Your reactions to the previous chapter left me beaming and floating and fist-pumping. I can't thank you enough. I'm excited that you enjoyed the twist and that you are on board with the parents now knowing their daughters' secrets—or at least, parts of them. It's a new dynamic I really love exploring and I hope you'll enjoy it, too. But before we'll get to that we have to deal with something else first. It's a little different, I think, but I hope you'll like it anyway. Happy reading, and: thank you!
Albi, I'm a blind idiot. Thanks for your patience and letting some of your rainbow-colored awesomeness rub off on me. Love, Jules
I totally walked in on a thing
Shooting RADs was like riding a bike—even if, at the moment, Oliver was steering a remote controlled car with a bomb strapped to it. Virtually, of course. He had reached a point in his life where he needed to actually stress that.
Lounging on his worn-out sofa, he was kicking virtual ass—or, rather, blowing virtual asses up. His legs stretched out, his feet on the coffee table he had built out of (glued together) Legos in college because money had been tight (he kept it because it had turned out pretty awesome), his eyes on the TV, the only thing Oliver moved were his thumbs on his PS4 controller. Following Diggle's direction, Oliver steered the car into the rundown building to his virtual left and flexed his right index finger.
The following explosion mixed with the cheers of his friends. Oliver grinned.
The TV provided the only light, its hard illumination flickering shadows over the living room with the adjoining kitchen. It turned dark for a second as the game ended, taking Oliver back to the loading screen. Leaning forward, he fished a cold pizza slice out of the box (screw breakfast, he deserved a treat for being awesome) and said into the microphone attached to his headphones, "That's what I call a good game."
"Yeah," Diggle's voice hit his ears, "it's about damn time you remembered game night."
Oliver froze, his slice still in hand. He had expected something like that three hours ago when he had logged in. But Diggle and Myron had only welcomed him, telling him to get his head in the game because the RADs were online. "Guys…." he started without knowing how to continue.
"Dude," Myron spoke up before Oliver found suitable words, "cut Ollie some slack. I mean, have you seen his girlfriend? I'd rather spent time with her than with my PS4, too." (Despite the situation, Oliver's heart jumped in happy awe at hearing the word 'girlfriend.' It was still so new, so wonderfully exciting. Felicity Smoak was Oliver Queen's girlfriend—and people knew.)
"It's one night," Diggle shot back, sounding more miffed. "I'm in the middle of war and I made time in the last four weeks but Oliver wasn't there."
Oliver sighed, the happy flash completely forgotten. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
And he was, he was sorry. Oliver never wanted to be one of those guys neglecting his friends for a girl (even if she was his girlfriend). Turns out: he was one of those guys. Felicity, her mission, and his new job had kept him away from his TV—meaning that it had also kept him away from his friends.
The countdown to the new game was up, but the controller rested on his thigh, ignored as Oliver's mind was still on the conversation. "I've been busy with the new department and… yeah, with Felicity. I'm sorry I was MIA."
"It's okay," Myron said easily, completely unfazed. "All forgiven. And now start moving, because the RADs are…. DAMN IT!" Myron Forest—the first kill of every game.
Oliver's soldier stood unmoving in the run-down building he had materialized in. The controller still lay abandoned. Oliver needed Diggle's okay before he could move his virtual alter ego. Maybe it was all the time he spent with Felicity and Sara. Maybe witnessing those two friends-turned-stepsisters interact made him want to be as open with his own best friend. Felicity and Sara shared a special connection. Sara liked to keep things to herself, didn't like to actually voice her emotions, but Felicity always knew regardless. And now that Oliver spent so much time with his girlfriend's stepsister, he could read her body language, too, could hear all the things Sara Lance left unsaid. It was a special kind of friendship he was forming, so very different from the connection he shared with Diggle, but that didn't mean that all the years with Diggle meant any less. And he needed to make sure his old friendships were okay even though he was making new ones.
Finally, Diggle said something. But it wasn't what Oliver hoped for. "I worry, Oliver. Felicity Smoak, she's—"
The careful and tense tone in Digg's voice told Oliver of an upcoming rejection and he didn't want to hear it. "You don't know her," Oliver shot back, cutting his friend off.
A red glow settled over the room. Somebody shot at Oliver's soldier; drops of blood splashed over his TV screen. The soldier died. Oliver didn't care. He noticed, but his mind was on the conversation at hand. "You said never judge people from hearsay."
A deep, heavy sigh came out of the headphones. "Yes." Diggle took a second to gather his thoughts. "But there are a lot of red flags for me—even if we ignore the things she did in the past. Think about it, Oliver. She's returned from a deserted island after five years alone. That girl has every right to be messed up in the head. And she's the daughter of your boss. What do you think will happen if you two don't work out? Did you think about that? Or are you blinded by the fancy parties she takes you to."
"How do you know about that?"
