You guys can thank Ian Fleming's The Man with the Golden Gun for this. I'm still officially on break from fic writing, but this wouldn't leave me alone. As always, comments are appreciated.
Oliver isn't sure why he keeps working out. The Arrow is gone and he's glad. Or maybe he isn't. Or maybe deep down he knows that just because h's done doesn't mean his enemies are. Or maybe be just likes the way he can actually see Felicity's brain tempoarily shut down every time he takes off his shirt.
In any case, he spends part of each day maintaining his physique. Ever since they settled into the beach house, that's meant running, cross-training in the jungle near the beach and a swim in the cool waters of the Pacific to cool down. It's actually very much like his Lian-yu regimen—which he tries not to think about.
He jogs home from the water–hoping to dry off a bit since he hates dragging a towel around–and forgoes the steps that lead up the porch by jumping up instead and landing on the weather-beaten wood with a decisive thump. He strips down to nothing and lays his swim trunks to dry over a nearby chair. It's not like anyone will see him, the total seclusion is precisely the reason they'd chosen this place.
"Felicity?" he calls out. He stands for a moment just inside the door, listening, and savors the coolness of being indoors. The house–with its thin screens and open plan–isn't much cooler than the humid air outside, but at least he's out of the sun's harsh glare. He sets off toward their bedroom hoping to find her there and stops dead the moment he opens the door.
He finds Felicity asleep on their bed, laying on her side and totally naked, a pillow behind her back keeping her from rolling over. Her hair is fanned across the pillow, slightly darker at the roots because of the sweat and the fact that "it is impossible to find a good colorist." The fingers of her left hand are tangled in its loose strands on top of the pillow, her right is draped across her stomach. The mosquito net covering the bed makes her look like something out of a dream and Oliver is torn between watching her sleep or waking her up to see the wide, beautiful smile she gives him whenever he returns.
She makes the decision for him when she sighs suddenly, shifting in her sleep. The fingers of her right hand spread across stomach and he notices the droplets of moisture that run along the center of her body. Usually, he likes to climb directly into the shower after a workout to clean up, but right now, he'd rather pull back the gauzy curtain and lick his way up that trail of sweat.
He pulls the mosquito net back slowly hoping not to wake her, but the moment he rests his knee on the bed she stirs and sees him and smiles.
"Oliver," she says huskily and reaches out to him, her legs spreading so that he can lie between them.
He sets both hands on either side of her and lowers himself onto her until their lips meet. She sighs as he finally comes to rest on top of her and then wraps her arms around his shoulders. She drags her nails through his hair and squeaks in surprise.
"Your hair is wet," she says sleepily, moving her hands to the base of his neck.
"I just came from the beach," he says and then moves to kiss her again, but is stopped by her gentle push against his shoulder.
"You climbed into bed covered in salt water?" she asks.
"I wanted to kiss you," he replies, because it's true and because he knows it'll get him out of trouble.
"Well, go shower first," she replies with a look that would be far more effective given over the top edge of her glasses.
"Only if you come with me," he says, running his hand down her side.
"I thought innuendo was my thing," she quips. He huffs a laugh and moves his hand back up to her chin to tip her head back. He drags his tongue over he heads of moisture on her neck (the taste is exactly as thrilling as he imagined it would be) and lightly bites her skin as he kisses her, smiling when she shivers beneath him. "Come on," he whispers against her skin.
She sighs and then throws her arms tightly around his shoulders, her legs wrapping deliciously around his waist.
"If you insist," she says.