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1. The thing about dating a criminal evading capture from the law, is that a person tends to… go to places without cops. So Leonard was simply not allowed near Barry’s workplace. At all. It wasn’t a rule they’d stated explicitly or anything, but it also wasn’t something Barry thought he would have to say out loud.
Len had a cop’s uniform on. It was a real one too, the badge number on his side wasn’t faked and Len was wearing it entirely correctly. He even had the stance down, two thumbs hooked into his belt as he leaned over Barry’s desk with his chin forward to observe the papers. Len was quietly looking at Barry as Barry tried to set one of his specimens in its container.
There was a detective over by the entrance of Barry’s lab talking to a fellow forensic scientist who had come to this jurisdiction to work on a double homicide-case. “Where… whose uniform is that?” Barry hissed under his breath, trying not to draw attention to himself.
“You don’t seem happy to see me,” Len said smoothly. His back brushed up against Barry’s. Barry felt a tugging sensation on the back of his shirt. “
You could be arrested any second,” Barry mumbled. Anxious it was too loud, he gave a hurried glance to the people talking in the corner but they were wrapped up in whatever their homicide case was entailing.
“Oh no,” Len said with a voice so deeply sarcastic he could have been a caricature, “arrested again? How would I ever break out of prison? That has never happened to me.” Len’s hand was suddenly on Barry’s back, he must have untucked Barry’s shirt and slid his hands underneath the fabric. He pressed up against the muscles in Barry’s back, pushing him forward.
“Your hands are freezing!” Barry whispered.
“I wonder why,” Len said. He pushed Barry’s shirt up higher; hands gripped the sides of Barry’s back as his fingers kneaded Barry’s shoulders.
“I wonder why,” Barry mumbled. But he bent down a little bit any way, giving Len just a little more room. Because maybe his shoulders were tense, maybe he’d been sitting at this desk for too long.
“’Why’ what?” Len asked, his forefingers finding a nub in Barry’s muscle that he began to rub out slowly. Barry had to hold back a groan.
“Why are you here? It’s so stupid,” Barry said into a face-full of unfinished paperwork and chemistry charts.
“You kept getting calls to go to weird places,” Len said. His fingers softly tugged down the side of Barry’s neck, relaxing the muscles into his shoulders.
Barry turned his head over to the side, looking up at Len. “You mean… crime scenes?”
“How much crime can there even be in one city?” Leonard Snart, a.k.a. Captain Cold, the hired mercenary and criminal tactics coordinator, said, “Honestly? I mean, does crime ever take a break it is unsettling.”
“You’re kidding right?” Barry said, annoyed. He sat up then, shaking Len’s arms off of him and- oh great. The other forensic scientist was staring.
2. Len was in his parka and protective sunglasses. Standing in the front of Barry’s door. “Barry,” Len said with a nod.
“What. The-”
“Sorry, I was in the neighborhood,” Len’s lies were fairly obvious when he wasn’t trying to keep them hidden. “Actually, I thought I’d rob a bank. 72nd and 14th. In five and a half minutes.”
Barry’s yogurt dripped out of his spoon. He was standing at the door in pajama pants, it was only ten a.m. on a Saturday, and an All Time Low t-shirt. Joe West was right inside the kitchen making pancakes right now.
“I have about six men on this job; they’re waiting for me to get there. It’s not fair if you don’t wait at least four minutes and fifty-six seconds,” Len said. He shifted the cold gun in his right hand to his left, and raised his fingers up to a salute. “See you there?”
“Why do you do this?” Barry demanded. Len made the universal, wait-a-moment signal and gestured then to Barry’s clothes. Barry flushed and folded his arms in front of him. “I asked you a question, Len.”
Len paused for a moment. He reached a hand up suddenly, lifting his sunglasses up from his eyes. His expression was amused and all-too-pleased with himself. “I’m your… nemesis,” Len said with a grin.
“No you are not, you bought me a teddy bear at a fair.”
“I’m your nemesis,” Len insisted, “not that goddamn Trickster.”
“Are you seriously-”
“Bring your A-Game, Flash. 72nd and 14th. In three minutes, twenty-three seconds,” Len said with a smirk.
