Dubious consent warning. Barry cannot control what he is doing, but I assure you, he enjoys himself long before the end, just be warned. Random plot bunny that reared its head and I had to obey. Mostly PWP, which I'm sure you all hate, right? Though plot snuck in, because you know it's ME, and I couldn't help it.

Barry had no idea where he was. The meta—or magic user? He wasn't entirely sure but something out of the realm of normal science was going on—had only told him that he would somehow know how to reach his destination.

After he'd encountered her, not even in his Flash suit, but civilian garbed, catching her breaking into a portion of the Central City art museum while he was already there taking samples after a Rainbow Raider case, she'd stopped him in his tracks with a look. Now he couldn't even recall her face, any details he could give the police later, only the rhythmic sound of her voice.

"Now, now, I can't have any interruptions. But don't worry, sweet boy, I won't hurt you. I'll let you have a little fun while I keep you distracted and far away from here. Let me see inside that lovely head of yours at what you really, truly want."

Barry had been hijacked, cursed, brainwashed. Even as he turned on his heel and left the museum, passing several officers, including Joe and Eddie on his way out, he could only smile at them, wave. When he tried to speak, to plead for help, different words than what he intended left his lips.

"See you guys later. I have to take care of something quick before I bring these samples back to the labs. I'll keep you updated."

While internally, he'd been thinking, Help! She's still inside the museum, and I can't fight what she's doing to me! Joe! Eddie! Stop me!

All he knew was that he'd been set on a course to enact his most secret desires—she'd used those exact words when she bound him with her spell, or powers, whatever it was—and he wouldn't be able to control himself again, his body, his words, any action he took, until he fulfilled that.

Barry had initially been terrified he'd seek out Iris, do something even more shameful than repeatedly confessing his love for her when she'd already chosen Eddie, but the door in front of him now wasn't one he recognized.

He was in a rougher neighborhood, not bad necessarily, but not the type of suburban comfort he was used to. The door was the back entrance into some old factory warehouse, tucked down an alley, hidden from prying eyes, which was a small comfort since Barry honestly had no idea what he was doing here or what was about to happen after he gave two sharp raps on the door.

Leonard Snart appeared on the other side.

Fuck. Barry was so screwed. She'd lied and simply sent him to his enemy to, what? Hand himself over? Present himself to be killed or kidnapped? At least Cold definitely wasn't in on this; he looked just as startled to find Barry on the other side of his door as Barry was to be there.

Cold wore a soft grey sweater and jeans, the sleeves rolled up, a high-neck collar with a half-zipper pulled down. A collection of tattoos Barry hadn't seen before decorated the man's forearms, and an instant waft of pleasant smelling cologne struck Barry like evergreens.

"Flash," Cold scowled, posture stiffening, on guard, "how did—?"

"You are so fucking hot."

It took Barry a moment to realize he was the one who'd just said that. Internally, his stomach twisted with embarrassment, but his cheeks didn't flush with heat, his eyes didn't widen, his mouth didn't gape in horror. He eyed Cold up and down…and grinned.

Shit.

Cold looked even more thoroughly confused, one hand on the door, ready to slam it shut. "What—"

Barry flashed forward, unable to control or cease his movements. He rammed into Cold, knocking him back inside the building, and kicked the door shut behind them as he gripped Cold's sweater by the collar and licked his way inside the man's mouth like he was starving for a taste.

Oh god! Stop! Snap out of it! Barry demanded of his body, sickened by how eagerly he sucked on his villain's tongue, body pressing forward to rub up against Cold. He didn't have any secret desires for this! Did he…?

The way Cold started to react, mouth meeting and moving against his, strong and surprisingly warm hands seeking his waist and holding there, made Barry's pulse ratchet, a heat building in his belly that wasn't entirely nerves or embarrassment.

Damn, Cold was a good kisser…

In the same brief moment Barry gave in to what his body was doing without his permission, Cold came to his senses and pushed at him, tearing their lips apart. "Barry," he gasped Barry's real name, haggardly, rasping, "what the hell—?"

"I want you to fuck me."

The shock Cold stared at him with, his eyes saucer like and so, so blue, was akin to Barry's own astonishment. He hadn't just said that. He couldn't have.

