Let's Go Back to High School; A Starling Easter Egg

By JA Ingram

For TeaWithLemon for her comment about needing to "write more scenes with grinding in them."

Enjoy!

Let it never be said that life as the love interest of a masked vigilante was not without its inconveniences. On one hand, yes; her (boyfriend? Significant other? Beloved fuckmuffin of doom?) 'partner' was everything a girl could ever dream of. He was loyal to a fault, sensitive, heroic, brave, and self-sacrificing, but he was also a pain in the ass who had the absolute worst timing in all of history.

Their love life had always been…energetic, as well as fulfilling, just not always convenient. When Oliver returned from Nanda Parbat, the first thing he did after everything settled down was whisk them off to a seaside 'cottage' (see beach mansion) in Coast City where they spent the entire week in bed together. Seriously, the whole week. They could have spent all that time in an $80 a night Motel 6 rather than a $10,000 a night McMansion for all the use they got out of it. They didn't go out, she didn't go sunbathing or get to swim in the Olympic-sized pool; hell, she never even got too explore the place beyond the bedroom and bathroom and all their meals came delivered, but they did have whole lot of very sexy fun that week. Seven days of non-stop sex later though, she was so sore from the marathon lovemaking sessions, she spent the four hour drive back to Starling wriggling in the uncomfortably hard seats of the Porsche debating whether or not to stop somewhere for a bag of ice and one of those donut pillows people use after hemorrhoid surgery.

Not that she needed it for *that* part. No, her ass was fine other than some rather interesting love bites he'd decorated them with (much to her annoyance), however, her 'little girl' was another story altogether. He had her walking funny for days after that and the smug bastard didn't even have the decency to look guilty about it either.

The thing was, even though she and Ray had been good together (although she'd never admit that to Oliver for obvious reasons), he'd been far less…um, 'inclined' towards sex? No? No, that wasn't the right word. Ray's sex drive, while more than adequate, hadn't been nearly as *focused* as Oliver's when it came to getting the job done, so to speak.

The thing about Ray was that his brain was always going in a million different directions, even during sex, so keeping him 'in the game' wasn't always easy. One minute they'd be tearing each other's clothes off in the middle of the living room, and the next he'd stop, jump up off the floor, and go run to his workshop because some inspiration had struck leaving Felicity half-dressed and high and dry. In the month and a half that they'd 'dated' they might have had sex all of a half dozen times, if that, and not at all in the two weeks preceding their very amicable break-up.

She understood, of course. If anyone could understand the idiosyncrasies of genius it was her, plus they were busy people and it wasn't like they were in love. For a minute or so Ray thought he might be but he was still grieving Anna's death and she wasn't ready to move on from Oliver yet, however much she tried to convince herself otherwise, so the sex, while good for what it was, wasn't particularly inspired or exciting. It was more about stress relief for him and an act of defiance for her.

That's not to say it was bad though. Size-wise he was fine and his little soldier was always ready for duty when the time came, but they only ever made love in one position (missionary, which wasn't bad, just boring), they never got to the point where they were comfortable enough with each other for oral (Oliver, on the other hand, dove right into it, so to speak), and sex lasted just long enough to get them both off…most of the time. Fifty percent of the time anyway which, up until being with Oliver, she thought was pretty good since her only other sexual partner had been Cooper in college and he rarely, if ever, gave her an orgasm. In fact, truth be told, until Ray she was convinced that she was one of the not so insignificant percentage of women who never orgasmed during intercourse…even though her mother assured her that it would get better with practice (much to her unending chagrin). Luckily Ray was an engineer so he was good with tools (he'd even surprised her with a few he'd built himself) and always tried to make it up to her afterwards. Besides, the fact that she could come at all with Ray was enough to convince her it was good…and then she made love to Oliver and…whoa.

