That first day goes by faster than she would have expected. Everything from gathering firewood to fishing to cooking takes time. She doesn't have a handle on the pace of this life yet and she doesn't understand how exhausting it is.
She will though. It won't take long for her to figure it out.
On the second day, she wakes much as she did the first, much as she will every day in the next two weeks, in Oliver's arms with kisses pressed into her skin and hands memorizing the curves of her body. She's sore, aches from the stone floor and a level of physical exertion that she's simply not used to. Oliver's hands help, though. The warm, firm press of his thumbs kneading her knotted muscles brings nearly as much blissful relief as when those same hands wander her body with a lot more intent a little bit later.
She loves his hands. She loves all of him, really, but her appreciation for his fingers has definitely reached new heights.
When those hands reach into the pocket of his sewn-up jeans and pull out a too-familiar ring, her gaze flies to his eyes in surprise.
I don't want to lose it, he tells her. So, I'm going to ask if you'll wear it for now. But next time I give it to you, there's going to be a question attached.
She kisses him hard, says okay, and slips the ring on her finger. He doesn't stop staring at it there for days.
It feels so right with the ring back on her finger that it startles her, but she says nothing to him about it. She doesn't have the words.
The third day she watches in wonder as he uses the scissors from the medical kit to cut thin strips of silk from Roy's boxers, braiding them together and ultimately using them as a bowstring. There are birds on this moon, now. A change from last time Oliver was here. And as she eats something other than fish or rations that night, she wonders how exactly she's going to explain to Roy that they owe their dinner in part to his underwear.
The fourth day is spent with Oliver trying to teach her to hunt. Trying being the operative word. By the end of the day she can shoot a motionless target most of the time, but birds and fish tend not to stay in one spot while you aim. But still, it's progress and she's spent most of the day with Oliver's steady presence at her back and his arms around her adjusting her grip, so she calls it a win.
The fifth day, she makes a mistake. They were not blueberries and they were not edible. She spends the sixth and seventh day violently ill, curled in on herself with her head on Oliver's lap as he strokes her forehead with damp cloth torn from one of Roy's shirts. She doesn't remember much of those days, but she does remember the fear and helplessness on Oliver's face as he holds her.
She thinks maybe he thought she was going to die. She knows she thought she might.
Oliver hovers on the eighth and ninth days. She scared the hell out of him the past few days and she knows it. The way he tries to get her to rest and makes every effort to anticipate her needs might be a little annoying if it weren't so endearing. He makes the 'verse's worst soup out of a bird he managed to shoot, some edible roots he dug up and some wild leeks and mushrooms he found growing nearby.
It's the best thing she's eaten since they got here.
The tenth day, the tables turn. He's limping and obviously in pain. The wound in his leg is visibly infected. It's discolored and swollen with terrifying red streaks around it and his skin is hot to the touch. For three days, he can't even walk. For one of those he's hallucinating and delirious, thinking he's back on Lian Yu and crying out her name and things about reavers.
It's terrifying and it breaks her heart.
She hunts, successful in large part due to sheer willpower and hunger. She cleans her kills and cooks them. It's not as creative or as tasty as Oliver's cooking, but it's nutrients and calories and they both need that, badly. She has to help him eat, though, and that scares her even more than his fever or his incoherent screams. She doesn't know what she'll do if she loses him.
Her fingers twist the ring around her finger in worry and she holds him, wishing for the first time that he wasn't so very warm. She can deal with the chilly air if only he gets healthy. She'll never complain about the cold again. She promises.
Every few hours, she rinses his wound and uses their scarce medical supplies to help it heal as much as possible. She heats up stones she gathered from the lake, smoothed over by years of waves, and heats them over the fire before placing them over his cut to help draw out the infection.
And slowly, it all starts to help.
She cries when his fever finally breaks early on their thirteenth day on this moon. She holds on to him like she's terrified he might fade away in her arms and kisses his face as he looks at her with bleary recognition. Seeing him like this was so much worse than when she was ill. But he is strong and so is she and they both make it through.
