FIC: Be Right Back (Clark Kent/Oliver Queen), Smallville
I'm a bit nervous about this honestly. It's unbeta'd but I have read through it several times so...anyway, here we go.
Title: Be Right Back
Author: Calcus
Characters/Pairings: Clark Kent/Oliver Queen
Word Count: 1588
Rating: PG, PG-13 at the most.
Warnings: Slash? That’s pretty much it. A little angst as well.
Spoilers: …None, I think.
Summary: Clark prepares to leave for the Arctic for his training and he and Oliver have a parting conversation.
Author's Notes: This was written before Requiem aired so it has certain references to Lana that don’t make a lot of sense in context. Presume that, in the long term, it all ends up more like Wrath than it did in the short term. Or that some episodes didn’t happen. Either way. Haven't actually decided yet.
Author's Notes 2: This’ part of a series that I’m in the process of writing, so some events that are referenced in this didn’t occur on the show. Just so you know. This’ the first in said series.
Author's Notes 3: The last one, I promise. Unbeta'd, so if you catch any errors, then please point them out. :) Crossposted all over the place.
Oliver ran one hand over the smooth surface of Clark’s childhood dresser, eyeing the photos and the scratches that marred the polished wood and the finger shaped indents in the wood that were poorly hidden under a lovingly handmade table runner. Oliver pressed his fingers into the indents. It was the little things that gave Clark away as abnormal.
Clark was packing surprisingly little but Oliver had always been an over-packer. Too many variables, too many possibilities, shoes to match every outfit.
God, Oliver thought, I’m such a girl sometimes.
He smiled at Clark as the man looked up, his expression wary. Clark was incredibly wary at the possibility of being laughed at, particularly by rich playboys with a tendency towards condescension. Oliver hated to admit but he did fall into that particular category sometimes.
“I was just thinking you’re a much better packer than I am. I wish I was in the position to ask if you’re always this paranoid,” Oliver said. “But I actually know the answer.”
Clark flushed and shook his head. “Sorry. I know this place…isn’t what you’re used too, that’s all.”
Oliver shrugged. He liked it, actually. Even when there was no one else there, when he’d spent that week lying in Clark’s bed recovering from a bullet to the shoulder and Clark and the Senator had gone into town and there had been no one else there, it had felt so much warmer and kinder than anywhere he could remember since his parents had died.
Leaving once he was properly mobile had been…difficult. Trying to explain the hotel-room coldness of boarding school dorms and the emptiness of a late 1970s mansion when you were the only one not paid to be there to a family like the Kents was like Clark trying to explain to him why he always wore the same shirts and the appeal of that horrible blue jacket. He just didn’t get it.
Oliver took a few steps forward and sat down on Clark’s neatly made bed and bounced experimentally on the mattress. “Bouncy,” He said, off Clark’s odd look. His mattress at the Clocktower was much firmer.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Clark said, finally breaking the silence that, for Oliver, had been comfortable. From the look on Clarks face, it hadn’t been so for him.
“I know,” Oliver replied, reaching out and smoothing out the side of the duffel bag that Clark was shoving his clothes inside of.
“I wish I could tell you -”
“I know, Clark,” Oliver repeated patiently, smiling. “You can’t tell me what you don’t know. Just so you know though, if you come back brainwashed I’m kicking your arse. Your mom told me about last time.”
Clark snorted. “Ha, ha.” Clark placed his almost full duffel on the ground and sat down beside Oliver, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket.
“I didn’t realise you were thinking about doing the training with the deep voice in the Arctic. I mean, it’s been awhile, why now?” Oliver tried to bite back the whine in his voice and failed miserably. Everything was beginning to come together. Why now? Why when things were finally starting to go right? He supposed there wasn’t really another time. When things were going wrong, Clark was needed too badly.
“The other day,” Clark said slowly. “Tuesday, actually. I woke up in the morning and I was floating.”
Oliver shrugged. “You’ve been doing that more often lately.”
Clark frowned.
“What? You think I don’t notice when the body next to me floats its way to the ceiling? It’s been happening most nights, when you’re with me at least.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Clark asked stiffly, rising to his feet and moving to his desk, straightening up already straight piles.
“The one time I did, you seemed all defensive. Like right now for instance.” Oliver said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows ironically.
“Well, it took me an hour to get down and even then it was only with mom’s help,” Clark shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose it’s a good thing Kara wasn’t here. She’d have laughed, a lot.”
