Arrow: Saving The City (Patreon)

Oliver was on the salmon ladder when Felicity came in. They were alone, and entering, Felicity had a moment to register the sheer emptiness of the place, the void of it, before the realization of Oliver’s presence came crashing in.

He groaned and jerked with each motion, the deviation from his normal, tightly controlled stoicism evidence of how long he’d been at it. Felicity was no work-out junkie like Queen, but she could practically feel her muscles burning, just turning the corner and seeing him working his way up the ladder.

For all the evident weariness in him, the huffing breaths that rammed their way through the empty hideout, the clang of metal as his bar crashed into place again and again—his body was poetry in motion. There was a grace to the well-practiced motions, a nobility to the sheen of sweat that had escaped even his reptilian cool, and for a moment, Felicity wasn’t sure whether she was looking at Oliver like a pin-up in Playgirl or like an animal at the zoo.

It was his markings. The scars, the tattoos, even some bandages from a wound of recent vintage. They gave him a texture that was unlike anything Felicity had ever encountered. She was working closely enough with Ray to know what a looker he was: a man who sweated baby oil, who practiced Cross-Fit religiously, who didn’t have a tattoo or piercing on his body. And all she could think of was how inoffensive that was. How plain, the six-pack and the tan and the shaved chest that you could find in any fitness magazine, while Oliver had an exoticism.

Bruises changing color like a flower in bloom. Tattoos offering nonsense hints to his past. Bandaged lacerations that broke the lines of his body like beauty marks. Scars that rose from his smooth skin in keloid tissue, excavated fossils of the violence buried under his flesh. There was so much of him, it was overflowing, and just seeing him, she remembered drowning in it.

Slade Wilson. The Mirakuru cult. The moment he’d confessed how he felt about her. She didn’t for a minute buy that it was all an act, another stratagem, another back-up plan. He could have all the secrets he wanted, but she knew him. He wore his heart on his sleeve.

The thing was, there was a difference between feeling something and acting on it.

And I’ve made myself sad, Felicity thought, briskly pushing up her glasses, clearing her throat to announce her presence, and moving through the hide-out to her workstation.

“You’re late,” Oliver husked out, his voice strained with the weight of his exertion.

Felicity could read him, or at least as well as she ever could. His nerves were on edge, his consciousness razor-sharp. The sheer grit of his voice gave her a strong sense of his masculinity, and she felt the urge to look at him again, this time searching for more than corded leg muscles in his tight pants, and the wiry hair that curled over the lip of his waistband.

She did look over at him, apprehensively, and noted a slightly wry look on his face as he dismounted. She had the sharp impression that he’d kept going, machine-like, until she’d arrived to see him, and the ridiculous notion refused to leave her mind.

“Duty called,” Felicity said apologetically, busying herself with unpacking her things. There were a few essentials she brought with her for every night she spent as Overwatch, and slapping down a bottled water or a container of mints did something to increase her sense of self. “Not all of us can pull off being a callow playboy as a cover.”

Padding through the room, massaging the back of his neck, Oliver picked up a towel and dried himself off. Felicity looked over at him now, his body red with exertion, scars almost lit up with paleness along his body. She quickly looked away again. She had seen him unsure of himself, and though it appealed to her that he was letting her in, allowing her to see his vulnerability, there was something absorbing about him when he was cool and calculating. She had not seen him so confident, almost arrogant, in some time.

“What was wrong with the cover of being an Apple Genius?” Oliver asked into the towel. He kept scrubbing at his damp hair, giving her ample opportunity to see his musculature in repose. Even while not straining in exercise, he had the definition of a marble statue.

“The pen—the pay,” Felicity insisted, and rattled the keys as she typed, deliberately pressing them with more force than necessary as she brought up her usual backdoors into various government data streams. “And I do like having an actual career, and a corner office, a company car, having my talents appreciated…”

“Is that what Ray’s appreciating?” Oliver asked. In the reflection of a dead monitor, Felicity could see him wiping down his abs. She turned that monitor on quickly.

