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“You never even call me ‘baby,’” Felicity said, poking an accusing finger into Oliver's chest. Ow. Maybe one day she’d learn to adjust her finger-jab ferocity to the surface of his abs, versus those of normal humans.
“Do you actually want me to call you baby?” Oliver asked with a smile, replacing the carafe and pressing the "on" button for the coffeemaker.
Felicity gave up her pout for a half smile. The man had a point. “No…” she said, stringing out the vowel and twisting a strand of hair, still damp from the shower, around her finger. “No, not really. I’ve always found that a little infantilizing to be honest. Not to mention a little twisted. I mean, babies aren’t sexy. Not to mention that you already have a tendency to be overprotective—I don’t want to be nicknamed as something helpless.” She frowned, cutting off the tangent before it got too far. “But one thing I know about couples, Oliver, is that they’re always calling each other anything but their real name. My high school boyfriend and I used nicknames from Mortal Kombat, for god’s sake.”
“You don’t call me Ollie,” Oliver pointed out.
“Do you actually want me to call you Ollie?” she asked, not waiting for an answer. “I don’t think you do, but it doesn’t matter, because I’m not calling you that. I mean, I understand why Sara and Laurel and Thea do, because they knew you before, but you’re not Ollie anymore, and I’m pretty sure I would not be in a relationship with that guy anyway so there’s no way I’m going to call you by his name . . . aaaand now I’m referring to you as two different people, and I always complain when you do that, and—“
Suddenly Oliver’s hands were cradling her cheeks and his lips were on hers, cutting off her words. Over their few months together as a couple it had become his favorite way to stop one of her rambles. OK, it was probably hers, too. The coffeepot gurgled behind them. After a few seconds, he drew back, sliding his hands down to her shoulders. “Felicity—“
“See?” she said. “Full name. Always. Not that there are any great ways to shorten Felicity, but people have tried.”
He quirked his eyebrows at the interruption. She sighed. “OK, I’m done, go ahead.”
“Felicity,” Oliver said again, and his voice was gentle. “You’re a genius so I’m not going to insult you by going into all the different meanings of your name.”
She nodded, a little hypnotized by the blue of his eyes, which she always thought got a little brighter when he was being open with her like this. His hands were still resting gently on her shoulders. Did he realize how distracting it was to have his thumbs rubbing her collarbone like that? Did he even realize he was doing it? Genius or not, it was affecting her concentration. “Sure. Joy, happiness, something pleasing, bliss, to name a few — even luck I guess if you want to stretch it. I always thought it was a little ironic considering that my mom and I butted heads as much as anything else.”
“Almost as many as the number of ways that I say it,” Oliver said. “Maybe you’ve noticed?”
Felicity had. She had even counted them before they were together, one of the many things she had done as part of the grown woman’s “loves me, loves me not.” She had gotten to 12 before she had shut it down. “Are you saying there’s a method to that? That for each different way of saying my name, you have a different definition in mind? Because Oliver, that’s a lot of work, even for a guy who knows three languages.”
His smile said it all. “So you’re saying I’m off the hook for this nickname business?” he asked.
This time she was the one who reached up to caress his cheek, the stubble reassuringly rough against her palm. “You’re off the hook.”
He pulled her into his arms, and said, voice slightly muffled in her still-damp hair, “But now you’re on it. No nickname for me.”
Felicity grinned into his shoulder. “That’s what you think, mister.”