Laundry Night

By Bre (dust2dust34)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Arrow.
Rating: Explicit
Author's Notes: Part of my Heartbeats Olicity smutlet collection. Because apparently I need more ficlet collections instead of writing on my multi-chapters.

Summary: AU, one-shot. "Really? On the washer?"

I love smut. I try to avoid it because I get very carried away with smut, but a recent conversation with Calli (callistawolf) and reading other smut made me realize the world needs more Olicity smut. How many times can I say smut? Btw, Melissa (dettiot) has also started an Olicity fuckening fic drive on Tumblr, which spurned me to write this instead of the other billion things I'm working on. So go check that out.

I usually wait a few days before I post anything I've drafted, but I was too excited to post this. If the read is choppy, I apologize, I literally wrote this at work a few hours ago. All mistakes are mine.

She could feel him watching her.

She didn't have to look over to know his eyes were glued to her as she moved around the tiny laundry room, filling each washer - one with darks, one with lights, and one with her delicates, which had grown an alarming amount since she had started dating him. She hadn't thought she'd be the type of girlfriend who spent exorbitant amounts of money on lacy under things, but it had taken one night of him seeing her in the only sexy pair of matching lingerie she had to change her mind on that one.

Felicity shivered at the memory.

Dinner was supposed to lead to a movie, but it had actually led to the car which had led them straight to her apartment. She'd been unlocking the door, eyes half-hooded as he pressed the thick hardness in his pants against her ass, the flirty thin material of her dress suddenly feeling like tissue paper between them. His hand had slid up her arm, his palm warm and gentle, before sliding across her chest and underneath her dress, fingers skimming over the soft lace to cup her breast. Her breath had hitched, her hips pressing back against him more urgently as his fingers dipped under the demi-cup, finding her nipple.

She'd dropped her keys when he'd grazed the hard nubbin, his mouth on her bare shoulder, his other arm wrapping around her waist, yanking her back against him, nearly lifting her off her feet.

When they'd finally gotten inside - after it had taken her more than a minute to articulate that she had dropped the keys through the hazy fog his fingers were creating - he'd had her dress undone, his fingers brushing across her back, leaving a trail of fire in his path that had her panting his name before his mouth followed the trajectory of the zipper.

His lips dragged down her spine, bringing every single nerve to life under his touch; she felt every puff of air, every graze of his nose, the brush of the soft callouses on his fingers from all that ridiculous archery of his as he tugged the dress down her body.

He kneeled behind her, sliding the dress down her legs to pool at her feet.

Felicity licked her lips, concentrating on putting the quarters in their slots on the washer, but her fingers were shaking, the coins becoming slippery.

Oliver's intense gaze on her back where he sat waiting for her was not helping. Laundry time was precious time, she always came in the middle of the night when it was deserted and she could babysit her clothes without company. She should have left him upstairs.

She finally got the quarters in one washer, and she shoved the lip in, changed the washer settings and hit Start.

His eyes burned a hole in her back and heat pooled in the pit of her stomach.

His mouth grazed the top of her bottom, his tongue tracing the line of the lace thong, his hands gripping her hips. The simultaneous hard grip and soft touch was overwhelming as his thumbs kneaded her ass, spreading her cheeks, his fingers pressing almost painfully against her hip bones. He pushed his face against her lower back, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin there, making her shiver with a soft, "Aah."

He kissed her hip and dragged his lips down, leaving a light trail with his tongue where he pressed his lips to one cheek.

"Felicity," he whispered, need making his voice rough. She loved when he said her name like that; like it was a prayer.

He helped her step out of her dress and turned her so she was facing him. His large hands gripped her waist, sliding down slowly over her hips and thighs, his eyes locked on hers. He stared at the bra with hooded eyes, and she felt his heated gaze when he looked at the matching panties, nearly coming apart when he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and met her gaze again.

Felicity fought to breathe normally, looking down at him as he slid his hands up her thighs, his fingers gliding under the straps of her thong. He kept going, his eyes locked on hers, dragging the thin material up, the already-soaked panties rubbing deliciously against her sensitive folds. His eyes stayed on her as he leaned forward, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her stomach before he twisted his fingers, pressing the thong up harder so it slipped between her puffy lips and pressed right against her tender clit.

Felicity shifted, rubbing her thighs together.

She let out a choked gasp, her hands flying to cover his. Her head dropped back as he twisted the material further, her hair cascading down her back, tickling her skin, a heady combination as Oliver pressed the thong up higher, rubbing it against her swollen flesh until her hips started to move in time with his ministrations before he suddenly stopped.

"Oliver," she whispered pleadingly. He groaned when she rotated her hips, seeking more friction.

He stood suddenly, making her gasp, his hand sliding up her back and into her hair, his other reaching around to grab her ample ass.

