Oliver keeps little stashes of things hidden away; it was one of the first things Felicity had noticed, when they first started working together. Well - not the first thing. The first thing had been the Mysterious Trunk of Island Things, and then maybe after that the Wall of Things That Can Kill You. The stashing thing came like, a few hours later, maybe.
(Okay, so maybe Felicity has a lot of firsts. Because technically the first first first thing was two days after Oliver's triumphant return, she'd been watching some news coverage about it and there was some footage of him and his mother walking from the doors of the hospital to a waiting car, and she'd noticed that his fist would clench at his side every time one of the reporters yelled his name - or maybe, if you're gonna get real technical about it, the super duper for real first was when she was sixteen, sitting in the computer lab at school with her best friend Lucy Richards, reading a gossip column about him and thinking, wow. Oliver Queen. Now that's an impressive-sounding name. But, you know. Whatever.)
It's one of those habits of his that is obviously a result of the island, something that she and Digg both notice and, by some unspoken agreement with each other and the third leg of their so-strange-it-works triangle, accept without question. His boundaries, his quirks - those are things that they don't even think about anymore, they're simply facts, natural obstacles that they navigate without hesitance. Like - you don't wake him up by touching him, ever. Don't touch that one scar on his shoulder without permission. Don't try to force him to eat. Keep him away from forests.
They're simple, sometimes inexplicable, but important. Felicity doesn't pretend to understand why, but one thing she knows, something Oliver has taught her, maybe, is that you don't need to understand something to respect it.
Anyway, he's got stashes. They're actually very useful, and if Oliver didn't already insist on it, she'd probably be doing it herself - hiding away things in all sorts of different places, because you never know when you might need it. (And with the life they lead? They always end up needing it.)
Like first aid stuff - he keeps that shit everywhere. With good reason, and she's not complaining, but it's actually kind of amazing how much of it he manages to squirrel away in the most unlikely places.
For instance, the first time - "did you just pull an ace bandage out of thin air?"
"No, I pulled an ace bandage out of the lining of my jacket," Oliver replies. "Hold still."
"You keep - ow! - ace bandages inside your jacket?" Felicity is mind-boggled by this. "Like - inside?"
"Yes," Oliver says calmly, like this is no big deal at all, like it's totally normal for somebody to sew medical supplies into custom-made Italian businesswear, like everybody does it and Felicity is the one who's weird for questioning it. "Would you please quit squirming? This is hard enough in the back of a car."
Felicity bites her lip and counts to ten, bracing her good foot on the floor and one hand against the back of Digg's seat to try and keep her butt in place long enough for Oliver to finish wrapping her ankle. "Well, if certain people could maybe drive normally instead of auditioning for the Indy 500 in their head - "
"Certain people need to shut up and let other certain people get us away from the cops," Diggle says indignantly, wrenching the wheel around a sharp corner and sending Felicity and Oliver sliding to the left.
"Certainly," Oliver says pointedly, pulling Felicity back into place on the seat casually. "I'm almost done, Felicity, hang on to the door for me."
Felicity curves backwards with one hand, grabbing the door handle in as tight of a grip as she can manage. "What else do you keep inside your outerwear? Hydrogen peroxide? Painkillers? A defibrillator?"
"No, the defib's in the trunk," Oliver replies, tucking the ends of the bandages in with quick, efficient motions. The sad thing is that Felicity can't tell if he's joking or not. "Okay, that should hold for now. It doesn't look bad, probably just a minor sprain."
"Thanks," Felicity says cheerfully, pulling her foot back and holding it aloft, examining Oliver's handiwork. "Wow. It doesn't even hurt."
"Girl, put your leg down, I'm driving," Digg bellows. "Seriously?"
"Sorry," Felicity squeaks, yanking her foot down. Oliver snorts. "Good thing I wasn't wearing a skirt. I mean - oh my God." Felicity claps a hand over her mouth. "Did I just say that out loud?"
Oliver's making that face that he makes whenever she says something totally embarrassing, like if he were a less somber sort of guy he'd be laughing at her. His eyes get all crinkled up, it's cute. Not cute. Cute objectively, objectively cute because Felicity doesn't look at Oliver that way, so. Uh. Yeah. "You'll need to ice that when you get home."
