Chapter Text
To say Len does not expect to wake up to Barry Allen drooling against his collarbone, his own neck screaming its displeasure at the angle he’d collapsed in, would be something of an understatement. Barry’s hands are pressed close beside Len’s ribs, his breath fanning warmly against Len’s throat.
It takes him a moment—the cool sheets and the warm body holding him down so easy to slip back into, a kind of comfort he’s not used to but could definitely become accustomed to. He takes that moment, warm, held, and then allows the illusion to promptly shatter. Len snaps up, wrenching his abused neck and jolting Barry where he’s still decidedly passed out.
“Hey,” Len groans, shaking the speedster by the shoulders. “Get up.”
He regrets it, a little, the moment he does it. Barry is lax in sleep—there’s a tension Len has almost stopped noticing about Barry, but seeing him without it is a bit of a trip. As soon as his eyes open, Barry’s posture changes, sprawled as it is across Len’s body; his shoulders broaden, his mouth in a lightly downturned pout. His hands tighten around Len’s chest, fingers pressing into the bumps of Len’s ribs, and his green eyes blink up at him.
“Don’t,” Barry says, voice rough with sleep.
Len slips out from under him, retreating self-consciously into his all-black clothes.
“Don’t what?” Len asks, disinterestedly.
Barry tips onto his side, so dangerously close to the edge of the narrow medical bed that Len has to fight the urge to reach for him and drag him back to safety.
“Don’t pretend that didn’t just happen.”
“There’s a difference between pretending it didn’t happen and not caring,” Len says, before giving Barry a pointed look.
Barry’s face winces and Len hates that he immediately feels guilty. The most frustrating and annoying thing about not being such a cold-hearted bastard anymore, is… not being cold-hearted. Len knows he’s still a bastard, but he cares now. It’s so freaking inconvenient.
For instance, he cares that Barry is upset with him. Why? Don’t ask him, he has no damn idea.
“I’m going for a walk,” he announces.
“Where?” Barry wonders aloud, but Len is already gone.
It’s a fair fucking question, Len acknowledges upon reflection. The problem with having sex with someone while trapped in a three-room prison dimension together is that there aren’t many places to avoid each other. The Cortex and its adjacent rooms have see-through windows everywhere and Len categorically refuses to go hide in the shower like a small child so his options are really only the one.
He makes his way towards the empty hangar-like room Barry has deemed the speed lab, closing the door behind him before forcing himself to take a deep breath and to pull himself back together. There’s something caught, almost painfully hard, in his chest. He thought it might fade once he moved away from Barry’s immediate proximity, but it hasn’t.
Len paces.
Fifteen steps to cross the room.
Fifteen steps back.
Len’s feet are wearing a groove into the floorboards.
But his mind is still on Barry.
Fifteen steps across.
Barry and his damn trust and his damn face and his damn cute belief in Len. Fucking isn’t about feelings: you fuck the feelings away. That’s how it works, how it has always worked.
Turn.
Barry’s own words echo in Len’s ears: Experimenting. Curiosity. Barry was sad and lonely, and maybe he wanted to be wanted by someone he knew, even if he didn’t feel anything for Len in particular. Len knows what it’s like—needing someone’s attention when your loneliness is suffocating, and the thrill when that person is also the first one to see you as you are, not the you from a year ago, five years ago, ten.
Fifteen steps back.
He remembers the first time he met Barry, properly met him—no masks at all, just the two of them in the dark of the woods at night. Len failed to recognize the change, then, looking into Barry’s face haloed by the moon, the power so potent upon him Len could taste it in the air. Len has always been attracted to dangerous things; he couldn’t quite resist the temptation to ask for a ride back to town and leave it to Barry to interpret Len’s cocked head and lingering gaze whichever way he chose. Len wasn’t particularly bothered when Barry laughed and skittered off in a flurry of wind and dry leaves. It was just a bit of fun. A flirtation. Len has had so many of those. They never mean anything.
Len flexes his numb fingers. His hands feel oddly tender, but the pins-and-needles tingling is nothing new. It’s been happening to him on and off since he held down the Oculus’ kill switch and got blown up to smithereens. Without pills to alleviate it or drinks to down it, Len just sort of pretends it isn’t happening. He knows he’s not going to die from it. It’s just a consequence. Len has had his fill of those.
