The clock that towers over Iron Heights reads 5:50 AM, but Iris knows it's in fact 5:43 according to her cell phone. A slow anger creeps over her at this discrepancy: it would be like the institution to blatantly alter the clock, to deprive its inmates of the total time they were due with their visitors, but Iris swears she'll get those seven minutes she's owed with Barry even if they have to drag her from him.
She'd received a phone call from the prison last week informing her that Barry had been granted an extended family visit for his good behavior and manual labor, along with a warning that this would be the only date and time afforded, whether or not she was available. Iris would have been naive not to recognize this as one of the obstacles thrown her way in an attempt to discourage her from coming, scheduling the visit before sunrise first of all, and reciting a long list of rules and regulations second, from required identification to permitted attire. She was also advised by the official to arrive fifteen minutes in advance, but was clever enough to drive out an entire hour earlier. There was no way the security check she would be subjected to would take a mere quarter of an hour, and she recognizes with revulsion that this was a lie told to the families of prisoners to shorten their visits even further.
There was also no way she would allow anything to deter her from seeing Barry uninterrupted for an entire three hours. Their short daily conversations through glass would never be enough to sustain her, and while she knows this visit won't be either, the chance to touch him again for even just a moment is too alluring a privilege after a month apart.
Sure enough, from the time she enters the facility to the time she's following the guard meant to lead her to Barry, it takes nearly an hour for Iris to complete her paperwork and undergo a body search. She had nearly teared up at how invasively she was questioned and prodded. One official took the marriage certificate and identification she presented her with and didn't return it until after she was searched, a move she couldn't be sure was legitimate, but was too humiliated after being frisked to protest, plus she feared any sort of objection would prevent her from seeing Barry. The tears eventually did fall when she grasped that Barry's treatment at the hands of the same staff must be even worse than how they just regarded her.
Her tears now are ones of relief and rapture however, in anticipation of Barry. The guard takes her to a series of trailers outside the main prison structure, stopping in front of the fourth one they pass.
"You have three hours," he grunts, struggling to pinpoint which key from his jingling collection unlocks the door in question. Iris bounces on her heels impatiently, half believing the guard was deliberate in taking his time.
She's proven right when he faces her just before opening the door to survey her hungrily, his eyes shamelessly raking over her body, his smile sinister.
"Isn't he a lucky guy?" he sneers.
Iris feels her pulse accelerating, fear of his disturbing glare coursing through her.
"He's sure going to get it up real quick," the guard smirks. "All I needed was one look at you. Got a solid nut on my bathroom break. Make his time worthwhile, Darling."
His subsequent laughter doesn't even sound real to her as she freezes, horrified at his vulgarity. She's certain that she would have run away or made a scene had Barry not been waiting for her on the other side of the door. Iris hurriedly turns the metal knob and rushes inside, slamming the heavy door closed, trembling at what just ensued.
"Iris," and that's when she stops shaking and falls into her husband's arms for the first time in a month, touching him as she wraps herself around his torso, smelling him as she buries her nose in his chest, tasting him as her lips meet his. She decides then, as they kiss desperately, not to allow whatever happened beyond these four trailer walls to penetrate this, to taint this moment with Barry, to diminish the valuable time they were allowed together.
It's Barry who finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to hers.
"That was something out of a movie," he chuckles lightly.
Iris grins back wryly, aware he's trying to alleviate the heaviness surrounding them, likely for her sake, but her eyes well as she takes in his state, jumper tattered and soiled, limbs thin and frail, face pale and unshaven. She sees the moment his pupils register her true emotions.
"Iris," he starts gently, cupping her cheek in his palm. "I'm okay…"
"I'm not," she interjects, covering the hand on her face with hers, her tears spilling now, prompted by the absence of his wedding band, as inmates weren't permitted any possessions of value.
"I'm not okay knowing that you're in here suffering, especially when you haven't done anything wrong."
"And I'm not okay knowing that you're not okay," he laughs softly, leaning over to brush his lips against her forehead before pulling her into another embrace.
"How can you smile?" Iris whispers, blinking up at him, struggling to fathom how he isn't as torn up as she is.
Barry takes her face in both his hands this time, his gaze earnest.
"I'm with you," he murmurs, eyes shining "How can I not?"
