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It's gonna be one of those nights that ends up raining forever. Iris can feel it.
Cecile announces gleefully that she will be hosting her own dinner party at the West-Allen home. For the very first time since marrying Joe West. He has not been so enthusiastic about preparations, but Iris volunteers to help Cecile a couple hours before while Iris's dad looks after his infant daughter.
They polish the new silverware and double up on the ceramic, white plates, arranging the scarlet-budding flowers and greenery on the centerpiece and the empty wine goblets by every plate. Iris carefully places down the pillars of black-wax candles and the bowl of sangria, gleaming and red as sin, further away from herself and Barry who would get sorely tempted to have a little more than they needed.
No storm clouds or any clouds all day, right up until sunset when Ralph heads out. He waves cheerfully and holds his suit-jacket right over his head, jumping onto the lawn as if to outrace the water droplets.
Iris breathes in deeply, plucking her fingertips absently over the embroidery on her A-line dress. The top half is covered with dark brown mesh to blend in with Iris's skin tone and organa-fabric in a light pink. Satin and buttons and tulle silhouetting a flowing, elegant shape for the bottom half.
Barry's hand lands gently on her skin exposed by the plunging open back, leading her to the porch. He smells faintly like Iris's perfume and the caramelized beef roast, with just a hint of orange-sangria.
Rain pounds over their heads, unable to spill onto Iris or her husband. She's already said goodnight to her dad and Cecile, shutting the front door behind her, waiting restlessly for their taxi.
"We should have called Lyft," Iris mutters, gazing at Barry who only smiles widely and extends his hand.
She can never get enough of that sweet, almost boyish smile on him. Iris takes his hand, quietly amused as he twirls her, nudging his hip accidentally into hers, clasping around her middle with one hand. Barry's other hand loosely grasps onto Iris's hand, playing with their fingers occasionally.
"You know what, Barry Allen… you are a terrible dancer," Iris declares, grinning.
He makes a dismissive noise, still smiling and dancing Iris into a little, merry circle. "C'mon! I'm not that bad. I didn't trip over your dress at Kara's wedding." Barry tunes out for a moment, as if recollecting on it. "Or over Kara's dress. Or Lena's dress. Or any dress there for that matter."
"Fair," Iris says, pointing out. "But you did knock into the waiter with the chocolate cupcake tray."
Barry nods, raising his eyebrows. "Fair," he repeats, gazing down on her. His features softening. "Did anyone tell you… that you're the most beautiful woman there ever was in Central City…?"
"Once or twice."
Iris's stomach goes warm and tight when Barry holds their stare like this. It should be embarrassing how much he adores her. But it wouldn't be Barry if he wasn't the sappiest thing alive. Iris didn't want to marry anyone else but him. "Well it's very, very true," Barry whispers, letting go of Iris's waist and grazing his thumb fondly over Iris's chin. "And the smartest woman and the funniest and the most brave—"
She interrupts him with a kiss, melding their lips and grinning, basking in the heat. Barry groans in a soft, familiar rumble to her mouth, now pleasantly intrigued as Iris slides his hand over her sternum.
"Feel that?"
Barry's kiss-swollen lips drift over hers, their foreheads inclining. "Mmhm," he hums out, looking down and spreading out his fingers, lowering his heartbeat to Iris's own heartbeat. "Kinda going fast…"
"It's how I feel when I'm around you, Barry. Like I've just started running. And I'm not gonna stop." She grips over Barry's hand again, shifting it, pressing his fingers harder against the space of her heart. "This—it's not gonna stop," Iris tells him firmly, watching as Barry's face tenses with realization.
He's been out of sorts following their takedown of one of the newest metas. Iris had gotten too close. She had been electrocuted, but thankfully with no organ or neurological damage. Just a few bruises.
"I love you, Iris."
"Yeah." Iris cups his nape, as he bends over and hugs her, pushing his nose and mouth into Iris's throat. "Love you, babe," she murmurs, hiding her worry as Barry shudders. "I love you so much… okay?"
"Okay," he says, muffled into her neck and relaxing when Iris's fingernails rub into his hair.
"Mm, you still dance like crotchety old man."
Iris manages to smile again, as Barry mock-huffs and leans out. "Crotchety?" he asks incredulously, "Oh… I'll show you crotchety…" A flurry of warm, nipping kisses and tickles. Iris screeches out, happily, thrashing slightly in Barry's arms as he lifts her off her tiptoes, giggling into Iris's ear.
The taxi honks from the rain-slickened street.
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The Flash isn't mine. Hurray! I get to be off anon for this! If you celebrate Christmas then Merry Christmas! This is not Christmas themed so no worries if you don't care for it or hate it. WESTALLEN IS A WHOLE GLORIOUS MOOD. I MELT FOR THEM. PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU LOVE THEM TOO. A big thank you to the mods running the WestAllen Fun blog for hosting the WestAllen Secret Santa 2018 and for letting me join st the very last second! :') I deeply appreciate it! And the person I got to make a gift for is ckpflash who I hope get to see this and likes it. Thank you to everyone reading this fic and any comments/thoughts are deeply appreciated please!