Notes:

So, this story takes place a few days after the end of "Thawne's Wondeful Life of Doom." If you haven't read that previous installment, I'd strongly recommend checking it out real quick before proceeding any further. Don't worry—it's a one-shot, and pretty short compared to the behemoth that THIS thing turned into.

Also, I totally screwed up and forgot that Legion!Snart was originally from 2014. That means that, canonically, Thawne probably recruited him right after the events of "Going Rogue," and the gun he has in Doomworld is actually the original model from that episode. Please ignore this fact and pretend that Legion!Snart was from 2015; for our purposes, Thawne picked him up after the events of "Rogue Time."

A caveat: this story depicts an emotionally abusive relationship. There's no physical or sexual violence, but some bad stuff still goes down, especially in later chapters. If you're sensitive to that kind of thing, please evaluate whether or not you should really be reading this. Be kind to yourself!

...

On an intellectual level, Cisco Ramon knew that pouring three packets of sugar into his coffee was a tad excessive. On an emotional level, though, he knew that desperate times called for desperate measures.

It had been an exciting (read: chaotic) few days in his department, and, perhaps as a direct result, he hadn't been sleeping well lately. Pair that with the fact that Eobard Thawne, S.T.A.R. Labs CEO and Cisco's fiancé, had been keeping odd hours, and it was no wonder that his energy levels were so low that morning.

The cherry on the shit sundae was that the coffee maker for the R&D Department had stopped working the day before, and—despite the fact that there were at least 10 highly qualified engineers in that section of the building—no one had taken the time to fix it. So Cisco had been reduced to "stealing" caffeinated beverages from the IT Department's breakroom. He hadn't considered until that morning that they might have a different machine (and coffee selection) than R&D, but they did, and their stuff was complete garbage.

Cisco yawned and took a swig of coffee. As he made a face at the terrible taste, he vowed to talk to Eobard about getting those poor people better equipment. Hell, Cisco would buy them new stuff out of his own pocket and call it an act of humanitarian aid.

"Rough night?"

Cisco's head whipped in the direction of the entrance to his office. Leonard Snart was currently leaning against the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a bemused expression on his face.

"Oh, hi, Snart," Cisco replied, wondering how he missed the other man getting so close to him. Maybe the fatigue was affecting him worse than he thought. "And…no, not really. I just haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Any particular reason why?" Snart asked, walking into the room without waiting for an invitation. His voice was completely casual, and so was his body language as he flopped down in one of the chairs in front of Cisco's desk.

"Vivid dreams, mostly. I think I need to stop watching old episodes of The Outer Limits before I go to bed," Cisco said, wrinkling up his nose. "And being busy with work stuff hasn't helped, either."

"Yes, I'm sure Thawne keeps you very busy," Snart replied. One corner of his mouth turned upward.

Cisco felt heat rise in his cheeks. Okay, Snart was…Snart was gorgeous. So gorgeous, in fact, that Cisco found it difficult to maintain eye contact with him for more than a few second at a time. There was just something super intense about the man's gaze. Between those steely blue eyes, his habit of smirking instead of actually smiling, and the general vibe that he was just a little bit dangerous, Snart often made Cisco feel like a bubbleheaded teenager.

It didn't help that, a few days prior, Eobard had asserted that Snart was almost definitely attracted to Cisco; Eobard told him as much after catching Snart in Cisco's office and observing the man's behavior from a distance. But the accusation had caught Cisco off-guard, because he really hadn't noticed. Okay, so, there had been a few things that, in retrospect, were a little eyebrow-raising…but Cisco had just chalked it up to his own wishful thinking, because—even though he was happy with Eobard—who wouldn't be flattered by a little extra attention? And Hartley Rathaway had made suggestive comments in the past, but he was coming at it from the perspective of someone who was absolutely enamored with Leonard Snart and took the mere existence of other potential suitors as a personal insult.

The bottom line was that, while Eobard swore that Snart had a "thing" for Cisco, Cisco was fairly sure that his fiancé was just making a big deal out of nothing. Especially since, besides a little playful innuendo, Snart was never anything but friendly.

So Cisco chose to react as if Snart was teasing him. "Oh, yeah—that's the downside to dating a scientist that no one ever talks about. You wind up having to be an engineering genius in the streets and a freak in the sheets. Mi vida loca ." He glanced around, suddenly realizing that Mick Rory, Snart's near-constant companion, was curiously absent. "Where's Mick today?"

"At home," Snart replied vaguely, as if Cisco had any idea where those two lived. "He doesn't particularly enjoy dragging his ass all the way over here, so I only bring him along when Thawne wants to meet with us."

Confused, Cisco raised his eyebrows. "Wait, so you didn't come by the labs to see Eobard?"

Snart shook his head. "Nope. He isn't even here right now, according to one of the receptionists."

"He…he must have stepped out to do some work off-site," Cisco said, shrugging. If Cisco had to guess, he'd assume that Eobard had gone to check on the fusion reactor—that had been his pet project for the last month. Still, Eobard usually took the time to shoot Cisco a quick text before he left the premises, and it felt a little odd that he hadn't done that today.