She half sobs half huffs in frustration at his sentiment, but decides to drop it, resting her head against him, letting him hold her in silence, basking in his feel and his essence. While he rubs her back soothingly, she inspects the trailer for the first time. The room resembles a poor quality dormitory, the fluorescent lighting reflected in the tiled floors. A small, cheap refrigerator is positioned against one wall while an an old television set hovers from another. The hallmark, a simple bed with white linens, is framed by two chairs and topped with a shower caddy that Iris notes contains soap, folded towels, and condom packets.
She's reminded of the guard's crude remark to her just moments ago, and before she knows it, she's quivering again.
Barry, of course, takes heed.
"Are you cold?" he quizzes, massaging her shoulders at a quicker pace, as though hoping to warm her up.
The trailer was certainly chilly, as they were essentially outdoors in February temperatures, but that was far from the reason she was shuddering. Nonetheless, she plays along.
"It's freezing," she agrees.
Barry envelopes her in his arms more tightly.
"We could get under the blankets," he recommends, gesturing toward the bed.
This only heightens Iris's trepidation. Although she knows his suggestion is innocent, she figured that she and Barry would utilize some of their time together in bed for another purpose. In fact she had been looking forward to that, despite the slight discomfort she knew would await her at the prospect of doing so under such circumstances. She fully expected to overcome any and all apprehension in favor of appreciating the chance to be with Barry again.
Until actually arriving and witnessing the reality surrounding her. The guard's harassment had been the final straw. Suddenly, she's not sure she can go through with this, not when men like him were wandering outside just feet away, not when the barbarity of being granted permission to sleep with her husband strikes her, not when Barry wasn't even supposed to be here in the first place.
It's a testament to the true brutality of Iron Heights, to the abuse that Barry must endure regularly that being with him again can't even console her, and Iris weeps at this awareness.
A tender hand meets the small of her back.
"Please don't cry, Iris," Barry pleads, separating from her to examine her. "We're together now."
"I know, I know," she sniffs, wiping away at her tears, dismayed that she's already losing precious minutes with him. "I just can't help worrying about you."
"Well, at least worry about me when you leave?" he offers with an adorably lopsided grin. "Cause then I actually will be sad again."
She knows she should chuckle, but she can't at the truth behinds his words. The reminder that they'll be separated in a few hours compels her to cry even harder, as does the prospect of leaving Barry behind at the mercy of prison staff like the guard who harassed her.
Concern replaces the jest on Barry's face.
"Iris, you're scaring me," he starts. "What's wrong?"
Iris hiccups, wondering if she should relieve herself by telling him even though it might upset him and burden him when she was meant to be here to cheer him up.
"Nothing," she elects, forcing a wry smile. "Nothing you need to worry about. I just-you don't belong in this awful place, Barry."
He hesitates, but seems to decide not to push her further.
"As long as you're okay," he concedes, studying her carefully. Then, without warning, he captures her chin between his fingers and kisses her with such keenness, Iris nearly collapses. His moan into her mouth is so desperate it shocks her, in light of his composure just before. She can't recall him ever displaying a neediness this great, and it strikes her then that no matter how much he insisted to her that things weren't that bad, they must be even worse than she had believed to warrant such an unraveling on his part. She can't fathom how he managed to be so worried over her when his need for her was clearly greater than hers for him. The resolve and resilience he had displayed during daily visits and just now were meant to assure her, but even Barry had a breaking point, evidenced by his helpless movement against her.
He pulls away from her so suddenly, she gasps harshly at having to breathe air again.
"Iris," he pants laboriously, his chest rising as he struggles to articulate. "Can-can we…"
He closes his eyes and swallows in attempt to compose himself enough to convey his intention to her: "I need-"
She silences him with a forceful kiss, and given his feral groan in response, she can tell he's thankful for her understanding. She doesn't care anymore about the guard or the inhumanity of the situation-she vows to pull herself together to revel in her husband, for herself, but most importantly, for him.
She figures confining herself to him should help dispel anything other than Barry from her concentration. Iris presses her figure into his to drown out any hint of their surroundings, to pretend she isn't in Iron Heights, so that she's immune to anything but him. This prospect becomes easier once the floor melts away with Barry sweeping her off her feet in a single smooth move, turning to carry her to the bed. She refuses to separate from him through their motions, is even reluctant to open her eyes once her back hits the mattress, the bedsprings squeaking as she goes. She'll brave a glance once Barry's inside her, once she's certain the only thing her gaze will meet is his face if she looks up, and his body if she looks down.
