Supermanfic: Apotheosis (Part 3: Repercussions, or What Oliver Did) (Clark/Oliver)

[lady_bug_kay]

Title: Apotheosis (Part Three: Repercussions, or What Oliver Did)
Author: ladybugkay
Fandom: DCU/Smallville
Pairing: Clark/Oliver
Rating: R (for adult language and sexual situations)
Word Count: 4417
Summary: Clark is going to become Superman. In this part: Meanwhile, during the five years Clark is in training, Oliver deals with what he saw in the alley and whiles away the time being a voyeur and working with the Justice League. (Consider this the Oliver Vignettes, and as such, the somewhat disjointed narrative feel is appropriate. The scenes are meant to be snapshots of Oliver's life, more than anything else.)
Disclaimer: DC and Gough & Millar and all those people are the owners. I am borrowing the characters, world, and certain events for entertainment purposes and intend no copyright infringement.
Note: This was part of the "An Arrow to a Quiver" contest over at ollieville. It won Moderator's Choice for Best Story. Go check out the community; it's awesome.



Part One: Nadir
Part Two: Genesis

A/N: Oliver’s voice eluded me for a long time in this particular fic, and even now, I can’t quite get a handle on him. He also has a surprising tendency toward verbosity in his thoughts, sometimes, so be forewarned. Despite my best efforts, this part is definitely not the best-written or the most interesting. Maybe it’s because the Clark in this fic doesn’t seem to want to give up the spotlight, the little attention-whore.

Gratuitous A/N: As for my Justice League, well, Smallville is all about rewriting the Superman mythos, and apparently, I’m all about rewriting Smallville, so my League is a new combination of heroes that Oliver forms and leads for a while (I’m building off of existing SV canon). It includes, so far, Oliver, Bart, Victor, A.C., my Bruce, and my Diana. Consider this a unique League in its earliest stages. Also, I’m not very nice to A.C. here, but that has a lot to do with my intense dislike of the actor’s portrayal of him on the show, and has very little to do with the character himself. My apologies if you are a fan.

 

Part Three: Repercussions, or What Oliver Did
 

He thought someone was in pain. The strangled cry brought Green Arrow running to the rescue, his bow already in his hands, before he realized what was actually going down in the alley. So to speak.

 

Oliver was about to walk away without disturbing the still-entwined couple, one side of his mouth already turning up at the thought that at least someone was getting some that night, when the man with black hair turned his head. And Oliver found himself looking into the unforgettable eyes of Clark Kent. Clark Kent, who didn’t say a word, but who closed those eyes as if to deny that it was Green Arrow before him. Oliver sympathized with the impulse when he turned his attention to the man who looked like he’d just been fucked within an inch of his life, and he realized the man could have been him, seen from behind.

 

Oliver stood there, pinned to the spot like some Kafka-esque reenactment of a butterfly collection, and had no idea what to do.

 

Discovering that Clark had called Oliver’s name while fucking the guy who looked just like him made everything infinitely more complicated and confusing, and Oliver didn’t want to deal with any of the implications following that stunning revelation.

 

So he ran.

 

He didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think, and he honestly didn’t know what could have been a greater shock. Clark had always seemed so straight, and it had been years since that one time at Excelsior.

 

The whole thing made no sense, and it was all just so…unexpected.

 

Oliver was supposed to be in Metropolis for a few days only, on Queen Industries business. He had intended to look into a few Lexcorp properties while he was there, because one could never be too suspicious of a Luthor, but he hadn’t expected to have to deal with anything but routine business. There had been no reason for Oliver to call Clark, or Lois, for that matter, because he was supposed to be there only a couple of days. Just a couple of days.

 

Finding Clark half-naked and moaning had never been on his agenda at all.

 

So he ran. And after he ran, fast and far away, Oliver tried to put it out of his mind and forget that he had ever seen something he had no business seeing in the first place.

 

But it didn’t work.

 

Oliver surprised himself that first night. He fell asleep reminiscing about Lois and woke up hard having dreamt of Clark fucking him. The worst thing about the dream was how tangled everything was. It would have made sense if the dream had involved watching Clark fuck Lois, but strangely, that image never found its way into Oliver’s mind.

