Notes:

A quick heads up: there be sexual content (specifically, a hand job and then masturbation) in this chapter. Like in Chapter 1, it's not terribly explicit; this whole story is supposed to be rated "M", after all. But, I dunno, maybe hold off on reading this if you're at work, school, or a house of worship right now? Just a suggestion…

...

When they got home, Eobard insisted that Cisco needed to put on comfortable clothes and get in bed. "Those are your doctor's orders," Eobard had said when Cisco made a face. "If you don't like it, you should complain to Caitlin Snow."

"She just said that I needed to take it easy," Cisco groaned. "She didn't say that I had to go straight to bed!"

"She said you needed to rest," Eobard shot back. "Look, you don't have to sleep if you don't want to. But you do need to lie down."

"I did plenty of that when I was in the medical wing!"

"That doesn't count!"

"What do you mean, it 'doesn't count?!'"

After a few minutes, the compromise they settled on was that Cisco would change his clothes and lie down in bed, but Eobard would do the same, and they'd watch a movie. Cisco picked a Spanish romantic comedy that he'd once seen with Caitlin. Eobard grumbled slightly at the prospect of having to read subtitles ("Not all of us are fluent in Spanish, Francisco Ramon ," he'd said, putting extra flair in his pronunciation), but when Cisco batted his eyelashes and pouted in response, he laughed and—seemingly resigned to his fate—put the movie on.

It felt a bit odd being home in the middle of the afternoon on a normal weekday. Sure, Cisco occasionally missed work due to illness or personal matters, but lying in bed with Eobard and watching movies was definitely a weekend activity, not a way to pass the time on a Thursday.

And yet…

It also felt nice. It was intimate and comfortable and safe. At one point during the movie, Eobard wrapped his left arm around him and tucked his thumb under the waistband of Cisco's boxers, but unlike the previous night, it wasn't an attempt to initiate sex. He just stroked Cisco's hip as an expression of affection. In return, Cisco played with the two rings on Eobard's left hand: the engagement band that he wore on his ring finger (visually identical to Cisco's, though slightly larger to compensate for their different digit sizes) and the "Lucky Ring" that sat adjacent to it on his middle finger.

(Eobard's Lucky Ring was made of some sort of gold alloy and had an image of a lightning bolt molded onto its face. Cisco had asked him about it once, and Eobard had given some kind of poetic explanation about it being a constant reminder to never stop innovating and to always follow inspiration whenever—and however—it "struck." That philosophy seemed kind of neat, thought Cisco had to admit that he'd mostly asked because he was worried that it might a trinket from a long-lost love.)

When the movie was over, Cisco was ready to take a nap. And just as he was about to tell his fiancé as much and extend an invitation to nap (and cuddle) with him, Eobard moved his hand and began to massage Cisco's scalp with his fingers. In Cisco's relaxed state, this action actually made his breath slow and his eyelids droop. Hair hypnosis , they sometimes called it, and Eobard had joked once that if Cisco ever went on an Incredible Hulk -esque rampage, that technique would be the only way to calm him down.

It was great until it wasn't; Eobard's fingers brushed a certain spot, and pain suddenly thumped through Cisco's head, snapping him back to attention. A little whimper escaped from his throat before he could swallow it down.

Eobard recoiled. "Sorry, I just wanted to check…never mind. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." After hesitating for a second, he said, "How bad is it?"

"Well…let's just say that your thick hair is really coming in handy right now," Eobard said, smiling stiffly. "Though…if we go out to dinner in the next few days, you should probably wear a hat."

"Oh, God, I'm hideous, aren't I?" Cisco said with a laugh. "You're going to want to put a bag over my head when we have sex."

"Sorry, we won't be having sex anytime soon," Eobard said. "Someone told the doctor that I've been abusing ED drugs, and she cut me off. It's like an empty tube sock down there."

Cisco fell back onto his pillow, cackling. "I can't believe you just said that. I'm so working it into our wedding vows."

"Oh, great, now you're bringing up the wedding so I won't be mad? Nice try; I'm still pissed that you tattled on me." He shook his head, though he was smirking. "Just pick another movie for us to watch."

