Archive of Our Own

Len doesn’t stumble across it by accident; Lisa texts him a link with a wink emoji, an eggplant, and goddamn water droplets. Len eyes her where she’s sprawled across the couch, refusing to look at him, but he knows that smirk. He curls his lip at her and opens it anyway, expecting a video or at the very least a lewd image. What he gets is… prose?

He glances at the title, Cold Lightning, with StreakMeBaby under it. The author, perhaps. There’s a box of text at the very top: rating explicit, apparently no archive warnings apply, whatever that means. He snags when he gets to the relationship, ‘Captain Cold/The Flash’. A little below that is a series of tags: ‘Frottage, Threats, both the sexy and the violent kind, oral sex, The Flash exacts revenge, you know he’d put CC on his knees, don’t even lie to me’.

What.

Len can practically hear Lisa’s grin growing wider with each second he’s staring at his phone in bewilderment. He doesn’t know what to address first.

“Did you send me porn?”

“Mm hmm.” Her voice cracks before she even finishes agreeing, slapping a hand over her mouth trying, futilely, to muffle her laughter.

“Oh my god, Lenny, please. Read it, I’m begging you,” she gasps between giggles, “I mean it’s actually not bad but also it’s so bad.”

“… Did you read pornography written about me?”

“Oh, don’t be a prude,” she tuts, “it’s not really you, it’s your alter ego. And some of them are really, really hot.”

“Some of them,” Len narrows his eyes, “How many are there, how many have you read?”

She buffs her nails on her shirt, and examines them casually. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, Lenny.”

He snaps his mouth shut, thinking better of his first impulse to argue. She has a point, there are some things he really doesn’t need to know. Warily he looks back at his phone and scrolls down, skimming through what seems to be a very poorly organised jewellery store heist—he’d never do such a sloppy job even if jewellery stores weren’t beneath him—which The Flash interrupts, whisking them both away to an alley and shoving Captain Cold up against a wall.

“Give me a reason not to take you straight to Iron Heights and put you where you belong,” The Flash snarls, hands fisted in Captain Cold’s signature jacket.

He’d dropped the gun in surprise, his hand is empty. Captain Cold smirks, aiming for nonchalance, despite the cold shiver of fear that runs down his spine.

“You and I both know that’s not where I belong,” he purrs, hoping this will work. He might be unarmed, but that doesn’t make him toothless.

The Flash chuckles meanly. ‘You’re right,” he agrees and places his hands on Len’s shoulders, pushing him down to his knees with unforgiving force, “But why don’t you remind me.”

Captain Cold swallowed hard, the alley concrete rough and cold against his knees, even through his jeans. This close he can see the bulge straining against the red suit. The Flash knots his fingers in Captain Cold’s hair and tightens them cruelly.

“Make it good for me, sweetheart, and I might even let you come.”

Len doesn’t know what to be more offended by. He would never drop his gun, never mind ‘shiver in fear’ at Barry Allen, human kicked puppy and paragon of naive optimism. And Allen. How could anyone see that idiot running around the city, throwing himself recklessly into danger again and again, and think yeah, there’s a man who’d coerce sex out of someone. Len has no doubt that Barry could probably play at being a little domineering with the right motivation, but if anyone belongs on their knees-

He stops short, startled by the thought, and feels heat flooding his cheeks. If anyone belonged on their knees… God, and with that mouth, so mobile and expressive. Len thinks about what he’d look like full of cock, lips stretched, choking on it a little and trying to take more than he can handle because that’s what Barry does, isn’t it? His pretty green eyes watering, his lashes wet.

Len stands abruptly and stubbornly ignores Lisa’s pealing laughter following him out of the room. It’s not hard to figure out that if he taps on the relationship tag it takes him to an index, pages and pages of stories written about him and Barry, or rather Captain Cold and The Flash. The filtering system isn’t hard to figure out either and he quickly sorts by explicit only, first, and then by ‘oral sex’ as an an additional tag.

He opens the first result and skims through the flimsy premise. In this one Len, Captain Cold, surprises The Flash on patrol, on a rooftop.

“Cold, what are-” The Flash stammers, back arching as he tries to get away from the barrel of the cold gun jammed into the small of it. He can hear the core humming, the icy power creeping over his skin through the suit.

“What am I doing?” Captain Cold murmurs, “Getting your attention, Flash.”

