Chapter Text
Len is drinking whatever shitty beer they had on tap at Saints and Sinners, having a rare evening to himself. No heists. No planning. Just shitty beer, shitty music, and an even shittier atmosphere.
But he likes it. The run down shithole brings him a sense of peace he doesn’t get in places the typical person would.
He’s halfway through his bottle, eyes scanning the joint while he nibbles on some loaded fries when he sees him.
Barry is looking distinctly not Barry.
His hair is slicked back, jeans so tight that they look painted on and a sheer top that shows off his perfect physique. Though, not as perfect as Len remembers it being, the absurdly lean eight pack softened in a much more human way.
His eyes scan the room just as Len’s had been moments before, an uncharacteristic hardness to them, a predator on the prowl.
Len’s first worry is that Barry has been, as he and his team call it, whammied. The thought is quickly pushed away when the more obvious conclusion hits him: Barry’s undercover.
Undercover for CCPD or Flash reasons, Len isn’t sure, but if it’s the latter, he must be pretty desperate for information showing up here looking like that.
Barry’s eyes meet Len’s and to his surprise, Barry’s eyes don’t widen comically the way Len would expect them to, the frozen like a deer in the headlights kind of look that Barry often gets when he gets got.
Barry strides towards Len, a man with a purpose, and Len wonders if he is what Barry came here looking for.
Len leans back nonchalantly, cocking a brow at Barry as if to challenge him.
Barry slips into the seat next to Len, his leg sandwiched between Len’s, his knee just grazing Len’s zipper.
Len’s brows shoot up.
“Hi,” Barry says, a sultry smirk on his face that looks so completely foreign on his features that it makes Len stutter at the sight. Barry places a hand on Len’s thigh, leaning in towards him in a way Len would almost call flirty if not for the fact he knows Barry.
“Hi,” Len says, doing his best to match his energy if for some reason Barry is being watched.
Look, Len and Barry aren’t allies. But if Barry’s going to get into shit if Len doesn’t play along, he doesn’t want to deal with that shit. He came here for shitty beer and not as shitty loaded fries, not to get wrapped up in The Flash shenanigans.
“I’d ask if I could buy you a drink but it seems you’ve already got one,” Barry says.
“Wouldn’t mind if you bought me another,” Len says because hey, free drink.
“Hey,” he says, grabbing the attention of the bartender in a way Len didn’t think possible for the socially inept man, “another of whatever he’s got and a cognac on the rocks.”
“Can you even enjoy that?” Len asks, knowing that Barry’s blowing a lot on something he won’t feel and won’t exactly help with his cover.
“I’ve got a distinguished palette.”
“Well, then you’re not gonna like whatever they give you,” Len says.
Barry’s head throws back as he laughs, showing off his throat. Even his laugh sounds off. It’s weird and Len wonders why exactly he’s playing this role.
Another shitty beer is placed in front of Len and Barry takes the glass and swirls the liquid before sipping it and placing it back on the sticky counter.
“What are you doing here?” Len finally asks.
“I thought it was pretty obvious what I’m doing here,” Barry says, frustratingly cryptic as always.
“Spell it out for me,” Len says flatly.
He just smirks. “Alright.”
And before Len can comprehend what’s happening, Barry is pulling him in by the neck, capturing his lips as he brushes his knee teasingly against Len.
Len gasps with shock and confusion against Barry’s lips instinctively, but that seems to only motivate Barry more as he deepens the kiss, his nails digging into where Len’s cropped hair meets his skin, Barry’s back arching towards Len.
As tempting as it is, Len jerks back, holding Barry back to keep the distance between them.
Barry just cocks a brow at him, hot breaths escaping his tantalizing lips. “What’s wrong, gorgeous?”
“Whatever this is, I don’t want any part of it,” Len says.
And for the first time, whatever mask Barry has had falls just slightly, the kicked puppy look covering his features for a second before his expression hardens. “If you’re not into me, just say so. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
Len is nearly shook speechless from his words. “What the fuck are you doing, Barry?”
And suddenly, his pissed expression goes to shock. “Oh… oh, fuck. You think I’m Barry.”
Len stiffens. “You’re not?” It must say something about his life that his first thought is shapeshifter.
“He’s my brother,” not-Barry says, and suddenly everything Len had surmised makes sense.
“Twin brother.”
“Triplet actually.”
Len, much more interested than he was before, though still hesitant. “And you are?”
“Sebastian Smythe,” he says, holding out his hand, as if they hadn’t just been locking lips a few minutes before.
“Smythe,” Len repeats. “Not Allen?”
“I went to live with our Aunt and Uncle in Paris,” he says. “Chris went with our godmother. And Barry went with—”
“Joe.”
“Right,” Sebastian says. “And you know Barry, how?”
“We’ve met through… work.”
Sebastian looks him up and down disbelievingly. “You don’t exact look like a cop.”
“I’m not,” Len says, lip quirking up.
Understanding dawns on his face. “Ah. I see. Work.”
“I never said we’re in the same line of work,” Len says.
Sebastian chuckles. “Well, I don’t really care about that.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
Len snorts. “You’d think that’d make you care about that more.”
Sebastian leans in, lips ghosting Len’s. “We’re not in court.”
Len hums in thought, smiling against his lips. “I guess we’re not.”
Sebastian scrapes his teeth over Len’s bottom lip. “Well, unless you’re too hung up on what I look like, how about we get out of here?”
And, well, Len doesn’t have anything else to do, and it’s been too long since he’s had a good fuck.
And if Len calls Sebastian when he and Mick get into some more deep shit and have a quickie with him after they get off scot-free, well, he’ll just consider it good networking.