Action Time (Chapter Six)

CHAPTER SIX

"Clark... I mean Clark knows something about keeping secrets, but Lois..." Chloe stopped pacing up and down and sank to the bed, burying her face in her hands.

"Oh, come on." Oliver said as she peeked through her fingers at him, just laying back on the bed, looking strangely relaxed --- as if this wasn't a disaster. "Who's she gonna tell?"

She dropped her hands and turned to him. He was right, as annoying as it was to see him so relaxed when she was so... not. Lois didn't know the rest of the gang at all. Maybe Lois wasn't known for her discretion, but... but... "My family," she said dully. "I mean. Not just her dad, but mine."

"I thought he was in Wisconsin now."

"He is and... I mean, we've kept him off the radar since the blacklisting." She shook herself. "But he is her uncle and if she really wanted to..."

"She won't track him down just to..."

"To tell her I'm dating a billionaire? Of course she would."

"So we're... dating now?" He sat up.

"Of course we aren't," she said quickly. "I mean, I didn't say we were. I just mean that Lois..."

"No. Definitely," he was quick to agree. "People go away on weekend get-aways and the other people that come upon them might think... But we're not."

"Definitely not," she finished. "Anyway, I know very well what we're doing here."

"Not that we're doing it," he grumbled, laying back on the pillows again. Naked, which was a little distracting. She'd learned, in their very limited alone time up till now, that Oliver had no problem being naked as the day he was born for long stretches. Tonight was just another example. While she'd been pacing the room in her MacDougal Issue plaid robe, he'd thrown his off as soon as they got back in the room with a strangely disinterested "That was awkward."

She still marveled at him. "That was awkward?" she said. It was minutes after, but still...

"What?"

"Seriously, that's all you make of us running into them here?"

He shrugged, even with his arms still folded behind his head. "I thought awkward summed it up pretty well. But you're the writer. Since you want to spend all night dictating your giant novel about it until the wee hours, completely overreacting and..."

She turned to him with a withering look. "I am not overreacting. I am... reacting, plain and simple. Something you're not doing, but why should I be surprised?"

He lifted his head - and his eyebrows. "Meaning?"

"Let's not pretend you didn't secretly want this. God knows why, but..."

"It's no secret. I mean, sneaking around has its thrills for about two seconds. But once it gets to long trips, lying to everyone we know, and bleeding people with sharp letter openers..."

"Oh, my God! Will you let that go?" she burst out before lowering her voice. "I barely scratched you," she finished on a hiss.

"Is it such a disaster?" he asked, leaning up on one elbow. "People knowing? I mean, it was bound to happen sooner or later. You spend half your time in a tiny apartment where neither you or Lois has your own room and the other half in a building that at least seven other people can access at will."

"But..."

"And you pretty much refuse to come to my place."

"You mean your office? Where two different Luthors spent years, on and off, plotting my demise? Forgive me if that's not the biggest turn on for me."

"Fine, fine." He sat up. "The point is that yes, I am relieved. Now I don't have to waste a significant amount of my time wondering if Greco-Roman wrestling is a good enough cover for when we really got caught." He tugged on her arm.

She let out a startled laugh as she fell against him. "Greco-Roman wrestling?"

"Well, with a few new rules. Grabbing below the waist is allowed, even encouraged. But the ancient rules of complete nudity and covering both players with olive oil should be upheld.. for tradition."

"That's Greek wrestling," she breathed as he started grabbing below her waist.

"Know-it-all," he muttered, catching her hands in one of his and flipping them over. "Anyway, what's changed?" He held her hands over her head and slid one hand up the part in her robe to catch her sash. "Our daily lives are pretty much as they were an hour ago, except now," he pulled at knot until it unraveled, "we have the freedom," he peeled the robe from one side, then the other, "to do what we want," he finished as he leaned down to her.

She was torn between conceding he had a point and accusing him of getting around her with -- Dear God! -- a pair of well-placed lips just below her ear, which was pretty much cheating. But, in the end, she figured both were persuasive. More freedom? Good. Less worrying? Good. His lips? As always, very good. "What does it matter?" she sighed as he rocked against her, still nibbling so convincingly at her neck. Really, this was fixable.

"Exactly," he murmured into her skin.

"I know what we'll do."

"Me, too." He slid downwards and brushed his lips over her collarbone. "But I don't have any olive oil."

She giggled, then sucked in a breath as his lips met her right nipple. "I'll just talk to Lois in the morning and explain about discretion and..."

"No." He lifted his head and let her wrists go.

She blinked up at him. "No? Oliver, we need to contain..."

"Chloe, I don't care what you say to Lois in the morning, but right now, in this room and this bed, it's you and me and no one else." He leaned up. "You going to give me that or do I have to get a room that doesn't have a dozen imaginary people in it?"

"Oliver..." She slid her arms around his neck. "Fine, I get it."

