Archive of Our Own ^beta

“So we’re in agreement then? An hour, tops?”

“Yes, Oliver. An hour max.” 

“You promise?” 

“Oliver!” Felicity bats his arm as she shakes her head at him and he casts her a little grin over his shoulder before he returns his eyes to the road. “They’re our friends-”

“Ehhh,” he interrupts with a playfully argumentative groan and Felicity rolls her eyes and chuckles. 

“Fine. They are people we know and regularly have to work alongside. We can handle an hour hanging out with them without keeling over.” 

“Speak for yourself - you get to spend an hour with Iris. I’m stuck with Barry.” 

“Barry’s not so bad,” Felicity hedges and Oliver shoots her a look that has her relenting in moments. “Okay, he’s gotten pretty bad, admittedly. But before he got his powers he wasn’t so terrible!” 

“You’re just saying that because you two kissed once.” 

“Please do not bring that up or I’ll lose my appetite,” she groans and Oliver chuckles, sliding one hand off the wheel to offer his open palm to her across the middle console of the car. Wordlessly, her fingers twine through his and he hears her sigh softly as she gives his hand a wholesome squeeze. The rest of the drive passes by like this, with them holding hands and enjoying pleasant chatter and each other’s company. When they finally park in the downtown parking garage where they’re to meet the other couple, Oliver groans as he cuts the engine.

“It’s not too late to back out and say one of us has food poisoning!” 

“Oliver!” Felicity snickers, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s one hour. We can do it, babe.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Oliver huffs and Felicity laughs once more. 

“How about, if you make it the full hour hanging out with Barry without putting any arrows in him or hurting him, I’ll do that thing that you like?” Felicity offers brightly and Oliver grows still, his eyes wide.

“...Specifically… which thing that I like? That’s a rather long list,” Oliver points out and Felicity snorts, her eyes meeting his with a mischievous flash.

“The thing with the scarves,” she murmurs in a husky voice and Oliver scrabbles to undo his seatbelt, suddenly in a rush.

“Come on, the sooner we meet up with Barry and Iris, the sooner we can leave,” Oliver rushes, swinging open his door with gusto and practically falling out of the car as Felicity laughingly starts to exit from the passenger side. She doesn’t even manage to get her door open before Oliver is there, attentively helping her from the vehicle.

“Do I know how to motivate you or do I know how to motivate you, hmm?” Felicity teases and Oliver pauses to look at her, his eyes darkening. 

“Don’t forget, Mrs. Smoak-Queen, two can play at that game. I happen to know a few things that motivate you very well.” Their gazes remain locked as he arches one brow suggestively, the faintest smirk lifting the corner of his mouth and Felicity shivers as she feels one of his hands trace up her side, his fingertips tickling between her ribs ever so faintly. “If memory serves, you happen to enjoy a particular move of mine involving your leg…” Oliver trails off, his mouth suddenly pressing a heated kiss behind her ear. His breath is hot against her neck and Felicity is suddenly rather flushed. 

“We should meet up with the Allens,” Felicity chokes out at last, forcing herself to breathe and to speak even as her blood grows hot beneath her skin. “One hour with them and then we’ll both do the things that we enjoy.”

“Deal,” Oliver growls, his hand slipping to cup her backside as he presses a pointed kiss to her throat before he straightens. As simply as that, he’s suddenly the picture of innocence as he offers her his arm, seemingly a perfect gentleman and not the same delicious little deviant who a mere moment ago was trying (and succeeding) at riling her up. Her teeth cut into her lower lip as she contemplates a saucy interlude here and now in the parking lot before she shakes her head and takes his arm.

She’s not going to do back seat of the car, public parking garage sex with him. At least, not right now. The scarf thing? It requires some space. As does the thing he does with her leg. 

It turns out to be a good thing that she doesn’t opt for the sexy interlude - as it so happens, Barry and Iris are just arriving too and they’ve already spotted Oliver and Felicity and are making a beeline for them. The Central City based couple walks side by side, loosely holding hands as they approach. After some initial greetings, the couples split up and part ways - Barry and Iris with a kiss on the cheek, Oliver and Felicity with a lingering kiss that Felicity breaks away from grudgingly before swooping back in to press three quick pecks to Oliver’s cheek before she darts off with a smile and joins Iris. 

The two women chatter pleasantly as they make their way to the chic little wine bar where they’ve planned to get drinks. The place is airy and bright, with a charming, modern aesthetic. Most importantly? They’ve got the best wine selection in town and hors d'oeuvres to die for. Felicity is particularly fond of their focaccia with sun-dried cherries when paired with a Pinot Noir.  The guys, meanwhile, are bound for some hole in the wall local whiskey bar, small and dark with wood paneling and a wall of whiskey that extends basically from the floor to the top of the two storied ceilings. Felicity’s fairly certain one shot of whiskey from that place would do Barry in, were it not for the whole ‘superhuman metabolism’ thing. The one and only time she herself went inside, the fumes off the whiskey alone were enough to make her feel light headed. It’s not for the faint of heart - which is exactly why Oliver prefers it, honestly. 

In short order, Felicity and Iris are seated at a cozy corner table and Felicity is munching on a bite of her beloved focaccia while Iris stares absently at a glass of Chardonnay. 

“Something on your mind, Iris?” Felicity inquires after a couple of long minutes stretch by and Iris startles back to the present, her eyes leaping from her glass to Felicity with a nervous smile. 

“Sorry! How rude of me. I was just…thinking,” Iris offers lamely and the ghost of a frown flickers across Felicity’s features before she swallows down her bite of food and leans back in her seat to stare at the other woman intently, her aqua painted nails tapping against her wine glass coolly. 

“About…?” Felicity prods and Iris sighs, running a hand through her hair nervously before she downs her glass of wine, much to Felicity’s surprise. 

“How often do you have to… fake it… with Oliver?” 

Of all the many things Felicity was prepared for, this was not one of those things. She nearly inhales her mouthful of wine and the result leaves her coughing and spluttering for a full minute before she’s able to look back at Iris, wheezing as she does so. 

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you,” Felicity gasps and Iris leans in closer, her eyes dark and serious. 

“I mean it, Felicity. In general, how often do you have to fake it?” Iris queries conspiratorially and Felicity can only blink at the other woman, her wine glass forgotten. Is this… real? Is Iris messing with her? This feels like a weird joke.

“Umm… Iris hon, I’ve never had to fake it with Oliver,” Felicity answers gently, treading lightly. She senses that if this is actually serious and not a prank? There’s a reason behind this line of questioning and if she’s right? Informing Iris that Oliver is a master of the craft is likely going to rub salt in what Felicity imagines must be a very raw, very deep wound. 

“Never?!” Iris echoes, sounding flabbergasted. Felicity’s belief that this might be a prank begins to crumble away. Iris is a journalist, not an actress. She couldn’t act this convincingly if it was a prank. Oh boy. 

“Not once,” Felicity confirms and Iris falls back against her seat, shaking her head in disbelief. She’s only down for a moment though - the next thing Felicity knows, Iris is leaning in close again, this time with a different question.

“So how often do you two have sex then?”

Felicity glances around the bar uneasily, her eyes seeking out the clock on the wall. Has it really been less than ten minutes since they got here? Suddenly the hour mark is looking wildly unattainable as this conversation grows more and more personal and private in nature. 

“Oh Iris, hon we don’t need to discuss that,” Felicity politely dances around the question, pushing the plate of appetizers towards her friend. The answer would only upset the other woman. “Here, try these. They’re absolutely delicious-” Felicity delays, only to be interrupted as Iris crosses her arms smugly. 

“Mmm. Okay, that explains it then. The answer must be ‘not often’ then.” 

Felicity comes to a screeching halt, her hand frozen on the plate halfway across the table, her expression darkening as she registers what Iris has just (wrongly) assumed. Drawing her hand back into her lap slowly, Felicity clears her throat, tilting her head to the side so she can run a hand through her hair in attempted nonchalance. 

