Chapter Text
Warm and soft. That’s how she feels.
...okay, it sounds dirtier than it is. Granted, she feels wonderfully sated and relaxed because of that kind of activities, but the sentiment right now comes from the most glorious bed she’s ever laid on.
What she doesn’t feel is the warmed skin around her, the one that enveloped her when she woke up in the middle of the night.
Oliver.
His name alone brings a smile to her face and the instantaneous reaction of clutching the soft sheet beneath her fingers.
Oliver?
Rubbing the last signs of sleep from her sight, Felicity sits up, holding the sheet to her naked chest and looks around. There’s no trace of him in sight, but a billow of smoke floats from the master bathroom.
The ringing of her cellphone strays her thoughts away from that current of thought. With a muted ‘fuck’, she clutches the sheets closer to her body and rushes through the room and across the hall, padding the way to the sound of–
“Sara!,” she answers in a rushed breath once she finally has the phone in hand.
“Good morning to you too,” her best friend gushes with plenty of double meaning in her tone. “I guess your made bed means the talk went well?”
Dinner and get to know each other. Right. That’s why she’d been over to Oliver’s in the first place.
“Talk... yeah.”
The way she drifts off and keeps her answer devoid of details speaks volumes, effectively conveying the blush that overtakes her skin at the moment. Thankfully Sara knows her better than to push, simply sighing and laughing quietly at the crazy reality she’s worked herself into.
“No judgement here; I’m happy as long as you are. Just wanted to know if you were alright... And coming to lunch later?”
“Right!,” Felicity exclaims louder than intended, the shower silencing at the distance.
They had lunch plans, Sara leaving later that day for a shoot in New York. She actually facepalms herself for forgetting their goodbye ritual.
“I’ll be there, will try to stop by and take a quick shower or something.”
A chuckle clearly makes it through the phone at those words.
“I’ll see you in yesterday’s clothes, hon,” Sara says, knowingly, “no walk of shame if everything’s good for you both.”
“It is... I think. We haven’t exactly–”
“Talked?”
“Yup...,” Felicity paces around, lowering her voice as silence has settled into the room. “Do you think that’s weird? Or wrong? I feel like we should be talking about this... or something.”
“I think you’re over-thinking this. Don’t talk yourself out of what you want out of fear, hun. Just trust yourself on this one, and possibly Oliver... If you ever get to talking.”
“You don’t have to sound so smug, you know?,” Felicity asks, amusement tainting her words. Yet something warms in her chest at the seriousness her best friend replies with.
“I’m just happy for you. Now go talk or not talk, and fill me in on lunch, okay? And give Oliver my best. I love you!”
And with a heartfelt, and thankful for calming her back from another meltdown, ‘love you too’ whispered in return, Felicity ends the call just as a hand settles on her hip, Oliver’s warmth pressed to her back.
“Sara says hi.”
The way he hums in return before nuzzling her neck totally does not make her shiver and lean back onto his chest. Because after hours of living in Oliver-land, something as simple as his touch shouldn’t make her feel like melting.
“Sara Lance, right?”
And yup, the hoarseness of his voice isn’t helping any, the warmth in her chest taking over her belly as well.
This really feels quite near to perfect –for some reason they’re not entirely naked right now–, and only gets better as his hand leaves her hip and trails downwards over the sheet still around her, humming appreciatively as the cloth finally falls off her grasp to the floor.
Safe to say, there’s no actual talking for a while longer.
Slowly, she starts coming down. Heartbeat racing, chest still heaving and hair wild over the same sheets that felt so cold when she’d woken up alone. As Oliver’s hand moves back and forth over her thigh in soothing motions, still leaning over her, cold is the least of her feelings.
And nope, not going there. Don’t over-think yourself out of a great thing, Felicity. You shouldn’t even be thinking right now after he did that thing with his hips and–
“Felicity?”
And of course he sounds like sex, even after actually getting some. Not even worry over her uncharacteristic quietness can make him less inviting. Thankfully the way his brow furrows, as a smile still plays on his lips, is all kinds of distracting from the million ‘what ifs’ about this thing that could end in disaster.
“Breakfast!”
Unfortunately, that look also short-circuits her brain.
“You mentioned desert yesterday? As in you cooking something? For us?” For some reason, everything that leaves her lips sounds like a question.
“Yeah,” Oliver chuckles, reading her distraction tactic, leaving the bed and a mildly panicking Felicity behind in lieu of clothes. Well, jeans only, before he smirks as she finally opens one eye to look his way.
“Breakfast it is,” he says before leaving the room.
Eventually Felicity psyches herself out of bed and into the shirt and underwear she wore yesterday, padding her way towards the sounds of Oliver cooking... pancakes?