Hadn’t they started to trust each other, hadn’t they gotten along? They’d found something so unexpected here, arising naturally from the shape of Barry’s smile, the pull of his loneliness. Now it’s all so embarrassing, when before it had been—
Inconvenient. Unexpected. Complicated. But not bad. Len had been prepared for a battle that never really came and he doesn’t want to give up what he got instead. If Len keeps control of it, if he keeps things neat, maybe he won’t have to.
He can’t afford to let this mean more than it actually does.
Of course that’s easier said than done. The limited space and limited populace make run-ins more inevitability than probability, but being alone with Barry now has all the awkwardness of a morning after. It betrays the camaraderie they’d cultivated to have to start sidestepping each other again, avoiding collision thanks to months of practice at this point, but very aware of where the other is at all times.
Barry laughs a little, awkwardly. “Uh, so if I ask how you’re doing, are you gonna bite my head off?”
“No,” Len says, testily, because he can’t now that Barry has pointed it out. “I’m peachy, Scarlet.”
“You totally seem it,” Barry says wryly.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Len asks casually, but he’s watching Barry with sharp-eyed interest.
Barry nods, giving his hair a ruffle and looking distractedly towards the medbay, where the bed is. “Right,” he says, sucking in a soft breath. “We should probably, um—talk, but I don’t—I—”
He sighs, in and out quick like he’s trying to shake off tension, and Len starts to wonder if maybe he’s not the only one who has no idea how they’re supposed to do this.
There’s good ideas, and then there’s bad ideas, and then there’s whatever the fuck it is Len and Barry are doing now.
When all Barry seems capable of is a haphazard mumble, Len decides to cut him a break. “Barry, I don’t know what I’m doing either, if it helps,” Len says, not looking at him. “I don’t have a plan for this. I don’t know if there is a plan for this. But I know it felt good when it was happening. I hope it was like that for you, too.”
Barry doesn’t look as reassured as Len hoped he would. If anything, he looks even more miserable.
Noncommittally, Len says, “It’s fine.” He holds the edge of the desk, his back revealing all the tension his voice won’t. “You were lonely. You wanted to feel better. I’ve had sex with plenty of people for worse reasons than that. You don’t have to—You can go on your merry heterosexual way and not think twice about it, if you don’t want to.”
“Leonard. That’s not—” Barry struggles to explain what it is or isn’t, settling on, “Can’t you see how this is all a little crazy? Until a few hours ago we’d never even kissed, and now we’ve had—” His voice drops until it can barely be heard, like he’s about to mention something unspeakable. “Sex.”
He seems embarrassed by that. Fine. Len understands.
Except he doesn’t, actually, because Barry has been the one to make every move. Len wouldn’t have. He promised himself that he would only take as much as he was given.
Barry kissed him and looked at him and acknowledged that he wanted it. He sighed under Len’s mouth and peeled his clothes off with no sign of hesitation.
“And?” Len asks, with patience he doesn’t feel. His palms burn.
“And!” The word pitches back up sharply. “That’s not normal!"
Len’s jaw locks. “For you,” he snaps. “It’s not normal for you.”
Len has had sex with people immediately following first kisses. Sometimes preceding. By comparison, he has known Barry quite a while already.
“Well, yeah, I’m talking about myself,” Barry fumbles. “Sorry that I’m not a super cool criminal who can have sex with anybody and have it not mean anything. I never even thought I would want to, not after—Iris—”
He says Iris’s name in a scrunched way that might mean he’s gritting his teeth, or that saying it quickly will ultimately hurt less. Like pulling out a splinter. Ripping off a bandaid.
Bitterly, Len thinks, of course. Of course this is where Barry’s mind is at, because sex and love are all mixed up for him, and Iris is who he loves.
Len bites the tip of his tongue. He can practically hear Lisa in his head. You are being needlessly pathetic over this guy. “Gotcha. You tried it and you didn’t like it. No one would hold that against you.”
“Stop saying that, that’s not true—”
“Did you enjoy it?” Len interrupts. “Did it feel good?” The room swerves into sudden silence, and even Len can hear how his tone is dangerous, dark and tempting. He lets it deepen, each question coming out quieter and slower. “Did you want it? Did you think it was hot? Were you happy?”
