’m serious, we need to talk.”, Clark somewhat bleated, desperately, antagonized by the uncaring nuance of Victoria’s attractive smile in response to his tried force of interruption. Clark’s eyes punished Oliver’s with a blunt and unwavering gaze, the bowman standing so smug with his masterful smirk and his finely tailored black suit which in turn seemed set upon mocking Clark, complimenting and clinging at Oliver’s physical form perfectly, accentuating his certain brand of obnoxious insolence.

“No Clark we really don’t. We’ve said all there is to say, or rather, you did, or are you forgetting the last time we spoke?”, Noticing that Clark had yet to speak his name, Queen abruptly applied a callous and effortlessly domineering tone, reminding Clark of not only the acidic manner in which their last conversation had ended, but also of the fact that such was entirely down to his choice. Oliver’s dark and sparkling eyes grew colder still, refuting any need or obligation to do otherwise, bringing his stalemate with Clark to a visibly official head. “Well I am not, and frankly Clark I’m done listening to the spineless thoughts of a boy who has yet to see the world. So whatever it is you came here to say, save it. Like you said, you were just a toy to me, but you were wrong about one thing; you were broken long before I got to the toy shop.”, a pregnant pause filled the air between the two men, as faces from within the crowd watched on, most unable to actually hear what was being discussed passed the melodic noise being drilled out from the speakers situated throughout the entire ground floor , “Since you managed to find your way in, I presume you know where the door is?”, when it came to verbal assault, there weren’t many who could rival the finesse and venomous cadence of a vexed Oliver Queen.

Clark did remember, and regret how events had unfolded from the last time he and Oliver had spoken, and though he was still confused about his relationship with Queen, his initial reasons for venturing through Europe were to reconcile with his friend and apologize for behaving so brashly when he did. While these issues were certainly still capable of being discussed this night, Clark maintained that he had initiated a trail of thought to see out, and eventually started to feel a sense of rage ebb through him, for Oliver was doing it again, that thing he does to disarm Clark, to distract him and captivate him so that anything that mattered to Clark or anything he had to say went overlooked and unheard. Clark was tired of it, running from himself as well as jumping through hoops, he was not going to let Oliver take such keen an authority over not only him, but his right to speak his piece as well.

“I’m not going anywhere Oliver. I didn’t come here to fight, and it’s clear that we have a lot to say to one another, but my concern right now is the company you’re keeping.”, Kent shared as calmly as he could, eyes certainly kinder that those of his social adversary, subtly pleading for a break to be given, at least when they weren‘t granting opposed gestures to the beautiful and devious Ms Hardwick.

“Victoria? What is it Clark, due to a misspent and short lived past with Lex you don’t trust her, and think it best that I follow suit? Or is it just that I’m with her at all that’s bothering you, that I’ve so quickly moved on? Because nobody ever does that with you do they Clark? They all hang around waiting for the one and only Clark Kent to notice them.”, while Oliver’s verbal onslaught was certainly set only to incline in severity, previous onlookers had become disinterested in the his ongoing conversation for the most part, “Well not me Clark. As you can see, we live in very different worlds-”, Oliver gestured both hands proudly to refer to his surroundings and all within them, eyes wondering around the room to help prove his point and his pride, “-as you’ve so kindly pointed out yourself. I have everything I could ever want and more. You just have yourself; a lonely little boy in a world he continues to refuse saving, and for what? The luxury of not knowing if he’d fail? I guess it’s easier failing just yourself and those around you. Good luck with that life Clark, but if you ask me, it isn’t living, and I don’t want any part in the life of someone who is so afraid of all the things that can’t penetrate his steel skin.”

“Stop calling me that.”, Clark shot, offended by Oliver likening him to a child. At this point, Clark noticed Victoria leaving unimpressed, making her way to the bar, “And what is this exactly Oliver? You’d promised that you were going to leave all this behind, that image of you that you hate so much. You said coming to Europe was about forming alliances with other people like us, and all I can see is indulgence, people celebrating it. This isn’t a summit of people who intend to form a league of superheroes, Oliver, I don’t think I see a single one of the people who are meant to be here-”, Clark spoke of the mutual allies he and Oliver shared, the founding members of the aforementioned league of heroes; Dinah, Arthur, Bart and Victor, “-this is just a party you’ve decided to throw to satisfy an impulse and a whim. I should have known-”

“-Oh Clark will you so us both a favour and please shut the fuck up. You don’t live on my shoulder, you’re not my fucking conscience. You’re hardly qualified to be my moral guide, so you can stop talking to me as though you live on higher ground than I do, you don’t. You don’t know me, you don’t even know yourself, and on both counts you never will.”, between the rolling of Oliver’s hindered yet captivating eyes, and his carelessly acrid comments, it became clear that Clark had lost his steam. After all efforts to assert himself and step up to Oliver as a man with all that he had to say, ultimately Clark was left defenceless by Queen once again, a badly drawn image of the man he was trying to be for him, “This is who I am, in fact Clark it’s who most people are. We like to have fun, we like to have lives that don’t solely focus on a sulking misery because we’re failing to be the man we think our fathers would have wanted us to be-.”

“-That’s low, Oliver.”, Clark retreated with grinded teeth, filled with upset and resenting that Oliver would use such a heartless pathology to upset him with.

“Right Clark, because you’re the only person in the universe with daddy issues, that comment only applies to you. Boohoo Clark, really…get the fuck over it.”, Clark could hardly believe the cruelty of the playboy’s words, if not for the sheer authenticity of the pitiless tone in which they were spoken in his direction. “Only weeks ago you were telling me how much you looked up to me, how much you wished you could be more like me, how special I was because of my impulsive ability to enjoy life, and now what, you’re condemning me for it? Typical contradictory Clark Kent melodrama. Game over Clark. Get the fuck out of my life, and stay there.”

