Leonard Snart was possessed of a wonderfully plush, delightfully soft, midnight blue blanket. It had all the elegance of crushed velvet, and the warmth of cashmere. It was equally perfect for an evening curled in front of a roaring fire - or a night spent trying to sleep on a chilly tin can of a time ship.
And he rarely got to use it.
More often than not, it was wrapped around a certain blonde, who smiled mischievously at him from the cozy nest she'd fashioned in the middle of his bunk. She sat up with her usual feline grace as he wandered in from the corridor. The warm scents of chocolate and bourbon wafted through the room from the two tall glass mugs in his hands.
"You know," he drawled, "Gideon could just replicate one of those for you."
"Why would I want to do that, when we could share?" Sara replied, in a sultry purr.
She reached out for one of the glasses, and he got a glimpse of what was - or rather, wasn't - beneath the blanket. Her logic (like so many other things) was exquisite. And Leonard Snart was nothing if not logical.