"There's something called the internet. We have that in Afghanistan. It's why we're talking right now."
"You're in Afghanistan?" Myron cut in. "I thought you were in Iraq."
"Doesn't matter where I am," Diggle countered. "I saw the pictures from that fundraiser. Lyla asked me to tell you that you looked good in that tux. I noticed that you've lost weight."
"I… did." Oliver felt strangely called out—and he couldn't help but feel that Diggle was unfair. "I started going to the gym—like you suggested."
"I wanted you to go for yourself, not to live up to the expectations of some girl."
"Guys, we're in the middle of a clan war," Myron reminded. "Both of you were killed while discussing Ollie's weight. Do any of you realize how ridiculous that is? Now's not the time!"
There's no time like the present, Oliver decided and ignored his friend's chiding. "Felicity never asked me to lose weight," he clarified. "And I never set out to do it. And just happened with work being hectic and I'm sorry that I like that my shirts fit better." He realized how defensive he sounded and pressed his lips together. He had wanted to play offense, because Diggle's words offended him. He knew that most people didn't believe Oliver Queen was in Felicity Smoak's league. Hell, he himself had gone into their whole… thing believing that—until Felicity had shattered those fears. His faith in Felicity didn't take any of the sting out of the realization that, apparently, his best friend thought Oliver wasn't somebody Felicity could seriously be interested in. And it angered Oliver that Diggle didn't give Felicity the benefit of the doubt but thought the worst of her. She didn't deserve that. She deserved so much better.
"You don't know Felicity," Oliver said, his voice hard, feeling the need to stress that crucial fact. "You don't know anything about my relationship with her and you don't have any right to judge her or me or us together."
"Oliver," Diggle said, sounding unfazed. "You're right. But you're my friend and I worry and I wanted to say my part. Do with that what you want."
Silence followed. Oliver still stared at the TV, witnessing his reborn soldier, standing unattended behind a building, getting killed with a perfect shot. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his voice calm. "Okay. I know you care, but you have it wrong. Next time you're in Starling, you'll meet her and you'll see."
"Uuuuh," Myron exaggerated. "I'll be in Starling next month for a conference. Do I get to meet her, too?"
"Sure," Oliver said, hoping Felicity was okay with that. His voice sounding as tentative as he felt, he addressed his best friend. "Digg?"
"Fair enough."
"Okay," Myron said, "now that that's off the table. Can we try to turn this game around? Because the RADs are way in the lead."
"Not a problem," Oliver declared, finally taking a bite of his pizza. Placing the rest of the slice next to him on the couch, he reached for his controller. "I have another killstreak in me."
"Consider this RAD problem dealt with."
Diggle's self-assuredness wasn't exactly justified. Their mortal Call of Duty enemies absolutely destroyed them in that game, calling for a re-match. They won that, but decided to add another game. And another.
More than an hour had passed when a knocking startled Oliver so much he flinched and missed a sure kill. "Queen!" Diggle hollered in full real-life-drill-master-mode. "What was that?"
"There's somebody on my door." Oliver glanced over his right shoulder and at his front door as if looking at it would improve the situation.
"What? But it's way past midnight!" Myron sounded appalled.
"I'll be right back." Oliver pulled his headphones off and rested them and his controller on the Lego table. Pushing his glasses back up on his nose, he took the three steps toward his front door just as another knock sounded. Oliver glanced through the peephole.
He should have expected it and yet he couldn't help but be surprised, opening the door quickly. "Felicity," he greeted, his surprise resonating in his voice.
"Hey," she said, sounding uncharacteristically small. "I know it's late, but I saw that there was still light in your window and I thought since you're still up I could call—or knock. To be honest, I was on my way to the fire escape when I realized that coming in through your window is borderline stalker-stuff. I really developed some horrible habits. So, that's me, breaking the habit. Knocking. Like a normal person."
"Felicity." This time her name rolled of his tongue in calming reassurance, because she sounded like she needed that. Those were a lot of words from Felicity, and there was a nervous air around her bringing him back to a conference room on SI's top floor and Felicity telling him she couldn't have Italian with him because…. His eyes roamed her face and found the uneasiness he expected plus an entirely unexpected band-aid on her forehead. Without thinking or hesitating, his right cupped her cheek. "Are you okay?"
"Yes and no."
"Which one is it?"
"Both."
Realizing she was standing in the hall all this time (apparently, before knocking like a normal person she had somehow gotten inside his apartment building without being buzzed in from the street), he quickly stepped out of the way, his hand falling from her face. "Come in."
She took two steps inside his apartment and froze. "Oh. I totally walked in on a thing." She turned to him. "On your thing. Guy's night."
"That's okay," Oliver assured her. Seeing her gaze return to the TV, another thought marched through his head. He hurried to shut the door, turned on the light, and took the few steps to her, right into her personal space. Reaching for her hand, he brought his lips to her ear, whispering, "The microphone's on. Diggle and Myron can hear you. I'll say goodbye real quick and then I want to know what happened."
