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It was a relief when she finally got to the door of the Loft. It had been an awfully long day.
Throwing her winter coat – her mother always recommended relatively short sleeveless dresses, which did make her look good but Star City was no Las Vegas – vaguely in the direction of the coat hooks, she kicked off her heels (flinching slightly at the feeling of her bare feet against the cold floor) and collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the TV which was softly playing the news.
A forceful step on the wooden floor behind her preceded the press of calloused hands to the knots in her shoulders. They kneaded gently, months of practice teaching them where the particularly tense areas were.
Letting out a pleasured moan, she said to the man behind her: “you’re a magician”
She turned her head to look at him as he bent down, finding herself staring into the face of Oliver Queen.
Their relationship had imploded after William and Samantha left. After Dahrk was defeated, when their interactions weren’t forced by the presence of the team and the looming threat of the end of the world, their interactions became forced and stilted, nowhere near the friendly banter they once had before they got together. It left Felicity wondering if their romantic relationship had destroyed their friendship.
But then, about four weeks ago, a detective called Billy Malone had caught her at a party and asked her out to coffee. Somehow, Oliver had overheard. That night, in the lair, they’d decided to split two large bottles of Russian vodka. Then they’d started fighting.
Screaming at each other, they had stood on opposite sides of the lair and before long Felicity found herself spilling it all: Havenrock, Billy, William, Laurel. When she was finally done, he started talking. He didn’t stop.
He told her everything. Over the next few hours, he told her every single thing that had happened on the island. When he finally finished recanting how he had been found, he simply said, “I’m never going to keep another secret from you, Felicity. I promise”.
Then she kissed him. The next morning, she had woken up sprawled over Oliver’s naked chest, head throbbing with one hell of a killer hangover. It was then they decided to keep their relationship secret. Their reconciliation had been for them, and them alone.
She was snapped back to the present when Oliver pressed his lips to her neck. Smirking at him, she turned so she was leaning over the couch, and cupped his face in her hands and kissed him good and proper.
It escalated from there, because Oliver was better with his tongue than he was with his bow.
When they finally broke away, the hunger in his eyes was evident. She winked at him, eyes straying down to his silk tie. He smirked, undoing the offending accessory.
He then proceeded to wrap the tie around her hands, binding them together, the primary effect being that the jeweled band wrapped around her ring finger cast reflections from the low lights on the ceiling.
A swishing noise behind her told her he’d taken his shirt off. Barely seconds later, she felt his hands reaching the bottom of her dress, pulling it up. She smiled at the groan that came from him finding nothing but bare skin.
As she heard the sound of his zipper drawing down, she smiled at the thought of how next Friday, she and Oliver would be standing on a beach in Bali, getting married.
Thea’s told her she’s coming back on Monday night, Digg on Wednesday morning. They’re in for such a surprise.