People We No Longer Are or Want - Mature - Chloe/Oliver (Prompt 11/100)
Title: People We No Longer Are or Want
Rating: Mature
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing: Chloe/Oliver, one-sided Chloe/Davis
Prompt: #011 - Intimacy
Word Count: 2,317
Summary: Davis goes to see the woman he's been far too entranced with the last few months only to find that she's with another, someone he hopes will love her like he knows he can't.
People We No Longer Are or Want
-1/1-
He wasn't sure why but after driving past the building that housed ISIS, he found himself pulling over to the side and staring up at the lit window where her office sat. It was late and he had no real excuse for coming by but he wanted to see her, needed to see her; like some primal urge had forced him to stop. He shook off the feeling, climbed out of his truck and crossed the street to the building. It just so happened that somebody was exiting as he approached and left the door open for him to go in. He was sure it had to do with the paramedics jacket he wore otherwise they probably would've let it close behind them. He gave a curt smile before making his way to the elevator, anxiousness building up in his stomach. Some part of him wanted to see her because he liked her; she was a good friend, a beautiful woman, she intrigued him. While another part, a much darker part, wanted something else. He wasn't sure of its intentions but it had him drawn more and more to the brilliant and stunning blonde that was obviously working late yet again.
As the elevator stopped at her floor, he climbed off silently, walking down the hallway slowly, eyes scanning the area. There was something tingling down his spine; awareness of some kind. A rage flowing deep inside his body as if he knew what to expect as he drew closer and closer to the door of her office which was cracked open a few inches. He'd been patient these last seven months. After her engagement to Jimmy Olsen, of whom he'd only met once, fell through, Davis had thought to leave her be, let her get over it before he stepped in and offered to be the man in her life. She'd woken something up inside him the second he first saw her, rushing to the aid of a stranger, just trying to help. That smile of hers, the glint in her eye, there was something about Chloe Sullivan that Davis Bloome admired, wanted, needed.
But all the same, he wasn't sure he was what she wanted. Sure, she'd been friendly, and in those first few weeks she'd shown an attraction to him that was unmistakable. When he found out that she'd broken it off with Olsen, he'd been ecstatic, even if he did show due remorse for her when she admitted it to him over coffee. But since then her attraction had dimmed, she looked at him now more as a friend, a confidant, and he didn't want it that way. Sure he liked that she could share secrets with him that she hadn't with anyone else, but what use was that when her eyes no longer lingered on his, her breath no longer hitched when they stood close. Those feelings had moved on, had left him behind and found another, and they were much stronger than they'd ever been during her fleeting desire for him.
He'd seen the way she seemed to lean into him. He'd breeze through her office door, a large grin already curving his mouth, and Chloe would practically leap from her desk and her work to greet him, her arms out as if she hadn't seen him in ages and demanded a hug; one that would last much longer than between two platonic friends. And while Davis knew of his reputation, he didn't appear to be acting the same way when it came to Chloe. Davis still wondered why it was that a billionaire like Oliver Queen would have any ties to someone like Chloe; it was one secret she never shared. She simply shrugged it off as "My cousin dated him..." as if that explained it all when really it left even more questions.
Since that fateful night that Davis had arrived at ISIS to find Queen near death and Chloe searching all avenues to save him, things changed. She broke up with Jimmy shortly after, her and Clark had formed a rift of some sort, and Oliver was around more and more, finding sanctuary in the office he'd nearly taken his last breath in. He was, to all appearances, the leaning post in which Chloe warmed to after ending it all with Jimmy. And Oliver didn't appear to sway in his ability to help her through; if anything he wanted it. It was obvious that what he wanted, who he wanted, was just the same as Davis. The only difference was that Oliver might actually have a chance...
As he approached the door, feet hesitant, heart hammering, palms sweaty, and a dark flow of possessive rage encompassing him, Davis nearly turned around and fled. He wasn't sure what might come of any knowledge he sought behind the doors of ISIS, where his most desired likely was. But he didn't back down, didn't answer the pleading voice that had been long dulled by the growl that filled his ears. Instead, he finally came to a stop in front of the door and his brows rose only a fraction as he witnessed what some part of him knew would be there.
Laying across the same settee that Oliver had occupied during his near-death poisoning, was Chloe Sullivan, her head thrown back, eyes half-closed, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Her mouth was curved in a smile as she chewed her lip and made little noses of encouragement from the back of her throat, all the while leaning into the hungry mouth that feasted across her neck diligently. Oliver's large body lay atop hers, his hands holding her hips, rocking them into his own as her knees were spread apart, feet planted on the settee, holding him comfortably between the part of her thighs. His shirt was open and his bare stomach pressed against the bunched up fabric of her skirt. Her blouse was unbuttoned, the silk shoulders falling down with each movement, her back sliding up and down the fabric of the settee with each rock of his and her hips together.
He should go, he knew that, before the rage inside him built to unstoppable heights. But he couldn't force his feet away and his ears searched for those sounds of hers, those deep, low, keening noises she made. She was flushed and beautiful and arching into each touch and kiss as if it were her salvation. It obviously wasn't their first time together; the intimacy between them was so fluid, so natural, so strong. Her hair was a mess, no longer coiffed professionally, and her green silk blouse was wrinkled, tugged free of her black pencil skirt. Her heels had been kicked and her pantyhose lay forgotten on the floor in a small heap next to Oliver's tossed away belt.