"Please," Barry's voice begged, whined, while the rational part of his brain told him this would not end in the direction it was headed, no way. Cold didn't think of Barry like that! They were enemies, nemeses! Cold might have kissed back at first, but thinking clearly he'd laugh in Barry's face, turn him away, be disgusted or at least mocking.

Barry couldn't turn his head, kept looking at Cold, fingers twisted in his sweater, body aligned with Cold's own, but he tried to take in some sense of the room, the building they were in. It didn't look like a warehouse inside. It was warm, cozy, faint music playing from somewhere—was that Ella Fitzgerald?—and dim lighting illuminating what looked like a very normal living room. Cold had this place set up like a real home, more so than any common safe house.

When Cold didn't respond, kept gaping, breaths coming shallow, actually tongue-tied, Barry's voice ran away with him again, "Please. You know you want to," and tugged Cold back in for another kiss.

Barry was stronger than Cold, a force to be reckoned with when he lost control of his abilities, so it was easy to manhandle the startled thief, backing them further into the room as Barry coiled his tongue with the other man's and slid one of his hands to the back of Cold's head to hold him in place.

Initially, Cold succumbed, kissed back, squeezed Barry's hips as he clung to him, but when they backed into an end table, he stopped and fought to pull away. Cold's gaze was controlled now, narrowed, his expression neutral like he suspected a trap.

"And what makes you think I want that, Barry?" he asked in a tight, challenging tone.

"Mmm," Barry hummed, and god, he'd never heard himself sound so openly needy, both hands sliding slowly down the front of Cold's sweater, the right trailing lower, lower still. Cold didn't try to stop him, not even when he gripped the telling hardness through the man's jeans. "How about this?"

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Cold was going to murder him.

Barry leaned enough forward that Cold nearly toppled back with the end table behind his knees, but Barry held him in place, snaked his other hand around Cold's back. He mouthed along Cold's jaw to his ear and felt the man shudder.

"Wanna feel mine?" Barry whispered, and yep, he could die of embarrassment right now, thank you. He ground his own very firm erection against Cold's thigh with an unrepentant moan. "I get hard just thinking about you."

And that was an utter lie! Barry had never once gotten hard thinking about Cold, or touched himself while...well. There was that one time the man's smirking face had entered Barry's mind when he got close, hands vibrating on himself while he stifled moans into his pillow, but only because he'd been trying so hard to keep his mind blank.

Okay, maybe it was more than once, but...that didn't mean anything!

Barry ran his tongue along the curve of Cold's ear, his left hand seeking the hem of Cold's sweater, slipping up beneath it to feel warm, smooth skin, while the right squeezed Cold through his jeans. The stuttered breath against Barry's neck made his own breath hitch. Cold liked this. He wanted it. But if Cold didn't stop what was happening, how could Barry?

Barry kissed Cold's neck and moved both hands to undo the man's jeans.

"Wait," Cold ground out, voice low and rumbling. Thank god. "Barry, stop," he said more firmly when Barry's body ignored his plea and drew the zipper down. "Shit, kid, are you even in your right mind?"

No!

Barry tried to reach inside Cold's undone jeans, but Cold gripped his wrist and pulled his hand away. When Barry looked the other man in the eyes again, closely met as they were, Cold's cheeks were flush, his pupils dark and dilated as he frowned.

"What brought this on?" he demanded.

A meta human! he tried to say. She's controlling me! I don't want to be here! I don't want to do any of this!

"How about…" he said instead, voice confident and seductive, "I had a really bad day. And all I could think about was sucking your cock."

Barry's stomach plummeted. There was no coming back from that. Ever.

He dropped to his knees right there in front of Captain Cold, gripping his jeans, ready to tug them down—no, no, no—when Cold's hands clamped over his wrists again. His eyes were all pupil now, black, his breath heavy, face scrunched in disbelief…and then softened with faint amusement as he stared at Barry and saw nothing but playful commitment smirking back at him.

It didn't matter how Barry felt internally, to Cold there was no reason to believe Barry didn't wholeheartedly want this and mean every word he said.

So when Cold reached forward, one hand sliding back along the side of Barry's face, thumb tracing his cheekbone while his fingertips threaded through his hair, it dawned on Barry how unfair this was—not just to him, but to Cold.

