When You Sleep
by Bre (dust2dust34)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Arrow.
Rating: T
Author's Notes: Part of my You've Gotten Into My Bloodstream ficlet collection. Fluff. All the fluff.
Anon Prompt: I don't know if you are currently taking prompts because i just discovered your blog but if you are could you write a fic about how Oliver and Felicity sleep? (together obviously)
Summary: (Anon Prompt) Seven times Oliver and Felicity fall asleep together…
For a man who spent the majority of his energy concentrated on keeping people out, the minute he surrendered to sleep - and she meant surrendered, as in he didn't jump awake at the slightest sound, he didn't thrash with nightmares, he didn't do anything but rest - it was a completely different story.
The first night they fell asleep together was in an exhausted heap on her couch.
He'd been staying at her apartment for barely three days now while he looked for a more permanent place to land - a decent place for an ex-billionaire vigilante at least - since he refused to let her buy him anything, much less a bed that wasn't a simple metal contraption.
It was three days of realizing he was way too big, that she thought he took over a room that was four times the size of her living room, and now that he was in her space? He made everything look really small. And don't get her started on running into him in the morning - she didn't realize how much comfort she had drawn from living alone because now she worried about drool dried on her face or smudged mascara that had escaped a face washing or making sure she didn't have frizzy bedhead.
It had been a late night of chasing the bad guys, catching and handing them over to Starling's best before they'd retired to the couch with two-day-old Chinese.
Oliver fell asleep first.
She remembered thinking the nice thing to do was let him rest for a minute before she woke him, that he looked like he was carrying a little less of that weight-of-the-world all over his broad shoulders when he was sleeping, that he looked at peace for the first time ever…
Felicity accidentally followed suit after one minute, and two hours later, a blaring infomercial for something with spices and socks woke her.
Felicity groaned in discomfort.
Because it was hot.
Wasn't the air conditioning on? Why was she paying literally half her paycheck for that stupid thing to be on all the time if it wasn't doing anything?
And then the hot shifted, and she realized it wasn't in fact a hot apartment, but a hot body. A very hot body, and not hot as in 'wow, you are so gorgeous I would literally lick your skin right off' - she hadn't thought about doing that, nope - but hot as in an 'I am a personal furnace, ask me how' sort of way.
Felicity's eyes cracked open, her glasses askew from being pressed into the cushions of the couch. She was slumped over, and Oliver was slumped over right next to her… or on top of her, really. Her heart jumpstarted to life, a dizzying surge of adrenaline rocketing through her veins as she realized there were parts him pressed to her that only happened in her head.
He moved again, rubbing his face against her arm, and instead of wondering how someone had managed to inject the actual sun into a human body, Felicity shivered, causing goosebumps to erupt across her skin in a spine-tingling hot/cold combination that made her shiver again.
"Oliver?" Felicity whispered, barely heard over the stupid infomercial, and maybe she was doing that on purpose? Only a gentle snore was her answer, but she didn't hear it because of the TV.
Where was the remote?
It was on his side.
She moved, just enough for him to move in reaction, but instead of moving away from her, he scooted closer, and she froze, afraid of waking him. Which didn't make sense because she wanted to wake him.
"Oliver?"
He didn't budge.
She stared at him through half-awake lids, watching him nuzzle her arm again before curling his arm against his chest as he snuggled against her.
He was snuggling with her.
And it was the cutest and most debilitating thing she'd ever seen.
Despite the fact that her ribs were starting to ache, that her hip was wondering what she was thinking because it wasn't supposed to be jutting into her organs like that, that parts of her were sweating that she didn't even know could sweat, Felicity didn't move, and it didn't take her long to fall back asleep, glasses at an odd angle, late-night television screeching, vaguely thinking she'd need to throw away her shirt because it was going to have sweat stains the size of Canada on them…
Small price.
The next time they slept together was after their first date, on his bed in the loft he shared with Thea.
