Work Text:
I.
The first time it happened, it was actually an accident.
Of course, nothing should catch Barry off guard. He was the fastest man alive, after all. But Eddie had just died a month ago, and his mind was all over the place. They had never really gotten along too well, but watching him die because of Barry’s mistakes did a number on him. Guilt continued to weigh him down, and he kept replaying that night over and over in his head. The moments before his mother died, seeing Eddie gasp for breath, and all of the blood on his hands, on the floor, everywhere. Every little detail was burned into his mind forever. He spent most nights rebuilding the city, trying to put things back as they were before, but putting bricks together can’t bring all of those people back to life. He still hadn’t been to his mother’s grave, and he spent most of his nights at Star Labs, avoiding Iris. Because he was the reason for her pain. He caused Eddie’s death.
The entire gang was giving him space, but Iris and Joe still made sure he came over every week for family dinners. Tonight was his night to cook, and he was chopping scallions when it happened. He kept thinking about his mother, and whether or not he made the right decision, and the knife just slipped. It cut deep into the fleshy part of the tip of his finger, and Barry yelped at the pain. Pulling his hand back, he cradled his finger and watched the blood pour out. The wound was searing, burning, and aching all throughout his hand, but as Barry watched the blood spout out, he didn’t think of his mother. He didn’t think of anything. All he felt was the pain and, for once in his life, he had a break.
“You okay, Bear?” Iris called from the living room. She was in her sweatpants, curled up on the couch and reading one of those murder mysteries. Before everything happened, and before all of this pain and secrecy built a wedge between them, he might have curled up next to her. He used to point out all of their forensic flaws, and he could always spot the killer from a mile away. Sometimes, he would even barter with her. A cookie for not telling her the ending. But now, she sat on the couch, alone.
“I’m fine,” Barry yelled back. “The knife slipped.”
Iris stood up and Barry could hear her feet padding across the floor towards him. She entered the kitchen and gasped slightly at his bloody finger. “Jesus! Let me get you a bandaid,” she said, grabbing the medical kit from one of the shelves.
“You really don’t have to–”
“It’s that or I call Caitlin.”
“Alright, alright! Okay.”
They were both silent as Iris gingerly wrapped the bandaid around his finger, giving it an extra tug for tightness and ignoring Barry hissing. For a man who broke his arm almost daily, he still hated pain. He didn’t have a high pain threshold, at least not like others he knew. Not like Oliver Queen, a true hero.
“Thanks, Iris,” he mumbled sheepishly, before getting back to chopping.
“No problem,” she said, looking up at him with such love in her eyes. Love that isn’t deserved, that shouldn’t be there. “Hey Barry?”
“Yeah?”
Iris opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly clamped it shut. She paused for a moment. “Be careful,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you.”
And with that, she was gone, and Barry’s head was reeling from thoughts he wish he didn’t have. The knife was just sitting there, still tainted with his blood, an escape to all of his pain. As thoughts of all the grief he had caused flooded his mind, he almost ached for the momentary relief the knife provided. Almost being the key word.
But it hurts, he thought to himself, wincing as he thought back to the wound.
Do you deserve any less pain? his mind countered. Barry put the knife down and continued cooking as his mind reeled.
II.
Five months later, to be exact, the entire Star Labs gang had decided they let Barry wallow for too long, and promptly forced themselves back into Barry’s life. To be fair, he missed them. It wasn’t the same, coming back to an empty laboratory. Besides, he was punishing himself enough when he was alone, at home with him scissors and razors and culinary knives. Not that anyone knew that. After all, his scars healed in mere hours. Whereas any normal person would have had lifelong bruises, he had smooth, flawless skin in no time.
It wasn’t just the team that he missed. He missed his friends as well. He was settling in on Cisco’s couch to enjoy their first movie night in ages, and Cisco was making about twenty bowls of popcorn for the two of them. As Barry breathed in the familiar smell of Cisco’s throws, he felt like things were going back to normal.
“Yo, did you get the dip?” Cisco called from the kitchen.
“Check my bag!” Barry replied, humming to himself as he surfed through the movies on Netflix. They would probably just end up watching Wrath of Khan. They always do.
Cisco came into the room, grabbing Barry’s bag from the corner of the room and rifling through it. Suddenly, he pulled up a clear bag and held it away from his face in dismay.
