AN: Okay, this was supposed to be up on Friday. But then real life decided it needed attention. ANYWAY. Here it is. WARNING; SMUTTTT. This is THAT chapter, so if you don't like smut - don't read. Don't say I didn't warn you. But if you like smut - I hope you like this. Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing, favouriting, following - they are the fuel for quicker updates. xo

When she left work the next day, she headed straight for the Foundry, excessively happy that she was finally returning to their little lair.

She would never admit it to Oliver or Diggle, but she had missed their hideout the most.

Walking around the club and down the stairs, she was greeted with familiarity.

There was Diggle, sat at her desk, typing away furiously at the keyboard with eyes narrowed. Smiling, she watched him roll his shoulders, as if he was getting ready to fight the computer.

She desperately hoped he wouldn't.

Turning slightly, she finally laid her eyes on Oliver.

She wasn't surprised to see him training, concentrating on the three dummies in front of him as he expertly took them down. His movements, even when survival mode was triggered, whispered grace and ease.

Though she was slightly surprised that he actually had a shirt on.

"Oh, hey Felicity," Diggle finally realized that she was present, and she tore her eyes away from Oliver, smiling.

"I don't remember giving my desk to you, Digg," she commented, moving over to put her bag down and shrug out of her coat. He raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused.

"Doesn't have your name on it, does it? Welcome back."

"Thanks. Nice to see you back too," she rested a hand on his shoulder, telling him exactly what she wanted to through that one touch. He patted her hand, before swinging round and getting up.

"Well, now that Felicity's here, I'm gonna get going. Gotta pick up Carly from work," he explained, grabbing his jacket.

"Say hi to her!" Felicity called out behind him, settling down at her desk. She was nervous, though for the life of her she couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as if she had never been alone with Oliver. Plus, he was training. Not to mention she had lots of re-organizing to do too.

"Too bad his shirt is on," she muttered under her breath as she started to clear the system out.

"Did you say something?"

Her head snapped up, the slight blush creeping into her cheeks.

"Uh, no. No. I didn't. I was talking to myself – I do that a lot, you know. Just ignore me," she stammered out, looking back at the screen. Sometimes, she forgot just how good his senses were.

Thankfully, he didn't say anything else. She focused on the task at hand, wiping out any tracks the two had left while she had been away and what have you not. They did their respective tasks silently, settling into their familiar routine very quickly.

"Wanna train?"

Her fingers faltered over the keyboards as she looked up, noticing that he was standing behind the screens and looking at her. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her mind.

"Do I need to train? What for?" she asked bluntly.

"You haven't been here for a week. Unless you've been training at home with Thea while eating all that junk, then you can't escape. C'mon. It won't take long," he reasoned with her, smiling.

"I would like to point out that you just called me and your own sister fat," she swung round and reluctantly got out of her seat, "And that's what you always say. I spend majority of the time on the floor anyway, so do we have to do this?"

"Yes, we do. You're not that bad. Now, no more excuses – go get changed."

Knowing he wouldn't budge, she sighed, moving towards the set of drawers where they had spare clothes and other little necessities.

"Also – I like having you on the floor most of the time. Just so you know."

She stepped up to the training course, braiding her hair quickly as she did so. She often forgot how tight her ponytail was, and it was the most convenient way to keep her hair out of her face without tying it up again.

Oliver didn't think he'd ever get used to just how beautiful she was. She didn't even try; it was the simplicity in her hair, her face, and her clothes that made her so appealing. Remembering the last time she had her hair braided, he was tempted to just reach out and pull the band out.

"Start stretching, then we'll take it from there," he told her, stripping out of his thin top. She groaned, actually groaned out loud.

"Yeah because you topless really isn't going to help this dry spell."

Oliver's eyes grew wide as he looked down at her.

She desperately wished for the ground to swallow her up in that moment.

"Ignore me. Please, just ignore me. Block out my voice or something. 'Cause that really wasn't meant to come out of my mouth," she rushed out, her face growing red.

"Let's – stretch. That's the safest option."

So she stretched alongside him, mentally scolding herself. Trust her to mention her 'dry spell'. She was absolutely sure that wasn't in any 'How to Seduce a Billionaire Vigilante' guide.

Her eyes couldn't help but rake over the taunt muscle, tempting her to reach out and touch. He'd be warm, so gloriously warm under her hands. And his hands would be rough against her skin, just the way she wanted them to be.

Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the thundering of her heart at the thoughts.

"Let's get started."

Training got his hands on her, alright. Just not in the way she had envisioned.

No one would consider getting floored sexual.

She let out a whimper when she ended up on the floor for the seventh time, with Oliver looming over her.

"I'm beginning to wonder if you like staying on the floor," he commented, and she slapped his shoulder.

"It feels like my back is broken. You have a disgustingly big advantage over me, considering the fact that you're about ten times my body weight. Not that I'm complaining about you being on top because – how did you get this scar?" she abruptly asked, her hand gently tracing the length of the scar on his peck. For a moment, she forgot about her own promise to not question him about his time on the island. But, true to her nature, she couldn't always keep her thoughts in her mind. His body immediately tensed, and she watched in fascination as the emotions in his eyes faded away, one by one. The easy air around them changed as blank eyes stared down at her, and she very nearly so gulped.

She realized she was looking at the Hood.

"It's one of many. I don't remember them all," his voice was cool and detached as he made a move to roll off of her.

She instinctively held on, not willing to lose his warmth. Not willing to lose the moment.

"Don't shut me out, Oliver. It's only you and me. Remember how you told me that I can trust you?"

He nodded stiffly, jaw tense and locked. Her heart yearned to take away the pain that seemed to surround him like a cloak; and she was finally brave enough to not let him escape.

"You can trust me too. It works both ways."

She placed her hand right over his heart, felt the slight skip. He was a fascinating man – one so complex that no matter how many layers you peeled back, there would always be more. But she was willing to ease through them all – because she wanted him to be hers.

He couldn't think through rationally. How could he let her in on the darkness that he was adamant on keeping her safe from? How could he ever look into her eyes if he told her too much?

He didn't want to see pity in her eyes.

But it was only one story. Her hands had traced one of the earliest memories; one of the easier ones.

"It's a knife wound. Jagged edge. They cut deep enough for me to scream, but not deep enough for a quick death. It was a way of sending across a message," he told her numbly, "It was one of the earlier wounds. They got easier to handle as time went by."

She stared up at him, but his eyes were in a land she suddenly didn't want to know about. Her hand traced the scar again, marred yet still oddly perfect against him. He wore his battle wounds so easily, so honestly, without any cover ups, that she naively forgot how bad they probably must have been.

Leaning up, she pressed gentle, soothing kisses on the scar.

Oliver sucked in a breath, the vicious images scattering away from his mind as he felt her soft touches and comforting kisses. No one had ever been as kind as Felicity, as selfless as her. His heart did a lazy turn as her breath feathered against his skin, over the marred flesh that was second skin to him. Her lips pressed small kisses against his neck as she eased him back and flipped their positions, bracing her hands on the cold tarmac ground.

"You're unbelievably handsome, Oliver Queen," she told him, eyes raking over his face and down his body.

"You're also the bravest man I know," she leaned forward, nose to nose with him.

"Let me show you."

He didn't have time to collect his thoughts together before she laid her lips on his.

She didn't know where the confidence was coming from. Felicity Smoak was never comfortable in her own skin; never comfortable with her own thoughts. She was never the one who ever made a move, sometimes too scared to welcome change.

But she wasn't the Felicity Smoak everyone was accustomed to. No, she was no longer that boring girl. She was so much more.

His hands came up behind her, tracing up her sides, moving over the curves of her hips, the dip in her back, her small waist. She moaned against his mouth when he hoisted the flimsy tank top up and put his rough hands on her rosy skin.

Skin to skin was so much better.

How long had she been imagining this moment for? How long had she been pining away for a man who had seemed so out of her reach?

"Felicity," he breathed her name out as she broke away from the kiss.

She had waited long enough.

He pulled the tank over her head, throwing it to the side, before pulling the band out of the braid. He wanted her, so viciously and desperately. Had anyone so easily accepted him?

Never.

She shook her hair back, the now wild curls spilling over her shoulders, framing her face. He reached forward and fisted a hand in her hair, pulling her back down to him.

The kiss that followed was brutal and full of need.

Her nails dragged down his chest as he let his other hand roam over the exposed skin, already memorizing the beautiful lines of her body. Nothing was familiar about her; she was refreshingly different, completely new.

