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Leonard doesn’t know what to make of a text that sounds like a summons. Barry’s texts are usually open-hearted invitations, a simple expression that there will be a spot open at the table for him should he drop by. The closest he’s gotten to a summons before was the night Iris borrowed Barry’s powers, and even that sounded different.
Maybe this is it, he muses grimly as he heads across town to the West-Allen loft. Maybe they’ve finally realized they deserve better than an old thief with wall-to-wall emotional baggage and no redeeming qualities. He’s been steeling himself for this since that first night, when he knew he wanted to keep them both, and knew he couldn’t offer a single reason they should let him.
His two adorable do-gooders greet him together. He lets them draw him inside and urges them to make themselves comfortable. He doesn’t have to be. They’re only going to oust him.
“So.” Iris links her hand with Barry’s. “Um. There’s kind of not a good way to start other than…we should have been more careful.”
Leonard blinks. That isn’t tossing him out of the relationship. Then he goes cold to the bone. Fuck. But how…? Unless there was an error with the lab…? “No. No, we were doing everything right…”
“I know.” Iris leans into Barry’s side. He wraps his arm around her waist and squeezes tight. “I know, it’s really my fault. I think it was when I was a speedster…that’s the only time that makes sense…”
Leonard’s panic screeches to a halt. That makes even less sense. He begins to wonder if he has any idea what’s happening. “I thought speedsters can’t get sick…?”
Iris blinks and some of the nervous look falls away. “Len. What the fuck do you think I’m talking about? Because I thought you did some kind of freaky deductive thing…”
“Well.” He may as well lay his cards on the table, because he’s clearly misunderstood something fundamental. “From the text I thought this was me getting told I’m not welcome anymore, and then you said that and I thought you were gonna tell me my meds failed. And now I’m not sure what’s happening.”
When they look blank, he clarifies, “HIV. I’ve been undetectable on meds for years. That’s why I got so worried, it shouldn’t have been possible.”
Iris claps a hand over her mouth. He braces himself to be peppered with accusations about not telling them sooner. Instead, little snorting giggles make their way around her palm.
“Okay,” she giggles. “I guess I can see why you’d worry about that. Um…no." She draws in a deep breath and masters her giggling. "It wasn’t your meds that failed. I didn’t even think – speedsters can’t take normal medications, they burn through them too quickly, and that…um. That apparently includes birth control.”
“You’re pregnant.” It’s not a question. Leonard stumbles to the nearest chair and sits down hard.
Iris nods and goes back to squeezing Barry’s hand. “Yes.”
“And it’s mine?”
She and Barry exchange a long look. “I don’t know,” she admits slowly. “It might be. But also. Barry and I broke the bed the night he got his powers back.”
It’s Leonard’s turn to dissolve into laughter. Barry blushes bright pink and defends himself, “I had the stupid speedster libido back and a lot to get horny about, okay? Iris came so hard she ruined her jeans just from riding your thigh. And I have to live with that in my head now! So yes, maybe we broke the bed. And maybe we both had to call off sick the next day because we fucked until like five in the morning. But it’s your fault!”
The mental image of Barry fucking Iris all night is going to prove as much a threat to Leonard’s sanity as the memory of Iris squirting on his thigh is to Barry. Was it a submissive act, with Barry desperate to live up to her high standards and being (presumably) too fast? Or was it an uncharacteristically dominant one, with Barry out to prove he could fuck his wife better than Leonard had the night before?
He sets that thought aside for another, hornier day. Right now, there’s a more pressing concern.
“Pregnant.” He slips out of the chair to kneel at Iris’s side. Her belly is still flat, but he can’t help pressing his hand over it, imagining he can feel the potential inside her. “If it was that night, that puts you at what…five weeks now?”
She nods. Her hand settles over his, guiding him to press harder. “I don’t care whose baby it is,” she whispers. “I want them to grow up knowing both of you. Will you do that for me, Len?”
He tilts his head up so he can meet her eyes. He ought to protest. He’s not cut out to be a father – he’s only ever one bad day away from turning into his old man. But it doesn’t matter. He wants to be worth the hope brimming in Iris’s eyes.
