It wasn't a conscious decision to take things to the next level; that would imply that either she or Oliver know what the fuck they're doing, which they don't. It's sort of comforting actually, to be in that state of helpless confusion together, like, at least they can present a united front whenever Digg starts throwing them those disapproving judging your choices looks. So he's got a point, whatever, still uncalled for.
(Felicity doesn't even remember their first kiss really, how ridiculous is that? She remembers that one kiss, in the helicopter when they were flying the hell away from Coast City and Oliver had been shot, so Roy was freaking out a little and so Oliver leaned over her and put his hand on the back of Roy's neck and said something kind and quiet and reassuring, and so Felicity kissed him because it was one of those moments that you just have to kiss somebody for, like a framed photo of all the reasons why you love somebody, how could you not.
But she's reasonably sure that was not their first one because he didn't seem all that surprised, just kissed her back and squeezed her hand, and she also dimly remembers something happening in the lair once, like maybe they kissed that one time when they drinking that bottle of ouzo Sara gave her for her birthday, she's not sure, but anyway.)
It's always been a struggle, to balance everything; all of them have what equates to at least two full time jobs a piece, plus all the extra obligations that come along with living in the world and having friends and family, so oftentimes Felicity finds herself being thankful that they even have time for a real conversation that isn't some quick, hurried thing in a stopped elevator, frantically changing clothes so they won't walk into the annual financial meeting covered in blood and broken glass. So Felicity's going to go ahead and assert that it's not all that surprising that they've skipped a few of the vital conversations.
"God, we haven't even had sex yet," Felicity says, the thought occurring to her suddenly and in the middle of lunch. Oliver chokes on a gulp of water, setting the glass down with a thump and covering his mouth with his napkin. "Oh, sorry."
He shoots her an irritated look. "Yes, I'm aware of that."
"Well, I was just saying," Felicity says glumly, feeling a little guilty about breaking the no saying sex stuff while Oliver or Digg is drinking something rule. Again. "Do you want to come over tonight?"
Oliver does one of his cautious pauses, his face growing soft like it does when they talk about serious stuff. "We have the West Liberty meeting in the morning."
Felicity shrugs, picking at her sandwich thoughtlessly. She can't help but stare at his face, watching for his reaction - not that he ever has one, he's way too used to dating smart women for that. "So? You'll go out and fight crime the night before a big meeting, but you won't stay over with me?"
"That's not what I meant."
"No, I know what you meant." Felicity shakes her head, reaching out for his hand. He gives it to her easily, not even flinching, and she gets this proud little thrill in her chest. "I want you to. It's okay, I want you to."
"Alright." Something flickers across his expression, too quick for Felicity to catch. But he leans down to kiss her knuckles, and she forgets. "Tonight, then."
Felicity grins. "Great," she says cheerfully. "Can you bring your Arrow costume?"
Oliver rolls his eyes. "Felicity."
"Kidding."
When Felicity was sixteen she had a crush on a boy in her English class; his name was Nathan and he played the saxophone in the marching band and he wore glasses that looked like hers. She really liked the way he talked, she remembers. He was very articulate, especially to Felicity's sixteen-year-old ears, and that was how she knew that she really liked him, sitting at his table in study hall and listening to him explain the Animal Farm allegory to her. He always made things seem like they really mattered. She thought, I could get into books and stuff, maybe, if he were always around to explain it.
They dated for almost six months, her mother didn't approve but whatever, her mother rarely approved of things that Felicity liked and wanted. He was so kind to her, so sweet, he'd give her rides to and from school sometimes in his mom's van, and their friends would tease them whenever they'd get caught holding hands under the table at lunch. It was nice, a good first-boyfriend experience, and Felicity remembers it fondly.
Not so fondly: when they were fooling around on the couch in his parents' basement, and he grabbed her breast without any warning whatsoever and Felicity was so startled she just reached out and clocked him. He got really mad and she said, "well you don't just grope somebody without asking first!" and he replied, "well, we were making out," as if that made it okay, and Felicity stormed out and walked all the way home and refused to speak to him for two months. They made up later, but they didn't get back together, and by their senior year he was dating this girl from another school who'd show up in the parking lot sometimes to pick him up, and at graduation Felicity gave him a hug and wished him the best. She really meant it, too, even if he was pretty passive-aggressive with his "yeah you too, babe," in response.
