Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first thing to re-enter Len’s consciousness was the buzzing sound. Fluorescent lights. The hum of medical equipment. His head ached, and there was a stinging, itching sensation over his left eyebrow that suggested a patched-up cut of some kind. He kept still, kept his eyes closed. If he was in the hospital, he’d need to get out as quickly and quietly as he could; he might not have a criminal record anymore, thanks to his deal with the Flash, but if he’d gotten hurt on a job —

It was starting to come back to him now. The docks. The fire. The Flash showing up, hectoring him about his life choices as usual. The other gang appearing, seemingly out of nowhere, sending the building into collapse.

“He should be awake soon,” he heard a voice saying nearby. It had been a while, but he still recognized the dulcet tones of one Dr. Caitlin Snow. Not at the hospital, then; Barry must have brought him to STAR Labs. Good to know the Flash was still upholding his end of their bargain.

Len opened his eyes. Caitlin was standing over him, peering into his face. She scowled at him. “Dr. Snow,” he said, raising his uninjured eyebrow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Barry!” she called over her shoulder. “Don’t try to sit up,” she said sharply, turning back to him, as Len tried to do just that. “You might have a concussion.” She produced a small flashlight from the pocket of her lab coat and shone it into each of Len’s eyes in turn, her lips pinched into a thin, disapproving line. Safe to say, then, that she was not over that time he’d kidnapped her. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“A building falling on me,” Len said, wincing against the bright light.

“Do you feel dizzy? Nauseated?”

“Cool as a cucumber.”

She walked him through a few more tests, making notes on her clipboard, before she turned away, apparently satisfied. “Well, no sign of concussion, but you should still take it easy for a couple days. A CT scan wouldn’t hurt, but I doubt you’re gonna go for that.”

Len touched the bandage on his forehead. “I assume this is your handiwork?”

“Yes. Six stitches. You shouldn’t have a scar.”

“Thanks for preserving my pretty face, Doc,” Len said sardonically.

She lifted her chin in a prim little gesture. “You’re welcome.”

Barry strolled up from whatever part of the cavernous STAR Labs space he’d been lurking in, trailed, as always, by his little shadow, Cisco Ramon. “Good, you’re awake,” he said.

“Oh look, the gang’s all here,” Len said. Barry had changed out of his Flash suit, into some gray chinos and a soft-looking red sweater. Len reflected, not for the first time, that it should be illegal for attractive straight men to wear sweaters with the sleeves pushed up; Barry’s athletic forearms were a personal affront to him.

“How’s he doing?” Barry asked Caitlin, as though Len wasn’t sitting right there.

“No sign of concussion. He’s fine.” Her tone suggested that she’d rather it were otherwise.

“I don’t suppose you happened to grab my cold gun, while you were saving the day?” Len asked, keeping his tone casual. He had the full schematics for the gun, and could almost certainly have another one made, but it would take time. If his gun was still down at the docks, he’d just have to hope no one had picked it up.

“Technically, it’s my cold gun,” Cisco snapped. “I built it.”

“Yes, and how’s that going for you?” Len asked. Cisco glared at him. “My gun. Do you have it.”

“I grabbed it when I grabbed you,” Barry said flatly. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“My hero.” Len fluttered his eyelashes at Barry, who huffed an irritated sigh. “Bringing me home, patching me up, remembering my gun — why the five-star treatment, Flash?”

“I wasn’t just going to leave you to die, Snart,” Barry protested.

“And I appreciate that,” Len replied. “Forgive me if I’m suspicious that that’s all there is to it.”

Barry flushed. “Maybe I’m just a good person.”

“There’s no such thing as a good person, Barry. Now do you or do you not want something from me?”

The three of them exchanged guilty looks, and Len knew he was onto something. Of course they hadn’t hauled him down here solely out of the goodness of their hearts. Nobody does anything for free, he thought. Some of us just have an easier time admitting that.

“That’s not the first shipment that’s gone missing from the docks in the last few weeks,” Caitlin said after an embarrassed pause.

“We’re pretty sure it’s the same gang, every time,” Barry added. “Same MO, same weapons, same masks.”

“Doesn’t sound like something you should have much trouble with,” Len pointed out.

“No, not if I just want to round up whoever’s knocking off the shipments,” Barry replied. “But there’s more to it than that.”

“None of the containers that have been stolen have been reported stolen,” Cisco said. “They’re never on the ships’ manifests, and the shipping companies haven’t filed a police report or contacted their insurance. It took us a while to even figure out that stuff was going missing.”

“You think somebody’s moving something into Central City,” Len said. “Guns? Drugs?”

“We don’t know,” Caitlin admitted.

“But if we just get the guys on the ground, we’ll lose the larger ring,” Barry said. “That’s where you come in.”

Len folded his arms. “Enlighten me.”

“Not many people in Central City have the kind of muscle, or the kind of cash, to convince multiple shipping companies to move illegal goods into the harbor. We’re pretty sure that whoever’s actually sending the stuff here, the Santinis are bankrolling it,” Cisco explained.

“Ah.” No surprise there — the Santinis were the major source of organized crime in Central these days. Len had assumed that when he took out the head of the family, Rafael Santini, the organization would be plunged into anarchy. Len had certainly had plenty of extra opportunities during the shake-up in their ranks while it lasted, but Rafael’s brother Frank had proved more than capable of assuming his brother’s throne, and had tightened up the whole operation. Once their biggest rivals, the Darbinyans, had been massacred by a rogue metahuman, the Santinis had carved out an even bigger territory in the city. Today, they had forged an uneasy truce with the city’s more colorful criminal cohort — including the violent criminal everyone called Captain Cold.

“We know Frank Santini throws an end-of-summer party every year,” Caitlin said.

“And we know that you’re usually invited,” Cisco added.

“You know me,” Len smiled. “Always one of the cool kids.” Even at the boring-ass shindig the Santinis threw every year to show off their money and remind Central City’s more unsavory elements who was running the show. “Plus, Mick likes the open bar.”

“I...don’t suppose your invitation includes a plus-one?” Caitlin ventured a nervous smile.

“If we can find out when the next shipment is coming in,” Barry said, “we can get the drop on the guys robbing it, and actually get on the boat before it flees the scene. If everything goes well, we can nail the entire supply chain.”

Len frowned. “You want me to sneak one of you into Santini’s party for a little eavesdropping action.”

“...Basically, yeah,” Barry said.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Those guys just knocked a building over on you,” Barry pointed out, “not to mention getting away with your score.”

“That was annoying,” Len admitted. “But there are plenty of other scores in the world for an enterprising sort such as myself.”

“So you’re just going to let them get away with attacking you? That doesn’t sound like the Leonard Snart we know and...tolerate,” Cisco said with a hint of a smirk.

“We’d be taking out your competition,” Barry added. “If anything, we’d be doing you a favor.”

“Let’s not go that far, kid,” Len laughed. “I can see how it would be in both of our best interests for this gang to be out of the picture, I’m just not convinced that I need to do anything about it.”

“How about this,” Cisco blurted out. “You help us out with this, and I’ll make some very cool upgrades to your cold gun.”

“Cisco, I don’t —” Caitlin started to interrupt, but Len held up a hand.

“I’m listening.”

“Increased range, more granular temperature controls, longer battery life,” Cisco continued. “I’m fully equipped to pimp your ride.”

Len considered for a moment. Bringing one of the Crimefighting Club to Santini’s party would be dangerous, for them if not for him. But it would be funny, to conduct espionage right under Frank Santini’s snooty nose, and an upgraded cold gun was hard to say no to. “I’ll have business to conduct at this party. You’d have to promise not to interfere in it, to do what I say and follow my lead.”

“We can do that,” Barry said. “And in return, you’d have to promise not to double-cross us.”

“Again,” Cisco added.

“Speaking of favors, letting those metahumans go was the biggest favor I could possibly have done you,” Len snapped. He’d be the first to admit he had a little soft spot for the Flash and his merry band of adventurers, but thinking about what they’d done to the metahumans they’d held in the pipeline still made his blood boil.

“Didn’t feel like a favor when Mark Mardon was hitting me in the chest with a lightning bolt,” Barry said sardonically.

“Listen, Flash, I get that you’ve never been to prison, so maybe you genuinely don’t understand what you kids were doing here, but keeping those people in solitary confinement, 24-7? No trial, no lawyers, no parole, no way to contact their families? It was torture. You don’t want that kind of thing on your conscience, and I wasn’t going to sit by and let you do it. Not in my city. You want somebody out of the picture, you just kill ‘em. You don’t fucking disappear people.”

Give Barry some credit, he actually looked properly uncomfortable at this. They all did. “Yeah, I...I get that now,” Barry mumbled. “At the time, it didn’t seem like we had a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Len replied. “All the options might be shitty, but there’s always a choice.”

“See, what did I tell you?” Barry asked, that irrepressible grin breaking over his face. “There’s a good person in there somewhere.”

“Like I said, Flash, there’s no such thing as a good person,” Len sighed. “We’re all just people. Even you.”

“So are we doing this party thing or not?” Cisco interjected. “Because if not, we gotta start figuring something else out.”

Len paused again, more for dramatic effect than anything else. “All right. You got a deal.”

“OK, great,” Cisco clapped his hands in an it’s-all-settled way that set Len’s teeth on edge. “So you’ll go to the party, and bring Caitlin as your date. Once you’re there, she can —”

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Len drawled.

“Why not?” Barry demanded, looking exasperated.

“Nobody’s going to believe Miss Priss here as my date.” Len gestured to Caitlin. “No offense, doc, but you’re not exactly my type.”

Caitlin’s cheeks turned pink. “I don’t always wear a lab coat, you know,” she spluttered. “I can — that is to say, I’ve been told I clean up very well.” She jabbed a finger at him, her eyes narrowing. “You should be so lucky, buster.”

“Hey, like I said, no offense.” Len raised his hands to fend her off. Messing with the do-good gang was way too easy, but that didn’t make it any less fun.

Cisco frowned. “So, what, you think nobody’s going to believe her as your date because she’s —”

“A woman? Yeah.”

And oh, much as he usually hated revealing any kind of personal information about himself, it was almost worth it for the looks on their faces. Team Sunshine and Lollipops, gawking at him like he’d just pulled a bouquet of flowers out of his ass.

Caitlin was the first to recover. “You’re…”

“As a maypole,” Len confirmed. He let his voice drop into a more threatening register. “Anybody here have a problem with that?”

“No! Not at all. I — I think it’s great,” Caitlin stammered.

“Super great,” Cisco added, flashing him an asinine thumbs-up.

“Gee, thanks.” He was starting to feel prickly under their astonished gazes, regretting revealing himself, and more aware than he’d like to be that Barry was remaining silent about Len’s little revelation. He hopped down from the exam table. “Sorry to wreck your little plan, kids, but you know what they say about what happens when you assume! Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be on my —”

“I’ll go,” Barry said quietly.

Len turned to face him. Barry was standing with his arms crossed, his jaw set, the way he did when he was about to be a total pain in Len’s ass. “What was that?”

“I said I’ll go,” Barry said again with a shrug. “You say nobody’d buy you bringing a woman as your date? That’s fine. You can take me.”

You can take me. Len’s mind ran a split-second highlight reel of every X-rated thought he’d had about Barry Allen since he first saw that taut runner’s ass. Through long practice, though, he kept his face fixed in a smirk. “You asking me out, Red?”

“C’mon, Snart,” Barry said. “It’s in both of our best interests to take this gang out. You said it yourself.”

Stubborn little fucker. It was just like Barry, too, to bat those long eyelashes and assume everyone would just do whatever he wanted. He was probably the kind of straight guy who considered himself an ally, who had a rainbow flag T-shirt, and a “Love is Love” sticker on his laptop, and 0 queer friends. Like he’d have any clue what to do on a date with a man.

A guy like Barry would have no idea what to do at a party like Santini’s, either, how to navigate the politics, the backbiting, the petty squabbles. You may impress some people with the Boy Scout act, Barry, Len thought, but I’m pretty sure I know how the Boy Scouts feel about people like me.

Still, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to mess with the Scarlet Speedster. Deliberately, Len let his smirk become a leer; he let his eyes travel up and down Barry’s frame at an ostentatiously leisurely pace. He took a step forward, crowding into Barry’s space. “I tend to get kind of handsy with my dates, Barry,” he purred. “Are you sure that’s how you’d want your first date with a man to go?”

He was expecting Barry to squirm or blush or back down, but to Len’s surprise, Barry laughed in his face. “What makes you think this would be my first date with a man?”

“Oh please, Flash, I’ve seen how fond you are of the damsels in distress.” He glanced at Caitlin, thinking again of the time he’d abducted her. If the reference bothered her, though, she didn’t show it — she and Barry were exchanging looks of amusement.

“Uh, yeah.” Barry rubbed the back of his neck with a wry smile. “I don’t know how to break it to you, Snart, but...bisexuality exists.”

“OHHH!” Cisco crowed behind him. “Now who’s assuming stuff?”

Len gave the gloating whiz kid a threatening look, trying to collect his thoughts. Truth be told, he had always assumed Barry was as straight as he was narrow. This revelation raised some new, rather interesting possibilities, for Len’s fantasy life if nothing else. Cisco and Caitlin didn’t seem surprised by the news, either, which meant Barry was probably telling the truth.

He turned his gaze back to Barry, realizing he was still standing only inches away, smelling of soap and deodorant — he must have just showered after changing out of his suit. Barry stood his ground and met Len’s eyes evenly. “So what do you say, Snart?”

Escorting the Flash to a party full of criminals. It was crazy, but at least it wouldn’t be dull. “Fine.” He held Barry’s gaze. “It’s a date.”

Cisco and Caitlin let out a whoop. Barry shot Len a quick grin and turned to join them in a rapid-fire discussion of the details of their surveillance mission.

“I’ll start compiling all the information we have about what these guys look like,” Caitlin said, already bending over her computer.

Cisco peered over her shoulder. “And I’ve been working on these listening devices that will extend your range of hearing —”

“Whoa whoa whoa, time out,” Len objected, making the T-for-time-out symbol with his hands. “No listening devices.”

Cisco’s face fell. “But —”

“No way. I’m not bringing someone wearing a wire into Santini’s party. I’d rather not get shot.” Of course, he’d also rather not have Team Flash eavesdropping on any deals he happened to make while Barry was off playing Spy Kids, but he wasn’t about to say that. He shook his head. “No listening devices, or no deal.”

“But then how will we be able to collect any intel?” Barry frowned.

Len rolled his eyes. “You’re just gonna have to remember it, I guess.” He turned away from their crestfallen expressions and spotted his cold gun leaning in the doorway. “Come on, kid. Walk me out and we’ll talk logistics.” He hoisted the gun and strode away down the hallway, leaving Barry no choice but to trail after him.

Len waited until they were safely out of the building, and hopefully out of range of any cameras, before stopping and turning to Barry. “Look, Barry,” he said, dropping some of his Captain Cold snark and speaking as plainly as he knew how. “I wasn’t kidding about how I am with my dates to these parties. I have a certain reputation to uphold, and I’m not going to let you jeopardize it. If you’re coming to this party, I’m going to treat you the way I usually treat my dates, and you’re going to need to behave accordingly.”

Barry had crossed his arms again. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning that I like to roll up to these events with some hot young thing on my arm, and show him off.” He was aware of how he sounded, but it couldn’t be helped. “Look, if I acted like I was ashamed of who I was, I wouldn’t last a day in this crowd. The only way I know how to survive is to shove it in people’s faces as hard as I can. You want to be my date, you’re going to have to let me put you on display. You cool with that?”

Barry nodded slowly, considering. “Yeah. I can be cool with that.”

“Really? You’re cool with letting me kiss you? Letting me touch you, in public? Helping me put on a bit of a show for Central City’s criminal elite?”

Barry swallowed hard, but didn’t look away. “Is that really how you treat guys you date?”

Len allowed a bit of a smirk to creep back to his face. “No, actually. But these people don’t know that. Like I said, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“I’ll do whatever I need to do to take these guys down,” Barry said earnestly.

“How touching. Give me your phone.”

“...Why?”

“So I can give you the address. Jesus, kid, I’m not gonna steal your phone, what the fuck would I do with a cop’s phone?”

Barry muttered, “I’m not a cop, I’m a forensic scientist,” but handed his phone over.

The phone was battered and a year or so out of date, but Len was sure Cisco had souped it up with some kind of Flash technology. The Contacts function worked normally, though, which was all he cared about at the moment. He created a new contact under the snowflake emoji and tapped in an address. “Meet me here tomorrow night at 9. We’ll flesh out a cover story and then head to the party together.”

“This address...is this where you live?” Barry asked, flummoxed.

Len turned an incredulous look on him. For a smart person, Barry could be really dumb sometimes. “No, of course it’s not where I live. It’s a safe house I use sometimes, although not,” he reflected, “after tomorrow night, I guess.”

Barry tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Whatever. That’s fine, I’ll see you at 9.”

This is either going to be hilarious or a total nightmare, Len thought. Either way, though, he was going to spend an evening with pretty little Barry Allen tucked up under his arm. No complaints there. He gave Barry a wink. “Wear something cute. Whatever jeans make your ass look best.”

~*~

Okay, Barry said to himself, trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door. Okay, no big deal, it’s just one night...on a date...with Captain Cold...to a mafia boss’ party. Piece of cake. There may actually be cake there. You can do this.

He tried to remember the last time he’d even been on a date with a man. There had been a few guys in college, and one longer-term thing that might have gone somewhere, if Paul hadn’t decided to move to Metropolis to get his PhD and basically disappeared off the face of the planet.

Barry had made a small effort to get on all the dating apps when he moved back to Central City after college, but sweating and stammering through a series of awkward first dates with strangers of various genders just depressed him. Not a lot of point in trying to get serious with someone, he’d told himself, when he was hopelessly in love with Iris anyway — and having her right there every day had made that old flame come roaring back to life.

Then the particle accelerator had exploded, and everything had gotten so complicated.

Now, a year later, Iris was still deep in mourning after Eddie’s death — but even if she hadn’t been, Barry’s feelings for her were evolving. The desperate goddess-worship of his late teens and early twenties was fading, revealing the deep best-friends connection that had been lying underneath it all along. If anything, he felt more ready to date now than he had in years, but his life had never been less conducive to romance. He’d had a hard enough time putting himself out there when he had nothing else really going on in his life. Finding time to date while being the Flash was next to impossible, as his short-lived affair with Linda had demonstrated.

Which is how he’d wound up here. The first date Barry’d had in months, and it was a fake date with a guy who had lied to him, screwed him over, and unleashed a group of terrorists on the city — all in the span of time since Barry’s last actual date.

Is it weird that I still kind of like him? he asked himself, knowing that the answer was yes, it is weird. Maybe it was the way Snart doted on his sister, or the ease with which he’d agreed to Barry’s no-killing rule. Maybe it was his sense of humor, or his nimble brain, or the slow, insinuating smile that seemed to see right through Barry’s mask, even out of the Flash suit. Maybe it was because he was the only person in Barry’s life who understood, even reveled in, the sheer adrenaline of their day-to-day existence. Whatever it was, Barry wasn’t giving up on Snart yet.

At least Snart was attractive, which was more than Barry could say for most of the crooks he tangled with on a regular basis. Going on a fake date with him wouldn’t be a hardship. Snart had those broad shoulders, those piercing blue eyes, those strong, powerful hands, not to mention that swaggering confidence that seemed to say I’m a man, and I know what I’m doing. He was smart, too, as evidenced not only by his meticulous, multi-stage heist plans but also his razor-sharp wit.

A smart, confident older man with a snarky sense of humor. Well, I guess I have a type, Barry told himself ruefully, and the less said about his abortive schoolboy crush on the man he’d thought was Harrison Wells, the better.

The apartment building was a low two-story affair, the kind where all the doors opened directly to the outside. No need to buzz anybody in, plenty of escape routes into the surrounding neighborhood. Barry supposed he could see its appeal as a safe house location. He took a deep breath, trying to shake some of the tension out of his shoulders, and knocked.

Snart opened the door immediately, like he’d been lying in wait, which for all Barry knew, he had been. It was always kind of weird seeing him out of his parka and goggles. The long-sleeved thermal shirt he was wearing did a lot more to show off his muscular arms and shoulders, which Barry should not have been noticing if he wanted to get out of this evening with his sanity intact. Barry cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Come in.” Snart opened the door wider while clearly scanning the street behind Barry for any observers or threats. Trying to hide his reluctance, Barry walked into the apartment.

He’d been expecting some kind of flophouse, with mattresses on the floor or something, but the living room seemed perfectly ordinary, if somewhat bland. Couch, coffee table, TV, a bar counter separating out a small kitchen, a few generic art prints on the walls. No knick-knacks. No photos. It looked like every Airbnb he’d ever stayed in.

Snart locked the door behind him. “I’ll never understand how the Flash is 10 minutes late to everything.”

“The Flash is often on time, but Barry Allen has to take the bus,” Barry retorted. Getting down to this area of town — mostly warehouses and industrial facilities — at night, using public transit, had been a pain. He was definitely planning to run home, undercover be damned.

Snart huffed a humorless laugh. “You want a beer or something?”

“No thanks.”

“You sure? Might help you relax.”

“I, uh, can’t get drunk, actually. I metabolise the alcohol too fast. Just another hidden perk of being the Flash.” Along with the bottomless hunger, and the nonexistent love life, and the constant almost-dying, he thought.

“That sucks.” Snart moved into the living room and looked Barry up and down — not in the overly sleazy way he’d done back at the lab, but with a calculating manner, the way he did when he was planning something. It was a little unnerving, being caught in the crosshairs of the man’s intense focus. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Barry looked down at himself. He was wearing the requested jeans (“The dark blue skinny jeans you wore to trivia last week,” Caitlin had said when he’d brought it up, without even looking up from her microscope), and a shiny blue button-down shirt with contrasting cuffs that he’d worn a few times when Iris had dragged him out clubbing. “Uh...yeah? What’s wrong with it?”

