Chapter Text
“It should be fine as long as no one takes off the blindfold who isn’t wearing the goggles provided to the CCPD by Mr. Ramon,” Barry told Eddie, who nodded, holding out his hand.
“Thanks, Flash. We remember,” he said, smirking. Barry tried not to smirk back, amused by the show of unfamiliarity that they were putting on for the detectives nearby.
“No problem. See you around,” Flash said, before zipping away.
It hadn’t been a difficult fight.
Bivolo had done what he’d always done, which was incite other people into a frenzied rage to distract them from stopping him. Once Barry had gone around and flashed Cisco’s anti-Raider flashlight in everyone’s eyes, Bivolo had been easy to stop. There’d been one tight spot where someone had thrown out an arm he wasn’t expecting and hit him in the face, but honestly, it hadn’t taken him that long to realize that his goggles had been dislodged. He found them and reaffixed them and he hadn’t been whammied, so it was all good. He was more worried about the arm of the guy who hit him. It had to have been like hitting a brick wall that was in motion.
The guy would be fine, but his arm was going to be in a cast for weeks.
“Alright, Cisco, what else you got for me?” he asked.
“Hold up, Barry, let’s do a sitrep here. That was Bivolo you just tangled with,” Cisco replied, and Barry snorted, which made his friend and partner in crime-fighting squawk. “Don’t snort, I remember what happened the first time you faced off against this guy. Now be honest. Did you see his eyes flash?” Cisco asked. Barry sighed.
“Course I did. That’s what he does. But I was wearing my goggles the whole time. Will you relax?” he laughed. Cisco conceded with that cute grumble of his.
“You’ve got a robbery on 49th street,” he reported. “Nothing fancy, guys with guns sounds like.”
“On it,” Barry said with a grin.
**
Two felonies and a petty theft later, Barry turned in his suit and flashed back to his apartment, tired but restless. He made himself two BLTs with too much bacon and a fried egg, washing it down with a protein shake that might last him to the morning. He washed his dishes and then went to take a shower to wash off stray plaster and grime from the streets. It was disgusting how much grease and grime built up at superspeed.
He turned the water as hot as he could stand and let it burn over him, turning his skin pink as he washed up and let his restless mind wander.
It’d been a busy week.
Mardon and Baez had tried to rob a diamond exchange.
Rathaway had been caught trying to rig a lottery.
Lisa and Mick had hit a bank, an art gallery, and a jewelry store and started several small fires.
Now Bivolo, and his obsession with his rainbow theme trying to steal an art instillation someone had made. A color sphere.
It’d been a week full of Rogues, really.
Well…
Barry frowned, hand slowing in the act of working shampoo into his hair.
Most of the Rogues, anyway.
He hadn’t seen Captain Cold all week.
Or the week previous.
Barry frowned a little more.
Or the week prior to that.
He’d be concerned if he had any right to be. Or if Captain Cold’s absence didn’t mean that Central City’s money wasn’t that much safer. Or if he hadn’t been assured by the various taunts of the other Rogues that Captain Cold was biding his time for a heist that would blow the socks off Central City’s Finest.
He should probably be concerned about how readily they had offered up assurances that Cold was fine to the Flash – his nemesis. He should probably be concerned that he was concerned. He shook his head and then rinsed away the soap from his hair.
He was trying to get Cold to give up crime and come to Team Flash, where he belonged.
That’s all.
There was no other reason for him to be concerned.
That would be ridiculous.
He sighed, ducking his head under the spray of hot water as he recalled his prison chats with Le—with Captain Cold. The surface disdain in those ice blue eyes hiding self-doubt. The perpetual smirk of those full lips a defense mechanism against the pain of the cage his life had made for him. A cage he was resigned to.
Not Barry.
Somehow, he would get Leonard to see that he could leave the past behind him and make his own life better. Make him see that he didn’t have to do it alone; that Barry would be there for him if he needed.
He gave a bitter laugh at his own thoughts and shook his head.
