The first time they were intimate and solidified being together after the agony of the weeks prior had been a Saturday. Len had gotten coffee, done physical therapy, sparred with Barry—who he had then made out with, pushed away, and made out with again in fairly rapid succession before ending up at the kid's home where they'd finally culminated their mutual pining into something tangible. And beautiful. And mind-blowingly hot, Len wouldn't lie. Followed by events that were sweet and domestic and somewhat surreal, but still wonderful. Everything about being with Barry was wonderful.
So it stood to reason that as soon as they parted that Saturday, Len was already thinking about 'next time', and not just the next time they would see each other or work together, but living up to the promise he'd made to Barry—"Next time, you're fucking me."
The tease that he often pictured Barry bending him over every hard surface in the labs wasn't a lie either. That would be a bad idea though, given the cameras, but apparently Barry was looking into possible blind spots, "Just in case," which amused Len to no end.
Still. Hard surfaces. Barry bending him over one. Barry taking him the way he'd been taken, eager and no doubt spewing filth from his mouth that would open Len up all the more.
It was decidedly distracting, having the promise of that looming. Especially considering it was almost the following weekend before they had an opportunity to be alone and attempt anything even remotely intimate again. They'd planned a Friday night date, like an actual normal, everyday couple, and Len still couldn't quite get over that, but the thought of spending time with Barry outside of just being part of the same team was thrilling.
Until they got called in to attend to an all too familiar crisis when Captain Boomerang appeared in Central City. Len had an instant dislike for the man, though he vehemently denied it was only because they shared part of the same code name. At least the guy wasn't a meta.
Taking him down hadn't been anything too difficult or taxing, hadn't even required the whole team, which annoyed Len really, because the others probably could have handled things without him and Barry. As it stood, once they were finished cleaning up Boomerang's mess, it was too late for dinner—Barry would need calories soon, but something harried and easy, not a nice dinner out. Their evening had been hijacked by responsibilities Len had never expected he'd care so much about.
Then, just when he thought all was lost and that he and Barry would part ways for the night, maybe meet up again in the morning for another Saturday sparring session—which in and of itself could prove fruitful—Barry pulled him aside.
"We could go back to your place. Order pizza." Hazel eyes sparkled with want of far more than dinner.
Len nodded.
They barely said their goodbyes to the others, Eddie already gone to the station with Harkness in tow as Joe lingered behind and received a hasty, "Date night!" from Barry as explanation to where he was off to. Len really needed to get Barry out of that house; the kid needed his own place. But for now, escaping to the nearest safe house was good enough.
Len would have preferred to bring Barry to his actual apartment, but even with Mendoza taken care of, there was still a chance of a few stray lowlifes crashing their fun—Len needed to find a new place too—so he suggested his most recently lived in safe house. Lisa and Mick hadn't stayed there in weeks, but Barry had been to that particular safe house before, given their new setup with S.T.A.R. Labs, so all he needed was the general location before whisking them across town in moments.
Barry had his hands on Len the second the door closed behind them. Len wasn't about to complain.
While Barry had had the time—or rather, speed—to change before leaving the labs, Len was still in his Cold gear. Barry's hands were warm as they slid up inside his sweater along his cool skin. His skin was always chilled after using the cold gun, so the contrast made him gasp and fumble to grip Barry's arms as the kid pinned him and ravaged his lips with an eagerness that had been building between them all week.
There was no hesitations now, no nerves, no permission needed to be given. When they wanted to kiss and touch and press into each other, all either of them had to do was initiate and the other succumbed. For how short a time had passed since this all began, it still felt like it had taken far too long to get here.
Barry's hands were warm, his mouth, his probing tongue; his whole body radiated heat with a charge of electricity that Len thrived off of, even though he normally hated being anything but…cool. Barry often questioned how he could stand wearing so many layers even when it was hot out, but Len had always regulated temperature better than most people. When he did feel hot, though, it was misery. Things were about to heat up now, but this kind of warmth he didn't mind at all.
Len's gloves and goggles were tucked into his parka's pockets. Keeping his hold on Barry's arms, relishing in the frantic way Barry kissed him, deep and full-bodied, Len managed to push Barry away just slightly to get the point across that he wanted to turn them. Barry allowed the movement, but didn't remove his lips, or his hands from pressing to Len's bare chest beneath the sweater.
