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“I’m sorry,” Queen says into the dark room.
“For making fun of Dragon Ball Z?” Barry asks, voice thick and sluggish with sleep. “I forgive you. But I don’t forgive you for waking me up at—” a rustle, a groan “—two forty-five in the morning to apologize about making fun of Dragon Ball Z.” The stirring of sheets and sound of kissing, however, suggest otherwise.
“I’m sorry we have to hide. I didn’t want it to last this long.”
More rustling and Barry sits up, the small light seeping in from the curtained windows barely illuminates his narrow silhouette. “Oliver,” he sighs. “I get it. With your Mom and Felicity last year and with Sara and the League of Assassins this year… hey, I’m all good not being murdered, maimed, or otherwise used against you by your Super Villain of the Year.”
“That’s… that’s not funny,” Queen breathes, pained.
“Of course it isn’t. Ollie, I’m telling you that it’s OK. We made this decision together.”
There’s a long pause, more movement as Queen sits up, too. “…Yeah?”
“For the hundredth time,” Barry answers, voice softening. “And a hundred times more, I trust you. I mean, I don’t want this for forever, you know. I want to properly introduce you to Iris. I want to be able to hang out with you and Felicity again.” There’s a pause, more movement, more sheets rustling. “But I’m starting to think that there will never be a right time, or a safe time. And, Ollie, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll trust you then, too.” The gentle sound of lips on flesh. “But only if you…” he trails off, clearly leading the other man to finish.
“Trust you,” Queen recites, dutifully.
“There’s my Ollie,” Barry coos teasingly. “Learning to cede some autonomy to us little folk. You’ve grown up so much this past year—” Barry breaks off with a wild laugh as Queen pounces and shoves him back down onto the bed.
There’s the sound of sheets. The wet, humid cadence of kissing. A stolen breath. A moan.
--
“I’m just saying, Alex—”
“It’s Allen, yeah? Al-len.” Barry responds testily and tugs pointedly at his SCPD lanyard. “Says so right. here.”
Queen smiles and generally oozes charm, which appears to piss Barry off further. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there is a murderer in the city,” Queen pauses a beat to allow Barry time to sputter indignantly. “I’m not sure now is the time for this childish behavior, Al-len.”
“You’d think that your recent bankruptcy would give you a taste of humility, but you come strutting in here—”
“I don’t strut!” Oliver exclaims sharply.
“—Telling us how to do our job, like you’re better—”
“Detective Lance—” Queen interrupts Barry to appeal to the detective, who is leaned back in his chair and watching them with an entirely too pleased expression. The detective pops another Peanut M&M in his mouth and makes a “no, no, do go on” gesture.
“Don’t look at me,” the detective says with a deep shrug. “I think he’s gearing up for another speech on how self-entitlement is ruining the social and economic fabric of America. That one’s really fascinating, you know. Educational.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Barry says.
“Welcome, Allen.” And then, as a loud and entirely conspicuous aside to Queen, “Also, the boys and I have pools running on what demeaning insult he’s going to call you this week. I’m betting he’s going to call your manhood into question. He hasn’t done that for sixteen days now and it’s overdue.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Barry grins, stuffing his hands in his pocket and rocking on his toes. “Not that I’m helping you cheat or anything, Detective. That would be unethical.”
“Sure,” Lance nods.
Queen glowers, clearly struggling to keep his polite facade in place. “I just thought that the police could use some assistance on this case.”
“Your opinions have been noted and will be followed up on, Queen,” Lance sighs and leans up to his desk, jotting down notes while he re-opens the case file.
“Thank you, Detective. Al-len. It’s good to know that this case is in the SCPD’s competent hands.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Lance mutters, making a “shooing” gesture.
“I’m going to throw up,” Barry declares with a roll of his eyes and turns on his heel to storm out of the room, leaving Oliver behind to scowl after him.
--
“‘Alex’? Seriously?” Barry whispers with a grin when Queen approaches him in the back alley of the SCPD. Queen’s eyes dart around, looking for all possible angles from where they could be seen. Barry catches on and glances at their surroundings nervously.
“I almost got you to break character,” Queen boasts with a grin as he pulls Barry in close by his belt to steal a quick kiss. They separate reluctantly, Queen’s hand lingering on the younger man’s side.
Barry snorts. “I think that’s the exact opposite of what we intended with this whole charade.”
Queen just grins, which earns a light punch to his chest from Barry. “You’re such a troll,” Barry declares before glancing at his watch, shoulders slumping slightly. “I need to get back before they notice I’m gone. Here—” he reaches into his pocket, takes out a thumb drive. “Give this to Felicity. I sent some of the results I found to Cisco and Dr. Snow, and they have some pretty… unusual insights.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it’s… Ollie, I think this Simmons guy can…” He sighs, tugs at his hair. “I think the plasma blasts came from him—I don’t just mean that he’s responsible,” Barry hastens to explain at Queen’s deadpan look. “I mean him, his body. He generated the energy that hurt those people.”