 

There was no choice but for Oliver to conclude that he was more into voyeurism than he ever suspected. He had always considered himself a doer, a man of action; someone who got off on being in the middle of things and not on the sidelines. Passivity was not a quality Oliver had ever associated with himself.

 

Yet it could not be denied that he hadn’t woken up in quite such a state since he was thirteen years old. If he had had a roommate, Oliver suspected he would have faced an embarrassing ‘talk’ about volume levels when jerking off.

 

Oliver had never had occasion to appreciate living alone for quite that reason, before.

 

However, who was he to judge himself for his sexual tastes? So in between attending board meetings at Queen Industries and chasing down Lexcorp testing facilities around the world, Oliver began adding the playing of voyeur to his sexual résumé.

 

But it became apparent rather quickly that there was still something missing. Nothing Oliver observed could compare to his memories of Clark inside that blond man and the sheer eroticism of the dreams they inspired. Evidently, Oliver was a highly discriminating voyeur; a Clark-specific voyeur, in fact. And since Oliver was long past the age of being content with masturbation and wet dreams, he hopped the first flight to Metropolis and went looking for Clark, making sure to keep a low profile, because he was sure Clark wouldn’t want to be observed having sex. Not when Oliver was fairly certain Clark would rather have sex with him.

 

Discretion was, therefore, the better part of sexual fulfillment, and what Clark didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

 

It was a truly inspired plan, if Oliver did say so himself.

 

The only problem was that Clark seemed to have disappeared.

 

Oliver searched the entire city for him, first as Green Arrow, and then as Oliver Queen with all his resources. Lex was undoubtedly still too embroiled with the murder trial to risk a kidnapping charge being leveled against him, as well, but after Oliver filled Victor and Bart and A.C. in on Clark’s disappearance, they investigated Lex thoroughly, nevertheless. And found nothing. Which was disappointing, because at least they knew how Lex worked.

 

All four of them tried repeatedly to get in touch with Clark’s mother to find out what she knew, but it was considerably more complicated to reach Senator Kent than it had been to speak to Martha Kent. Sometimes it seemed as if she was purposely dodging their phone calls, and Oliver began regretting ever backing her in any way. In the end, once the Senator finally acknowledged their increasingly frantic messages, she informed them that Clark had simply decided to travel around Europe for a time. Mystery solved.

 

Except that it wasn’t.

 

Not for Oliver.

 

The others on the team seemed to take Clark’s sudden peripatetic turn in stride, but Oliver knew him just a little better than they did. Not a lot better, but a little. Clark Kent was too responsible, too honourable, too accustomed to shouldering the burdens of the world, ever to assume such a laid-back approach to life.

 

Clark was a worrier, and a world-class one, at that.

 

In short, if Clark was actually touring around Europe smoking pot and sleeping with strangers who didn’t speak the same language, Oliver would eat his own arrows. And the quiver.

 

But unfortunately, even though he knew where Clark wasn’t, Oliver had no idea where Clark was. Martha Kent gave the impression of being unconcerned about her son’s exact whereabouts, but Oliver was only too aware of how much Clark kept to himself, and his mother’s ostensible nonchalance reassured Oliver less than he suspected it was intended to.

 

Clark had too many secrets, and Oliver intended to tell him so the moment he found him.

 

*          *          *

 

A year and a half later, Oliver is forced to accept that either Clark left of his own free will, in which case he seems more than capable of staying lost until he chooses to be found, or his captors have him too well concealed to be discovered.

 

Or he is dead, but Oliver won’t believe that.

 

In either case, it makes no sense at all for Oliver to continue searching for Clark, but he does. The results of his searches are invariably both disappointing and frustrating, but Oliver awaits each update with an eagerness bordering on desperation. He can’t seem to find Clark anywhere, and he’s becoming increasingly…apprehensive. Yes, Oliver is worried about Clark, though he isn’t entirely sure why, because the guy always seems able to take care of himself and everyone else around him just fine.