Len pivoted them slowly as he returned every stroke of Barry's tongue. He peeked an eye open so he knew the exact moment when Barry was the one with his back to the door. He pushed the kid up against it, breaking the contact of their lips and Barry's hands up his shirt. Barry grinned even as his eyes went wide from the sudden separation.
Len held Barry's gaze as he dropped the parka from his shoulders, twirling it off and hanging it on a rack beside the door, heavy with the weight of the cold gun. He moved back into the kid's body before Barry could try and step away.
"Stay right where you are, Scarlet," he said, pressing a palm to the chest of Barry's soft burgundy sweater. He dropped to his knees.
The flush that spread across Barry's cheeks was lovely, his eyes already hazy and darkened, as he licked his lips and blinked down at Len. Len undid Barry's khakis with deliberate slowness. He'd been waiting to do this since they shared a shower, since maybe longer than that, and now that it was obvious Barry had enough energy to wait a little longer for a late dinner, he wasn't going to pass this opportunity up.
Len might not have any meta human tricks like Barry, but he was very skillful with his tongue.
He slid Barry's pants down first, and because they were baggier than jeans, they fell right to his ankles. The tent in Barry's boxer briefs—pin-striped this time—was all too appealing. Len pressed his palms to either side of it on Barry's thighs, and Barry whimpered.
Len could be nice, at least to start, so he obliged by lifting the elastic and sliding Barry's shorts just slightly down his thighs until he sprang free. He replaced his hands on Barry's thighs, fingers splayed up across Barry's hips with his erection framed between them, and held the kid in place as he bent forward. He sucked Barry in, all the way in, no tease, just immediate heat as he bobbed almost to the base. Barry's whimpers cut off in a low moan.
Len hummed in pleasure, satisfied with the kid's reactions, but also to offer the more subtle vibrations a normal human was capable of. He knew how good that could feel, the low hum of someone's throat as they took you in deep. Len had plans for Barry tonight, renewed and amended after they'd nearly been denied.
He relaxed his throat, focused on the smell of the kid, that spark of something like a summer storm and the lingering scent of the Flash suit mixed with his natural mask as Len bobbed in close again to Barry's complete lack of hair. Len was usually an au naturel kind of guy, but something about The Flash being fully shaven was the biggest turn on. At least he assumed 'shaved' was the right term, but maybe the lightning had had something to do with it. He'd have to ask sometime.
Barry's skin felt so soft—everywhere, but especially in the intimate places of his upper thighs and between his legs. Always regenerated, refreshed. Always brand new skin that had never been touched.
Len ran his tongue along the underside of Barry's cock as he bobbed a couple times more slowly, then slower still, then began to speed up, only using his mouth and tongue, with his hands steadying the more and more frequent jerky movements of Barry's hips.
"Len…" Barry moaned, hands falling to Len's shoulders, the right running reverent and adoring up over the crown of Len's head. Len flicked his eyes up to see how hooded Barry's eyes were—heavy, pupils blown, mouth slack—maybe too tired and hungry and eager to think of any dirty things to say this time. Len couldn't help grinning at leaving the kid speechless.
He twirled his tongue around Barry's head, and pulled away just long enough to say, "I'm going to make you come, kid. Then we'll work on seeing how handy your ability to bounce back really is."
A lower moan replied as Len resumed his fervent work. Barry's hand tightened around the curve of Len's head, his own falling back against the door as if in relief that he'd been given permission to come. The kid was too polite sometimes, had this idea in him that things always needed to be reciprocated, which was sweet and romantic at times, and Len certainly wasn't going to deny Barry any time he wanted to 'break even' as it were, but sometimes he needed to let himself be selfish and enjoy something just for him.
The fact that Barry's body allowed him to ramp right back up and go again, well, that was just part of what made Len the luckiest man in Central City.
"Len," Barry huffed again, this time with urgency, and Len knew the kid was close. He hollowed his cheeks, continued on a few more moments with gusto, then pulled back to lick once more up Barry's length, and finish him off with a swift hand that finally moved from pressing Barry's hips into the door.
Barry whimpered again as he came, fast and hot like everything else he did, his face scrunched and tense, and then relaxing into smiling relief. He blinked lazily down at Len.
