A/N: Apologies for a super-long note, but here it is, gentle readers: the final installment of the Holiday Trifecta of Smuttiness dared/encouraged/demanded between JWAB, CreepingMuse and myself. My brain can only handle so many AUs, so this scene takes place after some off-script musings found in my Ghosts series of chapters in my on-going in-canon fic, "How Was Your Day?" But not to worry if you haven't read it: all you need to know is that Oliver just accidentally spent the night at Felicity's (they slept together, but not like that) and she accompanied him to a Christmas Eve gala.
If you're not watching Sleepy Hallow, you're not only missing out on what's arguably the best new show on television, but also some fantastically-rendered fics. JWAB's Conversations with Photographs and Point of No Return and CreepingMuse's She and He and Au Naturel are worth marathoning the show just so they make sense. You should do that for yourself as a Christmas present. Right now. Go. *nods encouragingly*
I hope everyone has a wonderful week celebrating (or not): Merry Happy Greetings and Good Cheer! And enjoy!
All I Want For Christmas
"Oliver," Felicity squeals in mock-protest when my fingers unbutton one of the three askew buttons of my tuxedo shirt she slipped on before we both nodded off to sleep a few hours ago. "What are you doing?"
"Opening my present," I whisper against her silken skin. Her giggles turn into contented moans as I lick and kiss the triangle of exposed flesh, nosing my shirt out of my way so I have unfettered access to rosy nipples.
"Don't stop what you're doing," she commands, already adorably out of breath. "But just so you know, I object on principle to the implication that I'm a commodity. We will discuss this." She arches her back, pressing her breast further into my mouth and wriggles her hips against me. "Later."
We're laying under the Christmas tree, our clothes from last night's gala sprinkled around my room like torn wrapping paper, her red gown hanging precariously off the side of my still-made bed. We never made it that far when we kissed our way up the stairs and into my room.
I've never been so grateful for giving Digg the night off because I'm certain, had he been driving, Felicity would've gone home. Instead, I barely had the car stopped by the front door before we were both out. Felicity lost her footing in the snow, but I caught her before she fell, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her into the house like a caveman. We stood in entryway, pressed against the front door. She moaned into my mouth, her hands frantic and lost in my jacket sleeves as she unhooked my belt and struggled with my zipper while my fingers teased her through layers of red silk.
"Oliver... Yes... There... Oh... Yes... Please, Oliver."
I was afraid I'd come right there in my pants like a teenaged boy, or not control myself and take her, still dressed and standing up against the wall where anyone could walk by and see us. Not like that. Not the first time. So I maneuvered us up the stairs, all kisses and fingers and tongues and quiet groans and pleas for more. Always more.
When we were safely in my room with the door shut and locked, I held her shoes in one hand and pressed her against me with the other, desperately tasting her tongue as her trembling fingers worked to undo my bow tie and the buttons beneath it.
I didn't expect this. I didn't dare to even dream it. But I can't honestly say I haven't wanted it, haven't desired this, her, for so long I've forgotten what it's like to breathe without feeling the hunger for her in my chest. When I woke up in her bed yesterday morning, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake and was going to drive her away. Instead, I find myself here on Christmas morning, under the tree unwrapping all I'll ever want.
She looked incredible last night in that red dress, the provocative color such a contrast to the elegantly demure style. I'd stalked her during the gala, always keeping a line of sight between us, catching distracting glimpses of her bare arms, the delicate curve of her spine, the tease of red heels peeking out beneath her long shirt when she walked. It was the sight of her laughing with someone else, her hand reaching out and resting on another man's forearm, that drove me from the party to the cold solitude of the roof.
That's when I looked up at the snowy night sky. With the lights of Starling City glittering below, the snow fell like it was part of a Christmas movie, huge, wet flakes that seemed to drop from the impossible blackness of the sky like white cornflakes.
I reached for my phone to call her up to join me because this was too beautiful to not share, but I stopped myself. She's not mine, I reminded myself. It wasn't fair for me to act like she was. This isn't a movie, it's my life, and I'm not a nice person who should get what he wants just because it's Christmas.
I was laying on the roof, my head at the very edge, feeling rather melancholic and watching the snow, when I heard her call for me from the access door.
"Oliver? Are you really going to make me come out and fetch you?"
"Come see this!"
"Oliver," she grumbled, carefully picking her way across the slick, uneven surface. "My heels are too high for this sort of adventure."
"It's worth it," I promised her, unable to contain my excitement that she was there like a Christmas wish come true.
