Though I have been seriously considering taking Wells up on his job offer, I know that if we start working together, I will need to completely write off the possibility of the two of us being involved sexually or romantically in any way. Granted, I'd still be willing to, but something tells me he's too respectful of a boss to be anything but professional.
Regardless, though I have seen him a few times since he made the offer, he has not mentioned it again. Thus, I'm convinced he made the offer spontaneously or because he felt badly for me and wanted to give me an out and not because he was seriously considering hiring me. So, I don't bring it up either, and we continue our training like normal until I have to take another break from training due to some competing client deadlines.
By the time I come back, Wells seems...buffer, or is his shirt just doing fucking amazing things to his biceps? Either way, it takes considerable effort to stay focused on the task at hand - in this case, predicting the winning numbers of various lotteries around the country. We're trying to test my longer term predictive abilities, and these numbers theoretically should be random.
"Are you just trying to make a quick buck from me?" I ask him, causing the corners of his deliciously soft looking lips to twitch up.
"Not at all, Mika. If I wanted to do that, I'd have turned you into a stadium mentalist." I laugh.
"I would probably be better at that than random number generating."
"That's a crude simplification, and you know it," he says, leaning forward with a smirk. I gaze back at him, uncowed by his teasing, and I instinctively bite my lip, fighting to keep my eyes from grazing over his mouth.
"Oh, hey there, Mika," Cisco calls as he enters. Wells and I both startle apart a few inches.
"Hey, Cisco," I say, smiling easily at him. "Good to see you."
"Good to see you too - it's been a while."
"Yeah, things were busy at my day job - couldn't get away to spend time at my night-time gig - helping Dr. Wells gamble." He rolls his eyes and shakes his head with a smile, and I can't help but grin at how comfortable we are together. "So, what'd I miss?" Cisco makes a weird face - somewhere between confusion and suspicion.
"You didn't tell her?" he asks Wells, and from the corner of eye, I catch Wells making a stern face and shaking his head. When I turn to look at him, he immediately stops, looking at me with an innocent expression.
"Didn't tell me what?" I ask suspiciously. Did the man in yellow come back? After a moment of silence, during which I suspect Cisco considered the wisdom in disobeying his boss, he explains what I missed.
"Well, we met the Arrow, and Barry went rogue because a metahuman inflicted him with rage, and the Arrow had to fight Barry to try to stop them, and Wells somehow figured out the Arrow's secret identity - honestly I thought you had been the one to do that, so I'm pretty surprised you didn't know about this - basically it was a hella rad week. Shame you couldn't have been there," he adds and bites the end off a twizzler. I'm deeply disconcerted by this news.
"Cisco," Wells says in his most composed authoritarian voice, "could you give us a moment?"
"Uh, sure thing," he says, hurriedly backing out of the room.
"You're upset," he says as soon as we're alone.
"I'm...confused. I don't - I don't understand. Why would you...why do you keep me removed from these things? Do you not want me to be part of the team? Do you think I can't keep up with the others because I'm not a scientist or have super powers?" My voice is gradually getting higher and angrier. "Do you not trust my gift? Do you not think I can be helpful? I just...don't understand." I didn't mean to reveal that I care so much about what Wells thinks of me, but I also can't find it in me to regret it. He sighs and takes off his glasses.
"Honestly, I'm surprised that you have such questions. I thought that you must know...that my reasons would be abundantly clear to you, considering your abilities."
"I don't intentionally use my gift on people I know," I tell him. He nods thoughtfully, looking past me.
"I didn't realize. I just assumed you must have," he gestures vaguely, "picked up on it." I cross my arms, his evasiveness irritating me.
"Well,I haven't, so would you care to explain yourself?" He looks at me, resignation in his bright eyes.
"Very well. I suppose I owe you that much." He takes a deep breath. "You...I feel...protective of you. More protective than I feel of the others. And I don't...know why, exactly, but I know don't want you involved with the crime fighting aspects of what we do because...I guess I'm more of a caveman than I like to admit." I shake my head, not fully understanding.
"I don't understand what you're trying to say." He sighs.