"I'm sorry. For barging in here," she answered, ignoring everything he had said, her voice quiet, timid, and so unlike Felicity that Oliver's worries flared.
His right hand closing around hers, he looked down at her, studying her, trying to figure out what to do next. She was so tense, so guarded, she hadn't been like that around him in a long time and he needed her to relax. He chose reassurance. "Don't apologize." And then he changed his mind and went for teasing instead. "Girlfriends are allowed to barge into their boyfriends' guy's night. It's okay if you can't go one night without…" using his free, left hand he gestured toward himself, "all this."
The timidness dissolved with the blink of Felicity's eyes. Instead, a gleam sparked in them, making the pale blue shine with amusement, showing him his attempt at lighting the mood was working. Matching his playfulness, she said, "Oh?! And what's all that?"
"My extensive knowledge of Star Trek trivia and binary algorithms." He added a nod of deliberate seriousness.
"That's true. Binary algorithms make women go crazy."
"Yeah." Another pointed nod. "That's exactly in accordance with every experience I've had with women. Ever."
She chuckled. Smiling, she got on her tiptoes and brought her face closer to his. "Too bad I'm not like other women."
Their foreheads nearly touched. "I know. I'm grateful you aren't."
"That's 'cause you're not like other men either." Gazing into his eyes for another moment, she wordlessly told him she wasn't teasing anymore but damn serious and touched her lips to his. It was a tender kiss, soft and gentle. It made Oliver long for more, but before he could deepen it, she broke their connection. Her mouth hovering above his, she whispered, "Your friends are listening."
That was a perfect cold verbal shower. His eyes snapped open (uh, his glasses had fogged up—that was unexpected) and he groaned, unhappily. "Let me say goodbye real quick."
With two steps he was back at his couch and saw the pizza slice he had taken one bite of resting on the brown cloth. A caught and slightly embarrassed sensation rushed through him, and he hurried to place it on top of the pizza box. It was Felicity's first visit at his apartment—that could've gone better. If he had known she'd come over, he would've cleaned up a little. An awkward apology danced on the tip of his tongue, but died there when Felicity asked, "What'cha playing?"
"CoD." Seeing the question in her eyes, he elaborated, "Call of Duty. We're in a clan war against our mortal enemies, the RADs."
"The rats?"
"RADs," he corrected, meeting her eyes as she sank down on the couch next to him. "Their clan's called 'Painting the town RAD'—with an A."
"That's a lame pun."
"Yes!" Oliver beamed at his girlfriend, because she was amazing and right. "They are lame. And douchebags. Myron and I know one of them from MIT. He signed us up as Professor Donahough's assistants without our knowledge. We spent one painful semester with the sweaty man and his statistics." He reached for his headphones and added with emphasis, "They suck." Quickly, he slipped the headphones into place—aware that his next actions would probably confirm Diggle's worries. "Guys," he said, "Felicity just showed up. I—"
"No!" Myron snapped. "You can't quit. It's a tie. The next game's crucial."
Oliver sighed, heavily, seeing the current game was just ending. "I'm sorry, but—"
"Your clan needs you!" Myron's voice was dripping with exaggerated pathos.
"What's going on?" Felicity asked from next to him. Because of the headphones she could only hear his side of the conversation.
"Tell her your clan needs you," Myron ordered, unusually bossy. "For one more game."
Oliver hesitated. "It's a tie," he explained, meeting her eyes. "Myron says my clan needs me for one more game."
A teasing smile showed on Felicity's face, but it wasn't mocking. Instead there was nothing but fondness in her features and in her voice. "Your clan needs you." She gestured to the controller. "Stick it to the RADs."
"No, seriously. It's okay, I—"
"Oliver," she cut him off, strictly. "It's a war against our mortal enemies. Go, get 'em."
Amusement bubbled up inside him. "Our mortal enemies?"
"Sure," she said, easily. "You hate them, I hate them. That's how it works, right? Tonight I learned that we hate the Bowens, because they're mean to Quentin."
He blinked at her. Finally a smile showed on his face. The urge to kiss her again was overwhelming, but was squashed by Myron's voice in his ears. "Listen to your girlfriend."
"One game," he told Felicity and the men on the other end of the internet connection. He reached for the controller just as the game started. "Pizza?" Oliver asked and jerked his head toward the box. "It's perfectly cold."
Felicity slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet under her, getting comfortable on his couch. "I'd never steal your breakfast pizza." With a wink she scooted closer to him and placed her attention on the TV.
Oliver focused on the game, too—very aware that John Diggle hadn't said a thing. The real life solider remained quiet until Felicity warned a few minutes later, "Ten o'clock."