"Maybe. Or maybe he just went to lunch. I don't really care," Snart replied flippantly. "Like I said: I'm not here to see him."

"Look, when I walked into your office earlier, it was very obvious to me that Snart was coming onto you." Cisco tried not to think about Eobard's accusation. "So…why'd you come over here?"

"It's Tuesday," Snart said.

Cisco waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, Cisco said, "Should…should I know why that's important?"

"You said that the mods for my gun would be ready on Monday. Which was yesterday. I'm not the genius that you are, but I'm pretty sure I know how calendars work."

Cisco groaned in embarrassment. "Ah, jeez! You're right, I did say that. I'm sorry."

"So, they're not done yet?"

"No. I started to rewrite the code on Saturday afternoon, and I normally don't even come into the Labs on Saturday, but I ended up having to put out about a dozen fires in the department while I was here. And I mean that both figuratively and literally; someone's prototype for the new STARphone battery exploded on their desk." Speaking of phones, just then, Cisco heard his own phone buzz with a text message. He opted to ignore it. "I was so exhausted from Saturday that I just crashed at home on Sunday. And then Monday was spent dealing with some fallout from Saturday, so—"

Snart put up his hands. "Slow down, Cisco. I'm not upset. I just wanted to check in with you."

"Okay," Cisco sighed. "Still, I am sorry. I promise I'll get it done ASAP."

"Really, it's fine. No rush." He paused momentarily and then added, "Though, if you really want to make it up to me, there is something you can do."

"What is it?" Cisco asked, and he picked up his phone. Since Snart genuinely didn't seem bothered by the situation, Cisco figured that it would be okay to take his eyes off of him for a second. He half-expected for the device to show a new text from Eobard, but it was actually a text from Cisco's mom, asking him if he was coming to his brother's birthday party this weekend and if he was, to please not bring—

"You can let me buy you dinner."

Cisco froze. There was no way Snart had said what Cisco thought he'd said. Snart must have misspoke, because he couldn't possibly mean…or maybe Cisco had misunderstood. Perhaps both. It was just a communication breakdown.

Cisco looked at him. "I think you've got that backwards," he said, finding his voice. "I'm the one who screwed up, so I should be buying you dinner."

"No, I don't have it backwards. In fact…I've decided to be forward ," Snart said, and he smiled. "Let me take you out."

Cisco swallowed. "Take me 'out'? Like…like on a date?"

"Well, I don't mean with a sniper rifle from 100 yards away," Snart said, rolling his eyes in a good-natured way—like he thought that Cisco was being silly on purpose. "But how about it?"

The temperature in the room suddenly shot up about 100 degrees. Had the battery in Cisco's phone exploded, too? Had Snart and Mick swapped guns for the day? Or were the maintenance workers just screwing with the thermostat? Then again, none of those scenarios would explain why the crew-neck of Cisco's shirt also suddenly felt uncomfortably tight. And if Snart noticed any change in their environment, he didn't say anything; he just continued to sit there and gaze at Cisco with—longing? Was that longing in his eyes?

Holy shit, Cisco thought. This was really happening. And if he'd been single, he probably would have given into his baser instincts and leaped over his desk into Snart's lap.

But he wasn't single. Cisco held fast to that fact before he opened his mouth again. "I…I don't think Eobard would be okay with that." He swallowed. "I mean, he and I are engaged. You know that, right?"

Snart shrugged. "Yeah, you're engaged . You're not married yet. So why not have some extra fun before your tax filing status changes?"

"That…no, I…if Eobard found out, he'd be devastated."

"I'm good at keeping secrets. He wouldn't find out. It'd just be between us." He leaned in, entering Cisco's personal space, and Cisco's breath caught in his throat. This whole thing was almost more than he could bear.

Almost.

"No," Cisco said, his voice more resolute than he felt. "I don't want to go out with you. And if you can't act professional around me, then you probably shouldn't come around here anymore."

Snart seemed to take a second to process Cisco's rejection. For a moment, anxiety made Cisco's skin itch, and he wished that he'd thought to call security to escort Snart out of his office instead of trying to handle the situation on his own.

But then Snart leaned back in his chair so abruptly that Cisco jumped a bit. "Well, alright."

Cisco's chest still felt tight. "'Alright?'"

"If you really aren't attracted to me, and you're not just turning me down because of Eobard, then there's really nothing I can do, is there?" Snart said casually.

"That's…right," Cisco said, relief coursing through him. "Uh, thanks for being so cool about this?"

"Cisco, I'm not by any means a gentleman, but even I can take 'no' for an answer without losing my temper."

"Okay, great," Cisco replied.

"It's not 'great' so much as it's a minimum baseline for human decency," Snart said, rolling his eyes. "Though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed." He cleared his throat, then assumed his somewhat arrogant expression once more. "You will let me know if you change your mind, right?"

It seemed a bit odd for Cisco to think about 'changing his mind' when it came to his relationship. Even though they'd been dating for more than a year and had been engaged (and cohabitating) for months, Cisco still half-expected to suddenly wake up in a hospital bed and learn that the whole thing had been a coma fantasy. In his mind, that would have been a far more realistic turn of events than Eobard Thawne— the Eobard Thawne—actually falling for Cisco the way Cisco had fallen for him the moment he first started working at S.T.A.R. Labs. He had absolutely no desire to jeopardize the most amazing thing that had ever happened in his otherwise lonely life.

