15285/The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of
Date of Scene:	01 July 2023
Location:	Penthouse, NYC
Synopsis:	Felicity and Oliver's first night of vacation concludes with a touching heart-to-heart.
Cast of Characters:	Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen

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Felicity Smoak has posed:
The walk back to the penthouse was full of the kind of pleasant tension and subdued urgency as being handed a present you weren't allowed to open. Felicity kept looking up at Oliver as if she still couldn't believe he was real -- that /anything/ that had happened in the last twenty-four hours had been real.

But it was.

Years later, when she looked back on this memory, she would remember it as one of the most perfect moments of her life, unblemished by the regular tragedies that plagued them. They laughed, talked, swam together, strolled, dined, and kissed. But the most monumental moment of all was her confession of love, and his reciprocation.

That declaration of love was a moment she'd forever etch into her memory, replaying it like a favorite song.

After years of being there for each other, suffering life-threatening injuries and heart-wrenching loss, saving lives, saving cities, losing each other and coming back together, they were finally here, stepping through the door of a New York penthouse that they shared, hands and hearts connected in ways they never thought possible.

And though there remains an ever-present sense of desire simmering just beneath the surface, even once the door is closed Felicity makes no attempt to rush -- they had all evening together.

Heels tapping out a sharp beat against the hard floor, she crosses to the kitchen counter and sets her clutch purse down on the corner. She even takes out the flower that had been in her hair, long blonde lengths let loose around her shoulder. Then she sets to opening cabinets, her search for wine glasses turning into a gentle exploration of their temporary abode, movements unhurried and deliberate.

"Would you like a drink?" she asks, her voice ringing softly in the expanse of the otherwise quiet room.

Oliver Queen has posed:
It most assuredly has been a rewarding trip so far.

Of course he has had more than his fair share of good ideas over the years -- and a few pretty bad ones as well, if he were to be completely honest. But slipping out of Star City a few days early, flying across the country so that they can spend a little time together, just themselves, with no looming business interests to distract, no disasters on the horizon that needs the Green Arrow and team to intervene? That has to be one of the better ones. No, it definitely has to be the best of them. Bar none.

The walk back to the hotel takes every bit as long as it took to get out here in the first place of course. But somehow it doesn't quite feel like it. Oliver is pretty observant, pretty good at making note of his surroundings. It's an occupational hazard. After awhile it gets pretty hard to turn that part of one's brain off and simply enjoy the moment for what it is. But if asked he would probably have to confess that he's not even entirely sure how they found their way back to their building, to their temporary home. He doesn't remember passing that sushi place, or the older woman seeling those crafted roses. He doesn't even remember the doorman of the building holding the door open for them so they can slip over to that private elevator.

But he could tell exactly how Felicity's hand felt in his. Could recall the way the evening breeze played around that lock of hair tucked back and clinging to the red rose curled about her ear. He could describe in detail the way her eyes glitned under the streetlights, how that little glow shifted and moved as they passed under each one.

Until they found themselves riding that highspeed elevator back up to their home away from home. Theirs. The silence does not feel strange, or even cut with the anticipation that almost surely is there for both. Instead it is comfortable, companionable. And when she turns for the kitchen, Oliver lingers in the main room with that oversized couch stretched out in front of the panoramic view of the city offered by those floor to ceiling windows, watching her with a faint smile curving over his lips.

"If you're having one I could probably be convinced," he calls back. "I'm definitely not going anywhere else tonight."

It would have to be one hell of an emergency to call him away at this point.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
The rustling in the kitchen continues for a few more minutes, but when Felicity finally emerges, it's clear she had some success. Not only had she found suitable stemware and a bottle of wine to open, she'd found the controls for the penthouse's built in sound system and called up a station that played jazz -- the light sound of symbols, a string bass, piano, and a crooning saxophone soon filling the space. She carries two empty glasses upside down by the stems in one hand and an open bottle of red wine in another, her bare feet now padding quietly across the floor.

She was still wearing that black cocktail dress -- the one she'd put on for their six course dinner that had instead turned so perfectly into open-air, street-side sushi and pleasant conversation with a couple that had been married for forty years.

"For you," she offers with a warm smile, tilting one of the glasses upright for him and then filling it from the bottle. She does the same for herself before setting the bottle on the coffee table. Curiosity got the better of her, though, and instead of lingering, she stepped over to stand in front of those giant, floor-to-ceiling windows, her reflection floating phantom-like a few inches in front of her.