There is a tight, airless moment and then they’re surging towards each other, kissing furiously. It doesn’t matter if Len’s paranoid that Barry could just be doing this to pull Len’s strings, to be in control for once—Len still feels himself get so pliable it’s stupid. He tries not to betray it—but almost as soon as he starts it, Barry scrambles back again.
“I don’t know how to do this!”
Len closes his eyes and inhales once, deeply; holds it, exhales. Opens his eyes. “You were doing fine until just now.”
Heavy-lidded, Barry watches him, the weight of his gaze dragging over Len’s body and then back to his face. “I like you,” Barry says, a kind of quiet fierceness in it. “I’m not saying I don’t like you.”
Len considers gripping his hair too tight and pulling him close, or pushing him off and going down on him here on the floor. He can make it so good that Barry will forget to look at him.
“Then what are you saying?” Len demands.
When Barry can’t come up with an answer, Len sighs. “I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, kid. This doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be whatever we need it to be to get through the goddamn day.”
Barry laughs, an unexpected laugh and therefore the best kind. “So we can do it as long as we don’t talk about it?”
Leave it to Barry, Len thinks. The option to just keep fucking the sadness out of each other is literally right there for the taking. But of course, Barry wants to talk things through first.
Len doesn’t need someone to talk to about his feelings. Len barely has any. “What’s there to talk about? It’s just stress relief.”
He’s not sure how to read the expression that crosses Barry’s face. “Alright, if you say so,” he says. Hesitancy lines his face; not distaste, not exactly, but a very clear kind of doubt. “I just wanted to be sure.”
“Now you’re sure,” Len says, his head buzzing from Barry’s unnecessary proximity. He’s beginning to hate this, the way his skin hums when the other man gets too close.
Len hesitates a moment and then puts his hand out. His heart is beating a little too fast, but he says it anyway: “Friends?”
Barry tilts his head a little and gives Len a searching look. “Friends,” he says, taking Len’s hand.
Touching Barry has always been a strange phenomenon for Len, and he still doesn’t know why, but he has a feeling that the tingles running up and down his hand have something to do with it. It’s like Barry is the source of an electric current, and any time Len’s skin contacts his, he taps into it–only this electricity isn’t unpleasant to touch; instead, it’s heady and addictive, and makes Len’s body respond in ways that he had no idea it was capable of. It makes him uncomfortable, but also intrigues him beyond belief.
The handshake lingers just a little too long, and then they’re kissing again, too close not to, too easy to give in.
“Is this what friends do?” Barry asks when they pull apart, with that little bit of sarcasm in his voice that Len likes despite himself.
“Depends on the friends,” Len murmurs at him, in a low, contemplative voice, his mouth right next to Barry’s ear and Len’s breath sending shivers down his neck. “We can be friends, just… more."
“More,” Barry repeats.
“More,” Len says. His fingers curl into fists where they rest against Barry’s biceps, wanting to touch and not touch at the same time. “Better. Benefits. Whatever word you want to use. Friends doing favors for friends. We can have rules.”
“I had a feeling you might say that.” Barry’s definitely making fun of Len now, but he presses his mouth just as soft and teasing to the line of Len’s throat, so Len doesn’t mind as much. “What kind of rules?”
“No investment,” Len gasps. “That’s a rule. No feelings. No–no cuddling.”
At that, Barry pulls back up to meet Len’s eyes, offended. “You can’t ban cuddling,” he says. “Cuddling is integral.”
Len gives him an unimpressed look. “Really, Barry?” Len drawls. “That’s your line in the sand?”
Barry crosses his arms over his chest. “It might be, yeah,” he says, but then his eyes meet Len’s, twinkling. “I don’t know if I can have sex with someone who doesn’t cuddle after. That’s kind of a deal breaker, actually.”
He’s teasing and his eyes are bright, which makes him look more like his old self, maybe. He doesn’t look like someone whose whole world has ended.
“Fine, yes, alright,” Len concedes with an eye roll and a long-suffering sigh, though he points at Barry in warning. “But only post-coital cuddles, none of that falling asleep in each other’s arms crap.”
