A/N: I have no idea where this came from, but it's fluffy and cute and I liked it. And I don't think we'll be getting any fluff on the show for a while...so, enjoy! xoxoxNelly

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The Dish and Her Spoon

Word Count: 1,180

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Felicity blinked her eyes as she entered into awareness, her cheek pressed down into her pillow and her head turned at an awkward angle.

She had never slept on her stomach before—not until Oliver Queen started sharing her bed.

And he didn't share it in a platonic way. No, the things they did in her bed—on her couch, on her dining room table, on top of her dresser, against the front door—were very un-platonic. And when he told her to hold onto him tight, she did, also for very un-platonic reasons.

Her heart doubled it's pace when she felt Oliver's stubble-covered cheek nuzzle against the back of her neck, his mouth ghosting along the hair at her nape, his arms curling around her waist.

She would have never imagined it—not with Ollie the commitment afraid playboy, or Oliver the detached, perpetually late CEO, or Arrow the disciplined, self-sacrificial vigilante-turned-hero—that Oliver Queen was a snuggler.

He used her as a glorified pillow nightly, and he mostly preferred laying his head on her back or shoulder, with his body curled completely around her, his naked chest always pressed against her in the most seductive of ways.

"Good morning," he whispered softly as he ducked his head to press a kiss between her shoulder blades.

She turned her head, hearing her neck creak slightly as she did, to look in the direction he was laying. "Morning," she huffed.

He continued to trail kisses down her spine until she lifted her head up, stretching her neck at an odd angle to catch his eyes. She felt him shift above her, leaning over her, one arm on either side of her. He ducked down, placing his mouth against hers in a brief kiss before dropping back down to the bed, rolling onto his back next to her.

Finally free of her personal koala she rolled onto her side so she could face him. His eyes were closed as he basked in the early morning sun and her presence. His hand was extended out towards her and slowly, she snuggled closer to him, resting her head on his arm.

He turned his head slightly, smiling at her, eyes still closed and she just continued to study him.

"You're staring, Felicity," he said, without needing to open his eyes. He always knew when she was staring at him—probably because she wasn't good at being subtle, and she probably stalker breathed while she did it, which was probably creepy but—

"What's on your mind?" he asked, his arm curling around her head so his forefinger could tap her temple lightly.

She wasn't smiling like he expected when he opened his eyes, causing worry to strike through him for a moment as he searched her features. He waited silently for her to answer him, concern gripping him harder the longer she took to respond.

"Am I your dish?"

She watched as a crease formed between his brows, "Uh-Felicity, what?" With furrowed brows he reached out with the arm that wasn't wrapped around her, smoothing her hair back behind her ears, letting his thumb trail down her cheek before curling his hand around her neck. He titled his head further in the pillow before he said, "explain?"

"It's just, you spoon me...a lot. So naturally, I just thought of the analogy that I'm the spoon to your dish." She paused, "and I realize how stupid this sounds outside my head so, 3...2...1." She shut her mouth resolutely, screwing her eyes shut so she didn't have to read Oliver's expression.

"Felicity," he said her name in that way that drove her crazy, the way that made her spine straighten and her toes curl—drawing out each syllable of her name, his tongue rolling smoothly over the word she had heard a million times in a million different ways but somehow always sounded like the first time she heard her own name when he said it.

His thumbs smoothed over her brows and then swooped to trace beneath her eyes, coaxing her to open her eyes and look at him, "hey, open your eyes."

Cautiously, she opened one eye to a sight that made her gasp slightly. Oliver's face was bathed in the sunlight filtering through her bedroom window, haloing his hair and cheek that wasn't pressed into the pillow. He was smiling at her tenderly, a smile that said she was being way-too-adorable-for-her-own-good.

She stayed silent, opening both of her eyes, as Oliver's fingers continued to map out the features of her face, sliding over the contours of her cheeks, the line of her nose, the dip beneath her bottom lip, the curve of her ear.

"You keep the nightmares away."

His voice was hoarse from sleep, or from the truth of his confession—which she wasn't expecting from Mr. Oliver I-don't-talk-about-my-feelings Queen. Either way, he swallowed thickly and searched her face as his palm settled on her jaw.

She reached her own hand out, pressing her palm to his chest, feeling his steady, calm heartbeat beneath her hand. She smiled at him, not pressuring him to continue speaking, his one sentence was enough.

But he didn't seem content to leave it there, "as long as I have you in my arms at night, I don't dream about..." he swallowed again, "the island, or Hong Kong," he stopped there and sighed heavily, "it's all better with you here." His eyebrows furrowed again, like he couldn't comprehend it, but then a relieved smile curled his lips—his real smile, showing his teeth and lifting his cheeks.

She smiled back, "okay."

His smile turned into an impish grin as he pulled her body closer to his, "and, if you hadn't noticed, I love touching you."

Her cheeks burned at his words, even though she no longer had any reason to be embarrassed for the racy images that flashed through her mind—because they were no longer fantasies but realities (that she still couldn't believe were true).

"I-I've noticed," she choked out, remembering all the lingering shoulder touches, and losing count of all the times he had cupped her cheek or her neck or held her hand tightly in his.

He rolled himself over her, hovering above her, "and that, Felicity Smoak, is why you are the dish to my spoon."

She let out a baffled laughter, looking up at the ceiling, "god, that is so cheesy."

He smiled down at her even as he rolled his eyes, before ducking his head down and silencing her with a heated kiss that had her hands smoothing up the expanse of his back, pulling him down flush against her.

He let his hands slide up her legs, over her hips, along her waist, across her ribs before pulling away.

Felicity's eyes popped open with an accusatory glare.

"You were saying, Miss Smoak?" He arched a brow and smirked down at her.

She rolled her eyes, "shut up Queen, and spoon me."

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