Oh boy, oh boy…

She'd never met 'Ollie' but she'd heard about his legendary bedroom skills from multiple sources…as had most women in Starling City. That said, she was willing to bet that 'Ollie', the douche-y 21 year old who left on a boat with his girlfriend's little sister, had nothing on 'Oliver', the man/god with buns of steel and ridiculously sick body. What made him so good wasn't his stamina though (although thank GOD for salmon ladders and what they did for his abs, not to mention staying power), it wasn't his size (although, again, no complaints—absolutely *none*! Length *and* width were both fine by her, thank you very much), it wasn't even his technique (even though the man could write a bestseller on kissing alone); no, it was his absolute focus and dedication to task that even made their 'quickies' seem epic in comparison to every other sexual experience she'd ever had. Not once did she crawl out of their bed (desk, couch, floor, wall, kitchen counter, and on one very memorable occasion, the supply closet at work) without having experienced at least one soul-shattering orgasm.

Like the Arrow, when Oliver wanted something he did not stop until he got it. He was relentless when it came to making her come. She experienced things with him that she'd only read about in cheap romance novels and internet porn sites. Female ejaculation? Hint; no longer just a myth. The first time he made her come so hard that she did that, she spent five minutes apologizing profusely, not knowing what the hell had happened and wishing the world would just open up and swallow her whole because she was convinced she'd peed all over him while he was going down on her. However, instead of getting upset, he just grinned at her indulgently (not to mention a bit smugly after realizing that no one else had ever made her do that except him) before explaining to her exactly what that was and that it was perfectly normal and most definitely *not* pee. When she tried telling him that it wasn't normal for her, he spent the rest of the night proving her wrong and that, not only wasn't it something to be ashamed of, but that she could do it again, and again, and again. He got so good at it that they had to stop to change the sheets twice and she'd had to down a couple of bottles of water afterwards, that's how dehydrated she was. It got to the point where she was tempted to break out a tarp just to save on laundry.

Seriously, Oliver could give Sting a run for his money. Whether or not Sting's 24 hour erection was an urban legend or no, Oliver's was the real deal. It might not have been up the whole time but his refractory period was so short that she was convinced it counted as a superpower. He was a sexual savant but, best of all, making love was pretty much the only time he ever seemed truly carefree and the best version of himself. The guilt, pain, regret, and worry she'd come to expect from him, vanished when he was buried deep inside of her, playing her like a harp. He joked, snickered, laughed, and smiled so much during sex that she was tempted to let him take a naughty video of them doing it just so she'd have concrete evidence of the fact that the man could do something other than glower at people.

Of course, who the hell she could ever show it to was another matter altogether.

That seaside weekend followed by their 'honeymoon' period was just the beginning of their marathon lovemaking sessions, too. She thought that when they got back to 'real life', their passions would cool but they didn't. If anything, as time passed and they grew even more comfortable with each other sexually, his libido hit all new highs.

Despite the stress their night job, and the fact that they'd pretty much settled down into a real grown-up relationship filled with things like picking up each other's dry cleaning and having to remind him to refill the toilet paper roller when they ran out, there'd been no sign of that passion fading either. Most people she knew complained that after the first six months things petered off but they were far from tired of each other. Their sex life was still going strong despite the fact that they'd been together, quite literally, 24/7 since defeating Ra's al Ghul and his League of Assassins.

Actually, other than the occasional kidnapping, gunshot wound, prison escape, and ARGUS uprising, they were doing pretty good all over. Ray, upon leaving town, turned over the Applied Sciences division to Felicity who immediately partnered with Oliver to form a new company separate from both Palmer and Queen Consolidated that they dubbed 'Q-Core'. Their latest venture, the Q-Pad, a highly sophisticated tablet that by far surpassed everything else on the market in terms of functionality and programming capabilities, was on the verge of going into mass production, the mission was going smoothly, and everyone was healthy and happy for once.

