Chapter Text
Oliver fought his way through the crowd of drunken tourists, thinking for maybe the thousandth time what a terrible idea this had all been. Diggle’s physical therapist friend was in the hospital himself, and now he was stuck in Vegas on the weekend before New Years, alone, the pain from his humiliation from the Other Archer still aching in every joint.
This was his first time in Vegas without Tommy, he realized with a pang. They used to come by every month or so, passing the weekend in a drunken haze, ending up in bed with a girl or two. There was no life in the city when he was alone and sober. Tommy would tell him to get a drink, and suddenly, Oliver needed a drink more than he ever had in his life. The club music thundered in his ears as he pushed past a couple who were practically undressing each other, rolling eyes as he remembered a time that would have been him.
Thinking about Tommy led him to think about Starling City and about all the people there, and there was something of relief in him that he was away from them, away from all the lying and the love that wore him down more than his nightly activities. Thinking about Tommy made him think about Tommy and Laurel. Oh yes, he needed a drink.
A woman teetering on stilettos bumped into his back and he winced. “Ooh, sorry,” she giggled, pawing at his chest. “I’m just so clumsy.”
Oliver found himself fighting two very different instincts: his old one, to feed her one of his lines and take her back to his California king, and his new one, to run as far from human contact as possible. So he just stood and stared until she was dragged away by a slightly more sober friend and then continued on his quest for the bar.
The bar was nearly full, the only remaining stool next to a blond woman who was swinging her legs and sipping a martini. The remnants of the playboy in Oliver recognized dimly that they were very nice legs before he claimed the seat and raised his hand for the bartender. He came over, only to head to the woman first. Of course.
She gulped down the rest of her martini in one go and then made a face. “You know I’ve always hated those,” she said conversationally.
The bartender leaned forward with a flirty smile on his face. “Then why are you drinking them?”
She leaned forward as well, but the gesture was artless, almost innocent. “I’ve been avoiding tequila ever since that incident in college,” she said in a hushed voice. Oliver and the bartender looked at her curiously, and she shrugged. “It’s a long story. I drank too much and threw up in my roommate’s shoes.” She paused and tilted her head. “Huh, I guess it wasn’t that long.”
Oliver cleared his throat and the bartender turned reluctantly to him. “A scotch please,” he said firmly. “Neat.”
“That’s a really manly drink order,” the blond woman observed, and then turned slightly pink. “Not that I was implying that you were manly. I mean,” she gestured vaguely at him, “look at you, manly is putting it mildly, but I wasn’t making a pass at you.” She paused and shut her eyes for a couple of seconds, opened them, and turned deliberately to the bartender. “Just give me your cheapest red wine, please. I give up on the martinis.”
“No problem,” said the bartender with an amused smirk.
Oliver could feel the corners of his own mouth turn up as he watched the woman next to him. She was wearing a pale gold dress and her hair was in yellow curls around her face. She was drumming her fingernails on the counter. They were red. She was the most colorful person he’d ever seen.
Her head snapped around and he found herself looking into her blue eyes. “You’re staring,” she said in a stage whisper. “Which normally I wouldn’t mention but the alcohol has made me even more babbly than usual.”
“Just enjoying the view,” said Oliver, wincing internally at how easily the line slipped out of his mouth.
The woman’s forehead furrowed slightly.
“Sorry,” he found himself saying, not knowing exactly why.
Her face cleared. “It’s fine. That was hardly the worst line anyone’s ever used on me. Besides, this is a bar in Vegas. That sort of thing is pretty much standard. And,” she leaned towards him and flashed him a brilliant smile, “I did, technically, accidentally hit on you first.”
Oliver chuckled and then froze at the sound. When had he last done that, he wondered.
She didn’t seem to notice, turning away from him to watch the bartender make his way over. “Yeah hitting on random strangers is pretty much why I’m here,” she continued.
The bartender set the drinks down in front of them and they each took generous gulps. “Yeah?” Oliver asked her a bit curiously.
She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I just…woke up and decided that my life’s been in a bit of a rut and I need to…move forward.” She looked a little like she didn’t want to continue the subject, so Oliver stayed quiet. He was sure she couldn’t stay quiet for too long, and, sure enough, she said, “So, what brings you to this crazy, drugged up club in Vegas on a holiday weekend? No offence, but it doesn’t really seem like your scene.”
Oliver was almost shocked into silence. People usually assumed that this was his scene. Then he smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. “That sounded awfully close to ‘Do you come here often,’ doesn’t it?”
She turned pink again, and her cheeks matched her pink lips. “No, but if it works for you, go with it.”