“Barry, what the hell is this?” Cisco cried, holding the bag far away from his face. As if distance would help.
In the bag, Barry kept a pair of scissors, a knife and scalpel, and a couple of razor edges. He also had a small bottle of anti-septic and liquid bandaid for cleanup, because he would rather not contract an infection. God knows what it would do to his body, or what havoc it could wreak if it adapted to his metabolism.
“I, um, I, um, well, that’s a real nice story, you see….” Barry stuttered awkwardly before trailing off. He wasn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t expected anyone to find the bag.
“Barry, you know you can tell us anything, right?” Cisco gingerly set the bag aside on the nearby table and sat down next to Barry, looking at him with concern.
“I know, Cisco, it’s just that I didn’t want to bother you guys.” Barry kept his gaze downcast as he felt shame and guilt claw it’s way through his chest. Right then, more than anything, he wished for the clarity that the pain provided. He could flash over and cut himself before Cisco could even blink. But no, he couldn’t do that. It wasn’t fair.
“Bear, if you’re taking calls without asking us and then performing surgery on yourself,” Cisco pursued, gesticulating wildly in exasperation, “you need to tell us! Caitlin can help you. She’s a doctor, after all. Look, I know for six months, you were on your own. But no more pulling bullets, and god knows what else, out without us, okay? You’re not alone anymore.”
Barry looked up at Cisco in shock. Surgery on himself? Of course, he had to pull bullets and glass and other debris out of his skin before, but that had stopped as soon as he spoke with Caitlin. He felt bad for lying to Cisco, but he didn’t really have a choice, did he?
“Alright,” he promised, giving Cisco a small smile. Cisco grinned back in return and pulled him in for a giant hug, before running off excitedly to finish the popcorn.
As usual, they watched Wrath of Khan, and as usual, they ended up entangled in each other’s arms. Barry sighed into the embrace, and as Cisco said his usual nerd love quote, it didn’t help but remind him of whose arms he really wanted to be in.
Oliver Queen’s. His Ollie.
III.
Of course, Oliver Queen had to come to town. And of course, after they finished their joint mission–Cisco even gave them a team up name, “Flarrow,”–Oliver decided he wanted to grab coffee with Barry. Almost like a date.
Not a date, not a date, not a date, Barry chanted in his head like a mantra. Because this wasn’t a date. This couldn’t be a date. There was no way, at all, that the esteemed Oliver Queen would want to go on a date with Barry. This was just two old friends, catching up and relaxing after a long day.
“Two Flashes,” Oliver ordered for them, smirking at Barry. After they placed the order, Barry led them to his favorite booth in the corner, sliding in after Oliver. “I wonder if your drink is as good as they say,” Oliver whispered as the waiter came with their coffees.
“I think it does the Flash justice.”
“Must be a cocky drink.”
“Hey!” Barry exclaimed, a mock hurt expression on his face. He elbowed Oliver in the side before catching him wincing, and he remembered that he had gotten kicked their during the fight. Barry threw his hands up and backed away ever so slightly. “Sorry!”
“No, it’s fine, Barry,” Oliver grunted, rubbing his side before returning to his drink. Barry could see him glancing around nervously, casing the coffee shop. Of course he would case every room he went into. After all, he had gone through hell for five years, and that was enough to leave anyone paranoid.
Barry slowed down the moment to fully experience it. While there was a look of worry in his eyes, Oliver seemed genuinely happy. His smile reached up to his piercing blue eyes, wrinkling around the edges. His long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked down, and there was a pink tinge to his cheeks that was utterly adorable. He was wearing a brown leather jacket that gave off that edgy vibe, but Barry knew he could be a softie under his cold exterior. Barry let his eyes linger to the leather on his arms, the tight fit of it over his giant biceps. Barry had the absolute pleasure of seeing Oliver in tight tank tops, numerous times, and each time it left him a bit more breathless. He was toned and bulging with muscles that Barry didn’t even know existed. His stubble would probably tickle if they kissed, and Barry wanted nothing more than to run his hands through that perfect hair as they kissed until they were both breathless.
But of course, that would never happen. Oliver was famous, and hot, and incredibly sweet even if he denied it.