“God!” Barry yelled, and he raced upstairs, throwing his dresser around before he found the uniform. He changed, sped back to the living room, apologized to Joe, and by the time he got to the street Len was already ten blocks ahead.
3. “Let me get my phone,” Barry asked as he heard the ring. He set his hands on the side of the bed, pushing up out of Len’s arms to try and reach the bedside table.
Len was obviously annoyed. “Why do so many people call you,” he mumbled. But he sat up too, crawling up a bit on the bed and falling down onto one of the pillows with a huff. Len set his hand under his neck to prop his head up.
Barry lay back down on the bed beside Len. He lifted the phone to his ear and said, “Hello,” in a tired voice. Barry’s uniform had been tugged off almost completely except for his left foot which Len seemingly forgot to grab in his hurry to dig his fucking teeth into Barry’s sternum like he was crazy. Len was undressed completely, of course, since it was far easier to take off a shirt and jeans than a skin-tight uniform. (“I need to learn how,” Len had insisted when Barry offered to take the costume off himself.)
And it was Joe on the line. “Barry,” he said, “sorry to do this, were you asleep?”
“Asleep?” Barry said, confused. He dropped the phone to his cheek, and gestured to his wrist.
“Two-thirty four,” Len replied quietly.
“Oh it is late,” Barry realized.
“You were out?” Joe said, obviously amused.
“I was uh,” Barry started to say, and then Len’s hand was wrapping around Barry’s hand, “hanging out with Cisco-” Len’s eyes were dark, his expression predatory and gleeful as he held Barry’s hand tight and shifted his body until he was flushed up against Barry’s side, “-and I crashed at his place. Video games, you know.”
“Alright,” Joe said, and Barry didn’t know if Joe believed him. There had been a lot of close calls. A lot of nights when maybe Barry couldn’t convince Joe he’d actually come home (when he hadn’t) or Len called him a little too late, and Barry acted a little too eager to run off to “Star Labs”. (“Star Labs again? They know you have a day job, right?”)
Len kissed Barry’s shoulder.
“Anyways, I just was called in to check out a scene in Chinatown. Two perps were… well, looks like they stopped to take a gangster photo- or whatever those are called these days, we have their phones, anyway our M.E. is guessing they died of blood loss- looks like they rolled around in broken glass and tried to crawl out of here,” Joe was explaining.
Barry dug his elbow into Len’s side. ‘Stop’, he mouthed with a grin.
“So I’m going to need some kind of super backup on this one. It looks like the guys were having an argument with some guy calling himself Mirror Master-”
Len’s eyes widened with recognition and he smirked. His voice a low whisper against Barry’s ear, he whispered, “I know him.”
“Stop,” Barry mumbled between closed teeth, pressing his shoulder up against his ear to get Len away.
“Barry… is there any reason you can’t come out right now, check out the scene? I told the chief you might be awake now, but I can tell him you’re not?” Joe’s voice was maybe amused, definitely curious, and a little bit annoyed and indignant. Secret relationships were… not easy.
Len dropped his hand to Barry’s groin.
“Yeah, I am literally asleep right now,” Barry said and he hung up the phone before Joe could reply.
4. Barry wasn’t the only person wearing a black mask over his face. There was a group of five (very muscular, heavily tattooed, and rowdily drunk) men in dark black, ninja-turtle-esque face-masks. There was a young woman playing pool, and the man she was with had a mask. Maybe a fifth of the people at the bar had one, so at least Barry isn’t the only non-invested non-criminal presence here.
He was in a large, lounge room over a warehouse. The place was lit entirely from the fairy lights hanging on the sides of the walls and the electric, flickering candles at the center of each table to the far left of the bar. The bar looped over one entire corner, preparing mostly drinks and a couple different appetizers for those attending. There’s was a pool table and a blackjack board, though the floor was open to a large, black space over the marble floor as a woman in a long gray cocktail dress sang jazz versions of folk songs while playing the piano.