Oliver thought about how to answer. “I was here to see someone, but they ended up not being here. So I decided to stay until my reservation’s over.”
“Way to be mysterious,” she said, pressing her lips together with amusement. “You had to see a guy about a thing?”
He grinned and shook his head. “That’s me, mysterious.”
She cocked her head at him a little too knowingly, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I hate mysteries,” she confessed, but didn’t press him.
Oliver couldn’t have looked away from her face if he tried. “And what are you doing at this club? Doesn’t really seem like your scene either.”
She broke eye contact, looking down at her lap. “I actually grew up here,” she said, and if he hadn’t been trained to read people he might have missed the hesitation in her voice, as if she had been seconds from not answering the question at all.
“Maybe I’m not the only mysterious one,” Oliver said softly. He kept his eyes trained on her face until her head snapped back up to meet his gaze. She simultaneously raised her eyebrows and flushed at his scrutiny, but all he did was give her a tiny smile in return.
He didn’t know how to explain his strange attraction to the tiny blond in front of him. It wasn’t entirely physical, although there was certainly a lot to appreciate. It was more; she lightened him, she brought him out of the hell that was his life. Fifteen minutes with her and the knots in his shoulders had already relaxed. He felt like a normal guy with a normal girl, a girl who made him smile more times in fifteen minutes than he had in years, a girl whose bright pink lips looked incredibly kissable right now. Odds were she would leave in a couple of hours and he would never see her again.
Impulsively, he leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. She looked up at him, mouth a little bit open, and then her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned in the rest of the way. It was a good kiss, slow and careful, her hand coming to rest on his elbow, fingers curling into his shirt. When it was over, she looked up at him with hooded eyes and he said, “Do you want to continue this conversation somewhere else?”
She licked her lips unconsciously. “Um, sure,” she said, brow furrowed seriously. “That’s why I’m here, anyway, to get laid.”
Oliver was strangely shocked by her forwardness.
She flushed. “Wow, I wish I could say that was the alcohol talking but I really have no filter.”
He shook his head in amazement. She was…something else. “So, what’s your name anyway?”
She glanced away. “I don’t… This is just a one-night thing. Everything else…hasn’t exactly gone well for me. So this is just a fling and I don’t think I want to do names.” She looked a little flustered now, wringing her hands together. “Is that weird of me not to want names? I’m not a serial killer, I swear.”
Oliver felt a bizarre mixture of relief and disappointment. “Maybe no names would be better,” he agreed. This was his weekend off, his weekend away from Oliver Queen and all the baggage he dragged around with him, so no names did seem ideal.
She pursed her lips and tilted her head. “You can call me Meghan,” she said decisively.
Oliver thought for a second. He supposed he would go with his middle name. It seemed easiest to remember. “Jonas,” he replied, holding out his hand.
Meghan wrinkled her nose.
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t like Jonas.”
“Nope,” she said with emphasis. “But I guess I can work with it.” She grabbed his hand and pumped it.
He gave her an amused smile and kissed her again. She met him halfway that time and her mouth opened under his almost immediately, one hand still enveloped in his, the other snaking around his neck to pull him even closer. Meghan pulled away first, resting her hands on his chest for balance.
“Any more of that and I would have fallen off my stool,” she said breathlessly.
He huffed out a laugh, gaze still fixed on her slightly swollen lips.
Her eyes seemed similarly fixated. “So,” she said, voice low and husky. “Your place or mine?”
“I can’t believe you’re staying at the Bellagio,” said Meghan almost accusingly about halfway through their walk.
Oliver shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s where I usually stay.”
She sighed incredulously and kept walking, pausing to shake out an ankle, wincing a little.
“Are you sure you’re good to walk?” he asked, slowing their pace.
“It’s nothing I didn’t expect,” she said bleakly, gesturing at her six-inch heels. “It’s the price of trying to look sexy.”
“We can always take a cab,” he reminded her.
“No,” she said stubbornly, marching on ahead. He followed with a shrug until she spun around, taking him by the elbow to stop him. He turned to face her questioningly and then she grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulled him down and kissed him. This kiss was even less chaste than the last one. Her teeth scraped across his bottom lip and he wrapped his arm around her waist to hold her steady as he kissed her back. They broke apart, panting.
“What was that?” he asked hoarsely.
“Just reminding myself it’ll be worth it,” she whispered back, still clinging to his shirt.
Oliver blinked to clear his mind. It was just incredible how she’d rewired him almost instantaneously to fall into her orbit, but damn if he wouldn’t give as good as he got. He leaned in close to her face so their breath mingled and then growled, “Oh, it will be worth it.” He watched in satisfaction as her eyes darkened.