“I can agree to those terms.” Barry is very smug; it’s not a terrible look on him. Then he curls his fingers around the collar of Len’s jacket, the movement easy and natural and only the slightest shadow of predatory. It’s the only warning Len gets before Barry runs them to the medbay.
Len, caught entirely off guard, can only hold on for the ride, a laugh getting caught somewhere behind his tonsils as he tumbles onto the bed, half underneath Barry. It’s like going from zero to a million with him. It happens in a flash, a moment so sudden that in the expanse of time, Len doubts it takes up a single second. It’s there and gone, leaving him floundering in its wake. But the emotion that rises up inside of him is so fierce and true, that it steals his breath away. He parts his lips to suck in air. He feels like he’s drowning, that he’s going to be swept up in a torrent of feelings and emotions and get lost in them.
He does the only thing that makes sense, and lifts his head to press his mouth against Barry’s. It catches him off guard, Len can tell by the way he inhales sharply, but a moment later it doesn’t matter because Barry’s mouth is open and wet and his tongue is diving into Len’s mouth, licking and caressing.
Len grunts, shifting against the bed, and lifts his arm to press the flat of his palm against Barry’s back, pulling him closer. Barry slides in the bed, scooting close, and his hand cups the side of Len’s face. Len’s hands begin roaming restlessly down the plane of Barry’s back, over the thin cotton of his t-shirt, exploring the way his spine and ribs poke against his skin, how the muscles dip and quiver.
Barry breaks their kiss with a wet pop, and Len barely has time to wheeze in a desperate breath before Barry is nudging Len’s face to the side and then sliding his mouth against Len’s neck. Len groans, letting his head fall to the side to give Barry more room. It’s getting hard to breathe and Len’s heart is hammering in his rib cage. He swallows, squinting his eyes open, to try to focus on something, anything, other than the way it feels like he’s slowly spiraling out of control.
Barry slowly sucks on the skin of Len’s neck, lapping his tongue against the junction where it meets Len’s shoulder. It’s hard and soft at the same time, and agonizingly hot. Suddenly, Len feels the sharp nip of Barry’s teeth against the definition of his collar bone, and Len lets out a sound that drags into a moan as Barry slides his lips against it, kissing the tender area, and then pokes his tongue out to soothe it.
“Fuck, Scarlet,” Len mutters. Everything is happening too fast. One second, they were in the lab arguing over rules, and the next, Barry’s practically on top of him, his mouth fused to Len’s neck. Len’s senses are clouded by the smell of him, the blood rushes and pounds in Len’s ears, and he has to repress the urge to rock his hips against nothing, and tiny little grunts and whines struggle in his throat, trying to break free.
Barry’s free hand is shameless, sliding up and down Len’s side, slowly drawing up the shirt Len is wearing until his torso is bare. Barry begins rubbing his fingers over Len’s ribs, sweeping his thumb up and down Len’s stomach as his palm cups Len’s side. It’s a maddening rhythm, slowly up, stopping just below the pec, and then all the way down, until Barry’s palm cups the sharp definition of Len’s hip.
Barry still has a hand on Len’s face, and he uses it to tilt and angle Len’s head in order to give himself the best space to move over Len’s neck. Len has one hand gripping Barry’s hair tightly, his fist squeezing, and the other one settled low on Barry’s back, clawing into the loose fabric of his shirt.
Barry sucks at the hollow place between Len’s collarbones and it feels like something inside of Len explodes. He sucks in a ragged breath, his muscles tensing and his back arching off the bed. He can feel the vibration of Barry’s mouth against his skin.
Len tugs on Barry’s hair and pulls his face closer, swallowing Barry’s mouth in a desperate kiss. Len needs time to think. He needs time to stop and process this, analyze it. He’s not good with new situations. He still can’t believe that Barry has this effect on his body. It doesn’t even seem real, it’s so intense, and Len is so goddamn turned on and so goddamn sober.
Len’s chest is heaving with the effort it took to suck in air, and his insides coil and clench when Barry tugs on Len’s lower lip, running his tongue over it. Len can’t stop the moan that goes into Barry’s mouth, and Barry swallows it greedily.
“Damn, Barry,” Len says a moment later, pulling his head away from him to suck in air. Barry’s face is red and swollen and he looks at Len with eyes that glint fiercely. There’s that cocky smile on his face again and it make Len’s insides quiver.