Snart didn’t answer, just narrowed his eyes. “You have anything else?”

“No, not with me, I guess I could run back —”

“What do you have under that shirt?”

“Just a t-shirt.”

“Show me.”

Barry unbuttoned his shirt, trying to ignore Snart’s eyes on him. It felt weird, like he was...well, undressing in front of the other man, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was stripping naked; he went outside in jeans and a t-shirt all the time. He shrugged the blue shirt off of his shoulders and tossed it on a nearby chair. Underneath was a plain black tee with a deep v-neck, not the kind of thing he’d typically go out in, but serviceable under a shirt he liked to wear open at the collar.

Snart’s face remained impassive, but his eyes softened a fraction from the coldly appraising look they’d held before. “That’ll work.”

“Really? Seems kind of underdressed, for a party.”

Snart bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Not this party.” He moved toward Barry with his customary predator’s grace; Barry steeled himself for the approach. He’s helping you, he reminded himself as Snart came to stand in front of him. If he was gonna attack you, he would have done it by now. Still, he couldn’t help jumping a little when Snart reached out and touched the bare skin of his arm.

“You’re going to have to get used to me touching you,” Snart pointed out, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“I know.” Barry tried to force himself to relax. “Sorry.”

Snart reached out and started rolling up Barry’s sleeve, stopping just above the bicep. Barry felt a stab of the self-consciousness that had been a default part of his life before the physique that came with his metahuman powers. Pre-particle-accelerator Barry would have been skinny pencil arms all the way up, and a lot of the time Barry still felt that way; he wasn’t in the habit of dressing to show off his body like this.

Tucking in the rolled-up cuff he’d made, Snart let his thumb slide over the curve of Barry’s bicep, like a caress. Barry glanced up into his face, startled, but the other man was focused on rolling up the other sleeve. This was the Leonard Snart that Barry knew was lurking beneath Captain Cold’s exterior. The bombast, the terrible puns, the production values of Captain Cold’s persona were all a front, Barry knew, to distract from the real person: someone focused, deliberate, careful; someone who never did anything without a good reason. Admirable qualities in a person, when they weren’t shooting at you or double-crossing you or wreaking havoc all over your city.

Snart finished the other sleeve with the same gentle caress, and took a small step back to look at Barry. He nodded. “Better.”

It was funny, in the Flash suit Barry had always felt like he was taller than Captain Cold, but really they were pretty much exactly the same height. Up close, the irises of Snart’s blue eyes had little crystalline structures in them.

Unmoored, Barry tried to marshal his thoughts and return to the matter at hand. “So…okay, so, what’s our cover story here? Who am I? How did we meet? How long have we been dating?”

Snart walked over to sit on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and stretching his arms along the back. Barry started to take the chair opposite him, but Snart reached out a hand, beckoning him over. Feeling unspeakably awkward, Barry settled onto the couch next to him, close, but not touching.

“The best lies,” Snart explained, “are mostly the truth. So: you’re you.”

“I’m me?”

“A version of you, yes.” Snart turned toward him, letting his hand casually drop onto Barry’s shoulder. This time, Barry managed not to jump, but he couldn’t quite keep himself from tensing up. Snart gave him a wry grin. “Take it easy, kid, I’m not gonna hurt you.” He let his hand rub gently back and forth across Barry’s shoulder as he continued. “As I was saying: you’re you. Your name is Barry, you grew up in Central City, your history is basically your history. Except you don’t have superpowers, and somewhere along the line, you turned into the kind of guy who goes out with guys like me. You’re like...a much sluttier version of yourself.”

Barry laughed. In spite of himself, he was starting to relax into Snart’s touch. “Okay, so I’m Barry Allen, Trophy Boyfriend.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t be using the word ‘boyfriend,’” Snart said with a gleam in his eye. “You’re more like Barry Allen, Boytoy.”

Barry decided to ignore that one. “What if someone asks me what I do? I probably shouldn’t open with working for the CCPD.”

“You’re a scientist. If anyone presses you on it, say you’re an independent consultant, you work with a few different places.” Snart sat forward, suddenly serious. “It’s entirely possible that someone at this party will have researched the CCPD thoroughly enough to know who you are. If that happens, don’t deny it. Just explain that the CCPD is one of your clients and that, as you put it last night, you’re not a cop, you’re a forensic scientist.”

“Okay,” Barry muttered, privately resolving to deflect any and all conversations as far away from his career as he could.

“Is it okay?” Snart’s eyes were searching. “You get caught in a lie, things could go really bad, really fast. That happens, you’re out in the cold. I know you can’t get hurt, but I can, and I’d rather not.”

Barry guffawed. “What are you talking about? I get hurt all the time.”

“Yeah, sure, but you bounce right back, don’t you? Good as new.” His tone was playful, but his eyes were sharp. “Some of us don’t have metahuman healing to rely on.”

“You think you know so much about me.” Barry wasn’t sure if he was angry or just annoyed. Snart brought that out in him. The gentle touch on his shoulder suddenly seemed very far away. “Snart, I’ve broken just about every bone in my body at least once in the last six months alone. Some more than once.” He held up a hand, spreading out his fingers. “My hands? My feet? My ribs? I’m almost always walking around recovering from some kind of break there. And yeah, I heal fast, or I would’ve fucking died by now, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Remember how I can’t get drunk?” Snart nodded slowly. “Painkillers don’t work on me, either.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Barry looked down at his hands again. “Last year, we went up against this covert military unit. And they’d made a weapon. For me. To use specifically on me.” He didn’t look at Snart, the man also in possession of a weapon made specifically to use on the Flash. “It exploded, and sent hundreds of pieces of steel into me. Like a porcupine’s quills.” He swallowed, surprised at the sudden welling up of emotion that came with the memory. “And then, because I have this healing ability you’re so impressed with, my body started to try to heal around them. Caitlin had to rip them out of me, one at a time.”

“No painkillers.” Snart’s voice was quiet.

“No.” Barry still remembered that night, staring at the ceiling with tears running down into his ears, every piece of shrapnel throbbing in his flesh. Caitlin’s whispered apologies. Trying not to scream because he knew it would upset her. The clink each bloodstained piece of metal made as she dropped it into the pan. Later, washing blood off of skin that had already closed without a mark. As if nothing had happened. But it did happen, he thought.

“Jesus, Barry.” Snart was staring at him in some combination of wonder and horror. His hand had ceased its movement on Barry’s shoulder entirely.

A warm flush of embarrassment crept up his neck. Did he really just tell Captain Cold about how often he got hurt, when a bunch of those times Snart had been the one behind those injuries? How clueless could he get? He drew a deep breath and met Snart’s eyes. “Anyway. It doesn’t matter, these aren’t problems that this version of me would have anyway.”

“True.” Snart regarded him warily.

Summoning his courage, Barry slid a hand onto Snart’s knee; Snart glanced down at it, then back up at him. “It’s fine, Snart,” Barry assured him. “What else?”

He cleared his throat. “You should start calling me Len.”

“Right.” Weird. “So, Len, how did we meet?”

Snart — Len — raised an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

Barry thought for a moment. “It should be someplace we’ve both actually been.”

“Good idea.” His hand was stroking the back of Barry’s neck now, just softly, the way you touch someone you’ve been dating for a little while. It felt surprisingly nice. Comforting.

“...how about Jitters? I’m there all the time, and I know you’ve been there.”

“All right, kid, tell me the story.”

Barry considered telling the other man to stop calling him kid, but decided that Barry Allen: Boytoy would probably like being called kid by the much older man he was dating. “Um...it was crowded.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And...all the seats were taken.” Barry pictured the interior of Jitters at peak commute time, packed with people jockeying for a chair. He pictured Leonard Snart seated in the middle of that chaos, fixing anyone who comes near him with a withering glare. “Except for one chair. You were sitting at a table, and there was another chair, but you looked so scary, nobody was trying to sit there.”

Len chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

He imagined himself there, eyeing the extra chair, eyeing the table’s other occupant. A much sluttier version of yourself. What would it be like to be that person? To make the first move, instead of bumbling and fumbling and pining endlessly? To feel as confident in his own skin, in his own clothes, as he did in the Flash suit?

He changed his posture slightly, starting to get into the act, a little haughty, a little outrageous. “...And I saw you and thought, I bet I could get him to let me sit there.” Len’s eyes were on him now, blue and thoughtful, but Barry kept talking. “So I sat down across from you. And you said…” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for Len to fill in his line.

“Sorry, that seat’s taken.”

“And I said...‘Yeah, it is now.’”

Len smiled, fond and familiar, the way Barry’d seen him smile at his sister. “Spoiled brat,” Len said.

“Grumpy asshole,” Barry retorted, and was rewarded with a surprised laugh from the other man. He rubbed Len’s knee, lightly, where his hand had been resting. “But I also thought you were...kinda hot? So I left you my number.”

“And now here we are.” The snark had returned to Len’s voice, but his eyes were still laughing. Maybe that was the key to him; the rest of his face might be completely unreadable, but the look in his eyes, the slightest alteration in the creases surrounding them, gave a glimpse of what he was really thinking, if you knew to look for it. No wonder he always wore those goggles.

“Yeah, here we are,” Barry replied. They looked at each other. Barry realized that he’d been sitting here on the couch, letting Len touch him, for several minutes now. Maybe he could pull this off after all. “All right, what about our first date?”

Len shrugged. “We went to a movie. There’s a place not far from here where they show classic movies — they were doing Double Indemnity a few weeks ago. Have you seen that?”

“Yeah, I love that movie.”

“Look at that, a rare demonstration of taste,” Len drawled. “I took you to see it, and afterward, I brought you back here and fucked your brains out.”

Barry let out a laugh that was half shock and half nerves, aware all over again of how close their bodies were, the brush of Len’s thick fingers against the back of his neck. “On the first date? Maybe I’m not that kind of guy!”

“Aww, that’s cute,” Len simpered. “But this version of you would definitely be that kind of guy. If you lose track of your cover story, just try to act like I’ve spent the last month fucking your brains out on the regular.”

“Who says you’d be the one fucking my brains out?” Barry asked, trying for a bravado he didn’t feel.

The other man shrugged again. “It’s what they’ll assume.”

Probably true, and fair enough, which didn’t stop the image springing unbidden and fully-formed into Barry’s mind: Leonard Snart in all his glory, naked, on top of him, hands and mouth and cock —

He closed his eyes for a moment, really just a long blink, and when he opened them Len’s gaze had taken on a heated, hungry quality. Clearly his thoughts were running along similar lines. Barry was beset by a jittery impulse to leap off the couch, jump across the room, change the subject — but he wasn’t going to let Captain Cold get under his skin like that. If he did, Barry had the feeling the other man would spend the rest of the night seeing just how nervous and uncomfortable he could make him. So instead he met Len’s knowing gaze, his mouth suddenly dry. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Imagining having sex with me.”

Len smiled the patronizing smile that always made Barry want to punch his teeth in, and drew his thumb slowly up the back of Barry’s neck. “I will if you will.”

Asshole, Barry thought, hoping Len couldn’t see the goosebumps that had broken out on his arms. “Anyway. If the movie was our first date, that would mean we’ve only been dating for, like, a month?”

“I think that makes sense. Long enough for me to bring you as a date to this party, but short enough that I haven’t run you off yet.”

“And how has that been?” Barry tried on a flirtatious grin. Boytoy Barry would be bold, sexy; being him could be a lot of fun — for a night at least. “Let me guess, a lot of Netflix and chill?”

“Ha. Why don’t you leave the puns to the professionals?”

“You didn’t answer my question. What is it like to date the infamous Captain Cold?”

Len answered Barry’s grin with one of his own. “A lot of sex. Not a lot of talking.”

“I have a hard time imagining you not doing a lot of talking,” Barry joked.

Len made a face. “Fine, we’d talk, but not about our feelings.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much. We go out, we come back here, we fuck, you leave.”

“Wait, back here? To your safe house? Not to your actual house?”

An incredulous look, like Barry was from some other planet where they didn’t have indoor plumbing. “I don’t stay out of prison by bringing every piece of ass I pick up back home with me, Barry. There are only two people in the entire world who know where I live.”

“Would I know that? That this isn’t your real apartment?” Len stared at him dispassionately. “No.”

“But..what if things got serious with someone? Wouldn’t they be mad you lied to them?”

“I’m not the kind of guy who gets serious, and I don’t date the kind of guys who want to.” Before Barry could formulate a response, Len abruptly rose to his feet. “We should probably head out.”

Barry stood up as well, feeling a little shaky. He’d halfway forgotten why they were even doing all this. “Yeah.”

“I almost forgot,” Len said, and vanished down the short hallway to the back of the apartment. He re-emerged a moment later, holding something in one hand. “I have something for you.” It was a necklace, simple enough, a gold snowflake on a gold chain.

Barry took it, turning it over in his hand, puzzled. “You got me a present?”

Len rolled his eyes, taking the necklace back and putting it around Barry’s neck. “Isn’t that why boytoys date older men? So they can buy them presents?”

He was standing so close, Barry could feel the warmth of his breath as he fumbled with the clasp. Barry found himself staring at Len’s lips, pressed together in concentration. He thought about their conversation from the previous night. You’re cool with letting me kiss you? Letting me touch you? He’d told himself he’d do what he needed to do and get out, no big deal, but now the thought that Len was going to kiss him at some point tonight (and that it would be his first kiss in way too long) seemed to fill his entire body. “Is this stolen?” Barry asked, his voice a little raspy.

“I wouldn’t steal a gift, Barry,” Len chided him, as though that was common knowledge for career criminals. Len finally fastened the clasp and ran his fingers softly along the chain, along the line of Barry’s collarbone. “There,” he said, more to himself than to Barry. “Now everybody there will know that you’re mine.”

You’re mine. Barry shivered a little, the words traveling down to lodge in some primal part of his brain.

~*~

Before they left the safe house, Len handed Barry a burner phone. “My current number’s in there. In case we get separated or something. You should leave your real phone here.”

Barry frowned. “Why?”

“So I can send embarrassing Snapchats to all your friends, obviously.” Honestly, the kid was so suspicious about his phone, like Len couldn’t have cloned it the minute he walked in the door (note for next time, he told himself). “Because you’re going to a party full of people who steal everything that isn’t nailed down,” he explained with exaggerated patience, “and I’m assuming the Flash’s phone isn’t something you’d like every petty thief in Central to have access to.”

“Right.” Barry reluctantly set his phone on the end table and slipped the burner phone into the pocket of his jeans, which — give the kid credit where credit’s due — managed to make his unimpeachable ass look even better than the red leather usually did. Damn. If this was a real date, Len would have had him out of those jeans by now. Of course, if this was a real date, he wouldn’t have had to spend the last half hour helping Barry stop recoiling from his every touch.

“Now listen up, Red,” Len said as he locked the door behind them, “I know you like to rush into things without thinking about them, but try not to get us both killed tonight, all right? Consider it a personal favor.”

“I’ll do my best,” Barry said dryly.

Truth be told, Len felt a little wistful leaving the apartment. They’d created a nice little bubble in there, and it was tempting to just stay in that reality, where Barry was just a cute guy from a coffee shop and neither of them had ever tried to kill the other one. Too bad they had to go to Frank Santini’s party — Len would have happily spent the rest of the evening teasing Barry about sex, watching him blush, feeling the delicious little shivers he gave whenever Len touched him. He still planned to do just that, but it was a shame he’d also have to work.

The bar where the party was being held was only a short walk away from the safe house. Len slipped his arm around Barry’s slender waist, hooking a thumb through his belt loop, as they walked. To an outside observer, they’d look like a happy couple out for a stroll.

Len stole a glance at Barry. “You nervous?”

“A little.”

It was nice, in a way, to know that underneath that cocky exterior, the Flash was still someone who got nervous before a mission. “Just stick to the plan,” Len assured him. “Keep your head down, keep your ears open, remember your cover story, and we’ll get out of this just fine.”

“I got it, Len. I’m Barry the Slutty Scientist, I love old movies and sex and not talking about my feelings.” Barry nudged Len with his shoulder, laughter in his green eyes. Fuck he was cute, he had no business being this cute, and Len had no business thinking he was this cute, not when this wasn’t a real date. Not when the real Barry wouldn’t be caught dead with someone like him.

Much as he might have liked to simply enjoy the roll of Barry’s hip under his hand, the warmth of Barry’s body pressed up against him, Len’s thoughts were drawn inexorably toward the party. He made a mental rundown of what he knew of the guest list, reviewing old grudges, recent flare-ups, where relationships might have a weakness he could exploit, and what percentage of the people there would be happy to see him dead.

He realized with a cold sensation of dread that he’d forgotten to have the most important part of the pre-party conversation with Barry. He’d been so focused on the hazards facing them with Barry’s undercover mission, he’d almost forgotten the hazards Barry would face just by arriving as his date. This was a problem — Barry was already getting under his skin, stealing his focus, throwing him off his game. He’d have to be extra alert during the party, where a slip-up could be disastrous.

“Listen,” he said, slowing his walking pace slightly. “There’s gonna be some people at this party tonight who may be...slightly peeved with me. Apparently I don’t play well with others,” he shrugged.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Maybe so, but some of them might think you look like a good way to get to me.”

“I can handle myself,” Barry said with an arrogant little chuckle, like he had any idea at all what they were walking into.

“You may be able to, but my next date might not be, so I’ll need to maintain my standard hands-off policy,” Len spat. “Anybody says shit to you tonight, anybody threatens you, anybody lays so much as a finger on you, I need to know about it.”

“A—all right,” Barry stammered.

“I’m serious, Barry. I’m not spending the next week cleaning up after any mess you make.”

“I said, all right!”

The kid was probably aiming for quiet outrage, but it was coming across more sullen child. Len ruffled his hair. “Don’t get sulky on me, Red, I need you all smiles by the time we get to this party.”

They walked in silence for a minute. At least when he’s pouting, he’s not lecturing me, Len thought. I said we were gonna do this my way, what did he expect?

“Why do you do that?” Barry asked quietly.

“Do what?”

Barry shook his head. “You’re, like, being normal, and then you take this hard left turn into like, Evil Villain Mode.”

Len had to snicker at that. “I’m Captain Cold. Evil Villain Mode is normal for me.”

“I don’t think that’s true, and I don’t think you do either.”

Len didn’t respond — what was there to say? He was supremely uninterested in having another you’re-really-a-good-guy-deep-down pep talk from the Scarlet Speedster, or anyone else, for that matter.

Barry sighed. “You’re hard to have a conversation with.”

“I am a delightful conversationalist, Barry. It’s not my fault that you’re so exasperating.” Barry stuck out his tongue at him. Cute. Barry might be deluding himself about Len’s potential for reform, but at least he was cute while he did it.

The sound of music and raucous laughter spilled out into the night; they were getting close to the party. Almost unconsciously, Len slowed his steps again. Once they got in there, this little farce wouldn’t just between the two of them. The stakes would be higher, the margin for error much, much smaller. Teasing Barry had been fun, but for tonight to work, they’d both need to sell the fiction of their fabricated relationship. He hoped Barry could handle it.

Len came to a decision. He slowed to a stop, pulling Barry into the mouth of an alley. “What? What’s going on, did you see something?” Barry asked, suddenly alert, scanning the dark street.

Putting his hands on Barry’s shoulders, Len turned the younger man to face him. Barry’s eyes were quizzical, his skin ghost-pale in the streetlight. “I think I should kiss you now,” Len told him, keeping his voice steady and businesslike. “Get the first one out of the way before anyone can see us.”

Barry took a deep, shaky breath. “Right,” he said. “Good idea.” He glanced at Len’s mouth, and the uncertain look on his face caused a stab of guilt deep in Len’s gut. Dirty old man, he told himself, but there was nothing for it now but to follow through.

Slowly, carefully, Len cupped Barry’s face in one hand, pulling him close with the other, and kissed him. He kept it soft and sweet, as though it was a kiss borne of some familiarity between them, and not their first kiss. Barry’s lips were warm and yielding, and Len could hear the faintest sigh as he leaned into him. That first taste of Barry’s mouth washed over Len like a hot shower; he wanted to press further, go kissing and licking and diving into him, but he remembered Barry tensing up under his hands back at the safe house, that hesitant look of a moment before, and pulled back.

“So,” Len murmured, his face still close to Barry’s, trying to get his pulse under control. His hand was moving seemingly of its own volition, stroking down Barry’s cheek. “I know we talked about...putting on a show.” Barry nodded mutely, holding Len’s gaze, not pulling away from Len’s touch. Len swallowed. “I want you to know,” he continued, “that if I do something you...don’t like, or don’t want…” his other hand was sliding gently up Barry’s back, resting between his shoulder blades; he could feel the speedster’s breathing quicken. “You can say no,” Len murmured into the inch of space between their mouths. “You can tell me to stop. Just because we’ve got this...little ruse going, doesn’t mean you can’t say no, if you need to say no.”

Barry smiled, his body relaxing slightly. “Thanks. I...I appreciate that.” He surprised Len by leaning in and kissing him again, quick, affectionate, before stepping away. “Come on, let’s go to this party.” He led the way down the street and Len hurried to catch up with him, slinging an arm around his shoulders when he did.

Len gave the password (“tomato”) to the burly security guys at the door, reveling in their obvious discomfort at the sight of his very young, very male date. He’d spent years carving out a slice of this city, in part for moments just like this one. He submitted to a pat-down with a savage grin; he knew full well that anyone affiliated with the Santini family would be armed to the teeth — this was their party, after all — but he couldn’t blame them for wanting to keep the possibilities for mayhem to a minimum. He didn’t really need his own weapon to be dangerous, anyway; if anyone came at him, he could always snatch one off of someone else, and he was more than capable of destroying someone with just his fists. Once Mick arrived, he’d be in even better shape. Last year, security hadn’t even taken Mick’s lighter. Amateur hour.

