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It was literally Barry's one day off.
Thing was, when Cisco had called him, he had very clearly pointed to the fact that it was literally his one day off, and Cisco had countered with the thermal signatures of the heat gun and the cold gun having flared at the scene. ...Barry might have been tempted to tell him to leave it especially because of that. Snart didn't kill people anymore. The deal had held true - except for the thing with Lewis, but in his heart of hearts Barry could maybe kind of respect that. Well, not like that! But he understood. If anyone had abused Iris to the point of leaving scars and put a bomb into her head...
Snart had made it sound like revenge, which would not be good in any way, but honestly? Barry couldn't help but think that it had been more about fear for what he loved. That Snart- Len had been terrified of what his father might have still done to Lisa in the future. That as long as Lewis lived, he could always find a way to come back and brutalize her more, maybe actually kill her for how Len had defied him. So even though Barry couldn't condone murder and would have stopped it if he hadn't been caught unawares like that, he also couldn't think less of a devoted big brother for feeling the need to protect his baby sister from their abuser.
With that one exception having been kind of justified, he didn't really see the heists that Snart pulled these days as critical or in need of an intervention from the Flash. He still went, in general, because they were still crimes. (And because some low-stakes facing off with a smart guy with a corny sense of humor was typically fun - not that he would ever tell the team that. They felt very differently about the felon who had kidnapped two of them, blackmailed Barry's identity out of Cisco and freed the Rogues.)
But even though Barry would normally indulge his team's disproportionately high risk assessment (and his own amusement), TODAY was his DAY OFF!
...Well, it had been his day off, anyway, because now it clearly wasn't anymore. (And all this over a some billionaire's penthouse that was probably empty anyway!) It was really unfair for them to gang up on him and straight-up ignore his perfectly valid argument that if Snart of all people had tripped an alarm, then he had definitely already sent off his crew with the loot and was just waiting for Barry to snark at him and spar for a bit - it hardly counted as fighting when nobody wanted to hurt the other and even winning wasn't really the point. So there was no crime to stop anymore! But when the guilt-tripping started and it looked like they might have a three on one argument about the good in Snart (again) he figured that just going was the lesser evil.
He was right, though. When he arrived, a lone private security officer lay calmly asleep by the outermost door, probably drugged or whammied, Rory and Lisa were nowhere in sight and Cold was leaning dramatically against a bullet-proof window in the study, surrounded by an open safe and several empty showcases. Literally the only possible loot still around was a painting of a heart flower and even that was slanted against the wall below what looked like a similarly sized strongbox made of dark safety glass half embedded in the wall.
Somebody had tried to protect that painting really well and Snart had gotten it anyway, but clearly didn't care for it much if he was happy to leave it behind. (Maybe because it smelled kind of funny? Like a bull had crashed through a perfume store with a flower theme by Barry's unhappy estimate. No wonder it had been sealed in a box.) But seeing at Snart hadn't frozen it to kill the scent yet, Barry might also just be more sensitive thanks to his powers. (Or comparative youth and less contact with stinking back alleys.) Either way Snart could easily have seen that he didn't want the painting even through the - for some reason? - tinted casing and then still gotten it out as if to steal it exclusively to prove that he could.
"You ruined my day off for a flower, Cold? What, Cupid's not been kind to you?"
In retrospect that could have been a low blow and he didn't remember ever alluding to Cold's love life before – that was kind of forward – but the thief just barked a laugh before catching himself. Still his trademark smirk intensified, lit by the glow of the humming cold gun:
"Who says I like it kind? Thought you might, though, Scarlet, so I figured I should make a gift of it to you, one bleeding heart for another. Do you like it?"
He snorted at the thought of Snart gifting him something he had stolen, literally still at at the scene of the crime, but then the man's drawl had made it clear that he was just having fun. (No reason to blush.) But even if it was all fun and games, Barry was human, so he looked at it anyway, making an exaggerated show of it as if contemplating whether he approved of the gift as he took in the vibrant dashes of pink and red that almost seemed to pulse. The pearly white 'tear' looked glistening wet and the greens of the leaves almost seemed to grow out of the frame. It actually looked really intense, it... geesh. Was this what people meant when they said that art spoke to them? Because this did. Certainly more than any modern art he'd ever seen.
