The final item Iris needed to unpack that would officially mark her as settled into Eddie's apartment was the framed photograph of herself and Barry that she managed to swipe from her dad after exchanging goodbyes. She removes it from the otherwise emptied cardboard box at her feet and sets it onto her vanity table. From now on, Barry's still, smiling face would survey her whenever she glammed herself up. Somehow the thought of Barry, even in a mere picture, watching her apply makeup, style her hair, or just reach over for a bottle of perfume makes her cheeks burn. She stares at the photo longer, first at her arm perched over his shoulder, then back at Barry's face beaming at her, before she finds she has to look away. Whether or not it was telling of her to save displaying the photograph until the very end of her move is not something she wants to contemplate right now.
She doesn't have much control over what her mind wants her to contemplate these days anyway. Things with Barry are still somewhat tense, even after he assured her it was all going to be okay, sealing his promise with a fist bump, like he would do when they were younger. None of that had managed to console her, not when she can't overlook the sadness in his eyes, or forget the dejection in his voice, or disregard the compassion in his words to her even though her decision had hurt him.
And especially not when she herself can't stop wondering what might have ensued had Barry been honest about his feelings for her so many Christmases ago…
She shakes herself out of her stupor. She simply can't allow such thoughts to overwhelm her, particularly on the first night in her new apartment after officially moving in. Eddie is her boyfriend. As of today, she shares not only a roof, but a bed with him. This is home now, no matter how difficult it might be to grasp the idea of a home without Barry dropping in and out.
There she goes, thinking about Barry, AGAIN. That wasn't even a minute, Iris, she reprimands herself.
She sighs and turns away from the photograph and vanity table altogether, deciding to plan for the night ahead. No doubt Eddie would distract her when he came back, though she refuses to acknowledge the twisted notion of her boyfriend being the one to divert her attention away from another man, even if that man was her best friend.
Normally Eddie didn't work on the weekend, but he was called in to the precinct earlier this morning, leaving Iris with enough space to finish unpacking (but perhaps too much space to muse over Barry). Eddie sent her a text afterward letting her know he would return after questioning a special witness. Lately it seemed like every witness was considered "special" in light of all the unusual cases across the city perpetrated by offenders that Barry told her the police were classifying as meta-humans.
"Oh my God-STOP," she actually utters out loud to the empty room, with a literal smack to her forehead. It was either let her mind succumb to thoughts of Barry or lose her mind entirely.
The clock on the wall indicates that Eddie should be arriving anytime soon. She welcomes the prospect: since she could formally deem this their first night living together after the big move, it wouldn't be far-fetched to think the evening was going to be a unique one. Sex would certainly be a good preoccupation at the moment, let alone a reminder to her obtuse brain of her status as Eddie's girlfriend who resided with him.
Iris heads to the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets and refrigerator to see what kind of dinner she can realistically produce from the food she comes across. She's in the mood to whip up something special, perhaps one of her favorite recipes that Barry always jokingly insists she patent, his own way of praising her cooking. Before she can consider what that something would be and whether Eddie (arguably the pickiest eater she's ever known) would even like it, it becomes clear that there aren't enough ingredients to make pretty much anything decent. It's not that Iris doesn't love pizza nights, but she didn't anticipate that would be her first home meal with Eddie. She makes a note to go grocery shopping tomorrow.
For the next half-hour or so, she busies herself with chilling a bottle of champagne, defrosting a package of cocktail shrimp she fishes from the back of Eddie's freezer (their freezer, she reminds herself with gritted teeth), and melting chocolate to make dip for the need-to-be-eaten ASAP strawberries and pineapple she just finished slicing. She would have a nice, relaxing night in with Eddie, enjoy some takeout, maybe order a movie since she and Barry had been meaning to get through all of this year's Oscar-nominated films before Awards Show Season kicked off-
"Shit!" she curses after grazing her thumb against the scorching pot of chocolate. Really, Iris? What to turn to when even chocolate didn't exert its magical distracting properties?She quickly switches the stove off, sucking the affected finger for relief.
"Do I smell chocolate?" Eddie peeks his blonde head into the kitchen doorway, grinning.
