Title: Hero Complex
Rating: R
Warnings: anxiety, past child abuse
Pairings: Barry/Len
Spoilers: none

Hero Complex

The soft, classical music playing filtering through the restaurant from the live string quartet in the corner assumes the air of a funeral march when his watch informs him that his date is an hour late. That is, his date is not coming. Len releases a sigh and a barrage of brutal words - you're such a fucking idiot, of course she wouldn't show up for you, she probably walked in and took one look at you and left - inside his own head.

"I'm going to get your check, okay?"

The waiter's harsh tone makes Len want to sink further down in his seat. He pushes the heavy black frame of his glasses up his nose as he looks up at his server and plasters a smile onto his lips.

"Oh, uh ... Yes, that might be -"

The waiter is shifted off balance when a windswept young man pushes past him. He's wearing tight black jeans, an untucked plaid button up, and an apologetic expression. He's a picture of beautiful chaos, and like chaos, he is at once alluring and terrifying.

"I am so sorry I'm late, pretty." The stranger drops a kiss onto Len's cheek and lays a bright red rose across is place setting. "I swear, I will make it up to you. No work calls tonight at all. Even if it's the Captain." The stunning young man takes the seat across the table from Len and says to the waiter, "We'll need just a few minutes. And a bottle of wine. A red."

The last sentence is directed at Len, not like he expects a confirmation, but like he expects Len to appreciate whatever it is about red wine makes him chuckle. All it does, though, is produce two patches of heat on Len's cheeks. The young man's grin is wicked, sexy.

"Actually, make it a blush," he says.

Len has been humiliated plenty in his romantic life, but this takes the cake. He drops his gaze to the fingers twisting in his lap, but he's forced to abandon the soothing ritual when his glasses slip down his nose. At least the waiter has left to select a bottle of wine.

"Barry Allen," the stranger says.

"Len ... Snart." He hates telling people his name. An ex-boyfriend once said his name was the sexiest thing about him. "You, umm ... You don't have to ..."

Because they've just met, Barry doesn't know that Len often leaves his sentences unfinished. He waits for the final words that would make the thought complete longer than most people do. He shrugs like rescuing people who've been stood up is routine for him.

"It happens to everyone because people suck sometimes, but the waiter was being a douche. He needs to learn some manners."

The way Barry says it leaves an ominous feeling in Len's gut. He's not rude to the waiter when he returns, but he's not polite either. Everything is an unapologetic direction, not a request. Len's hand shakes slightly when he delivers his menu to the waiter. He doesn't remember what he ordered.

Barry leans forward, his expression intense but genuinely curious. "Are you uncomfortable because I'm a man? Because I'll totally leave if this is going to get weirdly macho, or like, blatantly homophobic."

"No," Len says quickly. "No, no. Uh ... I, yeah, I date, you know, anyone. I mean, not just anyone. All genders, I mean."

"Me too."

Barry bites into a breadstick like he hasn't eaten all day. Len is too nervous to try eating anything. The anxiety of a blind date coupled with the anxiety of getting stood up would have been hard enough to deal with, but Barry has a point that the waiter's brusqueness didn't make things any easier.

"Accountant," Barry says, but not like it's an insult.

"Close." Len adjusts his glasses. "Mathematician."

It's not as brainy as it sounds, but he refrains from mentioning that. Barry, however, is full of questions. Theoretical or applied mathematics? Has his work ever crossed over into physics? Or chemistry? Barry considers himself a chemist and a physicist even though his profession is crime scene forensics.

"Why theoretical mathematics?" Barry wants to know.

"I like making plans, but I like imagining the impossible too."

"That ... is a beautiful answer."

Barry carries the conversation easily through dinner. He coaxes answers from Len until finishing a sentence doesn't feel like such a chore. Everything is great until the waiter delivers the check. Len braces himself for the awkward discussion about going Dutch, but next thing he knows, he's standing at the waterfront ten blocks away.

"W-what?"

He stumbles around in vaguely circular patterns trying to find some explanation for the abrupt change in location. Barry stops him from spinning around again. He holds Len's tie prisoner and uses it to pull Len toward him. His kiss is as confident and demanding as him, and Len parts his lips willingly when Barry's tongue demands entrance. Len's skin feels electrified. He opens his eyes in time to see lightning sparking through Barry's green eyes.

Len pushes his glasses up his nose. "Wait. Did we dine and dash at ... superspeed?"

The grin pulling at the corners of Barry's kiss-plump lips is cocky and frightening. "I told you I was going to teach that waiter some manners."

Len's heart is beating so fast he thinks he might faint. He hasn't broken a single law in decades! He even drives the speed limit and only crosses the street at crosswalks. But, also, he knows a real, live metahuman now. He knows a metahuman who defies the laws of mathematics. And kisses really well.

"You look intrigued." Barry looks pleased by that. "Do you want to take me back your lab and play scientist?"

Len wishes he didn't feel the urge to laugh. He's a fan of puns, but innuendo has always embarrassed him. "Waiters only make two dollars an hour," Len blurts.