Barry realized he needed to clear his thoughts before he said something stupid out loud. He grabbed a small pocket knife out of his pocket, ironic huh, and slipped it into his hand. It was a habit he had done far too many times for comfort at the police station. He kept his hand in his sleeve, the knife digging ever so slightly into his skin, and the moment sped up to normal speed.
“So, how are things in Central City?” Oliver asked, changing the subject.
“Great, great,” he lied. No point in worrying Oliver when he had his own problems to deal with. “Starling okay?”
“All is well, thanks.” They were both lying now, but Barry didn’t push it.
“I’m gonna…I’m gonna use the bathroom. Be right back,” Barry called out in a rush, already running toward the bathroom. He had forgotten his satchel, but that was okay. Speed healing, right? He just had to make sure all traces were gone when he went back out there. Oliver Queen is a scary force to deal with.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice the blonde woman in front of him. She looked vaguely familiar. He had seen her around…the precinct. This was the infamous Patty Spivot, the officer who was bugging Joe about getting to be on his anti-metahuman task force. The only officer who actually wanted to be on the task force. She must be insane. But as she stood there, in her official suit with her giant smile, she didn’t look insane. She looked cool.
“Barry? Barry Allen?” she asked as Barry avoided nearly colliding into her. “The Barry Allen?”
“I didn’t realize there was a ‘the’ before my name,” he said, sheepishly tugging at him sleeve.
“I am such a huge fan! I’ve read some of your cases, well, I mean, all right I’ve read them all. You’re just so thorough and detailed, it’s almost like you were there when someone was being murdered.”
“Well, I, um–”
“Hey, is that blood on your sleeve?” Barry looked down at his sleeve in shock. He couldn’t clean his shirt, now, could he? He was fast, but not that fast. Besides, it would look weird if one second it was red, the next it was just an ordinary plaid shirt. He flashed the knife out of sight and returned to the present, just as Patty grabbed his arm. “Oh my god, where did you get that? It almost looks like a stab wound. Of course, it seems like it would be a small knife that was pressed against the skin.” Patty took in Barry’s shocked face. “I triple majored in college. I love forensics, but this is where the action is.” Se gestured to her badge.
“I, um, funny story.” Barry tugged his hand away and rubbed the nape of his neck. “I was cutting, anchovies, and the knife slipped. Real funny, Hehe.“ He awkwardly laughed and if she didn’t buy his story, she didn’t say.
“Listen, I’ve got to head back, but could you put in a good word with Joe? I heard you two are close. See you around, Barry Allen.” She clutched her coffee to her chest and hurried out of the coffeehouse. Barry rushed to the bathroom as fast as humanly possible, hoping his heart would stop pounding from seeing Oliver’s face behind him and his close encounter. But there was only one to put them out of his mind. He grabbed the knife out of his pocket, once safely locked in a stall, and the process started again.
IV.
The West family recently had a new addition: Wally West. Hopefully–reformed–drag racer, engineer major in college, and finally opening up to Joe by moving in. Joe’s house was full. Barry had been living there since Iris moved out, but once Eddie died she moved back in, and then Wally came speeding into their lives and into their house. Wally was warming up to Barry, the pseudo son who took his place during his childhood, and things were good. They were a family.
And of course, families share bathrooms. One bathroom. Four people. It was awful.
One night, after a really long day at work and then having to watch a little boy die because he wasn’t damn fast enough to save them, he wanted to be alone. He ran up the stairs and straight into the bathroom as fast as humanly possible, in case Wally was home. He wasn’t.
He turned the shower on and sat on the toilet, mind reeling. The mirror slowly started to fog up as Barry tried to cleanse his head with the steam, but that was bullshit. Now, he was miserable, hot, and sticky.
You’re a failure, his mind told him.
You’re weak and pathetic.
Joe keeps getting burdened by you.
Iris just put up with you out of pity.
Caitlin lost the love of her life because of you.
Cisco could be a millionaire from his inventions if he wasn’t held back by you.
Wally should have been there during Iris’s childhood, not you.
Captain Singh could do so much better than you; he only keeps you on because you’re Joe’s son. Joe keeps sticking up for you and you keep screwing up.
Oliver could never love someone like you.
There is a mother somewhere who lost her little baby boy today.
A boy got stripped of his entire future because of you.
