A/N: A lot of people have asked me where this fits in with the timeline of the show (Earth One). The answer to that is it doesn't. I would say imagine that this takes place on an alternate Earth, as if we are glimpsing Barry Allen and Len and company on Earth 23 or something. I'm actually writing a ficlet where this Len runs into Earth One Barry Allen, so, there's that to look forward to. xD Thank you so much for sticking around this long. I hope you enjoy this chapter. :D
"Is he gonna make it?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me about the shooter."
"He's fast and strong. He had a metal arm."
"Ballistics?"
"Three slugs. No rifling and completely untraceable."
"Soviet made?"
"Yeah."
Barry watches Len more than the movie that's on, fascinated by how absorbed he is in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. He had started out relaxing against the cushions of the sofa, but has progressively scooted forward to the edge of his seat, leaning in towards the television screen, as if he's ready to jump into the fray.
Barry chews on his pizza crust and thinks. They spoke for hours the other night, and Barry felt they'd made a connection. He wanted to see Len again so badly, to see if that feeling was a fluke. It wasn't. From that first kiss in the alley, Barry knows there's a definite attraction, and it's not just physical. He wants to know this man. He feels comfortable around him. As inconceivable as it sounds, Barry feels like they may have known one another before, in a different life or a different time. Iris would laugh at him if he told her, but it's a feeling so strong, he can't rule it out. Barry has spent most of his life believing in the impossible. He can't turn his back on it now.
And showing up at his studio, when he should be gone, after Barry spent the whole day thinking about him? That has to mean something, like Len feels the same way.
But here he is, eating pizza and drinking beer on Barry's sofa, and Barry still knows nothing about him apart from the fact that he grew up with an abusive father, and he practically raised his sister. There are so many questions Barry wants to ask Len about his life, where he came from, what he's been doing the past few years, where he sees himself in the future. On the other hand, he's so much fun to watch, intent, as if he's finding flaws in every part of Captain America's plan, but also like he's dying to get a piece of the action.
Len feels Barry staring. His eyes shift from the screen to Barry's face, and he sits up, his shoulders squared with tension.
"What?" he asks.
"So, you like super hero movies?"
"I have a soft spot for do-gooders." Len reaches for his bottle of IPA, but with Barry's eyes on him, he begins to get self-conscious. He holds the bottle by the neck, but doesn't raise it to his mouth. "What?"
"Nothing," Barry says, toning down his stare. "I'm just trying to figure you out."
"And what do you know so far?"
"Well, you seem like a man who's married to his work," Barry says, leaning against the arm of the sofa.
"Why would you think that?" Len asks, confused.
"You always have a kind of far off look in your eye, and that usually means family trouble or work issues. Of course, with your sister to keep an eye on, it could be both."
Len turns on the couch and leans against the arm the way Barry is, mirroring his posture. He's inclined to agree - work has always taken up a huge portion of his life, as has his sister. But the more he thinks about it, the more arguments to the contrary start to pop into his head.
"I'm not sure if it is that, really," he says. "I just…I've always had Lisa to take care of, you know? And when she got old enough to fend for herself, I had myself convinced that I was still doing what I was doing because I loved it."
"And…you don't anymore?" Barry asks.
This is a subject that's plagued Len for a while being on the Waverider. Sure, it feels good being the hero. At this point in his life, it feels like what he was meant to do. But when it comes down to it, can he stop being a criminal? There have been patches where he's had to go on hiatus, when things got too hot and he had to lay low. But no matter how perilous things seemed, even with his massive amount of patience, something inside him itched to get out. Would he really be able to quit cold turkey, settle down, and live out the rest of his life as an average citizen? What exactly would he do with his time? Learn to golf? Work as a cashier at The Home Depot? Drive a city bus? Run for mayor?
He could always take up painting. Barry might be willing to teach him.
But give up being a thief, and what was he? He still has to look after Lisa, and last time he checked, being a hero didn't pay that well.
"I don't know the answer to that," Len says, taking a sip of his beer. "To be honest, I've been doing what I'm doing for a helluva long time. I don't know that I could do anything else."
"Really?" Barry rests the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other, making himself comfortable, showing that he's interested. "How long?"
Len opens his mouth to answer, but the answer stalls. In essence, he's been gone decades. But then Rip brings them back to a few months after they left, and life seems to start all over again. He's been to 2166 and back, but as far as Lisa is concerned, in 2016, he's only been gone about five or six months. "You know," Len says, "I have no idea. My head's not in to doing the math right now, so…"
"That's okay," Barry says, bracing to ask the big question on his mind. "If you don't mind my asking, what do you do?"
