Sigh...by request...

The things I do for you people.

And we fall back on Plan B...

"Okay, so I spoke to Tommy about this."

"You spoke to Tommy about having sex with me?"

"No! I spoke to Tommy about your birthday present."

"Alright."

"And he suggested sex."

"Of course he did."

"Well, technically he suggested vodka."

"And you assumed he meant sex?"

"No, he did mean sex. He meant that I should give you vodka and then have my way with you."

"That's," Oliver swallows heavily. "That's interesting advice."

"It is." Felicity reaches for the waist of his dress shirt and yanks it out of his pants. Oliver's eyebrows fly up, but he doesn't move. "It is interesting advice and, to be honest, I was seriously contemplating following it."

"Was?" The word comes out far too hoarse for his liking and Oliver clears his throat and he repeats it in what he thinks is a much clearer sounding voice.

"Was," Felicity confirms and Oliver's heart sinks. Unfortunately, nothing else does.

"Only…"Felicity drags out the word as her fingers begin to undo the buttons of his shirt and Oliver's hands curl around her waist to hold her in place. "See…I don't think I need to ply you with vodka to have my way with you."

Her fingers still somewhere halfway down his shirt and she looks up at him hesitantly. "Do I?"

He runs his hands down her sides to grip her hips tightly and pulls her flush against him, her hands getting caught between them. He hears her breath hitch in surprise, her lips parting in a gasp, and he presses her hips firmly against his so she can feel what she's doing to him.

"No," he replies hoarsely, "you don't."

Her breath shudders in her chest before she gently pushes him far enough away that she can resume undoing the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers tremble slightly this time, but Oliver doesn't offer to do it for her because his hands would hardly be any steadier.

He keeps them on her hips, thumbs rubbing against the silk of her dress in slow circles as he watches the flash on her metallic-coloured fingernails work as her fingers work on his shirt.

She pulls the shirt wide open when she's finished. The cool air hits his already overheated skin and he's gritting his teeth when she plants a soft kiss to the middle of his chest. He's hissing when she runs her tongue over one hardened nipple and a groan escapes his mouth when she nips at it gently with her teeth and soothing it with her tongue a moment later.

"There's only one rule here, Oliver," she breathes against his skin.

"What's that?"

"Tonight, I'm having my way with you."

"We've established that." His tongue trips on the words when she's pushing the shirt off his shoulders and down his arms and off as her mouth is working its way over the hard planes of his stomach.

"I don't think we have." She raises herself up to meet his eyes and he can see that she's just as effected as he is. Her pupils are dilated, her cheeks are flushed, and he's seen her wearing thousand dollar dresses, but he's sure that this is the most beautiful she's ever been.

Her hands trail against his sides to settle on his hips, her fingertips digging into the muscle there when he plants a hot kiss against her hair just above her temple. Her fingers play along the edges of his waistband, following the lines on his abdomen that lead straight down to where she can't reach and suddenly his pants are a hindrance and she needs them gone too.

Her hands make quick work of his belt, but they tremble against the button of his pants when his hands work their way into her hair and he's pulling her head back to expose her neck. Her hands pause when his mouth makes his way there to press an open mouthed kiss against the exposed skin.

Her eyes close on a sigh and she takes a moment to relish the feel of his mouth on her before she's gently pulling herself away from him with a shake of her head.

"Ground rules, Oliver." She sounds breathless even to her own ears, but she presses on. "I'm having my way with you which means you keep your hands and mouth to yourself."

"I'm decidedly against that plan."

Felicity tilts her head at him and removes her hands from the zipper of his pants and Oliver's too aroused to be embarrassed by the low moan that's pulled from the back of his throat at the loss of contact.

"Is that a challenge?" Felicity asks. She runs a hand over the growing bulge in his pants and it takes everything in him to bite back on a groan.

"Is what a challenge?" He struggles to reply as her hands apply just enough pressure to leave him gasping for air, but not enough to give him any sort of relief.

"You don't think I can have my way with you?"

"Felicity," he groans out her name and drops his forehead to rest on the top of her head when she gently squeezes him. "Alright. We'll do this your way, just…"

Felicity waits for him to finish.

He shakes his head against hers in frustration, his hands framing her face and tilting her head up. "Will you have your way with me, Felicity Smoak?"

Her face breaks out in a slow smile and she goes up onto her toes and captures his mouth with hers. Her tongue teases at his lips and when they part, she presses herself closer to deepen the kiss at the same time as she drags the zipper of his pants down.

Oliver breathes a, "finally," into her mouth and she'd laugh if her mouth wasn't otherwise occupied with more important things. Like kissing the corner of his lips and trailing against the hard line of his jaw or running her tongue down the side of his neck and enjoying the feel of his stubble against her lips.

She only pulls away when she's pushing his pants down over his hips, dragging his boxer-briefs with them and she's partly amused by the sight of Oliver wriggling out of his pants and partly (mostly) aroused by the sight of him naked because it's not something she'll ever get used to or tired of seeing.

He's kicking off his shoes and discarding his pants by kicking them away and she's just staring at the man made of hard muscle and skin in front of her, at the lines and angles of him that leave no question as to his strength and power, and she thinks the thing that's making the heat pool low in her belly isn't the sight of him naked, but the fact that tonight he'll be entirely at her mercy.

Felicity reaches out and delicately traces the tattoo on the upper right of his chest with one finger. She's never asked him where he got it or the one on his back. He's never volunteered the information. She supposes one day, if this thing between them ends up going anywhere, she'll have to ask and then they'll see where they stand depending on what answer he gives her, but for tonight she settles on kissing it before taking him by the hand and leading him towards his bed.

Felicity presses him down onto the edge of the mattress. Oliver lets her, his fingers toying with the hem of her skirt in a silent suggestion that she pretends not to notice.