They're exhausted, emotionally and physically, and they take the rest of that thirteen day to rest. It feels like a luxury. She doesn't hunt, instead making do with the last of the protein bars and some fish she'd caught the night before. They keep the fire going - a necessity for survival - but nothing else. They slumber in each other's arms in a sleeping bag on the stone floor of a cave and it feels like a gift. She's so grateful she could sob for relief.
Considering the past two weeks, the fourteenth day starts really, really well. But it's also the day everything changes.
She wakes up to the press of his lips on the back of her neck and the sweeping feeling of relief that surges through her is tremendous. It's been days since that's happened. She'd been so caught up in worry for him that she hadn't even realized how much she had grown attached to their morning ritual. But, oh she really had.
"You scared me," she whispers, grabbing his hand and pulling it up to her mouth to kiss his fingers.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs against her spine.
"It's not your fault," she tells him, turning in his arms to face him as she speaks. "But, Oliver, I don't know that I've been that terrified in my whole life. I thought I was going to lose you for a while there."
"I'm better now," he promises, lacing their fingers together and kissing the inside of her wrist. "Better than I've been in weeks. I promise. You took good care of me."
The laugh she lets out is more of a sob than anything else and she kisses him with relief and the remnants of fear still lingering beneath her skin.
"I hunted our food!" she tells him proudly when she pulls back.
"I remember," he smiles back. "And you cooked it. I'm very impressed."
"I shot a bird, Oliver. A bird," she emphasizes. "With a bow and arrow. And, I mean we're talking a bow made out of twigs and Roy's underwear!"
"I knew you could," he tells her, watching her with pride. "I've always believed in you."
She buries her smile in his chest and sighs happily. For everything they've lost through this experience, it feels like there's also so much that they've gained.
"I'd like to get out of here today," he says, surprising her and drawing her attention.
"Oliver… I'm not sure you should be up and walking around yet," she cautions, worry etched into her features.
"I know," he agrees. "I won't go far and you can come with me, but I just… I need to get outside, breathe some fresh air."
"...We are literally living in a cave in the wilderness," she points out. "There's nothing but fresh air. That's the one thing we have in abundance. Well… that and snow."
"Just for a bit," he says. "I promise I will rest if I need to."
She frowns and narrows her eyes at him.
"I don't like this," she says finally.
"I know," he replies, cupping her face and kissing her lips until they aren't downturned anymore. "That's because you worry about me and you love me."
"I really, really do," she agrees, her heart flipping at the look of delight on his face over the entire notion.
"We'll go slow," he promises. "Just for… half an hour."
"Twenty minutes and we break in the middle whether you think you need it or not," she bargains.
"Deal," he agrees easily.
The excitement on his face at the prospect of a walk through the snow is both endearing and silly. They've literally done nothing else for weeks, but then he's spent the last few days cooped up and she can understand how that gets to someone. She's been there, too.
They dress quickly and she grabs the backpack as well as the bow and arrows, just to be on the safe side, before they head out.
They've explored most of the southern shore of the lake already and they came in from the east, so she's not surprised at all when Oliver chooses to forge a path slightly up the hillside next to the lake heading northwest. It figures that he'd want to explore new ground even though he was so recently injured. He keeps to his word, though. They go slowly and they break after ten minutes, sitting together on a rock looking down at the lake below.
She has to admit, for all this moon's downsides, the views are spectacular. Still… after they get off this rock she has no desire to ever come back, no matter how good some of the memories here might be.
"Thea would like this," he says suddenly, his voice soft and far away as he looks down over the snowy landscape below.
It's the first he's mentioned his sister in two weeks. It's the first either of them have mentioned anyone on the ship since they got here, now that she thinks about it. Beyond the vague 'They're coming. We'll be rescued soon' statement in the first few days. She's tried not to think about their ship's fate. About Digg and Sara and Kaylee. The longer they're here, the more she worries they're the only ones who made it. But she hasn't dared bring that up to Oliver. The last thing he needs is to worry about his crew and his ship right now.
"She would?" Felicity asks surprised.
