Title: The Kind Of Man I Am
Author: freakazoid_13
Beta'ed by: TuTywyll
Summary: Dr. Harrison Wells wants Barry Allen, and he's going to get him. That's just the kind of man he is. Earth-2 Harrison Wells / Earth-2 Barry Allen, mild AU of a literal Alternate Universe.
Rating: E for Explicit or M for Mature (depending on who you ask)
Warnings: M/M, means two dudes getting' it on, if you don't like then don't read. Mild violence, dub-con, swearing, graphic sex, mild homophobia, mild preachiness at the very end, use of "old-timey" terms, sexual harassment in the workplace.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Flash in any of its forms and gain no profit from this other than the warming of my heart every time you leave a comment. The views expressed by the characters do not necessarily reflect the views of the author.
A/N: It's that time of the year again for a new season of the Flash, and with it comes…. An Earth-2 Barrison that nobody asked for! Am I the only one who's SUPER obsessed with Earth-2 Barry Allen? He's so adorable and bumbling! Anyway, because Earth-2 is a strange mix of the late-40's-early-50's and futuristic, I thought it would be realistic (and interesting) if they still had a 70's/80's-ish view of homosexuality, so there'll be some period appropriate internalized-externalized mild homophobia. I hope that doesn't freak you out. This is my first fic in the DC universe so be kind and leave a comment telling me how great I am. Additionally, I've titled my chapters after classic songs from the 30's-50's, which I thought was appropriate and also I just love those songs lol. If you're interested in them, message me and I can tell you the singer/album. Phewph! That was a long author's note! And now, on with the show!
Part 1: I Put a Spell On You
Dr. Harrison Wells knew what he wanted from Dr. Barry Allen before he'd even been aware that the young scientist had stayed late, yet again, to work on his and Dr. Hewitt's Quark matter destabilization syphon project. He'd known before he paged Dr. Allen's lab to ask him to come up to his office, to "have a word". And he'd known as he sipped from his thimble-full tumbler of Scotch, watching the security feed from the camera just outside his office as Dr. Allen stood on the other side of the door, taking deep breaths and surreptitiously smoothing out his neatly combed hair before finally gathering the nerve to knock on Wells' door.
"Come in," Wells called out, switching off his computer's monitor and rising to stand by the shuttered window, his back to the door as he heard it open and close carefully.
"Dr. - Dr. Wells?" Dr. Allen's voice cracked on the last syllable. The young scientist cleared his throat nervously. "You asked to see me, sir?"
Wells took his time, swallowed the last mouthful of Scotch, set the tumbler down on the window sill. He knew this game well. He'd played it more times than he could count. He could see the moves in his mind, like pieces on a chessboard - and chess had always been his game. He knew the right places for all the right pauses, the heightening of nerves, the furtive glances, the tantalizing touches. He knew how to play this game - and he always won.
"That's right, Dr. Allen," Wells said at last, his voice raspy from the Scotch, low for the hush in the office. Outside his high-rise window the evening lights of Central City flickered and waned, sparkled and shone, casting the dimmed office in horizontal bars of acidic orange. Moving cars, speeding sky-trams, countless lights in countless windows of hundreds of buildings. Life, the heart of the city ever beating. He turned, fixed Dr. Allen with a steely, blue stare over the top of his black-rimmed glasses. The lanky young man fidgeted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, shifting from one wing-tipped shoe to the other, straightening and re-straightening his ridiculous tartan bowtie.
"I noticed you've been putting in quite a bit of over-time lately, Dr. Allen," Wells said, making sure to keep his tone satisfactorily cryptic.
Dr. Allen took his own meaning from the innocuous sentence, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "I - I know, I'm sorry, I - I've just been so absorbed in my work, before I know it the labs are empty and the lights are turning off." He laughs - giggles rather - nervously. "I promise, I won't let it happen again."