When she tips his head back by the chin and plants a soft kiss and whispers, "Move back," onto his lips he does as she says, her skirt sliding through his fingers as he lets go.

He lies back against the pillows and waits for her. Once again he's the epitome of control, but he clenches the covers in his hands when she begins removing the pins holding her hair up and shakes it loose to fall over her shoulders. She knows it's a thing with him, her hair. He likes to run his fingers through it, or brush it over her shoulders and behind her ears. It's not something he's ever declared aloud, but she catches him toying with the ends of it when it's trailing down her back and his brain is too occupied with mission planning to really think about what he's doing with his hands.

Her eyes flicker over to the hard length erect between his legs and she can't help the flush she feels in her cheeks or the curl of heat at her core that has her squeezing her thighs together. He's not shy and he doesn't move to cover himself. She knows it's not arrogance or pride in the way he looks, but a level of comfort with a body he's honed to weapon-grade perfection that she doesn't think she's necessarily reached.

So she darts her eyes back to his face (she's infinitely more comfortable gazing into his eyes) and climbs onto the bed herself. She places one knee on either side of Oliver and slowly crawls up his body, the tips of her long hair trailing against his bare skin and she takes pleasure in the way his eyelids flutter at the sensation and in the slow breaths he takes to maintain his composure.

She knows where he wants her hands. She can read it on his face and in the lust that's darkened his eyes to cobalt, but she bypasses that area completely and settles herself onto his thighs instead, her hands on his hips then his stomach and her mouth follows as she bends over him.

She presses an open-mouthed kiss just above the mark left behind by the waistband of his briefs and drags her tongue up to his navel. His muscles are tense beneath her mouth and when she kisses her way over to his hip he hisses and his hips buck slightly as she presses her mouth to the scar on his side.

Not stopping, she moves up to his chest, nipping lightly at him as she goes and she can feel the struggle in him not to move, to let her have all the control, in the way his hands are clenching the covers and in the corded muscles of his neck when he throws his head back with a curse as she licks at a pebbled nipple and then blows against it teasingly.

So she scrapes her teeth against his collarbone, her hands moving back down his body as her mouth moves up. She kisses up his neck and over his chin to capture his mouth in a slow, heated kiss, her tongue reaching out to stroke against his as her hand reaches down to grasp him firmly.

He groans into her mouth and she pulls just far enough away from him to have him chasing her with his mouth, his head lifting up off the bed only to fall back when she shakes her head at him.

He's breathing heavily now and every time her hand strokes along the length of him, his chest shudders against her, his hands twisting in the covers beneath him. She kisses the corner of his lips, brushes her nose against his cheek, and moves down his body, her hair trailing along behind her.

She moves farther back on his legs, tries to get as comfortable as she can before she bends over where her hand continues to stroke him and blows a soft breath gently against the head.

He's thrusting up before she's even put her mouth on him and gasping an apology before she can tell him not to, but she puts her other hand on his hip to hold him steady and lowers her mouth to press a kiss against his tip.

He's better about holding back this time, but when she slides her tongue down his length in place of her hand, she hears the growl and the, "fuck" he can't quite stop. She feels the quake of his hips and the trembling muscles of his stomach when she moves her hand to press against them and she decides to put him out of his misery.

Felicity sweeps her hair to one side of her face and slides her mouth over him slowly. She keeps one hand at the base, squeezing gently as she begins to move over him, pulling him in and out of her mouth as her tongue strokes against him.

He isn't bothering to hold back his groans now, probably couldn't even if he wanted to, and though he's never been particularly vocal during sex, he's also never been shy about appreciating the things she does to him.

So she knows he likes the way she works her tongue over the head of his length when he lets out a strangled moan. She knows she should keep following her mouth with a firm stroke of her hand because his hips stutter against the bed and his hands go white where they're twisting the sheets to keep from grabbing at her. And when he loudly groans out her name in a way that makes her insides twist into knots and the pool of heat at her core start spreading, she knows he's close.

She releases him from her mouth and resumes stroking him with her hand. She hasn't quite worked up the nerve to finish him with her mouth, thinks she's probably making a bigger deal of it than she should, but the wetness she's left behind is making it easier for her to stroke him faster with her hand like she knows he likes, so she brushes aside that little kernel of anxiety.

Oliver's thrusting up into her hand when she brings her mouth down to his shoulder and bites down. Not hard enough to break the skin, but just hard enough to have him bucking against her, his spine going rigid, his hands finally releasing the covers to tangle themselves in her hair and pull her up to his mouth.

The kiss is hot and wet and messy as his hips thrust into her hand and she's pushing down against him with her hand firmly around him until it's more than he can take. His mouth trails against her cheek and he's groaning out her name, his voice hoarse as his body arcs up off the bed and he spills into her hand.

He's breathing hard as he comes down and Felicity's propped herself up on one elbow beside him, her hand still lightly stroking him as he softens. His eyes flutter open seconds later and he lifts his head up to capture her mouth with his, one hand cradling her face to hold her to him. It's a slow kiss that has her sighing into his mouth and she follows his head down, her hair falling over them like a curtain.

When she pulls away for air, he's stroking her cheek with his thumb, his eyes hooded, his smile lazy, and she thinks that she likes seeing him like this - thinks that she doesn't see him like this often enough.

"Remind me to thank Tommy when I remember how to move," he says against her mouth as he pulls her back down. She laughs into his mouth, sighs again when he deepens the kiss, and moans when he trails his mouth from her lips to her ear and down her neck.

"Are you done having your way with me?" His breath is hot against her and she shudders.

She can only nod in reply.

"That's convenient because I think it's my turn."

She lets him. She figures it's only fair. It is his birthday after all.