So yeah anyway, there's that story.
It's always pretty obvious when Oliver wants some time to himself, especially considering that they, plus Digg, are on top of each other almost constantly. After lunch he mutters something about a list of phone calls to return and asks her to cancel his three o'clock with Adrian Wyk, which she does since that guy is kind of a jerk and all he wants to do is talk at them for forty minutes about how Google is outselling them in tablet sales and it's the end of the world as we know it, and honestly, who cares. The Q-Tablet sucks and everyone knows it, that is so not their biggest problem right now.
He pulls his blinds when they get back to the office. She's not normally the type of person to read into stuff and assume that things like this must be about their relationship, but for real, this is definitely about their relationship.
"You know - we don't have to," she says later, when he emerges with his suit collar rumpled up around his neck, tie undone. Dollars to donuts he was doing push ups in-between emails. "Tonight, I mean."
He frowns. "Is this...you changing your mind?"
"No," Felicity says, "this is me trying to gauge your feelings on this issue because you're not giving me much to go on."
He frowns, leaning down over her slightly, eyeing the hallway. Her desk isn't exactly private, and it's pretty much the bane of both their existences. "I'm fine, Felicity. My feelings are fine."
"Mmhm," she says, reaching up to fix his collar. He leans down a little farther so she can reach, and yeah, he definitely was sneaking push ups. He smells like sweat and cologne and everything intensely male in this world. "I'd believe you if you weren't giving me outside face."
"Can you please stop...naming my faces?"
"No. And there's grumpy face, right on schedule." Felicity pats his cheek, shivering a little at the scrape from his stubble. He purses his lips, quirking his eyebrows at her in resigned amusement. "Seriously, Oliver, I didn't mean to make this awkward or anything, I just - "
"No, look," he interrupts, "it's got nothing to do with you, I'm just wound up about it." He pulls her hand from his cheek and squeezes it. "I'm always wound up, about you."
Felicity maybe feels a little breathless, though she'd never admit it, with his hand holding hers and his sincere eye contact, the whole effect is like a warm, metaphorical hug. That's also sexy. Warm, metaphorical, sex hug. She should've been a poet. "I could take that to a dirty place if I were a less taciturn person," she says. "Luckily I'm the epitome of discretion."
"You could always just text it to me or something," Oliver says, brushing a kiss across her forehead as he straightens upright. "Going to need something to get through the rest of the day."
"I am not going to sext you," Felicity says, appalled, just as Digg walks through the door, three coffees in hand.
"Whoa," John says, voice rich with laughter. Felicity rips her hand out of Oliver's grip and almost smacks herself in the face. Great. "Okay. That was not a thing I needed to overhear."
"We were joking," Oliver assures him.
"Sure, okay," says Digg.
"God, just - give me that coffee right now," Felicity says, leaning her face in one hand and holding the other out, refusing to look. "Or pour it over my head, whatever." A cup appears in her outstretched hand and she takes a sip without looking. "Oh, yum. John! Thank you, this is perfect."
"Don't look at me, these are from Lisa downstairs," Digg says, passing the last one off to Oliver. "She caught me in the hallway and asked me to take them up."
"God, that's so nice," Felicity says, "crap, I was supposed to stop by her office for lunch today and I completely forgot."
"She's still down there if you want to catch her," Digg says.
"Feel free," Oliver tells her drifting back towards his office, "I've got to finish catching up on these calls, it'll take me awhile."
"It'd take you less if you didn't put them off until Friday every week," Felicity replies unforgivingly. "But yes, thank you, I think I will. I somehow managed to get most everything done. Guess today is a blue moon day."
"I'll see you tonight, then," Oliver says, pausing with the door propped open against his shoulder.
"Yes, tonight, definitely," Felicity says, feeling herself blush a little bit. Digg, holding the door open for her, makes a face.
"You guys are so gross," he says. The door closes on Oliver's surprised laugh.
