So, this is a fic I've been playing with and working on for fucking EVER. My dartie, SassySnow1988, and I are fans of both Arrow and of The Pretender. We talked about how awesome an Pretender!Arrow AU with Felicity as the Jarrod character and Oliver as the Miss Parker character would be. So this little plot bunny started running circles in my head. Thankfully it isn't looking to become a proper multi-chapter fic (I do NOT need another of those, lol) though there is a chance for a part 2 someday.
The title comes from the song Bloodstream by Transviolet, go ahead and feel free to have that playing while you read the key (and you know what I mean by that) scene. ;-)
This is a belated birthday gift for SassySnow1988, basically plot for the sake of smut. And the smut in this is possibly the smuttiest thing I've ever written. It is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. I hope you enjoy this fun jaunt into Pretender!Arrow AU!
Happy Belated Birthday, dartie! I hope you like this excuse for Olicity smut while playing in one of our favorite bygone fandoms!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Pretender or Arrow or anything therein either. They are the properties of their respective entities. I am a broke, recent law school grad with a TON of debt, who now works as a legal aid attorney so anyone looking to sue me is in for the best fight I can give them and if they win VERY little-to-no money.
Bloodstream
This was probably the dumbest thing Felicity had ever done.
No not probably. Definitely. It was definitely the dumbest thing Felicity had ever done. And given her stratosphere-level genius intellect that was saying something, that someone as smart as she was would do something so patently stupid.
But she had to know, after so damn long of wondering, Felicity needed to know: Had Oliver been helping her all this time?
It had always been a niggling at the back of her mind, for years since she broke out of the Centre and he was ordered to hunt her down and bring back the think tank's most valuable asset.
The times when she'd be escaping Oliver's team:
Clambering down a fire escape to glance up and see him standing above her on the roof, just watching her leave. Felicity knew that he could've easily caught her then, he was much more athletic than she was and a master at parkour, but he just stood there, hands in his pockets, not making a single move to follow her, much less stop her.
When she was so close to reaching her get-away car and one of the crueler sweepers was suddenly there between her and her ride, gun leveled on her, finger squeezing the trigger with a smirk on his face. Abruptly there was a bright red hole in the center of his forehead, and he dropped to the ground. Felicity whipped around to see Oliver not far behind her, gun pointed at where the sweeper had been standing. He lowered it, eyes on her, and not giving chase as she spun back and rushed into her car.
And then there was her escape itself.
The red, clicky pen Oliver (supposedly) forgot on the table, which she was able to hide up her sleeve to then use to pick the lock on the vent. Felicity had repeatedly tried to write it off as just an oversight, a mistake… Oliver didn't make such clumsy mistakes.
The last straw was what John Diggle, the second core member of Oliver's "team," had told her just two days ago.
Felicity nearly had the lock on the door, her escape was close enough to taste.
Footsteps rang out behind her, prompting Felicity to spin around in her crouched position, praying to whatever power there might be that it wasn't one of the Sweepers chosen by Merlyn.
John Diggle was standing there, gun raised, which almost instantly dropped when he saw it was her. "Need a hand with that lock?"
"What?" she asked, rather embarrassingly stupidly.
In seconds the gun was tucked in his waistband and he was crouched beside her, snatching the picks from her hands before going to work, hands moving much faster than Felicity's could—she was competent at picking locks, but it wasn't her forte. "Currently I'm the only one in this area of the warehouse, but we need to get you out of here as fast as possible before someone else does get here."
She stared at the man beside her, of the three core members of the team hunting her he was the one she was least familiar with, and with whom she'd had the least contact. "Why are you doing this?"
The lock clicked, and he pulled the door open, thrusting the picks into her rather limp fingers. "It's my standing field operational orders: Make sure you get away."
He tried to get her through the door, but she grabbed the frame refusing to go through yet. "From Walter?"
The burly man's lips twitched slightly. "Walter doesn't have any authority over me, or over operations."
The blonde's mouth fell open, her grip on the frame slack, allowing him to push her through with one more urge to "run."
The sweeper's words had refused to leave Felicity alone, echoing in her mind; she had to know.
Was Oliver actively trying to keep her out of the Centre?
He'd more than once told her that their life was "you run, I chase," but did he really mean it? Was that all they were destined to be?
And that was why she was crouched in the dunes on the edge of Oliver's property, tablet in hand, hacking into his security system. Felicity was grateful that Oliver's nearest neighbors were over a mile away and past a copse of trees on one side and even further away with basically a mountain blocking the other.
