Chapter Text
The blood was pounding in his veins as the Hood strode to the foundry door prepared to put the fear of God into Ken Williams. He grabbed the cold metal handle, pulled… and met resistance.
He tugged again with muscles primed for violence. Nothing.
He reentered the master code. Nothing.
Even Diggle didn't know how to trigger a complete lockdown of the system, which could only mean...
“Felicity!”
He saw her jump at the barking of her name, her blonde curls bouncing against her red cardigan.
“Did you just –”
“– computer override your lock?” She glanced down as she twirled in her chair, only meeting his eyes at last with a wince and the tilt of her head that normally put a smile on his lips. She conceded, “Maybe a little.”
This made no sense.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, forcing himself to relax as Dig approached from the training area.
Felicity squirmed in her seat as she beseeched him on behalf of Williams and his 10 year-old son. As if he would hurt the boy or do lasting damage to the father, as if he couldn't make a call in the field, as if it was her place to dictate where he aimed his arrows. Oliver glanced at Diggle, who only shrugged.
Then she made an appeal that he couldn't ignore. “Has it ever occurred to you, you could do some real good in this city,” she asked. Her eyes were a wide, innocent blue as her pink lips continued with derision, “beyond just recovering people's stock portfolios and their savings accounts.”
Exactly why did she think he was doing this? He wasn't throwing money around like some trust-fund brat or running a neighborhood watch. He'd thought she could see that. What he did mattered. His father's list mattered.
Oliver leaned into her space, one hand on her near armrest, the other hand deft upon her keyboard as he unlocked the system. Her breath feathered across his Adam's apple, but he ignored it.
Purposely intimidating, he whispered low, “You're not the only one who knows how to reboot my system.” He stared at her intently, willing her to break.
She blinked and shook her head before saying, “I made a mistake.”
Of course, it was a mistake to get in his way. She needed to understand, to comply, to support his mission. He still held her caged, a hand on either side, hovering so close that he could smell the sweet scent of her hair. A part of him watched the Hood assert his dominance, waiting for Felicity to crumble or deflate and lose that spark that made her call him out to his face. He didn't want her to lose it, but the mission was more important. And right now, the mission required Felicity Smoak to do as he expected.
He growled, “Getting in my way? I don't disagree.”
“No!” She pushed into his space, and he pulled back in surprise. She was standing, pushing back her chair until it rattled the desk behind her. Her skirt hissed along his leather-clad thigh as they each refused to give further ground. Brazenly, Felicity declared her mistake had been signing on with him. Her small chin jutted out in defiance, bringing her words closer to him.
She shifted, as if to leave, but he held fast to the armrest and desk, holding her gaze.
“Dig, will you give us a minute?” Oliver ground out, his voice deepening with each utterance, never breaking contact with Felicity.
Diggle hummed a “Mm-hum,” as he crossed to the stairs to Verdant. He muttered something under his breath, but neither Oliver nor Felicity reacted; they remained locked in their silent battle of wills.
Her body was vibrating with tension. Fear, obviously, yet, just before he began to curse himself as a bully and back away, her candy-pink lips quirked tightly before overflowing with unexpected words, “Okay, so you're terrifying with your brooding stare and jawbone of righteousness and that deep voice that makes me – never mind – the point is: this whole thing was a mistake, and I'm leaving. Now.” She raised her eyebrows, expecting him to step aside and let her sashay out of his secret lair after rescinding her offer to help.
She was so aggravating.
Oliver claimed a bit more of the narrow space between their bodies.
“There are a few things we need to get straight before you leave,” he said.
“You can't keep me here all night.” Felicity called his bluff and shoved firmly against his chest.
He didn't move. In her frustration she flexed her small hands against his leather jacket and puffed a small, minty burst of exasperation across his lips.
He couldn't help himself.
He licked his lips.
His tongue tasted the air between them, and now Felicity wasn't meeting his gaze; she was staring at his lips. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, reemerging moist and plump. Which meant he was staring at her lips, too, dammit.
