This was a mix of ideas, partially the whole kink of a massage, partially this idea I posted on tumblr about Barry fixing little iterations of the timeline for months before he got it 'right', and partially a fix-it for bringing Len back when we don't know what's going to happen this week on Legends.

For coldflashweek2016!

And for RedHead on AO3 who sent me the hottest Sterek massage fic imaginable to help give me inspiration. Here it is at last!

Barry shivered lying face-down on the padded table in the corner of the med bay in nothing but his underwear. With a tilt of his head, he watched Snart roll up the sleeves of his textured black sweater and take a liberal amount of the balm into his hands that looked silky and shiny on his skin, more like oil than a salve.

Snart reached forward and Barry closed his eyes, expecting the man's hands to be cold like his moniker, but the first splay of long digits across Barry's shoulders to allocate the balm gave off a surprising heat. Barry shivered again from the contrast of warmth and the the cool air in the med bay, unsure if the balm itself had something to do with it, or if he'd merely guessed wrong about Snart's hands.

Barry sighed into the initially lighter touch, like having someone apply sunscreen in soothing motions across the surface of his skin, only slipperier with the oil-like nature of the salve. Once the whole of Barry's back had been covered, Snart increased the pressure, thumbs creating firm divots and fingers kneading with a steady motion into the grooves of Barry's shoulder blades and down the center of his back.

Barry moaned. He'd never received more than a simple shoulder rub from anyone before, and Snart's hands were so strong, his fingers independently talented in their distribution of pressure as they moved.

"Feeling that vacation kick in yet?" Snart's lilting voice asked.

"Mmmm…" Barry hummed as Snart's thumbs performed circles like complicated figure eights into his lower back, "…this is actually really nice, Snart. Thank you. I mean it."

Snart's voice responded softer, devoid of the usual guile or mocking. "What would the world do without its Scarlet Speedster?"

The bile in Barry's stomach surged up. "Probably be better off," he muttered.

Snart's fingertips drew up into a lighter touch, pausing in their motion and making Barry's muscles twitch for want of a reconnection. "Doubtful," he said, moving again with firm presses from his palms, fingers lightly twisting as he progressed up one side of Barry's back. When he reached Barry's neck, he leaned his weight forward and wrapped his fingers around the curve of shoulder to spider-walk his fingers beneath the grooves of Barry's collarbone. "What makes you say that?" Snart slid the flat of his hands back down Barry's back until he returned to the base and worked up the left side the way he had the right.

Barry's thought processes slowed, the breath pushing from his lungs when Snart reached his other shoulder and leaned into him again. Snart was really good at this, and Barry's conscious mind swam somewhere between bliss beneath the touch of his nemesis and nausea over how he'd ended up here in the first place—having his enemy's hands on him in the med bay of a time ship, because without the assistance of the salve and deft fingers massaging into his muscles, Barry would be back to an old nightmare like when Zoom first broke his back.

Paralyzed and unable to use his powers, this time because he'd run away from the ever-increasing side effects and changes to the timeline caused by his selfishness.

"I…"

Snart's fingers fanned out across Barry's shoulders and slowly slid down again, trailing along the curves of Barry's sides and gathering up more of that oily substance in their wake. Barry's tongue was rendered useless as those hands reached lower, right to the edge of his underwear.

"Yes?" Snart prompted.

"Uhh…" Words failed Barry, his entire brain shutting down as he lost himself in the thrill of Snart's touch, wondering how far the man might push this.

But as Snart's fingers grazed the line of his underwear, they didn't linger or tease beneath the elastic, they merely reached the edge and moved on up again.

The problem was how much Barry wished they'd stayed.

"N-Never mind," Barry said, willing himself to stay calm, to just relax, to not react to Snart's touch. "It's just been…a really long few months."

"Believe me, Barry…I know the feeling."

Len couldn't say if his experience in the Oculus had been endless or fleeting, but being in a linear world again, he could think back on what he'd witnessed and remember every variation, every version of himself that had existed while Barry Allen tried to salvage the world he'd changed.