The house was a lovely, Cape Cod style with dark green shutters and white trim, right on the beach—Oliver had always loved the ocean, he'd told her about it and snuck pictures of it to her so many times as children. One time he'd even brought her a shell so that she could hear the waves (though she had explained that it was actually the air moving through the passages of the shell, but it was still such a sweet gesture. One of the first things she'd done with her freedom was to head to the beach to see if the ocean really did sound like the shell).
The windows were larger and more plentiful than in a typical Cape Cod along with several sets of French doors—likely renovations Oliver must have done along with the addition to one side of the house—with a wraparound porch. A porch swing hung on the side facing the water—Felicity ached to curl up on it in a thick sweater with a steaming cup of coffee and a good book; she was shocked by the vividness of the domestic image.
The Pretender focused on the code scrolling across her screen, trying to find a way to bring down Oliver's rather impressive—she still would've done better—security system, without alerting him or the security company, or taking down the entire system. Just trying to crack it enough for her to get through both a proverbial and a literal door.
Finally, she was able to get his code for the system, so she could temporarily shut it down—she would turn it back on once she was inside, Oliver hated being vulnerable. And as she watched the code slowly be revealed, digit by digit, her breath caught.
It was an unusually long one, much longer than the average code, but it was solely composed of 1's and 0's. And it was a pattern Felicity was extremely familiar with.
Felicity was able to pick up any language faster than most any other human being, and Oliver was just as good—probably slightly better, but only slightly—with languages. The difference was that Felicity was no where near as good at getting the pronunciation down or making her accent sound exactly right for a given region, which Oliver could do with ease. However, there were languages that Felicity excelled at which Oliver had never gained proficiency in, computer code. In this case binary. There were two words Oliver had asked her to teach him in binary, probably the only things he'd ever retained in the code. His name, and the word that composed his security system password.
Her name.
The string of 1's and 0's spelt out "Felicity."
The hacker-Pretender inhaled slow and deep, trying to control her breathing, and the burgeoning hope that her suspicions were right.
She carefully shut down the sensors and cameras on his grounds just long enough for her to get into the house, before shoving her tablet into her backpack.
It was a new moon, the reason Felicity chose tonight for her B&E, which aided in slipping through the tall grasses until she ran out of cover and darted to the porch. Hopefully Oliver was asleep and not having one of his insomnia episodes, though the house was completely dark, which was a good sign.
Pulling out her picks, Felicity went to work on the lock, all-too aware of the clock ticking down until the sensors and cameras would come back on. Computers really were more where her talents lay.
With six seconds to spare, the blonde managed the lock and quickly slipped inside, easing the door closed behind her so that the noise wouldn't disturb Oliver. Immediately she went to the alarm pad, which thankfully didn't beep until the code was entered like many systems did, and swiftly entered the 1's and 0's, heart tumbling in her chest as she did so. The pad signaled its acceptance of the code, securing the alarm; she then reentered the code to activate the system again.
After they had talked about him potentially (probably) keeping her out of the Centre, Felicity was going to have a long discussion with Oliver about security and proper alarm codes, because as clever and sweet as his current password was, using her name was about as smart as using either of their birthdays. And while he had an impressive system, and it would take someone of Felicity's caliber to crack it, she had cracked it and there were a few others out there who could do so as well.
Google, she hoped she'd get to have that talk with Oliver…
The house was dark, lit only by the starlight coming through the windows—Felicity was actually a little surprised at how many, and how large the windows were given Oliver's paranoia about safety and security, but she loved the views and all the light they would let it. The first floor was open plan, one space flowing into the next, with only one set of doors off to the left, probably Oliver's office or something, with the free-standing stairs in the center of the vast space.
After silently setting her backpack on the floor by the door, Felicity was immediately drawn to the kitchen area. She couldn't boil water without burning it, but she knew that Oliver had always loved cooking and it showed in the commercial grade equipment, gorgeous granite counters, and the freestanding butcher's block to the side of the island.
She let the fingers of one hand skim over the cool, perfectly polished surface, while the other brushed over the pots hanging from the rack over the island, careful not to make a sound. Finally, she came to a stop, tracing patterns over the stainless steel of the gas, six-burner with griddle stove and oven. Two more ovens were installed in the wall just to her left; the cabinets were painted white, same as the walls—bland in Felicity's opinion, she'd have put some color on them, or on the walls, somewhere, the color scheme was all a little too white-on-beige-or-grey for her tastes.