"Right. Ice for twenty, rest for forty, rinse and repeat," Felicity chirps. "I remember. I used to pull my thigh muscles a lot." Oliver's eyes shoot to the top of his forehead and Felicity remembers, once again, that she utterly and totally sucks at life. "Because I did gymnastics! Gymnastics. Not...any other way. Uh - "
"Brace," Digg calls, and Felicity and Oliver grab onto their respective door handles as the car squeals its way around another corner.
"Gymnastics," Oliver says thoughtfully. "Huh."
Felicity will have time to consider the tone of his voice later, when she's not too busy hoping for an anvil to fall out of the sky and put her out of her misery. "Seriously though, why an ace bandage in your coat? Like of all things - "
"They're very handy," Oliver says.
"Yeah, but - why not something more versatile?" Felicity asks. "Like, say, a fake passport, or a couple grand in bearer bonds or something?"
"Who said the ace bandage was the only thing in there?" Oliver says, blank-faced.
Felicity eyes him suspiciously. "Is that why that stupid thing is so heavy?"
"Well yeah, duh," Oliver says.
Felicity isn't exactly the type to have second thoughts once she's made a decision, and for that reason, her new life as vigilante-sidekick with a secret identity only strikes her as weird when she's directly confronted by the difference between the before and after. Which doesn't actually happen that often, considering the whole...most of her friends are on the internet and her only living family is her mean little brother who hasn't spoken to her since she drained his trust fund in retaliation for sleeping with her boyfriend four years ago. Thing.
"Felicity, thank God you're back." May leaps up from Felicity's desk with the look of a woman who has stared death in the face and survived. "And, uh, Mr. Queen. Greetings."
Oliver gives her a sideways look, that your underlings are the weirdest, I swear to God look that he gets whenever one of her people makes a Star Trek reference or asks him if he's ever considered going vegan. "Ms. Borsos, good to see you," he says cordially. "Any problems while we were away?"
"Nope," May replies, kind of high-pitched. Felicity bites her lip; it's kind of mean, but it really is hilarious how intimidated people get around Oliver. Scratch that - really mean. Felicity never claimed to be a saint. "No, just normal, business as usual."
"Good." Oliver touches her shoulder lightly, a gesture with far more significance to it than it probably seems to anyone watching. "Well, I'll be in my office. Let me know if anything comes up."
"You have that conference call at three," Felicity reminds him, and Oliver grimaces ever so slightly.
"Thank you, Ms. Smoak," he says, sort of dry, and she knows what he really means is I was planning on blowing it off but now I can't, thanks a lot. Felicity smiles after him pleasantly.
May visibly relaxes as soon as he's out of earshot, shooting Felicity a desperate look. "Please, please, please never ask me to cover your desk again," she says. "I will literally do anything."
"Aw, it couldn't have been that bad," Felicity says absently, distracted by the complex process of unwinding her scarf from around her neck. The poor thing is practically falling apart, but it's her favorite, so she deals. "You've been an EA for like, ten times longer than I have - "
"Not to the freaking CEO," May says, voice lowering to a hiss. "Dude, the mayor called while you guys were gone. He wanted to invite Mr. Queen to his daughter's birthday party. The mayor."
"Well, did you take a message?"
"Well, yeah. But. The mayor. Inviting him to a birthday party." May's eyes are wide. "I don't know how you do this every day, my head would probably explode."
Felicity tilts her head, thinks, well yeah, objectively speaking I guess that sounds pretty strange. "May," she says dryly, "you don't know the half of it."
"Obviously." May scoffs, shaking her head at Felicity like she pities her existence. (Fact: most people at Queen Consolidated either pity her existence or ignore it. It's a thing. Felicity doesn't waste time getting upset about it - it actually makes things easier, considering.)
With a fist bump and a promise for lunch, May scurries off back to safety, and Felicity immediately sits down and pulls up the intranet chat client she'd set up for her and Oliver to use.
Got him, she sends, and immediately turns around to give him a thumbs up through the glass walls of his office. He raises his eyebrows at her.
Personally. May took the message, we got the invite. You're in.
no ur in, he sends back, and the fact that Oliver Queen types in chatspeak really is one of the most delightful things about Felicity's life, really, i'll let digg know.
I think I want my undercover name to be Felicity Shagwell, Felicity types.
