2 Fics: Twisted; Status Quo | Smallville | Clark Kent/Oliver Queen; Lois Lane/Tess Mercer | NC-17
Title: Twisted
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark Kent/Oliver Queen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,230
Prompt: For PB 14: cape, save, morning, sheets, surprise; For DCU FFA: massage
Summary: The morning after a disastrous patrol, Ollie discovers something new about himself.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here on the PB.
Twisted
Ollie really should’ve been used to waking up feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. Really. But dammit, every inch of him ached, bruises pulsating and searing hot as they formed, knotting up his muscles, and-
Shit, he’d torn a muscle in his right shoulder. Lifting his head from his pillow as he blinked the rest of the way awake, he couldn’t stop the squeak of a cry that escaped him, pain radiating up his shoulder to his neck and finally the base of his skull.
His head dropped back to the pillow, and Ollie squeezed his eyes shut, breathed through the pain … realized his arm had been bound up, immobilized to his torso. Of course. Clark.
“Ollie?”
Clark’s voice cut through the haze of agony like a beacon through fog, and Ollie attempted a weak smile, his face hurting from the motion. “’M awake,” he answered, opening his eyes again to find his Boy Scout of a boyfriend standing by the bedside with a tray in his hands, laden with what smelled like-
“Breakfast?” he croaked, the aroma of coffee, bacon, and eggs going straight to his stomach, which decided to growl loudly in anticipation.
A nod and smile, and Clark set the tray down on the night table. “What else? You’ll need a lot of protein to heal that shoulder, and I brought you some painkillers with your coffee. I also have bruise cream for after.”
Ollie lifted an eyebrow as Clark helped him sit up, stacking pillows behind him so he could settle back. “When was the last time I used bruise cream, Clark?”
Clark laughed, finally setting the tray over Ollie’s lap. “You’ll thank me after you’ve seen your face.”
A stifled wince, and Ollie downed his painkillers with a long gulp of coffee-sweet, sweet caffeine-then dug into his breakfast. Even chewing hurt, and Ollie was sure he felt a tooth wiggle, but that hardly mattered. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so damn hungry since before, since the island, and damn, Clark could cook one hell of a meal.
“Remind me to thank your mother for teaching you to cook the next time we see her,” he said around his last bite of eggs.
And hell, he’d just devoured his whole meal in what could only have been a few minutes. Looking from his plate up to Clark, he frowned. “Guess I was pretty hungry.”
Clark laughed, taking the tray away and leaving his coffee on the night table. “No guessing about it. Be right back.”
When Clark was gone, Ollie figured it’d be a good time to hit the head, and shoved himself up out of bed, gnashing his teeth on the pain as he did, and shuffled to the bathroom, took care of things, and came back. He was only barely in the bed when Clark returned, jar of bruise cream in hand.
“Did you get up without me?” Clark scolded him, settling next to him and taking the lid off the jar.
Ollie rolled his eyes. “Course I did. Don’t need help to take a piss, Clark.”
But Clark’s gaze was pointed as he brought a dollop of bruise cream up to Ollie’s jaw and began to massage it in. “After last night, I’m surprised you could get up at all.”
“Please, you’re the one with x-ray vision. I clearly didn’t break my legs,” Ollie protested.
“No, but you pulled or strained just about everything trying to keep that kid from falling off that roof. Had your whole leg wedged in between the brick ledge and the A/C housing just to hold yourself up.”
The near-disaster of the night before flashed over Ollie’s mind’s eye, and he frowned, unable to come up with a counter-argument. “All right, all right,” he mumbled. “So I twisted myself up like a pretzel. And you came and saved the day, with your cape flapping in the wind and a twinkle in your eye.”
Clark smirked at him, then scowled when Ollie hissed at the pain in his jaw. “You broke a tooth,” he pointed out.
“I’m aware,” Ollie grumbled, turning his head to get his painful jaw out of Clark’s hand. “Why don’t you work that cream in somewhere else?”
