Supermanfic: Open Eyes (Clark/Oliver)

[lady_bug_kay]

Title: Open Eyes
Author: ladybugkay
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Oliver
Rating: R (for content)
Word Count: 1290
Summary: Follows "Denial," "Delay," and "Idle Thoughts." Oliver shows up to tell Clark he is back in town and has to wake him up. Revelations ensue. Ollie's POV again.
Disclaimer: DC and Gough & Millar own the pretty boys. I like to play with them, though.
A/N: This is the last one, I think, folks. I can't write sex scenes, but that is where this wanted to go. My apologies. Icon by thequeenmab

It probably shouldn’t feel so momentous to touch Clark’s bare skin. Oliver only put his hand on his shoulder to wake him, but it felt better than sex with Lois.

 

Oliver is possibly not as straight as he thought.

 

And he really wants to know what Clark was thinking when he woke up that made him smile like that and reach out with his hand as if he were going to touch Oliver’s face. It’s a shame he’d pulled back so quickly and sat up once he was more awake.

 

Although the flex of muscles had been an adequate compensation.

 

“Oliver? What are you doing here?”

 

Now, that is the question, isn’t it? See, Oliver has spent the last few hours telling himself he was coming here as a courtesy to a friend, to let Clark know he was moving back to Metropolis. Not that he really believed himself, but there’s a difference between being aware of something and actually acknowledging it.

 

Right now, Oliver is acknowledging that the drop of perspiration trickling down his spine has nothing to do with the current heat wave in Kansas.

 

It has everything to do with the acres and acres of flawless skin and sculpted muscle spread out before him like some kind of three-dimensional centerfold. God.

 

Wait. Clark asked a question.

 

Oliver forces his eyes up to Clark’s face before he opens his mouth to give a hopefully believable rationale for showing up at the Kent Farm at one-thirty in the morning. “I had an evening meeting with some investors. It looks like I’m moving back to Metropolis, and I thought I’d come by to say hello. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.”

 

He should be better at this. As Green Arrow, he’s had to come up with many credible excuses for disappearing and reappearing at odd times, but that was not his best. The problem is that Oliver doesn’t like lying to Clark. Not to mention that Clark gets very upset when Oliver doesn’t tell him things. So he’s gotten into the habit of confiding in Clark, and he likes telling him the truth. He feels almost ashamed to lie to Clark now. Especially since Oliver had told him the worst secret he has, told him about Duncan, and Clark hadn’t flinched.

 

At the same age that Oliver was responsible for someone’s death, Clark was saving lives by the handful. Yet even after Oliver had been so doped up he’d tried to kill Lex, still Clark didn’t walk away.

 

And Oliver doesn’t know why.

 

He has tried so hard to be a good person, to make up for his past. Then along comes this effortlessly heroic man, this overgrown kid in flannel and jeans, and Oliver knows he’ll spend his whole life trying to live up to the unattainable standards Clark sets. Because if he can’t be Clark Kent, he wants to make Clark Kent proud. Or at least less angry.

 

Oliver wants to make Clark scream his name, too, but that’s another matter and one he hasn’t allowed himself to consider for very long yet.

 

As he waits for Clark to stop looking so adorably confused and say something, Oliver takes the opportunity to stare at his lips. He always thought Clark had beautiful lips. Lois told him once that Clark had the wrong mouth for someone who was so wholesome, and Oliver has to agree.

 

“Oliver? Oliver. Are you alright?”

 

“Hmm?” Brilliant response. Yes. This is exactly how he’s gotten to where he is, today.

 

He watches Clark’s eyes close and open in a fascinating, slow-motion kind of blink, one that’s followed by the slight rise of one eyebrow. Probably because Oliver usually makes more sense than this. But it’s not his fault.

 

Those eyelashes. He knows three supermodels who would literally kill for those eyelashes, and only two of them are female.

 

But when he tries to look past the eyelashes all he sees are Clark’s eyes. No one should have eyes that open, that clear.

 

That easy to read anything you want into them.

 

Oliver isn’t sure when he decided it was necessary to back away a few steps, but he thinks it was around the fourth or fifth time he reminded himself Clark is into girls. That, he tells himself firmly, is why he isn’t going to confess to Clark just why he’s here and practically panting with want.

 

Unless, of course, Clark stands up, and is there a reason he doesn’t seem at all self-conscious about being around Oliver in only his underwear?

 

Oliver is not a religious man, but he finds himself praying the reason is the one he’s beginning to think it is, because otherwise he needs to find something to stand behind before Clark heads for the fields.

 

And it’s funny, but in the five minutes or so since he’s actively started thinking about it, Oliver assumed he would be the one to initiate something. But Clark’s hand is reaching toward his face again and it’s…running over his hair. Well. That isn’t what Oliver was expecting, but it’s not exactly something a straight man would do to his male friend, is it?

 

“Clark?”

 

“I knew it,” Clark says, and he’s so close his breath drifts across Oliver’s neck and makes him shiver imperceptibly. “I knew it would be soft.”

 

The smile Clark gives him is more pure lust than Oliver thought was possible to put into one expression, and infinitely more than he ever thought to find on this particular face. It’s somewhat disconcerting to see so devilish a look on such angelic features. But it’s undeniably effective.

 

Maybe Clark is still dreaming, which would explain why he seems to be taking this change to their relationship so serenely, but then again, if he’s dreaming about Oliver like this…well.

 

Possibly Clark is not as straight as Oliver thought, either.

 

So Oliver decides it’s time to make a few moves of his own. This whole encounter has left him feeling two steps behind, and everything is so surreal he wants to ground it in reality.

 

Without breaking eye contact, he places both hands on Clark’s stomach, just above the waistband of his boxers, and memorizes the feel of the muscles tensing under his fingers. But Clark doesn’t pull away, and he’s still wearing that little smile. Things are looking good, so far. Oliver moves his left hand to Clark’s waist as his right skims over an appealingly smooth chest to curve around his shoulder.

 

Clark’s eyes are still fixed on his, the heat in them an almost physical presence against his skin, when Oliver suddenly decides he’s had more than enough foreplay for tonight, thank you very much. So he pulls Clark in and kisses him with everything he’s only just begun to admit he feels, and when Clark’s mouth opens immediately beneath his and his tongue thrusts into Oliver’s mouth, it feels like he’s been hit with his own EMP arrow.

 

Everything seems to slow down and speed up at the same time.

 

Before he has the chance to take even one gasping breath, his shirt is on the floor and they’re stumbling back toward the couch, and Oliver will put up with all the hypocrisy and the accusations and the contradictions, just so long as he can keep kissing Clark.

 

Because no woman, anywhere, has ever kissed like Clark Kent.

 

And with the way he shows absolutely no hesitation in going for Oliver’s belt, Oliver decides there might be a reason to stick around Metropolis for more than a few months.

 

If he can just figure out a way to tell Lois; one that doesn’t say ‘I’m having sex with the guy we’ve both secretly been in love with.’

Edit: There is a completely gratuitous, unnecessary, and not nearly as well written epilogue, if you want to risk it, called Besotted  Or you can leave it here. Your choice.

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