A soft orange like the sun.
It oozed through the cracks, the patrons, the very base on which the old hotel stood on. The humidity in this bar, could choke her to death, and the tables were not far from decay, but it is the life that breathed through its people that made her stay. Patrons buzzed about, laughing, smiling, numerous, intimate snapshots happening simultaneously in a single moment. An organized frenzy. It was quite something, and it was the best background music for her focus. Spread out across her table were maps of the excavation site here, in Cairo. With a glasses temple pressed between her teeth, her eyes scanning the papers at a breakneck pace, she does what she does best. Connecting the dots.
She doesn't usually do field work; her skill set was more of an "indoor" variety. Her boss found her expertise useful in this particular excavation case and after several exchanges of "incentives" here and there, she had finally agreed with an air of reluctance. However, with the Sahara sun beating down on her severely vitamin D deficient skin all afternoon and sweat pooling in places she never fathomed could, Felicity began to doubt her decision-making skills.
With meeting the head of the Cairo division tomorrow, Felicity thumbed over every piece of information she could acquire about the project. Some acquired under shady circumstances. She liked being thorough, and she lived to impress. Needless to say, the head of this operation mirrored her enthusiasm. Notes on each map, post-it markings here and there revealed in-depth thought on the search for the artifact, reasonings and explanations. He definitely did his homework. And she was doing hers.
She grasped her glass, tipping the last of her ice tea, savoring its cold release. She was raising her hand for another drink when her eyes caught a glimpse of a man entering the tavern, amidst an approaching sea of open arms and warm greetings. She rolled her eyes, putting her glasses on and resuming her work, her red pen working away at her notebook, scribbling. And like her usual stream of unrestrained thoughts, the glass tumbled, knocked by her hand, pieces of glass shattering upon impact amidst her string of less-than-grateful curses. The unbearable clutz does it again. She bent down, gingerly picking up the larger pieces when she heard footsteps approaching behind her. The bartender. Suddenly, realizing the possibly compromising position she was in, she immediately shot up, a blush seeping into her cheeks. She whirled around, an apology ready on her lips when her eyes landed on unfamiliar blue ones. Very blue ones.
She gulped, blush deepening with red. The man before her didn't help either. Towering above her, he was well-built under his snug tank top, a perfect balance between lean and stocky. Hints of interlocking ink peeked from underneath, crossing over a shoulder blade. He had a rugged feel about him, with stubble on the jaw and ragged cropped hair beneath a brown, well-worn fedora, a matching leather jacket thrown over his shoulder. But it was his gentle, easy smile that confused his tough image. He didn't look like the type who smiled often—or ever.
"I'm sorry," she hastily mumbles, "I don't bend over for people usually…"
He raises an eyebrow, his grin deepening. It was only when it was too late that she realized what had just escaped her lips, eyes widening in the process.
"I mean, I was cleaning up the mess, like not bending over in a non-platonic kind of way," she stammered at a breakneck pace, faster than her mind could process the slippery slope she was heading down, "Not that I wouldn't think of you that way, because you're probably pretty good at non-platonic situations—I mean, anyone would be lucky to have you in a non-platonic way…"
Shit. This isn't going as she planned.
"No, I mean, speaking generally, that among the general female populace—or male, whichever you prefer is fine—you would be a prime candidate for…"
His laugh was what made her shut up. It was soft and raw, like something that wasn't used often. She folded her arms against her chest, lips pressed together, as she felt the red on her cheeks, at this point, turning an unnatural shade.
"Queen. Oliver Queen," he said, offering her an outstretched hand. Oliver Queen. Sounded familiar. She smiled, grateful for his easy dismissal of her blabber.
"Felicity Smoak." She could feel the roughness of his hand against her soft one, calloused against smooth.
He smirked, glancing down at her strewn maps. "Geography enthusiast?"
"More of a fanatic," she replied, her fingers reaching to fold them away. "I'll just keep them—"
"I didn't mean to disturb you," he interrupts her, taking his fedora off.
"No," she quickly replied. She didn't know what she was thinking. Nor did she care. She felt the most at ease as she has ever been, so sue her for wanting this, "It's nice to have an easy conversation once in a while."
And it was true. Since she had arrived in Cairo, her nose was buried deep in maps, research, isolated in her hotel room. She had made some calls back to headquarters, but mostly, she had not much human contact unless completely necessary. Today was by far a rare exception, she could use some fresh air once in a while, possibly some minor interactions with other organic lifeforms. And apparently, a completely out-of-her-league drinking companion filled the quota quite fittingly.
He raised a hand, motioning to the bartender with a friendly wave, "Etneen beera lw samaht".
With a nod, and a small smile, the bartender disappeared behind the counter.
"Don't know what that means, but I heard "beer" in that sentence," she grinned as she kept the last of her maps, stowing them away in her messenger bag as they sat across from each other. Hanging his leather jacket across the back of his chair, and his fedora on its left arm, he crossed his arms before her, sitting on the edge of his chair. It took all her willpower not to look at his arms, her eyes making a beeline towards his. That didn't help either. They were simply luminous in the incandescent light. A clear blue. Unreadable.
"So, Ms Smoak, tell me. Are you here on business" he murmured, leaning in slightly, his voice rough and ragged, "or pleasure."
Holy mother of God.
After several beers, their muddled decision-making pushed them towards a tequila upgrade. She felt free and at ease, with a man who oozed sex actively flirting with her. It's fair to say, it's been a productive night. She was blabbering about her days in MIT, toting a shot glass in her hands. He was a surprisingly good listener as he kept up with her rapid stream of idle chatter.