The majority of the mess coated Len's hand, so he swiped at Barry's still mostly hard cock to gather the rest and stood. "I'm going to clean up. You better be undressed the rest of the way when I get back."
Barry nodded vigorously, already a blur of lightning by the time Len turned for the bathroom. He washed his hands, removed his boots and socks, started to undo his pants, but left himself in a half-dressed state for the moment as he dug the lube out of the bottom drawer.
He exited back into the main room to find Barry, fully nude, stroking himself to hardness again, sprawled out over the sofa. That was a sight Len would catalog for later, and never, ever tire of.
He tossed the lube at Barry, whose reflexes were unmatched even with his left hand being the one to reach up and catch it. "Don't get too comfy," Len told him, "I thought we had an arrangement on how this was going to go."
"Arrangement?" Barry's brow furrowed, then smoothed out as his eyes went wide and he looked to the lube again—he remembered.
"Arrangement," Len said again, peeling his sweater off and tossing it to the floor, then sliding his already undone pants down and tugging each end from his ankles. He paused to take Barry in again, his long, lean, naked form, as the kid in turn watched him and eyed his body with rapt attention.
Len fluidly slid his shorts down his thighs to join the rest of the trail of clothes he was leaving behind him as he crossed the room right past the sofa to his work table. It was empty at the moment, clean, and such a marvelous height for his purposes tonight. He smoothed his hands over the cool surface, his back to Barry—his full naked form presented—and peered over his shoulder to find the speedster flipped onto his stomach, peeking up over the arm of the sofa like a curious, naughty child.
Captain Cold or not, Len knew how to play with fire. He stretched his arms out over the table again as he leaned forward, resting his upper half on the surface with nothing left to the imagination about what he was asking for. "You going to leave me hanging here, Scarlet…or give me what I asked for?"
Barry made a noise like a wounded grunt, like he might come again, right there into the sofa cushions, just from looking at Len positioned like that. They both knew what they did to each other, and using that knowledge to their advantage was part of the fun.
Barry zipped from the sofa at Flash speed, the lube placed on the table near Len's head, a warm hand sliding down the curve of his ass in moments, but slow once it got there, just wanting to touch him with gentle fingers. Barry molded his body to Len's and gently laid atop him, his warm chest against Len's cool back, his lips pressing to Len's neck, his cock twitching between Len's thighs.
"You look so good like this…" Barry said when he pulled up, running both palms up Len's back, his heated length pressing against Len from the close position, eager to find a harbor. "Is that comfortable though?" he asked with a tinge of worry, pressing a hand to the hard surface of the table.
Len snorted. "I think you can help me forget any discomfort in a couple of minutes."
Barry chuckled, his hands moving down Len's back again, down his hips, and smoothing over his cheeks, his thumbs teasing along the line between them. "Definitely. But hang on a sec."
The heat of Barry was gone and back again in literally seconds. Len looked back to see the speedster holding his parka, the cold gun removed from within to rest on the coffee table. Barry smiled at him innocently—only not so innocently—and touched a hand to his shoulder to get him to lift up. Len did, and Barry situated the parka over the surface beneath him so Len could lie back down onto its softer padding.
Len liked the coolness of the table, but this was more pleasant overall, he had to admit. He shifted his hips back against Barry when the kid moved into position again. "Ever the gentleman," Len said, something he'd said in so many words before, and he knew why it was always one of the things on his mind about Barry—because of the conversation he'd had with Lisa right before this all started.
"Gentlemen are hard to come by in this business."
As it turned out, they'd just needed to switch businesses.
"Are you sure you can handle me, Captain Cold," Barry said insolently, though there was a touch of apprehension in his voice when he leaned over Len's body again and whispered, "I haven't done this since I got the speed. It was easier in the other position."
"Not to worry, Barry. I have complete faith in you," Len said, settling into the parka, his face turned as he glanced back at Barry, his legs planted squarely on the floor. "You and your magic, vibrating…everything." He winked.
Barry blushed. It never stopped being easy—and adorable—to bring that out in him. Then Barry rekindled his dominant side, his expression heated as he snatched up the lube. "Since I can speak from experience, I find that whoever is in this position," he said, his right thumb flicking the cap open while his left hand gave Len's ass a gentle squeeze, "tends to make more noise. I know I do. So I have to wonder…" his voice dropped to a whisper again, "…how noisy are you going to be?"