"Well, she would if there were a cabin with a roaring fire nearby," he clarifies with a thin twist of his lips that might be a smile if it weren't also tinged with worry. "Thea always loved the snow. My dad used to have business trips to Beaumonde all the time when we were growing up. Thea would beg to go with. Sometimes he'd cave. Mom and Thea and I would head up north to this ski lodge and dad would meet up with us at some point. I found out later Thea thought the lodge itself was named Beaumonde. She didn't even know it was the name of the planet."
"That sounds like a really nice memory," Felicity tells him after a moment.
He turns and looks at her with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"It is," he agrees.
"We should go," she says impulsively.
"You want to keep walking?" he asks.
"No. Well, I mean yes, but I mean to Beaumonde," she clarifies. "With Thea. After all of this."
"I thought you'd had enough of snow?" he asks.
"I don't think I'd mind so much if there were hot cocoa and a warm bed nearby," she tells him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "As long as you're there, too."
"If you're there, I'm there," he tells her immediately, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before standing and offering her a hand to help her up. "Let's get moving."
They don't talk about Thea again. He's obviously worried and there's no doubt that his concern is well-founded. The more time that passes, the less certain anything is. But they'll get by on hope and forward motion, just like they have so far.
Snow crunches under their shoes as they cut a jagged trail through the wilderness. Twice they see tracks that look like they're from some kind of small animal. It's a damned good sign. Oliver thinks there might be rabbits and while Felicity is internally a little horrified at the idea of eating something fluffy and cute like bunnies, she's also really, really tired of fish.
"We should turn around soon," she says. "We can come back tomorrow or the next day, go a little further and see if we find any other trace of animals."
"Hold on," Oliver says, holding up a hand.
She stops, watches him as he concentrates, obviously listening for something.
"Do you hear that?" he asks.
"Hear what?" she questions.
"This way," he replies, nodding further west.
"Oliver…" she starts, but her voice trails off quickly as they pass an outcropping of rock revealing the terrain beyond.
Her eyes widen as she takes it in, wondering if this is a mirage or if they are actually this lucky.
"Is that… oh my god is that what I think it is?" Felicity asks breathlessly with a little gasp of delight.
A few feet in front of them is a bubbling swimming pool-sized body of water, steam rising off of it and no snow covering the ground for a few feet around it. Instead, there's a thick layer of moss and small plants thriving in the ambient warmth.
"Looks like a hot spring," Oliver confirms with a grin.
It's almost absurd how gleeful that makes her. She jumps and excitedly grabs Oliver by the arm.
"We can bathe?" she asks, eyes alight and hopeful.
Because… yeah, it's been a while. She's feeling a little ripe and the idea of a hot bath seemed like an impossible dream just five minutes ago.
"Maybe!" he says, with a grin that matches hers. "Some hot springs are way too hot to touch. We'll just have to check this one and cross our fingers."
"My fingers are crossed," she nods firmly. "My toes are crossed. Everything crossable is crossed. A bath, Oliver!"
"Believe me. I'm with you," Oliver says laughing a little. "There is absolutely nothing I would love more right now than to take a bath with you."
And… oh wow that's a whole different level of wanting to take a bath than had been in her brain before, but now that he mentions it…
"So, how do we test the temperature?" she asks.
He shrugs, breaks a small branch off of a nearby tree and sticks it in the water. She's not sure quite what she expected to happen. Hell, she doesn't really know what would happen if it were scorching hot. Would it catch on fire? Turn the hot spring into exceedingly weak tea?
Oliver pulls the branch back out and lets a drop of the water fall onto his hand.
"Oliver!" she shouts, a little concerned because honestly burns are way up there on the list of things they don't need to deal with.
But he just grins in reply and kneels down to quickly touch the water. The barely-there touch of his hand to the water is followed by an even bigger smile as he full-on sticks his hand in the pool.
"It's perfect," he announces with delight.
"Really?" she asks, so excited that she's actually a little hesitant to believe him.
Not that he'd kid about something as serious as a hot bath. He's not that mean and frankly his sense of self-preservation is better than that.
"Really," he confirms, standing back up. "It's like bath water."
"It is bath water!" she corrects, tugging her jacket off and her shirt over her head with record speed. "Come on!"