A small sigh, and Clark nodded, moving his efforts to Ollie’s shoulder.
The cry of pain that escaped Ollie put a stop to that real quick, though, Clark withdrawing his hands in surrender as Ollie sucked in a breath through his teeth. Holy hell, that’d hurt.
“Um, Ollie?”
Blinking at Clark, Ollie realized that that blue gaze was fixed not on Ollie’s face, but on … parts south. Following suit, he realized there was more going on in his body than a face and armful of agony, seeing the way his shorts were tented.
“Don’t ask me, Clark,” he sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a pain fetish before.”
But instead of giving him the expected concerned look, Clark smiled darkly-an odd expression on his face that made Ollie wonder. “Well … how about this, then,” he suggested, and with quick hands, he concentrated his efforts with the bruise cream on Ollie’s legs, specifically the left thigh, that’d been wedged in on that rooftop.
A groan escaped Ollie with the massage, the way Clark’s hands dug in just right, finding the knotted muscles and working slowly, and … shit, he really was getting off on this.
“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, getting a hand twisted up in the sheets just to ground himself as his center started to coil up in anticipation. “That works.” If his voice had gone high and breathless, he wouldn’t admit it.
Chuckling, Clark moved his attentions to Ollie’s other leg, finding the bruises and knots there as well, and worked them out with sure strokes that seemed to release all the endorphins in the universe straight into Ollie’s brain.
“Gonna make me come in my pants, Clark,” he complained in a small voice, letting his eyes slide shut. So of course he didn’t see it when Clark tossed the jar of cream aside, but he certainly felt those strong fingers tug his shorts off, and … and then there was a hot mouth surrounding him, taking him deep, Clark’s hands gripping his hips tight as he worked Ollie’s length, tongue circling and teasing, and-
And Ollie was done for, his hips stuttering up to fuck Clark’s mouth as he came, his body shaking and screaming with pleasure and pain all at once, lit on fire.
It felt like an eternity before his senses returned to him, the pain subsiding, and he slowly opened his eyes to find Clark cleaning him up and tucking him back into his shorts.
Catching his gaze, Clark smiled crookedly at him. “If taking care of you after an injury is gonna be this interesting, I think I might have to do it more often.”
Despite himself, Ollie laughed in return, finding himself much more able to block out the pain in his shoulder and jaw now. “Don’t be too sure. I don’t plan on pretzeling myself again any time soon,” he shot back. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make me breakfast in bed and give me massages after a long patrol. You know, just because.”
Ollie barely ducked the pillow that was tossed at him, grinning.
~*~*~*~
Title: Status Quo
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Lois Lane/Tess Mercer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,066
Prompt: For PB 14: fight, dominance, blood, torn, claim, tension, intelligence
Summary: Going undercover in a prostitution ring was a bad idea, considering Lois and Tess's arrangement.
Disclaimer: DC and WB still own it all, the bastards.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here on the PB. This was also a belated b-day gift for the wonderful anissa7118.
Status Quo
Picking herself up from the floor and wiping fresh blood from her lip was hardly what Lois expected to be doing after delivering the bombshell of the year to Tess in person at the Luthor mansion. Then again, she probably should’ve expected that sucker punch, considering how long it’d taken her to bring in the report that Tess had sent her for.
Her jaw already starting to ache from the hit, she stood and straightened her skirt and blouse, and shot Tess what she hoped was an appropriately dark look. “Not my fault that prostitution rings in DC are notoriously hard to crack,” she spat. “I had to go through six senators, eleven reps, and three big wigs from the State Department, and had to participate in what amounted to an orgy at the French Ambassador’s residence just to get in. But I got what you wanted. Names, numbers, money trails, everything. The final story will be ready to go for Monday’s edition.”
But Tess just glared back at her, not giving an inch of ground even as they came practically nose-to-nose. “You seriously think I’m just pissed because it took so damn long? What the hell is wrong with you, Lane? Not only did you take forever to get this, but you managed to get yourself photographed in the very intimate company of the French Ambassador and two senators, who are all already implicated.”