“Okay wow, we’re really going to go there, aren’t we? Well Iris, since you asked, Oliver and I? We have sex frequently. In a day. In a week. By any metric, it’s frequent; we had a rather lively interlude this morning, as a matter of fact,” Felicity explains in a satisfied purr. Iris’ eyes go wide at this news and she flags down the waiter, holding her glass aloft. In short order, the waiter hurries over with the wine.

“You can leave the bottle,” Iris instructs and the waiter blinks at her in surprise but complies before backing away quickly. Pouring herself a hefty glass, Iris refocuses on Felicity and the blonde can feel the weight of the sum total of the other woman’s attention on her as she utters one single word, heavy with import and disbelief. 

“How?!”

-----

Oliver really doesn’t understand why the hell Barry has insisted on going out for ‘drinks’, seeing as Barry can’t even get so much as buzzed given his powers. But Oliver’s not objecting too strongly, seeing as this plan means he is able to drown his irritations in whiskey as he whiles away the sixty long minutes before he gets to ditch the human bean pole and reunite with his wife. 

The pair of men order a flight of whiskey and then take up residence on the small, second story sitting area in a corner nestled away from the other patrons. Oliver has already started sipping his first whiskey, appreciating the oaky taste and the way it burns down his throat when beside him, Barry suddenly hunches forward in his seat, looking pensieve.

“Oliver...Can I ask you a question?” 

“You just did,” Oliver points out in a gruff tone and Barry smiles weakly, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“Right. But no, seriously man… I gotta ask you a couple questions.” 

Fuck. So that’s the reason behind this little ‘Guys Night/Girls Night’ venture that Barry and Iris had suggested. Oliver braces himself to be asked some ludicrously unfair favor. What’ll it be this time? Help with a metahuman threat? Advice on Barry’s meddling while time traveling? A doppelganger from another Earth? 

“How many times have you made Felicity… y’know,” Barry shrugs and Oliver narrows his eyes uncomprehendingly at the other man.

“Made Felicity what, Barry?” 

“...Orgasm,” Barry whispers in an undertone and Oliver chokes on his sip of whiskey so hard, he’s got liquor burning up his nose, setting his sinuses on fire. Oliver gasps raggedly for air, grabbing for napkins from the table as tears of pain spring to his eyes as he tries to purge the whiskey from his nasal cavity. How many minutes until he gets to leave and go grab his wife? This night is decidedly taking a turn for the worst. This is not the sort of stuff Oliver cares to share with anyone - proud though he is of the honest answer to this question. 

“Please tell me you did not just ask me that,” Oliver rasps, dragging a napkin across his face as he rides out the last few, faint coughs from his whiskey inhalation mishap. 

“Come on, Oliver. I’m asking you for your help here. I need to know.” 

“Why on Earth would you need to know that?” 

“Just answer the question,” Barry pleads and Oliver sighs, glancing at the clock. Fuck. The hour mark is a million, impossible miles away. And much though he is loathe to have ‘sharing with Barry’ time, he is quickly coming to realize that the only way he may get out of this without pummeling the guy (and thereby losing out on the sexy shenanigans Felicity hinted at earlier) may be to give in and have this weird as fuck conversation. 

“Are we talking in the last twenty four hours? This week? Be specific, Barry,” Oliver grunts, only for Barry’s eyes to nearly bulge out of his head.

“What?! No I meant like… Ever?! You mean you’ve made her…” Barry’s eyes dart to and fro as he avoids saying the word like some sort of schoolyard child, “...today?” 

“Orgasm? Yes. Twice, in fact.” 

“TWICE?! ” Barry nearly falls out of his seat and it’s only a bit of quick thinking by Oliver that averts disaster as he grabs the young man’s shoulder, effectively circumventing a fall while Barry is apparently too rattled to even tap into his powers. Interesting. Barry scrabbles and quickly gets his seat back under him, his chest heaving as he stares at Oliver in disbelief. “You’re screwing with me.” 

“I think we’ve just established that I’m screwing my wife, Barry. And doing a rather admirable job of it, at that.” 

“Bullshit. How many times have you made her you-know-what, over the course of your relationship?” Barry leans forward, his elbows perched on the tabletop as he comes perilously close to Oliver’s flight of whiskey. Pointedly brushing Barry’s elbows out of the way, Oliver grabs up one of his glasses and takes a slow, deep swig, turning the amber liquid over on his tongue and enjoying the honey sweet taste before it burns its way down. 

“Barry, I don’t keep track of the running total. I can tell you though, that it’s high.” 

“How high?” Barry presses and Oliver narrows his eyes at the speedster. He’s already offered far more information up than he cares to consider. Now it’s his turn to get some answers. 

“Why do you want to know, Barry? Having trouble with your ah ‘lightning rod’?” Oliver queries, hiding a smirk from behind his glass as he takes another sip. Barry’s features darken and he shoots Oliver a glare but ultimately, he caves. 

“I’ve gotten Iris to four times,” Barry allows and Oliver pauses to study the other man. 

“Please tell me you’re talking about today?” A shake from Barry dispels this far fetched notion instantly. “This week?” Another shake and Oliver gulps. “This month?” 

“Since we’ve been together,” Barry admits in a quiet voice and Oliver goes stock still, positively agog at this. Okay, sure, he didn’t think the little twerp was some sex god or anything but to land a girl like Iris with a running total of only four? God, he’s suddenly convinced Iris must be a saint or a nun to have married the guy. 

“Jesus Barry. How is that even possible?”

-----

“Two times?” Felicity repeats, her eyes wide as she stares at Iris from behind her dark framed glasses, unable to comprehend this latest, most shocking tidbit. To her credit, Iris looks properly miserable as she takes another swig of her wine, the focaccia platter in between the two women now completely forgotten. 

“I faked it a couple times after that but… yeah. He’s only gotten me twice,” Iris confesses, looking positively mortified. “Please tell me that you and Oliver have gone through a dry spell like that. And that it gets better,” Iris pleads morosely and Felicity can only gape at the other woman, not wanting to crush her spirits but also not wanting to lie. 

“Oh Iris, I mean you can’t really compare, you need a wider sample size than just my and Oliver’s relationship to know for sure,” Felicity hems and haws but Iris sees through her ploy and taps the table top with a lone finger pointedly. 

“No. Tell me the truth. How many times has Oliver gotten you off?” Iris presses and Felicity bites her lower lip as she contemplates what answer will be truthful while still also being least hurtful. 

“I mean, twice this morning,” Felicity answers at last, only for Iris to startle so badly that her chardonnay splashes across the table, thoroughly soaking one of the pieces of focaccia. 

“Twice today?! How? What does he do?! ”

Felicity feels her cheeks heat at the mere thought of just what exactly Oliver does but she quickly shoves those thoughts aside, boxing them up for later, after this wretchedly long hour has passed. She’s feeling immense regret at having told Oliver they needed to last an hour in the company of Barry and Iris tonight. 

“Oh Iris, you don’t want to hear about that, that’s not going to help anything,” Felicity begs off, only for Iris to pause in her mopping up of the wine with her napkins. Her gaze is intense, bordering on manic. 

“Felicity I swear to god, I am going to lose my mind if something doesn’t change. I need help. And clearly whatever you and Oliver are doing, it’s working. So I need details. I’m a journalist, remember? The facts are what I’m all about. So I’m going to ask you again: What. Does. He. Do?!”

Felicity fidgets in her seat for a moment. “Iris… It’s not so much one thing that he does, I mean… There’s a number of things. Quite a few, if we’re being honest.” 

Iris interrupts with a jealous groan, one hand coming to cover her face. “Okay just… your first time together. Start there. Is that easier? What did he do that time?” 