Probably he shouldn't move as fast as he does. His leg is still healing after a pretty serious infection, after all, but he somehow manages to get naked before she does. He turns, stretches out his hand to her as she slips off the rest of her clothing and leads them both into the blissfully warm water.
"Oh my god this is amazing," she breathes as they sink into the heat of the natural pool. "I may never get out."
She can practically feel the grime melt away off of her skin. The spring is probably great for Oliver's leg, too. She thinks she read somewhere once about therapeutic properties of hot springs, something about minerals in the waters. She's not sure, but if nothing else the heat should soothe his wound. It's sure as hell soothing her aches.
She ducks her head beneath the water and lets her hair float around her face for a moment. Forget that there's no soap, no shampoo. She feels clean for the first time in weeks. And it's amazing.
The surface of the water breaks as she stands back up and groans in delight, wrapping her arm around Oliver's neck.
"That good, huh?" he asks, settling his hands on her waist and pulling her closer.
"Completely," she sighs in contentment.
"I'd sort of hoped I was the only one who could get you to make noises like that," he teases, sliding his hands down to palm her ass.
"Well… you did find the hot spring. So… technically…" she counters lightly, pressing up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
"As long as I get the credit," he murmurs, tugging her closer and kissing her soundly.
And… oh this is the best day she's had in a long, long time. She hums happily before backing off slightly, biting her lip as she puts a few feet between them. The look on his face might as well be a giant question mark, but it's something she answers nearly immediately with a playful splash in his direction.
The surprised look on his face lasts only a moment.
"Oh really?" he asks, shaking the water out of his hair as she splashes again. "So, that's how it is?"
She shrieks in delight as he dives for her. Pushing off the ground, she gets a little bit in the way of momentum, but Oliver is faster. Of course he is. He's Oliver.
He grabs her by the ankle, drags her back to him while she squeals and laughs. His fingers find her sides, those sensitive spots he discovered in wholly different circumstances not terribly long ago, and the play of his fingertips against her skin leaves her in peals of laughter.
"Truce! Truce!" she shrieks between gasps of laughter as he tickles her.
That's when she finds herself underwater, surfacing with a sputter a second later to find him laughing and pulling her closer.
"Yeah, I'll give you a truce," he says with a grin.
"You'd better. If you know what's good for you," she tells him, a challenge ringing in her voice as she wraps her legs around his hips.
"You," he says, leaning in and kissing her. "You're good for me."
"Good answer, Captain," she whispers against his lips.
She melts against him, all boneless and at ease. There's no peace she's ever known like she finds when she's in his arms. It ignites her and calms her, excites her and soothes her. It's paradoxical and perfect and she wouldn't trade it for anything in the entire 'verse ever.
Her body curls into his and her fingers stroke down the sides of his face as he kisses her, his hands holding her body close against his.
"We should do something about this," she says when they part, running her fingers through the fairly substantial beard he's grown in recent days.
"Not a fan of the mountain man look?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow at her.
"Mmmm, I'm a fan of you but the full beard is a bit much," she admits.
"Hard to cut it without a mirror," he tells her with a half-smile.
"Not if I do it," she proposes, raising her eyebrows at him as she trails her fingers along his jawline.
His breath catches in his throat and his eyes shut as he turns his head to kiss her fingertips. Yeah… he really likes that idea.
"Did you bring the medical kit?" he asks, voice low and ridiculously intense in a way that never fails to make her insides turn to total mush.
"Yes," she tells him a little breathlessly.
"So you've got the scissors?" he asks, kissing her fingertips again as he watches her.
"Yes," she manages again.
"How about you grab them?"
He doesn't have to suggest it twice. She's fully on board with this plan.
There's no mistaking the weight of his gaze on her as she pulls away and walks out of the water. If she sways her hips a little more than strictly necessary, the groan she hears from behind her makes it completely worth it.
The air is even colder coming out of the spring, it's blissful heat leeching away rapidly with steam rising from her body, but it's not the temperature that puts speed in her steps. It's Oliver. It's the intimate knowledge of what it feels like to be wrapped in his arms combined with the confidence that he's finally better, that neither one of them is precariously ill, and he's right there and she'd much rather be intertwined with him than anywhere else.
