A/N: 4x01 Spoilers! Based off of the Season 4 trailer. Enjoy!
Oliver had jogged the same route for the past six weeks. Two laps around the neighborhood, cut through the park to the boardwalk, and then back home.
Muscles burning in a good way he kept a steady pace as he turned onto their street. It never failed to put a smile on his face. Their street, their house, their address. When he'd caught Felicity looking at real estate listings on her tablet two months ago she'd said she wasn't serious but the idea had taken hold of him in an instant and he only gave her enough time to put on shoes and grab her bag before he was pulling her out the door to go look in person.
They were able to close on the three bedroom, two and half bath house with gourmet kitchen and two car garage with cash in hand inside of a week and he'd never been happier.
The lawn he'd mowed just the day before came into view when a basketball bounced into his path and with reflexes that hadn't dulled he scooped it up, tossed it back to the young boy who lived four houses down from them and waved to the kid's dad without breaking stride.
"Morning, Oliver."
"Morning, Mike."
With a burst of speed he sprinted up their driveway, the soft dove grey and white trim about as opposite from the house he'd grown up in as possible, and as he pushed open the side entrance to the garage he couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. Felicity was trying to cook again.
Oliver pushed the hood off his head, toeing his running shoes off by the door as he entered the house. The smells were stronger once he entered, and he just sighed and smiled.
She was sitting on the counter, cookbook in one hand, absently stirring something in a pan that he was certain she'd let go too long if the singed smell was any indication.
"I'm home," he called, partly to let her know but mostly because she'd told him after the first time he's said it how much she liked the sound of it. So he hadn't stopped.
Her head whipped up to see him, completely oblivious to the fact that her meal was not going as intended. "Hey, good run?"
"Yeah, looks like it's going to be a nice day. They were setting up a market on the boardwalk if you want to go down later."
She hopped off the counter, spoon left to rest half on the pan, half lying against the open flame of the burner and he took two large steps to meet her, one arm wrapping around her waist the other reaching behind to move the wooden utensil before it could catch fire.
"That sounds perfect." she said, smiling up at him.
"What are you making?" he asked, hoping he kept the apprehension out of his voice. She'd been trying to successfully cook something for the past few weeks and it had never gone well.
"Oh! Well I know how much you like pancakes and there was this recipe for a blackberry sauce but it seemed a little complicated so I made a few substitutes." she said with a shrug, not seeming to notice that whatever she had in the pan was now beginning to smoke.
"Felicity, I love you but I think it might be time to admit that cooking is not something even your exceptionally high I.Q can conquer."
Her eyes rose high over her glasses, mouth dropping open in affronted surprise though this wasn't the first time he had suggested that maybe she should leave the cooking to him.
While she stared at him unblinkingly he turned her to the side, reaching out to move the now heavily smoking pan and flick off the gas.
"Not again!" she cried, "But I followed the directions!"
Oliver gave her a small tilt of his head as he turned on the exhaust fan, hoping that the smoke detectors wouldn't go off this time.
"Okay, so maybe I followed most of them. I told you it was complicated. I don't know who they think is going to be making those dishes."
"It's okay," he said with a grin he couldn't hide, running a soothing hand down her shoulder, "You can't be perfect at everything."
He mock ducked as she slapped at his arm, "Thanks a lot, mister 'I can flip a freakin omelette with one hand'. I just wanted to make you something nice for once. You've been making all these amazing meals and all I do is shove them in my face and tell you how delicious they are."
With a chuckle he drew her back into his arms, "I'm happy to make you amazing meals and listen to tell me how delicious they are. I told you it doesn't bother me."
She sagged against him with a pout, turning to glare at the cookbook she'd left abandoned on the counter.
"Want me to get rid of that?"
"Yes."
"Consider it gone."
Her fingers walked their way up the front of his hoodie, pausing when they reached the top of the zipper, "Maybe you could teach me. We could start with something easy."
"Like boiling water?" he teased, earning himself another slap. Then she gave him another smile and nodded.
"Yeah, we should probably start with that."
The hem of her bright red top had ridden up giving his wandering hands perfect access to smooth bare skin which he took instant advantage of, palms spreading over her back as he dropped a kiss to her lips.
"I need a shower. We can start our first lesson there." his voice lowered, mouth finding it's way first to her jaw and then her neck as he began to walk them away from the kitchen.
"Oliver! I already had a shower today and I might not know a lot about cooking but I don't think you can give me a lesson in the shower."
Without saying a word he slid his hands under her ass and lifted, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist in a move they'd perfected her eyes darkening with desire that matched his own. It would be a while before they made it back to the kitchen to eat.
"You're right, I can't. I just want you. Right now."
Her hands cupped his face, tongue tangling with his as he continued on his way.
They'd made it all the way up the stairs and to their bedroom door before she suddenly pulled back and braced one hand on the door frame, stopping his from entering.
Cheeks flushed, glasses a bit askew she looked down at him,"Oliver, wait."
"What?"
"Um...I didn't turn the oven off."
