(all I can write today is SAP SAP SAP)
Oliver slides into Felicity’s bedroom window still in his leathers, expecting to find her already asleep. The bed is empty, however, so he changes into sweats and a t-shirt before making his way to the living room, finding her deep in concentration on the living room floor, back against the couch.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he offers when she doesn’t even look up.
“You can afford a lot more than that,” she reminds him, biting her lip as her eyes refuse to leave the laptop screen.
He flips onto the couch, stretching across all three seats, feeling the weariness and alertness of the patrol finally leaving his body.
The living room smells like pumpkin spice, some huge candle she always lights during the fall months. During the summer it was some sea breeze scent that should’ve probably reminded him of the island, but instead just made him long to take her on a vacation.
She’s wearing gray cotton shorts that are barely there and bright yellow super fuzzy socks, legs bent so she can prop her laptop on her knees. The skin around her kneecaps is turning red from the heat.
Her tank top strap slides down as she’s typing, and he reaches over to fix it, but ends up cupping her bare shoulder instead. The adrenaline from the patrol is quickly being redirected into something else.
Her hair is gathered into a ponytail, nothing like the neat ones she wears to work and sometimes to the foundry, but a haphazard mess of curls post-shower, a reminder that they don’t have to stop by the offices the next morning.
He leans over, curling around her shoulder, and presses kisses against her shoulders and the nape of her neck.
“Oh no, you won’t,” she stops him. “It’s all your fault.”
He stops, suddenly very very confused. “What did I do?”
“The neighbors changed their WiFi name to I Can Hear You Having Sex,” she says, pointing to the screen. “I’m trying to fix it.”
“People do this stuff all the time as a joke,” he points out. “There’s no way it’s about us.”
“It’s a dual-band router and the 5GHz connection lists my apartment number,” she explains.
“I don’t know what that means,” Oliver reminds her.
“It means you need to stop with the ‘let me hear you, Felicity’ and the…” she trails off, pointing to the kitchen counter. He remembers the night two weeks before, how they found out the height was perfect (his knees had imprints from her kitchen floor tile for hours after).
He reaches over and closes the laptop, ignoring her outraged gasp as she twists to face him. “Hear me out, Felicity,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Poor choice of words, but I mean it. If you change it, don’t you think your neighbors will be a little curious about how someone hacked their router?”
She pouts before sighing.
“Plus it is a lot better than if they’d named it Why Is the Vigilante Entering Your Apartment Through Your Bedroom Window, wouldn’t you say?”
“Technically that would be too long anyway, since most network SSIDs should be a maximum of thirty-two characters,” she points out, conceding the point anyway and sliding up the couch and onto his lap. “What took you so long?”
“Roy,” he offers and it’s enough of an answer. “Come on,” he adds, standing up with her, leading her into the bedroom.
He places her gently on the bed before he heads to the window and opens it, the early October chill making its way into the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks as she pulls off her tank top and fuzzy socks.
“Keeping the neighbors up,” he explains with a wink, moving to cover her on the bed.
“Did you know that for a hero, you can be pretty vengeful at times?” She rolls her eyes but wraps her arms around him anyway. “Plus I was thinking stealing one of Sara’s sonic devices might be slightly more useful.”
“But not nearly as fun,” he points out as he makes his way down her body.
Felicity loses her voice for three days after that.
Oliver brings her hot ginger and lemon tea every morning.
From this meme that I posted forever and a day ago, because I am A+ at being on top of things.
heaven or hell (or something in between)
He politely declines Isabel’s offer to join her for lunch, making a seemingly unhurried exit and heads to the elevators. In actuality, he can’t wait to get back to his room and shed his CEO persona, that real world mask that weighs far heavier than the one he actually dons.
(He is so much more than that mask, though; more than the arrows or the personal crusade that’s turned into a team effort.
It used to be about the life he led. Now it’s about the one they’re building together.)