They lived together, went to work together, shared an office and the title of CEO together, ran the mission together, and still he couldn't seem to get enough of her. Oh, they fought; they fought all the time. He was still as stubborn and bullheaded as ever and so was she, but their mutual obsession with each other that started as a fever in the blood had matured into a full-blown volcano as days became weeks, and weeks became months, until more than a year had passed with no end in sight.

They made love almost daily, sometimes several times a day, and when they couldn't make love, they made up for it and then some as soon as they could manage it. They made love in the Lair, in the office (first thing Felicity did was get rid of the glass walls for obvious reasons), at home, in the occasional alley and rooftop; practically any and everywhere. Beyond just the sex, they were also finding excuses just to touch one another; his hand automatically gravitating toward the small of her back or hip and hers constantly seeking out his so they could just hold hands, or reaching up to give his head a scritch while he practically purred in pleasure. They were absolutely, positively, sickeningly in love with each other to the point of cavities.

There had been complaints.

Many, many complaints. Most of them from their so-called friends and family and, on one very notable occasion, the manager of the frozen foods section of their (former) favorite grocery store.

Still, Oliver just could not stop touching her and she was just as bad. So much so, that she was sure they were going to lose their heads one time too many, only to find themselves spending the night in jail for public indecency.

Not that she was complaining. A little bit of jail time was a small price to pay in exchange for living out the most passionate love story ever told as far as she was concerned.

However, that said, there was only just so much the human body could take before it said 'no more' and called a 'time out'.

After a particularly passionate weekend following a five day dry spell due to a tough case they'd been pursuing (ninja biker pirates—don't even get her started on that one), she woke up the following Monday in horrendous pain, peeing what appeared to be pure blood. Attempting to keep a calm head, and not wanting to panic Oliver, she called her doctor and scheduled an emergency appointment while trying not to dwell on what it could be (Cancer? Kidneys shutting down? Radiation poisoning because, in their line of work, it could happen?), only to leave his office embarrassed and feeling like an idiot with a prescription for some antibiotics, a jug of cranberry juice, and a new addition to her ever growing list of medical terminology; namely a condition known as 'honeymoon cystitis'.

Truth be told, it was a miracle she hadn't gotten one sooner. 'Honeymoon cystitis' was a term used to describe a urinary tract infection that was caused by frequent lovemaking, hence the 'honeymoon' part. And it hurt. A lot. For the first couple of days even after the antibiotics, she was feverish, cramping, and so over sex it wasn't even funny. At one point the pain was so bad she swore she wouldn't let Oliver even near the cookie jar for at least a month, if ever again. Of course, that lasted all of two days and then the meds kicked in. The minute it stopped feeling as though she were peeing out ground up glass, she was almost tempted to go again but, despite the hormone rush brought on by having a naked Oliver in her bed, common sense won out. No matter how much he tried, she refused to have sex until after she finished the entire week-long course of antibiotics, which, by the way, was the next day.

Even though she was only one pill away from a clean bill of health, and just as eager as Oliver was to get back in the swing of things, as said naked person's hand snaked around her waist and he began to grind his hips into hers, the still fresh memory of sitting on the pot praying for death immediately put the kibosh on whatever it was he was planning to do to her.

"No," she said firmly.

"You said you were feeling better," he reminded her in a husky tone as his lips teased the curve of her neck. "Much, much better…" he added with a playful nip.

"I still have one more day of antibiotics; you can wait one more day," she said chastisingly. "Besides, we don't have any condoms," she reminded him.

"So, what difference does that make?" He said off-handedly, his nose nuzzling against her ear in a way that made her shiver and break out into goosebumps, "We never use condoms," he reminded her.

They were both clean and she was on birth control so, early on in their relationship (hell, Nanda Parbat early on) they decided to forgo condoms as they agreed that they were in it for the long haul and that this was going to be a committed, monogamous relationship.

"Birth control isn't effective while you're on antibiotics."

"Really?" He asked, pulling back slightly.

"Really," she assured him wryly. "I already told you that, remember? The doctor said we needed to use condoms for two weeks after I stopped the antibiotics just to be safe; that's why I told you to stop by the pharmacy after work this morning."