It was Oliver's dream kitchen. The same one he'd confessed to her he wanted in whispered confidences they'd shared growing up.
The rest of the first floor was comfortable but bland; the part of Felicity that had relished in the time she'd pretended to be an interior designer longed to pick up her tablet and start redesigning the colors and furniture. If she'd had her choice of houses this one would've been it for her, it had a perfect layout, feel, and location.
Unbidden, in her mind rose the image of Oliver at this very stove, cooking dinner, while she sat on the counter next to him, stealing tastes of what he was cooking under his weak looks of reprimand. It was a dangerously seductive fantasy.
An eerily familiar clicking came from right behind her head, causing Felicity's eyes to snap up, meeting the subway tile backsplash.
"You're lucky I recognized you. I have a habit of shooting first and asking questions later."
Her heart tripped in her chest at the husky voice, the recognition of it embedded in her very soul. "You'd never hurt me, no matter the situation, Oliver." The blonde turned, hands gripping the ledge of the stove behind her, so that she wouldn't give into the bone-deep need to touch him, made even more difficult than usual to restrain by him being shirtless—and holy fuck, the man was built like a bloody Adonis. The corner of her mind that wasn't drooling over, ahem, appreciating Oliver's physique made a mental note to find out every person who had inflicted the multitude of scars on his body and rain down their very own personal hells on them.
The barrel was now between her eyes, but she didn't feel an inkling of fear, not even unease. It remained there for a moment longer, before dropping to his side. "What the hell are you doing here, Felicity?" he growled out.
His growly voice really shouldn't turn her on as much as it did. "Mr. Diggle said something interesting the other day." Frak, her voice was much more breathless than she'd like.
Oliver's jaw clenched. "Dig talks too much."
Felicity raised an eyebrow. "Well, considering your borderline mutism, I guess it all balances out."
His lips didn't even twitch. He would've laughed before.
When was the last time Oliver had laughed? Hell, when had he last smiled?!
As children he'd smiled and laughed with her all the time on their adventures around the Centre with the other children. Then, shortly after he kissed her on her 18th birthday, he disappeared from her life for over a year. When Oliver came back, he was so very different, colder, harder. Felicity hadn't seen him smile since he'd returned, and he'd hardly spoken more than a handful of words to her that weren't during the occasional calls she made to him. Felicity still had no idea what had happened to him, though to be honest she hadn't tried too hard to find out, because what she really wanted was for him to tell her rather than her ferreting it out.
Felicity's blue eyes searched his, so hard to read in the darkness of the room. "Have you been helping me stay out of the Centre?"
Even in the dark, Felicity could see the muscles working in his jaw. "I have no id—"
"Stop!" she snapped in frustration. After a very deep breath, she continued in a more measured tone, "Don't." Felicity might not be able to read Oliver's expressive eyes in the dark, but she knew the tone his voice took when he was trying to hide something from her. After a couple more breaths, studying the woodgrain of the floor, the blonde met his gaze again. "The truth, Oliver. The truth, finally, please?"
Frustration imbued every line of his body. "There are only two people in the entire world I truly care for, and I wanted at least one of them out from under the Centre's thumb."
The breath caught in Felicity's chest. "Two?" she barely managed in a wobbly voice.
It took him several breaths before he could finally speak. "They have my sister."
Wait. Sister?!
Does. Not. Compute…
"Sister?!" Felicity demanded—and, no, that wasn't a squeak in her voice—incredulously. "You don't have any siblings."
"Yes, I do." He hoarsely corrected, head bowed as he turned to the island, setting the gun down on it before gripping the granite edge tightly.
"Oh. God…" Even since leaving the Centre, Felicity hadn't been a big drinker – though she had discovered the nectar of the gods known as wine, but managed to enjoy that in moderation – but she really wanted some hard booze right now.
Without a word, as if reading her mind, Oliver moved to the liquor cabinet between the kitchen and living space. He opened the glass door, pulling out what was obviously an expensive Russian vodka and two tumblers, pouring generous portions in each. After returning the bottle to its spot, the shirtless man pushed one glass on the island closer to Felicity.
The blonde grabbed the glass and gratefully gulped down the contents, taking a moment to absorb the burn and slightly regret the waste of the very good-quality booze, before setting the glass down again. "Thanks." She took one more breath. "What sister?"
