"We're going to be fine," Felicity says, shifting a little as she leans on her elbow.

Oliver smiles back and just gazes at her. "How can you be so sure?" he asks softly. But his thumping heart slows down just a bit at her words and the way she looks at him - enough for him to lean back on the bed, tense muscles relaxing, so his head is resting in the crook of his elbow.

"Because we found ourselves in each other," she answers. And there's something about her smile, about the way her eyes sparkle with warmth, that makes his breath catch in his throat. Oliver leans towards her, so his mouth is less than an inch away from hers. He closes his eyes, unable to stop the smile spreading on his lips just from the hot flutter of her breath on his chin and her small hand closing around his wrist.

And then she meets his lips in a searing kiss, her hand sliding down to grasp his. Oliver opens his mouth, a slow, sweet molten feeling of pleasure filling his chest as he kisses her back and she sighs before her tongue is in his mouth and he has to stop himself from groaning.

As one, they get up, barely breaking their kiss, and Felicity's pushing at his shoulders so he's on his back and she's climbing on top of him. Her knees hooking on either side of his waist, she pushes her hair out of the way, like she always does when she's straddling him. Oliver wraps his arms around her, easily enveloping her middle, not wanting to let her go.

When they finally do come up for air and Oliver opens his eyes to meet hers, he laughs at her steamed up glasses, and she joins in, taking them off. He holds out his hand and she gives them to him to place on the bedside cabinet.

"Sorry," Felicity says, and he shakes his head, making to kiss her again. She stops him, though, fingers curling around his palm. "I mean... for everything I said. You didn't deserve that. Any of it. So I'm sorry, Oliver."

Oliver reaches up to touch her hair, his hand running through it soothingly.

"You don't have to apologise. Not to me. And you were being honest."

This time, when he kisses her, she lets him, lets him bury his nose into her neck and breathe her in. It's only as she sits up, though, using his bare chest for support, that he feels okay slipping his fingers into the waistband of her jeans, touching the soft flesh of her hips.

"I'm glad we've talked it out," she says, shifting a little, then lifting her arms to take off her shirt and revealing a lacy black bra. And after she tosses her shirt aside she smiles at him. "What's on your mind?"

For a second he hesitates. "Honestly? I wondered... just for a moment when you came in, I actually thought you were going to say - that you - that we..." Eventually Oliver trails off, closing his eyes, unable to find the exact words, but then, unexpectedly, he feels her lips on his once more.

"Oliver," Felicity says, "I've been in love with you for at least two years. Probably longer. Since we went for margaritas after taking down the Dodger, even." Oliver's mouth just opens and closes a couple times, still unable to find any words - but for different reasons this time. She's always said she's never been able to pinpoint exactly when she fell for him, just that it was early on in their friendship. But it surprises him nevertheless, knowing it was that early on - just after Oliver had started seeing her in a slightly different light too.

"My point," she continues, ignoring his disbelief, "is that it is going to take a lot more than my ridiculous abandonment issues -"

"They're not ridiculous," Oliver is quick to say, and though Felicity keeps on talking he can tell from the way her left knee digs into his hip and her slight smile that his words mean something to her.

"- for me to even think about giving up on us," she finishes firmly.

And beneath her palms, Oliver's chest heaves as he lets out a breath he doesn't even realise he was holding. "That's good to know," he says, aware his voice is coming out hoarse. "Because I... don't know what I'd do without you, Felicity."

Felicity leans down, hands sliding up his chest, up the column of his neck, until she is cupping his cheeks with her hands. "You don't have to know," she tells him softly. "I'm in this for the long haul, okay? And I don't plan on going anywhere. I promise."

Not for the first time, as Oliver gazes up at her, he wonders what on God's earth he's ever done to deserve someone like her.