“Not sure I know what that would feel like,” Felicity said, trying to break the tension with some teasing. “It’s not something I get a lot of.”

She turned in her chair to face him. Once they’d made eye contact, his eyes never left hers. The force of his look cowed Felicity, and she sank down into her chair.

“He just wants me to work on some designs for him.” She was only just realizing how deeply upset Oliver was. Had some anger been building up in him over the past weeks? It was hard to say—they had seen little of each other, with her new job with Palmer, him training Roy. Little interaction at all except over comms. So maybe something had happened all at once to make him suddenly so… emotional.

“And do you?” Oliver walked closer, dropping the towel to the floor, and it looked absurdly incongruous in the spotlessly spartan, high-tech headquarters… a dirty towel lying on the cold hard ground. “Have designs?”

His pants were riding low, disheveled by the intense work-out, now showing off the sharp vee that ended the muscles of his torso, began the narrowness of his hips. And while she was looking at him, he moved. Came up to her so quickly that he was standing over Felicity almost before she realized he was coming towards her. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. His eyes blazed into hers. Only a couple of inches separated them.

“Tell the truth.”

Felicity bit her lip, hating this confrontation, this sudden descent from the light availability of the tension between them to sudden, jarring reality. All this time she’d wanted him to act on his feelings, reject her, embrace her, do something, and now here it was. Whatever his limit was, he’d reached it. As if she’d joined up with Palmer just to make him jealous, he couldn’t bear to think of her with Ray.

“The truth?” Felicity asked, her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears. “The truth is you can intimate any crook in this city, no matter how scary they are, but you can’t control me.” She gathered her scattered wits, forcing words together with no clue how they fit. “And I think that scares the hell out of you. I think you’d rather have… floozies and relationships you know don’t work, as long as they’re predictable, instead of taking a chance on me.”

His nostrils flared, like a bull about to charge, and fresh beads of sweat charged down his forehead. His nearness was like radiation, like adrenaline coursing through her veins, like the smoke from something burning. It made her lightheaded, having to take his closeness second after second. He wouldn’t back away from her, wouldn’t break the contact, and if she hadn’t resented the unresolved portion of their relationship for so long, she would’ve been too flustered to speak.

“What have you been doing with Ray Palmer?” he asked again, and she replied just as stubbornly.

“What business is that of youse’s?” Then: youse’s? Does sexual frustration turn me into one of Al Capone’s men?

For once, Oliver wasn’t charmed by her slip of the tongue. Abruptly his hands were clawing into her dress, tearing it from her body, and the more Felicity tried to cover herself, the better he was able to get at the shreds of her dress. Felicity felt the air between her garters, in the space between her stockings and her panties.

She realized that she could feel the same sweat-swollen air on her breasts, encased now only in a bra that felt absurdly light and flimsy after her thick dress had been ripped away. Her hands more desperately pressed into her cleavage, her groin, as if he could already see through her undergarments.

“Oliver, what are you doing?” she babbled, just to be saying something, to be expressing some of the shock she felt. “You’re ruining my dress!”

“You can buy another one.” He stopped, the tatters of her dress clutched in his fists, and stared at her. His open leering brought a shock of arousal to Felicity’s body. It made her feel alive, finally, openly having him—declare his intent in such an overpowering way. She felt claimed. “I just want to see you naked. Why should I be the only one left out?”

Again he pressed in close. She could smell him. She could feel his body heat, all but his skin itself pressed up against her. “I can tell how much you love it. How you’ve looked at me. How you flirt with me. How you try to fuck me. Only you haven’t tried for weeks. So what happened? Did you decide to join the nuns?”

The musk of him was overwhelming; she could taste it on her tongue. Only try to ignore it. “Maybe I just got over you. Like you got over me, fucking Laurel and Sara and just about anyone else who offered,” Felicity replied with sudden anger.

“Not you,” Oliver replied. His big hand took hold of the wrist that was covering her bra. Slowly, his muscles exerted themselves, his bicep barely moving as he pried her hand away from her breasts. “I thought you’d wait. Until I was done with the list. Until maybe this city didn’t need me.”