“Oliver you can’t be serious, I can’t believe you‘d…it doesn’t have to be-”, Clark tried to string together a sentence that would prevent the inevitable, eyes shifting side to side in pursuit of a small intellectual miracle, head bobbing up and down due to an inability to remain thoroughly optimistic about a relationship with somebody who would say such heinous things with regard to him.

“I’m serious Clark. Get out. Don’t call me when you need help saving Chloe’s life, don’t drop by my place because you can’t get it up for Lana any more, don’t even leave a post-it at my office. I’m done.”, Clark had never seen Oliver look so cold and unfeeling, like stone, so cold and unfeeling that it was hard to actually see Oliver’s lips form the words that they were.

“You’re…you don’t want me here.”, Clark uttered with disbelief and regret, mostly just wanting to hear himself say the words aloud, if only to break the painful silence, rather than to hear an answer; Oliver had already been very clear on what his answer would be.

“You know what Clark, stay if you’d like, I doubt that after this conversation has ended I’ll ever find it difficult to ignore you again. In fact, I’m surprised that I ever noticed you existed at all…you really don’t.”, Oliver ended his final blow in this social warfare, with a breath of faint laughter blown tonelessly through his nose, eyelids closed to express how ridiculous he felt it had been to have ever noticed or even bothered with Clark.

“Oliver, wait…I-”, but before Clark had rallied the will to reach out to Oliver’s shoulder, Oliver’s eyes had left his without indecision, and the golden bowman had left Clark grasping and looking at the dawning ghost he’d left behind.

Within mere moments, Queen had not a care in the world, beaming so brightly and so beautifully in the shared dalliance of friends, Victoria kept naturally within his arm’s reach. Queen made no lie of it; Clark no longer mattered to him. With sad, watered eyes and a defeated brow, Clark somehow managed to take himself to a dark corner of the room that was lit so wildly and full of so much colour. Sinking within himself, he sat watching on at a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from, still too much a man to know how to let the tears welling up actually shed and lace his face with wet streams of sorrow. He felt alone and empty, like he had ruined everything again as always; perhaps Oliver was right, perhaps there was a distracting safety to Clark repeatedly sabotaging the connections he had to those closest to him, something enough to give him some cognitive reason never to truly evolve further, become who he was meant to be and fail as that. Clark had never known anyone he had liked, to come to hate him so much, not even Lex had looked at him like that, spoken to him that way, not so far as his memory served. But then it could be true that Oliver had mattered more to Clark than Lex ever would have, after all, Clark had known Lex as a friend he could trust, and then witnessed him becoming something far more wretched personally, before the two had ever become enemies. Clark had saw what was coming with Lex before it ever came, he’d known how tyrannical Lex could be, he had been prepared. With Oliver, Clark could never have known that he could be so hateful towards him, and he blamed himself. Still, something inside Clark stirred, a thought or a question or maybe even an answer that his mind had somehow encoded and made slippery enough so that it escaped Clark’s grip and ability to comprehend.

Moments that seemed like hours had passed, and Clark no longer lifted his head to look at the friend he once had, on occasion. Kent had become hollow, and even the glow of Queen’s brilliance had lost it’s forbidden charm. Nothing mattered to him now, everything always went badly when it did and so he resided to thinking of nothing, and thus avoid he misery that his cursed touch brought. And such thoughtless a state of mind was, until to Oliver’s misfortune, it was not. Suddenly, Clark saw red; once again he had been spellbound by Oliver, whose words were chosen more sophisticatedly than his, whose very sense of charismatic dominion had slew any meaningful opposition from Clark, before it had even been properly heard. Not only had Oliver diminished Clark’s character and right to defend it as well as his views, but he had done so in a way that left Clark blaming himself for it all. Eyes still watered, skin warmed by his anger, Clark slipped a large hand along his chest and under his red, dated jacket, taking from the pocket found there a small lead box, eyeing it with an equal measure of both doubt and hunger. Sooner than would be needed for Clark to have closed the just opened box himself, came speeding blur of red and blue motion, so fast and so fierce that it could not be seen or heard by anyone present.

Time had barely passed at all by the time Clark had returned at all, yet this time his blur more black and silver than it’s typical primary hues. As he arrived, slipping out of the blur, the spectators of the ground floor looked on to him much differently than before, his new and vibrant guile causing women’s gazes to fall upon him with impressed thirst, and those of men to meet him with intimidation and envy, however tamed. He looked darker now, eyes filled with dark intent beneath the panes of dark glass that concealed them, and with lips that knew only to bore variations of a wickedly delicious smile, standing so victoriously and without a care, as though he owned the world and barely cared about it. The Kryptonian’s lips lit aflame with a demonically brilliant smirk for long enough a moment for others to notice and thirst for it, removing his shades and placing one arm of them into the chest pocket on the outside of his black leather jacket. Vampiric glare cutting through the crowd, making way for his feet to follow it, the powerhouse strutted passed those who held casual awe in his visage, and took stride to the stairway at the other end of the room. As he reached the first steps, onlookers to his back, Clark tilted his head to one side slightly and peered through the only walls of this elaborate home that were not made of glass, with his x-ray vision, in pursuit of his prey. Dark jade orbs closed in on Oliver greedily, finding him with body pressed against the delectable Victoria Hardwick in a way he remembered to be personally familiar, wall at his back as it was now hers, Clark’s uncivilized detest inspired the blackest of smirks from the tender reddened flesh of his mesmerising lips. Not even a second later, the thick, bolted door of the bathroom had been torn asunder by but a simple fist’s will from Clark, who stood so drunk on himself that it should have been a sin to observe it.

