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The Honeymooners

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The first time she cooks for him it is their third morning together, and the first time she awoke before him. She comes slithering into the bed, dressed in only in his shirt, a tray in her hand loaded with food and coffee. Her hair is in a disarray thanks to him no doubt, and she bites her still swollen lips as she looks at him with giddy anticipation.

He smiles sleepily up at her as she crawls over his still supine form. It’s not until she has the tray practically in his lap does the smell finally reach his nostrils. He bites the inside of his cheek to school his expression and looks up at her curiously.

“Whatcha ya got there?” He asks playfully only with a slight hint of trepidation. 

He grabs her by the hips and raises her up so he can slide back against the headboard into an upright position, laughing at her soft squeal of surprise. 

“Oliver!” She protests weakly, the coffee spilling onto the tray when he jostles them. 

She raises to her knees spreading them slightly as she takes a seat on his lap the tray now resting between them. She looks at him with a wide smile, her eyes twinkling and he stops for a moment to really take in her smile. In all the years he’s known her, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her smile so brightly before. Which is saying something because he’d always associated Felicity with all that is bright and light in the world. Then it hits him, he is the reason for this smile, he is the one that is making her light up like he’s never seen before. That bright eager grin is all for him and it makes his heart constrict to think that he has this impact on her, that he lights up her life just as much as she does for him.

“You’re doing it again,” Felicity teases, her hand ghost his cheek, her thumb just pressing lightly against his lips. Her eyes soften as she continues, “you’re looking at me like I’m going to disappear any moment. I’m not.”

“I’m not looking at you like that,” He corrects kissing her thumb, her curious gaze making him smile, “I’m looking at you… like I can’t believe I got so lucky.”

He waits for the inevitable huff of exasperation, for her to roll her eyes and declare him a dork, with all the love and affection in her eyes that he’s still getting use to. But, instead her eyes soften and she bites her lips and gazes at him with a look of wonder and realization, “Me too. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky either.”

They exchange shy smiles at her declaration. Despite everything they’ve been through together, everything they have done, the newest of their relationship is not lost to them and moments like these, all though few and far between, still reminds him that they are only just beginning. They may be beginning as husband and wife, but still everything is all so new to them

When she pulls back, her smile is brighter and she is more sure of herself now. She looks down at their breakfast, her eager smile from earlier returning. He looks down that the tray yet again, and finally begins to take in their contents, his earlier trepidation returning in full force at the sight that greets him. There are a few slices of burnt toast hanging off the edge of the plate and he’s almost certain she used a knife to try and scrape off the burnt bits. In the centre is what he can only assume is runny scrambled eggs, really runny scrambled eggs. Oliver is certain he can see the yolk swimming amongst the cooked portions, he almost blanches when he see egg shells floating within the yolk. He never thought years of schooling his features from his enemies would be used to hide his disgust from his wife’s breakfast. There are overly cooked bacon strips at the side, but Oliver actually likes the overcooked bacon so it’s not so much a bother as the eggs. The eggs make his stomach turn.

He looks up at Felicity and his heart melts at her eager almost shy expression, “Now, I don’t know how you liked you eggs, but the last time I tried to do my eggs well done, I ended up burning most of it and I figured that may not be your style.”

“I love it.” Oliver lies. He realizes yet again, that despite all the things they have been through they are still very much in the early stages of their relationship. If he has to suck it up and lie about his wife’s attempt at cooking, he’s very well going to do it. He refuses to let their first argument as husband and wife be about her cooking, or lack there of.

“Oliver,” Felicity admonishes, “you haven’t even tasted it yet.”

“Right.” Oliver whispers. 

He takes the fork and mentally prepares himself as he cuts off a piece of the egg. He looks across at the burnt toast and wonders if the toast may help but forgoes it unsure if he’d be able to bite into the toast as well. He takes a deep breath and bites into the egg well aware that Felicity is currently sipping her coffee looking at him eagerly. The egg is slimy and undercooked, with small bits of wet, soft cooked parts and he can practically feel the eggshells scraping against the roof of his tongue. 

He swallows forcibly, his eyes falling shut at their own accord, he then looks up at her gives her a strain smile, “I love it.”

Oh. Thank god. I haven’t cooked in years and I’d hope that after watching all those cooking shows during all nighters that maybe something might have rubbed off by osmosis or something.” Felicity babbles excitedly. 

Her coffee cup still cradled to her chest as she savours it he can see her wedding rings glistening against the sunlight. By now he realizes she has a routine when it comes to breakfast. She must have her first cup coffee for the morning enjoying it all on its own, not letting her tastebuds be affected by anything but her coffee and then she can venture into breakfast territory. 

Her excitement over cooking for him is so sweet that Oliver can’t even find it in him to tell her the truth. He knows they made a promise to each other, after his deception with Malcolm Merlyn, that they will always be truthful with each other no matter how much it hurts. But, he thinks he’ll make an exception for that rule.

 “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me breakfast, you suck.” 