The bar was just your standard mafia dive: sticky floors, patched-up booths, a general patina of cigar smoke and spilled beer. The kind of place whose owners clearly cared more about using the place as a money-laundering front than they did about things like cleanliness or customer service. Frank Santini usually made sure the bar was well-stocked, though, especially for his annual blowout, which was already well underway.

Two exits: the way they’d come in, and an alarmed fire exit along the back wall. A hallway leading off to the bathrooms, plus a door marked Employees Only that no doubt led to a veritable warren of back rooms where the Santinis could drink and gamble and make deals without being observed. Not great. No way to know how many people were in the building, and too many avenues of approach, but you play the hand you’re dealt.

He was pleased to see how many metahumans and assorted other colorful characters were in the crowd. The smartest thing Frank Santini had done, when he took over his brother’s empire, was make peace with Central City’s metahuman criminal population. He spotted James Jesse holding court at a table of lowlifes, eyes wide, teeth gleaming. Roy Bivolo leaned in the corner, nursing a beer. Plenty of strings to pull, should Len need this party to blow up in a hurry.

“Snart,” Len heard from behind him, and turned to greet Frank Santini’s son, Frank Jr. Junior had his arm draped around a tiny blonde woman in a violently pink dress; she seemed to be doing more than her fair share of supporting his weight. Too drunk, too early in the evening, Len thought. This is why your pops never lets you near anything important, Junior. Still, Junior’s proximity to the throne meant he had a certain usefulness to be exploited.

“Junior,” he said. “How’s it going? Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Snart,” Junior slurred again, smoothing down his purple tie. “Wasn’t sure you’d show up here.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to RSVP.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “Hi,” she said to Barry, sticking out her hand. “I’m Gwendolyn, and this is Frank, but everyone calls him Junior.”

“I’m Barry,” he replied, and Len could hear the amusement in his voice.

“I’m sorry, where are my manners,” Len said, his voice heavy with irony. He turned to speak into Barry’s ear, not taking his eye off of Junior. “Get us some drinks, would you, doll?”

Barry rolled his eyes back at Gwendolyn, and she gave him a commiserating smirk. Good, the kid was falling into his boytoy role quite well. “Sure,” he said.

“Bourbon, lots of ice.”

“I know,” Barry said with a long-suffering sigh. There was no reason for him to know Len’s drink order, but it was a nice touch. Len planted a kiss on his high cheekbone, and he sauntered off.

“He seems nice,” Gwendolyn ventured.

Len raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh, he is,” he replied in his most insinuating tone. “Very obliging.”

Junior reddened, pulling at his collar; his date seemed unfazed, and Len revised his opinion of her upward a few notches. “Let’s grab a seat,” Junior muttered, indicating a group of couches close by.

Gwendolyn unloaded Junior off her shoulders and onto a couch with a relieved sigh. “I’m gonna hit the little girls’ room while you boys talk business.”

“So,” Junior said as his date tottered off, “I heard you got into a little trouble down at the docks the other day.”

“Did you really.” It wasn’t a question; they both knew full well the Santinis had been behind the interruption.

“Maybe you’re not as quick on the draw as you used to be, Snart. Getting slow in your old age. Maybe it’s time you were put out to pasture.”

“Like I said to your uncle before I killed him, I’m not going anywhere.”

Junior snarled at him, but didn’t take a swing; Len was sure he’d been lectured on keeping the peace at this party, and if he was smart (a big if), he’d know not to start something with Len that he wasn’t prepared to finish. “You talk a big game, Snart, but word on the street is, you don’t kill anymore. Getting soft, as well as slow?”

Barry reappeared with a highball glass and a bottle of beer. Len accepted his drink and pulled Barry down beside him, dangling an arm around his shoulders. Barry cuddled into him and slid a hand onto Len’s thigh. The kid was a quick learner, for all he could be so dense at times.

“When you’re this good, Junior, you don’t have to kill to get what you want,” Len said. Barry made a choking noise, but covered it up with a swig of his beer. Len ignored him. “This town’s full of amateur thieves with superpowers and no self-control. CCPD’s got their hands full. That leaves me plenty of room to play, and no reason to put a target on my back.”

“Bunch of freaks,” Junior complained. “Time was, you could run a civilized business out of Central. Now every time you turn around there’s some freak smashing up the place. You’re no better than them, either, with your stupid cold gun. Why can’t you use a normal gun, like a normal person?”

Len pulled his arm tighter around Barry’s shoulders, and slid his thumb along the gold chain around Barry’s neck, rubbing it back and forth against the smooth skin there. He exaggerated the movement slightly, making it obvious, making sure it drew Junior’s eye. “What can I say, Junior? I like the freaks.”

Junior looked away. “They should all be rounded up and put down.”

“I mean, come on, some metahumans might be causing trouble in Central City, but they’re all still people,” Barry interjected. Len gave him a squeeze, thinking shut up, shut up.

“Those people cost my family more money each month than you make in a year,” Junior sneered. “Try spending half your time cleaning up after them, then see how you feel.” He staggered to his feet. “I need a drink.”

“I do spend half my time cleaning up after them,” Barry muttered as the disgruntled gangster stalked away.

Len withdrew his arm from around Barry’s shoulders. “What part of keep your head down was so hard for you to understand?”

“What?”

“I’m trying to do business here, I don’t need you popping in with an After-School Special.”

“That guy was being an ass, not to mention kind of a bigot.”

“Says the guy who had an extrajudicial prison in his basement.”

That one stung; Len could see the hurt in Barry’s face. In classic Barry Allen fashion, though, he just pushed on ahead, demanding, “So, what, I’m not allowed to talk? I’m supposed to just sit here?”

This was so similar to something Len’s date to last year’s party had said, Len wanted to claw his own eyes out. Next year, he told himself, I’m not bringing any more mouthy little brunets to this party, I don’t care how cute they are. He forced himself into the icy calm that was his default in times of stress. “Do whatever you want, as long as you don’t interrupt me or get us both killed. This isn’t a regular party, Barry. We’re not going to do the Chicken Dance. I have business to attend to, and I seem to recall that one of the conditions of your attending this little shindig was that you weren’t going to interfere in it.”

Barry scowled at him. “I can’t believe you’re planning crimes tonight.”

“Believe it, baby, I’m the best at what I do.” He put his arm back around Barry’s shoulders, tapping him on the chin with his other hand. “Now, smile at me,” he instructed the recalcitrant speedster through his own pleasant grin, “and then go mingle. I see some people I need to talk to, and you’ve got recon to do.”

Barry arranged his face in a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “Fine by me.”

He stood to go, but Len grabbed his hand. “Forgetting something?” Len asked, batting his eyes.

Len was expecting Barry to blush, or scowl, or deliver another patented Barry Allen Lecture, but the kid just raised an eyebrow, as if to say challenge accepted, and leaned down to brush his lips lightly against Len’s. “See you later,” he said, and wandered off toward the bar.

It didn’t require any acting for Len to watch him walk away like he was a glass of water in the desert. Barry Allen, he said to himself, you are just full of surprises tonight.

~*~

Barry felt at a bit of a loss. He’d been so certain that he’d just come to this party and immediately spot the guys from the dock, but there were so many burly white guys of similar height and build here, he had no clue who his assailants could be. He drifted through the party for a while, attempting to catch bits of conversation as he moved past, and heard a lot of things — gossip, boasting, threats — but no concrete plans.

It was a weird assortment: suit-clad mobsters, a biker gang in leather jackets, the occasional cackling supervillain. He’d stopped trying to keep track of how many people in here the Flash had apprehended at some point — it was making him nervous, not to mention depressed about the DA’s conviction record. Keep your head down, he reminded himself. He was glad of Len’s adjustment to his wardrobe; he wouldn’t have been overdressed, exactly, but it was easy to blend into the crowd in his simple t-shirt and jeans, and standing out would have been a disaster.

At least there was food. The Santinis had clearly brought in catering from a nearby Italian restaurant: there were trays of meatballs, giant platters of antipasti, a couple of different pasta options, and artful piles of fruits and cheeses. Barry was piling soppressata on his second plate of the evening when he ran into Gwendolyn, Junior Santini’s date.

“Hey!” she said brightly, popping a cheese cube into her brightly-painted mouth. “You lose your date?”

Barry glanced over to the table where Len sat, deep in conversation with a small, squirrelly-looking man. He’d considered going over there, just to have someone to talk to, but suspected that Len didn’t want him interrupting any more conversations. “I didn’t lose him,” he said glumly. “I know exactly where he is.”

She wrinkled her nose in sympathy. “He shoo you away so he could ‘talk business?’” The air quotes were apparent in her voice. “You’d think they’d set up some kind of activities for their dates at these things, if they were just going to talk to each other all night.”

“I know, right?” Barry laughed. “Like, can we get some bean bag toss going? Jenga?”

“Charades, Twister, something!” She winked at him. “Come on, come sit with the girls.”

Sitting with “the girls” turned out to be a lot more fun than wandering around the party by himself. Gwendolyn and several of her friends had taken over a large corner table toward the back, and were well into their second bottle of champagne.

“I hope you don’t mind that I took off my shoes,” mumbled a woman who’d introduced herself as Krystal. “But I’m not fucking putting them back on.”

He assured her that he had no interest in making anyone wear shoes, and settled in to hear a rather shocking amount of mafia gossip: who was sleeping with whom, whose boyfriend was getting cut out of what deals, how Junior’s relationship with his father was going. Barry had made mental notes of at least five different potential criminal activities to follow up on — although, sadly, nobody said anything about the mysterious cargo coming in from out of town. He did learn more than he cared to about the sexual proclivities of various members of the Central City underworld, though; he was never going to look at Mark Mardon the same way again, that was for sure.

“So, Barry,” Gwendolyn said, startling him out of his reverie. “How long have you and Captain Cold been a thing?”

He glanced over at Len, whose conversation had been joined by a second, taller-but-equally-squirrely-looking, guy. “Like, a month?”

“A month!” Krystal exclaimed. “That’s actually not bad, where Snart is concerned.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Um, thank you?”

Andrea (who had stressed to him several times that it was “Ahn-dray-ah, not Ann-dree-a”) tucked a strand of dark, curly hair behind her ear and leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So, I’ve always wanted to know...what’s he like?” she asked. “You know, in bed.”

“Oh, um, you know…” Barry felt himself turning red under the sudden, intense interest from three pairs of perfectly-made-up eyes.

“Come on, Barry, spill,” Gwendolyn encouraged him. “It’s just us girls.”

Great. Apparently he’d been adopted as the “fabulous gay friend” in his very own Sex and the City knockoff. He ate a chunk of watermelon while he tried to figure out his answer. He doubted Len would want his dates discussing his sexual ability...but he also doubted that Boytoy Barry would care. He glanced over at Len again, watching his hands gesturing as he spoke, thinking about how those hands had felt touching him, that surprisingly nice kiss in the alley. What would Len be like in bed?

“He’s, um...well, you know how he is,” he ad-libbed. “He’s...intense.” The girls exchanged knowing glances.

Barry thought about everything he’d come to learn about Leonard Snart in the year or so that he’d known the man. His body started to warm, thinking about how those personality traits might translate to the bedroom. “He’s...focused, you know? He, uh, he can be a little selfish, and he can be a little controlling, but...I like that,” Barry continued with a laugh, realizing it was true even as he said it. “He’s very, um…”

Would Len smash through Barry’s defenses like a plate glass window, taking what he wanted? Or would he be more methodical, taking him apart bit by bit, like a combination lock? Barry’s tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. “...Very thorough.”

“Wow,” Krystal breathed.

Barry could feel his ears burning. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

“You’re obviously really into him,” Andrea observed.

“What? No I’m not!” he blurted out. Shit. “I — I mean, it’s not serious, with us. We’re keeping things casual.”

Krystal sighed. “I know how that one goes. Take it from me, sweetie — don’t go for a guy who wants to keep things casual unless you’re sure that’s what you want, too. Otherwise, you’re gonna get hurt. If he wanted to be serious, he’d be serious, you know?”

“No, I know…” Barry shook his head, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Look, I appreciate the advice, but really, we’re fine! Totally fine.” His voice was sounding high-pitched and unnatural, even to him. “I’m, uh, gonna go get another drink! See you guys later!” He stood up hastily, trying not to trip over his own feet, and marched hastily toward the bar.

“Poor thing,” he could hear Gwendolyn saying as he walked away.

The bartender was just handing him another beer when Barry felt strong hands slip around his waist. “Hey,” Len murmured against his neck, the feeling of his warm breath sending a zing straight to Barry’s groin. Great, there went his “have a beer and stop thinking about sex with Leonard Snart” plan. Back to the show.

Mindful of the bartender listening in, Barry turned in Len’s arms to face him. “Hey,” he replied, putting on an exaggerated pout. “Where were you? I was getting bored.”

Barry could feel the other man’s stomach (which was like a solid wall, Barry should really inquire about his workout regimen) jump in a silent laugh against him, but his face didn’t betray his amusement. “Sorry, gorgeous,” Len leered, pulling Barry closer. “Duty called.” He leaned in, breathing into Barry’s ear so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Any luck?”

“Not yet,” Barry muttered back. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, trying to distract himself from the muscular power of the body pressing against him, willing his own body not to respond. “You?”

“Nothing yet, but the night is young.” Len stood upright, the motion breaking the contact between them, and Barry inhaled deeply, abruptly aware that he’d forgotten to breathe.

Len signaled the bartender for another bourbon. “C’mon, kid,” he smirked, “I’ll let you lose to me at darts.”

Barry allowed himself to be led by the hand over to the dilapidated dart board in one corner. He spared a thought for the bored young women he’d just been talking to — should he tell them there’s darts? — but he could see why the spot appealed to Len. It was in the corner diagonally opposite from the door, with wide vantage points to view the rest of the bar, and far enough away from the seating areas to make it reasonably unlikely that anyone would overhear their conversation. They’d be able to see anyone coming in the door — although that meant that anyone coming in the door would see them, too.

“You go first,” Len commanded, eyes already sweeping the room.

Barry picked up the darts. “You looking for anything in particular?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“That’s very zen.” Barry threw a 6, 11, and 15. He considered adding just the tiniest hint of speed to his next round of throws. Throwing them faster isn’t going to help you throw them more accurately, Allen. “You’re up.”

Len pulled the darts from the board, shoving his drink at Barry as he moved past him to throw. “Here, drink that.”

“What? Why?” Liquor had sloshed all over his hand; he shook it dry with irritation. Sometimes he really missed drinking, but coming home reeking of bourbon was substantially less fun when you couldn’t actually get drunk.

“Because.” Len aimed and threw. “If people think you’re drunk, they’re less likely to watch what they say around you.”

“Right.” He took a big swig, savoring the vanilla and caramel notes in the bourbon.

They took turns throwing darts and surveying the party, not really keeping score. Barry kept glancing at Len. His posture was easy, a lazy smile on his face, but his eyes were constantly moving, constantly vigilant, and even though he kept getting drinks from the bar, he wasn’t drinking most of them, handing them off to Barry instead.

Even without his cold gun, Len was the most dangerous person in the room. The rest of the party knew it, too. Barry still wasn’t totally sure what Len was looking for, but he could see the nervous glances people threw in their direction, the occasional nod of respect that Len seemed to accept as his due.

Barry was just wrapping up a turn when Len stood up straight, his whole body coming alert. Barry could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Every instinct he had was telling him to look around, but he kept his stance neutral, his eyes focused on the dart board. “What?” he asked in a low voice. “What do you see?”

Len glanced at him, and it was as though his alarm of a second ago had never happened. He dropped easily back into a slouch and fixed Barry with a slow, sexy smile. “Congratulate me, Barry. I’m about to win at darts.”

“We’re not even keeping score,” Barry muttered, trading places with Len and leaning back against the wall. Over by the door, a man in an expensively-tailored pinstripe suit was being greeted by a crowd of people, including Junior Santini. “Is that —”

The last dart landed on 5, not that it mattered. Len smirked at him. “I win. Aren’t you going to clap?”

Barry rolled his eyes, but clapped a few times anyway. “Congratulations, you fake win at fake darts.”

Len’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a mouth on you, you know that?” In one smooth movement, he crowded into Barry’s space and pushed him back against the wall. Barry’s heart started hammering against his ribcage, warmth flooding into his stomach. Len brought a hand up to Barry’s face and rubbed a thumb roughly across Barry’s lower lip; the contact sent sparks over Barry’s skin, and he felt his breath catch.

“Is he looking?” Len asked, tilting Barry’s chin up.

Barry glanced over at the man in the pinstripe suit. He was looking over at them, with a sour, irritable expression. “Yes.”

“Good.” He stepped in even closer and smashed his lips onto Barry’s.

Barry found himself gasping into Len’s mouth, inhaling the scent of bourbon. Len’s tongue forced his lips apart, his mouth opening under the onslaught, allowing Len’s tongue to explore him, to claim him. Insistent, Len pressed closer still, sliding his thigh between Barry’s, and Barry wrapped his arms around Len’s neck, letting Len pin him against the wall. Hazily, Barry was aware that the party was still going on around them, but Len’s thigh ground up against his rapidly-stiffening cock, and it felt too good for him to care.

The kiss was brutal, devouring, crushing Barry’s lips back against his teeth. He pressed back, sliding his tongue along Len’s, feeling triumph at the little intake of breath he elicited. Len’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once — tangling in Barry’s hair, smoothing down his chest, sliding up under his t-shirt. Barry desperately hoped the noise from the party would mask the small, helpless sound he made at the touch of Len’s palm on his stomach. He could feel cool air on his bare skin, and had a sudden uncomfortable realization of how he must look: grinding up against Len like a horny teenager, shirt pushed up his back. But that was the point, right? How it would look? What is this for? he wondered. The bigger man’s tongue felt like it was halfway down his throat; Barry was starting to feel like he couldn’t breathe.

He put his hands on Len’s densely-muscled chest and pushed, just slightly, not hard enough that an observer would be able to tell he was pushing Len away. He had a split second to worry that the other man wouldn’t get the hint — that he’d have to do something major if he wanted to extricate himself — but Len immediately broke the kiss and reduced the press of his body against Barry’s, pulling his hands away to lean against the wall on either side of him. They looked at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily.

“You OK?” Len murmured.

His blue eyes were dark with lust and warm with concern. His lips were soft and wet, and Barry had to quell an impulse to press his own lips back up against them. It took a second before Barry could even respond. His heart was still flailing wildly in his chest. He drew himself up to his full height, grasping at whatever shreds of dignity hadn’t fled screaming from the room at the realization that he’d just dry-humped Captain Cold at a party full of criminals. “What exactly are you trying to do, here?” he asked, as sternly as he could manage.

Len’s dimples were completely unfair, and Barry objected to them on principle. “If you must know,” he smirked, “I’m trying to start a gang war.”

~*~

“What? Are you joking?” Barry’s lips were still swollen, but his kiss-drunk look of a moment before had vanished, replaced with his usual tiresome moral outrage. Len felt a fleeting regret at that, but it was for the best.

“Almost always, but not about this,” Len replied. “The Santinis have a tendency to get too big for their britches. I like to remind them that they don’t run this town anymore.”

“And you do.”

“See, now you’re getting it. There may be hope for you yet.”

Barry crossed his arms. “I don’t see what any of that has to do with kissing me.”

“Oh, it’s all part of my master plan.” Len glanced over at Frank Santini, Sr., who was now seated on a couch, his flunkies fluttering around him like obsequious butterflies. Frank looked back at him like Len was a raccoon who had wandered in off the street and was raiding the garbage cans. He gave Frank a wink and turned back to his date, who was still being Moral at him.

“A gang war...people could get hurt, Len. People could get killed. I can’t let that happen.”

Len debated shutting Barry up with another kiss, but figured it wouldn’t be well-received. “Don’t worry, Red. I haven’t forgotten our deal.” He stroked a hand through Barry’s dark hair, lingering in spite of himself. Barry’s eyes stuttered up to find his, and his pissy I’m-Not-Mad-Just-Disappointed look slowly evaporated. He looked lost, exposed. What must it be like to live like that, all emotion and impulse, feelings always laid open and throbbing like a raw nerve? No wonder the kid was always wound so tight.

Len stepped back, pulling his hands away, not letting Barry see the sheer force of will it took to do it. “I should go pay my respects to Frank Santini. You wanna come?”

Barry drew a deep breath, seeming to collect himself. “I should probably keep mingling, see if I can uncover something about this shipment.”

“All right.” Len wagged a finger in Barry’s face in mock sternness. “Be careful.”

The speedster opened his eyes wide, and just like that, the Flash was gone, and in his place was Slutty Scientist Barry. “Okay, Daddy.”

Len laughed aloud and walked away, shaking his head. He knew without looking that Barry was grinning that cheeky grin of his. This was what he liked about Barry — his fondness for the game, the chase, the ruse, the rush. Someday he was going to get a taste of what all that adrenaline felt like without the crushing weight of being The Most Right All the Time, and Len was betting the result would be glorious and chaotic and deadly.

Fuck if he wasn’t going to keep the memory of that kiss running on a loop for a good long while, too — pretty little Barry Allen, his skin so fucking smooth, long and hard and hot against him. He remembered being that young, cock springing to life at the slightest hint of attention — he knew it didn’t mean much. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to think of some subtle ways to remind Barry of it the next time he showed up while Len was on a job, though. Happy to see me, Flash?