Cisco groaned dramatically, handing him the remote. " You pick the next one. I'll probably fall asleep about 15 minutes in."

"In that case, let's just watch TV. And because I have the remote, I can declare for certain that we're not watching Cartoon Network."

"You're a tyrant, Thawne."

After checking a few different stations, Eobard settled on Travel Channel, where a rerun of Mysteries at the Museum was playing. As the show's host introduced the Newseum in Washington, D.C., he leaned back, reclining next to Cisco once more.

Cisco was quiet for a moment before he felt like speaking up. "So, I noticed that you stopped petting my head," he said conversationally. "And yet, you don't seem to be doing anything with your hands right now. That's…interesting."

Eobard snorted. "You're such a brat." But he reached over and continued to caress Cisco's scalp with his fingers, being careful to avoid the bump. "I guess it's my fault for spoiling you rotten, isn't it?"

"I'm not spoiled. By-the-way, will you buy me a fennec fox?"

"Cisco, I swear…" he started, laughing.

"You're right; we should definitely adopt instead of buying one from a breeder. I'll start doing research on rescue groups tomorrow."

"No. No to all of that." He turned to kiss Cisco's cheek. "If you're good, though, I'll buy you a plush one to cuddle with whenever we're apart. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Cisco said, giving Eobard his best pouty face. He'd known that asking for the fennec fox again was a bit of a long shot, but it was worth a try.

"Like I said: you're a brat, Cisco." His expression softened. "All joking aside…I'm glad you're okay. When I got the call that you'd fainted and hit your head, I was so worried. You'll forgive me for overreacting, won't you? It's just like you told Caitlin: I can be a little overprotective when it comes to your well-being."

Cisco replayed the scene at the medical wing in his mind, and he couldn't help but cringe a little at how Eobard had screamed at the doctor who wasn't Caitlin Snow. "I forgive you. But, you know, if you feel like you overreacted, maybe I'm not the one you should be apologizing to?"

"Cisco, I am not apologizing to Dr. Smith," Eobard said flatly. He'd apparently caught on to what Cisco was thinking about. "This isn't even about saving face; Smith really is an incompetent ass. Plus, Caitlin confided in me that she was pretty sure he was stealing office supplies— and other people's lunches."

"…Wow. Okay, yeah, fire the bastard, then." Cisco could handle being subjected to medical negligence. But deliberately stealing someone else's lunch? That was pure evil. Anyone who'd ever had their food snatched out of a community fridge and been made to go hungry could attest to that.

Around 7, Eobard left to go pick up dinner and Cisco's prescription, and Cisco used this alone time to get some work done.

First, he had a few text messages to send. While Eobard had allowed Cisco to drop Brie Larvan a line on their ride home to tell her that everything was fine and she didn't need to worry, he'd then made Cisco's STARphone disappear for the rest of the afternoon. His reasoning was that, if Cisco was allowed to have the device on-hand, he'd just fiddle with it all day instead of actually resting—especially if he received "urgent" calls or texts from his co-workers. And Cisco had to admit that the man had a point.

Eobard had given him back his phone right before leaving the house, and the first thing Cisco did was check to see if he had any unread texts. Unsurprisingly, he had a handful of messages from his co-workers, all of them wishing him a speedy recovery. Hartley had even sent him something, and though it seemed coarse ( "Heard about your accident. I sincerely hope you can come back to work soon; this department is a mess, and I hate having to clean up after you , " ), he knew that that was just Hartley's "unique" way of showing that he cared. Cisco sent everyone a generic response but penned a special one for Hartley, saying that he "love[d him], too, Boo" and that he'd almost certainly be back at work on Monday. Hartley's response ( "I will pay you money to NEVER call me 'Boo' again, Cisquito." ) made him cackle with laugher.

He also laughed when he saw Ronnie's message; Caitlin's husband said that he was sorry to hear about Cisco's fall and promised that the S.T.A.R. Labs structural engineering team would soon be unveiling "revolutionary new technology" to prevent similar accidents in the future. Attached was a photo of the staircase Cisco had fallen down but with a trampoline crudely sketched on top of it. The drawing was populated by stick figures; two of them (one with a mop of dark hair and the other with auburn hair in a ponytail) were jumping on the trampoline, while a third stick figure (this one with short, dark hair) was standing nearby and posed like it was dabbing. They were labeled " YOU ," " CAITLIN ," and " ME ," respectively.