Felicity gnaws at her lip, thinking back to Nanda Parbat and her cheeks flush. “That’s… hard to quantify. That night was… I mean, obviously it was really special. That night was three times - no wait! Four,” she corrects, her pulse quickening at the memory of just what exactly number four was. 

“And he did something different each time?” Iris asks astoundedly and Felicity gulps for air and nods, trying to refocus on the conversation. All she wants to do is call Oliver up right now and get to somewhere private where they can do a glorious recreation of all four of Nanda Parbat’s greatest hits. 

“Oh yeah.”

“Good God. I mean, Eddie had a couple moves but Barry…” Iris trails off and through the lust riddled haze of her memories, Felicity feels a pang for the other woman. 

“Oliver does this one thing, with his hand and… oh wow,” Felicity takes a shuddering breath and shakes her head, even as her skin breaks out in goosebumps. “And he does this other thing, with his tongue? Oh frak…”

Felicity trails off, wetting her lips with her tongue as she struggles to maintain her cool. Has it been an hour yet? A quick glance at her phone confirms that no, the hour mark is still far off. And the stir she feels settling low in her body? Yeah, that’s going to be pretty hard to ignore. She focuses on her breathing and plunges ahead with a more detailed explanation of a few of her favorite moves of Oliver’s, so lost in the descriptions (and the delicious memories they stir up) that she sort of… loses herself.

“He also has a move and I swear, I don’t know how he does it. He goes from really fast to really slow and then he moves my leg,” Felicity explains, gesturing with her hands as Iris’ jaw drops open. 

“Sweet lord, Felicity!” 

“Hey, you asked! I’m just giving you the details you were so keen on hearing earlier” Felicity defends, only for Iris to gape at her. 

“Felicity you’ve been going into abundant detail for twenty minutes,” Iris points out and Felicity blinks, checking her phone in shock. 

“Oh,” she remarks, a little surprised so much time has passed but also keenly aware that she hasn’t even touched on half of the moves in Oliver’s extensive repertoire. “Well, I’m sorry Iris. I’m trying to give you the abbreviated version,” Felicity explains, only for Iris to slam her glass down on the table top.

“That is the abbreviated version?! That was a rather extensive explanation, Felicity.”

Felicity hums, a wicked gleam in her eyes but she’s so worked up from discussing all of this, she can’t help herself. “What can I say? Oliver’s methods aren’t abbreviated. And neither is he…” Felicity trails off pointedly, taking a self satisfied drink of her Pinot. Iris makes a strangled noise across from her, then sighs. 

“God. I mean, that’s not surprising to me - I’ve always assumed. Sorry. That’s weird, isn’t it? It totally is. I need to shut up now.” 

But between the wine and her pent up sexual energy, Felicity is feeling loose and more than a little invigorated. “You don’t need to apologize Iris, I’m pretty sure anyone with eyes draws the same conclusion. And they’d be right to do so. All it takes is looking at that man to gain a clear understanding of what’s going on. He’s a walking biology lesson.” 

“So you’re saying his ah ‘shoe size’ is a good indicator of… other things?” 

“Iris, they’ve studied shoe size and penis length and found no correlation. But in Oliver’s case? … Yeah. It’s a very good indicator.” 

“Jesus, Felicity… You are so lucky.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Felicity grins, taking another sip of wine and relishing the warmth spreading from her nose to her toes. “You know I named it?” Felicity remarks with a giggle and Iris locks eyes with her.

“You didn’t,” Iris murmurs, her eyes sparking with humor and curiosity when Felicity nods to confirm that oh yes she did. “Of course you did. Tell me.” 

“Lionel,” Felicity answers back easily and Iris’ brows slope into a deep, uncomprehending frown. 

“Am I missing something? Is there a story there or is that funny for some reason?” 

“Well you see, I sort of extrapolated ‘Lionel’ from the initials of what I used to call it - Little Not Little Oliver. LNLO. It made me think of the name ‘Lionel’ and there you have it,” Felicity rolls her shoulders with a smirk and Iris doubles over with laughter as the two women relax and lean into the carefree vibe developing as the evening goes on. For a conversation that started off so uncomfortably, Felicity’s rather enjoying the opportunity to exult her husband’s skills and God given assets. And yes, she does feel rather bad that this is all happening because Iris is going without and is probably experiencing a sexual drought the likes of which Felicity can’t begin to fathom. But at the same time? 

Oliver’s a god damned master of the craft and he deserves every pound of praise Felicity is piling on him. 

-----

“Please stop,” Oliver shakes his head, patently avoiding eye contact with Barry as the speedster pleads with the archer, desperation in his voice. 

“Oliver I need help!” 

“Well that much is painfully obvious, Barry. But I can’t SHOW you anything.” There are lines and Oliver already has pushed his comfort zone just having this discussion with Barry. He’s not interested in this becoming SHOW and tell - SHARE and tell is more than ample. “Have you asked Iris what she likes?” Oliver questions, only for the wiry young man to go stock still. 

“Well… no.” 

“For crying out loud, Barry - ask her! How do you think that I got Felicity four times the first time we were together?” 

“FOUR TIMES? In one night?!”

“Yes, Barry. Because I asked her. And equally as importantly - I remembered what she liked. If you don’t ask you’re just… leaving yourself in the dark. It’s an art, Barry. It takes practice to perfect and it takes you communicating with your partner to know what ‘perfect’ looks like.” 

“Then how the hell are you any good at it? You suck at communicating!” Barry harrumphs, only for Oliver to roll his eyes. 

“I don’t communicate well with you ; Felicity, on the other hand, is another matter entirely. Suffice it to say, Felicity and making her happy is motivation enough to get me communicating - and communicating well.” 

“But-”

“Barry! Just be a good partner and pleasure your wife! ” Oliver growls abruptly, bringing one hand down on the table top with enough force to make a resounding smack that draws Barry up short. 

“O-Okay,” Barry chirps softly, looking at Oliver with wide eyes. “It’s just… how do I do that?!”

Oliver hangs his head, feeling utterly defeated. This...shouldn’t be this hard. But then Barry pipes up again and Oliver grows further concerned. 

“I mean, where did you learn all this? My high school sex ed class never went into detail and definitely never discussed what makes a woman… y’know.” 

“Please tell me you have not been trying to get your wife off based purely on knowledge you gained from your high school sex ed class, Barry.” Even as he watches though, Barry wilts a bit before his eyes. 

“...And middle school. We had sex ed then too,” Barry offers weakly and Oliver sighs before he tosses back the remainder of his current glass of whiskey’s contents. 

“Barry…” Christ, he’s going to regret this. He just knows it. But he’s still got a long way to go before he hits the hour mark and damn does he want to hit that hour mark. Even this level of discomfort will be worth it when he gets Felicity in his arms tonight - he’s going to make damn sure it’s worth it for her too. He’s feeling inspired (or depressed) by this conversation and ensuring that Felicity has every pleasure tonight is top priority. 

But to do that, he needs to help Barry fucking Allen get shit done. Not something he ever thought would be on his to do list, to be honest. 

 “...Explain to me what you’re doing. Are you trying to hit the bullseye?” At this point, Oliver’s not even sure Barry knows where the bullseye is located in this situation. Four times ever  What’s the saying? Even a blind squirrel finds the acorn sometimes? Four times in a few years sounds like dumb luck.

Poor Iris. 

“Yeah I’m trying!” Barry retorts defensively, his nostrils flaring irritably. “But I mean… four times in one night? I mean, how’d you even… get it ready to go again after each time? Did you like... do some sort of endurance training? Is that a thing?” Barry queries and Oliver pauses, having learned at this point not to drink while Barry is speaking, for fear of what new, horrifying information he’ll gain.

“Barry...please tell me that you know you have… other ways of hitting that bullseye.” 

“What do you mean ‘other ways’?” Barry asks quizzically and Oliver swallows, then takes another glass from the whiskey flight, tossing it back without even really tasting it. At this point, he’s after the buzz more than he is interested in sampling. He would like to be a hell of a lot more intoxicated to be having this discussion, in truth. 