The date had been innocent as innocent could be, entirely informal, the opposite of the non-date dinner they had unexpectedly shared with the new vertigo guy. No, this had been a casual date, where they'd both worn jeans and walked around downtown Starling City, their idea of dinner a hotdog - his dotted with relish and mustard, hers slathered with ketchup - from a vendor.
It had been Oliver's idea, and when she'd asked if he was afraid their last date-date had jinxed them, he'd rolled his eyes before grabbing her hand:
"I just want to be with you, Felicity. I don't want anything else."
It was perfect.
When she'd slipped her fingers through his, he'd been staring at the ground, acting adorably shy, but she'd caught the most beatific tiny smile gracing his lips, one that had sent her heart tripping all over itself, especially when he'd squeezed her hand in his.
They'd wandered around aimlessly for hours. He hadn't stopped laughing for ten minutes straight when she'd shown him her awful Southern accent, and she'd teased him endlessly when he got caught holding a door open for no less than six women, all of whom gave him more than a once-over.
When a whip of wind sliced around a corner, Oliver had tugged her close, wrapping his arm around her. That would have been enough to send her into a fit of blushes but then he cupped her cheek with his other hand, pressing a soft affectionate kiss to her temple.
She'd bitten her lip so hard she nearly drew blood to stop the irrational giggle that wanted to bubble up because she had a boyfriend, and he was so cute.
When they got back to the loft, he'd pulled her upstairs with him - they had an unspoken agreement about going too far, too fast…
"I don't want the night to end," he'd said softly to her unspoken question, and she'd given him her own shy smile because somehow sharing a bed with him while not having sex was alarmingly more intimate.
They stayed up talking, making out like she hadn't made out since she'd dated Cooper; he counted the freckles on her arms and she traced her finger all across his face, memorizing him…
They fell asleep facing each other, fingers interlaced between them, their socked feet tangled together.
The next morning, the sun shone through Oliver's floor-to-ceiling windows, highlighting them where they laid on top of the comforter, cocooned around each other.
Felicity woke first; her face was pressed to Oliver's back, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other thrown up and over him, loosely cupping the top of his close-sheared head, her fingers grazing his forehead. Oliver was curled up, pressing back against her, one hand loose by his face, barely touching her fingers there while his other hand was wrapped tightly around her arm across his middle, holding her close to him.
Felicity pressed a soft dance of kisses over his back, stretching up to press her lips against the back of his neck, pulling him in closer.
Oliver actually purred, goosebumps rising over his skin from her lips, before he whispered her name, so blissful it brought tears to her eyes.
When he got sick with a sinus infection, he swung from 'leave me alone' straight to 'don't leave' and back again.
Oliver Queen rarely, if ever, got sick. Probably because he spent a majority of his day doing all the right things for his body.
But he was also human, so it happened. And when he got sick?
He got sick.
It started out easy enough, with a runny nose and a slight headache, but he'd played it right off, chasing her around the foundry, teasing her with his "sick cooties" - and if there was ever a thing to remember, it was Oliver saying 'sick cooties' - but then a runny nose became congestion, and then it became nausea and then he'd nearly fallen over when he stood up too fast at the foundry one night.
He'd finally relented to go to the doctor, and only because she poked his face, making white hot pain explode like a tiny atom bomb in his sinuses. He got a bundle of antibiotics and strict instructions to not move for the next several days, and she got a healthy dose of pissed-off vigilante masquerading as Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Whiny Reindeer.
He had so not enjoyed hearing that nickname.
After a fight involving the use of mentholated cream - "I hate that stuff, Felicity. I will throw it out the window if you come near me with it." She'd snorted. "You really think you can even lift it right now?" His glare had only been slightly hampered by his watery bloodshot eyes - and spending the majority of the day trying to make his own chicken noodle soup (missing the pot entirely when he tried to pour it), he finally fell asleep.
Felicity was flicking through the channels, eyes scratchy with sleep, when he shifted next to her.
She froze, waiting for the inevitable grouching and her eye-rolling followed by his punching the pillow as hard as he could - which was not that hard since his body was way too weak - but he didn't do any of that.