Her freshman year of college, she was assigned to live with this girl named Natalia, who had harsh, block bangs cut straight across her forehead and wore bright red lipstick every single day, even to bed. Felicity, still in her hoodies-and-jeans phase, was in turns fascinated and repelled by her, and they spent the first three months of the year exchanging polite, distant smiles and not talking to each other.
Then one night, they ran into each other at a Dave Matthews concert, and they rode back to campus together, and maybe that was the icebreaker they needed or something, to get over the assumptions they'd made about each other, but anyway long story short they ended up dating for the rest of the year.
Sort of dating. Not really official dating, since they both felt weird about the dating-girls thing, a new one for both of them, so it was more like...super affectionate friendship with occasional make outs. Whatever, Felicity counts it.
Nat liked clubbing, and art shows, and shopping at secondhand stores and intimidating strangers, and Felicity would let her dress her up for class in the mornings, sitting on the bunk and watching as Nat tore through the closets, muttering under her breath and making Felicity hold dresses and tops against her chest as she studied the contrast, tapping one fingernail against her mouth like Tim Gunn.
She doesn't want to say that she learned to love clothes because of Natalia, but it certainly helped, those evenings when they'd curl up in bed and Nat would go on and on, talking for hours about designers and hemlines and silhouettes and lots of other words that Felicity didn't quite understand, but wanted to, just because she made it sound so interesting. Don't be afraid of bright color, Nat would say, whenever they'd go out shopping and Felicity would gravitate towards the darker, more somber clothing, just out of habit. Keep those blacks and browns for funerals and job interviews! Your outside should match your inside, baby. Your insides are pure technicolor.
It was easier to start liking the way she looked with Nat right there beside her, holding her shoulders and grinning and telling her the amazing things that dress does for her skin tone. In some ways, Felicity thinks, she and Nat were more like life coaches for each other than anything else. They never needed sex, because there were just - more important things to concentrate on.
They didn't last long, at any rate. Nat's family lived in upstate New York, and she had signed on to do a semester abroad in Paris, so when the school year ended, facing almost a full year apart, they ended it on good terms. She works for Chanel now, in New York City, and still chats with Felicity on Facebook sometimes. Come see me, she'll say, I'll take you out and dress you up. Like old times.
One of these days Felicity just might take her up on it.
Oliver shows up with wine, because of course he does. Felicity laughs when she opens the door to see him holding it up in front of his face, like it's his password to come inside.
"I literally just opened a bottle," she says, and he smiles.
"We'll save this one then," he replies, and steps in for a kiss. Felicity shivers a little, distracted by the casual, possessive hand on the back of her head. He's changed clothes since work, and showered. The whole effect is just really nice, honestly.
"So," Felicity says, pulling him inside by his jacket, "I think you should know that Sara has been texting me all afternoon with 'tips,' and I nobly refused to read any of them. For your sake."
"I appreciate that," Oliver says dryly. "Most of them are probably jokes, anyway."
Felicity nods, picking up her wineglass and taking a long gulp. When she sets it down, he's watching her, curious, maybe a little worried. "What?"
"Nothing." He leans against the counter of her kitchenette, all long dark angles in her dim, attempting-to-be mood lighting. He's watching her very closely, a hint of that Arrow-focus in his gaze. "Are you nervous?"
Felicity considers this. She should be, but she doesn't feel it, particularly. She thinks about early, early mornings, waking up from the middle of a wet dream, throbbing all over and thinking about the tendons in his hands or the dip in his waist, above his hipbones. The few times he'd showered at her place, before they were together, and how his bare feet looked against her bedroom carpet, weirdly pale and vulnerable. Sitting in the lair and getting a whiff of his sweat as he walked past. No - not nervous.
"Kiss me," she says, following an impulse. He smiles and obliges, cupping his hands around her face like he does sometimes. He likes touching her hair, and her face, and her - general head area, really. It seems to comfort him, almost. "Mm. Nope. No nervousness, exactly."
"Good," he murmurs, running his thumbs over her cheekbones, pressing the words into the top of her head. "That's good."
Felicity wraps her arms around his waist and turns it into a real hug, turning her head so her cheek is pressed to his chest. He hugs her back tightly; she likes it when he does that. Squeezes tight, so she knows he's there.