"Uh" – Len glances at the television screen, then back at Barry, trying to think up a convincing lie. But he doesn't want to lie to Barry, no more than the white ones he's already told. "I really can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"It's…kind of…complicated."
"Ah," Barry says, disappointed. "I see."
"Well, what do you think I do?"
"When I first saw you, the way you carry yourself, the way you talk, I thought you had to be, like, FBI or CIA or something. But you mentioned being in prison, so I'm thinking, maybe not."
"No," Len chuckles. "Definitely not."
"You sort of talk like a henchman from that Dick Tracy movie," Barry says, feeling immediately guilty for comparing Len to a comic-book character. But Len snickers.
"Is that bad?"
"No. It's just…a little over the top."
"You're getting warmer," Len says, debating how much he's willing to tell Barry about his profession.
Barry sits forward, his expression becoming remarkably devious, as if he knows he's on the brink of closing in on Len's secret. "So, are you telling me I'm on a date with a wanted man?"
The word date strikes Len before the words wanted man do. "Would it bother you if I said I was?"
Barry takes a second to think about it, then shakes his head. "Not really. I mean, I wish I could say that it did, that it was an absolute deal breaker."
Len's brow furrows. "Why?"
"Because isn't that the supposed right thing to do? Especially since I was raised by a cop, and my dad's in jail for something he didn't do. But the truth is, you have to prove that I can't trust you just as much as you need to prove that I can, and all you've done so far is prove that I can trust you. So, no. For the moment, I choose to believe that you're a decent man until you show me otherwise."
The smile on Len's face, reserved to begin with, falls. The next thing he's about to say could destroy this evening, and any chance he has with Barry, but he has to know, "And what if I told you that I was a killer?"
Len expects Barry to think about this answer, too, but it flies out of his mouth as if it were waiting on the tip of his tongue.
"My first instinct would be not to believe it."
Len doesn't know whether to appreciate Barry's open-minded attitude or be pissed. It's one thing to give people the benefit of the doubt. It's another to be blind to the truth. Maybe they are speaking in hypotheticals, but there's a reason why people ask questions 'hypothetically'. It's how they slip truths by, where people won't find them hiding.
"Then you'd be a little bit naïve," Len says with a bite.
"I know I may come off that way, but I'm not," Barry says without offense. "I've spent a lot of time around cops and around criminals. Maybe I'm biased because of my dad, but I've seen a lot of guys in Iron Heights, and I know that they might deserve to be in there, but that doesn't necessarily make them bad men."
"I'm not innocent, Barry," Len says flatly.
"But that doesn't necessarily make you a bad man."
"What do you really know about me, huh?" Len finds himself getting angry, but he doesn't know why. If Barry is going to accept him, he needs to accept everything about him…but how can he if Len doesn't tell him the truth? That's Len's fault, not Barry's.
"Admittedly not much. But I know you love your sister. And my mom used to say that nine times out of ten, you can trust a person who loves their family."
"And why's that?"
"Because a person who loves their family believes in something bigger than themselves."
Len looks down at the bottle of beer in his hand, needing to focus on something other than Barry's face in order to think. That sounds like something he'd expect Barry to say. He just never thought that anyone, Barry included, would say it about him.
"You know, a lot of people I meet, they don't usually try to see the good in me. So, I think that it's difficult for me to see it for myself."
Barry contemplates Len's thought with a nod of his head. "Then maybe it's time you start off fresh, with someone who wants to see the good in you."
Len's reserved smile blooms back on his face. "You know, maybe you're right."
Len feels a vibrating in his pocket – his communicator going off, alerting Len that his time in 2016 is coming to a close. The last estimate was somewhere around eight hours. The crew of the Waverider had been in the middle of some sort of trouble, and neither Rip, Gideon, Mick, nor Sara could clue him in on the details. But whatever range they're at, they're close enough that Len should expect them by morning, as planned, on schedule.
A Time Master is never late.
"Well," Len says, finishing his beer and setting the bottle on the floor, "it's getting to be about that time, and…"
"Yeah," Barry agrees reluctantly, standing when Len stands, seeing him to the front door. "Is there any chance that you'll be around tomorrow?"