Cisco replied to the message by telling Ronnie he was going to steal his idea—including the "highly detailed blueprints" he'd enclosed—and sell it to Mercury Labs. He then forwarded Ronnie's message to Caitlin and informed her that her husband "was a bit weird." Caitlin's response came a few minutes later:

I think some kind of phenomenon takes place inside men's brains when they get married. It has to do with priming their sense of humor so that, by the time they become fathers, they're ready to tell "Dad Jokes." Honestly, I can't wait to see what you and Eobard are like after your wedding. Maybe I can do a case study and win a Nobel Prize?

He couldn't resist texting her back:

Are Nobel Prizes less noisy than prizes that DO have bells?

GET IT? NOBEL? "NO BELL?"

OH GOD CAITLIN IT'S ALREADY HAPPENING. MAYBE I REALLY WILL START WEARING SOCKS WITH SANDALS.

Caitlin responded to that trio of texts with a crying-laughing emoji. She might have also made a note in his medical file about his odd behavior—that's what Cisco would have done if he were her doctor, anyway.

Once he was caught up on his correspondences, he had to decide what he was going to do about Mick Rory's heat gun. He was sorely tempted to just ignore the issue for the time being; the whole point of sabotaging the gun was to give himself an excuse to talk to Mick about it, and he hadn't had a chance to do that yet—falling down the stairs had seriously derailed his plans for the afternoon (and the rest of the week).

Fixing the gun remotely would close off that door, and he didn't really know when he'd have a chance to talk to Mick alone again. But then again, he did now have Mick's cell phone number, so couldn't he just text him if he needed to get in touch? And Cisco couldn't completely discount the possibility that his head injury had been the universe's way of "paying him back" for being underhanded.

Cisco was a man of science, and he knew that life usually wasn't fair…but he also knew that karma could be a real bitch.

In the end, his conscience won out: he grabbed his tablet, pulled up the update module for Mick's gun, and fixed the code he'd deliberately botched. After pushing the update through, he sent a quick text to Mick's number:

Mea culpa. Problem w/ gun WAS software issue. Pretty sure I fixed it?

A few minutes later, he got a text back from Mick:

Yeah, it's working now. Thanks.

And then, another few minutes later, there was a follow-up message:

Is your head okay?

He wondered if Mick would get the joke if he replied, "Actually, I've been told I'm great at it." Probably not. Plus, he was kind of touched that Mick seemed a bit concerned about him, so he decided to be straightforward:

Yeah. It hurts and I've got a huge bruise, but I think I'll live.

With that matter settled, he set his phone down on the nightstand and turned on the TV. The silence in the house was starting to seem a bit stifling, and he felt like he needed some background noise to tide him over until he was no longer alone.

To his surprise, though, his pone buzzed again. Cisco glanced over and saw that it was yet another message from Mick:

Thawne's not going to let you die.

Cisco frowned at his phone display. Mick's comment, like Clyde Mardon's drunken ramblings the night before, seemed cryptic and somewhat unnerving. Cisco had been mostly joking when he'd said that he "thought" he was going to live; he knew that his injury was relatively minor. Maybe Mick had misunderstood him? Was he trying to reassure Cisco that, even if the prognosis was grim, Eobard would make sure that he got the best possible care? Shit, was Mick actually worried ?

Cisco didn't want to make a fuss, but he also didn't want for there to be any confusion. He texted:

I'm fine. I'll be back at work on Monday. 'Course, if I've got too much work to catch up on by then, I'm probably going to WISH I was dead…

After 10 minutes passed with no response from Mick, Cisco figured that he'd clarified any lingering uncertainty, which came as a relief. That was also when he heard the door to the garage open, some heavy footsteps that he recognized as Eobard's, and the rustling of paper bags.

