"You want me to what?" Felicity tries hard to keep calm but the end of the sentence still comes out much higher pitched than she intended.

Oliver stares at her in that infuriating way he has. It's as if his crazy (and generally also illegal) requests are perfectly sensible, and she is the insane one for not immediately acquiescing.

"I want you to kiss me," Oliver says, "on the cheek."

He taps a finger against his face as if to indicate the spot. "Or maybe on the collar of my shirt."

Felicity blinks.

"Nope, nope," she says, shaking her head, "still doesn't make sense." She makes a show of pinching her own wrist. "Ow! But at least now I know I'm not asleep."

"Felicity," Oliver says, his frustration evident.

"I mean, I get times are tough in vigilante dating world," Felicity continues to ramble, "what with your ex shooting your most recent date, but I am not here to be a replacement lay, or good time, or whatever. I don't care how many dreams I've had that began like this, I am not a substitute for gorgeous Laurel and I won't be treated like one."

"Felicity!" Oliver says, reaching over to grasp her shoulder. There's something about the way he does it and the frustration in his voice that suggests it's not the first time he's tried to interrupt her. Mentally she replays her rant and winces. Did she really just admit to dreaming about him?

Oliver, as ever, has ignored her verbal gaffe and is standing right there, holding her shoulder and waiting for her to acknowledge him.

"It's just sexist," she says, tilting her chin up defiantly, "you wouldn't ask Digg to do this."

"No, I wouldn't," Oliver admits, "but that's because Digg doesn't wear lipstick."

Felicity blinks.

"Thea thinks I have a date tonight," Oliver admits, "and you're wearing really bright lipstick and I thought, if I got some of it on me, then Thea won't question where I was."

"Oh," Felicity says, "well that makes some sense, at least. But I don't have the tube with me."

"I know," he admits, "I checked your bag. So I need you to kiss me."

"And we're back again to this," Felicity sighs, "and don't think I didn't notice the gross invasion of privacy thing you just slipped in there. My bag is off limits."

"I didn't want to bother you," he says, apologetically. "You looked busy."

"Apology accepted," she says because that's as close as he ever gets and she'll grow out her roots waiting for the actual words.

"Now," he says, "about that kiss."

"Oh for the love of Google," Felicity says and pulls on his shoulder. Oliver obediently leans in and Felicity goes up on her toes and presses her lips to his jawline, before her brain can remind her of any of the reasons why this is a bad idea.

She pulls back and there's not a mark on him - damn that stay fast formula - so she leans in again and this time, instead of kissing, she just rubs her lips along his jaw, feeling the hard bristle of his stubble scratch at her skin, then drops down to press her pursed lips against his collar.

She pulls back and yup, sure enough, that worked. There's a light smear of pale peach color on his face and a lip-shaped smudge on his white shirt collar.

"Mission accomplished," she says, and turns away before he can see that her hands are shaking a little.

"That's brilliant Felicity," he says and she glances over her shoulder to see him admiring her handiwork in a nearby mirror. "Thank you."

"No problem," she says, feeling proud of the fact she can keep her voice steady, then she walks back to her computers and tries not to think about what just happened as she hacks her way into a secure database at SCPD.

A week later he asks again.