When she started to shake off her heels, he stopped her.

"Leave them."

Felicity shivered again, feeling like his eyes were nailing her in place.

Oliver really should not have come down here.

The man just had to exist and he distracted her.

It was entirely unfair to look that good at one in the morning, sitting in a crappy foldout chair in the dingy basement of her apartment building in pajamas, surrounded by crumbling concrete walls and the outrageously loud roar of the old washers starting to rumble to life. She had once asked Garry, the building manager, how old the washers were and he'd said they were there when he'd started, which was in the 90's.

They worked, but with lots of protest.

She was on the third machine - wow, she was only on the third one, why was it taking her so long to put quarters into these things - when she felt Oliver move; how in the world she was so attuned to him was beyond her, but she felt like she was actually facing him and watching his movements, knowing where he was going to be before he did.

Felicity paused, her hand hovering over the coin dispenser, and she didn't have to wait long as her back burned with awareness. She jumped when his mouth pressed against her shoulder. He leaned in behind her, trapping her in his arms as he braced himself against the washer, not touching her.

He leaned forward enough to press his lips to her ear.

"You're blushing," he said, his voice so low she barely heard it over the loud rumbles of the washers.

"The circulation isn't that good down here, Oliver," she replied breathlessly. That wasn't a lie. When more than two of the dryers were going, it turned into a sauna.

"You don't look flushed, Felicity," he said, his voice roughening. He stepped closer and pressed the full length of his body to hers and she nearly dropped all her quarters. "You're blushing."

Felicity made a sound and Oliver lifted the hair off her neck, pushing it to one side. He trailed a finger down from her ear to her collarbone and instead of dropping the coins, she clenched them into a tight fist; so hard it hurt.

"When you blush, your skin turns pink, all the way up to here," Oliver said as he dragged his finger across her skin and back up the column of her neck. "What're you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing," Felicity said, forcing her hand to relax. She moved to grab another coin but it slipped from her fingers and hit the top of the washer with a loud clang, making her jump.

"Here, let me help," Oliver said. He reached around her and took four quarters with annoyingly steady hands and placed them in the dispenser and pushed the lip in. He'd clearly been paying enough attention to know she was on the lights, because he put in all the correct settings and pressed Start.

The machine shot to life, sending a course of vibrations right through her, heading straight for her center. She gasped, clenching the quarters into a tight fist.

Oliver pressed her further against it as it filled with water and she wiggled against him.

"Oliver, we're in public," she said, her voice husky and sounding like she did not care about that at all.

"It's the middle of the night," he replied, his teeth finding her earlobe, and she shuddered, before she shouldered him off. She was ready to give him a lecture on the decency of public displays of affection when the machine suddenly stopped filling with water, and a second later it started to shake as the agitation cycle began.

Felicity let out a gargled gasp, dropping the remainder of the quarters, all of them slapping the top of the washer with sharp clangs.

She let out a soft, "Oh frak," that ended in breathy gust of air when Oliver bent down, his hand finding her bare thigh, sliding up and under her simple cloth skirt.

Felicity held her breath, waiting, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling when he froze behind her.

Oliver's eyebrows rose, his lips tugging back in a slow smile as his hand skimmed over her very bare ass before moving to her very bare sex. She felt the hitch in his breathing when his fingers slid across the wetness waiting for him.

"It's laundry night," she said by way of explanation, her lips curled in a smile.

He inhaled quickly, his fingers curling into her bare hip. She felt his cock swelling behind her, and she stood up on her toes to get closer to him, making him grunt something intelligible.

"Don't move," he whispered harshly into her ear, and then he was gone.

She barely had time to brace herself on the rumbling washer - which was still sending very, very pleasant vibrations that felt like they were living in her bones, centering between her legs; maybe she should have worn underwear, she thought, as she shifted, everything feeling very slick down there - and turned to see where he had gone.

Oliver shut the door to the laundry room and braced the foldout chair against the door handle.

Realization dawned on her as Oliver turned back to her, his eyes dark with lust, an intensity in his face she hadn't seen in a while.

"Oliver-"

He didn't let her finish. Instead he swept the quarters off the washer and hopped on top of it before wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her up on top of him.

"Oliver!" Felicity snapped, bracing herself on his shoulders as she tugged her against him. She straddled him - because balance - but she didn't let him pull her hips down to meet his. The washer rumbled beneath them, and it traveled up her legs, only reminding her she was very naked under that skirt. "Really, Oliver? On the washer?"

Oliver quirked an eyebrow at her before he gripped her hips and jerked her down, forcing them together. The thin pajama pants he was wearing did nothing to hinder the hard length that pressed up into her naked sex. Her eyes fluttered shut as she arched into his touch, her fingers curling into tight fists in his t-shirt as the washer jumped underneath them. She felt the vibrations through her legs and through him, amplified by the tight grip he held on her.