Cisco's stomach growled. He hadn't had anything to eat since noon, and his fiancé had promised him Big Belly Burger and—depending upon the dessert selection at the pharmacy—chocolate-cherry ice cream. With renewed vigor, he set down his phone, hopped out of bed, and padded towards the kitchen. He wanted to see if the man he loved had returned from his errand triumphant.

After they were finished with dinner and dessert, Eobard announced that he was going to take a shower and asked if Cisco would like to join him.

Cisco winced. "I'm pretty sure that making someone wash and detangle their hair while they've got a lump on their scalp qualifies as torture. I showered before you got home last night, so I think I'll just wait and take a bath tomorrow morning." He raised his eyebrows. "Uh…unless that's your subtle way of telling me that I smell bad?"

Eobard laughed. "No, my love—you smell fine." He made a big show of nuzzling and sniffing Cisco's neck, which made Cisco giggle. "I just thought it might make you more comfortable. But if you'd rather wait, I'll quickly take one by myself."

"You don't really need to rush." Being told to hurry while he was in the shower was one of Cisco's pet peeves, developed over the course of sharing a bathroom with Dante for two decades. To Eobard's credit, he rarely rushed Cisco through bathing unless they had somewhere to be. If he thought that Cisco was taking too long, he was far more likely to simply strip down and climb into the shower stall with him.

"Of course I do. The sooner I'm done in the shower, the sooner I can be back at your side."

Cisco was about to answer—maybe say something silly, like, "Oh, well, in that case, hurry your ass up!" —but then he stopped. All of this talk about rushing around had reminded him of what he'd been thinking about back in the medical wing, right before Caitlin had interrupted him with her question about gummy worms. He closed his mouth as a familiar—but unwelcome—feeling of bewilderment rolled over him.

Eobard noticed. "Everything okay?"

"Uh…yeah," Cisco said, forcing himself to smile. "Just got distracted for a sec." He stood on his tippy-toes to kiss Eobard's mouth. "Go clean up. I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not," Eobard teased. With that, he headed to their bathroom, pulling his shirt off over his head as he went.

As soon as Cisco heard his fiancé step into the shower, he grabbed his phone off of the nightstand and quickly typed out a message to Mick Rory:

Hey, is your watch accurate? The one you used to tell me what time it was when I woke up, I mean?

Several minutes later, his phone buzzed, and Cisco scrambled to read Mick's reply:

Yeah. Snart's anal about "synchronizing our watches," and he bugs me about it.

Cisco bit his lip and then typed:

When I woke up, I asked you what time it was. Do you remember what you said?

By the time Mick's answer came through, Eobard was finishing up in the bathroom. Cisco read the message as he heard the water turning off and the stall door opening:

I think it was one-thirty-something. Why? What difference does it make?

Cisco stared at Mick's words for a few seconds. The response had confirmed what he'd been thinking, and the subsequent confusion clouding his mind was making him more and more uncomfortable by the second. He only barely managed to send Mick a quick reply ( "Just wondering. Thanks.") before Eobard walked out of the bathroom.

"Were you timing me?" he asked playfully, blotting his hair with a towel. He was smiling, which made Cisco feel a little guilty for going behind his back. But, then again, Thursday had seen him doing a lot of that, hadn't it?

"Uh, no," Cisco replied. He set the phone down on his nightstand. "I was just catching up on my texts. You know, since I didn't have my phone all afternoon."

"Pity. I think I might have actually broken a personal record." He raised his eyebrows. "And I hope you're not answering work-related texts. You're supposed to be recuperating."

"I know, I know."

Eobard crossed their room to the dresser that he and Cisco shared, retrieving a pair of pajama pants—black silk, barely visible stripe pattern, way more expensive than sleepwear really had any business being—from one of the drawers. Cisco waited until Eobard had slid the pants on before he opened his mouth:

"Hey, honey?"

"Hmm?" Eobard replied, turning to look at him. He walked back to their bed and climbed in so that he could sit next to Cisco.

"Did it really take 20 minutes for someone from the medical clinic to call you and say that I was hurt? You weren't exaggerating?"