 

Except that Oliver also can’t stop thinking about Clark’s alarmingly adverse reaction to those meteor rocks. How the hell did he manage to survive growing up in the Meteor Capital of the World, anyway?

 

It’s just another Clark Kent mystery to add to the pile.

 

Oliver doesn’t want to care this much about someone he isn’t even certain he likes a lot of the time. But every dream he’s had for the last eighteen months has been about Clark, and they are so far from being the kind of incomprehensible dreams requiring careful interpretation and analysis that it’s almost laughable. No one has ever accused Oliver of being subtle, and his dreams now are all text and no subtext. In fact, they are rather painfully obvious.

 

Straight as an arrow, my over-privileged, green-clad vigilante ass, Oliver thinks. And then he pictures Clark’s gloriously naked ass for the umpteenth time.

 

Who would have thought some kid from fucking Tiny-ville, U.S.A. would make Oliver Queen face up to some deliciously hard truths about the somewhat prophetic quality of his own name?

 

It’s just a shame Clark disappeared so completely after making Oliver aware of his own predilections. Oliver would be angry about that if he weren’t so worried.

 

*          *          *

 

When, exactly, does it become pathetic to continue looking for someone who seems to have left the fucking planet, but whose naked ass is still firmly imprinted in your mind?

 

Victor and Bart are so sick of hearing Oliver’s theories on why Clark vanished that they’ve forbidden him to speak Clark’s name in their hearing. It’s difficult to say what A.C. thinks of Oliver’s obsession, because the slightly confused expression never seems to leave his face. Oliver frequently interprets it as interest and uses A.C. as a sounding board for any new ideas he comes up with for finding Clark.

 

A.C. just stares blankly, then dives back underwater when Oliver stops talking.

 

*          *          *

 

Oliver continues to run his company and subvert Lex’s schemes, and when he has a few hours to himself, he uses his satellite to check random areas of the globe for any possible sightings of Clark.

 

Pathetic, yes, but necessary to his sanity.

 

*          *          *

 

Three years after Clark’s disappearance—though who’s counting?—Oliver is no closer to finding Clark and decides focusing on his vigilantism will be a better use of (most of) his time.

 

Ten days later, he finds himself trying to persuade Bruce Wayne to join the Justice League. (Bart came up with the name; A.C. wanted them to be the Integrity Warriors, but the rest of them had quashed that idea rather quickly, thankfully.) When Oliver brings the conversation around to the subject of superhero alter egos, Bruce tries to pretend he has no idea what Oliver is talking about, and Oliver wonders if the man really expects him to believe that his long-time school friend with the genius-level IQ and the almost frightening dedication and intensity devolved into a witless playboy practically overnight.

 

The regrettable downside to Bruce’s staggering intellect has always been his tendency to underestimate the intelligence of the people closest to him.

 

In point of fact, Oliver suspected Bruce Wayne was Batman from the moment he heard about the ‘Dark Knight of Gotham,’ and when Green Arrow came faced to face with Batman while destroying another 33.1 lab, this time in Gotham, Oliver knew instantly that the man under the cowl was Bruce. He also knows that Bruce knows Oliver is Green Arrow, so he can’t understand why Bruce is unable to accept that Oliver could figure out Bruce’s secret identity. Bruce exhibits the same strange mixture of innocence and arrogance, perspicacity and obtuseness, which Clark possessed in such abundance, and perhaps this similarity has more of an influence on Oliver’s offer to allow Batman to assume leadership of the League than Oliver really wants to consider in the immediate aftermath of said offer.

 

Because at some point in the negotiations, before he quite realizes it, Oliver agrees to transfer control of the League to Bruce if Bruce joins them. And control turns out to be the one thing Bruce cannot resist. It is rather humiliating when Oliver understands his own motivations, but he cannot deny that he has taken to considering anything associated with Clark as favourable.

 

It’s a very bad habit. (Oliver blames the dreams about Clark for serving as positive reinforcement, and he shudders to think what he would let Bruce get away with if he had Clark’s blinding smile.)