"No. You don't get it. You keep talking about how this is private and our business and now a few people know and you act like it's headline news. What's changed, Chloe?"

"Nothing," she sighed. "I was just saying you were right and..."

"And formulating your little plans," he said, pulling at her arms.

Sure, she was. And she was damned sure she'd talk to Lois in the morning, but he was right. That had no place here. She held onto him steadily. "You must have been imagining things. I'm not even a little worried." She slid a foot alongside his calf and arched into him. "It's only between four people."

He chuckled and relaxed against her, pressing into her. "Yeah. Including us, I guess."

"Oh!" She hadn't counted them. "Then I guess it's really six," she murmured against his shoulder.

He stiffened. "Six?"

She stared up at him as he peeled himself off her. "Well, us, them, John and Victor..."

He pushed away and sat up. "John and Vic know?"

She sat up as well. "Well, they don't full on know, but..." She shrugged. "No, they know."

"How do they know?"

"Well, one's a telepath and the other's strangely observant. They put it together. I figured they knew, but I didn't think it mattered because neither Jon or Victor is the gossiping type. I mean, out of everyone we know... Besides, you just said it didn't matter if people knew."

"Well, yeah, but that was about telling them. But it's weird if they knew without me knowing they know." He shook his head and put his feet on the floor. "Why didn't you tell me they know?"

"It's not like they outright know know. I just heavily suspect that they heavily suspect."

"Which means they know," he said, throwing his hands up. "Now I feel like an idiot. I could have sworn Victor was giving me looks when I said I was going to check in at Watchtower in person after..."

"Oliver..." She grasped his chin. "As you said, what's changed?" She pushed him to his back and he let her.

He sighed. "So I guess everyone's going to know."

"It's inevitable." She leaned on his chest, resigning herself to it. "We're going to hear it, you know. I'm talking extensive ribbing, jealousy, accusations of special treatment..."

"And that's just Bart." Oliver chuckled. "He'll be toning down the flirting, at least."

Chloe sighed heavily. "I know. Shame."

Oliver leaned up. "Excuse me?"

"What? It's flattering."

"I don't flatter you enough?"

She laughed. "Now that you mention it, you don't make up adorable nicknames for me and kiss my hand..."

He rolled her over. "Because I kiss you in better places."

"True enough," she conceded. "But, I was thinking... if we can just keep it between the least amount of people for just a little..."

"Oh, my God!" he groaned, leaning down and fixing his mouth to hers for a good half-minute before letting up. "You do realize that it's a waste of a sexy weekend away when there is virtually no sex going on. I've a good mind to take my manly parts to another room," he said, but he nuzzled her neck as he said it.

"This place is booked solid. There are no other rooms," she said languidly as she stretched beneath him.

"I know." He lifted his head. "Once again, great secret hide-away you picked."

"Would you stop talking?"

His eyes widened. "Me? Me stop..."

She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his.

Apart from the occasional groan, sigh or softly growled demand, they both stopped talking.

Three times.

She'd hoped to drift peacefully off after that. Her body certainly wanted to, but she was still stewing when he had the nerve to fall into a stupor right next to her. She turned to glare at him, but her heart wasn't in it.

He looked so peaceful, nearly boyish, in sleep and she reflected that she hadn't seen him like this. Even the few times they had fallen asleep together on Watchtower's sofa, the waking was soon after and rushed and harried and filled with thrown clothes and panicked whispers. Awake, Oliver's face was always in motion. Laughing, glaring, smirking, grimacing, eyes dancing with mischief or hot with anger or warm as they moved over her. Now there was just peace and the tiniest hint of a smile on one side of his mouth. There was something sweet about that. She nearly wanted to wake him up oh-so-accidentally and murmur how sorry she was against his lips. He wouldn't complain for long.

She pulled away and turned on her back, staring at the ceiling. She wouldn't. She'd just had him, for crying out loud.

He was right in that nothing had changed. Nothing had to change just because people knew. If anything, it might be easier if they didn't have to hide. But she couldn't help feeling something had changed. Not tonight, but all along. From the first time her time had seemed divided by sex and everything else. And it sometimes seemed that everything else was just something to get through before she could feel free to be with him again. And that was... scary. It wasn't something she'd felt before.

She wouldn't deny that she had closed herself off this year. That she needed something more than work in her life. And now she had it. And maybe she needed it. But she just didn't want to need it quite so much. But maybe that was because this was temporary. That it would fade. That it would end. It had to. She wanted to think that, when this ended, they could be okay. They could part as friends. She wanted to think of how reasonable and adult they would be when they agreed that this had run its course.

She took a deep breath and decided she could be. She had to be. She just had to be clear in what they were... which they weren't defining. But she could be clear about not being clear... if that was possible. It only felt like this because it would end, she decided. Even repeated it to herself. If she felt more for Oliver than she had for... for others, it was only because she knew their time was limited. Nothing to feel guilty about. Nothing.

