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Touching someone else in his own body is somehow less weird than Barry expected it to be.
If anything, it seems to be weirder for Len. When they break apart from kissing, Len is wide-eyed and flushed. Barry doesn’t think it’s vain to say that that’s a good look on his body, and he understands now why Len sometimes looks at him like he’s prey.
“Are you this sensitive all the time?” Len’s hands run nervously up and down his own chest. Barry would flush at the idea of Len feeling up his body like this, like it’s his to play with, except that apparently Len’s body doesn’t really blush. Instead, it reacts with a rush of heat down his spine that coils in his groin.
“Yeah. I always feel like everything got dialed up to eleven. Part of speed processing.” It’s all completely factual, but it comes out in a purr that makes Barry want to shiver. Oh. That’s just what Len’s voice does when he gets horny. That’s not fair. Barry had thought it was on purpose. (To be fair, it might be when Len’s piloting his own body.) Well, if he’s gonna sound like sex, he might as well commit. “Wanna see how intense it gets?”
Watching a blush trickle all the way down his neck is fascinating. Worse is the fact that Len’s body still has the prey drive even with Barry piloting it. Barry finds himself leaning forward without any conscious decision on his part.
“It gets worse than this?” Len’s voice breaks. This only seems to fluster him more. His ears and the back of his neck burn as scarlet as the Flash suit.
“So much worse.” Barry crowds in closer, caging Len up against the wall. Even after a few days in Len’s body, he’s still not used to how it moves—sure-footed and intent and a little slinky, in a way that reminds him of a cat. It’s a nice feeling after tripping over his own feet so much. “It’s been a few days now. You must have noticed how sensitive you are—I am—you are.”
Len snorts. “You mean the fact that you get hard just from a breeze sometimes? Yeah, I’ve noticed.” He rubs the back of his neck and admits, “Haven’t done anything about it, though. Feels like, I dunno. Violating you.”
Barry nods. He’s felt the same way about Len’s body. Len goes to such lengths to show as little skin as possible that even having to change clothes feels like violating his privacy, never mind anything more intimate. (Not to mention, it’s been so nice to get a relief from the superspeed libido that Barry hasn’t tried to find out what gets Len’s body worked up. This conversation is the closest he’s come, and it’s an odd feeling—almost as though Len’s arousal is a mental experience first and foremost, and only secondarily physical.)
“This is me giving you permission.” Barry leans in close but very deliberately keeps about two inches of space between their bodies. “You can touch. Or I can touch for you.”
He had no idea how obvious his body is until he’s watching it from the outside. He can see the way his throat works when he swallows nervously, the way his pupils blow wide with interest. No wonder Len loves tormenting him if his reactions are always like this. (He suspects Len hates it right now, since he prides himself on being hard to read.)
“Fuck,” Len whispers. “Yes, you can touch.”
Barry surges forward to kiss him. Their teeth clack together before they settle into a more cooperative, less feverish kiss. Len keens into his mouth; Barry stifles a laugh. It’s nice not to be the one popping a very insistent erection five seconds into a kiss.
“Fuck, fuck.” When they break the kiss, Len is breathing hard, eyes hazy and half-focused. “Fuck, Scarlet, how do you function?”
“By jerking off about five times a day. It gets annoying.” His eyes stay riveted on Len’s face as he slips a hand between them. The moment he wraps his fingers around Len’s cock, Len gasps and fucks into his fist.
“Clothes,” he gasps. There’s a rush of air, a tang of ozone, and Barry finds himself with an armful of naked Len. He’s still fully dressed, but then, he’d expected that; Len seems more at ease showing off his borrowed body than his real one.
“Perfect.” Barry half-tugs, half-pushes him down onto the bed. While Len is staring up at him, startled, Barry crawls between his spread thighs. “Look at you. I bet you haven’t been this lust-crazed since you were a teenager.”
Len laughs. “Not even then. Didn’t have the focus to spare for getting laid as a teen. Anytime I did, it was a honeypot con.”
Barry deliberately doesn’t think about that. If he dwells on the mental image of teen Len sleeping with people who were much older than him just so he could lift their wallets, he’s going to get emotional, and Len will hate that. Instead, he says, “Oh, so this is your first time getting absolutely stupid horny. For once I’m the experienced one.”