This side of Barry kept Len up at night, and chased him into far too pleasant dreams. He suppressed a shiver. And then reminded himself that he didn't need to hide anything from Barry, or feel any nerves about being vulnerable for him, so he let the shiver run its course. "How noisy do you want me to be?"
Barry hummed like he wanted nothing more than to find that out together. He poured some of the lube into his hand, coating his fingers, and set the bottle aside. Len was already so hard, just from the lead up to this, just from imagining what Barry's fingers would feel like, that he was doubtlessly weeping onto the floor.
The first touch of Barry's slicked fingers was a tease along the line of his entrance down to his balls, where Barry's palmed them, stroked down the length of him, gathering the leaking wetness and coating Len fully to make the slide of his hand smooth. But he didn't linger, stroking only once more before he moved his fingers back up and passed his thumb over the puckered skin, not yet pressing inside.
Barry moved his hand down again, repeated what he'd started with, even stroking Len twice like before, and again when he returned to his entrance, he merely brushed his thumb, the tips of his fingers. Len whined before he could stop himself, because he'd been thinking about this for so long, all week, and decidedly longer than they'd been together, and he didn't know if he could take the sweet, torturous pace Barry was setting.
"I'm really curious what other sounds you'll make…" Barry said softly, his voice raspy with arousal, and as he spoke, he finally, finally pressed the first digit inside of Len. Barry's fingers were long, and even a single press and curling gesture hit the spot Len had been craving. He whimpered far more needily than Barry had against the door. "Fuck," Barry said in response, and stroked at that same spot again.
Usually, in the past, with other partners, Len had always held back if he was in this position. There was no one he had ever been with that he'd wanted to be fully open with, fully revealed and bare. Fucking fulfilled a need, not a connection. But with Barry he could have both, wanted both, and had amazed himself twice already how much making love with this kid made him feel complete.
He moaned, loud as he naturally wanted to, and felt Barry rock forward, twitching against his thigh again. Barry knew to make the motion of his finger a stroke rather than a thrust, knew to twist it and curl it just so, far more experienced and talented with a single finger than Len had guessed.
"Remember when I told you…that I touched myself like this thinking of you doing it?" Barry said.
Len moaned again as the words were accompanied by the first press of a second finger, deliberately, teasingly slow—of course Barry knew how to do this. "Hard…to forget," he huffed back.
"Well there was something else I did…that I can do…that I'm sure you're already thinking about…and when I did it that night, I was thinking of exactly this…of doing it to you, and hearing you call my name."
"Barry," Len groaned, not intentional compliance, but because he was unable not to after the two fingers slowly stretching and scissoring within him started to vibrate. "Oh fuck…fuck…Barry…"
"Yeah…just like that," Barry said with a grin in his voice.
It was better than Len had imagined it, so much better than fantasies he'd entertained, because this was the real Barry Allen at his back, one hand at his hip, feeling up and down the curve of his ass, while the other vibrated fingers inside of him that would soon be replaced with something better.
Len dug his face into the parka. There was this wintry smell to it from the gun that Len loved, that reminded him of the adrenaline coursing through his veins whenever he had the Captain Cold guise in place. Maybe Leonard Snart was the guise, and Captain Cold—this version of Captain Cold especially, partnered with The Flash—was his awakening.
Either way it spurred him on further to have these pieces of his life combined, the parka beneath him in one of his own safe houses, as The Flash, the Scarlet Speedster himself, bent him over his work table.
"I pictured this…" Len said, a grunt, a whimper at the end, as he moaned between words, with the slow curving motion and press within him of Barry's vibrating fingers. "That first time you whisked me out of Central…and showed your face…that pretty face…I pictured this. Not slamming you up against one of those trees…though that's been a recurring fantasy too…but, ngnnn…" he trailed a moment as Barry pushed in deeper, "…but this…how powerful it'd feel…being fucked by a man who doesn't know he's a god."
Barry gave that straggled, wounded grunt again, and pulled his fingers free. The lube was snatched from the table again, and Len pressed himself further into the parka, so ready, so eager for this, he moaned just thinking about it.
"I pictured it too…" Barry said, the slicking noise of Barry stroking lube over himself only making the anxiousness coiling in Len's gut boil hotter. "After Saints and Sinners. The way you looked. The way you eyed me. Like you wanted me. Like you were tempted to write something obscene on that napkin instead of a number."