Oliver reacted too late, his in-game soldier shot by the enemy he had missed on his left. Diggle huffed, but said nothing else. It was a sound full of sarcasm that felt like a reaction to Felicity's warning and rubbed Oliver the very wrong way. Annoyance flared within him, his hands tightened around the controller.
"Don't worry," Felicity spoke up from next to him, obviously taking his tight grip as a reaction to his in-game death, and gestured to the screen. "They're already working on your resurrection. They make coming back from the dead seem easier than it is." Her hand landed on his shoulder and she winked. "Believe me, I've been there."
A cough that sounded like Myron was nearly choking hit Oliver's ears. It brought along a sudden idea. Not hesitating or giving himself a moment to question the wisdom of his next actions, Oliver turned to his girlfriend. "How about you avenge my death?"
"Me?" Her hand fell from his shoulder, stunned. "I've never played. I can't."
"Dude," Myron warned, "we're in the lead."
Digg stayed quiet, saying nothing. Again.
"Sure you can," Oliver ignored his friend and held the controller out to Felicity. Lifting his eyebrows, he dared her to decline. She looked like she was going to for a few seconds but then reluctantly, hesitatingly, took it. "Thumbs on the sticks," he instructed and Felicity did, her eyes glued to the controller. "Look at the TV," Oliver told her. "Okay, now move the right stick. That one shifts the camera and where your soldier's looking. The left one moves him. You always head into the direction you're looking at."
Felicity tensed, her shoulders pulled up, deep concentration visible on her face as she steered the virtual avatar directly into a wall. Her lips pursed. Oliver could practically see her ambition take over. Maybe it was the Arrow in her, rising to the challenge, refusing not to be good at something. His hand fell to her thigh and gave a gentle squeeze. Her eyes snapped to him and he mouthed "relax." She inhaled measuredly. Her shoulders fell, her arms—stiff and held in a 90 degree angle before—loosened and sank to her lap. She rounded a virtual corner perfectly and Oliver told her to put her index fingers on the buttons left and right on the back of the controller. "You aim by pulling the left," he explained.
She did. "Iron sights."
"Exactly. You shoot with the right." She flexed her finger, giving an experimental pull. "That's it," Oliver confirmed and patted her leg. "Don't forget to reload." He pointed at the button. "Have fun." He pulled his headphones off and put them onto Felicity's head, startling her. "Say 'hi' to the guys."
Awkwardness billowed around her. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise, unhappiness, and disbelief. Oliver knew springing this on her was kind of unfair, but he had met her best friend. Face to face. When Sara Lance was an intimidating woman and literally able to kill him with her bare hands. Probably with one hand. Without breaking a sweat. Talking to his friends via internet was a piece of cake, comparatively.
Oliver was absolutely sure that nothing would show his friends how amazing Felicity Smoak was, except experiencing her amazingness first hand.
She swallowed and Oliver knew she was mostly humoring him by saying, "Hi, guys." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips like it always did when she was nervous, but she accepted the challenge and met his eyes, challengingly, when she added, "I'm Felicity."
Oliver smiled tenderly, sending her a wordless 'thank you', and sank back on the couch, watching his girlfriend turn to the TV, the intense focus on her face, her glistening lips slightly parted, her brows furrowed in concentration. She was gorgeous. He forced his eyes away from her and to the TV. He knew the map they were playing by heart and used his knowledge to guide her. She was still struggling with the controller a little, with walking, with aiming, and in the next moment somebody killed her. "Asshat!" she cursed. Her eyes snapped to Oliver. "Who was that?!"
"Natural Born Killer." Receiving a blank stare from Felicity, Oliver added. "Real name's Cooper. He's the one that sentenced us to Donahough-duty." He gestured to the controller. "Press X to respawn."
Felicity's thumb pushed the button instantly. "He's going down," she said in a voice deeper than normal (but not quite her Arrow-voice). "Natural Born Killer, my ass. It'll be my pleasure to show him what a natural reborn killer like me can do." She froze, slowly her eyes crept back to him, seriousness shining in them. "Even though… killing's wrong, of course."
He scooted even close to her, their thighs touching, his hand falling to her arm. "Of course," he said slightly, aware that his friends could hear him. "It's okay in this context, though." He held her gaze, needing her to know how serious he was and that nothing she did in virtual reality diminished her accomplishments in actual reality.
She nodded in a gesture that was acceptance as much as it was agreement.
Suddenly, she smirked, her eyes moving back to the TV. "Thanks, Myron. I feel avenged."
Oliver chuckled. He had hoped that Myron would be the one to bridge the gap. Whatever his friend had said, it had chased some tension out of Felicity. Oliver focused back on the screen, too. Settling back in his seat, he watched her steer her soldier with more confidence and then... He was about to jump up and celebrate her first kill when her hand flew up. She gave the most adorable little fist pump accompanied by a "YES!", and all Oliver could do was beam at her, meeting her triumphant smile. Should he feel pride because she had gotten the hang of that game after one minute? Because he did.