"By God, you graduated MIT in '09?" he said with better clarity than hers (he seemed to hold his liquor better than she did), leaning back in his chair, "You are remarkable, Felicity."
She grinned, "Thank you for remarking on it."
She leaned, head snapping back as the tequila slid down her throat, followed by a hard burn like fire. She bit down on a lime, her eyes strained on him and him alone. He glanced down at her lips, a subtle glimpse but she caught it. A smirk spread across her face.
"Now it's your turn," she said, pointing an accusing finger, "I've bombarded you enough with my word vomit for the night. So, what's the scoop on the mysterious Oliver Queen?"
His expression looked strained for a second, carefully controlled and shadowed, before it left as soon as it came, returning to his default easy smile. Interesting.
"Okay, we'll stagger the questions," she said, leaning forward, fingers lacing before her as she tried to mimic those investigation scenes she saw in numerous crime dramas. He shrugged, waving his hand, giving her the go.
"Parents?"
"Rich," he said, "the kind with their heads shoved up their asses."
"So not a very happy, family life, huh?" she said, "I can relate."
"I had an okay childhood," he snapped back a shot, followed by a lime, "I just had distant relationships with my parents."
"Any...other relationships?" she asked innocently, her eyes glued to the surface of the wooden table as her fingers traced its interlocking lines.
"Well," he started slowly, "there is this one girl."
Silence. Her fingers stopped tracing. "Oh really?"
"Yes," he said easily, throwing in the answer like an afterthought, "I've known her for quite a while now."
She snapped back a shot, biting down on the lime a little more aggressively than she wanted to.
He seemed to sense the tension that had arisen, throwing in a small overlooked detail, "Relax, I'm kidding, I was talking about my sister."
And the tension dissipated as soon as it came, "So, you have a sister?"
"Yeah."
"Close?"
"She's about the only family member I can really talk to," he said comfortably, his fingers laced across his lap, "I've never really had time for 'romantic' intimacy. Some come and go, but nowadays, I hadn't really felt something, in that sense….Until now."
Oh. The atmosphere seemed electrifying, her senses standing on edge—the moment before lighting struck.
"So...you feel something you like Queen?" she murmured under heavy lids, her fingers grasping the salt shaker. She was about to lean down to lick the skin between her forefinger and thumb when his hand grabbed her wrist. Slowly, he brought it to his lips, his eyes burning a path to hers. He licked the crease of skin, every move with a purpose, his pupils blown wide, circled by a ringlet of luminous blue—a black hole with its overpowering, magnetic pull.
"You tell me," he said, lifting his head. A breath hitched in her throat, her thoughts stopping as if the world had ended, which was definitely a first. He poured salt, licked and proceeded to gulp down the small remains of the tequila, straight from the bottle, smacking lips as he did. He stood, a gentle hand outreached. She took it, standing with him, her legs wobbling.
He placed his other hand on her hip, steadying her, eyes drowning in a raging fire that mirrored her own. She bit her lip, her hand firmly grasping his, the inferno consuming them in a heated need for more. Taking a step closer, his hand slid to the small of her back, over a sliver of exposed skin between her tank top, and her shorts, their lips almost brushing in a single, shared breath.
Business or pleasure? She pleaded the latter.
A quick, sharp pang.
Eyes peering up from fluttering lashes, Felicity winced at the low-throbbing in her head, followed by a soreness, snaking up her limbs, her spine. She smirked, a small smile appearing on her lips, as she recalled flashes, fleeting snapshots of the events of the passing night. Curled arms. Limbs intertwining. The feel of trailing kisses, of wandering, curious hands, tracing, exploring anything and everything. Breaths, sweet breaths shared in heated, exhilarating adrenaline.
The intensity of luminous blue eyes.
The bed sheets to her left were thrown over, a pillow hanging precariously on the edge, with no Queen insight. It was a one-night stand after all. Hell, the throbbing in her head was an easy price to pay—she needed a little risk-taking and liquid courage once in a while.
Sitting up on her elbows, her frizzy hair in a morning halo, she rubbed her eyes, her mind lazy and sluggish. They caught a glance at the clock—7:30. 7:30.
Shit.
She threw the sheets off, her mind on alert. She was supposed to meet the head of the Cairo operation at 8:00. Running towards her suitcase, her fingers grasped the first articles of clothing she could find, which happened to be some shorts and a tank—silently thanking the division's comfortable desert dress code. Hastily slipping the clothes on, she grabbed her messenger bag, checking for her maps, still tucked neatly. Throwing a button-up on, she was hastily putting on her hiking boots when her gaze caught a glimpse of something on her nightstand. His fedora.
She turned, her eyes staring in disbelief. She gingerly picked up the hat, feeling its well-worn condition, the fabric old and beat, revealing a small cup of coffee, still piping. And on it, in lazy, curling, scribbled writing, he wrote,
"No one-night stands. Take a chance?"
And beneath, was his number.
She grinned, not one of those small sweet ones. It was one of those goddamn, stupid, goofy grins. Putting on the fedora, and sipping the remnants of the cup at an alarming rate, she quickly saved his contact into her phone as she shut the door behind her, slightly giddy at the thought of the feel of his lips against her bare skin, and the possibility of more to come.
So I decided to write this fic out of impulse. This could become a multi-fic but at the moment, I decided to keep it a one-shot till I can find time to write more. Hope you enjoyed it nonetheless! Also, leave comments, they really help me improve my writing :-)
*Update: I've added a little glimpse at the morning after. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!