Please Stop/Never Stop
By Bre (dust2dust34)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Arrow.
Rating: Explicit
Author's Notes: Part of my Heartbeats Olicity smutlet collection.
Summary: Smut Drabble Prompt: vampirebarbiecare – Haha, that's great that you are having fun writing them, then it wld make it easier for me to request for a sequel for the latest Nanda Parbhat drabble where Olicity meets after a few years have passed. Pretty please? Hehe.. Just think of the smangst potential there.. Or even just plain angst!
This is a thank you to Lulu (vampirebarbiecare) for featuring Blood Hands as her Fiction of the Month!
I wrote a Nanda Parbat spec fic called To This Moment, which I continued in a prompt fic called Don't Look Back.
This is a sequel to that.
Felicity knew he was there before she saw him.
She felt his eyes on her, a tiny spark that slowly morphed into a flame as awareness danced under her skin
It had been over seven years since Nanda Parbat. Seven years of wondering if things might change, of wondering where he was, who he had become, what he was doing; of learning to put her love for him aside, learning to love someone else, learning to lose someone else; of continuing what he had started, with Diggle, Roy and Laurel, and then Thea, and then Ray…
Seven years of existing, but not living.
The first time they heard rumors about the League being back in Starling City, Felicity had gone into overdrive. She'd scoured the news, every camera she could get into, every feed she could find; she sent out feelers, stalking people who made any mention of seeing a giant black shadow carrying a bow. Someone even tweeted, 'Holy shit, is the #Arrow back?' Nobody ever saw anything definitive - the League lived up to its reputation: they were ghosts, slipping in to do one task before slipping away again.
For days she sat in the new Arrow Cave - she still called it the Arrow Cave, even though the Arrow hadn't shown his face in Starling City in two years - until Diggle had appeared behind her, his touch on her shoulder feeling like acid dripping along her nerves.
"It's not him, Felicity."
"Maybe not, but… maybe it is, John. Either way I'm not stopping."
"I'm not asking you to stop. I'm asking you to be prepared for when we find out it isn't Oliver."
When. Not if.
Her searches kept hitting dead end after dead end, but she didn't give up… until she woke up one morning to a note on her pillow.
It was his scrawl, in black pen on a piece of paper from the cartoon birds notepad she kept in the kitchen.
'Please stop.'
He'd been in her apartment. He'd stood by her bed, walked through the rooms, picked up a pen - which pen, she'd always wondered, like maybe if she held it the way he had she'd be able to feel him - and… he had done nothing. He'd gotten to see her, but she hadn't gotten to see him - he'd taken that away from her.
Felicity stared at the paper, not moving, afraid to breathe in case it blew the note away as her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
Oliver had been there.
And he wasn't anymore.
An irrational whip of anger had her crumpling the paper and throwing it across the room. He'd been in Starling City this entire time. He had been the shadow people saw, he had been the inspiration for the Arrow tweet. He knew they would be wondering, they would be concerned, they would want to know he was alright, but he hadn't contacted them, he hadn't done anything.
Just a note. Because he knew she was looking for him. He knew she would always look for him.
The tears were unexpected. She didn't want to cry over him, she didn't want to cry for that fact that he had stood right there - Felicity laid on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, wondering where it was exactly he had been standing, trying to feel his presence, to feel him…
She cried. She cried for the lost time, for the fact that she was never going to have him back, that if there was any doubt left in her mind about the path he had chosen, he just answered it for her.
The League had chosen him, and he had chosen the League.
Felicity eventually picked up the note, flattening it out. She wanted to trace the letters, but she didn't. She wanted to show John that he was alright, that he had been there, but she didn't. Instead Felicity, blinking away tears, opened a drawer and dropped the note in.
She never opened it again.
Since then, there were four times she knew he was in Starling City.
When reports started popping up, it got easier with time for her heart not to jump into her throat at the possibility that it was him, easier to tell herself it didn't matter because he was gone, and he was staying gone.
So it wasn't because of her searching for him that she knew he was there, but because he searched for her. She moved a total of three times, and he always found her.
One time he left her window cracked.
Another time she caught a glimpse of a hood down the street.
A red pen went missing from her apartment, of all the stupid things he could pick, like she needed a reminder.
Once she woke up on the couch with her comforter tucked around her.
She never mentioned it, she didn't need to; it became a link, something to hold on to, something to wish for, something that sustained her as she went on. She went through the motions, only able to commit half her heart to anything - to anybody - because the other half had been permanently given away, ever since Oliver had whispered, "I love you, Felicity, I will always love you."
