A/N: Inspired by this post post/140256017006/goldandcold-all-i-want-in-life-is-seeing#notes, except I took it in a little different direction :)
It's around 10:18 in the evening when Len's cell phone goes off. He looks at it before he answers it, even though the assigned ringtone is a dead giveaway as to who's calling. Besides, only three people have access to this particular cell phone number, and Len happens to be one of them. Regardless, he checks the screen and smirks at the caller ID. Only then does he answer the phone.
"Yel-lo."
"Len," Barry says sternly, the sound of him speedily rummaging through stuff in his apartment clear on Len's end of the call, "did you swipe my sweats?"
"What?" Len answers with a laugh. "Why the fuck do you think I'd do that?"
"Len," Barry gripes, then mutters shit when he bumps into some piece of furniture that makes a loud rattling noise (Len suspects the three-drawer dresser by the bed, the one with Barry's secret middle drawer), "every time you spend the night, a pair of my sweats walks away."
"So?" Len scoffs. "That doesn't mean I took 'em. Besides, you've got like, what, nine pair?"
"Correction," Barry says, "I had four pair, and they've all mysteriously disappeared."
"Well, why do you need them so bad for anyway?" Len asks. "You have other clothes."
"Yeah," Barry agrees. "I just…I like sleeping in those. I mean, I'm not exactly a pajama person."
"So, does that mean you'll be sleeping…in the nude?"
"Len," Barry whines.
"Okay," Len says, "well, just in case you didn't know, your original question offends me for two reasons."
"And they are?"
"First of all, the last time I wore sweats, I was six, and I could not be held accountable for my actions."
"And second?" Barry asks, solely out of morbid curiosity.
"Of all the clothes you own, why in the hell would I swipe those dumb ass S.T.A.R. Labs sweats? Actually, why would I wear anything of yours? Although, that red leather suit you've got I might consider borrowing next time I'm at your place."
"Ha-ha," Barry deadpans. "Funny."
"Look," Len says, "the way I see it, you've got two options. You can either run yourself down to S.T.A.R. Labs and get yourself another pair…"
"Or…" Barry presses when Len doesn't start immediately in on option number two.
"Or…you can run your naked ass down to my place, in which case, you won't need anything to sleep in."
Barry sighs. It sounds tired and frustrated, but Len can hear the smile in it.
"As tempting as that offer is," Barry says, "I'm gonna have to decline."
"Well, you can't blame a guy for tryin'," Len replies.
"Sure, I can," Barry retorts, "seeing as I now get to sleep in a pair of faded Superman pajama pants that have a huge hole in the crotch."
"Now, that's a special look," Len snickers.
"Don't you know it?"
"Just run a couple stitches in it," Len suggests. "We both know you're good with your hands."
Barry chuckles. "Sure. Good night, Len."
"Good night, Bare."
Len hangs up, and shoves his phone into the pocket of the pants he's wearing, letting his hand linger in the warm, soft confines of the cotton fleece. He lucked out, because these are new. He glances down his body, smiling slyly at the black sweats, the S.T.A.R. Labs logo emblazoned in stark white across the chest of the shirt, and down one leg of the pants. A petulant mewl draws Len's eyes to the floor. At the foot of the recliner he's relaxing in sits a smaller than normal (in his opinion) black short-haired kitten, with startling ice blue eyes. It's not really his cat - just some obnoxious stray that Lisa feeds even though Len has told her a dozen times not to. But it managed to find a way in (the only living thing that's been able to do so uninvited) so he agreed to let it stay out of professional courtesy. Honor among thieves, so to speak. Except now it seems to think that Len's its best fucking friend.
The furry little bastard never leaves him alone, and lately, it's taken to acting like his conscience.
The kitten meows again, and Len shakes his head.
"Shhh…" he hushes the thing with a finger to his lips, as if him wearing the sweats he pilfered from his oblivious boyfriend is their secret.
The kitten meows louder, this time, Len swears, accusingly, and he gives it a mocking, wide-eyed look of innocence.
"What?" he says to the judgmental feline. "This one has a hoodie." He reaches up and pulls the oversized hood down, covering his face. "No way I wasn't taking it."