Felicity snorts. I know that movie came out before the island, don't even try it, mister.
i'd think emma peel wuld be more ur speed, Oliver sends back, and Felicity has to bite back a pretty humiliatingly girly giggle. i left u something btw, check ur bottom drawer
Felicity frowns, swiveling around in her chair. Oliver looks back at her expectantly.
"If it's a weapon, I swear to God," Felicity mutters under her breath, opening the drawer cautiously. Sliding her files back, she sees a brand new scarf in the exact same shade of blue as the one currently sitting in a sad, threadbare pile on top of her purse.
Felicity pulls it out and immediately wraps it around her neck, swiveling back to Oliver and grinning. He smiles back at her.
You're too kind, sir.
not really, he sends back. Felicity shakes her head and bounces happily in her seat. Sure, he's totally buttering her up because he has to act like a rich sleazeball with her at the party next weekend, but what the hell ever. Felicity loves scarves.
(If this is weird, well then, she's totally into it.)
When Felicity had redone the lair (Oliver hates calling it that, and so does Digg, even if he doesn't admit it - they both prefer 'base,' which, excuse her for calling it like it is and not talking like a 90s war movie) she'd purposely left a bunch of nooks and corners empty, knowing that when Oliver came back (and she did know it'd be when) he'd jump on the chance to turn them into strategic hidey holes for all sorts of deadly thingamabobs and jigs.
Which, speaking of, "stay away from the northwest corner, by the ladder," Oliver orders, using his no-nonsense stop-touching-my-arrows-Felicity voice.
Felicity blinks up at him, still drowning in a sea of overseas bank account numbers. "What?"
"That corner." Oliver turns and points. "Don't go over there, okay?"
"Why?" Felicity asks suspiciously.
"Because I asked you to?" Felicity scowls and he sighs, resigned. "Because I booby-trapped it."
"You...booby-trapped a random corner in our lair." Oliver winces slightly. "Alright."
Oliver grabs one the flashlights she uses when she needs to mess with the wiring behind the weapon racks, and shines it in the aforementioned corner. "Look," he says definitively, and Felicity gasps at the sight of a super scary looking blade protruding from the wall. "It's dangerous, I don't want you to get hurt accidentally. Just stay away from that area completely, okay?"
"Oh my God," Felicity replies, horrified. "That is straight crazy, Oliver, are you serious? What the hell?"
"It's a booby-trap," Oliver repeats, as if that's going to change her mind about this super weird thing he just did, Jesus. "This whole place is just one giant big booby-trap, right, weren't you telling me the other day about that new thing you set up where if somebody tries to hack your fingerprint scanner it automatically sends their prints to Interpol - "
"That's different, that's security," Felicity says, "this is a giant sword sticking out of the wall."
Oliver sighs. "It's a precaution - "
"Oliver, if somebody's made it all the way down here, it's either someone we let in, or someone who's here to hurt us. Either way, I don't think they're going to be wandering around in dark, empty corners," Felicity reasons. "They're gonna go for my computers, or for us."
"Exactly," Oliver replies. "I have to consider the possibility that I might have to fight a hostile in here, and anyone good enough to get past all your traps is more than good enough to get past me or Digg." Felicity stops short. "It's - any advantage counts. When you're fighting, you use your environment as much as you can, and…"
Felicity blinks at him, then the blade. "Oh."
"Just - humor me on this one." Oliver sends her a plaintive look. "I know it's strange - "
"No, no, it's - fine. Fine." Felicity takes a breath, a moment to readjust her view of this particular corner of the world. "Okay. Guess that puts the kaputz on hide and seek night, huh?"
Oliver narrows his eyes slightly, twisting his mouth into a sardonic half-grin. "Probably not the best idea."
It's stuff like this that really trips Felicity up sometimes, because it makes sense, of course it makes sense. It's nuts, but what they do is nuts, so yeah, it makes sense. She feels safe down here, the safest she ever feels in a city like Starling, but when it comes down to it it isn't safe, not really. She's surrounded by fifty different ways she could get herself killed if she fell on them the wrong way, not to mention that it's the point from which they regularly commit felonies of all shapes and shades of the rainbow.
Sometimes she thinks about the sorts of things that must've happened to Oliver to make something like this occur to him, what lessons he must have learned the hard way. What, she thinks, could possibly be the story behind weaponizing your own home? Turning the thing that shelters you into something you can use to kill?
But only sometimes. Any more than that and she'd never get anything done.
