A/N: I don't own Arrow or its characters. Please leave a review!
She finds Thea in the foundry one night, sitting on a counter with her long skinny legs dangling.
"Hey," Felicity calls out, announcing herself to her.
"Hey," Thea says, looking kind of sullen, staring down at her ballet flats.
"Everything okay?" Felicity asks, taking a seat at her computer to check on the new program she's running.
"I was hoping I'd catch Ollie," Thea explains. "I don't know where he is."
"Well, he's not here," Felicity says, and grimaces. "Obviously."
Oliver's actually on the way to her apartment with a bag of Thai food but she can't tell Thea that.
"Yeah," Thea sighs. "I kind of figured that out."
"Did you need to talk to him about something?" Felicity asks tentatively.
Thea shrugs. "I just haven't seen him in awhile. He's so busy."
Felicity bites her lip in guilt, because she's pretty sure she's the reason Oliver is so busy.
"You know what, I'm going to go." Thea hops off the counter. "I'm sure I'll see him at home eventually."
"Thea!" Felicity calls out.
Thea stops and waits for Felicity to catch up to her. Up close Thea looks pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She looks vulnerable, and sad.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Felicity asks.
Thea shrugs. "I don't know. It's fine. Whatever." She turns on her heel and trudges up the stairs.
Felicity sighs. Teenagers. She pulls her phone out and dials Oliver.
"I'm at your place," he says when he picks up.
"Not anymore."
"What?"
"Go home, Oliver. Go see your sister."
"You talked to Thea?"
"She's lonely. She needs her brother."
"Okay." He sounds unsure and confused and she laughs quietly.
"It's fine, Oliver. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay. Felicity?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
She smiles against the phone. "You're welcome, Oliver."
xxx
He comes over the next night with a bottle of wine and within an hour he has her in her bedroom. They kiss for what feels like an eternity, Oliver's delicious heavy weight on top of her.
Oliver's kissing down her throat, moving to her collarbone, when she blurts out, "I haven't had sex in three weeks."
And then she moans and covers her face in her hands. Is her stupid brain to mouth filter going to fail her every single time?
Oliver rolls off her. "Felicity."
"Oh god, don't look at me," she wails.
"Felicity." He peels her fingers off her face and he's grinning at her.
"Hi," she says miserably.
Oliver rubs his mouth. "We've been dating for three weeks."
She scowls. "I know."
"Did you and Ray break up?" he asks curiously.
She shakes her head.
Oliver raises an eyebrow. "So you haven't slept with him since we started dating."
Felicity bites her lips and nods. Dating two people at the same time is one thing, but sleeping with two men simultaneously is just too much. Her life is complicated enough.
A smug smile crosses his face. "Any particular reason for that?"
"Um..." she flushes, trying to find a way to explain this without sounding like a total prude.
"Felicity," he says softly.
"It's just weird, okay?" she exclaims. "I can't have sex with one person and then go on a date with someone else, and then sleep with him, and then go back to person A. And what if one of you turns out to be way better than the other guy..." she trails off, feeling horrified at the direction her rambling is headed toward.
"So," Oliver says, running his fingers through her hair, "you're not going to sleep with either of us while you're still...seeing both of us?"
"It's not like I don't want to sleep with you," she says hurriedly. "It's just, I can't. Right now." She forces her mouth shut, waiting for him to break up with her here and now. What is wrong with her? Who turns down Oliver Queen?
Oliver exhales sharply. "Thank god."
"You're happy?"
"I don't share well," Oliver growls, and pins her down on the bed.
"Um, Oliver?"
"Yes, Felicity."
"Did you listen to a word that I just said?"
Oliver grins dangerously at her, and she feels her stomach flip. "That doesn't mean that we can't do other...things."
She subconsciously licks her lips. "What kind of things?"
He leans down and catches her earlobe between his teeth. ""I have an idea."
"What kind of idea?"
I'm going to touch you, and you're going to come for me."
She almost does, right there, because good god, if that isn't the hottest thing she's ever heard.
"Bet I won't even have to try," he adds, in the voice he uses just for her, paradoxically tender and rough at the same time.
"Someone's cocky," she manages to grit out, and Oliver gives her a feral smile.
"You have no idea."
"Jesus Christ, Oliver."
She feels feverish, like she's so turned on she might just be hallucinating this. It should be illegal for someone to be this sexy.
"Sit up," he murmurs, and she complies, and he pulls her top over her head.
He lays her back down carefully, scoots so he's right up against her. Oliver traces the cup lines of her bra before slipping a hand behind her back and undoing the clasp. He helps her shrug out of it and then she's topless in front of him.
"Damn," Oliver mutters. He hovers over her, fire burning in his eyes, and cups one breast in his hand.
She sighs as his thumbs finds her nipple, stroking until it stiffens under the pad of her finger, and switches breasts.
"Oliver," she gasps, and he smiles, kissing her chest.
"You're so beautiful," he says softly.
"Touch me," she begs.
"Someone's impatient," he teases, even as his hand slides low on her belly.
She doesn't care, she's wanted this for two years, and if he doesn't touch her soon she might die, just explode from prolonged sexual tension.
"Oliver, please," she says, her thighs clamped together.
Oliver chuckles, like this is funny, like he's not working her into a froth right now. "I've thought about it so much, what you look like when you come. What you'll feel like."
She moans, and his hands are on her skirt, pushing it up over her thighs and hips. He runs his hand down her inner thigh, watching her muscles jump under her skin. She tenses, anticipating his touch where she wants it the most.
"Felicity," he says, and she drags her eyes up to look at him.
He kisses her, all soft lips and solid pressure, and then his hand cups her and she cries into his mouth.
Oliver exhales heavily. "You're soaked." His eyes deepen to a stormy blue.
He pushes the damp lace to the side, and then his fingers are on her, parting her open for him, and her eyes rolls back.
"Ohh," she sighs.
He strokes her gently, nimble fingers exploring her entrance before sliding up to find her clit. He plants the heel of his palm on her pubic bone, the pressure glorious, and rubs her in torturous circles. Heat curls low in her belly and she cries out.
"God, you feel good," Oliver mutters feverishly. "So fucking wet, I knew it."
Oliver reaches down and slides one finger inside her, replacing the finger on her clit with his thumb. She rolls her hips, pressure building inside her.
She feels like a wildfire, uncontainable, flames taking her over. And then he adds another finger.
"Oliver," she cries frantically. Her hips work rhythmically, pushing into his hand with everything she has. She's almost there already, she's going to come, and she just knows, that when she does, it's going to wreck her.
"You're going to come for me," Oliver says heatedly, his hand speeding up to keep up with her rhythm.
"Fuck," she whimpers. She's so close, she's almost there, and she wants to come, she wants it so bad.
"Come for me," Oliver growls. "Not for him. For me. Only me, understand?"
"Yes," she pants, because this is all she's ever wanted. To be his.
He curls his fingers inside her and she shatters, coming on his fingers with a ragged cry.
"Oh my god," she gasps, over and over.
She feels incredible, floaty and boneless with Oliver's fingers working her down gently.
"Felicity," Oliver whispers, and when she sees the look on his face she swears, her heart stops.
He is looking at her like he's a drowning man and she is oxygen; like he's dying and she is his salvation.
He kisses her, cradling her face in his hands.
"You're incredible," he murmurs
She's never seen him like this before, with the strangest look on his face.
It's more than just content.
It's something like peace.