Oliver laughed. “Yeah.
“…Only last week huh? Sure don’t waste time do you?” Or discuss it with me. Oliver brushed some imaginary dust from his jeans and stood up. “I guess I’ll leave you to the packing.” He stood up and was almost out the door before Clark’s voice stopped him.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be. I don’t want you to wait. I don’t want you to feel like you have to put your life on hold for another freaky alien Clark thing,” Clark looked away. “Freaky thing.”
He sounded more than vaguely bitter and Oliver felt, once again, that they weren’t the only people in the room. He could practically see Lex Luthor and Lana Lang (Luthor? It didn’t matter, they turned out to be the same person) standing in the room, Lex with his chin up by the window, looking as haughty and angry and lost as ever, and Lana sitting on the bed, her eyes sad and haunted and no less angry than Lex’s.
He turned around and leaned against the doorway, trying to mold his expression into something other than exasperated and hurt. He was certain that Clark had never let a single thing go in his entire life, and it wasn’t fair to expect him to do it now, maybe ever. Clark had waited for Lana Lang for most of his life.
He supposed Clark had learned the hard way that most people weren’t that patient, or that loyal. Oliver tried on a smile that didn’t fit and said “I happen to like freaky alien Clark, so no talking about my boyfriend that way huh?”
Clark didn’t laugh. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled Oliver into the room and closed the door behind him. Clark laughed and smiled more often than when Oliver had first met him, when getting a smile was like pulling teeth without anaesthetic, but it still wasn’t all that often. Not nearly often enough, considering how a smile lit up his face and made him really look like something that had come down from the heavens.
“My mom’s downstairs,” Clark murmured, returning to the bed and placing his duffle bag back on top of it. Clark was squinting his eyes like he was using his X-Ray vision. Checking to see he had everything, Oliver supposed. Handy.
“I’m pretty sure she knows about the alien thing.”
“She doesn’t - about the other thing,” With his back turned and his face down, Oliver couldn’t see Clark’s expression but he’d bet it was embarrassed and just a little ashamed. Oliver didn’t want to examine too much about what Clark was ashamed of. He preferred to think it was keeping something like this from his mother and nothing to do with growing up in Bible-Belt Kansas.
“I’m pretty sure she knows about that too.”
Clark spun round with all the speed of a closeted young adult, his eyes wide. “What?”
“She keeps telling me that I’m welcome to come over anytime, that I should visit while you’re gone, she’s calling me Ollie and wants me to call her Martha.”
Clark relaxed. “That’s just my mom being nice,” He let out a relieved sigh. “She doesn’t know. Good.” He turned back to packing.
“You spend five out of seven nights a week at my place and you think she doesn’t know? And since when was I was something to be hid away huh?” Oliver took several long steps forward, taking Clark’s face in his hands and running his thumbs along Clark’s unnaturally hot cheekbones. Clark was always hot to the touch, no matter how cold it was. “When were you going to tell her about us anyway?”
Clark’s eyes flickered away and back and then he muttered, “When I get back, I was thinking.”
“You mean the indeterminate period of time between now and when you finish your training? That’s a great plan Clark.” Oliver said, as gently as he could manage when he was feeling so brittle himself.
“I know,” Clark placed his hands over Oliver’s and smiled. “I can tell her now, if you’d like.”
Oliver shook his head. “No. I - no. When you’re ready. I don’t want to push you or anything. It’s not something you should do on my schedule.” Oliver tried to take a step backwards but Clark held onto his hands, his green eyes carefully examining Oliver’s face.
“I didn’t realise it bothered you so much,” Clark said quietly.
“It doesn’t. Not really.”
“I didn’t want to tell mom because I didn’t want you to feel…stuck. Us being together now doesn’t mean that -” Clark broke off, frustrated. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s all right, you don’t have too. I think I know what you mean.”
Oliver smiled and Clark reached out to cup Oliver’s face in his hands, leaning forward to place a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips. “I’ll miss you.” He said.
Oliver stepped back and looked away, giving Clark’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, Kent,” He said, clearing his throat. “I’ll guess I’ll see you later.” Oliver pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. “Yes, later. I’m heading back to Star City tomorrow and…” He cleared his throat a second time. “And be quick about it won’t you?”