“I shouldn’t have to wait,” Felicity said.

“No. You shouldn’t.” His other hand moved, a blur, and the next thing Felicity knew, she was feeling the air on her bare breasts. It was warmer than before. “There. That’s better.”

She stood trembling before him, naked except for her garters and stockings and sensible shoes. Her flimsy lace bra fell to the floor, joining the scattered remnants of her dress.

Leaving her in a thong.

Oliver reached down, fingers plinking at her waistband like it was the string of a violin. Felicity felt the slight pinch of her waistband giving, releasing, the hairs on his knuckles, short and downy, touching her skin… “What’s the matter, Felicity? Too hot outside not to dress like a slut?”

“I just like wearing them, that’s all,” Felicity said. “If you haven’t been able to enjoy them, that’s your own fault.”

He reached further down. Touched her pussy. Felicity gasped, but all too soon, he was taking his hand away. Raising it to his nose. “That’s pretty sweaty, Smoak. I know you haven’t been exercising. So what is it? Did you play with yourself before you got here? Or are you just enjoying this?”

He looked deep into her eyes, the sustained contact blazing with conviction.

“Let’s face it, Felicity… you wouldn’t be into me if you weren’t a little fucked up.”

“You’re all talk, Queen. Do you know what Ray would’ve done to me by now?”

“Do you?”

Her glasses were fogging up. She wished she could take them off, but she couldn’t move.

He grabbed her shoulders and flung her down hard onto her own desk, her hip clipping a monitor and knocking it off-center. Felicity automatically moved to fix it, but Oliver was climbing on top of her, knocking the monitor entirely off the desk.

Now his closeness fell on top of her, pinned her down, held her in place. Even though he wasn’t touching her, his bare arms fell to either side of her body, his flesh was over hers, he was so close to her that Felicity felt spasms going through her cunt.

Her mouth fell open; her thighs rubbed together. She didn’t try to suppress her arousal, didn’t try to fight it down. She knew she was courting disaster, letting her nipples become erect, her thighs spread, but in her hysteria she couldn’t care. All she knew was that if he wanted to have her, then he had damn well better do something with her once she was his.

But he stayed there, perched over her, cornering her but not moving in for the kill. He was close enough that she couldn’t see, only feel, as his weight shifted, his hand rising from the desktop beside her, palm sticking a little with sweat, leaving a handprint in liquid on the surface. His hand came up, two fingers pinched her glasses, and with sudden gentleness, he lifted them away from her face. Put them on another section of her desk, safe between two monitors.

She squinted to see him. Maybe it was just her imagination, but there was sudden reluctance on his face, guilt, questioning. She couldn’t stand it. Anything else, but not that.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him. “Do I have to marry into the Lance family first? Is that what it takes for you to get it off—I mean, take off your—or my—or, wait, get it up, that works better, get your penis…”

In her rush of vocalization, she tried to get up, but his free hand was suddenly on her breast, hot as a skillet, pushing her back down onto her back. As he held her there, he squeezed, and the power in his grip felt even better than his touch. “Stay right where you are, Smoak. I’m not done with you yet.”

His words—fondly contemptuous as they were—still aroused her temper. Who was he to act so playful, so mockingly superior, after how he’d jerked her around? She struggled mightily to push him away, but he was immovable.

“If you’re going to do something, do it!” she demanded, though it came out as more of a plea, tears of frustration gathering in her eyes. It was such a defenseless position she was in, and he was so much stronger than her, and she was next to naked too, so vulnerable in her stockings, her garters, her scant little panties.

It turned her on so much. She thought he must be able to smell it on her.

Abruptly he turned her around, flipping her onto her belly, then planting his free hand on the back of her neck to press her face down into the desktop. She felt more exposed than ever, now with her ass on display… every scant move she made had it jiggling, pouncing upward and into his hard belly, or lower, into his loins. For a moment, she thought she might strike him in the groin, just to teach him a lesson, but driving her buttocks into his cock did little to dissuade him.