"Forgot," he said as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Then next time maybe you'll remember. Until then, unless you want to revise your policy on 'no babies in the Lair', you'd do well to either reel it in by thinking of baseball statistics and naked grannies or go to the bathroom in order to take care of that," she glanced down pointedly, "by yourself."

He chuckled and pushed his hips against hers again, "It's a thought."

"Masturbation or naked grannies?"

He snorted, "No, revising our policy on allowing babies inside of the Lair."

She twisted around and shot him a dubious look, "Really? You want to have a baby? Now?"

His eyebrows lifted slightly and he shrugged, "Maybe not *right* now…"

"Nine months from now then. Besides, in case you've forgotten," she wiggled her left hand in front of his face, "no ring means no babies. I may be a modern girl in a lot of ways, but the only way a bun is getting into this oven, buster, is if you put a ring on it first."

"Like I said, it's a thought," he told her again as he brushed his lips across hers tenderly.

"You want to get married?" She asked incredulously. "Really, or is that just the Little Arrow talking?"

"First off, the 'Little Arrow' isn't all that little as well you should know," he said with a naughty glint in his eye. "A more accurate nickname would be the 'Mighty Arrow' or even the 'Majestic Arrow', not the 'Little Arrow'—"

"You are so full of crap," she told him flatly.

"Secondly," he said, ignoring her, "Yes, I want to get married."

"To me?"

"Yes, to you," he said with a hint of a scowl. "Who the hell else would I be asking to marry me?"

Her brow furrowed at that, "Now?"

"Not this very second, but soon, yeah," he told her. "Maybe this weekend or something, I don't know. We could head out to Vegas so your mom could be there. I know Vegas is a little fly-by-night, but we don't need much, do we? We've talked about it, if only in passing; enough to know that neither of us are interested in making a big fuss. We could do something low key, just a justice of the peace and a cake. Plus, I love you, you love me, we've been living together for over a year now…"

She looked at him askance, "You're asking me to marry you? Now; this weekend, while we're both still naked?"

He smirked at that, "Well, I was planning on wearing clothes during the ceremony unless your mom knows of any clothing optional wedding chapels."

"I meant that you're proposing to me while we're naked," she said in exasperation.

"No," he drawled, "I'm telling you I want to get married because proposing is the same as asking, and asking implies that I'll take 'no' for an answer, which I won't."

"Really?" She drawled, her lips pursed in amusement.

"Really," he confirmed.

"So, if I say no, are you going to sling me over your shoulder like a caveman, and drag me to Vegas kicking and screaming? Or are you planning to just sweep me up in a bridal carry and haul me off somewhere so you can make love to me until I submit to your will?"

"Why not?" He said with another smirk. "Option B sounds good, then again, so does A. Pick one and let's do it; ladies choice."

"You're ridiculous," she said shaking her head at his antics.

"I don't see what's so unreasonable about that. We're the stuff of legends; meant to be, remember?" He teased with a half grin, his lips brushing hers once more, "According to you and that Doctor Who marathon you made me sit through anyway."

"You disagree?" She hummed happily.

"Hell no," he snorted. "We are definitely meant to be, Miss Smoak."

"What about a ring?"

"Do you need a ring in order to give me an answer?" He tossed back.

"It would be nice," she smiled.

"Fine, say yes and I'll give you as many rings as you want," he told her.

"Okay," she said, her grin broadening.

"Really?" He asked hopefully.

"Really," she nodded.

"Alright, then," he rumbled huskily, rolling her over onto her back as he eased between her thighs. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"But no Vegas and no baby making," she told him. Placing a firmly hand on his chest, "Not yet anyway; one step at a time, so no glove, no love, and I do not want a Vegas wedding. If I have to spend the rest of our lives staring at a wedding portrait with Elvis and the Eiffel Tower in the background, I will poke my eyes out with a dull spoon, I swear to God. At the very least you're taking me to Niagara Falls. It'll still be cheesy as hell but the background scenery in the photos will be somewhat nicer at least."