“Leonard, my boy!” James Jesse roared from his booth as Len approached. “Make room for him, boys, show some respect,” he barked at the acolytes surrounding him.

“Jesse,” Len nodded. “How’s tricks?”

Jesse giggled, flashing a manic grin. “Tricks continue to delight, how good of you to inquire.” He held out a plastic baggie. “Licorice?”

“No thanks.” Jesse wasn’t exactly a stranger, but Len still wasn’t stupid enough to take candy from him.

“How are you enjoying the party?” Len asked.

“It’s dull.” Jesse bit the word off decisively. “Utterly pedestrian, I don’t mind telling you. Some people think providing an open bar is all a good party needs. It’s enough to make a man want to provide some entertainment of his own.” He grinned again, with more than a hint of a snarl underneath. “Of course, I’d hate to offend our host.”

Len managed not to lean back from the man. Jesse usually had at least one bomb on his person at any given time, but if he was seriously considering blowing something up to enliven the party, Len was safest staying as close to him as possible. He matched Jesse’s grin with one of his own. “You know,” he confided, “nobody would love that more than Frank Santini.”

“Really.” The Trickster’s wild pale eyes were skeptical.

“Apparently the Santinis are tired of the more colorful elements of Central City society,” Len said. “Frank’s idiot son wouldn’t shut up about it tonight.”

“Loose lips, that one,” Jesse agreed.

“He apparently thinks they should be cleaning out all the ‘freaks,’” Len continued. “And from what I’ve seen tonight, Pa Santini seems to feel the same. Something tells me they’re just waiting for an excuse.”

“Freaks,” Jesse scoffed. “None of these cut-rate mobsters have ever understood what it is to have a little style, a little panache.”

“Frank Santini just sits in that big house of his on 53rd Street, counting his money and looking down his nose at everyone,” Len commisserated. “He has no idea of what it actually takes to make a name for yourself in Central City these days.”

“Indeed, indeed,” Jesse replied absently, stroking his chin. Len had spent the last month carefully watching, tailing, and bribing the right people to figure out where Frank Santini lived. He was almost positive that Frank’s address was new information to Jesse, and it was enough to get the Trickster’s wheels turning. Len watched him stare into space for a moment, before he seemed to come back to himself. “So!” Jesse burst out with an air of false joviality. “How’ve you been, Snart? Quite the little slice you’ve brought with you this evening, I see.”

Len smiled. Blatant subject change aside, it was kind of sweet how pro-gay-rights James Jesse had become since reconnecting with his son. Len didn’t pretend to understand their relationship, which seemed to involve a lot of yelling and blowing shit up, but lately Jesse had been a one-man PFLAG meeting, and never failed to inquire after Len’s relationship status. “He’s new,” Len said. “Kind of a brat, but cute. We’ll see how it goes.”

They exchanged pleasantries for a few more moments, but the conversation was basically over; Len had already planted the seed he’d set out to plant, and while Jesse might seem erratic, he was unlikely to let anything of importance slip. Still, Len waited to make his farewell until the opportune moment.

“I’d better get back to my date. See you around, Jesse,” he drawled, and stood up — making sure to bump into Junior Santini, who was blustering past.

“Watch where you’re going, Snart!” Junior snapped. He was wearing the look of tense irritability he always wore when his father was close by. “It’s bad enough you’re here rubbing your...lifestyle in everyone’s faces,” he sneered. “You could at least keep from running people over while you’re at it.”

Len sneered back, privately exultant. Junior was nothing if not predictable. “Run along, Junior. Grown-ups are talking.”

“Whatever,” Junior muttered, storming off.

Len glanced behind him to see James Jesse gazing off after the mobster’s son with an ugly, twisted look. That went well, he thought. That went very well indeed.

He glanced around for Barry, as he had been every few minutes — it wouldn’t do to let him wander too far on his own, for a variety of reasons — and spotted him at the bar. Len took a minute to finish his drink, taking pleasure in watching Barry unawares. He was leaning on his elbows, staring into his beer, apparently lost in thought. Len dragged his eyes over him, the soft cotton of his t-shirt draping against the lines of his shoulders, jeans clinging to the powerfully-defined muscles of his thighs. Usually Barry was so wrapped up in layers of flannel and cotton and bulky sweaters, trying, Len supposed, to hide the power lurking underneath. He understood that — why let someone know your trump card before the opportune moment? — but seeing Barry like this, skin golden in the low light, the nape of his neck bare and vulnerable, made Len itch.

His hands twitched, the way they always did when he saw something he wanted. Barry wasn’t a diamond or a gun or a stack of cash, but tonight Len was getting his hands on him anyway, and even the Flash wasn’t going to stop him. Not until the party was over.

He walked up behind Barry, slipping his arms around the younger man’s waist like he had earlier, but instead of turning to him, or really even acknowledging him at all, Barry grabbed Len’s wrist and squeezed — hard. Like a warning. Len froze.

“It’s not a big deal,” one of the guys at the end of the bar — some guy in a blue beanie, Len didn’t recognize him — was saying to his bearded compatriot. It was clear he thought he was keeping his voice down, but trying to be heard over the party noise was making his voice carry. Not much, but enough so that Len and Barry could hear it. “The money’s good, and all you gotta do is sit there and wait for the stuff to come in.”

“I hate waiting down there,” the bearded guy complained. “It gets too cold by the water.”

“So wear some mittens, you fucking baby. I told you, I’d do it myself, but they’ve already rescheduled it twice, and I’m supposed to take Mandy to her mother’s on Tuesday.”

Tuesday. Len could feel Barry tense up. They must be talking about the shipment coming in next week. Len bent his head and moved his lips as though speaking into Barry’s ear, but kept silent, listening.

“You are so whipped, dude.” Beardo was saying. He took another swig of his beer, seemingly unaware of the foam collecting in his mustache.

“Do you want the job or not?” Blue Beanie persisted. “Because I can ask somebody else, but you said you wanted to make some cash.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then help me out, man, come on.”

“All right, all right. You’re getting to be a problem child, you know that?”

Blue Beanie slapped him on the back. “Awesome, man, thanks. I’ll let Frank know.”

They walked off together, a little unsteadily. Len felt Barry sag against him, with relief or elation or some combination of the two. He smiled, finally able to enjoy having his arms around Barry’s waist, and bent closer to Barry’s ear, still not actually saying anything, but letting his breath play over Barry’s skin, eliciting another one of those little shivers.

Barry relaxed his death grip on Len’s wrist. “What are you doing?” he murmured, his voice buzzing against Len’s chest.

“As far as anyone who’s watching knows, I’m whispering in your ear. Did you get what you needed?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” Len whispered, his lips just barely grazing Barry’s earlobe.

“What are you supposedly saying?” Barry’s voice had a husky note in it. “You know, in case anyone asks.”

“In case anyone asks?” Len dragged a thumb across Barry’s flat stomach, nudging up the hem of his shirt to touch the warm skin underneath. Barry shivered again. “I’m telling you everything I want to do to you.”

He could feel Barry’s breathing getting heavier. For a long moment they just stood there, breathing together, and then Barry said, so softly Len could barely hear him: “Tell me.”

His voice was a dare, a challenge, an invitation, a step forward in a game of chicken Len didn’t intend to lose. You wanna play, Barry? he thought. All right, let’s play.

He grabbed Barry’s waist more firmly, holding him in place, letting the rest of his hand follow his thumb up under Barry’s shirt, tracing the grooves of Barry’s abs to splay out against his skin. Barry went still against him. “I want to put my hands all over you,” Len whispered harshly. His pinky finger found Barry’s navel and followed the line of hair leading down from there, slipping just beneath the waistband of Barry’s jeans; Barry inhaled sharply. Len felt a thrill deep in his gut at the sound, his cock filling rapidly with blood.

Fortunately, Len had spent a not insignificant amount of time considering exactly what he’d like to do to Barry Allen, given the opportunity. He had a long list to draw from. “I want to put my mouth on every inch of your skin,” Len continued. “I want to see what those pretty lips of yours look like wrapped around my dick.” He pulled Barry tight against him, pressing the hard ridge of his cock against Barry’s denim-clad ass; he felt, rather than heard, the low sound the speedster made in response.

Len closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of Barry’s skin, feeling the long, lithe body trembling against him, better than any fantasy he’d ever had. Speaking of fantasies...“I want to bend you over,” Len murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of Barry’s ear, “and open you up. Slowly. Until you’re aching for it. Until you’re begging for it.” He expected Barry to jerk away at this, but he didn’t, although the taut skin under Len’s hand was rising and falling in rapid, jagged breaths. “I want to fuck you senseless,” Len confessed into the curve of Barry’s throat. “Make you come so hard you forget your own name.” He pressed a kiss to the soft skin just behind Barry’s jaw. Barry leaned back into him, pressing himself up against Len’s straining erection, and tilted his head, offering Len his long, pale neck. Len kissed him again, just below the spot where he’d dropped the first kiss, but stopped it there.

This was the other way to win at chicken: make the other party overcommit, then leave them to twist. Much as he might like to lick the tendon on the side of Barry’s neck all the way down to bite his shoulder, slide his hand the rest of the way down Barry’s jeans and get them both kicked out of the party, Len wasn’t going to take that risk. The kid was into it — and wasn’t that useful and interesting information to have? — but Len hadn’t survived as long as he did by losing control in a room full of his enemies.

“So yeah,” he said softly. “That’s what I would have been saying to you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, took a half-step back, still close but no longer touching. “If I was saying anything.”

Barry was still facing the bar, gripping it tightly with both hands. He didn’t say anything (there’s a first for everything, Len thought), just drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose.

“I see someone I gotta talk to,” Len lied. “Don’t wander off.” He turned his back and walked away, tugging his shirt down to (hopefully) conceal how absurdly, painfully hard he still was, at least until he could sit down at a table somewhere and calm himself down.

He did not look behind him. Don’t be stupid, he told himself.

~*~

Barry stared down at the surface of the bar, heart pounding, face red. What the fuck. What the actual fuck was going on. What did he just do?

High on the relief from having successfully completed his intelligence-gathering mission, he’d let himself flirt with Len, and now he was standing there alone and embarrassed. It was just like Captain Cold, really: drawing him out, acting like he was somebody Barry could trust, then yanking the rug out at the eleventh hour. Barry should have been furious, and he probably would be, if he wasn’t also so horny he could barely stand up.

You’re obviously really into him, Andrea had said. Fuck.

His cock was aching, trapped against his too-tight jeans, and every time Barry tried to think about baseball or the weather or something, he would get another mental flash of Len’s breath on his neck, Len whispering I want to fuck you senseless, and his insides would start to melt and he would be, again, so hard he felt like he might pass out. His jeans were actually strangling him. He wanted a glass of water, but couldn’t bring himself to even make eye contact with the bartender, who had just witnessed that whole...whatever that was.

In desperation, he retreated to the bathroom, hoping against hope that nobody would notice his rather obvious predicament, and once he’d locked a stall door behind him, he was finally able to ease his fly open and relieve some of the pressure. He was not going to jack off in a filthy bar bathroom to thoughts of Captain Cold. It was time to get his shit together.

He leaned against the wall of the stall, cool against his flushed cheek, feeling his heartbeat starting to slow. Okay, Flash, he told himself sternly. Let’s focus on the case. The shipment was coming in on Tuesday, which gave them a couple days to figure out a plan, set a trap. If they timed things right, they might be able to get the people bringing in the weapons as well as the ones who were there to pick them up. All wrapped up nice and neat in a bow for the DA to sort out. Maybe even a literal bow; the Flash wasn’t above some creative flourishes when bringing in the bad guys.

His erection was finally, finally flagging. Tonight, after he got his phone back, he would let Cisco and Caitlin know about Tuesday, and they could work the case together. It would be fun. He could bury this extremely embarrassing night deep in his memory, and if Captain Cold started teasing him about having a little crush — which he would one hundred percent do, Barry realized, suppressing a groan — Barry could just tell his team it was because of this fake date they went on.

A fake date which, come to think of it, could be over now that he’d gotten the information he’d come for. It would be a dick move to ditch Snart partway through their fake date, but Snart winding Barry up just for the fun of it was also a dick move, so there.

Zipping his jeans, Barry stepped out of the stall — and found three other men waiting for him.

Barry instinctually dropped into the Speed Force; to the naked eye, he wouldn’t appear to have moved at all, but it gave him some extra time to assess the situation.

Okay. Three guys. They were in poses of nonchalance, but clearly waiting for him. A short, broad man with a ponytail and a suede jacket, perched on one of the sinks. A tall, stringy-looking guy with alarming caterpillar eyebrows, loitering by the paper towel dispenser. An even taller, beefy-looking dude standing with his back to the door like a security guard, ostentatiously cleaning his fingernails with a knife; Barry’d never seen anyone do that in real life before, only in movies. It was actually pretty intimidating.

So at least one knife, probably three, maybe more, and Barry had to assume at least one gun; Ponytail could have a shoulder holster under his jacket, or any of them could have one tucked in their waistband. Best bet would be to draw Security Guard forward a bit, possibly by engaging with one of the other two, then zip around behind them. Tie them up with their own belts before they even knew what was happening. Alternatively, hit the sink Ponytail wasn’t sitting on, fast enough to break it off of the wall; use the confusion of the water spraying everywhere to get the jump on all three of them. No sweat.

Except he wasn’t the Flash right now, and these guys were all staring at his real face, which put any overt use of his powers far, far out of the question. If they jumped him, he could probably use his speed to evade a punch or two without drawing attention to it, but he couldn’t fight off three guys on his own, not without giving himself away. That meant he might end up taking a beating, or, he registered queasily, getting stabbed. He hated getting stabbed.

So, objective 1: don’t get stabbed. What is my life. No way to handle this like the Flash, which meant handling this like Boytoy Barry. Brazen his way out. Flirt, if he had to. Make a scene, if he could. There were maybe 20 feet between him and the door. All he had to do was get out the door, and he’d be back in Len’s sightlines. Anybody lays so much as a finger on you, I need to know about it, Len had said. Which led nicely to objective 2: get out without creating the need for Len to fuck these guys up. Barry had no illusions about what I need to know about it meant. Even if Len held to the letter of their no-killing agreement, Barry didn’t want him putting anybody in the hospital tonight — which he would, for the principle of the thing if nothing else.

Sparing a moment to gaze wistfully at the door, wishing he could just speed out and be done with it, Barry dropped out of the Speed Force. It had only been one, maybe two seconds since he opened the stall door. “Oh!” he said, affecting startlement. “...Hey.”

“Hey there, little snowflake,” Ponytail said softly. “Are you having fun at the party?”

“Um...sure?” Barry answered.

“Good, that’s good.” Ponytail smiled, a disarming we’re-all-friends-here smile that belied his hawklike gaze. He hopped down from the sink and advanced on Barry, still smiling; the other two merely watched, stone-faced.

Barry knew he didn’t want to let them herd him back into the stall — not enough room to maneuver, too hard to get to the exit. That left moving away to his left, away from all three of them, but also away from the door; or moving to his right, toward Caterpillar Eyebrows, taking him closer to the door, but also allowing them to more or less surround him, with no way to keep eyes on all three of them at the same time. He backed away to his left. 25 feet to the door now.

“Don’t run away, snowflake,” Ponytail smiled. “We just want to talk.”

Caterpillar Eyebrows fell in behind his compatriot, flanking him. “The thing is -” his voice was low and hoarse, like he shouted a lot — “your boyfriend’s a real asshole. Hanging out with someone like him...a guy could get hurt.”

Barry lifted his chin, trying to affect an insouciant air. “Who says he’s my boyfriend?”

“You certainly looked friendly out there earlier,” Caterpillar Eyebrows pointed out.

“I’m a friendly person.” Barry grinned. “Ask anybody.”

“Snart forgets the way things go in this town,” Ponytail sneered. “And some people — not naming names, you understand — think he needs a reminder. Some people —” all pretense of a smile gone from his face now — “think maybe if you weren’t so pretty anymore, that might be all the reminder he needs.”

There was a knife in Ponytail’s hand, now, seemingly from nowhere. Security Guard looked up from his manicure, appearing to take an interest in the proceedings for the first time. Barry started to sweat.

It wasn’t like they could hurt him, really, at least not in a way that would do any lasting damage, and certainly nowhere near as badly as he’d been hurt many (many, many) times before. But he could feel the situation teetering on the brink of control; the wrong move, the wrong word, and both of his objectives for the encounter were going right out the window.

This is taking too long, he thought suddenly. If these guys were really just here to beat him up, cut his face, whatever, they could have gotten that well underway by now. The longer he stayed in here, the higher the chance that Len would come looking for him; they must know that. So why all the talk, the menacing, the posturing?

Because as much as they were here to hurt him (and they were, no sense lying to himself about that), they were also trying to scare him, and scare Len through him. Maybe the key to avoiding the one was not to give in to the other.

He made eye contact with Ponytail, gave him an approving nod. “You’re doing very well.”

“What?”

“You’re very convincing. Really,” he added, glancing around to include the other two in the remark. “Very scary. And you haven’t touched me, yet, which is good.”

Caterpillar Eyebrows scoffed. “And why’s that?”

Barry put his hand up to the gold snowflake at his neck, rolling it carelessly between his thumb and forefinger, remembering the way Len had drawn attention to it earlier when they were talking to Junior. Now everyone will know you’re mine. “The thing you should know about Len,” he said evenly, “is that he’s...possessive. Some might even call him jealous,” he said in a lower voice, as though confessing a juicy secret. “He just…” Barry shrugged. “Doesn’t like people touching what belongs to him.”

Ponytail’s knife was still in his hand, but he hesitated — just for the barest moment — before taking another step forward.

“Now, some people,” Barry continued, making eye contact with each of them in turn, “might think that they’re protected. Untouchable. But maybe those people haven’t been in this town long enough to see how Len gets when he’s. You know. Upset. He kind of...doesn’t give a fuck about ‘the way things go in this town,’ as you put it.” He shook his head, chuckling fondly. “He can get pretty crazy.”

That much was certainly true, and from the creeping unease on the three mobsters’ faces, they knew it.

“And you gotta wonder...how much longer can we all hang out in here, before he comes looking for me? Not that I’m not enjoying getting to know you guys, but he just can not stay away from me!” Barry chuckled again, privately praying that that was true. “So when he barges in here, in, oh, I’d say about the next minute or so, I’ll be sure to tell him what an interesting conversation we’ve been having. And as a personal favor to the three of you, I’ll be extra sure to tell him none of you laid a finger on me.”

Now he’d find out how convincing he’d really been. Either they were letting him walk out of here, or he was going to have to let them kick his ass. Remind me never to go undercover again, he told himself.

He stared Ponytail down and started walking slowly toward the door. Exchanging glances, Ponytail and Caterpillar parted to let him through. A quick jolt of hope burst through him, but he forced himself to keep to a leisurely stroll.

The security-guard looking guy held his ground, stepping forward to loom over Barry, his teeth and his knife gleaming in the fluorescent light. Behind him, Barry could feel the other two mobsters closing in. Surrounded. So it’s the ass-kicking, then. Great.

Security Guard slashed the knife in a glittering arc toward Barry’s face. Using the tiniest bit of speed, Barry ducked away, making it look like he’d just barely evaded the blade, and darted under his attacker’s arm. He could hear Caterpillar rasp, “Fast little bugger, isn’t he?” but Barry didn’t turn to look back; for the first time since he’d come out of the stall, there was nobody between him and the door. He ran for it, again with that tiny extra burst of speed, and almost got hit in the face when the door swung violently inward ahead of an irate Captain Cold, right on time.

He and Len just stared at each other for a second. Len was scowling, looking like he’d just swallowed a bees’ nest. He seized Barry’s wrist, snarling, “Where the hell have you been?” Then his eyes traveled from Barry to the three men behind him, and Barry watched as Len’s irritated expression dropped into a mask of ice-cold rage.

“What’s going on in here?” Len asked, his voice as smooth and cold and deadly as an icicle through the heart.

Barry looked over his shoulder at his would-be assailants. They were slouching, weapons hidden, looking overly casual and faintly nauseated. Just three guys hanging out in the bathroom, like you do, nothing to see here.

“Just, you know...making friends,” Barry said feebly.

“Making friends.” There was no trace of Captain Cold’s usual bombast anywhere about Len. His gaze was level and lethal and utterly humorless. “Is that so.”

“Nice chatting with you, snowflake.” Ponytail sang, hands in his pockets.

“Len.” Barry took the bigger man’s arm, intending to lead him out the door. It was like grabbing a steel cable; Len was tense and ready, a viper coiled to strike. “Len,” he said again, more urgently. “It’s fine, let’s go.” He might as well not have spoken.

A part of him wanted to just walk out of the bathroom, leave Len to mop the floor with the guys who had threatened and attacked him, but he had a moral imperative to protect the citizens of Central City, and unfortunately, that included these dickwads. Time to change tactics. He slid his hand up Len’s arm, up his shoulder, and stroked a fingertip down his ear. Len broke his glare to roll his eyes toward Barry in annoyance, and Barry took the opportunity to put on his sultriest boytoy smile. “Come on, Daddy,” he pouted, “buy me a drink.”

Len snorted, but relaxed a fraction. He slid an arm around Barry’s waist. “Be seeing you, fellas,” he sneered, and at long fucking last, he let Barry drag him out of the bathroom. Objective 1: success. Objective 2: success for now, anyway, and whatever happened later was so not Barry’s problem.

“Obviously, I can’t leave you alone for a second.” Len steered Barry toward the booth where he’d been conducting business earlier in the night, his grip on Barry’s waist tighter than was strictly necessary. “For the rest of the party, I want you to stay where I can see you, got it? No more wandering off.” He deposited Barry in the booth and slid in after him, effectively boxing him in against the wall; Barry saw him scan the room reflexively as he did.

