After filling so many prompts, I wanted to do one of my own. This drabble is rated M, although it's a light M.


It's a rare, lazy Sunday morning that they get to spend in bed for a change.

Oliver makes breakfast, French toast coated in cinnamon and sugar, the season's first fresh blueberries and coffee. They forego utensils, tearing off pieces of the moist, fried bread and popping it in their mouths, smiling and laughing and talking about nothing at all for a change. When the last sweet berry is gone, and remnants of sugar licked from sticky fingers, they fall asleep again, sunlight streaming in through the open window, the sounds of traffic faint down below.

They fall in and out of awareness, each smiling as they watch the other sleep before drifting back down into the sheets. Felicity's hair shines like gold, the curls tangled in disarray on her pillow. Oliver's frown lines are smoothed away, and he looks years younger, at peace for at least one morning.

At one point, Oliver wakes up and doesn't want to fall asleep again, watching the rise and fall of Felicity's chest, letting his fingers brush the soft skin of her stomach, trailing down over her hip and back up again, smiling as he fingers the pink polka-dotted panties that are so uniquelyher. Felicity awakens to a hot, wet mouth trailing kisses up her inner thigh, and sighs as she lets her legs fall open, stretching her arms above her head. It's slow, and warm, and so easy. He laughs when she wraps a leg around his, wiggling her toes and tickling the back of his knee. Felicity laughs when Oliver rolls them over, and bangs his head against the backboard, miscalculating the distance. He grins back and she leans down to kiss him, moving above him as he fills her completely.

The bedroom is suffused with sighs, and names uttered in comfortable bliss, as they move together in the undefined space between reality and reverie, a space that belongs entirely to them.

Later, once they're breathing has slowed and Oliver can feel Felicity's heartbeat return to normal beneath his cheek, he tilts his head up, resting his chin on her chest.

"Hey," he says softly.

She meets his eyes and smiles, lifting her hand and running her fingers through his hair.

"Hey."

"Why do you count?" he asks, and she frowns, not understanding.

"When you say something you didn't mean to," he elaborates, "you count down from three. You did it the first time we met."

"Ah," Felicity takes a deep breath and pauses.

"You don't have to tell me."

She smiles, and knows if she stays quiet, he'll let it go. Her fingers scratch lightly at his scalp and he closes his eyes, rumbling his approval.

"When I was a little girl, I used to get in a lot of trouble."

Oliver opens his eyes, raising a speculative eyebrow. She smacks him gently and returns to playing with his hair.

"Don't make fun. I wasn't always this put together."

Oliver snorts, but holds his tongue.

"A lot of my teachers hated me. I didn't have too many friends either. I think I was just too fast for everyone else to keep up with." Felicity's voice is soft, her breath barely stirring the air around them, but Oliver can feel the vibrations of each word beneath his chin. "I didn't do it on purpose. I'd get started talking and at some point I'd just get so far ahead of myself that I'd say something I couldn't take back. I'd correct all the teachers, and no one likes a know-it-all…"

Felicity's fingers have stopped carding through his hair, and Oliver reaches up, taking her hand and kissing her palm.

"My mom came up with it," she says, smiling softy. "She told that whenever I realized I was starting to go off on a tangent, I should just stop and count down to one, so I could let the rest of me catch up."

Oliver nibbles on her index finger and she giggles.

"Did it help?"

"Sometimes. Most times," she says, tracing his lips. "I still do it now, usually when I'm trying to get a point across and I ruin it somehow and need to regroup."

Oliver hums his understanding. He's seen it. He's always admired her ability to get back on track.

They're silent long enough that Oliver almost drifts off again. He's turned his head back, listening to her heart beat rhythmically in his ear, his hand tracing patterns over her side. He feels her chest rise as she takes a deeper breath.

"I don't do it as often with you."

His hand stills.

"You never get upset or offended. You don't make fun of me. You keep up."

Felicity's heart beats just a little bit faster and he lets out a slow breath.

A car horn honks somewhere in the distance. Next door the neighbor is watching a game show, the sound of the answers floating in through the open window. The sheets are smooth against their skin, infused with the scent of her shampoo and his deodorant, and the morning has given way to afternoon. Right now, nothing exists outside of the two of them, wrapped around, within, throughout each other.

"I'll always keep up," Oliver murmurs.

They won't leave the bed for several more hours.