FIC: Gasp (Smallville: Clarke/Ollie, PG-13)
TITLE: Gasp
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
FANDOM: Smallville
PAIRING: Clark/Oliver
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: graphic injury
TIMELINE: set somewhere in the murky depths of Season 8
PROMPT: hc_bingo: torture
WORDS: 821
SUMMARY: One word and his red-blue saviour will appear.
DISCLAIMER: Very much not mine. However much I might want to take Justin Hartley home.
NOTES: I loved Smallville way back when and watched it until I couldn't bear Lex's descent into evil any longer. Then, while on holiday in the States, my dear friend Teddy cajoled me into watching some of Season 8. And I found a whole new reason to watch: namely, Oliver Queen. As such, I'm still in catch-up mode, so this fic is only canon-compliant up to mid-Season 8. Apologies for all resulting continuity errors.
Further apologies to ladybugkay for use of the word "smirk". ;)
It was hot and dusty and dry. Ollie dared open one eye and received a sharp slap.
"The Queen lives."
Laughter then - dirty, victorious. Ollie shifted his shoulders, pulled tight against the wooden chair, thick sailor's knots digging into his wrists and ankles.
Ollie parted his lips, the trickle of blood providing the barest moisture. Another slap.
"We will keep you as a pet and take your ships. We will not kill you - yet."
Greek pirates - how did trouble always find him, even halfway around the world on a pleasure cruise? Next vacation, he'd get Clark to take him to the Fortress.
He tried to reply, to smirk, but his skin cracked as he moved his cheek and he swallowed against the dirt in his throat.
"Pity that you cannot scream, eh?" A blow to the ribs, hard and fast; a silent scream was all they'd get.
He lost track then - hit and recoil - the snap of one finger, two - bruise over bruise - the salty ooze of his own blood -
He passed out for a time, woke to warm water on his face, a few precious drops touching his lips.
Just enough.
"Cla'k."
The wind whipped round him, blessedly cool, with gratifying screams as his little friends fell.
Silence.
"Ollie? God, Oliver."
Warm, soft hand on his cheek and Ollie leaned into his touch.
"Hold on - let me get the ropes."
Heat by his hands, gone in an instant, and his abused shoulders shrieked at the release. Ollie choked, coughed, screwed his eyes up tight. His body slumped forward into Clark's solid chest and he gritted his teeth as Clark eased his arms forward with the gentle, controlled touch of a man who could make diamonds in his hands.
Another blast freed his ankles and then he was being cradled in Clark's arms, lifted up and held close.
"We need to get you to the hospital."
Ollie opened his eyes, unbroken fingers curling into Clark's shirt. Clark frowned.
"You have to go. This is not a democracy, Oliver."
His lips twitched into a smile, his split lip opening; more blood on his tongue. Clark rolled his eyes.
"Fine - I'll call your doctor. But we're doing exactly what he says."
Ollie let his eyes fall closed again and revelled in the rush of the wind as Clark ran, the cool breeze sending him to sleep.
~
Clark shifted in Oliver's obscenely comfortable armchair and sighed. This titan of industry looked too vulnerable in sleep, pale beneath his tan and swathed in bandages. The IV ran steadily, drops only counted by a super-powered eye, and Oliver slept the sleep of the well rescued.
After he'd rang Chloe and Lois and Tess Mercer (Heaven help him), he'd settled down at Oliver's bedside. This was not how he'd imagined getting into Oliver's bedroom.
Not that he'd imagined it often. Just those moments when Oliver was being particularly insufferable or wanted to kill Lex in a burst of righteous fury, and didn't that just give the good little Kansas boy pause for thought?
Some days he felt like he was the only thing holding Oliver back from the abyss - and others, he knew he'd be past saving were it not for a trick arrow hauling him out of harm's way.
Oliver stirred and opened his eyes, fluttering impossibly blond eyelashes as he fought to return to wakefulness. His eyes fixed on Clark and he smiled. Clark had another one of those moments, but he was already in Oliver's bedroom and he needed to concentrate.
Oliver tried to speak and Clark grabbed for the water, holding the cup to Oliver's lips as he supported his head.
"The doctor said to take it slowly."
Oliver took a gulp and licked his lips, leaning his head back on Clark's hand. Clark set down the water but kept his hand on Oliver's hair, fingers sinking between the short, blond tufts.
"Hey," Oliver rasped and Clark smiled.
"Hey."
Oliver reached for his arm with three splinted fingers. "Thanks, Clark."
Clark felt a lump form in his throat. "Well, bad for business, you know. If it weren't for you, what would I write about?"
It was a lame thing to say, from the lame loser he was, but Oliver just kept smiling, looking at Clark as if he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his life. Clarke felt his cheeks grow hot and, really, there was only one way to cover his embarrassment.
So, he leaned in and brushed a kiss to Oliver's forehead. "You're all right now."
Oliver's fingers closed on his shirt, dragging him down, and Clark's lips touched Oliver's.
It was nothing like Lana, like Chloe - it was just a drop of warmth, a taste. This was something that could wait for when Clarke could celebrate being in Oliver Queen's bedroom.
"Next vacation," he murmured," I'm taking you to the Fortress."
And Oliver laughed and everything was right again.
