Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Title from Ed Sheeran's "Kiss Me".
Pairing/Character: Oliver/Felicity
Summary: Five times Oliver and Felicity kiss.
Spoilers: Set after Season One.
Author's Note: My first foray into the Arrow fandom. Be gentle.

Like You Wanna Be Loved


The first time he kisses her, it's a few weeks after Tommy's funeral. Even though Oliver is king of keeping everything bottled up, there's a rare moment of grief and alcohol and Felicity is there and he leans in and she doesn't stop him.

His lips are soft and he tastes like beer and forbidden things and Felicity realizes she doesn't care. It's over faster than she would have liked (because really, she's been thinking about kissing him since the day he walked into her life with a charming smile and an unbelievable lie) but he can barely stand straight and she loops his arm over her shoulder and helps him to the couch to sleep off his inebriation.

He mumbles Tommy's name and Laurel's and the word sorry, she thinks, before dropping like a stone into sleep. She watches him for a few minutes and then returns to the computers and thinking about things she can never have.


When another week passes without incident or mention, Felicity realizes that he doesn't remember. His behaviour towards her is normal, his face as inscrutable as ever. Felicity tries to convince herself that it's better this way because, obviously, it's Oliver Queen and nothing good can come of it. But it hurts more than she cares to admit that while she dreams and hopes and wishes, Oliver can't be bothered to even remember.

The kiss is emblazoned in her mind, she just has to close her eyes and she can feel the heat from his hand splayed on the small of her back, feel his stubble under her fingertips and taste him and breathe in his scent.

She thinks of reminding him, asking him what the hell, Oliver, but wisely rethinks her decision. She doesn't think she'd feel anything but misery if he couldn't recall or worse, if he apologized.

He's working out in the foundry behind her, shirtless, and she wonders if she'll ever be able to be near him without feeling that liquid pull in her belly. She ignores him, tries to focus on her work and not the sounds of his grunts and growls and groans, all which do nothing to ease the tension between her legs.

Her crush on him is ridiculous, she chides herself. He will never return the feelings not when there is a lifetime of gorgeous women to compete with and precious, perfect Laurel to blind him to everyone else. She knows she sounds bitter, but hey it's only in her head, so she isn't hurting anyone.

Except, of course, herself. But then, that's why they're called crushes, she supposes.


She doesn't know when he came to stand behind her and she jolts, turns around and stands up so quickly that she's teetering and he grabs both her elbows to steady her.

"Jeez, creep up much?" she states a little more harshly than she intends but who can blame her, they're standing close enough to kiss and he's half naked and sweaty. Her pulse is scrambling and her heart is a runaway train in her chest. "Sorry, you startled me."

He lets go of her and his arms fall to his side. He waits a beat, then, "I wanted to apologize."

Ah, so he did remember. Felicity bites her lower lip to keep it from trembling and tries to adopt a confused expression. "What for?"

He gives her that look, tightens his jaw and narrows his eyes. "The other night. I was…not thinking straight. I didn't mean to…make things awkward."

Like they are right now? she snarks in her head but gives him a dismissive smile. "Oliver, it's already forgotten. I mean, what's a drunken kiss between friends, right?"

As she laughs, in which she hopes is a careless manner, he gives a curt nod. "So we're…okay?"

"We're okay," she echoes and before she can think about it, she reaches around him for a hug to show him how okay she is and he's surprised. He grabs her hips awkwardly and she squeaks, holy hell, she actually squeaks, when she realizes what she's done and that he's shirtless and gloriously sweaty and she's pulling away, mumbling, "Sorry! Sorry!"

She turns her head toward him just as he turns his towards her and their noses bump and his lips are on hers. Again.

It's a shorter kiss than the first, the barest of pressure, a whisper of lips and breath, and she feels the tingles all the way down to the tips of her toes.

Her cheeks are on fire and she ducks her head, as they both back away from each other, as if electrocuted.

He turns and walks away.

She waits for the world to open up and swallow her whole.