Eobard inhaled sharply, and a look of discontent settled over his features. "It did take a full 20 minutes. That's why I was so angry when I first arrived; they have enough staff available that someone could have contacted me in the first few minutes after you'd been admitted." He squeezed Cisco's hand. "Darling, please believe me when I say that I got to you as quickly as I could."

Cisco frowned. "I do believe that. But…you were at City Hall when you heard what happened, right?"

"Yes. I had that meeting with the council today, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember. So, I don't understand: how'd you get back to the labs so quickly?"

Eobard cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"I…I was only unconscious for about 25 minutes. I know because I checked the time before I fell and again after I woke up in the medical wing. So…you would have had to go from City Hall to S.T.A.R. Labs in less than five minutes. I don't know how that's possible, especially in mid-day traffic."

For a moment, Eobard was completely still. He seemed to be processing the question, and Cisco could practically see the wheels in the man's head turning. But then, he let out a soft chuckle. "Cisco, you're confused. You were out for close to 35 minutes, not 25. It took me a little more than 15 minutes to get to you." He squeezed Cisco's hand again. "I might have told the driver to go a little faster than he usually would, but I promise we weren't reckless."

Cisco blinked. "But the time…" He very clearly remembered seeing the clock on his phone saying 1:06. And then Mick had said it was 1:35. Had he really read the clock wrong? Or maybe Mick had misread his watch?

"Don't worry about that, sweet boy," Eobard said, and he kissed Cisco on the forehead. "It's not a big deal."

Cisco wasn't assuaged. "Um, if I'm losing my ability to tell time or do basic math, then I think we should be pretty damn worried..."

"You just made a teeny, tiny mistake," Eobard said. He brushed a lock of Cisco's hair out of his face. "There's no need to get fussy. Do you want to take your sedative now?"

"I want for you to stop babying me!" Cisco snarled, and the fierceness in his voice shocked them both. "And stop telling me what to think and how I should feel!" He flopped over onto his side, putting his back to the other man.

For a moment, his anger burned flare-bright. But then, just as quickly as it had come over him, it dissipated, and he was left feeling like a total jackass. Eobard had just been trying to help him and comfort him, and what had he done? He'd lashed out like a moody teenager. Crap like this was probably why Eobard was worried that Cisco didn't really want to marry him. Hell, at the rate they were going, Cisco would be lucky if Eobard didn't suggest an extended engagement, just to make sure that he wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Sorry, that was…that was really uncalled for," Cisco said, turning to him again. "I'm not mad at you, I'm just…I'm mad at the situation. I hate not knowing what's wrong with me; I was so happy up until a few days ago, and now, everything feels weird." He sighed, trying to get comfortable in the bed. "It's like I'm missing something."

Thankfully, Eobard seemed relatively unfazed by Cisco's outburst. "What are you missing? Maybe I can help you find it?"

"No, not 'missing' like I lost something. Missing like…like there's something I'm not seeing. And it feels like it's obvious, like the answer's right in front of my face, but I'm just too stupid to get it. You know?"

"I think so. For what it's worth, though, you're not stupid. You're one of the smartest people I've ever met…if not the smartest." Eobard said. He planted another gentle kiss on Cisco's head, avoiding the bump. "You know I love you, right?"

"Yes."

"And you love me?"

"Of course I do."

"Then everything will be okay." He stroked Cisco's arm with his fingertips. "Was there something else?"

"What?"

"Is there something else on your mind? Something else you'd like to discuss?" There was the slightest hint of a frown on his face. "If you've been sitting on that thought all day, I have to wonder if there's more going on in your head right now."

Cisco sighed, feeling pathetic. He thought about lying, but he didn't see a point. "Well…yeah. The truth is…I had another weird dream last night."

Eobard's frown deepened. "Another one? Is that why you had trouble sleeping?"

"Yeah."

"But you didn't get sick afterwards?"

"No, I didn't have to throw up. It didn't affect me like that. It just made me feel…sad."

"What was it about? And please don't say that you don't want to talk about it—if that were true, you wouldn't have confessed."

Cisco sighed. "It was just the two of us again."

"What did I look like?"

"You looked like you," Cisco said. "You weren't wearing someone else's face this time around. But…you were wearing this weird yellow and black suit."