"I love Eobard," Cisco said firmly.

Snart exhaled. "Of course you do," he said with an unreadable look on his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Cisco said. Snart's tone had made him bristle, and he folded his arms across his chest in a way that he hoped made him look a bit tougher.

"Nothing," Snart said, shaking his head. "Forget about it."

Cisco glared at him. "I get it, okay? I know how things look. Eobard's old enough to be my dad, and he owns S.T.A.R. Labs, and he has a closet full of suits that each cost more than the car I drove all throughout high school. A ton of people think that I'm just some gold digger who's looking for an easy meal ticket, but I'm not. I'm not ."

"Once again: calm down, Cisco," Snart said, and he actually sounded a bit annoyed. "I meant, 'Of course you're heels-over-head in love with Eobard; it's just my luck to be interested in someone who's not available.' I tend to do that a lot."

"Oh," Cisco said, and he instantly felt stupid. In all of their interactions, Snart had never once given the impression that he thought that Cisco was dating Eobard for the wrong reasons. Cisco had just gotten so used to people disapproving of the differences in their ages and bank accounts that he'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. "Sorry, I…sorry."

"It's fine," Snart said.

There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Cisco's phone buzzed again to remind him that he had unopened text messages; he opted to ignore the notification for now.

"You know," Cisco said, "Hartley Rathaway really likes you."

"I'm aware," Snart said, like he wasn't sure why Cisco was bringing that up.

"So…I mean…if you asked him out, I'm sure he'd say yes."

"I don't want to ask him out. He's not my type. After all, I doubt that Hartley's resourceful enough to put together a heat gun and a cold gun in a single night."

"And, what, you think I could?"

"I've seen you do it before."

"What are you talking about? I didn't make those guns in a single night. And you weren't there when I built them."

Snart opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped. Closed his lips. Let out a small laugh and looked at Cisco like he had just realized that he'd almost spilled a secret. "Oh, I guess you don't remember…" he gestured vaguely with two fingers, "…that."

"Remember what ?" Cisco was starting to feel uncomfortable again.

"You don't remember building the guns. But I guess it doesn't matter." He shrugged. "Well, I've got some other business to attend to today, so I really should get going. Do you have a new ETA for the update?"

A week past never, you would-be homewrecker, Cisco thought, though he resisted the urge to say it out loud. "I don't know. I'll work on it when I can. Didn't you say 'no rush?'"

"I did." He blinked slowly, a smug smile on his face. "And Cisco?"

"Yes?"

"Try not to take everything so seriously. Eobard's the high-strung one in your relationship. I'd hate for you to pick up on his bad habits."

"So, I shouldn't take you too seriously?" Cisco asked, shuffling a pile of papers around on his desk to make it look like he had work to do. Which, by-the-way, he totally did. Why was he wasting so much time on Snart, anyway?

(Because he was a sucker for handsome, older men with pretty eyes, that's why. God, why did all of Eobard's closest associates have to be just his type? Malcom Meryln, Damien Darhk, Leonard Snart, and Mick Rory—when those guys all got together, they looked a bit like a heartthrob boy band on their 20-year reunion tour…)

Snart's smile turned just a little more wolfish. Instinctively, Cisco crossed his legs, and he was grateful that the structure of his desk blocked this action from Snart's view. "Fair enough." Snart stood up and smoothed out some of the wrinkles in his sweater. "I'll be seeing you around."

Normally, Cisco walked his guests to the door. This time, though, he just mumbled, "Yeah, see you later," and kept his head down until Snart had disappeared from sight.

Cisco was the only engineer in his department who had both an office and a workroom. Hartley had a two-in-one, and then there was a "community" workroom where all of the other engineers hung their hats. The separation hadn't been his idea; it was the preferred setup of his predecessor as department head, and Cisco had inherited it once Arthur Light had retired. The office was where Cisco met up with investors, did paperwork, and spoke to employees one-on-one—he always got a slight thrill over being able to say, "Let's step into my office for a minute." The workroom, meanwhile, was where he actually tinkered with tech and got his hands dirty.

He'd insisted from the beginning that he didn't really need a private workshop. Unlike Hartley, he actually didn't have a problem sharing his work environment with people, and he didn't want for the folks working under him to find him unapproachable or intimidating. In fact, he often made the conscious decision to take his stuff and set up shop in the room shared by the rest of the R&D engineers so that he could socialize while he worked, and he'd even made a habit of leaving the door to his office propped open when he was in there by himself. But there were times—especially when he was on a deadline, or working late, or on the verge of a breakthrough—when it was nice to have his very own space. In Cisco's workshop, he knew where everything went, could talk (or curse) out loud while troubleshooting tech, and had full control over the music selection.

It was also a place where he could go when he was hoping not to be disturbed, even if the person bothering him had good intentions. And, that afternoon, he was frowning so much that he almost certainly would have been asked, "Are you okay?" at least a dozen times by concerned co-workers.

