Work Text:
Stress relief.
Oliver didn't have too much experience with it in his life in Starling City. After all, you have to be stressed to need the relief.
But on the island, things are different. Six months spent running for his life and being tortured can change things. The arrival of the supply plane in a less than a week certainly doesn't help.
Oliver could really do with some fucking stress relief - which probably explains the fucking.
He doesn't protest when Slade first kisses him, hot and hard and insistent in a way that Laurel never was. Everything about the man is unfamiliar, the callused palms, the rough scratch of his beard, the muscles drawn taut beneath tanned skin.
Everything on the island was different, but this is one disparity Oliver likes.
He lets himself get pushed up against the inside of the derelict airplane, doesn't even mind how the rough wall scratches at his bare back. Oliver is completely focused on the plush curve of Slade's mouth against his, the hot hands skimming up his chest.
He feels those hands at his fly, popping open the button and unzipping his pants, and the slightly-painful pressure on his cock is released.
"Turn around," Slade orders, yanking Oliver's pants down.
Oliver obliges, kicking away his trousers and bracing his hands against the wall. He shivers as Slade pulls away, body aching with want and anticipation.
But nothing could have prepared him for the sudden, wet heat of Slade's tongue curling into the crease of his ass. Oliver gasps. The sensation is unlike anything he's felt before, overstimulating but still not nearly enough to get him off, all at once. He keens and presses back against it, needing more.
A rough hand on his hip forces him to be still. Slade's tongue presses deeper, skimming the rim of his hole, making Oliver huff out muted curse words. The damp muscle traces around the rim, before pressing deeper into Oliver, just starting to open him up. Slade makes a filthy, pleased noise, muffled by Oliver's ass, and it has Oliver trembling.
The pressure of Slade's tongue, the throbbing need in his cock all reduce Oliver to a quivering mess. Pride forgotten, he moans, "Just fuck me already."
Slade pulls away so fast that Oliver is left reeling. He barely registers the swoosh of fabric against skin, the pop of a bottle cap. He chuckles quietly.
"We're stranded on an island, surrounded by mercenaries, and you remembered to bring lube?" he asks.
Slade's chest is pressed up against Oliver's back. "I'm nearly always prepared, kid," he murmurs, voice a low purr in Oliver's ear.
As he speaks, he slips his first slick finger into Oliver, a quick, smooth movement. Oliver groans and presses back immediately, trying as hard as he can to ride it.
"If I'd known you were this easy, I'd have done this ages ago," Slade mutters appreciatively. He kisses his way across Oliver's shoulders, dragging his teeth in a way that makes Oliver arch back and groan.
"Keep going," the younger man orders, panting with need.
Slade chuckles to himself before pulling his finger out, replacing it with two before Oliver has time to complain. This brings an unfamiliar feeling, the slow stretch as Slade scissors his fingers. There's a pain, but the low burn gives the pleasure a new edge, one that's making Oliver see stars. He rocks back and forth as Slade works his fingers deeper in, crooking his hands to skim Oliver's prostate, making him yelp.
"Shh, can't have you giving us away, kid," Slade whispers.
He brings up his right hand, pressing his palm down over Oliver's mouth. Oliver nips at the flesh, but Slade doesn't move, only hissing slightly in pain. The man ignores Oliver's protests, choosing instead to press in a third finger, adding to the burning stretch of Oliver's hole. He picks up the pace, fucking Oliver with his fingers in earnest.
Oliver's eyes are screwed shut, all of his attention focused on the ring of slick, hot pleasure radiating through him, working himself on Slade's hand as well as he can. His cock is throbbing with need, swollen nearly to the point of pain, but he doesn't reach down to touch it. Slade will take care of it, he takes care of Oliver.
Eventually, the fingers aren't enough. He can feel Slade's cock, heavy and erect, as it brushes over his ass cheeks. Those brief, dragging touches leave pre-come smeared across Oliver, make them both moan.
"I - I'm ready," Oliver finally grits out, voice muffled through Slade's hand.
"I should hope so," Slade replies.
But he doesn't remove his fingers, opting instead to place a gentle kiss on the back of Oliver's neck.
"Well?" Oliver asks, unable to wait. He jerks his head back, freeing his mouth from Slade's hand.
"Oh you're just gagging for this, aren't you, kid?" Slade hisses, twisting his fingers to drag a wanton groan from Oliver. "Let's hear you beg for it."
Well past the point of self-control, Oliver doesn't have to think twice. "Please, Slade, get in me," he pleads. "Please, I need -"
Slade's fingers slip out of Oliver unbelievably quickly, leaving him gaping and empty and shaking with need. He whines at the loss, desperate for release. But he isn't disappointed, as the hand is quickly replaced by the thick, blunt head of Slade's cock.
Oliver braces his arms against the wall, spreads his legs further to invite the man in.
"Oh, fuck, if you could see yourself," Slade moans into Oliver's ear, pressing all the way in.
Oliver can't hold in a noise like he's dying. The sensation is alien and amazing, the way his ass feels stretched wide around Slade's cock.
Slade quickly proves that he's been holding back until now. The pace he sets is punishing, thrusting into Oliver so hard their skin is slapping. His fingers clench into Oliver's hips so hard they're probably leaving bruises, but Oliver just adds the pain to list of feelings that are sending him hurtling towards orgasm.
By now, his cock's is aching and throbbing and dripping - he needs, needs, needs Slade to touch him.
"Eager, are we?" Slade manages to gasp out between pants.
Oliver never realized he said his last thoughts aloud, but he nods vigorously, rocking his hips as Slade continues to pound into his, impossibly hard and fast. The pleasure builds inside him, the familiar heat. It would take so very little for Oliver to just -
Slade's right hand slips forwards and in one, two, three quick tugs, Oliver is coming, thick spurts spilling over his stomach and Slade's fist and the wall. His vision darkens for a moment, head spinning at the sudden rush.
Slade, somehow, speeds up even more. He's ignoring his own order to stay quiet, groaning curse words and Oliver's name into the wide expanse of his back. He pumps into Oliver like a well-oiled engine, smooth and fast and hard, using Oliver's hole.
But even he can't stay on pace forever. His thrusts grow sloppy, frantic, as he gets closer to orgasm. Oliver pushes back one last time, clenches around the thick cock inside him, and Slade's hips stutter. He gives a low groan and comes, hot and heavy into Oliver.
The two are still for a moment, panting and sweaty and trembling in the cold of the night. Slade finally pulls out of Oliver, steps back and becomes all business, getting dressed and muttering something about tomorrow's training.
Oliver is still shaky as he turns around, grabs a rag to mop himself up. He pulls on his pants slowly before meeting Slade's eyes.
"So, what was that?" he asks, wincing slightly at the rasp in his voice.
Slade quirks an odd grin. "Just a little stress relief." Then his face falls into familiar, stern lines. "Get some sleep, we've got a lot of work in the morning."
Oliver smiles back at the man. That, he could live with.