"If that's really what you want, kid…we can arrange that." Cold licked his lips, staring at Barry's lips as he did so. But there was a slight tremble in his hand as he dug his fingers further through Barry's hair, a flicker of nerves over his features as he swallowed low in his throat, wanting Barry, yes, his voice steady, but somehow timid too.

It made his chiseled features seem softer, and so very handsome. The grey sweater and jeans were the picture perfect casual look, his feet bare, Barry realized, the music swelling in the distance that endeared Barry to him for at least having good taste in pretty much everything.

"Wow…you are seriously sexy," Barry said as he arched up into the hand carding through his hair, and for once the words didn't contradict what he was feeling. Cold was gorgeous, Barry couldn't deny that truth, even if his gut bubbled with tension.

Cold chuckled. "Says the man on his knees."

Barry grinned and started to tug at Cold's jeans again.

"Wait," Cold said, and Barry actually groaned at being halted once more, while internally he found himself conflicted. "I'm all on board here, Scarlet, but this isn't exactly a comfortable position. Not much leverage." He patted the end table behind him.

Barry paused long enough to glance to the sofa to their right. In seconds he had deposited Cold onto the cushions, wedging himself between the man's legs, as he coaxed him to lift his hips so he could slide the jeans down. Cold blinked confusion at first, taking in his new position, before he laughed again and raised his hips as requested. Barry slid the jeans and boxer briefs beneath clear down the other man's hips.

The heady smell of Cold mixed with his cologne and something spicy in the air like pumpkin or Christmas, went straight to Barry's head, intoxicating. His insides twisted with excitement, eagerness, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to want this. He had his enemy with his pants down—literally—and Cold's size and girth was nothing to snuff at. Barry felt desire stir within him as he bent closer, the lighting in the room dim, he realized now, everything cozy and intimate about this shared moment.

He glanced up at Cold staring down his body at him, hungry and impatient, maybe a little bit of that bashfulness showing through that seemed to contradict everything else Barry knew about the man. Barry smirked at him, bit his lip, then licked a long strip up Cold's cock.

"And then I want you to fuck me," he said, before taking the man into his mouth.

Cold moaned and it sent pleasant shivers through Barry down to his groin. His brain short-circuited trying to tell himself he didn't want this, even while enjoying the salty taste mixed with the pleasant smells in the air and Cold's encouraging noises. Barry hadn't done this for someone since college. Hadn't been with another person intimately since before he'd gone to Starling that first time and met Team Arrow—other than Linda, which hadn't turned out well. He missed the way it felt to make someone moan and whimper…

"Barry," Cold arched his neck as he breathed out his name, head pressing into the cushions, "yeah…oh fuck, kid…keep doing that…"

Barry twirled his tongue over Cold's head, along the underside, and bobbed down slow, deep, before coming up again. "You'll treat me good, won't you?" he breathed heated air on Cold's skin.

"Oh, Scarlet," Cold moaned again, both hands digging into Barry's hair and tugging at the strands—which, fuck, felt so good, Barry nearly moaned with him. "I will treat you so…so good." The long vowels, the nicknames and Barry's own name, and countless affirmations continued before Cold husked out, "Ugnnn… it's been so long."

Silly as it was, that admission made Barry feel less neurotic about his own dry spell. "Bet I got you beat," he said, trailing his tongue down low between Cold's balls.

Cold's breath caught. "Is it a competition?"

"Isn't everything with us?"

A low chuckle sounded. "Okay, Scarlet…so how long?"

Barry sucked along Cold's skin up to his tip again. "Before the lightning."

Cold gasped as Barry bobbed down his length, but also looked at him with calculable shock. "But you've been The Flash for—"

"Yep."

"And before that you were in a coma—"

"Exactly. Told ya I had you beat. How long for you?"

"More recent than that, but…ahhh, ah! Before The Flash."

"Mmm," Barry hummed, hummed with Cold halfway down his throat, before he remembered he could do so much better than just hum.

Barry tried to clear his head, but he couldn't. He was so turned on, so worked up, his pulse skyrocketing in his ears. The nerves had become a pleasant backdrop, any real thought of hating this, of wishing he could get away or stop himself, drowned out in the sensations coursing through him and how much Cold seemed to be enjoying this.

So Barry gave in, willed himself to vibrate much like he did when blurring his face and voice, causing his throat to constrict and tremor around Cold as he swallowed him down.

"F-Fuck!" Cold cried out.