"I nearly did," Len recalled. "Seemed in poor taste. Guess I should have gone with my instincts."
Barry's low giggle responded. "I thought back on it…sometimes," he said, reaching forward to press his fingers back inside of Len, briefly, no longer vibrating, just to make sure he was stretched and ready. "On the pool table. In the alley."
"Always you fucking me, kid?"
"Both ways. Why have limitations?"
Len chuckled, "Now you're sounding like me," but his laughter tumbled into a fresh moan as Barry pressed to his entrance.
"I'm the noisy one, right?" Barry said in a husky whisper. "So let's see if we can make you sound more like me."
The first push burned just the right side of almost too much. It had been a while for Len, and Barry was much larger than two fingers, but he knew to wait past the first breach, give Len time to adjust, and before he pressed any further in, he whispered, "Is it okay?"
All his bravado still paled in comparison to his good nature. It's part of what Len loved about him. Len nodded, but had too little breath to say much more than, "Good…so good," and waited for the next push.
Len's hands reached forward to find the edge of the table, and gripped tight, feeling the tickle of fur from the parka's hood at his wrists. He tightened his hold reflexively with each new inch of Barry, and a broken moan tore from his throat when Barry was finally fully seated inside of him.
Barry ran his hands up Len's back and down again, then gripped his hips as he asked once more, "Okay?"
Len whined, nodded, gripped the table tighter.
The first backstroke was subtle, just slightly out and back again, and again the same way, before Barry dared pull further out of Len on his next stroke in. Each time the thrusts got deeper, Len moaned into the parka, louder—louder. Barry was going at such a gradual pace, enjoying each stroke back and home again, with a huff and shudder of his breath.
"Barry…" Len buried his face in the parka, his pulse wild and still speeding up, knowing they'd barely started, that they'd barely touched on how Barry could make him feel, and readying himself for what came next.
"I don't want you to come…too soon," Barry said. "You were so nice to me when we got here…I want to be nice to you."
He didn't sound so nice right now. He sounded positively villainous, and Len couldn't help a swell of pride in that, in how they'd rubbed off on each other in the best of ways—so many ways.
Barry's hands slid around Len's hips, down the front of his thighs, and up again along the grooves, less defined in this bent position. His fingers curled around to graze between Len's thighs, just barely skimming his balls, but nothing else, nothing closer, not yet.
Len could still feel himself weeping, dripping to the floor, even with the slickness of lube left on him from Barry's earlier attentions. The lube made him feel hot, the heat of Barry behind him all the more, and he suddenly wished he didn't have the cushion of the parka so he could press his cheek to the cool table.
"Christ, kid, touch me already…" Len begged when Barry continued to run his hands around the prize but never on it, while his agonizingly slow thrusts, constant and deep—deeper each time—spilled the neediest noises from Len's lips. "Please…"
"Mmm…I think you need to be louder," Barry said in his gruff giggle. "I want to be sure you're ready, Len."
He wanted to be sure he wrecked Len apparently, which is exactly what Len had been hoping for when he got himself in this position. He could play along, though he already had ideas of just how wrecked he'd make Barry the next time.
Maybe this would be their new game, always working to outdo each other. Now that would be a worthy challenge—Len's next big score indeed.
So Len let the teasing pleasure build—Barry fucking him, feathering his fingers down and up and so close but never quite there—and moaned, cried out, whimpered with the best of them, even sputtered out a few, "Scarlet!" and "Yes!" and "Harder, kid, fuck!" just to prove he meant business.
Barry moaned in kind to hear it all. And finally, finally, his right hand slid around to grip Len's balls gently, playfully passing them over his palm, and stroked down into the still silky mess of lube, gathering the much more liberal wetness at Len's tip, and using it to add to the hot slide of his hand. He started to pump Len with a tight grip, his other hand low between Len's legs, his hips picking up speed.
Len could admit, he was close already, so close that he knew as soon as Barry started to pick up the pace to his real levels of speed, he wouldn't last long. And Barry was so controlled as he did it, never more than Len could handle. The kid was a fool for doubting himself. All he ever needed was motivation and he was capable of anything, even slowly fucking his boyfriend bent over a table, and summoning vibrations that rumbled inside of Len, through Barry's hips, and into the hand on Len's cock.