You’re not fast enough. You’re not strong enough. You’re not good enough.
You are nothing.
Barry groaned in frustration, grabbing his hair and leaning his head in his lap. He knew all of those things, but why did he constantly have to remind himself?
The razor sat on the sink countertop, glistening under the yellow bathroom light. He grabbed it, without hesitation, using it until he bled red all over the bathroom tub and watched it swirl down the drain. He watched the tendrils of red slither until they were sucked out of sight, watched as the cuts bled and rapidly healed so that he could repeat the process, over and over.
Knock knock! “Barry, you okay in there? You’ve been in there a while.”
Barry jumped, managing to hit his head on the shower rod. He looked around in a panic for something to mask the pinkish stains in the bathtub and the iron smell in the air.
Bleach. Perfect.
Using his superspeed, and praying to god that Wally wouldn’t break down the door, Barry quickly cleaned the entire bathroom, bathtub, floor, toilet and all. Eventually, when the smell of Clorox burned his nose and watered his eyes, and he couldn’t see or smell any traces of blood, he opened the door to see Wally standing there, arms crossed over his chest.
Wally coughed, his eyes watering slightly, and Barry felt just a teeny bit bad. Just a teeny bit. “Yooo, what’s that smell in there? Bleach?”
Barry shrugged. “Spring cleaning.”
“It’s February.”
“Preemptive spring cleaning.”
With that, he escaped to his room, and if he stared blankly at the wall for an hour or two, no one would have to know.
V.
“Barry, what the hell happened out there?” Oliver thundered, pointing his finger as they entered the Arrowcave. Felicity was at her console, pretending she couldn’t see them, and Diggle suddenly seemed very interested in maintaining his weapons. “A metahuman comes from Central? Fine. You wanna team up? Fine. But I can’t have a partner, who literally has superspeed, who freezes any time a bullet’s headed your way!”
“First of all, it wasn’t a bullet, it was a small pellet of compressed gravel. And secondly, I’d appreciate you not yelling at me when it’s fucking stuck in my arm!” Barry cradled his arm as he made his way to the med table, Oliver hot on his tails. Guess all the self-hatred really put a dent on his self-preservation skills.
“You heal fast!”
“Yeah, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt!”
“You know what? I think you guys can handle that,“ Felicity said in the background, the sound of her heels echoing as she made her way out. Diggle didn’t even say anything, just pointed and followed awkwardly.
Barry rummaged through their medical supplies with his good hand as he picked out what he needed. Some antiseptic, napkins, bandages, and a pair of tweezers. This was gonna hurt like there’s no tomorrow. A part of Barry was grateful that they had been close by when he was hit, so the hole in his arm hadn’t quite closed yet. The devious part of his mind whispered, you deserve the pain.
Once again, he was a big fucking screw up.
He looked around for something to bite on, but finding nothing, took off his cowl and put a bit in his mouth. He sat down on the table and poured some antiseptic on a couple of tissues when a pair of rough hands covered his own, stopping the process.
“Let me,” Oliver said, looking down at Barry, an unexpected softness in his eyes.
Barry’s stomach flip-flopped and oh boy was this not the time for feelings.
Barry didn’t even struggle as Oliver gently took the tissue from his hands. “Thanks,” he said, before hissing as Oliver gently applied the antiseptic. Still, it didn’t hurt as bad as it should have. Shit.
“We’re a team, Barry. It’s what we do.” Oliver frowned at the wound, before looking at Barry with apologetic eyes. “It’s partially closed. I’m gonna have to cut it open.“
Barry sighed. He reached into one of the hidden pockets of his suit, pulled out a small scalpel, and handed it over to Oliver. “Here. Let’s just get this over with.”
Oliver uncapped the scalpel and frowned. “Why do you keep a scalpel on you?“ he asked. In the light, Barry could see that there was dried blood crusted on the blade. Usually he was careful, but he’d been trying to cut down – no pun intended – on how often he and his trusty friend scalpel had a date. He hadn’t in over a day and just seeing it made him feel a little nauseous, brought out urges he was trying to ignore.
Barry swallowed hard and put on a wry smile. “You think this is the first time I’ve been hit?”
Oliver grumbled as he cleaned off the scalpel, something about irresponsibility and carelessness. Barry glared at him.