"Are you complaining?" he asked, his voice low and heavy with insinuation.

She let out a breathy air of protest before shaking her head with a, "Nope."

A quick grin sliced across his lips and he reached up, cupping her cheek, pulling her mouth to his.

Felicity moaned, cradling his face, his tongue slipping out to meet hers the same time hers did. He growled, his fingers tangling in her hair when she tightened her thighs around him, rotating her hips and mewling as a streak of hot pleasure shot straight to her core.

He pressed her down harder, his hips thrusting up to meet hers as the kiss turned more urgent and rushed.

Oliver shoved her skirt up to her waist and pulled back to shimmy the pajama pants down.

Felicity giggled when he cursed, the look of concentration on his face frightening in its force as he wiggled out of his pants, and she laughed at his grunt of exasperation when his pants got caught on his cock before it sprang free, all his movements jerky and uncoordinated from the washer underneath them.

"You're awfully growly considering this was your idea," she said and he shot her a look before he smiled.

"I'm just glad I'm not wearing underwear," he said, pulling her back for another kiss as his pants bunched uncomfortably underneath her thighs before she slipped into his lap again, her wet sex sliding against his bare cock. They both gasped and Felicity's eyes fluttered shut as she arched her back, pressing up and down his length. His hands slid up her hips and over her waist, circling her ribcage, his fingers tightening as she moved against him.

"Felicity," he whispered, his voice strangled, and she used his shoulders to brace to lift herself, the head of his cock brushing through her wetness, missing her entrance and instead sliding up against her clit, making her hips jerk. He reached between them and pressed it home and she didn't waste one second, pressing down, taking him in to the hilt as he filled her.

She didn't move for a moment, letting her body acclimate to him, and she watched him clench his jaw, his fingers digging into her ribs. His eyes flickered down her body, to where they were joined. He shoved her skirt up further before he looked back up at her, the heat in his gaze scorching. Her thighs tensed as she slowly lifted her hips and thrust back down, and he clenched his jaw tighter, watching her through hooded eyes as she started to ride him.

She slowly picked up speed, her lips parted in broken pants, the gentle vibrations making her feel like all her nerves were slowly morphing into live wires. Everywhere he touched, she felt like her skin was burning. His lips found her pulse point, and she ducked her head down to nip at his ear before pushing him back so she could find that one spot on the side of his neck that made him…

"Felicity," he hissed slowly, dragging her name out, his fingers pressing into her so hard they were going to leave bruises.

The washer suddenly stopped beneath them. Her skin felt like it was echoing the vibrations it had left behind before it started to tremble as it entered its spin cycle.

The vibrations were more pronounced this time around, and Felicity let out a jerky moan, trying to right her breathing, but she had already been so primed and she moaned again, pleasure rapidly coiling inside her as the washer rumbled violently beneath them.

"Oh… god," she moaned, and Oliver wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush to his chest as he lifted her, and slammed her back down.

Felicity wrapped her arms around his head, feeling his uneven breaths against her neck as she concentrated on the white hot pleasure starting to burn in the pit of her stomach.

For those delicate few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of Oliver's breathing, her harsh gasps, his tight hold on her, her nails digging in his shoulders and scalp, the washer jerking underneath them as her hips worked them both up until…

"Ooh!" Felicity yelped, her orgasm ripping through her. Oliver's fingers found her clit, pushing her higher. Her walls pulsed around him as she came again, and she barely felt his forehead pressing into her chest, his fingers clawing into her back as his hips jerked up against her, chasing his end, making the washer move even more before he exploded inside her, her name a litany on his lips.

Felicity felt like she was floating, aware of nothing else but that she was content and warm, safe and in the arms of the man she loved…

She'd flown apart at the seams… leaving her skin feeling like it had been doused in acid as the washer's unrelenting cycle continued. The vibrations coursed through both of them, irritating every inch of her sensitive skin.

"Felicity," Oliver groaned, shifting underneath her and she lifted herself off with shaky thighs. He slid out of her, his trembling hands squeezing her hips at the loss before he helped her off the washer.

All their strength from earlier was gone and she stumbled, nearly falling right off the washer. She grabbed it for balance as Oliver slid off next, tucking himself back into his pants.

"Oh wow," she whispered as Oliver offered his hand to her. She took it and he wrapped his arms limply around her. "That was… wow."

"Yeah," he breathed. His heart was racing under her ear, his skin sticky with sweat and he pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of her head, pleasantly numb contentedness whispering through her.

"So…" Felicity said, licking her lips. "Wanna help me with laundry next Tuesday too?"

The End

One day I will write Oliver and Felicity having sex on an actual goddamn bed. Alright, I need to go write something pure.

Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.