 

And Bruce does remind Oliver of Clark, not just in his appearance, with the black hair and laser-like blue gaze, but in his insistence on doing things his way and his almost obsessive need to know everything about everyone else, while jealously protecting his own secrets. Privacy is a word that has no meaning to Bruce or Clark, unless it applies to their own lives, and they are exceedingly possessive and protective of the people they care about. They also both live by a strict moral code, even if it isn’t quite the same code.

 

Yes, Bruce reminds Oliver of Clark in a number of ways.

 

It’s not the best reason for handing over leadership of the team Oliver formed, but it’s also not the worst. In many respects, Clark would have been a better leader than Oliver, and that’s part of the reason Oliver tried so hard to get Clark to come with him when he left Metropolis.

 

At the time, Oliver had no idea what was behind Clark’s adamant insistence that he remain in Smallville for the time being, although certain theories will come to mind the first time Oliver sees footage of Metropolis’s Man of Steel.

 

*          *          *

 

For the most part, the League works well under Batman’s guidance. Efficiency increases dramatically within a matter of days, and if there are a few grumbling complaints about the tightness of Batman’s shorts and the depth to which they have been inserted into his ass, they are never made within Batman’s hearing or anywhere his surveillance equipment is suspected to be located. Not after the mysterious incident with the batarang that leaves Bart with eighteen stitches in one cheek that make sitting down a distinctly unpleasant experience.

 

They all respect Batman and his abilities, and after he hacks into Lexcorp’s security feed during a mission gone wrong and does something that allows them to escape from Lex’s clutches by mere moments, no one doubts his intelligence or his value to the League.

 

What Bruce thinks of them, on the other hand, Oliver can’t decipher. There are certain times during A.C.’s ‘presentations’ that he can practically hear the eye-roll behind the lenses of Batman’s mask, and Oliver has to restrain Batman from firing Bart at least twice a month. But the five of them work surprisingly well as a team, and even Batman admits to being pleased with everyone’s performance during the incident with the giant zombie squirrels. (Lex needs to start instituting psychological profiles of the people he has working in his labs.)

 

When Batman introduces them all to Wonder Woman, he secures his leadership with the others and simultaneously earns their undying loyalty. Even if he still won’t tell the rest of them his real name.

 

Oliver likes Diana right away. She’s smart and tough and can be disconcertingly kind, and she reminds him a little of Lois on her best days. Or what Oliver suspects Lois’s best days would have been like if he had witnessed any of them.

 

Diana is also refreshingly unimpressed with their superhero status, and when they learn what she can do, they understand why. The League members’ responses to her are nothing short of hilarious, and Oliver deems obtaining a permanent record of that priceless first gathering to be worth braving Batman’s wrath for hacking into his video surveillance.

 

Because after ten minutes in Diana’s company, Bart is actually vibrating with lust, and Oliver half expects him to start running in circles around her until either she notices him or he flashes back to his time in Lex’s giant hamster wheel. Victor’s too polite to stare, but he pulls out her chair for her—which makes Diana laugh so hard she almost falls over—and A.C.’s mouth hangs open the entire time she is in the room.

 

Bruce gloats for days at the unanimous decision to make Diana part of the Justice League, and Oliver can’t deny him this right. They are beyond fortunate to have Diana working with them, and not one of them is stupid enough to think otherwise.

 

And in a familiar, rational world, Oliver would have five separate plans in effect to convince her to go out with him by the end of the month. But apparently Oliver doesn’t live in that world, anymore, because he has absolutely no desire even to kiss Diana.

 

Damn Clark, anyway.

 

Wherever the hell he is.

 

*          *          *

 

Oliver is trying to convince Bruce to do something about the security at Arkham when Alfred interrupts, apologizing profusely, to inform Master Bruce that the news item he had requested he be informed about has recently aired on Channel 14 and the recorded footage is downstairs awaiting his perusal whenever it is convenient for him.

 

Bruce heads for the door immediately, and Oliver follows without being asked. He’s accustomed to Bruce and his abrupt changes in focus, and if he waited to be invited to come along, he’d never move again.