Lost in the limbo of the Oculus, Len had felt and seen every nuance to the timeline Barry ever altered. He alone remembered how things used to be, how they'd been originally and how they'd looked in the numerous iterations Barry left behind. Now, the fissures Barry had created could never be repaired.

Len had only been back with the Legends for a month when Barry showed up. He'd figured out where they were going to be and time traveled there himself to hitch a ride. He told them he needed time off without actually taking time away, and what better method than by joining a bunch of time travelers?

"Plus I can totally be of help! Use me however you want. Just…let me stay for a while?"

Naturally, complications arose immediately. On a mission to the future, Barry took a hit meant for Firestorm that would have destabilized Martin and Jax's connection. Instead it destabilized Barry's connection to the Speed Force, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down.

"Not to worry," Rip dismissed with that familiar tone of 'this should work but I actually have no idea', "a combination of muscle stimulus and the right proteins applied through a specially crafted balm should rekindle his connection to the Speed Force. So." He clapped his hands together and turned to the group at large. "Who wants to volunteer?"

If the Waverider had crickets, they would have chirped right then.

"Volunteer…to give The Flash a body massage?" Jax asked with an uncomfortable shift from foot to foot.

"Unfortunately, this task is beyond Gideon's capabilities, as it will require some…hands-on stimulation," Rip said.

Sara snorted. The rest of the Legends all glanced away, trying to avoid eye contact. At least Nate and Amaya had the excuse of not really knowing Barry.

"Any additional guidelines for applying this stuff?" Len snatched the balm from the table.

"You're volunteering?" Ray asked with a note of skepticism.

"Always happy to help," Len had smirked.

He knew he was walking thin ice going through with this, but the temptation to touch Barry again was too great. And he could say again because in one of those many timelines Barry had created, Len had witnessed himself touch the kid far more intimately than any backrub.

Barry had tried so hard to fix things, but every Band-Aid he applied created another ripple in the timeline, changing everything from miniscule events to monumental ones. When Barry had all but given up hope, he'd finally found a world that seemed perfect. His parents were still gone, but events were as close to the life he'd given up as he could find. He'd almost stayed there too, until he met that timeline's Leonard Snart.

Or rather…Leonard Allen.

Barry had turned his head at Len's entrance into the med bay with a hopeful gleam in his eyes, but slumped when he saw that Len was alone.

"So unhappy to see me, Scarlet?" Len twirled the bottle of balm between his fingers. "I hold salvation in my hands."

"That stuff'll fix me?" Barry brightened from where he sat waiting for the verdict on his legs. He wore the Flash suit with the cowl drawn back, his hair a floofy mess.

"Matter of opinion. Should help you walk again though."

Barry scowled, though it was his familiar 'real funny, Snart' scowl. Progress. "So…do I just need to rub it on my legs?"

Len continued a slow saunter toward the bed. Seeing Barry for the first time since his stint in limbo had almost tripped him up, leaving him tongue-tied and unable to act like his usual self around the kid. He had to remedy that. "More an all-over application, the deep tissue kind you can't perform on yourself. Unless you have some hidden talents I don't know about." He refrained from all out waggling an eyebrow, but tapped the edge of the bottle on the bed when he reached Barry.

"You're going to apply it?" Barry flushed such a deep shade of scarlet, it nearly clashed with his suit. "But what about—" he cut himself off, because his closer friends and confidants weren't on board, and going over the list of potential other options didn't lend itself to anyone more preferable.

Maybe Sara, if Barry had some silly notion of a feminine touch being less awkward, but that didn't seem to cross his mind. He looked back at Len and sighed in resignation.

"Can you just be nice about it? It's been really draining lately how bad things keep happening one after the other. First Dad and then…" He closed his eyes and shook his head rather than explain himself, though Len already knew about Henry Allen. And what had come after.

"I'm always nice," he said, flicking his eyes down Barry's body and back up to his face with a grin. "Think of all those times I shot at you and missed."

Barry laughed, and that at least was an open, honest sound. It didn't matter that Barry didn't want Len, that he'd chosen to give him up in favor of this life instead. Len knew the only thing he'd find here was a memory, but it was a pleasant memory, and he didn't have many of those.