Felicity belatedly realized this. She was much quicker in realizing she wouldn’t want it any other way.

***

Watching Felicity struggle under him in her embarrassed nudity was doing strange things to Oliver. Other women had sparked his libido since the island, driven him to play his part for various reasons. A hope of rekindling old flames, an attempt to live down to his reputation, or just the pleasantry of the act itself, which of late had become just that—a pleasantry.

But Felicity actually aroused him. Made him have to have her. Had him gluttonously appreciating her, in an uncomplicated, animalistic, somehow innocent way he thought he’d lost on Lian Yu. Watching her garter-streaked ass struggling for freedom was reminding him of the joy he’d taken in his collegiate days of conquest, a distant cousin to the rush he got from breaking an enemy. Her ass was so firm and round, cheeks wiggling provocatively against his body. They seemed to beg for attention. For something of his to satisfy their writhing need.

“Let’s see what it takes to turn you on,” he said in her ear, already knowing.

Just like that, he was raining down open-handed blows on her ass, watching fascinated as the quivering cheeks turned a bright red. His cock was getting harder by the minute.

***

Felicity didn’t manage any protests, no pleas for mercy or to stop. She just squirmed desperately, knowing it was no use, knowing how firmly Oliver could and did hold her. As her sex wiggled against the firm wood underneath her, Felicity’s mind caught up to her body. Her fear, her pain, they were turning into titillation.

She was masochistically enjoying the spanking that Oliver was giving her.

Felicity actually felt disappointed when the blows stopped. She looked slowly behind herself and was delighted to see Oliver ripping away his belt, lowering his pants. She knew what she wanted now. She knew how she needed to be fucked.

“Now!” she mewled, her buttocks wiggling encouragingly, and even more vigorously as she saw Oliver’s cock revealed. “Right now!”

He kneeled on the desk over her, straddling her thighs. “You’re going to have to take it,” he spat down at her. “You’re going to have to take it all.”

“Oh, God, yesss! Make me take it!” she groaned, rolling over onto her back, spreading for him. Even the veiled threat in his words excited Felicity. It was like a perverted fantasy come to life… Oliver punishing her for all the naughtiness she’d ever indulged in, or hadn’t, or should’ve. And next he would mount her and fuck her senseless. She was finally going to know what it would be like to feel his hard cock opening up her pussy. “Don’t give me a choice! I just want you inside me! I want you so bad!”

Affection and wildness fought for supremacy in Oliver’s mind. Watching Felicity’s naked cunt quiver as she begged for cock made him swell into a weapon. And hearing her mew and grovel made him want to comfort her, slow down, tell her they could stop if she wanted—at the same time, he wanted her more than ever. He wanted to punish her and fuck her and make love to her. He wanted to do it all at the same time.

His breath rasped, his mind made up for him as Felicity dragged his body on top of hers, clamping her arms and legs around him in need. Her hand probed between them for his cock. God, he’s got a big cock, she thought, as Oliver swore and thought of what a wet pussy she had. What a tight, wet pussy.

He forced his stiff prick inside her.

“Oh!” Felicity gritted her teeth, pulling his muscular body closer to her. “Fuck me… fuck me good…”

Oliver took deep, slow strokes into her throbbing cunt, unable to think of anything but how wet she was, how tight. With each thrust, she worked like a blazing fire beneath him. His callused hands caught her breasts, massaging the rock-hard nipples as he continued his slow, steady pistoning.

Felicity’s legs wound around his waist, closing tightly, squeezing him and pulling his cock into her. “Yes, give me that cock!” She was on the edge of heaven, driven to bliss with every surge between her legs, and the only way she could get more of it was to beg. To arouse him with her voice. She babbled, an unconscious stream of pure want. “Shoot your load in my pussy! It’s yours, take it, blow your wad in it! Put your cum inside me!”

Another stiff pump shook Felicity’s body, made the whole desk jerk under her. Oliver could see her eyes roll back in her head as he punished her with pleasure. “I’m gonna fuck you full of cum. I’m gonna fill you up so tight you’ll be able to taste it.”