“I like kissing you,” Barry admits, his face hovering a few inches above Len’s. Barry’s thumb spreads a gentle pressure along Len’s bottom lip, and it makes Len’s skin tingle.
Len heaves in a huge breath and then pulls his hand up quickly to press against Barry’s shoulder before he can dive back in. Len feels like there is some kind of dangerous pressure building in his body and he can’t control it, and it’s so desperate and aching that he doesn’t understand it. He needs to find some way to slow this down.
But his body doesn’t want to slow down. It’s like there are two different beings inside of him, one of them the regular Len who is unable to deal with the loss of control, and the other one, an animalistic one, that doesn’t care. He closes his eyes tightly and swallows, making a conscious effort to stop himself from pressing up against Barry, craving contact.
Len slowly opens his eyes and Barry is looking down at him, his face showing the slightest shadow of confusion. Len is still gripping Barry’s shoulder, maybe too tightly.
“What about when I kiss you?” Len whispers. Barry’s eyes grow wide, and Len sees color rising in his cheeks. “Do you like that?”
Barry hitches in a slight breath and Len smiles, suddenly confident. He pushes against Barry again. “Sit up, Scarlet,” Len says in a low tone. Barry immediately shifts backwards and then sits on his heels. Len follows him, before giving Barry another lidded smile and reaching down to tug at the place where his knee folds, pressing Barry’s thigh against his calf. Barry understands instantly, and slides until he’s laying down, his ass planted against the mattress.
Len crawls forward and then lifts himself over the speedster, straddling his thighs. Barry gasps quietly, and it makes Len’s blood thrum with excitement. He feels much better about this position–maybe because it’s familiar–but it also puts him in control. He likes it, and he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning or suffocating or like everything is happening too fast anymore.
Things are happening more slowly and deliberately now, at a pace that Len sets. He presses a soft kiss against Barry’s lips first, brushing his thumb over the place in Barry’s neck where his pulse beats so rapidly it can scarcely be felt. Slowly, Len tilts his head and deepens the kiss, pushing against Barry’s tongue when he tries to slide it into Len’s mouth. Len feels Barry’s whole body vibrate in a moan and Len smiles, licking against the back of Barry’s teeth.
Barry’s arms drift around Len, and he squeezes Len’s ass with both of his palms, hard enough to jolt Len closer to him. Len sucks in a breath and then releases it, breaking away from their kiss to press his mouth against the side of Barry’s face, dragging it along the line of his jaw. Barry’s eyelids are fluttering and Len notices that his eyelashes are a dark gold color. They make spidery shadows against his cheekbones, and Len kisses there, too, marveling at the texture of his skin. Barry’s head rolls back, letting Len explore with his mouth and tongue, and Len spends what feels like a hot eternity dragging his lips over Barry’s face. By the time he makes his way down, around the curve of Barry’s jaw and towards the spot directly beneath his ear, Barry is panting and squeezing with his fingers, urging Len higher and more forcefully against him.
Len understands what Barry meant about kissing him and how it made him feel. His whole senses are drowning in Barry, and every little puff of air he feels explode against his skin send waves of arousal through him. His heart speeds up every time Barry kneads his ass, and the way Barry’s skin taste is surreal. It’s addicting, and Len sucks at his neck, taking Barry’s skin into his mouth, trying to find the source of it.
Barry is pushing against Len, his body rocking with a subtle rhythm. It’s amazing to see how running his tongue just there, against the crazy, erratic pulse in Barry’s neck, draws out a little grunt and makes Barry’s hips jolt. Len is surprised when Barry drags his hands away from the lower part of Len’s ass and begins palming his thighs, rubbing and kneading them. It makes Len’s stomach tremor. He pulls away a little so he can look Barry in the eye.
“What do you want?” Barry asks, his voice both deeper and steadier than Len expects. “Tell me, Leonard.” The words are strangely intimate, somehow, even though all Barry did was say Len’s name.
Len wants, he wants–
But no. He needs the rules. Without them there’s no telling what would happen.
“I want you to shut up and kiss me again,” Len says, right before his lips meet Barry’s again, hard enough to keep him from saying anything else.
Wanting things is fine, Len tells himself firmly. Needing them is what makes you weak.