He bit her bottom lip, dragging a muffled groan out of her as she pressed her hot core against him, her hips grinding down and creating a glorious friction between them. He nearly lost all control, ready to rip away the offensive clothing and take her straight there and then.

She could feel his erection through the thin leggings that covered her, the aching need between her thighs screaming for release. She gasped for air as she pulled away from the kiss and he set his teeth on her neck, sucking and biting as he found the tender spot.

Her body arched as she cried out.

He was undoing her, inch by inch – her entire being chanted his name, over and over. How had she ever lived without those lips on her skin before?

"Let me," she whimpered, trying to gain her control again. This wasn't about her – no, this was about him. She was going to show him exactly what she thought, what she wanted and needed from him.

Linking her fingers with his, she brought his hands above his head, holding him prisoner on the ground. He could easily break out of the grip, but he didn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

She laid open mouth kisses down his neck, his chest, over every single scar that covered his upper body.

"You're absolutely perfect to me, Oliver," she told him, "every single scar, every single wound, they make you the man you are."

His fingers squeezed hers tightly as he battled with the onslaught of emotions laced with lust.

She let go of his hands, moving lower, lower, unbelievably lower until her fingers were at the elastic of his bottoms. Her eyes met his, before she slowly eased them down.

He hissed when he felt her small hands tracing his rigid shaft through his boxers.

"Felicity."

She wanted him to say her name like that for the rest of her life. She wanted him desperate for her every time he set his eyes upon her. She wanted this for an eternity.

Yanking down his boxers, she freed him from the restraint.

Then leaned forward and licked all the way up.

Oliver's head shot up as he gasped. He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to get his brain working again. Common sense left him as his hands fisted at his sides, his knuckles white. She used her tongue, and used it well – up and down, down and up, tracing patterns, swirling around the tip of him –

Then her lips closed around him, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back.

Her mouth was suddenly the deadliest weapon she possessed.

She took him in, all of him, in that instance and she felt his body shake. She eased up a little, letting her hands trail up his legs and to his abdomen. Her brightly painted fingernails bit into his skin, the sensation of both her mouth and hands killing him. Surely this was surreal, he thought wildly as he mouth worked him slowly, torturously. She let go of him for a moment, laying open mouthed kisses along his manhood while she moved her hands down to his length again. He wasn't sure of what to anticipate next, not sure if she was going to strike again or –

"Fuck."

Her teeth scraped lightly when she took him back into her mouth again, and Oliver's hands fisted in her hair, the blonde locks a disarray as her head moved up and down, the sight of it making his blood boil with need. He was so close to the edge, holding on by a thread, and if she didn't stop –

He growled as she moved back, and before she could acknowledge it, he yanked her up and flipped her onto her back, tearing the simple bra open with one hand as the other roughly pulled down her leggings.

Her hands gripped his forearms as he slipped his hand into her wet panties, touching her hot core.

Her vision blurred when he slipped a finger into her.

"Yes."

He lightly bit her pretty pink nipple, slipping another finger into her, enjoying the way she tightened around them. Enjoying the moans and gasps as he moved his fingers deeper, picking up the speed as she whimpered, her face a delightful image, cheeks rosy and mouth bruised from his.

Watching her unravel, lose control in such a manner, left him speechless.

"Come for me, Felicity."

And she did, loud and beautifully. Her body arched, her muscles quivering as his fingers continued to pump her, sending shivers and spasms through her. Her fingers gripped his neck, digging in hard. Unable to hold back any longer, he spread her legs wide, and buried himself to the hilt into her.

"Oh!"

So this is what home felt like, she thought wildly as she welcomed him into her, watching his face.

They locked together like two pieces of a puzzle.

His hands mimicked her earlier movements, locking their fingers together over her head as he moved in and out of her, relishing in the feel of her.

"More."

He moved fast, picking the speed up.

She cried out when he bit down on the throbbing pulse on her neck.

She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him in closer.

Slick flesh against slick flesh, they moved together, faster, faster, faster.

"Oliver."

He didn't slow down, not even a bit – he moved in and out of her faster, flesh smacking against flesh, hands bruising and moans become ragged screams.

His name echoed all around them, her body no longer her own.

He kissed her hard, so close to his own release.

"Felicity."

They both came together, falling off the dangerous edge.

They didn't move, their bodies still joined.