Reaction Time (Part Three)

She gasped as he grasped her hips and her back met a pinball machine in the darkened room, lit only when the sample games repeated. It was well past the time when anyone would put in a token. It was only them here and....

His fingers brushed her chin. "Look at me."

She did. Flashing games, rather than taking away from them, only enhanced those chocolatey eyes. They reflected rampaging gorillas, fruit-gobbling circles with eyes... things that should seem silly, but weren't. Not in those eyes. Not when they were coming closer... and closing.

This was dead serious.

She closed her own eyes, wondering what it would be like to just give in and stop worrying that it would all go away. He wasn't going anywhere. Any second now his lips might meet... her nose.

She opened her eyes as he drew back, chuckling. "Think my aim was off," he muttered. "God, you're tiny."

Not growing even one more inch from fifteen onward had always been a sore spot for her and she'd be insulted if his eyes weren't traveling up and down her. "Maybe you're just freakishly tall." She'd have to get him and Clark to stand side-by-side one of these days because Oliver just seemed taller than should be allowed.

"Maybe if you just lift your chin just a little more..." His finger slid along her jaw and she did so, her eyes fluttering shut again. She really hoped this was good. Come to think of it, she should have kissed him before starting all this.

Because, if he couldn't kiss, how much fun could this be? But she was definitely rooting for it to be good. With the way his breath mingled with hers and his hands gripped her just a little tighter, she hoped this wasn't building up to some huge...

"Excuse me?"

Letdown, her mind finished. In a moment of deafening irony, Pacman chose that moment to let loose that tinny, drain-circling music that told everyone the ghosties had won.

She had to laugh. Oliver did, too. The hardened woman with the eighties hair standing in the doorway, however, didn't seem to think this was at all funny.

"The arcade is closed after ten," she rasped. "And you're supposed to exchange shoes before crossing the orange line."

Oliver turned to her, his face very sober. "I'm so dreadfully sorry. I had no idea about the yellow line."

"The orange line, Smartass," the woman shot back, not having it.

Chloe snorted, then hid her head against his shoulder.

"Could you two just exchange your shoes? Now? We're about to close." Chloe lifted her head as she turned on her heel with a beleaguered sigh.

Chloe found herself giggling.

Oliver grinned and grabbed her hand. "I think we're in trouble," he said lowly, pulling her out and past that legendary orange line, where the woman was waiting behind the counter, a sour look on her face.

"Shoes?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Oliver said, sliding out of his.

Chloe kicked her own off, chuckling. "Guess we won't be bowling here again." She bent to pick them up, but Oliver swooped down, taking them with his to the counter.

"Give me two seconds."

She did, taking a seat in one of the bowl-like chairs, as he moved to the counter, leaning against it as if he had all the time in the world. The woman picked the rentals up and started for the rack before stopping, saying something tersely in answer to whatever Oliver was asking. He smiled as he spoke and Chloe watched in wonderment as her expression went from dour to the tiniest of smiles before she turned to the rack again. By the time she came back with their shoes, she was saying something at a mile a miute and damned near tossing her giant hair.

He lifted his eyebrows twice as he moved back toward Chloe with both pairs.

She rolled her eyes and took her sneakers. "You just love to win, don't you?"

"What?"

"Sweet talking that rental lady..."

"Her name happens to be Carol," he said, all innocence. "And I was... fostering good will. We don't want to lose our bowling alley."

"Please. You hate this place."

"No, I... Okay. I hate it. But it's two blocks from The Watchtower. Might be good for the League to have options for good, clean fun." He slid into his heavily polished loafers.

"Or... you just couldn't stand to have a member of the opposite sex that wasn't under the Oliver Queen spell," she teased, pulling at a knot in her shoelace.

"The Oliver Queen spell?" He batted her hand out of the way and knelt down. "Let me." He worked at the knot, then pulled it free. She was about to brush him away when he started tying her shoe. "I'm not three, you know. I know how to do the bunny ears."

"Just helping a lady out," he said, double-knotting. "Besides, I really want to know what the Oliver Queen Spell is."

She smirked and leaned forward. "Every nurse, every coffee shop employee, every parking attendant you've ever walked away from is left batting their eyes at you. And that's just the men."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Well, if there is an Oliver Queen spell -- and I'm not saying there is -- it doesn't seem to have the kick it used to."

"Sure, it does. I've just seen it in action."

"Well, not on everyone." He looked up, his eyes sort of... measuring. "I haven't seen you bat an eye at me."

She swallowed. His face was kind of close as were his words -- just a little too close to home. She thought she should draw back, but she didn't want to make any sudden moves. "I haven't seen you try to make me." God, why did she say that? That was like an outright invitation. If he could charm sour-faced Carol in about thirty seconds, he'd have her on her back before she could blink and that was exactly the problem.