"Not bad. But uhh- I think it might still look even better in its proper place, you know, where its owner left it."
"And that's exactly where you would be wrong. See, this painting has a history, one of rampant seductions of princesses and wild orgies. Just looking at it is supposed to ignite any man's or woman's lust so ardently it has to be kept shielded to prevent outbreaks of biblical lechery. But I guess its dear owners were just offshoot dendrophiliacs."
"What?"
"They got hot over it because they wanted to bone the plants."
He processed that for a moment, not sure if Snart wasn't just pulling his leg, but... Then he burst with a laugh of his own (or two or three, nothing excessive, though), because it might actually be true. He had heard about people being into plush toys, even getting aroused by machines, and the story of the Apollo and Daphne literally culminated in the archer being obsessively in love with a laurel tree. So yeah, it might be?
In all fairness, the hearts' coloring could remind a guy of the deep pink of a woman's spread labia and inner walls and the white tear made him flush with heat when he realized that it could easily resemble cum leaking out of her... Dammit, he was not getting aroused by a plant! Snart certainly seemed to think that it was all silly and he had been there longer. He was the one who had pulled the painting out of its sheath! Even if Barry would be the one to thrust it back in-
Oh, god. He was actually getting horny. He blamed the flowery smell making his head fuzzy and well, not having gotten laid once since the lightning strike despite his libido having increased like tenfold. His vibrating problem and the lack of willing candidates in the know were not a combination conductive to getting sex with more than his own hand. Jesus, was it getting hot in here?
He could swear he could smell the flower in the painting like it was trying to lure in bees for its pollination... And somehow it smelled just like sex... Same as Len... Argh, no. Not appropriate! He could go be horny over the bad boy keeping him on his toes later, when the guy in question wasn't around to see him wallow in day dreams about him. God, if Snart ever caught him ogling, he would never live that down. No matter how hard it was to stay professional sometimes, when faced with this kind of temptation...
It was a real pity that he couldn't see those baby blues through the Captain Cold goggles that Len still wore, but the the rosy pink lips were good enough, the huge parka like a peacock's tail around a strong but balanced build, just right between bulk and elegance...
"...Scarlet?"
Leonard Snart was not sure what was wrong but the kid wasn't responding to his words any more, at best craning toward the sound of his voice, and it frankly unnerving. The dazed hero outright tilted toward him. Then stumbled. Alright, now Leonard definitely had a bad feeling about this. On instinct he raised his gun, just in case the speedster needed to cool down a bit. And he considered giving a warning shot, but then the kid chuckled- no, he GIGGLED like a little girl and gave Leonard about three point two seconds to gape at him.
After that time, there was a flash and Leonard's back hit the wall, his gun already out of his hand and out of reach on a table across the room. And the purr in Barry's voice... If he wasn't overwhelmed with the alarm in his hackles and bones, he would have been excited. Maybe even aroused. This was a twink in leather after all. So sure, he wouldn't mind getting to the hands-on phase of their fight early, maybe even extend it a little. IF this was at all like the speedster he knew:
"No need to get frigid on me, Lenny. Can I call you Lenny? I mean you're the one who brought me here after all? I had my day off, but YOU just wanted to rendezvous so damn bad... I knew you weren't after the art at once; no, you were only after me. No other reason you'd trip an alarm, you only do that to send me an invitation! And I received it, understood and came. For you."
Alright, that was true - though he hadn't thought that Barry was admitting that to himself. But yeah, he liked to banter with the speedster, a lot. He liked the song and dance, and sometimes it felt quite a bit like flirting, if only to make the kid blush. But even if they had been progressing, even if they might have eventually been headed toward a nice little frenemies with benefits arrangement like Lisa had teasingly - and then not entirely teasingly - suggested to him: This was definitely still jumping a few steps.
And those were steps he didn't feel comfortable skipping, steps he didn't think Barry would want to skip either... not of his own volition. The speedster pressed closer until their entire fronts touched and Leonard carefully brought his hands up to gently push him back. (Best not to make any sudden moves around an inexplicably volatile metahuman.)