Cool air breezes over her skin briefly as Barry exposes her chest before his warm breath takes its place. He kisses all the way down the line running between her breasts and her ribs. Her eyes still shut, Iris relishes the delicate press of his lips on her, blood flooding her core at the thought of his lips elsewhere-
Her pleasant thoughts are disrupted by a rough pounding, forcing Iris out of the protective barrier she'd built under Barry. She opens her eyes unwillingly to see Barry looking over his shoulder, detaching himself from her to go answer the door. The heat follows him, dissipating promptly, and the chill that takes over her again is a cruel reminder of not only their tragic setting, but of how inescapable it seemed, despite how much she tried to ignore it. She sits up abruptly and covers herself with the bed's rugged blanket, tears blurring her vision as she watches Barry pull the trailer door aside.
She's grateful she's concealed once a guard sticks his head into the room, and panic detonates inside her only to quell in relief when she realizes it isn't the same guard from before, though she's still perturbed at having been interrupted.
"Tower officer," he waves casually, not even the slightest bit ashamed or apologetic at having barged in on them. "Just doing my head count. Sorry, I'm late," he grunts, not sounding sorry at all.
"Yes, Sir," Barry answers cordially, albeit through gritted teeth, evidently also irritated.
The door falls shut behind him when he leaves and Barry exhales, "I swear they do that on purpose."
Iris agrees without giving any indication that she does, still wrapped in the rough beige blanket, disappointed that the atmosphere had been stained again. She feared now more than ever that the first guard could barge in at any moment. Desperate to hide her worry from Barry, she blinks to dispel her tears, but he's already noticed.
"Iris," he commands gently, his gaze knowing. "Something's up."
She scoffs as though to convey that the ridiculousness of a conjugal visit as a means for them to be together was what was up, but he isn't buying it. He sits beside her and clasps her hands, his eyes entreating.
She sighs.
"Earlier, a guard-said something to me."
"What? Who?" he demands.
"Nothing, Barry. It's stupid…hitting on me. I'm fine."
"Who was it?" he repeats, his jaw tightening.
"Honestly, I don't even know," she admits. "I was just taken aback, that's all."
"Yeah, well, you seem more than taken aback," Barry fumes. "It was the officer that brought you here, wasn't it? If he shows his face again-"
"Barry, I promise I'm feeling better," she assures him, and truly, she was. Letting him know what had been bothering her had assuaged her slightly. "I was just on edge that he would come in or-be watching or something." She shudders at the thought.
"Shhh, it's okay," he croons, his anger departing just as soon as it had arrived so that he could tend to her. "We don't have to do anything if you're not feeling it."
That was the kind of husband she had: everything he ever was was molded and crafted to her.
"What do you want?" she asks, combing her fingers through his hair fondly. Barry leans into her touch, adjusting to kiss her palm.
"What do I want? I mean, I'm okay just looking at you," he chuckles. He pulls her close against him so that he's the one playing idly with her hair. "I just wanna be close to you."
Iris shifts to glance up at him, his gaze so unabashedly loving that it was a marvel he had been seething just moments ago. She isn't naive to think him dropping the subject of the guard meant he wasn't going to extract his revenge. One thing she was certain of was that the moment she stepped out of Iron Heights today, he'd turn over every corner of the facility to find the guard and make him shed a tear for each she did, but for now, all his attention would be on ensuring that another one never left her eyes, even if she didn't want to go any further than this.
But she did.
She squeezes him back.
"I want you," she declares, stroking the coarse scruff on his chin. "We might not get a chance like this again. I'll get out of my head, Bear. I promise."
He gives her a small smile before bending down to kiss her chastely. When their lips separate, she notes the twinkle in his eye.
"What?" she grins cautiously.
His smile widens.
"Remember Bali?" he whispers, like their honeymoon was a secret between them. "Remember our last night on the beach?"
Now her face breaks into a beam, playing back their impromptu decision to have sex by the ocean during what was meant to be their final evening stroll along the beach for the week before they returned back home the next day. They hadn't any towels or anything with them, as they had gotten into the habit of walking hand in hand across the shore every night after dinner before retiring to their hotel suite, but that hadn't stopped them from stripping bare and making love right then and there in the sand.
Barry brings his knuckles to her cheek, caressing the smile lines etched into her skin.
"There we go," he murmurs, and he takes her face in his hands and swallows her mouth with zeal. This time, Iris is the one to moan desperately, cupping his own face to steady herself against him, to be as near to him as she can.
They work together to wrestle him out of his jumper. He has to pull away to step out of it with an awkward chuckle that becomes a hiss with the tug of his boxers down the reddened head of his cock. He appears more engorged than she's ever seen him, a consequence of the weight he had lost, but Iris does her best to divert her focus from that, instead sitting up on her knees to kiss him again, her arms finding their place around his neck.