"More comfortable than the desk, Sidekick?" Oliver's husky voice murmured against her neck. So quiet and yet so loud in the silence of the room, filled only with her panting breaths, her encouraging moans and the rustle of clothing brushing together.
"Much," she replied throatily, eyes fluttering closed as he nibbled her neck.
Oliver's hands slid up her waist, cupped her breasts briefly atop the blouse before reaching her shoulders.
She hissed softly, letting out a small laugh. "Cold."
His fingers curled around the neckline of her blouse. "Better warm them up." He drew her blouse down and her shoulders shrugged to help, her back arching up as he slid it lower until he could pull her blouse out from beneath her and let it fall to the floor. He spread his hands out across her shoulders, massing them and stroking her neck as he kissed along her jaw and beneath her ear. He warmed his hands up while exciting her skin. He rested his chin on her shoulder as he let his hands slide lower, his palms grazing the tops of her breasts before he took the strap on each side of her bra between his thumb and forefinger, tugging them down. She lifted her arms out of the loops and then settled them around Oliver's shoulders, one of her hands buried in his hair. With easy-maneuvering Oliver snaked a hand beneath her and popped the clasp on her bra, smirking as the fabric fell loose around her breasts.
Davis swallowed tightly, shifting side to side, his inner-voice screaming at him now to leave. But he couldn't take his eyes off her, couldn't draw them away from the pert, pale breasts encased in green lace before her bra was finally drawn away, revealing perfection to the two sets of male eyes gazing on adoringly.
Unlike Davis, Oliver could touch and taste and revel in the beauty of Chloe's nakedness. His mouth pressed heated kisses against her flesh, circling her nipple teasingly, his tongue and teeth joining in but always ignoring the pebbled pink center that sat waiting for his attention. His hand palmed the other, thumb stroking her nipple, fingers kneading her flesh. She keened and arched and gasped for air as his skittered over her nipple warmly, his nose gently brushing against it.
"Please," she whimpered, tugging his hair. "Ollie."
The name, said so reverently with such affection and desire, was not his own, Davis realized quite darkly. A pang in his chest, the rage petering out on sheer sadness alone. The woman he'd found so many months ago, that caught his eye like no other, had captured his attention in ways women rarely did anymore, not since the blackouts and the fiery rage that consumed him so often. That woman was long gone, that woman had been looking for an outlet when her engagement seemed to be the wrong path taken. That woman had let go of him the same day she let go of Jimmy Olsen. And this woman here, whose shoulders fell loosened, head rolled back and forth, eyes closed tight, chewing her lip with pained ecstasy as Oliver Queen wrapped his lips around her nipple, flicking it delicately with his tongue, this woman was not his.
Her hands pushed his expensive tailored dress shirt down Oliver's shoulders, fingers gripping his back and biting into his skin. She rocked up against him passionately, wanting and needing more of him. One of her hands fell to the front of his pants, undid the button and lowered the zipper quickly before sliding in, cupping him, stroking strongly. She was still just as beautiful as the woman Davis once had a chance with, just as brilliant and kind and amazing as he'd known her to be. But she was not the woman who would look at him like she did Oliver. She would never whisper or whimper or plead his name like she did Oliver Queen's. And Davis knew that if he were ever to be given the chance to possess her like he'd needed so much lately, the way he said her name, the way he held her hips, how he slanted his mouth across hers for a kiss, would be harsher, more demanding, as if he were out to own her rather than enjoy the pleasures of such intimacy. He was not Oliver Queen; he did not have the same hands that now pushed her skirt up higher, stroked along the damp front of Chloe's panties, readying her when he plunged deep inside and filled for mutual satisfaction.
The Davis Bloome that may have once been like that, that may have resembled such tender passion was long gone, replaced by the darkness that permeated his being; that was implanted deep inside, waiting to fully come out and create havoc in ways he couldn't yet imagine. And he knew now, as he stood watching the way they entwined, with hands and legs and lips and bodies, that the man he was months ago would never be again and the woman he thought could possibly be his salvation had turned her heart to someone more worthy, more equipped for her. He'd blinded himself to the idea that if he just had her, the dark voice would go away; the cruel urges would fade. But he knew now that he could only tarnish the beautiful soul he loved her for. And the man that held her now, that whispered his love against her lips reverently, he would be who Chloe needed. He would love her the way Davis wished he could but didn't have inside him.
With that, he turned, he left the idealisms that laid there behind and he walked crisply toward the elevator. What scared him most was not that he was once again alone in the world, that he'd lost the only link he had to any sort of better life, but that with each step, he felt the tiny voice calling out for him to save himself slowly die, and the cruel dark laughter, the voice that spoke of unforgiveable tortures, grew louder. Maybe it was time that he accepted his destiny; for the one he had hoped for was now meant for another man. He only hoped that Oliver Queen had it in him to keep his precious Chloe safe, because Davis understood now the vicious outcome of this... doom's day was within sight and while the majority of him was consumed with rage and hatred, some small part of him hoped it wouldn't come to touch Chloe. And before that tiny flicker or goodness in him finally went out, it sent up a silent prayer that Chloe had found the right man for her, the man that would do everything in his power to keep her safe from what was coming. Because he dearly hoped she wouldn't perish like so many would in the face of his wrath. As he stepped on the elevator, the Davis Bloome she knew was no more. God have mercy on who was first to find that out.