Blinking to make sure it’s real, she takes in the scene before her: Oliver Queen, shirtless and barefoot, with bed hair, making her breakfast. Straight out of her dreams.
The smell of what promises to be incredible coffee makes it all the better and finally propels her forward. Nursing a cup she meets Oliver’s eyes as he turns from his spot to smile softly at her, taking her in with as much interest as she did him.
There’s something so soft and tentative about this moment, still it feels right. She could get used to this.
Which, quite like free-falling, brings her back to the topic at hand. Talking. About this, them. If there is a them. At least a traditional them, or maybe a half-assed them, or just a plain friends with benefits kind of them.
Some answers have been settled, but many others hang in the air. Because right now she doesn’t know how any of this, work and non-work this, could work out. Just that they want it to.
“Oliver?,” she finally whispers, sounding smaller than intended.
“Hmm?,” he hums turning his attention back to her, and still flawlessly turning a pancake –a true talent, if you asked her–.
“I wanna talk.”
He simply pauses, no sudden movements or running out the door. Good.
“Talking. Which comes easily to me, normally. Except when it comes to you, apparently.”
“I think you do a pretty good job,” he quips giving her a soft smile, before turning back to his pancakes. And suddenly she doesn’t feel like the only one not on steady ground. “I...I’m not good, at talking.”
There’s a gentleness in his tone, in the way he’s holding himself; like now he’s the one expecting her to go for the door.
So Felicity takes a step forward, placing her mug of half-drunk coffee on the kitchen table near him. Then, just as tentatively as he’s talking, she places a hand on his arm. When he turns back to her, the corners of her mouth lift reassuringly.
“Well,” she offers then, “It seems pretty clear by now that this is thing that’s happening.”
“Yes,” he adds with an amused smile at her choice of words. “I’m glad.”
“Me too,” and suddenly her cheeks are reddening, a mix of excitement and nerves crowding her stomach. “But in lights of what we do and what we will have to do,” she edges, slowing her words, “it’d maybe be best to keep it light. To ourself, no pressure, just... Let it keep happening.”
He’s eerily quiet, taking in her words, only making her babbling worse.
“I mean, more controlled than before. Cause we can’t like keep jumping each other on set.”
“Well,” he chuckles, drawing her attention, “You’re the one that jumped me.”
And just like that, the tension breaks with his unnerving way to disarm her in just a moment.
“I did not. You showed up at my trailer all wild and panting–”
“Wild?”
“Point is maybe we need some rules to make this easier.” Lower the risk of disaster, she adds to herself.
His hand leaves the pan turning down the stove, and comes up to caress her jaw, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. Blue as always, calm, joyful and filled with wonder.
“Felicity,” he says fighting a smile, “isn’t the point of ‘light and casual’ that there is no pressure in it?”
“Not pressure, just... Guidelines? Every game has those.” And yes, maybe she’s just trying to shield herself a little too hard. But how can she not when she’s already getting lost in that look on his face, in the way his hands feel against her skin? And now the bastard is giving her that disarming side smirk as well. Great!
“Oh so this is a game now?”
“No,” she argues as he edges closer, at least thankful for his playfulness with this all. “Just... Let’s keep this out of work. Please.”
“Of course,” he says at last, letting her see he’s serious, before letting his left hand skin over her side, bringing her forward.
“And to ourselves,” Felicity adds, her breath ghosting his lips.
He barely nods before closing the gap and tasting her lips, one slight caress at the time, erasing any fear in sight.
“Though,” she gasps when he starts nibbling along her jaw, “it’s gonna be quite hard doing this on set without actually doing it.”
Oliver hums along her skin, lightly tugging at her earlobe before working downwards, edging her shirt. “We’ll manage.”
“Really? Don’t you think they’ll notice?.” She’s borderline panting at the moment, his mouth all but devouring her neck, and why is she still talking? “I don’t think we’ll be able to pull this off. I’m not good at lying.”
He pauses then, leaving the reddened spot where her shoulder meets her neck to give her a look: eyes tightening into slits and mouth curving up in amusement.
“Felicity. You pretend for a living,” he breathes, with mirth in his tone.
“Yes, but not like that. You know what I mean. Besides, you’re one to talk! You’re worse than me in that department.”
At his innocent look she goes on, worry yet tainted with humor lacing her words.
“How long did it take Tommy to read it out of you? Five minutes?”
At least he looks somewhat apologetic at that, realizing his best friend surely said something about it.
“It’s alright,” she reassures, “just... we need to get better at this secrecy thing.”
“Okay,” he agrees caressing her cheek again, somehow easing through passion to tenderness. ”We’ll work it out...but not right now.”
“Why–,” she begins to question only to get her answer by the widening of that oh so familiar smirk now as he closes the space between them, pancakes be damned.