"Barry!" Len cried out this time, echoing throughout the room, and letting out a long resonating moan to follow it, because the sensations were all through and around him, all at once. And somehow, somehow, despite the vibrating, Barry's thrusts maintained the same slow, penetrating pace. Len's knuckles had to be white from gripping the table so hard.
Barry was leaned over him as he stroked Len's cock, nearly flush against his back, lips close enough to his neck and ear for Len to feel the dusting of breath as he said, "Yeah…you love it, don't you? The feel of me inside you moving like no one else can. No one. Just me…just you…"
"Yesss," Len hissed. No one but he and Barry had ever experienced this—in their timeline anyway, so far—and it was them, just them, with nothing to come between them. "Barry…come on, kid, make me come…"
Barry took that as a worthy challenge immediately, the vibrations seeming to increase, his pace picking up behind Len and in the palm of his hand, until Len was overrun. He cried out affirmations and Barry's name, and "Scarlet!" and "fuck, kid!" more times than he could count, until at last he came in Barry's hand feeling buzzed and tingling and definitely dehydrated.
Barry followed after him moments later, pulling free to spill against his back. They huffed, breathing in ragged sync together, until Barry collapsed forward onto him, apparently not caring about the mess there. For a moment it felt so nice to lie in contented exhaustion against the table and each other. But when Barry pulled away, and out of the corner of Len's eye he saw Barry reach his dirty hand up to wipe clean on the parka, Len snatched up the kid's wrist.
"Don't you dare!" he hissed, entirely serious in his threatening tone. "Not…the parka."
Barry chuckled, but when Len turned his head to glare at him, he obeyed, holding his hand up in surrender. "We're a mess though. Guess I should help do something about that huh, so the sacred parka stays unsoiled?"
Cheeky brat, Len thought, with nothing but adoration as he felt a sudden lurch in his gut, and in the next moment found himself pushed against the cool tile of his shower, the water already on, a lukewarm temperature, not quite cold but not warm either, which was a blessing with how overheated he felt. Barry seemed eager to clean them both up by running his hands all over Len's body until any remaining mess had disappeared down the drain, and Len was panting from too much attention being given to his already over-sensitized skin.
"Some of us…don't bounce back as quickly as you do, kid," he said. "Give me a break here." Not that he really minded having Barry's hands all over him at any given time, but he might pass out from further stimulation.
There came Barry's giggle again, and his body and hands stilled, though he brought his face close to Len and kissed him, deep and messy under the spray of water. That Len could handle as his heartrate slowed, a rekindled tangling of tongues, sliding his own hands around Barry's waist to pull him in close and just feel his body there against him. Just holding someone's naked body, kissing them, not needing to do anything more than that—though being perfectly satisfied that they had—was an intimacy Len would never get used to. And he didn't really mind that. He didn't mind anything about Barry Allen in his life. Especially the kid's dirty mouth.
"Scarlet…you have my head buzzing with all sorts of ideas for getting back at you for tonight."
"Back at me?" Barry said, amused, wrapping his arms around Len's neck and holding him tight as he kissed down his neck. "It sure sounded like you enjoyed yourself."
"Oh I did. But as always with you, Barry, I need to up my game. You are a lucky man I'm such a creative thinker." He arched his neck back as Barry chuckled against his skin, vibrating there in an entirely different way. "Shit…you're going to be the death of me, kid."
"Never," Barry growled, and rocked against him, maybe half hard while Len had almost fully dwindled. The kid was insatiable. Until a rumble from his stomach broke the connection.
"And there's our cue," Len said, sliding a hand down to Barry's ass and swatting it playfully. "Better get out of the shower, get dressed, and get some dinner in you. Then we can find some awful movie to watch and pass out on the sofa."
"That sounds…awesome," Barry said.
It was funny how something Len might have done alone several weeks back, that had often left him with a feeling of being empty and lonely, could be everything he ever wanted when he got to share it with Barry. Not that he didn't deserve and enjoy his alone time, but it was different when being alone was a choice instead of a mandate.
They finished rinsing off, Len changed into something soft and comfortable—jeans and a heather grey sweater—and left Barry to choose some clothing for himself while he went out to clean up the mess they'd made of the main room. He checked to be sure his parka hadn't been sullied—he didn't care if Barry teased him, the parka was sacred—wiped the table and floor beneath it clean for good measure, and was just gathering up the rest of his discarded Cold gear from the floor, wondering what Barry was doing taking so long just choosing clothes…when the door opened.