Expressions dance across Barry's face. Finally, he settles on amusement. "That guy was a dick to you."

"He still has bills to pay and our check is going to be deducted from his wages. You work for the police. You're supposed to uphold the law."

"Okay," Barry says. His grin is boyish and bright. "I paid the bill."

Len needs a moment to process that although nothing changed as he perceives it, the gust of wind ruffling his sport coat is not a product of nature. Barry just ran twenty blocks faster than Len's brain can process stimuli.

"Did you tip?"

Barry shakes his head. It feels like a challenge. Len doesn't rise to it. He's not okay with stealing, but righteous indignation is fine. When he doesn't say anything, Barry holds out his hand. Len twists his fingers and looks out over the waterfront, but in the end, he takes Barry's hand because he's still offering when Len is finished considering.

He doesn't see or hear or smell or feel anything between the waterfront and Barry's bed, which is soft but cold against his back. Barry's warmth makes up for the cool comforter. He straddles Len's hips and leans down to kiss him dirty and deep.

"I can't believe this is happening," Len mutters, while Barry tugs at his tie.

"You're not secretly a Lothario, Len?"

"N-no." Barry's lips and teeth feel so good against his neck. He's already getting hard and rocks up against Barry. "One person at a time for me."

"That's very genteel of you, Len. I hope you don't think I'm too fast."

Something about that phrase strikes Barry as excessively funny, like his request for red wine. And Len understands a moment later - Holy shit! The Flash. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. He is not someone to mess around with - so it's understandable that Len is distracted enough that he doesn't realize Barry is unbuttoning his shirt until it's too late to hide the scars.

Barry goes still over Len. His expression hardens.

"M-my dad. He's in prison."

"Mine too," Barry says. "He murdered my mom. That's why I do what I do."

That explains a lot about who gets locked up in the Flash's pipeline and who is allowed a second chance. It explains why he doesn't seem to care about casualties sometimes and goes to great lengths, even personal injury, to avoid them other times.

Barry sits back on his heels. Len feels the loss of contact like a shot to the heart.

"Do you really want this, Len? Or am I pushing you? I know how I can be sometimes. It's the speedforce. It makes me reckless and impatient. I want you to want this."

His voice breaks on the final word, and Len understands that what he means by 'this' is 'me.'

"I want you," Len says.

Everything moves slower now. Barry undresses for Len. He's lean and muscular like the runner he is, and his skin is impossibly smooth and clear. He asks Len what he wants and makes him repeat the full sentence of the option he chooses.

"I want to fuck you."

Barry takes Len's fingers into his mouth, climbs on top of Len, and touches himself, and Len doesn't know if he wants to watch Barry's face or hands. He slides his fingers inside of Barry when his hand is guided, and Barry frees Len from the confines of his dress pants while he moans and gasps into Len's ear.

"It's kind of a shame you're not as slutty as me," Barry says. "You've deprived the world of your cock, pretty."

"You're not slutty."

"I am a little bit. It's part of the recklessness. I'm ready for you. You want to take over from here?"

Barry doesn't insist that Len remove his clothes, or even encourage it, but Len shrugs out of his pants and shirt anyway. But he does insist that Len tell him what position he wants, so Len elects the position he's most comfortable with.

"This is nice," Barry says. "Most of the men I'm with don't want to face me."

Len's furrowing brow makes his glasses slip down his nose. Barry pushes them up with one finger. "Why not?"

"You're the sweetest, Len."

There's nothing particularly different about sex with a metahuman. Barry doesn't do anything at superspeed - although Len's finish damn near approaches superspeed, much to his humiliation - or defy physics in anyway. It's pretty much like it's always been, but better because of the way Barry holds onto Len and kisses at his jaw and neck even when they're breathing too hard to kiss on the mouth. After, Barry lays on Len's chest like it's any other chest not covered in abuse scars and plays with the patch of hair on his chest.

"Can I see you again?"

The question feels like a lump in Len's throat, but he's so proud of himself for getting it out. "Yes."

Barry pushes himself up onto his elbows and props his chin on Len's chest. It's cold in the room, but his skin and gaze are hot. "You sure you wouldn't mind being with the Flash?"

Len considers that honestly. He's read all the headlines, felt the waves of adoration and discomfort toward the Flash just like the rest of the city, but it's not that so much that bothers him. He has some mysterious power to influence Barry's actions. Maybe he could tap into that to rein in some of his excessive violence.

"Would I have to share you with anyone?"

"Only the whole city," Barry replies. He reads Len's question different a moment later. He settles back into his previous position with his cheek on Len's chest. "Oh. No. I'm slutty, not a cheater. You'll have to deal with my libido all on your own."

"I like the sound of that."

Len traces his fingers through Barry's messy hair until Barry's breathing levels out and deepens. Then he turns his attention toward the way his eyelashes fan against his cheek and the gorgeous planes of his body draped over the old, tired scars of his own. He's so young and flawed with so much unresolved baggage it will drag him down one day, but right now, he's trying so hard to be good.

Sleep overtakes Len in the middle of one final thought. He is definitely going to fall in love with Barry Allen.