"Not this time," Len says, trying to sound definite that leaving is what he wants to do. "My ride called to confirm. It's coming in the morning."
"Oh, that's…that's too bad," Barry says, walking slowly behind Len, who isn't walking much faster. "It would have been nice to have you pop up unexpectedly again."
"It would have," Len agrees.
Barry unlocks the door and opens it. "Well, anytime you're in town, mi casa es su casa. You already know how to get in." Barry gestures toward the window. "You can always stop by early, raid the fridge before I get here. And don't worry about the alarm. I'll keep it disarmed, just in case."
As much as Len is touched by Barry's offer, he wants to tell Barry not to do that for him. He can't give Barry any guarantees. But he can't bring himself to. He can't ruin this daydream – not for Barry, and not for himself. "That's real nice of you. I appreciate that."
There's a long pause, not awkward but unfinished – too much not said, too much left unknown, a goodbye without a promise of a return. Len wants to kiss Barry, he wants to hold him, but would that be fair? To give Barry hope the way Len had been taking hope from Barry all evening when he has none to replace it with? If he kisses Barry now, and it's the last kiss they ever share, it will add another scar to the collection Barry already has. It'll be a new one for Len as well, one that doesn't show, but it won't be on his back this time.
It'll be inside his heart. There are only two others there – one from the day his mother died, and the other from the day Len's dad almost killed his sister.
No. Len can't keep doing this to himself, and he can't do it to Barry, even as Barry stares at him, praying that he will. But if Len wants to be the hero, he has to stop being a selfish ass and actually start doing what's right for a change, without being on the Waverider, and without a gun in his hand.
"Bye, Barry." Len walks out the door, but, this decision doesn't only belong to him, and like on the sidewalk before Len got his tattoo, Barry's hand on his arm stops him.
"Don't leave," Barry begs. He takes a step, close enough to brush the tip of Len's nose with his own, lips hovering around his mouth.
"Barry…" Len says as a warning, but he can't keep himself from moving closer, too, "I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"You're probably right, but I don't care," Barry says. "If you're leaving in the morning, then stay the night with me? Please?"
Len looks at Barry's hand on his bicep, his gaze traveling up Barry's arm to his eyes. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes." Barry tugs gently, kissing the bridge of Len's nose. "I really want to do this. D-do…do you?"
"Yeah," Len says, walking back into Barry's loft. "I really, really do."
Len waits to hear the door click shut and Barry bolt the lock, then he pulls Barry into his arms and kisses him. Barry grabs Len's shirt and leads him through the living room towards his bedroom, lips claiming his every step of the way. As soon as they walk through the doorway, with Barry's bed within reach, Len lifts off Barry's shirts and tosses them aside. He comes face to face with those lightning marks, those branching scars. They call to him in a way that nothing ever has before, especially the worst one – the one over Barry's heart. At this range, Len can see the raw devastation of it. Had whoever given that to him been able to plunge their knife farther into Barry's chest, Barry would have been dead, no doubt about it. Len finds himself kissing that scar over and over, and Barry lets him, leaves him to explore every mark on his skin. No one ever has before. Most people avoid looking at them, touching them, as if the tragedy in Barry's life is a disease, and by confronting those scars, they might catch it, too.
But a man who's suffered the kind of scars that Len has beneath the tattoo on his back has no fear of lightning.
Len reaches for the fly to Barry's jeans as he kisses down his chest while Barry fumbles to toe off his sneakers.
"Did you…did you want me to put on some music…or something?" Barry mumbles, fainter and fainter with each word trying to bypass his lips while moans compete for space in his throat.
"No," Len mutters, pausing to toss off his own shirt, and then maneuver Barry onto the bed. "I wanna hear you. Just you."
"Oh…oh, well that's…" Good? Nice? Even Barry doesn't know. Whatever he meant to say evaporates when Len pulls down his briefs and takes him into his mouth. This isn't usually Len's style. He doesn't get down on his knees for anyone. But he wants all of Barry – every sound out of his mouth that Len can get him to make, the taste of Barry's skin on his tongue, the thickness of his cock in his mouth. He wants to kiss every inch of flesh, suck hickeys in places where they'll never show. He wants to brand Barry in every nerve and every muscle.
He wants Barry to feel him long after he's gone.
