Author's Comment: I have no explanation for how this came about. It just did. And as I was writing I kept hearing the song Paralyzed by Finger Eleven in my head...just in case you happen to listen to music while you're reading, my not be a bad backdrop...

Right. Carry on.

BlueSuedeShoes

Oliver's grip tightened around his drink He wished the music would stop long enough for him to clear his head. As it was he thought he might go deaf. The heavy beat of the music pounded itself into his brain, pulsating with the rhythm of his blood, making coherent thought impossible.

Maybe that was the point of going to a club like this one, to avoid thinking. The dark, flashing lights, the overpowering music, the thick smell of sweat and perfume and alcohol mingled together served as a way to reduce a person to nothing but feelings and sensations.

So, unable to hear himself think straight, Oliver tried to hone in on the things he was feeling.

Exhausted. That was a given. His very bones ached with weariness and every movement took seemed to take a toll. He hadn't slept for more than a few hours total in over a week. He and the rest of the team had found themselves tangled in a massive drug ring and had been working relentlessly to take it down. Las night, finally, they'd brought the entire project tumbling down, and they'd all nearly lost their lives in the process yet miraculously made it out in one piece.

Thirsty. Also a given. He could drown in alcohol and it wouldn't be enough right now. He wasn't sure how much he'd had to drink, just that he'd had more in the past. He still definitely needed to get a lot more drunk than he was.

There were some other, more abstract sensations, though.

Salt. He could taste salt, not because of anything he'd eaten or had to drink, but apparently as a result of watching the sweat glistening on her neck and chest as she danced.

Vanilla. It was the perfume she always wore and he swore even from where he was sitting her could smell it just as distinctly as if he had his face buried in her hair.

Heat. In several different ways. It wasn't just hot in the room. He was having difficulties not imagining the way it would feel to touch her right now, how hot her skin would be beneath his fingertips.

Oh yes, there was clearly a problem here. It had started when they'd come back last night and he'd staggered into Watchtower first and seen her there, the relieved look flooding across her face at the sight of him. Oliver couldn't explain what had come over him. It had taken all the self-control he could muster not to simply sweep her into his arms and start ravishing her in every possible way. He blamed it on the adrenaline, the near escape from death. Bullets had missed him by inches, not even. And she was just there and he wanted something--someone--to hold onto. The others had joined them shortly as Chloe'd inspected him from head to toe, making sure there was no severe damage. He'd gritted his teeth as she touched him, forcing himself not to move a muscle until finally she moved on to check over the others one at a time.

He'd tried to dismiss thoughts of her all through the night, knowing he just needed sleep to calm himself, to regain control. And now, someone, he couldn't remember who anymore, had suggested that they all needed to get away for a night, to get "outside of themselves." So they'd gone to a club as a team, somewhere outside of the city where they wouldn't be recognized, and that had lead to this...this...display.

He glowered at her. Chloe's eyes were closed as she danced erotically with some stranger, his arm snaked possessively around her waist from behind, inappropriately low, and she had laid a hand over it to hold it there. Her other hand had slid up behind her and around his neck, placing him so that his lips just brushed her ear.

Oliver nearly crushed the glass in his hand now, unable to take his eyes off of her as the man's hand slid even lower and her head tilted back from the sensuality of it.

Why the hell had they come here? This wasn't Chloe. Chloe was prim and conservative and stood behind computer screens. She didn't wear low hip hugger jeans that were so tight her blood couldn't possibly be flowing properly and certainly not silky, loose-hanging black halters that showed an absolutely indecent amount of cleavage and far too much of her lower back. She didn't go to nightclubs. She didn't listen to music like this. And she definitely did not grind her ass against some strange male who was clearly hoping to get some. Why the hell did this generation call this dancing? This wasn't dancing. It was a simulation of sex.

A feral, frustrated sound escaped his throat as he slammed his glass down on the bar, indicating for the bartender to fill it up again.

He tried to distract himself, glancing around to see what the others were doing. Victor was dancing with some girl, although he seemed to be far more respectful than Chloe's dance partner. Bart was standing amidst a group of girls, all of whom were giggling at his antics amusedly. AC was over at the other end of the bar, chatting up a pretty looking brunette.

