Welcome to My Chlollie World...

Welcome to my blog. I've created it mainly as a place to archive my writings. Currently, my focus is on the pairing of Chloe Sullivan/Oliver Queen of Smallville, also affectionately known in fandom, as Chlollie. I began writing for this couple as Smallville entered it's seventh season, not ever really expecting them to become Smallville canon. So imagine my pleasant surprise (okay, I squealed like a fangirl in the throes of a fangasm) when the showrunners decided to put them together. I don't know what the show will do with them, but I don't care. I'll always adore them, and Chlollie will ALWAYS be my One True Pairing. I write about them for fun, as creative outlet, and because I think they're perfect together, and have the potential to be a supercouple, comic-book "mythos" be damned. The Green Arrow of Smallville belongs with his Watchtower. Most of my stories contain adult content, so please don't read if you are under the age of 18. All story graphic arts and manips are created by me unless otherwise stated. Feedback is always welcome. Thank you for reading!

And now for the boring stuff so no one sues me. Feel free to read it in that fast talking lawyer kind of voice, like at the end of a radio commercial.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Final note: I never believed in the years that I've loved this couple, that the show would do the right thing by them. But as a fangirl I just have to say, OMGOMGOMG! THEY ARE MARRIED!!! Thank you, Smallville for giving my couple the happy ending they deserve!

Saturday, December 6, 2008

Déjà Vu Chapter 3

Déjà Vu
Chapter 3

Chloe hadn’t given much more thought to the young man as she became engrossed in her investigations. After hours of searching and cross-referencing data, she could find no real common thread among the meteor-infected victims that had been missing. Different ages, sexes, races, some had known but unrelated manifested abilities, while others had not. It seemed a dead end.

She spoke to Oliver briefly over the phone earlier, but he’d been called away to meet with an associate, and he’d told her he’d call her later tonight. So with no new leads, Chloe began closing down the ISIS networks, turning off lights, and gathering up her things. Glancing at the clock, she noted the hour, nearing 7 pm. She’d pick up something to eat, head home, maybe have a hot bath, and then bed.

Locking up the ISIS doors, she headed toward her car, digging in her purse, fumbling for keys. Occupied thusly, she’d not seen the dark figure approach stealthily behind her. Suddenly Chloe sensed a presence nearby, but it was too late, a sweet smell invaded her nostrils as a cloth was placed over her face, and hands reached for her as she fell into oblivion.


Oliver paced his Star City apartment nervously, cell phone pressed to his ear. “Clark, have you seen or heard from Chloe at all recently?”

“No, in fact Lois is worried, Chloe never came home last night, and we’ve been looking for her, but she wasn’t at ISIS, her car is there, and she’s not answering her cell.”

“Listen, we need to get everyone together, there’ve been some things going on with Luthor, and I need to get everyone up to speed.” Oliver checked his watch. “I can be back in Metropolis in a couple of hours, meet me at the Tower.”

“What’s going on Oliver? Do you know where she is?”

Oliver paused, taking a deep breath and trying to keep the emotion from his voice. “No. I’ve been trying to contact her all night and this morning as well.” He swallowed, not wanting to consider the possibilities. “Clark, we think Lex has been rounding up meteor infected again. Chloe was helping us look into it.”

“Oliver…,” Clark began, his voice hard, as though he were about to go off on a rant about her safety.

“There’s no time for that now, Clark. Just meet me at the penthouse, I’ll tell you more when I get there.” Oliver ended the call abruptly, then dialed another number. “Get a jet ready. I need to leave for Metropolis immediately.”

The two-hour flight lasted too long, and Oliver’s anxiety increased with every passing moment. When he finally reached the penthouse, everyone was there.

“Anything?” he asked, dropping his bag at the door, his expression obviously one of great distress.

“Nothing,” Clark answered.

“We checked ISIS, her last log-in was around 6:45 pm last night,” Victor said. “Her car was still parked near the building, but the ISIS doors were locked, so we think she was possibly abducted while heading toward her car.”

Oliver looked at his watch. “It’s nearing on 24 hours since she’s been gone.” He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face, pacing around the room. He was tired, frazzled. He looked at each of his teammates, frantic with worry. “We have to get her back, we have to…” his voice rose in panic. He then seemed to remember himself and reined in his near break in composure, dropping into the living room chair, resting his elbows on his knees, lowering his head, and burying his fingers in his hair.

They’d never seen their leader so despondent. He was usually the one to keep his cool in situations like this.

