Chapter Text
“No.”
“No? Just like that? Don’t you—”
“I said no.”
“Hmm,” Snart eyed him up and down, looking deep in thought before relinquishing his grip on Barry’s wrists to let him up. Barry ignored the pain that shot up his side as he put pressure on his leg, already healing from their admittedly half-hearted fight, watching Snart warily as the other man rocked back on his heels before getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off his knees. There was something unreadable in his eyes, but his lips, as always, were still twisted into that infuriating smirk, making a point of showing he was obviously not intimidated by the glare Barry was sending his way. “That quick? Ouch. Come on, you didn’t even think about it.”
“I’m not interested,” Barry continued to glare, but found himself forced to look away when it became clear that Snart wasn’t going to, his cheeks heating up under the intensity of the other man’s stare.
“You sure about that?” Snart had the gall to laugh, the sound making Barry’s skin crawl in ways that it probably shouldn’t. “That’s an impressive blush you’re sporting there, Scarlet. I think it might say otherwise.”
Barry spluttered, backing away from Snart’s touch, swatting his hand away as he tried to brush the back of it against Barry’s cheek, no doubt feeling how warm the skin must be underneath his fingers. Snart let his arm fall back to his side, but grinned all the more at Barry’s reaction.
“Shut up, this just—it just happens. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Fair,” Snart shrugged, but refused to let the matter drop, because apparently he existed be a thorn in Barry’s side. A stupidly smug, good looking thorn. “But do tell me, Barry, if you’re not in the least bit interested in my…offer…why flirt back?”
“I—what?” Barry’s eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, and for a moment he considered just running away and saving himself the trouble of answering. But he couldn’t—this problem wasn’t going to go away no matter how far or fast he ran. “I don’t flirt with you!”
“Oh?" Snart clicked his tongue, squinting at Barry and then shaking his head like he was disappointed at what he found there. "You’d have to be slower than I thought not realize that our banter isn’t of the typical…hero-villain variety.”
As a matter of fact, he had, but he'd always just chalked that up to the fact that Snart wasn't exactly a typical villain, not because he—definitely not because he was trying to—not flirting. God. Because he wasn't.
“Please, we both know you’re not really all into the villain thing anymore," he said, allowing a grin of his own, finally seeing a way out of their current conversation. And more importantly, a way to push Snart’s buttons right back. "I have other friends on the Waverider, you know. We talk. Apparently you’re quite the team player.”
“Hm. So you admit that I’m special, then?”
“I didn’t—stop twisting my words! I didn’t say that! You’re just—you’re not as bad as this whole act you put on.”
“Must I remind you that I was in the process of robbing that bank when you showed up and whisked me away to here? You could’ve just taken me to the police.”
“The others need you, you know, with the time travelling and um...yeah,” Barry shrugged uncomfortably, his suit suddenly feeling too tight under Snart’s calculating gaze. So much for taking control of the conversation, he thought bitterly. He swallowed hard, and forced himself to continue. “Besides, I could tell your heart wasn’t really in it. And if you’re in jail the only people I have to look forward to stop are ones that are actually trying to kill me, and where’s the fun in that?”
He was infinitely grateful that he had the foresight to turn off the comms in his suit before spoiling Snart’s heist, knowing that at this point altercations with Cold were more of a game than anything, one that he probably enjoyed a little too much and really didn’t need Cisco and Caitlin lecturing him about. If they’d overheard this, he’d never hear the end of it.
“Ah, see, I knew you enjoyed my company.”
Barry dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Really, he couldn’t win. “Look, just—I’m flattered, I guess? That you’re…attracted to me?” he paused, phrasing it like a question, and looked to Snart uncertainly, because he still had a hard time believing someone like that could be interested in someone like him, all lanky limbs and too-boyish features. Snart just smirked in response—of fucking course—and gave the tiniest jerk of his head, an almost imperceptible nod. Barry let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Right. Well, I’m flattered. But my answer is still no. I’m not—I don’t want that.”
Snart heaved a sigh, fiddling with something on the cold gun like he was determined to keep his fingers busy, and for the first time it struck Barry that he might actually be nervous. That Captain Cold could actually get nervous. “Whatever you say, Scarlet. You ask me, though, it’s only a matter of time before this—” he gestured between the two of them, both still rumpled and flushed, bright-eyed and a little beat up, “—finds its own outlet. Something’s gotta give, and I think we could agree that there’s a much better solution for the tension here. Hence my offer.”
“’Hence,’” Barry muttered under his breath, mocking him without much heat, because more than anything he just felt tired and hollow at the implications of Snart’s words. Why couldn’t he just get it? Why did everyone assume he wanted—ugh.
“It’s not going to happen,” he grit his teeth, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars, because in a way he knew Snart was right—that there was something more that hung in the air between them whether they were going at each other in a fight or speaking in civilian clothes, a tension that had little to do with being enemies but more to do with the looks they exchanged, the unmistakable spark between them. But more than that, he knew that he’d never be able to give Snart what he was asking, or accept what he was offering, because that wasn’t something he would ever or had ever wanted. The whole friends—enemies?—with benefits thing wasn’t something he would ever be interested in, because typically the only “benefit” was just—sex.
