He goes to Verdant the next night like Tommy asked him to, to discuss the event Verdant will host that unfortunately has been officially named Get Hot For Healthcare. It is kind of genius though - charity events are usually held in a ballroom somewhere, black tie, stuffy and boring. They're targeting their peers, young members of the glitterati searching for the next best party. Oliver has even volunteered himself to take official pictures with the guests (at extra charge of course) because as Tommy says, he might as well use his newfound fame for something good.
Oliver only has to approve what Tommy has come up with so far, skim over the numbers and sign off on hiring a social media manager to promote the event for them. He can't bring himself to care that much, preoccupied with where he's going when he's done with Tommy.
He's so anxious to get to Felicity that he ends up getting to Verdant nearly half an hour before he's supposed to. He goes in through the back, eager to avoid the crowd that's always milling around the front entrance. He doesn't find Tommy behind the main bar or on the dance floor, he spots Roy running drinks in the VIP room but still no Tommy.
Oliver takes the stairs up and walks down the hallway to Tommy's office. The door is closed but unlocked, Oliver starts to push it open and freezes, shocked at the tableaux he can see through the crack.
Laurel is here, wearing one of her sleek tailored work dresses, royal blue tonight, and she's bent over Tommy's desk, propped up by her elbows, skirt pushed up to her hips, and Oliver can see a sliver of Tommy's chest against her back, one of his hands wrapped around her neck.
Oliver steps away, swallowing back hysterical laughter. The door creaks as he tries to shut it, he can distinctly hear Tommy say something to Laurel and the squeak of Tommy's shoes on the floor as Oliver steps back into the hallway. A few seconds later the door swings open, all the way this time, to reveal a sheepish Tommy, cheeks flushed and dress shirt half-unbuttoned.
"Hey, Ollie," he says weakly. "You had to be early for once, huh?"
Oliver shrugs, another hysterical giggle slipping out of his mouth as Laurel pushes through the doorway, hands frantically smoothing down her skirt.
"Real mature Ollie," she sneers, and stomps away, heeling clicking loudly against the floor.
"So..." Tommy shifts back on his heels. "That was obviously not the way either of us wanted you to find out but..."
Oliver waves a hand dismissively. "It's fine, Tommy."
Tommy squints. "Are you sure? Did you miss the part about me having, em, relations with your ex right under your nose?"
Oliver shrugs in answer. He's seen both their marks obviously, they all know Laurel and Tommy aren't soulmates. Laurel's mark is on her ankle. It's a set of scales, old fashioned, intricately drawn and ornate like the cage of Sara's mark. Laurel's scales are equally balanced, one of them holding a feather and the other, a dagger.
Tommy's mark is on his ribs, like Oliver. He has a wand with a crescent moon on the top, although his father likes to refer to it as a staff, as if that somehow makes it more masculine and dignified.
"For what it's worth," Tommy says quietly. "I really care about her. Things were - hard after you were gone, and" -
"It's fine, I get it." What is he supposed to say, anyway? He and Laurel have been over for so long, he knows now there's no chance of them getting back together. "You're my best friend, you deserve to be happy."
Tommy squints at him. "Okay, this whole new zen Oliver thing you've had going on lately is really starting to freak me out."
Oliver grins. "Can we get on with it, I kind of have somewhere to be."
Tommy quickly buttons up his shirt, eyebrows raised. "Really?"
"Yeah, I'm meeting up with someone."
"Someone."
"Yeah, I'm kind of um, dating. A girl. I met a girl."
Tommy blinks in surprise. "Since when?"
"Technically? Yesterday."
Tommy starts laughing. "And she wants to see you again?"
Oliver grins and gives him a good natured shove. "Yes, so if you could just finish putting your clothes back on..."
"Yeah, yeah, you know what? Just go, I'll email you, let me know if there are any issues."
"You sure?"
Tommy winks. "Buddy, I've been trying to get you laid for weeks, fuck, please go. For me."