"Thank you," Oliver says, with that solemn gratitude he always thanks her with, eye contact and everything. He always does that, especially when he knows what he was asking for was ridiculous.
(Fact: Felicity sort of specializes in the ridiculous.)
"Yeah, okay, so what this means is that the next time I ask you to take it easy on my tech you're gonna actually take it easy on my tech," Felicity says. "And not just do the thing where you ignore me and then come back with a broken tablet all like 'oh Felicity, can you fix this, it was an accident, my bad.'"
"I don't sound like that," Oliver says.
"I didn't hear an agreement," Felicity says.
"Agreement," he replies dryly.
"And you're also gonna start taking those antibiotics Digg gives you when you get all cut up," Felicity says sternly. "No kvetching."
Oliver looks pained. "Felicity - "
"Wow, giant knife in the wall, maybe I feel uncomfortable, maybe I should make this an issue - "
"Fine." Oliver's expression turns resigned and he holds up his hands, the picture of long-suffering surrender. "Fair trade."
"Damn straight," Felicity says.
Moira Queen is a terrifying person, and Felicity feels no shame in admitting that. She's got the whole 'cross me and I will devour the souls of your children' vibe going for her, and Felicity just does not trust someone whose hair does not move. It's the principle of the thing.
She's only met Oliver's mother a few times - once, at the hospital when they found Walter, and then a couple more times in her capacity as Oliver's assistant. She's pretty sure Moira didn't put the puzzle pieces together and place her as the same person each time, but Felicity doesn't exactly expect her to. She's not the kind of woman who spares much time for minor details, and Oliver and Felicity have gone to great lengths to ensure that Felicity is very much a minor detail to anyone who might be asking.
None of this explains why Felicity is currently hiding in the coat closet of Oliver's office at Verdant while Moira snoops through his desk, but that's neither here nor there.
The closet is at least tall enough for her to stand up, without her heels on, at least. She can even peek out through the crack and watch, holding her breath and bracing her hands on the wall so she doesn't trip on absolutely nothing and blow her cover. It's something she'd probably do.
What Moira could be looking for, Felicity has no clue. She doesn't seem to be very interested in it, is almost going through the drawers and files in a lazy sort of way, like it's just something she has to get through, like ho-hum, just finished at yoga, now it's time to go through my son's personal belongings and then off to the Y for evil glare classes at six.
Felicity steps back away from the door and claps a hand over her mouth. If she seriously can't even hide for five minutes because she's laughing at her own joke that she just made in her own head then Digg and Oliver will never let her out of the lair again. Like, ever.
Her fingers brush something cold and metal as she steps backwards and Felicity yanks her hand away from the wall in surprise, leaning in to get a closer look. There's a dagger affixed to the wall - of course there is - and where there's one, there's more; Felicity turns and sees a box shoved into the back corner on the floor. One of Oliver's stashes.
Jackpot, she thinks, and bends down to dig through it as quietly as she possibly can, uncovering the burner cell she knows is in there and tapping out a quick SOS to Oliver's phone.
She also sends an alert to the computers down in the lair, for good measure, in case he's training with Digg and isn't paying attention. Something along the lines of get your ass up here I'm trapped in a closet and I'm not going to turn this very loud sound off until you come rescue me. More or less.
She doesn't have to wait long, crouching like a weird loser and praying to the gods of awkward to spare her just this once, because apparently sometimes they do listen.
"Mom?" Felicity scooches forward cautiously to peek out again, just in time to see Moira drop whatever she was looking at, startled. "What are you doing here?"
"Oliver." If Moira is surprised by his sudden ninja appearance, she doesn't show it. What Felicity would give for that particular talent, jeez. "Hello, dear, I - well, I finished my meetings early and thought I'd drop by and take you out to lunch. I hope you haven't eaten?"
Felicity can't see Oliver from her vantage point, but she can picture the look on his face, that stretched-out smile, the deliberate way he'd be holding himself, not giving anybody any reason to find fault. It's a look he didn't always wear around his mother, but since the Glades - always. "You don't usually come around here, Mom," he says.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," Moira says jovially, standing up. "Really, Oliver, I don't know how you work at this desk, it's so messy. Your office at QC is pristine."
"My office at QC is glass-walled," Oliver replies dryly. There's a long pause, a somewhat awkward one, and Felicity winces slightly. "I haven't eaten yet, Mother, let me...finish up a few things in here and then we can go get something to eat. Alright?"
