Part 2: It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing)

Barry Allen had been avoiding Dr. Harrison Wells for exactly one week and one day. "Had been" because now he positively, absolutely had to see him and there was positively, absolutely no way around it. He'd checked. Repeatedly. But with Dr. Hewitt sick, and Dr. Snart's lack of familiarity with the project, Barry was the only one with the knowledge and, indeed, reason to present Harrison Wells with the proposal for the Quark matter destabilization syphon recalibration implementation schematics. And Dr. Wells had to sign off on it before he implemented the recalibration. Had to. He'd checked. Repeatedly.

So now Barry was standing outside of Dr. Wells' office, clutching his pad for dear life, feeling sweat beginning to bead up on his brow. You can do this, Bartholomew, Barry commanded himself with an assuredness he didn't feel. If you can get through Thanksgiving dinner with Joseph West, you can get through this. Now buck up and go in there.

Barry steeled himself and raised his fist to knock on the door. Gideon had told him he could go right in but that didn't mean he could just barge into someone's office (Dr. Harrison Wells' office) without knocking. For a second he thought he heard Dr. Wells talking to someone and he hesitated. If he's busy he should come back later. But what would he do for the rest of the day if he didn't begin the recalibration? He'd already delayed enough, he'd finished all his ancillary tasks, and several games of solitaire. No, he had to do this. He took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in," came Dr. Wells' raspy voice, sending a wave of butterflies into Barry's stomach which he quickly attempted to stamp down. He opened the door to find Dr. Wells on the phone. He only spared Barry a quick glance before looking away, then turned back in a near comical double-take, his crystal blue eyes, unobstructed by glasses, widening a fraction in surprise.

Barry's breath caught in his throat. He had spent exactly one week and one day convincing himself that what had happened between himself and Dr. Wells had been a fluke, a cosmic accident, one that would never be repeated, and that whatever "feelings" he'd believed he held for the scientist were either the products of confusion brought on by unexpected attention and (ahem) stimulation, or were distorted and misplaced feelings of hero-worship.

But now, standing in Harrison Wells' office, coming face to face with the man, it was painfully clear to Barry Allen that he was neither confused nor was he in simple "awe" of this man. He was infatuated. Plain and simple. And there was no way around it.

"No, no," Harrison said into the phone. "I told you already, you're not allowed to - I don't care if all the other girls are going, my daughter is not going to be seen at some second-rate playboy's 'yacht party' and that's final." A brief pause. "You can hate me all you want, but if it'll keep some drunken bachelor's hands off of my only daughter then I can live with that." His tone was firm but without rancor. Another brief pause, during which Dr. Wells smiled fondly to himself and Barry felt every bit as though he were intruding. Then Harrison added, "I love you too. Bye, sweetheart," and pocketed his phone.

"I'm sorry about that," Dr. Wells said, gesturing for Barry to take a seat in front of the desk he was casually leaning a hip against. Barry wondered idly, as he sat, if Harrison Wells ever actually sat behind his own desk. "Teenage daughters can be… trying."

"Was that Jesse?" Dr. Wells raised an eyebrow and Barry felt a blush rise in his cheeks. "I did read your biography. I was your biggest fan, remember?"

"Was?" Dr. Wells asked, sounding far too amused for Barry's liking.

Rather than answer, Barry cleared his throat and held out the pad. "The, uh, recalibration proposal schematics." Dr. Wells took the pad, began swiping across the screen, flipping through the pages too fast for him to be reading them. Barry felt obliged to clarify, if only to fill the uncomfortable silence, "For the Quark matter destabilization syphon."

"I am aware, Dr. Allen," Dr. Wells dismissed. He paused on a particular page, finger hovering above the screen. Barry swallowed heavily. Harrison Wells may be many things but he was and always would be a genius, one who far outclassed Barry, and would likely always hold the young scientist's respect concerning all matters scientific. So when Barry saw Dr. Wells' eyebrows draw together as he reviewed his proposal, his stomach dropped to just below his colon.

"You're replacing the deionization couplings with centrifugal pulse modulators?"

"Yes! You see, we were looking at the syphon all wrong," Barry popped up from his chair, coming to stand beside Dr. Wells to flip the page forward and point out the new formula he'd devised. "We were thinking about containment instead of thinking about the syphon as what it is: an energy extraction system. We were so focused on dampening the output that we were overloading the couplings and generating a sixteenth of our potential final yield."