After Snart had left his office, Cisco had actually given his mother's texts about Dante's birthday party his full attention. Her message had made him groan out loud:

Are you coming to Dante's party this weekend? If you are, please don't bring Edward.

*Eobard.

It's not because we disapprove of your lifestyle. It just wouldn't be fair to bring him and take attention away from Dante at his own party.

The more he thought about her texts, the more annoyed he got. First of all, he was 99% sure that his parents actually did "disapprove of his lifestyle;" the fact that they felt the need to volunteer how not bothered they were almost every time he spoke to them seemed pretty damning. Granted, he wasn't sure whether they were more troubled by the fact that he was involved with a man or the fact that he was involved with someone who was nearly 20 years his senior. Whenever he tried to ask what they thought of Eobard, they simple wrung their hands and said vaguely that the life Cisco was living was "just not what they'd envisioned for [him]."

Second of all…it wasn't Cisco's fault that Eobard was relatively famous and thus sometimes drew people's gazes. He didn't get mobbed by paparazzi every time he walked down the street, of course. But it also wasn't uncommon for him to be recognized by complete strangers when he and Cisco were out and about, restaurants and clubs were always happy to accommodate them, and candid shots (or, in Cisco's mind, "stalker photos") of the pair on dates, at galas, or on shopping trips often wound up posted to Instagram or other blogs. Eobard never sought out attention in these contexts; he even wore glasses and a hat when he was trying to keep a low profile. But attention often still managed to find him.

It seemed unfair, then, that Cisco's fiancé was to be excluded from a major Ramon family gathering. If anything, he should be bringing Eobard around as often as possible, just so that his relatives could get used to having a celebrity in their midst! And besides, it wasn't like everyone would flock to Eobard and ignore Dante completely for the duration of the evening. Could his mother really not stand to make Cisco's brother share the spotlight for a few minutes?

No, of course she can't, Cisco thought. This is Dante that we're talking about, here. Acknowledging that the world doesn't revolve around him is total blasphemy. Hell, if Dante ever found a girl to settle down with, Cisco's family would probably demand that Cisco not bring Eobard as his Plus One to the wedding. They couldn't have people looking at Cisco's husband—or, even worse, Cisco himself —on Dante's big day, after all!

He had already been on the fence about whether or not he was going to go to Dante's party. Now, he was seriously leaning towards saying, "Sorry, I'm washing my hair that night." Or just not responding at all. Yes, not responding seemed like a good idea, at least for the time being. He'd think it over again when he wasn't so irate.

With that matter settled, he unwrapped a lollipop, turned on his pop-punk playlist, and threw himself into his work. But as he pored over the blueprints du jour (a STARphone-compatible, robotic vacuum cleaner that could be outfitted with a cosmetic "skin" to make it look like various cute animals or cartoon characters; the concept seemed a bit silly, but if they could get the MSRP low enough, it was practically guaranteed to be a hit with millennials), his mind started to wander. And, despite his best efforts, his thoughts settled on the conversation he'd had with Leonard Snart.

His overall impression of the whole situation could be summarized with: Dude, what the hell? Snart honestly seemed like the kind of guy who would respond to someone knowingly making a pass at his significant other by breaking that person's jaw—or worse. Why, then, did he think it was okay to ask Cisco on a date? He hadn't even framed it as wanting them to hang out as friends; he'd been very blatant about his true intentions.

Also, what was the deal with him bringing up his and Mick's guns and then acting weird when Cisco contradicted him? That had been especially ridiculous, because of course Cisco remembered making them. It had been…

It had been…

Wait, when WAS it? Cisco thought, frowning. It had to have been sometime in the last year, because he hadn't actually started seeing Snart and Mick on a regular basis until after he and Eobard had begun dating. And it was probably sometime in the last 6 months, because there was no way he could have built the guns without the tools and resources he had access to as head of R&D. Or maybe he'd built them after he'd moved in with Eobard, using the home workshop his fiancé had set up for him as a surprise? But that last one couldn't be right, because he was pretty sure that Snart and Mick had owned the guns for longer than 3 months. Or had they?

Absentmindedly, he gripped the stick of his lollipop in his fingers. Maybe the key to figuring out when he'd made the guns was to reflect on why he'd made them. But…now that he really considered it, he didn't know the answer to that question, either. Sure, it wasn't uncommon for rich folks with more money than technical know-how to commission S.T.A.R. Labs teams for personal projects, but he certainly didn't remember being assigned that particular order. And what would have possessed Snart and Mick to ask for something so specific, anyway?

He was concentrating so hard that, when he suddenly heard a loud BANG echo through the building, it startled him badly enough that he nearly toppled out of his chair. He probably would have choked on his lollipop, too, if he hadn't been holding onto it at just the right moment.

