A/n: So, today's episode of Flash. Finally, after so long, there's a tiny Snowbarry moment. It reminded me a little of their initial development during season one, and I truly do miss their little moments.

A thing to note: The Caitlin and Barry of this story, is not the Caitlin and Barry that we know. It's the Caitlin of Earth-2, and a Barry of another world. So their lives, personalities and differences, varies quite a bit.

The Caitlin we know, is gentle and kind. Killer Frost is more... cold. Remember, not only does she not bat an eyelid when she kills, she actually enjoys it.

This Barry, well, he's a little older than her. A few years older, more rugged, handsome. The Barry we know, he grew up surrounded by love, and it's what turned him into the great man we know today. This Barry, he grew up alone, he did not experience the love that Earth-1 Barry experienced.

So, enjoy, and leave me a review if you so wish (:

p.s Check out my other FlashFrost story. It's going to be a more "serious" one.

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But underneath the fallen snow,

Through the season's hourglass

She sees her future, of warmth and of cold.

Chapter: 4

When Caitlin eventually recovered from the unbearable blaze of heat, he was the one that helped her up from the floor. An arm looped around her shoulder, muscles ripping beneath his clothing as he lifted her onto her feet without much effort. She stumbled slightly, hands grabbing instinctively onto him for balance while his wrapped gently around her, keeping her still and safe.

His touch was gentle, with a hint of tenderness unlike before; but he was still the reason for her initial collapse, regardless of how kind and bipolar his actions now were.

They moved back to the dining table, and he held the chair out for her to slide into before taking his own. Afterwards, she sat there silently, an arm clasped tightly over the back of her neck where it still lightly burned, an uncomfortable presence she couldn't rid. They were still for the longest time; she refused to meet his eyes, and he was staring intently in her direction, observing like a scientist studying a newly discovered microbe.

"I am not your… little science project." She wanted to snarl at him, but her voice ended up a pathetic crack, resembling the weak mewing of a helpless kitten. In a way, it felt like a correct analogy of their current situation, with her being reduced to such a pitiful and demure state.

She certainly deserved the karma, Caitlin wasn't a saint, but the complete opposite of one. She had her fair share of dropped bodies, and sometimes, she even enjoyed the chaos that she brought forth. She knew her 'career' wasn't something that would last forever, and she often fantasized about the way she would ultimately go down, often in a final bout of freezing glory. But this situation she had gotten herself in – being turned into Barry Allen's prisoner, it was something she could have never predicted.

"You are not just a little science project."

She hated how different their tones were; hers seethed with fury, but his was calm and reasonable. The way he emphasized on the word little, further infuriated her, and it was only even more so maddening how there was nothing she could do but to endure his torment. She had thought about clawing the chip out, but she had no idea how deeply it was embedded into her skin, or how it would affect her if ripped violently out; and the risk of suffering once more from that heat, she shuddered at that very thought.

"You are a guest as well, and I treat my guests well," he said.

Before she could think of a sarcastic response, she was interrupted by the swinging of kitchen doors, as an aromatic wave of deliciousness descended upon her. Her stomach grumbled hungrily in response, and Caitlin was once again reminded of how ravenously hungry she was.

The cutleries were already prepared from before, and the chef arrived with two additional plates. The man wasted no time in lifting their covers and unveiling his magnificent work. The smell assaulted her, a salivating mix of garlic and lemon. A fish of some sort, beautifully presented, rustic, as though freshly caught and prepared from a seaside town.

Barry Allen nodded at the chef. "Thank you, Cisco."

The man bowed and made his exit.

There was something vaguely familiar about the man, he reminded her of a villain she once worked with from her world. But it was too long ago and she wasn't good with faces, not that her brain worked particularly well in front of such delicious food.

"Eat."

She had thought of further defying him, to at least show a bit more resistance and not comply entirely to his command. But what was the point, they both knew he had the complete upper hand, she wasn't about to make herself suffer unnecessarily just to show her rebellious streak. She could do so later on, at least that was what she told herself.

She tore hungrily into the prepared food while he greeted his meal with a contrasting sophistication. He ate as if he was attending a formal dinner, with sliced pieces and tiny mouthfuls; while she ravaged her meal like a famished caveman, without a care as to her appearance and presentation. She was done before he was even halfway through, and as though noticing the way her eyes trailed over his remaining meal, Barry Allen flicked his fingers, and another serving was delivered to her in no time.

She approached the meal a little slower this time round, taking a long moment to savor its exquisite taste. The meat was beyond tender, the spices mixing as they all melted in her mouth in a glorious mix of wonderment. Before long, she was finished with her seconds, and he was done with his.

Standing up, Barry Allen headed to the side of the room before returning with a bottle of wine and two empty glasses.

"Come with me," he asked rhetorically.

She followed him as they headed back into the living room space, traversing the large area before he unlocked the doors to the outside balcony. They stepped outside into the cool evening air, the wind quickly sending her whitened locks into a frenzied spin.