Meghan sank back on her heels, grabbed his hand and dragged him back down the sidewalk. “Let’s hurry it up then.”
Oliver walked her through the doorway of his hotel room backwards, kissing her all the while. She started on the buttons of his shirt and his roaming hands found the zipper on the back of her dress, pulling it down with practiced fingers. She kicked off her heels, shrinking by half a foot, and then put a hand on his chest to pause him. “I don’t usually do this,” she said.
“You said that before,” said Oliver, smirking and kissing her again. “And I’ve heard that before.”
“Yeah, but I’m hoping that if I say it multiple times it’ll sound less cliché,” she admitted.
He grinned and pushed down the shoulders of her dress. It fell easily to the floor, leaving her in a matching lacy underwear set. She had definitely been planning this, Oliver thought with appreciation. He let his eyes roam over her soft curves and smooth, pale skin, but just as he reached out, her hand caught his. She looked nervous.
“I actually haven’t done this,” she gestured vaguely between their bodies, “in a long time. Like a long time, like three years.” She breathed out and squeezed her eyes shut. “Actually pretty close to exactly three years, which is why I think it’s time to move on, finally. Let’s just say my last relationship didn’t exactly end well.”
Oliver grimaced as he thought of Helena. “I think there’s a lot of that going around,” he mumbled.
“So yeah,” Meghan said, her voice faster now, nerves bringing a flush to her cheeks that spread out across her neck and chest, disappearing somewhere under her lacy, dark blue bra. “I just wanted to warn you, well not like, warn you, cause I’m sure it’s like riding a bike…”
“Hey,” said Oliver softly, cupping the side of her face. She leaned into his touch, nose wrinkling slightly.
“Sorry, I talk a lot, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
Her eyes were still shut, so she yelped slightly in surprise as he kissed her. He smiled into her mouth at that. She was…adorable. And somehow, this quality of hers was really, really turning him on. He let his lips slide down to her neck, her pulse beating a quick tempo against his mouth. “I don’t mind,” he mumbled into her soft skin.
Her hands came up to cradle his head. “You are good at that,” she said with a sigh, and then, “Ooh, don’t stop doing that like ever.”
He reached down to put a hand on her thigh and tugged upward, and she obligingly brought her legs around to wrap around his waist. He put a hand on her ass for balance (what an ass she had) and, still kissing her neck, carried her to his bed, tipping her gently backwards until she was sprawled on the white comforter, her hair in an arc around her head.
He paused to admire her, but she tugged him impatiently forward, intent on undoing his shirt. When she was finished, she shoved the shirt away and he tossed it away. Leaving him shirtless, leaving her staring at his chest, scars and all.
Meghan’s mouth was a perfect O as she looked at the slash marks on his belly, the bullet wounds on his shoulders, the bite mark in a star shape opposite his heart. He’d memorized the scars long ago. He’d also memorized the various expressions of the people who saw them: pity and horror from Thea and Laurel, neither of who had never looked at him the same way again, or a twisted sort of empathy, like from Diggle and Helena. It reminded him of who he’d become, how he could never go back, never be ordinary, never be truly understood by the people he loved. Looking at Meghan now and waiting for her inevitable questions hammered in for the first time what a terrible idea this was. No number of one-night stands with cute blonds could let him escape the travesty that was his life. It was naïve to think so; it was the way he would have thought before.
An excuse sprang to his lips. He was seconds from pulling away when Meghan reached out and ran her thumb lightly down his abs. “Wow,” she said softly. “You are ripped. Is this even real? Are you real? Is this what you really look like?”
Oliver couldn’t help the confusion that slipped out then. “You’re not going to…” he began, unsure, breath hitching as her hand dropped lower and lower on his abdomen.
She looked steadily at him and then rolled onto her side. She tugged her lacy panties down by an inch, making the blood rush to his ears, and then ran her fingers over a small, Gothic skull tattoo on her hipbone. It looked so out of place on the colorful, babbling girl that he felt like laughing. “This,” she said, a little sheepishly, “is something that I really don’t want to have to explain. So if you don’t mention this, I won’t mention yours.”
Something like wonder hit him hard in the chest and he found himself speechless.
“Deal?” she asked sweetly, pulling her panties back into place.
In response, he buried his face in her collarbone once more. Her hands came up to explore the planes of his chest as he licked and sucked around her neck, enjoying how she squirmed and squealed under his mouth. He reached a hand under her to unclasp her bra just as she reached his waistband and worked the button off, pulling the zipper down. He tore his mouth off her smooth skin just long enough to gasp, “Condom?”