Felicity feels a stab of sympathy at the way Moira's face falls, ever so slightly, at the obvious dismissal. But - you know, then again. She was just snooping through his desk, so. It's not like he keeps anything important - or even personal - up here, but still. "Okay. I'll meet you downstairs, sweetheart."
Moira vanishes from Felicity's sightline, and Felicity listens as her footsteps slowly fade away, finally disappearing completely. Not even a second later, the door wrenches open and Felicity jolts backwards, startled.
"I'm not sure I even want to ask," Oliver says carefully, and Felicity scowls at him.
"I was fixing that stupid alarm system," Felicity says petulantly, grabbing his outstretched hand and using his weight to yank herself to her feet. "And I heard her coming and, I don't know. I panicked."
"So you hid in the closet?" Oliver peers in after her, like he's checking that she didn't mess anything up, the big neurotic freak. "That was your first impulse?"
"What are you looking for, the only thing in there is your paranoia," Felicity says irritably. "And yes, okay, that was my impulse. Can I just say, it is so not surprising that that woman gave you life, because she is like, ten times your scary factor."
"You didn't have to hide," Oliver says, looking way more amused than he's got any right to be, in Felicity's opinion. "You work for me, you have a perfectly legitimate reason to be in my office. You could've just told her that you were fixing the alarms, which was actually true, so - "
"Don't you have a lunch to get to?" Felicity interrupts, crossing her arms. "And yeah, right. A strange woman in her kid's private office? I'm sure that would've gone over real well."
"Well." Oliver turns to go, something subtly wicked about the smile he gives her. "More likely, she would've thought you were just waiting for me."
Felicity's jaw drops at the innuendo. "Um," she says - squeaks really - "you - "
"I'll see you later, Felicity," he says, calm and collected as always, and disappears. Felicity stares after him in shock and only just resists going for that dagger.
"What a bastard," she says incredulously, to nobody.
(On the bright side, nobody laughs. So, you know. There's a plus.)
"This is so not how I pictured my Saturday night going," Felicity says, and let it be known that she is rambling and she is aware that she is rambling. "Like, I thought, some DVR, some takeout, maybe some ice cream if I was feeling a little dangerous, but this - "
"Felicity," Oliver says, through gritted teeth. "I'm going to need you to focus. Okay?"
"Focusing." Felicity nods, inadvertently tugging at the ropes that are currently binding them together, which in turn drags against the wound on Oliver's ribcage, if the pained hiss he emits is any indication. "Oh God! I'm so sorry - "
"It's fine, it's nothing," he says quickly, "don't think about that. Think about the bag, alright? All I need you to do is get to the bag."
Felicity peers into the inky black darkness - some kind of warehouse, if the smell is any indication. A few feet away, her purse sits halfway illuminated in a slash of reflected sunlight, abandoned by - whoever the hell it was that did this to them, like Felicity has any idea. She bites back a wave of panic, taking a deep breath.
"The bag, right," she says, "can I just say that it's really, really weird that you hid a knife in my purse and didn't tell me about it? What if I'd taken that thing on a plane? What if I'd been stopped by security somewhere - "
"It's a plastic knife," Oliver says, just this side of impatient, "it wouldn't show up on any kind of typical security sweep. Look - "
"The bag," Felicity repeats again. "Okay. Goin' for the bag. Brace yourself."
Carefully, mindful of Oliver's ribs, Felicity slides down on the chair as far as she can, stretching out her leg and twisting her hips to extend her right foot as far as possible. She can just barely reach the strap with the tip of her foot, and huffing in frustration, Felicity shakes off her sandal to try and use her toes.
"Can you reach it?" Oliver asks quietly, tensely. Felicity grunts at him incoherently, trying to keep her concentration.
Oliver leans his chair back slightly in an attempt to help, which pushes against hers and gives her the extra centimeter she needs, and she hooks the strap with her foot, dragging it against the floor back into her reach. "Boo yah," she says triumphantly, pushing back against Oliver, who lets his chair fall back to the floor with a dull thud. "Victory is mine."
"Okay, slide it over here to me," Oliver says. "Just - in my general direction, I can get the knife out."