“You know I’m not a child, right?”
“Then why do always end up getting hurt, huh?” Despite the anger in his words, Oliver’s hands were gentle as they ripped a slightly larger hole in Barry’s uniform. Damn, Cisco was going to kill him for that. “You might wanna hold onto something.”
“Just do it.” Barry shoved the cowl into his mouth and gripped hard on the table, and if he screamed a little when the first cut was made? Well, he deserved it.
***
“I don’t know why we’re walking back to your place when we could literally be there in less than a second,” Barry complained as they strolled down a quiet street. He enjoyed this, the spending time with Oliver outside of kicking ass, but part of him was terrified of spending too much time together. There was a direct correlation between amount of time spent with Oliver and how much his feelings came out. He was pretty sure he could graph it.
“You know how I’ve been doing this thing way longer than you have?” Oliver started with. Great. Another Queen lecture on responsibility. “I don’t know what’s going on with Barry, but something definitely is. You weren’t fully there today, and as much as I critique your, um, fighting techniques, that wasn’t like you normally. So I’m here, asking you not just as a partner, but as a friend, what happened out there?”
I was spending all my energy making sure you were okay. Of course, there was no way Barry could actually say that.
“I’m just, um,” Barry stuttered, before he tugged on Oliver’s shoulder. They stopped walking, facing each other. The next words came out in a whisper, and Barry felt unbidden tears well up in his eyes. “I’m just tired, Ollie.”
Tired of hiding. Tired of hating himself. Tired of screwing up. Barry was tired of so many things he couldn’t say. Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could push the words out of his mouth. Instead, he rushed forward, wrapped his arms around Oliver’s waist, buried his face in the familiar shoulder and breathing in a smell that had been haunting his dreams for months. It felt like a sigh, a breath of fresh air, and Oliver stumbled backwards with him before catching him. Barry felt the weight of arms around his neck, squeezing him just as tightly, and was glad to see that the older man needed him just as much in that moment as Barry needed Oliver.
After what felt like a short eternity, Barry took a step back and hastily dropped his arms, looking down at his feet and blushing. He chuckled, and wiped his eyes. “Sorry about that. I, um, I really needed that.”
When he looked up, he saw Oliver beaming down at him. “Anytime, Bear.”
Barry waited for the moment to break, for Oliver to remind him that they were supposed to be walking home. Instead, silence stretched on, and Barry found himself staring into Oliver’s bright blue-green eyes, unable to look away. His lips parted slightly, to say something, anything, and Barry watched as Oliver’s eyes catalogued the movement before meeting his own once again.
It felt like he was holding his breath.
“Barry,” Oliver whispered, a broken whisper, and Barry found both of them gravitated towards one another.
“Ollie,” Barry whispered. He could feel their breaths mixing in the space between them, and as Oliver’s face got blurry in his own vision, his eyes shut of their own accord.
Suddenly, they were kissing.
+I
Oliver rifled through his drawers to find a slightly smaller shirt for Barry. Finding nothing that would fit the lankier man’s frame, he pulled out a shirt he knew would make the speedster smile and tossed it at him. Barry took one look at it and grinned.
“Seriously? A Flash t-shirt?” Barry spun it around, holding it out so Oliver could see the worn lightning bolt emblem across the shirt. “I honestly did not expect this from you.”
Oliver flashed him a grin. “There’s a lot about me that’ll surprise you.”
“I’m not too sure.” Barry hand his hand in front of his eyes, like a hood. He spoke in a deep and slightly raspy voice. “My name is Oliver Queen. I spend ninety-three percent of my time brooding and seven percent of my time kicking ass. You have failed this city.”
Oliver balled up a pair of sweatpants and threw it at Barry, who held up his hands to cover his face. Still, when Barry looked up, Oliver was grinning from ear to ear. It was a look that Barry hadn’t seen very often in the past, and, not that he would ever admit it, it was a little surprising.
“I think those statistics are a bit off,” Oliver said, pulling out a pair of sweatpants from himself before shutting the drawer. He leaned against the wall, facing Barry, and for some reason Barry found his whole posture to be very… distracting. “You forgot the biggest consumer of my time.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?” Barry approached Oliver.
“Let’s see,” Oliver started, pretending to think hard, “thirty percent of my time goes to kicking ass, while ten percent goes to brooding–”
“It’s totally the other way around.”