Barry laughed around him, bobbed a few more times, before coming up for air. "Do I distract you, Captain Cold?" he asked with that pulsating frequency to his voice.

Cold gaped down at him, amazed, impressed, and so wantonly captive. "In all the best ways."

Barry bobbed down again, again, keeping the vibrations constant. But soon the gently tugging fingers in his hair grew more insistent, trying to pull him away. Barry licked his lips as he looked up at Cold.

"If you want this to end the way you're asking for, kid…you're gonna have to hold off. Give me a break. That throat trick of yours is something else."

Barry had never had an opportunity to use his powers on someone in such a way, only himself, late at night in his room, sad and alone and wishing he had a partner. Most potential partners he wouldn't even be reveal his powers to. A swell of pride chased a few of the lingering nerves away. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

"No surprise you'd have some impressive self-control," Barry said as he slithered up Cold's body until he rested some of his weight atop him, still wedged between Cold's legs, his pants sliding over Cold's naked skin. He kissed Cold, decisively, powerful, fully controlling every beat of it, as he passed some of the saltiness on his tongue to the other man. Then he nuzzled his cheek as he whispered, "Maybe you can return the favor before we move on to the finale. See…I can come…and come again…and again…pretty much without end depending on my mood. Wanna see how many times you can get me off?"

Cold trembled beneath him. "Bedroom's through that door behind the sofa."

Barry giggled—and wow, this was too surreal. He flashed himself and Cold from the sofa, through the door that he closed behind them, into the bedroom, and laid Cold out on the comforter just as he'd been, jeans and underwear around his knees. Barry simultaneously had no control…and all of the control over this situation. He'd been set on this path against his will, but Cold had given over all of the power, let him manhandle him, control the tempo, set the rules, and through it all had only demanded to know why, to be certain Barry really knew what he wanted.

If it hadn't been for that, Barry might have feared this, loathed it, but instead he found himself wondering if that meta/magic user knew something he didn't, or if at least her strange powers did. Secret desires? Maybe even Barry hadn't known about them until now, but he couldn't deny he was enjoying himself.

He hadn't felt another person's hands on him in so long; he craved it now, wondering how Cold would feel, what he'd do. The danger Barry had feared from all this wasn't there. He certainly didn't suspect Cold would try and spring some super villain trap on him before they finished.

Barry stood in front of the bed while Cold readjusted to being on top of it. He ditched his jacket and started to unbutton his shirt, watching Cold kick his jeans and underwear off, then pull his sweater over his head, chucking it all to the floor.

The tattoos Barry had seen on the man's forearms covered much more of him than Barry would have guessed. Up his arms, across his shoulders, and down his chest. Barry imagined they spanned his back as well. They were an intricate display of various patterns and designs, but what drew Barry's attention most were the occasional snowflakes. If they hadn't looked slightly aged, he'd have thought they were in honor of his code name.

Barry dropped his button down from his shoulders, and moved to undo his pants, grinning at Cold all the while. Cold sat up and scooted to the end of the bed, dropping his legs over the edge, his swollen, weeping erection demanding attention that the man pushed aside for now.

"Come here," he ordered Barry, though it sounded strangely adoring and affectionate.

Barry moved in with a hand lingering at his beltline, slowly drawing down the zipper as he drew closer and Cold spread his legs to accommodate. Cold used his own hands to slide down Barry's pants, catching the elastic of his underwear and freeing Barry to the open air as he pulled them down. He had to curl his back somewhat as he bent toward Barry, but he managed, drawing Barry closer until the slick heat of Cold's mouth wrapped around Barry's cock.

Barry might have felt more shame over this if it had been one-sided, but there his nemesis was sucking him into his mouth, coiling his tongue expertly, so much more expertly than Barry. Barry didn't even feel bashful of the moans that spilled from his lips as Cold took him in deeper, because the other man hadn't held anything back when it was his turn.

For a split second Barry wondered what Oliver would think if he knew the position he was in right now, but then Oliver probably would have realized Barry was being mind-controlled and would have swooped in to his rescue.

Barry was being mind-controlled here—wasn't he? His internal monologue had forgotten to protest about ten minutes ago, and dulled further to the back of his mind as Cold continued to suck him in, swallow him down, reach around to grasp Barry's cheeks with both hands and use it for leverage to take him in so deep, Barry actually cried out, stunned and thoroughly awestruck with Cold's lacking gag reflex.