Reaching back behind her, Tess retrieved a copy of the Washington Post from her desk and shoved it at Lois. “You’re a day late and a dollar short, and I’ve been on damage control ever since this hit. No one’s gonna believe you were undercover, they way you were draped all over them.”
Her attention turned to the paper, Lois saw that it was dated two days ago, and the headline read, “DC Prostitution Ring and Daily Planet in Bed Together.” Jaw dropping at the host of implications, she backed away from Tess until her legs hit the edge of the chaise lounge between the desk and the fireplace. She dropped down onto the deep cushion, and when the paper slid from her hands, she looked up to catch Tess’s gaze again, feeling heat work its way up her chest, neck and face with the utter shame she couldn’t seem to stop.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I … I was undercover!”
But then Tess was standing close in front of her again, pinning her in place by sheer proximity and that steel gaze. “That’ll get you about as far as ‘I was only following orders’. So, you’re fired.”
Something in Lois’s brain snapped at those last two words, and she was up and right in Tess’s face in a heartbeat, a finger pressing into the center of Tess’s chest. “Oh, hell no. I am not fired. This is not my fault. And if you think I’m gonna just bow down and kiss the Post’s ass over this, then you are more deranged than I ever figured.”
Her breath caught in her throat then as her mind caught up with her words. Aw, shit.
Before she could stop it, Tess had shoved her back onto the chaise lounge, and Lois was sprawling, unable to get traction to regain any kind of high ground.
“It’s not the Post’s ass you’d better kiss, Lane,” Tess spat, following her down onto the lounge and pinning her with her lean, strong frame this time, locking their legs together. “It’s mine. Or have you forgotten how this works?”
Suddenly frozen, Lois could only blink up at Tess. Of course she hadn’t forgotten how their arrangement worked; their give and take was integral to keeping the peace, to keeping them from killing one another, and-
And Lois realized exactly how that photo and exposé by the Post must’ve looked to Tess, like their arrangement was meaningless, like Lois really was whoring herself out just to get a story.
Finally, a breathless laugh escaped her, and she gripped Tess by the biceps, pulling her down for a bruising kiss, arching up into her and wrapping one leg around her. “I haven’t forgotten,” she whispered against Tess’s lips. “And I’m sorry. I really had no idea that it’d look that bad.”
Tess frowned, and for a split second Lois could actually see the hurt there, but then Tess was descending on her again, a woman possessed, and Lois could only hold on and be devoured. Clothes were stripped away, skirts rucked up and panties torn and discarded, and Tess’s long fingers thrust into her, always a shock, yet never enough, drawing a gasp from Lois, her body shivering as she drowned in sensation.
Those fingers were taken away though, and before Lois could even whimper at the loss, Tess had maneuvered them on the lounge to bring them center to center, her fingers sliding between them to work them both. Lois whined deep in her throat, her hips moving with Tess’s, every nerve ending starting to sing with electricity, and then the entire world seemed to shrink down to a single point of searing heat and light, then explode in a fireworks display that might not have just been imagined, it was so blinding.
Tess shouted above her, and Lois kissed her to silence, both of them shuddering and riding the waves of orgasm for as long as they could.
But breaths were recovered eventually, and before Tess lifted herself up to get dressed, she leaned down to whisper in Lois’s ear, “Consider us even. Be ready to face the firing squad when you come back to work. And Lane-” Pausing, she gripped Lois’s bicep, squeezing hard. “Don’t fuck with our arrangement again. I really will have to fire you. Now you know the way out. See you on Monday.”
And with that, Tess took her clothes and disappeared through a side door, leaving Lois on the sofa, wrecked and relieved.
“Status quo achieved, then,” she said to the empty room as she gathered her wits and her clothes, redressing in a hurry. She’d have to remember to not go undercover as a prostitute anymore if she didn’t want a broken nose next time, but damn, the workout afterward had sure been worth it. “See you Monday, boss.”
