A/N: Late night one-shot while I procrastinate editing my speech for my Voice and Diction Class.
2:05 on a Tuesday: The Foundry
It was 2 am and her coffee was cold. And she was tired, unbelievably drained and she ached to climb into her bed which was back at her small apartment on the other side of town. Only a twenty minute drive, but twenty minutes seemed like an eternity when your eyes seemed permanently shut. She contemplated stapling them open at this point.
The glare of the computer screen reflected a sequence of numerical equations, but all Felicity saw was blurred lettering and a bright screen. Maybe it was time to go; maybe she should start making it a habit of calling it a day around 1 am instead of drudging bleary-eyed into her apartment just as the sun was about to rise. These long nights and early mornings were wearing heavily on her normal, everyday self.
1 am was a definitely good time to leave.
She began collecting her things, shoving papers into her brief case while grabbing for the strap of her purse.
The door of the Foundry burst open as violently as a screen door in a hurricane. Felicity shot out of her seat, a pen wrapped up in her fist—deadly and ready; her belongings forgotten on the floor.
The sudden burst of adrenaline had her heart in her throat and that tired ache dissipating into the chaos.
"Felicity! Get the table cleared!" She could see Diggle clutching an unconscious Oliver, his arm haphazardly around his shoulder. Felicity practically flew to the metal table, pulling papers off of it and tossing them behind her. Diggle flopped her boss's body onto the cold steel and she went to work ripping his mask off and pulling his hood down. His mouth was slack, his eyebrows scrunched, and there was blood sticking to his temple, dark-colored and glistening.
She didn't even know that Oliver was out doing Arrow duties tonight. Did they forget to tell her? Felicity frowned at the thought.
Nothing good ever came after 2 am.
"What happened?" Her hands shook as her and Diggle ripped the rest of his gear off. After all of this time, this still was not easy for her.
"Shot in the left thigh, took a big fall, Vertigo got away." Felicity felt erratic. Beyond erratic. She felt Dig place a hand on her shoulder as he gave her his best 'calm-down-please-because-this-is-not-the-time-to-panic' look. He was right, of course, and she felt herself nod. Oliver was now down to his boxers and she could see his forehead glistening in a pale sweat. Panic swept through her again.
"Dig, go get the medical supplies." And he did, rather quickly. Felicity turned back to Oliver, her teeth between her lips and her eyes full of worry. Whenever Oliver got himself injured, Felicity had the worst time handling it. They were not professional doctors and they did not have the best equipment to handle serious injuries. It was always a roulette game, and they have been lucky so far. Almost too lucky, if you asked her.
A cold touch on her hand caused her arm to jerk.
"You're so warm." Oliver's voice was hoarse, and yet surprisingly gentle.
"Oli—"
"Here we go." Diggle came rushing back with a black box. He sat at Oliver's left side, Felicity on his right. Diggle was more practiced with pulling out bullets—and medicine in general for that matter. Years in the military left him well-practiced and amazingly calm under pressure. She watched, mesmerized as he worked the flesh on Oliver's leg. Her hand was being squeezed with light pressure and it took her a moment to realize Oliver was still holding onto her hand. Oliver could sense the worry in her. He hated seeing the people he cared about stressed out because of his well-being.
"I've had worse." He gave her a small quirk of the lip and she felt her stomach flutter. Maybe it was his easy-going smile or the way his hand felt enclosed around hers. Oliver was a charmer after all.
The bullet popped out on one piece—thank god. No shrapnel to dig around for. It should heal with little scarring. To Felicity, it was crazy to her to see him so calm after getting shot AND having the bullet pulled out. Then again, his time on the island was a mystery to her and all the knotted scars on his body proved a testament to how strong he was.
So strong.
"Felicity, could you bandage it up? I don't want to bloody up the gauze." Dig stood up and held out his hands which glistened with the dark coloring of Oliver's blood. His shirt had some stains on it as well.
"N-no problem." Her usual stutter when she was nervous popped up, and she swallowed hard after that.