"L-len," Barry squeaks, bending his knees up to take off his socks, fingers shaking as they hook into the cuffs when spreading his legs makes what Len is doing that much more intense. "Len…God, Len…"
"Barry," Len moans, one hand working open the buttons to his jeans while he trails bites along the scars on the inside of Barry's thighs. Barry's nails scratching Len's head become a huge distraction as he tries to kick off his shoes and yank off his socks. His pants and briefs he manages to lose in one swoop as he rises from the floor and climbs over Barry's body, wrapping around him like a vine, determined not to let go.
"God," he says, kisses putting space between his words, "it's been…so long…"
"Yeah," Barry says, "I know what you mean."
That comment gives Len pause, and he laughs nervously. He didn't think he'd get this far, so he completely forgot…
So much for his impromptu plan. He should go back to doing what he's good at – overthinking things to death.
"Uh…you wouldn't happen to have…" Barry sees Len's eyes dart away, and he stomps down an urge to laugh at this stoic, tough, incomparable man getting nervous about that.
"Yeah," Barry says. "I do. In the nightstand."
"Good." Len pulls Barry up to the head of the bed, refusing to let go of him for even a second. "Because this was about to be the shortest hook-up in history."
"Not a chance," Barry assures him. "There's a Walgreens on the corner. I can be there and back in under five minutes."
"That's…uh…a little incredible…" Len doesn't entertain the idea that Barry might be exaggerating. If Barry says he can be there and back in under five minutes, Len believes it.
"I've been thinking about this…about you…since you left my shop," Barry admits. "And I'm not letting a little thing like running out for condoms get in the way."
"So…you want me?" Len asks, revisiting Barry's mouth, kissing him gently, leaving him enough space to answer, but no more than that. It's fairly obvious, though, with the way Barry is hard against him, but Len wants to hear Barry say it. He wants those words on his tongue along with his kisses and his moans.
"Yes," Barry whispers, chasing Len's lips as he inches away. "Yes, I want you."
"Are you sure?" Len teases, enjoying this game of cat and mouse he's devised between his mouth and Barry's.
But Barry stops chasing Len's mouth and looks into his eyes. "Why don't you kiss me again, Captain Cold, and find out?"
Barry calling Len Captain Cold, in that husky, lust-filled voice of his, floods Len's body with want. Searing, soul-splitting want.
"As you wish, Barry Allen." Len asks no more questions, completely possessed by kissing Barry so deeply he feels one with him. He spends long moments just touching Barry, running the flats of his palms over his back and shoulders, down to cup his ass, fingertips trailing the soft, sensitive skin underneath the swell of muscle and flesh. He counts those lightning marks one by one on the return trip up his spine. He threads his fingers into Barry's hair and holds him tight against his mouth, devouring gasps, then moving to his neck and laying claim to that as well. Every moan out of Barry's mouth Len captures with his own, the warmth of his body, steadily heating beneath his hands, he absorbs into his skin, leaving no room between them for anything else. And Len is happy to keep it this way, not go any further, until Barry starts rutting against him.
"More," Barry whispers. He reaches behind him to the small nightstand beside his bed and roots blindly through the top drawer. He returns quickly, shoving something under his pillow, and pressing a bottle of lube into Len's palm. Barry's fingers graze Len's back over the healing tattoo, tracing the lines he'd drawn without a need to see them. There's an erotic thrill to Barry having that tattoo set to memory.
Having something on Len's body burned into his brain.
Len flips open the bottle and coats his fingers in lube. He traces a line down Barry's back and Barry arches into it, the sensation of Len's slick fingertips sending sparks flying through his nerves, like the lit fuse on a stick of dynamite. He reaches Barry's tailbone and slips his hand past the crack of Barry's ass, massaging almost too roughly in search of his entrance. But if Len is a little rough, it doesn't faze Barry in the slightest. He wants to be touched by Len. He wants Len inside him so badly, he's not above begging. Just as Barry opens his mouth to plead for something, anything, Len slips his middle finger inside Barry's body, stretching him, with a hint of burn, but not too much.
"Oh, God," Barry groans with a hiss underneath. Len stops.
"Did I…hurt you?" he asks. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Barry winds his legs and arms tighter around Len's body. "Just…mmm…keep going."
"Alright," Len whispers, finger sliding further in, then all the way out. Len feels Barry's body engulf him – the heat clenched tight around his finger, his muscular legs intertwined with his, his arms snaking around his torso. Barry rolls on top of him. He kisses Len's neck with trembling lips, spellbound by the sensations of Len opening him up.