He tossed back his own drink—allowing Felicity to feel better about drinking hers way too fast—before finally explaining that particular bombshell. "I have a half-sister. Her name is Thea." He stared down at the flecked granite. "My mother slept with Merlyn; Thea was born when I was ten. They kept her away, in boarding schools and abroad so that I didn't know about her until only a few years ago."
"When they took you away," Felicity supplied.
Oliver visibly gritted his teeth, hands clenching the edge of the counter. "I had been showing…indications that I was going to be a problem. So, to bring me to heel, they finally introduced me to Thea, threatened her life if I didn't do as they say, and sent me away for training."
The blonde Pretender's stomach churned, she had to swallow back bile. "That's why you were so distant when you got back? Because of the…training?"
The fingertips of his right hand rubbed together, a nervous tick he didn't have before he disappeared, before his training. "Partly." Oliver's eyes cut to the side. "If they are willing to threaten the daughter of the chairman and one of the other founders to keep me in line, what would they do to you if they knew how much I really cared about you?"
Felicity's heart fluttered at him yet again admitting he truly cared about her—even though what she felt for him was more than that, she knew Oliver allowed himself to feel for very few people and she was thrilled and honored to be among that extremely short list. She bit her lip and took a small step closer to him around the island. "I could help you protect her—"
"No," his voice was as sharp as the look he gave her when his eyes snapped to her. "I don't want to risk you getting trapped back in that hellhole."
She continued to slowly make her way to him. "If you tell me where she is, I could get her out."
"You think I haven't thought of that?" Frustration made his tone sharper than it usually was with her. "I don't know where Thea is. I never know where she is, they move her around, and when they deign to let me see her, I never know until I'm brought to the location. And immediately after I spend time with her, they move her again."
"I could help you, Oliver." Felicity was close enough to finally give into her need to touch him, fingers skimming over the counter to rest tentatively on his. She could see his gaze snap to the small connection, seemingly unable to look away, she took courage from this gesture. "Together, we could get Thea out, and we could all escape." Now for the scariest question. "Don't you want to leave the Centre?"
There was the slightest tremor under her fingers, and Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, sucking an audible breath. "God, yes." His fingers twisted around until they were clinging tightly to her own. "I want us all to be free of them. But even if we all get out, we will never be really free; they will always hunt us."
Felicity covered their joined hands with her other one, relief easing into her at his resistance giving. "So, we take them down. Together I know we could do it."
His eyes lifted to her, a look in them she didn't understand but recognized, with a thrill, as one he used to give her before he was taken away. "I can't ask you to risk yourself like this for me, Felicity. You could disappear and be free and happy, not have to risk yourself like this."
"Oliver, you must know that I could never be happy with you still trapped there."
"Why?"
She canted her head, giving him a look. "You know why. You know how I feel about you, Oliver."
Oliver went so still. "What?" His voice was slightly faint.
Oooooooooookaaaaaaaaaaaay… Maybe he didn't know. Which meant she'd just gotten herself into a very awkward position. Maybe she could play it off… Nope, that look on Oliver's face said he was not going to be letting this go. Okay, guess it was time to drop a truth bomb on his oblivious, gorgeous head. "I love you," she blurted out. "I've loved you pretty much forever and been in love with you since before you kissed me."
His mouth fell slightly open, gaze riveted on hers.
"I know you don't feel the same way," Felicity hurriedly continued. "And it's okay, because you are too important to me for my feelings to—"
Oliver's lips were on hers.
In the span of a heartbeat, his hands had clasped the sides of her face and his mouth covered Felicity's, instantly stopping her babble and fritzing her brain.
Felicity thought she remembered every detail of their kiss, her first, from all those years ago, but now she was fairly certain she hadn't. The bristle of his stubble was new, but his lips were still full, like pillow-mountains, but this was not the sweet, chaste, simple press of lips together from her 18th birthday. No, this was almost desperate, passionate the instant their lips touched; Oliver nipped her lower lip, drawing a gasp and he immediately took advantage of her parted lips and deepened the kiss.
Good gods of Google, Oliver can fucking kiss. It was the one clear thought in Felicity's mind. Her hands were clutching his wonderfully muscley shoulders—when had that happened? How very smart of her hands to do that, Oliver's shoulders are very nice and it would be a shame to miss out on touching them—that grip and his arm locked around her waist the only things keeping her from landing on her ass on the floor, her legs having completely turned to jelly.
