Author's Note: This is the beginning of a collection of possessive/protective/jealous Oliver fics. Steamy, sexy... dare I say smutty in places. Enjoy!

Cal the Creep

Oliver watched from the bar, his blood beginning to boil.

He knew this might happen when he caught his first sight of Felicity's dress choice for their evening. The black dress hugged her in all the right places and her back was exposed, framed by thin straps that might as well have been nonexistent. Her heels brought out the muscles in her calves and lengthened her legs. The necklace hanging at her collarbone was an arrow, meant especially for him; it was a reminder that she was his, in every possible way.

But now she was being chatted up by some creep. The guy kept inching closer to her, glancing down at her chest and her dark red lips. Oliver could sense Felicity was getting a little uncomfortable. He looked toward the bartender who was slowly mixing their drinks. He was wondering what he would have to do to make the man mix faster.

The creep was leaning closer. Oliver could see the man's hand twitching, as if itching to touch her. It made him want to pommel him, hard. He was sure the creep would go out easily with the right amount of force to the face. He would be a slack-jawed, crumpled mess on the club floor. Maybe a little blood oozing from a broken nose and hole from a missing tooth. It would be so easy.

The bartender finally mixed the drinks. One apple martini and one glass of his preferred vodka. They should have been done minutes ago, long before the creep had sauntered over and made it his goal to lure Felicity in.

He took one glass in each hand and walked smoothly back to Felicity's side. He held the glass out to her, then leaned in to place a long and sensual kiss to her jawline. "Sorry it took so long," he said, ignoring the unwanted creep. "The bartender needs to up his game a little."

Felicity eyed the creep, clear annoyance and nervousness in her eyes. Oliver glanced at the man, an intimidatingly pleasant smile spreading across his lips. "Oliver Queen," he introduced himself, extending a hand to the man.

"Cal." They shook hands, Oliver putting threats and force into the gesture. Cal winced. "Quite the handshake you have there," the creep said, rubbing his hand like an animal cleaning a wound. Oliver stifled a chuckle at the sight.

He watched as Felicity took a sip of her martini, eyes staying on him, ignoring Cal. Oliver wondered what disgusting lines Cal had tried on her; lewd or cheesy, it made no difference. He was a lowlife who couldn't tell when a woman wasn't interested. Oliver's eyes trailed down to the necklace resting above her breasts, framed by her collarbone. It shimmered and glinted in the dancing colored lights above them, sending Oliver into a new round of possessiveness and slight jealousy.

He had walked away for a few minutes and lost out on precious moments with the woman he loved, allowing for Cal the Creeper to swoop in and steal them away. Moments he could never have back. That he could never experience.

His blood began to boil anew.

Felicity leaned in, her painted lips grazing his ear, triggering his hand to come to the small of her back. "Going to the restroom. Get rid of this guy, please," she said, her voice slightly begging.

He nodded, kissing her temple before she walked away.

He watched her, keenly aware of Cal staring at her. He whipped his head around to find Cal's eyes lingering on Felicity's backside. "So, Cal," Oliver began, taking a lengthy swig of his vodka. "What brought you here tonight?"

Cal's eyes left Felicity and came to rest on Oliver. "Well, always nice to be in the company of beautiful women," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm sure you understand what I mean." He gestured in Felicity's direction.

"Oh, I definitely understand what you mean." Oliver was having a hard time keeping his voice from lowering into a snarl. "However, I understand that it is not appropriate to enjoy the company of someone else's woman." His eyes locked onto Cal's, glimpsing fear and the obvious instinct to run. But Cal remained in place.

"Listen, man, I had no idea she was here with you."

Oliver set his glass on a nearby table and plastered on the most convincing grin he could muster, then stepped forward, into Cal's personal space.

Cal held up his hands. "Whoa, buddy-"

Oliver reached out and grasped the hand he had shaken moments before, twisting it until he heard the telltale crack of bone. Cal let out a stifled cry as Oliver spun him around, bringing him into a brotherly side-hug, massaging his shoulder in what might appear to be support and encouragement. "Listen, Cal, and you listen well. Felicity is not for your eyes or your hands or your disgusting thoughts. Do you hear me?" When Cal didn't respond, Oliver put pressure on his twisted wrist.

"Yes," he groaned. "I hear you."

"Now, as you can tell, she's mine. And I'd certainly appreciate it if you would leave. Y'know. Before I do something I may regret later."

Cal let out a strained chuckle. "You mean you don't regret breaking my wrist?"

Oliver grinned, a glimmer of his violent past flashing before his eyes, with no regret. "For your information, I haven't broken your wrist, Cal. But, now that you mention it…" Oliver twisted the hand further, listening as the bones and joint popped and snapped. A satisfying sound followed by a garbled cry from Cal. "Consider your wrist officially broken."

With a shove, Oliver sent Cal stumbling forward into a hostess carrying a tray of drinks. The glasses shattered around their feet and patrons turned and gawked at the scene. Cal mumbled apologies, his eyes never leaving Oliver's. The hatred in his eyes was pathetic as he cradled his arm to his chest.

"Take it easy, Cal," Oliver said with finality, swiftly turning toward the restrooms as Cal made for the exit with a whimper.

Oliver waited outside of the ladies' room, his heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, rage roiling through his veins. When Felicity stepped out, he swiftly took her hand and tugged her into the shadows, her martini sliding out of her hand to shatter behind them. "Oliver," she said with a gasp.

The hallway was dark and secluded, small alcoves scattered about. Oliver pushed them into one, caging Felicity in with his arms. From what he could see of her, her eyes were wide and her breath coming out in pants, chest heaving. "I got rid of him for you," he growled against her neck, trailing his tongue over her pulse. She pressed into him, driving him crazy.

"Thank you," she whispered mid moan.

He let his hand caress her back, sending up goosebumps along her spine. His hand traveled lower, down the curve of her ass to the lovely space beneath at her thigh. He gripped and hiked her leg up and around his waist, her dress trickling down to expose more skin. She shivered as his hand left the fabric and clawed at bare skin. And then he realized it. Something so much more intoxicating than the clothes or her loose curls or the necklace around her neck.

She had nothing on beneath her dress.

He nipped at her neck as his fingers roved the skin of her inner thigh, slowly making their way down to the inviting warmth at her center. She clutched at his shoulders, grinding against him as his fingers made contact, exploring her body for the thousandth time. But this time it felt different.

He was laying claim. He was reminding himself that she was his and he was hers. That no one, not a single creep in a noisy club, could take that connection away.

She stretched higher, her back braced against the wall and her leg gripping his waist tighter. Her lips lingered at his ear as one of her small hands moved to his belt, tugging him closer. "Remind me to draw in creeps more often," she breathed into his ear, causing his hand to move more aggressively. She hissed and his spine tingled at the sound. "I am only yours, Oliver."

Before he could stop himself, he growled into her ear: "You're mine."