Her attention went back to the screen. A few moments of silence followed, then Felicity said, "Diggle, on your six." The question how she knew who Diggle was nearly left Oliver's lips, but he swallowed it. Because his friend's obvious SN (CanYouDiggIt?) was displayed over his alter ego's head. Felicity noticed such things, she noticed every detail while running through a gap between two buildings and past a hole blown into a wall to warn his friend of the enemy creeping up behind him. (He was talking about something that happened in the game, but he wouldn't put it past her in real life, either.) "Sure," she said, leaving Oliver to guess that his best friend had finally said something (nice) to his girlfriend.
He continued watching Felicity. She got better at the game, more relaxed, talking more. It wasn't exactly a conversation, but Myron and Diggle (most likely Myron) gave her tips and suddenly there was a remote controlled car by her feet. "What do I do? What?" She asked. "There's a bomb on that thing!
It seemed kind of ironic to Oliver that she was slightly frantic now when being faced with an actual bomb had hardly rattled her.
"Okay, okay." She confirmed and muttered, "Blowing people up with electronic toy cars—that's strangely ecofriendly." A moment of silence followed. "Blue?" Oliver didn't need Felicity adding, "That's a good color for a car," to know that Myron had told her about his damn hybrid. (It's blue.) Oliver kept from groaning at his dorky friend and watched Felicity steer the mobile bomb right to where the sniper who had already killed Digg three times was camped. The explosion was perfect.
Felicity laughed slightly next to him. "Guess he's smoaking."
Oliver smirked, shaking his head.
"Yeah," Felicity reacted to whatever either of his friends said. "That sniper's shot his load." She froze one second after the sentence passed her lips and Oliver could practically hear the disbelieving silence. "I mean," Felicity hurried to say, "he blew." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Up. He blew up."
Trying not to make her any more uncomfortable, Oliver pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.
She sighed and he could practically see her struggle to find something to say. Oliver was about to try and jump to her aid when Felicity relaxed next to him. "Yes, sir," she said, but there was a lightness in her voice and somehow Oliver knew that Diggle had defused the tension.
Five minutes later the game was over. The RADs had lost (it was close, but whatever, a win was a win). Oliver put his hand on Felicity's naked knee. "Say good game."
"Good game," she echoed, smiling at whatever the others said. "Thanks," she answered and listened again. Surprised, her head turned to Oliver. "Yes, I'd like that. We'll do that when you're in Starling. It's been nice killing RADs with you. Thank you for letting me play with you." She flinched, her lips twisting, but she kept from adding anything else to her last statement and quickly pulled the headphones off, mussing her hair in the process.
Oliver slipped the headphones on. "Okay, guys. Goo—"
"Ollie, dude. You lucky bastard!"
"Yeah," he agreed, knowing that his voice held a softness that wasn't really fitting for a chat with his friends or a game of ego-shooting, but he couldn't help it. Myron's words were the absolute truth. "I am."
"She can play with us again, Anytime. Girl's a natural."
"Oliver," Diggle said, calmly. "Consider the red flags dealt with." Oliver's mouth fell open. That was more than he had dared to hope for. A happy sensation rushed through him. It found its outlet with a chuckle when Diggle added, "She respects the breakfast pizza."
"She does," Oliver confirmed. "Thanks, guys. I'll try to make it next Wednesday. Night."
Diggle and Myron said their own goodbyes. Pressing a few buttons, Oliver powered the PS4 down and turned the TV off. "Thank you for doing that," he said, genuine.
"It was fun. Did you see that Natural Born Killer had less kills than the CoDfather in the end?"
"I did." His beaming grin turned into a frown. "How did you know I'm CoDfather?"
"The name's most you."
"It is?"
"It is. Or did you think I haven't noticed that I have to log into 'pretty fly for a wifi' at the Factory?"
He shrugged. "'Arrow Cave Online' didn't feel secretive enough."
"Arrow Cave," her eyes sparkled. "I like that. We can be Team Arrow."
"No. We won't call ourselves that."
"We'll see," she winked, cheekily, but turned more serious. "Your friends are nice." Sitting sideways on the couch, her legs tucked back under her, she put her hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry."
Another frown darkened his face. "For what?"
"For not thinking about what you being in the Factory every night really means."
"It's just a video game," he dismissed.
"It isn't—and I get that now. You should make time for it. You can play with your friends while I hit mine with sticks." She grunted, casting her eyes to the ceiling. Her hand let go of his face. "I can't believe you let me talk to people."
Oliver chuckled, but it got kind of stuck in his throat. The band-aid on her forehead was a constant reminder that roughly thirty minutes ago she had knocked at his door, unusually shaken. He cradled her hand in his, engulfing it completely. "Tell me about dinner." It was a gentle request, but it was also aiming straight for the thing he needed them to talk about. Even though not dancing around the big issues worked for them, Felicity's next words knocked all the air out of him.