"Oh…oh, Len…oh, God…don't stop…"
Len adds another finger and Barry goes still, his moans changing pitch, turning into whines - the switch, the intonation, the frequency, embedding into Len's memory.
"Yes…" Barry whimpers, bucking back to meet Len's finger. "Yes…yes…yes…oh God…"
Len can tell by Barry's reaction to being fingered, to being scissored open, that he wasn't lying. It has been a long time. Len can't help being amazed by that. How? How can it possibly be that no one wants a piece of this gorgeous man, the one unraveling at his touch? Or is Barry just insanely picky? What's going on between them might seem to have come about fast, but maybe Barry isn't a fan of one-night stands. For as outgoing as he is, he also seems private, only opening up to a select inner circle.
For Len to be included in that inner circle is an honor.
"Oh, Len…can you…can we…" Barry can't get a complete sentence out, and Len loves it. Every time Barry opens his mouth, Len pushes harder, faster, and Barry's voice fails. Barry scrabbles under the pillow and passes a condom over to Len, but he doesn't take it, kissing Barry hard and burying his fingers to the last knuckle, sweeping around until he finds...
"MmmLen! Len, stop!" Barry puts his hands on Len's shoulder and pushes away, but he only gets as far as Len is willing to let him go. "Please…I…"
"I've gotcha," Len says, finally taking the condom. He untangles from Barry's full-body embrace to put it on.
"How did you want to…?" Barry asks.
"Sit in my lap, Barry?" Len begs, grabbing Barry and pulling him back.
Barry straddles Len's hips. Staring into Len's eyes, he lines up their bodies, preparing himself mentally for something he hasn't done in so long, there's a part of him that's afraid he's going to do something embarrassingly stupid, like bend Len's cock or cum too early. Barry doesn't feel he's a slouch as far as sex is concerned, but Len just seems so much…more. Barry may never see this man again. He wants the impression Len leaves with to be a good one - no regrets.
Len holds Barry steady. Slowly, Len slips inside his body. Barry's head falls back, his jaw drops open, and he's rendered temporarily useless. Even when Barry did have a regular partner, it'd been a while since he's let someone fill him up this way. He can't believe how much he's missed this.
Fuck being able to get along alone. It wasn't what he preferred, it's just that he was used to it. He had walled himself in, hadn't let himself be free this way with anyone.
But he wouldn't have considered it if Len hadn't come along.
Barry settles into Len's lap, taking a breather, getting ready to move, but Len hugs him.
"Just…just stay for a moment," Len says.
"Okay." Barry relaxes against him, with no intention of moving whatsoever. "Just tell me when."
Len nods, but he doesn't say a thing, nothing for a long time. He holds Barry in his arms, and lets himself be held. Len knows that the second he gives Barry permission to move, he's that much closer to this being over. He takes in a breath and holds it, waiting to see if he can make time stand still inside that one breath. It's ridiculous. He knows it is. He's seen the way time works. But it's worth a shot.
"Len?" Barry tries to look at Len's face, but he's holding Barry too tight against him, and he can't move. "Len…are you alright? Did you change your mind? Did you not want to do this?"
Len lets go of his breath, and loosens his grip so Barry can lean back and see him.
"Barry, I can't think of anything I've wanted more in years." He smiles slyly. "Besides my tattoo. I was just wondering…"
"Wondering what?"
"After we do this, what's it gonna mean…for you and me?"
"I think it'll mean whatever we want it to mean," Barry says. "But we might not know until we get there."
"Yeah," Len agrees. "You're right."
Barry rolls up experimentally on his knees and slides back down, watching Len's eyes grow rounder, his lips part with a soft gasp, his Adam's apple bob with a heavy swallow. Barry does it again, and Len's fingers curl in to Barry's hips. Len doesn't try to move Barry, or push him to go faster. He's content to hold him and watch his body move, watch his breathing quicken, watch his eyes grow dark, with a hint of something crackling underneath.
There is an undeniable magic to having Barry in his arms, as if those things that make him special, those quirks that Len doesn't quite understand, fill Barry with power. Len feels it all around him, like Barry is the vortex of a storm, sweeping Len up in him. Len has become so use to the cold and dark of traveling through time, and Barry is pure energy. He burns where he surrounds Len, and Len almost can't breathe.
"Oh, God…Barry…" Len watches Barry pick up the pace, his hips pistoning faster and faster, until sitting with a foot of space between them is too far for Len. He surges forward and locks his lips over Barry's scar, sinking his teeth in.