A sudden thought strikes her and she laughs, trying to muffle it into his shirt, but he hears, of course, and pulls back curiously. "I'm sorry," she says, laughing again, her giggles only coming harder at his blank look, "no - I'm okay. I'm excited, actually, I just - just now realized that you came over to have sex with me."
Oliver frowns. "Uh," he says, sounding perplexed, "was that not - "
"No! No, I mean, yes, I asked you to, that's why I wanted you to come over," she says, still struggling to control her laughter. "It's just - this is so absurd. Like you're here, and we're gonna have sex. You specifically came over to have sex." She laughs again. "I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, just - "
"Yeah," Oliver agrees, relaxing minutely. "No, I know what you mean." He cracks a small smile. "We don't have to tonight."
"You keep saying that," Felicity complains, reaching up to brush the hair out of her face. Oliver's arms loosen a little, to give her space to move her arms. "Gonna give a girl a complex."
He gives her a look. "I want to," he says. "But we don't have to. We don't need to force it." He tilts his chin down, expression oddly grave. "If you feel weird about it, or if you're not sure - "
"I don't feel weird, and I'm definitely sure," Felicity says, reaching up on her tip toes and press their noses together. Oliver hunches down a little so she can reach and it gives her this little jumpy-jump in her stomach, those little cute-sweet things he does. Like he tweaks her chin sometimes when she says something funny, or that thing where he bends down super low so she can wrap her arm around his shoulders without reaching up. "Besides, life is short, right? This is the first evening we've had to ourselves in months; we shouldn't waste it."
"You may have a point there," he says softly. When she opens her eyes, his face looks distorted, pressed up against hers. She giggles again and he pulls back, pinching her waist a little to make her laugh louder. "You know - I've been here for at least ten minutes and you haven't taken my coat or offered me a drink yet. That's some dreadful manners, Miss Smoak."
"My sincerest apologies," Felicity says, hopping up behind him and tugging his coat down his arms. He bends backwards a little to help her, laughing when his arms get tangled in the sleeves. "Do you prefer red or white, Mr. Queen? Keep in mind I've only got one, and I will disapprove if you choose wrongly."
"Red," Oliver says, still watching her with that weird intensity. This must be what it feels like to be on the wrong side of his bow. Only - it's probably less sexy for criminals. Most of the time.
"Good answer," she says, and takes a deep breath, grabs the open wine bottle from the counter.
"Only the best," Oliver replies, a little wryly. Felicity smiles at him, grabs an empty glass. Thinks, here we go.
She lived with her mother for a year after she graduated, which made dating or socializing at all extremely difficult, but six months into her job at QC she got promoted to IT "specialist" instead of "assistant," which was mostly bull since she was already doing half the department's work but whatever, it came with a raise and she got to move out.
If she believed in fate, she'd say that's what orchestrated her relationship with Seth Auerbach, whom she met at a Sundollar on a Monday morning, extremely late and extremely frazzled. He had a nice smile and he paid for her coffee, sliding up and handing a ten to the barista as Felicity was digging through her bag at the counter, searching for her wallet.
He was a second-year law student at SCU, halfway through an internship at a law firm located near the QC building, and his family actually belonged to the same synagogue as Felicity and her mother did, when they were both little.
"We probably saw each other a few times," he said, "I don't think we should try to confirm it, though. I'm not sure I want you to know what I looked like at age twelve."
"Yeah, that's probably at least a third-date milestone," Felicity agreed, utterly charmed by his sweet smile, that self-deprecating sense of humor that matched her own, the way his eyes twinkled a little when he laughed. God, it was just embarrassing, really.
They went on seven dates exactly, which - Felicity wouldn't normally keep track of such things, but it became kind of a running joke. He'd text her the morning of with a list of silly things that were supposedly "just the custom" for a fourth or fifth date. It was fun, but the longer it went on, the stranger it felt to her, like - just something was off. Felicity had a hell of a time trying to place it.
"I don't know what you're complaining about," her mother said, "he's perfect. He's gonna be a lawyer, for pete's sake, you should lock him up before someone else snatches him out from under you."
"What does his career path have to do with anything," Felicity would mutter back - not loud enough for her mom to hear, though. But it made her feel better, a little.