Suddenly his lips weren't there. Noooooooo… Kissing is goooooood. Come back… Felicity tried to tug his head back down.
Oliver gave a breathless chuckle, nipping her lip once more, but refusing to give into the pressure of her hands, leaning back and grasping her chin in one calloused hand. "Fe-li-ci-ty…"
Damn, she loved it when he said her name like that, like he was savoring each syllable. Felicity's eyes fluttered open, instantly meeting his intense, blue gaze.
"You—" The fair-haired man cleared his throat when his voice broke slightly. "You love me? You're in love with me?" he quickly clarified.
"Yes," Felicity managed breathlessly.
Something flared in his eyes that her Oliver!Kiss-muddled mind wasn't quite able to understand, but it did cause heat to further pool between her legs.
"And you think that I'm not in love with you?" Wow his voice could get really growly, and holy shit was it hot.
It took a moment for the Pretender to process the question. "Yes?" she finally answered, though it came out very much as a question, because after that kiss she was seriously questioning that particular assumption. Her heart started to pound at the intent look in his eyes—oh, she was really questioning that assumption—and hope began to unfurl in her chest no matter how she tried to tamp it down.
Oliver watched her through a hooded stare as his thumb began to feather back and forth over her lips—fucking hell, he was killing her. "I thought you were a genius."
She gasped, eyes widening.
"I'm in love with you too, Felicity."
Oliver loved her? Felicity No Last Name. Lab Rat extraordinaire. The woman who forced him to be constantly chasing her around the globe. He was in love with her…
Am I dreaming? She couldn't help wondering, this was definitely a fantasy of hers, so it was actually quite possible.
His thumb traced the perfect "O" her lips were forming, the tantalizing, sensation sent new waves of desire rushing through Felicity, eliminating her doubts that this was real—her dreams never felt this vivid.
Then Oliver's mouth was on hers again, his tongue immediately began to map out the contours of her mouth. This time Felicity immediately responded, not wanting to waste one single moment more of Oliver!kissing on gaping like a beach carp.
His hips pressing into hers had the edge of the island counter digging into Felicity's lower back, but Oliver's (impressive) erection pressing against her belly distracted her entirely from any pain or annoyance that caused. She rolled her hips so that she ground against him; he growled in response against her lips. His thigh shifted between her legs, pressing against her core and drawing a gasp, he trapped her lower lip between his teeth, gently tugging on it. The Pretender retaliated by digging her nails into his corded shoulders, inwardly hoping that she left marks. Oliver hissed at the sting and grabbed her thigh, drawing it over his hip, allowing him to thrust his erection directly against her core.
Felicity groaned, rising up on the toes of her foot still on the ground, grip tightening on his shoulders, trying to climb him like a tree. Her hunter took that as all the encouragement he needed, griping under each of her thighs and lifting her. She shifted her arms to wrap around his shoulders more fully, never once did their lips separate.
Without seeming to need to look Oliver turned them and began carrying her from the kitchen. Rather than heading to the stairs, like Felicity expected, he moved straight across the living space to the doors she'd noticed on the other side of the room which were now partially open. He nudged them open further, carrying her into the dim interior until he turned and sat down, the blond genius now seated comfortably in his lap.
Felicity finally lifted her head, parting from his wonderful mouth for the first time; she realized they were on a large bed. The room wasn't an office like she'd assumed when she first noticed the doors, but Oliver's bedroom. And they were sitting on his bed.
Her eyes were drawn back to him by his gentle tugs at her hair tie. The Pretender looked down at him, her hair falling piece by piece around their faces as they were released from the ponytail, like a veil hiding them from the rest of the world.
"I want to make love to you, Felicity."
She shivered at Oliver's husky voice; at the words she'd dreamt of him saying to her for years. Felicity raked her nails over his scalp, he leaned into her touch. She leant down so her lips brushed over his as she spoke. "Good, because I want to make love to you, Oliver."
Instantly he captured her lips with his, drawing her tongue into his mouth and sucking on it, before reluctantly pulling back. Oliver reached up, drawing her glasses off, almost reverently, and setting them on the nearest bedside table. He reached for the hem of her top, pulling it swiftly up and over her head, tossing it carelessly into the dark. Finally, she felt Oliver's callous-roughened hands on her bare skin, he skimmed them up her sides as his hungry gaze devoured her mostly naked upper body.
