Author's Comment: This is me point-blank determined to write something feel-good. Here we go.

Any second...

Inspiration will come...

Yep...soooooooon.....

I've got it! Chocolate cake!

She kept her eyes shut. Well, this was ridiculous. Did she even want to know what time it was? Probably not.

She tried to push the thought away, to ignore it, but it wouldn't subside. She had been craving chocolate cake for a week, and now she had actually had a dream about it, leaving her with the essence of it in her mouth, tantalizing her. She could almost...almost taste it.

She cautiously opened one eye to squint at the clock.

2:00 A.M.

Two in the morning, and all she could think about was chocolate cake. It was absurd, but she knew there was no getting back to sleep.

Oliver was still there, his arm wrapped around her waist possessively, deep in sleep, undisturbed by inexplicable cravings. With excessive caution and deliberately slow movements, she gently slid out from under his hold. The moment the last of their skin separated, he grumbled in his sleep, hand grasping blindly beside him. She held her breath, waiting to see if he would wake. She wasn't entirely sure why he was there...he'd never spent the night before. It kept things from getting too complicated. They had made a silent agreement that what they were doing--whatever that was--shouldn't get complicated. Neither of them were ready for a relationship, Oliver because he was convinced that anyone remotely connected with the Green Arrow was going to get hurt one way or another, Chloe because she was still trying to repair the mutilated mess that had once been her heart.

He didn't wake, merely grumbled again, frowning slightly, and rolled over, tucking his arm beneath a pillow.

Some small part of her--probably the hungry part--wished he weren't there. It was confusing, and if he weren't there, well she wouldn't have to be so quiet and discreet about this. She scooted around the room, fishing out a cotton nightgown from a drawer, unable to bring herself to put on anything less comfy. Quietly, she shuffled out of the room and closing the door behind her without a sound, hoping that was enough to be sure Oliver would be undisturbed.

She flicked on the lights and grimaced, blinking blindly until her eyes adjusted. Her stomach rumbled.

"Oh, shut up," she told it. "You're getting your way."

She shuffled over to the computer, which was still running. Oliver had interrupted her work rather unexpectedly earlier that evening. She punched "chocolate cake recipes" into the search engine and skimmed over them. Chloe didn't really bake...ever. But she wanted really good cake, even though she knew she had a box or two of cake mix in her pantry, purely because it was Martha Kent law.

Always keep cake mix handy. Someone's birthday will come up unexpectedly or your son will suddenly tell you he needs thirty cupcakes for class tomorrow morning or some other unexpected circumstance demanding cake will pop up. Just accept it.

She grinned to herself, remembering all the handy tips Mrs. Kent had given to her when she moved into her first apartment.

Keep fresh flowers around. No matter how bad your day was, you'll be glad to see them.

Have emergency numbers listed somewhere handy.

Always make enough food for two. You might have company you weren't planning on, and if not, you can have the leftovers later.

The list of Martha-isms went on. When Chloe stumbled across a recipe that was really simple, and actually called for cake mix. Essentially the recipe doctored it up. It sounded simple enough. She could do this, right?

Of course she could. She was Watchtower. She was not going to be defeated by a ridiculous oven.

She had mixed together the ingredients, stuck the cake pan and batter in the oven, and then the exhaustion started catching up with her. Her body found itself without anything immediate to do, and so it decided to suddenly remind her of the time. Wearily, she leaned her head on her hands, almost ready to fall asleep on the counter.

It was your idea, she told it ruefully.

"Chloe? What the hell?"

Chloe gasped and clutched her heart. She spun around on the barstool. Oliver was standing in the doorway, a glorified, bed-ruffled mess in only his boxers.

He looked around, taking in the mixing bowl with cake batter still clinging to the sides along with the rest of the cooking supplies.

He gave her a humorous look. "Is this typical nightly behavior for you?"

She made a face at him, stifling a giggle. "I wanted cake," she said childishly.

"At 2:30 in the morning?" His voice was incredulous and he yawned, looking at her like she was crazy.

"2:00 in the morning, actually. I only just got it in the oven," she grinned, about to rest her head back on her folded arms sleepily. Her eyes started to drift closed.

He raised an eyebrow at her then a shocked look passed over his face. "Oh my god, are you pregnant?"

Chloe's head snapped up, looking at him wildly. "No! Of course not!"

He looked mildly relieved, but also more confused. "Sorry. This seems like pregnant-woman behavior though."

She giggled at him. "No. Pregnant-woman behavior would involve me waking you to bake a chocolate cake for me."

He shook his head, laughing.

"Come back to bed," he whined, the corners of his mouth fighting a grin, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her.

"Noooo," she whined back. "Caaaaake."

He chuckled. "It is ridiculously early, Sidekick."

"Yes it is," she agreed, muttering darkly, but adding with determination, "and I am getting that cake."

His lips started kissing her neck provocatively. "Forget the cake," he said.

"No," she said stubbornly, trying not to groan as his hands slid over her stomach.

"Yes," he argued. His lips met the strap of her nightgown. "I seem to remember you wearing less clothing previously," he grumbled against her shoulder, slipping the strap off with coarse fingers.

