the hours before the break of dawn (as fragile as a song)
by Sandrine Shaw
The fake shutter sound of a smartphone camera pulls Barry from the blissful state somewhere between sleep and waking, reality intruding into the warm, comfortable cocoon of fluffy blankets, heated skin and tangled limbs.
He blinks awake in time to see Iris check the picture she just snapped and put her phone away. A mischievous smile tugs at her lips when she looks at him, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
"I see you already unwrapped your present," she whispers, quiet enough that it wouldn't tear anyone from the depths of slumber, but Barry is under no illusion that the third occupant of the room hasn't been alert from the moment Iris turned the key of the front door, possibly earlier.
Despite Iris' cheer and her teasing, a weight settles in the pit of Barry's stomach that he can't shake, and he's suddenly acutely aware of the body curled around his own, the arm thrown across his chest – the fact that everything he wants is right here in this room and he has no idea how to keep it.
He remembers Snart— Leonard last night, the sense of déjà-vu at finding him waiting when Barry got home, wearing the stupid old parka and that same smug smile, like it was 2015 all over again. Except three years made all the difference. So many things have changed, and Leonard died, and Barry wasn't quite ready for the same old dance of threats and sharp-edged quips. If Leonard hadn't been prepared to find himself with an armful of Scarlet Speedster... well, then maybe he shouldn't have announced his return by breaking into the West-Allen home two nights before Christmas. It was his own damn fault. Not that he seemed to mind much, in the long run.
Still. That Three List Iris jokingly forced Barry to make – "I've got you. I don't want anyone else." "C'mon, Barry, it's not fair that I'm the only one making a list. There's gotta be someone." – he's sure it's meant for one night stands and the quick, heady rush of physical attraction, not that painful stab of longing and wistfulness Barry feels when he thinks about Leonard. He loves Iris, nothing about that has changed. He's loved her since he was a boy, so fiercely that everything else should be only a pale imitation. But Leonard's always been the exception to all his rules, even back when they went against each other with blasts of cold and super-speed punches, three and a half team-ups and one self-sacrifice ago.
Leonard still hasn't moved, so Barry startles at the sharp sound of his voice. "Why, Iris, I'm feeling a little objectified." When Barry dares a glance across his shoulder, it doesn't surprise him that Leonard hasn't even bothered opening his eyes, but his features have lost the unfamiliar softness sleep gave them. "Also, that photo you just took better not be shared with anyone outside this room."
Iris raises an eyebrow. "I'm feeling that petty thieves who break into other people's apartments don't really get to complain about what happens to the evidence they leave behind."
"I see I went from 'homicidal maniac' to 'petty thief'. Feels like a downgrade."
It's weird listening to them bicker over his head. No matter how good Barry thinks he is at reading them, it's impossible to tell if their back-and-forth is friendly banter or hostile jibes. Both of them are too good at toeing the narrow line, and that heavy knot in Barry's gut becomes a little more tense.
He sighs and sits up. The motion makes Leonard pull away his arm, and Barry immediately regrets it. Misses the warm weight, the illusion of being held down, the indulgent feeling of skin against skin.
"Look, can we just have breakfast?" He looks from one of them to the other, hoping he sounds more convincing than he feels. "I can quickly dash off to get coffee and we can... talk, maybe," he finishes lamely.
Leonard snorts, and Barry tries to hide the wince behind a half-hearted glare.
Smooth, Barr. He has no idea what he'd say in that potential conversation, doesn't really want to dissect his feelings over coffee and pancakes right now, but what he wants even less is for Leonard to get up and vanish into the early dawn and for them to go back to whatever they were before. Old adversaries, occasional allies, barely even ready to admit caring about each other.
He tries, unsuccessfully, to rub the tension out of his neck.
What a mess, he thinks, and yet he can't bring himself to regret last night.