~*~*~*~
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark Kent/Oliver Queen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,230
Prompt: For PB 14: cape, save, morning, sheets, surprise; For DCU FFA: massage
Summary: The morning after a disastrous patrol, Ollie discovers something new about himself.
Disclaimer: DC and WB own everything, the schmucks.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here on the PB.
Twisted
Ollie really should’ve been used to waking up feeling like he’d been hit by a truck. Really. But dammit, every inch of him ached, bruises pulsating and searing hot as they formed, knotting up his muscles, and-
Shit, he’d torn a muscle in his right shoulder. Lifting his head from his pillow as he blinked the rest of the way awake, he couldn’t stop the squeak of a cry that escaped him, pain radiating up his shoulder to his neck and finally the base of his skull.
His head dropped back to the pillow, and Ollie squeezed his eyes shut, breathed through the pain … realized his arm had been bound up, immobilized to his torso. Of course. Clark.
“Ollie?”
Clark’s voice cut through the haze of agony like a beacon through fog, and Ollie attempted a weak smile, his face hurting from the motion. “’M awake,” he answered, opening his eyes again to find his Boy Scout of a boyfriend standing by the bedside with a tray in his hands, laden with what smelled like-
“Breakfast?” he croaked, the aroma of coffee, bacon, and eggs going straight to his stomach, which decided to growl loudly in anticipation.
A nod and smile, and Clark set the tray down on the night table. “What else? You’ll need a lot of protein to heal that shoulder, and I brought you some painkillers with your coffee. I also have bruise cream for after.”
Ollie lifted an eyebrow as Clark helped him sit up, stacking pillows behind him so he could settle back. “When was the last time I used bruise cream, Clark?”
Clark laughed, finally setting the tray over Ollie’s lap. “You’ll thank me after you’ve seen your face.”
A stifled wince, and Ollie downed his painkillers with a long gulp of coffee-sweet, sweet caffeine-then dug into his breakfast. Even chewing hurt, and Ollie was sure he felt a tooth wiggle, but that hardly mattered. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so damn hungry since before, since the island, and damn, Clark could cook one hell of a meal.
“Remind me to thank your mother for teaching you to cook the next time we see her,” he said around his last bite of eggs.
And hell, he’d just devoured his whole meal in what could only have been a few minutes. Looking from his plate up to Clark, he frowned. “Guess I was pretty hungry.”
Clark laughed, taking the tray away and leaving his coffee on the night table. “No guessing about it. Be right back.”
When Clark was gone, Ollie figured it’d be a good time to hit the head, and shoved himself up out of bed, gnashing his teeth on the pain as he did, and shuffled to the bathroom, took care of things, and came back. He was only barely in the bed when Clark returned, jar of bruise cream in hand.
“Did you get up without me?” Clark scolded him, settling next to him and taking the lid off the jar.
Ollie rolled his eyes. “Course I did. Don’t need help to take a piss, Clark.”
But Clark’s gaze was pointed as he brought a dollop of bruise cream up to Ollie’s jaw and began to massage it in. “After last night, I’m surprised you could get up at all.”
“Please, you’re the one with x-ray vision. I clearly didn’t break my legs,” Ollie protested.
“No, but you pulled or strained just about everything trying to keep that kid from falling off that roof. Had your whole leg wedged in between the brick ledge and the A/C housing just to hold yourself up.”
The near-disaster of the night before flashed over Ollie’s mind’s eye, and he frowned, unable to come up with a counter-argument. “All right, all right,” he mumbled. “So I twisted myself up like a pretzel. And you came and saved the day, with your cape flapping in the wind and a twinkle in your eye.”
Clark smirked at him, then scowled when Ollie hissed at the pain in his jaw. “You broke a tooth,” he pointed out.
“I’m aware,” Ollie grumbled, turning his head to get his painful jaw out of Clark’s hand. “Why don’t you work that cream in somewhere else?”
A small sigh, and Clark nodded, moving his efforts to Ollie’s shoulder.