She stopped breathing as she felt his finger run a tiny line just above her ankle sock. "You want me to try?"

She forced a laugh, both to stop his words and to prove to herself she could, indeed, breath. "Oliver." She kicked at his knee lightly, then stood. "You don't have to put in any special effort for me." She strode to the door, only veering off course a little, which was a triumph as her bones had turned to jelly.

"Apparently, I do," he heard him mutter behind her, but only barely.

She decided to pretend she didn't hear and stepped outside, welcoming the cold air. She gulped in a few breaths, squeezing her eyes shut. She could do this. She'd gotten this far. She just had to hold out a little longer. She needed more time. She'd only been with one man, for crying out loud, she couldn't just...

"Bye, Carol," she heard and straightened up, trying to adopt a casually chilled expression.

"Cold, huh?" she said as he came out, not having anything better.

He stopped as the door closed. "Where's your jacket?"

"Left it at the Watchtower. It's only a few blocks."

"Well, here." He shrugged off his own jacket. "I'm not cold."

"Oliver, I'm f..."

"Humor me." He held it out.

She sighed and slipped in, wondering what kind of cologne he wore as he settled it on her shoulders. Even on those nights when she found herself debriefing him after a mission or patching up the odd scratch, he had a lingering smell that was sort of earthy and a little bit spicy even under the sweat and dirt of a night on the streets. It had been something she noticed in passing, the way she often noticed unreasonably good looking guys. After years around Clark, she discovered that it was the safest way to notice them and not get tangled up. She'd never entertained the thought of burying her nose in his neck and taking a long whiff. But she was now, especially in what was now a cocoon of his scent.

His hands lingered on her shoulders a minute before one slipped to her back, pushing slightly. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

"Like I said, it's only a few blocks," she said, her voice shaking with what she hoped could be mistaken for cold.

"Then it's no trouble for me. Besides, I wanted to..." He trailed off. "Okay. See, you're going to have to bear with me here, because I've been a little out of... certain things and I think I'm not really getting things across that I want to... um... get across," he finished, groaning. "Yeah. That made no sense. I just mean that I've been out of the game for a while and maybe I'm losing my touch, but..."

"Oh, don't worry about it." Jesus! Was he really going to just come out and say it? She wasn't ready. She was notready. She walked a little faster. "I mean, you've had a rough year."

"Exactly," he said, falling easily into step with her with half the actual steps. "So you might have noticed that, while Green Arrow's in full force, Oliver Queen has been out of commission. I mean, I hardly know what I'm going to do in Star City this weekend. I'm half-afraid I'm going to drop kick my shareholders or..."

She let out a steamy breath in relief and stopped. "Oliver, you'll be fine."

"No. I mean, yes. I'm sure I'll be fine." He stopped in front of her. "What I'm trying to say," he gave her a tight lipped smile, "very badly is that I've been out of things and..."

"And I think you know when to put the bow down and pick up the stock portfolio."

He stared down at her. "But do you?" He shook his head. "I mean, not that exactly, but..." He groaned and rubbed his eyes for a minute. "Listen, this isn't about performance anxiety. I know what to do with business. This is about me and about you. With me so far?"

Damn it. It was about her. She forced what she hoped was an incredulous smile. "About me?" She moved to step around him, but he stepped over.

"That other night, you were talking about having a good time," he said in a rush before she could open her mouth, "and I get that you're just starting to make time for fun, but planning group outings for the league is still something that Watchtower would do. What about Chloe? What does Chloe Sullivan want?"

"Uh..."

"Look, maybe I'm way off base," he went on taking her elbow. "In fact, I was getting pretty sure I was," he pulled her to the curb, then stepped off, "but since you didn't seem repulsed by the idea back at the arcade..." He suddenly grabbed her by the lapels of his jacket and pulled.

She tripped forward, right into him. There was a moment of panic as his lips met hers. This wasn't like the arcade. There, she was giggling and slightly tipsy and it all seemed like such fun, but now she was sober and even more aware that he could charm a fish onto a hook and the hooking was the problem because she really had only been with one man and...

Her thoughts faded to vaguely panicky white noise because this was a kiss. She'd had kisses. She'd kissed over four men in her life, but none of those were a kiss the way this was a kiss. Two were ineffectual high school boys who later tried to kill her. Jimmy had never learned, even after three years, to keep tongue at a minimum. As for Clark, it was over so quickly it might has well have not happened. She thought they were all just fine before now.