"Hey!" Iris exclaims, feigning a smile. "I didn't even hear you come in."
Eddie squeezes himself between the counter and stovetop to stand behind her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "What's all this?"
She fights the urge to roll her eyes. Iris doesn't consider herself the overly romantic type, but wasn't it quite obvious that she was making an effort here because it was their first night in the apartment together after her permanent move? She mentally reproaches herself for feeling frustrated though, recognizing that she's taking her peculiar mood out on poor, sweet Eddie.
Eddie stretches his arm across her to dip a finger into the chocolate. "Am I forgetting something? A birthday? Anniversary? Some other special occasion?" he asks with genuine curiosity.
Iris sighs. Poor, sweet, clueless Eddie. She wasn't aware she was dating Barry, but she wonders if she would be half as annoyed if she were.
Aaand now she hates herself for comparing her boyfriend to Barry, for considering what it would be like to date Barry, and for thinking about Barry at all.
In Eddie's attempt to reach over her to scoop the chocolate from his hand to his tongue, a good dollop of it lands right on top of her head.
"Oops!" he gapes, open-mouthed from his finger to the spot where his treat dropped. "I'm so sorry, Babe!"
"No, it's fine," she assures him, though truthfully, she's slightly peeved and wishes she didn't even bother with any kind of food prep in the first place. "That won't help," she jerks away from the paper towel he awkwardly pats at her hair, "It's sticky and I'll need to wash it out in the shower." Honestly, didn't men know anything?
Eddie, unperturbed by her cross manner, smirks, wiggling his eyebrows. "I can join you if you like."
Her annoyance at his ineptitude and earlier naiveté starts to fade at his not-so-suave, but nonetheless sincere flirtation, and she suddenly finds herself unable to suppress a smile or a move to peck him on the lips. Eddie was going to be Eddie. Perhaps her sourness all evening has been unwarranted. It was certainly unfair to him.
"How about you order a pizza for us while I get cleaned up?" she suggests when she pulls away from him, rubbing his shoulders affectionately. "You can choose any toppings you want." He was truly the fussiest eater she had ever met, but he was also her cute, endearing boyfriend, and was this not the first of many compromises that come with living together as a couple?
"I had dinner with your dad, actually," Eddie pipes. "Just before I left the precinct, he asked if I wanted to grab some Big Belly. I think he's starting to warm up to my whisking you away." He grins stupidly, evidently pleased with himself.
He isn't, Iris thinks, and her previously evaporated exasperation returns. She can't decide if she's more irritated that her dad resorted to eating fast food only a day after she moved out, or that her boyfriend is so blissfully unaware of the fact that it would have been courteous to inform his freshly settled-in girlfriend of this arrangement. She decides to be more vexed with her dad: if Eddie is clearly too oblivious to realize that her father's gesture was no such peace offering (more likely, it was Joe's petty way of keeping the two of them apart. She imagines him and Barry chuckling about it over a beer this very second), then she can't hold him accountable for being so unaware as to eat out without her on this particular night, right?
In fact, if not for the perfectly-timed, audible growl of her stomach, she's not sure Eddie would have remembered that she was busy unpacking all day, understood that she had been waiting for him to have dinner, or grasped that his significant other now lived with him permanently, which designated her as his standard mealtime companion henceforth.
"Are you hungry?" he questions, frowning. "Why didn't you text me if you were-"
His eyes abruptly widen in recognition. "Good God, Iris. You were totally waiting for me to get back to eat dinner. And this-" he nods at the pathetic pot of chocolate on the stovetop, the wilted chopped fruit, and champagne bottle now completely submerged in a bucket of melted ice water, "All this was supposed to be for us. Oh God, I'm such an idiot. I totally didn't realize…"
"Eddie-" she starts.
He pulls his jacket on hastily. "I'm heading out right now to bring you something to eat," he vows. "What are you craving? Name it, and it's yours."
"It's okay, Eddie," she reassures him, accepting that it's not worth it to be upset over something so trivial.
