Heyyyyyyyyy... been a while, y'all. I doubt many of you know me in the Flash fandom, but I've been around for a while. Kind of lost my inspiration for the last year. I'm sort of getting it back, I think? My style is changing again, that much I know. It's been too long since I've written anything appropriately (HA!) dirty, so I'm still stretching my muscles.

I don't know you'll feel about this... I like it, I think? I have the next one and a quarter done, but I'm going to try and pace myself. I'm still getting into Caitlin's headspace. She's got a lot of potential as a character (both in the show and the comics), and at the moment I like her a little more than Barry and Iris' totally-not-brother-and-sister romance.

So. Here we go. See what you think.

$4$

I should just tell you to leave 'cuz I
Know exactly where it leads but I
Watch us go 'round and 'round each time

1.

That night might have been the worst decision she'd ever made.

Like most bad decisions, it began on the bad side of 2 a.m. after imbibing well over the recommended dose of tequila.

Barry had a baffling habit of finding her when she was at her lowest point, and that night was no different. It was a tad annoying, but given how lonely she'd felt as of late, appreciated. Normally she was more composed than this, she didn't bring alcohol into the equation, but that night she had been weak. Weaker than usual.

And she had that high-quality bottle of tequila, the one that Ronnie had given her a few weeks before he officially proposed to her. He promised they would make use of it on their honeymoon. Of course, that never came to be.

She knew Barry's life wasn't all sunshine and roses, either. He had mentioned his parents, and she knew about the best friend he was mooning over, and she saw the way he was treated at work. She knew the cards he'd been dealt hadn't been much better than her own, but Barry was so much better at deflecting pain than she was, both literally and figuratively.

She didn't know what series of events culminated in Barry's mood that night, but she did know it began with him pulling the bottle out of her hand and taking a long swig for himself.

It only went downhill from there.

Barry's powers made him metabolize alcohol at well over twice the rate of a normal person, but he could still get the initial buzz. He wound up drinking most of the bottle for her, which was probably for the best in the long run. He would get a little tipsy, she would get a little tipsy, and they would both go home, no harm done.

They only managed to accomplish the first two parts.

She couldn't remember what they discussed that night, swapping the bottle of Patrón back and forth until her brain was too muddled and just muddled enough. What she did remember was him saying something, something caring and hopeful and earnest and in that moment all she could think about was just how dumb that best friend of his was.

They had been sitting shoulder to shoulder in their swivel chairs, so it hadn't taken much to lean over. And she did remember that—she remembered being the one to make the move, to make that stupid, stupid move that forever altered the state of their relationship.

She expected him to push her away. She wasn't the woman he'd been pining over, she was the one that cleaned up his bruises and occasionally cried into her wine after a bad night. sexy, or gentle, or perfect, or any of the other descriptors that could be used on his girl.

That didn't seem to bother him. He only hesitated for a moment, barely a second, and then his hands were in her hair and he was tilting her head to the exact angle so he could most effectively kiss her back.

Oh, and kiss he did. Her brain was muzzy with tequila, thoughts tied up and knotted twice but muscle memory was working just fine. She missed this, she missed the skin-to-skin contact, feeling another person react and respond specifically to her touch. Barry's lips slotted along hers, hands twisting the strands and creating tingles from her scalp down to the base of her spine. She remembered what a good kiss felt like, and this wasn't far from it.

She was drunk and needy, and he was kissing her back, so was it really all that surprising that she decided to throw caution and reason to the wind and said fuck it?

Caitlin didn't remember much of the in between, but she remembered his hands, big and long-fingered, sliding over her hips as she deposited herself in his lap. She remembered tracing the lines of his throat, cataloguing all the muscles and ligaments in her mind as he let out a noise that was delightfully close to a whimper.

Caitlin definitely remembered snapping at him to get his wallet, and the dark eyed, almost devious smirk he sent her way. She didn't know if he used his powers to get out the foil packet, and she didn't care, because then he was pushing aside her underwear—sensible cotton, always sensible these days—and testing her slickness. He needn't have bothered, because she was already embarrassingly turned on by that point.

Oh, but was definitely using his powers then, and she did not care.

Slinging an arm around his shoulders, she dropped her forehead to his chest and cursed. Her thighs were shaking, her thin sweater was sticking to her skin, and she could feel Barry's smirk every time he kissed her cheek, her chin, her neck… but none of it mattered, so long as she continued to feel this good.

He added pressure, and on an average day she could name the exact nerve endings and muscles being contracted, but holy shit she could barely remember her own name. His free hands was stroking her back, encouraging her jerky movements. She was so close, but she wasn't giving in just yet.

It had taken some fumbling, particularly with the condom, and Barry seemed to be doing his best to distract her, but after a minute it was finally on and there was no going back. Not that there was any going back before.

"Barry," Caitlin whispered, and she was gratified to see that he looked as desperate as she felt in that moment. Her whole body was shaking, shivering, but she couldn't tell if that was her doing or his. She definitely shook when he removed his fingers, but she gasped when he replaced that emptiness with himself.

The troubling part was that this was natural, even though the setting and situation were anything but. They were fully clothed, half buzzed on tequila and each other, and yet she could already feel her orgasm bearing down on her like a freight train. S.T.A.R. Labs could have fallen down around them and she wasn't sure she'd be able to stop.

He was chanting her name, so quietly and quickly that she could barely make out the syllables. He was just as close as she was and they'd barely even moved.

Or they were moving, but slowly, rhythmically, perfectly in sync. She was sitting in the lap of the fastest man alive, and they were moving at the slowest pace possible. And it honestly couldn't feel any better.

Caitlin's skirt was bunched around her waist, so every time his hands dug into her hips, she could feel his skin burning hot against her own. Their rhythm, despite the lack of speed, had her panting, muscles already aching.

Barry's brow was furrowed, eyes locked with hers. She couldn't look away, either. She was fairly certain this was the most powerful drunken one-night stand she would ever experience in her life.

…She should've known hyperbole was only going to bite her on the ass later.

She wasn't able to think much longer, because Barry's thumb had slid between their joined bodies. She had the presence of mind to drag his head forward and cover her mouth with his, because the sound that came from the base of her throat when his powers kicked in was not meant for human ears.

She wasn't sure how much longer he lasted, but it couldn't have been long, because he was done and still panting by the time she pulled her face from his neck. Not that she remembered putting it there in the first place…

They remained breathless and euphoric just long enough to realize what had been done. That was the first time she'd had sex since Ronnie's death. And it was in S.T.A.R. Labs, while drunk, with a superhero she had barely known for a year.

He might have been the fastest man alive, but she never moved quicker than when she got the fuck out of there. Her thighs were still sticky and she was pretty sure she wasn't safe to drive, but she knew she couldn't take another second of staring into his dark, emotional eyes without breaking forever.

In that moment, she had ruined the only good thing left in her life: her job. She had just screwed their hero/experiment, and there was no way Dr. Wells or Cisco would ever let that slide.

She was fucked.