So when she woke up at 1:37 a.m., seven years after his final words to her, she knew he was there, knew he had been there.
Felicity didn't move when he opened her window silently, the only indication the change in the shadows on her wall as he slipped through the moonlight before melting back into the darkness that was now his home.
He did nothing for the longest time except watch her, and she felt his eyes on her as if it were his touch dragging over her skin.
She blinked at the wall, her heart calm and tranquil, like she was still sleeping. Her breathing was even, her mind awake and clear. She had let herself wonder what it would be like if she did see him again, if she caught him, if he slipped up… she thought she might use her loud voice, throw something at him because a red pen? Seriously?
But she did none of those things. She laid there, waiting.
Time was suspended, moving in the blink of an eye while moving slow as molasses at the same time.
Until he moved.
And then everything felt sharp and painful, and the closer he got to her, the tighter her chest started to feel. She closed her eyes when tears blurred her vision - no, she wanted to open her eyes, she wanted to see him. But she couldn't.
He didn't make a sound, but she knew he was standing by the bed. She didn't have to have her eyes open to know he was reaching out to touch her, and she didn't have to open her eyes to see where his hand was before she reached out, gripping it tightly.
He let out a startled sound and she looked up at him.
For a man cast in shadows, she saw him remarkably well. He was dressed in his League clothes, his face shrouded save for his eyes.
Al-Sahim stood before her, cold, hard; emotionless.
But the trembling in his hand, his fingers twisting in hers to grip just as tightly… that was Oliver Queen. Her Oliver, the love of her life…
Neither said anything.
Felicity gently tugged on his hand, scooting over, urging him to join her. He didn't even try to resist. His weapons were already off, his quiver and bow gone as he climbed into the bed, laying down next to her. He didn't take off his mask, or his clothes, or anything, save for the bare hand in hers.
Their fingers interlaced, holding on to each other like a lifeline. He held on so tightly she felt her bones grinding together; her nails dug into the back of his hand, trembling with the effort. She took a stuttering breath, echoed by his own harsh breathing as they laid next to each other, holding onto the only thing they could…
Felicity closed her eyes, several tears escaping, running into her hairline as she let herself imagine that the only thing in bed with her was Oliver Queen, and nothing more.
And then he let go.
The sob was out before she could stop it. She held her breath to keep the rest in, her empty hand dropping onto the cold sheets between them. She left it there, pressing her other shaking hand to her face as more tears slipped down her face, soaking into her pillow.
She didn't dare open her eyes, to see if he was gone, to see if he was still there.
And then his fingers brushed her cheek and she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. She froze as his wiped way her tears, before he cupped her face. His touch was soft, gentle, a remembrance of the night they had shared. His fingers trailed down her cheek as he moved, down over her jaw, following the dip and curve of her neck as he moved to her shoulder, his fingers leaving a white hot trail in their path. She stayed still, eyes closed, barely breathing, as he moved down her arm with his warm rough palm.
Where she was fighting to keep herself from letting any air into her lungs, for fear that it might fast-forward time, he was breathing fast and heavy, like he was trying to keep himself in check.
He paused when he reached her wrist, before going back up her arm, his hand slipping to her waist where he let it slip down to her hip under the sheet… before it slid back up to her shoulder.
Felicity's hand shot out to stop his movement. He froze next to her as she pressed it back against her waist, sliding it back down until she reached the hem of her shirt. She pressed his hand up underneath it, sliding it up against her bare skin, over her ribs and up to her breast.
He didn't do anything for a long second, his breaths coming out in short bursts.
She wondered when her heart had started back to life, if he could feel it hammering against her chest plate, vibrating through her skin.
With a sudden gasp, he clutched her breast tightly, and she arched into his touch, shivering when twisted the sensitive flesh, like he was too eager to touch her, to feel her against him.
She knew the feeling.
Her eyes closed, tears drying on her cheeks, she kept her hand over his on her breast, encouraging more. He gave her that, just that… and she realized after a long moment that that was all he was going to do: whatever she wanted, what she needed.
The fine tremble in his every touch bespoke to the fact that Oliver Queen was in there still, buried so deep inside Al-Sahim, but he didn't know how to be Oliver Queen anymore.
Felicity opened her eyes, looking at him, and saw his shuttered blue orbs staring at her blankly, watching her, a stark contrast to his heated touch.
Al-Sahim stared at her, while Oliver Queen touched her.
He always came to her, whenever he was in the city, he always came to her, but he didn't know why anymore.