“In my bag,” she said, gesturing vaguely over to where her dress and shoes still lay scattered across the floor. He retrieved it, wondering when he’d stopped carrying them around (definitely shortly after he nearly drowned while cheating on his girlfriend with her sister), dumped the contents on the bedside table, and sorted through the pile of stuff. There was lipstick of various shades, an entire pack of red pens, a pair of square-frame glasses, and, strangely enough, a pink Swiss army knife.
“You brought seven condoms?” he asked incredulously.
Meghan sighed. “A girl can dream. Besides, my plan’s been working so far!” She did a cute little fist bump.
Oliver laughed aloud and brought one over to where she still lay. She’d taken her bra off, exposing white breasts with puckered pink nipples, and as he watched she slid her panties down her legs too, letting them drop to the floor, wriggling invitingly under his gaze.
“You just gonna stare, Jonas?” she teased, tilting her head to the side. She stuck one hand between her legs, her eyes on his chest, three fingers working on her clit. Oliver almost lost it right then and there. He growled and pounced on her, mouth finding her neck again. He put one hand gently on one of her breasts, rubbing slowly in circles, and then harder until she moaned loudly, so loudly his head snapped up and her hand clapped over her mouth. “Sorry,” she whispered.
He leaned over her until they shared the same breath and then whispered, “Actually, that was hot.” He expected her to blush but instead she reached across and pushed his pants down, grabbing him through his boxers. He grunted. “What?”
“I’m ready to go,” she whispered into his mouth. “And it seems like you are too.”
He swallowed. “Yeah I’m definitely ready to go.” The smile she gave him was pure sin.
She tugged at his boxers until they slid down, and he unwrapped the condom and rolled it on. Meghan watched him, propped up on her elbows, licking her bottom lip guilelessly. “How do you want me?” she asked, staring unabashedly at his cock.
“How do you want it?” he asked, transfixed on her face as she considered the question.
“Hard,” she replied breathlessly. “Fast. That’s the M.O. for one night stands, isn’t it?”
He hissed out a breath, looking her over from head to toe. “On your hands and knees,” he said in a voice so low he saw her shiver.
“Oh, yes,” she said emphatically. She flipped immediately, wiggling her ass in anticipation. He clambered onto the bed behind her, just watching her for a minute, open, wet and ready. Before he slid in, he found her clit with his thumb, rubbing furiously until she gasped. “Hurry it up back there, Jonas,” she called over her shoulder, her voice tight, almost like she wanted to get this over with. Oliver frowned down at her, but it was too good an invitation to pass up. He thrust in without warning and she moaned and then said, “Wait, give me a moment.” He watched as she took two deep breaths, and then wiggled her hips again. “Okay let’s do this,” she whispered.
Oliver started out slow, holding his breath as he felt her warm wetness surround him, but she thrust furiously back at him, and it didn’t take long for him to break and fuck her the way they both wanted. She rocked back and forth with him, not keeping silent even for a second. “Oh yeah, just like that,” she panted. “That’s a…good angle. Don’t hold back. With abs like that you can definitely go faster.”
Oliver smiled even as he slammed into her with even more force, ignoring the pain in his joints to give this girl what she wanted. The heat of an incoming orgasm started deep inside him but he squeezed his eyes shut. Not yet. Not until he’d made her come. The sounds Meghan was making and the sound of their bodies hitting each other was almost enough to put a stop to his resolution immediately, but then, thankfully, Meghan groaned, “Oh, I’m definitely almost there. Just hold on…”
She sank forward onto her elbows with a cry and he grabbed hold of her hips and followed her forward onto the bed and into his climax. He lay atop her for a few minutes, breathing with her, until she moved underneath him and he slid off. “I’ll be back,” he told her quietly and headed to the bathroom to clean himself, wrapping a towel loosely around his waist. He figured she would probably leave soon, feeling a pang of disappointment, but this was Vegas, where there was no need to spend the night.
She followed him in, distractingly naked, heading straight for the towels. “That was good,” she said matter-of-factly. “Thank you.” She grabbed one, ran it under the sink, and cleaned between her legs.
Oliver watched her, half-hard already. “I could say the same to you.”
She beamed at him, still scrubbing her thighs. “Really? That’s great cause I was super worried. You have like this playboy vibe going…” She paused and frowned at him. “Do people even say ‘playboy’ anymore? It sounds super 50s. Anyway, you’re…” she waved her hand at him, “and I’m a nerdy IT girl who hasn’t gotten laid in three years.”