AUTHOR: Demon Faith
FANDOM: Smallville
PAIRING: Clark/Oliver
RATING: PG-13
WARNINGS: graphic injury
TIMELINE: set somewhere in the murky depths of Season 8
PROMPT: hc_bingo: torture
WORDS: 821
SUMMARY: One word and his red-blue saviour will appear.
DISCLAIMER: Very much not mine. However much I might want to take Justin Hartley home.
NOTES: I loved Smallville way back when and watched it until I couldn't bear Lex's descent into evil any longer. Then, while on holiday in the States, my dear friend Teddy cajoled me into watching some of Season 8. And I found a whole new reason to watch: namely, Oliver Queen. As such, I'm still in catch-up mode, so this fic is only canon-compliant up to mid-Season 8. Apologies for all resulting continuity errors.
Further apologies to ladybugkay for use of the word "smirk". ;)
It was hot and dusty and dry. Ollie dared open one eye and received a sharp slap.
"The Queen lives."
Laughter then - dirty, victorious. Ollie shifted his shoulders, pulled tight against the wooden chair, thick sailor's knots digging into his wrists and ankles.
Ollie parted his lips, the trickle of blood providing the barest moisture. Another slap.
"We will keep you as a pet and take your ships. We will not kill you - yet."
Greek pirates - how did trouble always find him, even halfway around the world on a pleasure cruise? Next vacation, he'd get Clark to take him to the Fortress.
He tried to reply, to smirk, but his skin cracked as he moved his cheek and he swallowed against the dirt in his throat.
"Pity that you cannot scream, eh?" A blow to the ribs, hard and fast; a silent scream was all they'd get.
He lost track then - hit and recoil - the snap of one finger, two - bruise over bruise - the salty ooze of his own blood -
He passed out for a time, woke to warm water on his face, a few precious drops touching his lips.
Just enough.
"Cla'k."
The wind whipped round him, blessedly cool, with gratifying screams as his little friends fell.
Silence.
"Ollie? God, Oliver."
Warm, soft hand on his cheek and Ollie leaned into his touch.
"Hold on - let me get the ropes."
Heat by his hands, gone in an instant, and his abused shoulders shrieked at the release. Ollie choked, coughed, screwed his eyes up tight. His body slumped forward into Clark's solid chest and he gritted his teeth as Clark eased his arms forward with the gentle, controlled touch of a man who could make diamonds in his hands.
Another blast freed his ankles and then he was being cradled in Clark's arms, lifted up and held close.
"We need to get you to the hospital."
Ollie opened his eyes, unbroken fingers curling into Clark's shirt. Clark frowned.
"You have to go. This is not a democracy, Oliver."
His lips twitched into a smile, his split lip opening; more blood on his tongue. Clark rolled his eyes.
"Fine - I'll call your doctor. But we're doing exactly what he says."
Ollie let his eyes fall closed again and revelled in the rush of the wind as Clark ran, the cool breeze sending him to sleep.
~
Clark shifted in Oliver's obscenely comfortable armchair and sighed. This titan of industry looked too vulnerable in sleep, pale beneath his tan and swathed in bandages. The IV ran steadily, drops only counted by a super-powered eye, and Oliver slept the sleep of the well rescued.
After he'd rang Chloe and Lois and Tess Mercer (Heaven help him), he'd settled down at Oliver's bedside. This was not how he'd imagined getting into Oliver's bedroom.
Not that he'd imagined it often. Just those moments when Oliver was being particularly insufferable or wanted to kill Lex in a burst of righteous fury, and didn't that just give the good little Kansas boy pause for thought?
Some days he felt like he was the only thing holding Oliver back from the abyss - and others, he knew he'd be past saving were it not for a trick arrow hauling him out of harm's way.
Oliver stirred and opened his eyes, fluttering impossibly blond eyelashes as he fought to return to wakefulness. His eyes fixed on Clark and he smiled. Clark had another one of those moments, but he was already in Oliver's bedroom and he needed to concentrate.
Oliver tried to speak and Clark grabbed for the water, holding the cup to Oliver's lips as he supported his head.
"The doctor said to take it slowly."
Oliver took a gulp and licked his lips, leaning his head back on Clark's hand. Clark set down the water but kept his hand on Oliver's hair, fingers sinking between the short, blond tufts.
"Hey," Oliver rasped and Clark smiled.
"Hey."
Oliver reached for his arm with three splinted fingers. "Thanks, Clark."
Clark felt a lump form in his throat. "Well, bad for business, you know. If it weren't for you, what would I write about?"
It was a lame thing to say, from the lame loser he was, but Oliver just kept smiling, looking at Clark as if he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his life. Clarke felt his cheeks grow hot and, really, there was only one way to cover his embarrassment.
So, he leaned in and brushed a kiss to Oliver's forehead. "You're all right now."
Oliver's fingers closed on his shirt, dragging him down, and Clark's lips touched Oliver's.
It was nothing like Lana, like Chloe - it was just a drop of warmth, a taste. This was something that could wait for when Clarke could celebrate being in Oliver Queen's bedroom.
"Next vacation," he murmured," I'm taking you to the Fortress."
And Oliver laughed and everything was right again.