A few more minutes of this deep, fervent blowjob, and Barry was done. He ran his hands over Cold's head, across his shoulders and down his back, which he could see now did sport more of those impressive, tantalizing tattoos, and tried to choke out words of warning when he felt himself nearing the end. Cold merely hung on tighter, gripped his ass with deft fingers, and drank him down when Barry came.

Before the lightning, Barry would have fallen back when Cold released him and drifted into blissed out oblivion. His enhanced metabolism meant he bounced back quicker, however, so as soon as Cold's hands drifted to his hips, mouth pulling away as he licked his lips and smiled up at Barry coyly, Barry climbed forward into Cold's lap and kissed him.

He could taste himself on Cold's tongue, Cold's own taste still lingering in his mouth, the kiss sloppy, positively lewd as Barry cloyed in deep and sucked Cold's tongue into his mouth. He settled in Cold's lap, knees braced on either side of him, their erections sliding past each other then pressing right, while Barry remained hard and ready for the next round.

He wrapped his arms around Cold's shoulders, held his head in his hands, while Cold's hands slid up his back, caressing the skin with a surprisingly gentle, tender touch. Barry rocked into him and Cold gasped away, breath puffing against Barry's lips. It was a slow rock, firm but teasing.

"Barry…" Cold huffed out. "Top…dresser drawer."

Barry understood. He kissed Cold again, briefly, lapped at his lips, then flashed away and back again, returning with lube and a condom he set on the bed. "Ready when you are," he said.

Cold let him kiss him again, taking up his whole lap as he returned to where he'd been before, rocking rhythmically. Little rivulets of pleasure kept shooting up from Barry's groin, and he couldn't be anything but grateful for it, because he'd never approached sex with this kind of confidence before. Whammied or not, he liked the way it made him feel, to attack this without fear, even if the nerves still ate at him from within. Cold's eagerness brushed all his fears aside, and he enjoyed the feel of them touching skin to skin, so intimately connected.

It startled Barry when Cold stopped them…by standing, hoisting Barry up like he weighed next to nothing, Barry's legs wrapping around Cold's waist to better distribute his weight and share the burden, but it was still impressive how Cold carried him like that around the corner of the bed. Barry dropped heavily to the mattress when Cold laid him down, but still with amazing control, kissing Barry and rocking his hips again once they were laid out with Barry beneath.

They broke apart only long enough to better scoot up the bed and position themselves, Barry spreading his legs as Cold settled there and snatched up the lube.

This Barry had only ever done once, a drunken night that was as hot as it was regretful, if only that Barry barely knew the guy, but at least he'd been safe that night like they were thankfully going to be now. That had still been years ago. Of course Barry was no stranger to stretching himself, testing his limits more and more since he got his powers, but it wasn't the same as imagining Leonard Snart's cock inside him.

Being moaned just thinking that. The woman from the museum was right—he did want this, so much.

"Patience, Scarlet. Already came once and still so eager for it," Cold teased him, but with fondness again, affection that Barry hadn't expected.

He coated his fingers swiftly, clearly no stranger to this himself, and when one finger slid in without resistance, he added the second after only a few curling thrusts. The two fingers twisted and thrust in with slow purpose, knowing just how deep, what angle, and when Barry let out a broken cry at the first strike of the sweet spot inside, Cold kept at it, right there, again and again.

Barry brought his fist to his mouth and bit down, drunk on what was happening—Cold fucking him with his fingers after sucking him off, after Barry had taken the thief into his own mouth, having confessed that he wanted this, demanded it, which apparently Barry had actually wanted for longer than he'd ever guessed.

"Fuck, please," Barry keened as he slammed his fist back into the mattress, no disconnect between his thoughts and words now, "please…just fuck me, I want you to fuck me, I need it…"

"Shit, kid…okay. Okay…"

Cold's fingers pulled away, and Barry looked down to see him rolling the condom on, pouring liberal amounts of lube over him when he was ready, then nudging Barry to roll to his side. Barry wasn't sure what to expect, but he liked the way it felt when Cold settled behind him, also propped on his side, and he ran feather light fingers up his arm to contrast the presence of his other hand guiding him to Barry's entrance.