"You're killing me here," he muttered then sighed, his head dropping to her neck with a groan. "Fine, we'll pick up your mom with the jet and head to Niagara Falls instead. Now are you going to help me out or what? Men can die from blue balls, you know. Plus, I'm getting older; I have a finite number of erections left in me before I wind up having to get a prescription for Cialis so you'd better savor them while they're here."

She laughed, "First off, there is no such thing as dying from blue balls. That excuse might have worked when you were a teenager trying to get inside your prom date's panties but I know better. Secondly, I can't believe you would stoop so low as to threaten me with erectile dysfunction."

He snickered unrepentantly against her neck, "I'm just saying, according to that guy from the biotech division, it's coming—so to speak, so better get it while you can. After all, in less than four years my prostate will begin to-"

"The one meeting you pay attention to and it's the one about ED drugs and the aging prostate?" She asked mockingly.

"I'm a guy," he said easily. "When someone starts talking about my dick and whether or not I get to continue using it, it tends to stick out in my mind."

"Duly noted," she drawled, "but until you get a box of something ribbed for my pleasure or my birth control starts working again, you're not going to be 'sticking' anything in me, sorry."

"We could do other stuff?" He suggested with a slow grin.

"What other stuff?" She asked suspiciously.

He looked at her carefully, "What other stuff can I do?"

"Probably not what you want to do, let's put it that way."

He rolled his eyes, "I was just kidding about that."

"Yeah, right, and if I had said 'okay' the last time you 'jokingly' suggested it?"

His lips twitched upwards at that. "I would have gone for it," he admitted.

"Not today," she said firmly.

"But maybe in the future we could think about…?"

"No."

"Okay, fine, but for the record that wasn't what I was suggesting," he said, leaning down to nip playfully at her earlobe.

She purred as goosebumps broke out all over her body. Damn the man for knowing all her weaknesses, she thought. "So what were you suggesting then?"

"I was just thinking about the thing you said about my prom date."

"Your prom date," she repeated slowly.

"Yeah, I was thinking we could go back to high school," he said with a wink.

She frowned, "High school? Now you've really lost me."

"You know," he said, moving his hips and causing her to gasp involuntarily as he ground his hips against her in just the right way, "High school, or as the French-exchange student who taught it to me called it, 'frottage'."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "You're making that up."

"Nope, frottage is a real thing," he assured her as his fingers danced over her nipple under the covers.

She learned early on that sleeping with Oliver was like having an electric blanket on full blast so she abandoned the idea of pajamas as anything but loungewear and took to sleeping in the nude instead. Besides, it saved a lot of time and when you were a CEO/vigilante, you needed all the extra sleep you could get.

"I know 'frottage' is a real thing, Oliver; I was talking about the exchange student," she said with a huff.

"Wrong again. Tommy and I made a sport of going through the entire exchange program roster. We called it, 'Around the World in 80 Lays'."

"I can't believe I'm marrying you," she muttered.

"Get used to it because I'm totally holding you to the Niagara Falls thing," he said with a teasing grin.

"Whatever," she said with a sigh. "Now what does grinding have to do with high school?" She asked even as shivers of pleasure worked their way down her spine.

"You never got to dry hump in the backseat of a car when you were in high school?" Oliver asked as he pressed his erection teasingly against her center.

She gasped, "I graduated high school when I was thirteen, so no."

He paused, "You graduated high school when you were thirteen?"

"You didn't know that?" She asked as her hands traced over the scars on his back. "Oliver, I'm twenty-six and I have a double master's from MIT."

"So?"

"So do the math," she told him. "I was hired in 2009, meaning I was barely nineteen when I joined QC and it takes four years to earn a bachelor's degree and another two to get a master's even on the fast track."