“We all want her back, and we’re going to get her back. What’s going on Ollie?” Bart demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Oliver looked up, eyes flashing anger, ready to pounce on Bart. “What do you mean what’s going on?” He snapped. “Chloe’s missing! That’s what the hell’s going on.”

“He’s not talking about that and you know it.” Victor interjected harshly.

“Why don’t you just tell us, Ollie, it’s not like we haven’t guessed,” A.C. added.

“What are you guys talking about?” This from an utterly confused Clark, who could sense the thick air of tension in the room rising by the second.

Bart had had enough of it, and was at the point where he didn’t care anymore what Oliver might do. Chloe was important to all of them. He approached Oliver’s chair, boldly meeting his eyes. “Man, just tell us, damn it! You didn’t have to hide anything from us in the first place.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Bart!” Oliver ground out, fury nearly choking his words, the tension increasing between them with frightening intensity.

Bart’s voice continued to rise in accusation now, matching Oliver's fury. “Did you think we couldn’t tell? You didn’t trust us? So you hid her away, kept her like some dirty secret?”

“Stop!” Oliver shouted.

Bart didn’t flinch, shouting back. “Are you using her as your personal whore, just like all the other women you’ve fucked?”

Clark couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Oliver using Chloe? Dirty secrets? What the hell was going on?

Oliver’s expression was murderous, and he sprung from his chair with a feral growl, enraged, intent on strangling the younger man. But Bart was faster and Clark was stronger, and he held Oliver back, holding onto upper arms from behind in an iron grip.

“It’s not like that!” Oliver shouted, struggling futilely within Clark’s grasp. “I love her!” Clark wondered why he seemed to be the only person in the room wearing a shocked expression at this revelation. “Is that what you want to hear?” Oliver finally stopped his struggles, panting, deflated. His head dropped, lowering in defeat. “I love her,” he whispered. His breath shuddered.

A deafening silence pervaded the room for long moments. No one moved.

Clark maintained his hold on Oliver as Bart finally approached him. “We knew that you did,” he said, his voice quiet and compassionate. “We all knew. And yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear.”

Oliver lifted his head to gaze at Bart, glistening dark eyes softening upon seeing the younger man’s understanding and concern. “Let’s get her back,” he whispered.

Clark finally released his hold on Oliver, and watched as Bart extended his hand to his boss. “We will, amigo.”

They shook on it, and then clapped each other on the back, and just like that all harsh words were forgotten, and all was well between them, and the serious nature of the business at hand made them teammates once again.

Oliver didn’t want to waste time, but he felt brief explanations were due, especially to the befuddled Clark. He gazed at each of them in turn, not really knowing where to begin. “We’ve been together for six months now. We didn’t tell anyone, not because we didn’t want to, but we just thought it was safer that way. We didn’t expect it to happen, it just… it just did.”

* * * * *

“Green Arrow to Watchtower, I’m taking evasive action, I’ve been made,” he practically shouted into the comm.

“Copy that Arrow, hurry back.” Chloe could hear the urgency in his voice, and the sounds of gunfire through her earpiece, several shots sounding particularly loud. She jumped in her seat as another shot rang out. Her heart jolted. “Archer? What’s your status?” She waited, but heard nothing but garbled sounds, and then dead silence. She hailed him again. Nothing. Panic began to flood her entire being. This was supposed to be a simple recon mission, not life or death. “Arrow!”

Oliver hadn’t expected this. Chloe had informed him that there were heat signatures in various parts of the warehouse, and she’d guided him through, but this was more than a surprise. He’d simply intended to check out the warehouse, not come in contact with mob style resistance. These guys were armed to the teeth. He’d already been in two fights in less than five minutes, and now was running for his life to get back to his bike. He’d fired off several arrows, and hit two men in pursuit of him, but he wasn’t prepared for this. He finally reached his bike, but several men had entered a vehicle, following him, and were intent on either shooting him right off of his motorcycle, or running him down. Either way, they wanted him dead.

He heard Chloe’s voice over the comm. fearful and panicked. A bullet ricocheted off the rear taillight of the bike shattering it, Oliver swerved, zigging and zagging along the road. He could have sworn a bullet whizzed past his ear. “Jesus!” Oliver sped up, heart beating furiously, adrenaline coursing through his veins, expecting a bullet to hit him at any moment. Chloe called for him, and he answered her, but her response seemed to indicate that she hadn’t heard him, the sheer terror in her voice made his heart wrench. But somehow the thought of her waiting for him at the tower gave him courage and spurned him onward. She was there alone, and the need to get back to her grew stronger with every shot fired.