The first press stretched him so much wider than two fingers, but the slight burn was warm and so good, "Yeah…yeah…" Barry said as he pressed his hips back, taking Cold in the smallest bit deeper, urging him to fill him faster. But Cold kept his pace gradual, tentative, shushing Barry and kissing his shoulders.

When he was fully seated, he held that position, just held it, connected deep as they were, and Barry shuddered, vibrated all throughout his body from head to toe.

"Fuck…" Cold gasped. "You feel so good, Barry…so good."

Finally, Cold pulled back, sliding in slow, deeper, but keeping his pace just like that, timed and gentle. It was maddening. It was so good. It was everything Barry never knew he wanted.

Cold was so deep inside of him, and it felt so good, so right, he pulsed with vibrating shivers again, and again, every few seconds, feeling a rush of shame for enjoying this so much when Cold didn't know the truth. But Barry pushed all that aside when Cold arched forward, striking his prostate and making him howl the villain's name.

"No, not Cold," he rumbled against the back of Barry's neck, kissing him there. "Call me Len. When we're like this, you call me Len."

Barry obeyed—"Len." He liked that. He liked everything about this, and he refused to feel bad about that when it felt so fucking good.

It only took Cold—Len—sliding his hand over Barry's hips and stroking down his cock with a firm grip, while repeatedly thrusting slow and deep inside him, before Barry came again, coating Len's hand. The thief wiped it clean unabashedly on the comforter and then trailed it up Barry's stomach.

"I'm not there yet, Scarlet…so let's see if we can get you one more time."

That sounded wonderful. Barry had managed three before—he'd managed five one successful night—but never with company. This was so much better, leaving him feeling almost intoxicated but so much better than anything liquor used to do for him.

He was limp and compliant when Len slid out of him, rolled him onto his back and changing positions, back to between Barry's legs where they could see each other now, look at each directly. Len was a sculpture, his ink like a mural over is skin, his blown pupils displaying just the smallest sliver of intense blue around the edges. His lips parted as he panted, sheathing himself in Barry again, but going just as slow as before, rolling his hips, angling them just so, but pressing in deeper, right to the hilt.

"Fuck yes, don't stop!" Barry cried, hardening again in moments, pulsing between them.

He reached back above his head, seeking something for leverage, finding the smooth wooden bars of the headboard to grip. The rational part of Barry's brain realized how bad this could be as vibrations built up in him again, threatening to thrum through him. He knew his own strength when that happened. He quickly let go and dropped his hands to the bed again.

"No," Len growled at him, "do that."

Barry shook his head. "I'll break it."

"It's solid wood."

"I'll break it," Barry assured him, as the pulse he'd felt coming vibrated through him and made both him and Len cry out.

Len looked back down at him with renewed awe, maybe pride, definitely enough to turn him on even further, spurred on by Barry's confidence. He scooted them down slightly away from the headboard, pausing in his thrusts, so he could have Barry raise his hands above his head as he held them there at the wrists. He bit his bottom lip, nodding at the sight, liking the way Barry looked all stretched out for him.

In in this position, Len finally, finally picked up the pace, his infuriatingly slow rolls becoming sharp thrusts as he fucked Barry harder, faster, and the only coherent thought Barry could form was yessssss.

The vibrations picked up, pulse through Barry again, again, until they wouldn't, couldn't stop, Barry positively buzzing around Len on the bed until the thief gave a wrecked, filthy, glorious moan, and came inside of him. Len huffed as he stilled, falling forward just barely catching himself with his hands on the mattress, braced on either side of Barry's head. The vibrations slowly tapered off, but left Barry still hard, aching for one more release.

Len looked at it as hungrily as he had looked at Barry in the beginning, and while he was still inside of him, he took Barry in hand. Barry was so over-sensitized now, but the combination of sensations, the little throbs of Len inside him as he softened, the full brunt of everything they'd just done, and the feel of those warm, strong fingers gripping him, pumping him because he wanted to see Barry follow after him even if he had already come twice—fuck, it was too much. Barry gave himself over fully.

He looked up at Len, met his gaze, held it, just looked at him, and for all the history between them, all the pain and anger, all the fights, Barry didn't see the same man. He saw something he wanted, when he hadn't even known he could want something this much.

He came without a sound this time, just a stutter and stop to his breath, back arching, eyes locked on ice cold blue, and sunk back into the mattress more satiated than he'd felt in months.