"Dinner was cut short when armed guys crashed through the kitchen windows."
"What?"
"Yeah," she sighed and looked very tired suddenly. "They were people from the organization Sara worked for. They wanted something she took. She calls it leverage."
"They just crashed into your house?"
"They did. With guns raised. All secret killer commando—without the being secret part."
"And then?"
"Then I made a stupid, stupid mistake." He tipped his head, sending her a silent question, and another sigh fell from her lips. "They aimed guns at my mom. And at Quentin. And there were four—at that point they were four—of them and this one woman was all angry and I felt like I needed to tip the odds." His eyes rested on her, calm, waiting for her to say what she needed to say, feeling slight worry at what resembled a ramble for Felicity. In an uneasy gesture she scratched her forehead just below the band-aid. "I initiated the fight, took two of the soldiers out. It was stupid." Her eyes jumped to his, the need to make him understand visible. "My mom was there, Oliver. And I couldn't…. I needed to keep her safe."
A fond smile tugged at corners of his mouth, but never broke through. His free hand moved up to brush a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "I know, Felicity," he said gently, following the line of her jaw with the back of his fingers. "You protect those you care about. It's part of what makes you special." Evading his eyes, she looked at her hand cradled in his. "Hey," he said softly, "What happened then?"
"A fight. A destroyed kitchen. Mom and Quentin lying to the police. And me telling them everything."
Oliver's breath hitched in his throat, his fingers stilled, leaving her face. "Everything?
"Everything," she repeated and added after a moment of hesitation. "Well… I didn't use the word 'Triad' yet—I thought I'd save my run-in with organized crime for the next family night. Quentin scheduled that for next week, by the way. From now on there's a standing Smoak-Lance dinner date every Wednesday."
"So, your mother and her husband…. They took it well?"
"All things considered… yeah, I guess, it could've gone worse." She sank against the couch. "I just couldn't come up with a believable lie. I tipped my hand, because I was the one who'd initiated the fight."
"I think it's good that your parents know the truth," Oliver decided. "It means more people in your corner." A soft smile ghosted over her face, her eyes on him. He felt a sense of calm creep over her as she studied him. Both his hands closed around hers. "How's Sara?"
"Okay?" It came out like a question, and he could see her reconsider her answer. "She wasn't on board with my plan to tell the truth, but I think… she was even more relieved to get some things off her chest than I was. But… you know. She's Sara."
"I know. You should consider not sparring with her for a few days."
An amused huff escaped Felicity. "Good advice—but I won't get around her venting some frustrations." She shifted her weight, sitting back up. Her face twisted in a way that sent Oliver a clear message.
"Are you hurt?"
"Naw," she said—and he recognized the dismissal (aka a lie). She leaned toward him before he could inquire further. Her next sentence was a whisper light like a feather but weighed with sincerity. "Thank you for being in my corner." She kissed him, gently but firmly pressing her lips against his for a long, perfect moment. He felt her breath brush over his skin when she said quietly, "I'm sorry I just showed up at your door like that. But I…. After tonight I needed to see you and… tell you what happened. I'm sor—"
"Felicity," he whispered, equally awed and annoyed. Hearing that he was the one she sought out after a difficult and dangerous evening, that his presence could make her feel better, knowing that she confided in him filled his chest with happiness. But it was dimmed by the fact that she felt like she had to apologize for it. His hands flew up to her face. "Don't apologize. I'm here for you." He couldn't help but add, just because he enjoyed saying it so much, "I'm your boyfriend. My door's always open—and my window, too."
She chuckled and her eyes sparkled with honest joy. "You know the way to a girl's heart. Giving her easy access." She paused, flinched, and gave that little jerk of her head Oliver had come to know pretty well. "One day I'll stop saying things like that, I promise."
He couldn't help but smirk. "I hope that day's very far away. Because I find it very charming."
"You're weird."
"I am."
"I find that very charming." Teasing and warmth mixed in her eyes and it turned her gaze into a fond caress. The sensation it triggered made him touch his lips to hers, kissing her softly but they deepened their connection nearly instantly. His eyes shut with the joy of feeling her close to him, her hands wandering up his bare arms to his t-shirt-covered shoulders. Their tongues never stopped dancing around each other as she rose and got into his lap. She sank down, straddling him, and his hands left her face to rest on her hips. Her arms around him, her fingers played with the hair on the back of his head.
Feeling the need to bring her closer, his hands wandered to her back. She mewed against his lips and pressed herself against him more, deepening the kiss. Her reaction sent an excited tingle of desire through him. It brought along the encouragement he needed. Letting his hands roam higher, up her neck to her hair, he tangled his fingers in the silky strands.