The Flash chuckles, though it’s more disbelieving than amused, “Have I been ignoring you?”

Captain Cold hums and slides his free hand around The Flash’s body, curling it over his hip and reaching down to cup between his legs.

“I think I’m the one who’s been neglecting you, Flash, and it’s time I made up for that. Wouldn’t you agree?”

In the story Barry—Flash, he’s The Flash—willingly goes to his knees. Len never lets go of his gun, caresses the side of Barry’s face with it at one point, and the implied threat adds to the eroticism even though it’s clear that Len wouldn’t use it. He doesn’t need to, Barry sucking on him like he doesn’t need to breathe with a hand of his own jammed into the suit and jerking himself off, moaning like a whore.

Fuck. Len stuffs a fist into his mouth and shoves a hand down his jeans, pulling awkwardly at himself in the confines. He’s so close already it only takes a few rough strokes before he’s coming like a teenager in his pants, knocking his head back against the door of his bedroom. He’d never even made it to the bed, just stood there like an idiot, reading until his knees had given out.

Apparently his mind as well. Lisa is never going to let him live this down, what on earth had he been thinking. He pulls his hand out and grimaces at the tacky come coating his fingers. It’s just been a while, that’s all. He clearly needs to get laid. By someone not Barry Allen.

*~*

That resolution lasts all of until some brunette twink slides up to him at a bar, later that night, easily picking up on the cruising-for-a-quickie vibes Len is putting out. Len drags him out to the alley behind the place, pushing him face up against the wall and kicking his legs open. The kid is panting and mouthy, calls Len Daddy before Len growls at him to shut up and proceeds to fuck into the space between the kid’s thighs, reaching around to jerk him off because Len knows how to be a gentleman.

Lisa is never going to hear about that, either, she already has more than enough blackmail material. Christ, when did Len get old enough to be someone's daddy kink. He goes back to their temporary apartment feeling unsatisfied and isn’t wholly surprised to find himself in bed, after cleaning up, reaching for his phone. He clears the filters and reads through some of the descriptions until he lands on one that catches his attention.

‘Hurt comfort, emphasis on the hurt’, the summary reads, ‘What happens when Captain Cold is the only one The Flash can turn to for help?’ It’s rated M, instead of E, so there’s no porn to flick forward to. Len hesitates before his curiosity wins out. Len knows what happens in that situation: He betrays Barry for his own ends, and kills a man. Still, Len’s interested to see what scenario this writer has come up with, so he settles in to read.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” The Flash pants, and he grins lopsidedly at Captain Cold. Cold can see the blood staining his teeth, as if the thick smear of it from the corner of The Flash’s mouth to the back of his jaw isn’t enough, the line of blood trickling down from under his mask and getting  caught in an eyebrow. Personally Cold doesn’t see what there is to grin about.

“Things must be dire if you’re willing to walk into my lair in this state,” he snorts. He should take this opportunity to end the red menace once and for all. Instead he loops an arm around The Flash, helping him off the ground so they can stagger towards the small medical bay Captain Cold had installed years ago.

“They are,” the hero agrees softly. He drops his cheek to Cold’s shoulder and rubs against it, like a cat butting for attention, “but I knew you’d help.”

“Oh, did you?” Cold snarks, unaccountably irritated by the fondness he can feel welling up.

“Yeah. No one gets to kill me but you.”

It’s another meta human, of course, one who can affect gravity and therefore the experience of time.  It’s an interesting idea, slowing The Flash down by increasing the gravity around him, but not a practical one. A localised field like that, one strong enough to bring Barry to a stand still, would cause an excessive amount of collateral damage. Fine if you didn’t care about leaving Central City standing in the aftermath, but Len likes his city, he’d rather not destroy it.

They work together, exchanging banter and increasingly suggestive innuendo. Len grudgingly admires some of the puns and lines the writer has come up with, squirrelling them away to use later.

“I don’t need my gun to slow you down,” Cold breathes, brushing his mouth against the bare cheek the mask leaves exposed. “I only need to ask.”

The Flash sways against him, leaning into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. “So ask,” he whispers shakily, “Ask me to slow down, Cold.”