They're in Coast City following a lead when kiss number three happens.

Ever since The Undertaking, Oliver is extra paranoid and has them all travelling separately. And even in a city that isn't theirs, he has them wearing baseball caps and sunglasses and it's all very Alias and Felicity has always wanted to be Sydney Bristow.

They're at a club, very much the opposite of Verdant. It's intimate; dimly lit corners and a small band playing soft music.

Diggle is in the van outside running surveillance while Oliver and Felicity pose as a couple. When he first suggests the plan in the hotel room, Felicity has to bite her tongue to keep from protesting. She doesn't think she can handle dressing up and playing the part of Oliver Queen's date especially in wake of two extremely awkward kisses.

There is of course no choice for her, Oliver's mind is made up and if she wants to appear as unaffected by him as he is by her than she needs to play this ruse like a pro.

So they sit at a small table in one corner of the club and in their ears Diggle is keeping them updated on the mission, on the things they can't see but need to be aware of.

Oliver's smiling at her over the candlelight and it breaks her heart when he reaches for her hand and she pretends to smile coyly at the attention.

Their fingers are linked together, his thumb tracing circles near her wrist and she feels the heat run up her arm and spread through her. She looks at him through lowered lashes, trying to see if he even realizes what he's doing and sure enough, he's scanning the club, his attention elsewhere.

Suddenly he drops her hand and stands up and comes to pull her chair out. As he does so, he leans in, his lips barely tracing the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver deliciously. "Dance with me."

Felicity hardly has time to register what's happening; she's dragged onto the makeshift dance floor and enveloped in his arms before the word "no" forms on her lips. His arms band around her waist and she has no choice but to wind hers around his neck. Their bodies are touching intimately, the long hard lines of legs right up against hers and her words come out in a breathy, "What are we doing?"

He looks off to the far corner of the club, to the entrance, charming playboy smile in place, before turning his gaze to hers. When his eyes connect with hers, his expressions changes, as if it just occurred to him what they were doing, what position they were in. "Keeping up appearances," he murmurs and her throat goes dry as his gaze falls on her lips and his eyes darken.

The song that's playing in the background is soft and suggestive and Felicity thinks it's a wonder that no one can hear her heart hammering away in her chest and her knees knocking together as her legs tremble in uncomfortable high heels.

Oliver is looking right at her and she controls the urge to look away. Instead, almost of their own accord, her fingers start to play with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. In response, his hands splay across her back and softly knead the flesh there, through the flimsy material of her too short dress. She's on fire, the long liquid tugs in her stomach are back, full force. Her lips part ever so slightly and she hopes he doesn't hear her soft sigh, but that's ridiculous because he's so, so close.

"You look nice tonight," he says, his voice strange.

"This old thing?" she jokes lightly but he doesn't smile, only keeps looking at her intently. She gives him a shy smile. "Thank you."

His hands have moved up her back, bringing her closer, if that's even possible, and her breasts press softly against his chest. She's finding it hard to breathe and his lips are descending on hers and instead of moving away like any sane person would do, she lifts her chin and meets him halfway.

The kiss is deliberate, he's completely aware of what he's doing and oh he does it so well. His lips glide expertly, boldly, over hers, teeth lightly scraping across her bottom one, silently asking permission. One hand has come up behind her neck, fisting her hair while the other is grasping at her hip.

Even though she can barely think with all the sensations swarming through her, she knows she should pull away. She has every intention of pulling away. Her hand even comes between them to push him away, only to curl against his crisp white shirt when he changes the angle of his head and deepens the kiss. She moans throatily and Oliver pulls her closer, almost lifting her off the floor.

"Heads up, lovebirds," Diggle says into their earpieces. "Moretti's here."

Felicity gasps as Oliver lets her go and they stand there for a fraction of a second, staring at each other, breathing heavily and completely turned on.

Oliver recovers first and heads back to the table, calling over his shoulder. "We're up."

"Yeah," Felicity murmurs and traces her lips with her thumb before springing into action.

To Be Continued…