The rainforest was absolutely beautiful. The trees were huge and tall and arching above their heads, making a canopy that protected them from the brutal tropical sun. The ground was lush and green with moss covered dirt and stones. They had had a steady stream of gentle rain for a few days now, softly falling with a low patter on the leaves and ground. The water created a hazy, misty cover around her, and the enticing smell of wet forest filled her nostrils.
Felicity shivers from the slight chill in the breeze and wraps her palms completely around her cup of hot tea. She brings the cup up to her lips and took a low sip, letting the hot liquid warm her throat, relishing in the sensation, and leans against the log balcony door.
They had been in Bali for a week now - their honeymoon delayed by a few months due to Oliver's arrest and the FBI investigation - and the place had been absolutely wonderful to them. The cottage they had rented was nestled in the trees, made of sturdy wooden logs and balanced well between two massive banyan trees. The cabin that formed their bedroom rested on an upper level between several branches of the trees. One side of the room opened up into a huge wooden balcony that gave them a perfect view of the slope of the hill, and below that, the coral beach. Their bed was a high mattress on top of a wicker mat, with white cotton sheets that were ruffled and tangled around Oliver’s legs as he slept away with the softest of contented snores. The cloth covered only the most intimate of parts, and the massive expanse of his back was completely bare for her eyes to feast on.
She hides her grin behind the rim of her cup, her mind going back to having that body pressed against every inch of hers, to the feeling of him moving above her, inside her, of his lips travelling across every inch of her skin, her own hands exploring his scarred flesh and hard muscles. She presses her legs together as memories of the time they had spent together replay in her mind, and she relishes the soreness from the beard burn in her thighs as they rub together.
She had barely turned back around when she heard the rustling of sheets from the bed. She knew from experience that he could be as silent as a ghost, that his instincts drove him to not make a sound, but he always made an effort to not startle her.
“A man could get used to this,” he says drowsily, his voice low and contented, and she could hear the lazy smile in his words. She turns back, and he’s looking at her, lying on his back with one arm under his head, pure bliss reflected in his face, the muted light of the cloudy morning outlining the planes of his chest and highlighting his scars. His entire posture was relaxed and open and he looks at her like she was the sun and he, her priest.
God, she absolutely loves him, and she thanks all the stars in the universe for bringing them together. Marrying him had been one of the best decisions of her life - she didn't regret it through the last few months of trials, and she definitely did not regret it now when they'd spent the entire week worshipping each other's bodies - just the two of them, away and cut off from the rest of the world.
“Hey,” she greets him and saunters over to the bed. His eyes roam over her figure as she approaches, travelling over her lean legs and ample thighs, over the white cotton robe she’d put on over the skimpy nightclothes and the pale flesh peeking out from under it. This time when she shivers, it wasn’t because of the cold rain but because of his heated gaze.
Placing the teacup on the mat, she climbs onto the bed and scoots over to him. Oliver bands his arm around her waist - it is large and warm against her tiny, chilled hip - and pulls her up over him so she’s half straddling him. He leans up, and she bends over him, pressing her lips to his in a lazy, chaste kiss, her blonde curls forming a curtain around them, separating them from the rest of the world.
Their lips linger, and she smiles into him. “Did you sleep well?”
He pulls back, laying his head back on the pillow, and looks up at her with hooded eyes and that ridiculous dopey expression that makes her insides melt and heart soar. The hand on her waist comes up and he uses his index finger to push the strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lingers on her face, cupping her cheek, and she finds herself leaning into the warmth of his touch like so many times before.
“I always sleep well with you,” he says, and she chuckles.
“You’re ridiculous.” She turns her head to kiss his palm.
He grins at her, wrapping his other arm around her and jerking her playfully towards him so she lying completely on top of him, their faces barely inches apart, breaths mingling. “Ridiculously lucky,” he uses his thumb to to rub at her finger where her wedding band rests, “that I get to sleep with you,” he brushes the tip of her nose with his, “for the rest of our lives.”
Six months since the impromptu wedding in Central City, and they're both still giddy with the newlywed bliss.
“Hmm,” Felicity hums, and kisses him. It’s not a gentle peck - it’s passionate but slow. They take their time, lips joining together like perfect puzzle pieces, moving in synchrony. His palm rests where it was on her cheek, content to let her set the pace. She brushes her tongue against his mouth, tracing the curve of his lower lip, and he opens his mouth to her, letting her explore, letting it tangle with his own. They stay like that for a while, reveling in their slow kissing, till the need to pull back and breathe is too much. They’re both breathing hard, resting their foreheads together, and Felicity sighs happily into him.
“Let's not leave,” she whispers. “Let's stay here forever, in this cocoon. Let's never move.”
Oliver hums in assent, running his fingers through her hair, releasing the tangled knots. “Our little cocoon of forever?”
“Yes,” she smiles, “our little cocoon of forever.”