"Mick," Len said, surprised to see his friend. "I thought you were staying across town."
"I am," Mick ground out. "Forgot something here. Why?" He eyed Len critically and the way he was holding his Cold sweater, pants, and what was obviously underwear. Then he turned his head at the sound of a distant closet door closing, before looking back at Len with a glare. "That better be Flash."
"Who else would it be?" Len frowned at him.
Barry appeared from the bedroom in a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt, all smiles. "Mick!" he exclaimed when he saw Heat Wave standing just inside the door. "Uh, hi! I didn't know, I…I mean, I didn't…hear you come in." He scratched the back of his head and blushed, going even darker when he saw that Len was still holding some telling signs of them having stripped recently, and then glanced across the room and remembered his own discarded pile of clothes.
Mick nodded to himself in seeming satisfaction. "Just getting some tools I left for keeping my gun up to snuff, Flash, no need to get flustered. Didn't realize you two ran off together after bagging Boomerang. Should have known better."
"Yeah, you should have." Len eyed Mick right back, because did his friend actually think he would fool around on Barry so recently after making things up to him and becoming a couple? Or at all for that matter?
Barry's phone rang before anything more awkward could commence, and he flashed across the room to where he'd left his pants to answer it. "Cisco? You…wait what?" He blushed again, and Len could only imagine the conversation given Barry's response of, "No, you're not…interrupting anything. Though thank you for waiting a while before calling," he muttered not nearly soft enough under his breath. "What is it?" He proceeded to wave in apology at both of them before disappearing back into the bedroom to take the call.
Len crossed the room to Barry's clothes—he'd forgotten about them as well—and gathered them into his arms with his own to deposit in the bedroom, when he turned back to find Mick right in his face. The pyro looked all sorts of menacing and looming with his extra inch in height on Len. Len could never be intimated by his friend, even when they were the most at odds with each other, but it was still startling.
"Don't screw this up," Mick growled at him.
It took a moment for Len's brain to catch up with this confrontation. Clutching the pile of clothes in his arms, he looked to the bedroom where he could hear Barry's voice faintly talking with Cisco, before looking back at Mick with a frown. "Are you serious right now? Whose friend are you?"
Mick leaned into him further, and Len nearly toppled back when he hit the arm of the sofa behind him. "Thanks to your efforts…everyone's," he said, like a threat, but with a touch of trepidation in his eyes. "I know how you are, how you get. Being with that kid makes you downright tolerable. He saved your life, Len. He…listens." Mick cringed at the way the admission proved he wasn't only vying for this for Len's sake.
Len relaxed. Most people didn't understand that Mick Rory had three very basic settings. Barely contained embers smoldering, waiting to erupt; the eruption itself, which was almost impossible to contain or calm down; and the very seldom seen warm, fuzzy teddy bear side.
Okay, so that wasn't the most accurate way to put it, but it was comparatively true. Mick had a softer side, it was just maybe closer to rounded edges when the rest of him was so sharp.
"You really like the kid, huh?" Len said. He'd hoped for as much, but had often wondered if Mick was only playing along for his and Lisa's sake, and because he got to spend time with a pair of men who could set themselves on fire at whim.
Mick leaned back, shrugged. "He's not so bad. None of them are. Not like the cops we've dealt with in the past. Not like other partners we've had to watch our backs around. It's different with Team ColdFlash"—Len tried not to cringe at even Mick using that term now—"I like…being this."
Well shit. Len had clearly underestimated his friend. He dumped the clothing on the sofa. "You know none of this would have to change just because something came between me and Barry."
"But I like that part too," Mick said, and then frowned harder, like he didn't know how to allow such tender emotion for longer than a moment. So he stepped up closer to Len again and said, "So don't fuck it up, huh? No sleeping around or hurting the kid. Don't go pulling a…you, and push him away."
"Or what? You'll fry me?" Len smirked.
Mick smirked right back. They'd danced this dance before, set against each other as much as they were side by side. They never took it too far, never really risked seriously hurting the other, though there had always been a bit of a guessing game in the past over whether or not they would. Now they didn't get on each other's nerves as much, because they had a whole crew around them to keep them in check. To be backup. To be friends.