His mind jumped right to Bivolo and he swore if that guy had developed a horny-whammy that blurred the lines of consent like this he'd freeze the guy's balls off, but Bivolo hadn't even been around, he was helping his mom move into her new house in Keystone this week. So- fuck, the sexy flower? On the PAINTING?!
"Alright, kid, you got any way to put your suit's comms on speaker or something? I kinda need to talk to your team about this situation."
"Why? You wanna invite them to join us?”
...What?
“Cause I'm not sure I feel that way about them and they are so far away. Unlike you, right here, looking gorgeous and smelling so damn edible. Or wait? Do you feel uncomfortable with them listening in? Heh, don't tell me you are such a drama queen, but not an exhibitionist!"
(Shit. For one thing, he was indeed very much not an exhibitionist, more like the opposite, though mostly: He really didn't like where this was going. But then the kid rocked into him once and his mouth and thoughts ran dry at the feeling of that hard length prodding his thigh. This was definitely jumping more steps than he was alright with...)
"Not qui-"
"But you're right. They're getting annoying."
Dammit, they were going there. He tried to say something, but hadn't yet caught a breath to speak with when wind beat his face and suddenly the hero stood before him not only without the mask with his comms in its earpieces, but without any scrap on him at all: Barry was suddenly entirely naked.
...And he was a piece of art himself, all cream skin painted on a sleek statue like a cheetah hewn from marble... but unlike all the jewelry and ancient masters in the world this piece of art was one that Leonard could never steal. One that made him swallow, but that he couldn't even take when it was thrown at him like this, not if - in truth - it was NOT freely given, but only due to compulsion.
He forced his eyes to meet Barry's and stay on them, but the look he found in those emeralds only made his heart clench more. They were black as pitch from this unnatural lust overshadowing the kid's irises with his gaping pupils. A void of darkness lit only by the power of lightning zooming through them.
"Like what you see?"
"Barry..."
"'Cause I do. And I barely see a thing at all! Not yet, anyway."
He had a moment to panic before the ground ripped out from under his feet and he was suddenly horizontal. In a bed. In another room. And... naked. Everything wrong with the situation mounted and clashed together in his head and seizing lungs at the realization of being so utterly exposed.
Leonard was NEVER naked with anyone. Even when he had sex, he mostly kept his clothes on with just his pants around his knees, at the very best he dressed down to a tank if the room was very dark, but Barry had him utterly naked under the glare of a fucking chandelier and was drinking him in. Every knotted scar and unsolicited tattoo marking him with memories of his weaknesses. Every inch of him.
"Kid, you're not yourself. Please listen to me and don-"
But then it shot through him. As the hero stood at the end of the bed, stroking his long, already hard and profusely leaking cock while faint screaming made tinny little noises that barely reached through the door, no doubt from the heap where Barry had dropped his suit. They had to have raised the volume, trying to get through to Barry... Because this was not actually Barry, not by choice.
No, it was Leonard's own choice that had brought them here. His arrogant disregard for that fucking painting. He didn't believe in magic. He believed in metahumans because he had seen them with his own eyes and because he knew that science could make monsters of men with its drugs and radiation and whatnot and so it figured that a huge disaster of science gone wrong could have massive consequences. Same as Chernobyl. But there had been no science behind the painting and so he hadn't believed.
So he had brought this on himself. But not just on himself and that was the problem: He had also brought it on Barry. Barry, a hero who always blamed himself when he couldn't save everyone.
When this was over, Barry would definitely blame himself for anything he did under the influence, not Leonard, who had brought the influence on him. So with the bitter but unavoidable clarity that this was happening because he had not the slightest idea of how to snap the kid out of it and no reinforcements could possibly reach them in time (even if, a speedster could take him anywhere else in a blink and keep going, Bivolo had boasted enough for him to understand his situation in being the focus of a whammied speedster), he had to focus on limiting the fallout.
It was an ugly understanding and it made him slightly nauseous, but this was far from the first unwanted attention he had ever gotten and unfortunately not the first of it that he had been unable to prevent either. So the fallout: The worst case scenario would be if both of them were broken by this and everyone they knew as well by association.