“Get out.”, he demanded of Victoria not needing to raise his voice, for it was sure and dark enough in tone, and parted through such deliberate held a mouth that there would be no doubt as to how much he meant business. She nervously glanced at Oliver, before clutching at her open blouse and running out of the room, passed a stoic Clark who now looked to Oliver as the trophy he had just won.

“No, don’t-”, Oliver’s behest was too late for the British vixen’s exit, “-What the…Clark what exactly do you think you are doing? I told you to leave, not stick around and continue to fuck with my life like you do everyone else’s.”, Oliver angrily reigned himself back, while speaking his piece, standing straight once more where he once lowered himself and covered Victoria for both of their protection, in reaction to the impact of Clark’s blow against the locked door that had promised to keep his naughty squandering with said woman undisturbed.

“Actually Oliver you said to stick around, that it didn’t matter, that you could ignore me. And just so you know-”, the towering superhuman raised a fist to bare his knuckles to the older, more diminutive man, “-you’re not dealing with Clark any more.”, Oliver’s softened brown eyes widened as they saw the ring laced with crimson meteor rock, crowning just one of the knuckles that had been exposed to him.

Oliver firmly put emphasis on the span of his shoulders and stepped closer to the other man who blocked his exit from the now doorless doorway, an attempt to show no fear, “So, Kal is it? Am I supposed to be afraid because Clark got himself into another situation he couldn’t handle himself, so decided to let you wear his skin and handle it for him?”, Oliver’s eyes sought to provoke Kal’s.

“No.”, Kal quickly answered, with no sign of being agitated, “You should be afraid that you’re no longer in control. That’s the big kicker, isn’t it, you having no power over what’s happening, so much so that you’ll do and say almost anything to keep from feeling that way, even if it means trampling all over someone who’s already a doormat.”, Kal concluded.

“So it’s my fault that Clark’s weak.”, and Queen would have proceeded to insert a tactical grunt of laughter, if he hadn’t been interrupted.

“Clark isn’t weak, Oliver, you know that. Confused because you’re the first guy to give him a boner? Sure…but not weak. Taking advantage of someone who looks up to you to their own detriment, when they could more easily demolish every square inch of property you own…now that’s weak.”, Kal let the masked bowman know that when Clark harboured no inhibitions, Oliver was not the only one who prized a mastery over words, “That’s the problem…your taste for Clark is rivalled by a Napoleonic complex, you aren’t sure whether you want to be more with him, or be more than him. The latter of which will never happen.”, Kal smirked, filthily.

“All this him and you…Clark told me himself, you’re one in the same, you just do all the things he won’t let himself.”, Oliver interjected, now clearly paying attention to Kal, when before he intended to demonstrate that usual, indifferent reception he often gave Clark when things didn’t go his way.

“You may be able to distract Clark with irrelevant information, but not when he is me.”, Kal took a step towards Oliver whose shirt was somewhat unfastened, and suit jacket nowhere to be seen, remains of the door that once was cracking beneath his feet. With two copious hands that gripped at Oliver’s flesh in a self-welcoming and hungering way which Queen knew to be unlike anything Clark’s nature could ever usually initiate, Kal grabbed decisively at the shoulders of his golden prey, shoving him firmly against the wall to his back and pinning him there, unable to escape, “I can do anything to you, you know. And you do know.”, Kal reassured him of the latter sentence with a dark grime to his tone, “I could take you downstairs and beat the shit out of you in front of all of those other poor little rich kid friends of yours if that’s what I wanted. I could strip you, humiliate you, tie your limbs into knots, anything I wanted.”

“And I’d just let you?”, Oliver feeling threatened, struggled to save face.

“You’d have no say in it. My destiny is to be a God among men, you should remember your place in that.”, Kal insisted, devilish face so close to Oliver’s that the other man could smell his flesh.

“So you want to hurt me?”

“Oh Oliver-”, Kal chuckled grimly from within the deeper confines of his chest, “If that’s what I wanted, do you really think you’d still be able to ask me that question?”

“Then…what do you want?”, Oliver’s eyes grew calmer for some reason, as well as his body started to loosen to Kal’s forceful touch.

The darker, more delicious Clark rolled his eyes and shook his head side to side before letting out a soundless breath of laughter, “Your ego is absurd. You think-”

“-That you want me to fuck you?”, Oliver attempted to finish the evil alien’s sentence.

The only thing about the smile that then blazed across Kal’s face that was not as serpentine as that of a deadly viper, was the tongue that was just as predatory that rested within in. Looking to Oliver as though he were both amusingly stupefied and claiming a defeat, Kal drew in closer to Oliver’s anxious ear, “Do I look like a bottom to you?”, a rhetorical question, although any correct answer would clearly have been negative, “Still, you might have some idea of what I’ve got in store for you. Make no mistake, this is more about teaching you a lesson than anything else, although I admit I will be enjoying it for a number of reasons.”, Kal’s words were pure liquid mischief, fried in a vat of sin, imported from the bowls of Hell itself.

“You’re going to fuck me?”, asked Oliver tensely, masking the greater portion of his panic.

“Oh you’re definitely fucked Oliver, just not in any way you might like.”, Kal quipped with a lack of compassion and for his own amusement. He then proceeded to lift Oliver from the floor against the tiled wall he held him against, claiming an animalistic kiss from the leaner man’s objecting lips. As soon as Oliver gave in and started kissing back, Kal pulled back from Oliver’s open mouth and spat into it recklessly before burning the emerald archer’s eye’s with the unkindness of his malevolent grin.