With a choked sob, Felicity bit her lip, gripping his hand tightly to stop his ministrations. Their eyes stayed locked as she took a slow, shaky breath before she sat up, forcing his hand to fall back.
With slow, measured movements, Felicity gently pressed on his shoulder until he rolled onto his back. She got up on her knees, letting her hands rove across the heavy material of his League wear. She didn't try to remove any of it, she didn't try to take his mask off or force him to remove any more armor than he already had.
This wasn't about changing Al-Sahim, it was about reminding him that he was still Oliver Queen, that he was still a man, a man she loved, and that she would love him no matter what.
He didn't stop her as Felicity found the belt and button of his pants. He laid prone beneath her as she undid them, spreading the material and pushing it down his hips. She reached in, grasping his already hard cock, looking up to see his eyes flutter shut, his hips arching into her touch as she gently pulled him free.
His entire body trembled beneath her as she gently stroked him, her thumb running over the head where precum was already seeping free. He hissed, his hands gripping her sheets into tight fists.
Felicity sat up, pulling her shirt off. Her hair was longer than the last time he'd been in Starling City, and it cascaded down her chest and back, tickling her bare skin as she wiggled out of her pajama shorts and panties, leaving her naked before him.
He may be still be completely veiled in darkness, but she knew he was more naked than he'd been in a very long time.
Felicity straddled him, their eyes locked on each other. She reached between them, gripping him tightly, pressing him against her wet entrance. He barely moved, short hard breaths coming out as he forced himself to lay still…
Felicity slowly eased down on him, her mouth falling open in a silent moan as he filled her more completely than anything in her life.
A breathy whine escaped him, and Felicity panted as he watched her. The shuttered look was gone, replaced with raw emotion: pain, love, grief, anger… he stared up at her, showing her everything, giving her everything as she reminded him of who he was, that he could always come back to her to find his home. She didn't see the mask he wore, the black archer clothes, the hood still up… she only saw his eyes.
She only saw Oliver.
Felicity reached down, grabbing his hands. She pressed them to her thighs as her hips started a slow, easy rhythm, small thrusts that started rocking the bed as she held his hands to her body. His fingers were trembling again. She held them to her waist, their eyes never breaking contact as she made love to him.
Felicity's breathing grew heavier, the slow burning spiral of pleasure starting to blossom in the pit of her stomach; her hips moved faster, and she nodded to him, encouraging him to hold her, to keep her close.
Felicity saw the break in him before his fingers suddenly dug into her waist.
With a grating moan, Felicity fell onto him, pressing her forehead against his, gripping the pillow he laid on. Her hair created a dark curtain around them, but she knew his eyes were open, watching her in the darkness, just as hers watched him as they thrust against each other, their hips moving faster, chasing their release.
With a choked growl, Oliver reached up and yanked his mask off. Felicity gasped, her hips stuttering, but Oliver wrapped a tight arm around her waist, keeping her pressed against him as he cupped the back of her neck, their lips crashing together.
It happened in a blur after that, as Oliver planted his booted feet, using his grip on her waist to thrust wildly into her as their tongues mimicked what their lower halves were doing.
Her pleasure grew in a tight ball in her center as they thrust against each other, as Felicity matched his kiss with equal ardor, teeth nipping at each other's lips and tongue, her hands coming up to cradle his face in a tight grip, her release climbing without warning. Her nails dug into his temples, their moans lost in each other. His hold on her grew tighter, their hips moving faster, the bed rocking underneath them…
Felicity came with a broken shout. Oliver gasped underneath her, thrusting up without any rhythm as her walls pulsed around him. His hold on her waist was painful, making her ribs groan with discomfort as he held on tighter and tighter… until with one last thrust Oliver spilled into her, the sound he made something between pleasure and grief, a sound that tore into Felicity's soul.
Felicity woke the next morning, her body sore and bruised. She didn't open her eyes for a long moment, letting herself just… be. She didn't want to feel the pain of knowing he was gone, the loss all over again, knowing that the love they had given each other last night was over again…
She eventually did open her eyes though, and there was a note on her pillow.
It was the crumpled note, the first note he'd left her… it was flipped and on the other side, in the same scrawl with the same black pen, was a message:
'Never stop.'
Felicity blinked at the words, and she slowly traced the letters as tears rose unbidden.
But not tears of grief this time.
They were something else.
Because she knew what he meant.
'Please never stop loving me.'
The End
Kind of having an off day, so I'm posting this before I change my mind! :)
Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.