Beyond her reflection, though, was the skyline of New York City, tall buildings illuminated by lights in windows that twinkled on and off like stars. The closer she got, the easier it was to look down and the more vertigo-inspiring it was.

"This place makes my apartment feel like a hovel," she remarks off-handedly, looking back at him with a quirk of a smile. "I guess you're probably used to it, though. Not that that's a bad thing. I just come from a different world... Not literally. That's probably not something to go around saying in New York, anymore, given everything that's happened here. I'd hate for the Avengers to come busting through the door like the Men in Black. Which I'm relatively certain aren't real. If they /were/, though, I would /love/ to take a look around their mainframe.."

Oliver Queen has posed:
The apartment has no shortage of amendities. Really, there is no telling just what else the remote that Felicity eventually finds might be capable of with enough exploration. Though the music alone is a nice touch, the penthouse at least temporarily filled with that soft jazz pumped out through the various speakers that are discretely perched throughout the room. It is a little unexpected, but it does bring a smile to Oliver's face for a moment, his gaze instinctively tugged back to the kitchen just as Felicity reemeges.

Victorious on that front as well, it would seem, at least judging by the bottle of wine and glasses in hand so he steps away from the windows, front the couch, moving to meet her half way. The glass is taken with a little bob of his head, held out as she pours the rich red liquid into the crystal, the glass raised after her in a silent touch. "Why thank you," he says mildly, taking a sip, though nothing more then that, at least not at first.

His gaze follows her there, to the window, the low lights that fill the penthouse with that soft illumination not entirely blotting out the magnificent view of the city beyond. Lit up like a twinkling jewel, the park stretches out to the west, that oasis of green particularly dark in the city of lights, though even there the looming form of Beladere castle rises up out of that forest.

It is a spectacular view, though other views from the apartment are just as impressive. But none of it holds the same fascination as she does right at the moment. As if Oliver hadn't already been watching her all night long. But that doesn't seem to matter in the least.

"Mmmmm, if it's helpful, I certainly consider you out of this world," Oliver quips lightly, finally moving to circle around the couch, to walk over towards her and those floor to ceiling windows looking out over the city, stopping just short of her -- at her back and just a little to the right -- not quite touching. For that moment they are framed there in the windows reflection, an image not quite caught but likely to be long remembered. "I did, admittedly, pretty much grow up in places like this," he agrees quietly, thoughtful for the moment. "Though I don't think I've quite appreciated it as much as I do right now," he admits with another brief smile.

Then a low chuckle escapes him, lips quirking once more as he finally takes another drink. "Well, if you are going to go searching for new databases to hack, at least wait until tomorrow," he murmurs with a wry shake of his head.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
/If it's helpful, I certainly consider you out of this world./

Felicity lifts her chin a little to turn and look over her shoulder at him, lips tugged into an approving grin. "Well done," she muses warmly. "Brownie points well earned." Not that he needed any more of those. Not tonight, anyway. One day he would do something to make her mad, though. Unfortunately, that usually involved putting himself in some sort of /extra/ danger. Or leaving. Neither of which she wanted to think about, tonight, much less dwell on.

She takes a sip of her wine, and when she catches sight of his reflection moving in the glass, she turns to face it rather than looking behind herself. The sight of the pair of them is... powerful. She had been steadfast by his side for years, but never like this. There was a version of her that existed at MIT -- full goth hair, lipstick, and nails -- that would never had listened, much less believed that she'd be the girlfriend of one of the wealthiest men in the world. Would past-Felicity have called her a sell out and corporate lapdog? Not if she knew the whole story. He was one of the wealthiest men who also happened to be a vigilante crimefighter by night, and easily the greatest man she'd ever known.

A blush touches her cheeks at his mention of appreciating the view, but it's the mention of hacking that gets her to turn around and face him directly.

"No more this weekend," she promises. "Not unless you need me to. Scout's honor." She pauses. "Admittedly, I was never any kind of a scout, but I do have a lot of respect for their missions, so it sort of counts."

She takes another sip of her wine and smiles. "We've never talked about you growing up," she says. "I mean, I've always /assumed/ it was something like this. And then, of course, the mansion, at some point." One hand lifts to his chest, settling over his heart. "What was that like for you? What was little Oliver like?"

Oliver Queen has posed:
"I have my moments."