"Guess I never thought about it," he mumbled against her throat as he continued to press sucking kisses down her neck and shoulder. "Besides, dropped out of four colleges, remember? I never even got to earn my bachelor's much less a master's degree."

"Didn't you read my file back when we first met?" She asked, biting her bottom lip as he slid through her wetness, his cock rubbing the underside of her clit in just the right way.

He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow, "Are you going to criticize my lack of due diligence or are you going to let me get back to work here?"

"Keep doing what you were doing," she told him, pulling his mouth back to her, causing him to snicker once again.

He sat up on his knees and pushed her legs apart before taking himself in hand and rubbing it over her heated flesh, "That's so beautiful," he said in a low rumble as he drew slow circles over and around her opening.

She arched her back, her body instinctively pressing closer to him, "Yeah?"

"Mmm," he hummed as he dipped inside slightly only to pull out and slide the tip of his erection over the tight bundle of nerves above her folds. "That feel good, baby?"

"Yes, and I hate you so much right now," she told him as she squirmed under his ministrations.

"No, you don't," he chuckled as he eased over her, his teeth teasing at one taut nipple as he pumped his hips in a wet, slow, slide against her center.

"Okay, I just hate you a little then," she said, making him chuckle again as he reached between them to angle his cock so that it pressed harder against her clit causing a new flood of moisture between her legs.

"You're getting so wet," he growled. "You sure you want to stick to your guns, Felicity?" He asked teasingly, drawing out the syllables of her name in a way that he knew drove her nuts.

She tightened her legs around him arching upwards, causing him to hiss in response as she scraped her teeth against his shoulder, "Why? Don't think you can outlast me, Mr. Queen?"

He gave a breathless laugh at that and pressed against her even harder, "Oh, don't even try to make this a competition, sweetheart, because I will bring it."

"So bring it," she taunted as she slid her hand down his back before squeezing his butt with both hands. "Move your ass, Queen."

He looked down at her, eyes glinting with passion and determination, before snapping his hips and making her moan as the delicious friction of their bodies sent pleasure zinging up her spine, "That's right, baby; this is one game I'm going to win."

"Oh yeah?" She asked, sucking at his throat, her tongue rasping against his beard before nipping at his Adam's apple.

"Yeah," he said, putting his hand back between their bodies, only this time his fingers dipped inside of her instead of wrapping themselves around his cock.

"That's cheating," she said with a gasp as two, then three fingers began to pump inside of her to the slow rhythmic glide of his narrow hips.

"No, fingering still counts as high school. Cheating would be this," he said as his hand moved upwards to angle his cock towards her center before snapping his hips once again so he was buried inside of her.

She cried out in passion as he began to thrust in and out forcefully, "Oliver!" She moaned in half-hearted protest. "This was supposed to be like in high school, remember?"

"This is like in high school," he snickered. "How do you think we got laid back then?"

"But we don't have a condom," she whined even as she tilted her hips to take in even more of him.

"I can pull out," he said, still snickering despite the punishing rhythm of his hips. "See? Again, just like high school."

"Oliver!"

"Fine," he said, pulling out slowly until the tip of his erection was just inside of her then rocking his hips back and forth slowly. His eyes locked on hers as his voice fell to a husky timbre, "Unless you want to keep going just a little longer?"

"How much longer?" She asked despite herself as he made a circle with his hips that had her squirming underneath him.

"A few more seconds?" He suggested before sinking in deeper, "And maybe just a few more inches?"

"Just-! Okay…" she panted, squeezing her eyes shut, "Fuck it; just do it."

"You sure?" He smirked evilly.

"Just shut up and fuck me, Oliver!" She snapped at him then cried out as he gave up on high school and took her straight into college.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

Felicity stood at the door to the bathroom glaring at her new husband as he lay sprawled across their bed playing with one of the new Q-Pad prototypes. As he looked up at her inquiringly, she held up a white test strip for his inspection.

"You are so changing this kid's diapers, Mr. 'Let's go back to high school'."

The End.