So Felicity broke it off after the seventh, and she thinks that Seth probably wasn't too broken up about it. They'd stalled somewhere around number five, and never really picked up speed again, going on these oddly innocent outings together, talking about nothing. It was a time management issue for them both too, things had gotten busier for him at work, and Felicity had just fixed a suspiciously-broken laptop for Oliver Queen, and so it was more of a relief than anything, she thinks.
"I had a feeling," Seth said, when she told him, looking appropriately sad but also...not, in a strange way. "You're amazing but I don't think you're amazing for me. Or vice versa - does that make sense?"
"Perfectly," Felicity replied, and gave him a hug when he left. Fitting, as perfect was in fact the problem.
(Her mother refused to speak with her for almost three weeks when she found out, but Felicity didn't actually mind. It was nice, to make that kind of decisive move, something to let her know that Felicity wasn't fourteen anymore, damn it, that her life was her own to decide. Good for them both, probably, in the long run.
This would become a habit - Felicity doing things her mother would probably disapprove of. It would only get worse from there, obviously.)
Oliver is an excellent kisser, she's always known this about him, even before they started doing it together, like - she's read the blog posts. (All of them. That was an interesting weekend.) The first few times they'd gotten a little hot and heavy with the kissing, she was so overwhelmed by it, by his larger-than-life presence, she felt like such a silly girl afterwards but she couldn't really help it. Who wouldn't be, kissing Oliver Queen? Especially when he holds your head in your hands, looking at you like he can't believe you're letting him touch you?
They have a few false starts, Felicity turns a little quick in the middle of a sentence and knocks his glass over with her elbow, sending a pool of wine cascading across the coffee table. Then he accidentally breaks the table in the process of moving it to clean up the spill on the rug, and they get into a bickering match because he wants to buy her a new one.
"That leg comes off all the time, Oliver, the thing is falling apart," she says.
"All the more reason to get a new one," he replies pointedly, and she takes a deep breath, biting back the snarky comment that's rising up in her throat, begging to be let out. One day, she will sit him down and they will have the conversation about money and what he is and isn't allowed to do for her with it, but today? Not that day.
It's hard to be angry about it when they're kissing, though. Felicity thinks that they could solve all the world's problems, if they could just bottle up the feeling she gets when they kiss and sell it, somehow. Like a bubbly soda pop of contentment and security, like walking into a party and being the hottest one in the room, like having a secret that makes you feel important, and powerful.
It's so cute, too, how he reacts, especially when she climbs into his lap, he goes kind of boneless, melting into her couch. He makes these little grunty sounds whenever she shifts her weight against his legs, and he likes it when she runs her fingers through his hair, scraping his scalp with her fingernails. Literally a giant puppy, she thinks.
"Felicity," he says, laughing a little when she takes the opportunity to pepper kisses up the line of his cheekbone, ending right on his eye. "You're - really?"
"What, I've always wanted to do that," Felicity says, kissing his other eye, then his nose. "Too cute for you, Green Arrow?"
"Of course not," he replies, oddly serious, leaning upward to kiss her again, licking her bottom lip playfully, smiling into it as she opens her mouth to let him in. "Are you doing okay?"
"What, yes," she replies, distracted by the tiniest of scars on his hand, a thin, barely visible white line right between the knuckles of his first and middle fingers. She runs her fingertip over it, thinking, I'm going to kiss this scar every day for the rest of my life, if I can help it. "Why do you keep doing that?"
"Doing what?" Oliver asks, brushing her hair back with his other hand.
Felicity narrows her eyes a little bit, a hunch striking her rather suddenly. Surging forward, she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him again, twisting her hips down to grind against his pelvis. He makes a muffled sound of surprise, grabbing her waist and gently easing her back.
"Whoa," he says, "easy, Felicity."
"What?" she asks, dreading the answer.
"We don't need to…" he shrugs, trailing off. His kiss is answer enough, soft and gentle - nice, but not. Not anything like what Felicity had expected, out of this. A horrible thought, one that's been creeping up all night, suddenly makes itself known - is this what he thinks she needs? Is this what he thinks she is?
"Sara told you, didn't she," Felicity says, resigned.
"Told me what?"