Cold wraps a hand around the back of his head, instead, and pulls him in for a kiss that The Flash opens up for eagerly, moaning into Cold’s mouth. The cowl is an irritating barrier, he wants to be able to run his hands through hair, to grip and gently tug. He breaks the kiss, growling in frustration, and somehow The Flash must guess what’s wrong because he meets Cold’s eyes with a look of determination.

“Ask me for more,” he says. Demands.

Cold exhales sharply. “Take off your mask.” He almost doesn’t believe it when The Flash raises his hands and for a moment covers his face with them as he pushes the cowl back. And then Cold can place those gorgeous green eyes in context, framed by soft dark curls, damp with sweat.

*~*

Alright, so, maybe wanting a chance to try out some of his newly appropriated one-liners is a good half of the reason Len organises their next heist. He chooses a jewellery store out of spite because how dare anyone write him pulling a job so badly, he has a reputation to protect. Once Lisa and Mick have collected the goods and are ready to leave, Len sets the alarm off and tells them to wait outside for him. Mick is pissed but Lisa rolls her eyes and drags him out, smirking at Len as they leave.

He doesn’t have to wait even half a minute before Barry is there, whooshing into the store in a gust of wind.

“Really,” he grouches, “You don’t have anything better to do on a Friday evening?”

Len cocks a brow. “Am I interrupting something?”

Barry sighs and plants his hands on his hips. “Evil Dead marathon. We were about to start Army of Darkness!” he complains, “Can you just tell me what you’re doing?”

Len gestures to the store, devoid of it’s more valuable stock, and looks around it for emphasis. Barry clicks his tongue.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious! Maybe why you’re robbing a jewellery store?”

“Getting your attention,” Len smirks, and has to suppress a laugh when Barry groans, tipping his head back.

“There are easier ways to do that. I have a phone.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I feel like I’ve been neglecting this side of our relationship, Flash, and it’s time I made up for that.”

Barry’s head snaps up, and he looks, wide-eyed, at Len. “What?” he squeaks.  

Well, well, well. Isn’t that interesting. Len smirks and deliberately stalks closer, getting into Barry’s personal space. “I thought I’d remind you,” he purrs, testing his theory, “not to ignore me. You can’t put me in Iron Heights, after all, we both know I don’t belong there.”

The hitch in Barry’s breathing is audible and Len can see the colour rising in his cheeks until they’re as red as his suit. He’s gone just as suddenly as he’d appeared, and Len saunters out of the store with plenty of time to spare before law enforcement arrives.

*~*

He’s not a writer, but Len’s read over plenty of Mick’s stuff, helping to edit it and making suggestions. He’s confident he can put together something passable. He makes an account for himself, settling on SnarterThanYou as a username after some deliberation. He’s noticed something interesting: almost everyone seems to have divorced Captain Cold, super villain, from Leonard Snart, career criminal and cold blooded murderer. Len intends to buck that trend.

It takes him a few days, but eventually he has something he’s satisfied with.

“If I’m going to help you out, I’ll need something in return.” Len says, and writes something down on a napkin before sliding it over the bar top to Rowan who reads it and then looks up at Len, incredulous.

“No. No, I can’t--”

“Then I can’t help you.” Len says flatly and enjoys the desperation that flickers across the face of Central City’s hero.

Rowan looks down at the scrap, before crumpling it in his fist. “One night,” he says through grit teeth, “One night, and then you’ll help me.”

“One night. Anything I want. Within reason,” Len adds, not wanting to scare Rowan away. “I won’t hurt you. Much.”

He watches Rowan swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You won’t… You won’t tell anyone.”

Len laughs, mocking, “I’ve kept one secret, Rowan, I can keep another.”

It’s a few hours later that he gets his first notification. A like and a comment that reads, ‘oh my god, oh my gooooood. This is so hot. How did you come up with the idea that The Flash and Captain Cold know each other outside of their costumes? and Cold/Len keeping the hero’s identity a secret? I love the imbalanced power dynamic that creates!’

Another one follows not too long after, a reply to the first, ‘I know right? I wish I’d thought of it! Share the headcanon! How do they know each other??? Or better yet, write more? Pretty pretty please. This was so good.’

It’s the fifth comment, several hours later and anonymous, that makes Len grin wickedly, very pleased with himself. ‘No. NO. No, absolutely not, oh my god.’

‘No?” he replies to the comment, ‘Then tell me, how would your version have gone?’

