TITLE: Scream

CHARACTERS: Oliver Queen, Felicity Smoak

SPOILERS/WARNINGS: Established Olicity

AUTHOR'S NOTES: My first attempt at something a bit sexy with Felicity and Oliver. Feedback is always appreciated. Please be kind :)

DISCLAIMER: Oliver Queen and company belong to DC Comics.

Felicity whirled on Oliver the moment he stepped off the foundry stairs. "What were you thinking? I told you to get out of there as soon as possible. The cops barely missed you."

"Pffft! I had time," he said as he placed his bow back in the glass case and began to remove the straps for his quiver. He stopped when Felicity came over to help. "They had to go up five flights of stairs and those boys in blue looked like they have enjoyed a few too many doughnuts."

She narrowed his eyes at him, obviously not agreeing with his assessment of Starling PD officers' fitness level. "Sometimes I just want to scream when you pull these stunts. But Digg says no because he's on the comms, too, and would really appreciate it if I kept his ear drums intact." She hung the quiver on its hook and turned back to help him out of the leather jacket.

Oliver captured her hands, lowered his head and whispered, "I really like it when you scream."

Her startled chuckle had him raising an amused eyebrow. And when she began backing away from what he was sure was the predatory gleam in his eyes, he broke out into a full-fledged grin.

"No, Oliver. We don't have time for this right now. Digg—"

"—is on his way home to Lyla. So it's just the two of us. Here. Alone. Tonight."

The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a nervous habit of hers that never failed to stir him.

"Not so alone." That came out almost like a squeak. Felicity cleared her throat. "There are about three hundred people upstairs."

Oliver cocked his head. He could almost hear the throbbing bass of the music from the club. "Yeah, I can hear the," he paused, and in his Arrow voice continued, " strong … steady … pounding beat."

A small groan tumbled from her lips, further stoking the fire that was first ignited earlier in the night when he'd stolen a kiss from her just before he'd gone out on patrol. Suddenly impatient, he scooped her in his arms, laughing at her surprised yelp and strode quickly toward the couch in the back of the foundry.

He almost stumbled when Felicity wrapped her arms around him and pressed her mouth to his neck and took a small bite. Heat followed the path of her lips as they raced from his jaw to his cheekbones and finally, thank the Lord, his mouth. The moans she was struggling to contain almost made him lose his grip on his already tenuous control.

He lowered her quickly to her feet in front of the couch, stepping back to divest himself of his green jacket and black shirt. Felicity made short work of the zipper and button of his pants but growled in frustration when she couldn't slide the tight leather off.

Oliver had no such problems, removing the suddenly tight pants and equally constraining boxer shorts in one action. Felicity had shed her blouse and bra but was still trying to shimmy out of her skirt when Oliver pulled her down to the couch and quickly twisted so she was under him. Bare skin against bare skin had her gasping and him hissing. Fearing he would explode if she touched him, he drew her arms high above her head. She tried to twist out of his hold.

"Oliver, no, I want to touch you," she protested.

He lowered his lips to the pulse in her throat to distract her. He tasted and he savored until he could hear her heart pound louder, run faster. Every gasp, every moan he drew from her stoked the fire into a furnace that threatened to consume him. When he drew her breast into his mouth and gently bit, she cried out. Frantic to hear more, he let go of her hands to tug up her skirt. The scrap of lace she called her underwear offered no resistance to his questing fingers. And when he found her hot, wet and ready, his heart nearly stopped.

"Hurry," she said, her mouth and hands torturing him into surrendering. He rose up on shaky knees and wrapped her legs around his hips. His instinct was to plunge, but he fought it. He slid in as slowly as he could. He could dimly hear her trembling breaths, her whispers, begging him to hurry, but he wanted to her screaming, crying out his name. He pulled out slightly and gave a quick shallow thrust that had her writhing before pulling all the way out and sinking into her again, slowly, steadily. He kept up the maddening pace — long, deep strokes; smooth, slippery strokes — even when the legs around his hips tightened, the fingers in his waist dug in.

He felt her begin to tremble and picked up the pace. He drove himself into her faster and faster, again and again. "Here, here, come with me, Felicity," he whispered. He pressed his thumb against her and she screamed his name, her back arching like a bow pulled back and released as ecstasy swamped her. Her release triggered his own and his final thought was of how sweet his name sounds on her lips.

The end