Of course, now she realized was being well and truly kissed by someone who knew how. His lips clung at first, finding their mark, before they slid just a little. They were dry with only the barest hint of moisture as they opened, but only to close again... to cling. Her eyes slid shut as his bottom lip nipped at hers for just a second before His hands moved from the lapels to her neck, one thumb sliding up to press on her jaw. Her head turned slightly to the side as if under his command. His lips nudged more then caressed and her own parted, also under his thrall. And then he really kissed her.

His tongue traced just under her top lip before retreating as his lips clung to hers again, sliding open and closed and open as his tongue darted out again, a little deeper this time and she realized she was doing nothing, her arms just hanging at her sides. It had been so long. She didn't know whether to press into him or pull away when he seemed to make the decision for her, his hands sliding down the back of his jacket, then tightening, pulling her in.

And she went--all the way in. Her mouth opened under his and her arms stopped hanging limply at her sides to slip between them, up his chest and over his shoulders. His hands fisted in his jacket. She couldn't feel it, but she could hear the near squeak of the leather as the distance between them closed. She could feel him now, from chest to hips, warm against her even as the cold air blew past them. She slid her bottom lip along his before his tongue swept in again. She invited it now, coaxing it in with her own as he pressed her harder against him.

That panicky white noise gained volume and clarity as she felt him, hard against her zipper. This could all come to a head tonight. She didn't have to say a word. All she had to do was pull him backward and towards the Watchtower and what would she do then? She wasn't just worried about her comparitive lack of experience. It was him and his hook. If she was this affected by a kiss, what about sex? She had a feeling he really knew what he was doing there, too and the increase in oxytocin causes a woman to bond intensely with her partner, especially during orgasm. creating pair-bonding and feelings of trust and...

She tamped down the encyclopedia screaming in her ear and wondered if she inhaled too much knowledge while Brianiac was sharing headspace. But the idea held. She was likely to get too attached, even more so considering how few her dealings with the opposite sex were up till now. She pushed away, resting her head against his chin.

"That's... You're very... good at that."

"It can... get better." His words stirred her hair followed by staccato pants. "Chloe..."

She stepped back, not far because his hands were still on her. "You should..." She cleared her throat. "You should try that on this girl of yours." She pulled away fully and turned.

He grabbed the back of the jacket. "This girl..."

She slid out of his jacket. "Oh, I'm sorry. Here you go." She turned to him, to the jacket dangling from his hand, and nodded behind her at the steps to her building. "Watchtower's right there. Good thing, too. I've got so much surveillance to catch up on. Lots to do," she said, walking backwards as he followed. "But look who I'm talking to," she raised a hand towards him. "You have that early flight."

He stopped before her, his face falling. "Yeah. That flight."

She turned and moved up the steps, digging in her jeans for her keys. "Hey, I think it's great what you're doing, flying commercial. Very green of you."

"Yeah. It's... Wait." She stilled, but only because she was at the front door and couldn't make her stupid key go in. She heard his shoes scrape up the concrete steps. "Chloe, I think we need to clarify something. This girl..."

"Is a damned lucky girl," she cut in, finally turning her key. She pulled the door outward, then turned to him, pasting on a smile. "I've seen your moves. I don't think she stands a chance."

His lips thinned as he came up one more step. "But that's the thing..."

"I don't think you should worry at all. You just..." She patted his chest, then pulled her hand away before she was tempted to... rub. "You just go get her... Champ."

"But..."

She slipped inside. "Night."

She leaned against the door, trying to catch her breath. That was some tap dance she'd done out there. She rested her forehead against the crack, hearing him on the other side, all heavy breathing and tiny growls. Her body nearly liquefied and she grasped the knob, wondering if he'd huff and puff and blow her house down. Hell, he didn't even need to. If he just knocked right now, the rest of her resolve would crumble. She gripped the knob harder, ready to turn at the slightest tap.

"Champ," she heard him mutter. "F*cking hell. I will get her. Doesn't stand a chance is damned ri..." His voice faded as his footsteps tripped away down the steps.

She turned, sagging in relief and letting go of the doorknob with difficulty. As nice as it would have been, just giving in now, he was going to be away for at least two days. Two days would be plenty of time for her to confuse things without him there to keep her planted in reality. It would be two days of replaying words, analyzing what they meant. She knew lots about over-thinking a gesture. Years of cozy chats, occasional gazes, touches, peppered with the rare kiss from Clark had kept her on his hook for way too long, thinking there was meaning in something that, she knew now, was absolutely meaningless to Clark. If Oliver threw around any of that "you mean more to me than you know" crap, the old Chloe might have been ended up on his hook. Not now. She was a better girl, a stronger girl. She'd proven that tonight.

And now she still had two days. But not to brood and analyze. She'd use them better than that... if she could just walk.

She hugged the wall and made it to the elevator, thinking of the Watchtower's cramped bathroom, anticipating the first libido-related cold shower of her life.


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