Dr. Wells was shaking his head. "Yes, but what about ionic particle decay?"

"That's the best part," Barry enthused, unable to help the enormous grin that was stretching his face. He flicked the file forward several pages until it landed on a new schematic. "By recalibrating the same hadron dispersal injection system we were already using we can flood the chamber with an additional pulse resonance to convert the ionic decay into protonic decay and -"

"Harvest the displacement as additional energy output," Dr. Wells finished for him with an air of amazement, Barry nodding emphatically at his expression of realization. "That is… brilliant, Dr. Allen."

Barry's face heated up and he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly (but still grinning like an idiot no matter how much he willed himself not to). "Well, I don't know if it's brilliant-"

"These recalibrations," Dr. Wells gestured with the pad. "Were your idea, weren't they?"

"Dr. Hewitt was instrumental in bringing the syphon project to where it is today-"

"Yes, that's very humble of you, Dr. Allen, but this formula-" He placed the pad down on the desk just behind him and tapped it with a sure finger. "Is entirely your invention, is it not?"

"I did write the formula, yes-"

"Then accept the praise, Dr. Allen," Harrison Wells laughed and Barry's breath momentarily caught, blinded by his flashing blue eyes. The moment lengthened and he realized he'd been staring. He coughed and looked away, at anything, and ended up training his eyes on his tan wingtips.

"I-" He started, found his voice was too high and started again. "Thank you. Dr. Wells."

"You know, Dr. Allen," Harrison began, leaning closer to him and Barry realized just how close they had actually been. When had he made the decision to get this close to him? "I knew you were a rising star the moment I saw you." Barry snorted. "I mean it. When we first met, I said to myself, 'Here is a young man with a bright future ahead of him.' And you have not disappointed me."

Barry looked up at him through his lashes and found Harrison watching him with unwavering intensity, an intensity that caused the butterflies to course through his gut with renewed vigor.

"Barry Allen," Harrison said, his voice low and husky, making Barry's heart speed up tenfold. "Barry Allen," he repeated, closer now and Barry didn't dare look up at him. "What would you say if I told you I haven't been able to stop thinking about you?"

Barry closed his eyes, willing his nerves to settle, willing his pulse to slow. He can't be hearing this. This can't be happening. Not again. He didn't trust himself to say anything so instead only shook his head in a short, jerky movement.

"And, I think," Harrison was so close Barry could feel his breath against his ear, feel the warmth of his body against his side. He didn't dare move. "That you haven't been able to stop thinking about me either."

On instinct Barry's head shot up and he immediately regretted it. It was bad enough having to feel him so close but to see him, standing so near that he could make out the darker blue flecks in his eyes, standing close enough that if he just leaned a little closer he could-

"You might deny it but I've seen the way you look at me, when you think no one is watching, those shy glances, full of longing, of need. You said you 'weren't that kind of man'," Harrison quoted back to him. Barry didn't have time to be embarrassed at the memory of his own words because Harrison's hand was trailing up his arm, his shoulder, to his neck, to ghost his rough fingers along his throat, to graze his knuckles along his jaw, sending shivers up Barry's spine. Barry couldn't look away from him, from the hungry eyes that were watching his mouth. And he couldn't help the arousal that was building, hot and heavy, deep in his belly. "But, if I remember correctly, you're the type of man who'll let himself be rutted against like an animal pinned to my office wall." The sound of Barry swallowing was embarrassingly loud, and he briefly hated himself for how hard it made him to hear the whispered filth tumbling from Harrison Wells' lips.

"I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do now, Barry," Harrison went on, voice barely audible as he tilted Barry's face to plant feather light kisses to his cheek, to his ear. Barry's heartbeat was deafening. "I'm going to kiss you, I'm going to jack you off, I'm going to make you come, and you're not going to stop me. Do you want to know why you're not going to stop me?"

Barry was gripping the edge of the desk with white knuckles, knees weak. He dearly hoped Harrison couldn't see the effect his words were having on him - which would be fairly obvious if either of them happened to look down. He was disgusted with himself for wanting it so badly, for needing Harrison to touch him. Every little breath on his neck, every gentle kiss, every brush of his fingertips, set his skin ablaze. He felt himself leaning into the other man, arching his neck to give him better access. He wanted Harrison so badly it was like a physical ache. He realized belatedly that Harrison was actually waiting for a response. He cleared his throat before speaking, ensuring his voice wouldn't squeak when he opened his mouth. "Why?"