He cupped her upper arms, taking a step back, looking determinedly into her eyes. Ignoring the soft wool of her sweater and the softer woman beneath, ignoring the sweet scent filling his every breath, ignoring the brush of one of her thumbs along the exposed pulse-point of his neck as her hands fanned atop his shoulders.
“Fe-li-ci-ty.”
She blinked. Her gaze was much less focused when it returned to his.
He continued, “I get worked up on adrenalin after a workout, but that doesn't mean I'm going to kill anyone tonight. You need to trust me to make the right call.”
First she nodded. “I do trust you, Oliver.” Her right hand was hovering over his heart now. Then she gave her head a shake, eyes narrowing. “But when you brought me in to help, you got more than an in-house I.T. Girl. I should have some say in who enjoys your adrenalin tonight!”
Now he was the one blinking as skin-filled images flashed with lightning speed across his mind's eye.
“Not that I want input on how you spend your night-nights,” she clarified. “Besides, that's really endorphins not adrenalin, although both are generated during strenuous exercise. And pheromones. Because of all the sweat. So much sw – What is wrong with my mouth?”
He didn't look at her mouth to check. Her hands had dropped to her sides. Not that he missed them. They shouldn't be touching like this. Like...
When had his thumbs started rubbing arcs up her shoulders?
His pulled his hands away. His cheeks felt hot, and he still wanted to punch something, and he was totally still looking at her mouth.
Which was how he missed it.
Until now, ever time Felicity had one of her adorable, inappropriate outbursts, she'd flushed a lovely shade of pink and quickly changed the subject. She was so honest and efficient and delightful; unlike anyone he'd ever met. He'd finally figured her out, realized what an asset she would be to his mission. The Felicity he'd prepared for should be using his distraction to run up the foundry steps, possibly with one final quip. So when she did not, Oliver had no plan in place.
Because suddenly that lush, pink mouth was growing closer, a firm grip on his cowl pulling him down to her level, and they were kissing.
Oh, fuck, it was better than he'd imagined.
She kissed with her whole being. Even the first chaste caress of her lips resonated with intent and longing and joy. He responded before he could think, instinct answering her enthusiasm before reason could dissuaded. Reason and thought returned, and Oliver paused. Hesitation cost him everything. Gained him everything.
Felicity wasn't hesitant. She demanded a response. Her lips slid sinfully on his now, entreating and inviting along his lower lip, parting to allow the flicker of her tongue. She made a small sound of contentment at his taste, and he was lost.
His arms closed around her back, reading the braille of her backbone while silken curls whispered across his forearms; his hands cupped her head and neck, the seat of all her wit and wisdom filling his palms; his fingers threading into the base of her damn ponytail while their mouths opened and their tongues dueled. He couldn't get enough the taste of her, fresh and sweet, and he growled with frustration when she pulled away. But she followed the line of his jaw, nipping a maddening trail and then suckling at the pulse-point of his neck. He moaned, and she smiled against his skin.
“Felicity?” He grasped for his wits. “What are you doing?”
Pulling her head back, she tilted her head slightly and gave him that Felicity-look, the one that had cut through all his Ollie-B.S. “I would have thought that was obvious,” she retorted.
She was pressed against him, every exasperating, provoking, honest inch of her. Pressing against his obvious interest. One of his hands had made its way to the curve of her hip, and his fingers fluttered without permission. The corner of her mouth quirked up, and he had to taste her smile again. His blood was pounding in his ears while sensations overwhelmed him and he warred with himself, listing all the reasons this shouldn't happen and all the reasons why it should.
When his jacket parted, he barely noticed the action of its zipper until he registered that she was sliding down his body with delicious friction. He blinked, and she was smirking up at him on her knees.
Felicity deliberately removed her glasses while holding eye contact. It was the sexiest thing he'd seen in a long, long time.
Then she completed her answer, “I'm distracting you.” A second zipper split the silence of the foundry.
What? His mind struggled to catch up to his body.
Then it shut down completely as her small, dexterous fingers encircled his shaft. She took his cock into her mouth, nearly rocking him back on his heels.