And then there was him. Alone with the tequila.

He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. Maybe another drink wasn't such a good idea, he thought as his eyes were drawn against his will back to Chloe.

He watched her unswervingly, eyes tracing her figure shamefully, trying and failing to remember whether he noticed how beautiful she was before. He couldn't form the actual thoughts in his mind, but he was seized with an awareness that he'd never seen her let loose like this before. Yes, it was out of character for her regardless, but he'd never even seen her acting remotely casual. She was all business and respect and...appropriateness.

Then her dance partner leaned in and started sucking on her neck, his hands sliding indecently over her thighs, and Oliver very nearly snapped. Apparently, so did Chloe. Her eyes flew open and she made some small attempt to twist her neck away, but it failed to discourage him. So then she tried to push away altogether, but she didn't seem to be able to break his hold on her hips.

Oliver knew she could take care of herself, that if she wanted to, she could launch this guy through the window, or at least take him down with a well-placed blow to his solar plexus. She might need a bit more provocation than this slime was giving her before she'd take it that far, of course, but she could certainly handle the situation by herself.

Yes, he knew that, but he pushed away from the bar anyway and headed over to her.

As he approached them, the guy said something in Chloe's ear that was impossible to hear over the music, but Chloe grimaced with displeasure. That was more than enough incentive for him. He wrenched the guy backward and punched him discreetly in the gut, winding him without drawing any attention to the three of them. With ridiculous ease, he sent the man staggering away from them, nearly crashing into another throng of people as he stumbled. He turned to Chloe, who gave him a grateful look.

"Thanks," she shouted over the music. "He was getting a bit overly-friendly." She tossed a less-than-amused look in the direction of the man who had been feeling her up.

In his mind, Oliver wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her flush against him, kissing her fiercely and suggestively, completely giving into the animalistic instincts that seemed to be coursing through his blood at the moment.

Instead, though, he just nodded. Then, to his shock, Chloe rose up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Buy me a drink?" she told him, making a statement more than a question, heading toward the bar without waiting for a response.

He followed her, not sure whether his brain were fully functioning or not, and at the bar he paid obligingly for the brandy manhattan she ordered. She sipped it slowly, eyes roving the club over the top of the glass, pausing to rest on each individual member of the team, keeping tabs on them most likely. Apparently satisfied that they were all right, her eyes landed back on Oliver. She gave a small start to find that he was staring intently at her, an eyebrow up.

"What?" she asked, taking another sip of her drink warily.

"Is this normal for you?" he asked, gesturing her choice of dress. It wasn't until she was beside him that he'd also noticed the silver stilettos, taller than her normal choice of understated high heels.

She frowned, apparently unsure what he was talking about.

"What?" she repeated over the music.

He didn't think saying "Your outfit" would fully cover his meaning, and in the end he only gestured absurdly at her clothes and then in the direction of the place where he'd had to pull the pervert off of her.

The small crease in her brow remained for a moment, watching him in amusement, and then it smoothed out in understanding. She shrugged. "Not entirely. This isn't really my scene, but it's good to break out of my shell once in a while," she explained, shouting in his ear to be heard.

He wished they'd turn that blasted music down.

"You want to leave?" he asked her when he saw that she was unable to suppress a yawn.

She looked at him a moment, then shook her head. "Not yet." She set her drink down and surprised him by grabbing his hand and leading him back onto the floor, pulling him close to her.

She didn't draw him around behind her like she had been dancing previously, but brought them chest to chest. Oliver didn't think about it--couldn't have if he'd tried--but placed his hands on her lower back and set the rhythm of their dance, allowing the throbbing pulse of the music to course through them both.

And there it was. The smell of Vanilla, the imagined taste of salt, and God help him, the heat. Her hands were splayed on his shoulders, not intimately, just there, but it still felt like the tips of her fingers scalded him, even through his shirt, as though they sent him bursting into flames, and he could already feel himself getting aroused as their bodies moved together. Surely she had to notice that at some point? If she did, she didn't say anything about it, or she didn't seem to care.

He tried to look somewhere other than at her, but felt awkward and stupid for it, and eventually he just succumbed to the sensations surrounding him and closed his eyes, feeling her.