Eobard was quiet for a second. "You mean a business suit, right? Like the kind I wear to the labs every day?"

"No, it was more like a full-body jumpsuit. I think it was made of leather." He chuckled in spite of himself. "Not gonna lie: you looked pretty hot, even if the yellow material totally clashed with your hair."

"Cisco, what happened in the dream?" Eobard said. His voice had turned urgent. "Did I hurt you again?"

"No, you were in some kind of…I dunno, I guess it was a prison cell? You couldn't get out. And I'd come down to talk to you."

"What did we talk about?"

Cisco was starting to get a little put off at the way that Eobard was prompting him; his tone had been much more patient when Cisco was describing his other dream. He decided not to say anything about it, though. "Well…you were acting like we were meeting for the first time. And I was angry that you didn't know who I was, because I knew who you were."

"So…I had forgotten about you?"

Cisco frowned. "No, it was more like…" He stopped. "Never mind, that's stupid."

"What is?"

"In the dream…it was like I was seeing a version of you from the past. Like, you didn't know who I was because, as far as you knew, we hadn't met yet." He shook his head. "But like I said, that's stupid."

"Right. Because time travel isn't real," Eobard said, and for some reason, his voice was a bit hollow.

"Uh-huh. And I've seen enough movies to know that messing with the past is a bad idea, anyway." Cisco paused, mulling it over. "Unless you take into account the idea of causal loops. If you subscribe to that theory, then altering the past is actually impossible, because everything—"

"Cisco, darling, can we please save the thought experiments for when you don't have a head injury?" Eobard said. His tone had grown cool.

Cisco huffed. "Explaining a grandfather paradox isn't going to break my brain, Eobard."

"Maybe, but if you do break your brain and start talking in word salads, I won't know whether it's just more sci-fi babble or you actually need medical attention." Eobard got up from the bed. "I'm going to go get you some water so you can take your sedative," he remarked flatly, and then he walked towards the bathroom.

For a moment, Cisco was a bit stunned by Eobard's coldness. The man had sounded downright exasperated with him—like Cisco's antics were seriously trying his patience. And, as far as Cisco was concerned, that wasn't fair. Nightmares, insomnia, memory problems, and head injuries were not his idea of great time, either. And Eobard was the one who'd asked to hear about Cisco's other stupid dream in the first place. Why the hell was Eobard getting mad at him ?

Because you're being a little shit, he thought, instantly answering his own question. He's devoted to you, he loves you, he's dropped everything to take care of you…and all you can do is act out. Why don't you tell him one more time that you dreamed about him being evil?

Cisco's stomach lurched. The voice in his head (which, distressingly, sounded quite a bit like his mother) had a good point. Considering all that Eobard had done for him the last few hours, let alone the last week, he really ought to be a little less contrary. Instead of arguing or being flippant, he could just be…well, "obedient" might not have been the right word. Deferential? Yes, that sounded better.

So, when Eobard got back with a glass of water in one hand and a small, white pill in the other, Cisco took both from him and swallowed the pill without any further protest. He put a smile on his face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Eobard murmured as he got into bed and settled down next to Cisco. "If you start to get sleepy, don't fight it."

"Okay. Uh, in the meantime…do you want to watch another movie? Maybe something from the Marvel Cinematic Universe?" Cisco suggested, doing his best to sound chipper. "I've seen them all already, so it's okay if I fall asleep. We watched Age of Ultron last weekend, so the next one would be Ant-Man ."

"I suppose we could do that," Eobard replied slowly. "Though, before we do anything else…" he took the TV remote out of Cisco's hand, "…let's get you relaxed."

Cisco looked at him. "Oh?" He had a feeling he knew where this was going, and it seemed to suggest that Eobard was no longer cross with him. That's good, Cisco thought. Let's stay on this road .

Eobard gave him a wolfish smile. Then, wordlessly, he pulled Cisco down so that they were spooning, kissed Cisco's neck, and snaked his hands under Cisco's t-shirt.

Was it the medication that caused a surge of warmth bloom across Cisco's face and chest? Should he have blamed the sedative for making him go practically boneless? Would he discover the next morning that "feeling like little sparks of electricity are dancing across your flesh when your fiancé touches you" was a known side effect of the pills?

