A/N: It's been a while, and I've switched fandoms, but I hope there are a few of you out there with a dirty mind that are intrigued by the prospect of this fic. It's a direct future follow-up (as in jumping from episode 3x20 to 3x22) to the second chapter of Hanging Fire by fElBiTeR on AO3. If you'd rather not have to go and read that (since I'm not sure if it exists on this site). Essentially it's about Barry confronting Savitar about who he really is, and it ending up in a blow job for Barry. There are also references to Barry & Eobard Thawne having fucked in the past (at the very least in episodes 2x17 & 3x01 from the show), so I reference that in my fic, and it should be assumed as the headcanon for this story. To keep Barry as true to canon as I possibly can (outside of him being addicted to Savitar's sexual favors to the point that he's more satisfied by them than he's ever been by anyone else - including Iris), it is also canon in this fic that Barry is very much in love with Iris and is genuinely struggling between the need to save her life and how in the world he will get past the indefinite withdrawal of Savitar not being there to fuck him if he's defeated. Since Barry & Iris are my OTP outside of my dirty mind on this account, I'm not sure yet how this story will end. It is up in the air at this point. For the time being, Iris is the love of Barry's life and Savitar is this sexual drug he's addicted to. I hope you enjoy. :)

*I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended. No beta consulted either.

Chapter 1 -

Barry hears the deafening sound of the ticking watch on the bedside table to his right. It's supposed to be quiet, hardly noticeable, but he hears it like a gong – loud, unyielding, a reminder that the countdown is almost there.

11:55 p.m.

Just five more minutes, and it will be exactly twenty-four hours before Iris is supposed to die, before Savitar is supposed to kill her. As of right now, they have no firepower to add to the weapon that is supposed to defeat Savitar forever by throwing him back into the speed force.

But won't he just come out again? At a later date? With a more devious plan?

The thought occurred to him more than once, but he never voiced it. Besides, everyone was probably thinking the same thing he was. They would deal with that day when they came to it. For now they just had to keep Iris safe, to keep her alive. That meant trapping Savitar in the speed force before he could kill Iris, or even try to.

And then what?

The speculation to that thought was purely his own. No one could possibly feel what he's feeling or think what he's thinking, what he's been thinking about since that fateful night two months ago when confronting the god without his armor had ended…differently than he'd expected.

A fight wasn't unheard of. Almost every time he'd come face-to-face with Savitar – with the exception of when he was chained up inhabiting Julian's body – there had been a fight. He'd always come away injured, feeling more helpless than ever, defeated, doubting more and more how in the world he would defeat this monster and save the woman that he loved. The woman whose very presence beside him right now made him ill.

His thoughts were such a betrayal to her and to them, to everyone. What kind of friend, what kind of hero was he, if he let the villain of his story do to him what he had…

Eobard, his mind taunted him. Savitar's devilish grin flashed before his eyes – as if he had been there and said it himself.

Barry didn't lift his head, but his gaze scanned the room the best they could where he lay flat on his back, unmoving. There was no one else there. There hadn't been a whoosh! to signify a speedster coming and going. He would know. He'd been on alert for him at every moment he was left unattended to.

He relaxed now though – or as much as he could, given the circumstances. He'd scanned the room, seen nothing, felt nothing. He was alone with Iris in their bedroom. For the moment, she was safe – likely scared and doubting she would be saved, but she was still safe.

He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, kiss her, reassure her everything was going to be all right. He wanted to make love to her as if it was the last time, even though it wouldn't be. He would make sure of that.

Doubt crept into his own mind, as it had time and again since that pivotal moment in his life when he'd finally discovered Savitar's identity. He'd been horrified, furious, confused. He wanted answers, but he also wanted to tear him apart.

And then the fight happened. His injuries were far worse than he'd anticipated they might be, the result of a chase he'd been so sure he could outrun.

Savitar's first surprise had been his ability to heal him instantly. His second had been that he did it. His third…everything that came next.

Images of that night flashed before his eyes – him pinned to a wall outside, his suit torn from him, his body within Savitar's grasp. In a twisted turn of events though, he hadn't been on death's door. He'd been at the height of his sexual ecstasy.

