Best Laid Plans
by Sandrine Shaw
On board the Waverider, Barry Allen is a bundle of nervous energy, geeking out over the fact that they're on board a time-traveling space ship and unduly excited about Gideon. It's approximately 49% adorable and 51% annoying, though Leonard is seriously considering shifting the balance in favor of the 'annoying' part because the kid's also too goddamn smug for his own good.
He doesn't explicitly tell Leonard 'I knew there was good in you', but for all the smug looks and cheeky insinuations and the liberal use of the term 'heroes', he might as well have given in to the temptation to voice the 'I told you so' that's clearly burning on his tongue.
There's only so much of that goody-goody nonsense Leonard can take. "Don't get excited, Scarlet. This is very much a temporal gig. I'll be back in 2016 planning heists and being a thorn in your side in no time."
Barry's lips twitch. "You mean after you've saved the world. Maybe you should check the definition of 'villain' sometime? I think you might be confused."
And really, this just won't do.
He steps abruptly into Barry's space, forcing him to stumble backwards as Leonard crowds him against the wall of the corridor. The metal edges must be digging uncomfortably into Barry's back through the flexible material of his suit. Leonard half-expects him to speed away, but he doesn't, not even when Leonard steps closer yet, only stopping when he has the kid well and truly trapped and unable to slip away easily without a tussle. His right leg pushes forward between Barry's thighs until Barry has to adjust his stance by spreading his legs a little further, unbalancing himself.
"Do I really need to remind you about what kind of a man I am? Thought you learned your lesson when you enlisted my help with your precious metahuman cargo." He makes a show of putting his hand on the grip of his holstered cold gun, fingers carelessly brushing against the inside of Barry's leg in the process.
Barry jerks at the contact. "I know exactly what kind of a man you are," he says, but the smug edge is missing and there's a distinct waver in his voice.
For a moment, Leonard is almost satisfied at having successfully ruffled the kid and restored some of the old fear, before he notices the flush that's turned the lower half of Barry's face almost as red as the cowl above. The way the green of his eyes is swallowed by black. How his gaze keeps restlessly drifting down to Leonard's lips. And that, that's not fear.
Well. Damn.
What to do with one thoroughly turned-on speedster?
The possibilities for teasing are endless and the 'Well, well, well, Barry Allen, aren't you full of surprises today?' is already sitting on the tip of his tongue, but won't quite come out because the desire-drunk look on Barry's face hits him with the force of a lightning-fast punch to the gut and he can't quite stop himself from wondering how far down that blush goes.
'You're going soft over the kid, Snart,' a displeased voice in the back of his mind that sounds suspiciously like Mick's gruff rumble points out. Except there's nothing soft in the way Barry's body is straining against his, groin rubbing insistently against his thigh as he moves, making it impossible not to feel how hard his cock is underneath the skin-tight fabric of his suit.
That flash of indecision is enough for Barry to seize the moment, leaning forward and slanting their lips together, his mouth soft and wet, tasting of coffee and copper and terrible decisions. Leonard kisses back, takes everything Barry is offering because he's selfish and greedy and a thief, because all the self-restraint in the world won't stand a chance when Barry fucking Allen is looking at him like this, before he reminds himself that he knows better than to follow his favorite nemesis into this rabbit hole of madness.
He pulls himself away a fraction, meaning to put some distance between them, but it's like Barry has a gravitational pull he can't escape.
"Bad idea, kid." His drawl sounds as shaken as he feels.
Barry cocks his head a little to the left. "That's not exactly a no," he says, grinning – and really, why should this be different from any other time the kid fixates on a half-baked, stupid plan that's bound to end in disaster, pushing until he finally gets his will?
Leonard sighs and figures he might as well save himself the pointless argument that Barry will doubtlessly win by sheer determination anyway. So when Barry's fingers tangle in the collar of his parka and pull, he lets himself be dragged forward, eliciting a low moan from Barry's throat as Leonard's thigh presses once more against the bulging hardness between his legs.
Barry smiles against his lips, entirely too self-satisfied, and Leonard decides not to begrudge him his victory for once.
End.