"Oh, but you misunderstand me, Dr. Allen," Wells begins, languidly moving around his desk to stand in front of the bumbling scientist, not unlike a predatory cat circling in on its prey - an apt metaphor, in Well's opinion. "Here at STAR Labs, going that extra mile puts you ahead of your peers, it ensures your success with us. I didn't get to where I am today by working from nine to five." Here Allen smiled, sweetly, coyly, his grey-green eyes shining with undisguised adoration behind his thin, gold-wired glasses. He really was breathtakingly beautiful. Despite his questionable fashion choices, he was tall and lean, his delicate white skin dotted artfully with moles, his pink lips invitingly shaped, his large doe eyes framed by long, dark lashes that brushed his high cheekbones. Wells wanted to run his thumb over those cheekbones and wouldn't be surprised if they were sharp enough to cut.
He could see the boy slowly beginning to swell with pride, just under his lucent skin like a warm glow. Wells could see the pieces moving in his head, the Rook moving into place behind Barry's unwitting Queen. Time to press his advantage. "Don't think your hard work has gone unnoticed, Dr. Allen. On the contrary, we're all very impressed." Wells slid his glasses from his face and folded them as he spoke, aware that his gaze was far more compelling when unobstructed. "I'm very impressed."
Wells could see the moment his words registered. He could see it in the blush that bloomed on the boy's cheeks, spreading across his face, turning white skin red, equal parts embarrassment and unabashed delight. His grin was practically blinding, all white teeth, his exquisite eyes squinted under his glasses. In Wells' mind the Queen fell beautifully.
"That -" Allen started, voice too high. He collected himself and tried again. "Thank you so much, Dr. Wells. That - I have always wanted to hear that - from you, I -" He paused, embarrassment tipping the scale over delight. "I've never told you this but, before I came to work here, for you, I was your biggest fan. Your thesis on String Phenomenology was revolutionary to me. I - I actually had it laminated so I could keep it with me - I just want to - I've always wanted to - emulate your -"
"That's fascinating," Wells cut him off before the eager young man could embarrass himself any further. He could see the nervous energy swirling through the boy's veins like an unmitigated swarm of bees. He was so close, checkmate within reach, the King standing oblivious to his Bishop's eminent attack. He need only move across the board, reach out, and take it. His body emulated his thoughts, bringing him closer to Allen, slow and deliberate. "I won an award for that thesis, you know."
"Oh, I know!" Dr. Allen blurted out, intent on putting his foot in his mouth before the conversation could conclude. "I read about it, in the Physics quarterly? Their exposé was riveting -"
"Would you care to see it?" Wells didn't wait for Allen to answer, the widening of his already enormous eyes was response enough. He gestured over Allen's shoulder, to the back wall of the office. "It's right over there."
Dr. Allen whipped around fast enough to cause his long, slender, infuriatingly bitable neck damage. "It's beautiful," Allen breathed in awe. Beautiful indeed, Wells thought, coming up directly behind the physicist. Not that the award was, because the framed certificate on the wall was actually a gift for his humanitarian work, but Allen wasn't going to be looking at that award very closely.
Wells stood so close behind the boy that he could feel the heat emanating off of him. He lifted sure fingers to Allen's shoulder, ghosting across the corduroy fabric of his jacket, up to the stiffly pressed collar of his shirt, onto the soft skin of his delectable neck. Dr. Allen stiffened fractionally, surprised, and turned under Wells' hand, finding himself face to face, practically nose to nose, with his idol. His lovely pink lips parted while confusion brought his expressive eyebrows together. "Dr. Wells…?"
Wells couldn't help but breathe out a soft laugh. The boy seemed incapable of saying his name without his voice cracking. It was maddeningly endearing. Wells readjusted his hand so it held Allen's throat, thumb on his pulse point, fingers wrapping around towards the nape of his neck, his grip firm but not constricting. It was a show of dominance, to hold someone's life in your hands in such a blatant way. For Allen to acquiesce meant he trusted Wells with his life, meant he was giving it to him willingly, even if he wasn't consciously aware of it. He felt Allen's Adam's apple bob under his palm with a deep swallow, but the young man made no move to extricate himself from the hold. His eyes were wide as a frightened deer; pupils blown, his pulse fluttering under Wells' thumb, but here he was. Not even lifting a finger to stop him. Check.