 

When the first visual record of Superman’s existence appears on the screen, Oliver knows instantly that it’s Clark, and he is ashamed to admit his initial reaction is a deluge of lust.

 

Clark’s been missing for five years, Oliver has lain awake at night fearing gruesome scenes of torture and death, and his first thought on seeing the man again is an overwhelming gratitude for the apparently shameless lasciviousness of Clark’s tailor.

 

It would be enough to make Oliver blush, if he hadn’t conquered that particular biological response many years ago. Shame was never a good look on him, although repentance and forthrightness are.

 

And because Oliver’s second thought is relief at knowing Clark is alive and well, he knows he’s not an irredeemably wretched excuse for a human being.

 

Bruce is, of course, suspicious of Superman and his incomparable laundry list of powers. He has been since the first article about Superman appeared two days before, absent any corroborating photographic evidence, and Oliver tries to head off the imminent altercation he foresees between Batman and the man Oliver hasn’t been able to forget in five years.

 

“You don’t need to worry about Superman, Bruce. I know the guy. I didn’t realize who he was until I saw him, but believe me, you can trust him. We want him to work with us.”

 

“I wasn’t aware you’d been to Metropolis, recently.” Bruce is a paranoid little Bat-freak, but Oliver should have expected that.

 

“I haven’t. I knew him a few years back.”

 

“Where the hell has he been, then? Saving the world is not a career for dilettantes, Oliver.”

 

Oliver turns his head just enough to roll his eyes without Bruce noticing, before he says truthfully and as calmly as he can, “I don’t know where he’s been, Bruce. I wish I could tell you. But believe me when I say that he’s one of the good guys.”

 

The original good guy, in fact, if Oliver isn’t mistaken about certain incidents in Clark’s past.

 

“Hmm. Power of that kind makes him one of the biggest threats we’ve faced yet. I don’t care when you knew him or how; people change. We need to assess the danger of this ‘Superman,’ immediately.”

 

Of course they do.

 

*          *          *

 

The first thing Oliver does when he leaves the Manor is renew his inquiries about Clark Kent. He’s grown lax about his investigations recently, and when he realizes Clark has been in Metropolis for nearly a full month, he is furious with himself for having lost so much time. He is also astounded to learn that Clark is working at the Daily Planet, with Lois of all people, and Oliver’s instantaneous jealousy at learning how often the two have been seen together is rivaled only by his shock at realizing how completely he has forgotten his erstwhile girlfriend.

 

Oliver always had his suspicions about Lois and Clark, and if he’s more concerned these days with how Clark feels about Lois than the other way around, well, Oliver’s mother used to say change was good for the soul.

 

At the next League meeting, Batman makes noises about keeping an eye on Metropolis’s newest super-powered citizen, and from the looks Victor gives him, Oliver is certain that Cyborg, at least, has also added one and one together and arrived at two. Bart pays attention in the meetings only rarely, so his impassive face reveals nothing, whatsoever, but A.C.’s blank, uncomprehending stare tells Oliver that at least one person who knew Clark Kent is unaware of Superman’s secret identity. Honestly, Oliver can’t say he’s surprised the fish-boy hasn’t figured it out; A.C. has never been the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

 

Victor, on the other hand, has always been highly intelligent. And regardless of who is officially in control of the League, Cyborg is still willing to take his cues from Green Arrow, so at Oliver’s unobtrusive head-shake, Victor sits back and keeps his mouth shut.

 

Batman is not unaware of the undercurrents running between certain of the heroes he’s addressing, but he doesn’t have enough information to do anything about it, and the unfamiliar ignorance and impotence make him more irritable than usual. Especially since he’s already angry that Oliver won’t tell him who Superman really is. His comments become increasingly biting, and when he leaves off discussing the latest threat to global security and turns to reviewing individual performances during the last mission, Batman’s analyses descend into vituperative diatribes that lead to Diana calling a halt to the meeting and taking him aside for a lecture on constructive criticism.

 

Bart tunes back in at this point to roll his eyes as the Dark Knight stalks away, and he catches Oliver’s signal for the original four to hang back until the room is clear.