Well, Leonard might get re-broken. He was... None of this, barring the speedster aspect, would really be a first for him or even a shock anymore. But for the kid... Barry deserved none of this and would probably suffer the worst. So if Leonard couldn't save himself, at least he could spare one of them the worst of it. At least he could spare the kid's heart this blame. And someone begging him to stop and him still going on would definitely fuel the young hero's nightmares for years.
So he cut that off right there. It would be useless anyway. It always had been and Barry didn't seem able to stop if he wanted to. It would only hurt him to try... On that note, Leonard set a vague plan for himself to not get too injured if he could wing that, but the priority was not ruining the kid with his unwarranted guilt over something that Leonard had fucked up. If he in his idiocy broke the Flash...
No. (He would never be a hero, but he also couldn't be a monster. He wouldn't be able to live with himself.) The lesser evil all around then was:
"You're right, if feels hot in here."
The intense focus of the metahuman's eyes snapped up to him, off his body, but he suppressed the minute relief and the enormous desire to cover himself. Instead he let his legs fall open as he hadn't done it in more than half a life-time. But Barry's eyes followed the move and the speedster was on him in a second.
"You do like it."
Barry's cock already dripped on him and it felt like his very skin flinched from the dribble, but his gaze and voice were even and smooth as a pool of ice:
"I guess I was just slower than you to see. But yes, I like it."
"You want it?"
The speedster looked about to explode, whether Leonard breathed a word or not, but as long as there was any chance that Barry would have to remember this and have to live with those memories - and nothing he had seen or heard indicated to Leonard that the magic roofie flower came with amnesia - then he should be sure:
"I want you to use your speed to find us some lube and condoms first, but then, yeah, I want you to put them to use on me... I want 'it'."
Barry blinked at him and the adorableness of it was only undercut by the implication that he had forgotten such things existed and wouldn't have used them on his own. But then he grinned, practically beamed and Leonard hid his relief behind an answering smirk when the whammied speedster agreed:
"Be back in a flash!"
And he was. Leonard didn't get any time to collect himself and plan, so he would have to play this by ear. If he could play anything at all. Because less than a second after he had sent Barry off, the hero was already on top of him again, grabbing him, touching scars that should never have seen the light of day and then he kissed him.
Barry tasted like ozone smelled, mixed with protein powder and something obnoxiously sweet that Leonard attributed to horrible eating behaviors. But he was also self-aware enough to realize that his assessment was colored by his dread and he made a conscious effort to redirect his attention to the positives before he sabotaged his mission to appear willing - or at least just as affected by that fucking flower painting as Barry was so they would be equals and not a meta using his terrifying powers to subdue a quite literally powerless human.
His mind almost derailed into a dark spiral just thinking that - he did NOT consider himself powerless and he had NOT felt powerless since he had been much much younger, he simply had no superpowers. But positives: Positively, Barry had the softest lips that he had ever felt. In his eagerness he almost squished them between their teeth, but that didn't seem to bother him at all, pushing them at Leonard's like little velvet cushions. He was also really warm. His tongue ran so hot its invasion almost felt like sipping a freshly brewed tea.
If Leonard strained his imagination enough he could almost turn the sweet hot softness pressing at and into his mouth into Lisa's slightly awry attempt at replicating his recipe for cocoa with mini marshmallows when she had been eleven. He hadn't thought such a thing possible before tasting it but in taking his reminder that cocoa wasn't cocoa without the mini marshmallows to heart she had managed to go too strong on the mini marshmallows and created a cream-colored sludge with more sticky lumps than liquid and so sweet the most die-hard sweet-tooth would have been thought twice before drink-eating it. So this here was just like that: Hard to swallow without gagging, but full of love and thus to be adored in return.
The association was almost enough to distract himself from the erection sliding over his already slicked lower belly as Barry's zealous squirming turned into little jerks into the next best surface it could find - Leonard's skin - until the speedster all but rutted across him. All the while drenching him with an unnerving amount of precome and shivering so hard he almost seemed to vibrate. (...Could he vibrate?)
And there was also still the risk of the speedster noticing that he was limp as a dead fish. Dread was not a very arousing mindset, but it could give his whole charade away... Fuck.
"Barry?"
"Yeah?"
By god, that breathy little sound actually did make his dick twitch. It sounded so much like the real Barry! Like this could be happening under much different circumstances... But he couldn't expect the illusion to last. Better to be sure:
"Let me turn over, get on my fours. So you can prep me better, hm? Before we both forget about everything but you fucking me..."