The seduction had been calculated and torturous. It had bordered on pleasure and pain for almost the entire duration of it, but the result had been the same: a release more intense than he'd ever felt before; one that left him completely depleted of energy but more satisfied than he could have ever dreamed.

Even now, as lay still on the bed, making every effort to maintain slow, steady breathing, he still felt it. The way Savitar's tongue had wrapped around his cock, flicking the hardened rod, working him slowly but assuredly to an unbearable tension that had him clutching at Savitar's scalp, urging him to go faster and deeper past the point of no return, to the point where he registered again how sick and depraved what he was doing was.

Who knew the experiences Savitar had? If he'd seduced others, if he'd seduced him in the future.

But Savitar was talented. Savitar knew how to pleasure him because he was him. He knew that despite Barry's good intentions and the moral code he usually stuck to, that he had a weakness for the ones he hated in submission before him.

Thawne had killed his mother, had nearly killed him on occasion – and Barry had caught him in a cage for months. He'd endured the taunting for as long as he could before breaking. Fury burst inside him, forcing him into the domain he kept his prisoner, daring him to fight him where both their power was rendered useless. Without his powers, Barry felt weak, a scrap of humanity trying and failing to be the hero. If he'd thought for a single moment, he would've realized Eobard would have him pinned in a moment and could easily kill him.

But he'd been too mad at him for everything – accusing him of being the villain. The irony.

They hadn't fought. Not for long. Just like they hadn't fought when he went back in time a few months prior to attain crucial information. The tension between them was so high when there were no walls up between them. Yet for all of Eobard's hatred, it blurred lines between the adoration he'd once had when he first heard about the Flash years into Barry's future and decades into Thawne's past. Barry wasn't sure of his age, and Eobard – both as himself in Flashpoint and as the deceptive Harrison Wells when he trained him to be the superhero he would become – hadn't bothered to set the record straight, to tell him absolutely everything about their history he had yet to live, that maybe didn't even exist anymore.

Time was a strange thing. It toyed with him. It was toying with him now.

Time fucked with him, as Savitar had surmised, speaking generally then but Barry knew it specifically now. He knew the implications in hindsight. He loathed the truth in them now. He felt a guilt and a heaviness in him everywhere he went for every moment of every day that he wasn't attentive to something that demanded all of his focus.

He heard Savitar's voice in his head. The way it had been that night…and the nights that followed.

Because Barry couldn't forget. He couldn't forget his own cries of surrender, his gasps and moans and groans, the growls Savitar emitted in response, the sucking sound as he pushed Barry to a state that was past unbearable intoxication and the unknown into a euphoria he wouldn't have thought existed.

And when their eyes had locked in the heat of it, Barry's breath was stolen from him. The sensations rippling through him when Savitar branded him with hickeys that took too long to heal and kisses that fucked his mouth, drove him absolutely out of his mind. The alternating method of tongue, teeth, and hand, of prodding and teasing and mocking… It made him feel sick, pathetic, deserving of death. But in the moment, none of that mattered.

Savitar's tongue around his cock mattered. Savitar moving so far up his cock that his nose pressed against his groin mattered. Savitar massaging his balls and teasing his asshole mattered.

The god of speed was insatiable.

A prominent tick of the watch nearby brought him out of his thoughts.

"Iris," he said, and felt her turn towards him in bed.

When he returned the gesture, listened to her, talked gently to her, kissed her, promised her the world – and the caviar – his heart fluttered. It hurt for her, but as always, even now she took his breath away.

She was the love of his life. He'd waited a lifetime for her. How in the world could he have done what he did? How could he think these thoughts? How was it right that instead of their intimate time together, his quiet moments were spent remembering Savitar's smooth tongue on his hard cock? And when he closed his eyes, he saw Savitar, looking at him, lusting after him, demanding he beg, teasing him relentlessly.

That fateful night Savitar hadn't given a single explanation to Killer Frost when he delivered Barry's naked body to the center of his lair. Her curse and her wide eyes demanded one, but she was left to draw her own conclusions. Savitar supplied food, water, and clothing. He said nothing more and he didn't stop Barry from trying to leave once he had the strength.

But Savitar knew what he had done. Worse, Barry knew it had to be some part of his diabolical plan – a distraction, some leverage if he was ever caught off guard and on the brink of actual death.