Yea, somehow he just doesn’t see that conversation going well for him, at all. They are only three days into this thing and he refuses to mess things up just because he can’t suck it up and eat a few bits of undercooked eggs.

“I have to say, I was a little nervous about cooking. You’ve been bringing us breakfast for the past two days and I thought it was time I returned the favour,” Felicity babbles. 

She sitting between his knees now, each of her legs thrown over his. His shirt has slipped off on one side, leaving her shoulder deliciously bare and the curve of her breast just staring back at him invitingly. She just looks so relaxed andhappy, he finds himself cutting off another piece of the egg and shovelling it into his mouth again.  Her pleased expression may not mask the taste of burnt toast and undercooked eggs, but her smile does send a wave of warmth through him and he finds himself taking yet another bite listening happily as she goes on about her cooking expeditions during her college years.

He’s beginning to think this breakfast might actually be an improvement.

His stomach finally protests at the abuse and he stops to take a sip of his coffee. He savours the sweet tangy taste of his favourite flavoured coffee, his right hand moving to her bare knee as he begins to make small circles along her skin. She hums in appreciation as she finishes off the last of her own coffee, her hands gesturing wildly as she goes into another tale of smoke alarms and all the bad puns that followed her around because of it.

He watches her closely, she drinks the last of her coffee placing it on the tray and then picks up the fork. He's bracing himself now, he's certain she has not tasted the eggs, certain if she did, she would have never served. Sure enough the moment she bites into the egg she blanches and spits it back into the plate.

"Oliver! Why would you tell me you loved this?" Felicity asks appalled, she gags against and grabs his coffee cup from his hand gulping down the rest of his coffee, "That was rancid. That wasn't eggs that was some kind of abomination made to look like eggs."

She tilts her head to the side and looks at the eggs, her nose wrinkling slightly, "Scratch that, it doesn't even look like eggs. What was I thinking? Was I not thinking? What were you thinking eating more than one bite? Now I'm afraid I poisoned you."

Oliver laughs wholeheartedly at her. He takes the cup out of her hand much to her protest and then places it on the tray. He moves both to the side bench and grins at her so that that her chest is pressed against his. Her hands loop automatically around his neck, while his hands slide between the flaps of her shirt and moving to her bare hips. "You did not poison me. I may be out of the count for the next few days..."

"Oliver!" Felicity protest slapping his chest lightly and he only laughs in response, "it's not funny. Three days into this marriage and already I've tried to kill you."

Oliver leans forward and begins to pepper kisses along her jaw humming in agreement, "You can't get rid of me that easily."

" mean no....move up a little....I don't want to get rid of you ever." Felicity gasps out.

"Your eggs say otherwise." Oliver teases just as she's about to protest he sinks his teeth into her earlobe and tugs on it forcibly rendering her speechless. Felicity's body jolts in surprise and her hips rock against his own.

"This is all your fault you know." Felicity moans softly, her fingers tugging on his hair as she leans back allowing him to make a wet trail of kisses down her neck.

He loves this about her, loves the fact that she can pretty much talk about anything no matter the situation. She gets particularly chatty during sex which turns Oliver on more than he cares to admit. He's been making a mental list of things he needs to accomplish of their vacation and he's certain that making her speechless during sex must be on the top of the list.  He tugs his shirt off of her and flips them over so she's lying against the mountains of pillows, her breast plump and red from yesterday's activities. Her usually flawless skin is now marked with various degrees of beard burn, and Oliver can't help but grin in pride and the matching hickies on the tops of her breast. Her areola is pink and firm, the beard burn around her skin matching it nicely. He grips the headboard over her head and leans forward to play lightly over her nipples smirking at the way she gasps and her hips raise at their own accord.

He wraps his lips around her nipple and the soft gasps she releases makes him think that he's won, but then she starts to talk, her fingers raking against his back tugging at him, but still talking away, words punctuated by little gasps but still talking nonetheless,"I'm usually the smartest person in any room, but I think you, Mr. Queen have scrambled my brain....oh...Yup...all gone. poof. No more's the sex you know..."

Oliver pulls away enjoying the slight whine she makes, to look at her curiously, "The sex killed your brain?"

Felicity nods her head vigorously, her long legs wrapping around him, and bringing his erection right against her wet folds. They both gasps in unison as she rocks her hips against his, "Yup. You've rendered me useless, boneless, brainless. Take your pick. All of the above. I'm just gone." 

Oliver laughs as he grips her hips tugging her towards him and they both groan as he slides between her folds. She throws her head back and gasps loudly, her fingers digging into his skin, gripping him tightly. He rocks his hips against hers, once, then twice enjoying the way she keens out his name, until she's just releasing soft gasps in surprise. Each time she opens her mouth and he just knows she's going to say something, he changes the angle, or drives harder into her and pointedly ignores his own pleasure to focus on her own

When she shatters under him, the only sound she can mutter is his own name. He ghosts his lips against her own and whispers softly, "That was all part of my plan, Mrs. Queen."

Her laughter echoes throughout their tiny room as they lose themselves in each other all over again. He'll take her poor cooking any day if it means he will wake up to this for the rest of his life.