Harrison wrapped his fingers around Barry's throat, just as he had that night one week and one day ago, and spoke directly into his ear. "Because you don't want me to stop."

A sound inadvertently escaped Barry, halfway between a gasp and a whimper, and that one sound broke the flood dam that had built up between them. Harrison and Barry reached for each other at the same time, Harrison enveloping Barry in his surprisingly strong arms, Barry throwing his own around the taller man's shoulders, their mouths meeting harshly in the middle with a clash of teeth and tongues and stubbled cheeks grating against stubbled cheeks.

God, his mouth was just as incredible as he'd remembered, as in the dreams he'd had that he woke from sweaty and guilty. Last time he'd tasted of Scotch, but now, Jesus, now it was all him, sweet and heady and Barry could have kissed him forever, opening his mouth wide, wide enough to allow Harrison access to the deepest parts of him, working his jaw against Harrison's as the man ravished him, lapped at the inside of his mouth, pressed against his tongue.

Harrison pulled back to capture Barry's bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, eliciting a wanton moan from Barry that he didn't think he was capable of. When he released him Barry leaned in to kiss him but Harrison swerved and began kissing his neck, licking and sucking on that sensitive spot that made Barry throw his head back and dig his nails into the soft velour (velvet?) fabric of Harrison's blazer.

He could feel Harrison unbuttoning his cardigan but Barry couldn't be bothered to care because Harrison had angled a thigh between Barry's and pushed and oh - oh - that felt good - "Haaahn-" Barry gasped out, grabbing onto Harrison's hip to steady himself as he rutted against his thigh, his head lolled back as Harrison kept doing things with his tongue against his ear. Harrison pushed his cardigan off his shoulders and pulled his wonderful mouth away from Barry's neck to focus on pulling off Barry's bowtie and begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Barry couldn't help it, he ducked his head and caught Harrison's mouth with his own. God, he was such an amazing kisser. No one had ever kissed Barry the way Harrison Wells did. Like he owned him, like he was claiming every inch of him. And he wanted him to. God help him, he wanted Harrison Wells to claim all of him.

Harrison yanked Barry's shirt tails from his trousers to unbutton the last remaining buttons and all too soon their kiss was broken again, but then Harrison's mouth was claiming his collarbone, his sternum, capturing a nipple with his teeth -

"Holy hell -" Barry swore, tendrils of pleasure coursing through him, pooling in his gut, his fingers running through Harrison's thick, dark hair as the older man worried his sensitive flesh between his teeth, darting his tongue out to smooth over it, making Barry's hips jerk involuntarily with a high-pitched moan. "Ohh fu- God - Harrison-"

Harrison made a sound against his skin like a starving animal and immediately had his hands on Barry's belt, unbuckling, violently yanking the thin piece of leather out his slack's belt loops, sending a surprising thrill through Barry's veins. He was halfway through unfastening his trousers when the most vocal and sober part of Barry's subconscious self-preservation realized he was about to be very indecent in the middle of Harrison Wells' office. In the middle of the day.

"Harrison, wait." Barry could have sworn that Harrison had murder on his face when he looked up at him. "The-the door," Barry stammered. "It's not - we didn't -"

Harrison breathed out a laugh, tension easing out of the set of his jaw. He tilted his chin towards the ceiling and called out, "Miranda."

An emotionless, synthetic voice responded, "Yes, Dr. Wells?"

"Lock the door and hold all calls, please."

"Yes, Dr. Wells."

Harrison's mouth was back on Barry's neck before the AI had even finished responding to his command, the sound of the door's lock clicking automatically into place. "That - that's convenient," Barry chattered self-consciously, a little more awake now than he had been.

"Mmm," Harrison hummed into his skin, hands deftly working open his fly and yanking his slacks and underwear down over his ass in one skilled movement. Then he did what was both the most disgusting and arousing thing Barry had ever seen: he spit, heavily and wetly, into his palm before closing his fist around Barry's swollen, leaking cock.