She hops while she digs through the bag, trying to keep moving for the sake of warmth. They don't have towels, of course, and it occurs to her that no matter how warm that spring makes them, they're going to be really, really cold with only Roy's overused jacket to dry off with.
That's a problem for later, though. She's not going to worry about that at the moment. Not when there's a naked Oliver in warm water a few feet away. She has priorities after all.
Next time they come here they'll be better prepared, she resolves. They'll bring the sleeping bag and they can cuddle up next to the spring after their bath, sharing body heat as they dry. Maybe if Oliver's leg is better enough they can share more than body heat. Injuries and illness aside, keeping her hands from exploring his body and the reactions she can coax out of him has proven exceedingly difficult. She'd very much like to be done with that, thanks.
With a little cry of victory, she pulls the scissors from the bag and holds them up in triumph. Oliver's a few feet away, shaking his head at her with that look on his face she's come to realize means she's somehow charmed him.
"Get back here," he says, his voice as warm and welcoming as she knows the water is.
She does, sinking gratefully back into the water and swimming the few feet to him with the scissors in her hands. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her flush against him as soon as she's within reach.
"It's cold out there," she murmurs.
"Good thing you're in here then," he replies, hands bracing against her back as he kisses her with the kind of excitement and fire she hopes never dulls between them.
"Yeah," she breathes into his mouth as she wraps her arms around his neck. "So… how short do you want the beard?"
"Up to you," he replies. "I can't even see it. It doesn't matter to me."
"Hmmm…" she mulls, running the fingers of her free hand along his jaw. "I'm thinking maybe I-ran-out-of-sports-bottles short."
"Are you ever going to let me live that down?" he asks, grinning in a way that lights up his eyes beautifully.
"Nope," she over enunciates with an eyebrow raised in challenge. "I think you might just have to put up with it for the rest of your life."
The look on his face turns serious, heavy in a way that doesn't quite fit with the lightness of their day so far, and she doesn't immediately understand why. But then his fingers push her hair behind her ears and his hands linger on her face while his eyes bare his soul to her, all openness and vulnerability.
"Looking forward to it," he tells her with searing intensity.
And… oh. Oh, that says… that says a lot. He hasn't exactly been subtle thus far about the sort of future he pictures with her. The comment when he'd given her the ring had stolen her breath away. But this is somehow more. There are no pretenses. He's openly expressing what he wants for them, for himself, in a way that she would never have believed possible just a few weeks before.
Apparently when Oliver says he's all in, he really, really means it. And that deserves some kind of response.
"Me too," she echoes with equal gravity.
There's a long moment where they just look at each other. Intimacy and tension of the very best kind hangs heavily in the air and both of them seem hesitant to do anything to disturb that, even for something like a kiss. But, eventually, she can't help it.
Her lips meet his and it tastes like forever.
When they part and he leans his forehead against hers, he sighs with something that sounds like peace. And she savors that, the knowledge that even with all he's been through, even with all they're going through, she can bring him that.
"Come on," she tells him after a moment. "Sit down."
There's a rock ledge in the water, a natural seat formed by eons of geological development, and it serves their current purposes perfectly. He sits, the water still up to his collarbones, and she straddles him, taking his face in her hands. Instantly, his hands go to her hips, either to keep her pressed against him or possibly to prevent her from moving, and his eyes slam shut as a pained noise catches in his throat.
"You're going to have to hold still, you know," she reminds him, nodding toward the scissors still in her hands.
"Yup, I… Yeah, I got that," he grits out with some effort.
It is, quite obviously, a struggle for him. But not for the reasons someone might have expected for a man who had spent so many years unable to trust anyone at all. His trust in her is unquestionable. He doesn't flinch away at the feel of the scissor's blades. No, his struggle is rooted in an entirely different base reaction.
Her fingers work their way through his beard, her concentration entirely focused on the task at hand as she clips and cleans away weeks of growth. But his grip on her hips is tight and the press of his hardened cock against her core where she's seated atop him is utterly undeniable. Still, even with all of that, possibly the most telling moment is when she tilts his head backwards to work on the underside of his jaw and he outright moans in response.