Doubtful. He'd tried both molly and acid a few times in college, and it had always taken those drugs about 20 minutes to kick in. Even if his sense of time was a little warped (How long had it really taken for Eobard to get to the medical wing? How much time had he really lost while he was unconscious? Those questions were still plaguing him), he knew that he probably wasn't feeling the effects of the sedatives yet.

Eobard was just special, he guessed. Bewitching and compelling and absolutely irresistible. Leonard Snart knew how to get under Cisco's skin, but Cisco had never been as completely taken with anyone as he was with Eobard.

Maybe that was why, when Eobard slipped one hand into the front of Cisco's boxers and gently began to stroke him, Cisco didn't make a snide remark about how a simple back- or foot-rub would have been sufficient to get him relaxed. He simply let out a little sigh of contentment and shifted his thighs to give Eobard better access.

"Good boy," Eobard cooed, and Cisco couldn't help but shiver in delight. "Let me take care of you. Let me take care of everything."

"Okay," Cisco said, because he wasn't sure what else to say. If this was what his fiancé wanted, if doing this for Cisco would make Eobard feel needed and helpful, then Cisco wasn't going to argue.

And so, before Cisco knew it, his pants and underwear had been pushed down to his knees, and Eobard was pumping him with a loose, spit-slick fist. He knew what Cisco liked and knew how to get him off quickly, which (unfortunately or not, depending upon how you looked at it) also meant that he knew how to draw things out.

"Are you mine, Cisco? Are you only mine?" Eobard asked, breaking the relative silence. For the last few minutes, the only sounds in their room had been Cisco's soft moans.

" Yesssss… " Cisco managed to hiss out, writhing. He was thankful for the smooth texture of his pillowcase.

"Mine," Eobard repeated, mostly to himself. Cisco felt teeth grazing a sensitive spot on his neck. "Mine." The pressure increased; odds were good that he'd have a mark there later. "Every part of you is mine."

Cisco closed his eyes. Eobard getting possessive during intimate encounters wasn't new; he'd been doing it for as long as they'd been sleeping together.

"Mine," Eobard had murmured the first time Cisco snuck down to the cortex to see him during the day. He pulled Cisco into his lap and yanked aside the collar of Cisco's shirt to suck a bruise onto his skin.

"Mine," Eobard had moaned, his fingers knotted in Cisco's hair. They were in the back of a limo on the way home from a holiday gala, and Cisco barely waited until the privacy partition was rolled all the way up before he sank to his knees—in a $4,000 tuxedo—and took Eobard into his mouth.

"Mine," Eobard had growled, pressing a hand to the back of Cisco's neck in order to keep him still. He'd bent him over a workroom table after everyone else had left for the day and pushed in a little too hard and a little too fast. Cisco was going to ask him to slow down, but then he felt a pair of eyeglasses hit his back, and he had to laugh at the other man's lack of control. Cisco made him so hot that he'd let his glasses fall off of his nose. Wasn't that something?

Cisco opened his eyes. When was the last time Eobard had worn glasses? Did Eobard ever wear glasses?

He couldn't think straight. All of the blood in his brain seemed to have gone to his other head—the one that Eobard was currently rubbing his thumb against.

"Are you close, baby?"

Cisco nodded, though he was sure Eobard already knew the answer to his question.

"Hmmmm," Eobard murmured with his mouth on Cisco's neck again. The vibration felt funny, but definitely not in a bad way. "You usually last longer. But maybe you're just extra-sensitive because you wouldn't let me touch you last night?"

"I…" Cisco started, and his voice broke into a whimper when Eobard's fist tightened sharply. It hurt just a little, and that meant it felt very, very good.

"It's okay." His tongue flicked out to lick Cisco's cheek, and he started moving his whole hand up and down again. "I'm just glad you're letting me touch you now. Because I'm yours, " he said. "I'm addicted to you. I'm a slave for you. You're the only thing in my life that truly matters."

"I…" Cisco started again. He actually wasn't sure what he was trying to say.