“Jeez, Barry, if you like him so much, why don’t you marry him,” he muttered, grateful for the hot water that hid his blush with already reddened skin. He dismissed the whole train of thought.
Or tried to, as he worked the conditioner into his hair.
He couldn’t quite shake Leonard from his mind, though. The way he moved. The way he planned. His smirk. His calculating, assessing gaze.
“What exactly do you want from me, Barry?”
The sudden memory sent an unexpected shock through Barry, and his breath hitched in his chest. He put a hand there, taking a minute to breathe, but the shock lingered, up though his shoulders before settling low in his gut. Barry shuddered, swallowing hard.
What did he want?
God, he couldn’t even say.
Everyone looked at Barry like he was some beacon of everything that was pure and just and good in the world, but Barry could never tell them how the fights he had with Captain Cold were better than eighty percent of the dates he’d gone on lately. How their banter felt too much like flirting – especially from his end. That this drive to lure Leonard away from a life of crime was more than a little in the interest of enabling him to be near the man in a way the others could approve of. Because then it wouldn’t be so horrifying to his friends if they ever found out just how bad he had it for Captain Cold.
“What exactly do you want from me, Barry?”
Everything.
Jesus, everything.
**
Barry was having a really weird day.
It didn’t start weird, as far as he was aware.
He woke up, took care of his morning...routines...
Went to work...
That was pretty much when everything started to fall apart.
He’d never had a problem working with anyone at the station before, but suddenly he was hyper aware of how attractive everyone was. How they smelled, how they walked, how their shirt colors brought out their eyes. He’d had more than one uncomfortable erection that he’d hid behind reports and bags, and his own jacket. It was bizarre.
Then, after work, he zipped over to STAR labs, and was further confused by how easily distracted he got by Cisco’s genius machinations, and the self-satisfied smile he got whenever something he did went perfectly. How Caitlin’s lip gloss shimmered in the light. How Iris’ hair bounced when she walked.
The last one had him leaving the room to splash water on his face. What was his deal? He hadn’t thought about Iris that way since...and she was with Eddie!
He shook his head and looked himself in the eye.
“Get a grip, Allen,” he hissed at himself, and took a few calming breaths.
“Hey, Barry, there you are,” Cisco said as he walked back into the main room. He blinked.
“What’s up?”
“Cold gun signature at a warehouse on the south side of the city. Looks like Cold’s vacation is over,” Cisco said, frowning.
Barry didn’t answer immediately, but that probably had something to do with the butterflies in his stomach or the way his heart was tangoing its way to arrhythmia.
“Can you get a more accurate location?” he asked, trying not to sound like any pimply teenager asking if the head cheerleader had talked about them, and if so, what did they say exactly?
“Working on it. Get going, I should have it by the time you get close,” Cisco assured him.
He ran.
It didn’t take long.
Cisco led him right to the warehouse where Captain Cold was using his gun for some nefarious crime, and Barry took his time scouting out the area before heading inside.
The warehouse held a bunch of shipping containers, among other things, and Barry found Snart almost immediately, navigating the maze of corridors in search of whatever it was that he’d come for.
The second Barry laid eyes on the thief, everything came off the rails.
“Len,” Barry said, causing the other man to whip around to face him, and god, had he always felt that tease of electricity in his spine when he said Snart’s name?
“Flash,” Len greeted with that smirk – that confident, secretive smirk. Len always looked like he knew something you didn’t and he couldn’t wait for you to realize what it was.
Barry wanted to lick that smirk.
While he considered the taste of Leonard Snart’s signature smirk, Len raised his cold gun. Barry dodged around the beam of absolute cold as if it were nothing. Cisco’s suit was upgraded to guard against the worst of the damage, Len never aimed for vital parts of his body anymore, and he was a fast healer anyway. He zipped and zagged across the empty space and then swatted the cold gun out of Len’s hands before grabbing ahold of that ridiculously fluffy parka that Len always wore. Len grabbed Barry’s wrists in his strong, gloved hands, but Barry determinedly walked him backwards into the nearest, obstacle-free piece of wall, his eyes on the clench of Len’s jaw. Len grunted a little when his back hit the wall, but Barry was being gentle as he put Len where he wanted him, so he paid it no mind.