“I might not be as strong as you, but I’m no pushover.”, an angered and tested Oliver shot through panicked breaths, the provocation of his ego and his dependency to always be in control stripped away, his natural instinctual need to preserve his own safety fought chaotically with his own temper, for claim to dominance.

“No, but you’d like to be wouldn’t you. Or did you think I’d forget…I just wanted to be like Clark Kent, you know? - I'm not even in your league.”, If the sinister and velvety tones of voice he applied and looks of pure dirt were not enough, then it was visibly evident from the nuanced snaking of Kal’s very physicality alone that he was more than enjoying to toy with his prey before he devoured it. “Don’t kid yourself Oliver, you’re five parts idolization and ten parts envy.”

Finding himself unable to bear much witness to Kal’s poisonous smiles, Oliver held his face to a side and began to close his eyes as often as he could to shield himself from their ominous, intoxicating glory, “Fine Clark…Kal. Whatever you’re going to do to me, just do it. Like you said, it’s not like I can stop you. Just don’t do it here where anyone could see.”, it was more like Oliver applied a logical rationale to the situation rather than submitting himself to it; he realized that if the inevitable was indeed that, then the best he could hope for was that it be over sooner rather than later, and not stumbled upon by any of his guests.

“Say please.”, Kal’s eyes beamed with a furious, almost salivating contempt, bringing no immediate response from his golden haired victim, “Say it!”

“Please.”, Oliver acquiesced, mind rankled and racked with tribulation, feeling as though he had just sold away every single part of himself that he prided and held dear, not only to receive no payment, but to also be punished for it. While his word had been said softly id admission of defeat, his face stayed full with a controlled anaesthetizing hate that made him seem partially catatonic.

“Well, since you asked nicely…”, Kal released the hold that would leave Oliver with at least mild bruising in the morning, causing his feet to land to the ground beneath with an abrupt thud, and gestured towards the doorway, giving the wealthy womanizer steady permission to lead the way to his room. Once there Kal closed and locked the door, after which he shoved Oliver, who strove so desperately to remain as calm as humanly possible, onto the large king sized bed, “Don’t move.”, he ordered of Oliver, knowing that he costumed adventurer was by no means accustomed to accepting defeat at the worst of times, and would no doubt be formulating a way out of his current ordeal. Kal dragged the chair from the dressing table, as well as an iced bucket of champagne he found there, to the side of the bed where Oliver lay facing him and stretched, so lean and long like a delicate piece of expensive meat about to me marinated.

“So, I interrupted you and Victoria just when it looked like things might start to get interesting. That must bother you, no?”, Kal asked playfully, which was much better a first act than Queen has anticipated.

“As opposed to being made your bitch which isn’t bothering me at all? Sure, it really rained on my parade.”, Oliver spat sarcasm, not thinking before he’d spoken.

“There you go again, thinking that you’ll tackle me while I’m playing nice, not accepting that at the end of the day, I still win.”, Kal churned with vocal grit, meaning business, “So did you fuck her at all, slip it in a few times? Did she suck your dick? Exactly how far did you get before I barged in? If I sucked your dick right now, would I be tasting her hot little cunt on the end of it?”

Oliver had never imagined or dreamed of Clark ever saying such expletive things and with such a forwardness, and even then at that moment he was unable to deny that it sent his heartbeat in a race that he felt filling his loins in a liquid stampede of blood and lust. He even regretted that he’d never fantasised Clark in such a naughty, appetizing light, “No Cl…Kal I…nothing happened.”, Queen’s watering mouth struggled to form consecutive words in bask of Kal’s unexpected use of illustrious use of language, and so instead it’s tongue tended to the lips that held it.

“Oh come on, you’re Oliver Queen, you can barely walk down the street without filling some whore’s box with your big, sugar frosted dick. You’re telling me that nothing happened? You didn’t take those perfect British tits in your hand and thumb her nipples, make her wet and ready for you to plunge that greedy cock of yours as deep inside her as it would go? You didn’t hook your fingers underneath those folds of flesh and taste the juices that drooled out from behind them? Grind your swelling cock against the lean, pearly flesh of her thighs? Nothing?”, Kal continued to interrogate Oliver illicitly, clearly aroused at his own line of question, but perhaps due more to the fact that his friend was his prey now, and had to hear it, had to answer to it, completely subject.

“I did…we, I felt her, my…pressed against her-”, Kal’s hypnotic verbalizations has entranced Oliver, who had been taken off guard, and the wealthier young stallion hated him for it; while he wished otherwise, Clark’s superior strength and Kal’s superior application of it were not the only weapons the Kryptonian had that could so effortlessly best Oliver.

At rapid and uncontrollable instance, Kal sniggered, which while not intended to relieve Oliver of embarrassment, did just that, interrupting him before he shed any more shame on himself, “Don’t blush Oliver, it doesn’t become you.”, Kal mischievously suggested, groping himself through dark denim jeans, casually.

“You don’t call me Ollie.”, Oliver shared an observation of Kal.

“I don’t do pet names.”

Oliver’s eyes had qualm’s delay to widen once more, as Kal shrugged off his leather jacket and began to peel off his tight black shirt overhead, throwing both garments randomly behind him, revealing a supple, thick, athletic build of muscle and flesh. Oliver has a thousand contradictory thoughts smashing at his mind all at once; he was sure whatever was about to happen was surely about to happen, he wasn’t sure whether a part of him would like it, he wanted to look at Clark’s flesh, he wanted it to be his choice to look at Clark’s flesh. Then, Kal raised the forgotten bottle of premium chilled champagne above him, and poured it incautiously over himself, wet, ice-cold alcoholic fluid soaking his coarse raven hair and drenching his face and torso in a battle of bubbling splashes, his soft, dark nipples darkening further and hardening almost instantly. Oliver was glad that he had been spared to obligation to form words at all at this point, as he may not have had any to offer.

