A/N: It's finally here! The fic reward for reaching $200 in the #IStandWithCandicePatton campaign that ended about a month ago. I just get feels when I watch WA's last domestic scene in 3x23. I just wish it could've stayed beautiful and magical and happy for them there. *sigh* So, this fic picks up roughly halfway through that scene and they don't get interrupted, because that's just RUDE. Anyway, this fic is all smut. If you'd be interested in seeing a part 2 of them being cuddly and cute and soft in the post coital glow, lemme know, and I'll put that on my roster. ;)

*Many thanks to sendtherain for beta'ing! :D

*I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

"Are you ready to be Iris West-Allen?"

The sparkle of the diamond ring was as dazzling as the first time she'd seen it. She couldn't take her eyes off it, feeling her heart pounding in her chest and butterflies fill her stomach even though they both already knew the answer.

Still, she remembered how Barry had tried to change the future so she'd have a ring on her finger the night she was supposed to die, and how she'd solidified that very future by giving the ring to her dad for safe keeping, even after her and Barry had made up.

She never wanted that ring off her finger again.

Taking it from between his fingers, she held it up deliberately, making a vow and a promise as surely as she had when things had seemed so dire less than forty-eight hours prior.

"I've always been Iris West-Allen." His quiet chuckle warmed her heart as she slid the band on to her ring finger. "I've always been yours."

She leaned in to kiss him, taking immense pleasure in the feel of his lips against hers. It was warm, soft, inviting. She could feel the slight curve of his lips turned up in a smile. He was happy. She was happy. Savitar was defeated. And while there was a slight heaviness from HR's sacrifice, she knew they were going to be okay.

They were going to get married. Barry wasn't going to fall into despair. She was going to get that Pulitzer. They were going to start a family and spend each day protecting the people of Central City while raising their children as leaders for the next generation – or simply as moral individuals they knew they would be proud of.

"I'm happy," she said against his lips, then pulled back a little so she could look into his eyes, cup his face, sift his hair between her fingers. "Even after so much darkness and death, I'm happy."

"Me too," he said, smiling back at her, letting her touch him, caress him, relaxing into the fact that she was sitting across from him alive instead of six feet under where she would've been if HR hadn't stepped in.

He would feel guilty later about how yet another member of the team had sacrificed themselves when it should've been him. Now guilt, sadness, regret, anger couldn't touch him. He was in love and engaged to the love of his life once more. Nothing could rob him from the joy he felt in this moment just being with her.

Iris scooted closer and kissed him again, this time lingering, savoring the taste of his lips and then his tongue as it crossed over to hers and slid along every surface inside her mouth. His hands came to grasp her face to get more access, to go deeper as he stole her breath away, angling his face from one side of her mouth to the other.

Iris wanted to get closer – needed to – as much as he did. She closed the final gap between them, straddling his hips as she came to sit on his lap. Barry's hands moved over her back, gripping her curves over her form-fitting dress.

Iris came up for air, and his lips latched onto her neck.

"Oh, my God, Barry," she gasped, reaching down to pull the skirt of her dress up over her hips so she could spread her legs farther, push deeper into the couch cushions.

"Iris," he murmured, one final kiss to the crook of her neck before he tipped her face down so he could kiss her lips again.

"I love you so much," she whispered, kissing her way down his jawline to behind his ear where she flicked her tongue until the sporadic quick shrug of his shoulders told her she'd hit that sensitive mark.

"God, I love you too."

He slipped his hands beneath her already bunched up dress and squeezed her ass cheeks in his palms. Iris bit her bottom lip to stifle a moan, her mind too clouded by lust to remind her there was no need to be quiet. They deserved this so much; to be wild in each other's arms without the threat of death lingering in the shadows.

"We're wearing too many clothes," she said breathlessly, pulling back enough to tug at his tie and then abandon it to pull her dress over her head when the former task proved to be too difficult.

Barry chuckled lightly and easily untied the garment, tossing it off to the side and unbuttoning his shirt quickly, though not speedster-fast, no matter how tempted he was to do it. It was their first time making love after everything that had happened. He didn't want to speed through it if Iris wanted to take things slow. He wanted to savor every moment, even if he was as turned on as she was.

Iris' nipples jutted out into her bra, hard and aching, as much as his length was, still buried beneath his dress pants and boxers.

Iris' pout when she saw the task at hand told him maybe he'd overestimated her desire for a slower pace.

"Why are you wearing so many more layers than me?"

