The lair smells like strawberries.

Felicity picked them up on her way home from work from a tiny farmer's market that sets up Friday evenings on the west side of Starling Park. She tells him about the small stand run by an old man who sells that honey he likes, and wonders if maybe he'd like to come along with her next week?

He would like that. A little too much, he thinks. It's domestic, and Oliver Queen doesn't do domesticity, never even thinks about it. Except when it comes to Felicity Smoak, apparently.

It's late summer and a heatwave makes even the subterranean air of the lair damp with humidity. A bead of sweat drips down the valley between Oliver's shoulder blades as he sharpens his arrows, and all he can smell is those strawberries. He closes his eyes, gets a glimpse of the two of them walking between rows of tents, a canvas bag full of fresh vegetables in one hand, Felicity holding tight to the other.

It's his favorite time of night; Digg's gone home to Lyla, and Roy's out roaming the broken streets of the Glades, looking for a little bit of justice.

It's him and Felicity, alone and together, just the way he likes it.

She's trying to explain the coding for a software program she's developing that will help them track Starling City's criminal element more efficiently. He's desperately trying to follow what she's saying, but it's so damn hot, and her mouth is moving so quickly, keeping time with her hands.

She's a flurry of pink lips and bright yellow nails.

God, she brings so much color into his world.

Oliver puts down his arrow, turns to face her, just to watch her talk. He holds tight to these moments, because in a few minutes she'll yawn and stretch and say goodnight, lingering a bit as she waits for him to finally wise up and ask her not to go. He won't, and she'll leave. He'll follow her home, telling himself that he just wants to make sure she gets there safely, and she'll pretend that she doesn't know he's right behind her. Tomorrow, they'll do it all again.

Truth is, Oliver's weary, down to his bones. He's tired of holding back, of putting the needs of his city above the desires of his heart. He used to think he couldn't have her, and then he thought he shouldn't. Now, when she's near, he can barely think at all. All he can do is smile and wish that the clock would move a little slower. He just never has enough time.

He must be looking at her in some kind of way, because she stops what she's saying and smiles at him. She's so beautiful when she smiles, and the corners of his lips turn up, he can't help himself.

Does he want one? Felicity holds up a berry, balancing the top between her red-stained fingertips. Oliver nods. He wants so much from her, he can't even begin to put it all into words. But he'll start with a strawberry.

He stands, his feet moving in time with the thundering sound of his heartbeat that's pounding in his ears. Her eyes are wide, kind of amused, and he wants to spend the rest of his life making her look just like this.

The tips of Oliver's shoes touch the tips of hers, and he can hear the way her breath catches, can feel it against him as she slowly exhales. He plucks the berry from between her fingers, then brings it up to her mouth. She only hesitates for a second, then wraps her lips around it and takes a bite. Oliver tosses the stem to the side, then licks away the juice it left behind on his hand.

She breathes his name, and it's the first time he's ever felt like it really belonged to him. It's never sounded like it meant so much.

He cups her face in his hands, letting the pads of his thumbs skim across her cheeks. He's touched her hundreds of times before, but this is the first time he's felt like his skin belongs on hers. The warmth of her makes his knees feel like jelly, and he takes a deep breath as he moves a little closer.

Slowly, so slowly, until he can't tell where he ends and Felicity begins.

She tastes like strawberries.