When she finally broke the kiss he was breathless. A sigh escaped him when she sucked on his lower lip while her hands trailed down his chest and under his t-shirt. Lazily, he opened his eyes to find her studying him, her face close to his. He saw the question in her eyes and swallowed heavily. Nerves flared up and made him form words, "I know you haven't been on a deserted island all this time and I don't expect you not to have been—" He stopped himself there, because he couldn't finish that sentence. He felt the heat that had settled in his stomach spread to his cheeks. "We don't have to…."
"It hasn't been five years, but it's still been a while." She said that sentence so easily that it soothed some of Oliver's worries.
Carefully untangling his fingers from her hair, he placed them back on her hips, admitting, "Sadly, the same's true for me."
"We don't have to," she echoed his words less awkwardly. Oliver saw an unfamiliar gleam in her eyes before she pressed her hips down, swaying them slightly. "But I'd really like to."
He knew she could feel how much he'd like to, too. He'd wanted to touch her, be with her completely, for weeks. This was the first time they were alone in a place that wasn't the Factory, but now that they were alone and close and… turned on, he felt his nerves flare uncontrollably. He hated it, but couldn't help it. She was Felicity Smoak and he was Oliver Queen and she had—
"Hey," she said, her hands stilling on his stomach (his not-as-toned-as-he-wanted-it-to-be stomach, he remembered). "What's with the frown-y face?"
"If I tell you, you'll know what a dork I am."
The hint of a smile appeared on her face. "I'm nervous, too." It was another easily spoken sentence. Her admittance knocked all air out of him, because what did she have to be nervous about? He gaped up at her. She rested her forehead against his and whispered, "You're my first boyfriend in… years, or maybe… ever. And this matters. And there are my scars. They're ugly. I've never had a man touch them. And… yeah."
His hand tightened around her hips. "You're beautiful, Felicity." His eyes drilled into her. "God," he rasped, "you're so gorgeous."
Her mouth covered his again, kissing him hungrily, sending him a secret message of encouragement, thankfulness, and urgency all at once. In answer, he dared to move his hands to her knees, under the skirt of her dress, and slip them up her bare thighs. He felt her soft skin under his fingertips and a bump that might be a scar. His hands tightened slightly, giving her a gentle squeeze. A moan escaped her and she broke the kiss. He looked up at her, taking her in: her hair wild, mussed by his hands, her lips swollen from their kissing, her eyes darkened by lust. Really, she was gorgeous.
She licked her lips. (This time it was different from her nervous tick. The difference was small, but he saw it.) Carefully, she slipped his glasses off his nose. Once they were safely on the Lego table, she reached for the hem of his shirt and he got the hint, letting go of her, bringing his arms up, helping her pull his shirt over his head. Letting it drop to the floor carelessly, she bent forward, touching her tongue to his skin. His head fell back against the couch and his eyes shut. His breathing turned deeper, his chest rose and fell as Felicity explored it, licking a hot trail over his skin. He forced himself to open his eyes, to enjoy the sight of her mouth on his skin.
She took her time and finally it was him getting impatient—and worried, because she was still fully dressed and he needed to make her believe that her scars weren't ugly to him. He reached for her, pulling her up to him again. "What you say?" He didn't recognize his own voice. "Should we take this to the bedroom?"
She met his eyes. "I say we should." She climbed off his lap.
Reaching for her hand, he led her to the bedroom, stopping next to the bed, awkwardly. The bed wasn't made, but—thank God—he had changed the sheets only yesterday. (They were a neutral blue. He wasn't such a dork that he slept in Star Wars sheets… at the moment.) He shifted his weight uneasily until he saw a visible wave of determination go through Felicity. She reached for the side of her dress, pulled the zipper down, and shrugged it off her shoulder. The dress pooled around her feet, leaving her only in her underwear. She gazed up at him and instantly he knew she'd been honest before: she was nervous. Never had he seen such an unsure look in her eyes. Quickly, her eyes darted away, avoiding. An unexpected and unfamiliar wave of protectiveness flared through him. He reached for her, kissing her again in what he hoped was reassurance before he finally did what he had wanted for so long.
His lips nibbled their way down her neck to her cleavage. She helped him by opening her bra, and he continued his exploration down her body, sinking to his knees in front of her in the process. Her hands moved to his head. He took his time, caressing her, mapping her skin, marked and unmarked, with fingertips, lips, and tongue. He noticed the bruising on her ribs, remembering her earlier wince, so he kept his touches feather-light there.
There was an especially big scar on her stomach, a long slash denting her skin as if a slice was missing. He felt her muscles flex under his hands, felt her tension as he touched it. From his kneeling position he looked up at her, meeting her eyes that looked moister than usual. Holding her gaze, he kissed the scar, gently, full of tenderness. Her tightened mouth relaxed, her features evened out, the worry vanished, and as his caresses continued, her eyes slipped shut. She softened under his lips, and a wave of relief crashed through him (and contentment that he had managed to take away some of her worries). Her breathing grew deeper, her hands on his head tightened. A gasp turned into a moan as his fingers trailed up her inner leg.