She pulled her hair together as they stopped by the railing's edge, watching the settling sun drifting slowly in the horizon, as the world revolved exhaustedly below them. He poured each of them a glass of the darkened liquid, a soft swirl of the wine before he brought it up to his lips.

She accepted the glass without complaints, and while he took a slow long sip, she drowned the entire cup whole with a single gulp.

When she noticed the way he was looking at her, she blurted out. "What?"

He was certainly amused. "That is a fifteen thousand dollar bottle of wine."

She held out the glass. "You can afford more, pour me another."

He complied, and she felt slightly victorious; he still held the upper-hand in their uncomfortable relationship, but as long as her resolve remained fiery, every victory, no matter how small, is still a victory. If her defiance came as a form of snarky remarks and the ability to waste his money, then so be it.

A few glasses and half a bottle later however, she was clearly starting to regret her decision. There was a pink flush across her pale cheeks and she felt a little off-balance, as though her knees were not agreeing with the other. It struck her at that moment that perhaps a ten thousand dollar bottle of wine had a stronger effect than the usual cheap brands she would normally drink.

"It is beautiful isn't it?"

His voice was soft, and for some reason (she blamed the wine), it made her legs even woozier than before.

She nodded, the panoramic view of Central City certainly was exquisite.

He reached for her glass, gently nudging it out of her grip and placing it onto the table behind them. "I think you've had enough." His voice was firmer now. "I don't want you to accidentally drop the glass and impaling an unfortunate passerby."

He was considerate too, how annoying. She turned away, her footsteps uneven. She raised an arm towards him, indicating that his help was not required. The two of them headed back into the living room, the outside atmosphere evaporating as the balcony doors were closed behind them.

"What now?" she glared at him, purposely keeping an even distance between both.

"It is getting late." He gestured in the direction she previously came from. "I will show you to your room."

She hung close to the walls as they headed in that direction. The railings were admittedly more than useful in her current state. As they arrived at the top floor, she spun around to face him, only to realize that the world did not stop spinning when she did. She tripped over her own feet and fell backwards, suspended without gravity for a single horrifying second before she found herself colliding softly against him.

Barry Allen caught her from behind, his arms wrapped safely around her own, his intruding heat a familiar blaze of grudging pleasure.

She struggled against his grip. "What are you doin-"

His grip tightened; the flames grew warmer, and her lips parted in a soundless whimper. She knew she would have fallen without him, so she stopped struggling, amidst other more pleasurable reasons.

"You know, there are reasons why that particular brand is so expensive," his voice was a soothing whisper, a light caress upon her reddened ears. "One such reason being that they're made with a rare strain of berries that holds at least five times the alcoholic content than those made with normal fermented grapes."

She groaned frustratedly, allowing him to guide them up the last few steps, before slipping away from his arms at the first chance she found. They eventually arrived at the guest room, which was opposite to his own. She turned the doorknob, wanting nothing more than a moment alone to clear her head, but his hand was suddenly on hers, hooking onto her wrist and pulling her back.

She found herself pressed up against the wall once more, his hands on either side of her, pinning her helplessly still. Her breath caught, and she looked away, trying to will herself into ignoring the emerging sensations.

His head tilted downwards, mouth inches to the left of her own. "You're drunk. It means your metabolism is working in a similar fashion as an average female." He was talking science again, but his tone was lower, muskier, it sent chills along her core.

His lips moved upwards, and he breathed lightly into her ear, "I wonder… what else is similar."

She pushed forward, trying to escape from underneath him, but the hand that wrapped around her wrist still had her in a firm grasp. He shoved her back, slamming her roughly against the wall behind. The pain was a dull throb, smothered by the heated pleasures that flushed persistently through her every fibre.

She looked up, and his dark eyes burned deeply into hers.

His body closed the space between both, his lips sealing hers in a feverous kiss. The erupting flames overwhelmed her, melting her into quick submission, her hands falling limply to her side. She surrendered to him, allowing herself to float along the warming currents, guided by nothing but his warmth.

His hands were everywhere; her cheeks, her neck, her hips, her breasts.

She moaned into the kiss, her body trembling as his hand curved around the side of her waist, slipping beneath the hem of her clothing, resuming its original path before they were so rudely interrupted this afternoon. A hand cupped around the side of her neck, holding her still while the other climbed from beneath her clothing, leaving heated trails as he curved along the fabric of her undergarment.

Her thighs clamped together in response, and she was suddenly aware of how desperately she needed him. Everything else faded away, except the growing ache between her legs, it was chilling, and she needed his heat.

Their lips parted, she inhaled deeply, preparing for his return.

But it never came. She blinked, and he was a step back. Another blink, and he had returned to where he stood before.

"Goodnight, Caitlin Snow."

He smiled, the door closed, and the Barry Allen of this world was no more.

She slumped weakly to the ground, cursing the mess she had found herself in. Caitlin Snow, she hated how it reminded her of the past, of her weaker self. But between his seductive whispers and his calculated touch, she wanted nothing more than to hear him growl her name.

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