Oliver flushes. "It's not - we're not"-
"Okay, okay." Tommy grips his shoulders. "You, my friend, are Oliver Queen. You can do this. You are the master of women, remember?"
"Not this woman," he mumbles.
"Ollie," Tommy says sternly. "You've been with a playmate. That hot Red Bull rep in college. That freaking princess of... damn, what's it called?" He snaps his fingers. "Monaco!"
Oliver raises an eyebrow. "Your point?"
"My point is, you've got this. Jesus Ollie, you survived five years alone on an island. You're a motherfucking hero."
Oliver stiffens. "I'm not. God, why does everyone say shit like that? I'm not a hero! I didn't do anything good, I'm not good, I'm not special, I'm not smart, I'm just. I'm just lucky! It's just dumb luck! And Felicity is like - she's gorgeous Tommy, and she's funny, and she's smart, and I'm just this idiot with a credit card and scars and a bunch of failed relationships."
Oliver covers his hands with his face, overwhelmed, irritated at how easy it was for him to lose control like that.
Tommy sighs. "You really like her, huh?"
Oliver nods into his hands. "Yeah, she's... she's special."
"Is she your soulmate?" Tommy asks bluntly.
"Maybe."
"Alright." To his surprise Tommy puts his arms around him and pulls him into a hug. "It's okay," he says, his voice quiet and reassuring. "I just want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy."
Oliver's eyes sting. "I don't know, Tommy."
"Okay, this is what you're going to do. You're gonna go pick up a bottle of wine, maybe some chocolate or something, and you're gonna go romance the shit out of this girl, like you've been doing since you were sixteen, and she's going to fall in love with you. Okay?"
Oliver laughs dryly. "Okay."
"I mean it," Tommy says sternly.
"Okay." Oliver nods, resolved.
Tommy's face breaks out into a smile. "That's my boy!"
Oliver stops at a liquor store and buys a Mount Blac Malbec from Napa Valley, nice and moderately priced so as not to seem pretentious. He likes that Felicity doesn't seem to care about his money but it makes him self-conscious, the pressure to prove that he's not a spoiled trust fund brat who does things like drop a grand on a bottle of wine for a girl he barely knows.
He makes a quick detour at 7/11 and picks up a pint of mint chocolate chip and texts Felicity, so that when he parks his Ducati outside her building she's waiting for him, standing in the doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the flickering porch light.
She's dressed, nice but casual, in a soft looking knit grey sweater dress that falls to mid thigh over bare legs and little white ankle socks. At this point Oliver is almost sure her mark is on her foot, unless it's somewhere more private like the curve of her hipbone or maybe the soft contour of her stomach.
"Hi," she greets him softly, and rises up on the tips of her toes to kiss him.
Oliver goes through the usual chemical protocol when he's around Felicity: his body temperature rises, his cheeks heat, the tension in his chest dissolves, his lips curve up reflexively into a smile. "Hi."
"Come on in." Felicity reaches out and takes the hand that isn't holding the plastic 7/11 bag and leads him inside. "I see you've brought victuals."
"Wine," he announces, pulling the paper wrapped bottle out of the bag. "And ice cream."
Felicity beams and takes the bottle from him. "I'll open this, spoons are in the drawer."
She pours two generous glasses and brings them into the living room, Oliver grabs the spoons and follows her, peeling the lid off the ice cream carton and setting it down on the coffee table. Oliver takes the glass she offers and sits down next to her on the couch. Felicity takes a sip from her glass and makes a delighted little sigh, tipping her head back against the couch as she swallows.
"Do you like it?" he asks before he can help himself, and pops a giant scoop of ice cream into his mouth before he says something really dumb, like, do you like me?
She takes another sip, nodding. "I do, thank you." She reaches out to takes the ice cream, uses the same spoon that was just in his mouth to dig out a bite of ice cream. "How'd you know mint chocolate chip was my favorite?"
"It's what you had that night I ran into you, I figured it was a safe bet," he explains.