“–and then sixty percent at least has to be devoted to pining over a very lovable Barry Allen.”
Barry was taken aback. Sure, they had first kissed maybe a half hour ago, and somewhere between then and now the unspoken decision was made that Barry would be sleeping over at Oliver’s, not that either man had any problem with it. Still, the idea that Oliver had pined over Barry, the was he had pined over Oliver? It was weird to think that someone could actually look at him like that, let alone that someone did. It brought up all sorts of questions in Barry’s mind that he wasn’t sure he was ready to ask. What were they? Were they dating? Boyfriends? Friends who occasionally kissed?
Pushing all of this aside, Barry’s lips still quirked of their own accord. “Oh yeah? So this Barry Allen is pretty lovable, huh?”
“The most.”
“So, do you love him?”
Oliver’s eyes looked, no, bored down into Barry’s, a sea of blue-green meeting a mountain of brown, but his fond smile didn’t fade. “Yeah, I really do.” His voice was soft when he spoke, and Barry couldn’t help but feel how serious it was.
“Yeah?” Barry was breathless.
“It’s impossible not to.”
Barry looked up and planted a soft, chaste kiss on Oliver’s lips, both hands coming to rest on the taller man’s chest, before pulling away. “It’s kind of impossible not to love you, too,” he said with a soft smile. The air hung between them, but it was different this time. It wasn’t like electricity, or a breath being held. It was coming home. It was safety. It was finally letting go of the breaths they both had been holding for years.
It was at that moment that Oliver yawned.
“You’re tired!” Barry laughed, pointing a finger at him.
Oliver just glared. “I spent five years–”
“– on an island in the North China Sea, I don’t get tired, Barry,” Barry finished for Oliver. “Come on, you big lug, go get changed.”
Barry gave him a shove towards the bathroom, and used the time to quickly change into the sleeping clothes. He didn’t use his speed, though. Somehow, it felt wrong to speed through these moments. Besides, in Flashtime, a second could stretch out like a lifetime. Barry didn’t want to stretch out these moments without Oliver by his side.
“Bathroom’s all yours,” Oliver called out as he exited, wearing threadbare sweatpants and....of course. A green arrow shirt. Barry smiled at him. “I knew you’d like the shirt.”
“Now we match,” Barry said softly. It all felt so warm. No, that wasn’t the right word. It was something more than that. It felt domestic.
Oliver sat down on the bed, and Barry half wanted to join him on the bed. No, that’s too presumptuous. “I left you a toothbrush in the cup.” Oliver’s voice dragged Barry out of his thoughts.
Fuck. The thought of going in that bathroom – with a million sharp objects, antiseptic, it would be so easy – made his stomach feel queasy. He couldn’t go in there. He didn’t trust himself in there. One slip up, and Oliver would know just how screwed up he was, and end up running for the hills.
He wasn’t sure how Oliver didn’t know it already, but hey, he firmly believed in counting his blessings.
“I, um, actually don’t brush my teeth!” That does not sound right. “At night. I don’t brush my teeth as night, because with my fast metabolism, I’ve got this, like, super crazy immune system. So once a day is enough to get all the germs out and keep me minty fresh.”
Oliver quirked an eyebrow, and Barry was certain he didn’t believe him. Hell, Barry wouldn’t even believe himself if he was hearing his own bullshit. Which, to be fair, he was. And it was. Bullshit, that was.
Instead, Oliver turned around, reached his hands downwards, and promptly pulled off his shirt. Hot damn. Now that was an impressive set of abs.
“Like what you see?” Oliver taunted, smirking.
“I, um, I, just, what are you doing?” Barry could barely string together a couple of words to form a sentence. The only things coming to mind were definitely not something he would share. Or PG-13.
“I don’t sleep with a shirt on.” Barry wasn’t sure if his eyes were deceiving him, but he was pretty sure that Oliver was flexing his pecs. Watching that did, well, it did things to Barry. Oliver knew exactly what he was doing, dirty bastard, but two could play at that game. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Oh, there’s no problem at all, Ollie,” Barry said, innocently. He pretended to yawn, stretching his hands up in the air so that his shirt rode up just enough to give a peek at the muscle underneath. He brought his hands down and watched Oliver’s eyes track the motion, pupils dilating. Perfect. Leave him something to dream about. “So, which one of these guest rooms do I get to call my home?”