It took Cisco second to process that (1) the ruckus had come from the community workroom, and (2) a sudden blast of noise very rarely boded well for his coworkers. But as soon as he considered those details, any and all thoughts he'd had about the cold and heat guns vanished from his mind. He put down his blueprints, grabbed a first aid kit and a fire extinguisher, and went to investigate. If Bill Carlisle had built another exploding battery, Cisco was going to take him off the STARphone project…

The rest of the day passed without incident, and 6:45 p.m. found Cisco taking the express elevator down to the cortex. Though he and Eobard nearly always came to the Labs together, lately, it had been a complete crapshoot as to whether or not they'd leave at the same time. Cisco had found, though, that actually checking on him in-person (as opposed to just sending him a "Let's go!" text message) was often the key to getting Eobard home at a decent hour.

He stepped off the elevator, waved at Eobard's assistant (the man's first name was Bob, but Cisco could never remember if his last name was Goodwin or Godwin), and strode into Eobard's private office. Unsurprisingly, when he heard Cisco approaching, Eobard looked up from his work and smiled, but didn't leave his chair. "Oh, hello. Bob didn't tell me I had a visitor."

"Uh, for real? Since when do I have to wait for him to buzz me through?" Cisco said, pretending to be scandalized.

"Good point. You ready to head out?" Eobard asked. Cisco had his jacket on and his bag over his shoulder, so the question was more of a formality than anything else.

"Yeah. Are you?" Cisco replied, glancing at the neat stacks of documents that adorned Eobard's desk. He had no idea how the other man always stayed so organized. Hartley had said on multiple occasions that Cisco's workspaces looked like they belonged to a child. Or a monkey.

"I think I've still got another hour of simulations to run," Eobard said. "Don't feel like you need to stay, though. I can meet you at home later. Have Mark drive you; I'll call for a different car."

Cisco sighed. "I was hoping we could go home together tonight."

"Cisco…" Eobard started, sounding sympathetic.

Cisco put his hands up. "I know, I know. You're super busy now, but it's a temporary situation, and we'll go on a trip when things aren't so hectic."

" And we'll start talking about a wedding date," Eobard said, turning back to his computer screen.

It wasn't fair bringing up the wedding like that; he knew that even thinking about their upcoming nuptials made Cisco a bit giddy. How could he be upset with Eobard when he could feel the weight of his engagement ring (gold-plated tungsten with a carbon-fiber inlay; it looked like something out of a sci-fi movie and Cisco adored it) on his left hand? Advantage: Thawne.

"Okay, Mr. Workaholic," Cisco said. "I'll head home." Then, putting a note of melancholy in his voice, he added, "To our empty house. Where there's no fennec fox waiting to keep me company. Hope I don't die of loneliness or boredom."

"We're not getting a fennec fox, Cisco. And we're not getting any kind of pet until after our trip."

Impulsively, Cisco stuck his tongue out, even though Eobard couldn't see it. Fine. He'd work the pet angle a little more later. As he was turning to walk away, he said, "If one hour turns into two, make sure you eat dinner. I don't want the janitors finding you passed out at your desk."

"Of course. I'll remember."

"Oh, I guess you don't remember…that ." Snart's drawl echoed in Cisco's head, and he stopped in mid-stride. The guns. Even though it had been hours, he still couldn't remember when—or, more pressingly, why —he'd made them. Snart did, obviously. So why didn't Cisco?

He turned slowly back to Eobard. "Hey, honey?"

"Yes?"

"Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but…do you remember why I built the cold gun?"

Eobard stopped, his fingers poised over his keyboard. "What?"

"The cold gun. The one Leonard Snart has. I just realized today that I can't remember why I made it. I must have had a reason, right?"

Eobard sat motionless for another second. Then, he seemed to snap out of his trance, shrugging his shoulders and going back to typing. "I assume that he asked you to make it for him. That and the heat gun that Mick Rory uses. You can't resist a challenge, so you obliged." He looked at Cisco. "Wasn't that it?"

Cisco frowned. When he strained his brain, there was a tiny part of him that thought he remembered hearing Snart say that he wanted "Guns, heat and cold to be precise." But, bizarrely, he could also hear himself responding to Snart's request with, "There's no way I'm making weapons for you. Never again!"

Never again ? Had he made something for Snart in the past that the man had gone on to misuse? And if he had, then why'd Cisco give in and make the guns, anyway? Maybe because Snart, Mick, and Eobard were friends? But surely Eobard would have backed Cisco up if he'd been absolutely, 100% opposed to doing something?

"That reminds me…Cisco, did Snart come by your office again today?" Eobard asked. He looked just the slightest bit concerned.

"Oh…uh, yeah, he did," Cisco said, and he suddenly felt a surge of guilt roll through him for not bringing it up himself. It was almost like he'd been caught in a lie. "He wanted to talk to me about the cold gun, since the upgrades weren't done on Monday like I said they'd be."

"I see. Was Snart at all inappropriate with you?"

"Why do you ask? And how did you know about his visit, anyway? It was while you weren't here."

Eobard raised an eyebrow. "Shawna saw him come in and told him that he'd just missed me. But Snart apparently said that he wasn't here to see me and walked off in R&D's general direction. And I ask because he was inappropriate with you the last time he was here. So, was the cold gun all you two talked about, or do I have to give him a blanket ban on that entire side of the building?"