"Shhh. You don't have to say anything. I always give you what you need, don't I?" He stopped for a moment to slip off his own pants and then went back to fondling Cisco. Their legs tangled up, pressing their bodies together, and Cisco felt a hot hardness against his tailbone.

So much for the "empty tube sock", he couldn't help but think to himself, and he let out a shivery giggle while heat coiled in his belly.

That happy, little sound just seemed to spurn Eobard on further. He tightened his grip once more and began moving faster, grinding himself on Cisco's backside, not stopping or slowing down until Cisco finally cried out and spilled into Eobard's hand.

"There we go," Eobard remarked, sounding pleased with himself. "Don't you feel better now?"

"…Yeah, I guess I do," Cisco said, trying to catch his breath. His limbs felt heavy and his mind was a bit fuzzy, but still, he reached behind himself and fondled Eobard's crotch with his fingers. "Do you need me to help you get off?" he asked, and his tongue seemed clumsy in his mouth. The sedative, Cisco realized. Apparently, there was still some blood getting to his brain. Good to know.

Eobard inhaled sharply, probably at the feeling of Cisco's touch. "No. That's…I can do it myself, since you seem a little out of it right now." He batted Cisco's hand away with his wrist and then wiped the mess on his palm and fingers onto Cisco's hip. "Okay?"

"Sure. Do whatcha gotta do."

Despite teasing Cisco about not lasting very long, Eobard finished fairly quickly, too—after a few minutes of stroking himself with one hand while caressing Cisco's ass with the other, his breathing became ragged, and soon after that, Cisco felt Eobard's release splash onto the back of his thighs.

They reclined in silence for a few moments while Eobard was putting himself back together. Finally, Cisco opened his mouth: "Do you feel better now, too?"

Even though he was panting, Eobard managed to laugh at that. "Yes. Definitely. I think we can agree that we both needed this. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Minutes later, after Eobard had cleaned them both up and put their clothes back in order, he wrapped Cisco in his arms. "My darling boy," he sighed into Cisco's hair. "My sweet, beautiful, brilliant boy…"

"I wish I knew why you think I'm so special," Cisco admitted. The man had said earlier that Cisco was the only thing in his life that truly mattered, but how could that be? How could that possibly be? Eobard had everything that a man could possibly want in the world. And he could have anyone he wanted. So why had he picked Cisco of all people?

"I wish I knew why no one else seems to realize how special you are. Present company included." He held Cisco tighter, almost like he was trying to steal the air in his fiancé's lungs. "But that's fine. I'll always love you, Cisco. And I'll always take care of you. Nothing will ever come between us, because I won't let anything come between us."

"Not even oxygen?" Cisco managed to murmur.

Eobard grunted, relaxing his grip just a tiny bit—enough for Cisco to breathe, but not enough for him to move. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah. Just…you don't have to choke me to prove it, honey."

Eventually, they started to watch Ant-Man , and the atmosphere in their bedroom seemed to lighten up. They laughed and chatted through the movie's opening scenes, and Cisco felt himself growing progressively sleepier as time passed. But Eobard never let go of Cisco, keeping a possessive arm around him at all times.

Deep down, Cisco thought that Eobard's love for him could be a little...overwhelming sometimes. The man's adoration made happiness bloom inside of him, but the sensation also occasionally made him feel like his ribs were breaking from within. And yet, given the choice between being smothered and being neglected, he'd choose being smothered any day of the week. Considering the life he'd lived before he met Eobard, could anyone really blame him?

...

Notes:

'Mysteries at the Museum' is a real show, and it's super neat if you're interested in weird, obscure history. At the same time, I know more than one person who can't seem to keep their eyes open while it's playing—something about the host's soothing voice and the chipper background music. If you've never seen it before, you can find a bunch of episodes on Hulu and some clips on YouTube.

On a completely unrelated note, I learned while I was writing this chapter that fennec foxes are actually illegal to keep as pets in Missouri. This is another example of me Not Doing The Research. Let's say, for the purpose of this story, the Arrowverse's version of Missouri DOES allow people to keep fennec foxes. Eobard just doesn't want one in his house because he thinks it would be a huge hassle.

Originally published on AO3 in May 2019