With Barry naked before her, it seemed at last the events of their circumstances had disappeared to make way for the weightless desire between them. She twists out of the blanket so that he can resume undressing her. The clothes of her lower body go first, presumably because Barry may have anticipated she was still hesitant to fully strip, but she brings his palms to her bra, prompting him to yank the cups downward to free her breasts.
"I'm sorry I didn't wear anything special," she's suddenly conscious of, as he tosses the cotton garment aside.
"I don't need anything," he heaves, the ardor in his voice sending an abrupt rush through her: "I just need you."
Goosebumps tiptoe across her skin from the cold sheathing her body, but then his fingers stroke her rhythmically, setting her on fire. All thoughts of the guard, of their context, of anything other than Barry's touch fade. When her gaze falls on his face, she finds his eyes closed in concentration, his hands deftly fondling her from memory alone, as though he wanted to be certain he was still familiar with her flesh and with how to bring it to life.
The twine of her thighs around his wrist prove he's just as skilled as always.
"Barry," she whimpers, wanting more of him.
She reaches down for his length and presses the tip of him into her until he lowers himself, sinking as far as he can go. He doesn't retract his hand from between her legs, even as he commences his thrusts, seemingly persistent in his mission to recall the texture and trace of her.
Their union feels as novel as it does familiar, reminds her of that final night he slipped into her by the water on their honeymoon. She wants more memories of that night, wants to recreate it as best she can, so she guides Barry to the chair, going down with him, like they had fallen together on the beach, not wanting to separate the instant they had joined. They had opted to fuck while he sat up with her positioned in his lap after a few trial thrusts had resulted in playful "ouches" from him and giggles from her, the sand too rough for him to lay completely supine against it while she ground into him.
There was no sand this time, no waves, no warmth, but there was him and her, and that's enough for Iris to part her legs to straddle either side of where he sits upright, fastening herself to him as they push and plunge and levitate together. He had already primed her with his hands that still hadn't left her, as if he wanted to make sure that no matter what their bodies did, they would at least be touching, she would at least have secured her own pleasure, but now she needs release, by his cock or by his fingers.
She bucks urgently, seeking that brief moment of bliss, lamenting its brevity, but bliss is still bliss-
When she finally spasms, she's startled at its potency, at its slow, soothing luxury. She hadn't taken her connection to Barry through two avenues to be this indulgent, but then she looks down at him, at his focused reverence of her, and it dawns on her that he's tempered time like he had in the courtroom, still for her, only now it's to extend her crest.
"Oh Barry," she breathes, her eyes welling from her euphoria, from her gratitude, from her love for him, and his gaze turns glassy as he watches her register what he's doing.
"I told you all I wanted to do was look at you," he whispers.
She rides her peak over and over and over until she wants to return back to him. Somehow, Barry knows when to stop, and he eases them back to reality, which she feels a little braver confronting now than she did walking in.
The transition back to real time is more gradual than that of the courtroom, which she had been abruptly thrown back into. The normal passage of time then had seemed so swift compared to Flash Time, but now, basking in Barry's warmth, in the comfort and safety of his arms, in his languid lips against her forehead, it almost felt as though the world was still on pause, like it was just the two of them. They stay like this for the remainder of her visit, exchanging soft kisses and sighs. At one point, she takes to marking every mole on his chest with a kiss, at another, he sucks the nipple of her left breast tenderly, his lashes sweeping over her skin.
Eventually, their three hours expire, and Iris has to head back to the city. They dress the other with quiet acceptance, and a third officer, different from the one who had harassed her, Iris breathes a sigh of relief, comes to fetch her. Even better is that this guard seems to take pity on them and allows Barry to escort her back across the premises before reaching the main guest area. The sun had risen by now, and Iris feels perhaps it's poetic in its signal that there were some good people in proximity to Barry. She hugs him for one final time, promising that she'd be back tomorrow for their daily visit. He promises he'll fulfill his mopping duties as best he can to earn the pleasure of her company once again, his last attempt to draw a smile from her. He would never stop trying to make her feel better. Of that, Iris was more certain than of anything else besides how much she loved him.
With her arm outstretched, clutching his hand until it was absolutely time to let him go, Iris turns around and walks out of Iron Heights, filled less with dejection for Barry, and more with renewed vigor to free him. It was what she owed herself, and what she owed him, for all the love she felt for him, and for all that he had ever shown her.