Cisco half-wished that Shawna had just kept her mouth shut. The receptionist was just doing her job, of course, but she had complicated things somewhat. "He…he did ask about the cold gun," Cisco started. "Um…he also asked if I was interested in spending time with him outside of the labs—"

Eobard's eyes narrowed.

"—but I told him that I wasn't, and he backed off immediately," Cisco added quickly. "I don't think it'll be a problem in the future."

"Oh? And why is that?" Eobard said, sounding skeptical.

He shifted his weight, still feeling uncomfortable. "I mean, I get the idea that he just likes to rile people up, whether that means flirting with them or insulting them. He said I shouldn't take him seriously, so…I don't know…" his voice trailed off, and he shrugged. He actually wasn't sure where he'd been going with that thought, and he didn't want Eobard to think he was being stupid. Or naïve.

Eobard continued to gaze at him, an appraising expression on his face. Finally, he said, "I tell you all the time how stunning and irresistible you are. Maybe someday, you'll actually start to believe it?" The next thing Cisco knew, Eobard was shutting down his computer and grabbing his bag.

"What's going on?"

Eobard smiled; it was the same look of total adoration that always made Cisco weak in the knees. "On second thought, you're right—it is time to go home. Let's get out of here, pick up some dinner, and go to bed early."

"Oh…okay!" Cisco said. That sudden reversal seemed a bit odd, but he wasn't about to argue with the result. Especially when he knew exactly what "go to bed early" was code for.

Eobard was middle-aged, so why did he have the stamina of a teenager?

It flew in the face of everything Cisco had ever known about sex—and, honestly, human biology. Eobard could climax and then be ready for Round 2 or 3 within a few short minutes. Most nights, Cisco could barely keep up with him, and sometimes, he didn't even bother trying.

"You know, some men over the age of 40 can't get it up at all," Cisco said while a pillow was slipped under his hips. He was tired and thoroughly tapped-out, but Eobard had kissed his thigh and asked for "One more, please, baby?" And because he'd asked so nicely, Cisco had agreed, but only on the condition that Eobard did all the work this time.

(Emphasis on "this time." Cisco had already blown him while they were taking an after-dinner shower together and ridden him cowboy-style—to completion!—just prior to Eobard's request. He was not one to "lie back and think of England," but he also knew his limits.)

Eobard let out a throaty laugh. As he maneuvered Cisco's legs around his middle, he quipped, "Some men over the age of 40 don't have a sexy, younger lover in their bed. You bring it out in me."

"Okay. But if I find out that you've been secretly popping Viagra like breath mints, you're gonna be in trouble."

Eobard laughed again. "I'll keep that in mind." And then he pushed his way in, not stopping until he bottomed out and Cisco was arching his back and moaning. "You bring it out in me," he repeated, though his voice had become wistful.

Cisco exhaled, letting himself fall back on the mattress. They had a king-sized bed with pure silk sheets, and there were few things in life he enjoyed more than spreading out and writhing all over the miles of soft, cool fabric. Eobard, meanwhile, seemed to enjoy watching Cisco squirm, especially when Cisco was underneath him and wriggling at the nigh-overwhelming sensation of getting fucked twice in one evening.

It bordered on painful, especially when Eobard began pounding into him, but that was how Cisco liked it. How they both liked it.

"So perfect…my brilliant, gorgeous boy…"

How many people had ever called Cisco "gorgeous?" He was pretty sure he could count the number on one hand. And no one except for Eobard had ever called him "perfect." No one else had ever thought he was perfect. He was always too awkward, too nerdy, too girly or too boyish for anyone—regardless of their orientation—to find him truly appealing. But Eobard loved him. Eobard adored him. Eobard couldn't seem to get enough of him.

Damned if he could explain it. After all, he was still seriously entertaining the idea that this could all be a coma fantasy.

Eobard quickened his pace and held Cisco's hips in a bruising grip. Cisco made a little whining noise in response, tightening his legs around Eobard's waist and reaching for his face with one hand. Eobard released his hold so he could lean forward and decrease the gap between them. With Cisco's hand on his jaw, he asked, "Do you want to come again?"

Cisco shook his head; he wasn't even hard, and oversensitivity was currently winning out over lust. "Nah, I'm good. Just…you know. Do whatcha gotta do."

"Okay. I'm almost there, baby." He caught Cisco's lower lip in something that was too soft to be a bite but too toothy to be a kiss.

"Love you," Cisco sighed, letting his eyes close. " Love you. "

"I love you more," Eobard said against his mouth. And, sure enough, he finished quickly afterward, groaning in satisfaction as he did so. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."

The sex, or me? Cisco wondered to himself. He decided it didn't really matter.

They'd bathed before coming to bed, but Eobard still insisted on cleaning them both up with a wet washcloth before they could get too sluggish in the post-coital glow. Once that was taken care of, it was time for snuggles and pillow talk. Eobard wrapped an arm around Cisco's torso and pulled him close. They were spooning, and Cisco practically melted at the warm comfort of his lover's embrace.

"Who do you belong to, Cisco Ramon?" Eobard murmured.

"You," Cisco replied as he felt a little shiver roll down his spine.

"Me and…?" Eobard prompted.

"No, just you."

"Correct."