“You think you’re going to sleep in a… guest room?” Oliver looked at Barry in disbelief. Guess Barry was full of surprises too. “Barry, we’ve been standing in my bedroom for the last thirty minutes.”
“I didn’t want to assume…”
“This is what boyfriends do, is it not?“
“Boyfriends?”
“I assumed, after the, um, the um kiss,” Oliver sputtered, and Barry wanted to retract the entire last minute of their interactions.
“No, no! I didn’t mean to imply–”
“No, no, it’s fine, Barry. If you want to remain as friends, or anything else, that’s up to you. My cards are all out on the table, but I never should have assumed.” Oliver looked down, and all the eye contact, the invisible touches between the two of them, were gone. He chuckled, dry. “As you can see, I don’t really have much experience in the dating men department. Or the dating department. Or the men department.”
Barry laughed, and sat down on the bed, facing Oliver. After a moment of consideration, he kicked his feet under the covers. “Say it again.“
“I’m sorry, what?”
Barry grinned. “What you called us, say it again.”
“Boyfriends?” Oliver looked at him with an incredulous look.
Barry rested his head against Oliver’s, both men leaning back on the headboard. “My boyfriend. I like the sound of that.”
He could feel Oliver grin against his head. “You know, Felicity says that I have been very obvious about my, um, affection for you.”
“Well, Felicity certainly said something similar about me, so we should probably send her a text at some point about the whole, you know, boyfriend development.”
Oliver turned to look down at Barry, an odd look in his eyes. “You really are something, Barry Allen.”
Barry suddenly felt uncomfortable under the older man’s gaze. It was like all the euphoria and the joy of everything that happened was falling apart, and he was left with the stark truth. Somehow, by some trick of nature or some momentary madness or by the power of some crazy meta like Bivolo, he had managed to convince Oliver Queen that he was special, that he was worthy of being loved. Somehow, he had gotten into bed with the man he had been dreaming about for years and behind all warmth he felt was one cold truth.
He didn’t deserve any of this.
Not the domesticity or the kissing or the crawling into bed with the man of his dreams. He could see a whole future spanning out in front of him and he hated it. Well, he hated that he loved it.
Part of him had the urge once again to punish himself, for thinking that he had earned his happy ending for even a moment. But the other part of him? That part of him was just so damn tired. Tired of hating himself and fighting everything good in his life because he didn’t deserve it. Tired of not knowing what to do to earn the happy ending every human on this damn planet, himself included, wanted.
He yawned, and maybe he was tired of being unhappy, or maybe he was just tired. In any case, Oliver noticed the change, and reached over to the side, tugging the lamp off. They both settled into bed, and Oliver tugged Barry so that they were both facing the same side, Barry’s back tucked into Oliver’s chest. Oliver’s arm snaked it’s way over Barry’s stomach and Barry gripped it like a lifeline.
“Good night, Barry,” Oliver whispered, and Barry just smiled, snuggled in further until he felt himself completely enveloped in the older man’s presence.
Somehow, Barry found himself unable to sleep.
He knew he didn’t deserve this. It was logical, it was correct. If Barry was a better man, he would steal away in the night, leave before Oliver got sucked into his nebula. But he wasn’t. So he stayed, and he held on to Oliver’s arm, and he tried his best not to think about the one thing that would make him feel just a little better about everything that happened.
Great. Now he was thinking about it.
Well, if a few minutes with a razor could allow him to come back to bed with a clear mind and an open heart, why shouldn’t he? After all, no one truly got hurt. Not even he did, with his speed healing. Besides, he wouldn’t make it a habit of doing it around Oliver. Just this once. Just this once.
He crept out of bed, substituting a soft pillow, dark blue in the low light, underneath Oliver’s arm. He listened for a few moments, but the older man’s breaths continued to come in steady and deep. Barry didn’t wake him, then. He crept his way over to the bathroom door. It would be so easy, once he went inside. He put his hand on the doorknob, round, cold, shiny. He willed himself to turn the knob, to go inside.
But he couldn’t.
Truth was, Barry hated pain.