Barry groans, not from the pain, but from the swell of emotion inside him that's part rapturous orgasm, part breaking heart. He feels the arms locked around him shake, Len coming apart while still wrapped around him. Barry starts falling to pieces, too, making Len's arms around him the only thing keeping him together.
"Barry, I'm…fuck, I'm…" Len suddenly doesn't have the words to tell Barry that he's cumming, and it's not the physiology of the blood in his body traveling away from his brain, or his own spectacular climax stealing his ability to speak. It's because nothing he can say can possibly add to this moment. It can only take away. Telling Barry that he's cumming seems too crude. Saying anything else seems too cruel. So instead he takes over, thrusting up into Barry's body and holding him, tighter and tighter until he knows he's got to be hurting him. But Barry doesn't seem to feel pain, a look of pleasure on his face so intense, it's a mirror of Len's own.
Len doesn't look up from the scar on Barry's chest as he cums, biting down until he thinks he'll break skin. Barry puts a hand to the back of Len's neck, holding him there. This touch specifically is the one thing he's been missing; he needs Len to keep going.
"Ah! Ah, Len! Oh, God…" Barry's hand, gripping the back of Len's neck, starts to cramp, but he's cumming so hard, charged by that bite that if Len stops, it'll be catastrophic. Barry's body goes rigid, his vision goes white. His chest feels constricted, his heart beating so fast, there's no way his ribcage is going to be able to contain it. His hips stop rocking and simply stutter, whatever signal connects his muscles to his brain shorting out along the way, causing his arms to twitch instead. As Barry works through his orgasm, his muscles start to unhinge, and he falls against Len, arms draped over his shoulders, breathing hard enough to hurt. But Barry doesn't care if he never catches his breath, if he never moves, or gets out of his bed. He could stay in Len's arms for the conceivable future and be sublimely happy. But Barry is pretty sure they don't have the future. He's not sure what they do have.
And in the silence of Barry's bedroom, that long, unfinished pause from earlier resurfaces.
Barry looks in Len's face, but he can't tell if the expression that's taken over is one of sadness…or regret.
"Uh…" Barry stretches out his arms and unfolds his legs. He tries to pull away, but his heart won't let him. "I think…I'm getting a stitch in my side."
"Oh. Sorry." Len pries his hands from Barry's hips and lets them drop to his sides, but he doesn't want Barry to leave. He feels whole with Barry in his arms. He'll feel empty without him. Barry climbs out of Len's lap, ready to crawl off the bed and head for the shower, but Len wraps his arms around him from behind.
"Did you want to take a shower? Clean up?" Barry asks, assuming the answer when Len starts huddling under the covers with him in his arms.
"If it's all the same to you," Len says, "I'd rather not. I don't want to wash you off me yet."
As crushing as this silence around them is becoming, Barry is relieved by that, but Len is going to wash Barry away eventually, and that makes Barry's stomach turn. It brings to mind how tenuous this is, how brief this relationship might be.
Maybe Len was right. Maybe being together like this right before he's about to disappear was a mistake.
Barry rolls on to his back and puts an arm over Len's.
"You're going to leave before I wake up," Barry says matter-of-factly. "Aren't you?" He knows he's right, but he has to add the question in the hopes that Len might say no, he won't leave, he'll at least stay till the morning so they can say one last goodbye.
Barry stares at the ceiling. He doesn't know where else to look. If he looks right at Len, he runs the risk of breaking down, begging him to stay, which he knows will make this harder on both of them. If he turns his back on him, he's essentially showing he doesn't care if Len stays or goes.
And Barry cares. He cares too much.
"I…I don't know," Len says. "I haven't decided." He watches Barry sigh till his shoulders droop. "Unfortunately, I'm not the one who gets to make those decisions."
"Who does?"
"I can't…tell you that."
"How did I know you were going to say that?"
"Look, Barry, I told you my life was complicated."
"Yeah?" Barry snaps, but it diffuses with a guilty sigh. "Yeah, you did. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get on your case."
"Don't be." Len slides down and throws an arm over Barry's stomach. "I'd be offended if you didn't."
"Why's that?" Barry asks. Len rests his head on Barry's chest, and Barry drops a kiss on the crown of Len's head.
"Because then this wouldn't have meant anything."