“...Barry, I’m going to say this as plainly as I can for you: you need to be using your mouth,” Oliver instructs bluntly and Barry rolls his eyes at Oliver. 

“I’ve done that, Oliver. It’s a waste of time.” 

“I assure you, it isn’t. If you think it is, you’re probably doing it wrong.” 

“How could I be doing it wrong?!” Barry grunts and Oliver passes a hand over his face as he inhales slowly. Patience. 

“If you’re only at four, trust me, you’re doing it wrong. If you’re relying solely on your dick to get the job done? You’re doing it wrong. Your tongue is your friend here. And hers too.” 

“So you’re saying that I need to…” 

“Yes, I am trying to help you, I am doing you a favor right now. You need to go down on your wife, for fuck’s sake,” Oliver grumbles, only for Barry to sit bolt upright as though he’s been struck by lightning (again). 

“Wait so… that’s what it means to ‘go down’ on someone?!” Barry inquires, looking positively, honest to god amazed and it’s all Oliver can do not to smack him.

“Please remind me, how on Earth are you married?” Oliver mutters under his breath, too low for Barry to hear over the background noise of the whiskey bar, which is starting to get busy around them. 

“What was that?” 

“Just reminding you to do the alphabet,” Oliver covers with a smirk and Barry tilts his head at him, uncertain.

“I thought that was a joke. I tried it and it did nothing,” Barry confesses and Oliver stares at the other man, positively aghast.

“Do the alphabet right now,” Oliver demands, crossing his arms in front of himself. Barry frowns at him doubtfully. 

“What just… sitting here just do it?” 

“I hate myself for this but yes. I need to be thorough. Show me.” 

The ensuing display would send Oliver into paroxysms of laughter if it wasn’t so damn tragic. No wonder Barry’s only at four - Oliver’s never seen so many teeth, so little tongue, and so much frightening lip movement in his entire life. 

“So to clarify: you went to public school?” Oliver questions and Barry pauses somewhere around what Oliver believes is supposed to be the letter ‘M’ to fix Oliver with a confused stare. 

“Umm… yeah, why?” 

“Public school failed you if you think that sad display in any way resembled the alphabet,” Oliver announces crisply, prompting Barry to cross his arms in front of him and glare at Oliver. 

“You know, you can be a real dick sometimes, Oliver.” 

“I’m aware. But you’d do well to remember that I’m the dick with the personal best of seven, Barry.” 

“SEVEN?!” Barry yelps, looking so crushed that Oliver almost feels bad. Almost. But not quite. But recalling Felicity’s warning to play nice, Oliver decides to lie and soften the blow. 

“Well… not all in one day,” he amends and Barry seems slightly mollified by this. And technically it’s not a lie - half of those seven occurred before midnight, the other half after midnight. Two separate days. 

But all definitely in the same night. Oliver also fails to mention that the seven was just seven distinct sessions - each session included stacking one on top of the other. But he can’t tell Barry that. It would be too much for the guy to handle on a good night, let alone now, when he’s found out just how positively bad he is at this. 

“But Oliver how do you know when you’ve done it right?” 

“Rest assured, Barry when you find it? You will know.” 

Sweet, merciful silence falls between the two men, and Oliver takes the opportunity to escape to the bar. He trades in his flight of whiskey for a very healthy glass of his favorite of the sampled whiskies, opting for the oaky one he tried first. Up until nearly inhaling it and dying, it really wasn’t a bad drink. 

He returns to find Barry still mulling something over and Oliver’s honestly a little scared of what will come out of this man’s mouth next. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he doesn’t have to sit in suspense waiting for long.

“Oliver… do you think I could get to four in one night?” Barry queries at last and Oliver has to hide his face in his glass as he takes a swig to buy himself a moment to think. Felicity said he had to play nice with Barry. Do metaphorical arrows count the same as physical ones? Because telling Barry the truth that no, he doesn’t have a prayer of getting Iris off four times in a night, is probably going to be an arrow through the guy’s heart.

Better safe than sorry.

“If you start paying some damn attention you might,” Oliver offers and this is honestly the most positive response he can manage, all things considered. 

Barry doesn’t stand a chance of hitting four in a night. Or in a day. Honestly, Oliver would be amazed if the guy hit four in a week at this rate. Poor Iris. 

-----

“Okay but Iris… I have to ask and I’m sorry if this sounds crass but… why would you marry Barry if you knew the sex was that bad?” Felicity questions as delicately as she can. She’s nearing the end of her second rather full glass of wine and contemplating a third so the walls? They’ve long since come down.

This is an all hands on deck situation. Iris is a woman on the brink of losing it - and not in a good way. 

By way of response, Iris shifts in her seat, looking suddenly even more dour. “I mean… I know he loves me? And he’s there for me. He’s always calling me his ‘lightning rod’-” Felicity inwardly cringes at this but outwardly nods and motions for Iris to go on, “and I guess I just thought… maybe eventually… I don’t know. Maybe some of that ‘thunder and lightning’ would find its way… elsewhere …” Iris trails off with a shrug and Felicity can’t help the pity she feels for Iris.

“Oh, Iris,” Felicity murmurs, reaching a hand across the table to cover one of Iris’.

“I knowww,” Iris groans back, giving her head a sharp shake. “Not my most accurate assumption.”

Not very accurate at all. And for the record? Felicity has absolutely never understood this whole ‘lightning rod’ business between Barry and Iris, or how that equates to a romantic notion. But then again, her husband is the kind of man who tells her that no matter what, she’s the love of his life - and that that will never change. Call her old fashioned, but that’s the sort of thing that makes her heart sing. Being compared to a metal pole? ...Not so much.

“Well Doctor Felicity, any suggestions for what I should do?” Iris asks weakly and Felicity tilts her head to the side as she surveys the other woman, a little puzzled. 

“I’m a doctor now, am I?” 

“I’m hoping you can be a love doctor and get my love life on track.” On track. Not ‘back on track’ because from the sounds of it, these two have never been on the right track in all the time they’ve been together. Yeesh. 

“Iris I’m going to be honest with you. It sounds to me like this is mostly on him. You have to tell him because - and I say this with no malice - it really sounds like he doesn’t have a clue. But aside from communicating about it? I mean… I don’t know. I’m not the best judge here-”

“-I would argue you absolutely are the best judge here,” Iris interrupts and Felicity blushes but carries on.

“Oliver always enjoys himself. And whenever anything is said about it? He calls it his job and says that it’s and I quote ‘an honor and a privilege to serve’,” Felicity only narrowly stifles the giggle bubbling up in her throat as she recounts the words he’s said to her on a number of occasions. Usually right as he’s about to perform said ‘service’. 

“Stop it.  He refers to it as his job?” 

“Mhmm. Proudly. And it is a job he does very well.” 

“So you’ve mentioned.” 

“Oliver is the best at his job. He is the boss of his job. He is the CEO, CFO, and COO. He is a Baron - no, a Duke. Actually no. An Earl. Oh fuck it, he’s a King. The King, actually,” Felicity carries on, her enthusiasm building. 

“Oliver The Orgasm King,” Iris chimes in and Felicity half snorts and half laughs, amused at how accurate this actually feels. 

“The Orgasm Czar,” she amends with a waggle of her brows, plenty tipsy enough to not give a fuck how ridiculous this probably sounds. Nor does she care how quickly this conversation has devolved. 

-----

As it turns out, trying to help Barry has proved more exhausting than Oliver had thought it might be. Never, in all his years, has he met a man so hopelessly lost. Granted, he hasn’t really given a fuck about what other guys were doing before now - admittedly, other guys tanking in this department has, previously been to his advantage. But nowadays, Oliver is a happily married, settled man with no interest in anyone other than his wife. So he can afford to be generous in his advice. 