“See something you like, richboy?”, Kal teased in a quick snap.

“I…”, Oliver wasn’t sure if he couldn’t speak, or if he simply refused to, for any true answer he gave would incriminate once more as a defeated man.

“The next time you don’t answer, you really won’t like what happens next.”

“Yes, OK? You know I…of course I like what I see.”, the sometimes masked avenger submitted, reluctantly.

“Then you’ll taste it.”, Kal stated, as a matter of fact.

“What do you-”, and before Oliver could finish his anxious question, Kal was towering above his lap, knees aside his taut, flinching thighs, straddling his elder and using both of his massive hands to force Queen’s protesting face into his chest where he was meant and forced to lick. Kal guided Oliver’s head exactly where he wanted it to go, and refused to loosen his grip at all until the archer actually started to put some actual effort in. Finally, Queen did start to give in to the moment, enjoying it for the fact of Clark’s enticing flesh being subject to his mouth, if not for having no choice in the matter; biting the tightened circle that encompassed Kal’s nipple tentatively, licking gnawing and nuzzling at the warm, impregnable flesh of his robust torso. After allowing Oliver a few moments to enjoy and prove himself, Kal dragged his head back by the hair and shoved him back down onto the bed, the scent of wet flesh and champagne filling the air most immediate to both men.

After a short tirade of tyrannical closed-eyed laughter, Kal looked to Oliver once more, painfully unimpressed, “That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? Oliver Queen, the man who’d put porn stars to shame he fucks so well, and that’s all you’ve got? Talk about killing a dream…but maybe foreplay isn’t your forte.”, Kal mocked without any concern for offending his golden prey or not.

“Fuck you!”, Oliver spat loudly in a moment‘s red rage, unacquainted with assaults against his ego, and in turn, them having such potent negative effect.

“More wishful thinking…”, Kal basked in a glow of hate inspiring glory, “…take off your clothes.”

“What? No!”, Oliver grimaced and refused, and although he knew better than to try and escape the powerful embrace of Kal’s thighs, his body seemed to promise other ideas.

“Not asking, telling. Take off your fucking clothes now!”, Kal’s eyes irradiated with red energy, threatening to burn through something if they didn’t get their way, “What’s the matter Oliver, it’s not like your dick couldn’t use the room…”, Kal’s powerful hand robbed a determined squeeze from Queen’s stiff, throbbing prick from outside of the lavish black material that strained against it, “…looks like even though you’re hating this, a certain part of you can’t resist Kryptonian playtime, whatever form it comes in.”

“Fuck off Clark, I’m not doing it!”, Queen strained an anguished bellow.

“It’s Kal…and what did I say about telling me no.”, Kal demanded ferociously with no room for further disobedience left, grabbing tightly at Oliver’s neck, closing in his grip to strangle and asphyxiate him, Oliver’s helpless, horrified stares met only by Kal’s unflinching ones.

“Fuck! Stop…OK, OK, I‘ll do it…I‘ll fucking do it!”, for once, Oliver answered correctly, albeit through tightened and failing breath which disallowed him much vocal tone at all, but instead the shaping of distressed, rattling air in place of any sort of voice.

Kal released Oliver from his inescapable chokehold and retired back to the chair for a moment, the waistband of his own jeans darkened by the earlier spilled damp of aromatic champagne that had yet to dry, and although Queen hated him, his eyes wished they could steal a glance from beneath that evil denim to see if the planes of skin there glistened just as wetly as the tender, inviting flesh underneath Kal’s belly button. Oliver felt Kal’s perversely dominating eyes penetrating every inch of him as he apprehensively undressed, each gaze making him feel unclean and weak, like he were muddied and hollow and weightless. Kal’s beautiful victim has never felt to exposed, so imprisoned. He was Kal’s captive now, marked as such by every punishing and unforgiving moment of witness those demonic eyed tarnished Oliver’s fresh, naked, body with. He wanted nothing more than to swing away at Kal’s face with punches that would kill or permanently injure any other man, but as the case was, such would only cause Oliver ailment, and he wasn’t sure that Kal would start showing any sympathy for him at that point.

“Satisfied?”, Oliver asked through a voice he felt no longer belonged to him, with words no part of him wanted to say, to a now standing Kal.

“There’s no need to be modest Oliver, with your ego and ability to see, you’re all too aware how hot a fuck you are. I mean I was born with certain…benefits…but look at the work you’ve put into that body, so lean, so golden and perfect, even now when it’s not exactly your finest hour.”, Kal’s index finger beckoned a kneeling Oliver to come closer to him, and once such had come to pass, Kal simply scraped at the soft, sun kissed flesh he found amidst that tightly toned torso he had just paid free and deserved compliment to, fingernails dragging, forming circles of varying size there, “And that meaty prick-”, Kal looked down to Oliver’s raging penis which bobbed against his jeans just above the knee, smudging the denim with a tiny yet gorgeous portion of it’s excited excrement, “-I’m not sure if I want to eat it or frame it. I can see why Clark would want to sneak a peak at that…then again I am his uninhibited side, so I guess I’m as much to blame for that.”