"Jesus Chriiii- aaaah haaah-" Barry cried out, throwing his head back, gripping the desk with one hand and Harrison's shoulder with another to keep from falling. He immediately launched into a punishing pace, his fist a blur as it flew over Barry's erection, hot and tight and incredible and -

"Ohh - ohhh God - Harrison -" If he'd had more wherewithal to be ashamed he would have devastated by how high-pitched and wanton he sounded, how between gasped nonsense he was making the most ridiculous little cries and whimpers, sounds he'd never made before.

"That's it, Barry," Harrison rasped, his voice hot, breath heavy from effort, his pumping unrelenting. "Yeah, Barry, that's it."

He wasn't going to last. He knew he couldn't last, not when Harrison was going so fast, twisting his wrist every other stroke, squeezing almost painfully tight. Barry could already feel his climax building, his balls tightening, pleasure and arousal a tight, blazing knot in his solar plexus. "God - Harris - I'm gonna - haah - I'm -" He panted incomprehensibly, his hand fisted painfully in Harrison's jacket.

"Come for me, Barry," he growled. Barry unclenched his eyes to look at him and found him leering down at him, hungry, wanting, and it was so filthy it made Barry's toes curl, his orgasm so close he was trembling. "That's it, Barry. Let it go. Come for me."

Barry's back bowed, a guttural groan dying on his lips and his mouth falling open as his orgasm slammed through him, making the world go dark and stars swim in front of his vision. He felt the heat of his own come on his naked stomach, could hear the slick sound of Harrison's hand tugging his climax out of him even as his fist was coated in it. Harrison pumped him until Barry thought his soul was getting pulled out of him, until there was nothing left and Barry whimpered from overstimulation.

When Harrison finally released him the strength left Barry's body in a rush and he would have collapsed bonelessly if Harrison hadn't caught him by the shoulders.

"I've got you," Harrison soothed, voice hoarse from arousal, breathing labored. "Good boy, Barry. You did good. I've got you."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Barry Allen clung to Wells with feeble fingers, his face and chest flushed red, sweat falling down his forehead in beads and clinging to his long, dark eyelashes along with the pleasured tears that stained his askew glasses. He looked like he was in a daze, like a somnambulist. If he'd thought Barry was beautiful before, that was nothing compared to how sinful he looked right now.

He'd waited, patient as a saint, for one week and one day. He would have waited longer if he'd had to. Patience is a tricky word, however. He waited with no expectations to break that wait in favor of action, but that didn't keep him from seeing the boy's face every time he closed his eyes, from remembering his soft, trepidatious lips, so pliant under Wells' ministrations, from feeling the ghost of his smooth skin under his fingertips when he fisted his hands in his bedsheets at night, trying and failing not to relieve the tension in his body through vigorous self-abuse. But he'd been patient. And, just as he'd predicted, the young scientist had come to him. Under the guise of the Quark matter destabilization syphon project, but he'd come of his own volition, alone, and Wells had seen through that thin deception as clearly as he'd observed Barry Allen through the Labs' security feeds.

When the heaving of Barry's chest subsided, the boy's eyes fluttered open and he looked up at Wells, arm still around his narrow shoulders, with glazed grey-green eyes and a dopey half-smile that was so painfully endearing Wells had to actively stop himself from kissing the boy senseless all over again. Rather, he ran his knuckles over Barry's gently stubbled jaw and breathed, "You truly are a beautiful boy."

Barry's lopsided grin grew into a full, bashful one, so brilliant, so gorgeous that Wells' rationality thought "fuck it" and he leaned in to kiss him. Before he could make contact, however, Barry's eyes flicked down and his eyebrows creased, mouth falling open in a silent "o". Wells quelled the feelings of disappointment that threatened to rise behind his ribcage. The shame, self-disgust, and denial reaction was expected, but rather premature at this stage.

Surprisingly, however, Barry said, "I'm so sorry."

Wells exhaled a confused laugh. "What, pray tell, do you have to be sorry about?"

"You're jacket," he offered by way of explanation and twisted himself in Wells' arms to reach across the desk and grab a box of tissues. He pulled out a single tissue and folded it into a neat square before taking it to Wells' blazer and dabbing at it carefully. Wells laughed more earnestly when he realized that the "mess" their exertions had made of his blazer was dismaying Barry.

"I'm so sorry - I've ruined it and it's so beautiful - is it velvet?" The young scientist anxiously ran his words together, and Wells found himself laughing, actually laughing, in a way he hadn't done since he couldn't remember when. He caught Barry's wrist, stilling his nervous scrubbing, and pried the tissue from his fist to wipe off his own soiled hand.