"That I'm a virgin, duh," Felicity snaps, and Oliver goes instantly stiff, all that relaxed easiness disappearing in a split second shift. Felicity leans back on his legs, a little shocked at how quickly his entire body has tensed up beneath her. "Um. Okay, guess she didn't. Uh, never mind - "
"You're a what?" Oliver asks incredulously, lifting her off his lap with infuriating ease. "A virgin?"
"You make it sound like some kind of disease," Felicity says defensively, more than a little hurt by the way he's retreated to the corner of the couch, as far away from her as he can get without actually standing up. "It's just, whatever, I thought - "
"You weren't even going to tell me," Oliver realizes, anger creeping into the words. "You were just going to - "
"Well, no," Felicity admits, "it just - wasn't that big of a deal."
"Your first time isn't a big deal?" Oliver asks, still incredulous.
"I'm not a twelfth grader, Oliver, I don't need you to take me to prom first," Felicity says dryly. "You had to have known I wasn't that experienced! I mean, I don't exactly scream 'sultry vixen' or anything, and it's not like I've never done anything before, or that I don't know how everything works, so I just thought - "
Oliver runs his hands over his face, still looking shell shocked and a little agonized, that terrible look on his face that he gets sometimes, the this is horrible and it's probably my fault look. "What. What did you think."
"It's just a little embarrassing, okay," Felicity says, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling suddenly cold. "It was a 'fake it until you make it' sort of situation."
"I can't do this," Oliver says, standing up. Felicity stares at him incredulously. "I can't - let's just wait on this, okay? We'll start over another night, but I can't - "
"What?" Felicity snaps, the defensive anger and hurt welling up in her chest painfully. "What, now you don't want to? I'm too innocent and pure for you to touch with your horrible, bloody, dirty vigilante hands?" She stands up too, noting in satisfaction the way he instantly steps back, blinking a little in surprise at her fury. "That tune's getting a little old, Oliver, I think you might benefit from finding a new one."
"Do not do that," Oliver says darkly. "Do not make light of that. Make fun of me for anything else, but you have no idea how many ways I could hurt you. How I have hurt others, already. Just - don't."
"Okay, fine," Felicity says, feeling like a kettle about to boil over. "Fine, but I'm sick and tired of you treating me with kid gloves, Oliver, it's - it's like you don't trust that I can handle it, like you think I'm not strong enough or something."
"Is this about the thing with Nguyen? How many times do we have to have this argument, you just don't have the training like we do, Felicity, it's got nothing to do with thinking you're weak - "
"No!" Felicity actually stomps her foot in her anger, surprising both of them. "No, the - the sweet and gentle routine. That's what I meant. You - you think you have be careful with me? Because I'm so breakable?"
Oliver blinks at her dumbly. "Routine."
"You can't honestly tell me that's how you usually are in bed," Felicity accuses. "The holding hands and slow kissing and constantly asking if I'm okay - yeah, I'm sure that's what earned you your spot on Starling City's sexiest eligible bachelor list."
Oliver doesn't reply, just staring at her silently, his expression frozen and distant.
There's something hideous and sharp in her chest, a caving-in hole of shame and anger. At him, at herself. Whatever. "Okay," she says after a second, "okay, we need a breather."
"Obviously," he mutters, turning away and rubbing his forehead.
"I'll be in the bedroom. Breathing." She bites her lip. "Don't leave. We're not done."
He doesn't reply, again, and she turns and stomps away so she doesn't have to look at him anymore, the way his shoulders are slumped.
She already knows she's been a huge jerk the second she shuts the door to her room, and spends twenty minutes or so pacing and berating herself - great. Great going, you finally get him into bed and the first thing you do is call him a huge slut, did you actually just get mad at him for being respectful and sweet, for God's sake, Smoak, you're a mess - that kind of thing. It's not particularly helpful.
When she finally gets the nerve up to go back out, he's still there (of course he is, of course, he'd never deliberately ignore a request like that from her) sitting on her couch with the last of the wine in his hand. He's not drinking it, just holding it - holding, and staring at the skyline outside her window. Felicity bites her lip, and thinks, this is because of me, he's got that look on his face because of something I did.
"Hey," she says tentatively.