"We can move to the table," he said, motioning toward the flatter, padded cot against the wall. "More room. I'll even let you keep your shorts on. Assuming you're wearing any…" He glanced down Barry's suit-clad form again.

"I am wearing underwear, thank you." Barry rolled his eyes.

Len grinned as he moved to set the bottle of balm near the cot and removed his jacket to allow for more range of motion.

When he returned, Barry had scooted to the edge of the med bed, legs dangling uselessly, looking like he had no idea how to get from point A to point B. Mick had carried him into the room originally.

"Didn't expect me to leave you hanging, did you?" Len said.

He swooped in close, smelling the sweat and mild tang of copper that hung about the kid like an electrical storm. Curling one arm around Barry's waist, he hooked the other beneath his knees and lifted, forcing Barry to cling to his neck in surprise. Len wasn't as strong as Mick, but Barry was lighter than most, and they didn't have to go far. He carried him bridal style all the way to the other side of the room with barely a sway in his step.

Len set Barry down gently. The kid really was the prettiest shade of red sometimes…

"Thanks," Barry said, eyes diverted as he drew down the zipper to his suit and pulled it from his shoulders. He lay back to shimmy the costume down as far as he could manage, before the immobility of his legs made any further motion impossible.

Len stepped in before Barry had to ask. He realized as he slid his hands inside the suit along Barry's back and began to peel the fabric down long, long legs, that he'd never really touched Barry before, other than to fight. Other than in another timeline that might as well have been a dream.

The kid's skin felt soft as suede. Len lingered in his caress longer than he should have, and Barry shivered, his flush spreading all the way down his chest.

It was probably just embarrassment and memories of the life he'd run from, but Len still smiled. "Purely clinical, kid. No happy ending unless you want one." He turned his smile into a smirk as he tugged the Flash suit free and let it drop in a lovely pile of red to the floor.

Barry flopped back onto the table like he simply didn't have the energy for banter. "You are such a dick sometimes."

Len chuckled and patted Barry's ankle. "Roll over. Supervillain's honor…I'll be nice," he said without any snark or Captain Cold drawl. There were no benefits to besting the Flash in this situation. And even if there had been…

Len tried not to dwell on how difficult it was to imagine returning to a version of his life where he'd aim his gun at Barry instead of at someone behind him. It was hard to imagine ever touching him again with violence in mind, especially when Len had the kid this vulnerable, spread out before him, practically naked with only snug black shorts to keep his modesty.

Len was torturing himself, he knew, but it was nice to pretend that maybe some part of Barry hadn't been disgusted at the thought of a life with him. "Compared to most tasks I'm assigned on this boat, kid, you are a welcome change. Unless you kick once your legs boot back up. Then all bets are off." He pulled his cold gun from its holster and set it on a nearby table.

Barry laughed again and finally relaxed, completely at Len's mercy.

Barry didn't know much about Snart's time on the Waverider, but traveling through time, fighting Vandal Savage, breaking and fixing history—Barry knew those things intimately, so of course the past few months had been hard on Snart too. Barry was surprised he'd be so open about it, almost inviting Barry to press for more.

Barry opened his mouth to say…something, when Snart's hands pulled away and returned to the ball of his foot, starting from the bottom, slowly working his way back up. As a runner, having his foot rubbed, his ankle, his calf, his thigh, made Barry groan far deeper than before.

His mind chose that moment to conjure an image of Snart on his knees, a day when Barry had groaned for very different reasons.

Shit. Snart's hands were circulating higher, inching closer to the bottom edge of his underwear. Barry couldn't help imagining what it would be like if Snart simply kept going and let his long, elegant digits slip more intimately up Barry's thigh.

Which he had to stop thinking about, because even pressed into the table, he was still twitching, hardening as his mind wandered back to a life he had no right to remember.

"Your husband's here," an officer had said.

It had taken Barry a moment to realize he was talking to him. "Husband?"

Snart walked into the precinct, but it wasn't the Snart that Barry knew. He wore a suit, not the dark and deadly suit he'd worn for the diamond heist, more Wall Street. Or, as Barry would quickly learn, like a politician.

None of the officers rushed Snart to arrest him. Those that caught his eye nodded with respect. A few even said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor," and the truth had dawned on Barry like a gong.