The cry of pain that escaped Ollie put a stop to that real quick, though, Clark withdrawing his hands in surrender as Ollie sucked in a breath through his teeth. Holy hell, that’d hurt.
“Um, Ollie?”
Blinking at Clark, Ollie realized that that blue gaze was fixed not on Ollie’s face, but on … parts south. Following suit, he realized there was more going on in his body than a face and armful of agony, seeing the way his shorts were tented.
“Don’t ask me, Clark,” he sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a pain fetish before.”
But instead of giving him the expected concerned look, Clark smiled darkly-an odd expression on his face that made Ollie wonder. “Well … how about this, then,” he suggested, and with quick hands, he concentrated his efforts with the bruise cream on Ollie’s legs, specifically the left thigh, that’d been wedged in on that rooftop.
A groan escaped Ollie with the massage, the way Clark’s hands dug in just right, finding the knotted muscles and working slowly, and … shit, he really was getting off on this.
“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, getting a hand twisted up in the sheets just to ground himself as his center started to coil up in anticipation. “That works.” If his voice had gone high and breathless, he wouldn’t admit it.
Chuckling, Clark moved his attentions to Ollie’s other leg, finding the bruises and knots there as well, and worked them out with sure strokes that seemed to release all the endorphins in the universe straight into Ollie’s brain.
“Gonna make me come in my pants, Clark,” he complained in a small voice, letting his eyes slide shut. So of course he didn’t see it when Clark tossed the jar of cream aside, but he certainly felt those strong fingers tug his shorts off, and … and then there was a hot mouth surrounding him, taking him deep, Clark’s hands gripping his hips tight as he worked Ollie’s length, tongue circling and teasing, and-
And Ollie was done for, his hips stuttering up to fuck Clark’s mouth as he came, his body shaking and screaming with pleasure and pain all at once, lit on fire.
It felt like an eternity before his senses returned to him, the pain subsiding, and he slowly opened his eyes to find Clark cleaning him up and tucking him back into his shorts.
Catching his gaze, Clark smiled crookedly at him. “If taking care of you after an injury is gonna be this interesting, I think I might have to do it more often.”
Despite himself, Ollie laughed in return, finding himself much more able to block out the pain in his shoulder and jaw now. “Don’t be too sure. I don’t plan on pretzeling myself again any time soon,” he shot back. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make me breakfast in bed and give me massages after a long patrol. You know, just because.”
Ollie barely ducked the pillow that was tossed at him, grinning.
~*~*~*~
Title: Status Quo
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Lois Lane/Tess Mercer
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,066
Prompt: For PB 14: fight, dominance, blood, torn, claim, tension, intelligence
Summary: Going undercover in a prostitution ring was a bad idea, considering Lois and Tess's arrangement.
Disclaimer: DC and WB still own it all, the bastards.
Author's Notes: Originally posted here on the PB. This was also a belated b-day gift for the wonderful anissa7118.
Status Quo
Picking herself up from the floor and wiping fresh blood from her lip was hardly what Lois expected to be doing after delivering the bombshell of the year to Tess in person at the Luthor mansion. Then again, she probably should’ve expected that sucker punch, considering how long it’d taken her to bring in the report that Tess had sent her for.
Her jaw already starting to ache from the hit, she stood and straightened her skirt and blouse, and shot Tess what she hoped was an appropriately dark look. “Not my fault that prostitution rings in DC are notoriously hard to crack,” she spat. “I had to go through six senators, eleven reps, and three big wigs from the State Department, and had to participate in what amounted to an orgy at the French Ambassador’s residence just to get in. But I got what you wanted. Names, numbers, money trails, everything. The final story will be ready to go for Monday’s edition.”
But Tess just glared back at her, not giving an inch of ground even as they came practically nose-to-nose. “You seriously think I’m just pissed because it took so damn long? What the hell is wrong with you, Lane? Not only did you take forever to get this, but you managed to get yourself photographed in the very intimate company of the French Ambassador and two senators, who are all already implicated.”