That being said Barry? Yeah. Oliver’s on the verge of writing him off as a lost cause. 

“Barry for someone that runs his mouth as much as you have tonight, you seem to be missing one of its most important uses,” Oliver growls after yet another roundabout conversation where he has had to point blank tell Barry to use his goddamn mouth. 

He’d tell him to use his brain but at this point Oliver’s starting to doubt that Barry has a brain for anything outside of CSI work and STAR Labs stuff. Good freaking grief. 

“I just… thought that there was a lot less mouth involved in all of this-” Barry begins, only for Oliver to make a strangled noise of exasperation.

“Barry!”

“And tongue! And tongue!” Barry amends, having already sat through a stern lecture on the importance of using not just one’s mouth but also one’s tongue. “I just… I always imagined there’d be… less of that.” 

“Someone clearly didn’t get the memo that French Kissing was just the start,” Oliver scoffs and Barry swallows thickly, not saying anything. “Barry, your mouth and your tongue are some of your greatest weapons. Learn to use them, damn it. I use mine all the damn time,” Oliver points out and Barry’s features crease into a doubtful expression.

Why this twerp is still doubting him is beyond Oliver. But now he’s gonna twist the knife. 

“Barry, you may have noticed I typically am not a big talker,” Oliver begins and Barry rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m keenly aware you’re not a man of many words.” 

“There’s a number of reasons for that. But if I’m going to use my mouth for anything, I’m damned sure going to prioritize using it to eat out my wife,” Oliver announces crisply and Barry freezes, picking up the proud note in Oliver’s voice. Barry is downright frozen in shock when Oliver pushes onward, unable to help the smug sense of pride he feels. “Now Barry. Let’s discuss your pillow situation,” Oliver counsels and Barry leans back in his chair, flummoxed. 

“M-My pillow situation?” 

“Yeah. You’re going to want good support for your neck while you’re putting these new moves on Iris. Of course, that’s assuming that she’s sitting on your face…”

-----

“Stop it. How is that even possible to do with one human tongue?” 

“I don’t know Iris but he does it and I swear, I see stars every time,” Felicity confirms seriously, brightening as a thought occurs to her. “Oh! Have you tried asking Barry to do the alphabet trick? That’s supposed to help!” 

“Oh girl, I gave up on that a long time ago. It’s like that little brainiac forgets what letters are the moment he goes down south because none of that,” Iris gestures towards Felicity, referencing her description of Oliver’s prowess, “-is happening. Trust me. I would kill for one fraction of what you’ve got going on over there. Heck, at this point I would kill for one third of the alphabet,” Iris dismisses with a wave and Felicity tuts quietly as she gives her wine glass a little shake, watching as the wine within swirls up the inside of the glass prettily. 

“So then, Iris… when it actually happens for you - is it just him that’s done it, or have you had to… help things along? Are you even thinking of him?” Felicity inquires, only for Iris to lay her head on the table top with a noise somewhere between a pained groan and a quiet wail and well, there’s Felicity’s answer. Nope. Iris has to help things along. Good gravy. 

“My sex life is officially dead, isn’t it? It is. It’s deceased. There’s no salvaging this, is there?” Iris whimpers from her vantage, head down on the table and Felicity quietly reaches forward to pat her shoulder. 

“Maybe he can be trained. Is there a ‘Sex for Dummies’ book? Because sweetie, I will buy him multiple copies if that’s what it takes to help you. And as for you? Yeah, we need to get you a vibrator because if you haven’t worn one out by now, you’re gonna before this is fixed.” 

At this Iris lifts her head off the table a bit, eyeing Felicity hopefully. “Do you have recommendations for good ones?” 

“Oh, I haven’t used one since before Oliver and I started dating; the man is better than any toy. Trust me when I say he’s done things that I didn’t even think were possible,” Felicity remarks proudly before she can catch herself and the dying whale noise that Iris emits quickly reminds Felicity that, tipsy or no, she’s dealing with a very fragile creature in Iris right now. “Oh Iris, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to rub it in,” Felicity rushes, only for Iris to sit up and hold a hand aloft between them, halting her. 

“Do not apologize. I imagine he’s worth every word of praise.” 

Inwardly, Felicity thinks to herself that no actually, Iris couldn’t possibly imagine just how deserving Oliver is of every word. But saying that aloud would definitely be too much for Iris to take. The poor girl has already endured a lot learning just how abysmal things truly are in her marriage bed. 

“He’s worth all of it and more,” Felicity assures with a soft smile, unable to help the soft glow she feels anytime she thinks about the amazing man Oliver is, the amazing father, husband, teammate, brother, leader, and friend. 

And also what an amazing lover he is. Because hot damn. 

And then - perhaps because the wine has emboldened her - Felicity suddenly offers up another tasty tidbit. “As a matter of fact, he’s worth at least three beds, a couch, and one very expensive futon,” Felicity grins, only to brighten a moment later. “Oh! And a bathtub.”  

Iris stops dead, her wine glass frozen partway to her mouth as she stares at Felicity. “Stop it. That’s not real. You haven’t broken that many things.” 

Felicity chuckles. “Oh it is absolutely real. We’ve been banned from ever staying at the Ritz again because of the state of our room when we left,” Felicity cackles and Iris’s disbelief, if possible, grows deeper.

“You’re joking. I mean, I know you’re not but oh my gosh. Spill. ” 

Felicity grins at Iris, pausing long enough to pop one of the focaccia pieces into her mouth, recalling the Ritz stay and the resultant bills they’d been charged. “Let’s just say that after a very unfortunate but unavoidable incident involving some - in my opinion - rather flimsy feather down pillows and duvets, and a poorly constructed shower head… We were asked to patronize other establishments in the future instead of the Ritz.”

For a moment, Felicity fears she’s broken Iris. The other woman is staring at her, unmoving, seemingly not even breathing, for an inordinately long period of time. 

“I’m sorry… Are you saying he ripped a shower head out of the wall? Aren’t they like… welded into place? How? How did he do that?”  

But Felicity hasn’t heard Iris; she’s just reliving the actual experience in flashes of memory and oh wow wow wow. Yeah. That… That needs to happen again. What time is it? Has it been an hour? Felicity is suddenly so flushed, she decides she doesn’t give a damn what time it is. 

She wants her husband and she wants him now, damn it. 

“Sorry Iris I just… God I was reliving it. That… that was a good night,” Felicity explains in a faraway voice, licking her lips as the memories keep coming and good lord. That night was one for the history books alright. “You’ve seen his arms, right?” Felicity queries and Iris nods with a glazed expression that Felicity knows all too well; that’s the same look she generally has anytime Oliver does the salmon ladder. 

“Yes. Yes I have.” 

“Then Iris? You know how he did it.” Fanning herself off with a napkin, Felicity rifles through her purse for her phone because much though she would love to help Iris because yes, the poor dear deserves better, she’s fairly certain that exalting Oliver’s capabilities isn’t going to help Iris’ situation any. But it is getting Felicity rather hot and bothered. Honestly, she was feeling riled up before remembering the details of the Ritz night. But now, having recalled them? 

God. She needs to get her hands on her husband as soon as possible. Tapping quickly at her phone screen, Felicity pulls up Oliver’s contact and does her level best to send off a not alarming but still adequately urgent message. 

Felicity Smoak:
Time’s up. I’m calling it an hour. Get your butt over here, Queen. The sooner we get outta here, the sooner we can do the thing with the scarves…

She doesn’t have long to wait for his reply. The ellipses pop up almost instantly upon receipt of her message and in short order, his response appears in their text conversation.

Oliver Queen:
Don’t move. I’m on my way. ETA five minutes or less.

Felicity can’t help but grin at her phone before she stuffs it back into her purse and withdraws her wallet, flagging down the waiter to pass him her card. 