Felicity blinks and slides a fraction of an inch closer to him. She's sitting sideways so she can face him, head tilted sideways to rest against the back of the couch. "You remembered that?"
"Yeah, I - you're pretty memorable." Oliver buries his face in his glass, takes a gulp of wine that makes a new wave of heat roll through him as he swallows.
To his surprise Felicity grimaces, idly swirling her spoon through the ice cream. "Yeah, you didn't exactly catch me at my best that night."
Oliver reaches out and cups her knee, distinctly remembering Thea's insistence that Oliver be more proactive in learning about Felicity. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Oh, um..." Felicity shrugs hesitantly, like she's been caught off guard. "I told you that's kind of a bad day for me, right?"
He strokes the soft skin of her knee. "Yeah."
Felicity gives him a nervous-looking smile before tipping her head back, and chugs the entire glass. "Okay, so here's the thing," she says in a rush, while Oliver stares, dumbfounded. "I had a boyfriend, back when I was at MIT."
He nods, focusing on the word had, past tense. "Okay."
"We uh, we kind of had a bad breakup. He did - he did something, and it was like, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, you know? And we got in a huge fight about it because I thought what he did was kind of like, morally reprehensible? We didn't exactly see eye to eye about certain things. Our philosophies kind of diverged, I suppose. So we broke up and I stopped talking to him and I dyed my hair blond"- Felicity breaks off, her cheeks flushed. "Sorry, I'm totally rambling."
"You're fine," he soothes, because jealously is creeping through his veins and he doesn't like that Felicity is talking about this guy like he did something bad.
"Sorry." Felicity reaches up and slides the ponytail elastic out of her hair, which falls in golden clouds around her face. "Anyway, he ended up getting into trouble and he, um... he couldn't deal with it, I guess."
Oliver slides his hand under her knee, where the skin is as thin and smooth as a flower petal. "I'm not sure I understand."
Felicity reaches out to put her empty glass on the coffee table, staring down at her socked feet. "He killed himself."
Oliver freezes for a second before following suit, plunking his wine glass down next to hers and moving the ice cream out of the way. "Felicity."
"It's fine," she says quickly, sitting tensely on the edge of the couch. "It was years ago. I'm sorry, it's so depressing, it's just, that night, it was the anniversary of his, you know, so it was on my mind."
She looks so small of a sudden, feet curled under her, hiding behind her hair, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Oliver swallows tightly, a lump in the back of his throat, remembering the sound of the gun going off, how he'd screamed and screamed at the black sky in terror and fury.
"Hey, c'mere," he murmurs, and puts his arms around her.
Felicity turns into him, pressing her face into his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I haven't dated since then, it kind of took me awhile to get over it, and I"-
"It's okay," he says. "You don't have to explain anything to me."
Felicity tilts her face up to him, her bottom lip quivering slightly. "I really like you, Oliver."
He takes a deep breath. "I really like you too."
Her whole face softens at that and Oliver privately marvels at her reaction, that five little words made all the sadness drain out of her expression. "So is all my baggage turning you on or what?" Felicity teases a little desperately, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
He chokes out a laugh. "You're talking to the king of baggage," he reminds her. "I can handle it."
"Yeah?"
He smooths her hair away from her face. "Yeah. Are you... are you okay?"
Felicity nods, her tongue coming out to swipe against her bottom lip in a way that seems totally deliberate. "Yeah, like I said, it was a long time ago. Ugh I'm sorry, talking about exes on a date is such bad etiquette."
"It's okay." For some strange reason it makes him feel a little better - not that she went through something terrible but that in some way she understands; she's been through something, she knows darkness just like him.
"He wasn't my soulmate," she says softly. "I think in some way that made it easier. Knowing we weren't really supposed to be together anyway. But it's just..." Felicity sighs, reaching up quickly to rub her eyes behind her glasses. "It's just sad, I guess."
Oliver frowns. "I don't want you to be sad," he confesses.