“Okay,” Barry agreed quietly. After the stress of navigating the party solo, not to mention almost getting stabbed in the face, he was in no mood to argue. Sitting here in this booth for the rest of the night sounded just fine; somehow, he no longer wanted to leave on his own.

“And quit calling me Daddy,” Len groused, signaling their server. “It’s weird.”

Barry laughed, tension starting to roll off his back. “It seemed like the kind of thing I would do.”

“Well, it’s definitely the kind of thing I’d tell you to quit doing.” Len peered at him suspiciously. “Did they touch you?” he asked, a hint of frost still in his voice.

Barry shook his head. “I didn’t give them the opportunity.”

“You better not be lying to me.”

“I’m not.” Len’s gaze was still fraught with suspicion, but Barry could see something else underneath — was Len actually worried about him? “I’m not lying, I swear. They tried something, but I was too fast for them. I don’t know if you know this about me,” he added dryly, “but I’m pretty fast.”

Len looked away, scanning the room again. “I’ll kill them.”

“No, you won’t.” The other man’s mouth set in a mutinous expression. “No, you won’t.” Barry said again. He put a hand on Len’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s OK. They couldn’t have hurt me, anyway.”

“Yes, they could,” Len muttered. “You told me that.” His eyes flickered back to Barry’s, just for an instant, but what Barry saw there stopped his breath. Len was worried. Worried about him — because of what Barry had told him back at the apartment?

He’d blurted out a weakness to a man who exploited people’s weaknesses for a living, and that man’s response was to want to protect him. I knew you were a better person than you let on, Leonard Snart, he thought, accepting a beer from their server. I knew it.

~*~

Len didn’t even pretend not to be watching when Santini’s henchmen (henchpeople, as Lisa was always trying to get him to call them) emerged from the bathroom. They approached the leather couch where Santini was holding court, stopping a respectful distance away until he beckoned them closer. The guy with the ill-advised ponytail (whose name was Joe or Johnny or Jason or something — Len hadn’t bothered learning to tell Santini’s minions apart, although he’d need to remedy that, since he was planning on feeding the guy his own teeth in the near future) bent to whisper in Santini’s ear. Frank Santini was too much of a professional to let his facial expression give him away, but he let his gaze drift over the room until he saw Len. Len lifted his cocktail in a silent toast. Santini pursed his lips and turned back to his conversation.

The mob boss might think the matter was settled — he’d moved, Len had countered, just another skirmish in the game they were playing — but Len was choosing to take this extremely personally. Anyone who thinks I’ve lost the ability to protect me and mine, he told himself, is going to get a forceful reminder to the contrary.

And when exactly, a voice whispered in the back of his head, did I start thinking of Barry Allen as mine? That wasn’t relevant. The whole point of this escapade was to make everyone here think that Barry belonged to him, so for all practical intents and purposes, he did — at least for tonight.

He scanned the room once more, mentally tallying up the allies, enemies, and neutral parties present. The math held up; Santini wouldn’t move against him in the open, not in this crowd, not unless he wanted his party to turn into a bloodbath.

The party was getting louder, drunker. An enterprising group of young people had cleared some tables for a makeshift dance floor, someone had cranked up the music, and to Len’s practiced eye, the place was shaping up to turn into a full-on shitshow. Where’s Mick, he thought absently. Mick had a talent for showing up right when a party descended into total debauchery. Ordinarily, Len would be more than willing to join forces and wreak some havoc, but there were too many threats in this room tonight, and one green-eyed troublemaker he apparently couldn’t let out of his sight. Once Mick showed up, Len decided, he’d stay for one more drink and then take Barry home.

“Hey, I know that guy!” someone said over his shoulder, and in a cloud of perfume and alcohol fumes, a woman in a skintight blue dress plopped down in the booth across from them, dragging her date along with her. Len recognized her date, a guy named Marco — he’d been a low-level functionary in the Darbinyans’ organization before Kyle Nimbus killed them all. Nowadays, he was getting by on small-time jobs and as a hired gun; Len had actually pulled him in on a job from time to time. Not a bad guy.

“Barry!” squealed Marco’s date, gesturing expansively with her wine glass. “How’s your evening going?”

Barry laughed. “It’s, uh, it’s...you know what, it’s going great, Krystal, how’s yours?”

Krystal introduced Marco, who waved over a couple other guys Len kind of knew, and suddenly they had a little group going. Nobody Len considered a firm ally, but nobody he was actively fighting with, either, and there was something to be said for safety in numbers.

Barry seemed to have somehow become best friends with this woman, who immediately launched into a story about who said what to whom, and danced right up on whom under you’ll-never-guess-whose nose, on the dance floor that evening. Barry laughed and gasped and said “NO!” at all the right moments, leaning against Len’s shoulder, casually affectionate. Suppressing a fond smile, Len chatted idly with Marco and his friends about the local minor-league baseball team and the latest episode of Game of Thrones, which they were all apparently super into.

Something that had been curled up tight in his chest since the moment he first realized he’d lost sight of Barry finally started to unwind. He was still furious, of course, but his anger could wait for another night — revenge, of course, being a dish best served cold.

Barry was telling Krystal the made-up story of his and Len’s first meeting at Jitters, now, and she was cooing appreciatively. Len took the opportunity to drape an arm around Barry’s shoulders, and Barry settled into him without pausing his story. This casual, easy contact was nothing like their game of chicken at the bar, which seemed like an incident from another lifetime but had actually only happened like half an hour ago. They had moved beyond that, somehow, to something that was more comfortable, but that Len also had no clue how to deal with. He’s not your boyfriend. It’s just pretend. Keep your head in the game.

“I know you,” one of Marco’s friends — a balding, bearded guy named Alex — blurted out, interrupting Barry’s story. He had been staring at Barry, not talking, for a few minutes now. Len had assumed he was just extremely drunk, but his tone was sharp and his eyes were suspicious.

“I...don’t think so?” Barry replied with a quizzical look.

“Yeah, yeah yeah yeah, I know you! You’re a, whaddayacallit, a, crime scene guy. You testified at my trial. He’s Joe West’s kid,” Alex explained to the booth’s other occupants, “and he’s a cop.”

A heavy silence fell over the group. Len could feel Barry tense up against him, and said a silent prayer to whatever frost demon might be watching over him that Barry wasn’t about to do something stupid. Krystal glanced from Barry to Alex, a look of disbelief on her face. “What are you talking about?”

Marco shot Len an apologetic grimace. He put a hand heavily on Alex’ shoulder. “I think you’re confused, man. I doubt Leonard Snart would be dating a cop.”

“I’m telling you,” Alex insisted mulishly, “This guy’s a cop.” His voice was getting louder than Len would have liked.

“Alex,” Marco said in a placatory tone. “Think about what you’re saying. He can’t be Joe West’s son.”

“Yeah,” Krystal added. “Joe West is, um, Black.”

Beside him, Barry sat up. “No, he’s...he’s right, actually. Joe West is my foster father, he raised me after, uh...after my dad went to jail.”

Everyone’s eyes swiveled back in Barry’s direction, but at least nobody pulled a weapon. Several of the people at their table, to Len’s knowledge, had a period in their lives that they defined as after my dad went to jail, himself included. It wasn’t the worst way to go about telling this story.

“You see?” Alex said, seeming surprisingly mollified by Barry’s confession. “I know what I’m talking about.”

“So...you’re a cop?” Marco asked carefully.

“No! No no no,” Barry assured him. “I’m a scientist, and I do do some work for CCPD, but I’m definitely not a cop. No badge, no gun, I can’t, like, arrest anybody. Um, sorry, by the way,” he mumbled at Alex, “about the whole...trial...thing.”

Alex waved him off. “I was guilty.”

“So like...how does that work?” Krystal asked. “You guys dating, and your dad’s a cop…”

“Oh, he does not know,” Barry made an exaggerated horrified face, and a couple of the people at the table laughed with him. The little nerd was actually pulling this off. “But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Len…” Barry shot him a sidelong, flirtatious smile, eyes heavy-lidded with mischief. “Len, uh, seems to not have any kind of criminal record.”

Marco barked a laugh. “Bullshit. I’ve been in Iron Heights with you.”

“So I guess there are some perks to dating a cop’s son.” Alex elbowed Len in the ribs.

Barry held up his hands, laughing. “Hey, before my time, before my time. But somehow, there is not a single entry for one Leonard Snart anywhere in CCPD’s system, or any of the federal databases.”

“That’s why you’re the legend, man.” Marco shook his head. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Len schooled his face into an enigmatic smile, privately marveling at the sheer batshit nerve of Barry, to take an egregious example of his law-breaking as the Flash and turn it into a fun party anecdote, one that just so happened to direct the conversation away from his employment with the CCPD and toward The Legend of Captain Cold. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss the kid or shake him until some sense finally popped out.

~*~

The party felt different from where Barry sat now, tucked into the booth under Len’s watchful eye. People washed up at their table, chatted for a bit, moved on; periodically someone would approach them to have a brief, cryptic conversation with Len about some plan or other, but Len was quick to shut down any more substantive planning before Barry could hear anything useful about it.

Every time someone drew near, Len would reach out to put a hand on Barry, on his knee or his shoulder or his arm, even holding his hand a couple of times — brief, proprietorial gestures that Barry wasn’t even sure Len knew he was doing. Mine, mine, mine, like a dragon with its hoard. It was the kind of thing that should have bugged the shit out of Barry — he’d never really liked it when people he dated got possessive — but in this context it was almost sweet. It was rare, anymore, for someone to think of Barry as someone who needed to be protected. Usually he was the one taking a stand to keep the people he — well, to keep people safe.

When Mick Rory finally slouched into the bar, Barry could feel the temperature of the party change, the frisson of unease that traveled through the Santinis and their hangers-on. Even without his flame gun, something about Mick seemed like it was smoldering on the edge of an inferno; the revelers gave him a wide berth as he stalked to the bar, snatched a bottle of whiskey out of an astonished bartender’s hand, and made his way to the table where Len and Barry sat.

“Hey, Lenny,” he rumbled, flopping down across from them. Barry froze, staring down at the surface of the table, hoping to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Unlike Len, Mick Rory had never seen Barry’s face, had no idea who he was — but also unlike Len, Barry was pretty sure Mick wouldn’t hesitate to murder him and his entire family if he found out.

“Hiya, Mick,” Len replied with a dry smile. “Where’ve you been all night?”

“I’m fashionably late.” Mick took a large swig from the bottle; from the unfocused, belligerent look in his eyes, Barry was willing to bet it wasn’t his first that evening.

“Well, you haven’t missed much,” Len said, gazing out over the party with a sour look.

Mick gestured with the bottle, indicating Barry. “Who’s this?”

Len shot Barry a grin, one that said he’d noted Barry’s discomfort and found it amusing. “This,” he said, throwing an arm around Barry’s shoulders, “is Barry.”

Barry forced himself to look up, smile politely. “Hi.”

The shorter man leaned in, staring into Barry’s face, scrutinizing him. Barry stared back, fighting a rising sense of panic — surely Heatwave wouldn’t be able to put together that Barry was the Flash, just from, what, the shape of his chin?

“Cute,” Mick grunted. He slumped back in his seat, curiosity apparently satisfied.

“Very cute,” Len agreed, running a thumb down Barry’s shoulder. There was still laughter in his voice, but when Barry glanced over at him, the look Len gave him was soft and fond and amused, like they were in on the joke together. Barry ducked his head, feeling weirdly shy all of a sudden.

“Anything interesting happening?” Mick asked.

“A few things,” Len said carefully. “I’ll fill you in later.”

“OK.” Mick pulled a well-worn chrome lighter out of his pocket and began idly flipping it open and shut, watching the flame come to life, then snuff out. Open and shut. Open and shut. Without really meaning to, Barry pressed closer to Len’s side. It wasn’t that he was afraid of Mick Rory, exactly, but it was good to know that Len was there to keep him from burning the place down. Probably.

“Actually, Mick, I’m glad you’re here,” Len said, and unfolded his long legs to stand up from the booth, to Barry’s horror. “I need to take a leak, and I didn’t want to leave my date unattended.”

Mick grunted, still staring into his lighter. Barry gave Len a wide-eyed glare that tried to convey do NOT leave me alone with Heatwave, are you crazy? Len winked. “Keep an eye on him, will ya, Mick?” he drawled, holding Barry’s gaze. “This one has trouble keeping his cool.”

Barry glowered at Len’s retreating figure, then reluctantly turned back to Mick. Mick flipped the lighter open and shut a few more times, then snapped it closed, looking up abruptly to catch Barry looking at him with apprehension. “Lenny tell you about me?” he asked.

How much would Boytoy Barry know about Len’s relationship with Mick Rory? “...A little,” he finally decided.

Mick regarded him speculatively. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-six.”

The other man nodded. “I’ve known Lenny longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow.” Mick took another swig from the whiskey bottle. He held it out to Barry, who waved it off. “When I met him, we were both in juvie. We had to team up to survive.”

Barry nodded, carefully. Where was he going with this?

“We’ve got each other’s backs, is all. Anybody fucks with me, I know he’ll back me up.” Mick stared pitilessly into Barry’s eyes. “And anybody hurts him, they answer to me.”

Barry knew he was supposed to be intimidated — and it was intimidating — but his first reaction to Mick’s veiled threat was to bark out a surprised laugh.

Mick raised his eyebrows. “You think that’s funny?”

“No,” Barry said quickly. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” he smiled, shaking his head. “All night, tonight, literally everybody I’ve talked to has been falling all over themselves to tell me how Len’s gonna break my heart. You’re the first person I’ve talked to who’s concerned about him.”

“Lenny is…” Mick scowled. “He’s a real hard-ass. He likes things his way.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Barry ventured a half-smile.

Mick’s scowl only deepened. “But he’s loyal. He decides he wants to come through for you, he’ll come through. He’s gotten me out of more shit than I probably deserve, at this point.”

“Sounds like he’s a pretty good friend.” It sounded like Mick might be, too, which was even more surprising.

“Yeah.” Mick took another long pull of whiskey. “So try not to fuck it up, OK?”

“I’ll try.”

Try not to fuck what up, that was the only problem. The electric, flirtatious energy that always crackled between him and Leonard Snart had solidified into something different tonight, something that couldn’t be hidden behind a mask or dismissed with a sarcastic remark. Whatever it was they’d been dancing around all night, it had the potential to completely change the nature of their relationship — and the fragile truce that went along with it. Mick was telling him not to gamble with Len’s heart, but Mick had no idea how high the stakes really were, on both sides.

“What’d I miss?” Len asked, sliding back into the booth.

“Nothing,” Mick mumbled. After his startling display of candor, he’d retreated back into himself; his booze-soaked gaze was currently trained on the makeshift dance floor.

“You ready to get out of here?” Len asked.

At this point, Barry had no idea if Len was just asking if he wanted to leave the party, or if he was asking, you know, do you want to get out of here.

“Yeah,” Barry said. “Lead the way.”

~*~

It was a warm night, but the air felt cool and clean and still after the loud, stuffy bar. Len slung his arm back around Barry’s shoulders. He could almost, almost justify it — after all, someone could be watching them, even following them — but he knew that wasn’t the real reason. He knew that as soon as they got back to the safe house, Barry would be gone, faster than the eye could see. So sue him if he wanted that one last stolen opportunity to pull Barry close, to smell his hair and touch his skin. Once Barry was gone, Len would take that longing, fold it up neatly and return it to the deep freeze inside his mind where he kept the things he’d rather not think about. Nice and tidy.

Barry, for his part, was quiet, the flirtatious swagger gone from his demeanor. Len kept expecting him to pull away, to say OK, that’s enough, show’s over, but he didn’t; he leaned into Len as they walked, matching their strides, falling into a rhythm.

“Did you…” have fun, Len almost asked, but what an asinine question. Of course Barry hadn’t had fun, he’d been threatened and almost assaulted, not to mention putting up with Len’s attentions all night. “...get all the information you needed?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Barry replied. “Now that we know when the shipment’s coming in, we can come up with a plan to stop it. Should be plenty of time between now and Tuesday.”

Len nodded. The dark, empty street seemed to stretch out around them, like they were walking outside of space and time, the night narrowing to his hand on Barry’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” Barry said into the silence between them, “for, um, bringing me along tonight.”

“Don’t mention it, Flash,” Len replied. “I’ve had worse nights.” He really had. Barry might be too quick to assume he was in the right about things, but he was cute and he was smart, and he’d held his own gamely in a room full of hostile strangers.

“Yeah, me too,” Barry laughed.

Len turned a skeptical look on him.

Barry’s smile was crooked and a little sad. “Hey, just the one group of guys trying to kill me, and they weren’t even metahumans, so, you know. Not that bad a night for me.”

“Whatever. You love it. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if nobody was trying to kill you.” Len shook his head and couldn’t resist giving Barry’s shoulders a little squeeze. Barry hummed a little, in agreement or contentment.

They walked the rest of the way to the safe house in silence; Len finally had no choice but to withdraw his arm from around Barry’s shoulders as they arrived. Barry looked awkwardly at his feet. “I, um,” he said softly. “I need to get my phone.”

“Right. After you.” He followed Barry up the stairs, glad of the opportunity to look at him unobserved once more.

He let them both into the apartment, not bothering to turn the lights on; the light from the street illuminated the room enough for Barry to grab his phone from the table by the door. “Well...” Barry murmured, his face obscured by shadow.

Len felt as though the air was growing heavy, a magic spell gathering around them that he could almost see, could almost speak into life if he only had the right words. “Barry...” he began, with no idea of what to say next.

Barry was already turning toward him, already raising his mouth to Len’s. “Yes.”

~*~

Barry let Len back him up until they hit the wall of the entryway, a small voice in him saying what am I doing, this is crazy. That little voice, which he was never good at listening to even in the best of times, was quickly drowned out by the roaring of blood in his veins, because he could no longer deny, even to himself, just how bad he wanted this — had wanted it, for a long time.

Len was cupping Barry’s face in his hands, his mouth slow and hot and gentle on Barry’s. This was nothing like the kiss in the bar had been: that had been like being possessed, consumed, owned. Now Len was holding him carefully, kissing him soft and thorough, like he was something to be savored, to be cherished. Len’s tongue slipped into his mouth, the lightest teasing touch, and Barry was glad of the wall behind him because a pang of need shot through him, his knees almost giving way under it.

He pulled Len’s solid, muscular body against him, eliminating any distance between them; Len groaned and Barry was gratified to feel him thick and hard against his hip. He pressed his hips up against Len’s in response, and Len groaned again, kissing him deeper, more urgently.

Barry let his hands slide down Len’s chest, his stomach, hardly believing he was daring to touch the other man in this way. Len left one more burning kiss on Barry’s mouth and started mouthing down his jaw, hands trailing down Barry’s sides to tug at the hem of Barry’s t-shirt. Barry let him pull it off over his head, impatient even at the brief moment of separation between their bodies, feverish with want. Len leaned in to kiss him again, that same gentle, serious touch, skimming his fingertips lightly over Barry’s skin. Barry made a low, needy sound deep in his throat, pulling frantically at Len’s shirt, until Len laughed softly against him and slid the shirt off in one easy movement of his powerful arms.

In the dim light, Len’s body was angles and curves, tattoos Barry couldn’t quite make out. He was leaner than Barry had thought he’d be, thick ropes of muscle standing out in his arms, all uncompromising power. Barry ran his palms over Len’s shoulders, tracing the lines of his chest, the occasional irregularity of old scars. Len gently grasped Barry’s hands in his and pressed them back against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head — not hard, not in any way Barry couldn’t immediately get out of, even without superpowers — but the feeling of being held in place sent arousal fireworking through him. Another deep, searing kiss, and Len shifted the angle of his hips slightly, bringing his hard cock in line with Barry’s, grinding against him, and that felt so good that Barry couldn’t think, couldn’t move; all he could do was say “Oh,” faintly, into Len’s mouth.

Len intertwined their fingers where his hands were holding Barry’s against the wall. He bent to kiss Barry’s ear, his breath hot and fast. “Tell me what you want,” he rumbled.

“I…” Len was kissing a line down his neck; Barry let his eyes drift closed. “I want — I want everything,” he murmured helplessly.

He could feel Len smiling into the skin of his shoulder. “Everything? Gonna need you to be a tad more specific, Red.”

Barry could feel the blush rising to his face, was glad of the darkened room. I want to fuck you senseless. “Everything you said before,” he panted, trying to keep his voice steady as Len ran his tongue back up the side of his throat. “In the bar.”

Len released Barry’s hands. He pulled Barry close to him again with one arm around his waist, the other coming up to gently cradle the back of Barry’s head. “You want me to touch you?” he murmured, brushing his lips softly against Barry’s.

Barry nodded. “Yes.” Len obliged, running his hands down Barry’s shoulders, over his chest. He flicked his thumbs across Barry’s nipples, and Barry bit back a cry. Becoming the Flash had dialed up his sensitivity, his nerves responding eagerly to every stimulus, and right now he felt like he might go insane if he didn’t get Len’s hands on his cock soon.

“You want to suck my cock?” Len purred in his ear, one hand drifting down to lightly caress the rigid line of Barry’s hard-on through his jeans.

“Y-yes,” Barry gasped, wishing he could be less shameless, less greedy for it, but too lost in the sensation of Len’s hands to be coy.

The bigger man kissed him again, long and slow and filthy, palming the length of Barry’s cock through the layers of cotton and denim that separated them. Barry whimpered.

“You want me to fuck you?” Len’s voice was hoarse with lust.

“God, fuck, yes,” Barry grabbed Len and pulled him in for another kiss, thrusting his dick forward into Len’s palm.