"I'm saying that you're a beautiful young woman, who I am attracted to, and I guess that brings out all these...instincts," he says, gesturing vaguely to himself. I don't know what to say - I can barely remember how to breathe. He must take my silence as confusion, so he continues elaborating. "I want to make sure that you're safe and sheltered and taken care of. That nothing ever hurts you. I want to protect you," I cut him off with a kiss, moving without thinking - just rising to my feet to close the distance between us and leaning down to kiss him tenderly, my hands in his hair and resting on his chest. He makes a soft hum of surprise before leaning into the kiss, his hands tracing up my arms and to my waist. I press a little harder against him before pulling back a few inches.
"I'm sorry if you didn't want," I begin to say, but he hushes me, shaking his head and then kissing me. I stifle a moan and savor the feeling of his soft lips on mine. I move my hands across his arms and his shoulders - my core tightening with need as I feel his surprisingly substantial muscles - and his hands caress my waist and hips. Finally, I pull away with a gasp, the thrill from his touch making me breathless. His eyes shine with arousal.
"We should do that some more," I say, surprised by how husky my voice is.
"We should. But maybe someplace a little more private," he says with a glance at the open doorway. I nod.
"Good point." He pulls out his phone and quickly types a message. A second later, I see that he's texted me an address - presumably his.
"Why don't you come by sometime," he says with a heart-stopping grin.
"I'd like that. Maybe later tonight," I offer quietly. He bites his lip softly.
"Maybe now?" he asks, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.
"Now'd be good," I answer immediately.
"Great. Let's go to my car," he says, and I can barely breathe as we head down to the garage. I raise my eyebrows at his car - the only one in the garage. He must have modified his Lexus so that he could still drive it.
"Nice ride," I say.
"Thank," he replies. "It's an indulgence of mine," he says with a smile.
On the ride to his place - which is much farther out of the city than I expected it to be - I take the chance to learn more about Wells - how he met Cisco and Caitlyn, what got him interested in science, and what he sees as STAR labs' next steps in helping fight/help metahumans.
"Do you really think we can keep the metahumans in the pipeline forever? I mean, they're basically in solitary confinement. For all their crimes, that seems a little cruel." He shoots me a sideways glance, amused but curious. "What? Surely a man of your wisdom knows the side effects people go through in solitary."
"You're showing a lot of compassion for murderers," he says wryly. I scoff.
"They're still human. I'm not saying they shouldn't be punished, but there's a reason the eighth amendment exists. From what I've seen of you and from your reputation, I would think you too would be more concerned about the humanness of the punishment." He shrugs.
"You're right that it's a temporary solution at best. But what are our other options? If we go to the police at this point, too many questions will be asked. And frankly, they don't have the capabilities to deal with these people."
"Not now, sure. But if they had time to prepare, I'm sure they could come up with something." He looks over at me, smiling.
"I'm always impressed by your faith in others."
"You're skeptical?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
"I've seen enough of the world to know that assuming too much about people's capabilities only leads to trouble. And in this case, lives are on the line." I nod, accepting his explanation for now. The woods suddenly part to reveal a gated community of near-mansions with expanses of greenery between them. I realize that my jaw has dropped open and hastily shut it, hopeful that Wells did not see my reaction.
"Nice place," I comment.
"You don't know which one is mine yet," he says, eyes twinkling with teasing.
"I don't need to. They're all nice." That makes him chuckle.
"Well, thank you. It is a nice place, if I do say so myself." He pulls up to one of the grandest, sleekest houses.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asks while opening the front door with a keycard. I follow him inside the two massive double doors that open automatically. As I walk in, I completely forgot what it was that he asked me as I am overwhelmed by the beauty and luxury of his home. I have to replay the memory as I scramble to provide an answer.
"A glass of water would be nice," I say before becoming completely distracted by the the artistic frosted glass panes in the entryway and the scenes they depict.
"Your home is absolutely stunning," I say while following him into the kitchen.
"Thank you. Let me show you around," he says while passing me a glass of water. I follow while he points out the living room, it's sleek with a large fireplace and massive skylights; a den, which is darker and more stuffy than the living room; a guest bedroom, which is furnished in dark blue; a large dining room with so much crystal in it that it practically sparkles; and an opulent half bathroom. As we've been walking around, I've noticed there is a staircase that, to my surprise, is not modified with an escalator to help paralyzed people up stairs. When I first started crushing - and fantasizing - about Wells, I read voraciously about the accident and any news article that mentioned his injury, trying in vain to determine if his injury was complete or partial. The most specific tidbit I could find was a doctor - anonymously quoted - who said that Wells would be in a wheelchair the rest of his life.
