"How come you don't have a nickname for me?"
Iris's curious tone shakes Barry out of his sleepy trance. The duo was sprawled together onto their shared bed, clad in sweats, or in Iris's case, pajamas, in the midst of what was supposed to be an idle afternoon nap. Evidently, Iris hadn't been napping at all.
"What?" Barry rubs his eyes groggily, squinting at the midday sunlight creeping through the blinds.
"A nickname, Barry. I just realized that you don't have any nicknames for me."
He keeps his eyes shut for another brief moment, not quite yet ready to come back to reality, before opening them to consider her words.
"Oh. Huh. I guess I don't," he contemplates, bringing a hand behind his head.
"That's not fair," she pouts, propping herself up on one elbow to face him. "I want one. You get to be Bear."
"Better Bear than that other one you started using recently," he snorts.
She giggles. "You don't like Fleet Feet?"
He makes a face. "It sounds like a name the jocks from high school would pick out for me."
"Then you should reclaim it," she insists, bending forward to peck him on the lips. "Seeing as you can now outdo all those assholes in speed and strength."
"I don't know," he muses. "Something about it just takes me back to my scrawny, slow days."
"Don't worry about feeling slow. You were pretty fast last night…."
"Okay, okay," he interrupts, before she can tease him further about yesterday's embarrassing incident at bedtime involving some premature activity on his part. He's desperate to change the subject. "Let's think of one for you then. A tribute to your sweet tooth?"
"I'm listening," she nods earnestly, flashing her dimples.
"We'll go down the list. Cupcake?" he suggests.
"Too cliché."
"Brownie?"
"Kind of racist."
"Good point. Cronut?"
She raises her eyebrows. "Really, Bear?"
"You love cronuts!" he objects, sitting up avidly to emphasize his point, suddenly more awake and invested in the conversation. "You made me run all the way to that famous bakery in Star City once for a whole box. And if you want a unique nickname, there it is."
"If you ever call me Cronut…" she starts.
"What?" he challenges, smirking. "You'll call me something worse than Fleet Feet?"
She glares at him before narrowing her eyes.
"Minute Man."
"Hey!" he protests.
"Actually, a minute is too generous. You definitely didn't even last forty sec-"
He cuts her off by lunging at her, tackling her to the mattress. She's so startled by this sudden motion that he seizes the opportunity to hold her arms above her head, pinning her down by her wrists.
"That took, what, five seconds?" he taunts, keeping a firm hold on both her wrists with one hand to check his watch humorously. "Want me to go slower next time?"
She struggles to escape from his grip, before seeming to accept that she was trapped beneath him with no way out.
"Barry-please," she begs, although she's tittering, already twitching in anticipation of what was to come. "You can call me whatever you want-even Cronut!" she exclaims as a last-ditch effort.
His only response is to let go of her wrists, sinfully moving his fingers to her underarms. He eyes her smugly before attacking, completely tickling the wits out of her.
Her chest convulses as she shrieks with laughter. They become a tangled mess of pillows and limbs as she squirms in an attempt to kick him away.
"Barry, no-STOP," she gasps, barely able to form words, and he feels an even greater sense of victory. He squeezes her sides for added measure; her resulting cackle is the shrillest sound he's ever heard her make.
He supposes that's his cue to be merciful, so he pulls his hands away, looking on as she recovers, wheezing through the flushed cheeks and wet eyes that he's come to love about making her laugh.
When she's slightly more collected, he's pleasantly surprised to see her beam at him. It's an offering he thinks he shouldn't deserve after wrestling her, but that doesn't stop him from reveling in it and the wonder it always inspires. It's hard to take his eyes off of her after that.
He feels the stretch of a smile slowly take over his face. "Iris," he states simply.
"What?"
"Nothing. That's it. Just…Iris." He leans down to kiss her softly, gliding his lips smoothly over her wide grin.
"My Iris," he sighs into her warm breath, before claiming her mouth to his once more.