The air in Barry's bedroom is hot – heavy and hot. But there's no way in hell he's stopping what he's currently doing to open a window.
And neither is Len.
Seeing as Barry's on top of Len for the moment, it would fall on Barry to do something about the heat.
Len's already dealt with the rise in temperature on his end. Where Barry's still got on his t-shirt and jeans, Len took off his shirt an hour ago, grumbling about being strangled, fighting to tear it off his torso while not moving any farther than a breath away from Barry's lips. He had to break their kiss once to rip the stupid thing over his head. He tossed it without aiming, and almost knocked over a lamp, but that was far from important. Because now, when Barry wraps his arms around Len's waist, they slide over smooth, bare skin, and just that – that contact – makes Barry's head whirl, his toes curl, his brain short out, and his body burn.
The audible smack-smack of kissing gets louder and more obscene than Barry imagined possible. They've been trying to keep things quiet because Iris is home, and she doesn't know about them yet. But the more they make out, the more they get carried away, till it starts to sound like an amateur porno is being filmed in his room (Len's words, not Barry's, since Barry has yet to see one - a travesty of justice that Len quickly promised to remedy at the earliest convenience).
Barry tries not to focus on it, or he'll start giggling.
Giggling, he's discovered, is a definite mood killer.
Instead, he lets his mind wander to every place Len's hands touch, starting at his shoulders, the backs of Len's fingers stroking along his arms, the pads of his fingertips traveling up his back, then crawling to his waist, where Len hooks his thumbs into Barry's belt loops and holds tight to the denim to keep from slipping his hands underneath.
They're not at that point. Not yet.
But they're getting close.
"God, Barry," Len moans, his right hand slipping free of its belt loop prison to grab a hold of Barry's ass and squeeze hard, grinding against him while he attacks his mouth. "God, I want you. I can't…" Dozens of crass, sexual comments pop into Len's head, but he doesn't feel right saying them. Not that this isn't an appropriate time, but Barry's not that kind of boy. "I can't wait to feel you, Allen. God! You fuckin' tease!"
Barry freezes in Len's arms. He pulls back to look in his eyes.
"You…you think I'm a tease?"
"No," Len says, his stricken expression more apologetic than Barry's ever seen. "No…I…I'm sorry. It just slipped out."
"No, no, it's alright," Barry says, a grin starting at the right corner of his mouth. "Actually, I…uh…I kind of liked it."
"Really?" Len asks, needing to be certain that Barry's not covering for hurt feelings. But the blush that floods Barry's cheeks is so natural, that Len can't see Barry telling him anything but the truth.
"Really," Barry says.
"Good." Len nods, going back to Barry's mouth. "Because I can't guarantee it won't happen again if you keep kissing me like that. Fuck!"
Of all the things they have yet to talk about – the past, the future, their limits, how they're going to act and where, who they tell, and all the rest – they took the time to discuss this. Len wants Barry. Barry wants Len. Barry's not ready. Len's willing to wait. But he can't stop being vocal about how much he wants to have Barry, especially not in the heat of the moment. Despite what Barry thinks he knows about Len's feelings, what Barry doesn't understand yet, what Len hasn't expressly told him, is that Len's waited a long time for this.
For Barry specifically.
But Len's not going to pressure him.
If Barry wants him to stop, Len will stop. He'll roll his horny ass out of bed, run to the bathroom down the hall, jump in the shower, turn the water on ice cold, and stand there under the spray until his balls retreat into his body and his dick measures an inch.
He'll do that for Barry.
But, right now, Barry doesn't want him to stop.
There's something up with Barry.
Iris knows it. She feels it deep in her gut. Her father always said that she's a true cop's kid, with a strong sixth sense, especially about people, and she's always had it about Barry Allen.
For the past few weeks, he's been acting odd. Actually, that's not an accurate way to put it, since Barry's been odd since the day he turned eleven. He's been acting very unlike Barry, the Barry she knows – Barry, the scientist; Barry, the rationalist; Barry, the mathematician; the most logical person she knows. He's been secretive lately, distracted, spending more time bent over his phone, checking his text messages than he's ever done. He's also incredibly giddy, prone to random daydreaming, breaking out in tittering laughter for no reason, like he's constantly ruminating over a private joke. The strangest part is it's not just Barry. Whatever's going on has something to do with Len, too. She can't put her finger on how, but she knows it.