Felicity bit her lip, a smirk tugging at her mouth, she teasingly pushed him back; Oliver gave into the pressure of her hands, his own mouth curving into a grin. With him now spread out beneath her, Felicity indulged in what she'd been dying to do. She let her hands skim over his abs and chest, admiring his carved muscles, soothing the multitude of scars, noting each, and plotting the revenge she'd wreak. Felicity pressed her hands to the mattress on either side of her hunter's head, slowly lowering herself and taking his mouth with hers.
He rocked his hips up into hers, Felicity ground back down on his erection, both of them groaning at the contact. Oliver surged upward, holding her flush against his chest, lips dragging along her jaw to the hollow behind her ear, he sucked on the skin, there would be a bruise (Felicity was very glad). She reached behind her for the hooks for her bra, unsnapping them. Oliver, realizing what she was doing, leant back slightly, watching as she shrugged out of the black scrap of lace (the Pretender might've worn a slightly frivolous set of undergarments in hopes that he might see them), tossing it aside. He groaned, cupping one of her breasts, thumb circling her nipple; Felicity gasped, throwing her head back at the sensation.
Her hunter was unable to resist the temptation of the arch of her throat. He pressed his lips to the underside of her jaw drawing them down, running his tongue along her carotid. He nipped and sucked at the skin there, leaving another mark. With one hand Felicity cupped the back of his head, pressing his head against her skin, arching her back as his thumb and forefinger pinched and rolled her nipple. She dragged her hands to his back, scraping her nails down his back, making sure that there would be long, red streaks left behind.
Oliver hissed, gripping her hips with one arm and in one, quite impressive (and hot), move flipped them so she now was on her back, head on one of the pillows, him above her, cradled between her thighs. Felicity wrapped her legs around his hips, grinding against him, she wanted more, she wanted flesh on flesh, but there were still several irritating layers between them.
Apparently, Oliver agreed with her, because a heartbeat later one of his hands was between them undoing her jeans. Once they were unfastened, Felicity started reaching down to push them off, but his hands were already there, pulling her waistband down. He moved down the mattress as he yanked her tight, black, skinny jeans down her legs. She was pleased with the barrier between them being removed, but not happy about him moving further away. Then he nudged his nose against her lace-covered core, eyes smoldering into hers, sending a fresh flood of arousal through her. Smirking, Oliver caught the lace waist of her thong in his teeth (and holy fuck was that hot), pulling them slowly down her legs, eyes on hers the entire time.
Felicity couldn't tear her eyes from her hunter as he prowled back up, reaching for him, expecting him to return to her arms. He didn't. Oliver stopped at the apex of her thighs; Felicity's heart hammered in her chest. Was he going to…? She'd read about this, but so far hadn't experienced it with her limited sexual experience.
Blue eyes still locked with hers, Oliver spread her folds with his thumbs and lowered his head. Felicity's breaths came in gasps, gaze riveted on him, unable to believe that this was happening. Then his tongue swept the length of her slit; she threw back her head with a cry. His mouth closed over her clit and sucked.
Felicity's hands flew to his head, clutching at his short strands. "Oh, God, Oliver!" The sensations were intense, more than she'd ever been able to imagine.
Oliver's tongue explored every inch of her folds, he moaned against her, seeming to devour her with even greater hunger. Her heels dug into his back, undulating against his sinful lips, he locked one arm over her hips, holding her down. One of her hands remained buried in his hair, making sure he didn't pull back (though he didn't seem to have any intention of doing so), the other flew over her head, grasping at the headboard.
"Pleasepleasepleaseplease…" Felicity couldn't seem to put a coherent thought together. All she could do was feel. Feel Oliver's wet, wicked tongue stroking. Oliver's lips pressing, sucking. Oliver's scruff abrading the skin of her thighs (she'd have beard burn after, the first time for her).
Oliver's tongue plunged inside her, then it retreated, then thrust into her again, and again, and again. Felicity cried out as he fucked her with his tongue, driving her closer and closer to the edge.
He pulled back slightly; Felicity was shocked by him suddenly stopping when she was so close, her head snapped up to look at him and demand why. The words died on her lips at the fierce look in his eyes.
"I want you to come, Felicity. I want you to come on my tongue." And fuck his raspy demanding tone was doing it for her.
Seeming to take her trembling as acquiescence, Oliver ducked his head back down, thrusting his tongue back inside her, the fingers of his free hand coming up to rub her clit, pinching it.
Felicity gasped, moaned, begged, cresting higher and higher. "Please, Oliver. Oh, God, please."