“Len,” he said again, feeling that fission of excitement as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Captain Cold’s shock-slackened lips.
**
Leonard Snart froze, blinking behind his goggles as The Flash pressed kiss after gentle kiss to his lips. He still had Flash by the wrists, but the Scarlet Speedster didn’t seem that keen on escaping Len’s grasp. The opposite appeared to be true, in fact, as the kisses became less gentle and more demanding.
Len moved his lips to meet the next kiss experimentally, exploring The Flash’s reaction to his playing along. After all, it seemed unlikely – didn’t seem like Team Flash’s style – but it might have been some off the wall new tactic to discourage criminal behavior. They couldn’t possibly know that it would backfire in Len’s case, but then, from the helpless moan that dragged out of Flash’s throat at his participation, and the way the kissing became more aggressive in response, Len surmised that this wasn’t at all a ploy.
The Flash – beacon of hope and goodness in Central City – was licking his way into Len’s mouth like it contained the secret to string theory.
Len’s grip on Barry’s wrists tightened a little, even as he angled his head to better receive more kisses.
Why though?
It wasn’t that Len minded – there were worse ways to spend an evening than letting The Flash explore his dental history – but it was...unexpected. If Barry were a more conniving soul, Len would think that Barry was trying to seduce him to the side of puppies and sunshine and thankless heartbreak. Except that Barry wasn’t that devious and honestly expected that Len would come to the conclusion of his own heroism independently. So...Barry wasn’t trying to seduce him onto Team Flash; he was – apparently – just trying to seduce him.
The thought sent a frankly unsurprising bolt of heat down his spine, which relaxed against the wall. He widened his stance to better accommodate the press of Barry’s lithe, runner’s body against his own, which Barry took immediate advantage of with a pleased little moan. Len’s hands slipped from Barry’s wrists to his waist to hold him closer as he took charge of the kiss, giving his own little hum of pleasure when Barry’s hands abandoned his lapel and wound around his shoulders instead.
It wasn’t as if he’d never entertained the thought of The Flash (of Barry – of him and Barry) before. He wasn’t blind, and he was older, but he wasn’t dead. He’d seen Barry’s arms, knew that underneath that clever tri-polymer suit there was muscle that was good for more than just transporting Barry around the city at insane speeds. Had spent several quiet evenings post-planning thinking about what he might do if he ever got The Flash alone and at his mercy. He hummed a little into Barry’s mouth at the entertaining thought that he might be able to enact a few of those fantasies this very evening as he shifted one hand down to grab a handful of tri-polymer covered ass.
The noise Barry made as he broke the kiss – somewhere between a squeak and a whimper – did things to Len, and he smirked as he watched the younger man bite his lip before dilated green eyes fluttered open, looking at Len—
—and flashing purple?
Len frowned.
That wasn’t normal. His gut was starting to sink, and the dark enthusiasm he had for the notion of The Flash giving himself up for his nemesis waned considerably.
He lifted his hands away from Barry, repositioning his goggles to his forehead to get a better look at Barry, who smiled radiantly at the sight of Len’s blue eyes. The smile stuttered a little into confusion as Len grabbed his face to get a better look into his eyes.
“Barry,” he started, disregarding the wave of irritation that scoured the rest of his arousal away when Barry’s eyes flashed purple again. He let go of Barry’s face and tilted his head, leveling his most unimpressed glare at the younger man. “You have a run in with Bivolo earlier?” he asked, and Barry blinked.
“What?” he took in Len’s expectantly arched eyebrow and considered the question. “Um, I guess? Yeah, yesterday. He’s already in police custody,” he said, shaking his head slightly with a shrug, as if he couldn’t see the connection between his earlier encounter with the Rainbow Raider and his current behavior.
Len crammed his bitter disappointment into a box and sighed.