Barry's eyes went wide and rolled back almost at the same time as his now definitely vibrating hips rocked so hard he practically punched Len in the stomach with the head of his cock only for it to burst in a fountain of come that covered Leonard's belly, chest and face. And the headboard and maybe part of the wall.
...Wait, was it over then? Was the need out of Barry's system?
Leonard was still gaping when a whoosh of air suddenly had him overturned and before the vertigo had settled he had fingers in his ass. Two. By instinct he almost twisted away from the too sudden and too wide stretch - he hadn't done this in years, they needed to slow down! But the speedster held him through his disorientation and by the time he had regained enough spacial awareness to evade the meta...
There was no way he could focus on anything, plan anything or hope to execute anything when the two fingers - no matter how moderately painful their entry - started to vibrate inside him. His rim still screamed, but his sweet spot screamed louder and with pleasure over the pain.
He could have sworn that there were even sparks, little electric shocks going through that bundle of nerves and his entire body afterwards. Now his mouth screamed too and he didn't have to worry about Barry seeing him limp anymore. He also felt no dread in that endless moment in time. No, it was rather openly terrifying how his body abruptly jumped into hardness, cock leaking and sweat breaking out all over him as heat roared in his belly with the need to come.
In the darkness in his mind, still lying in wait to spiral, he felt like a puppet in his own body, just observing how a switch was flipped and a different program ran its course. But it was probably for the best. The pleasure kept him from hurting too much when Barry used his speed to spread him open as fast as he could, massaging his strained hole with impatient vibrations until it gave in and the hero could align his cock instead.
It was still hard. Or again. As if nothing had happened. God only knew what those powers had done to the kid's stamina or refractory period...
At least they entailed ways to produce pleasure. That kept him placid when a person that he might have liked to do this with for real some day snapped his hips and buried himself where none had gone in more than fifteen years and never with his genuine enthusiasm, even if he had in some sense of the word consented at a handful of occasions.
His body didn't take well to the speed, feeling chafed already despite the vague feeling of slickness from either lube or the speedster's excessive leaking, but then Barry gasped and panted, his cock throbbing palpably inside Leonard's too tight hole and then the kid was full-body vibrating again.
Any commercial vibrator would be put to shame by comparison and Leonard fled into the sensation, suppressing the urge to suppress his moan as lightning speed vibrations ran through his hole and up his nervous system through his prostate. And that was all before the kid began to move.
When he started thrusting, sparks flew. Leonard could barely breathe through the wall of sensation washing over him and he got close much faster than he had since he had been a teenager, but he let himself. He even pushed back. When Barry remembered, he should not be plagued with doubts. This was beyond them. It was just a sex flower that had hexed them both into a few fun rounds and when they both woke up they'd laugh about it. Or be so embarrassed they'd agree to never speak of it again. And nothing more. Awkward, embarrassing, something like that. Nothing to cry about.
And it did feel good. (If he focused on letting it.) It felt like too much, but only too much of a good thing. Objectively it did.
The kid even remembered to reach around and the heated vibrator in Leonard's ass was joined by an equally vibrating hand around his own dick. Then those lips were in his neck and he nearly panicked, but fuck it, that was Barry's raspy voice breathing how much he wanted him. Barry's voice telling him that he had dreamed about them:
That he had imagined their talk in the Saints & Sinners before Ferris Air with him explicitly offering Len 'anything'. That he had tossed and turned with wet dreams about 'Len' countering 'Anything?' with a smirk and requesting his body for a night and having his wicked way with him. That he had fantasized about that very first heist when Len had frozen him to the ground, pinned him: What if Cisco hadn't come?
What if Len had decided to 'put him in his place' to teach him not to bite off more than he could chew? What if he had dropped his pants and knelt over Barry's prone form to fuck his head into the frozen ground instead? What if he had kidnapped him to do whatever he wanted to him...
A part of Leonard was horrified at hearing what Barry thought of him. But one thing kept him sane: While the scenarios seemed to spring from every moment of their history together, the fantasies sounded young. As if the much younger hero had only retroactively sexualized their encounters. Only after they had found their balance where he didn't try to kill Barry anymore and Barry didn't try to lock him up anymore. Only after Barry had started feeling safe with him had started imagining Leonard taking advantage.