*~*

Len’s followed the RSS feed for the CaptainFlash tag, so he gets a notification when a new story is published. This one by FasterThanYou, which makes Len snicker. He’s not busy, so he sits down to read A Better Way.

“He’s not just my enemy. He’s your enemy, too.” Rowan points out, catching Len’s wrist. “If you don’t help me there won’t be much left of this city. Of your home.”

Len sneers, looking down at Rowan’s hand, but he doesn’t shake it off. “You make a compelling argument,” he acknowledges, “but I’m still going to need something from you.”

“You need to save face, I get it,” Rowan says and, winces when Len snarls at him. You’d think by now he’d know to play along, but he always slips when they’re together. He knows there’s good in Len; He knew Len would help, even if he had to exact a price for it. “I mean, uh. Like what?”

Len does shake him off now, and goes to the bar for a napkin, writing something down on it. Rowan reads over it and then looks up at Len, a little shocked at the demand. “I can’t do this.”

“Then make me a better offer,” Len advises, pocketing the pen and leaning back against the bar.

Rowan swallows, thinking fast. There’s not much he can offer; he doesn’t have much money, he doesn’t want to do anything illegal. He doesn’t have anything Len might want, except…

“Me,” he says, trying to hide the shake in his voice. “Me, I’m the better offer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rowan looks up, meeting Len’s incredibly blue eyes, and straightens his spine. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, sometimes,” he confesses. It’s not lust he’s seen in Len’s eyes, exactly, more like a desire to take Rowan apart and see what makes him tick but it’s close enough, maybe. “Help me save our city,” he offers and closes the distance between them, resting a hand over Len’s sternum. He imagines he can feel Len’s heart beat beneath the bone. “And I’m yours.”

In the story Len agrees, of course. They defeat some imaginary meta threatening Central City, another speedster. Len hadn’t bothered with the story in his version, beyond setting up the premise, focusing on the sex instead. Barry, and it’s obviously Barry, has them working side by side, exchanging banter as they figure out how to trap their enemy. At one point Len goes too far and kills a man to protect Barry, a clear replay of Simmons’ death.

“Why? We could have-” Rowan cries, feeling powerless. He’s sure his anguish is obvious. So many people have already died, his conscience is already so heavy.

“Could have, what, Rowan,” Len sneers, “What did you expect me to do, not be what I am? I hurt people and you knew that when you asked for my help. Let’s be honest, the person you’re really mad at is yourself.”

“You’re right, it is.” Rowan agrees, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to swallow the lump of guilt and regret that’s lodged in his throat. “If I was faster, if I was better, you wouldn’t have had to kill him to protect me.”

It makes Len pause. He’s suspected Barry has something of a saviour complex but he’s surprised at the depth of responsibility his speedster seems to feel, for things far outside of Barry’s control.

They succeed. The heroes, now including Len, win the day and the evil speedster is stripped of his powers for good, rendered impotent and locked away in Iron Heights. Barry fades the ending to black; they kiss and it’s implied that more will happen at some future point, but apparently outright pornography is a bit much for Scarlet to handle writing.

Len smirks and cracks his knuckles.

He’s not a coward.

*~*

‘Are you kidding?’ is the first comment his new story gets, from none other than FasterThanYou. The second is ‘Also I’m flexible but not that flexible.’ It’s deleted almost immediately, but Len still gets the email notification. He rolls his eyes. Barry is going to out himself to the world before Len ever gets the chance.

‘Aww, you didn’t like my continuation of your fic, Speedy?’ he replies, ‘It’s your fault for making an offer as vague as ‘Me’ and not setting any conditions. Do you really think Captain Cold wouldn’t turn that to his advantage?’

Barry doesn’t respond, but Len isn’t expecting him to after the pointed reminder of Ferris Air.

Someone replies to their thread with ‘I ship it’ and Len laughs out loud.

*~*

His phone pings with a notification a few days later, while Len is mulling over blueprints, and he’s surprised to see it’s a new story from FasterThanYou, this one entitled Romance isn’t dead, you asshole.

He immediately opens the link.

It picks up where Len had left off: “A deal’s a deal, Rowan,” Len growls, cock softening inside of his hero and his hand firmly around the length of Rowan's neck. “You’re mine now.”

He’d meant to imply villainous intent, Len clearly having played the long game and won something Barry never meant to give.