"Mr. Queen," she scolded, standing over me with an expression that was half-grin and half-scowl. "Your absence has become conspicuous, and you want me to come see something on the roof?"
She was shivering, huddled into herself with chattering teeth. I sprang to my feet, the movement so sudden and so close to the roof's edge that she squeaked and instinctively reached out and grabbed my lapels.
"Don't do that!" she said, peering cautiously over the edge of the roof. "It's slippery."
"I'm wearing more sensible shoes," I pointed out. "And all grabbing me would've done is pull you over with me."
"Then we'd splat together, I guess. Not my idea of a good time."
"You're freezing." I rubbed my hands along her bare arms, which were covered in goosebumps.
"So are your hands," she said with a shiver.
"Here." I shrugged out of my jackets and wrap it around her shoulders. She snuggled into, unconsciously turning her head so she could smell the collar.
"I want you to see something."
"Do I have to lay down?" She gestured to her red gown. "It's new, and it wasn't on sale."
I smiled at the implication, that she'd maybe bought the dress special for tonight. For me. And when I turned, her laugh rang out in the quiet night. I peered over my shoulder to where she was childishly pointing, my butt wet from laying in the snow. I grinned and winked before flopping back down and once again inching my way to the very edge of the roof. I looked up at her and patted the space next to me.
"Oliver, you are incorrigible." But she eased down onto the wet asphalt anyway, cringing when she sat. "My dress," she whimpered.
"Close your eyes," I said. "Don't look until you're at the edge." I shifted to help her get into place and realized she was stealing a peek through her long lashes. "No peeking!"
Busted, she dutifully and dramatically closed her eyes and trusted me to position her. I leaned over, so close I could feel her flyaway hairs tickling my neck, to make sure she was where I wanted her to be when she opened her eyes. I settled in next to her, not able to stop myself from making sure our arms touched.
When she opened her eyes, she gasped and raised her hands to her mouth.
"Beautiful," I whispered, watching her reaction rather than the snow that caused it. Before I could stop myself, I reached over for one of her hands, lost in my too-long jacket sleeves. I found her fingers and kissed each beautiful one.
"Oliver," she said, but she wasn't saying no.
She said my name like a kind of promise, her voice was as breathy and desperate as I felt. Before either one of us could voice objections or all the reasons why not, I leaned over and kissed her. I left my eyes open, and she had snowflakes trapped in her eyelashes, and I watched as they slowly melt.
"Let's go," she murmured against my lips, even as she sucked the bottom one into her mouth.
Once we were in my room, I dropped her shoes to the floor with a quiet thud and slid my jacket off her shoulders. She pulled my tie free and flung it aside as she struggled to unbutton my shirt one with one hand and finish opening my pants with the other. Frustrated, I leaned down and gathered up her long skirt, my hand discovering nothing but skin beneath it. I groaned as I buried my fingers in her wet heat.
"Felicity," I moaned into her ear, my other hand desperately searching for the zipper.
"I forgot to pack fancy undergarments," she said, her breath hot and wet against my neck. "I was kind of distracted this morning."
"Thank God." I managed to unzip her dress, tearing the layer of tiny hooks at the top. "I'll buy you a new one," I promised as the heavy fabric slid down to a puddle on the floor. I reached for the ruined dress and stopped kissing her just long enough to toss it out of the way.
Gloriously naked before me, I gently tugged the pins from her hair and dropped them to the floor, before I crushed her to me, pulling her leg up to my hip. Only I'd forgotten I was still wearing pants. Off-balance because they were trapped down by my ankles, we fell to the floor, Felicity laughing as she landed on top of me underneath the Christmas tree.
"Smooth, Mr. Queen," she teased. "Very smooth."
"You're one to talk," I said, running my hands along the bare expanse of her back, cupping her bottom as she swirled her hips against mine.
Not wanting to stop kissing her, I awkwardly kicked my shoes across the room. One hit the wall and the other crashed into something by the desk. I flipped us so she was beneath me, her body trapped between my thighs. The twinkling lights on the tree bathed her in multi-colored halos as she nipped at my nipple and pinched the other while I wiggled until I'd freed myself from my pants.
It was too good to last. At least that first time. I was still wearing my open shirt when she reached between us and touched me, her hand strong and demanding as she grasped me firmly and guided me into place. I never wanted anything as much as I wanted to feel her, all of her, but still I hesitated, afraid of what this meant, or would mean. Terrified that she would regret this tomorrow or that it wouldn't mean everything I needed it to mean to her.
"Oliver," she moaned. "Please."