Oliver blinked at her. “You’re what?”
“I work in IT,” she said brightly, switching to the other thigh. “It’s honestly a dead end job that I’m way overqualified for, but I…” Her face clouded over a little, and she just finished with, “don’t mind laying low for a bit.”
It kept hitting Oliver how little he knew about the tiny girl in front of him, and this bothered him more than he cared to admit. Nearly every person in his life had that speck of darkness in them, as much as he tried to pretend otherwise. And here was this woman, who clearly had some secrets of her own, secrets big enough to wipe that sunny smile off her face, and he could still see no darkness in her.
“Where did your mind just go?” the woman in question wondered. She’d wrapped the towel around her, which was disappointing. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I mean obviously you don’t have to tell me. That’s how this deal works, anyway.”
“Deal?”
“Yeah, you know, the Vegas Weekend of Sin,” she said, punctuating her last few words with jazz hands. “A short, torrid affair that ends with both people still strangers, going back home, never to speak again.”
Oliver couldn’t help but smile at her antics, but quickly dropped his voice to a low whisper. “What we just did was nowhere near torrid.”
Meghan’s mouth dropped slightly open, but then she smiled widely. “Does that really work on people?” she wondered, and laughed as he growled and tugged her to him, kissing her hard on the mouth. She dropped his towel and then ran one hand up his back and one down to rest on his ass. He pushed her away, and when she looked questioningly at him, unwrapped her slowly like a present, relishing the moment the towel crumpled to the tiled floor and she stood naked again before him.
Meghan worried her bottom lip between her teeth, and he reached out and tugged it gently loose. “Where did your mind just go?” he teased, bringing her forward with a hand on her hip.
He didn’t expect her to run a hand up his chest and bring her face close to his, whispering, “I was thinking I still have six condoms left,” but then again, he didn’t expect any of this. So he had no choice but to scoop up the blond bridal style, carry her out of the bathroom, and have her again, this time up against the wall. She really seemed to enjoy that, nails scratching lightly down his back, and even though his legs screamed with the pain of holding her upright, her uncensored moans of “Damn, this is hot,” were more than sufficient motivation to work through the ache.
The obvious next step was to lay her out across the bed and work her with his tongue, taking his time, riling her up as much as he could. She cursed like a sailor with every one of his strokes, her heels drumming on his back, her hands stroking through his hair. He had to pause every now and then to laugh at a particularly ridiculous turn of phrase, and every time, she’d push him back down, saying, “Don’t you dare stop now.”
She came dramatically, writhing on the bedspread, hands clawing at her sides, curses still flying from her lips. He rested his chin on her abdomen, waiting for her to look down at him, and when she finally did, he said, smirking, “So, oral turns you into a potty mouth. Good to know.” Then, he wondered why it was good to know, considering he’d never get to do that again.
She didn’t seem to notice, just gave him a hooded look that, impossibly, made him half-hard again. “That was incredible,” she breathed.
An unexpected wave of tenderness hit him in the gut, and he kissed her belly. “Come on,” he said, sliding off the bed. “Let’s get you cleaned off.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and winced. “Not sure I’m capable of moving right now,” she said, her breath still coming in short bursts.
“I’ve got you,” he said softly and scooped her up once more, smiling as she nuzzled instinctively into his collarbone. He set her down on the countertop, propping her up on the mirror, and picked up a face towel. She turned sleepily sideways as he got to work and sighed, “My nice curls turned into sex hair.”
He chuckled. “I kind of like it.”
“Well good, because it’s completely your fault,” she said pointedly, and he laughed again, wondering to himself when it had become so easy to do that again.
He picked her up again, setting her down on the bed and crawling in next to her. She moved half-heartedly to slide under the covers, turning into him, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “Wow, I’m sleepy,” she mumbled.
He kissed the top of her head. “I noticed.”
She was quiet for a second, and then said, “I didn’t expect it to be…like this.”
He stayed silent because he knew what she meant.
She snuggled closer and Oliver slowly ran his hand down her back. Her breathing evened out almost instantly, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
He had been stupid. He thought he could keep it physical, thought that after Laurel and Helena and Shado and Sara and every other woman he’d attached himself to, always ending in mutual pain, he would be smart enough to do so. But this girl, Meghan, or whatever her name really was, had breezed past his boundaries as if they weren’t even there. Really, he thought, letting himself sink into the bed, into her, he should be glad this was nothing more than a “Weekend of Sin.” He’d proven time and time again that he wasn’t capable of anything more.