Instead, he let out a soft little whine that made Felicity's heart crack right down the center and she turned towards him. His eyes were barely cracked open, his face scrunched in discomfort as he scooted closer. Felicity lifted her arm to caress his head, to see if he was still running a fever, and Oliver took advantage of the opening, sliding right into her open embrace.
He nuzzled his face into the side of her neck, his head pillowed on her shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her in tight. He let out a long, deep sigh as he relaxed against her, and it took him less than a few seconds to fall back asleep.
Felicity smiled softly, lightly scratching his scalp, making him moan softly in his sleep and nuzzle closer.
She settled on Grease, turning it down so he wouldn't wake, and slowly fell asleep randomly pressing her lips to Oliver's heated forehead while running her fingers down his back as he slept off his infection.
When she got pregnant with their first baby, Oliver made it a habit to always find a way to lay down so his head was in her lap - whether they were watching a movie, or she was reading, or if they were just lazing about - and would promptly fall asleep talking to The Bump.
If they were on the couch, he always made sure she was at the farthest end so he could stretch out, laying down so he was facing her stomach where her now-five-month bump waited for him.
If they were in bed, he made sure she was settled into her side before he flopped down diagonally, his face in her lap so he could read The Bump bedtime stories.
If they were in the park, he made sure their tree was available - the one that offered the best back support she'd ever found in anything ever. It took a while for their claim on the tree to grow, but Oliver's eventual looks of avid displeasure and sometimes bribery - one guy talked his way to up a hundred dollars, much to Felicity's chagrin - eventually meant it was always available when they got there each Sunday for their weekly visit.
(It would become a family tradition, that park, especially when Oliver anonymously donated a playground on one side and a baseball park on the other - his explanation to the QC Board at their balking, because this was his fourth large donation that month alone, was to inform them it was a big park, and they had three kids to entertain. End of story.)
It was their tree: her perch and his place to lay with his head in her lap while she read, or listened to whatever story was on tap for the day.
Today, it was a story of how he'd asked her to marry him.
Felicity's fingers carded through Oliver's hair - which was growing longer, she noticed, long enough for her to easily grab a healthy handful if she wanted to - while he dozed in her lap, murmuring to The Bump.
"Daddy was very nervous, which he should have probably been used to because Mommy always made him nervous. She'd made him nervous since the first time he met her, not that he would ever tell her that, because that would ruin his cool."
Felicity snorted and he gave her a serene smile without opening his eyes.
His finger traced over The Bump - she'd argued for a more original name than its obvious state of being a bump, but Oliver had shot her a squinchy frowny face before saying, 'I put it there, I get to call it what I want.' She'd then hit him in the face with a pillow.
With a content sigh, Felicity closed her eyes, leaning back against their tree as he continued the story of the two days it had taken him to finally ask her, and by that time she'd informed she'd already said yes, she was just waiting for him to catch up, which in theory meant she had already asked him because she'd already said the words.
"Mommy always did that to Daddy though," Oliver whispered, resting his hand on top of her belly.
A surge of tears pushed to the surface at his tone, at the way his hands cradled both her and the baby.
"She always knew, and she always waited… and made Daddy the happiest man in the entire world."
Oliver pressed a kiss to her stomach.
They both dozed on and off, in their little bubble, holding each other, and their future.
They fell asleep together in the hospital the night Felicity gave birth to their second baby, a little boy named Tommy, delivered four weeks before he was due. He was so tiny, small enough to look like a tiny puppy against Oliver's broad chest; for the first few days, they'd kept him in an incubator, but he'd come into the world kicking and screaming, with more life and vitality than was appropriate for a premature infant, and he'd been able to stay in the Queens room soon after.
Felicity had not fared so well.
The last thing she remembered was getting the green arrow, and the car in front of her going. She'd been listening to Evie chattering in the backseat while she hit the accelerator, followed by Oliver's chuckle at the logic line their daughter was following as he threw Felicity a sidelong glance to say, 'Mini-Felicity is at it again.'
It was the one time Felicity insisted on driving.
"I can still drive, Oliver, I'm not an invalid."