“It is, you’re right,” Rowan swallows, his throat working against the hand pinning him down. He could escape, easily, but he gave his word in that seedy bar and that means something to him. Even if he’s only now realising the implications of what he’d done, even if he knows Len doesn’t consider his own word a binding thing. He grins shakily, “A bit like getting a new pet, I guess. I eat a lot,” he warns, “and my health care is pretty specialised, but I make a great companion.”

The fic is utterly innocent, completely domestic and G-rated. They do dishes together, for goodness sake and Barry, because he’s sneakier than most people give him credit for, figures out the obvious loophole: He may have promised himself to Len, but he didn’t promise to be obedient. The brat.

“I’m not going to stop being The Flash,” Rowan shakes his head, unwilling to budge on the matter, “If I’m yours then I’m yours to protect and care for, not to control. You can choose how to do those things. Or you can give me up.”

He can see the frustration in Len’s eyes, in the thin line his mouth has become. Rowan would never have imagined feeling the fear that rises in his chest at the thought of being cut loose. The fear that Len would decide he was too much, that Rowan wasn’t worth the trouble. He tries to keep it from showing, controlling his breathing and hiding his hands behind his back so no one can see them tremble.

“What if I’m trying to keep you safe by stopping you?” Len snarls.

“You wouldn’t be the first one who’s tried,” Rowan admits, “But I can’t stop. This is who I am, Len.” Rowan's voice goes soft and he steps into Len’s space, pressing his face against Len’s shoulder, their only point of contact. “You can’t stop me from being The Flash and get to keep me, it doesn’t work like that.”

He shudders when Len cards a hand into Rowan's hair and cups the back of his head. “You are the worst pet,” Len grumbles, but there’s no anger in his voice, just resignation, “I should have gotten a dog.”

Len prefers cats, but he’d eat his jacket if Barry isn’t a dog person.

He doesn’t leave a comment. If he’s honest he doesn’t know what to say. It was too raw, too real. Too much of an insight into the wounds Barry carries and the kind of love he so obviously yearns for.

*~*

He ambushes Barry on his way out of Jitters.

“We need to talk, Scarlet.”

Barry stares at him, eyes wide, silently panicking. “I, uh, I’m. On my way to work?” he tries to excuse himself weakly and sags when Len doesn’t budge. “I guess I can be late.”

“You already are late,” Len scoffs, and directs Barry to walk beside him, towards a nearby park.

It’s Barry that breaks the silence, blurting “You’re really good at writing,” and then blushing right to the tips of his ears.

Len snorts. “You’re not half bad yourself, even if it’s all obvious wish fulfilment.”

“And yours isn’t?”

“Oh, I would bend you over every available surface and fuck you until you forgot how to walk,” Len agrees nonchalantly, amused when Barry trips over his own feet, “That’s hardly the same thing.”

“It’s not?”

Len eyes him, brow raised. “Scarlet, I am writing about the perverted things I would do to you if there weren’t consequences to consider. You are writing about cuddling on the couch and talking about our feelings.”

Barry at least has the sense to look abashed before he pulls a face, “One of us has to be emotionally intelligent,” he grouches, “and it’s obviously not going to be you.”

“It’s-” Len gapes at him, “It’s not going to be either of us because this is not a thing that is happening.”

“Why not?”

Len pinches the bridge of his nose. “Should I tell Detective West we’re an item or would you like to do that?”

Barry sighs, “It’s probably better if I do. He’ll just yell and then he’ll do the ‘I’m disappointed in you, Barry’ thing and then he won’t talk to me for a few weeks. You he’d shoot.”

Len stops short. “Scarlet. This isn’t some story-” he starts, but Barry cuts him off.

“No, it’s not. I don’t want a fantasy, Len, I want to see what this, this thing between us, I want to see what it could really be.” His eyes are shimmering hazel in the sunlight, clear and bright and painfully earnest. He smiles, lopsided and rueful and admits, “And maybe I want to see if you can put your money where your, uh, where your words are.”

*~*

Barry is asleep, sprawled on his back and snoring lightly. There are still some faint red marks scattered across his torso, hickeys that haven’t healed all the way, yet, though they’ll be gone soon leaving a clean canvas for Len to mark all over again.

He does one last read through, checking for typos, before he posts the newest addition to the series that he and Barry had created.

He’s titled this one: On The Proper Care and Feeding of a Speedster.

It’s not even rated E.