The day following was a godsend. The accidental amnesia may have taken the memories of those Barry loved, but it also erased that horrendous, glorious sexual encounter from his mind. In hindsight, he was sure that was a mercy, because now – memory restored – he ached for repeat experiences.

And he made them happen. The ache was too strong, the need too great.

Barry Allen found himself back at Savitar's layer countless times since the first incident, careful to make sure Killer Frost was out of the way, though hopefully not causing enough havoc that required the Flash's attention.

Besides, Savitar was quick.

His hands were gentle when they moved down Barry's body, but they nearly punctured his skin when he paused to relish a chosen spot of flesh. His head resting on Barry's cock was always his undoing. Stripping him whether swiftly or infinitely slowly never failed to fully harden his erection.

Barry had started talking dirty and eventually spotted Savitar jerking himself off while he sucked him, a bigger turn-on than Barry could have ever imagined.

When he was with Iris, he attended to her every need. He wanted her to feel loved, cherished, and sexually satisfied. Sometimes she let it end at that, but she'd been as thirsty for him as he'd been for her since the beginning. So, to avoid suspicion, he let her ride him, let her think he'd come undone. And he did come. In the beginning, he thought he had been cured, and it was all in his head – the lust for his evil time remnant.

But he'd been wrong.

Because after he made love to Iris, he inevitably found himself standing before Savitar, practically trembling, but not out of fear – out of anticipation. When his warped time remnant with the burned face and the blind eye sauntered towards him, smirking as his gaze traveling down and then up the length of Barry's body, Barry knew it would be better.

And it was. The difference was astronomical.

He didn't like to think about it, and he tried very hard not to, but the thought haunted him still.

If he killed or trapped Savitar, protecting Iris from a brutal murder and guaranteeing her a long full life with him, the fiancé she loved with her whole heart and had no idea was betraying her… He – Barry – would never feel this again.

He'd never feel the toe-curling sensation Savitar's mouth and hands offered him. He'd never shudder from the sight of the ultimate villain sinking to his knees to taste him. Show or not, Savitar's moans portrayed genuine arousal. It left Barry breathless and in a constant state of heat.

It would be the same tonight, as it had been every time before.

Barry veered off-course, heading for Savitar's lair instead of a location that could possibly be selling fresh caviar in the middle of the night.

Killer Frost was in some other corridor of the lair when Barry arrived, sleeping presumably. Savitar was tinkering away with something on the table, dismissive to her distant presence. But when Barry entered the room, he paused what he was doing and lifted his head, intrigued by the prospect of company, though it was obvious he knew who it was. Barry could see it written all over his face as he stood in the shadows. Memories were helpful in knowing what would happen next.

The soft smile bordering amusement on Savitar's face should've bothered him, but instead it tented the soft fabric of his pajama pants, making him lick his lips at the obviousness of it.

Savitar shook his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he crossed the room to greet his visitor.

"You're sooo predictable, Barry." He smiled slyly. It was a turn-on. "Not that I mind," he continued, his eyes falling to the bulge in Barry's pants. "I…quite enjoy our time together." He fixed his gaze on Barry's again, his smirk spreading into a full-on teeth-baring grin when he witnessed the adam's apple bob in his original's throat.

"You always come so nervous," he said, closing more of the distance between them. "Trembling. Concerned." He made a show of furrowing his eyebrows in a display of worry. Then his face smoothed over, and he grinned again. "But you always leave satisfied." He leaned forward, his lips mere inches above Barry's and whispered hotly into his mouth. "And you always come back for more."

Barry could barely gasp before Savitar's mouth was latched onto his, his hands on his shoulders, his equally hardened dick grinding against his as they stood flush up against each other, both eliciting moans.

"Savitar," Barry whispered breathlessly, as his devil incarnate started a new path of hickeys down the side of his neck.

His hands wandered, finally grasping at Savitar's ass and squeezing, digging his fingers into the clothed flesh. A quiet choke-like sound escaped him, and Barry wondered if that was what his gasp sounded like.

"Tick-tock," Savitar said, lifting his head to stare heatedly into his original's eyes. "Tonight you return the favor."