She raises an eyebrow, her expression turning hopeful. "I'm not sad right now."
"No?" he questions lightly. One of his hands is low on her back; it'd be so easy, to scoop it under her ass and pull her into his lap.
She shakes her head, and this time her eyes drift to his lips. "Definitely not."
He tilts his head down, slow, watching her blue eyes darken and flutter shut, and kisses her. Felicity melts into him, lips soft and sweet and gently parting. Oliver forces himself to go slow, slow, barely any pressure, letting her set the pace. She reaches up, curving her hand around his neck. He groans quietly, the feel of her nails on his skin making him shiver.
His hand finds her thigh and Felicity uses her grip on his neck to pull herself up and swings one leg over his so she's straddling him, her knees bracketing his hips. Her sweater dress rides up, Oliver has to pull away just so he can look down at her exposed thighs. His eyes flick back up to hers as he spreads his hands out, gripping her toned quads.
"Okay?" he whispers.
Felicity takes her glasses off in response and leans back down to kiss. Oliver's hands creep up, feeling her muscles jump under his touch. He finds her hips, curling his fingers around them and squeezing lightly before sliding around to her ass. She whimpers into his mouth and Oliver has to bite back a groan.
"You're like, a ridiculously good kisser," she mumbles against his mouth, undoing the bottom button of his shirt.
Oliver hums in response, turning his head sideways to kiss her jaw, under her earlobe, trailing his mouth down to lick the column of her throat.
"Oh my god." Felicity tilts her head to give him better access. Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly open, fingers still working the buttons of his shirt open by touch alone.
When she gets to the top one Oliver shrugs the shirt off, leaving him in just a white Hanes undershirt and dress pants. Felicity blinks her eyes open and stares rather shamelessly. He can't help but grin, sliding his hands up her bare back under her dress to trace the line of her spine.
Her hands come down to the hem of his undershirt, a wicked little smile on her face, and Oliver reaches down to catch her wrists in his hands, his cheeks burning. "I - I have some scars," he admits quietly. "From the island."
"Okay," Felicity murmurs easily, taking it completely in stride, like it's nothing, and pulls gently out of his grip, her hands resettling on her own hips. "How about..."
She grips the hem of her dress and in one fluid movement she peels it up and takes it off, tossing it somewhere behind her. Oliver stares, frozen, taking in creamy round breasts in a pale pink satin bra, matching pink panties that make her skin gleam gold.
"Jesus," he grits out, not knowing where he wants to touch first, taking in the shadow of her ribs, a flat stomach, the curves of her waist.
No mark, still. Felicity is grinning, allowing him to just take her in, her hands sliding up her own body to idly play with her hair. It's like his brain just seizes up, a total inability to think straight or come up with any kind of strategy.
Oliver just reacts on instinct, surging up to wrap his hand around the back of her neck to pull her mouth to his. Felicity gasps as his lips press against hers, giving him the opportunity to flick his tongue between her teeth. Electricity shoots all the way down his spine at the touch of her tongue on his. Oliver spreads one hand flat against the dip of her lower back, using it as leverage to push their bodies closer together.
Felicity rolls her hips and he practically growls in response, dropping his mouth to her collarbone to suck a bruise onto her skin. Her head drops back, her fingers threading through his hair. It's like a fantasy, a beautiful half-naked woman falling apart in his hands, his whole body hot and shaking, mind blissfully blank.
"You feel so good," she slurs, like she's drunk, even though she's only had one glass of wine (albeit all at once). "God, I've been thinking about your hands, like, obsessively."
"Yeah?" he pants. He wants to take her bra off but then he remembers that this is technically only their second date and settles for cupping her with his hands instead.
"Yeah," she moans. "I can't... I can't stop."
"Me too," he confesses in a rush, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands.