Chloe tried various channels, and even pulled up satellite feeds of the area trying to locate him. Nothing. “Oh God.” She tried hailing him several times with no results. Pain squeezed her heart as she thought of him. What if he’d been killed? What if they’d caught him? Chloe didn’t know what to do, and thought of leaving the tower to search for him. She tried the comm. again, nearly on the verge of tears “Watchtower to Green Arrow, report immediately!” Again, no response from him, and now her terror was rising, icy fear twisting around her heart. She tried to calm herself, but it was no use, she couldn’t lose him, she just couldn’t. Not now, not ever.

She thought to call the others. Bart could be here in seconds, but she wasn’t certain of the whereabouts of the other team members, other than Clark.

The sound of the elevator caused her pulse to quicken and her stomach to flutter in anxiety. The door opened, he was there, hood down, dark glasses removed, and then she was running to him. “Oliver!” she cried, throwing trembling arms around him, tears of relief blinding her eyes, and choking her voice. “Oliver.”

Oliver caught her up in his arms, holding her close, holding onto her, a lifeline. Clinging to her because feeling her body against his own, grounded him, brought him back to reality. She was crying for him. “I’m here, Chloe. I’m here,” he soothed, saying the words of assurance for her as much as for himself, unable to let her go or set her on her feet.

Neither one of them knew who initiated their first kiss, but it didn’t matter. Maybe they both did. The moment she lifted her tear streaked face from his shoulder, their lips found one another’s and he kissed her hard and frantic because he had to, he needed to, because if he didn’t he thought he’d never feel sane again. And he needed to feel alive and well, and home and safe, and at this moment she was all of those things. He tasted her tears and drew strength from them, knowing that they were shed for him. His gloved hands roved over her clothing, touching her in places and in ways he’d never touched her before; the slenderness of her waist, the fullness of her hip, the small of her back, the roundness of her bottom, the curve of her breast. She was real, and she was here, and that was all he wanted.

They clung to one another, even as he set her down, her feet touching the floor, his lips following hers. Chloe returned his kisses, equally frantic and fevered, needing to feel him, and know that he was really there with her. The minutes she thought she might have lost him seemed an eternity, and she wasn’t going to let this moment pass without letting him know how much she wanted him, needed him right now, as much as she needed the air to breathe.

They staggered blindly, knocking into things, something crashed to the floor, Chloe didn’t know what, did care as long as she could keep kissing him, and breathing his breath. And then, frenzied lips and tongues and teeth were not enough, his gloved hands roaming her body was not enough. Clothes were too restrictive. She needed more.

Oliver felt her small hands pulling on the zipper of his vest, opening it, her hands warm and trembling, and eager over his skin and he knew she needed him as desperately as he needed her. She tugged at the leather, pushing it over his shoulders with a whimper of impatience. Oliver fell to his knees, taking her down with him, shrugging out of his vest quickly and tossing it somewhere, his mouth never leaving hers. Gloved hands grasped the neckline of her blouse, pulling it open, not bothering with the buttons, letting them fly, he lowered his head, burying his face between her breasts, strong arms around her back, hands pulling her closer, because she was not close enough, never close enough. Her fingers threaded his hair, her head thrown back, sensations of his mouth over her skin causing her to gasp and moan. He traced a path of fevered kisses back up to her throat, his breath hot against her, and found her mouth once again, devouring her lips with his.

Chloe reached and groped for him, touching him everywhere, exploring hard, lean muscle, as he tore his gloves from his hands, and his fingers curled around bra straps, pulling them down. She slid her fingers inside, just over the edge of the waistband of his leather pants, tugging on them, wanting them off, pulling him closer, because he was not close enough, never close enough.

They stopped kissing long enough to remove their pants, hastily discarding useless coverings, and once completely naked, Chloe’s mouth found his again, and pulled him down on top of her as she lay back upon the living room floor, wrapping her thighs around him. The sensuous brush of bodies, and the sleek caress of skin against skin overwhelmingly intoxicating them both. Neither one of them thought to ask or question what they were about to do. Neither one of them wanted to think at all. They needed to feel. Feel something other than fear and the hatred of others, and death, and the insanity of the world they lived in. In this moment there were no narrow escapes from death, no 33.1 facilities, no Lex Luthors, no evil doctors, no dangerous missions, no secrets and dual identities. There was only Chloe and Oliver giving themselves to each other. Simply, wholly and completely.