“Yeah.” His voice breaks. Fuck. He didn’t even know how many feelings this was stirring up, until they all crash over him at once. “Yeah, I can do my best.”
Barry’s warm hand squeezes his shoulder. “You know my dad used to say it doesn’t really matter what’s on your heart?” he offers, all soft and gentle and full of feeling. “The world’s not gonna know. All anyone ever sees is what you do. So if you’re afraid of being Lewis? Just choose not to be him. It’s as easy and as hard as that.”
“As easy and as hard as that,” Leonard echoes. That’s how he’s lived his life – pushing back against his father’s memory at every turn. He used that as motive to be the best at being the worst, rather than being a mediocre thief like his old man. Can he use that to make himself kind? He won’t know til he tries.
To distract them (and himself), he glances up at Iris. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl? Too soon, right?”
She laughs. “Much too early. I only just found out I’m pregnant. It’s just a little jelly bean in there. And I think I want to let the jelly bean tell me, not scans.”
“Guess that’s fair enough.” Leonard remembers holding Lisa for the first time. He’d hoped for a brother initially, thinking that maybe as they got older, they could hold their ground against Lewis together. And then he’d held Lisa and looked down at her little wrinkly, scrunched-up face and knew there was no chance in hell he’d want anything other than her. If Iris is content with a surprise, he will be too.
He could get up from where he’s kneeling, but it’s comfortable to be here beside Iris’s knees. When she presses lightly on his head, he doesn’t fight. He lets her guide his head down to rest on her thigh.
“Do you like this?” Iris’s nails drag lightly against his scalp. When he nods against her thigh, she presses a little harder. “Oh, you do like that, don’t you? Just kneeling for me and letting me hurt you?”
Leonard blinks up at her. He could choose to be alarmed by the sudden change in tone – he’s very aware of that. He could also choose to sink into the cushioned haziness building around the edges of his mind. It’s the same feeling from when Iris spanked him. He didn’t think he could reach it again just from kneeling, but he’s not upset. And he’s definitely not alarmed.
“Yes, Mistress,” he murmurs. “I like it when you hurt me.”
Mistress’s breath hitches and her eyes darken. When she speaks, her voice has dropped into a purr. “What will you let me do to you, sweetest? No blood, nothing wooden. But that leaves a whole world of ways for me to hurt you.”
He nods along to the sound of her voice. If he’s honest, he doesn’t know what he wants. This is new. He’s been in charge of games like this before, but that’s a very different role – stone cold, his own needs and sensations irrelevant. He’s just a tool when he’s in charge. He’s not a tool right now. He’s the focus of all of Mistress’s electrifying dominance. And he doesn’t get the impression she’s as detached from her pleasure as he would be in her place.
“What do you want, Mistress?” It will be easier to say yes or no to her plan than to make one of his own, when he doesn't really know how he'll handle anything. “I’ll say yes or no.”
Mistress smiles slow, teeth bared. “I want to devour you,” she whispers. “You can’t imagine, sweetest, what it’s like having you at my feet. All that power, planning, survival – it’s completely gone, isn’t it? That’s right. Nod for Mistress.”
He nods at her instruction, and because it’s true. The part of his mind that counts seconds and watches the exits and predicts everyone’s moves before they happen has gone completely quiet. He’s defenseless against Mistress. That should scare him.
He’s not scared.
“Good boy.” Mistress grabs his chin and forces him to keep staring up at her face. It’s hard to look at her eyes, but she doesn’t seem to mind. “Such a good boy. You’d humiliate yourself for me just for a kind word, wouldn’t you? We tell you there’s good in you, and you go to your knees begging for more. What would you do for me to tell you you’re being such a good, obedient toy for your Mistress?”
“Anything.” It bursts out of him before he can think. He can’t remember ever being called good like this – sweet, earnest, but condescending as well. He ought to be cross about the condescension. Instead, it pushes him deeper into this quiet cushioned place in his mind. Maybe he is useless and dumb when he’s like this, when he can’t count seconds and predict every move. But Mistress seems to think he’s cute when he’s dumb.