Especially considering the fact that recently, when Len comes over, they go straight to Barry's room and lock the door.
Like it is now.
She jiggles the knob a few times to be sure.
Yup. Definitely locked.
She presses her ear to the door. It's hard to hear anything. His door's pretty thick. She thinks she hears a muffled argument about something, like the two of them are in the middle of a heated conversation.
Also strange because every time Len comes over, he sits on the bed and reads in silence while Barry does his homework. She's never seen them have a conversation that's lasted longer than a minute.
"Fuck, Barry!" Len yells and Iris's hackles rise. Yes, Len is Barry's friend, a really good friend, but he's notorious for having a bad temper and a short fuse. She doesn't blame him, considering what she knows about his home life. (Her information comes strictly from the school rumor mill, but still reliable sources. She suspects Barry knows more about it than anyone, but he's not talking.) But that doesn't mean Len's allowed to blow up at Barry. She doesn't hear Barry fight back, but then, Barry's not an aggressor. He's passive, more about evade than confrontation, which is a good strategy for someone who can't throw a decent punch. Another "Fuck!" from Len, and Iris jumps on the offensive.
Knock-knock-knock.
"Barry! Barry Allen! Are you okay? What's going on in there? Are you two arguing?"
She hears scuffling, something that might be Len snickering, and then, "N-no, Iris. No. No one's arguing."
"Are you guys fighting?" She tries to door knob again. "Why did you lock the door, Barry? Did Len lock it?"
"I didn't lock it!" Len says, a bit too sassy for Iris's liking.
"Barry Allen!" she says, testing the door one final time, loudly to emphasize her frustration. "You open this door right now!"
"I can't…right now," Barry says, his voice strained. "But…I'm fine…Iris. Just…could you please g-go!?" Barry's voice cracks on the last word, sounding pained, and Iris becomes livid. Len's on the wrestling team. He probably has Barry pinned to the floor. Len outweighs Barry by at least fifty pounds of muscle. Barry would be unable to break free. She can't let Len get away with that! She can't let Len bully Barry, even if he does have a rotten home environment! She stomps her foot and turns back toward her room.
She'll show Len how to behave like a decent human being. She's going to get that damn door open if it's the last thing she does.
"Fuck, Barry!" Len moans when Barry becomes more aggressive, taking over the task of grinding into Len's crotch. "You keep doin' that, and we're gonna have a mess on our hands…or in my jeans anyhow."
"Do you want me to stop?" Barry asks in as sultry a voice as has ever come out of Barry Allen's mouth. It's entirely unintentional, thick and heady from their time spent like this, going at one another nonstop since the second Len stepped into Barry's bedroom.
"God, no," Len murmurs, yanking at Barry's shirt, moving aside the collar to reach the hollow of his throat. The collar slips out from under his finger, shooting back into place, and Len mouths over the ribbed fabric. He fumbles with the cotton, debating against pulling it up, wondering what Barry would say or think if he undressed him this one bit.
Len's never cared about those things before. He's just gone with the flow, acted on instinct. It makes this a son-of-a-bitch, especially with his dick so hard it's about to bust through his jeans. But if it wasn't like this, with this jumble of chivalrous nonsense rolling through his brain, stopping his hand every five seconds, then he wouldn't be with Barry, and Barry's worth the trouble.
Len stops to take a breath and regroup. That fucking t-shirt. He has to find a way around that t-shirt before he shreds it with his teeth. Barry looks at Len with anxious eyes, and Len pinches the shoulder of Barry's shirt.
"May I?" he says, tugging slightly in question.
"Yeah," Barry says, excitement replacing the worry in his eyes. "Yeah, sure." Barry sits up and pulls off his t-shirt, tossing it aside and returning quickly to Len's arms.
"Fuck!" Len moans when Barry's skin presses against his own. He sinks his teeth into Barry's shoulder, his bare shoulder, and Barry shudders.
Knock-knock-knock.
Barry stops, goes absolutely stone still. His head pops up like a rabbit's in the grass, but Len flops back on the pillow, half-a-dozen curses hovering around the tip of his tongue. Just like Lisa, Len thinks. Or maybe it's just a sister thing. Even surrogate sisters. Apparently they all have phenomenally bad timing.