Just like Earth-2. Whatever Barry had changed in his latest attempt to get home, he'd shifted things enough that Snart had gone straight at some point earlier in his life, maybe never was a criminal at all, and now he ran Central City—legitimately.

He was also Barry's husband.

"Got a minute, Mr. Allen?" Snart smirked at him, which was obviously meant to be a tease, and Barry was used to Snart teasing him, so…

"Uh…hey. Sure."

Barry was effectively in a daze as they went into his lab and closed the door behind them. He had no idea what to say to this Snart, who at first had honest mayoral things to ask CSI Barry Allen about, but he soon switched gears to domestic things about dinners coming up with Lisa, and how Cisco should join them sometime, since those two kept dancing around each other, and…

"Are you okay, Scarlet? You seem tense. Tough day?" Snart walked closer with a bit of that familiar, predatory smile, as he gripped Barry's shoulders and massaged gently up his neck.

Barry resisted the urge to shrug him off, afraid he'd give himself away. "Y-You're the mayor. Shouldn't you be the tense one?"

Snart laughed. "Says the city's superhero," he whispered, and thank god Barry wasn't keeping THAT secret from his husband.

His husband.

Snart crowded in closer, parting Barry's legs as he leaned him back against his desk. "You know what we haven't done in a while…in your office…when we might get caught without the door locked." That grin. And damn Snart looked good in a three-piece suit.

"S-Seriously…?"

"I thought that was your favorite stress release, Barry. Having the mayor on his knees." Snart literally dropped to his knees in front of Barry and started to undo his slacks. "You can pay me back at home later."

It was so different from getting a kiss from Earth-2 Iris. Because this was…well, Barry's Snart, not some other universe's Snart, it was just the timeline that was different. Right?

Barry had a fleeting moment to think that he was definitely going to Hell, before he gave in, pants and underwear sliding down his thighs as Leonard Snart gave him a blowjob right there in his lab at the CCPD.

Afterward, he'd felt so guilty, nauseous as he kissed his own taste out of Snart's mouth and watched the man leave. Barry had swindled him. He didn't even know that version of Snart and he'd used him. Worse, Barry's actions were the whole reason Snart was a different man.

His heart sunk even lower when he heard someone say to Snart, "Have a nice day, Mayor Allen."

Barry had stolen choice away from Snart. He'd stolen it from everyone. He could never really fix things, but he couldn't leave the world as it was. So he'd changed things again as quickly as he could. It wasn't fair, even if Barry had liked the way Snart looked at him in that timeline, the way he smiled at him, the way his touch felt, the way his mouth felt…

Back in the real world, in the real timeline—or as close to it as Barry had been able to get—he cringed.

Snart moved onto his other leg, starting by digging his thumbs into the ball of Barry's foot. Barry groaned again. He could no longer deny how hard he was, erection trapped beneath his stomach and the table. He wanted to move, to rock against it to relieve the pressure, but then Snart would know, and Barry wasn't sure what would happen after that.

Part of him imagined Snart would tease him, and Barry would blush, and then the teasing would take a more serious tone and Barry wouldn't try to stop it. He'd encourage Snart to slide his fingers closer, beneath the fabric of his underwear, and tease him in other ways. He'd give himself over to wanting Snart, to the thought of Snart wanting him, and not think about how he'd always wonder if something he'd changed was the only reason Snart would ever look at him like that.

"Barry?"

A whimper had left Barry this time, as Snart's fingers dug into the tight muscles of his thigh, sliding smooth with help from the salve, higher, higher, but not high enough before they started to work their way down again.

"Just, uhh…sore," Barry said, choking back the emotion in his voice. He had to clear his head, stop thinking about Snart's hands, his mouth, the look of love in his eyes in that other world that was unmatched by anyone who'd ever said they loved Barry.

"Time to turn over again, kid. A few other places I need to attend to."

"Wh-What?" Barry blanched as he opened his eyes, cheek pressed into the table. "I'm, uhh…t-ticklish, so…"

"Relax. I said I'd behave." Snart coaxed Barry to roll over with a nudge of his arm.