The whine in her voice brought a smile to his face, but he quickly shed the rest of his clothes and rid her of her undergarments as well, even sliding a condom into place in case she really wanted to speed things up.

She laughed, hovering above nothing for no more than a second until Barry was under her again, fully naked. When she saw his eyes were glued to her breasts, she looked down and found herself fully naked too.

"Well, would you look at that," she said, cupping one breast in her hand and watching as his eyes dilated, darkening with a lusty heat that wet her core more than it already was. "I guess we're all ready," she said huskily.

He looked up at her, those heart eyes she adored briefly surfacing.

"Did you want to take things slow?" he rasped, and she could tell he was holding himself in check just in case that was what she wished.

She cupped his face again and slowly shook her head.

"Not on your life, Barry Allen."

They moved at the same time, a kiss more passionate than all the others, groping more deliberate, caresses covering more skin, whispers of each other's names growing ever more fervent. Finally, Iris was grinding against her lover, brushing his dick so he moaned and slipped deeper into the couch, repositioning himself so she could easily lower herself on to his hardened member.

The hiss of ecstasy when he had filled her to the hilt made time stand still. They could feel nothing, hear nothing, but skin on skin and breaths exchanged in the small space between them.

Iris gripped Barry's shoulders and then slowly began to move. The ache inside her was so strong that her grinding strides quickly turned hard and fast. The pleasure was overwhelming, and yet she still longed for more.

"God, I wish I had your speed," she whimpered, pressing her forehead to his.

That was all it took for him to go from sitting back and watching how erotically she moved on him to actively working his hips and thighs to thrust up into her. He clasped his hands over her ass cheeks again, giving her the additional speed she craved. Shared moans and cries returned as his head fell back onto the couch

He brought his head up after a while and pressed kisses to her breasts, kneading one nipple between his fingers as he sucked the other, inhaling as much of the mound that would fit inside his mouth.

"Barry," she purred, arching up into him to give him more access and then changing her movements from rough grinding to steady bouncing, moving up and down on his dick till it was slick with her and swelling with arousal. "You're so hard," she moaned. "So fucking hard."

Curses spilling passed her lips got him harder, and his speed increased.

"Fuck, Iris." His fingers dug into her skin, assisting her further, making her wild in his arms.

"I can't believe I have you. I can't believe you're mine."

Sweet words were for the aftermath. Now was the time for sheer pleasure. Raw, sexual pleasure and reaching that peak.

His need for the friction she offered was insatiable. Without warning, he flipped them so she was lying on her back, pillows tumbling to the floor as he hovered over her. For one moment he was incredibly still. He stared down at her, willing her to share that moment with him before they fucked into wild oblivion, their orgasms washing out any sense of time or space beyond what was happening between them.

"I love you," he said, a heated, lusty whisper.

She nodded, swallowed, didn't look away for a second.

"I love you, too."

He felt her heaving breasts pushing up against his chest, his dick lodged passed her wet folds, and lust swamped all else.

He fucked into her with abandon, one leg propped on the floor as his hands clutched at the arm and back of the couch, allowing him to thrust at full speed – or as fast as he knew she could handle.

Iris held on for dear life, relying on her nails when his back proved too slick to grab onto. His hair was matted with sweat, his whole body flexed with the endurance he fought to uphold. Her ankles were crossed, a knot closing the legs wrapped around his waist. She moved against him, seeking to give him additional pleasure, but there was no need. It only moments later that she crested. Not long after he did as well, his cry of release music to her ears, nearly eliciting a second orgasm from her before he had finished.

He was shaking a little, fighting to not collapse on top of her. So, she weaved her fingers through his hair, kissed the side of his face and whispered lovingly.

"It's okay, Barry. Just let go."

His forehead dropped onto her shoulder and carefully he managed to pull his arms down so they wrapped around her and didn't create any momentum that would send them rolling to the floor. He adjusted their positions so they were both snugly cuddled against each other, breathing heavily and sweating, but content, happy, satiated, in love.

"I love you, Iris," he said again. She would never tire of hearing it.

"I love you, too, baby," she responded, with a press of lips to his skin.

When their sweat dried, a chill would creep across their naked bodies and they would be forced to move or at least retrieve a blanket to drape across them as they slept. But for now, they lay tangled up in each other, limbs intertwined, and beating hearts pressed skin-to-skin.

"Iris West-Allen," he whispered after a while, probably assuming she'd drifted off to sleep.

But she hadn't, and she smiled against him. Nuzzling closer, she let him assume what he liked. The words floated through her mind nonetheless.

Yours. Always yours.