“Can we get the check, please?” Felicity queries, only to turn back to Iris, who is starting to weakly protest. “My treat, I insist. I think we’ve exhausted this subject and I’ll be honest Iris… I need to take my husband home. Now.” 

To her credit, Iris nods, looking both jealous but also awed. “No, absolutely. I get it. Trust me, I’d do the same thing in your shoes,” she sighs with a wistful little shake of her head. Felicity reaches across the table to give her friend’s hand an encouraging squeeze. 

“Don’t worry. The vibrators nowadays? They’re pretty incredible. We’ll get you set up with the best reviewed ones we can find.” 

Iris huffs a near silent laugh and then shakes her head once more. “Thanks, Felicity. For the drinks and… the talking. I appreciate you listening and all of your uh… ‘sharing’,” Iris intones as the waiter returns with Felicity’s card and the receipt. She adds on the tip and signs quickly, admiring not for the first time the looping addition to her signature that still sends a little thrill through her every time she sees it. 

Felicity Smoak Queen. 

She’s always thankful for having found and fallen in love with Oliver. But after a night like tonight? She’s exceedingly extra grateful that her husband is a man as focused (if not more so) on her pleasure as he is on his own.

A true man. A gentleman. A king.

Oh no wait. She’d settled on Czar. That’s right. A true Czar. A god among mortals. 

She’s spiraling off topic again isn’t she? Yes. She is. She’s rambling in her own thoughts. Which might be disconcerting to someone else but at this point, Felicity is so accustomed to her rambling ways, she just rolls with it. She’s only torn from her runaway thought train by the sound of a familiar, warm voice beside her, sounding positively feline. 

“Did you two ladies have a nice evening?” Oliver’s voice is practically a purr and Felicity’s eyes lift slowly, tracing across his figure appreciatively. His hands are stuffed in his pockets in an attempt at nonchalance but Felicity can see the tension in the lines of his carriage. If she were to hazard a guess? His hands are in his pockets so he doesn’t just grab her and drag her out of here without a word of goodbye. 

Her eyes linger at this level and she is sorely tempted to reach out and grab at his backside because damn it. She likes his ass. And she likes how it looks in the slacks he’s currently wearing. But instead, she bites her lip and reins herself in. Down girl. They’re still in public. But her heart rate is already picking up tempo. Her gaze lingers a moment longer at his lower half before she drags her eyes up his body, appreciating the clean figure Oliver cuts in the button up shirt he chose to wear. His arms are downright droolworthy, with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, showing off his forearms just so. The breadth of his chest holds her attention for another moment before she finally brings her eyes to his face, the perfect amount of scruff on his cheeks and the length of his hair - hot as hell and just the right amount to make grabbing him by the back of the head an easy activity.

Good thing too. Something tells her that she’ll definitely be doing that tonight. 

Her breathing is ragged as their eyes meet and she can see the way his eyes are glittering as he stares at her, looking like a perfect mirror for what she’s feeling - turned on, eager, and enthused. Smiling widely, Felicity slips off of her chair and onto her feet, wrapping one arm around his middle before rising onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, even though everything in her is screaming at her to suck on his ear.

Oh god. She needs to get him out of here pronto. 

“Well, we hate to cut and run but my mom is with the kids and we should really be going,” Felicity explains hurriedly, even as Iris winks at her as she rises to her feet and gives Felicity a quick one armed hug. 

“Thanks for drinks. We’ll have to do this again soon,” Iris hints pointedly and yes. Right. They need to get Iris a vibrator. Or twelve. Felicity is so far gone at this point, she honestly doesn’t care. She’ll buy Iris a sex toy shop at this point if that’s what will get her and Oliver out of this bar and to someplace private so she can have her way with him. After a hurried goodbye, the two couples part and Felicity practically drags Oliver out of the bar, entirely missing the good natured wink Iris sends her way as she and Barry depart. 

There is one thing on Felicity’s mind right now and one thing only. And it isn’t Girls’ Night. 

“Someone’s eager,” Oliver comments with a wicked little chuckle and Felicity shoots him a look over her shoulder. 

“And someone was very quick to respond to my text message,” Felicity volleys back, prompting Oliver to grin unabashedly. 

“Well yes. But in fairness, I was stuck giving Barry sex tips. I was about ready to rip my own ears off,” he explains and Felicity actually comes to a standstill mid stride to look at her husband in surprise. 

“You’re joking.” 

“I wish that I were.” 

“Iris was asking me how often I have to fake it with you. Because by her count, Barry’s only ever gotten her off two times,” Felicity confesses, prompting Oliver to raise a brow at her. 

“Two times? He told me four,” Oliver remarks and Felicity grimaces.

“She faked it the other two times,” Felicity informs Oliver, prompting him to whistle lowly. Then, after a beat, Oliver clears his throat. “...And what was your answer to Iris’ question?” Oliver inquires with single minded focus. Felicity snorts and slides the hand wrapped around his waist down lower, grabbing at his rear playfully. 

“I told her the truth. That I’ve never had to fake it with you,” Felicity grins, delighting in how Oliver’s eyes sparkle and his smile grows toothy and wide.

“Never?”

“Not once,” Felicity returns in a whisper as Oliver bends to capture her lips in his. It’s a heated kiss that quickly tries to build to more but it can’t. Not yet. They’re not in a place to do any of the many, many things she’s been picturing doing to and with him since they parted. 

“Do you feel like getting kicked out of another hotel?” Felicity asks breathlessly and Oliver’s answering growl assures her that yes, he most certainly is. 

‘With you? Always.” 

“What’s the closest hotel to us?” Felicity gasps against his lips as he draws away from her and Oliver pants as his eyes dart to and fro as he wracks his brain.

“Umm… There’s a Waldorf Astoria around the block?” 

“We’re going there. We’re going there now,” Felicity hums and Oliver nods, stepping back from her but offering her his hand as they make their way not to the car, but instead to the nearest (and also the swankiest) hotel in the downtown area. On the way, Felicity shoots her mom a text. Donna, ever the dutiful (see: overjoyed) grandmother, has been watching William and Mia. A quick text exchange confirms that yes, Donna would be delighted to spend the night with the kids while Felicity and Oliver stay in the city and as easily as that, all bets are off. 

Felicity has the entire night before her to break every single one of their personal records. And she intends to make tonight one that goes down in history. The walk to the hotel feels interminable and the check in process? Prolonged. By the time they’re in the elevator riding up to their room, every one of her nerve endings is on fire with expectation.

The door to their room barely has the time to close behind them before Felicity’s on Oliver, pulling his shirt away from his well muscled chest so she can run her hands over him appreciatively. A moment later she’s tugging down his pants and he quickly dispenses of her dress. As they kiss passionately, she can feel his fingers hook around her underwear and draw them down her legs and she hums delightedly, only for him to pause, the heat momentarily gone. 

“Felicity… We don’t have any condoms,” Oliver murmurs dejectedly against her lips and Felicity whimpers as he draws away from her slightly so he can stare down at her inquiringly. 

“Oh no you don’t. I don’t care. Get back here,” Felicity nearly growls, giving one of his tree trunk arms a tug to haul him back. 

“Are you sure?” Oliver inquires with a raised brow and Felicity makes a soft little snarling noise. 

“Oliver I have spent the better part of the last hour reliving Nanda Parbat and the Ritz, the day we made Mia, not to mention all of your many, many moves. Do not ask me to wait another minute. I don’t care if we have condoms or not - I want you and I want you now.” 

Her voice is low even to her own ears and she can see a shiver race through Oliver as the sound of her voice hits him. She can see how it affects him too - the way his eyes darken and the not so subtle twitch in his boxers. He hesitates for the tiniest of nanoseconds and then he’s hauling her up into his arms with one hand while he shucks off his boxers with the other and in short order, he’s got her against the wall and screaming out his name. She falls apart in his arms in remarkably short order and Oliver isn’t far behind her - it’s clear that they’ve both spent the better part of the preceding hour positively hot and bothered just thinking about getting their hands on each other. 