Len drew a long, unsteady breath. He took his hand away, and Barry wanted to scream in frustration at the loss of contact, but Len was tilting his chin up, looking deep into his eyes. “Is that...something you’ve done before?” His eyes were serious, searching.

A wave of giddiness broke over Barry, clearing away some of the frantic need. The infamous Captain Cold, treating him like a blushing virgin. He laughed. “Yeah, it is.”

The other man smiled, relaxing back into him. “Okay then.” They kissed again, slower, less urgently. “So...I’ll meet you in the bedroom? First door on the left,” he added.

Barry grinned. “I’ll be right there.” He sped past Len in a blaze of red light, chased down the hall by the other man’s delighted laughter.

~*~

Len took stock of the bedroom. It wasn’t the one he usually slept in when he slept here, but if Barry let him do half the things he wanted to do, the bed wouldn’t be in much condition for sleeping anyway.

He could hear water running in the bathroom. He checked the bedside table and, thankfully, found both condoms and lube, both most likely left there by Mick, who also liked to use the safe house for a private assignation now and then. He quickly removed his shoes and socks, tucking them neatly under the bed, happy to have the opportunity to avoid any possible naked-except-for-socks moment in his near future. It was important to plan for these moments ahead of time.

A whoosh and the crackle of lightning, and Barry was standing in the doorway, a towel around his waist, drops of water still clinging to his skin. “Hi,” he said, a little shyly.

“Hi yourself,” Len replied. He sat down on the bed, leaning back on his hands to enjoy the view. “You should lose that towel.”

Barry flushed slightly, the blood eddying down into his neck and chest. He let the towel drop to the floor. Len drank him in, fleet strength and long muscle and smooth, perfect skin.

He hadn’t really ever given much thought to Barry being a metahuman — his speed was just another obstacle to overcome, and with Len’s cold gun, they were pretty evenly matched. Looking at Barry’s naked body, though, he felt a sense of awe: the graceful lines of him, the balance, muscle and bone and sinew, without a scar, without a flaw, all that raw power dwelling just beneath the surface. Lightning in a bottle.

Barry stood and let him look, his eyes taking in Len’s shirtless frame as well. He knew what Barry was seeing: prison tattoos, old stab wounds, the twisting burn scars up one arm from when he’d pulled Mick out of one of his own fires. Not pretty, certainly not compared to the unblemished perfection standing before him, but Barry’s eyes were devouring him hungrily and his cock was ruddy and full, long and lean like the rest of him.

Len stretched out his hand, thirsty to lick the water from Barry’s skin. “Come here.”

Barry crossed the room to where Len sat on the bed and, to Len’s surprise, dropped to his knees in front of him. “You’re a lot less naked than I am,” he observed, sliding his hands up Len’s thighs to unbuckle his belt.

“Your powers of observation never cease to amaze me, Barry,” Len snarked. He automatically pulled in his stomach a little when Barry’s fingers brushed against it. He tried to stay in shape, but let’s face it, his forties were not his twenties.

Barry unbuttoned and unzipped the fly of Len’s jeans, pausing to rub the palm of his hand over Len’s dick with an appreciative noise. He reached up and hooked his fingers into Len’s waistband. Len pushed himself up on his hands a little bit to aid Barry in sliding his jeans and underwear down, pushing them off with his feet once they got around his knees.

He watched Barry’s eyes travel slowly down his body. “You’re...really hot,” Barry said after a moment.

Len raised his eyebrows at him. “Really cool, you mean.” Barry rolled his eyes. Len reached out to softly trace the line of his cheekbone with his thumb. “You too, gorgeous.”

That same shy smile again, but paired with Barry sliding one hand around Len’s cock, which wasn’t shy at all. Barry looked up at him, eyes dancing with mischief, and licked a long, slow stripe up the underside of Len’s dick, holding eye contact as he did. Len had to fight to keep his eyes from closing at the feeling, not wanting to miss a second of the breathtaking sight of Barry licking his lips and sliding them over the head of Len’s cock, grasping the shaft in one long-fingered hand and beginning to suck him in in earnest.

He had fantasized about this so many times, Barry kneeling to wrap his plush lips around Len’s cock, but those fantasies had always assumed a completely inexperienced Barry Allen, tentative and uncertain or eager and sloppy, needing to be coached by Len in the finer arts of dick-sucking. He realized he’d completely underestimated the man actually kneeling before him, addressing his rock-hard member with confidence and even relish.

Barry slid his lips down to meet his hand, still wrapped around the base of Len’s cock, and began to move them both in tandem, controlling the pace, his tongue swirling around the head in an interesting counterpoint. The sensation of it washed through Len, pulsing out from his groin, making him gasp and groan and curse. Barry’s thick eyelashes fluttered open; he caught Len’s eye and gave him a cheeky, salacious wink that pierced Len’s heart like a lightning bolt.

It was ridiculous, really, that seeing Barry sucking his dick like it was going out of style would fill Len with an indescribable tenderness toward the younger man, but watching his cock sliding in and out of Barry’s mouth, that’s exactly what Len felt. He reached out and softly stroked his fingers through Barry’s dark hair. “God, Barry, this is…” Beautiful. You’re beautiful. “This is a good look for you,” he rasped.

Barry made an amused sound and took Len’s cock even deeper into his mouth, letting it just graze the back of his throat. He reached up with his free hand and pressed a knuckle just behind Len’s ballsack. At that, Len’s eyes rolled back and he gave himself over to it utterly, to the caress of Barry’s tongue and the wet, enthusiastic sounds he was making.

Len knew he had a tendency to talk too much in bed — it was something his previous lovers had frequently teased him about, something he occasionally felt self-conscious about — but the feeling of the head of his cock hitting the back of Barry’s throat unleashed a torrent of words from his mouth, a dam bursting. “So hot, Barry, you’re so hot with my cock in your mouth, Jesus Christ you feel amazing, so good, that’s so good, baby, fuck…”

He kept on like that, babbling half-nonsensically, hands tangled in Barry’s hair, riding the waves of pleasure rising through him, until he felt it building to a peak, his muscles turning to liquid, his balls drawing in, and put a hand on Barry’s freckled shoulder, pulling his dick out of the younger man’s mouth with a wet pop!

They stared at each other, open-mouthed, panting. Len firmly gathered his self-control and pulled himself away from the brink, forcing his breathing to slow.

“Everything OK?” Barry asked breathlessly. His lips were swollen and used.

Len pulled him up into his lap, Barry’s long thighs straddling him, and kissed his spit-soft mouth, driving his tongue in, chasing his own taste on Barry’s tongue. “I don’t want to come in your mouth,” he rasped when the kiss broke. “At least,” he added, considering, “not right now.”

Barry laughed his big nerdy laugh, his grin almost splitting his face in two. “Got it.”

Len shared his grin. He was still grinning when he picked Barry up and tossed him down onto the bed.

~*~

Barry hit the bed with an oof! and a bounce. Len was already on top of him, hot and heavy, his weight pinning Barry to the mattress.

God, he’d never been kissed like this, confidently and intently, Len kissing him as though he had all the time in the world to perfect it, his hands traveling unhurriedly over Barry’s chest, his arms, his thighs. Barry squirmed underneath him, trying to press his cock up into Len’s hand, desperate for more contact. Len refused to take the bait, continuing his slow exploration of Barry’s body, even though Barry could feel Len’s erection digging into him, searing hot and slippery with Barry’s saliva.

“So...are you going to fuck me...or what?” Barry managed to ask between kisses.

Len reached up a hand and flicked the tip of Barry’s nose, hard. “Impatient,” he scolded, but he also reached for the bedside table, pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube. Barry watched, transfixed, as Len poured a healthy amount of the latter onto his fingers, kneeling between Barry’s legs. Another wicked smile, one that made his stomach jump, and Len was tracing a line of kisses down his body.

Len managed to time the first gentle press of his fingertip against Barry’s entrance perfectly with the moment he fully took Barry’s cock in his mouth; Barry made a truly embarrassing sound at the feeling, jumping in spite of himself. He took a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, and tried to concentrate simultaneously on not fucking Len’s face and on relaxing to allow Len’s finger easier entry to his body.

The first bizarre, slippery feeling of being breached was always odd but not unpleasant. Len gave Barry a moment to adjust, then took up a slow, rhythmic stroking motion inside of him. Barry felt the breath leave his lungs in a sigh. He lifted his hips slightly, and Len took the hint, changing the movement of his finger until it dragged perfectly against the most sensitive place inside him and Barry’s nerves burst into song. He made a choking, gasping sound, eyes staring, unseeing, at the ceiling.

“There we are,” Len murmured, and much as he might want to make a sarcastic rejoinder, Barry found himself momentarily incapable of speech.

Len began sucking softly on the head of Barry’s dick, and the pulsing pressure against his prostate combined with the touch of Len’s tongue was sending waves of pleasure radiating out from the place where the other man’s thick finger was pressing into him, so sweet and perfect that Barry was losing the ability to think. His back was arching, his heels flailing among the sheets, and Len was steady and careful and insistent between his legs.

His cock was starting to throb, his breath speeding toward its inevitable conclusion, a river of feeling coursing, uncontrollable, through his veins. “I...fuck, Len, I’m gonna...God, I’m so close…” he whimpered, finally losing the battle with himself and beginning to thrust upward into the other man’s mouth.

Len chuckled softly around his dick, and the feeling of that alone was almost enough to send Barry over the edge. He took Barry in his other hand, the one that wasn’t currently working to take Barry apart from the inside out, and looked up at him. “If I make you come now, will you be good to go again?”

Barry laughed back at him, able to think a tiny bit more clearly without Len’s tongue on him. “Yeah,” he said. “Pretty much right away, actually.”

“Reaaallly,” Len drawled with a filthy smile, and oh fuck, Barry was in so much trouble.

“Perks of being the Flash,” Barry ground out, and then Len lowered his mouth back onto him and he lost the ability for coherent speech again. Len’s tongue was flicking at the tender flesh just below the head of his dick, and Len’s slick finger was pushing farther inside him, starting to move in a circle now, opening him up, and the thought of where that was going to lead sent Barry completely over the edge into an orgasm that was like being electrocuted, his muscles tensing, hips raising up off of the mattress as he came in helpless spurts onto Len’s waiting tongue.

He collapsed back onto the mattress, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, gasping for air, his nerves still tingling. Holy shit, he thought dazedly, I just came in Captain Cold’s mouth.

Softly, slowly, Len drew off of him and swallowed. His finger continued its gentle stroking movement inside Barry. “That sounded fun.” There was no mistaking the smugness in his voice.

“Mm-hmm.” Barry was too contented to even think of a retort.

“Do you need to take a break?”

“No.” It was true; even as he rode the high, his body was already starting to respond again to Len’s attentions. “You should keep going.”

Len was trailing soft kisses up the inside of his thigh. He pressed a second lube-slick finger against Barry’s entrance. “OK?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Barry sighed, glad of his state of post-orgasmic relaxation. He closed his eyes and exhaled as Len slowly worked the second finger into him, breathing into the stretch.

“Mmm, you’re so tight, baby, such a tight little ass,” Len mumbled into his hip. Barry chuckled silently. Of course Leonard Snart would be a talker in bed. Of course Leonard Snart would call him baby. And, honestly, it was for the best that Len liked how tight he was; Barry hadn’t bottomed for anyone since before becoming the Flash, but his solo experimentation had taught him that his healing ability had made his body more reluctant to allow intrusion, slower to open and quicker to tighten back up afterward.

Len stretched out beside him, propped himself up on one elbow and began to move his fingers gently inside of Barry, once again as though he had all the time in the world. Barry groaned, a soft, guttural sound, his cock already twitching back to life again.

“You like that?” Len rumbled.

Barry nodded, panting. “Nnngh, yes.”

In response, Len began picking up speed, going deeper until he was fucking his fingers into him in earnest. Barry could feel Len’s eyes avidly on his face, studying Barry’s reactions until he found just the right speed, just the right angle. He had wondered, a few hours ago, a million miles away, what it would be like to be the center of Len’s singular focus; now he knew, and it was like being at the center of a supernova. It was overwhelming, and a part of him wanted to fight against it, wanted to hide how completely at Len’s mercy he was right now. Len kissed him again, deeply, tenderly, and Barry closed his eyes and surrendered to it.

Barry’s cock was stiff and weeping, but when he reached for it, Len stilled him with a kiss on his shoulder. “Not yet,” he whispered, and the promise in that word yet was enough to make Barry’s toes curl.

“Ready for more?” Len asked, caressing the stretched-tight skin of Barry’s entrance with the tip of a third finger.

Barry pulled his heels in closer to his body, spreading his legs wide to give Len easier access. “Yeah,” he breathed, but as Len’s third finger breached him, he felt a flare of pain, the first real pain he’d felt all night. “Ah — wait -” he said quickly, and Len withdrew the third finger, continuing to fuck into him with the other two.

“Sorry,” Barry panted.

Len leaned his forehead against Barry’s shoulder. “We can just do this, if you want.” He dragged his fingers slowly along Barry’s prostate, sending a flare of desire through him, making him arch and moan. “This is nice.”

“No, I want — hmm — I want you to fuck me, it’s just...a lot.” Barry wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and he knew Len wasn’t either.

Len gave him a considering look. “Here,” he said, and carefully withdrew his fingers, making Barry wince. “Turn over.”

Barry rolled over, pulling his knees up underneath him and propping himself up on his elbows. He could hear Len uncapping the lube to squeeze a bit more onto his hand, and then Len was sliding two lubed-up fingers back up inside him. Barry groaned and pressed himself back against Len’s hand.

“Goddamn, you’ve got a beautiful ass,” Len said. He brought his other hand up to massage Barry’s asscheek. “So pretty, you look so pretty like this, spread open for me, gonna make you feel so good, baby,” on and on, Len’s fingers driving into him. The angle was different like this, not stimulating him as directly but allowing Len to go deeper into him. Barry felt more able to think like this, more able to breathe and relax and focus, his arousal building gradually.

Len worked him open for what felt like a long time, murmuring a litany of praise, caressing his back, his thighs, periodically bending to kiss his back. Barry rested his forehead on his clasped hands, breathing deeply, lost in sensation. This time, when Len pressed a third finger into him, the dull ache of it was quickly eclipsed by his nerves coming alight; his brain seemed to shut down entirely, his consciousness narrowing to Len’s fingers moving in him.

“Good?” Len asked.

“Fffffuuuuuuuck yeah, oh my God,” Barry moaned.

“Good,” Len said, and Barry could just hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice. Len picked up speed, driving faster and deeper into him, until Barry could no longer even try to control the sounds he was making, his swollen cock half-forgotten in the wash of feeling.

Finally, Len slowed the motion of his fingers. Another line of soft kisses trailing down Barry’s lower back, light and sweet. “Are you ready for me, baby?”

Barry swallowed a hitching breath and pushed himself up, bracing on his hands instead of his elbows. He nodded, but Len didn’t move, just kept kissing him, kept fingering him. Finally Barry managed to breathe, “Yes.”

Once more, Len withdrew his hand, leaving Barry feeling oddly bereft. He heard the slight tearing sound of a foil packet being opened and looked over his shoulder to see Len slowly rolling a condom down his cock, which was thick and standing at full attention; apparently the time it had taken to prep Barry hadn’t caused his interest to wane one bit.

Len saw him looking and held his gaze, pouring a generous handful of lube into one hand and stroking it up and down his latex-covered dick. “Ready?” he asked again, and this time the smile was something they shared between them.

The head of Len’s cock was blunt and solid and seemed much, much bigger than his fingers had been. Barry had the same thought he always had at this point: it’s too big, this is never going to work, how does anyone do this, and then it was pushing slowly into him. Barry let his head hang loosely between his shoulders, concentrating on relaxing as much as possible.

Len stopped after an inch or so. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he gasped. “Do you need a minute?” His voice had taken on a strangled quality.

“Yeah,” Barry managed to say, grateful for the pause to let his body adjust.

“Whenever you’re ready, just push back on me. Take all the time you need,” Len reassured him breathlessly. “God, Barry, I’m gonna make this so good for you.”

Barry thought about the first time he’d ever done this, in college, half-drunk with a new boyfriend. Neither of them had known what they were doing, and the other boy had shoved himself into him in a way that was uncomfortable in the moment and even more unpleasant the next day. Obviously things had improved for him since then, but no one had ever taken the care with him that Len was taking now.

He breathed in deeply, and on the exhale, pressed himself back onto Len’s cock, stopping when he felt a twinge of pain. Len groaned and swore, making an abortive movement with his hips; Barry could hear him breathing heavily, feel his hands trembling where they touched his skin, and knew the effort it must be taking Len not to just thrust wildly into him. Another deep breath. Barry pressed back again, feeling every inch of the slick slide inside him, sliding back until he fetched up against Len’s hips.

Len made a low, soft, wondering sound. Barry felt a moment of triumph that he had, at last, rendered Leonard Snart completely speechless.

Len began to move carefully inside of Barry, the length of him dragging slowly out to bear back down into him again. “Tell me how you like it,” Len breathed, keeping that achingly slow pace, out and then in again, slow slow slow, threatening to drive Barry completely insane.

“Faster,” Barry panted. “Harder.” He pressed his hips back onto Len’s cock to emphasize his point.

“You like it fast, Flash?” He could hear the laughter in Len’s voice. “I should have guessed.” Len gripped Barry’s hips in his strong hands; in a smooth, practiced movement, he used his knees to knock Barry’s legs farther apart. “I can do fast,” Len rumbled, driving abruptly into Barry with a force that knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Yes,” Barry gasped. “Yes, God, yes, like that.”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Len growled, reaching up to grasp one of Barry’s shoulders, sinking his fingers into the skin at Barry’s hip, and they were off to the races, Len’s hips snapping forward, sinking into Barry over and over again. Barry rocked back against him, trying to take him even deeper, and it was so much, but so good, the pleasure rippling up along his spine, down into the shaking muscles of his thighs, his hands clenching the sheets into his fists.

He tried to focus on his breathing, tried to delay the rising tide within him for as long as possible, but soon it was too much. “Please,” he managed to say, the words being driven out of him with each rhythmic thrust. “Please — I need — I — fuck, I’m — ”

“I’ve got you,” Len murmured. He slid his hands up Barry’s sides, around his chest, pulling Barry up onto his knees. He kissed the corner of Barry’s jaw, in exactly the spot he’d kissed him in the bar, whispering promises of the very things he was doing now, and Barry had had no earthly idea how good they would feel, but now he was feeling that kiss down to his toes.

Len scooted his knees forward a bit until he was sitting back on his heels, pulling Barry down onto his lap, every stone hard inch of him sliding more deeply than ever into Barry, and curled an arm around him to envelop Barry’s leaking cock in one strong hand. “I’ve got you,” he said again.

Barry rocked his hips back against him, riding him, the change in angle causing the head of Len’s cock to drag directly against his prostate, forcing a high-pitched sound out of Barry that was somewhere between a whimper and a sob. He leaned back against the other man, feeling Len’s chest warm and solid against his back. Len’s hand quickly picked up a counterpoint rhythm, gripped firmly around Barry’s cock, jerking him off in long, firm strokes.

“God, oh my God, oh my God,” Barry was dimly aware of himself saying. Len wrapped his free arm around Barry’s waist, cradling him close. He slowed the pace of his thrusting, and Barry dropped his hips down to meet him. They moved together, Len’s mouth pressing warm, frantic kisses to his throat, his shoulder, Len so deep inside him it made Barry’s eyes water.

“I’m gonna — I can’t — I -” he sobbed, already at the top of a cresting wave that threatened to drag him under.

“Yes,” Len breathed in his ear. “That’s it, come for me, baby, you feel so good, I want to feel you come…” He sped up the motion of his hand on Barry’s cock and that was all it took to push him over the edge; he cried out, flung his head back onto Len’s shoulder, and came hard, striping the tangled sheets with it, his entire body one perfect arc of electricity.

Len kept rocking into him, clutching Barry’s body close to his chest, his hand working Barry through it. Barry gasped for breath, the aftershocks reverberating through him, and the world went blurry. Len groaned, “Fuck,” drove upward into him like a piston, once, twice, and then buried his face in Barry’s shoulder, his muscles tense and shaking, his hands clutching at Barry’s waist, coming with a muffled shout, still buried deep within him.

They stayed like that for a moment, Len leaning his forehead against the back of Barry’s neck, breathing hard. “Did you just…” he panted, “did you just...vibrate?”

Barry laughed. It was nice, having sex with someone who already knew he was the Flash. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, pushing his sweat-drenched hair off his forehead. “Sorry, I...I do that.”

Len laughed back and shook his head, still leaning against him. “Do not apologize for that, Red, Jesus.” He reached down, grabbing the base of the condom, and eased himself out of Barry, moving away to toss the tied-off condom into the wastebasket.

Without Len’s arms holding him up, Barry realized how unsteady he felt. His legs were shaking, and his shoulders were tired from supporting himself. He considered flopping down onto the bed, but the sheets were twisted and drenched with sweat, streaked with lube and cum. A bubble of hilarity swelled up in him, looking at the wreck they’d made of the bed. “Um,” he said, starting to giggle, “I...I really hope you weren’t planning to sleep here tonight.”

Len smiled at him in a way Barry’d never seen him smile before, relaxed and guileless and happy. “It’s OK,” he said. “There’s another bedroom.”

“OK, well, good,” Barry replied, aware that he was grinning like a fool but unable to do anything about it.

“C’mon.” Len held out a hand and helped him stand up on still-shaky legs. “Let’s get you into the shower.”

~*~

Len led Barry to the back of the apartment, where the master bedroom was. This was his preferred room to sleep in when he stayed here — the bed was more comfortable, and the en suite bathroom was a lot nicer than the one in the hall. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, that he was currently walking through his third-favorite safe house holding hands with an extremely naked and post-coitally giggly Scarlet Speedster.