"But Iris-"
She stands on her tip toes to silence his protest with a kiss, warmer and hazier than the one they had just shared minutes before. She concedes to her odd fluctuations in mood today, but something about Eddie's earnest confusion coupled with his immediate move to rectify his mistake weakens her knees and softens her heart. She wraps her arms around his neck to bring him closer, succumbing to the feeling of belonging to him again, a concept she had admittedly been struggling with since Christmas.
They slowly break apart, both of them breathing harder than before.
"I definitely didn't deserve that," Eddie grins shyly, hanging his head.
"No, you didn't," she agrees humorously, arms still secured behind his neck.
"I'm so sorry, Iris," Eddie admits honestly, and the way his voice mellows and his sky eyes bore into hers makes her believe him. "Things have just been so hectic at work with The Flash and all these...meta-humans." He shakes his head, like he can't believe that such beings exist. "I'm going to make it up to you tomorrow, I promise."
She brings her hands to his chest. "Actually," she smirks, undoing the top button of his shirt, exposing just a hint of his pale chest hair. "You can make it up to me tonight."
He looks so giddy that she almost laughs, but his expression inexplicably turns confused. "Here? Now?" he blinks.
Now her patience is truly wearing thin. "Eddie-just get ready for bed while I shower. I'll come join you, okay?" She wasn't going to drop the hint that it would be nice if he offered to join her instead, especially in light of his earlier suggestion to.
"Sounds good!" he chirps, with a squeeze of her arm before practically skipping away with glee.
Iris shakes her head: Eddie wouldn't understand a hint if it came crashing down on him from the ceiling.
She reasons through the events of the day in the shower, attributing Eddie's more-than-typical obliviousness to the stress of his long workweek and her cynicism to the hassle that accompanied adjusting to a new living space. While she lathers her hair, she does her best to ignore the role that the truth bomb Barry dropped on her might play in all of this. In fact, it doesn't play a role at all, Iris decides, rinsing the suds off her body. And if it did, it was probably just because it pains her to see Barry upset, not because she may believe the two of them would have been a suitable match, had Barry told her he thought so years ago. She scrubs at her skin, more roughly than she should. Absolutely not, she concludes, shutting the water off.
Only when Iris steps out of the stall, wraps herself in a towel, and turns to face the mirror does she realize she forgot to take the ring Barry gifted her for Christmas off before showering. It glistens in the mirror, as the water droplets garnishing the silver reflect the bathroom light more prominently. She stares at the reflection of the ring settled against her bare collar, perched just above her heart before she hurriedly unclasps the chain from her neck and stows it in the drawer beneath the sink.
She and Eddie are just in an awkward, getting-accustomed-to-each-other phase, she insists as she dries her dark locks. This must happen to all couples when they moved in together. All would be well and back to normal soon enough, maybe even after some much-needed sex. She smiles to herself while she smooths lotion across her arms and legs. She's not even the least bit embarrassed at how much the prospect brightens her mood. The anticipation courses through her and turns into a sort of thrill when she slithers into a black slip, the silk a pacifying sensation against her skin, so much that she almost hopes Eddie doesn't undress her entirely tonight. After some consideration, she rummages through her underwear drawer to put on the first pair of panties she gets a hold of, figuring that she should at least then give him the satisfaction of stripping her of something.
She doesn't bother hanging up her towels or putting bottles and hairdryers away, more eager to get to bed. She quickens her pace, impatient to the fact that their walk-in closets (both adjacent to the bathroom) are somewhat separated from the rest of the bedroom. Nonetheless, her pulse pounds in exhilaration as she strides down the short hallway to meet him, not only at her chest but also at that throbbing site that she can't wait for Eddie to touch. She could really use his strong legs around her right now and his mouth in some strategic places…
She enters the room only to find Eddie fast asleep on his stomach, snoring boisterously.
One part of Iris tells her she should have expected a disappointing end to a disastrous Saturday, while another part urges her to scream until she can't anymore. She settles for a disheartened sigh, pulling back the covers to climb into bed beside her pitiful, sleeping boyfriend. Well, it WAS a momentous first night together, she ruminates, reminding herself that there's always Sunday morning sex to look forward to.