Barry wasn’t sure if he’s underdressed or overdressed; the entire population of this… club was extremely varied in what they were wearing. He had on a good dress shirt, dark blue with a light gray pattern on the sleeves and cuffs, but he was wearing jeans on underneath them. Len was lounging down at one of the tables, talking to someone who had recognized him (“From where?”, “Trust me, Barry, you don’t want to know.”). Len’s dress jacket was tossed against his chair, his sleek black dress shirt rolled up on his forearms; the collar of the shirt and cuffs were white. Len had on black dress jeans that were tight in all the right places; and his shoes were expensive black and white vintage pattern that… did Barry mention it looked expensive, because Len looked expensive.
The only thing Barry had that looked expensive was the mask Len had given him; something sleek and black that went over his nose and left plenty of room around Barry’s eyes and mouth.
“Your drinks,” the bartender said. She slid a glass of single malt whiskey and scotch on the rocks toward Barry. Barry had wanted to order soda, but the moment he stepped into this classy (full of criminals and apparently Prohibition-themed) jazz bar he’d felt too awkward to refuse alcohol, no matter how useless. “Thank you,” Barry said.
“Both for you?” The woman sitting at the bar beside Barry asked. She had long, flowing blond hair that curled right at her shoulders and blue eyes shining through the black facepaint she had slipped over her eyes in the form of a mask, which was a rather ingenious and somewhat beautiful way of disguising her face.
“For uh,” Barry said, “for me and my friend.”
The woman leaned her elbows on the bar, the shoulder strap of her dress sliding down her arm in the image of slightly-drunk decadence. “Is he as cute as you?” She asked Barry, her lips pouting slightly in a way that she seemed to think made her look more attractive. “You’re adorable,” the woman said.
“That’s not exactly what I was going for,” Barry said, a bit amused and a bit annoyed but mostly feeling exceedingly flattered that this woman, this Kate Moss-look-a-like with shining golden hair and some sort of mysterious criminal past, saw Barry of all people and decided to flirt with him. “Thank you, you’re very-”
“You’re so cute,” the woman said seductively. She reached out, making like she was wiping away a piece of dirt on Barry’s cheek, and softly brushed her fingers over his cheekbone. “How did you get in this place, cutie?”
Len’s voice was loud when he spoke, coming from straight behind Barry. Barry jumped up when he heard it, he hadn’t noticed Len at all. “Him?” Len said sharply, “He got in the same way everyone else did. He had a connection, which is me.”
The woman looked up at Len with a bit of drunken confusion. “Oh come on, Leonard, where do you find cute boys in places like this? Can’t you give me a break?”
Len’s hand slammed down loudly on the bar. The attendant came rushing over, holding a full bottle of wine with the plug in her other hand in her rush. “Frankie is drunk. Please call her a cab,” Len said.
The bartender nodded instantly, heading swiftly up to the front of the bar to complete the order. The woman sighed, obviously annoyed, into her drink, and she opened her mouth to say something to Barry.
She didn’t get a chance to complete whatever it was; Len slipped his hand around Barry’s face and pulled him in for a kiss. Len’s fingers rested smoothly under Barry’s jaw, his face stroked slowly across Barry’s cheek toward his ear and his mouth pushed roughly into Barry’s.
Barry had to arch his back to keep from being pressed into the bar, his palms bracing backwards against the wood. Len’s lips pressed into Barry’s his jaw at an angle so their faces seemed to lock together, Len’s nose pushed into his skin. His mouth hungrily grasped for Barry’s, barely even rising from his face to catch Barry’s lips in his own in a rough kiss.
Len’s other hand grabbed the side of Barry’s neck and his hands lifted Barry up closer into him. Len’s focus seemed entirely thrown into this, into greedily pushing his face into Barry’s, kissing his lower lip, the bottom of Len’s jaw pushing into Barry’s with his intensity.
Holy, Barry thought, his eyes flickered shut and his hand reached up to grab the expensive, lovely black silk material of Len’s shirt.
When Len pulled away, his mouth was soft and his lips seemed to fall away like melting water slipping from a glacier. His warm skin slipping backward even as Barry leaned forward, trying to hold onto whatever that was for a moment longer. “Can you call me a cab too, while you’re at it?” Barry heard Len say.
