A/N: Hi guys! Sorry if any of you had an issue with Chapter 3- I accidentally uploaded a partial chapter and had to go back and delete/repost. If you didn't finish Chapter 3 you'll want to go back and do that before reading ahead. Enjoy the smut, you guys deserve it!
I don't own Arrow or its characters.
It's not until Felicity actually agrees to his proposal that it hits Oliver what's about to happen.
It's not like he's never thought about it, never stared at the curve of her ass or had a brief fantasy at the sight of Felicity's bright pink lips wrapped around a pen.
He's kept those thoughts tightly locked down, for the most part. He meant what he said, that he can't be with someone he could really care about.
At this point loving her seems equal to condemning her.
She's off limits.
Scratch that. She's supposed to be off limits but his stupid brain keeps finding ways to get closer to her anyway.
Unfortunately for him his body hasn't gotten the message that she's off the fucking menu, because lately he can't be around her without getting uncomfortably hard or awkward or extra-broody.
It makes no sense, the situations his body responds do. Sometimes it's not even sexual: she'll be updating the servers, still in her fancy dress and three inch heels from earlier in the day, babbling coding gibberish. Or playing a game on her tablet when they're waiting in line at Big Belly Burger, bottom lip held between her teeth.
Cut to Oliver, thinking about dead babies and baseball, anything to manage the situation happening in his pants.
Apparently his body has decided that it can't resist nerdy tech girls who are actually deceptively beautiful.
Because at first her beauty was an afterthought, something he only realized later, after he'd processed her other traits (chatty, adorable, able to see right through his lies and still help him, indicating both brains and loyalty, qualities he happens to hold in high esteem).
And then he remembered those blue eyes, bright lips, the way those glasses were really working for her. Every time he sees her she's a little brighter, shines a little more.
He's gotten used to the other things. Her constant stream of chatter when she's anxious, being trumped by her superior intelligence on a near-daily basis (and not even minding, because on Felicity brilliance is hot).
But every time he sees her he is stunned anew at her beauty.
He's also fully aware that really cares about doesn't even begin to cover how he feels about her now. After five years of hell and two more trying to claw his way out, she's the one bright spot in a life littered with horrors he could never explain to her.
So the idea of Felicity Smoak, braless under a soft tee just long enough to cover little black stretchy shorts, settled between his legs, her back to his chest, is more than a little overwhelming.
Felicity must be feeling it too, because she has her fingers curled around his kneecaps in a death grip.
"Um, Oliver?" Felicity questions. "What...what do we do now?"
Right. This was his idea. He's supposed to be the one in control here.
Like he's ever in control when Felicity's around.
"I guess this is the part where I touch you."
"Oh," she says faintly.
"Hey," he says, and Felicity cranes her head up to look at him.
Felicity, wide eyed and gentle, and he remembers how young she is, fresh and shiny and new.
Or maybe it's just that these days he feels more like an old man than a playboy billionaire.
He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, feeling a wave of protectiveness, a special affection because she trusts him with this. With her. "You okay?"
"Yeah! Of course. Like I said, it's just been awhile, and it's you, so..."
"So..."
Felicity flushes. "You make me nervous."
He knows she used to have a crush on him. It was kind of obvious, but sweet. It wasn't like he wasn't used to girls developing feelings for him. So maybe he took advantage at first, giving her a pretty smile to ogle when he came in asking for increasingly ridiculous favors.
Then she saved his life, and learned his secret. Things changed between them. They had to.
So the idea that even now, he has that effect on her, makes him a little curious.
Oliver drops his right hand down to her leg, repressing a shudder at the feel of her soft skin under his palm. "I make you nervous?"
He brushes his fingers around the inside of her thigh, feeling taut muscle tense under his fingertips.
"Have you seen you?" Felicity says. "My nerves are completely justified."
"You see me all the time."
"I know, you'd think I'd be desensitized to you by now."
"I hope not," he says, low in her ear, and grins in satisfaction when her thigh twitches under his touch. "Otherwise this would be pointless."
"This is definitely not pointless," she breathes. "Right? I'm sure there was a point."
"I'm helping you get over your phobia."
"Oh, right. That."
"You're doing great so far. I can't even tell that you're secretly terrified."
"Oliver," she says breathily.
"Hmm?"
Felicity sighs and tips her head back on his shoulder. "I'm a little drunk, I think."
"Me too," he realizes, counting up all the whiskey he drank earlier.
"Feels good," she murmurs, brushing the back of his hand on her leg.