What she really wishes she could do is pick up the phone and give her best friend a call to vent about her less-than-ideal time away from home thus far, but she knows that's not an option at this point, nor especially about this particular scenario. She wants to laugh at what Barry's face might look like at the discussion of her sex life with Eddie, but upon further contemplation, the thought of his face upon discussing anything related to Eddie actually makes her want to cry.
She turns onto her shoulder away from Eddie. Tomorrow was a new day in her new life with him. He happened to be exhausted today, and that was okay. She had infinite days together with him to look forward to. She feels herself drifting off into a passive slumber, holding onto the hope of such better days (and nights) to come.
She finds herself hazily roused awake with the vague awareness of a curious tactile sensation against her legs. Assuming it's the confinement of being trapped under a thick blanket, she kicks at the covers in frustration. When the sensation persists, she realizes something, or rather someone, is shuffling across her body.
"Eddie?" she mumbles drowsily.
No response. Instead, the mysterious entity continues to stir, and in an upward direction from her legs at that. She's perplexed, but also too sleepy to thoroughly investigate what exactly is ensuing.
The touch she feels is unmistakably one of hands skirting across her body; there's no doubt that whatever is moving over her is a human being, as she assumed. Their palms are sturdy but gentle, stroking her lightly through the silk of her garment. The contact evokes a pleasant tingling down her spine.
"Mhmm," she chuckles softly to herself. That feels nice.
She opens her eyes to find herself face-to-face with Barry.
She furrows her brows slightly. Barry? That was unexpected. What was he doing here? How did he get inside the apartment? Why is his chest bare? She wants to ask him, but she's sidetracked by the sweeping lashes that frame the green seas of his eyes. They crinkle fondly with the smile he gives her, also captivating enough to make her forget any questions she had: cool, cocky, confident, but not without the hint of sweetness that makes him Barry, the touch of endearment that she's always loved about him.
She blinks at him before smiling back plainly, like a resigned worship of him and his enticing grin.
Barry brings a quiet finger to his lips. She's not sure why, but she nods obligingly anyway, her eyes never leaving his face. They follow his every motion as he moves his mouth to her ear. He whispers something, though what it is she can't quite tell. She is however very conscious of the thrill his tickling warm breath propels through her, and she shivers pleasantly.
He nibbles her ear while extending his hands to pull her hair back, exposing her throat. Where Iris had just been shuddering, she's now still in anticipation, hardly daring to breathe. He leisurely trails kisses from her ear down to the column of her neck. Had the exquisite press of Barry's lips on her skin not felt so satisfying, so indulgent, she may have forgotten to breathe altogether, but the tantalizing allure of the contact has Iris parting her own lips to faintly gasp.
Eventually one of his kisses evolves into a firm bite, and Iris can't breathe again. He passes his tongue over the skin where his teeth just were to soothe the sting, as one of his hands wanders to the hem of her slip, smoothing it upward. While she's leaning her head sideways into his tongue, Barry slips a hand down her panties, making fleeting contact with the throbbing site between her legs. His touch is brief, but enough for her to hope he keeps his hand there. Instead it moves to grope her thighs. Only then does she understand his motive to prime her body. She should have realized that her playful best friend was going to delicately torture her. She would expect nothing less from Barry.
He's since brought a second hand to join the first at her thighs. His strong palms are juxtaposed to his slender fingers. In Barry's assertive grip, her petite form feels smaller than ever, but she's also never felt safer. She's suddenly convinced the best protection she'll ever find is in his arms.
Just as she's dissolving in his hands, he glides them off her legs. Before she can protest, he's toying with the straps of her slip, which he carefully slides down her shoulders, unveiling one breast at a time. He somehow knows to keep her partially clothed while he reveals her chest, like she had wanted earlier. She finds she has to close her eyes again when he starts to knead her. His palms skim across the whole of her chest, his thumbs lightly rub under her breasts, his closed lips brush against her nipples. She would have never thought clumsy Bear could be so gentle.
She wants to hold his head to her heart, to clutch him to her and never let him go, but he pulls away again, this time to push the skirt of her slip up even further to her navel. He's agonizingly slow, and Iris immediately regrets the decision to put underwear on. Barry had to sense the heat emitting from her. To deny her what she wanted now would almost be cruelty, like a vengefulness of some sort.