“Barry, that’s…”
“About as crazy as a man who can induce rage in people he makes eye contact with?” Barry finishes, crossing his arms. “Yeah, it sounds pretty sci-fi, but we saw that Bivolo guy in action when we were in Central. Cisco mentioned that they were seeing more and more strange things like this, and they think it’s got something to do with the particle accelerator that blew up the night I was struck by lightning. They even think that there’s a guy who can control the weather!” Barry waves a hand. “I’ll talk to you about it later. Anyway, I think you’re going to need help on this one.”
“Yeah, well,” Queen sighs bitterly, running a hand down his face. “Roy’s in jail and Dig’s not—”
Barry coughs. “I was thinking Ray, actually. Anyway,” he goes on over Queen’s reflexive scowl. “The files have the information from STAR Labs and the results I got from the crime scene—which is completely clean of a certain vigilante’s DNA evidence, now.”
Queen ducks his head. “Sorry.”
“…Are you apologizing for bleeding on my crime scene?”
“…Yes?” Queen asks, expression wary, like he’s just realized he’s standing in the middle of a minefield.
“Wow,” Barry mutters. “That’s—that’s kind of depressing, I’ll be honest.”
“…Sorry?” Queen tries again.
“No, Ollie. No one has to apologize for bleeding. Ever. Speaking of, how is it? Are the stitches holding? I keep telling you that I’m not a nurse, I don’t care how good I’d look in scrubs.” Barry makes to tug up Queen’s shirt right there in the middle of the alley, but Queen catches his hands, a soft smile on his face.
“’Tis but a scratch. Just a flesh wound.”
“Oh my God,” Barry actually moans. “How am I supposed to resist climbing you like a tree when you quote Monty Python at me?”
Queen is still laughing when Barry presses him against the brick of the alley.
-
Eobard Thawne, wearing the face of Harrison Wells, pauses the recording. As is usual, watching the intimacy between the two men causes something envious and possessive to twist in his gut. Barry should’ve been his by now, should’ve been right where Eobard wanted him—as The Flash, the hero, Eobard’s reverse. Instead, Barry had woken up before Eobard could spirit him away to his attentive care at STAR Labs. Without his powers triggered, Barry had gone to Star City, where he thought he could help the most people—by aiding the efforts of the Arrow, whom he had met just before the particle accelerator, years before they had met each other in Eobard’s timeline.
Apparently, Barry thought “helping” was synonymous to literally falling into bed with the vigilante.
The man wearing the face of Harrison Wells is careful to not let any of these thoughts seep onto his features as he turns from the video to face Ra’s al Ghul.
Ra’s al Ghul, according to history, is preternaturally perceptive, and quite worthy of Eobard’s forbearance. Now he studies the master assassin, trying to gain his own clues as to the man’s thoughts and plans. However, Ra’s al Ghul’s face is blank as he absorbs the way his intended heir holds Barry close, caught mid-kiss with his eyes open and looking, besotted and pathetic, at the younger man.
Ra’s al Ghul’s cool eyes move from the paused recording to Eobard’s, his expression inviting explanation.
“I tracked you down, here, in Star City, because I'd... heard,” Eobard starts measuredly. “That you're here to give Oliver Queen a certain push.”
The assassin blinks, the only indication that he is surprised that Eobard has some awareness of his intentions. “I am here for his sister, Thea Queen, who robbed us of Ta-er al-Sahfer. I will have just recompense and, yes, also provide a certain motivation for Oliver to return to Nanda Parbat and fulfill his destiny.”
Eobard struggles to keep the anticipation out of his voice. “I’m here to ask you: Are you sure it will be enough? He and Mr. Allen, there, have been…” he pauses before the revulsion can overtake his face at the thought of that man touching what was rightfully his. “…Courting each other for months now. The fact that they have kept it secret has hardly paid detriment to their relationship. They are in love,” he spits out the word as he holds out his arms in an exaggerated shrug. “Perhaps your plans will get Queen there, but will you be able to make him stay when he has Mr. Allen to return to?”
Ra’s al Ghul tilts his head in consideration. “Your interest is clearly in the boy, not Oliver, and yet you want me to spill his blood for you. What are you hoping to gain by the boy's death?”
“You’ll find, as will Mr. Allen, that he is more… resilient than the average mortal, thanks to me and my work.” Eobard trails off, for effect, and smiles viciously. Hungrily. Too long has the Reverse been without his Flash. Too long has Eobard waited for the hero, his mortal enemy, the boy he watched grow up. But, lacking the proper trigger, Barry Allen’s Flash powers had yet to manifest. One benefit of Barry’s involvement with Queen, Eobard thinks as his eyes fall pointedly to the assassin’s sword, is that he has created the opportune environment for such a trigger to be pulled.
“You see, he, like Queen, just needs a certain…push.”
Ra’s al Ghul stands statuesque as he deliberates for a subjective eternity. Finally, he lays his hand his sword’s hilt, signaling his acquiescence. “It seems that we have much to discuss.”
end.