Clark smiled and all breath fled from Oliver’s body. “Quick as possible.” He said.
Title: Be Right Back
Author: Calcus
Characters/Pairings: Clark Kent/Oliver Queen
Word Count: 1588
Rating: PG, PG-13 at the most.
Warnings: Slash? That’s pretty much it. A little angst as well.
Spoilers: …None, I think.
Summary: Clark prepares to leave for the Arctic for his training and he and Oliver have a parting conversation.
Author's Notes: This was written before Requiem aired so it has certain references to Lana that don’t make a lot of sense in context. Presume that, in the long term, it all ends up more like Wrath than it did in the short term. Or that some episodes didn’t happen. Either way. Haven't actually decided yet.
Author's Notes 2: This’ part of a series that I’m in the process of writing, so some events that are referenced in this didn’t occur on the show. Just so you know. This’ the first in said series.
Author's Notes 3: The last one, I promise. Unbeta'd, so if you catch any errors, then please point them out. :) Crossposted all over the place.
Oliver ran one hand over the smooth surface of Clark’s childhood dresser, eyeing the photos and the scratches that marred the polished wood and the finger shaped indents in the wood that were poorly hidden under a lovingly handmade table runner. Oliver pressed his fingers into the indents. It was the little things that gave Clark away as abnormal.
Clark was packing surprisingly little but Oliver had always been an over-packer. Too many variables, too many possibilities, shoes to match every outfit.
God, Oliver thought, I’m such a girl sometimes.
He smiled at Clark as the man looked up, his expression wary. Clark was incredibly wary at the possibility of being laughed at, particularly by rich playboys with a tendency towards condescension. Oliver hated to admit but he did fall into that particular category sometimes.
“I was just thinking you’re a much better packer than I am. I wish I was in the position to ask if you’re always this paranoid,” Oliver said. “But I actually know the answer.”
Clark flushed and shook his head. “Sorry. I know this place…isn’t what you’re used too, that’s all.”
Oliver shrugged. He liked it, actually. Even when there was no one else there, when he’d spent that week lying in Clark’s bed recovering from a bullet to the shoulder and Clark and the Senator had gone into town and there had been no one else there, it had felt so much warmer and kinder than anywhere he could remember since his parents had died.
Leaving once he was properly mobile had been…difficult. Trying to explain the hotel-room coldness of boarding school dorms and the emptiness of a late 1970s mansion when you were the only one not paid to be there to a family like the Kents was like Clark trying to explain to him why he always wore the same shirts and the appeal of that horrible blue jacket. He just didn’t get it.
Oliver took a few steps forward and sat down on Clark’s neatly made bed and bounced experimentally on the mattress. “Bouncy,” He said, off Clark’s odd look. His mattress at the Clocktower was much firmer.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Clark said, finally breaking the silence that, for Oliver, had been comfortable. From the look on Clarks face, it hadn’t been so for him.
“I know,” Oliver replied, reaching out and smoothing out the side of the duffel bag that Clark was shoving his clothes inside of.
“I wish I could tell you -”
“I know, Clark,” Oliver repeated patiently, smiling. “You can’t tell me what you don’t know. Just so you know though, if you come back brainwashed I’m kicking your arse. Your mom told me about last time.”
Clark snorted. “Ha, ha.” Clark placed his almost full duffel on the ground and sat down beside Oliver, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket.
“I didn’t realise you were thinking about doing the training with the deep voice in the Arctic. I mean, it’s been awhile, why now?” Oliver tried to bite back the whine in his voice and failed miserably. Everything was beginning to come together. Why now? Why when things were finally starting to go right? He supposed there wasn’t really another time. When things were going wrong, Clark was needed too badly.
“The other day,” Clark said slowly. “Tuesday, actually. I woke up in the morning and I was floating.”
Oliver shrugged. “You’ve been doing that more often lately.”
Clark frowned.
“What? You think I don’t notice when the body next to me floats its way to the ceiling? It’s been happening most nights, when you’re with me at least.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Clark asked stiffly, rising to his feet and moving to his desk, straightening up already straight piles.
“The one time I did, you seemed all defensive. Like right now for instance.” Oliver said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows ironically.
“Well, it took me an hour to get down and even then it was only with mom’s help,” Clark shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “I suppose it’s a good thing Kara wasn’t here. She’d have laughed, a lot.”
Oliver laughed. “Yeah.