She'd tried to force herself to gently drift off after that, and she nearly did until Oliver rolled right into her, huffing in her ear.

At first, she tried to be tolerant. She was was sure Oliver, like her, was used to having a bed to himself, so when he kept rolling into her on the left side (which she'd, for years, considered hers), she prodded him gently away until he rolled over. And he'd seemed like he'd stay. Then he did it again... and again... and again. At that point, she decided he must be used to the left, too. And he was obviously more invested in the left side than she was if he had to claim it even in his sleep. So she clambered over him and settled on the right.

She did sleep, then, in fits and starts, but every so often she woke to find him mowing into her. It wasn't like cuddling. It was more like bulldozing right into her and she'd thought he was doing it on purpose until she pulled up one eyelid to find it rolled up and him still dead asleep. It seemed no matter where she moved, she ended up nearly on the floor every time she shot awake and, left or right, she was starting to wondered if she got any side of the bed at all as he seemed to want to sprawl over every bit of it.

She stopped looking at the alarm clock at one point, but she was sure she hadn't got more than a few interrupted hours when he lifted his head off her stomach (he'd actually ended up across the bed by then).

"Sleep well?" he had the gall to ask her. She was about to tell him exactly how well she slept when he gave her a lazy smile. "I almost forgot, I owe you."

Damn right, you do. A good night's sleep, she might have said if she had the energy. But she could only watch hazily as he nuzzled her stomach.

"I never paid you back," he murmured, working his way downward with soft brushes of his lips and the occasional nibble. She supposed he was talking about her own trip downtown last night. Before they went to sleep -- or he did -- he'd seemed determined to reciprocate, but she'd been too eager to feel him inside her as many times as she could. She would have protested that he didn't owe her anything, but he was already between her thighs by then and, after the sleep wars, she decided it was the least he could do.

She just sighed and opened her legs further, letting out a small moan as his lips and tongue teased at her. She stared down as the sun poured in, catching the tips of his sleep-mussed hair and giving a glint to his eyes as they bore hers. She could feel him smiling against her as her hips started to writhe. His hands clamped down on either side and he closed his eyes, lips and tongue working in earnest.

When her orgasm crashed over her, she felt swept away, all sleepy and tingly and wonderfully relaxed. Every other time seemed almost frantic, always the risk of trouble or intruders. But not today. Not here. Maybe not anywhere or ever again, now that people knew. It seemed almost a blessing, if she thought about it.

Which she didn't. She could feel her mind hazing over into sleep even as he crawled upwards and hovered above her.

"Damn. I was hoping... Oh, well." He settled the blankets on her. "I'll take the first shower. Alone," he finished on a sigh.

She started to lift her hand and pull him back. But who was she kidding? She was asleep before her hand hit the bed again.

*********************

By the time she stepped out of the shower, she felt better. Not fully rested, of course. She couldn't have had more than a half hour before he sailed back into the room, clapping his hands in her face and trumpeting that they'd miss brunch. She still had a good mind to tell him exactly how many times he nearly bumped her right off the bed. But not right now. She was hungry, He must be, too.

He seemed to be hungry for more than food when he watched her dressing and even tried to "help" her a few times.

"Hey!" She grabbed her tank off the floor where he'd accidentally dropped it. "You're the one who said we needed to hustle to make brunch. The buffet's gone in five minutes."

"Well, maybe we can skip it. Find some other place to eat. I mean, all the other... couples will be there."

She stilled as she pulled her tank over her head. "Including..." She'd forgot. She really had. She hastily grabbed her sweater and yanked it on. She supposed they could find somewhere else, but... Her stomach growled as if taking exception to the idea... but not in the next five minutes. "Come on. We'll have to face them sooner or later." She opened the door and turned back. "Unless they left."

"They might have," he said, ushering her down the hall until they reached a door at the end with "dining hall" in swirly letters.

"I mean, it's possible. If they were looking for a get-away, then we're here... I mean, that's hardly getting away." She turned to him. "They might have just... gone. Right?"

He smiled and ran a hand over her collarbone. "Of course they did. You know Clark. He was probably so embarrassed by the whole thing, he convinced Lois to go back home as soon as they saw us," he said as he opened the door.

"Really?" she asked hopefully as she moved in ahead of him.

"No," he said lightly, closing the door.

She nearly whirled on him to tell him he was not funny when she saw them over the railing. "Oh, God," she groaned. They were at a table on the end and didn't look to have any packed bags around them.

"You know what we could do?" He drew up next to her. "We could pretend not to see them."

She doubted they'd buy that, with Lois waving madly and finding the loudest possible way to say "Psst!" the minute she spotted them. Subtle as a bull in a china shop, as always. She turned to Oliver and steeled herself. "Oh, come on, Ollie. Throw up the white flag. It's Lois. She makes Susan B. Anthony look like a quitter."

She preceded him down the stairs. This was going to be... excruciating.

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