There was a part of his brain that was always cataloguing information, looking for weaknesses, plotting the exits, and that part of his brain was trying to tell itself that this was all just a way to learn the Flash’s weak points, to lull him into a false sense of security until he could be of use to Len in some way. He let that part of his brain tell itself what it needed to hear, because the truth was much simpler: he’d wanted Barry from the day he first saw him, and no matter what happened afterward, at least for one night Barry had been completely and utterly his.

The master bathroom had a walk-in double shower, which Len turned on full blast. After a moment’s consideration, he turned on the overhead heater, as well. It wasn’t a feature of the bathroom that he typically used (tending to like things on the chilly side, himself), but considering that Barry appeared to have almost no body fat, he figured some extra warmth couldn’t hurt.

He pulled Barry under the steaming spray with him, savoring the feel of the hot water sluicing down his back. Barry draped his arms around Len’s neck, his body warm and languorous, and kissed him, soft, open. Len wanted to stay like this all night, Barry blissed-out and pliant against him, but that wasn’t going to help either of them get any cleaner.

Len soaped up his hands, which were sticky with lube, rinsing and soaping again until they were clean. Once his hands were covered in suds, though, he found that washing his own sweaty body lost its allure compared to the slick slide of his hands over Barry’s poreless skin. He took his time, letting his fingertips map out the planes of Barry’s body, the places where hard lines became soft curves, the scattered moles and freckles that seemed to beg to be kissed.

Barry leaned into his touch, practically purring like a cat, his dark hair slicked down against his head in the streaming water, kissing him again and again. “I am going to be sparkling clean by the time this is done,” Barry murmured against Len’s lips. He gently prised the soap from Len’s hand and began returning the favor, his palms lingering on Len’s sides, stepping closer into Len’s embrace to run soapy hands up Len’s back.

It wasn’t long before Barry’s breathing started to speed up, his languid kisses taking on a more heated, urgent quality. Len dropped a hand down to Barry’s cock, which was poking stiffly into his hip. “Insatiable, aren’t you?”

Barry flushed. “I know, sorry, I’m just…like I said, I recover quickly. Don’t feel like you need to...do anything about it,” he hastened to add, but his eyelids were heavy, his lips parted, and regardless of his polite assurances his cock was rutting eagerly into Len’s hand.

Len considered the circumstances. Given another few minutes, he would have happily gone another round with the kid, but having him here in the shower was giving him ideas.

He turned Barry to face the back wall of the shower, soaping up his hands once more to wash away the lube from between the younger man’s legs. Barry spread his feet apart to give him easier access, leaning his hands against the wall. Len brushed one soaped-up finger lightly against Barry’s entrance; Barry made a soft, pleased sound in response and spread his legs wider.

“You sore at all?” Len asked.

Barry shook his head, smiling over his shoulder at Len, almost shy. “I heal fast.”

Grateful for the warmth of the heater blasting above them, Len turned off the shower — he didn’t fancy ending up half-drowned. He molded his body against Barry’s, nibbling gently at the base of his neck, eliciting another pleased little hum. Slowly, Len ran his tongue down the long channel of Barry’s spine. His mouth filled with the taste of clean water and clean skin. He dropped to his knees behind the other man, ignoring the hard wet tile underneath him. This was worth a little discomfort.

He could hear Barry draw in a surprised breath. Len smoothed his hands up Barry’s shower-damp thighs, cupping his ass, spreading him open.

“Oh,” Barry said in a small voice at the first gentle swipe of Len’s tongue. “Oh…”

Len lapped at him, long slow strokes with the flat of his tongue. Barry groaned and rested his forehead on his folded hands against the wall, his breath coming in hitching gasps. Len reached a hand up and around to grasp Barry’s cock, but the angle was awkward; he was finding it hard to get into a rhythm with his hand while keeping up his attentions with his mouth. It was a relief when Barry dropped one hand down to take over, stroking himself with practiced ease, allowing Len to focus all his efforts on Barry’s breathtaking ass.

He knelt there for what felt like an eternity, beginning to alternate the long strokes of his tongue with quicker, darting movements, working himself inside. He was dimly aware of his knees screaming against the tile floor, but the sensation seemed far away compared to the way Barry tasted, the faint, astonished sounds Barry was making. He knelt there, damp skin growing colder despite the heater, until Barry began to twitch, until his legs began to shake, until his gasps and whimpers took on a frantic, sobbing quality, his hand moving rapidly on his cock. Len pressed deeper, massaging the area just below his tongue with his thumbs. He felt Barry’s edges soften and blur around him, the barest vibration, and then Barry cried out, his thighs flexing, his cock overflowing onto the tile below.

Barry collapsed against the wall, pillowing his face in one arm, breathing heavily. Len stood up, trying to ignore the way his knees creaked and his back protested as he did. He smoothed one hand across the water-dappled skin of Barry’s shoulders. “You doing all right, there, Red?”

“Hmmf,” Barry replied, still leaning against the wall.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Len said.

Barry laughed, nodded. His breathing was starting to return to normal. Len grabbed a couple of towels from the shelf next to the shower. He quickly dried himself off with one, wrapping it around his waist. The other, he gently draped around Barry’s shoulders; Barry accepted it with a grateful murmur, turning to face him.

The younger man’s face was lax and happy, his eyelids drooping, his irresistible mouth curved in a lazy smile. His damp hair was starting to dry in erratic tufts that stuck out at odd intervals from his head. He was totally adorable. Len realized he was grinning like a fool.

“That was, um…” Barry murmured, “...I’ve never done that before.”

Shit. Len knew he should have asked before checking “eat Barry Allen’s ass like groceries” off the ol’ bucket list, but in the moment he’d been too caught up. “Sorry, I should have -”

“No, I mean, I liked it, just…” Barry laughed, high and giddy. “...Wow.”

Len couldn’t stop himself from grinning again. “Wow,” he agreed.

Barry took a wobbly step; Len grabbed his arm before he could slip on the wet tiles. “I think you may have totally wrecked me,” Barry said with a hint of chagrin.

“C’mon.” Len helped him back into the master bedroom, where Barry collapsed onto the bed with a grateful sigh. “I’ll be right back,” Len said. He ducked back into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, deciding that he could wait until tomorrow to clean up the water all over the floor. By the time he came back into the bedroom, Barry was sound asleep, naked limbs sprawled across the mattress, not even having bothered to get under the covers.

Len never let guys spend the night. He was not a “spend the night” kind of person. But, he reflected, pulling the duvet over Barry’s sleeping form, he’d already broken just about every personal rule he had tonight. He crawled into bed, not bothering to put on the boxers and t-shirt he usually slept in — Barry was already radiating heat like a furnace.

~*~

As usual, Barry was awakened by his own ravening hunger. Even on days he didn’t have to work, he never got to sleep in anymore — his hummingbird metabolism clocked in early with demands for more fuel. The hunger was especially pronounced on mornings when he’d been injured or had otherwise exerted himself the night before; the energy that regenerative healing took had to come from somewhere.

For the barest fraction of a second, he had no idea where he was — it was as though his mind was loading and buffering the memories of the previous night, before unleashing them on him at top speed. Leonard Snart, Leonard Snart’s hands in his hair and cock in his mouth and tongue in his ass, oh shit oh fuck. Barry sprang upright in bed, gazing wildly around the room; Len was nowhere to be seen, thankfully, giving Barry a minute to collect his thoughts.

A quick peek under the duvet verified that he was, in fact, buck naked in Captain Cold’s safe house. Okay. Where are my clothes? He mentally retraced his steps from the night before, flushing a little as he recalled the details. Len had stripped his shirt off in the entryway — fuck, that was so hot — and Barry had left the rest of his clothes in the hallway bathroom after his first shower of the evening.

Okay. This wasn’t Len’s real apartment, maybe Len wasn’t even here. Barry couldn’t decide if he was offended by the idea that Len would just bounce without saying anything after sleeping with him or hopeful that they might be able to avoid an awkward interaction. Either way, Barry would have to leave the bedroom at some point, a fact which his rumbling stomach helpfully reinforced.

Barry peered out the bedroom door — no one in sight in the hallway. He considered speeding into the bathroom to get his jeans, but if Len was somewhere around, Barry knew he’d never hear the end of it. Feeling ridiculous and unbelievably naked, he cautiously padded down the hallway. Fortunately, his jeans and his underwear were still where he’d left them, crumpled up in a corner of the bathroom. He slipped them on with a sigh of relief — at least now, whatever awkward morning-after conversation lay ahead of him, he could face it with pants on. Thus fortified, Barry ventured into the living room/kitchen area.

Len was standing in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, eating a bagel and perusing a newspaper. Barry experienced a moment of extreme cognitive dissonance; it wasn’t that he’d thought Leonard Snart didn’t eat breakfast, exactly, but it was weird in the extreme to think about him doing normal-person things like buying bagels and reading newspapers. He glanced up as Barry tentatively stepped into the room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Barry said back. He felt hyper-aware of his shirtlessness; Len was fully dressed in work pants and a henley shirt, and being even half-naked under his even, blue-eyed gaze in the light of day made Barry feel at a disadvantage, somehow. “Have you seen my…?”

Len gestured toward the living room, where Barry’s t-shirt sat on the seat of the easy chair, tidily folded and stacked with the button-down shirt he’d worn over it when he arrived last night, a lifetime ago.

“I got bagels,” Len said while Barry was pulling the t-shirt on over his head. He held out a bag from Central City Bagel Company. “Help yourself.”

Barry gratefully accepted the bag, digging out a sesame seed bagel. “Thanks.” He spotted some cream cheese sitting on the counter and quickly spread a thick layer onto both sides of the bagel.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” Len said. “I’ve seen the way you eat.”

“It’s my metabolism,” Barry explained, his mouth already full. He felt like a gawky teenager, stuffing his face, but he didn’t want to collapse from hunger on top of everything else he’d already done.

“I figured,” Len said again.

Barry chewed. They looked at each other. The silence drew out, unbearable; Barry found himself dreading the moment he’d finish his bagel and would have to think of something to say.

“Oh,” Len finally said, breaking the silence. “Your phone was blowing up, earlier.”

Shit. With everything that had happened the night before, Barry had completely forgotten to check in with Cisco and Caitlin. He grabbed his phone and groaned inwardly at the multiple missed calls and texts, both from last night and this morning. Still chewing, he tapped out a hurried message to both of them — the party had gone fine, he’d gotten the information, he’d meet them at the lab later. He snuck a surreptitious glance at Len, who had returned to his paper, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Barry swallowed the last bite of his bagel. Time to face the music.

“So,” he began slowly, “last night was...um…”

Len straightened up, fixing him with that unsettling level gaze. “We don’t have to have a whole talk about it, Barry.”

Didn’t they, though? “Well — I —” What do you say to the criminal mastermind who just thoroughly rocked your world?

Len sighed. “Listen. Did you have fun last night?”

“I…” Almost got slashed in the face. Got the shovel talk from Mick Rory. Came in your mouth. “Yeah,” he said, laughing a little. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good.” Len nodded. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Me too.”

“Good,” Barry echoed, feeling lost.

“So let’s not overthink it, OK?” Len took a measured sip of his coffee. “You get back to saving the world, or whatever you usually do on a Sunday morning, and I’ll go about my business. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”

“Um...OK.” Barry wasn’t convinced it was really that simple, but also couldn’t think of anything else to say about it. He started to take a step forward, unsure if he should try to hug Len or kiss him goodbye or something, but nothing about Len’s body language seemed to invite that kind of contact. “Um, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

Len smirked. “See you around, Flash.”

Barry sped home, his mind racing even faster than his feet. What did I do? What does this mean? What happens now?

He’d slept with Captain Cold. Not just had several rounds of rather extravagant sex with him, but had honest-to-goodness slept with the man, had woken up in sheets that smelled like him, had eaten bagels with him. What they’d done — it wasn’t just sex, although that would have been confusing enough. They’d connected somehow, not just in bed but over the course of the whole weird night. It had been...intimate. Len could act as frosty and business-as-usual as he wanted, but Barry had to believe that he’d felt that connection. He just wasn’t sure what that meant.

He had to talk to someone about this. Ordinarily he’d call Cisco, but he could imagine his friend’s reaction to this news. Captain Cold had abducted Cisco, held him hostage, and tortured his brother. Cisco would be likely to view the events of last night as a personal betrayal.

The Captain Cold factor meant that Caitlin was out as a potential confidante, too. She’d never understood the complicated dance of respect, fascination, mistrust, and — no sense lying to himself about it now — attraction that had defined Barry’s relationship with Leonard Snart; he didn’t relish the prospect of telling her that he was falling head over heels for the man who’d held her at gunpoint.

No, there was only one person he could talk to about this and have even a prayer of being understood. Iris would probably be disappointed in him, but she’d also forgive him — and if anyone would have advice about falling for someone he shouldn’t be falling for, it would be her. Need 2 talk 2 u asap, he texted Iris as soon as he got home.

He debated taking a shower, remembered with a sick thrill exactly how much time he’d spent in the shower the previous night, and decided just to put on some fresh clothes. Iris’ reply text came through as he was pulling on a clean t-shirt. Jitters in 20?

Twenty minutes later, he was sipping coffee and mournfully demolishing a blueberry muffin. Iris plopped down across from him in a waft of perfume.

“Hey, you look nice,” he said. She really did; she was wearing a floral-print dress with a wide belt, and had clearly take some pains with her hair and makeup that morning. Since Eddie’s death, she’d been wearing more hoodies and yoga pants than anything else. It was nice to see her starting to look more like her old self again.

“Thanks,” she said. “It’s such a nice day, I thought I’d make an effort.” She took a sip of her latte with an appreciative sigh. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Um. Okay. Don’t be mad.”

She folded her arms over her chest and regarded him suspiciously. “Why don’t you tell me, and then I’ll tell you if I’m mad or not?”

Barry could feel the blood flooding to his face. He looked down at his mangled muffin wrapper. “Right. Um. So...you know how I went on that recon mission with — “ he lowered his voice “ — Captain Cold last night?’

“Oh, yeah! How’d that go, by the way?”

“It went, uh, good, I think we got what we need. But, um…” he glanced up at her, then quickly back down again. He definitely couldn’t be looking directly into her trusting, sympathetic face when he told her he’d fucked a supervillain. “I kind of…”

“Barry.” He forced himself to look at her again. She raised an eyebrow. “Spit it out.”

“Right. OK. Well. Last night, I kind of, um…” he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again to look at her. “Slept with him.”

“What?!?” Iris shrieked.

“Shhhh, keep your voice down,” Barry hissed, sinking lower in his chair, trying to avoid the irritated glances of the people around them.

Iris lowered her voice, leaning in. “You slept with him?” Her face took on a note of concern. “He didn’t, like, pressure you into anything, did he? Because I will kill him, Dad would help me, I wouldn’t even have to explain why —”

“No,” he assured her. Len had asked him, over and over, is this OK? Does that feel good? Do you want this? And he had said yes, over and over, his words and his body, yes, yes, yes. He put his hands over his eyes against the onslaught of memories. “No, it was...extremely consensual.”

“Barry Allen!” Her voice was scandalized, but without the disappointment he’d been fearing from her. He snuck a look at her; her eyes were sparkling with interest. “I have to say, I didn’t know you had it in you.” She snorted. “So to speak.”

“Iris, oh my God.” He was overcome with an absurd gratitude for Iris West, who, before she was the daring investigative reporter and champion of truth, was the girl who used to sneak out of his bedroom window to go on dates with college boys. He should have known he could come to her with this.

“I mean, I get it, he’s...pretty hot,” Iris laughed.

You don’t know the half of it, Barry thought, picturing tattoos over hard muscle and deft, confident fingers. “He is, right?”

“Definitely, and you guys have always had this, like, intense energy. I just…” she shook her head, half admiring, half admonishing. “I can’t believe you had sex with a criminal! He’s, like, your arch nemesis!”

“He’s not my arch nemesis,” he protested. “There are plenty of people who have it out for me way worse than he does. We’re like...frenemies. He’s my arch fremesis.”

“Even so, what would the papers say?” she teased.

“Nothing, because nobody is going to find out about this, right?”

Iris mimed taking a key and locking her lips shut. “Your secret’s safe with me.” She leaned forward, conspiratorial. “So?”

“So, what?” Barry asked, even though he already knew what she meant.

“So, yeah, I’m gonna need some details.”

“Iris!”

“C’mon, Barry, it’s been a while for both of us.” A shadow flickered across her face, but was gone in an instant. “Let me live vicariously for a minute.”

“It was…” Barry thought about Len murmuring I’ve got you, their bodies moving together, Len confidently gripping his cock, the mind-obliterating orgasm that had followed. “It was awesome,” he sighed. “It was the best sex I’ve had in...a really long time.”

Iris’ eyes widened. “Really! Well, way to go Captain Cold,” she muttered, as much to herself as to him.

“Yeah, he uh…” But Barry is not going to use the phrase ate me out at Jitters at 8:30 in the morning. “It was great.”

“You know, I have been thinking you needed to get laid, but I’ll admit, this is not what I had in mind.”

“Me either,” he admitted.

“So what happens now? Are you going to see him again?”

“I don’t know,” Barry said, picturing their stilted interaction that morning. “I mean, I’m sure I’ll see him at some point, but...yeah, I don’t know.”

“Do you want to see him again? Like that, I mean?” Iris asked.

Len was a hardened criminal, almost 20 years his senior — on the surface, they had nothing in common. But he was also maybe the only person in Barry’s life who didn’t expect him to be a paragon of righteous virtue at all times. He brought out the side of Barry that liked to run just for the feel of the wind on his face, that lived for the moments he could throw himself into danger with just speed and a smile and no semblance of a plan. That alone wouldn’t be worth the colossal hassle of trying to date one of Central City’s Most Wanted — but last night Barry had seen another side of Len as well, a side that had protected him, teased him, worried about him, kissed him like he was the only thing in the world. “I don’t know,” he said again. “Yes? I think so? It’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” she pointed out. “You could give it a couple days, see how you’re feeling. See if he calls you.”

“That’s true.” He could take a few days, focus on foiling the smugglers, leave the ball in Len’s court. Not deciding anything right now suddenly seemed like the greatest idea in the world. “Thanks, Iris.”

She winked at him, swigging her coffee. “Hey, after all of the morning-after breakfast confessions I’ve put you through, it’s the least I could do.”

~*~

After Barry left, Len cleared out his few possessions from the safe house, then called a cleaning service to scrub the whole place down, ridding it of any stray fingerprints, hairs, or any other trace of Len and his gang. Once the place was spotless, he’d fire up the email account associated with the identity through which he’d rented the place and let the landlady know he was moving out. It had been a decent hideout in a good location, but the whole point of safe houses was that nobody knew where they were — especially not the Flash, ill-advised one-night stands notwithstanding.

Len spent the rest of the morning making a few calls, paying a few visits, checking on how some of the seeds he’d planted at the previous night’s party were sprouting. He had a few smaller jobs in the works, but was waiting for some changes in the city’s climate before planning his next big heist; if he’d done his job right at Santini’s party, those changes would be happening soon.

He prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize, to focus on the task at hand and leave everything else at the door, but it was hard to concentrate when his mental theater seemed stuck on reruns: green eyes, long legs, smooth skin. The sounds Barry had made when Len started to open him up. The wet heat of Barry’s sweet, perfect mouth. By the time Len got back to his real apartment, he was ready to climb the walls in pent-up frustration.

It had been a stupid risk, fucking the Flash, and an even more stupid risk to let him spend the night. Len should know better than to let anyone get that close to him, let alone someone who had the power to put him away for all sorts of serious crimes. It had been fun, taking a one-night trip to the alternate universe where he and Barry were dating, where he could bring Barry to a party and have him be funny and exasperating and mischievous, and then take Barry home and bang him like a prom queen, but it wasn’t real life.

No more mistakes like that, he told himself firmly. It was easy for Barry to wander out from the bedroom this morning with his big pretty eyes all full of feelings, but someone had to be pragmatic here and Len had years of experience being the one who dealt in cold, hard facts. He was a career criminal. Barry was someone who fought crime for a living and then in his free time, fought crime some more. No future in it. End of story.

He managed to keep that cold, practical inner monologue going for another 45 minutes while he paced around his apartment, tidying up. Unfortunately, he was already someone who hated clutter and he soon ran out of stuff to tidy. He was just debating whether scrubbing down the bathrooms would be overkill when his eye fell on the safe where he kept his cold gun and he remembered Cisco’s promise: I’m fully equipped to pimp your ride.

I’ll just go over there and get Geek Squad to upgrade my gun, he thought. Barry probably wouldn’t even be there on a Sunday morning after a late night (and he was not thinking about what kept Barry up so late, he was not). And if Barry was there, maybe that would be for the best. Barry would be back to his usual sanctimonious self in the harsh light of day and his patronizing, nagging tone would be just the dash of cold water Len needed to rid his mind of the night before. I got him out of my system. Now we can go back to Cops and Robbers.

He didn’t bother trying to evade STAR Labs’ meager security measures (for a secret lair, it was startlingly easy to break into); he was here on business, after all. He simply marched right in and waited for the Welcome Wagon.

Barry was back to his usual bundled-up self, in a checkered button-down and jeans. Seeing him, something inside Len wrenched. It was awful. You’re too old for this shit, he told himself, annoyed.

Seeing Len, Barry lit up like Christmas, which just served to worsen Len’s mood. Christ. The kid might as well have “I Fucked Captain Cold” tattooed on his forehead. You wouldn’t expect someone with a secret identity to be so indiscreet; Len was willing to bet good money that even Barry’s pizza delivery guy knew he was the Flash.

“I believe I was promised an upgrade?” Len said sweetly, shoving his cold gun at Cisco.