"You didn't sew it into the lining, did you?" Oliver's silence is an answer in itself. "Man, this is one of my favorites, why couldn't you rip up that ugly yellow one I take to the gym?"
"I'll buy you a new one," Oliver replies distractedly. They're tied with their chairs back to back, so Felicity can't see what he's doing, but she feels his movement, and then suddenly, the ropes that have been cutting tightly into her torso loosen. "A bunch of new ones. With built-in hiding places for weapons."
"Every girl's dream," Felicity says dryly, pulling at the bonds experimentally. They come loose beneath the pressure, and she tugs her wrists free quickly, rubbing at the chafed skin.
Oliver is up and at her side, quicker than a blink, sliding his hand over her shoulder and doing that intense-eye thing where he looks like he's x-raying her person for injuries. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she reassures him, "sore, but fine. Let me see that bullet graze."
Oliver pulls away from her hands. "It can wait," he says.
"Oliver - "
"I wouldn't lie to you," he interrupts. "It's nothing."
Felicity eyes him suspiciously, but he's not doing the squinty-eye thing he does when he lies to her, so she's gonna take this one at face value. "So what next?"
The room that they're locked in is some sort of office, or used to be one, devoid of anything but a tiny window and the chairs they'd been strapped to. Oliver tries the door handle - locked, of course - and then pauses, turning back to her with a look of frustration.
"They kidnapped Oliver Queen and his assistant," he says in explanation, and Felicity's eyes widen in realization. "Not - anyone else. I'm not sure…"
"Right," Felicity says briskly. "No, no - you're right. It'd be suspicious if we got away too easily. Plus, we might be able to learn something from them. Like...who they are? For instance."
"I will not allow them to hurt you," Oliver says harshly, half promise and half threat. "If it gets out of hand, I will end it."
"I know. Hey." Felicity catches his eye. "I know."
Oliver runs a hand over his jaw, shoulders rigid. Felicity aches in sympathy; that same tension is currently working its way up her spine, doing its best to turn her bones into stone.
"Should we," Felicity starts uncertainly, "tie ourselves back up? Or…"
"We don't want to escape too easily," Oliver says darkly, "but we don't want them to think we're helpless, either."
"Right." Felicity bites her lip. "So, did I mention I had like, three new episodes of New Girl to watch tonight? Because I did. I'm really bummed that's not what I'm actually doing right now."
"What's New Girl?" Oliver asks, brow furrowed. "Is that a TV show?"
"Oh my gawd, you're just hopeless," Felicity says.
"When exactly," he says evenly, "would I have time to watch TV, Felicity? I have three full time jobs."
"Yes, and we're all very impressed," she replies, eschewing the chairs to sink instead down onto the floor. Grabbing her purse protectively, she pats the empty space beside her. "Take a seat and I'll explain it to you. It's a funny show."
"Explain it to me," Oliver murmurs, moving over to sit beside her, far more gracefully than she had managed. His twists upwards slightly. "I feel like sitcoms are a 'you had to be there' sort of situation."
"You obviously have never heard my Zooey Deschanel impression," Felicity says.
Oliver's shoulders look relatively normal and not carved-from-marble - well, he always looks carved from marble, because he's smokin' hot, but emotionally speaking - and he's looking at her with that Felicity-you're-really-weird-and-I'm-amused-by-your-existence look, so Felicity considers her mission accomplished. "I guess we do have some time to kill."
"Well then," Felicity replies smugly, and settles in, "get ready for some hilarity, buster."
"Close the door, close the door," Felicity says frantically, and Oliver hikes her up higher on his waist, letting her weight push him backwards into the open door, slamming it shut. "Oh! God, that was loud - "
"There is nobody here," Oliver reminds her, pressing each precise word into the skin of her jaw. He can feel her pulse against his chin, the fluttery pitter-patter of it, like hummingbird wings. "We are all alone, in this very big building, where nobody can hear you scream - "
"Are you gonna murder me or fuck me," Felicity challenges, and Oliver spins and pins her shoulders to the wall, aiming to surprise her into breathlessness, but all she does is laugh. "Oh, murder then, I guess. Well, I had a good run - "
"Shut up," he says, and cranes his head up to take her mouth. Before they started doing this he used to fantasize about that old cliche, to shut her up with a kiss, but in reality it's not like that really makes her quiet. If anything, it makes her louder.