Barry pushed up onto his elbows. "You know…maybe that's enough. We should, umm…"

"Can you move your legs yet?"

"…No."

"Then we're not done."

Snart pushed at Barry a little more firmly, though he didn't force him. Still, Barry had no excuses, nothing he could do but comply.

As he rolled over, Snart didn't notice the bulge in his shorts right away because he helped pull Barry's legs around and straightened them out on the table—attentive and kind in ways Barry wasn't used to from the thief. But once Snart's hands slid up Barry's thighs to begin massaging again, Barry felt the heat of his piecing stare.

"S-Sorry," Barry stuttered, face flushed and hot.

Snart was silent at first. His hands hadn't left the side of Barry's thighs. They moved down toward his knees, then up to the edge of his underwear again with rare tenderness. "I don't mind," he said softly.

Barry gaped when he finally dared to look at him. Snart's smirk was subtle, teasing but not dishonest, and as the static between their gazes intensified, Barry's self-control fled him.

"You can…keep going…if you want." What was Barry saying?

Slowly, as if gauging whether or not Barry meant what he had said, Snart's hands pushed up higher just as Barry had envisioned, thumbs grazing his inner thighs as he slid inside Barry's underwear.

Barry bucked up, like he'd wanted to grind into the table. He stared at Snart, thinking that he should say something, do something, and his mild flailing made Snart pause. His thumbs stroked lightly at the crease of Barry's hips.

"Is that what you want, Barry?"

Barry panted, chest heaving, as he further tented the front of his shorts. "G-Gideon," he croaked, and Snart's eyes widened before he finished quickly, "lock the door."

"Of course, Mr. Allen."

Len hadn't intended to push things. He wouldn't have been anything but professional if Barry hadn't looked at him like that and asked.

Len's hands were slick from the balm, and slid so easily across Barry's skin, higher up to his hip bones, circling the line where his legs met his torso with his thumb and the inner edge of his palm. Barry trembled from the added intimacy, the front of his shorts already growing damp as he strained against them.

Reaching for the waistband from within the shorts themselves, Len started to pull them up and over Barry to drag them down, but Barry's hands shot out to hold his underwear in place. Len looked up, startled. He should have known better; of course Barry would realize his mistake and have second thoughts.

His eyes looked damp now, brow scrunched, but when he spoke, he didn't tell Len to stop or move away. He just said, "I fucked up."

Len instantly knew what Barry was talking about. "I know."

"Not just today, I—"

"I know, Barry."

As understanding dawned on Barry about what Len meant, he looked suddenly pale in lieu of his blush. Len could see in his eyes how much he wanted to ask…how? but his tongue fumbled to find the words.

"I was in the time stream, kid. I saw everything. It's okay." He tried to pull his hands from being trapped by the fabric of Barry's shorts, but Barry held him firmly in place.

"You…you knew all this time? Is that why you…?" He let Len go like he'd been shocked and looked three shades more embarrassed in the span of seconds—just like a speedster.

Len sighed as he slowly dragged his hands down Barry legs until they rested harmlessly against the outside of his thighs again. "Contrary to what you might think, Scarlet...if that little detour had never happened, but this still did," he rubbed chaste circles into Barry's thighs, "I would have been just as interested as I am now. Would you?"

That was the question, because Len knew his own desires, but he'd never known Barry's. He could only assume that Barry at least remotely wanted him if any version of the timeline meant they'd end up together. Then again, Barry hadn't been able to get away from that world fast enough. After he'd let Len drop to his knees.

The shame in Barry's eyes as he looked away…maybe that was all it was.

"I don't know," Barry said, fighting so hard not to look at Len that when he finally did, the heat between them doubled. "You're so…you. Thrilling and challenging and beautiful. Of course I like you, of course I've thought about it. But that was a completely different you that you didn't even get to choose."

Len had to smile, because Barry never deflected blame. He was selfish and made mistakes like everybody else, but when he was wrong, he owned those mistakes, he just had trouble letting them go.

Len softly stroked across Barry's skin. "And if I chose now, after assuring you that I would have made those same choices gladly, in any timeline, if given the chance?"