"I have ten more at home just like it," he winked at Barry and watched with amusement as the boy had the nerve to blush, even after what they'd just done. This man was truly one in a million.

"Of course you do," Barry prattled as Wells took another tissue from the box in his hands to wipe off the splatter of come across the boy's taut stomach. "You're a billionaire, why wouldn't you have a closet full of beautiful jackets."

Keeping things in the closet is my specialty, Wells thought wryly as he wadded up the tissues and tossed them expertly into the trashcan behind the desk. Barry was looking a tad frazzled (not that that was anything new for the scientist) so Wells cupped his cheek and kissed him tenderly, once, on the lips. When he'd had Barry leaning back, his spine arched in pleasure as he pulled him to climax, he'd wanted nothing more than to flip the boy around, bend him over and take him, fuck him until he couldn't see straight, fuck him so hard he'd feel Wells inside him for weeks. But looking at him now, face relaxed, eyes dreamy, lips slightly parted as if in open invitation, he knew he could wait for him. If he took him now it'd be over, it'd be too much too fast and he'd lose him to an endless downward spiral of regret and guilt. But if he took his time, if he wooed him the way a boy like Barry was meant to be wooed, he could have him completely. And that was worth waiting for, regardless of the protests from his achingly hard erection that threatened to turn into cataclysmic soreness before the day was over.

Even as Wells watched him, Barry's goofy grin took on a mischievous quality. "You haven't-" He started, then reached out a tentative hand towards Wells' belt buckle. "If you want I could-"

Wells pulled away from Barry's reach without thinking. No, he thought desperately. No, no, no, no. You can't want me. You're not supposed to want me. You'll ruin everything.

Wells watched confusion flicker through Barry's beautiful eyes. When Wells spoke his voice was cold and flat and he hated himself so profoundly he could have thrown up. "Shouldn't you - compose - yourself, Dr. Allen? Your absence will be noticed by your colleagues."

The hurt that crossed Barry's face was a palpable, living thing, and Wells felt not unlike a man who had just kicked a loving puppy. He hated Barry's expressive face, he hated himself, he hated the kind of man he had to be, he hated this fucking world that forced him to be this way.

"Oh," Barry Allen said, his eyes suddenly shiny. "Oh. Yes. Of course. I'll just…"

Wells couldn't even enjoy the sight of the young scientist's perfect ass he bent over to lift up his trousers. If only Barry hadn't wanted him. If only it had gone according to his meticulous plan, the same plan he'd effortlessly executed for the past sixteen years with the one exception of… And that's the point, God damnit. He didn't want to repeat the same terrible mistake he'd made almost two years ago. If only Barry had been like the others, if only it had stayed to the same formula, he wouldn't have to see the soul-crushing pain in the boy's eyes, watch him dress like an abused whore, pretend not to hear him sniffle when he turned his back to retie his ridiculous, adorable bowtie. Why couldn't you just hate me like all the rest?

After he finished buttoning his plaid cardigan, Wells handed him the pad he'd brought to show him the, frankly, genius recalibration schematics for the Quark syphon. Barry hesitated with it in his hand, weighing it, watching the dark screen as if it might reveal some answer like a very flat magic eight ball. He opened his mouth and his voice was too high, too uncertain, to heartbreakingly vulnerable. "Dr. Wells, I-"

"Goodbye, Dr. Allen."

Whatever hope there had been in the young man was snuffed out like a candle flame. Barry Allen set his jaw and, without looking at him, turned on his heel and exited Wells' office. He didn't hold the door. It slammed shut behind him.

Wells didn't bring up the security feed on his console. He didn't want any further proof of the hurt he'd caused him. For the first time in almost two years Dr. Harrison Wells wished he was a normal man.

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's read and subscribed! I hope you're enjoying the story ^-^! To all my readers, I'd love to hear your opinions, so don't be shy and drop me a line :) See you next week, when we start to delve more into emotions and "angst" - though don't worry, there'll still be plenty of sexy time!
Spirit: Thank you for commenting! Gosh, it's so great to hear you're enjoying the story so much! I was nervous about starting an Earth-2 Barrison fic because I didn't think a lot of people would be into it, but it's good to know I've transcended boundaries and got you hooked! I hope you keeo reading :)