Felicity lay on the couch under a mountain of blankets, a
box of tissues and a recently-refilled 64 ounce travel cup of water within
reach. Balanced precariously on the couch cushions and far enough under the
blanket so Felicity didn’t have to risk exposing an arm was a bag of potato
chips and a bowl of melted chocolate. Netflix was playing on the TV over the
happily burning fireplace. It was winter, so thankfully it was cool enough to
be burning a fire and Oliver didn’t complain when she’d asked him to turn it on
before he left for work this morning.
She heard door to the loft open. Speak of the devil. It
spoke to how horrible Felicity felt that she didn’t even try hiding her
“Hon?” Oliver called and she heard him moving toward the
couch. “I know you said I should do Arrow duty without you tonight, but… Are
you dipping potato chips in melted chocolate?”
She didn’t turn over. Didn’t even move. Her entire body was
one huge ache and her head and nose were so stuffed that she didn’t even know
how her brain was processing information.
Oliver was silent for a moment and Felicity knew exactly
what he was doing.
There was a new side to Oliver she’d found during their road
trip. She called it Master Chef Oliver. Ever since he discovered an undying
love for cooking, he didn’t stop. Much to the chagrin of her clothes. Despite
his protests – both verbal and… biblical – that he loved how she looked, she’d
had to start working out. Sure, she could’ve eaten healthy, but why?
Oliver had made it his mission in life to get Felicity to
give up her “teenage boy going through puberty” diet and actually eat like a
healthy, functioning adult. It hadn’t gone well so far, but Oliver was nothing
if not determined.
Whenever she worked at home, he always brought her these
healthy snacks like organic carrots with homemade secret dipping sauce (that
she thought tasted like celery but everyone else seemed to love). He would
sneak around behind her when they were getting ready for a movie night and
replace all her snack choices with much healthier (and far less tasty) options.
Except her ice cream. He knew better than to touch her ice cream.
Even now, when she was home sick with the flu, he was trying
to help her recovery while still getting her to eat healthy. Like being sick
didn’t automatically give a person a pass on all things greasy and chocolatey.
Master Chef Oliver was trying to compose himself before he
made his argument.
“Did you run out of the soup I made you?” he asked. She
heard him opening the fridge and couldn’t help but grin, knowing he’d find the
entire quart still in there.
“Nope,” she responded, popping the ‘p’ with as much power as
she had in her sniffly, sick self.
“Felicity, all that sugar and grease isn’t going to make you
feel better. Weren’t you listening when I read you that research study?”
Ah, yes. Her fiancée only did research outside of work for
one reason: food.
“You weren’t wearing the apron.”
“When I handmade those noodles and perfectly cooked
everything exactly how you like it before making my own broth I most certainly was
“You weren’t wearing just
That made him go quiet.
Oh, the apron. Felicity may get occasionally annoyed at
Master Chef Oliver, but he came with the perks of the apron she’d given him
randomly one day. She’d seen it in the window when she was out shopping and
couldn’t resist buying it for him. The apron was normal, but it was printed
with an over-drawn, super muscular guy in tiny white underwear. It’s not as good as the real thing, she’d
said, but I can’t ask you to cook naked all the time.
They’d done a lot of adult, non-cooking related activities
after she’d said that.
She often joked since then that she’d only eat his healthy
food if he cooked it for her in that apron. Only
that apron. It had led to some truly fabulous countertop and dining-room-table
orgasms. It was kind of an open invitation whenever he wore it.
“Felicity,” he groaned, walking over to the couch and
leaning over it so he could look her in the eye. His were molten hot, but his
mouth was pinched. “Remember what happened last time we had sex when you were
She pulled her face into an expression that she often said
was her version of his “grumpy face.” He said he didn’t see the resemblance but
that didn’t stop her. “I infected your scientifically perfect body with my
impure germs and made you sick,” she grumbled, not stopping mocking him at his
His mouth opened but he seemed slightly stunned for a moment
before he couldn’t hold back his laugh. “I didn’t say that!” he insisted, his
eyes still hot but also sparkling with humor and Felicity couldn’t resist
“Not in so many words, but I felt the silent judgment of my
less-than-scientifically-perfect immune system.”
Oliver leaned over and Felicity’s eyes slid shut in
anticipation of the kiss, but she felt his soft lips and scratchy stubble on
her forehead and couldn’t help but pout. Which he laughed at when he pulled
back. He laughed!
“I love every part of you,” he said. “Even your inferior
Felicity sighed and gazed up at him. “Oh, well. I guess this
was a waste,” she said, throwing back the blanket to reveal Oliver’s greatest
Aka: her tight green sleep tank top and teeny-tiny pajama
shorts that were dark green and covered in lighter green arrows. She thought
they would just be a cute joke, but the first time she’d worn them Oliver’s
eyes had darkened before he practically dragged her into bed.
It had been funny at first. Of everything he’d ever seen her
in it was these sleep pants that did it the most for him? He said it was a
combination of the green, the arrows, and the undeniable power of her ass.
Felicity would never admit that the majority of the working
out she’d done after her clothes started to get tight in Ivy Town was squats
“Felicity,” he said again, but it was much more of a whine
this time. His hands clenched on the back of the couch, his knuckles going
white. His brows furrowed over his bright, beautiful, hot eyes and Felicity grinned.
“I guess I might as well change. I have this cute onesie
that – ”
She never got to finish her sentence because Oliver vaulted
over the couch, wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her so hard she thought
their mouths were going to fuse together.
Fine by her.
Felicity woke up disoriented. And still sick.
She was naked now, but there was a nice, warm Oliver draped
over her on the couch so she didn’t mind. At some point, he’d put the apron on
and she’d laughed the most she ever had during sex.
She grappled for her phone on the counter, wondering how
much time had passed, and was distracted by how many text notifications she
had. All from her mother, talking about how she was going to come see her “sick
baby” and “give her some mama love” to make her get better.
She was concerned to see they came with increasing frequency
until, about an hour ago, there was one that said, I’m here!
It was then that she noticed something weird on her face.
She reached up, pulling the small yellow sticky note off her
forehead and staring at it like it had grown out of her head before she groped
for her glasses to read it.
Hi, baby! Came by to
see you. Found you like this. Good job, baby! P.S. – I didn’t peek!
Only her mother could fit so many words on such a small,
She turned to wake up Oliver and share the story before she
saw another sticky note on his forehead. And realized his ass was bared to the
world since he wasn’t wearing anything under the apron.
I didn’t really have
Felicity’s face felt like it was on fire and she was sure
she was even more crimson that the flu made her. “Oliver!” she exclaimed,
nudging him to get him to wake up and get off her so she could appropriately
freak out and schedule her life not to see her mother for the next month.
He snuffled and groaned, which was a big difference from his
normal wakeup of instant-readiness.
Maybe flu-sex wasn’t such a great idea.
“Oliver, wake up. We have to plan how we’re going to avoid
my mother for the next month.”