Supermanfic: Delay (Clark/Oliver)

[lady_bug_kay]

Title: Delay

Author: ladybugkay

Fandom: Smallville

Pairing: Clark/Oliver

Rating: PG-13 (for sexual suggestiveness)

Word Count: 1336

Summary: Sequel to “Denial.” After the season 6 finale, Oliver finds it necessary to return to Metropolis and…visit Clark, but it’s taking too long to get there.

Disclaimer: DC and Gough & Millar own the boys. I like to take liberties.

A/N: For tmelange   who loved the first one and demanded a sequel. Sequels are never as good as the original, but I hope this works for you. (There will be more.) 

Oliver steps impatiently off the plane and entertains a brief fantasy of buying the airport just so he can keep the runways clear for whenever he needs them.

 

It’s later than he thought it would be by the time he picks up his car, and Oliver admits he should wait until tomorrow even as he pulls onto the highway headed for Smallville. He can’t quite justify visiting his ex-girlfriend’s old roommate this late at night, but Oliver tells himself it’s perfectly acceptable to stop in and inform a good friend he’s back in town.

 

Of course, he isn’t sure if he can call Clark a good friend; they’re friends, certainly, but they haven’t known each other that long. In fact, Oliver is rather stunned when he considers just how much he has confided in Clark in what amounts to a couple of months’ acquaintance. Clark is one of four people who know about Green Arrow, and he knows more about Oliver’s past than anyone else alive. Something about Clark seems to invite confidences at the same time as he hoards his own secrets, giving them away reluctantly, if at all. It’s…frustrating. Clark can frustrate him like no one else Oliver has ever met.

 

Who knew a farmboy from Kansas, of all places, would be the best confidant both Oliver Queen and Green Arrow could have?

 

Then again, who knew farmboys from Kansas could catch arrows in their hands—hands so big they make Oliver start to sweat just thinking about them?

 

It’s strange. Oliver didn’t have these kinds of problems keeping Lois out of his mind. Lois is beautiful and sassy and has about as much in common with Oliver as Clark does. If you don’t take into account the whole anonymous saviour gig he and Clark have going on. Plus, she bends in interesting ways.

 

But Oliver can feel the heat radiating from Clark’s body even when he’s standing two feet away, and looking at Clark’s lips when he speaks makes Oliver move to stand behind strategically placed pieces of art or furniture.

 

He rolls down the window as his foot increases the pressure on the gas pedal.

 

It would be a shame if Clark were already asleep when he gets there, Oliver thinks. He’s come a long way in a very short period of time just to tell a good friend—and Oliver has decided that’s what Clark is—hello and did you miss me and I’m moving back.

 

Waking him would be inconsiderate, yes, but Clark would almost certainly be hurt if he found out Oliver was in town and hadn’t told him. Oliver knows how these things can be blown out of all proportion, so it’s really best if he sees Clark tonight and tells him the good—. Tells him the news. Clark will give him that smile that’s so bright it burns, and he might even hug him.

 

They’re friends. They’ve missed each other.

 

Clark is the only person Oliver knows who hugs with his whole body—not that Oliver has had occasion to know personally, but from what he’s seen and heard, his hugs do tend to be memorable—and Oliver can almost feel the strength of that embrace right now. Clark is very tactile, once you get to know him.

 

He certainly likes to shove Oliver around.

 

Clark really is just a great big kid. With a fantastic ass.

 

Oliver checks his watch for the fifth time in twenty minutes and wonders if Clark wakes up happy or in a bad mood.

 

If Oliver does have to wake Clark, he will probably be groggy and thirsty. But that’s okay. Oliver is a helpful guy; he stopped two muggings and a beating last night alone. He’ll get Clark a glass of water and watch him tilt his head back and raise the glass to his mouth and…swallow.

 

God, he hopes this isn’t how Lex used to feel around the guy. He doesn’t want to be anything like Lex Luthor. Oliver is not malicious and not evil and doesn’t hurt people (anymore) and most importantly, is not a creepy voyeur.

 

He shifts in the driver’s seat and clenches his hands on the steering wheel.

 

The drive to Smallville has never taken this long before, and Oliver isn’t going to think about why it feels so imperative that he see Clark. He reminds himself Clark is years younger and a college drop-out still living at home, while he is a strong, confident, intelligent CEO who moonlights as a vigilante. And he has great hair.

 

Oliver hopes he hasn’t taken the wrong exit somehow. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some enhanced natural abilities of his own, and at the moment, he’ll take Bart’s speed.

 

But then he sees it: the turn-off for the Kent Farm. Oliver can feel the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he pulls into the yard and turns the key in the ignition. The smile grows, and for no reason at all, he is suddenly grinning so hard he can feel his nose scrunching, but there it is: the inexplicable Clark Kent effect. No matter how confrontational either of them gets, it feels like their friendship is guaranteed in some way. Like things between them will always be okay, regardless of their arguments.

 

He shouldn’t find it as comforting as he does.

 

Climbing out of the car and shutting the door behind him, Oliver heads toward the barn. Despite the lack of lights in either of the main buildings, he has a feeling he knows exactly where he’ll find Clark.

 

Of course he’s in the loft. It’s fitting that Oliver has to look up to him. And Clark’s a farm kid; outdoor living suits him. He really should be running around shirtless all the time, and breathless from exertion. It’s only fair to live up to the stereotype when he can, particularly as Clark is so often anything but typical. Oliver should mention it to Clark as an excellent way of disguising his identity once he agrees to go professional in the hero trade.

 

And it is only a matter of time. Clark has heroism flowing in his veins. Sometimes, Oliver thinks Clark was born a hero. It would explain the vast reservoir of moral indignation he’s amassed, the one that makes Oliver feel both immeasurably reassured and vaguely inadequate. Clark was probably already saving lives by the time he was three years old. A costumed debut is inevitable. Besides, he’d looked so good in the Green Arrow suit. Good enough that Oliver had felt a frisson of…envy travel down his spine the next time he’d donned the disguise.

 

Oliver will have to ask Clark to let him help design whatever costume he chooses when the time comes. Something in black and white, maybe, to suit his outlook on life. It seems Oliver has an innate sense for what will look good on Clark’s body, and someone who insists on wearing the same two shirts day after day has no business selecting his own superhero uniform.

 

Nightmare visions of layered red and blue flicker through Oliver’s mind as he climbs the stairs to the loft. When his foot leaves the last step, he raises his head, and his eyes land unerringly on the long stretch of bared limbs splayed out on the couch.

 

He sucks in a quick breath and doesn’t trip over his own feet.

 

Much.

 

Damn.

 

While he very carefully avoids thinking about how quiet he’s attempting to be, Oliver moves almost involuntarily closer to the figure sleeping in nothing but a pair of pale blue boxers.

 

So that’s what Clark wears to bed.

 

Hmm.

 

As his eyes move absently down the expanse of naked skin, Oliver makes a mental note to have thank-you presents sent to his pilot and every employee of the Metropolis Airport for his flight delay.

 

It looks as if he’ll have to wake Clark up, after all.

 

Oliver smiles and reaches out his hand.





Continued in "Idle Thoughts"

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