"Come for me, Felicity. Come for me, now," he demanded harshly against her, thrusting his tongue in her once more.
She screamed, coming harder than she ever had before, his tongue inside her, and his name on her lips.
For long moments she lay there, gasping, riding the waves of pleasure that slowly receded, Oliver lapped at her, drawing it out and drinking in every drop of her release. Finally, muscle by muscle she relaxed into the mattress, her legs slipping from where they were digging into his shoulders to sprawl on either side of him, and her hand finally releasing what was probably a painful grip on his hair.
After one last intimate kiss to her core, Oliver drew back. Felicity, even though her muscles were not feeling overly cooperative, reached for him to pull him up to her. Surprise at first flashed through his eyes, but he immediately gave into her urging. The Pretender lifted her head, matching her lips to his. The taste of herself coated his lips and tongue; she moaned, the taste and knowledge of how it was there erotic. Though Oliver was an amazing kisser (of both of her lips), she was quickly needing more.
Felicity reached for the elastic waistband of his dark pajama pants and pushed at them, trying to rid him of them without breaking their kiss. However, that was proving difficult because height differences (ugh). Her hunter chuckled against her lips at the growl of frustration that escaped her, but before she could truly become annoyed at this reaction he added his hands to the effort, and then kicking the fabric down his legs (she'd forgive his laughter, this time).
Since Oliver had mostly taken over getting rid of the last piece of clothing between them, Felicity decided to employ her hands more gainfully. She wrapped them around his hard cock. The genius definitely liked the hiss that escaped him, and the way his hips automatically thrust into her grip.
Oliver's efforts redoubled at getting rid of the flannel. Finally, he kicked it loose and they both let out relieved moans at his erection nestled against her core. Felicity, still gripping his cock, arched her hips, directing him towards her entrance.
"Wait!" Oliver gasped raggedly, gripping her wrist, stopping her. "I don't have any protection."
Felicity's breath caught, the implication of the fact that he didn't have any condoms on-hand in his room definitely occurring to her brilliant brain, before a grin spread across her face. "I'm clean and I have an IUD."
He stilled. "An IUD?"
"Genius on the run," she huskily reminded him. "Can't take any chances."
"And you're okay with—"
"I never have with anyone else, and there's no one that I'd rather—"
Oliver surged forward, pressing a blazing kiss to her lips, before tearing them away to mutter, "I'm clean too."
Were it any other person on the entire planet who said that, Felicity wouldn't have taken their word for it, but this was Oliver. There was no one in the world, hell, the universe she trusted more, even when they were playing cat and mouse across the globe.
Her hunter gripped one of her knees, drawing it up over his hip. "Eyes on me, Felicity," he commanded roughly.
She managed a breathless nod, once again arching her hips eagerly.
They both guided his cock inside her.
Nothing had felt more right.
Oliver's cock stretched her just the right amount where she felt so perfectly full without being painful.
They gasped and moaned in unison at how perfectly they fit together.
"Felicity, eye on me."
Her eyes, which she hadn't realized closed at the pleasure flooding through her, snapped back open at the insistent command given through gritted teeth.
Blue eyes locked on blue.
And then Oliver moved, and it was all Felicity could do keep her eyes from rolling back in her head.
His thrusts were slow and deep, and when she thought he couldn't be any deeper inside her, he notched his hips and somehow did, drawing a loud gasping moan from her.
Felicity, usually so loquacious, couldn't get her brain to work, and all that could escape her were moans and gasps and his name and please for more, deeper, harder, over and over.
Oliver was no more verbose, but his few words were generally more colorful. "God, Felicity," he gritted out, thrusting into her at an angle that had them both seeing stars, "so fucking perfect!"
Felicity managed to latch her lips onto his throat, sucking at his pulse, which had Oliver snarling and his hands tightening on her hips. They would both have many bruises and marks to hide in the morning. The Pretender greeted this thought with glee, sucking even harder at the skin.
Her hunter retaliated by hitching one of her knees over his elbow, pulling it up higher and spreading it wider on his next thrust, adding and extra circle of his hips as they slapped against her own. The blonde cried out, head thrown back.
It was Oliver's turn to take advantage of her bared throat, his lips and teeth working the skin over her jugular into a trail of what would be particularly livid bruises down her carotid.