He certainly does. While Oliver has never exactly lacked a degree of charm, he is hardly the same person that he was several years ago. He had the chance to grow up, was more or less forced to grow up finally, belatedly. But he certainly earned a certain reputation that he probably will not entirely shed, no matter what changes he undergoes, what growth he demonstrates. And maybe that's only fair, at least from a certain perspective. He might not have exactly been a monster -- more stupid and immature -- but that too has consequences that should not be forgotten.

Reaching out, he smiles and lays that free hand on Felicity's shoulder, palm arm against her. But the touch is fleeting, falling away quick enough, only a pair of fingers still touching her as they trail down over her shoulder blade, tracing lower before falling away entirely. "I shall do my best to keep you suitably distracted," he agrees, voice low though that small quirks upward a little more. "Though I suppose we'll both have to depend on luck to insure that there is no need to back peddle away from that," he conceeds wryly.

Push comes to shove, he's not likely to turn away from a pressing need. He wouldn't really be who he is now if he was able to do that.

But that might not have always been the case. They have both changed in some extreme ways, ways that their younger selves might hardly recognize. Might not entirely approved of. Of course it's fair to question just how much their younger selves would have really known. Oliver certainly isn't the only one who has grown and changed in some pretty significant ways.

Turning away from the window and the incredible view -- both of her and the city -- Ollie pads back over towards that huge couch that seems to dominate so much of the room, moving to one end of the sectional that juts out, sinking down onto that plush softness so he once more has a view of her. The question makes him pause for a moment, thoughtfully, and he takes a lingering sip of that rich red liquid from his glass.

"Mmmm. A fair question," he muses, giving a small shrug and smiling at her once more. "I'd like to think I wasn't completely horrible as a kid. Certainly not the little monster that I became for awhile once I hit my teen years and early twenties," he acknowledges ruefully. "I mean, some of that potential had to shine through. But, I was definitely pretty spoiled, there's no doubt about that," he conceeds with a shake of his head. But then he'd almost have to be. "You're not wrong. Growing up was very much like this. You know the mansion well enough. It's pretty... excessive. And setting boundaries -- and enforcing them -- was not necessarily my parents strong suit."

It definitely took him a few extra years to mature into something decent. But it was probably worth the wait.

Felicity Smoak has posed:
Once more, as Felicity's singularity in the form of one Oliver Queen moves through the room, she finds herself inexorably drawn to him, tempted by that fleeting touch of her shoulder and ever searching to renew that connection.

And so she moves, following along not far in his wake and listening to his story. She diverts over to a nearby wall with a dimmer switch, lowering the lights just a bit more so that silhouettes are easy but details are harder to make out. It makes walking around even more treacherous, but it really brings out the lights of the city.

/You're not wrong. Growing up was very much like this./

She takes another sip of her wine, moving closer again and then setting her glass on the end table. She takes his, too, gently lifting it from his glass and setting it beside hers without a word of explanation. Both are in easy reach, but out of harm's way.

And just as he's finishing talking about setting boundaries, she selects her own seat. There were acres of available real estate on that couch, but Felicity leans forward and places a hand on Oliver's shoulder, then slides one knee on either side of his legs.

The loose skirt of her dress is easily enough to preserve her modesty, but she does settle on him, straddling his thighs and watching his face. It's not sexual -- well, it /is/ sexual. But, her energy is focused on attentively listening and watching, not concern so much as rapt interest. Her hand lifts, fingers trailing over his brow, tracing the shape of his face.

"Does it ever bother you when I tease you about it?" It's a sincere question. One that she apparently hadn't put a lot of thought into before now, since it was always just 'punching up' at the spoiled rich kid. But, that 'spoiled rich kid' had a face, now. One that she was quite fond of. "I don't actually see you that way. Intellectually, I know you've always been rich, but I don't see you as... that guy -- the over-privileged, spoiled billionaire that throws tantrums whenever he doesn't get his way or thinks he can buy his way out of every problem."

Oliver Queen has posed:
The lights may have dimmed, but that certainly doesn't do anything but enhance the allure of both her, and the city beyond.

Tonight though the city is but a pale shadow and while it might be a glittering mass of lights and shapes looming up out of the darkness, it has almost been entirely forgotten. Indeed, there might be a whole world out there, but for now at least, in this moment that world might as well just encompass them. Him and her and this penthouse. Maybe tomorrow they will let the world intrude once again, let it creep back into their awareness with the various problems and challenges that it presents.

But for the rest of the night there is a very big, very prominent 'Do not Disturb' sign hanging from the door of their apartment. At least as far as Oliver is concerned at any rate.