Her mouth was just as wicked as every innuendo foretold. Hot and silken, he was enveloped in the amazing pressure while her tongue flirted and teased with the underside. She guided him in and out with precision, swirling her tongue over his tip before taking him more deeply. Oliver's breathing was labored, his hands limp on the curve of her neck, the Hood's uniform clefted down the middle while this golden firebrand worked him over with greater skill than any torturer. He felt secrets bubble up from the depths, threatening to burst, spill from his mouth with each gasp she twisted from him.
His breathing sped up with the effort to keep them locked away, and she slowed down. Devilish girl, trailing feathered kisses along his shaft, leaving her lips’ color all along its length. Leaving her mark on him, the mission, distracting... she was distracting him?
With a snarl he pulled her to her feet, holding the majority of her weight as she teetered on three-inch heels. Her eyes were glazed, her smile soft, and a bolt of pride speared his chest when he realized she was affected too. And he hadn't even done anything. He really wanted to do something.
Take control.
So he did.
Deliberately, he brought his left hand to his mouth, grasped the base of one leather glove between his teeth, watched her pupils dilate as he pulled off first one glove, then the other. She gulped.
He swept her up and was gratified when her legs wrapped around his hips like two puzzle pieces locking home. He cupped her ass fully as her black wool skirt rode up pale thighs and chucked at her moan as his hot, exposed flesh rubbed against her silken panties. Oliver kissed her deeply, smiling against her mouth as she raked her hands through the short hair on the back of his neck, making his scalp tingle as his tongue reveled in the sweetness of her. He wanted to taste her everywhere. He peppered sharp kisses on her pert chin, her smooth cheek, her firm jaw, then settled in to savor the hidden part of her neck, behind her earlobe.
“Oh, god,” she pled and twisted her hips, seeking the sinful sensation where they rubbed together, but he held her fast, maintaining but controlling the pressure, teasing gasps with each flick of his tongue and judicious suction, ravaging her neck as her head fell backward and she arched into him.
He needed his hands, he had to caress her too. He took a step forward, angling her ass towards her desk.
“No!” she exclaimed, suddenly clear eyed and imperious.
Every muscle in Oliver locked in place as a chorus of doubt followed the echo of her cry.
“Not my babies,” she clarified with a doting smile over her shoulder to the computer set-up. “There” she indicated the workbench behind him.
But reality had intruded. “I don't keep condoms down here.”
Felicity only tugged playfully at his jacket and held up a square foil wrapper with her other hand.
Instead of evaluating the relief that washed over him, he spun so quickly that she yelped and buried her arms deep within his jacket, holding him tightly as he crossed the space in one, two, three strides. A sweep of his left arm scattered arrows, tools, lab equipment across the cement floor. He could see a joke forming on the tip of Felicity's tongue, so he trapped it there with a searing kiss as he set her on the cleared metal table. His hands, finally free, grasped the sides of her face, cradling it delicately as passion flared then transformed, so that the kiss ended with a series of open-mouthed, sipping kisses, as if she were clean water and he was drinking her down after a long drought.
All humor had fled by the time he pulled back and gazed into her eyes, the connection somehow more powerful than one at the juncture of their legs, still warmly settled together.
Then Felicity was pushing his hood, jacket, quiver over his shoulders while his hands raced up, over her knees, up her thighs, hooking around a scrap of satin. Her bikini briefs were forest green, and he swallowed hard. Oliver pulled them down, recognizing for the first time just how amazing her legs really were, but in a rush to get back between them, promising himself to take the time to appreciate them fully. Later. He whipped his black tee off and returned to her warmth. He ripped open the condom packet and rolled down the tube with practiced hands. Felicity caressed his arms, shoulders, abs, following the path her eyes had taken earlier, during his training, when she thought he hadn't noticed. Then it had amused him; now it enflamed him.
He could feel her slick heat against him, the moist lips of her slit attesting to her arousal just as her dark nails proclaimed her urgency, raking across his hip bones, then tracing needy scripts up his obliques. His pants remained due only to the clinging stretch of leather across his thighs; save for her glasses and underwear, she was completely clothed down to the heels digging into his ass. The prim line of buttons down her red sweater was such a sharp juxtaposition to the thrust of her hips that Oliver felt a smile twist his face in a way he hadn't smiled since the Gambit. Because he knew he wouldn't fuck her until she was as undone as he. Because those tiny disks had a destiny that did not involve keeping Felicity Smoak clothed.