“…Only last week huh? Sure don’t waste time do you?” Or discuss it with me. Oliver brushed some imaginary dust from his jeans and stood up. “I guess I’ll leave you to the packing.” He stood up and was almost out the door before Clark’s voice stopped him.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be. I don’t want you to wait. I don’t want you to feel like you have to put your life on hold for another freaky alien Clark thing,” Clark looked away. “Freaky thing.”
He sounded more than vaguely bitter and Oliver felt, once again, that they weren’t the only people in the room. He could practically see Lex Luthor and Lana Lang (Luthor? It didn’t matter, they turned out to be the same person) standing in the room, Lex with his chin up by the window, looking as haughty and angry and lost as ever, and Lana sitting on the bed, her eyes sad and haunted and no less angry than Lex’s.
He turned around and leaned against the doorway, trying to mold his expression into something other than exasperated and hurt. He was certain that Clark had never let a single thing go in his entire life, and it wasn’t fair to expect him to do it now, maybe ever. Clark had waited for Lana Lang for most of his life.
He supposed Clark had learned the hard way that most people weren’t that patient, or that loyal. Oliver tried on a smile that didn’t fit and said “I happen to like freaky alien Clark, so no talking about my boyfriend that way huh?”
Clark didn’t laugh. Instead, he stepped forward and pulled Oliver into the room and closed the door behind him. Clark laughed and smiled more often than when Oliver had first met him, when getting a smile was like pulling teeth without anaesthetic, but it still wasn’t all that often. Not nearly often enough, considering how a smile lit up his face and made him really look like something that had come down from the heavens.
“My mom’s downstairs,” Clark murmured, returning to the bed and placing his duffle bag back on top of it. Clark was squinting his eyes like he was using his X-Ray vision. Checking to see he had everything, Oliver supposed. Handy.
“I’m pretty sure she knows about the alien thing.”
“She doesn’t - about the other thing,” With his back turned and his face down, Oliver couldn’t see Clark’s expression but he’d bet it was embarrassed and just a little ashamed. Oliver didn’t want to examine too much about what Clark was ashamed of. He preferred to think it was keeping something like this from his mother and nothing to do with growing up in Bible-Belt Kansas.
“I’m pretty sure she knows about that too.”
Clark spun round with all the speed of a closeted young adult, his eyes wide. “What?”
“She keeps telling me that I’m welcome to come over anytime, that I should visit while you’re gone, she’s calling me Ollie and wants me to call her Martha.”
Clark relaxed. “That’s just my mom being nice,” He let out a relieved sigh. “She doesn’t know. Good.” He turned back to packing.
“You spend five out of seven nights a week at my place and you think she doesn’t know? And since when was I was something to be hid away huh?” Oliver took several long steps forward, taking Clark’s face in his hands and running his thumbs along Clark’s unnaturally hot cheekbones. Clark was always hot to the touch, no matter how cold it was. “When were you going to tell her about us anyway?”
Clark’s eyes flickered away and back and then he muttered, “When I get back, I was thinking.”
“You mean the indeterminate period of time between now and when you finish your training? That’s a great plan Clark.” Oliver said, as gently as he could manage when he was feeling so brittle himself.
“I know,” Clark placed his hands over Oliver’s and smiled. “I can tell her now, if you’d like.”
Oliver shook his head. “No. I - no. When you’re ready. I don’t want to push you or anything. It’s not something you should do on my schedule.” Oliver tried to take a step backwards but Clark held onto his hands, his green eyes carefully examining Oliver’s face.
“I didn’t realise it bothered you so much,” Clark said quietly.
“It doesn’t. Not really.”
“I didn’t want to tell mom because I didn’t want you to feel…stuck. Us being together now doesn’t mean that -” Clark broke off, frustrated. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s all right, you don’t have too. I think I know what you mean.”
Oliver smiled and Clark reached out to cup Oliver’s face in his hands, leaning forward to place a gentle, lingering kiss on his lips. “I’ll miss you.” He said.
Oliver stepped back and looked away, giving Clark’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, Kent,” He said, clearing his throat. “I’ll guess I’ll see you later.” Oliver pressed the back of his hand against his mouth. “Yes, later. I’m heading back to Star City tomorrow and…” He cleared his throat a second time. “And be quick about it won’t you?”
Clark smiled and all breath fled from Oliver’s body. “Quick as possible.” He said.