"And what about you?" Cisco asked, rolling over and planting a kiss on his collarbone. "Who do you belong to, Eobard Thawne?"

"You. Only you. As long as I have you by my side, I can take on the world. Nothing matters to me as much as you do."

There was silence in their room for a second. Then, Cisco said, "Shit, I didn't realize we were getting poetic."

Eobard laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"No, no, it's cool. Gimme 10 minutes, and I'll come up with something better than single syllables. Maybe a limerick about how much I love giving you blowjobs?" He scrunched up his face like he was searching for ideas. "Hmmm…'Eobard' rhymes with 'hard,' and 'Eo' rhymes with 'blow.' This shouldn't be too difficult."

"Completely ridiculous. Go to sleep."

"You shouldn't stifle my creativity. But fine—I guess your poem can wait until tomorrow," Cisco said, rolling over again. He liked being the little spoon; it was probably his favorite way to sleep. And soon, he drifted off, savoring the feeling of Eobard's fingers gently massaging his scalp.

"Forgive me…But to me, you've been dead for centuries."

Cisco woke up screaming.

No, scratch that—the screaming was in his head. In fact, screaming out loud would have actually been an improvement on his situation, because when he woke up, he couldn't breathe.

A hand. There was a hand inside his chest, and it was crushing his heart. Eobard had—

Cisco clawed at his sternum, trying to get free. If he couldn't do that, he was going to die. He forced himself to sit up in bed so he'd have a fighting chance.

But there wasn't a hand in his chest; his fingernails found only his own skin. Nothing was actually crushing his heart. And then suddenly, like an overstretched rubber band snapping back into shape, he could breathe, and he sucked in air so frantically that a high-pitched gasp escaped from his throat.

The noise was apparently enough to rouse Eobard from his sleep, because he sat up, too, blinking his eyes blearily in the darkness. "Cisco?" he murmured, looking in his fiancé's direction.

Cisco tried to respond, but before he could even string a sentence together, the fear roaring through him curdled into nausea, and it took every ounce of his self-control to force his jaws closed. Instead of answering Eobard, he tumbled out of bed and sprinted towards the attached master bathroom, barely managing to get to the water closet before he crashed to his knees and began to vomit. He had no idea what was going on, and all he could think to do was grip the seat of the toilet for dear life.

"Cisco!" Somehow, Eobard was crouched down on the floor behind him; Cisco hadn't even heard him get out of bed. One of Eobard's hands was gently holding back Cisco's hair, and the other was rubbing small circles on Cisco's back.

"Because the truth is, I've grown quite fond of you."

The voice rattling around in his head, the voice that had been in his dream, wasn't the voice of Eobard Thawne. So why was he so convinced that Eobard— his Eobard, the man he loved—had been the one saying those things? The question just made Cisco's stomach clench tighter, and he continued to heave with his face hovering over the toilet bowl.

When Cisco had finally finished puking up what felt like everything he'd eaten in the past week, he trusted himself to lift up his head. Despite the wave of dizziness that overcame him, he inhaled and then let out a ragged breath. "I think…I think I'm okay now," he lied.

Eobard flushed the toilet and gave one of Cisco's shoulders a firm squeeze. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

He needn't have bothered with the command; Cisco was pretty sure he couldn't have stood up in that moment even if the toilet had spontaneously burst into flames. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing, trying to convince himself that the room would probably stop spinning eventually.

True to his word, Eobard was back behind him a few moments later. Cisco felt something warm and soft being draped around his shoulders, and a plastic cup was placed into his hand. "Cisco, drink this. Can you do that for me?" he asked gently.

Cisco opened his eyes. The cup in his hand contained clear liquid, and Eobard had apparently grabbed a throw blanket from the foot of their bed to cover him with. "I don't think that plain vodka is a great idea right now," Cisco managed to croak out, even though he could tell that the cup was full of water. "Can you make me a mojito?"

Eobard sighed, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. "You're telling jokes. I guess that means you're not dying."

"Yeah, but they're bad jokes, so I'd say I've got a 50-50 chance of survival." He used a sip of water to rinse out his mouth, swishing it around and spitting it into the toilet when he was done. After that, he drained the cup in a few large gulps. The water was cold, and he could swear he felt it splashing around in his empty belly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Eobard continuing to rub Cisco's back and Cisco crouching near the toilet. Finally, Cisco's vertigo subsided, and he looked at his fiancé. "Alright, I think I'm officially done barfing. For now, anyway."

Gently, Eobard leaned over and felt Cisco's forehead. "You're not running hot. Did you feel sick at all earlier today?"

"No."

"Hmm. It could be something you ate, I guess." They'd stopped and picked up sushi on the way home, but their food orders had been completely different. "Do you think you can stand up?"

"Maybe? I don't know. I'm still kinda shaky."

"Lean on me, then." He put his hands on Cisco to help him out, and Cisco flinched.

"And no one is going to prevent that from happening."

"What is it?"

You're being ridiculous, Cisco scolded himself mentally. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. "Nothing, I…nevermind."