Iris shakes her head. "Barry, Jitters isn't even open yet. It's 5 a.m. Tomorrow's Christmas. I've been awake for twenty-three hours, and I've spent all day chasing after this story so I could make today's front page. The only thing I'm going to do now is go have a shower before I fall into bed and get some well-earned rest." There's exasperation in her tone, but also fondness and a touch of amusement, and Barry wants to reach up and kiss her.
Her gaze travels across the makeshift bed in front of the fireplace and the scattered clothes on the floor, Leonard's parka bundled up with Barry's sweater, the sight of a pair of dark blue boxer shorts that makes Barry blush when he remembers pulling them off Leonard in a blur of speed. He wonders what kind of picture the two of them make, what Iris sees when she looks at them, if she regrets asking him to make that list.
Her face doesn't give much away, not even when her eyes dart from Barry to Leonard.
"And while I'm cleaning up, you two are going to take this mess of blankets and drag them back into the bedroom where they belong, and then we're all gonna sleep until at least eleven before anyone even thinks about breakfast."
The full meaning of the words doesn't sink in until he feels Leonard tense up behind him, and Barry blinks in surprise because surely Iris doesn't mean— His brain stutters to a halt.
Something complicated passes between Iris and Leonard, a wordless exchange that makes Barry's stomach go tighter yet. He holds his breath and barely dares to move even when the anticipation makes his body want to vibrate, and he clings to the hope that Leonard will be unable to back down from the challenge in Iris' gaze.
The silent stand-off ends when Iris cocks an eyebrow and walks away towards the bathroom.
Leonard huffs out an amused chuckle. "Come on, Scarlet, you heard the lady," he says in a lazy drawl, like nothing about this situation fazes him, like Iris didn't just throw him a curve-ball. For the first time since he woke up, Barry's anxiety eases.
Doesn't mean he's willing to take any risks. In a buzz of lightning, he grabs Leonard and flashes him into the bedroom, before doing the same to the bundled up blanket, giving them a quick, thorough shake that ruffles his hair and makes the curtains rattle as they swing back and forth.
It takes Leonard no longer than a few seconds to get his bearings and steady himself. He gives Barry a pointed, unimpressed look. "Pretty sure that's not what your wife meant."
Barry shrugs, unapologetic. "It got the job done. And there's less of a chance of you sneaking away when I'm not looking."
He holds Leonard's gaze until the other man inclines his head, quietly acknowledging that Barry has a point.
Don't run from this, Barry almost says. He bites the words back because Leonard is contrary by nature, and he's as likely to take it as a challenge as he is to try and prove Barry wrong by doing the exact opposite. Instead, Barry steps into Leonard's space and pulls him into kiss.
He means to keep it light, just an affirmation, some kind of reassurance that the magnetic pull between them they felt last night is still there in the blooming light of morning, but Leonard has other ideas. His hand comes up to cradle Barry's jaw, fingertips brushing in an electric tingle against the nape of Barry's neck as Leonard angles his face towards him, turning the kiss deep and dirty, making Barry gasp into it when Leonard's tongue slides against his.
He barely notices Leonard walking him backwards until his legs hit the bed. A push, and he finds himself sprawled across blankets and fluffy pillows, Leonard following him down to seal their lips together again.
They break apart when the bathroom door opens and Iris steps out, wearing an old, faded t-shirt that Barry recognizes as one of his, and he can't contain the rush of possessiveness he feels at the sight.
"Don't stop on my account," Iris teases, eyes roaming over their naked, tangled bodies, and the heat that rises to Barry's cheeks is part embarrassment, part arousal. He feels the absurd urge to pull the covers over himself – unlike Leonard, who's clearly unashamed in his nakedness and doesn't seem at all inclined to let Barry up.
He watches Iris' approach, his lips curling into a lopsided half-smirk. "Thought you were tired."
"Maybe not that tired," she concedes with mischief dancing in her eyes.
She slides into the bed and turns towards Barry with a smile. "Hi."
"Hi," Barry says softly, all too conscious of Leonard still half on top of him when Iris leans in to steal a sweet kiss that lingers, achingly familiar and grounding him in a way that no-one else can. She tastes of minty toothpaste that tingles pleasantly on Barry's tongue.