Felicity leans forward to rest her head against Oliver as he keeps holding her against the wall, and laughter bubbles up within her before she can stop herself. “Oh my god. And that, my love, is why you are the Orgasm Czar,” Felicity announces with a giggle as she presses soft kisses against his shoulder. His hands tighten their grip on her minutely and he arches away from her to look at her with a self satisfied smile. 

“I’m sorry… I’m the what now?!” 

Felicity’s nose crinkles with delight at his reaction and she can’t help but beam as she curls one arm behind his neck, her fingers playing with the tips of his hair. “I may or may not have waxed poetic about your many, many talents. Including how you take my satisfaction very seriously every time that we’re together. I told Iris that you consider it your job to ensure that I am always very happy. And you do your job very well. I bounced around a lot of titles for you - CEO. CFO. COO. Baron. Duke. King. I ultimately settled on Orgasm Czar though. It felt right,” she chuckles even as she leans forward to press a sharp kiss to his lips, even as he blinks at her, happily dazed. 

“I’m a-okay with that title,” he informs her with a smirk. 

“I thought you just might be,” Felicity agrees a little breathlessly. They kiss again before Oliver sets her back down and she tows him towards the bathroom with a playful wink and some idle chatter about cleaning up. But a half hour later, absolutely no ‘cleaning up’ has transpired, though they have managed to play with every setting on the adjustable, pulsating shower head. Felicity is already riled up again (did she ever stop feeling riled up after the first time? She doesn’t think so) when she kisses Oliver heatedly beneath the warm spray of water. Felicity loves so many aspects of her physical relationship with Oliver ( so many ). But one of the many things she loves? Is how kissing him feels simultaneously warm and welcoming and familiar but also exciting and thrilling, like it’s the first time every time. 

As they part and the water beads down their faces, Felicity runs her thumb over his cheekbones with a happy hum, the laughter welling up within her chest once more. 

“You keep going like this and we’re going to break another shower head,” Felicity eggs him on teasingly and Oliver wags his brows at her good naturedly. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time… and probably wouldn’t be the last either, if we’re being honest.” 

“I vote that we keep ripping shower heads off of walls. I happen to enjoy our athleticism, even if the Ritz didn’t,” Felicity teases and Oliver flashes her a wide smile. 

“And your vote is the only one that counts.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Felicity murmurs as her hands trace across Oliver’s abdomen, her fingers tickling along the grooves of his muscled physique with delight. Suddenly, she freezes, her eyes growing round as coins and her smile turning positively feline. “If mine is the only vote, then I move to vote you in as President right now, Oliver,” Felicity remarks, positively ecstatic now. 

“...You lost me, babe,” Oliver confesses and Felicity rises onto the tips of her toes so she can nuzzle at his face before she nips playfully at his lower lip. 

“You heard me, Oliver. I’m voting for you for President… Pussy President,” she amends, her eyes sparkling wickedly as understanding dawns in Oliver’s eyes and he spins them so that now she’s the one pressed against the shower wall in a move so fluid and fast that she squeals. His thumbs rub comforting little circles at her hips as he sinks down to his knees before her, still grinning as he goes. 

“Tell me, Felicity, do I have your vote?” Oliver queries. Before Felicity can respond she feels her body spasm as Oliver gets to work and in very short order Felicity is bracing herself against the shower walls, unable to help but cry out the word she knows he wants to hear. 

“YES! Oh my frak Oliver, YES!” 

And just like that she can feel her whole body give itself over to the wracking waves of pleasure as he sends her spiraling into bliss, crying out as she goes. When he draws himself back up onto his feet before her, he kisses her thoroughly before murmuring against her lips. “Looks like I’ve been reelected for another term,” he chortles and Felicity’s eyes snap open brightly. 

“You will be reelected every term,” she huffs, feeling utterly spent in the most delightful of ways. “Incumbent indefinitely. I’m never voting you out of office. Ever.” 

“Good. Yours is the only vote that matters,” he chimes in sweetly. They leave the shower no cleaner than when they enter it, but they both delight in toweling each other dry and then cuddling on the floor in front of the room’s rather sizable fireplace. 

Cuddling, as it often is with them, is accompanied by conversation. Which returns back to the night’s earlier events. 

“You lied to Barry about your record?” Felicity repeats in shock and Oliver winces. 

“The truth felt too mean to say,” Oliver confesses and Felicity nods as she sits in front of Oliver between his legs, reclining against his chest. 

“You’re right. He’s working on just getting one. Hearing your real record would have destroyed him.”

“And I was given explicit instructions from you not to put any arrows in him this time,” Oliver teases, pressing a kiss to the back of her head as he continues holding her close.  

“That’s true, you were,” Felicity nods, thinking back to her time with Iris and she can’t help but wince. “I’m afraid I put some metaphorical arrows through Iris tonight. She was looking for someone to commiserate with and instead, I was basically gloating about you being a sex god,” Felicity confesses and she feels Oliver’s laughter vibrate his chest. 

“How positively evil of you,” he teases and Felicity snorts. 

“You didn’t see how sad she was when I told her about that thing you do with my leg,” Felicity informs him and Oliver stills beneath her, only for him to slowly shift so he’s no longer behind her. He comes up in front of her and gently pushes her down on the floor, his hands tickling up her thigh and along her leg. 

“You mean this leg thing?” Oliver clarifies, continuing to tickle at her and Felicity bites her lower lip and shakes her head, keenly aware of how he’s toying with her and loving every moment of it. 

“No.” 

“Did you mean this leg thing?” he carries on, pulling the towel away from her body even as he shucks aside his own. Felicity quivers as his hands both come to curve behind her knees, tickling the sensitive skin there and she shakes her head, a little breathless as she speaks this time.

“N-No,” she stammers, her heart rate beginning to pick up as she waits for what’s coming. Oliver doesn’t keep her waiting long - another minute and he’s got her shaking before him until he moves her leg precisely the way that she loves and the world splinters and shatters around her. 

“Oh God, Oliver,” Felicity gasps when he lays down beside her shortly after, grinning like a fiend. She scoots close to him and presses a kiss to his lips before she curls against his side, happy to be the little spoon to his big. 

“That leg thing?” Oliver queries with faux innocence and she can’t help the whoop of laughter she lets out at this. 

“Yes, that one,” Felicity confirms as she gulps for air beside him. He is absolutely earning his titles tonight. God bless him. 

They lay panting in each other’s arms for a time until Oliver grows suddenly quiet and contemplative. “Felicity… you didn’t tell Iris about the thing that I do with the ice cubes, did you?” 

A sharp, sudden thrill runs up her spine and Felicity can’t help but tremble appreciatively at the memories. “Oh god no, she looked sad enough as it was when I told her about the thing you do with my leg. I didn’t have the heart to tell her about the ice cube trick.” 

“Good call.” 

They’re quiet for a few moments, enjoying the quiet comforts of each other’s embrace before Felicity pipes up. “We’re doing the ice cube thing tonight, right?” God she hopes so. Oliver snorts, his embrace of her tightening. 

“I left word at the desk when we checked in that we’d want ice cubes and champagne delivered in a couple hours.” 

“God I love you,” Felicity mutters, turning her face to press a quick kiss to his lips. Silence falls between them then as Felicity relishes the slow return of her senses as her body comes down off of the high he’s chased her to in such a short time period. After some thought though, Felicity breaks the silence. “Did you tell Barry how you stack them one on top of the other so it’s like one never-ending orgasm?” She’s quite a big fan of Oliver’s ability to do that. It’s unlike anything she’s ever experienced with prior partners and uh yeah. Safe to say she’s a fan. 

“He can’t even get one, babe. I think if I had told him about that? His brain might have exploded.” 

“Fair enough,” Felicity exhales, snuggling closer to Oliver. Just as they’re both relaxing and settling down though, Felicity sighs. “Oliver… I told Iris about the Ritz.” 