He looked up at her again and found her heavily lidded gaze on him. "You're a tease," she breathed.
"I'm getting to know my girlfriend," he corrected.
She cupped his chin and signaled him to get up by adding gentle pressure. "It's appreciated," she said, huskily and reached for his belt, opening it and the button of his jeans with skilled hands. "But you're overdressed."
He didn't have a comeback. All he could focus on was Felicity sliding his pants down and sneaking her hand into his underwear, finding him hard and ready for her. Her fingers closed around him, adding perfect pressure, stroking. It was amazing—too amazing. He freed himself from her and kissed her again, backing her up to the bed. It was closer than he thought and his pants were still around his ankles. They fell clumsily, a tumbling mess of limbs and clashing skin. She laughed next him and her honest reaction made it possible for him to chuckle, too. He lifted his head to meet her sparkling eyes. "I'll do the unromantic thing and get undressed, if that's okay."
"Yes," she said, smirking, "do that before we seriously injure ourselves." She winked and watched him get up.
When he climbed back onto the bed, Oliver was naked, condom in place. Having lost her panties, she was equally bared to him, resting on her back, propped up on her arms, watching him. Her gaze drilled into him and it brought a sudden shift of atmosphere, squashing the lightness of before. His nerves flared again, the awkwardness returned with a flash. He tried to push it down, but she was naked and he was naked, and this was happening. He had never been this self-conscious before and he hated that he was now. But he couldn't stop it, couldn't relax and get lost in the moment.
She held her hand out to him and rested back on the mattress. He followed her unspoken request and settled next to her on his side. She whispered, "Did I ever tell you that you're handsome?" The disbelief he felt must've shown on his face, because she added, "Because you are. Very."
She had never told him that. In fact, nobody had ever told him that. He didn't know how to react, what to say. He simply stared at her. A smile danced around her lips until she touched them to his. The kiss brought him back to the here and now, back to the bed and Felicity scooting closer to him, her warm body heating his, her soft skin feeling perfect under his fingers. His right hand trailed down her body, slowly, sliding below her navel. She broke the kiss, gasping for air. She met his eyes. "Don't tease."
He smirked and dipped his finger into her, finding her ready, excited. Her eyes fluttered shut and he studied her every reaction, adding his thumb and feeling a thrill of excitement when he brought a gasp from her. Her eyes shot back open and her hand flew to his cheek. "I need you," she admitted, her voice raw in a way he had never heard before. All he could do was move over her.
Guiding himself into her, a groan escaped him, mixing with her humming. His eyes squeezed shut. She was all around him, warm, tight, and perfect and he…. He just needed a moment. The sensation was too much, he couldn't or he would... His eyes closed, he stayed still. When he forced his eyes open again, they connected with hers instantly. He was deep inside her. It was an intimate position, but somehow their eyes linking added even more intimacy. It caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his heart to beat faster for reasons way beyond their bodies' connection.
This wasn't perfect sex, he didn't kid himself into believing it was, but somehow this was still everything. It was them, and she was looking at him, seeing him, wanting him. Just him. The corners of his mouth curled upward, as did hers, heightening their connection even more. Right in that second they were one in every sense of the word and she wasn't some experienced ex-it girl and he wasn't some nerdy IT guy that had only slept with two women. They were just Oliver and Felicity and they were together and they were making love and nothing else mattered.
He kissed her again and started moving, gently, slowly. She met his movements, matching his speed. His lips left hers, wandering to her neck, feeling the puckering of her pulse point under his tongue. Her hand moved down between her legs, Oliver noticed and moved his own down, replacing her finger with his, needing to be the one to send her over the edge, needing her to find pleasure in this, because anything else was unacceptable.
Desire tingled at the base of his spine, his movements turned quicker. He forced himself to slow down again—he couldn't speed ahead and leave her behind. But he felt her heavy breath against his cheek, heard her moans in his ear, and felt the urgency in the way she angled her hips up at him. It spurred him on in return and his fingers pressed down harder. She gasped his name and that was what made him explode. He shuddered and pleasure spiked, cascading through his body in a perfect wave, her name falling from his lips. On the edge of his consciousness he noticed her nails digging into his back. And then she fluttered around him and that heightened his delight even more, because… yes. Thank God!
Gasping for air, they came down from their highs. Oliver felt bliss mixing with relief. His blood rushed in his ears, his heart hammered in his chest. He kissed her again, but it was only a peck, because he needed to bring air into his lungs. Towering over her, he rested his forehead against hers. "I—" he started, but didn't know what to say not to ruin this. He swallowed.
"Not bad for the first time with all that pressure," she said softly, genuinely.
He huffed happily.
She inhaled soundly and cupped his face. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For just… being you."
He kissed her again. It was the only thing he could do. This woman, his girlfriend, simply left him speechless.