"Good," he says softly, because that's the point.
She's encountered so much darkness since she met him, so much fear and ugliness. He wants to do this, make her feel good, even if it's just for a little bit.
He needs to do this.
Oliver takes his time, no rush, one hand running up and down her leg, until she finally relaxes in his arms, her legs splaying out so her knees push into his thighs.
He rests his left hand on her stomach, feeling muscles jump under soft flesh. Felicity's body is perfect. Toned but not too hard, soft pliable limbs and full breasts swaying when she breathes.
He slides the hand on her leg higher, up to the junction of her hip. Felicity lets out a soft whimper, and he spreads it wide so the heat from his palm sinks into her skin.
His thumb traces circles on her inner thigh, feeling her quiver at his touch. He drops it down between her legs, just for a second, before switching to her other thigh.
Felicity lets out a ragged breath.
"How we doing?" he asks softly.
"Uh-huh," she mumbles incoherently.
Oliver slides the hand on her stomach up to her ribs. How can someone be so small and yet so curvy all at once? He traces her curves, setting to memory the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip.
"Not worrying about me chopping you up for parts?" he jokes.
Felicity shakes her head, tickling his cheek with her hair. "Nu-uh."
"That's my girl."
She lets out a breathy little sigh. "I love it when you call me that."
"Yeah?"
"It makes...me feel special."
Felicity's eyes are half shut and her cheeks are pink. She looks like a dream, something soft and warm that he wants to sink into, wrap his whole body around.
"You are special," he says, ghosting his lips over her neck. "You know that."
She shakes her head slightly. "Special to you."
"Felicity," he whispers, because of course she's special to him, even if he doesn't say it. Can't say it.
"Not...that I'm yours, obviously," Felicity says. "Not like I want you to own me or anything."
A perverse image flashes in his brain, Felicity, tied up, on her hands and knees, ready and waiting for him.
Focus. This isn't about him, and what a sick motherfucker he probably is for thinking about her like that. This is about her. Making her feel safe again.
This is about not being selfish. He can never be selfish with her. He doesn't know why. He just can't.
Not with Felicity.
"It's just nice to know you care," Felicity murmurs.
Something strains inside him. Of course he cares. He just can't show her that he cares, or tell her that he cares. Not the way she wants or deserves. But still, it cuts him, that she thinks they aren't together because he doesn't want her.
"Felicity," he struggles. "I don't...not care about you."
She blinks up at him. "Is that the best you can do?"
The truth is when it comes to his feelings, that is the best he can do right now. But he doesn't want to tell her that, because he has a feeling if he does she'll eighty-six this arrangement.
So he cheats. He slides his hand up and cups one breast, sighing contentedly at the warm weight of her in his palm.
Felicity gasps. "Okay, you've made your point, Oliver."
"I'm not nearly done making my point."
He finds her nipple and rolls it between his fingers. Felicity suddenly clamps her thighs together, his right hand wedged between them. He cups her carefully, listening to the little gasping moans she starts making.
When she starts subconsciously rocking her hips, a subtle push and pull under his hand, he brings it up to the hem of her little boy shorts.
"Still doing okay?" he asks, fingers toying with the thin black fabric.
"Yeah," Felicity says, in a high breathy voice he doesn't recognize.
"You sure you want this?" he asks, giving her an out.
"I'm in if you're in." Felicity turns to give him a look. "And honestly Oliver, stopping right now would be cruel."
"Well then," he says, and slides his hand under the fabric of her shorts.
He's met with bare skin, velvety folds he's only dreamt of (not that he'd admit it, to anyone), and he parts her carefully only to find that she's already drenched.
Jesus Christ.
"Felicity."
"I told you it had been awhile," she pants.
"You weren't kidding," he mutters, trying to focus beyond the slick feel of her on his fingers, tamping down on the urge to do a hell of a lot more than just touch her.
"Don't make fun, Oliver."
He slides his fingers up until he finds that hard little bud of nerves. "Wouldn't dream of it."
He taps his index finger and Felicity gasps, hips jerking.
"You like that?" he murmurs, and she makes a very satisfying choking noise.
"Do that again," she whispers. "Please."
He does, happily, and Felicity groans. He finds a rhythm, long slow strokes sliding up to her clit over and over, until she relaxes a little more, surrenders to his hand on her, soft little sighs and breathy moans slipping from her lips.
"Do you want more?" he asks, when he can tell her arousal level is amped up but not enough to come. And god, does he want to see her come, watch her succumb to that kind of pleasure with his name on her tongue.