"You know, you could stay," Barry says, his voice soft, as if he doesn't actually want Len to hear. Not because his offer isn't genuine, but because he doesn't want it shot down. "Another day, a few days, as long as you want, until you figure things out."
"Thanks, Barry. But, the kind of figuring out I need to do, I can't do here."
Barry sighs. "Offer's always open."
Len kisses the scar above Barry's heart. He presses an ear against it, searching for Barry's heartbeat. He finds it, thrumming faster than any heartbeat should, Len imagines, and he smiles. It wouldn't be Barry's heartbeat if it wasn't unusual. "I appreciate that."
It starts over again with a kiss, Len pulling Barry into his arms, bringing Barry's body to life long before the man even opens his eyes.
Len hadn't planned on this. He was just going to leave. It's after three a.m. He wanted to be gone before sunrise. He's still a wanted man in many respects. He didn't want to risk walking the streets at dawn, when there's no one else out and about, and the cops would be changing shifts, putting twice as many on the streets. Besides, he can tell by the amount of "Where are you?" communiques he's received from Mick, Sara, and other members of his team that he won't be able to put off the Waverider any longer.
His time in 2016, and with Barry, are officially up…for now.
It had started to rain, which would have been the best cover for him. But something else happened. Thunder rolled outside. Lightning lit the sky, and from inside Barry's loft, something unseen called to Len.
Like a light in Barry's body. A beacon.
Last night wasn't Len's only opportunity to be with this remarkable man. There would always be, if he could make the time for them.
This is another opportunity. He has to take it.
Len kisses Barry's mouth, and Barry opens his eyes. He looks at Len. He's drowsy, hovering somewhere between asleep and awake, but he doesn't seem scared or surprised.
"Barry?" Len says.
"Yeah?" Barry says.
"Let me…" Len debates, testing the words out in his head to see if they sound right before he says them. "Let me make love to you?"
Barry smiles, looping his arms lazily around Len's neck. "Of course."
Having sex with Barry should be rushed. Len doesn't really have time for anything else. But it's not. Time seems to slow down around Barry. Len can't explain it. No, it doesn't slow. His concept of it goes straight out the window.
He kisses Barry just as much as before, just as long, holds him just as tight. He rolls over on him slightly, trapping Barry's body beneath him, and pins his hands over his head. He kisses the scars on Barry's shoulders, at the base of his neck. He fills himself with Barry until he can't stand it anymore, and for the second time, he feels himself ripping apart.
He looks Barry over, eyes taking in every line of him, every angle. Len's memory is eidetic, which he used to think was a curse. It stored every instance of his father's sadism, and would bring it back at the most inconvenient times, and with the most vivid of sounds and colors. That's how a gang of older kids got the jump on him in juvie. They pinned him down, pulled out a shank, and he became paralyzed with fear. He didn't see a hulking sixteen-year-old with a gap in his front teeth, chapped lips, and one lazy eye, looming over him. Who he saw was his father, brandishing a switchblade, with his buddies by his side to help him do his dirty work. Even in lock up, surrounded by armed police officers, Len wasn't safe from his old man, not as long as those memories remained carved inside his skull. If it hadn't been for crazy ass Mick Rory taking on everyone at once, Len would have been dead.
A blade right to the heart, just like Barry.
What an odd, chaotic parallel. If Len had died that day in juvie, would Barry's mystery killer have succeeded in stabbing him somehow? On plain old Earth, it sounds like a one-in-a-million coincidence.
Traveling through timelines and changing the future the way Len has already done, it seems like the kind of thing that someone might have orchestrated.
But now, Len sees his memory as a blessing, because it will give him this back – his time with Barry – the teasing, the flirting, the talks and the tattoo, the kiss in the alley, watching a movie together like a regular couple, eating pizza and drinking beer…and making love, with lightning flashing underneath Barry's skin and thunder rumbling outside. Len will replay it when he's alone, when he feels forgotten…when he comes within spitting distance of death yet again.
He'll remember that he got to have this man, and his life will seem a little less dreary.
And yes, it will give him something besides his sister to come back to.
Len doesn't cum hard, his muscles shutting down and his teeth biting into Barry's flesh. It's more soothing this time, like a wave carrying him along. Like returning to something familiar.
Like finding the road home.
When Len slides out of Barry's body, he doesn't feel empty. He feels overwhelmed, like he's taking something with him, something to sustain him. He's wide awake, filling his brain with sounds and smells and tastes to see him through.