His experiment having been successful, Wells released his grip, moving his hand upwards until his fingers were buried in Allen's surprisingly thick, soft hair and grazed his thumb across his supple bottom lip. Dr. Allen's eyes fluttered shut. And mate.
Wells closed the short distance between them and kissed him. It was soft, gentle, unthreatening. Dr. Allen had the temperament of an excitable rabbit: any sudden moves would startle him right out of Wells' hands.
Allen's lips responded slowly, sluggishly, as though he were in a daze. When Wells flicked his tongue against the boy's lips Allen gasped and jerked suddenly, as if to pull away, but Wells wasn't having it. He'd come this far, and clearly the boy was keen, he just needed a little encouragement and a firm hand. Wells exploited the opportunity of Allen's open mouth and pushed his tongue inside, holding the young man in place with a tight grip on his hair. Allen took in a another sharp breath but this one was less from surprise and more from pleasure and Wells knew that now was the time to press his advantage.
He plundered the boy's mouth, exploring every inch of it, running his tongue along the insides of his teeth, pressing it against his still surprise-slacked tongue, while using his body to push his slender frame back until he hit the rear wall next to that inane certificate with a muted thud. Wells kept up his relentless pace, jaw working Allen's, coaxing him into a response. And he did. He made a sound like a mewling kitten, fisted his thin fingers in the fabric of Wells' blazer and melted into him, his tongue rolling with Wells', their teeth crashing against each other as Allen tilted his head one way, then another, angling for ideal access. His body undulated under Wells, back arching off the wall. It was too much, too unexpectedly good. Wells lost his composure and growled, releasing Allen's mouth to kiss and nip across his jaw, to capture his ear in his mouth. Dr. Allen made a startling sound, half breathy moan and half whimper, that shot directly to Wells' groin.
Wells forced Allen's thighs apart with his knee and pushed himself between them. Wells groaned in the young man's ear when his crotch came into abrupt contact with Allen's undisguisable hardness. He sucked on the boy's neck as he rolled his hips into him, delighting in the gasps and whimpers that reverberated in Allen's throat before escaping his mouth and breaking the silence of the office.
Dr. Allen's arms were around Wells' waist; leverage to help him push his hips in time with Wells' languid thrusts. Wells could feel the heat coming off Barry Allen's skin, feverish, intoxicating. He wanted to feel it. He wanted that hot skin against his own. All of it. He needed it. Now.
Wells tugged Allen's bowtie until it loosened and ripped it out of his starched collar roughly, kissing at the hollow of the young scientist's throat as he unbuttoned the white shirt. But then Allen made a jerky little motion with his pelvis, the friction against Wells' straining erection enough to drive him insane, and all bets were off. He abandoned the boy's shirt in favor of unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning his trousers -
"St-stop," Barry Allen croaked out, and at first Wells' lust addled mind couldn't comprehend the meaning of those words, not until Allen repeated, louder but still high and shaky, "Wells, stop."
Wells growled in frustration. Frustration with himself more than Allen. He'd let himself get carried away, he'd pushed too far. He had to reel himself back in, re-establish the mindset he'd begun with. Slow and steady, no sudden moves. Patience. Patience wins chess, not recklessness.
He released the fastener of Barry's slacks and cupped his jaw, kissing that sinful mouth again-
"Stop," Allen repeated, pushing (not hard but forcefully) against Wells shoulders. It wouldn't have been enough to move him, not really, but the action was surprising enough that Wells allowed himself to be pushed away. "What - what are we doing? What am I doing!" Allen's voice went up several octaves. "I can't - we - we can't - I - I - I'm married - and you're - you're Dr. Wells, you're my boss and - and - and - I'm married!"