Although he might have preferred hearing about that from anyone else, Lisa had educated him on that - after he had nearly iced one of her boyfriends. A fantasy of violation following a sense of safety... It meant that Barry only imagined these things because he did NOT actually believing that Leonard would ever do that. He did it like a mental roleplay. Like jumping out of a plane with a parachute. A way to feel the thrill of the free fall with the knowledge firmly in the back of his mind that he would be caught and land gently.
So Leonard shouldn't be disturbed. Hell, he should be relieved! if Barry had fantasized about him already, then the cursed painting hadn't driven him too far out of his nature. That was still not consent, but it was better by far than what it could have been. Better than Leonard actually having read their flirtation-banter wrong. Better than Barry coming out of this hex utterly disturbed by why he would ever do anything sexual with a villain.
It was a spark of hope that Barry could still come out of this with his heart intact.
But frankly, Leonard was moving past worrying and hoping both. His entire nervous system was being fried out of any sort of thinking by the bombardment of sensations, the vibrations inside and around him and the uncontrolled electricity joining it, sending pulses through his prostate and cock, even Barry's lips sucking marks into his neck and licking the curve of his ear seemed to spark and he could lose himself in all that.
He did lose himself in it. He lost himself with a shout, echoed by the speedster when his orgasm made his muscles seize, made him clench down around the meta inside him. For Leonard, who was definitely too old for this, his peak rolled through him like a tidal wave. As good as it was, it left exhaustion in its wake. The kind of thing that made him want to roll over and sink into sweet dreams.
Barry didn't seem to know any such point, much less reach it. After coming with a light-show of sparks and shudders that banged the whole bed into the cum-stained wall, he instantly started jerking his hips in twitch-like motions again, rubbing roughly into parts of Leonard's anatomy that were just a little too sensitive after his own climax.
With a groan he sank heavily onto his forearms and before long to his chest, only his hips being held up by the younger man behind him. He would be humiliated to be put into such a vulgar position if the overstimulation didn't leave him weak to the bones. But laying on his chest freed his hands to bat in the direction of the speedster, mumbling some approximation of needing a break.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I just need you so badly, I'm sorry, I-"
Shit.
"No!"
"What?"
"Don't be sorry. Barry, I- God, I wan-"
The breath he was trying to speak with was knocked from his lungs and he was suddenly on his back, legs loosely around the speedster's waist as he visibly tried to hold still but couldn't stop himself from still making at least some tiny rocking motions into Leonard or from the vibration shivers running through him on every other beat of his heart.
"I didn't understand you. You want? What do you want? Please tell me everything you want! I want it..."
He bit his tongue. The man-handling him like a doll so fast he couldn't even see it, could only live with the result, was taxing the mask on his face, but he clung to it. Barry couldn't be sorry for this. It was not his fault and Leonard could not allow it to be his undoing, either. So he swallowed his feelings before he spoke:
"I want you, too. Always did, but suddenly it's so very urgent. You feel that, right? Yeah, me, too. I want it, you, so very much, but I just don't have your energy. Think I can have a break, Scarlet? You- you could give me a show? I'd really like that. Fuck, I want to see you come apart."
Barry flushed with renewed heat and he thought that he had saved the situation pretty well as far as stopping the kid at least for a little while without making him feel like he was being too much went. It was good enough to make the kid smirk at least, to make him pull out and give Leonard's strained flesh some rest.