“You’re such a mystery, sometimes,” Snart sighed. Barry lowered his hands from his eyes to squint suspiciously at him, only to find the other man watching him closely, with something almost hurt in his expression. “The way you look at me sometimes, I could’ve sworn—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I get it.”
“Listen, I don’t—” Barry tugged his cowl off to run a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling far too stuffy beneath the material, his frustration mounting. He felt the need to explain himself, unsettled by the way Snart was frowning at him. “It’s not that I’m not—that I don’t find you attractive and—fuck, why am I even telling you this I just—”
Snart raised an eyebrow, irritatingly patient, and gestured for him to continue, clearly amused by his babbling. Barry crossed his arms and huffed, furious with himself for talking to begin with. He should’ve just left, he didn’t owe Snart an explanation, he didn’t need to tell him anything. And yet there was something nagging at him, a tiny part that wanted to explain, that needed him—needed someone—to understand.
“I don’t do sex, okay?”
“Ah,” Snart pursed his lips, looking more exasperated than disappointed. “Should’ve known, you don’t seem the type to me, after all. With all your hero morals and honor codes, no way you’d be interested in some casual fling, right? You must be—”
“No,” Barry grumbled, cutting him off and glaring down at the floor, wishing he could sink right through it. Of course Snart would assume—of course he wouldn’t get— “That’s not what I meant. I mean I don’t do sex at all. I’m—it’s not my thing. Ever. So—maybe you’re right, maybe there is some weird tension between us or whatever, but you’re going to have to find someone else to relieve that for you.”
“Oh,” Snart blinked, seemingly at a loss. Barry felt a flicker of satisfaction in his chest at that, because for once he actually seemed to have taken Snart off guard, wiped that stupid smug look off his face and left him without some snarky comeback. The satisfaction was fleeting, though, when the mortification set in at what he’d just admitted to fucking Captain Cold, of all people, something that he’d only ever told Iris before. He pulled the cowl back up, wanting nothing more than to hide and suddenly feeling far too exposed. Snart tilted his head at him, sensing his discomfort, and watched him with a curious expression. “Okay.”
“Yeah, so, I’m just gonna—” Barry jerked a thumb over his shoulder, refusing to meet Snart’s eyes again, certain his face must be near as red as his suit. He called the lightning to him and turned, ready to bolt, when he felt sudden, strong grip wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. Startled, he turned back to Snart with wide eyes, convinced the man was about to mock him, or tease him, or make some sort of jab at the vulnerable piece of information he’d just blurted out. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Barry berated himself, but Snart wasn’t smiling, and wonder of wonders, he didn’t look smug.
“Okay, then how about dinner?”
“What?” Barry gaped at him, certain he must’ve heard wrong. Whatever he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been…that. Especially considering not even five minutes ago, Snart had put the offer to be casual fuck buddies on the table, and now he was suggesting they just—spend time together. Fully clothed, completely innocent, and what the fuck was he going on about?
“Look, Scarlet,” Snart sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, his normally cool and composed mask cracking. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, but I’ve had a really long, shitty, couple of weeks, and Mick still isn’t talking to me, and Lisa’s still pissed I didn’t tell her about the time travelling thing, and I just—I don’t need sex right now. That was just—okay, that is what I meant when I said it, because I was looking for some sort of release and I thought you might too but—more than that, I could also just use some damn company and maybe a cheesy motivational speech or two, and Kendra and Jax tell me you’re good at that kind of thing.”
“I am good at that kind of thing,” Barry conceded, lifting his shoulder a bit with a smile tugging at lips and a confusing mix of emotions welling up in his chest. “But…seriously? You want my company?”
“Well, I did plan this whole little heist just to get you to come out here, so—”
“You planned a heist so that you could—you realize phones are a thing, right?”
“I don’t have your number,” he shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world, and Barry figured that for him it probably was. After all, this was the man who broke into his house before Christmas just to give him a warning, which—
“You could’ve just—I mean, you know where I live.”
“Because that went over so well the last time,” Snart rolled his eyes, before tilting his head at Barry with that look in his eye again, one that Barry was starting to recognize as appreciation. “Besides, I missed the suit.”
“Okay,” Barry rubbed at his temples, still processing what he was about to agree to. Because despite how ridiculous and out of the blue, well—he was going to agree. Truth was he could really use some company too, and it’d be nice to do that guilt-free, without worrying that he was putting his friends and family in danger just by being near them. And if that meant sitting down and having dinner with Leonard Snart—well. He did have a track record of making remarkably stupid decisions when he was lonely, and he was hungry. “Okay. I’ll go with you. Just—I’ll give you my number, I guess. No, actually—give me yours first, and I’ll text you a time and place.”
“You’ll text me? Why, Barry, that sounds like—”
“Like I’m choosing where we’re going and when? Yeah, Cold, I’m definitely picking, if we’re really doing this.”
“Fair enough,” he shrugged again, looking entirely too pleased with himself. And then that smirk was back, and Barry was sincerely regretting all his life choices, as per usual. “But you might want to change first, Flash.”