Oliver held her gaze as he lowered his head. She looked almost curious, her eyes still dilated, her breathing still elevated. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the exposed flesh of her collarbone, sucked her small gold necklace into his mouth, tugged it with his teeth. Her chest began to rise and fall rapidly as he let the chain go with a small 'pop' and moved to the first button. By feel, with only lips and tongue, he slipped it from its mooring. Felicity gasped. He grinned wider, moving slowly down her sweater.
Next button, quicker than the first.
Third button, right across the valley of her breasts, straining to be free now. No more.
The sweater gaped, opening a growing sliver of pale skin, flushed with her blushing lust. At the fourth button, he took a moment for a second kiss, a nuzzle, then he proceeded down.
Buttons five, six, and seven were saved from frustrating only because of the noises Felicity was making now. Even with her lips pressed together, soft whimpers escaped as each button slid free.
The final button was a lost cause. He pulled too hard, she arched at the wrong time, and the 'pop' this time sent the shining, red thing flying into the night of the foundry.
Neither Oliver nor Felicity mourned its loss.
Felicity surged from the table. Oliver pushed the sleeves over her shoulders, down her arms. He would have continued his seduction with fingers, thumbs, and tongue, but Felicity was pulling, twisting and he followed her guidance like it was a survival instinct, finding himself on the table now, back against cool metal, as Felicity straddled his waist. Her hands moved behind her back, making quick work of the lacy, dark green bra. Then before he could tear his gaze away from her pert breasts, she had tugged her hair loose from its tie. She shook her head, letting her hair dance around her shoulders, and smiled down at him with a confidence that took his breath away. He could only hold onto her thighs and hope he didn't lose it any second now.
“I'm going to fuck you now, Oliver.” He could only nod.
She positioned herself above him, then leaned forward to kiss him, almost innocently before impaling herself on his length.
Damn.
He'd thought she would go slow, tease him, draw out the moment. He almost came from that single stroke. His eyes were squeezed closed. He was pretty sure he'd bruised her thighs. Damn.
He realized nothing was happening. Opening his eyes, he saw Felicity smiling down at him from a curtain of gold.
“You still with me?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he croaked. He almost blurted ‘it's been a while,’ but it was only half that and he wasn't in the mood for introspection. He shifted within her, and she gulped. He grinned, his hand inching up her thigh. “I hadn't realized you were so eager.”
She huffed a breath. “What gave you that idea?” She leaned back, allowing him greater access. When his thumb brushed her curls she began to move again, slower this time. “My runaway mouth only offers deviant acts half the times we meet.” She began to rise and fall, the undulations of her hips a thing of beauty he would want to frame if he could divorce his brain from what the motion was doing to him. He clung to the threads of conversation as he met her thrust for thrust and parted her lower lips with his thumb.
“Uh, the blow job was a big tip-off, too,” he offered, his voice low and husky even to his own ears.
She paused for an eternal second above him, then shrugged one shoulder, continuing at the same pace. “Oh that,” she admitted, “I kind of enjoy those, actually.”
“Felicity,” he choked on her name... And found her clit.
The pace grew sloppy after that. Her hands sought support on his shoulders as she bucked against him. His thumb teased, pressed, circled her nub while his left hand anchored her hips. He followed her lead. She began to keen, eyes-closed, her face a picture of focused pleasure above him.
“Come for me, Felicity,” he begged. “Come.” And he flicked her as he filled her as she rocked forward, shattering on top of him like a crashing wave.
She shuttered, murmured, began to press herself up, but he stopped her, rolling them easily, her pliant body a joy for more than his cock. He stood between her legs, still joined to her, and cupped her cheek. She opened her eyes and breathed a single, “Oh.”
He twitched within her on reflex, and her eyes flew wide, her hands scrambling for purchase on his biceps, her legs tightening around his hips. “Oh!”