"I love you, Felicity," he tells her. The fact that he's said those three words to her at least a couple of hundred times already doesn't matter; every time he says it, it never feels like he's repeating himself – rather, it feels like a renewal, a much-needed reprieve after the turbulence of the last couple of days.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

She smiles, replies, "I know," and rewards him with a kiss, legs tightening around his waist. Oliver groans into her mouth when she edges her hips down ever so slightly, rocking right against his groin. Above him, her breasts are straining in her bra as they press against the hardened ridges of the muscles in his chest. Reaching up behind her, he unhooks the clasp of her bra and it comes off, and Felicity's resultant pant when his hand goes up to cup her right breast sends another shock of arousal down his spine, settling very firmly between his thighs.

Next, he tugs at her jeans, fingers managing to get between her skin and her panties. In one go, he pulls both of them down – not all the way, but enough for him to slip a finger inside the slick moistness of her entrance. Oliver goes in circles, slow, patient, the way he knows she likes it.

Felicity moans appreciatively, and that alone makes him even harder for her. Oliver makes to sit up, meet her lips for another kiss, but she pushes at his chest with one hand, stopping him.

"Lie back," she orders. Obediently, he does just that, withdrawing his hand, supine, unable to take his eyes off her as she pulls her remaining garments completely off, untangling them from each ankle. And when she settles atop him once more and he can feel the wetness of her arousal as her thighs enclose his torso, he wonders if maybe he's just going to come right there.

He closes his eyes, trying to hold onto at least a little bit of self-control, and when his nose bumps into Felicity's breast, it's easy for him to busy himself in teasing her nipple, tongue darting out to trace a trail all the way down to the underside of her breast and back up again to the now erect bud of her nipple, making her gasp. Then he moves his mouth away, letting her undo the drawstring of his sweatpants. With a sharp tug, he's as naked as she is, and he kicks off what's left of his clothing.

And as she positions herself above him, her eyes are locked with his, a dark, rich grey, alight with arousal. Oliver's muttering something to her, but once she sinks onto him – slowly, deliberately – he's not quite sure what spills out of his mouth, not when Felicity's sighing contentedly and planting a kiss on his lips. He arches his back, pulling her closer, wrapping his arms around her, and his soft groan mingles with hers as their bodies move in tandem with one another.

One hand fists into Felicity's hair, bringing her mouth to his in a crushing kiss, to at least begin to satiate the heat that's rising between them and to delay the way his hips are jerking upwards.

"Oliver," she murmurs, "it's okay –"

"You… come… first," Oliver says, punctuating each word with a kiss, each softer than the last. Felicity smiles, pushes her hair out of the way, and then her thighs tighten around his hips at the same time that her walls clamp down around him.

"Oliver," Felicity says again. Her voice is louder this time, parting her lips (swollen and reddened by their kiss) as she exhales softly before she bites down on her bottom lip. "Oh, wow, Oliver…"

Oliver's hands are on the small of her back, still holding her to him, and the strong grip of her knees keeps him from moving too much beneath her. Instead, he just watches, barely breathing as Felicity closes her eyes in concentration, her hands on his chest, breasts swaying, riding out her release, before she buries her face in his neck, muffling the final sounds of her climax with her mouth against his skin.

"Your turn," she says, claiming his mouth once more, and Oliver's attention is returned to the burning, almost painful arousal still present between his thighs (watching Felicity come has just added to it, truth be told). His palms slide upwards, from where they're resting on her knees, higher, to the undersides of her thighs, pulling her closer to him, before he catches her right hand in his. Felicity doesn't say anything, just smiles, letting their fingers twine together until they're laced like vines and he's filling her so completely, aware of the hot wetness of her essence coating his cock and sliding around him, up, down, up down.

When Oliver comes, the pleasure is blinding, scorching his spine and – for a moment – making him see stars. He expects nothing less (he's had to stave it off a while, really) but even so it takes him a couple of minutes to come down from the high of his climax. Felicity is still sprawled on top of him, lips on his Bratva tattoo, her foot curled around his ankle.

"You okay?" Felicity asks, just as Oliver reaches down to stroke her hair.

He's still breathing heavily, and he doesn't answer immediately. "Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, I am." Their eyes lock. Oliver smiles first. "And you were right."

"About what?"

"We are going to be fine. You were right."

Felicity presses a kiss on Oliver's nose. "I love you too."