"Uh...um...huh?" she gasps, her hand clamping down on his wrist.
Oliver walks his fingers down to her entrance to show her.
"Can I?" he asks softly.
"Oh," she says loudly, and tilts her hips up, granting him permission.
He starts with one finger and he's glad, because she's hot and wet and so fucking tight that he immediately starts thinking about what it would be like to fuck her, to sink into that tight heat to feel her squeeze all around him.
Focus.
He plants the palm of his hand low on her belly, thumb firmly on her clit, finger curling inside her.
"Ohhhh," Felicity moans.
He can feel himself get hard behind her but she either doesn't notice or doesn't mind, because she just rolls her hips and moans again.
He falls into an easy rhythm, muscle memory taking over. Thumb going in lazy circles, the finger inside her stretching and exploring and stroking. He pushes down the impulse to add another, to fuck her ruthlessly with his hand.
Felicity is flushed, her breathing speeding up as her hand clenches his forearm. She doesn't look afraid or nervous, just beautifully aroused.
"Mmm," she sighs, rolling her hips. "You're...wow. Oliver."
"Right here, Felicity."
"Can I..." She swallows, her breath catching. "I need..."
He intuits what she wants, the way her hips push harder against him, and adds another finger. She hisses, nodding.
"Better?" he murmurs, pumping them in and out of her, thumb pressed against the base of her clit.
"Yeah," she gasps. "Oliver, ohhhh."
Her hands brace on his thighs, and he feels her tense, breath coming in sharp little pants.
"Oliver," she says frantically, twisting to look up at him. "I think...oh god...I feel like...I want to..."
"You coming is kind of the entire point, Felicity."
"I wasn't...ah! Sure if that was covered. In the terms of the agreement," she pants, her hips thrusting up to meet his hand.
"The terms insist upon it," Oliver grins.
"Thank god." Her head lolls back on his shoulder.
He speeds his fingers up, knowing that she's close. Felicity whimpers, and then her whole body goes tense, but not in a good way. Like she's trying to fight off something so much bigger than her, struggling for control over the flood of sensations he's creating in her body.
"Felicity," he says softly, his free hand finding hers, thumb soothing over her knuckles. "Relax. You're safe. You're with me."
"With you," she repeats, slurring the words a little.
"That's right. Let go," he encourages. "I've got you."
Felicity looks up with wide eyes, her pupils blown. Oliver knows he shouldn't but suddenly he can't stop himself, can't resist, and he bends down to kiss her, her lips warm and soft under his and it's so right, so perfect.
Felicity cries into his mouth and arches back, ass digging into his groin and it's all he can do not to come in his pants.
"Oliver!" She clenches around his fingers and he doesn't stop, but speeds up, thumb rubbing frantically.
He's swept away in her, and he feels his competitive side emerge, wanting not just to make her come but to do it better than anyone else, to give her something she can only get from him.
Felicity bucks.
Once. Twice. Three times.
He can hear her, high pitched ah ah ah's in his ear, and then Felicity shrieks. Her body goes rigid, and he holds her tightly against his chest as she spasms around his fingers.
It hits him all at once, in a flood of understanding, here, in her room, with her writhing in his arms- when it comes to her he never had a chance.
Oliver works her down with his fingers, listening to her breathe as she levels out. It's all one big blur- the sound of her coming, the almost painful strain of his erection, the smell of her hair.
The way he feels inside, like he's lost, but in a good way. Like he's lost in Felicity, her soft skin and golden hair and the beautiful flush that's spread across her chest.
"What...the fuck, Oliver," Felicity murmurs, flopping back on his chest.
"What?"
Felicity starts to laugh, and it makes something in his chest warm.
"Not that I doubted your talent in this particular area, but that exceeded expectations."
"Happy to be of service," he says lightly.
Felicity yawns and snuggles against his side. "You're staying, right?"
He blinks at her. It's one thing to do...whatever the fuck it was the two of them just did, because it definitely was not just hooking up. But sleepovers are for couples.
He and Felicity can't be a couple.
"Oliver," she groans. "It's two in the morning, and you've been drinking all night. It's fine. Stay."
He finds himself sliding lower down on the bed, even though he shouldn't, even though he knows it's wrong.
"Relax," she says airily. "We don't have to cuddle. I'll pretend you're not even here."
He finds himself reaching for her anyway.
xxx
A/N What'd you guys think? Hot enough for you? Want more smut? Review and let me know! They feed the muse ;)