As otherwise troubled as the stupefied bowman indeed was, he was able to acknowledge one more new priority of thought; this schizophrenic shit with Kal was really pissing him off. “So what, you’re buttering me up before you have your way with me, is that it?”, he asked, boldly, considering the circumstances.

“Something like that, but if it’s any consolation…I mean every word.”, Kal boasted, so cocksure of himself Oliver could have exploded with frustration right there and then.

Grabbing at that flaxen mound of hair at the back of his head once more, Kal positioned himself over Oliver once more, closing his teeth around the delicate flesh of Oliver’s neck firmly enough to graze it, warm, sodden tongue exciting the other man with it‘s refined, passionate flicks. Oliver grunted with protest in place of pain, not wishing to be helpless but having no other choice, also hating the fact that Kal was forcing him to enjoy something he didn’t want to, because he wasn’t in control. In reaction to this disdainful grumble pushed out from Queen‘s treacherous throat, Kal ceased to make a meal of the now reddened flesh he had just dined upon in sexual fever. Instead, deviant Kryptonian backed away slightly and took his trusted index finger, gently pressing it against the side of Oliver’s pulsating tool at the base, and travelling around the outline of the whole erect member, flesh remaining on flesh the entire time.

“Now who’s being coy?”, Kal almost growled, “This clean, cut dick…you must love it…not as sensitive than others that haven’t been cut. You can do a lot of damage with it can’t you blondie? It can take a beating. You love it.”

Kal handled the neck of the champagne bottle again, washing the cold bubbling fluid over Queen’s boiling, rock solid cock, making it’s very meat seem even hotter in contrast. Oliver watched speechlessly like a uninvolved spectator to his own fucktool as Kal choked and pumped at it with greedy pace and precision, tugging him off without censorship or need for invite. The lean marksman dared not express resentment or pleasure any further, for either would be an admission that he refused to submit. His reluctance seemed not only impractical but also impossible though, with Kal tending to his precum-bleeding dick with growing fervour, it was all Oliver could do to keep his legs from buckling and keeping himself upright, to at least face his sexual dictator directly in terms of physical position. Fighting back his body’s inarguable need for him to moan and release random, exasperated breaths, Oliver attempted to appease Kal with an alternative suggestion.

“You know…I promise…you don’t have to have me…like this.”, Oliver just managed to force out his plea without losing control of his vocal chords completely.

“I can have you any way I want, permitted or not. You were happy up until now, while you were making all the rules, not asking permission. It’s all about taking with you isn’t it, and rarely giving if you have to…but being taken from, not so good with that.”, Kal remarked, too wisely for Queen’s current application of intelligence to compete with. “You know what I think?”, Kal stopped tugging roughly at the other man’s impressive and swollen pussyfucker, slipping two forefingers behind it and wiggling them too and fro patiently, causing Oliver’s handsome dick to twang downwards and then upwards again. He continued to speak, eyes carefully investigating every contour of that beautiful cock at his mercy, “I think if you really had a problem with anything happening here, your fuckstick wouldn’t be so hard and so glossed in it’s own juices. Maybe it’s trying to tell you something Oliver.”, Kal taunted him, and it seemed too much of such treatment was never enough.

“The Clark I know would never do this.”, Oliver confirmed.

“But isn’t that the previous problem? You can’t have your cake and eat it richboy, I mean we both know you love a good lapdog at your beckon call, but you’ve tried that, it didn’t work out…he‘s gullible enough for you to have your fun with him, but too good a person not to realize when you’re manipulating him, and that it‘s wrong.”, while brash, unreasonable and chaotic in nature, Kal proved to be able to justify logic to suit his views as well as any of the articulates that Oliver considered formidable at such feats, “If you ask me, you need a little mean to handle your lean.”, Kal insisted, still teasing his perfectly naked counterpart, whilst at the same time parting only with the truth.

“I didn’t ask…”, Oliver was not very astute when it came to choosing his attitude and words, at this point, but then his final plea had been thrown back in his face, and so well at that. If only Kal’s tolerance of such behaviour was more forgiving, after all Oliver had caught his slip of insubordination early enough not to finish it.

“Enough! Shut your pretty fucking mouth!”, Kal’s eyes blazed with the fury of red energy again, and Oliver swallowed in automatic reaction, not in fear of being set ablaze my Kal’s Kryptonian eyeshot, but instead concerned because he had never heard such severity in Clark’s voice, or seen him look so cruel and ravenous. It wasn’t even him, looking through Oliver as though he wasn’t there, let alone paying no regard to his emotional or psychological standing or wellbeing, “We both know we can’t trust you to do that don’t we? So I’ll shut it for you.”

“No, wait…I’m-”, Oliver was not allowed the luxury of completing his apology, and he was about to wish that his feeling of not being present with an actual fact in play.

With one seamless gesture, Kal flung Oliver around by a simple motioned grip at the archer’s muscular bowing arm, so that he turned and landed with his head now resting atop the pillows of the luxurious, silk covered bed. Kal pinned down both of Oliver’s hands against his own chest, and used one knee to restrain any attempts at flailing around from his long, nimble legs. And then, Kal spat a generous wad into his heartless palm, just before clamping it around the dark scarlet head of Oliver’s stunning appendage with brutal tightness. The nerve endings in his saucy prick already well aroused, Oliver could just barely cope with the first few steady yanks at his piece, and once Kal began to tug at it with more unforgiving a rapidity, Oliver could no longer hold back the groans he had done so with before. Even though such would be futile, Oliver had been forcibly disallowed the ability to try and escape the blissful yet torturous onslaught of his cock, delivered so zealously by Kal’s wicked hand.

“Stop…fuck…please.”, the beautiful billionaire sincerely winced through broken, troubled moans.