"Mr. Green in the lair with the bow and arrow," Felicity mumbles into the kiss, words garbled and almost unintelligible. Oliver pulls away and glares at her. "Sorry, am I distracting you?"
"I could just go right over there," Oliver offers, "and wait until you're done with your monologue, if you'd rather finish that first - "
Felicity tips her head back against the wall and loosens her thighs enough to slide herself down his abdomen, just enough to turn the edges of his vision white. "What?"
"You - " Oliver rolls his hips and gets a cute little hiccupping noise from her for his trouble. Then he turns his head and bites her wrist, on impulse. She laughs again. "Quit it."
"You're still wearing your leathers," she says, eyes hooded and dark. She slides one hand up to his face, smearing the paint that's probably all over the place at this point, judging by the green smudges that decorate her neck and cheeks.
Oliver leans into her hand, tenderness hitting him hard, right beneath his breastbone. What a mess he is.
"Does that turn you on?" he asks. Felicity locks eyes with him and nods. "Do you think about it?"
"Yes, oh my God," she says hurriedly, the words all rushing together, like she can't get them out of her mouth fast enough. "Take me, take me over there - to the table, okay - "
"The table," Oliver repeats mindlessly, sliding his hands up her thighs and lifting her again, easy easy, hold her steady, watch her head, don't trip - "is that what you think about? When you sit at those computers do you think about me bending you over that thing, while I - while you work?"
"You don't wanna know what I think about," Felicity says, reaching out behind her to soften her landing, correctly assuming that Oliver isn't exactly in the mindset to be gentle. "No, but seriously, some nasty stuff up here, not for public consumption, that's for sure."
Oliver kisses the spot on her temple she just tapped, then her cheek, and her nose for good measure, because he can, and he wants to. Felicity lifts her face up to his, smiling, and God, he never stood a chance. "Pretty sure I do."
"Okay, well I think…" Felicity's smile turns into a grin, tongue caught between her teeth. "Your makeup looks stupid."
Oliver lunges forward and buries his face in her neck, hands moving straight to the spot beneath her ribs that makes her laugh, every time. She doesn't disappoint. "Excuse me? Excuse - "
"Mercy, mercy," Felicity says through a gasp, "you can't just ask a girl like me a question like that and expect a serious answer, what am I, a sexy machine?"
"No, you are, literally, such a brat," Oliver says through a groan, nudging her legs open with one knee, pulling her forward by her waist so he can fit their hips together on the edge of the table. "Why do you do this to me?"
Felicity squeezes his hips with her legs and smacks a kiss against his cheekbone. When she pulls back there's a smear of green across her mouth that makes Oliver's blood turn red hot. "Because I can," she says, all smiles and cheerful excitement, like she's just so happy to be here, in this moment with him, like she just can't hold it in. Oliver is, quite honestly, not sure how he's pulling it off himself.
"Hey." Oliver nudges her backwards and she falls easily, collapsing onto her back and smiling up at him with flushed cheeks. "Let your hair down for me."
Felicity reaches up and tugs the tie out of her hair, snapping it onto her wrist deftly. Leaning her neck up, she tosses her head a few times, then collapses back onto the table, hair spread out around her head like a halo. Her dress is rucked up around her waist, and her panties are - Jesus, they've got peace signs on them. How is that so insanely sexy, Oliver wonders wildly. How. "Good?"
"Wonderful," Oliver says, leaning over her so he can hear her breath speed up, feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest, "beautiful. Amazing."
"Exuberant," Felicity contributes, hooking her fingers in the collar of his leather vest, twining her legs around his waist to press him in closer. "Magnificent."
"Spec," Oliver says, and bites the top of her breast, right at the edge of where her dress lays across the curve, "tacular."
"Keep the green on," Felicity whispers, arching up and tilting her chin back as Oliver watches, transfixed, "I know it's weird, I know, but just - just like this, okay, please - "
"S'not weird," Oliver mumbles, pulling her dress down by its neckline, toward her waist. The straps slip off her shoulders easily and she pulls her arms free for him, lifting her shoulders so he can get it out of the way. "It's superb."
"Impressive," Felicity says, the end of the word trailing off into a groan as he works his way down her neck, scraping his stubble down the space between her breasts. "G-glorious - "
"Keep going," he orders, deciding to keep her bra on, just because he likes looking at the way the lace clings to her curves, the contrast between her skin and the blue material, "let me hear you."