She allowed herself to enjoy these ministrations and deep, grinding thrusts for several moments, her nails raking long lines down his back, likely drawing blood. Before hooking her other leg behind his knee, and pushing, managing to flip them over (he probably was just letting her, but both were fine with pretending that she'd managed to get the better of him.) Felicity then sat up, looking down on her hunter with a smirk as she began to ride him with long leisurely rolls of her hips.
Oliver watched her through hooded, blown eyes, his large hands running up and down her sides before settling on her breasts. His hands molded and massaged the mounds, thumbs circling her areolas before taking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers pinching.
Felicity arched into his ministrations. "Yes, Oliver, that. More. Harder."
He immediately obliged, his pinches, twists, and pulls on her nipples becoming rougher, suddenly he lurched upward to latch his mouth onto one of them. As his mouth drew on it, teeth biting down, Felicity's thrusts completely lost their rhythm and she started slamming down on him, her core clamping around his cock, moaning loudly. She decided that it was a very good thing that Oliver didn't have any neighbors close by because she was fairly sure they would've heard them by now.
"Please, please, please…" Felicity wasn't one to beg, in fact she was fairly certain she had never legitimately begged in her entire life. But in this moment, she was begging in earnest, and would've likely promised him the world just so that she could fall over the edge that she was chasing into ecstasy.
"Fuck, more, God, Felicity, fucking please, more!" he gasped out, as he released her nipple before moving over to the other.
The blond genius bounced harder on his cock, not controlling her descent as all, relishing in the lewd slap of their skin, saturated by sweat and their combined fluids, and the way it allowed her clit to grind down on him. "Yes! Oh, yes! Oliver!" So close. So damn close. God, he felt so good!
Her nipple escaped his lips with a "pop," as he laid back to stare up at her, hands gripping her hips so tightly she knew she'd have bruises that perfectly matched his hands. "Yes, Felicity, come on my cock," he growled between his gritted teeth. "I want to feel you come on my cock."
Her inner muscled fluttered around him, somehow growing wetter. None of her previous partners hadn't been so explicit in their coital talk, so Felicity hadn't realized that dirty talk was such a turn on for her until now.
With her next downward thrust, Oliver thrust upward, tilting his hips just so, and that was all it took for her to shatter. "Oliver!" She clenched down on him hard, trying to draw his release from him, this drew a snarl from her hunter.
Before Felicity knew what had happened, her back hit the mattress, her ankles were over Oliver's shoulders, and he was plowing into her with abandon.
"Again. Again, Felicity," he demanded, the loud slap of his hips against hers erotic to Felicity's ears as his cock shuttled in and out of her.
Her blond head tossed back and forth on the pillow, oversensitive and feeling like she was going to die from the continuous pleasure rolling through her body. The Pretender pushed at his shoulders, trying to squirm away, but he pinned her hands above her head, hips thrusting relentlessly into her, giving her no respite. "Again, Felicity. Come all over my cock again."
"Oh, God, oh, God…" Factually she knew it was possible for her to technically come more than once, but it had never happened before and she hadn't thought it would be possible now, until she was already coming again, Oliver coming with her. She was nearly blind with the pleasure, milking him for everything he had.
"Fuck, yes, Felicity!" he groaned into her ear, hips stuttering before slamming home and spending deep inside her.
For long moments they both lay there gasping for breath and shuddering with aftershocks.
Logic dictates aside, Felicity could swear that every single one of her bones had been melted and she was never going to be able to move again. She was a puddle of exhausted, satiation.
Oliver lifted his head enough to look at her blearily, they moved their heads together enough that their lips messily met in a languid kiss. Exhaustion had Felicity's head dropping back again with a satisfied sigh while Oliver pressed kisses in a long line down her throat, as his hands moved to press on either side of her hips.
"Where are you going?" the Pretender demanded, her arms managing to tighten around him to stop him from pulling out of her.
He met her gaze. "We need to clean up or this will be very uncomfortable later."
"Mmf." She tugged him closer. "Don't care, do it later. Stay right here."
A soft chuckle escaped her hunter as he allowed himself to be pulled back down to settle on top of her again, her legs managing to loosely hook behind his. "Whatever you say, Felicity." His voice lingered over the syllables as he pressed his lips to the side of her neck.
With her hunter settled within and atop her, the Pretended slowly drifted off into the best sleep she ever had.
There you have it! I hope you enjoyed what was basically and excuse to have Felicity and Oliver have sex in the world of Pretender! I had fun with the dabbling and imagining how it might work while then setting it all up for them to have sex, lol. Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!