Cisco frowned at him. “Can you come back another time? We’re kind of right in the middle of something.”

“Giving me the cold shoulder?” Len asked. “A deal’s a deal, Cisco, and I’d say I held up my end of the bargain admirably. Wouldn’t you say so, Barry?”

Barry glowered at him, red to the roots of his hair, but at least he’d lost something of the freshly-fucked air he’d had when Len arrived. Good to know Len hadn’t lost his touch — winding the Flash up was one of his favorite hobbies, and if it kept Barry from gazing at him with cartoon hearts floating out of his eyes, so much the better. “Just make the upgrades, Cisco,” Barry muttered.

“Fine. But don’t be expecting me to add New Car Smell, not with that attitude,” Cisco said, reaching out a hand for the cold gun.

Len surrendered it with some reluctance; it was tough letting the gun out of his sight, even for some agreed-upon improvements. “If you need to save time, you can skip the part where you try to lo-jack me, Ramon. I always find whatever trackers you try to put on this thing, and I’m not in the mood today.”

“Jeez, what crawled up your ass?” Cisco muttered.

Len leered at Barry, trying to choose between one of several rejoinders that sprang to mind. Barry seized his arm and marched him away from Cisco. “Can I talk to you,” he ground out between gritted teeth.

“Of course, Flash. Seems I’ll be cooling my heels for a bit anyway.”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Barry sputtered as soon as they were out of earshot.

“You should work on that temper, kid.” Len gave him his most patronizing smile. “One of these days, it’s gonna get you in trouble.”

Barry folded his arms. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting paid, Red. That was the deal, right? I do a favor for you, Cisco does a favor for me?”

“So is that what last night was to you? Just a way to get a better cold gun?”

God, the nonstop drama with this kid. One fuck and he’s Scarlett O’Hara. Len eyed Barry, choosing his words carefully. “Last night was...a lot of fun, as I said. But that doesn’t change the terms of our agreement.”

Barry sighed, scrubbed a hand across his face. He looked tired. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

They looked at each other.

“So…” Barry said. “We’re planning the mission to the docks for Tuesday.”

“Thrilling,” Len sneered.

“It would be nice to have some help,” Barry offered. His eyes were big and green and full of hope. “You wanna, I don’t know, team up on it?”

Len laughed mirthlessly. “Haven’t you learned your lesson about asking me to fight crime with you yet?”

“You didn’t seem to mind helping us with the party,” Barry pointed out.

“True. What are you going to offer me this time? I don’t have any other cold guns for Cisco to upgrade, although I’m sure Mick wouldn’t mind some extra firepower.”

“Consider it a service to the city.” Barry took a tentative step toward him. He reached out and touched Len’s wrist, lightly. “Besides, it...might be fun, working together.”

The offer was clear and Len wanted no part of it, which didn’t stop his pulse from speeding up at the promise in Barry’s touch. He narrowed his eyes at Barry. “A service to the city? Yeah, that doesn’t really sound like me,” he sneered.

“It could be you, if you let it. Admit it, Snart. We make a good team.” Barry’s hand tightened on Len’s wrist. His expression sobered, going from Awkward Seduction to full-on After-School Special. “I know you’re not the bad guy everyone thinks you are.”

Len felt a spike of sub-zero fury. So that’s what this was about. Of course it was. Barry wanted to save him — needed to save him — because if Len was a bad person (whatever that meant), and Barry had allowed him such unfettered access to his body, what did that say about Barry? Fuck that and the horse it rode in on. If Barry was so uptight he had to make every one-night stand into a world-saving effort, that didn’t make it Len’s problem to deal with.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Barry,” he said, letting the ugly thing that was creeping up in his chest drip out into his words. “I’m exactly the bad guy everyone thinks I am. I’ve been a bad guy longer than you’ve even been alive, and one fuck doesn’t change that.” The hopeful light went out of Barry’s eyes. He stepped back like Len had slapped him. Good.

Len’s lip curled. “I have to say, I’ve never heard of trying to save someone’s soul by sucking their cock, but you sure gave it the ol’ college try.”

Barry folded his arms across his chest. “Oh great, so you’re in Supervillain Mode again now. Awesome. Well guess what, I’m not buying it.” He stepped in closer to Len again. “You’re just going to have to accept that I’m not giving up on you.”

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Len tried to remember that he couldn’t leave without his cold gun. “What do you want from me?” he expostulated. “What, you want me to be your boyfriend now? Is that it?”

“No,” Barry scowled, which clearly meant yes. This fucking guy.

“You want me to what, take you to the movies? Take you to the prom? How’s that gonna work? You gonna quit your job? Because I’m sure as hell not quitting mine.”

“I’m not asking for that!”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what I want, okay?” Barry hissed. “I just, I don’t know, I thought that last night...meant something. I thought maybe things could be…” he sighed. “Different between us now.”

You poor stupid kid. “Sorry to disappoint you but I’m not giving up everything I’ve worked for just because you bat your eyes at me. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Barry, you’re a helluva screw —” Barry’s eyes flew up to his, stung “— but I’m not going to throw my life away over it.”

Barry’s hands clenched into fists. Len wished, perversely, that Barry would hit him — even though in STAR Labs, with Len’s cold gun out of reach, Barry would absolutely mop the floor with him. At least if they were fighting, they'd be back on familiar turf.

Instead, Barry just turned away. “I have a lot to do,” he said. “You can wait here until your gun is ready.”

~*~

After his disastrous conversation with Captain Cold (“Len” being apparently an illusion designed to mess with Barry’s head), Barry sank gratefully into the familiar rhythm of planning a bust with Team Flash. Once Cisco had returned the cold gun and escorted Snart from the premises, they put together a pretty solid game plan for Tuesday night and made copious notes of the other criminal activities Barry had learned about at the party.

“We are going to nail these bastards to the wall,” Cisco said, leaning back from his computer with a satisfied grin. “Thanks for going undercover, dude, way to take one for the team.”

Barry didn’t do a spit take, but only because he wasn’t drinking anything.

“I hope it wasn’t too weird, being on a date with him,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah, I do not think I could handle Captain Cold perving all over me for a night — you’re a stronger man than I am,” Cisco added.

“It wasn’t like that,” Barry protested. Okay, it was entirely like that, he reminded himself. Did it count as perving all over him if he was into it?

Caitlin rolled her eyes. Cisco snorted. “Whatever you say.”

Barry thought about Len bursting into the bathroom to come to his aid, the tight lines of worry around his eyes, the way he’d stepped back the instant Barry started to push him away, and struggled to reconcile that picture with the snarling, cold-eyed villain he’d seen today. “There’s good in him. I’ve felt it.”

“OK, that is a line from Star Wars,” Cisco snapped, “and you know who it’s about? Darth Vader! So yes, I’m willing to concede that Captain Cold probably has as much good in him as Darth Vader. Just don’t be surprised if he cuts off your hand.”

“I’m sorry, Barry, I know you always want to see the best in people but I have to agree with Cisco,” Caitlin said. “It’s great that collaborating with Snart worked out this time, but I still wouldn’t trust him with anything important.”

“He’s...a complicated person,” Barry admitted.

“If by ‘complicated’ you mean ‘psychotic,’ then yeah,” Cisco said.

Barry sighed. What was he supposed to say? Len was certainly guilty of everything Cisco and Caitlin thought he was guilty of. It’s complicated, he’d said to Iris, but maybe it was actually very, very simple. Maybe this whole time I’ve wanted him to be a better person than he is, just because I’m attracted to him, Barry thought glumly. Maybe he’s just evil and sexy, end of story.

Between his work with Team Flash and his never-ending pile of cases at the lab (not to mention constantly overanalyzing the events of his non-date with Captain Cold, berating himself for being a horny idiot, and intermittent cringing), the next couple of days flew by.

“There they are, at your three o’clock,” Caitlin said in his earpiece. Cisco had easily hacked the marina’s security system. That, plus a few well-placed cameras from STAR Labs’ private supply, gave the team back at the lab a panoramic view of the waterfront, allowing them to keep an eye on things while Barry remained hidden until the deal went down. He looked in the direction she’d indicated and spotted the bearded guy from Santini’s bar huddled with a couple other guys near a slip toward the end of the pier. They looked cold. Barry was glad of his super-high metabolism on nights like these — it meant he could stay warm in pretty much any situation, except for the times he’d been shot with a cold gun okay we are not thinking about this right now.

The boat was pulling in. The thugs onshore were joined by a couple of the boat’s crew; together they were making the boat fast and doing other...boat things (Barry had been raised by a single dad on a cop’s salary, it’s not like they spent a lot of time sailing, but the crew was bustling around tying knots and stuff like they knew what they were doing). They secured a ramp from boat to pier and one of the crew members disappeared into the boat with a hand truck.

“Heads up,” Caitlin said. “They’re starting to unload.”

Barry moved into position. The plan was simple: speed in, incapacitate Santini’s guys and the boat’s crew, and then seize whatever illicit goods they were moving into Central. Take them all down to the station, let Joe lean on them until they rolled over on the whole operation. A pretty low-key Tuesday night for the Flash, not a metahuman or evil robot in the bunch. Piece of cake.

The crew was rolling a gigantic crate down the ramp onto the dock, taking a lot of care with it. Santini’s goons backed away, giving the crate a wide berth, eyeing it uneasily. The contents of that crate must have been dangerous — explosives, maybe? There were vents along the bottom, which meant air circulation was important — possibly a biological agent? Whatever it was, there was a lot of it, judging by the size of the crate. The bearded guy from the bar handed a duffel bag to a guy who seemed to be the boat’s captain, or otherwise in charge. He unzipped it; Barry’s night vision could dimly pick out the stacks of cash inside.

“You got all this on film?” he muttered.

“Oh yeah,” Cisco replied, and he could hear the grin in his voice. “Smile, Barry, you’re about to be on Candid Camera.”

Barry did smile, a little grimly, in the dark. “All right, here we go.”

He dropped into the Speed Force, loving as always the crackle of lightning on his skin, the jackrabbiting of his heart into overdrive. He sped toward the group of men huddled on the dock, too fast for any of them to so much as glance in his direction before he was among them. One, two. The first two were incapacitated and cuffed before the crate could fully settle on the dock. Three, four, five. He secured them with a handy length of rope snagged from the deck of the boat and now the rest of them were starting to register that something was happening. Barry watched their eyes start to widen in shock through the detached hyper-focus that was his gift from the Speed Force, but it was way too late for them to do anything about it; he was already wrenching their hands behind their backs, six, seven. Three from the dock, four from the boat, trussed up like Thanksgiving dinner, and a quick zip through the boat to make sure there wasn’t anyone left hiding below decks.

“Sorry, fellas, looks like you’re going up the river,” he grinned at his groaning, struggling captives. He could hear Cisco snickering in his earpiece.

Still flush with adrenaline, he gave the crate a hearty smack. Several of the men flinched. “Let’s see what you’ve got in here, shall we?” Barry asked.

“Wait —” the boat’s captain cried. Caitlin and Cisco shouted caution in his ear, but it had been a long week already and Barry was damned if he was going to let CCPD get all the pleasure of unveiling this bust. No crowbar necessary, he simply popped the crate open with a burst of super-speed (“what you lack in mass, you make up for in acceleration,” as Cisco was fond of pointing out).

The contents of the crate were covered with a gray blanket. Barry reached for it but drew back, startled, as it seemed to heave and stir of its own volition.

“Uh...Barry?” Cisco stammered over the radio. “I think that thing’s alive.”

No shit, Barry thought, as the mass beneath the blanket twitched, roiled, and became the back of an enormous humanoid shape, standing up out of the crate to rise up to a height of close to 9 feet.

A metahuman. Santini wasn’t bringing guns or drugs or stolen ipads into Central City; he was bringing in metahumans, and if the others were anything like this guy Barry’s life was about to go to shit.

The creature was built like a man, but his huge body was covered in scabrous growths that overlapped like scales. Spines protruded from his hairless head, which settled necklessly into thick, armored shoulders. His arms, each thicker than Barry’s entire head, seemed too long for his body, his elongated fingers tipped with wicked-looking claws. He leveled a yellow-eyed gaze on Barry and his rigid, beaklike mouth twisted into something almost like a smile.

Don’t judge, Barry told himself as the taste of ozone seeped into his mouth. He’s a metahuman like you.

“Hi,” Barry made himself say. “Uh...I’m the Flash. Are you here against your will? Do you need...assistance?”

The metahuman bared a fishlike mouth of needle-sharp teeth. “Hello, Flash,” he croaked, seizing Barry by the throat.

~*~

Len slammed the door to his apartment, hard enough to rattle the frames on the walls. “Little shit,” he fumed. He stormed into the bedroom, impatiently shoving his clothes aside to reveal the door to the safe he’d installed in the back of the closet.

“Fucking unbelievable,” he muttered, shrugging into his parka. He shoved his goggles down over his eyes, snapping them into place hard enough to make his eyes sting and water, which just added to the irritation boiling in his gut. He pressed his thumb down on the scanner that unlocked his gun safe and slung the cold gun over one shoulder, barely registering the upgrades that had made it lighter and easier to grip.

In the elevator to the parking garage, he paced like an animal in a cage, muttering obscenities to himself. Once in the garage, he stomped down on his motorcycle’s accelerator harder than was strictly necessary, taking satisfaction in the way the engine’s roar mimicked the scream of frustration that was lurking in the back of his throat.

“Stupid, arrogant little fucker,” he seethed through gritted teeth as he sped through Central City, sticking to side streets. It was easy to find his destination. The news helicopters were already circling, which had alerted him to the foolish and unnecessary situation already in play.

He maneuvered around the ring of reporters and cops penning the harbor in. It was easy — everyone’s attention was focused on the metahuman beatdown happening in front of them. He moved past the crumpled bodies of a couple CCPD officers who’d been thrown back from the fray, not bothering to check if they were unconscious or dead; like everyone else, his focus was on the dock, where the Flash was getting his ass handed to him by a giant lizard-man thing.

Even from several yards away, he could see that the fight wasn’t going well; the Flash was moving with a slight limp, listing to one side in a way that suggested some internal damage as well. What Len could see of his face under the mask was covered in blood, but the speedster’s jaw was set in a look of pigheaded determination that Len knew all too well.

Barry zipped away as the thing made a grab for him, then came back with a 100-mph punch to the creature’s armored stomach. The lizard-man grunted, but didn’t take so much as a step backward. He grinned, thick saliva dripping from his beak, and grabbed for Barry again, his long arm shooting out faster than seemed possible. This time he caught hold, hauling the Flash’s struggling form toward him. The red-suited hero twisted and vibrated in the lizard-man’s grip, trying to break free. As Len slunk closer, the creature’s pointed talons sank through the Flash suit and into Barry’s shoulder. Blood welled around the punctures; Barry screamed in pain, the sound like a drill pressed directly to Len’s adrenal glands.

“How was this your plan,” Len hissed, not caring that Barry couldn’t possibly hear him. The lizard-man’s head whipped right around, though, to stare directly at him. His eyes were a sallow yellow, pupils narrowing to slits in the light from the news helicopter. Fuck.

Grinning again, the lizard-man grabbed Barry’s waist with his other hand, spun around, and basically shot-put him into the brick wall of a nearby building. Len cringed inwardly at the loud CRACK! of Barry’s body hitting the wall, which buckled alarmingly, sending out a cloud of brick dust, but didn’t break. Barry slid down the wall into a heap, groaning. “Oh, you stupid fuck,” Len whispered.

The lizard-man cackled, a wet, inhuman sound. Len squared his shoulders. He reached down inside of himself and shoved down the swirling anger within, ignoring his fear and blanketing himself in familiar white-cold calm. He stepped out of the shadows, cold gun perched jauntily on one shoulder.

“Hey!” he called, pitching his voice to carry. The helicopter spotlight swerved jerkily to point directly at him. Well, I do love an audience, Len thought, pasting a sneer onto his face. “Who let you out of your terrarium?”

Another bubbling wet chuckle. “More of you,” the lizard-man rasped. “Good.”

Len could hear Barry stirring behind him, but couldn’t afford to take his eyes off of his scaly opponent. “Central City is my party, Sideshow. I don’t recall sending you an invitation.”

The lizard-man’s eyes narrowed at the word “sideshow,” and his mouth twisted into a grimace. He put his head down and charged at Len, surging forward with more speed and agility than Len had anticipated from someone his size, but Len was ready for him. He aimed at the charging metahuman’s feet and blasted away, coating him in ice up to his waist, managing to pin his hands in place. His attacker shrieked in pain and rage.

“Now, I forget,” Len said conversationally. “Do lizards like the cold?”

“I’ll kill you,” the lizard man spat, clawing and lunging. The ice coating his legs cracked ominously; Len took a small step back in surprise. Holy shit, this guy’s strong. He blasted him again, adding a second coat of ice, eliciting another scream. Goddammit, not killing people is such a pain in the ass.

“You are such a pain in the ass,” Len yelled, not totally sure if he was talking to the lizard-man or to Barry, who had pulled himself to his feet and was staggering back toward them. The lizard man seemed to take it personally, snarling obscenities as he fought against the cracking ice.

A blur of red light streaked past him as Barry plowed one more super-powered punch into the side of the huge metahuman’s head, just below his small, pointy ear. The scaly menace dropped like a stone, his unconscious body held awkwardly in place by the column of ice securing him.

“I’m sure they’ll give you a nice heat lamp and some crickets in Iron Heights,” Len said.

Barry turned to him, panting, disheveled and bloody and coated in brick dust. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up.”

Len stared at him. “You’re a real asshole, you know that? What were you gonna do if I didn’t show up?”

“I had him,” Barry protested. “All part of my master plan.”

“You should make better plans. Ones that don’t involve getting your ass kicked every other day.”

Barry grinned. His teeth were bloody, why on earth was Len finding that sexy. “I’m happy to see you.”

“You look like shit,” Len pointed out.

“I’ll be fine.” Barry grinned again. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Len rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, no need to be so pleased with yourself.”

Behind them, the cops were starting to cautiously approach the reptile popsicle Len had left for them; Len could hear them calling to each other, the burst of static on radios. He’d leave the problem of how to chip nine feet of unconscious metahuman off the docks and wrestle it downtown to the professionals.

“I gotta go,” he said to Barry.

“Yeah, I should help these guys out,” Barry said.

Len bit back a comment about how what Barry clearly needed was medical attention; lectures were the Flash’s job, and if Barry wanted to let his broken bones heal on the go while he played the hero, that was his business. “See you around, Flash,” he said instead.

“You’re gonna call me, right?” Barry called after him as he walked away.

“I’m thinking about it,” Len called back, not bothering to hide his smile.

~*~

Barry found himself, once again, knocking on the door of a Captain Cold safehouse. It was bizarre, dating someone who wouldn’t even let Barry know where he really lived, but they’d both agreed that this...whatever it was, between them, would work best if they took it slow. Barry was starting to learn that if he pushed too hard, Len would either push back or withdraw entirely, but if he slowed down and waited for Len come to him, more often than not he would.

They’d wound up with a modified version of their existing agreement: Len would continue to not hurt people and Barry would continue to not arrest him, but now they’d also agreed that anything either of them learned on a date would be off the table in terms of either planning or foiling crimes. Trust was slow and hard to build, but so far it was totally worth it.

Barry had even been able to convince Len to pitch in on a couple of Team Flash projects, although he was under no illusions that his new boyfriend had given up on his life of crime. He was kind of looking forward to the next time he went up against Len as the Flash, to be honest; it was intriguing to think about what new dimensions their mid-heist banter might take on now that they were actually sleeping together.

Len opened the door, his face already relaxing into that slow, easy grin that somehow managed to convey I’ve seen you naked and I’m planning to again at the earliest opportunity. It never failed to make Barry sweat.

“Hey,” Len murmured, pulling him inside and kissing him. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” Barry smiled, kissing him back. He skimmed a hand lightly up Len’s arm, lingering on his bicep. He kissed Len again, this time letting his tongue swipe softly against the other man’s lips. Maybe they’d have time to fool around a bit before dinner, even though just moments before he’d been ravenous.

“Easy there, Hormones,” Len smirked, taking a step away. “Plenty of time for that after Thai food, and you’ll need your energy. I don’t want you passing out.”

“That was one time,” Barry groaned. It had taken some calibrating to figure out the additional caloric needs a metahuman constitution required when nonstop sex was added to the equation, and it wasn’t exactly something he wanted to bring to Cisco. Not yet, anyway. Even if it did mean Len giving him no end of shit about the time he’d “fucked his lights out.”

“Nevertheless,” Len said with mock sincerity. “It won’t kill you to learn to delay some gratification once in a while.”

“Says the actual bank robber.”

“Don’t be jealous just because my job’s more fun than yours.”

“Oh, speaking of which,” Barry said, flopping down on the couch. “I heard something very interesting at work today.”

“Really.” Len smiled the wicked knife’s-edge smile that Barry was starting to think of as his crime smile. He sat down on the other end of the couch and pulled Barry’s feet into his lap. “Do tell.”

“Well,” Barry began, shooting him a look that said you don’t fool me for a second, “Apparently there was a bombing uptown. No casualties, but this big fancy house on 53rd was completely destroyed.”

“Aww.” Len made an exaggerated pout. “What a shame.”

“And I bet you’ll never guess whose house it was.” Barry tried to look disapproving, but it was hard to feel that bad for the guy, even if his house had gotten blown up.

“I haven’t the slightest.”

“Bullshit, Len, no way you don’t know where Frank Santini lives.”

“Glad to hear you’re not underestimating me, Red,” Len drawled, patting his ankle.

“So how’d you do it? How’d you convince the Trickster to blow up Santini’s house?”

Len winked at him. “Barry. As they say in my favorite movie: let it go.”