They're both breathing heavily; Felicity's cheeks are flushed, her pupils blown. She smiles, in this soft, self-conscious way that makes something in his chest ache. He rubs his thumbs over her cheekbones, caught in her gaze, and can't help but tilt his face up a little so he can rest his forehead against hers.
"Hey," he murmurs.
Her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. "Hey."
"We should probably slow down," he suggests regretfully.
"Mm." Felicity rolls her forehead lightly against his and giggles, sounding a little slap-happy. "Do you want to stay over? To sleep, I mean. Like, sleep with me - I mean, sleep, not like have sex with me, although I definitely wouldn't have a problem with that" -
"Felicity." Oliver cuts her off, because hearing the word sex out loud is not helping his body cool down whatsoever.
She gives him that smile again, that sweet, almost shy smile that makes him want to pull her to his chest and hold her close. "Stay," she whispers softly. "Please."
Oliver slides his index finger under her chin, tips it up to the perfect angle to give her a soft kiss. "Okay."
Felicity uses the bathroom first while Oliver waits in the hallway. She comes out dressed in a loose tee shirt, short enough to skim the tops of her thighs, makeup scrubbed off, hair pulled up in a messy bun, socks still on. She gives Oliver a toothbrush to borrow, he uses it and the toilet in the bathroom and comes out in his undershirt and boxer briefs.
Felicity's leaning against the wall outside the bathroom waiting for him, a glass of water in one hand. "Come on," she says, and Oliver obediently follows her down the hall to her bedroom. It's so Felicity, a bright blue accent wall, purple comforter spread over a queen sized bed, cozy and colorful. She places the water on the nightstand and crawls onto the bed, flipping the covers back and raising an expectant eyebrow at him. Oliver flips the light off, plunging her room into darkness, and slides into bed next to her.
She curls over onto her side to face him, her fingers tripping over the sheets until she connects with his chest and scoots close enough to tilt her head towards him for a goodnight kiss. It's all so easy, like they've been doing this forever, like they're a real couple.
Felicity falls asleep almost immediately, the soft sound of her breathing in his ear. Oliver stretches out next to her and closes his eyes, drifts in a half sleep for a few hours before giving up and quietly extricating himself. He pads softly back to the living room, moonlight spilling over the floor from the window. He drops to the floor and does push-ups to failure, flips over onto his back and does crunches until his abs burn.
He walks over to her bookshelf, thinking of reading until he finally feels tired enough to sleep, when he hears footsteps in the hallway and hears Felicity call out in a small voice, "Oliver?"
He walks quickly back to the hallway where Felicity is hovering, sleepy and confused, relief plain on her face when she sees him and Oliver suddenly feels like an asshole, she clearly thought he left her alone without saying goodbye.
"Hey," he says softly, bending down to kiss her forehead. "I'm sorry, I should've warned you that I'm an insomniac."
"Oh right," she murmurs sleepily, reaching her arms up to wrap them around his waist so she can nuzzle her face against his chest. "I bet I can help with that, come on, come back to bed."
He goes along with her, climbing back into her bed, content to just lie there with her while she sleeps, but Felicity pushes him back so he's leaning against the pillows while she sits cross legged next to his hip.
"You don't have to stay up just because I can't sleep," he says, but Felicity just gives him a wicked smile and brings her fingers to the waistband of his boxer briefs.
"Trust me?" she whispers, slipping her hand inside and tugging down the elastic.
His mouth goes dry, he can't do anything but nod enthusiastically as she peels the fabric down and wraps her hand around him. Oliver drops his head back against the pillows with a groan and watches through slitted eyes as Felicity proceeds to give him the world's slowest hand job, until he's writhing and shaking under her ministrations, bottom lip clenched between his teeth to hold back a torrent of curses.
When he finally comes his world goes white, body melting with pleasure, vaguely aware of her cleaning him up, those small hands wiping him off. Felicity crawls over him to snuggle into his side, he automatically lifts an arm around her, staring in sleepy amazement as she winks and kisses his cheek.
"Go to sleep," she murmurs, and he does, just like magic.