“Stop? You want me to stop? You should have thought about that before you decided to be brave with that mouth of yours Oliver. No can do.”, Kal responded, drinking in every unprecedented jolt and uncontrollable twitch that punched forth through Oliver’s body. “Tell me that you’ve dreamt of fucking me, do it.”

“No, Clark I…”, Queen not realizing his first misnomer quickly remembered where saying no had gotten him so far, and immediately corrected his discourse, impossible as it was to speak comprehendible words at all, “…I’ve…dreamt of…fucking you.”

“Meant it when you say it, make me believe it, shout it at the top of your lungs you unworthy little fuck.”, Kal ungratefully commanded, clenching at the head of Oliver’s erratically throbbing dick with even more hellish a grip and speed, to demonstrate to Oliver what would happen unless he was satisfied with his efforts.

“I fucking dream of…you…fucking you…allthefuckingtimestop!”, Oliver bellowed as hard as he could unable to separate the last of his words, pleading with Kal to desist in his chosen course of penile punishment. Bittersweet irony though, that as unbearable as enduring all of this was and as much as he hated unfolding events, Oliver was so drowned in the sheer sexual mysticism that his gigantic dominator had gluttonously fattened him with, even the images that sprung forth from the words Kal ordered him to say, were turning him on, making him harder, causing the eye of his tool to weep further with succulent gooey fucksauce.

“Tell me you love me, and you want my dick in your fucking little mouth. Say it!”, Kal himself shouted, flesh clammy with the heated sweat of lustful stimulus.

“I fuckingloveyou…I want your…bigfuckingdick…inmymouth. I want…sofuckingbig. I do…iwantit…so…fuckingmuch. Wantedsomuch…totasteyou…for…so…long. Shitfuck!”, as Kal’s regular pace upon the milking of Oliver’s sensational fuckstick increased unfeasibly, Oliver knowing better than to provoke any worse predicament, found himself delirious, almost talking in tongues. He prayed Kal hadn’t noticed what he had; that it almost sounded like beneath those words he had spoken it almost sounded like he was fighting back tears. The wet shafting of his private flesh filled his ears like music from the Gods. In a surreal and flooring manner, his body didn’t feel like his own any more, he didn’t even feel like he was inside it, all he could do was feel, unable to use his intellect to decide whether such was a gift or a curse. All other things but his cock and Kal’s pumping hand had lost meaning, “Oh shit…if you keep…ifyoudontslowdown…I’m gonna…fuckmepleaseslowodown…I’m…”, the golden playboy with the trophy cock insanely worded in a way so desperate that he had never known it of himself.

“You’re going to what?”, Kal said menacingly, knowing exactly what Oliver was trying to say.

“Gonna…fuck…I’m…gonnafucking….gonnafuckingcum! Oh fuck…fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”, Oliver’s riveted body trembled as Kal hammered out nine thick ropes of thick pearly cum from his dick, waves of heavenly Hell crashed through him, owning him completely, each spurt of flavoursome jism causing Queen to quake and convulse, just ahead of unfathomable cries.

And just when sweet relief seemed finally nigh, as well as return to normality, a dark grumble of unkind laughter spilled dimly forth from Kal’s oesophagus, as his fist clasped more monstrously and more specifically at Oliver’s spent dick. Kal began to fuck the bundled helmet of flesh and nerves that crowned Oliver’s golden cock so severely, that any treatment of it before seemed minuscule in comparison.

“Whatthefuck…Kal…don’t, canttakeit…too much…toofuckingmuch.”, maddening sensations of otherworldly orgasm electrified pleasure centres throughout his nervous system that Oliver didn’t know even existed and wouldn’t have thought possible to. “Ohmyfuckinggod…Kal I can’t…fuckingstop…pleasefuckingstop.”, Oliver’s body twisted and contorted as much as it could beneath Kal’s superhuman constraint, and Oliver had never looked more striking, intermittent low-pitched screams and whispered sighs escaping his mouth like crazed prisoners.

“Oh Oliver-”, Kal’s voice sounded like the pure unfiltered grit of deep dark sex, “-always having to decide everything, how to make others feel. So disappointing to see how you react when that’s all stripped away, and all at the final hurdle…you were doing so well.” Oliver couldn’t believe what he was hearing, hadn’t he already been subjected to more than any man should rightfully be expected to endure? What more could he give, his blood, his life? Short of dying, he was uncertain what else was left to submit or have taken from him. “It’s over when I say it’s over.” And that’s when it happened, like a sudden surge of enlightenment that hit Oliver’s soul like a truck. As if being controlled by an unseen force, Oliver took in one large, deep breath, and as he exhaled, he became stoic, completely still and at peace even though he still felt like every particle of his being was made of frantic orgasm. His eyes welled up and a tear streamed slowly down one side of his face, tickling his cold unexpressive cheek, and that’s when he said it, “The lesson has ended.”, Kal announced, smirking like the devil after victory over God, pausing his pulls of Queen’s distressed cock for just a few moments, and then stealing two conclusively vicious yanks from it. And just as soon as Kal removed all grip and constraint from Oliver’s cock and body, Oliver instantly blurted forth a further two bursts of ejaculate, squirting aimlessly with no kneading hand to guide it.