Working together, they managed to get Cisco onto his feet. After stopping briefly at Cisco's side of the countertop so that he could brush his teeth, they walked across the bathroom and back to their bed. Once Cisco was settled in, Eobard grabbed the wastebasket from their bathroom and set it on top of the nightstand closest to Cisco. "Just in case," he said simply. "This'll be easier than trying to sprint to the bathroom again, especially since you're on the far side of the bed."

"Good God, I haven't done the bucket-at-my-bedside thing since college," Cisco murmured, still feeling puny. "'Course, back then, I was puking for an entirely different reason."

"Again with the terrible jokes. Does that mean you're getting better or worse?" Eobard mused.

"Who's joking? You didn't know me back in college. I played so much beer pong and did so many kegstands. I also totally ruled at Edward Fortyhands."

"Well, far be it from me to call you a liar," Eobard replied. He crossed over to his side of the bed and slipped under the covers, sidling up to Cisco once more.

Without thinking, Cisco scooted away from him. He'd done it out of reflex, just as he would have instinctively moved away from an uncontrolled flame or a wild animal. And Eobard noticed.

"Why are you so jumpy? If you're worried about infecting me or something, there's really no point. We've swapped so much spit in the last 24 hours that my fate's already been sealed."

"That's…that's not it," Cisco mumbled.

"Then what is it?" He moved closer, and this time, he managed to catch Cisco in his grasp. He laid a flat palm against the other man's chest. "Poor thing. Your heart's racing."

Cisco already knew that. He bit his lip. "Eobard…you wouldn't hurt me, would you?"

"What?"

"You'd never hurt me, right?" Cisco said. "And you wouldn't…" his voice cracked; he could hardly finish his sentence, "…you wouldn't kill me. Would you?"

For a moment, Eobard was completely silent. Cisco was glad it was dark in the bedroom, as he could barely bring himself to look at his fiancé's face, let alone Eobard's blue eyes. The same eyes that always looked at Cisco's face with kindness. Not the eyes of a strange, dark-haired man who seemed bizarrely familiar but he wasn't sure why.

"That's horrible, Cisco. Why would you even ask something like that?" Eobard finally said. His voice was heavy with emotion.

It was a horrible thing to say, and Cisco felt guilty for even letting the words leave his lips. "I'm sorry. It's just…right before I woke up and started puking, I had a nightmare."

"Tell me about it."

"I don't want to," Cisco said, shaking his head.

"Cisco, darling…please tell me about it. I can't help you feel better if I don't know what's bothering you."

Cisco sighed. Perhaps Eobard was right, and talking about it really would make him feel better. "I…I was at S.T.A.R. Labs," he started. "In a room with some giant machine. I dunno what it was, though; I've never seen anything like it. You walked up behind me, but you didn't look like yourself. It was like you were wearing someone else's face."

"What did I look like?" Eobard asked quietly.

"You had dark hair, and you were wearing all black. Your eyes were still blue, but they were…different." He frowned. "You were about the same age, I think."

"If I looked so different, how do you know it was me? Couldn't it have been someone else?"

"No, you—the dream you— told me that your name was Eobard Thawne." He bit his lip. "And I…I was upset. I'd found out something that I wasn't supposed to know."

"What did you find out?"

Cisco shook his head again. "I don't remember," he answered honestly. "I know it was bad, though. You'd done…you'd done something awful. And I was scared, because I knew that you were going to kill me so I wouldn't tell anyone what you'd done, but I still tried to convince you to spare me. I said I could help you, but you said I couldn't. That I wasn't smart enough to help you. And then…"

"And then what?"

"You put your hand through my chest and crushed my heart." Cisco sniffled, and he willed himself to not start crying. "Right when I woke up, I couldn't breathe. It felt like someone really was crushing my heart."

"I put my hand through your chest? That…" Eobard paused for moment, and then pressed on. "That sounds terrifying. No wonder you were so upset."

Cisco nodded weakly. He'd half-expected Eobard to tell him that shoving your hand through someone's chest was impossible (or at least implausible), so it was a relief that he was being sympathetic. "I know that everyone always says this after they have bad dreams, but…it felt real. Like, super real."

"I imagine it did. But it really was just a nightmare." Eobard said, his voice firm. He stroked Cisco's hair. "I meant what I said earlier: nothing matters to me as much as you do. Your happiness, your well-being, your comfort…you believe that, right?"

"Yes."

"And you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then be still, Cisco." He kissed Cisco's temple. "We're together, and that means that you're safe. Okay?"

"Okay," Cisco said. And he believed it. The distress in Eobard's voice when Cisco had asked if he'd ever hurt or kill him spoke volumes about the man's true feelings. No, Eobard was devoted to Cisco, just as Cisco was devoted to him. That nightmare had meant nothing.

…Hadn't it?

Once again, Cisco fell asleep with the sensation of gentle fingers on his scalp. But this time, there was a tiny hint of anxiety in his gut that he just couldn't shake.

...

Notes:

Has the Arrowverse franchise ever actually addressed the idea that speedsters would have a very short (or even nonexistent) refractory period? If not, I'm glad it's one thing that the entire fandom seems to agree upon.

Dialogue from Cisco's nightmare is from Flash S01E15: "Out of Time."

Originally published on AO3 in February 2019