"Want to see the upstairs?" he asks. I nod, too curious to see what will happen next to speak. Yet, I am still surprised when he rises to his feet and walks up the stairs. He's taller than I thought he would be.
"You don't seem too surprised," he says as we climb the elegant staircase. I know what he's referring to.
"I wasn't sure until we got to your house. But not much is modified to accommodate someone in wheelchair, so that was a pretty good indicator that you could stand. Do you mind if I ask about your injury?"
"Not at all," he says, turning to face me now that we've ascended the steps. "But I would ask that we have that conversation seated. Steps always take a lot out of me." He gestures to some plush armchairs on the landing.
"So you're not paralyzed, obviously," I add, feeling foolish. "But you do use the wheelchair for daily use. I don't know much about spinal injuries, and I don't want to pry, but I'm curious why you need the wheelchair," I ask in a small voice, not wanting to ask anything that would be insensitive.
"Right after the accident, I was in worse condition than I am now. Some advanced physical therapy and stem cell treatments have helped significantly, to the point where I could probably use a walker or a cane for everyday use. But I do get these bouts of unresponsiveness and tremors, especially if I spend too long on my feet. Between that, and I admit, the optics of being in a wheelchair, it just seemed easier to keep the chair for public use. I don't relish the idea of collapsing in public." I nod, understanding completely.
"Do Caitlyn and Cisco know?" I ask. "Or is this something I should keep private?" He shrugs.
"It doesn't make much difference. They both know I have very limited movement, but I would like the extent of my movement to be kept confidential. I'm sure you can appreciate that most of the public would see my use of the chair as simply a ruse." I nod, understanding completely. There are so many misconceptions about disabilities and wheelchair use.
'Of course." I am flattered he trusts me enough to share this information with me. "So can you still-"
"Fuck?" he interupts. I feel myself color slightly. The mischievous twinkle in his eye doesn't help.
"I was going to ask if you can go for walks around your property. But I am admittedly curious about that as well," I add, trying to tease him like he was clearly doing to me.
"I can. To answer both your questions," he answers, completely composed. I feel an electric jolt of lust through my core. I swallow hard, suddenly very aware that I am alone with him in his house.
"That's good to know," I say sweetly, innocently. I am pleased to see that a slight flush has come over him now, and his breathing is shallow. He wants me. I bite my lip at the thought, rather pleased with myself. I think I won this round of trying to make the other blush.
"Want to show me more of your fancy house?" I ask, rising. He laughs, the sound sparkling like the crystal in his dining room.
"Of course." He leads me to a study, opens the door to a few more bedrooms, and shows off the plush leather chairs in the entertainment room.
"This is my art collection," he says, pulling open another door, as if this is a feature of everyone's house. I walk inside, amazed. He's got modernist sculptures and abstract paintings as well as a few paintings in the more classical style. One portrait in particular captures my attention. It's of a man, looking rather dapper. He looks about middle-aged, his hair a brunette so light it's nearly blonde. He's not particularly handsome, his features a little too heavy for my taste, and his eyes look sharp, like a bird of prey. I feel a shiver run down my back as I look at the piece - the subject's eyes seeming to be coldly assessing me.
"Who is that?" I ask.
"That's actually a piece I had commissioned," he says, his hand casually looping around my waist. I feel that same pull of longing, heaviness, between my legs. "He was a relative of mine. I saw an old daguerreotype of him, and there was just...something in his affect that intrigued me." I look at the piece a little closer, trying to find some sort of family resemblance, but seeing none.
"He looks intelligent," I finally settle on saying, not sure what else to say, and I look at a few of the other works before I'm ready to leave. As we exit, I notice there is one more door that has remained unopened.