 

“What’s up?”

 

After a few necessary explanations for the less discerning individuals in the room, they decide that they will continue to say nothing to Batman until they speak to Clark, and that it should be Oliver who confronts Superman and invites him to meet with the League.

 

There is no part of Oliver in disagreement with this plan.

 

It is only once they part ways and Oliver finds himself on a chartered plane changing his clothes for the fourth time that he stops to wonder if he is actually the best person to extend to Clark the invitation for League membership. Other propositions are taking precedence in Oliver’s mind, and it’s possible his near-crippling desire to get in Clark’s tights will distract him from his purported agenda.

 

Batman would undoubtedly disapprove of Oliver’s preferred method of enticing Superman into their little group.

 

Then again, Oliver is not Bruce, and his instincts have rarely led him wrong. He changes his clothes one last time, then steps off the plane and heads for the rooftop of the Daily Planet.

 

Twenty minutes later, Superman appears in the sky and notes Oliver’s presence almost immediately, and it isn’t until Clark touches down on the roof that Oliver remembers he was wearing the Green Arrow suit the last time they saw each other, too, and that possibly he should have changed a sixth time. His instincts can’t be right all the time. Oliver can tell by the look on Clark’s face that he’s not the only one being inundated with a barrage of distracting memories and images. Clark looks like he wants to throw up, and Oliver is glad he has such a strong stomach or he might be feeling the same way.

 

Oliver isn’t the one who should be embarrassed by the memory, but he is. Embarrassed and aroused.

 

Five years is a long time, and Clark looks exactly the same and completely different. His eyes are still that piercing blue, but there is something so old behind them now, something almost…wise, and it stops Oliver from voicing the joking greeting he rehearsed on the drive from the airport. This Clark deserves his respect in a way the old Clark never really did, despite Oliver’s (occasionally reluctant) admiration of him, and Oliver isn’t sure he knows how to deal with this change.

 

He’s almost guilty at how relieved he is his own eyes are fully obscured by dark lenses.

 

Experienced voyeur that he’s become, the sunglasses are no impediment to his gaze, and Oliver is able to appreciate, perhaps for the first time in person, the sheer beauty that is Clark Kent. It is difficult to decide what he wants to do first: talk to Clark or just watch him for awhile.

 

Until Oliver remembers it is possible to watch Clark and talk to him at the same time.

 

Hallelujah.

 

“It’s good to see you, Clark.”

 

“W-what did you say?”

 

Apparently, this is one more thing Bruce and Clark have in common: an inherent belief in the unassailable efficacy of one’s own disguise. Wonderful.

 

Oliver sighs and reaches up with one hand to pull off his shades. “I know it’s you, Clark. Give me credit for a modicum of intelligence.”

 

“No, I knew you’d know who I was,” Clark says, and isn’t that interesting? It’s certainly not the reaction Oliver expected Clark to have. “It’s just -- the other part. What you said about it being good to see --”

 

And Clark blushes. Five years go by, Clark acquires the eyes of Methuselah, yet the man can still blush?

 

Oliver wonders distractedly how wrong it is that he has suddenly developed a truly inspiring erection. He’s in so much trouble, because he has the sudden suspicion that he missed more about Clark than his body, and he’s not ready to admit to any feelings stronger than lust, right now.

 

And he is too close to embarrassing himself in his costume to be wrestling with emotional revelations.

 

Because Clark is hot, and all of this would be easier if Oliver didn’t know what Clark sounded like when he came. Where’s Batman when you really need him and his unfailing ability to suck the pleasure out of any given moment?

 

Oliver watches the red in Clark’s face spread intriguingly down his neck and under his collar and suddenly finds himself saying, “Clark, it is very good to see you.”

 

Oh, well, Oliver supposes. There really isn’t any point in being subtle, and he can deal with any emotional discoveries tomorrow.

 

Voyeurism be damned, he has waited too fucking long to see Clark naked again, and this time, he’s going to get a taste before he finds himself suffering through another unexpected five-year drought.






Continued in Part Four: Dissatisfaction

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