He sank down on the wall, buried his head in his hands, but he couldn’t even cry. He couldn’t even get that part right. Not like he had a damn reason to cry anyways.
Vaguely, he registered the sound of the lamp being flicked on, but he didn’t fully realize what that mean until he felt soft hands cupping his face, gently forcing it out of hiding. The face that met his, filled with worry and concern and what looked a lot like love – Barry would know that face anywhere. In sickness and in health. In darkness and in light. Hell, he’s know that face in death, deep in the depths of hell.
“What’s wrong?” Oliver whispered, but Barry knew Oliver wasn’t pressing for an answer. One of the things that made him so easy to talk to. So easy to love.
“I climbed into another man’s bed tonight with no expectation to get laid,” Barry started. Somehow, the words were tumbling out of his mouth of their own accord. He paused, took a deep breath, and continued. “I almost fell asleep in the arms of the man who loves me, who I’ve loved for years, and I felt nothing but loved tonight.”
“Barry…”
“No, let me finish.” Barry lifted his hand to touch Oliver’s cheek, gentle, before pulling away. “I have never felt more loved and safe than at this moment, and somehow, I can’t sleep because I keep thinking about how you must keep a razor blade in your bathroom, and how I haven’t touched one in over a day, and how I don’t deserve any of the good things coming my way right now. I can’t stop wondering and worrying how long it’s gonna take for you to realize how fucked up I am, and that you’ve got the wrong guy. Because, you, God, Oliver, you don’t even know how amazing you are, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to convince you that I’m not a bad person, before you realize I am and you leave me, Ollie.” Barry paused, took a deep breath. “God, being here tonight? It made me realize just how screw up I am, and just how damn much it’s gonna hurt when you leave.”
Oliver was quiet for a moment. He was looking Barry, but he wasn’t really seeing what was in front of him.
Oliver cleared his throat. “How long?”
He meant the part about the razors. “A while now. Maybe a few months.” Barry looked down at the floor.
“Could you be a little more specific than that?” Oliver’s eyes focused on Barry.
Barry felt the weight of his piercing gaze and wanted to sink back into the wall. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Okay.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know!“ Barry blinked back tears. Vaguely, he registered Oliver sitting down beside him, pressed arm to arm. “I just…I thought it’d be better. You know, now.”
Oliver turned to him with an incredulous look. “Barry, I can’t love away your pain. Just like you can’t love away mine.”
“I didn’t think that.” Barry turned away. “I just thought it’d be easier.”
“Well, you’re talking about it.” Oliver pressed up against Barry. The pressure felt like a reminder, like an, I’m here. “That’s a start.”
“I didn’t come on this mission thinking I’d be in your room at the end of the night, pouring my heart and soul out,” Barry drawled.
Oliver was silent. Barry nudged him with his own shoulder.
“Are you okay?”
Oliver laughed, ever so slightly. It seemed more a forced chuckle than anything. “I should be asking you that.” He paused. “I’m not going to leave you.“
“What?” Barry turned to him.
“You said it’s gonna hurt when I leave. I’m not leaving you.” Oliver, as if suddenly impassioned by the gods of the muses or some other force of nature, came in front of Barry and held the sides of his head with his own hands. “Barry, I love you.”
“But I’m broken.” Barry hated the way that sounded, whiny, needy, pathetic, but it was true. People like to come after you for saying bad things about yourself and call it love, but that doesn’t make it any less true. “And needy, and selfish, and weak –”
“And beautiful, and kind, and you’ve got the biggest heart.“ Oliver just looked at Barry for a moment, just looked at him – and it was like he could just see right through Barry, through every downfall and wall and awful thing he’d done. Through all the awful things his brain told him, through all the awful things he told himself. And there he was, in front of Oliver, and it was like he was naked, reborn, exposed. “I can’t love you any better. But we’ll get through this together. I’ll fight this with you, okay?”
Before Barry could answer, Oliver leaned forward, so that there were inches between their lips. For a moment, Barry just lingered there, eyes closed, existing in this space where they could just breathe the same air. But then he leaned forward and gently connected their lips. This time, it was different. It was a promise, an I’m here, I’ll be here.
Three years, an alter, two wedding rings, and a year of Barry being clean later, Oliver made another promise, this one in front of family, friends, and God above. This one lasts a lifetime.