“Don’t stop, Oliver, don’t stop!” It almost hurt, how full she was, how much he entered her with one simple thrust. He wasn’t even trying hard. She could tell he was holding back, going easy on her, no matter how much she pulled at him, begged for him. He was just so big. And he could use it, all ten inches of it. Maybe more. She didn’t know anymore. She’d never been so damn fucked.

Felicity cried out, screaming, as her cunt tightened into orgasm. Her hands pressed down on his ass, hoping to shove his cock even further into her, to make herself take all of it, all of this impossible sensation, as much as she could. He left her tits mauled by his firm grip, blazing with the red markings of his squeezing gropes, and took hold of her thighs. She helped him lift her legs, planting them on his shoulders as he plunged his cock into her once more, pumping it deeper than ever.

“Oh no… holy shit, holy fuck… I’m coming!” Her voice failed her, rasping hoarsely, as if she could barely breathe.” Fuck me harder!” she panted. “Fuck me harder—I’m coming again!”

“Come, you slut,” Oliver rasped, his own voice low. “Come!”

“Come inside me! Fill me up!”

“No backing out now—“

“Yes, please…”

“You’ve got to take it… can’t stop now… you’re gonna get what’s coming to you…”

“Hurry, yes…”

“You beautiful fucking whore…”

“I can’t stand it!”

Oliver pulled out just as she passed the point of no return, kneeling between her thighs, breathing harshly. Felicity was stuck there, orgasming under him, vibrating from the pleasure of it. Her eyes were closed. Her head rolled from side to side as she almost caught her breath.

“You… you fucking fantastic hunk of cock…” she sighed.

“There’s a pet name I haven’t heard before.”

“Can’t call you the Arrow in public, after all.”

“But you can call me a fucking fantastic hunk of cock?”

Felicity opened her eyes. She sat up and smiled at him. “Did you come?”

“No. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Felicity looked down. She wasn’t prepared for the sight of his cock, larger and angrier than ever, and practically dripping with her own arousal. “God, it’s… still there… still mine…”

“For a while now.” Oliver rolled Felicity over. Like a doll, she allowed herself to be manipulated, sighing lovingly as he grabbed her hips and pulled her up onto her hands and knees. He kneaded the full, swelling globes of her ass, still reddened by his slaps, and he spread the valley between them wide. Oliver gazed covetously at the wet, golden hair of her pussy… and the tight, puckered hole of her ass.

That was what he wanted. To fuck her in the ass so she’d never forget. To make her remember how he felt every time she sat down.

He slid his stiff cock in along her crack, watching it gleam once more with the wetness of her arousal. He pushed on her sex, and she took him inside almost desperately, the walls of her pussy clasping him convulsively. He seemed to feel her spasming.

“God, Oliver… I can’t take it, not again, not again!”

Felicity’s mouth was wide open. She couldn’t believe it. For the first time she was coming effortlessly, coming the instant a hard cock entered her greedy cunt. She had never been this excited before. Not with anyone.

Although Oliver didn’t show it, he could scarcely believe it either. Felicity was coming already, just the filling presence of his cock too much for her. He thought he was getting the idea, what it took to satisfy Felicity Smoak. She liked to be treated a little rough. Touching his dominance, his maleness, it drove her wild. She didn’t want a pussycat. She wanted a tiger.

He felt a new excitement, a new love for the beautiful blonde. She was perfect for him, in bed just like everywhere else. He couldn’t do pussycat. He could very much do tiger.

He watched her asscheeks churn in the abandoned throes of orgasm and wondered if he had ever wanted her this much. If he had ever wanted any woman this much.

And he wanted to fuck her in the ass.

Without warning, he pulled himself from her sex and brought his cock to the tightly clenched opening of her ass. Felicity didn’t get a chance to tense up. His cockhead surged inside, the swollen crown immediately enclosed by her anus. Oliver actually smiled to himself; now he just had to work the rest inside.