Barry, barely awake to begin with, manages to slip back to sleep with a smile on his lips.
Len climbs out of bed. He dresses quietly, then kisses Barry on the forehead.
Len doesn't know when he'll be back, but he will be back. He just wishes he didn't have to leave this way.
His communicator vibrates again – a reminder that for everything that changes, good and bad, some things stay the same.
Len comes to a hasty decision, and leaves something behind, a token that he hopes will make everything right.
Hope. He didn't think he had any to give. He realizes too late, working on borrowed time, that he was wrong.
"I'm sorry, Barry," Len whispers. He heads for the window instead of the front door. As far as Len can tell, Barry didn't re-set the alarm. He opens it enough to slip through, then shuts it behind.
And just like that, he disappears into the rain.
When Barry wakes the following morning, to the mellow sound of rain pattering against his window, he's alone. He had a feeling he would be. He had prepared himself for the possibility the second he asked Len to stay, but it still stings.
Barry rolls over. His body aches, but it's a good ache. It's a satisfying ache. The ache in his muscles and his limbs will be a comforting reminder throughout the day of the fabulous evening he had.
It's the ache in his heart and in his head that are killing him.
Len didn't just have sex with Barry. He'd consumed him, taken parts of him. Barry wonders if anyone he knows will notice; if they'll be able to see that pieces of him are gone. Barry gets out of bed and looks at himself in the mirror on the wall. He knows that Len had bitten him, but there shouldn't be a mark left.
He looks closely, and he sees one. Right on the smooth skin of the scar above his heart, a deep purple set of teeth marks. Even as he watches them, he can see them fading, but, for some reason, they're going slowly.
He sits back down on the bed, glancing at the time on his phone. He doesn't have to be up for another hour. Well, two really, but he prides himself on getting to his studio early. He hasn't taken a day off or called in sick since the day he opened his doors.
He can afford to take his time.
He flops against the pillow and stares up at the ceiling. Same familiar ceiling, same familiar loft, same old familiar life.
Except that Barry doesn't feel the same.
Something light grazes his arm. He swats at it, thinking it might be an insect, but it crinkles underneath his hand. He turns his head to take a peek. It's a piece of paper, folded in fourths. From Barry's viewpoint, he sees the indentations of writing marring the reverse surface.
A letter.
Barry doesn't know how he missed it before. It had to have been inches from his head. He picks it up, unfolds it, and despite the fact that this could be a Dear John letter, Barry smiles. Len left him a letter. He didn't just walk out and leave without thinking to say a final goodbye. Barry reads five lines in, and smiles wider. The more he reads it, the more he can hear the words in Len's distinctive voice.
Barry –
My life is complicated. God, I sound like a fucking broken record, don't I? I'm sorry. But I can't really say more than that. Not in a letter. But I want you to know that I don't want last night to be goodbye. As cliché as it sounds, meeting you has changed me. I know it's only been a day or two, but that doesn't mean it's not true. Time, you may find out one day, means very little to me. And besides, stranger things have happened; I think you know that. But you've helped me realize that there are bigger things in the world for me, something better that I can become, and that it's not just a hope. It is possible. I don't know how to get there yet, but what I do know is I want you to be a part of it. If you feel the same way, if you want to be a part of it, too, and you don't mind a little distance while I sort a few things out, send me a message. I'll be waiting.
Len
Barry doesn't see a number. He re-reads the letter. He turns the paper over and notices, on the folded cover where Len wrote his name, a set of parenthesis, and the words Look under the pillow. Please don't show anyone!
Barry sweeps a hand underneath the pillow Len slept on, taking a moment to bury his nose in it and take a sniff, and finds…something. It's hard, and small enough to wrap his fingers around. He pulls it out. It looks like an old school Nokia phone – a single square screen above a keypad – nothing too extraordinary. Barry turns the device over in his hand. The casing is smooth; gunmetal grey. It doesn't have any markings, no compartment for a battery, or jacks along the sides. It kind of looks like one of the communicators he used to see the actors talk into on episodes of the original Star Trek.
Kind of space aged. The kind of thing that someone might want to keep a secret.
Something that would make a life complicated.
Heart thumping, Barry types in a message – Hey, stranger.
He puts down the device and waits for it to do something.
He only gets a second of doubt, to wonder if he did it right, if the message sent at all…if Len changed his mind.
The response message comes in faster than he expected.
Hey yourself.