“Oh.” Mistress sits forward, lips parting slightly. “Oh, is that your weak spot, sweetest? You want Mistress to make you humiliate yourself and then tell you you’re such a good boy for being stupid on command? Yeah, I bet that would hit all your hot spots. It’s so nice not to have to be the smart planning one, right, sweetest? Nod for Mistress, that’s right. Such a good boy.”
He nods when she tells him to. (She’d probably like it if he had hair she could pull. This works, though.) “Yes, Mistress.”
“Yes, Mistress, what?”
Heat rushes to his cheeks. She’s turning his own bastard moves back against him, and he shouldn’t enjoy it this much. “Yes, Mistress, I want to humiliate myself for you.”
Mistress’s nails flicker against his skin. “Such a good boy,” she purrs. Quick as the Flash, she snaps her head around to Barry and orders, “Go upstairs and fetch my crop for me. Put it on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and come right back here.”
Barry’s eyes widen and he’s gone in a rush of air. He returns just as quickly, hair tousled, cheeks pink. Leonard thinks the flush is from running until Mistress grabs his chin and forces him to meet her eyes.
“Do you want to tell me what you just did wrong?”
Barry’s mouth twists, but not as though he’s upset. As though he’s fighting back a smile. “I’m not supposed to run in a scene unless you give me permission.”
“Honestly.” Mistress clicks her tongue at him. “I thought you would show Len how good boys behave. I suppose if you can’t be a good example, you’ll have to be a warning that your Mistress doesn’t tolerate bratting.”
Leonard stares, wide-eyed, between the two of them. Barry having a bratty side shouldn’t surprise him – the Flash certainly talks back enough in the field. But he didn’t expect to see it come out with their glorious Mistress.
“Get on your knees,” she orders Barry. To Leonard, more tenderly, she coaxes, “I know you’re going to be a good boy and humiliate yourself for me, sweetest. Now crawl over to the stairs and bring me my crop. You may not use your hands.”
Leonard drops to all fours before he can think. She’s going to make him carry the crop around in his mouth like a dog, and he’s going to do it. He’s just about lightheaded with arousal at the idea of being this fucking tamed for Mistress.
He crawls to the stairs as ordered. His knees complain, but he barely feels it. He’s being good for Mistress. That’s all that matters.
Mistress’s gaze burns into his back while he grabs for the crop with his mouth. He can’t get a good grip on it the first time. Trying to adjust it in his mouth sends it tumbling back to the floor. The second try is better. Even then, he has to sit back on his heels and tilt his head back to get it to settle properly in his mouth.
The crop feels surprisingly delicate between his teeth. He holds it lightly, loath to damage it, but this leaves his mouth open enough to drool. And drool he does, before he reaches Mistress’s feet. His cheeks are hot when he reaches her, knowing he’s left a mess across the last few feet of floor.
“Oh, look at you, sweetest. Such an obedient boy. Blushing so much. You love this, don’t you?” Mistress takes the crop from his mouth. She replaces it with her thumb and presses down so that his mouth is trapped open. “If you want to drool on yourself so badly, maybe I’ll have to gag you.”
Leonard nods automatically. He wants what she wants – anything she wants.
“Oh, no, sweetest, you don’t get off that easy now.” She takes her thumb out of his mouth and orders, “Beg. If you want to be a drooling mess for Mistress, you ask permission to humiliate yourself like a good boy.”
It’s hard to speak – words feel scattered and hard to piece together. Still, Mistress wants him to beg, so he tries. “Please, please, Mistress. Please let me make a mess of myself for you.”
Mistress sits forward and kisses his brow. “Such a good boy, fighting so hard to beg for me. Yes, you may make a mess of yourself. Barry.” She grabs a handful of Barry’s hair and pulls sharply enough to make him gasp. “You will go and get the ring gag. You may run – this time.”
Another rush of air, and Barry returns with the ring gag. He holds it out to Mistress, only for her to shake her head. “Put it on him. If you’re going to be a brat, you’re going to see how good boys obey.”