"Shhh," she urges as his breathing speeds up and his hands drift to pull her closer by her ass. "I'm almost done."
"Good," he manages, struggling not to move his jaw as he talks.
It's no simple thing to keep her fingers steady when he makes unspoken promises like that. Still, she finishes the task at hand fairly quickly and the result is more than satisfactory.
"Are you done?" he asks weightily as her hand falls away.
"I think so," she answers, running her hands over his stubble.
"Good," he growls. "Then put the damned scissors down."
She tosses them to the shore immediately. She's pretty sure his lips are on hers before the sheers even land. There is a hunger and an intent in this kiss that's both new and thrilling. It feels like he's trying to devour her and god she is more than ready to let him.
"Oliver, your leg," she mewls in half-protest as he kisses his way down her neck.
"It's fine," he replies, scraping his teeth against her collarbone in a way that makes her hips roll against his and her breath get stuck in her lungs. "I need you."
Words aren't quite working for her right now, but she nods furiously and makes some kind of noise that she's pretty sure he correctly interprets as 'God, yes please,' because a second later he's lifting them up out of the water, carrying her as effortlessly as a feather. He never stops kissing her as he lays her down on the mossy ground beside the spring.
Honestly, she doesn't even feel the cold this time, not with the way his lips burn a trail down her body.
He sucks at a spot on her hip that she hadn't even realized was there, but it leaves her gasping his name and arching her back as he alternates between teeth and suction leaving her something of an incoherent but delighted mess of heightened nerves. The scrape of his newly shorn beard trails down her hip, across her inner thigh, leaving a delicious burn that only serves to make her ache more in its wake. But her brain shorts out entirely when he draws one of her legs over his shoulder and stares up at her with clear intent burning in his eyes.
She'd be lying if she said she hadn't envisioned this a hundred times, the sight of his face staring back up at her from between her thighs, but this is a thousand times better. This is rooted in freely expressed love and edged with shades of forever. If her heart were beating any faster, she thinks it might explode.
The anticipation is a little much for her. Felicity's never been the most patient soul and honestly she was stretching the limits of her self-restraint by the end of the first day here. Her hips rock a little bit towards him, eager and wanting, and her hand settles on the back of his head as she bites her lip and lets out a little whimper of desire.
The way he smirks at her before lowering his mouth is damned near her undoing.
"Oh god, oh god," she breathes out, her fingers tightening in his hair as the heat of his mouth closes around her clit and his fingers sink into her. "Oliver."
She's not positive, but she'd bet everything she has that he's smiling.
His free arm pins her hips down as he works her up. The fingers buried inside her pump steadily even as he alternates what he's doing with his mouth. One moment it's all slick heat that laves at her opening, the next it's firm suction or a flick of his tongue against her clit, but no matter what he's doing it's absolutely perfect.
He winds her up so quickly that it actually takes her by surprise when she comes.
She knows she's saying something, babbling, but she's got no idea what. She feels like she's shattering, like she's flying apart into a million little pieces as her fingers grip his hair and her heels dig into his back. The look on his face as he watches her, his fingers still moving inside her, his thumb continuing to work at her clit, is damned near enough to make her crest again. His chin is wet with her and his pupils are blown wide, pride and desire shading every aspect of his face.
She's breathless, her body sated but her heart still wanting more, more of this, more of him. She wants all of him. She wants that for them both.
His lips find that spot on her hip again, a gentler kiss this time, cherishing but firm in their press against her skin. They work their way upwards from there, a blazing trail of worshipful kisses traced across her skin until he reaches her mouth. She'd nearly caught her breath then, but the way he sucks her lower lip between his takes it away all over again.
"I want you," she sighs between kisses. "All of you. I need you inside me, Oliver."
He groans and presses his forehead to hers.
"Felicity… we don't have a condom," he says, his voice full of longing and regret.
"What are you talking about? Yes we do," she counters.
"...What?" he asks, looking like maybe he thinks he heard her wrong.
"There's got to be like… seventeen that were stashed in the pocket of Roy's jacket," she replies.
She could have sworn she'd told him this, but from the look on his face, she's thinking probably this is a conversation she had with him in her head. Oops?