That was all it took to persuade me. Consequences be damned, I crushed her against me because I never wanted to let her go. She buried her face in my neck, her teeth biting the sensitive skin where my shoulders met, her nails digging into my back and scratching at my scalp.
I wanted that moment to last forever, but it was too much, too intense. She came quickly, her thighs gripping my hips as her wet heat clenched around me, making me come too. We clung to each other, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and gasping breaths.
"Well," I finally managed to say, gently smoothing her hair out of her face. "That was a little embarrassing."
"Not that I'm some kind of expert, but I think it's safe to say you are not little," she replied with a grin. "But you do have quite the Casanova reputation to live up to. I think I'm going to need more evidence to consider before I decide whether or not you've earned it."
"I think I'm up to the challenge," I said, tracing the delicate curve of her ear with my tongue while I gently thrust against her.
"That much is definitely true."
My shirt eventually ended up in heap on the floor, which is where Felicity found it and pulled her arms through the sleeves just as the sun was beginning to rise. She sleepily fumbled with the buttons, buttoning just enough so it didn't fall off as I spooned her against my chest. But before she did, I licked and touched and teased every inch of her. I tasted her eyelids and the skin between her toes and the ticklish spot behind her knees and the salty perfection of her most secret places. I laid unmoving while her tongue explored my scars and traced the lines of my abs and dropped kisses along my hips and her hot mouth slurped and sucked and swallowed.
We made each other cry out and moan and laugh and whimper and groan and beg and promise before dropping off into exhausted sleep.
"You'll have to tell me the best way to sneak out of this place," she quietly says after we've both caught our breath again as we continue to lay on the floor and look up through the decorated tree.
"I never snuck out."
"Of course you did," she says. "Before? When you were in high school?"
"Nope." I shake my head. "I just waltzed out the front door like the cocky bastard I was."
"Was? As in past tense?"
"Touche. Why? You going somewhere?" I pull her to me and kiss her neck. "I was thinking we should move to the bed at some point," I say. "It's a very comfortable bed. I think you're going to like it. But that doesn't require leaving this room."
"Your family will want to spend Christmas with you."
I shrug and walk my fingers up underneath my shirt to find her silken thighs, afraid of what I think she's saying. "They can wait. I'm otherwise engaged at the moment. And I plan to be thusly occupied for some time."
"Thusly?" she teases.
"Yes, thusly. Besides, you're not getting out of Christmas with my family. It's going to be you and me and mom and Thea and Roy, the most painfully awkward Christmas ever. We're going smile and suffer all the unasked questions and looks until I can take you home and we can continue this at your place."
"Oliver, I only have a ruined formal gown to wear. And I flicked my contacts out of my eyes at some point, so I can't even see."
"You keep your glasses in your evening bag when you wear contacts," I remind her.
"You noticed," she huffs.
"I noticed. Besides, I'll get something of Thea's for you to wear. Or there's always my tuxedo shirt. It looks really good on you." I lean down and kiss her thigh where the shirt stops.
"I don't think your mom likes me. And I don't actually celebrate Christmas anyway, and I wasn't planning on being here, so I don't have presents for anyone."
"In case you haven't noticed," I say, trying to keep my voice light. "We're rich and buy whatever we want."
"And my gosh, what a cliché! You with your secretary!"
"Felicity." I lean on my elbow so I can see her, my thumb gently stroking her cheek. "We both know, despite your official job description, that you're not my secretary." I have to know the truth, no matter how much it will hurt. "Are you embarrassed of me?"
"Then...?" My voice trails off because I don't even know how to ask what can possibly be wrong.
"I just don't want you to feel obligated, is all."
"Obligated?" I quietly ask.
She reaches up and rests her hand on my cheek. "Oliver, you know I wouldn't hold this against you. I mean, I understand that sometimes things happen, and maybe they mean different things to different people. I still want to work with you and..."
"What are you talking about?" I interrupt. "Felicity, what do you think happened last night? And the night before that?"
"I think," she says, very slowly, like she's talking to a child. "That you've had a very stressful time lately and I'm..." She takes a deep breath. "I think I'm safe. And I don't want you to feel like you owe me any explanations or..."
Before she can say anything else to ruin the best Christmas ever, I lean down and kiss her. I start out softly, just to make her stop talking, but it quickly escalates, her hands moving from my hips further down, my fingers undoing the final button on my shirt.
"You are all I want," I fiercely whisper, desperate for her to understand how much she means to me. "You are all I'll ever want. Today, tomorrow. Always."
She beams. "Well. Okay then."
"Okay," I agree.
"So it's a really comfortable bed?"
"Come see for yourself."