1. Barry hadn’t really planned to be dangling the Pied Piper from the top of a ferris wheel; but the man had released his sonic blades right at Barry’s feet when Barry had grabbed his cape to throw him. The force had thrown the two of them up in the air, and now Barry had one arm wrapped over the side of the three story ferris wheel and the other was thrown outward with the Pied Piper holding onto it for dear life.
It was Trickster’s fault, that young protégé of Jesse James, Axel Walker, who had kidnapped a moving truck with three nuns and a volunteer firewoman. Of course it was nuns- with the help of Pied Piper apparently, because if there was one thing that seemed to bring the freaks of Central City together it was their apparent enjoyment of fucking with Barry’s day. “
Don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go,” Hartley, the Pied Piper, was chanting as he held onto Barry’s wrist with a deathgrip.
At least the traveling circus was dead for the night and the Ferris wheel wasn’t moving. “Hold on,” Barry growled. He tried to swing his legs up to where his arm was, maybe get enough force to pull the both of them up. He couldn’t; maybe if he didn’t have the load of Hartley’s body pulling him toward the floor below. He let out a gasp of frustration.
Those nuns and the firewoman were counting on him.
“Hartley,” Barry said. He tried to pull himself up again and got nothing but aches of pain from his shoulder muscles. He glanced at the drop below… three stories. Alright, if he let Hartley fall and managed to regain his footing, then he could run down the side of the wheel and be going fast enough from the motion of that fall to grab Hartley at the bottom with the forward moving force absorbing his own speed… Hartley wouldn’t even get a broken bone as long as Barry timed it perfectly. “If I let you go-”
“No please don’t you dear let me go, I will kill you- I will kill you! The Rogues will kill you; I’ll have Trickster boil you in a dunk tank; I’ll have Captain Cold freeze you and drop you in Antartica-”
“Oh, good luck with that,” Barry scoffed. Trying one last time, he swung his lower body at one of the metal rungs on the Ferris wheel. His ankle connected, just barely. In a rush of motion Barry hooked his ankle up around that metal bar, his knee getting over it and- though the metal dug painfully into his shin, he figured if he could get his other leg on the bar than he could have enough strength to pull both himself and Hartley up.
“I will!” Hartley snapped, “I know things about Cold, I know what he liked and it has nothing to do with women, trust me!”
Barry paused for a brief moment, looking at Hartley in annoyance because here Barry was trying to save Hartley’s life and all the man could talk about were threats.
Hartley seemed to interpret the look as disbelief. His hands were slowly starting to slid off of Barry’s wrists and his voice grew more panicked. “If you drop me, when I get out of the fucking hospital I will send Captain Cold to kill you, I swear,” he snapped, his expression a complex mix of fear and anger, “I have ways of getting men to do what I want-”
“Well you’re not convincing me not to drop you,” Barry said with a painful groan. Hartley was practically tearing his shoulder out of place- seriously, super-speedy-strength aside this was a hell of a workout. He couldn’t help but tease Hartley a little, even as he was working to bring his other leg up on the metal bar so he could pull the two of them to safety. “Though the idea you’re willing to hook up with a guy like Snart just to kill me is flattering.”
“I mean, have you seen the guy though? I was pretty much planning to hook up with Cold before, I mean the guy’s brilliant and the whole daddy-vibe I get from him-”
Barry gagged at the idea. “Oh god, shut the fuck up and just let me save your miserable life, Piper,” he said with a burning anger seeping in his stomach. His mind started to play up a fantasy of punching that aggravatingly smug mouth of Hartley’s until it swelled up so much the man stopped talking.
“I mean, I know I’m dangling for my death but- like you have seen the guy, right? Captain Cold is pretty damn hot so if I have to suck anyone’s dick to murder you for dropping my on the concrete I would be really happy to suck that dick,” Hartley kept talking, "just saying."
Barry just glared at him as a passionate rage surged up in his chest. “What?” Hartley said, and then his eyes widened with recognition, “oh no, please don’t let me go, I will kill you- I swear I’ll-”
Barry dropped him.