Before the comradery between them could stretch too long, Barry returned, flipping his phone closed. "Nothing to worry about, just…Cisco stuff," he said with a bright smile. "Hey, Mick, I'm glad you're here though. I keep forgetting to ask. Lisa said something about you making awesome burgers, and we wanted to ask if you'd run the kitchen for the next family dinner night. We were going to invite everyone—like everyone, everyone—and probably invade Stein's house to accommodate. You in?"
Mick turned around to face Barry looking honestly shocked. He almost never looked shocked. He usually jumped straight to pissed, or at least looked pissed while trying to sort something out. "Martin's okay with that?" he asked in a low voice.
"Totally," Barry said, "I asked him first when we thought of the idea—Iris came up with it when we were talking to Lisa—since there are so many of us, you know? Don't worry, we won't leave it all to you. I'm great for manual labor in the kitchen, right, Len?" He came up to stand with them, completely relaxed, no strangeness at all for his part, being in a Rogue safe house, alone, with Captain Cold and Heat Wave. Not anymore.
Mick straightened. He had changed back at S.T.A.R. Labs too, in cleaner khakis than his smudged Heat Wave gear, and a black shirt. "Sure…I guess. But I got a certain way I make 'em."
"Of course, we'll all pitch in for supplies," Barry said. "I'll help with groceries too. I tend to, uhh…need to eat more than everyone else anyway." He scratched his head again, then brought it down to his stomach as if in pain. "And speaking of… Pizza?" He looked to Len hopefully. "Wait…can we get pizza ordered here?" He looked around the safe house, suddenly remembering that it was really a hidden little apartment inside a warehouse that outside the door to this area looked abandoned.
"There's a place not too far we can walk to," Len said. Good pizza too, even if a slightly rougher neighborhood. No one would bother Len though, not around here, and no one would dare rob any of the places they saw Len frequent. It was an unwritten rule. "We can get some slices faster that way. Mick," he turned to his friend, "want to join us?"
Barry brightened with a welcome smile when Mick glanced at him skeptically, like he shouldn't be intruding. But since neither minded the idea, and Len knew Mick hadn't eaten anything yet tonight either, he nodded.
"Let me grab my tools," Mick said. "Then after we eat, I can leave you two lovebirds alone."
He brushed past them toward the back of the room, where he'd stashed his things some time ago. Barry looked at Len with a mild blush in Mick's wake, though what he was flustered about now, Len wasn't so sure. Maybe all of it, having come back here and barely making it into the door before succumbing to dirty acts. Maybe the timing of Mick and Cisco having almost but thankfully not quite interrupted them. Maybe just being here, about to have dinner with former enemies.
Len reached across the short space between them and hooked the back of Barry's neck, pulling him forward in a stumble that still managed to bring their lips together without any gnashing of teeth. Barry sagged into him easily after that, the kiss brief, sweet—nothing like their encounter on the table. But that was the best part about being with Barry Allen: Len got everything he wanted, the sweet and the rough, the danger and the security of being…loved.
"Am I gonna have to sit between you two," Mick's voice broke in on the moment. It sounded amused, which Barry wasn't as used to from Mick, but Len was, when he was in his calmer teddy bear state. He better make sure he never actually let it slip that he considered calm, joking Mick to be a teddy bear, or he might end up missing a limb.
"You assume that would stop us," Len winked at Barry when they pulled apart—at Barry, not even glancing at Mick. "Who's to say what might be going on underneath the table?"
"Len!" Barry blushed darker and glanced as far away from Mick as he could.
Mick just laughed. "You bring out the best in him, kid," he said as he approached them again, grabbing the back of Barry's head in his large hand and ruffling his hair in a gesture that made Barry look up pleasantly surprised. "The most annoying too maybe," Mick glanced at Len with a smirk, "but I'll survive it."
Now Len just had to make sure he never screwed things up with Barry…so he survived it too. Mick was even scarier than Joe West, it turned out. And a damn good friend.
Len and Barry got their shoes back on, Mick dropped his tools into his car outside the warehouse, and they walked the few blocks to the pizza place, all the while chatting about their first official extended family dinner night with Mick making burgers. It was as surreal and wonderful as life could get.
More epilogue fun to come! Thanks so much to new readers, and those sticking with this. :-)