His eyes flew back open in shock when something pressed softly against his mouth. The song ended and blended seamlessly into a new one, but they had stopped dancing.

When Chloe pulled away she looked nervous, like she wasn't sure what had come over her either. She glanced away and appeared to be checking that none of the league had seen.

She rolled her eyes then. "Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking," she said, self-admonishment clear in her voice as she tried to extract herself from his hold. "I'll just--"

Oliver's lips cut her off, crashing down on hers in a scorching, seductive kiss, arching over her and nearly lifting her toes off the floor. He knew he wasn't thinking, that it had something to do with the club's power to stop him from making intelligent decisions, but he didn't care. He couldn't think about what he was doing; he was just doing it.

Chloe's arms went around his neck in encouragement, but at the same time she tore her lips from his, breathing heavily.

"Now I want to leave," she said to him.

Of course she did. Now that they had gone and done something completely irrational, she wanted to go outside where they could think and be sane. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and nodded instead.

"How did you get here?"

"Victor drove me."

They glanced at Victor simultaneously, and simultaneously made the decision that he need not be bothered. He was over at the bar with the girl he'd been dancing with earlier, and apparently it was going well. She was smiling shyly at him and fiddling with her hair.

"I'll take you, then," Oliver said unnecessarily. They'd both known he would. "Go let the others know we're leaving. I'll go take care of the bar tab."

She nodded, finally pulling away from his hold on her and went to let Victor know what was up.

Oliver settled his tab and saw her already walking through the door. He hesitated a moment, somehow aware of the fact that stepping outside those doors meant questions and, worse still, explanations. With a grimace he strode determinedly after her.

Bursting through the door he was washed over with cool night air, so clean compared to the stale, heavy air inside. He felt like someone had placed cotton in his ears, a muffled feeling to the night's silence. And finally there was room in his brain for logical thought, but only one flashed across his mind like bold red letters stamped across a document:

Oh my god, I kissed Chloe.

He looked around for her and found her leaning against the brick of the building, eyes closed as her chest rose up and down, heavily drinking in the fresh air.

"Ready?" he asked her, his voice sounding oddly loud now. She looked up at him, a nervous expression flashing across her face before she nodded.

He led her to his bike, and, giving her the helmet, he asked her, "Where do you want me to take you?" expecting her to say "home" because that was what you did with girls like Chloe: you took them home and you said goodnight and left it at that.

But then she surprised him. She shrugged. "Anywhere."

He searched her face wonderingly. She looked strangely serene. "What are you thinking in there?" he asked her with a frown.

She sighed easily. "That I don't get out enough."

He shook his head at her.

"Your turn," she said, nodding to him with a small smile.

He looked confused.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she told him.

"That you're weirdly calm right now. And that I should take you home," he told her seriously.

She tilted her head at the way he said it, though. "But?" she asked, recognizing the incompleteness of his statement.

"But I don't want to take you home."

She didn't respond.

"And I don't know why."

She nodded slowly. "You've been a lot better at ignoring it than I have," she said matter-of-factly.

He stared at her. Ignoring what? His brow furrowed deeply until the knowledge settled in on him heavily, making him feel like an idiot for not realizing it before.

Oh.

Chloe.

Right.

"And you?" he questioned her, knowing she'd know what he was referring to.

The corner of her lips tugged into a smile. "I'm a lot quicker on the uptake than you are," she explained. "Until last night, of course," she added, a knowing look flashing across her eyes.

He raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Is there ever anything you don't notice?" he asked.

She smirked. "If there was, would you overpay me the way you do?"

He chuckled. "Guess not."

They were silent for a moment. It had been easier inside, where they could hardly hear themselves talk, let alone each other. Now Oliver didn't know what to do.

Finally he threw a leg over his bike and waited for her to do the same. When her arms were around him securely, he revved the engine and looked over his shoulder at her, repeating his previous question. "Where do you want me to take you?"

She rested her head against his back for a moment. "With you," she answered finally, putting on the helmet and gripped him more tightly when the bike instantly took off, startling her.

Oliver rode off with her, thinking that this was potentially dangerous, her allowing him to make this kind of decision.

Then, with sudden clarity, he realized the worst thing he could do when it came to Chloe was think too much, and he gave into what he was feeling for her.