Leonard opens his mouth obediently to accept the gag. His stomach is in knots over accepting this from Barry rather than Mistress, and he can’t trace all the strings. Humiliation. Arousal. A touch of resentment, maybe, at having to submit to a brat, coupled with bliss at being singled out as the good example. That’s not something he’s been…maybe ever.
Barry isn’t rough when he buckles on the gag, though Leonard knows he could be. He just chuckles. “Never would have guessed you’d be so easy for Mistress Iris. But then, I didn’t think she’d melt for you, either, so maybe it’s just a thing with you two.”
Mistress grabs him by his hair the second he’s done fastening the gag in place. “If you tease your co-sub one more time, I’m going to make you put your mouth to better use. Now on your feet and stand for inspection.”
Barry rises slowly to his feet, walks into the most open part of the room, and stands for inspection: feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind his head with his fingers interlaced. He’s still fully dressed. Leonard finds this somehow almost more erotic than if he were naked, with the way the fabric drapes over all of that lean muscle.
Mistress flicks the tip of the crop up under Leonard’s chin. “Undress and stand for inspection, sweetest. You’re my property now, and I have the right to inspect every inch of my property.”
His hands linger on the hem of his shirt. Mistress has seen him naked before, of course. But she’s never inspected him. She won’t like what she sees.
But it’s her right, he concedes. That thought is enough to unfreeze him. He undresses, lets his clothes puddle on the floor, and stands for inspection like Barry. It’s Mistress’s right to inspect him. If she’s displeased, it’s her right to punish him, too.
Mistress’s gaze drags across his scarred skin, the softness of his belly and thighs, the curve of his cock. He can’t speak to apologize, and doesn’t dare move a hand from behind his head to sign. He is sorry, though.
“Don’t try to hide from me, sweetest.” Mistress flicks the crop up under his chin again, pushing his head up. He forces himself to meet her gaze. Whatever she sees makes her soften. “Len, you don’t have to be ashamed. I’m not inspecting you for flaws. I’m admiring. This strong body, and you put it completely at my command.”
Admiring? That makes no sense. There’s nothing about his body worth admiring…
But Mistress doesn’t lie. Leonard knows that as bone-deep truth. Mistress values the truth above all. She wouldn’t lie.
He tries to view himself through her eyes. What does she see when she looks at him? The scars, of course – there’s no getting around them. He knows their stories. She doesn’t. All she sees is that he’s survived. And that is worth admiring, he supposes.
Wetness hits his sternum and begins a painfully slow trickle down his chest. The tangled mess of thoughts evaporates into a white-hot burst of humiliation. That damn gag. He’s drooling on himself, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. Because he begged to humiliate himself for Mistress. Because he wants what she wants, and she wants him to be a wordless, drooling mess.
Mistress’s smile is slow and shows her teeth. “Oh, good boy,” she purrs. The tip of the crop traces down from his chin, over the sensitive skin of his neck, down to drag through the mess on his chest. “That really is all it takes to turn that overthinking brain off, hmm? Being a dumb, drooling mess for Mistress. Nod, that’s a good boy.”
He’s nodding before she even orders him to, and unthinkingly attempts to thank her. It spills out as a garbled string of vowels and a stream of drool. The tangled rush of arousal-humiliation-need makes him sway on his feet.
“Such an obedient boy.” Mistress’s crop trails down his belly and smacks lightly against his half-hard cock. “Do you want to help me punish our brat, hmm?”
Leonard can’t help cutting a mischievous glance over to Barry, who’s watching them with a smirk of his own. If he’s jealous, it doesn’t show. He looks delighted – probably to see Leonard making a fool of himself for Mistress’s approval. Whatever he can do to wipe that smirk off their brat boy’s face, he will. He nods.
Mistress chuckles. “You want something in this drooling mouth, don’t you, sweetest?”
He follows her train of thought to the logical conclusion, and nods eagerly. He’d be happy to let Barry fuck his face. He doubts Mistress will be gracious enough to allow their brat boy an orgasm.