“Ohhhhhh, God!” Felicity moaned, her voice so strained it was barely a whisper. “What are you doing to me? It hurts!”

She instinctively tried to crawl forward, away from his sodomizing cock, but he gripped her hips firmly and shoved himself steadily in. He was far too excited by the tight clasp of her anus to stop now. Never felt anything this tight, not even virgins. And just the thought that he was taking Felicity’s anal virginity made his whole body electrify with need.

Felicity screamed, feeling more of his engorged cock inside her ass. Just as quickly, Oliver’s hand whipped out and slapped her ass, sending ripples through the voluptuous cheeks. He groaned happily as he felt her asshole clench even tighter.

“Keep it down,” he said after. “You’ll wake the neighbors.”

Felicity moaned again, feeling an insistent throb in her pussy. It wasn’t just the satisfying pressure of his shaft inside her asshole. It was a burning warmth left from Oliver’s harsh words, the firm blow he had laid on her ass. It turned her on, how firm he was with her. How could it hurt so much and still feel so good?

“Just relax, Felicity. It’s going to be nice, I promise. Try to enjoy it.”

“I can’t! I can’t!”

“Take it!” Oliver ordered. He worked his cock steadily in and out of her cruelly stretched rectum, every time hearing a pained moan from Felicity. He threw his head back and reveled in the massage her ass was giving his cock. Gradually, he could feel her hold on his cock relaxing.

Little by little, she was letting go.

Knowing that Oliver had no intention to stop ass-fucking her, Felicity struggled to do as she was told, to follow orders, to obey him. She strove to relax her anus. Instead of the pain, she thought about his thick, hard cock moving inside her. Stretching her virgin asshole.

And as suddenly as the pain had begun, it started to fade into the background. Replaced at the forefront by a new and intense pleasure. Not just the pleasure of being sodomized, that had always been there, but the pleasure of complete and utter yielding. Of being totally conquered, totally used. She wondered if she really was that submissive, that subordinate, that she could get pleasure—intense, wonderful pleasure—simply from doing as she was told.

It explained a lot about her career choices.

Oliver’s cock worked in and out of Felicity’s asshole with rhythmic lust. She could tell by the way he was panting that he enjoyed every minute of sodomizing her. That knowledge alone brought her to a quick, satisfying orgasm. Felicity actually yipped, embarrassing herself, as a thin stream of her juices sprayed from her cunt.

“Squirter, huh?” Oliver husked in her ear.

Felicity flushed in shame. “God, I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be. It’s your desk.”

Oliver felt free to move uninhibitedly now. He picked up the pace, his cock flying in and out of her dilated asshole as Felicity groaned and grunted in submissive ecstasy.

“Mmmm… oooh… fuck me in the ass, Oliver, baby! I love you! I love you!”

“I love you too,” Oliver said simply, and thrust himself inside her harder than ever.

When they came, it was together, and it was strong.

Felicity squirted again, more voluminously this time, pitches of liquid rushing out to saturate her desk in gulps. She couldn’t believe how intense it was to come from having her asshole reamed. Her whole body was unhinged, and even after she finished squirting, she was floating in blind euphoria, her body relaxed, cocooned protectively around the warm throbbing in her groin. She discharged everything pent up in her now thoroughly vented body.

And her entire ass felt sluggishly liquid. Warmed by his seed. A lake inside her, a swamp, and so damn warm. She’d done it. Taken it all, like they’d both wanted.

Oliver lay collapsed upon her for a long time, holding her, loving her, his shrinking cock still embedded in her ass. Felicity didn’t think she wanted to stop feeling it there for a long time.

“Overwatch?” Oliver said, planting little kisses along her earlobe.

Felicity smiled at the affectionate, joking attempt at a nickname. When she spoke, her voice was lazy and sated. “Yes, Hood Vigilante Arrow guy?”

“I want you to go to Ray. And I want you to fuck him. Just so you know I’m not jealous… and that no one else can fuck you like I can.”

There it was. The new reality for Felicity. She wasn’t sure for a moment what to do.

Then she realized her pussy was throbbing.