“Shush,” he assured her. “No hurry.” Was it his imagination, or did she look contrite for a moment?
Oliver began to move again, long, deep strokes, enjoying the emotions flittering across Felicity's face, though he could identify only one in ten. He savored the knowledge that sharp-tongued, quick-witted Felicity Smoak's vaunted mind went to mush after an orgasm.
A few more thrusts and she was fully with him again, her hips lifting from the counter, her thighs sliding up his body. He grasped her meaning, grasped one leg and helped her sling her knee across his shoulder without breaking his pace. His next thrust had him teetering on the brink.
He was so deep in her warmth. Her smile was so sweet.
She dug a heel into his ass. He cursed. She laughed.
He sucked a nipple into his mouth. She screamed.
He captured his name on her lips.
She opened wider still. Squeezed him. Screamed again as she climaxed. Pulled him with her.
He lost. He won. He pulled them both upright.
Forehead to forehead, Oliver waited for Felicity to gain her senses. Her dopey smile called forth one of his own, but he kissed it away.
Pulled back, pulled out.
Got his head back in the game.
He used his cast-off shirt to clean up, then fastened his pants. He found a spare towel for Felicity and offered it without comment. Helped her find her clothes before pulling out a second shirt.
By the time he was combat ready, Felicity stood over their debris field, re-buttoning her sweater.
“Don't worry about cleaning up. I'll do it when I get back.”
“Back?” Felicity queried. “Back from where?”
“Ken Williams,” he began, only to have Felicity throw up her hands.
“Ken Williams?” she interrupted, incredulous. “And what about all of this?”
He was pretty sure she was referring to the mind-numbing sex and not the mess.
“Uh, yeah. We should talk about this.” Once he figured out how to put all the feelings swirling in his chest into words. “But I'm already late. I was going to hit him on the way home. Now I'll have to wait until he tucks in his son.” This last he said with a nod to her screens. She'd like that he'd been paying attention, that he'd already done his research. Right? “We'll talk later,” he soothed.
The Hood was halfway to the door before her voice split the darkness again.
“No, Oliver. We won't.” He turned, registering the dark monitors at her station. He tracked her retreating form as she clattered up the stairs to Verdant. She sighed as she reached the top, leaned over the railing to address him. “Good luck, with all of this. Really. I just can't...” Her hand circled the air as trying to sweep up the words she required. Failed to find. “Can't.”
And she was gone.
~
Felicity sat in her Mini Cooper on the streets behind Verdant. Blinked back moisture. Replayed the last 20 minutes of her life in high fidelity behind her eyelids. Let her forehead drop to the steering column. Groaned as it bounced, once, twice.
BEEP! “Oh, god!”
She cast her gaze about, but no one came running. It was the Glades after all. Only the Vigilante responded...
“Oh my god.”
That would be the topper on the chocolate-walnut cake of her day. Stupid nuts. Who puts nuts in cakes? She pictured Oliver emerging from the shadows in his leathers, all coiled muscles, salty skin, and piercing eyes. She'd probably blurt out her foolish feelings.
Maybe he'd take pity on her, let her down easy. Or maybe he'd kiss her again.
It was difficult, but she'd totally managed to have sex in the Mini before...
No, no, no.
“Get a grip, Felicity. So you just screwed your dreamy sorta-boss. It's cool. You're hardly the first spontaneous fuck in Oliver Queen's life.” She winced. That was cruel. “That was cruel, Felicity. Start the car, go home, crack that second pint of mint chip, and pass out on your couch like a normal girl.”
That all sounded horrible, but she couldn't think of anything better to do, so she turned the key and started backing out.
It was not like Oliver would really let her walk away from his night activities. His other night actives. He'd stop by the I.T. Department sometime tomorrow or pop up in her car again, to make certain the S.C.P.D. didn't get an anonymous tip.
Aggravating jerk. Stupid, perfect face.
How would she face him after this? She needed to start rehearsing as soon as she got home or something horrible would come out of her mouth the next time she saw him.
A car honked behind her. How long had she been sitting at this green light?
She shook her head and drove into the night.