“On your knees then, good boy. Barry, you may fuck his mouth. You may not come.”
Leonard looks up as he sinks to his knees. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of Mistress grabbing Barry’s chin and purring, “I’m not putting a cock ring on you. You’re going to control yourself. If it’s simply too much for you to hold back, I expect you to ruin your orgasm for me. You know I don’t reward bratty behavior.” Her deft hands make quick work of his fly. She gives his cock a few firm strokes as she pulls it out.
Barry keens, but thrusts into Leonard’s mouth as ordered. With the ring gag in, Leonard is limited in what he can do to tease their boy. He’s just a hole. As degrading as it is, there’s something freeing about not having to worry, even about something as simple as how to pleasure Barry. His only purpose right now is to be a hole for Mistress to use to punish their boy.
The snap of Mistress’s crop splits the air. Barry cries out. It’s Leonard’s only warning before the kid’s hips snap forward and he finds himself deepthroating Barry’s cock. Rather than panic, he hums in delight. This is perfect cruelty – catching the kid between the pain of the crop and the pleasure of being sucked off, and making him stay standing through it all.
He loses himself in the rhythm of it: the snap of Mistress’s crop, followed by a thrust of Barry’s hips, with the kid’s noises forming a beautiful but erratic counterpoint. He loses count (if he ever kept it) of the number of times Mistress’s crop falls. Nothing matters except the warm weight on his tongue and the sounds of his playing partners.
He doesn’t realize his eyes have fallen shut until Mistress pets his head and coaxes, “Open your eyes, sweetest. We’re all done.”
Opening his eyes is overwhelming. It’s not that bright in the loft, but it feels blinding. Everything that he’d lost track of suddenly crashes over him like thunder: the ache in his knees, the pain in his jaw, the wet mess of drool down his naked front. He’s out of the ring gag in less than a second and up off his knees in two.
“Careful!” Iris’s hands settle firmly on his waist. He half-twists away from her, but she holds firm. “Leonard. Sit down. You’re in no state to be wandering around. I’ll clean you up.”
Reluctantly, he sits. True to Iris’s word, she has a soft towel that she uses to clean him up. By the time she’s done, his senses have settled to the point that he no longer wants to crawl out of his skin.
“I’m okay,” he rasps. For all the protesting, he happily accepts a glass of water. “How’s Barry?”
“Sore,” Barry chips in. When Leonard looks around, the kid is sprawled facedown on the couch. His ass is mottled red and purple, though as Leonard watches, it starts to shade toward a fainter reddish-brown. “Oh, yeah, the healing factor. It would be convenient, except that I sorta wish I could squirm on my sore ass for the next couple of days…”
Iris reaches over and squeezes a handful of his bruised bottom. “You two really are the cutest. Even when you’re bratty, babe. And you, Len…” She stares at him with those big eyes, so earnest that he wants to hide. “The way you trusted me. Thank you.”
He wants to deflect. He wants to dismiss her thanks with a joke about how there couldn’t have been anything enjoyable with having to deal with the very literal mess of his submission. He wants to not have to feel anything about this…
But that would break her heart. She trusted him so much – enough to invite him into her baby’s life. He can trust her with his feelings, even as muddled as they are. It wouldn’t be fair to do anything less.
“Not thrilled to have been that vulnerable,” he admits slowly. “But it felt natural when it happened. Like kneeling there with you was…” He doesn’t have a good word for it, other than, “Real.” Not hidden behind one of the dozen personas that make interacting with the world easy. He could get addicted to that – kneeling and letting all the lies and deflection drop away. That is scarier than anything he did during the scene.
Iris nods slowly. “You don’t have to stay if you feel too exposed. As long as you come back… You will come back, won’t you?”
He shouldn’t. He’s in too deep. If these two ever find out how much power they have over him, they’ll…
(Hurt him. Throw him out. Remind him that he’s not worth having a family. Remind him that it’s not just safer being alone – it’s all he deserves.)
They’ll probably ask him to stay. And he might be weak enough to say yes. Just like he’s weak enough to say, “Yeah. Can’t get rid of me that easily.”