When Iris pulls away with wet, kiss-bruised lips, Barry becomes aware of the weight of Leonard's eyes on them. His expression is inscrutable as ever, but the way his pupils are blown doesn't lie, nor does the insistent pressure of his half-hard cock pressing against Barry's hipbone. Barry's fingers are itching to pull him in again, but Leonard moves before he can.
Except it's not Barry he's reaching for.
There's something tentative about the way Leonard's hand cradles Iris' cheek, his fingers brushing through her hair, moving slow enough that Iris has plenty of time to back away. She doesn't, holding perfectly still as Leonard's thumb strokes across her lower lip like he's chasing Barry's kiss. Iris' lips open, sucking the top digit inside — and, fuck, if that isn't the single hottest thing Barry's ever seen. He doesn't turn his eyes away from them, barely allows himself to blink because he doesn't want to miss a single nanosecond as Iris leans across Barry to press her lips to Leonard's.
Nothing that soft and chaste has any business being so stupidly sexy, Barry decides.
When the kiss ends, Iris smirks down at Barry, smug as if she knows exactly what's on his mind. The effect is ruined by the yawn she can't stifle.
All the tension sizzling in the air between them evaporates at once. Leonard snorts, and Barry can't hold back a chuckle. "Yeah, I can totally see how 'not that tired' you are," he teases.
"Sorry." She lets herself drop back against the pillow but keeps her head turned towards Leonard and him. "It's really been a long day," she adds, the statement interrupted by another long yawn.
Leonard sits up, finally letting Barry move again. Theoretically, at least. He's pretty damn comfortable right where he is, settled between them, letting Leonard's familiar drawl wash over him.
"New plan. Sleep now. This — " Leonard motions between them with a twirling finger. "Later."
Iris hums softly in agreement, but her eyes are already unfocused and heavy-lidded.
"Sounds good to me," Barry says. He presses a brief kiss to Iris' forehead that he's sure she's barely awake enough to feel before he twists towards Leonard. Some of that heavy feeling from earlier returns, and he isn't sure how to make it go away, painfully aware that asking for reassurance might just as well have the opposite effect and send Leonard running.
The moment stretches until something has to give. Surprisingly, it's not Barry. Leonard sighs. "Spit it out, Barry," he whispers.
Barry frowns. "What?"
"Whatever your mind's running circles around." Under different circumstances, the pun would make Barry grin, but right now he's too wound up, and the humor barely registers. "Not gonna get any sleep before you say it, so we might as well do this now."
He's right. Barry's only gonna toss and turn if he keeps thinking about it, and the only way to stop thinking about it is talking it over. He needs to know where they stand, even if he might not like the answer.
"Are you still gonna be here in the morning?"
Leonard's eyes narrow, appraising Barry a little too intently. "Yes. But that's not what you wanna ask."
Damn him. Barry sighs and closes his eyes, frustrated by how well Leonard can read him, especially because it doesn't quite seem to work both ways. "No, it is. It's just... not all I want, maybe? I want this to last beyond the morning. I want to know if we can work this out, the three of us." Leonard frowns and opens his mouth to respond, but Barry shakes his head. "And I know you can't promise that. I'm not asking you to. Just... can we try?"
For a long moment, Leonard doesn't speak, eyes locked with Barry's, and Barry's heart beats up a storm.
Then, at last, Leonard gives a small, barely-there nod. "Not making any promises that this ain't gonna blow up in all our faces, Scarlet, but I always liked beating the odds."
It's more of an assurance than Barry expected. He turns his smile on Leonard, sunshine-bright. "We've been up against worse odds and won. I'm not worried, as long as we're in this together."
His optimism earns him a withering stare, but there's fondness beneath the cutting edges of Leonard's tone when he says, "Go to sleep, Barry."
He reaches down and pulls the blanket over the three of them, and within minutes, Barry's fast asleep.
End.