“Oh, Barry,” he said, shaking his head. Then he put his fingers over the small disc on the right side of Barry’s cowl, where he knew a communicator was embedded. “Attention Team Flash,” he said, injecting as much of his usual snide superiority into his voice as possible. Barry looked torn between alarm that Snart was contacting his team directly, and still deeply aroused by Snart’s...everything, apparently. Len decided to do something awful to Bivolo. Not too awful, because Barry would moon at him and give him The Speech about his imaginary ‘goodness’, but something. “Captain Cold here, being deeply disappointed that you aren’t keeping a closer eye on your mascot, considering he’s gone and got himself whammied by the atrociously titled Rainbow Raider,” he said, trying his best not to react to the way that Barry was still pressed up against him, or the way that he turned his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Len’s wrist.
Len couldn’t hear who replied with what – could only surmise as much by Barry’s sudden eye roll and the huff in his voice as he said, “Wha—Cisco, I’m fine. I’m not angry, I’m...” his eyes darted to Len, who arched an eyebrow at the unexpected attention. Barry smiled, wide and goofy. “I’m cool,” he said.
Len didn’t care that his snort was probably audible. He would deny it and the smile that broke onto his face for 1.5 seconds until his dying day. He shook his head and schooled his expression, even as he drank in the wide grin that Barry gave in response to his reaction.
“Anger does not appear to be the problem,” he reported to the still open connection. He had to move his hand to keep it on the communicator when Barry leaned forward again, and Len’s grunt of surprise was somewhat muffled by Barry’s mouth. He let Barry kiss him for a moment – because he was a villain, and villains do what they want, and also because Barry’s mouth tasted of coffee and innocence – before tilting his head back and away. “Barry, I’m talking,” he chided mildly. Barry did not sound at all sincere about the apology that was mumbled into his neck, and Len shivered at the gust of hot breath against his skin. He cleared his throat. “His eyes flashed purple, not red,” he continued, breaking off to grit his teeth when Barry started to mouth at his neck. He tilted his head to give Barry more room. “Given the evidence, I would say that Bivolo’s purple leads to amorous behavior,” he said, taking stock of his situation. Barry was pressed snugly enough against him that he could feel exactly how amorous Barry was feeling – as if the way he was attached to Len’s neck like a tick or the way his hands had wandered under Len’s parka weren’t equally important indicators. One was cupping his ass. He took a steadying breath. “But that’s just a guess,” he finished dryly, unable to hid the hitch in his voice when Barry’s hand squeezed.
Barry abandoned his neck momentarily to scowl, and his hand squeezed again.
“No. Seriously – guys, that’s not necessary,” he insisted, and Len shook his head.
“If whatever you just suggested has anything to do with coming to restore sanity to The Flash, it is absolutely necessary,” Len insisted, keeping his expression passive in the face of Barry’s look of betrayal and giving no indication to the way it made his guts twist.
“It’s really not,” Barry insisted.
“Ignore him. He’s delirious,” Snart said, before pulling his hand away from the communicator. He glanced around, eyeing a convenient nearby bench before looking at Barry. “Does that communicator turn off automatically?” He asked. Barry blinked, frowning slightly.
“Um, yeah, wh—”
It was Len’s turn to surprise Barry, surging forward into a scorching kiss as he yanked the cowl back from Barry’s face. Barry sucked in a breath but eagerly leaned into the kiss, hands on either side of Len’s face. With Barry sufficiently distracted, Len pushed forward off of the wall so that Barry had to backpedal in order to remain standing, hands shifting from Len’s face to his sturdy shoulders. Len used his momentum to mirror Barry’s move from earlier, walking him backwards all the way to the bench.
The back of Barry’s leg hit the bench, but the rest of him kept going, and he ended up sprawled on his back atop it, eyes wide but still incredibly dilated as he stared up at Len.