"Your memory serves you well," she teased him, involuntarily dropping her head to the side for him, exhaustion sinking in more heavily over her.

He picked her up and started removing her pajamas, and suddenly she became much more awake, her thighs awakening to the feel of the back of his hands grazing her breasts.

She caught her breath and unthinkingly pressed against him in encouragement. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head to look at the oven.

"Stop trying to seduce me," she commanded unimpressively as his lips found her ear instead, teeth delicately grazing the shell of it.

He ignored her, hands running over her thighs.

"I want my cake," she moaned longingly.

He chuckled, grabbing her hips more roughly to pull her against him. "Are you seriously trying to tell me I appeal to you less than cake?" he asked her, smirking when her eyes nearly rolled back in her head in reaction to how hard he was. "Come back to bed," he said for the second time, more seductively now, the words brushing against her lips, which were a mere breath from his.

"Yes and no," she responded.

He laughed and dragged her off to the bedroom. "We'll see about that." Within seconds she felt herself growing hot and wet for him, all thoughts of cake fleeing from her mind instantly when she felt a finger slide along her core.

Chloe's hips bucked erotically in response and Oliver gave her a searing kiss.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" she managed to ask as her hands wrapped around his neck.

He didn't answer, but slipped a finger inside of her, officially eliminating coherent thought from her brain.

Oliver himself did his best not to think about that question as he made love to her. He had no idea what he was doing there. He wasn't certain he'd made a conscious decision to stay the night. He just somehow knew in the back of his mind that every time they had sex, it got harder and harder to leave her. He'd finally reached that point where he simply didn't want to go home. He wanted to hold her and smell her and wake up to see her, not wake up wanting to see her. Chloe was becoming a drug to him. Every time he walked away from her--for any reason--he found himself wanting to turn right back around and see her again.

He knew he'd reached for her in the night and she hadn't been there and it had bothered him. The determination to find her wherever she was buried in the sheets had slowly brought a return of his senses, enough to make him aware that she was not in the bed, and he could hear sounds coming from the kitchen.

So he'd gone to find her and discovered yet another facet of Chloe: sleep-deprived, appetite-driven Chloe. She looked so adorable, half-asleep, stubbornly determined to get what she wanted, however ridiculous it might be. He wanted to hold her again, to see how this new side of Chloe liked to be touched and kissed and held.

Her climax triggered his own and he fought not to immediately collapse on top of her. He pushed her hair back and kissed her throat. He whispered her name against her skin and closed his eyes as her hands ran tenderly over his back. He shuddered at the delicate touch. Chloe was such a gentle person. With a sigh he rolled over and pulled her on top of him, wrapping his arms around her warmly. She snuggled into his chest happily, and her eyes fluttered closed, and they fell asleep again.

An hour later, Chloe frowned deeply in her sleep, something once again dragging her unkindly to consciousness. She wasn't sure what it was until slowly the sound of an alarm going off seeped into her senses. Her eyes flew open as the smell of something burning assaulted her nostrils.

"The cake!" she exclaimed, nearly knocking Oliver out of bed as she scrambled out of the room, grabbing his shirt from the floor as she went and throwing it over her head.

Oliver found her on the floor of the kitchen, staring defeatedly at a blackened cake, now only smoking on the floor in front of her.

He tried very hard not to laugh.

He failed.

She glowered at him. "I hate you," she said grumpily.

Then they both heard something. A strange gurgling noise reached his ears and they both looked at her stomach. He burst into earnest laughter.

"Hate you!" she emphasized again, throwing an oven mitt at him.

He ducked it just in time before walking over to remove the cake pan from the floor, grabbing it with the pot holder it was resting on. He set it in the sink and looked down at her, eyes dancing in laughter.

She glared right back. "Hate," she repeated once more.

He chuckled and bent over to scoop her up. "You do not," he said, kissing her and rubbing his nose against hers teasingly.

"Yes, yes, I do."

"Tomorrow I will ensure that you get cake. Really good cake," he clarified.

She met his eyes sourly. "Promise?"

He smirked, forehead pressed to hers as he carried her back to the bedroom. "Promise."

She pressed her lips together, attempting not to look too pleased. "You do realize this is entirely your fault, don't you?"

"I fail to see how. You were the one who tried to offend me by telling me that chocolate cake is sexier than I am," he joked, placing her on the bed.

"That," she said, kissing him hotly, "is because it is. I'm sorry, but there's just no comparison." She giggled at the look on his face. Then, slowly the expression changed as questions started surging through her mind again. "Ollie, why are you here again?" she repeated her question, hoping it wouldn't kill the mood.

He didn't answer at first again, and she was about to repeat the question when she found herself being pulled against his chest so he could wrap his arms around her. "Just wanted to be," he said.

"Mmmm," she sighed pleasantly, feeling very comfortable fitted against him the way she was.

He hesitated before asking. "Would you prefer I didn't in the future?"

He could hear the frown in her voice. "You can stay whenever you want," she said.

He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in. "Good."