Oliver saw the car first, but by the time he yelled her name it was too late. It collided with the driver side, Felicity taking the brunt of it as it rammed them across the intersection into another car.
The only thing Felicity remembered hearing was the sound of metal crunching - metal wasn't supposed to crunch like that, in a harsh ugly squeal that sliced right through her eardrum.
And then the next thing she was aware of was a low, steady beeping when she woke up eight days after.
She had been in surgery for ten hours, delivering Tommy via cesarean. She'd had massive internal bleeding, lacerations across her liver and spleen, the driving force in keeping her sedated for so long to let her body heal. The only reason Tommy had survived was because Felicity had instinctively curled her body around her stomach, twisting just enough that she got most of the damage, not him… which was going to leave a nice, handsome scar all over her stomach. She hadn't seen it yet but she could feel the tight pulling of about three thousand stitches. Well, it felt like that, maybe three thousand was a bit of an overstatement. It would definitely leave a nice mark.
She didn't think Oliver would appreciate hearing that she was raising in the ranks of the Who Has the Most Interesting Scars game.
It was nearly one in the morning when Felicity woke.
Her head still felt like it was full of cotton, and there was a constant level of dull pain that no amount of morphine was able to fix deep inside her body. She wasn't sure if it was because her organs had been fileted or if it was the constant 'what if' floating around in the back of her head - what if she had hit the accelerator a second later, what if she hadn't twisted, what if something had happened to Evie, what if something had happened to Oliver, what if…
She shifted, jostling Oliver where he was sitting next to the bed, both hands cradling one of hers, his face laying on top of the hand pile. He opened her eyes the same time she did, and Felicity felt the slow build of relief and terror she'd been swimming in since she'd woken up when she saw the evidence of what had happened on him. It was in the bags under his eyes, the dried tear tracks, and the nasty gash across his right temple where his head had collided with the window. Evie had escaped with only a few bruises and scratches, although Oliver told her she'd outright refused to leave his side until Felicity opened her eyes.
"Hey," he whispered, sitting up. "How're you?" She gave him a tired smile before she looked around the room. Reading her mind, he said, "John took Evie home for a sleepover with Sara. And Tommy…" Elation filled her heart at the mention of her son and Felicity tried to sit up but Oliver immediately pushed her back down. "Don't move," he said, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. "I'll get him."
He was in a bassinet literally right next to him that she hadn't seen over his shoulders and when Oliver bent over, picking up a tiny, tiny bundle, she let out a little sob that had Oliver's worried eyes flying to her.
"I'm okay," she whispered, tears flooding her eyes as she stared at Tommy. "I'm very, very okay."
She lifted her hands, indicating he should hand him over and he gave her a tiny smile before leaning over, setting the little boy on her chest. He had done so well in the eight days since he'd been forced from his comfy womb home, already growing by leaps and bounds, but still small enough that he felt more like a comfortable pressure on her chest instead of an actual human.
Tommy barely moved, letting out a tiny gurgle as he slept through it all.
She inhaled, smelling him, and let out a deep sigh, no longer feeling that deep ache inside her.
Oliver watched her, brushing his hand over her forehead. She looked up at him, and the tired, loving smile tinged with abject relief he gave her made her heart skip a beat.
They were going to be okay.
He pressed a long kiss to her forehead as he sat down.
Felicity stared at Tommy, Oliver's hand still on her head, his other finding Tommy's back.
They fell asleep like that, with Felicity turned towards Oliver, holding their son to her heart. Oliver's arms cradled both of them as he rested his head on her shoulder, not caring that he was going to wake up with the nastiest backache in the history of backaches from the awkward angle, only caring that his entire world was still whole.
The next time they fell asleep was on a towel on the beach in Hawaii, with Oliver laying on his back and Felicity draped across him, sunning her back in the annoyingly revealing bikini she'd bought specifically for this trip. It was part of the reason Oliver was having a hard time leaving her side - those triangles were far too small.
The loud squeals coming from their children echoed the laughter from others on the beach further down and the rush of the waves as a gentle breeze rustled Felicity's hair.