Len looked down at Barry, hands clenched to keep from shaking. His blood was pounding in his ears, and he was furious that Barry wasn’t in his right mind, because the things he wanted to do… He let his eyes travel over Barry’s body, not bothering to hide it from the other man, who gaped at the open appreciation in Len’s face before biting his lip on a moan.
Len made a decision, acting on it before he could change his mind.
He straddled Barry on the bench, grabbing a fist full of the scarlet suit he wore and pulling him upright until they were face to face, reveling in the curse of surprise that Barry barely managed to bite back.
“Listen to me, Barry Allen. I am going to ruin you,” he said, letting his voice drop into a register he used only for his most intimate of encounters. Barry’s eyes widened, and the flush of arousal in his cheeks returned in full force. Len shifted his hips in Barry’s lap and Barry let out a breathy utterance of surprise, planting his feet more firmly on the ground and grabbing for Leonard’s hip, which the thief generously allowed. “I am going to do things to you that you didn’t even know were possible. I’m going to leave you bruised and sore and wet and wrecked, and begging for more,” he promised, drawing in a hissed breath when Barry’s hand squeezed at his hip. Barry was panting, and his whole body was trembling as Len spoke, which he found very gratifying. “Memories of your sexual devastation will consume your idle thoughts, driving you to so much distraction that you will come running back for even so much as a taste of what I have to offer you,” he went on, watching Barry swallow hard between breaths and catching Barry’s hand by the wrist before it could slide towards the front of his pants. “And Barry,” he said, catching the speedster’s other hand too, despite his whining protest. “When this happens – and it will happen – it will be because you came to me of your own free will, under no other influence than your own, and begged me for it,” he said, before swallowing Barry’s moan.
**
“Ohmigod, ohmigod,” Cisco muttered as he parked the van and fumbled out of the car. He had the anti-Bivolo flashlight and the tracker that would lead him straight to Barry, as well as – apparently – Captain Cold. He also had a baseball bat, but that was unlikely to do much good and was mostly there to make Cisco feel better. He kept up a steady stream of muttered oaths as he made his way into the warehouse that the tracker had led him to.
He froze at a sudden low noise, holding his breath and willing his heart not to pound so goddamn loudly, before taking a few quick steps forward and turning a corner, and—
“Oh my—oh my god,” he blurted, sharply averting his gaze from the sight of his best friend aggressively making out with Captain Cold. He stared straight ahead, making a face, but like the observer of a train wreck, his eyes were drawn inexorably back, mouth dropped open in horror and revulsion.
Twenty feet away on a bench, Captain Cold was sitting on Barry’s lap, and Barry was happily gnawing on the supervillain’s neck. Cold, on the other hand, was looking at Cisco.
First, he eyed the bat, giving a huff and arching an eyebrow, which – fuck him, okay? Cisco made a face at him and set the bat down on the ground before looking back at the two of them. He pulled the flashlight out of his belt and...
Just...
Stood there.
Super reluctant to get any closer to...that.
God, the sounds Barry was making. How was Cisco ever supposed to look him in the face again? He made another face, looking at Cold, who narrowed his eyes impatiently and darted his eyes at Barry. Cisco winced and made a low noise of discomfort, but moved forward in the name of friendship and not getting murdered by Captain freaking Cold.
Cold let go of one of Barry’s wrists, immediately alerting Cisco to the fact that he’d been holding Barry’s wrists, and for half a second, Cisco was indignant on his friend’s behalf. Right up until Cold gave a strangled grunt, cheeks taking on a slightly ruddy hue as he said, “Barry. Above the waist,” in a low, commanding voice that made Barry moan and Cisco want to be swallowed by the earth.
"C'mon, man," he exasperated under his breath. Cold looked at him again, gritting his teeth and glancing insistently at Barry, the now empty hand coming up to Barry’s head, fingers tangling in Barry’s hair. Cold arched an eyebrow at him, and Cisco shuddered but nodded, readying the flashlight.
Cold pulled Barry’s head back by the hair.
Barry let out the most ungodly sexual noise Cisco had ever heard.
That and Cold’s noise of speculation made Cisco curse.