He’s silent for a moment but she can tell from the tension in his body that he’s definitely not asleep. “...You didn’t.” 

“I did.” 

“Felicity, she’s in a several year long dry spell and you told her about the Ritz?!” Oliver’s disbelief is palpable and Felicity almost feels guilty as she rolls over to face him, laying a gentle hand on his chest. 

“I know but she seemed so sad and I just thought maybe it would give her a few ideas to help her spice things up with Barry. I thought that might help them get number five,” Felicity explains and Oliver can’t help but let out a quiet huff of laughter. 

“Oh Felicity. I don’t think a relationship that vanilla can handle any spice. Definitely nothing as spicy as the Ritz,” he points out and Felicity nods in grudging agreement. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Silence falls between the two for a moment and then Felicity lifts her eyes to find his already on her, studying her intently. “Promise me that we will never turn that vanilla, Oliver.” 

“We couldn’t be that vanilla if we wanted to be, babe.” 

“Good point. Now, you know what we need to do?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Test the durability of the Waldorf Astoria’s furniture. What piece should we try out first?” Felicity delights in the way Oliver’s cheeks dimple and his eyes flash with enthusiasm as he glances around the room before settling on the bed. 

“I think the headboard needs some inspecting. Then the chaise lounge,” he confirms with a nod, leaping to his feet and tugging her up alongside him. She’s scarcely up before he scoops her into his arms and carries her to the bed, his intentions clear. In short order, he sets her on the edge of the bed while he drops to his knees on the floor next to her. Felicity barely has time to take a breath before Oliver’s hands are on her thighs and good lord. Felicity loves the alphabet. The alphabet is amazing when Oliver recites it this way. Mhmm. 

She flings her head back, hooking her ankles around him as he does his work, proving yet again why he’s the CEO of what he does. In no time at all, she’s spinning out in bliss. But unlike the last few times, Oliver doesn’t let her go over the edge and then leave her to bask in it. This time he keeps at it and ultimately, it’s like one prolonged, never ending orgasm. Her pleasure comes in waves that build, one after the other and she’s gasping for air when she gets so lightheaded that she falls back on the mattress, barely conscious.

Yep. That settles it. Oliver has nearly orgasmed her unconscious. God he’s good. 

“Felicity?!” Oliver murmurs as he draws himself up onto the mattress and stretches out alongside her. She twitches feebly, her whole body feeling like a livewire as her nerve endings spark sensitively. She doesn’t have the energy to form words, barely awake as she is so she simply hums a quiet noise of response as he draws her against his body and holds her close. 

“Break time?” Oliver queries with a chuckle and she has just enough energy to give him the faintest of nods before she passes out, still high on this last, most sensational of climaxes. 

Felicity isn’t sure how long she’s out for but when she wakes some time later, she’s still safe and content in her husband’s arms. Oliver’s eyes are tender and watchful and as she stirs, he smiles down at her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and then another to the tip of her nose. 

“Hello there beautiful,” he whispers and Felicity smiles, turning in his embrace so they’re face to face. 

“Hey there yourself, handsome.” 

“I’m sorry if I overdid it there,” he apologizes quietly and Felicity tenses up, her eyes flashing open wide as she eyes him in alarm.

“Baby, overkill is what we do. And that? That was toe curlingly perfect,” she assures him, grabbing him by the chin as she nuzzles his face with hers before kissing him sweetly. The kiss quickly leads to more and eventually they come together again, moving in time with each other with the sort of practice ease that illustrates just how compatible they are and how well versed they are in one another’s bodies and preferences. Though this time they’re more tender and gentler, Felicity finds herself spiraling just as hard (if not harder) as she has already several times this night and she’s seeing stars by the time they both cry out in release a little while later. Before she can even catch her breath though, Oliver is already chasing her next orgasm, a smile on his face.

“Pass me a pillow,” Oliver instructs her with a wild gleam in his eyes and Felicity complies without question, laughing as Oliver kisses his way down her body with reckless abandon. 

God she loves him. And she also loves them shattering every personal record they have as the night progresses in a series of mind blowing climaxes. Seven goes out the window. And so does a lamp that gets knocked aside during one particularly vigorous interlude. Suffice to say, the track record with hotels that they started with the Ritz? Yeah, it is going to remain firmly intact after tonight. 

-----

Four months later…

-----

Iris comes home to find Barry’s already gotten the mail. She peruses the stack of letters idly, mostly bills and junk mail. One envelope in particular, however, stands out to her. It’s written in Felicity’s familiar, looping hand and it’s addressed specifically to Iris - not Barry & Iris, the way most of the Chrismukkah cards and birthday cards they receive from Felicity & Oliver are. Interesting. 

Iris takes the envelope from the stack and, seeing that Barry is otherwise occupied, she slips into her home office to tear into the mystery envelope. She withdraws a beautiful glossy photo card, with a picture of Oliver holding Felicity from behind on one side and the words ‘We’re Expecting!’ emblazoned on a banner being pulled by a stork on the other side. A small snapshot of a grainy black and white ultrasound image is featured in the lower left corner and the whole thing is tasteful and adorable in true Felicity fashion. 

As Iris inspects the announcement, another, smaller envelope falls out of the bigger one and she stoops to pick it up. Turning it over, she sees her name written on the back and she opens this too, curious. Inside is a folded note, which Iris quickly opens and skims over carefully. 

Iris - 

Well… by now you know our news! Are you surprised? We were. And we have you to thank for this little bundle of joy. Remember Girls’ Night? As you’ll recall, we had a rather… ‘personal’ discussion that night and well, when Oliver and I left, we were feeling, shall we say ‘inspired’? We couldn’t even wait long enough to get home (or long enough to go to the corner store for condoms). One night at the Waldorf and a shattered personal record and a broken shower head, window, lamp, and chaise lounge later and here we are! Nonstop morning sickness and tender boobs. What can I say? Pregnancy is glamorous. 

(For the record? Mia never made me feel this awful. I was convinced this one was going to be a boy but we did a fetal DNA test on my blood and wouldn’t you know it? Looks like we’ve got another girl on our hands. We’re between a couple names - we like Ada as a nickname but we’re still undecided between Adaline, Adelaide, and Addison for the full name, though admittedly the last is a bit of a stretch. Keep that quiet though, Oliver wants to do a gender reveal. What a SAP!) 

Anyway - just wanted to let you know that you’ve got a package chock full of trashy romance novels (hand picked by yours truly - all with 5 star Amazon reviews) coming your way next week. And I am going to insist YET AGAIN on sending you a list of top rated vibrators (see enclosed). Do yourself a favor girl and get one. You deserve it. Then take one of your trashy new novels and your vibrator, tell Barry to make himself scarce (or tell him to join you!) and have yourself a good night. 

All our love,

Felicity + the Womb Squatter

Iris chuckles as she folds up the note and stuffs it into her pocket, glimpsing once more at the pregnancy announcement. She’s more than a little curious just what exactly Oliver & Felicity’s night at the Waldorf must have entailed. But then again, given what Felicity revealed during that Girls’ Night, she can at least vaguely imagine.

Her attention wanders momentarily as Barry knocks on the door before he leans against the doorframe, flashing her a smile. 

“Hey! What have you got there?” 

Iris flips the card for him to see and walks closer to him, smiling in return. “It’s from Oliver and Felicity.” 

“They’re pregnant again?!” Barry remarks in surprise, reaching out to grab the announcement with wide eyes. 

“Honestly, I think it’s a miracle Felicity isn’t always pregnant, the way those two go at it,” Iris remarks, shaking her head in awe. The Queens are on a level Iris isn’t sure she could even begin to dream of. 

But maybe with some help from Felicity’s carefully selected trashy romance novels and toys… perhaps Iris can dream about having that vigorous of a sex life. Or at the very least, she can fantasize.