Barry stared at him in awe, so gorgeous spread out on that table, still hard, still wound up, but cautious and so certain that he wasn't anyone's first choice. He and Len had a disgusting amount in common some days.

"What would you want, Scarlet," Len asked, "if we could start right here, and all that mattered was that this time we both know each other's desires?"

"I—" Barry clamped his mouth shut as if he didn't trust his words. He looked at Len, who remained endlessly patient touching Barry only surface deep, giving him all the time in the world to tell him no, not this time, not this life. "I'd want…to keep the door locked," Barry said, "and let you finish what you started."

Len pushed his hands up to Barry's hips, and when Barry shuddered, so did he. "My pleasure, Scarlet," he said, reaching up all the way for the elastic while inside Barry's shorts again, and pulling them down as he'd intended before. "Your pleasure soon too," he grinned.

However much Barry might have dwindled during their talk, he bobbed to alertness now, wet and dripping and flushed as he nodded for Len to keep going. It made Len's heartbeat tremble to have Barry so willing and wanton.

The shorts hit the floor, and Len was tempted to take Barry into his mouth right then. "I remember how you taste," he said, but he wanted to earn that step, wanted to soothe Barry, while still doing his job to work feeling back into those important legs.

Len licked his lips, but reached for the salve to spread more over his fingertips. He returned to Barry's hips, digging into the grooves, with a whole new promise between them as Barry laid there bare.

Barry's hips bucked up like before, though his legs still remained inert. He urged Len to touch him with the utter desperation in his eyes, but Len had other plans. He dragged his fingers down the inside of Barry's thighs, grazing the soft skin between his legs, teasing his thumbs along the edge. Barry whimpered, pleading with the tempting part to his lips.

"You had me on my knees in that other world…but you regretted it," Len said, never ceasing the motion of his hands as he inched closer and closer to Barry's neglected length. "You ran from it. I don't want you to ever feel that way again."

Barry shook his head, but a smile touched his lips. "I didn't think you could ever want me…if I hadn't tricked you first."

"You never tricked me, Barry. A different life gave me a different path. You…'corrected' things, but that path is still there, if I want it. If you want it." Len had grown too sentimental from his time with the Legends, but that wasn't what had broken him. It had opened him up, made him yearn for things he'd never been sure he could want, but it was seeing the impossible made real in Barry's iterations of the past, present, and future, that made Len forget to be scared about what ifs and having a happy ending.

"I ruined everything," Barry said like a sob, and it made Len hesitate just as his thumbs were beginning a trail up Barry's underside.

"Can't change things now, kid. You could…but shouldn't. Now's your chance to move forward, to do better. You didn't ruin me. You believed in me. You saved me. Let me repay the favor." Len grinned as he smoothed both hands up Barry's hot, hot skin, working in the balm as he'd worked it into the rest of Barry's body.

Barry whined plaintively as he was finally, finally touched where he wanted to be, Len's thumbs circling around his head. Len didn't realize he'd coated Barry in something he might not want on his tongue until it was too late.

"Gideon, is this stuff toxic if I were to…" he flicked his eyes from Barry's hips up to his face, "ingest it?"

Barry flushed darker above him.

"The balm provided by Captain Hunter is non-toxic, Mr. Snart, and should contain a sweet and not at all unpleasant taste."

"Good to know."

Len descended, licking first at Barry's tip to test. The salve was indeed sweet. He still gathered as much of it as he could to redistribute it lower between Barry's legs and across his thighs as he took Barry into his mouth.

The sound of Barry's pleasant moans brought Len right back to the lab in that other life, on his knees, making his husband come undone. It was sobering, almost aching to remember, but it did nothing to lessen Len's own arousal now that he had found his way back.

He sucked Barry down, and as the kid mewled and thrust his hips upward, his legs gave several telling twitches. Barry was too caught up in his pleasure to notice, but Len saw and increased his pace, bobbing fast as he dug his thumbs into Barry's thighs, continuing his massage into the kid's weakened muscles.

"S-Snart…" Barry moaned, head arching back as his hips rhythmically moved, and his hands sought out the curve of Len's head, stroking the buzz of his hair and the curve of his ears. "Len," he said with more fervor, something Len had only ever known in faint, forgotten memories of a life he didn't get to keep.