Her hands coiled the white bandage around his leg slowly, carefully—deliberately. She marveled at the dark, wiry hair of his legs. Its masculinity was not lost on her. The indent of muscle on his inner thigh had her cheeks warm up like a canister of flames.
She felt herself staring.
The muscles on his legs tensed when she accidentally brushed over a sensitive spot.
"OH! Sorry—you know I'm awful at this. The only time I've ever done anything like this was when my cat burned its tail on a candle I had lit— it was apple spiced cinnamon—and I didn't have enough money to bring her to the vet and my apartment smelt like burnt hair for days—" She was rambling as usual. She pursed her lips and looked down at her neat wrapping job. "Can I get you anything? Tylenol perhaps?"
He smiled at her. "Please."
She was up in a second and sped away to a cabinet on the other side of the Foundry. Dig was walking out of the bathroom when she walked by, his stained shirt in one hand and a new one in its place.
"Do you think you could handle Oliver on your own for a little while? Lyla just called and it sounded urgent. It could be the baby. Would you be okay?" Diggle sounded concerned, and he was fiddling with his shirt. When he fiddled, she knew he was more than simply worried.
"Of course, you should go, I got this." Felicity gave him a weak smile as he left. She hoped nothing else happened.
Because nothing good happened after 2 am.
She returned to Oliver and moved her hands to rest on his back as he shifted into a sitting position.
"Here, I-I hope these help." Oliver swallowed the little white pills in one shot and sipped on the small cup of water she provided. She lingered a little too long next to him. He noticed.
"Let me help you to the cot in the back…you should get some sleep." There were two small cots in the Foundry for those long nights where they needed to stay late, or take turn on shifts. Not the most comfortable things in the world, but Oliver had slept in worse places. He let her hold his torso while they slowly made their way into the back room. He relished in the feeling of her heat. He was a cat bathing in the sun that was Felicity, calm and glad to have her around. The curve of her waste perfectly fit his and it was hard not to feel the rush of warmth that settled in the depths of his chest.
"Aren't you tired?" He asked as she helped him climb onto the cot. The mattress was, indeed, shit. He could feel the springs in his back and he knew he'd get a bad night's sleep.
"Exhausted, actually, but you know how it is. Criminals never sleep and therefore I don't." She grinned at him and went to grab the extra wool blanket that rested on the other cot. "But I can't leave you unattended, you never know what could happen. Slade might come popping through the door. And honestly, where would you be without me to protect you? Not that I could do much, but I could try—" His hand enclosed around her wrist after she finished spreading the blanket over his body. Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, or the sleep deprivation, but neither could ignore Oliver's bold move.
They were both silent. Felicity's rambling cut short by Oliver's movement. The air around them became thick—thicker than the humidity that plagued tropical climates.
Oliver made the move to pull her closer to him and she did not object.
"I wouldn't want you to leave anyway." His lips were moving, but all Felicity saw was how the blue of his eyes seemed impossibly darker under the fluorescent lighting. She breathed in and did not let it out immediately. "I want you—" He didn't finish because she moved her face closer to his, close enough to feel the vibrations of him blinking. She was in trouble.
But it was wrong, and she knew that. She was smart.
And again, she was back at the idea of 2 am being a terrible—terrible time to be awake.
"We shouldn't." She realized that it was a lie the second she whispered it to him. It was hard—too hard. He was with countless girls. In fact, none of them were even in the same league as her. They were all gorgeous, strong, quick with their charm. She was the IT girl with glasses and a rambling problem. Let's just say there weren't any boys lining up at her door.
And he was her boss.
Her boss…
Oh god, her boss.
Felicity stood up with amazing alacrity, finding herself more startled by that realization, because above all else, she was not that type of girl. Not at all.
And Oliver looked hurt, like really hurt. He was a guy not used to rejection in the slightest.
"Not that I don't like you, because I do—I really, really do. I just…don't want things to get complicated and I'm not the type of girl who does one night stands with her boss, of all people, and I get hurt easily—with my heart that is."
Felicity didn't realize he was standing in front of her until she felt his rough, calloused hands engulf her face. His thumbs were anchored to her cheeks, softly moving back and forth. He admired the way her eyes became dazed under his touch.