He only smiles when she plucks that glass from him, dark wine swishing up against the sides as it is set aside on the nearby end table. But he surrenders it gladly.

Though probably not quite so gladly as he welcomes her onto his lap, hands reaching for her, settling on her side, fingers splayed across that tantilizing black dress as he holds her close, that smile growing a touch more. This part might be fairly new to them, the natural outgrowth of that pent up attraction that has been growing for quite some time. But it just feels right.

"It does not," comes Oliver's immediate, unhesitating response, one hand capturing hers and drawing it in to him, pressing it to his shirt, right above his heart. "For one thing, I know you're teasing me. And I rather like that you can tease me. Just like I admit to rather enjoy teasing you sometimes too," he admits with a smile.

He draws that hand up a little higher, dipping his head to press a kiss against one of her fingers. "It also has a little to do with the fact that it's true," he points out. "I was that spoiled, rich kid. I embodied way too many of the worst stereotypes of that kind to make things even worse. I did a lot of stupid things, and I never really had to answer for any of them," he conceeds. "But I also know that I'm not the guy any more. I don't want to be, have no interest in having anything to do with him. And some of that has to do with you." Some certainly, though not all. He has been shaped by a great deal.

"You make me want to be better Felicity. If I ever needeed a reason to not backslide, that would be more then enough all on its own."

Felicity Smoak has posed:
/Just like I admit to rather enjoy teasing you sometimes too./

"Well, I'm glad it doesn't," Felicity says, "because I wasn't going to stop. And that was going to make this whole relationship /super/ awkward." Of course, she's smiling that affectionate little smile that she reserves only for him -- the man she loves.

There's nothing that even resembles resistance to the movement of her hand. She enjoys the feeling of his chest, the beating of his heart against her palm, and she equally enjoys the warmth of his mouth and watching him kiss her hand. It's fascinating for her, and it creates this sort of cloud of curiosity, affection, and lust on her features that makes it hard to tell which is winning out.

Though if one had to bet right that moment, judging by the way her weight shifts it would be lust.

/You make me want to be better Felicity. If I ever needed a reason to not backslide, that would be more then enough all on its own./

She draws in a breath and lets it out slowly, a quivering sound carried on that exhale. The source of it can be seen readily in the glassiness of her eyes and the set of her jaw. It had been such a long day, already. There had been so many many powerful emotions crammed into the space of just a few hours.

And this.. the way Oliver opens himself up to her, the way he puts her up on a pedestal... it's /so/ touching, so vulnerable.

"I love you," she whispers for the second time that evening, leaning her whole body into him and bringing her lips to his, kissing him with a need driven by every feeling coursing through her, every unbridled feeling of love and compassion and desire and her own raw /need/ for him.

Oliver Queen has posed:
That might be one of the many ways that they are good for each other.

While he has certainly gotten better over time, it's not exactly unknown for Oliver to slip back into bad habits. For him to brood. For him to get a little bit hard and cynical. Sometimes even that the only way forward is for him to compromise certain ethical ideals. It can get a little fraught at times, and having someone willing to puncture that dark balloon is almost certainly for the best more often then not.

While she might not be in danger of slipping into those same bad habits, usually being a beacon of optimism and cheer for the team, there are all those unintentional double entendres. So many double entendres. And if he is not there to comment and tease and maybe a toss a few more right back at her, well, who would? It is his duty and obligation, even if it is self-appointed.

But it is definitely one that he has taken on eagerly. No lack of enthusiasm there.

"We certainly don't want that. I'm sure, given what we do, there will be enough other awkward interruptions and moments without us getting hung up on a little teasing," Oliver agrees, the smile that lights on his face an answer for her warmth, for that affection.

For that love that shines through in her every expression, now that he knows where and how to look.

His eyes don't leave hers though he lifts that hand a little higher, pressing a single kiss to her palm before finally letting it slip away entirely, the smile dimming on his face, the low lights of the penthouse leaving them shrouded in hints of shadow, the promise of it rather then darkness in full bloom.

Words fail him for the moment, but that answer, that immediate, unconditional reply that she will no doubt hear oh so often is present in every movement, every stirring of his form against her. It is in the quickening beat of his heart, in the warmth of his body against her own. In the tips of those fingers that graze across her shoulder and run up the side of that smooth column of her neck.

And they are certainly in that kiss as his lips find hers once more, soft at first but not for long. No light, teasing caress this time, he kisses her seriously, intently, drinking her in as that onslaught of emotion washes over them both.