There's a strange mix of thoughts that cross his face. Surprise shifts to excitement shifts to a tightened brow in very quick succession.
"You're telling me that my sister's boyfriend had seventeen condoms in his jacket pocket?" he asks finally, his voice edging on something dark and threatening.
It's probably a good thing Roy is nowhere nearby. Wherever he is right now has got to be better than here.
"That's what you took from that?" she asks him, kissing the tight line of his lips. "At least you know they're being safe."
He grunts in something that isn't quite an agreement, but his mild grouchiness stays in place until she trails her mouth to the underside of his chin and nips at his skin.
"And now we can be safe, too," she points out as she digs her heels into his ass and he groans. "Let's not look a gift-condom in the mouth… that came out weird. I don't think that metaphor works."
He laughs, sharp and disbelieving as he looks at her and shakes his head.
"Did you bring them with you?" he asks after a moment.
"They're still in the jacket," she replies, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Grab one," he tells her, kissing her swiftly and rolling off of her onto his side.
"Just one?" she asks as she gets to her feet.
"I don't know if you were exaggerating or not when you said there were 17-"
"Oh, I wasn't," Felicity tells him, looking over her shoulder as she walks over to pick up the jacket. "Apparently Roy was super hopeful when he went to pick up Thea."
"Let's… not focus on that at the moment please," Oliver says, blinking and pulling a face.
"Believe me, the only thing I'm focusing on right now… is you," Felicity tells him, holding up a foil packet between two fingers and turning back towards him. "So… one?"
"I'm going to want you just as much tomorrow, Felicity," he tells her. "And the day after that and the one after that. We don't know how long we'll be here. So… yeah, just one."
"Okay," she smiles back, biting her lip to hold in her joy just a little bit.
For two weeks they've been lost out here. She's lost weight she really didn't need to. Neither of them have brushed their teeth. She hasn't been able to shave or brush her hair since they got here. But he looks at her like none of that matters, like she's everything he wants and the most beautiful thing he's ever seen all at once. Sometimes the way he looks at her just takes her breath away.
Like now.
She walks back over and pushes his shoulder lightly until he's on his back, propped up only by his forearms against the moss. It's a hell of a sight. It sorta makes her wish she had a photographic memory because wow.
"Why are you just standing there?" he asks after a second.
"I'm trying to burn this into my brain," she replies. "You are ridiculously hot, you know that?"
"Get down here," he laughs, sitting up and tugging on the backs of her knees until she's straddling his thighs.
"Hi," she grins once they're nose-to-nose.
"Hi," he replies, delight obvious on his face. "I love you."
"I love you, too," she tells him, pecking him on the lips three times in quick succession, lingering a little longer each time.
To say that she's careful about tearing through the foil packet holding the condom is an understatement. He's right about the limited supply and there's no way she's wasting one by accidentally ripping it. And her caution pays off. A second later she's tossing the packaging aside and unrolling the condom down his very erect cock as he groans and presses his forehead to hers.
"Felicity," he sighs as her hand trails up and down his length for a moment.
She stills her hand and his blue eyes meet hers. There's so much unguarded emotion there. And everything she sees in him is exactly what she's feeling. It's deeply intimate and she feels strangely anchored in this moment.
With her eyes still locked on his, she rises up on her knees, steadies herself with one hand on his shoulder and sinks down onto him.
His eyes flutter and his jaw goes a little slack for a second before he exhales a steadying breath and kisses her deeply. Her hands can't help but map him out, his face, his chest, his shoulders. His seem focused mostly on her back, fingers splayed wide across the breadth of it as his hands trail up and down her spine.
It's perfect. It's perfect. This isn't an easy position to thrust in, but he's so deep inside her and the intimacy is so high that it doesn't really matter that all they really have the leverage to do is rock into each other. It's tidal, almost, a slow build of swells that draw them both ever-higher.
His eyes never leave hers. She sees every last thing he's feeling, watches every little twinge of emotion play across his face. This is far from her first time, but it's definitely the first time she's felt this connected to someone.