Wells sighed as he let Barry Allen squeeze out from between him and the wall, fumbling his belt buckle with shaky hands. It appeared Wells' impatience had triggered Allen's "abort mission" sequence. He leaned against the wall, still warm from the young man's body, and watched as the scientist paced back and forth in a small, irregular circle, stammering ineffectively, his face flushed bright red, his formerly neat hair now invitingly tousled. "I mean really - the nerve - to call me up here only to - to - to manhandle me - what kind of man do you think I am - sir -" He added the formality as an afterthought, with emphasis as if it were an insult, and Wells resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Not to mention, Wells thought, Allen's argument was rather deflated by the fact that he still had a very obvious erection tenting his trousers.
Allen noticed the direction of Wells' gaze and flushed a deeper shade of crimson, angling himself behind one of the chairs in front of Wells' desk in order to block the view of his body's betrayal. He held out an accusatory, but shaky, finger. "Th-that proves nothing!" Wells raised a dubious eyebrow, making Allen sputter. "That is simple biology - an unconscious physiological response to stimulation -" Allen realized at the last second that he was making a poor choice of words and decided to return to more solid footing.
"I - I will have you know that I am married - " You don't say, Wells thought acerbically. "Happily, I might add! I, sir, love my wife and this - this - this - tomfoolery is completely -" He came to an abrupt halt, searching for the right word. The pause lengthened to the point that it was embarrassing for both parties. His blush deepened to an impossible hue, something in the tomato spectrum, and he finally screeched out, "INAPPROPRIATE!"
He made to storm off, got to the door, put his hand to his throat, realized he was missing his bowtie and stalked back. With all the dignity he could muster (which, really, he didn't have very much left), he bent down and picked the tartan scrap of cloth off the floor. When he righted himself, he held the tie out to Wells and shook it emphatically. "I am very disappointed in you, Dr. Wells." And here Wells truly struggled to restrain his laugh, because of course Barry Allen's voice cracked on his name.
With perfectly adorable hottiness, Dr. Barry Allen strode across his office and walked out - without slamming the door, of course, because Dr. Allen was many things but disrespectful he was not.
Wells took a second to rest against the wall and shake his head in amusement. He walked unhurriedly back to his desk and switched on his monitor, where the security feed was still open. Barry Allen was slumped against the wall beside the elevators, hand on his heart, and if the security feed had audio he'd likely be able to hear him gasping for breath. Harrison Wells smiled wryly to himself in the dim light of his office. He'd had a small, but not unexpected, set back. In fact, this sort of reaction was a common occurrence at this early stage and he was well-versed in handling it. The young man would need space now, and he'd give him that. If he pushed again, too soon, he'd risk losing Allen for good. No, now he'd have to wait for Allen to come to him. Barry Allen. Beautiful, ridiculous Barry Allen. Wells had known what he'd wanted from him since the moment he saw him, on his first day at STAR Labs, eyes wide with wonder, mouth slack, the way he'd gripped Wells' hand as though it was something precious, holy. He'd known then what he'd wanted. And by God was he going to get it.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Barry Allen burst into his house like a swimmer surfacing for air. Before the door had even slammed behind him he was calling out, "Iris? Iris! Iris darling!" His long, gangly legs took the stairs three at a time. She wasn't in their bedroom. At this late hour she should already be home. He loped back down the stairs, calling for Iris all the way, as if she wouldn't have already heard him if she was home. It was only on his way back into the living room from the unoccupied kitchen that he saw the red light flashing impatiently on the answering machine beside the phone. He wiped his sweaty hands on the front of his cardigan and rewound the tape, clicking down the play button when it refused to wind any further.
"Heya, sugar. It's me," Iris' tinny voice filled their home, both warming Barry's heart and filling it with cold, consuming guilt. "There was a shooting downtown - don't worry, nothing serious - but I'm gonna have to work late tonight. Sorry I couldn't make it home for dinner. If it was anything good, don't forget to save some for me! Don't wait up for me, okay? Love you."