"You're tickling me," Oliver said drowsily and Felicity's answer was to move closer, letting the wind push more of her hair across his chest. "Felicity."
She scooted closer.
With a growl, Oliver pushed her onto her back, and she let out a small squeal as he flipped to his stomach, draping half his body over hers. He pressed his face into her neck, pinning her down on the towel. Felicity took a deep breath, lifting him slightly, and blew the air right into his ear.
He grumbled, and she giggled.
"Could you guys not snog where everyone can see you?" Tommy asked. Felicity and Oliver looked up as their eight year old ran up, grabbing his boogey board. He made a face, saying matter-of-factly, "It's really gross and people are staring."
And then he was off, running through the sand back to the water.
"Who the hell taught him the word 'snog'?" Oliver asked, letting his head drop back on her and Felicity chuckled.
"That would probably be your daughter, Mr. Queen," she replied, angling her head to check on the kids. Evie was on her own towel several yards away, reading a book, looking up every few minutes to watch her brothers. Tommy was diving back into the ocean while six-year-old Johnny built an impressive sandcastle with a large moat the size of Oliver's arms.
Oliver snorted. "My daughter. Right."
"You'll be grateful she takes after me when she starts dating."
"If," Oliver said, shaking his head against her. "You mean if she starts dating."
"I cannot wait for that discussion," she replied airily, her eyes drifting shut in contentment. "You keep calling her 'Mini-Me' but guess where she gets her stubbornness?"
"Also you," Oliver said and she pinched his arm, making him nip at her jaw.
She sighed, turning to face her husband as the sun warmed them. As the afternoon grew long, his hand lazily drifted down her side before finding its favorite place on her body. His fingers gently traced the scars across her lower stomach. He did it without thought anymore; his hand always sought them out whenever he could, almost as if he was reminding himself that she was there, that their son was there, and that everything was okay.
On the night of their thirtieth wedding anniversary, they fell asleep on a deck chair, listening to the sounds from the party inside filled to the brim with friends and family - a family they had worked to build over the years, through more joy and heartache than she would have thought was possible for two people, one that was equal parts friends and blood.
Oliver had pulled her outside with him, slipping away unseen. Without a word, he'd cupped the back of her neck and kissed her forehead before tangling his fingers with hers and pulling her towards the far end of the deck. Kicking a chair away from the others, Oliver sat down, tugging her down with him.
Felicity kicked off her heels, sighing with pleasure as she stretched out her toes before snuggling up against her husband as he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
Oliver tilted his head up, pressing his lips to her jaw, a hand sliding up her spine to the back of her neck again, holding her in that way that he knew always made her shiver. He pressed his face into her shoulder, inhaling deeply before releasing it, letting any tension slide right out of his body as he settled in with her.
"Happy anniversary, Mrs. Queen," he whispered, his stubble - the stubble he never, ever got rid of and which she was really, really grateful for - scratching at her skin, and she pressed closer to him, kissing his temple.
"Happy anniversary, Mr. Queen," she replied. "I think you might be stuck with me."
"Now that just sounds horrible," he replied gruffly, pulling her in tighter. Felicity hummed her assent - this was their thing, the same thing they had been saying since their six month anniversary. She curled her legs up, settling in with him as he sighed, his breath dancing across her collarbone.
People talking and laughing and the sound of dishes being moved and the front door opening and closing and… everything that their lives had become, moving around them, living as a result of them, added into the background as they held each other in the warm summer breeze.
Felicity wasn't sure who dozed off first, but her last thought was how amazing it was that this giant, terrifying man - who had done more damage with his hands, and had even more damage than that done to his soul - had ended up in her arms, falling asleep without a care in the world, trusting her to take care of him and love him, trusting her to know he did the same for her…
"I love you, Oliver," she whispered.
His lips curled up in a tiny smile as he slept.
The End
These could all be little stand-alone bits, couldn't they? As per usual, this thing ran away from me. This started out as "Three times…" before becoming "Five times…" and now it's "Seven times…" so I'm posting it before it becomes "Sixty-Eight Times…"
Reviews literally feed my soul and muse.