Oliver remained still and visibly emotionless at first, Kal tasting the seed he had spilled from his fingers and then slipping them patiently passed Oliver’s uncreative lips so he that he could taste himself without argument. With his taught student looking so delectable, Kal lifted any sense of self restraint, mounting the tall blonde stallion and leaning into him, consuming those clever and temperamental lips in an incomparably passionate kiss, his own soft moans of pleasure being fed in a whisper through Oliver’s tongued mouth. The wet caresses of Kal’s tongue began to slowly awaken Oliver from his previous state of extraordinary stasis, but Kal was too keenly occupied to notice, Oliver’s eyes opening, the freshly capable cogs of his mind revolving in needed discovery for a way out of this predicament. Oliver started to kiss Kal back, pushing himself upwardly so that both men’s torso’s were parallel and upright, the archer’s polished touches gracing the hot flesh of Kal’s broad, mammoth shoulders and arms. Like a devious snake, Oliver’s hand brushed and stroked and slithered it’s way down to the tender flesh of Kal’s pulse point. Seconds later, though the kiss had continued, it became very different on the darker haired man’s behalf, and shortly after that it stopped completely. Oliver pulled away with an uneven, knowing smile, before holding up the red Kryptonite ring to Clark’s face, between thumb and forefinger.

Himself again, Kent looks down to find Oliver fully naked, flaccid penis spread without shame along Oliver’s inner thigh, the scent of fresh spunk in the air, as well as it’s thick lashings were visibly splattered all over Oliver’s torso, and it’s faint taste rested upon Clark’s taste buds. Looking to Oliver ashamed, Clark’s heart raced incredibly, disgusted and disgraced at what he had obviously done. And then, before the flummoxed powerhouse could contest, Oliver was kissing him again.

“Oliver what are you…how can…what I’ve done, I’m so-”, a fretting Clark promised genuine sentiments of distress and remorse after Oliver’s kiss was done, yet was interrupted, first by the post-orgasmic ally euphoric giggle that warmly filled the air by way of Oliver’s mouth, and then by Oliver’s words.

“-Don’t say sorry Clark, you have nothing to apologize for.”, he said, much to Clark’s surprise.

“But I, what I just did to you-”

“-Had to be done Clark, I wasn’t listening…would never have listened. Now I get it.”, he interrupted again, unwilling to let Clark blame himself for this.

“Whatever you’re saying now…how can you even look at me again after what I’ve just done? I mean for all intents and purposes…it was-”

“You can’t rape the willing Clark-”, the golden stallion interrupted again, smiling goofily and without the felt need to conceal his amusement, “-and are you kidding me? I’ve been fucked ‘til I’ve passed out, and I’ve never came like that…I’m not even sure what the fuck that just was. You be on the receiving end of that and ask me again how I could ever look at you after it.”, although Clark couldn’t comprehend why, Oliver seemed endlessly happy and optimistic, for someone who had just been sexually invaded upon, and in such harsh a fashion, “And in any case…no matter what you did, how could anyone ever take their eyes off your loveable mug?”, Oliver asked with a wink.

“But Ollie-”, while Clark was grateful that Oliver had taken recent events so well, he was still unsure and ultimately curious about how and why, “How could you even agree to be at Kal’s mercy? Why didn’t you try-”

“Because he’s just a variation of you Clark, I had no reason but to trust anything that happened. Kal is you at your worst and your best, and I know that even at your worst, you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me…God knows I’ve given you enough reason to so far.”, Oliver explained somewhat elaborately. Clark looked himself over shyly, embarrassed at what he had done to Oliver, to which Queen couldn’t help but laugh again mildly, finding his expression of shame ridiculously adorable.

“Stop it Ollie, it’s not OK…I mean we could blame Kal, but when it comes down to it, I brought him here…I brought the ring and I put it on. Some part of me must have wanted that before I even knew that we’d get into a fight.”

“Oh come on Clark, what did you do really, handjob me silly and give me a much needed slap on the wrist? I can think of worse fates…although I admit, I think one to many of those handjobs may lead to an early grave.”, Oliver quipped, seeming to be in the mood that Clark loved him to be in, playful, quirky and audacious.

Clark scratched his head through a silence that troubled him, confused and taken way off guard by Oliver’s positive persistence. Still, somehow he felt like everything was alright, like something had clicked, even if some parts of him were still uncomfortable with what had just happened between he and his best friend. “So what happens now?”, he asked naively, his pout as coyly pursed as his hanging brow.

“Anything you want Clark, or nothing. There’s nothing I won’t give and nothing I’ll try to take, not now, not any more.”, the emerald archer’s words caused Clark to smile with all the garish glee of a child with a new lollypop, “You know, I’m going to have to return the favour, but not tonight. Your little performance has left me drained! Who knew you had it in you.”

“Ollie!”, Kent was typically startled by Queen’s audacious nerve.

Oliver smiled like a true winner should, “So you’re calling me that again?”, to which Clark nodded up and down, silly expression dripping from his face.

“So…does this mean we’re, you know…gay?”, wondered a very unworldly and yet ludicrously loveable Clark, who peered at Oliver like a little brother who went to his elder brother for answers to all the things that confused him.

“I don’t think so Clark. I’m gay for you…maybe we’re just gay for each other?”, Oliver’s silly delivery of these silly words forced Clark to beam with that stupendously impish grin of his that only came out every once and a while, and Oliver loved it.

“You have a big bed.” Clark observed, bed sheets now pulled over his head in a way which likened him visually to the nightly antics of a small child.

“Yes Clark my bed is big, so are you. Care to help me fill it out?”, and with that warm invitation offered by Oliver, Clark could do no more than nod positively, stupidly happy grin still stretched across the unfittingly masculine features of his face. Moments later and both young men were beneath the covers, sharing bodily warmth through the mildest most innocent of touches after saying their goodnights, and upon slumber, each had an arm resting upon the other, their faces the last thing that either had seen before night’s rest. Yet for once, not Clark nor Oliver had any reason to dream.

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