"I don't want you to be one night." His lips buzzed around hers; she could feel his stubble against her chin before the entire entity of his lips lined up and pressed against hers. After that, it was a sweet pulling of the lips. Oliver opened his mouth against hers and Felicity matched him, following his lead in the kiss. They were leaving soft smacking noises behind that echoed around the empty room, it made Felicity shiver in delight.
He was in a trance.
She was in trouble.
But neither of them cared as he led her back-back-back to the cot, her bottom hitting the edge of the mattress. She let him lay down first, minding ever so attentively of his left leg, all the while her lips pulled and played with his, leaving him in a constant state of want. He began kissing her neck, the stubble of his chin tickling her. Felicity giggled as she moved on top of him, fitting her body to his in a comfortable puzzle, her soft edges lining up with his harder edges.
"Mmm." His groaning had Felicity's ego practically soaring. She leaned down cautiously, casting her eyes between his dark irises and the small curve of his cupids bow. He watched her with elated interest as she kissed a pathway from his collarbone, to his Adams apple, to his chin, and finally planting them against his lips.
Oliver loved how sweet if a kisser she was. It made his heart pound a little harder and his body pulse. He was not use to sweet. Laurel always had to be in charge. She was as bossy in bed as she was on a day to day basis. Helena was insane. She fed off adrenaline induced sex. And Sara…well, she was like him. Broken.
Felicity was always here—and she was sweet and felt like a home he never had. Oliver needed that. He subconsciously ached for the light. She balanced him. Being the Arrow made him dark, made him something else. Her sweet, sweet light kept him floating on the surface.
His fingers moved to the swell of her back and up-up to the zipper of her dress. Oliver worked in two's. Kissing those lips and pulling that infernal zipper. Halfway down, the metal locked into place and Oliver pulled back from their kiss with a frustrated groan. He ripped the zipper down and Felicity gasped.
"Oliver." He smiled and lifted his face up to kiss her forehead, lingering for a moment.
"Sorry." He wasn't, but she let him pull the rest of the dress off of her.
All Oliver could process was how good her skin felt against his. That is, until her fingers began to play with the waist band of his boxers. Shit. He adjusted himself, letting her feel all of him.
Her fingers slid over the dark fabric, the outline of his anatomy pressing hard into her palm.
"Oh my—"
"I can't take the teasing, Felicity."
"Oliver, your injured—we shouldn't."
"Shhh, I'm a man. I can take it." His smile was endearing and she found herself kissing him again. Felicity didn't flinch when the rest of her clothing came off, or when her shoes hit the floor with a 'thump', or when Oliver's boxers suddenly disappeared. She was done thinking.
Oliver turned them over and slid into her gradually, measuring his movements, and making sure his tender left leg did not get all of the pressure of his body.
"Oliver, oh—my god," Felicity sighed loudly. She rested her hands on his back, her fingers playing connect-the-dots with his scars as he thrusted into her. Oliver had his head down, face resting at her temple. He pressed sloppy, warm kisses to her temple as he moved his body in time with Felicity's. His heart pounded under his ribcage like a bird trying to escape its cage. This was perfect.
"M-more," she stuttered after a few minutes of their set rhythmic tempo. He moved his face to hers and engaged her in another kiss as he quickened his pace. Oliver found himself so lost in the pillowy plushness of her lips, the inferno that was his body, and in the way his fucking balls ached and tingled with a need to release. He felt everything inside him burst and took satisfaction in Felicity's scream. Her fingers gripped his lower back, unconsciously massaging the muscles there as her hips twitched up to meet the last of his release.
He fell beside her, clutching her frame with desperate hands.
"Please don't leave."
Oliver hated the way he sounded, but he was exhausted and wanted her sunshine to stay, just a little bit longer.
She turned into his body and wiggled just a little bit closer to him, the squeaking mattress echoing around the empty Foundry.
"I won't, I mean how can I? You just—we just—it was nice, and I think I'm hooked and—" Oliver kissed her ramblings away, letting her relax against him.
Maybe life after 2 am wasn't so bad.