I don't write M-fic but you should consider this rating a very strong T.
.
.
.
Barry Allen was fast. Well, obviously he was fast. Barry Allen was the Flash and the Flash was "the fastest man alive." Iris knew that but to her, he was also just Barry and when they spent time together, he wasn't the Flash. He was Barry. When she looked at him, she didn't see the Flash. She saw Barry. And when she fell in love, she fell in love with Barry.
Barry Allen had always loved Iris West so it was perhaps an ironic twist of fate that when they were finally in love at the same time - with each other - it was "the fastest man alive" who wanted to slow things down.
Especially . . . well, sex.
He wanted everything to be perfect.
Iris, however, just wanted him and the more . . . enthusiastic . . . she was in demonstrating just how ready she was to stop thinking and start doing, the harder it became for Barry to remember why he wanted to take it slow.
It wasn't long before he realized that his Iris ("His" Iris. Even thinking those words made him smile.) had a lot more in common with the Iris on Earth-Two than he at first supposed. That Iris - the tough, edgy cop, the one who had no compunction about stripping down in the living room or shoving her husband into a wall for an impromptu make-out session, the one who, if he were totally honest, scared him a little - that Iris had nothing on his Iris when it came to tenacity and determination.
His Iris listened to him stammer about not rushing her, about how he'd loved her his whole life and how he didn't mind waiting until she was really, really sure . . . and then she shut him up with a kiss.
It was hard to think of anything when he was kissing Iris, let alone reasons to stop. That first kiss they'd shared, the one she didn't remember but he couldn't forget . . . that kiss out in the cold hadn't prepared him for the reality of having a warm, willing, persistent Iris in his arms, kissing him back. Had her lips always been that soft? Her breath filling his mouth that sweet?
Had she always had more hands than a normal person?!
"Iris . . . Iris, stop. We have to . . . stop . . ."
She was straddling his lap, her mouth on his neck, one hand tangled in his hair and the other tugging at his belt. Barry was almost positive he felt the fingers of another hand digging into his back and still another one sliding under his shirt. How could someone so small touch him in so many places at once?
"Why?" Her eyes were heavy with desire and when her lashes dropped again, he realized where his own hands were - cupping her breasts through the thin lace of a minuscule bra, coaxing the dusky nipples to hard peaks with the graze of his thumbs.
She'd been asking him the same question for weeks. Why?
"Because . . ." With effort, he forced his thumbs to still and held her gaze. "Because, it will change everything."
It took a moment for his words to filter past the haze of lust that surrounded them like a cloud but when they did, Iris only smiled, tender in the face of his fear that this giant leap forward might one day turn against them.
"Barry, everything has already changed." She flattened her palms across the front of his shirt, half-unbuttoned from the busy work of her fingers. "Everything changed when you moved in with us when we were kids. It changed again when you were struck by that lightning, and then when I met Eddie and when he died." She leaned forward and touched his lips with hers. "At least this time it will change because we want it to. Because of something we decide. Together."
This time, he was the one who couldn't look away. Her dark eyes were endlessly deep, shining and clear . . . and sure. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty.
Love surged through his body, hot, strong and pure, the same love that had pulled him from the speed force and back to this life. Back to Iris.
"I love you," he said. The simple words were a promise and when her eyes filled with tears, he knew she understood.
"I love you." The soft whisper rang with truth. "And I want to make love with you."
When she slid off his lap and held out her hand, the moment seemed inevitable.
In her bedroom, Barry stopped her when she began to lift the hem of the light summer dress she wore.
"Let me. Please."
He took his time undressing her, lavishing every newly-revealed silky patch of skin with kisses, committing every curve to memory, worshiping her body in all the ways he'd only dreamed about. Iris' breathless gasps encouraged him; the sensual assault continued until she writhed helplessly on the bed, begging for release.
His own clothes were dispensed with almost perfunctorily. Naked now, too, he nudged her thighs open with the touch of his knees and stroked the silken folds at her core with the light touch of his fingers.
"God . . . Barry . . ."
The husky moan sent a spike of heat stabbing through him. He didn't know what was more beautiful – the rapturous expression on her face or the small, perfect curves lying bare beneath him. His head dipped and for the first time, he experienced the scent and taste that was uniquely Iris.
The combination was intoxicating. His hands slid beneath her bottom as he pulled her closer, lapping at the honey her body produced like a starving man given one final meal. Her fingers threaded through his hair and bit into his skull, holding him a willing prisoner while she undulated against his lips and tongue. Barry growled as he feasted, the raspy sound mingling with her high, keening wail to fill the room.
An idea occurred to him. With other lovers, he'd carefully maintained the façade of being a normal man with no extraordinary powers but with Iris, he could be wholly himself – both Barry Allen and the Flash. The possibilities were endless, and the potential for giving her pleasure limitless. Without further thought, he let his face vibrate against her tender flesh.
The effect was instantaneous – and not quite the reaction he expected or hoped for. Iris shrieked and scrambled away from him.
"Wh . . . what was that?"
Barry was left hunched uncertainly at the foot of the bed. "It's just . . . something I can do," he stammered. "You know, like on the rooftop at Jitters, before you know who I was. I thought I'd give it a try . . ."
"Well, you could have warned me!" Her eyes were still wide, her cheeks flushed and the beat of a rapidly fluttering pulse was visible at the hollow of her throat but the initial alarm was fading. The humour of the moment struck them at the same time – both naked, separated by a foot of empty bed, with the heavy thrum of need vibrating in the air around them.
It was also impossible to miss the understanding dawning on Iris' face as she considered the potential of what he'd just done. Of what he could do.
Barry's tongue snaked out, tasting her again in the moisture coating his lips. One hand crept up the slender curve of her calf. "So, do you want me to stop—"
"No!" She was quick to cut him off. "No, definitely not."
"Well, okay then."
Iris shrieked again, this time with laughter when, without warning, Barry grabbed her hips and tugged her down to him once more. One light touch on his shoulder made him pause.
"So, does . . . everything . . . vibrate?"
Barry met the naked lust in her eyes with a smile as sinful as an apple offered in a garden.
"Let's find out."
.
.
#WestAllen is rising. Hallelujah and thank the Lord!
And thank you for reading!