WARNING FOR ANGSTY AS FUCK ENDING. This was inspired by the "Guys like us don't get the girl" talk that Oliver gave Barry in the Flash part of the Flarrow crossover – so, naturally, Oliver is still in that sort of mindset. So, you know – proceed with caution, and have some angsty as hell smut. (Although, keep in mind – this is from Barry's POV, so who knows what Oliver is thinking? You decide!)

Part 1 of the 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge: Anal sex

Title: Take Me Apart

Barry might be a little in love with Oliver Queen. Not that he will ever tell him that, of course.

They're not together – they're not even dating. As far as Oliver's concerned, this is just something they do sometimes in the name of friendly fun. They say it's to work out the tension and frustration of a mission gone wrong, to celebrate missions gone right, to distract from the destruction and loss that they've both suffered in this shitty fucked up world – any excuse, really.

"What are you thinking?" Oliver asks against his neck, a little breathless.

"Nothing-" Barry gasps from beneath him. The lie tastes sour on his tongue, but he can't bring himself to fuck this up. Oliver's hand strokes his inner thigh, and Barry bears his neck to the older man for him to get better access, to which Oliver takes full advantage of by running his tongue over his throat, causing Barry to stifle a soft whimper.

Oliver moves down, sucking on his collar bone, biting softly before Barry tugs on Oliver's hair, pulling him back up so that they're making eye contact.

"I-" Barry bites his lip nervously, and Oliver watches him patiently, waiting. "I've been thinking..."

"Well, that's worrying," Oliver teases, fond smile playing on his lips as he gazes at the boy below him.

At that, Barry snorts. "You're not as funny as you think you are."

Oliver makes an uncommitted humming noise, before returning his attention to Barry's neck, grinding his erection down on Barry's, Barry's breath juttering ever so slightly.

"I-" Barry inhales sharply as Oliver rocks into him, setting up a slow rhythm. "I want- nghh, I want you to fuck me."

Oliver stills above him, watching him carefully, bringing his palm up to his face, running his thumb over his cheekbone with a sigh. "Barry, we can't- we've talked about this."

"Why?" Barry asks, frustrated.

"I can't do that to you." Oliver replies, voice tight.

"I want this." Barry tells him, fixing Oliver with a determined expression. "I've wanted this for a while."

Oliver huffs, pressing his forehead against him, eyes trained intently on his own. "Are you sure, Barry? You've never-"

"No, I've never. I just- I want to. Can we?" Barry replies awkwardly, drawing a line up Oliver's back with his index finger, causing Oliver to shudder with delight.

It's not like Barry isn't scared - he just simply wants to feel all of the other man in ways that he hasn't before. He wants to be with him in every way he can. He wants Oliver to take all of the firsts he has left and be every one of his lasts.

His eyes flicker back to Oliver's, which are now wild with desire – fierce, determined, pupils blown – and it sends a shiver down Barry's spine, because he knows before Oliver replies what the answer is going to be.

"Do you- do you have-?" Oliver asks, unsure.

Wordlessly, Barry rolls Oliver over, straddling his waist as the other man lands flat on his back. "Yeah, I- just give me a minute."

He moves away, trying not to whine desperately at the loss of contact – god, he's pathetic. Thankfully, Oliver has no idea the effect that he has on Barry – how he turns him into a desperate, needy, hungry mess.

Although, it's not like Oliver looks unaffected – he's propped up on his elbows watching Barry impatiently, panting heavily as Barry reaches into the night stand, fumbling around before he finds what he's looking for, bringing it back to the bed and placing it beside Oliver.

Oliver pulls Barry back into him immediately, lips finding his own.

And this... this is different. They don't kiss often. Kissing is what couples do, not friends with benefits, or whatever they're calling themselves. Kissing is for lovers. He can count on the one hand the amount of times that Oliver has kissed him – and even then, it's never been like this.

It's usually quick, desperate, dirty, but this- this is none of those things. It's sweet, soft, sensual – Oliver runs his tongue against Barry's, mapping the inside of his mouth slowly, strokes his hand over Barry's back softly, and Barry feels himself flush all over.

It's funny, really. He's had the guy's dick in his mouth, yet he feels himself getting flustered by a simple kiss. Or maybe a not-so-simple kiss.

Oliver rolls them back over so that Barry is once again below him, watching him with intent, still taking Barry apart with his lips. He runs his strong hands over Barry's wrists, pinning them to the mattress gently.

It's then that Oliver talks, voice sounding a little lower than usual, all gruff with lust and desire. "How do you want to do this?"

Barry swallows. "I want to see you," he whispers, a little scared that Oliver might see through the charade – see deep down into his soul, dig out his feelings for Oliver, and leave him. But Oliver just nods, placing another soft peck to Barry's lips, before reaching for one of the spare pillows. Barry cants his hips, allowing him to place the pillow underneath him.

"If anything, and I mean anything, hurts- you tell me. If you need me to stop, or you change your mind, tell me. Are we clear?"