"Would you like to see the master bedroom?" he asks casually. I nod, not trusting myself to speak. It feels like sparks are dancing across my skin merely at the anticipation at being in Dr. Harrison Wells' bedroom. His room is opulent like the rest of the house - gold threads in the comforter, a king sized bed that looks impossibly plush, elegant furniture. But the most amazing piece of the room is a wall of windows that overlook a wooded area and the brilliant sky.
"You can see so many more stars here," I say in wonderment, setting my water glass down on a coffee table while I approach the windows.
"That's one of the reasons I tolerate the long commute," he says, his voice sounding from a few inches behind my ear. His arms wrap around me then, hugging my body to his. We stay like that for a few moments, both of admiring the view, before I turn to face him, running my hands across his arms and shoulders. Up on my tip toes, I close my eyes and lean in to kiss him, moaning slightly as our lips touch and send a jot of desire through me. I've been having to hold myself back from him since we first arrived. And now I'm in Harrison Wells' bedroom, I marvel to myself. That thought is quickly replaced as I can think only of the heated kisses Wells and I exchange.
His hands start on my waist, but they quickly wander across my body to explore the curves of my hips, my back, my ass. His lips leave a trail of fire wherever he kisses - along my neck, my ear, across my chest. I tangle my fingers in his hair, desperate for more of his touch, his lips. My whole body is flushed with a rush of ecstasy, and I press my body against his, needing more of him. He moans in appreciation and pulls me tighter against him. As he kisses me deeply, I move my hips against his to release some of the tension building between my legs. It does the opposite. Harrison must appreciate the motion as he grabs more tightly to my body.
Slowly but purposefully, Harrison moves us towards the bed while we are still entwined. He sits down on the edge, and I move to straddle him. He makes a hum of approval and nips at my lip while I settle on his lap, my hips already moving against his to generate some teasing friction. His hands trail down my back to grab my ass while I speed up my rocking. I take the growing hardness I am grinding against as indication of his approval.
He tangles a hand in my hair, cupping my head as he leans back against the bed, pulling me down with him. I lay on top of him, running an appreciative hand down his toned chest. He swats my ass playfully, and I gasp in surprise and pleasure. He does it again, harder, and I moan and lean into our kiss, surprised by how deeply aroused I was by that. Again, his hand comes down hard and firm, and I am nearly overwhelmed by my desire to have Harrison's cock inside me. I grab fistfulls of his shirt and kiss him feriociously. I need this man.
His hands move to the hem of my shirt, and I quickly take it off, tossing it over my head. He rolls over, so that he is now on top of me, and one of his legs is between mine. I hum with pleasure, wrapping my arms around him, while the reverent touch of his hands against my breasts makes me feel like a goddess. I thrust against his leg, and his grip tightens on me momentarily. I am burning with a fever for this man. I wrap one of my legs around his, caressing down the length of him. He kisses me more intensely, one of his hands tangling in my hair. I pull at his shirt, tugging it to expose his toned abdomen. He eventually realizes what I want and breaks away momentarily to take his shirt off. I run my fingertips down his bare chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath my touch. They allude to a powerful strength. I grind against him with need. He grabs a fistful of my hair, holding me tightly.
I surrender to his touch, letting him hold me and touch me however will most please him. My hands wrap around his torso while his deftly unhook my bra, tossing it aside while he grinds his hips more intently against mine. I spread my legs wider so that he can hit a more pleasurable angle. I squirm against him, the friction making me restless and teasing the pleasure to come.
But not tonight. For all that we grind and roll around, by unspoken consent, we both keep our underwear on. I know why I do: I want to keep working with Team Flash, and if Wells and I sleep together, that could make things complicated. I'm assuming he feels similarly. There's many benefits to moving slowly. Or, if not moving slowly, in at least not doing anything rash.
So, after hours of passionate kissing and caressing and rubbing, we end up just lying together above his covers, wrapped in each other's arms, and looking out at the sky.
"Thank you for having me over," I whisper. There's no reason to do so except that, in the intimacy of the moment, it seems appropriate.
"It was my pleasure," he whispers back, planting a kiss on my head.
"I guess we didn't end up getting much training done," I say. He chuckles.
"You're right. I guess you'll have to come back tomorrow night," he says innocently. But there's a hum of excitement in his tone that bellies his meaning and sets my heart racing.
"I guess I will," I say with a smile and nuzzle against his chest.