"It wasn't a routine," he says immediately, like he'd been saving it up.
"I know," Felicity says, agonized. "I know, that was awful. I came out to apologize, Oliver, I'm sorry I freaked out."
"I don't care how experienced you are," he continues, setting the glass down and ignoring her apology. "I would be treating you the same whether you were a virgin or not, because it's not a routine, Felicity, it's just - me."
Well now she really feels horrible. "Okay," she says. "Okay. I'm so sorry."
"If that's what you want," he says slowly, not quite meeting her eyes, "I mean, I can do that? I know how to do that, I've had all kinds and types of sex, and you know that - "
"God," Felicity says, unable to stop herself from moving closer, grabbing his hands and holding on tight. "No, I just want you to be yourself. That's what I want. I thought you were underestimating me, that's all."
"I don't," he murmurs, ducking his head, "I promise. I just - it's different with you, it means so much. You make me feel so - " he shakes his head, closing his eyes, and Felicity feels like her heart might just explode.
"I love you," she says, reaching up and gripping his neck. "God, I love you so much. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings."
"Yeah," Oliver says, a little choked. He can't say it back yet. She knows. She can wait. "Yeah."
They stand there for a long time, hugging by the window. Felicity thinks, if the whole world were looking in and watching, they'd understand why when they saw his face. They'd get it.
She and Barry never had sex.
Felicity doesn't think she needs to expand on this one.
"So," Oliver says later, when they've finally made it to bed. "How do I ask you to explain without sounding weird or offensive?"
Felicity laughs a little, curling up against his arm contentedly. "I don't know. It just never happened."
"Like you never had the opportunity, or were you waiting?"
"I guess a combination of both," Felicity says thoughtfully. "I never had time to see people casually, I always had a heavy load at school and work. And the few relationships I've had - it never really seemed right."
"I see," Oliver replies quietly. He's been running his hand through her hair for at least ten minutes and it's having an almost somnolent effect on her, it feels so soothing and gentle. "For what it's worth, I don't think you missed much. The whole wild youth thing is kind of overrated."
"No kidding," Felicity says. "Because all those self-deprecating comments you make about your party animal days haven't really made your position clear, maybe you should explain yourself again."
Oliver sighs in indulgent resignation. "Funny," he says, as she laughs at her own joke. "It should be special, though. Your first time. We should, I don't know, do something…" he trails off helplessly. "Special."
"Eh," Felicity says, hitching her leg up and splaying it across his knees. "Who cares? If it's not good the first time it'll be better the second. And third. And fourth and - "
"Right," Oliver says. "You don't want it to be…"
"I told you it wasn't a big deal and I meant it," Felicity says quietly. "It's not, Oliver. Really."
"Well, I'll take you out to dinner at least," Oliver says, readjusting on the pillow so he can get both hands in her hair. Felicity smiles indulgently, lifting her neck so he can slide one of his hands beneath her head. "That place you wanted to try, with the tv chef you like?"
"Masaharu Morimoto," Felicity mumbles.
"Right. Just you and me." He sounds as exhausted as she suddenly feels, eyelids drooping a little. "It'll be nice."
"We can sext too," Felicity says. "You can tell me about all the stuff you're gonna teach me."
Oliver sputters a little, laughing. His hands shake her head with the movement and she reaches out to grab his wrist, grinning. "I thought you said you knew how it all works?"
"Doesn't mean I can't use some real-world experience," Felicity says. Oliver pulls her across the bed, tucking her up against his chest, still laughing a little as he presses his mouth to her forehead. She smiles, grabbing his waist, sneaking her hand beneath his shirt.
It's something she's constantly having to remind herself, with Oliver, how nothing is ever what she thinks it'll be. It never would have occurred to her that they'd need to go slow for his sake, but now that she knows, it seems obvious. How she could have ever thought differently, she doesn't know. It was in every touch, every look. Every time he reached out halfway and paused, unsure of his place, if he was allowed.
He'll always be allowed. She just needs to keep reminding him until it finally sinks in.
"I'll buy you flowers," Oliver mumbles. "Come up and ring your doorbell, instead of honking my horn on the street."
"They better be daisies," Felicity replies, happy, content, with just this.