Perhaps he was feeling vindictive, because he settles atop her by bounding her thighs with his own. Before she thinks to object, he separates her legs with one of his knees, sliding it up to meet her where she aches the most. She's so pleased at the contact, so grateful that he lets her rub against his rigid knee, especially when she was about to resolve herself to the belief that he was never going hand over his control. She exhales with relief while she grinds against him. Any moment now, Barry was going to completely free her legs, he was finally going to let her have it-
He retracts his knee just as soon as he pressed it to her.
This time, Iris actually whimpers. Or at least she thinks she does. She doesn't hear an audible noise leave her lips. She strains the vocal cords in her throat, trying convey her objection again, but not a sound is to be heard.
She looks to Barry for some explanation, but he's preoccupied with the waistband of her panties. She watches with apprehension as he pulls the worthless cloth down to her ankles. Her entire body is tense, awaiting his next motion. For a moment, he pauses, eyes meeting hers. They're darker than she's ever remembered, and she shudders at the sight. The intensity of his gaze can't be attributed solely to lust, though. In his eyes, she also reads what looks like regret, pain, longing. Maybe even loss.
Whatever it is, she's glad she can't see his eyes anymore when his head disappears between her legs.
Beneath the ministrations of his tongue, she's having trouble wrapping her own head around the idea of Barry's mouth pressed deep inside her, the same mouth that smiled at her across the breakfast table each morning, the mouth that teased her every time he won a round of bowling, the mouth that promised her she was his best friend, the mouth that uttered that he loved her.
The torment Barry is inducing in her is suddenly too overwhelming. Not only is the pace of his licking excruciatingly slow, he's keeping her thighs close together with his elbows. She wants to open them wider, but he won't let her.
She tries to cry, shout his name, beg him, but she can't. Tears well at the corners of her eyes with the strenuous effort to. She does what she can, digs her toes into the flesh of his back, fists his hair, thrusts her hips upward, all in the desperate attempt to be closer to Barry. Her efforts are futile, as he keeps her legs locked together through his tender sucking.
All she craves is lush release. All she wants is to ride his mouth to ecstasy.
All she needs is him, his body, his essence, his love.
Then-
He lets her go. At last, she's liberated. She can finally have him, all of him-
Iris jolts awake with a gasp, sitting up wildly. Air fights to enter her constricted throat, to feed her frantic lungs and palpitating heart.
Gradually, recognition dominates her consciousness, and her heaving chest slows to balance the more even pace of her breathing.
She surveys her surroundings. Her view is black, but it's enough for her to make out that she's in the apartment, in her same bed she fell asleep in, which was hours ago according to the clock on the wall. Eddie is still obnoxiously snoring beside her. Although she's drenched in sticky sweat, she's fully dressed, with all her clothes intact.
She climbs out of bed, not even daring to glance in the direction of the vanity table. She switches the bathroom light on as well as the faucet, splashing cool water over her face. After bending over the sink for several minutes, she slowly opens the drawer beneath it.
The ring and its chain rest where she stashed them earlier, nestled into a corner among loose Q-tips and bobby pins. With shaking hands, she scrapes the piece of jewelry from the floor of the drawer, running her fingers across the cold, vivid silver. She glances into the mirror as she carefully brings the chain around her throat, clasping the tiny hook behind her neck. For a moment, she's reminded of Barry's delicate wrists as they moved to fasten the necklace across her collar the morning they exchanged gifts.
"Like a steel trap,"Barry had joked, gesturing to his head after she remarked that he remembered exactly what her mother's ring looked like, when and where she lost it, and how devastated she had been to have it disappear forever.
Not a steel trap, Iris thinks. A soft heart.
More specifically, the soft heart of a boy who loved her so much, he couldn't divulge to her that he did.
And if she loved him back, she couldn't let him know, because she was with someone else.
Was this what love was?
It's a difficult question, one that she figures she'll spend a long time trying to answer as she returns to bed, laying on her back to stare blankly at the ceiling, fiddling with the ring at her neckline. Her first clue comes in the nights that follow when she realizes she's never once gone to bed hoping she'd dream of a man other than Barry.