The chorus of their panting breaths surrounded them a few moments more, before Len released him, wiped his hand again near where he had the first time, uncaring, and pulled away. Barry watched him roll the condom off at first but soon closed his eyes, so content and fuzzy now. He felt the bed dip and bounce back at Len leaving it, heading somewhere to dispose of the condom, no doubt, but right now Barry really couldn't care.

Lazily, he trailed a hand up his own stomach, avoiding the bits of cum that stained his skin, having escaped Cold's attentive hand, but reveling in how marvelously sensitized he felt. He grinned to himself at the pleasant buzzing throughout his limbs.

"You look like the proverbial cat with the canary, kid," Len's voice called him from his blissed out afterglow, the bed dipping again as he returned.

"I really needed that," Barry mumbled, peeking an eye open to look down at his companion.

"Happy to oblige," Len said. He had a towel, used it to gently clean Barry's skin, then tossed it onto the floor and moved up the bed to lie beside Barry.

Barry's pulse was still slowing, his adrenaline high, so it was difficult to think of anything else to say now that they'd gone through with all that and now laid side by side, just looking at each other. Barry didn't even know if what he wanted to say would be what left his lips, but before he could think of anything, Len reached for him, gripped the curve of his face and kissed him. The deep affection inherent in the gesture left Barry breathless.

"You feel so good, kid," Len said again, voice low and whispering between them. "Like everything I'd ever want to ruin."

Barry frowned. "That isn't very nice," he said—and wait. That wasn't particularly seductive or agreeable, but it was what he'd meant to say.

Len chuckled, scooting closer, their sides touching all down the length of their bodies. "You know I don't mean it like that. If I really wanted to ruin you, I wouldn't have saved your life that night."

"What?" Barry was too surprised to focus on how he might finally be free of that woman's control over him. "When?"

"Come on, Scarlet. You didn't honestly believe me when I said that meta human owed me money. Mardon didn't even buy that."

Barry's mouth gaped open as he fought for how to respond. "Wait. You killed Deathbolt to protect me? But you helped set him free."

"Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

And—what? What the hell did that mean?

"Barry," Len said, shifting to prop up on his elbow. "You were keeping them locked up without trial. Isolated. You couldn't have meant to have them flown halfway around the world to even worse conditions. And if you did, then I definitely made the right call, saving you from an even bigger mistake."

"But I—wait," Barry bit back his reply, taking a moment to think this through. "You betrayed me to keep me moral? But you said you were a liar—"

"And a thief. And many other things. But we had a deal." Len's face was firm now, neutral like it had been in the beginning, diplomatic but not angry, not challenging like Barry was used to when the man smirked or prodded him.

"Mardon killed those pilots," Barry reminded him.

"And I'm sorry for that," Len said with what Barry could only take as honesty, "I didn't expect it, but I don't regret shooting that meta when he aimed to kill you. I thought you'd finally figured this all out, that's why you came here today. Sweetening the deal once you realized I was playing to your side. I do hurt and rob people, Scarlet, but not without cause. We made a deal—no innocents. That's my preference anyway, always has been. I haven't included cops or security in that before, but I'm amenable." He grinned slightly now, just slightly, but enough to be genial, enough to look hopeful that Barry understood.

"Wow." Barry never would have guessed that this was the truth behind Len's actions. It wasn't strictly altruistic, but not evil villain cruel either.

"Don't be getting all soft on me, now," Len said, relaxing back into his lying position and reaching again for Barry's face. "I enjoy our dance. Trying to keep up with you is almost, almost as much fun as what we did today."

Barry choked on a laugh because, before he'd gotten so angry over Ferris Air, despite what had happened with Caitlin and Cisco, there had been times when he did enjoy facing Captain Cold, the challenge he presented, the flair in which he worked.

Len kissing him again didn't make him want to pull away. He sank into it, met Len's tongue eagerly, slid his own hand to Len's neck and held on, pressing their bodies even closer together.

Len chuckled again when he pulled away. "So if you wising up to all that wasn't what carried those swift feet my direction, what did? Was it really that bad of a day?"

Barry considered that…and all at once the threat of the meta/magic person/whatever she was slammed into him and he flew up into a sitting position with the knowledge that yes, he was fully in control of his faculties again and she had to be stopped.