Reaching back behind her, Tess retrieved a copy of the Washington Post from her desk and shoved it at Lois. “You’re a day late and a dollar short, and I’ve been on damage control ever since this hit. No one’s gonna believe you were undercover, they way you were draped all over them.”
Her attention turned to the paper, Lois saw that it was dated two days ago, and the headline read, “DC Prostitution Ring and Daily Planet in Bed Together.” Jaw dropping at the host of implications, she backed away from Tess until her legs hit the edge of the chaise lounge between the desk and the fireplace. She dropped down onto the deep cushion, and when the paper slid from her hands, she looked up to catch Tess’s gaze again, feeling heat work its way up her chest, neck and face with the utter shame she couldn’t seem to stop.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered. “I … I was undercover!”
But then Tess was standing close in front of her again, pinning her in place by sheer proximity and that steel gaze. “That’ll get you about as far as ‘I was only following orders’. So, you’re fired.”
Something in Lois’s brain snapped at those last two words, and she was up and right in Tess’s face in a heartbeat, a finger pressing into the center of Tess’s chest. “Oh, hell no. I am not fired. This is not my fault. And if you think I’m gonna just bow down and kiss the Post’s ass over this, then you are more deranged than I ever figured.”
Her breath caught in her throat then as her mind caught up with her words. Aw, shit.
Before she could stop it, Tess had shoved her back onto the chaise lounge, and Lois was sprawling, unable to get traction to regain any kind of high ground.
“It’s not the Post’s ass you’d better kiss, Lane,” Tess spat, following her down onto the lounge and pinning her with her lean, strong frame this time, locking their legs together. “It’s mine. Or have you forgotten how this works?”
Suddenly frozen, Lois could only blink up at Tess. Of course she hadn’t forgotten how their arrangement worked; their give and take was integral to keeping the peace, to keeping them from killing one another, and-
And Lois realized exactly how that photo and exposé by the Post must’ve looked to Tess, like their arrangement was meaningless, like Lois really was whoring herself out just to get a story.
Finally, a breathless laugh escaped her, and she gripped Tess by the biceps, pulling her down for a bruising kiss, arching up into her and wrapping one leg around her. “I haven’t forgotten,” she whispered against Tess’s lips. “And I’m sorry. I really had no idea that it’d look that bad.”
Tess frowned, and for a split second Lois could actually see the hurt there, but then Tess was descending on her again, a woman possessed, and Lois could only hold on and be devoured. Clothes were stripped away, skirts rucked up and panties torn and discarded, and Tess’s long fingers thrust into her, always a shock, yet never enough, drawing a gasp from Lois, her body shivering as she drowned in sensation.
Those fingers were taken away though, and before Lois could even whimper at the loss, Tess had maneuvered them on the lounge to bring them center to center, her fingers sliding between them to work them both. Lois whined deep in her throat, her hips moving with Tess’s, every nerve ending starting to sing with electricity, and then the entire world seemed to shrink down to a single point of searing heat and light, then explode in a fireworks display that might not have just been imagined, it was so blinding.
Tess shouted above her, and Lois kissed her to silence, both of them shuddering and riding the waves of orgasm for as long as they could.
But breaths were recovered eventually, and before Tess lifted herself up to get dressed, she leaned down to whisper in Lois’s ear, “Consider us even. Be ready to face the firing squad when you come back to work. And Lane-” Pausing, she gripped Lois’s bicep, squeezing hard. “Don’t fuck with our arrangement again. I really will have to fire you. Now you know the way out. See you on Monday.”
And with that, Tess took her clothes and disappeared through a side door, leaving Lois on the sofa, wrecked and relieved.
“Status quo achieved, then,” she said to the empty room as she gathered her wits and her clothes, redressing in a hurry. She’d have to remember to not go undercover as a prostitute anymore if she didn’t want a broken nose next time, but damn, the workout afterward had sure been worth it. “See you Monday, boss.”
~*~*~*~