Work Text:
I
Snart is in the workroom, cold gun in pieces on the bench and a soft bristled brush in his hand. The door bangs shut.
“Hey, Len.” Raymond’s voice, chirpier than usual.
Snart doesn’t look around.
“What do you get from sitting on ice too long?” Ray’s closer now, on the verge of laughter.
Snart can feel the puppy-dog grin eating into his back. He sighs, deciding to wipe it off his face at the nearest opportunity.
“Polaroids!”
It’s not until Snart’s fist connects with Ray’s ribs with a satisfying crunch that he notices the phone pointing at him, camera light blinking.
II
The bridge is quiet as Snart turns the page, lounging across two seats. Hurrying footsteps, stifled giggles, and Ray’s in front of him.
“Hey Len, what do you call fifty penguins in the Arctic?”
Len licks his thumb. “I don’t care.”
“Lost. Get it? Because penguins live in the Antarctic!” Ray can’t contain himself, he’s cracking up.
Snart grits his teeth, focusing on his magazine. But Ray pushes his luck, shoving his phone further into Snart’s face.
“Don’t be so frigid, Cold!”
Magazine dropped, Snart’s hand grips Ray’s wrist like a vice, the other planting itself into his solar plexus.
III
The coffee machine bubbles, a teaspoon clinking against the side of Snart’s small porcelain mug. Ray’s gait behind him is instantly recognisable but he doesn’t turn; instead leaving his coffee steaming on the countertop as he waits for the inevitable.
“Why did Leonard Snart put his money in the freezer?” The mirth is still there, but there’s apprehension, too. And he’s standing further away, just out of arm’s reach. “Because he wanted cold, hard cash!”
Ray tries to make a break for it, but Len grabs him and pulls him back, straight into his closed fist.
IV
Shirtless, sweating, and breathing hard, Snart lands punch after punch into the bag hanging from the ceiling. He’d never been much of a boxer, and Mick held his own, but it felt good to hit something once in a while.
A snicker from the doorway broke his concentration.
“What do you call Leonard Snart with a six-pack?”
This time he turned, walking slowly toward Ray, who held his phone in front of him like a shield; backing away.
“The abdominal snowman!” and he ran.
Straight into Mick.
Two large hands closed over Ray’s shoulders and held him fast as a boxing glove impacted with his kidneys.
V
Admittedly the suit was a bit much – black shirt with a black tie under a black jacket – but, like most things, it suited him. The mission had been a success, after all. Snart stood at the window on the bridge, staring wistfully out at the night’s sky. A figure joined him, similarly suited, something flashing gripped in his right hand.
Ray cocked his head towards Len and gave him a mischievous half smile, “what do you get when you cross Leonard Snart with a vampire?”
Hands gripped Ray’s sleeves, shoving him hard against the hull. Snart’s lips found his in the semi-darkness, the heat of his breath against his skin as he kissed him – licking into his mouth before taking his lip between his teeth.
Snart’s hand splayed over his chest when he finally withdrew, drawing his mouth along Ray’s cheek to rest finally above his ear. His whisper cut through the heady silence between them, his usual drawl gone, replaced by something more enticing; almost a purr.
“Frostbite.”