"Shit!" He flashed out of the bed for his pants, digging for his phone, and speed-dialed Joe. "Joe!" he cried when is father answered, standing there naked in Leonard Snart's bedroom, while the man himself looked on in confusion. "There's a meta or…or something inside the museum. I don't know, I didn't get a good look at her, but she whammied me with something and I couldn't control what I did or said this whole past…" he looked at Len apologetically, whose brow furrowed and smile dropped, "…this whole past hour.

"Call Cisco," he went on, tearing his eyes from Len, "and be careful. Try not to approach her, but check if she's still there. She's probably long gone by now, but…yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Joe. No, I…no. Nothing I regret." He glanced at Len again, couldn't help it. "Okay. I'll check in when I can. Thanks." He hung up, dropped his phone to land atop his pants on the floor.

"I trust you're going to explain all that," Len said, sitting up and frowning at him.

Barry sighed. He had time, and he owed Len the truth. He moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge at Len's hip. He told him everything, from the beginning, how he'd been at the museum heist of Raider's, ran into the woman, then ended up here in front of Len's safe house without even knowing how or why. When he'd finished explaining, the villain's face was a cold mask, but if Barry was being honest with himself, he'd swear he caught a hint of nausea there too, of regret.

"So you didn't actually want any of that," Len said, not really asking.

"No, I…well, maybe not consciously but I—"

Len turned to drop his feet over the opposite side of the bed from Barry, meaning to get up and walk away. Barry flashed up behind him before he could stand, right behind him, legs framing Len's hips, dangling off the side of the bed beside Len's own, holding him back against him and refusing to let him get away.

"Wait. Just wait. I didn't flash away after I came to my senses for a reason. I've been in my right mind ever since we finished, and…and this is me not freaking out. I wanted it, I just maybe wouldn't have been so bold as to actually come here and ask for it without a little supernatural push." He chuckled, brokenly, maybe even hysterically, because this could have turned out so much worse if she'd made him do something he actually didn't want. "I told Joe nothing happened under the influence that I regret, and I meant that. I know it's awful it happened this way, but I—"

Len turned so swiftly, Barry cut off from being so startled, not used to anyone catching him by surprise with their speed. Then Len was kissing him, and Barry returned the act eagerly, tightening his hold on Len as he held him.

"So this means you wouldn't normally be able to say such dirty, filthy things without stammering and blushing, huh?" Len asked breathlessly when they pulled apart.

Barry promptly blushed.

Len laughed. "That should have tipped me off. It was just so unfairly hot to hear you talk like that."

"You're unfairly hot," Barry said with maybe a touch more confidence than usual, but not caused by anything but his own desires, openly revealed. He grinned, holding Len to his chest.

"No regrets then?" Len asked.

"Not so far."

"You have to go, don't you?"

Barry glanced at his phone on the floor. "I should, but…"

Len pulled out of his arms, and as much as Barry worried about where he might go, he let him. He watched the other man snatch the phone from his piled up pants and input a new number. Then he handed it back to Barry. "Call me sometime."

Barry looked at the phone, at the entry of simply 'Len' added to his contacts. He grinned cheesily up at the gorgeous, naked man before him. He knew this was insane, but he'd just had supernaturally-induced sex with his arch nemesis. Insane was nothing new for The Flash.

Barry stood, kissed Len again, kissed him and pulled him close, both of them standing there naked, touching bare and vulnerable, and yet Barry didn't feel particularly vulnerable, not anymore.

He sped through getting dressed, pocketed his cell phone, eyed Len up and down who still stood there in the buff, all shimmery with sweat and so confident in his nakedness. He had every right to feel confident, Barry thought.

Before turning to leave, he kissed Len one last time. It didn't feel strange. It didn't feel forced. It felt like everything he'd wanted but denied himself for far too long, and the realization of that left him with one final thought when he left the warehouse, with Ella Fitzgerald crooning "All The Thing You Are" following him out the door.

Today could have turned out so much worse, but his secret desires finally lined up with an object of his affection that wanted him back, and that wasn't so bad, even if it took him by surprise. He still really had it in for the woman who'd whammied him—what she'd done was not okay, and he couldn't risk her doing that to anyone else.

So if he also whispered a 'thank you' the next time he saw her, well, it would only be right before he figured out how to neutralize her powers and lock her away for good.

THE END