"Oh," she sighs, rocking a little harder as she rubs against his pelvic bone in the best possible way. "Oliver…"
She tries to keep her eyes open and locked on him when she comes, but she can't. It's a quieter orgasm than before that washes over her, less earth-shattering in its physicality but no less intense. She shudders as her body clenches around him and he peppers kisses across her flushed face.
"You're so beautiful when you come," he tells her, lips pressed to her temple.
"Mmmm," she hums happily. "You, too. I'd really like a reminder, in fact."
He groans as she pushes on his shoulder a little until he's lying back fully on the moss. The shift in their angle gives her the freedom to really ride him the way she's almost certain he wants. From the way he pants and grips her hips as she drives her body down onto his, she figures she was right.
"Felicity," he groans, hips jerking up to meet hers with every increasingly frantic thrust.
His grip is literally pulling her down to grind harder against him on every downstroke and oh holy shit that's incredible. Something coils in her belly, deep and low and wholly unexpected because there's just no way she's going to orgasm a third time. That's not a thing that happens to her. Except - apparently - with Oliver it is. The way her body tightens in anticipation is blinding. Oliver must see it coming. He's chasing his own bliss at this point, too, but his hand reaches between them and finds the swollen bundle of nerves desperate for his touch and she breaks around him.
"Oh god, Oliver. Oliver, oh, oh," she sobs thrashing above him as he hammers up into her and his thumb massages her clit furiously.
It's so overwhelming that she almost misses as he chokes on his own breath and spills himself inside her. Almost. She reopens her eyes just in time to see as the moment overtakes him, too. And, oh, is that a sight to behold.
Her heart pounds furiously in the aftermath. Her muscles spent, she damned near collapses on him, his cock still twitching inside her.
"We are… absurdly good at that," she mutters into his chest after a moment of trying to control her own breathing. "We deserve a medal or something."
He laughs, which is a beautiful sound even if it admittedly does feel a little funny with him still inside her.
"God, I love you," he says grinning down at her.
She smiles and kisses him in reply.
"We should get back," she tells him with a note of regret. "It's getting late and I don't know about you, but I've worked up an appetite."
"Yeah," he agrees. "It looks like there might be a storm rolling in anyhow. We don't want to be caught away from camp if it gets heavy."
He's right. The sky looks ominous.
She slides off of him, sighing a little at the loss of his body buried within her. Sixteen more condoms is definitely not enough. But there's not exactly anything they can do about it.
"Let's get going then," she says, offering him a hand up.
"We'll come back tomorrow," he promises her, kissing her shoulder as she snaps on her bra.
"And the next day, and the next," she tells him, looking over her shoulder. "Maybe we should just move here."
"It's not as well protected from the elements," he points out. "But I am glad it's nearby. I wish we'd found it earlier."
"Me too," she agrees, tugging her shirt over her head and grabbing Roy's jacket. "But at least we found it now."
"Yeah," he smiles at her, grabbing her hand and kissing her fingers. "I'm glad we found it now."
From the way he says it, she wonders if maybe he's talking about something else entirely.
They walk hand-in-hand back down the trail they'd blazed before, snow crunching underfoot as the nearby planet looms large overhead, blocked in large part by heavy clouds. They don't talk much, just shoot happy, knowing glances at each other.
She's wrapped up enough in him that they end up at the entrance to their little cave before she realizes where they are. She thinks that Oliver seems just as distracted as her, dropping kisses on top of her head and tracing his thumb across hers as they walk.
It's a theory that's proven absolutely correct when someone clears their throat and both of them jump.
"Well now, if it isn't Oliver Queen," calls an unfamiliar voice.
Felicity shrieks a little and stops dead in her tracks at the sight of five heavily armed strangers. Oliver's grip on her arm tightens almost painfully as he jolts into alertness.
"We've been looking for you," the man says, stepping closer as the other four men surround them. "Somehow I suspect this little reunion is going to go a lot better for the boss than it is for you, Queen."
Oliver's instantly in survival-mode. She can see it. His eyes dart around their cave, trying to find a way out, a way to save her.
"Bind his hands behind him," the same man says. "If he fights you, shoot the girl."
That's when she knows they've lost.