“I need you, Ollie,” she panted between heated kisses, guiding him, urging him inside, urging him to fill her with some glimpse of heaven in the midst of the hell they’d just been through. “I need you.” And when he sunk himself into her silken warmth for the first time, stretching and filling her, the cry of ecstasy at his invasion of her body, and his deep, answering groan as she surrounded and engulfed him tightly, reverberated through them, and shook each of them to the core, unadulterated passion burning in them both.

He needed her too. Couldn’t get enough. No matter how hard he drove into her, or how deeply he plunged, he needed more of her, needed to be closer to her. Meeting her, chasing her in a frantic effort to be one with her, to be part of her. She gripped him, her fingers digging into his flesh, pulling him closer, wanting more of him too. Each of them finding comfort and respite, and escape, and mind numbing pleasure in each other’s bodies. “God, Chloe,” he breathed in wonder. “You feel so good,” he crooned deeply, “So good.” Good was an understatement. It was fucking incredible.

Chloe rose to meet him in uncontrolled passion. She called for him, his name released on moaning breaths as she reached her own incredible heights, her body jolting in small involuntary spasms that spiraled through her as she shuddered beneath him. She gasped in sweet agony. “Oliver…”

She came for him, and he watched her face, so beautiful in the height of ecstasy, as he moved within her, filling her deeply, all the way, over and over again. Taking her with urgency, until his eyelids closed and his own climax surged within him, rushing, flowing, overwhelming him with its intensity, moaning a long guttural sound of pleasure as he emptied himself pulsing inside her heat.

He felt almost drunk in his languidness, collapsing on top of her for a time, then reluctantly slipping out of her warmth, and rolling to his back, panting. He reached for her, pulling her into his arms, uncertain of what he should say. Unable to speak.

They were silent for long moments until they were almost able to breathe normally once again.

He struggled for something, anything to say. “Chloe… I…”

“It’s okay, you know? It doesn’t have to be anything more than this,” she whispered, stroking his chest lightly.

“I don’t… know what happened. I know what happened, I just…”

She rose up on her elbow, gazing down at him, green eyes compassionate and understanding. “Heat of the moment. We needed each other, Ollie. That’s all. And that’s okay.”

He nodded lightly in agreement, grateful for her understanding. Oliver reached up to caress her cheek, his eyes drifting over her face. He moved his hand gently, threading his fingers into her hair. She was his friend, he didn’t want to hurt her, or cause this to complicate their friendship or their working relationship. And then without warning, more thoughts invaded his mind. What if he needed her more than he was willing to admit? What if he needed her again and again? What if what had just happened was the culmination of something that had been brewing between them for a while? Obviously they had both wanted this to happen. What if one of them wanted more? What if he wanted more?

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered, offering him a small, reassuring smile. Stroking his brow with soothing fingertips, as though trying to ease the thoughts from his mind.

Fingers entwined in her hair, he cupped the back of her head, and pulled her down toward him, his parted lips meeting hers. He wouldn’t worry.

He took her back to his bed, and kept her with him the entire night. They slept in each other’s arms; then waking during the night in darkness, desires rising to seek and find comfort and intense pleasure once again in each other’s bodies, and then utterly exhausted, they slept again peacefully. The first time he could excuse away as the heat of the moment, the second time, there was no such excuse, and then reaching for her, needing her once more in the morning before she left, he’d given up on excuses. He wouldn’t worry, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that this wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

* * * * *

Chloe awoke to find herself wearing a hospital gown, strapped to the bed in a white clinical room with medical equipment nearby. She struggled against the bonds to no avail.

The door opened, revealing an older man, in a lab coat with salt and peppered hair. He pushed his glasses up with a forefinger. “You’re awake. Good.”

“Who are you? Why am I here?” She struggled against the bonds once more. “Let me go,” she demanded.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Ms. Sullivan,” he said as he strode toward her, a syringe in his hand. “You are a very remarkable young woman, with an amazing gift, and I plan on using whatever means necessary to tap into your ability. Now, I’d like to get started as soon as possible with the testing procedures.”

“What do you mean?” Chloe asked, her panic rising, her green eyes wide. “I don’t have an ability.”

The doctor ignored her, gesturing for two orderlies to enter the room. “I assure you this will be painless.” He smiled then. “For the most part.” He swabbed her arm with alcohol and injected her.

Her worst fears were coming to fruition; she was to be used as some kind of lab rat, dissected and prodded. “No! Please, don’t do this!” she cried in terror, and then was silent.

End Chapter 3

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