Len didn't let up, didn't slow down, until Barry clutched at him, stiffened, and stuttered upwards with his release, which Len drank down greedily. He didn't realize until he tried to lift his head that Barry's legs had moved enough to crook up and coil halfway around his back.

Barry looked shocked at everything that had happened—that he'd been sucked off by his nemesis, that Len had finished him off without pulling away, and that somehow through it all the balm had kicked in and Barry could finally move his legs.

Len grinned up at Barry in the aftermath, and before either of them could speak, a spark of lightning fizzled up Barry's legs. Len had seconds to prepare himself for the inevitable before he was zipped across the room, pushed into the wall, with a naked speedster pressed up against him, kissing him for all he was worth.

Barry hummed as though he didn't mind the taste of the salve—or himself—on Len's tongue, kissing him deep and heady and wet, with fierce probes of his tongue. Len should have known Barry would rally as an opponent even in this, and it thrilled him, made him so eager to kiss back and surrender himself while at the same time staking his claim.

He clung to Barry's thin waist, pulling that lithe body as close to him as it could get, and fought this battle like he had any other with The Flash—not like he needed to win, but for the fun of it, for the challenge, for the sheer pleasure his nemesis caused low in his gut ever since day one.

"For the record," Len gasped when Barry relented enough for him to take a breath, "wasn't angling for a happy ending when I came in here. Not complaining about that prospect though…"

Barry giggled, and it was the sweetest sound. Out of his lightning, he was a little wobbly still, but he remained standing as he rubbed his renewed erection against Len's clothed thigh. "Is there a shower in here? This stuff's a bit…sticky. And we're not done yet," he purred, a very different beast without his hang-ups to hold him back.

"There is. But I don't think we're ready for that."

"We're not?" Barry pouted.

"You'll a little shaky on your feet yet," Len said, slowly starting to back Barry toward the table, while keeping a hold on his hips so he wouldn't stumble. "Might need to attend to a few places on your body that I missed. Whadda ya say you get back on that table, Flash? Face down."

Gorgeous color spread across Barry's cheeks. "Yeah?"

Len squeezed his ass just before it struck the end of the table. "Yeah."

"Mr. Snart, a word?" Gideon interrupted them from claiming another kiss.

Len snarled, "What is it, Gideon?"

"If you plan to use the balm Captain Hunter supplied as a lubricant—"

Barry flushed darkly again.

"—the makeup of the solution is suitable for the task, but do be sure to use a liberal amount."

Len's brain did something it never did—took a moment to reboot before he could respond. "Barry…I do believe Gideon is encouraging me to get you back on this table and have my wicked way with you. What did your future self program her with exactly?"

Barry's gaping mouth proved he didn't have a good excuse for that.

"I am merely expressing a concern for my maker in all things," Gideon came to his aid.

"Sure you are."

"Gideon," Barry spoke up, "can you, uhh…not talk for a while unless it's an emergency?"

"Of course, Mr. Allen."

Len snorted. His hands were still slick from the balm. He let them slide low down Barry's ass, firm and slender beneath his touch, and glided his digits tellingly center to tease at where he planned to spread the salve next. Barry's whimper was the loveliest encouragement.

Len hoisted him up on the table and ordered him to turn about. "Gotta apply a bit more of this magic ointment, Scarlet. Make sure you're up to snuff. Sound like a plan?" He dragged a hand across Barry's ass again as the kid turned and got up on his hands and knees like the worst—best—tease. Len kissed the back of his thighs. "And when we're done…maybe you'll stick around the Waverider a bit longer? See the sights from my bunk?" He didn't know how else to say that he didn't want Barry to go, that he wanted to keep him close for as long as he could have him.

Barry looked back at Len, and for all his arousal, his eyes carried so much more than lust. "I like the sound of that. If you do?"

Len wasn't letting this kid go—ever again—not without a fight. "Best choice I ever made was volunteering to save your legs," he grinned, and Barry chuckled helplessly into the table. "Gideon?" Len called. "Keep the door locked until further notice."

"Yes, Mr. Snart."

THE END