Barry jolted and opened his eyes right as Cisco turned on the beam.
With a curse Barry jerked his head away, and Cold released him, getting up and moving back a little to the end of the bench while Barry fell on the floor. Cisco stood where he was, clutching the flashlight to his chest and glancing between Barry and Cold, who was standing with one foot perched on the bench, leaning on his knee and studying Barry. Cisco narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Barry was holding his head, rubbing his eyes. Eventually he shook his head, blinking about twenty times before taking in his surroundings. And his company. He looked blankly at Cisco, who pressed his lips together to keep from adding to the mounting dread he could see in his friend’s eyes.
Also, holy shit, Barry looked wrecked. What had Cold been doing to him?
Then Barry looked at Cold, whose face was utterly passive aside from the curious eyebrow he directed at Barry.
Barry whose mouth fell open.
Barry who turned roughly the shade of his suit.
Barry whose panic stricken ‘uhhhhm?’ rose steadily in volume and pitch as he staggered to his feet.
Barry who hesitated for half a second before speeding away with his customary trail of red and yellow light and rush of air.
Leaving Cisco alone.
In an abandoned warehouse.
With Captain Cold.
What the hell, Barry?
Cisco turned to look at the winter-themed supervillain, who huffed a little at Barry’s exit and shook his head but didn’t seem surprised or at all disappointed, standing up straight and shoving his hands in his pockets before studying Cisco. Cisco leaned a little away from him, looking him over.
Goddamn, he looked worse than Barry, lips swollen, the neck of his sweater stretched out of place to reveal a neck that looked like it’d been attacked by rabid weasels. Cisco tried to hold back his face. Couldn’t. Cold only huffed again and didn’t comment. (He also didn’t kill Cisco, so bonus).
“It took you twenty minutes to get here, Ramon. Did you get lost?” Cold asked, almost casually. Cisco shifted his grip on the flashlight as if that would protect him.
“Had to stop for gas,” he admitted awkwardly. Cold closed his eyes and shook his head, which rankled. “What the hell did you think you were doing, kissing Barry like that? You knew he was whammied,” he said, his opinion on the matter clear. Cold arched an eyebrow, and the smirk he wore constantly reappeared.
“Kissing distracted him from more...intimate pursuits,” the villain replied, and Cisco made a face at the image. Cold inclined his head, narrowing his eyes as his smirk settled more firmly on his face. “You’re welcome,” he added, before nodding at the flashlight. “Effective tech,” he commented. Cisco blinked at the compliment, looking down at the flashlight.
“I mean, yeah. We built it after that first run in with Bivolo when he made Barry super angry. I mean, we didn’t realize that right away, apparently it takes longer for Bivolo’s powers to affect Barry than the average person, but it still works the same, so—hey!” Cisco jumped and then reached for the flashlight that Cold had plucked from his hands. Cold held up a finger, warding off the young genius, who shrank back away from him before he could grit his teeth. “Dude, it’s red and yellow LEDs in a flashlight casing – you can make your own!” he insisted.
Captain Cold smiled smugly.
“So, can you, and you have more supplies,” he replied, before flipping the flashlight end over end, catching it, pocketing it, and walking away. Cisco set his jaw as Captain Cold took a moment to look around the space before walking over to a section of wall. Cisco quailed immediately when he stooped over and then stood up holding his cold gun. He took a moment briefly to check it over before looking back at Cisco, who flinched.
But instead of turning him into a Puerto Rican ice sculpture, Captain Cold just holstered his weapon, turned around, and walked away.
“Be seein’ you, Cisco,” he said.
“Not if I see you first!” Cisco snapped. Cold stopped. Cisco made a low noise of regret in his throat. Cold turned back around, and tilted his head.
“Really?” he asked, unimpressed. Cisco blushed.
“I don’t know, man, it just came out. Sorry to ruin your dramatic exit, please continue,” he said, gesturing to the door. Cold closed his eyes, shook his head again, and left. Cisco let himself take a breath.