"Barry! Barry Allen! Are you okay? What's going on in there? Are you two arguing?"
Barry rushes to get up and get dressed, but Len holds him by the waist and keeps him trapped, snickering at the expression of extreme and utter panic on Barry's face.
"N-no, Iris. No. No one's arguing."
"Are you guys fighting?" The door knob twists wildly. Len rolls his eyes. "Why did you lock the door, Barry? Did Len lock it?"
A frantic Barry looks to Len for help.
"I didn't lock it!" Len says, knowing that's not the help Barry was hoping for. But Len couldn't stop himself. The opportunity was there, and it was too good not to take it.
"Barry Allen!" she says, the door knob turning and wiggling like mad. "You open this door right now!"
"Len!" Barry hisses. "We've got to do something!"
"You're absolutely right," Len replies in a hushed voice. Barry expects Len to let him up so he can put his shirt on, but instead Len drags him further down, a hand to the back of his neck bringing Barry's skin to his mouth, where he can place open-mouthed kisses, exploiting all those spots that make Barry shiver.
Barry gasps, helpless, knowing Len's not about to let up, even with Iris standing right outside his door, demanding entrance.
"I can't…right now," Barry moans as Len sucks, his voice almost flat lining. He knows she's not going to leave until she hears that he's okay, so he adds a halfhearted, "But…I'm fine…Iris. Just…could you please g-go!?" Barry's voice cracks when Len moves from Barry's neck to his nipple and swipes it gently with his tongue. He has a fit over Barry's reaction, burying his head in Barry's chest to keep Iris from hearing his cackling laughter.
They hear Iris stamp her foot in anger, then her steps as she storms back to her room.
"Thank God, she's gone," Len groans. "She's almost as bad as Lisa."
"I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Barry says, remembering his last one-on-one encounter with Lisa Snart, how protective she was of her older brother.
Iris is a lot the same. She has that same protective streak.
"Now," Len says, provocative kiss-swollen lips teasing the contours of Barry's mouth, "where were we?"
When the knob jiggles again, both boys ignore it, until Barry hears a click, and the creak of the hinges as the door swings open.
"Leonard Snart!" Iris's voice starts in before her head gets the chance to round the corner. "I know you're a guest, but if you can't act civil, you're going to have to…"
"Not now, Iris!" Barry yells, tossing his pillow at the door. It hits the edge and Iris yelps, the door slamming shut when she jumps out of the way of the flying projectile. Barry scrambles off Len, racing across the room to re-lock the door, shoving his desk chair underneath the knob for extra reassurance.
"There," Barry pants, stumbling his way back to the bed. "That should keep her out."
"Sure," Len says, "until she takes the door off its hinges." With a long, depressed sigh, Len sits up, wishing he could do something about the obnoxious erection stabbing him in the stomach, reminding him how close he was to cumming underneath the incredible body of Barry Allen. "Maybe we should just accept the fact that this is a wash for now and go see a movie."
"Yeah," Barry agrees in defeat. "Yeah, I think you're right. She won't stop buggin' us now."
"It's a good thing she didn't walk in on us actually doin' the deed," Len says, grabbing one of Barry's t-shirts and slipping it on. It's a bit tight, but he doesn't mind.
Neither does Barry.
"You'd be down a housemate, Allen."
Barry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his body flattening as the air leaves his lungs.
Len bumps his shoulder. "No worries. The, like, seventh Deadpool movie is out. We can go see that. My treat. You like Deadpool."
Barry's eyes pop. He's a bit surprised that Len knows that. Barry doesn't usually discuss his obsessive love of comic books with anyone. No need to give people more ammunition against him than they already have, considering his reputation as a nerd. He's sure he hasn't mentioned his comic books to Len, always attempting to look cool in Len's eyes.
But Barry doesn't bring that up.
"I do," he admits. "But it still would have been fun making out all day."
"Hey…Barry…" Len clamps a hand down on his knee. "You know what movie theaters have, right?"
"Overpriced popcorn and watered-down soda?"
"No," Len says, moving in to Barry's line of sight, eyebrows bouncing up suggestively. "A back row."