"Marvelous," Felicity says, yelping in surprise at the scrape of teeth over a nipple - "condom!"
Oliver bursts into laughter.
"I mean, we need one. I - shut up!" Felicity slaps at his shoulders, lifting one leg up and propping her foot on the edge of the table. "There's some over there. Blue bag, my desk."
"You keep condoms down here?" Oliver asks incredulously, stepping away from her reluctantly. "We never - "
"For emergencies," Felicity says, not budging from her prone position. She looks goddamn obscene, laying all spread out like that, legs open and her dress bunched up around her waist - "you know, like - sex emergencies. Focus, Oliver - "
"Yeah. Yes." Oliver turns and instantly spots the small makeup bag next to Felicity's keyboards. "You planned on us having sex emergencies down here?"
"Oh look at us, having a sex emergency right now, being saved by me," Felicity says in a sing-song. Oliver swivels around and almost drops the damn bag when he sees her tugging off her underwear, tossing them aside carelessly. "Hey, Arrow, you gonna stand there and gawk all night or what - "
Oliver cuts her off by grabbing her ankle, sliding one hand down her slim calf, down to the bottom of her thigh. He's still got his gloves on and he can tell that she likes it by the way she starts to tremble, the small hitch in her breathing, the goosebumps that pop up on her bare skin. "Felicity."
She sits up suddenly, expression intent, reaching out for him. "Just - fast. That's what I want. Fast and hard, okay?"
"Fast," Oliver replies, his own voice sounding foreign, raspy, "and hard." He tosses the bag on the table next to her and steps in close to kiss her, sliding her hips forward to the very edge. She's so wet he can feel it through the leather.
"Quick and rough," Felicity says after he stops for breath, with a thread of amusement, "swiftly and without restraint - "
Oliver reaches down and presses the heel of his hand between her legs, and she cuts herself off with a sharp groan. "You were saying?"
Felicity grinds against his hand, eyelids fluttering shut. "No, nope," she says breathlessly, "shutting up now."
She makes quick work of his fly and the condom - "keep everything on," she says, face scrunched up in determination - and Oliver watches her face as he sinks inside her for the first time, like he always does. Eyes open, exhale, tense your back muscles, and let it fly.
"Oliver," Felicity says, voice hitching on the last syllable. She's got both her hands braced on the table behind her and the green is all over her now, streaks of it down her chin, her neck, between her breasts. Her temples are sweaty and she lost her glasses at some point, Oliver is honestly not sure when, so her eyes are slightly unfocused. It's just - it's insane, how much he wants her. "Oliver, God - "
"Listen, Felicity," Oliver says, pausing long enough to catch her attention, "you hear that? There's nobody here. Nobody can hear you. You don't have to be quiet."
Oliver thrusts his hips sharply and she moans gratifyingly loud, sharp and piercing, right next to his ear. "If I didn't know, ungh, better," Felicity manages haltingly, "I'd say you like the sound of my voice - "
"I love your voice," Oliver blurts, "I love the way you say my name, say it again."
"Oliver, Oliver," Felicity breathes, reaching down to touch herself, still covered in green.
(He is not even close to being worthy of this moment. But here he is, having it anyway.)
"Come on," he mutters, ducking his head to graze his lips across her chin, "with me now, here we go."
Felicity always tenses up right before she comes, her face scrunches together and it's like every muscle in her body locks up tight, battering down the hatches in the face of a storm. Oliver fucks her through it, pressing his cheek to the side of her face and finding his own orgasm at the tail end of hers, his hands in her hair and the table, rattling out a violent song beneath them.
They stay frozen together for a very long minute, and this is the other thing Oliver always does - he stays inside of her and he listens to her heartbeat and he thinks, thank you, thank you for this, always.
"God," Felicity says, voice wrecked. "Talk about brisk and firm."
"I'm confiscating your thesaurus," Oliver tells her, and she laughs again. He can feel the sound vibrating against his chest.
"Ahh," she replies, hissing slightly as he pulls away, reaching out and tangling their fingers together. "But then how would I keep up with you?"
"I'm sure you'd find a way," he says, kissing her fingers.
Felicity smiles. "Then take me to that couch, Arrow," she says, leaning in close, "'cuz I'm not done with you yet."
"Clearly not," he replies. (And fact: he hopes she never will be.)