The decision to pay Iris a visit was, like many instances that transpired with Patty, unplanned. She had always been impulsive, and now that she was nearing the monumental age of thirty, she considered any efforts to alter the primary mode she operated by since as early on as childhood futile. Consequently, she learned to embrace the spontaneity that accounted for numerous trajectories her life had taken. The worst of it culminated in her father's death after she ditched him at his shop to hang out with friends. The best of it resulted in her current job after the abrupt choice to join the police force. And the mundane of it had her outside Iris's door presently with an urgent need to discuss Barry after an evening patrol shift in her neighborhood.
One problem with Patty's reckless, impromptu approach to life (besides the danger), was the potential to catch others in the privacy of their homes, engaging in, well, what most people do in the privacy of their homes. There was no reason for Iris not to be like most people, Patty heeds, after catching sight of her through the window, hoisted against a wall, evidently being fucked into oblivion.
Woah. Okay. Bad timing, Spivot, Patty tells herself for not the first and surely not the last time ever. She figures she'll go home and shoot her a text asking if she's free sometime this week to talk about Barry over coffee, like how normal folks do it.
When she turns to leave, however, she's afforded a glimpse of what or who exactly is the reason behind the rapture on Iris's face. She notices the dark hair of his head as it bobs eagerly between her legs while he's situated on his knees. She can't make out any other features since he's clearly buried in Iris.
None of that is what first caught Patty's attention though. It was his attire.
Its red color. Its leather.
She would recognize that suit anywhere.
"The FLASH?" Patty whispers in disbelief, her breath clouding the window.
She swiftly wipes the ensuing fog off the glass to get a better look, too shocked to process what she's observing.
She assumed Iris had to be in close contact with The Flash, considering he was the subject of most of her articles, and she was the expert meta case analyst and investigator at CCPN. She didn't realize just how close she was to him though. She never would have considered their association surpassed anything other than professional, right?
I guess that's a little hypocritical of me, Patty thinks. Barry's your coworker, remember, Spivot?
Barry was Barry though, and it's much easier to accept dating a coworker than it is to grasp being so intimate with the hero of Central City.
Was Iris in some relationship with Central City's hero? And did Barry know? She's not sure if she should be impressed, horrified, or confused.
Patty realizes she should have left on the spot once she grasped what was ensuing, but she figures it wouldn't be that bad to stick around to get a glimpse of his face. She can't help her curiosity. Maybe it's infringing on privacy, but would it be so wrong as to want to learn who The Flash is? The man who saved so many citizens of the city, including her? The man who had a history with Mark Mardon, her father's killer? The man whose help she could employ in seeking her revenge?
This is how she justifies continuing to watch The Flash eat Iris out, although from Patty's vantage point, he's more devouring her, considering the obscene way his neck dips within her thighs and comes back up again. Iris isn't without her lechery either, eventually perching one ankle on a nearby ledge and stretching the other as far as it can go to propel her pelvis forward into his tongue, brash in her urgency. She has to glance away at this point, the violative guilt she feels creeping over her only increases each time Iris thrusts against The Flash, or tosses her head, or scrunches her face.
She scans the floor, making out a discarded pair of panties thrown off to the side. They must have been too impatient to strip fully, let alone to make it to the bedroom, and for all of Patty's rashness, the thrill of such desperate passion is foreign to her, she reflects sadly. She'd never experienced a love that she could consider so consuming. Indeed, most of the relationships she found herself in were insipid at worst, and routine at best.
Which was a big reason why Barry was different. She never dated someone who wore his heart on his sleeve the way he did, sweet sentiment coloring everything he did and said. He's perhaps the most earnest person she's ever come across.
Until he wasn't anymore. There was such promise in him when they first went out, something Patty knew had been missing all along with previous partners, something she anticipated would only be enhanced with time.
How wrong she had been, as time only lengthened the distance between them instead of closing it. She's reminded of the reason she came here in the first place, to obtain answers from Iris as to why Barry had grown more elusive with her, despite the more than encouraging start to their courtship.
Patty sighs longingly as she fixes her eyes on the two lovers again, for once, her timing pristine. There's no real way to tell if Iris is finishing, but she guesses the way she sizes fistfuls of The Flash's hair and hikes a leg up his back are good clues. If those weren't enough, her face tells it all, eyes pinched shut, mouth stretched so tight as though secured at the corners, her upper lip taut against her teeth, expelling moans Patty can't hear, like she's watching a silent film. The sight sends a tingle down her spine that she can't help, and she shudders at the extent of her encroachment.
It's only then that she recalls why she continued to invade their privacy, and Patty holds her breath, suspense coursing through her, waiting any minute now for The Flash to surface-
Except he doesn't. Instead he remains nestled inside Iris, his face concealed, but by the movement of the side of his jaw, she can tell he's pressing slow kisses to her flesh. It's strange, but witnessing this act of tenderness, his head shifting slowly, his lips kissing her carefully and reverently, causes Patty's face to burn in true shame more than looking on at their actual sex did.
She shifts her gaze upward to Iris, panicking when she sees that her eyes are open. Moments later, it's apparent that she has no reason to fret, as Iris only has eyes for the man moving below her, pupils glistening with love, fingers combing through his hair affectionately.
Patty decides she's had enough, turning away from the window and apartment altogether. Suddenly, her desire to learn the identity of the mysterious Flash pales in comparison to her desire for a connection with Barry like that Iris shared with her speedster. Her heart accelerates as she rushes toward her cruiser, the way it always does when she acts before she thinks, achingly familiar. She's had years to get used to this, to learn the signals of her body and consider them warnings, but right now, with the picture of Iris wrapped around The Flash fresh in her mind, adrenaline pulsing through her, Patty turns her steering wheel in the opposite direction, away from her home, and en route toward Barry's.