Barry nods, because he can't quite work up the willpower to speak out loud. All he can think is that this is happening, it's really happening.

He watches as Oliver slicks up his finger and Barry licks his lips hungrily, impatient to feel the other man inside him. Of course, he's researched this- he knows that there is a certain amount of prep involved, but god- he just really, really wants Oliver to take him already.

Still, Oliver approaches him slowly, crawling between Barry's spread legs, propping them over his shoulders before Barry feels the tip of the older man's finger at his hole, the liquid cold against his skin, and Barry's eyes flutter shut in anticipation.

Oliver pushes one finger in slowly, and it's like nothing that Barry's ever felt before. Of course, he's felt his own fingers in moments of curious exploration of his own body, but this- this is nothing like that. It burns a little, but it's not necessarily painful.

"Are you okay?" Oliver asks, and Barry's eyes open to glance at him again.

"I'm fine, just- just give me a second. It feels... weird."

"Bad weird or good weird?"

"Just- just weird," Barry chokes, but he's starting to adjust, and he can feel the muscles in his ring loosen a little. "Okay- you can- yeah. You can move now."

With that, Oliver begins to open him up, attention entirely focused on Barry's facial features – asking Barry's permission each time he adds a finger, stretching him with careful consideration. At first it's a little sore, but eventually the pain gives way to pleasure, and Barry lets out a small sob of elation as Oliver's finger brushes with his prostate, sending his sensations into overdrive. Soon Oliver has worked himself up to three fingers, and Barry is keening desperately below him.

"I'm- I'm ready," Barry pants.

"Are you sure?" Oliver asks, he's still watching him, face full of concentration and lust. "I don't want to hurt you, Barry."

"Please, Oliver," Barry whines, begging Oliver with his eyes. "I need you. I can't- I need to feel you. Please."

He's a mess. He's squirming now, panting frantically, and he really fucking needs to feel Oliver inside him – he doesn't even care that he's maybe letting out a little too much emotion, but if Oliver has noticed, he says nothing – just nods, making a shaky grasp for the condom, fumbling as he rolls it onto himself then slicks himself up. Barry licks his lips at the sight.

Then, Oliver's on him again, lining himself up, and oh, it's almost too much. They're both breathing heavily, staring one another down wantonly, Barry gripping onto the back of Oliver's shoulders. Then suddenly Oliver is breaching him, and Barry hisses, his nails digging into Oliver's skin a little at the burn.

It seems like it goes on forever to Barry, but once he's buried up to the hilt, both men close their eyes, gathering themselves for a moment. It's not as bad as he expected – a little sore - that was a given - but his muscles have been worked over already, and it doesn't take Barry long to adjust to the feeling.

"Move," Barry groans into Oliver's ear, and that's all the encouragement the older man needs. He starts off slow, rocking into Barry with a gentle ease that feels far too much like lovemaking than fucking, as far as Barry's concerned.

He clenches around Oliver's dick, and the other man bucks up, letting out a loud growl as he grasps onto Barry's hips tight, and then he begins to speed up, and all Barry can do is grip onto his hair, ride the wave of pleasure as Oliver pounds into him, hard and fast, muttering filthy, sinful and delicious things into Barry's ear that makes him flush a deep red.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Oliver grunts breathlessly, and how could Barry refuse him?

He moves his hand down to his neglected dick, and mewls at the first touch, the stimulation almost too much. Nevertheless, he strokes himself, working himself up as Oliver sucks down on his neck possessively, claiming him, taking him apart piece by piece – and it might not be the other man's intention, but in that moment, Barry is completely and utterly his.

"Oliver- I'm- I-" Barry chokes out, panting heavily.

"It's okay, Barry. It's okay, I've got you."

At that, he hits his peak, back arching as he lets out a howl, stars forming before his eyes as he tenses all over, spilling into his hand, painting his chest with white as Oliver lets out a long, drawn out moan, following him over the edge.

They both lie there for a moment, their skin slick and salty with sweat and other fluids. Oliver is panting above him, and Barry closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the moment. For a few minutes, there's no villains, no heartbreak, no obligations – it's just them, together and complete.

To his surprise, Oliver brings their lips together again, caressing him with a deep, passionate kiss, and Barry is a little ashamed of the small whimper that he makes when they finally part, Oliver drawing himself from Barry's heat.

Then, suddenly – the spell is broken, and Oliver is lying beside him, flat on his back. He knows that it won't take him long to gather himself – to pull his suit on, and leave Barry cold and alone. This is how it always goes, and Barry just feels cheap and used by the end of the night, but he really can't help the sharp stab he feels as the bed creaks, and he can't even bring himself to look as he hears the ruffling of clothes, and the sound of zips. He doesn't even say goodbye as Oliver's footsteps fade away, the door closing with a sharp thud behind him.

They won't talk about it. They never do. But no matter what they do, it'll happen again. They'll team up – fight whatever villain is terrorising the city that week, and then they'll find themselves in bed together at the end of the night. It'll be perfect for a while, and then Oliver will leave him, taking another piece of Barry with him each time.