Before Len can make a snarky reply, Barry leans down and starts kissing and biting his neck. He’s always been sensitive there, and speedster libido made it about fifty times worse. It’s definitely enough to make him come, and he’s rewarded by Len making all kinds of noises that he’ll probably die of shame over when the night is through. This time, he has mercy on him and pulls back. Next time, he won’t be so kind.
“Holy hell.” Len’s voice shakes, then breaks. “Y-you know you’re handing me all kinds of weapons to use on you when we get back to our own bodies.”
“Probably,” Barry agrees. He shivers at the thought of Len taking him to pieces using all the weaknesses he learns tonight. Barry will probably come until he passes out—he’s done that before. Tonight, though, that’s Len’s job.
Now that Len seems to have caught his breath, Barry leans down and kisses him, hot and wet. He breaks away from Len’s lips to kiss down his neck and across his freckled chest, targeting all the spots he knows to be most sensitive. His gaze stays locked on Len’s face as it goes slack with pleasure.
“You’re really something when you let go,” he murmurs. Len will probably fight him on that—if not now, then later. Still, he'd hate himself if he didn't say it.
Len gasps. Other than that, he’s soundless through his first orgasm. Barry is surprised, since at this point, he usually has to muffle himself with a pillow. Then again, this is Len, who’s clearly kept tight and unyielding control over every reaction he has. It’s all over his body, emblazoned in every muscle memory.
“Why is it not better?” Len’s voice pitches up into a whine. Barry stifles a laugh by scooting down and biting at his quivering thighs. This puts him eye-to-eye with the proof that his body is giving Len as hard a time as it gives him. (Oh god, the puns come with the body.)
“Like I said, relief only comes after a couple of times.” Barry bites his lip against the pun. Dammit.
Len groans and flops melodramatically against the pillow. “I thought you meant total. Like across the whole day. Not at once.”
Barry kisses back up his body and goes back to worrying at his neck. “The first three times I probably don’t even have to touch your cock,” he crows. “Wanna count for me?”
Len doesn’t count, for once in his life. He’s a little busy writhing through the overstimulation. Barry gets a little carried away, lost in the gorgeous noises he’s making, and only stops when Len pushes him away, some five or six orgasms later.
“Fuck, fuck.” Len’s eyes are glassy, his lips bitten bright red, and his hair tousled from his thrashing. Barry jolts forward without meaning to, every sense on high alert. It takes him a second to connect the intent, prey-drive feeling to Len’s strange version of arousal.
“You can’t feel pleasure like that in your own body, can you?” he guesses.
Len shakes his head. “Nah. I got disconnected from my body a long time ago—the sensations of it. Doubt I could go back if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.”
Dissociation. Barry isn’t going to give him that word, because he suspects Len would dismiss it, but it makes sense of a lot about this body. The way it moves. The way it processes. The very cognitive, laser-focused experience of arousal, a far cry from the scattered, hypersensitive version Barry is used to. (It gets that same way about pain, which Barry doesn’t want to think about too much.)
“So you don’t know your own weak spots,” Barry guesses. He’s been forced to map his out in great detail. Len seems to have gone to the opposite extreme.
Len shakes his head. “Nah. If I touch myself, it’s pretty rote. If I’m with a partner, I do pretty much what you just did.” He grins, sharp and hungry. “Overwhelming a cute little thing with pleasure is a better rush than any orgasm I’ve ever had. The last...six? Seven?...notwithstanding.”
Rather than push, rather than try to map out Len’s sensitive spots on this borrowed body, Barry just relaxes down on the mattress. It’s an odd way of feeling sated, but he does. And smug, of course. “The best orgasms of your life, huh?”
Len rolls over and cages him in. As Barry had done earlier, he keeps a very deliberate inch or so of space between them. “I’ll pay you back once we’re back to normal. I’m gonna go until you tap out or pass out, whichever comes first.”
Barry considers protesting that he doesn’t want to be selfish, but he can feel on a bone-deep level that he wouldn’t be. Len really does get off on this, albeit in an odd way.
“You’re gonna have to work for it,” he drawls. “I can hold out a lot longer than you just did.” Probably a lie. Barry will enjoy putting it to the test.
Len drops down closer and whispers, breath warm against Barry’s ear, “We’ll see about that.” While Barry recovers from a red-hot pulse of lust, Len speeds up and away to find some food.
“Guess I see now why everyone gets annoyed with that,” Barry says out loud, before rolling much more slowly out of bed to follow him.