Barry lifted off his glasses to rub the heels of his palms into his eyes. What a cad he'd been. What a contemptible cad. How could he do such a thing to Iris? He'd made a vow, a solid vow, to be faithful to her, and all it had taken was a little praise and a demanding mouth and his legs had turned to jelly. At least he'd put an end to it before - before he - it hardly bears thinking about! And a man at that! How could he - what had come over him! Granted, Harrison Wells was an extraordinarily good looking man, for any age, with those unreal, piercing blue eyes, whose intensity, when focused solely on Barry, made his stomach flutter, and his unruly black hair peppered with silver, which always made Barry want to reach out and run his fingers through it, if only to tidy it, and his surprising strength for such a sinewy man and - what the heck was he even thinking!
No, no, all these things he'd ever noticed about Dr. Wells, the giddiness he felt when he talked to him, the way he flushed with nerves when Dr. Wells caught him staring at him, that was all because, well, because Dr. Wells was his hero, his idol, he admired him. That's all. Wasn't it? He couldn't think straight anymore, his thoughts turning over and over on themselves. He was still too hot and sticky from - from - the confrontation. He needed to cool off, he needed to clean this unhelpful train of thought out of his head.
He galloped back upstairs and started running himself a shower, letting the bathroom fill with steam before undressing, so he wouldn't have to look at himself in the mirror. He'd thought to take a cold shower but the idea just ended up sounding too unpleasant, so he turned the water to just past comfortably hot, hoping to scorch the memory of Harrison's touch off his skin. The memory of Harrison tugging his hair. The memory of his searing lips, his forceful tongue ravishing his mouth. The way he'd felt like he was on fire when Harrison ground his hips into him, the pleasure that shot through him, that settled in his gut. How, when Harrison had started unbuckling his belt, he'd known what was coming next. He'd known Harrison was going to push his strong, chemical-calloused hand into his trousers and -
Barry bit his lip to keep from moaning. He couldn't remember when he'd gripped himself, when he'd started slowly pumping, but he was so unbearably hard. As hard as he'd been when Harrison had had him pushed against that wall, sucking on that sensitive spot just below his ear. God, he'd wanted him so much in that moment, in that blissful, blind moment before reality had crashed back in. He'd wanted him to touch him, he'd needed him. He'd wanted Harrison to yank his trousers down, to turn him around, to bend him over and, Jesus, he'd wanted him to - to -
Barry cried out as he came, his ejaculation splattering the tiled wall, pumping his fist over his cock through the waves of his orgasm, imagining it was Harrison Wells' hand, imagining Harrison Wells was whispering in his ear, kissing his neck, telling him he wanted him.
When he was wrung out and sated he pressed his forehead against the cool tile, letting the burning water pound against his back, letting shame flood his chest until he felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd let Harrison Wells, Dr. Harrison Wells, founder and CEO of STAR Labs, kiss him, touch him, and he'd wanted it. There was no hiding from that. He'd let Iris down. He'd let himself down. All he could do now was try to make amends. And ensure it never, ever happened again.
When Barry got out of the shower Iris still wasn't home. Which he supposed was a relief since he wasn't quite yet ready to face her. He'd wanted to see her as soon as he'd left STAR Labs, if only to reassure himself that he still loved her - which he absolutely still does - but now he realized it was for the best that he didn't. He was a notoriously poor liar, especially with Iris, and she would have seen as clear as day that something had happened to him. No, what he needed was a good night's sleep and plenty of time to reflect. He'd make it up to her. So help him, he would.
Barry had been in a deep sleep when he felt a delicate arm wrap around his waist, a kiss planted on the back of his neck, the smell of lilacs enveloping him.
"Sorry I'm late, sugar," Iris' voice was melodious in Barry's ear. "Did you worry?"
Barry's brain was too sleep fogged to remember what he was supposed to be anxious about. So he just smiled drowsily and said, "Always, dear. Love you."
"I love you too, honey." She kissed Barry's neck one last time before Barry drifted back into a pleasant dream.