The speedster still took him and arranged his body against the headboard with his legs wide apart for a view, but then he let go of Leonard and took himself in hand instead, his right flashing over his own cock and his left vibrating around his balls as he stared at Leonard and his mouth - now that it was not attached to Leonard's neck anymore - started gushing like the real Barry's. Just not about nerdy little fun facts, but instead:
"Watch me then, how hard I am for you, can't wait to be back inside you. But geesh, you're so right! Looking is so underrated, but look at you! You're just dripping with my cum, fuck, your hole is so sloppy and wet. All of you! Covered in my come like a painting yourself and so fucking hot! Heh, Captain Cold's all hot! But seriously, I can NOT wait, you are way too fucking hot like this. I never thought this could happen, you know? Especially not this way. I thought you would insist on topping, most guys do. I asked one of them what was up with that and he was all about how I was the twink so I should bottom and it's not like I mind, it's amazing if the guy on top knows what to do, but hell, I'm a guy too and sometimes I want to be the one to do the fucking. God, I wanna fuck you. It's just easier, you know, when I'm so horny I don't have the patience for my prostate I just need it fast and my cock works better for that, having you on my cock is sooo amazing! I never thought you'd let me, but it's so much better than I ever thought! I bet I can crack my record with you, I feel like I could come again already! I just really wanna, oh god, please just let me do the tip? Oh, wait, I can put it in your mouth if your pretty little hole still needs the rest! Fuck, I wanna feed you my cock so bad!"
...He needed time to process all that, but he didn't have any. He'd barely opened his mouth to speak when another whoosh made his stomach clench and he found himself flat on his back with only his head hanging over the edge of the bed and a cock in his mouth. A blink later and he had to swallow for dear life not to drown as the meta came across his tongue and palate and at the next jab down his throat.
Barry almost whined about how he wanted him and under ANY other circumstances Leonard would have been set alight with want to hear his scarlet speedster talking about him like that. But then and there all he felt was his absolute lack of control over any aspect of what was happening to him.
The meta pulled at his legs to ogle his hole better, cooing over it as Leonard cringed from the scrutiny, but then caught himself and- He was doing a shit job of this, wasn't he? Barry might have years of picking his memories apart. So Leonard had to SELL his part of being affected it. He had to be lusty, so he hooked his arms under his knees, hiding the trembling in both as he shifted to give the kid the best possible view and talked over him about wanting it, wanting his show. (Besides, if he got the kid to shoot off by just talking him through it, everyone could win.)
So he went all out, praising the speedster's come for nectar giving him life, praising his cock for its beauty and power... and begging for it. Captain Cold would never beg, but he could pretend and the kid vibrated so hard he almost seemed to phase through the sheets at one point. And he did come again. From the words and his own hand and the sight before him. Because in a battle of will over long past memories Leonard reached down and slipped two (much gentler) fingers into himself to spread them and let the hexed meta see his come inside him.
Leonard hadn't felt so disgusted with himself since his first stint in prison with an unfamiliar cell mate as the other inmates whistled and cheered to the sounds of them that first night. But this was about so much more... There was the brightest soul he had ever laid eyes upon at stake here, so he shuffled back until he could get better leverage for his legs to stay out of the way and add his other hand between them. So he could pull himself open a little more with his pointer and middle finger of each hand hooked into his rim to draw it in opposite directions.
Barry all but exploded with just enough time to zap forth too fast to see and direct his stream into the hole Leonard was holding for him. He didn't flinch when it hit his inner walls, but he might have when a gust of wind hit his face and suddenly two thumbs joined his fingers, but pulled him apart much wider (too fast not to hurt) and an electric shock between them made him seize, but then a vibrating tongue fished the fresh come right out of him again, throwing far too many sensations at his hole.
The kid ate him out like a starved man, having already forgotten about the break apparently as his mind was busy spouting unfiltered wants through his mouth - speaking with his mouth full half the time. And Leonard reminded himself hard that he only had himself to blame for this and tried his best to push into the bombardment instead, loudly moaning for more.
When Barry suddenly remembered the need for a break and rearranged him again, grabbing some fancy scarves from somewhere to tie Len's ankles high as a 'help' so Leonard wouldn't have to hold them up the whole time, he reminded himself harder and thanked him for it. When Barry's whammied brain decided that it was still restful enough if he pulled Leonard's hole apart with three fingers from each hand, effectively stuffed him, he reminded himself like a mantra and thoughtlessly begged for more.
He regretted that within moments, but couldn't back down when the kid switched to one hand but four fingers with the thumb nudging at his rim. Thankfully, his hand was small. But Leonard still howled when the speedster forgot how humans worked again and took his wrist slipping in as green light to punch his entire forearm along after it.
At that point Leonard could only pray that it had sounded like pleasure. Not least because he didn't have the mind to act anymore when a whoosh saw him draped over the edge of the bed, legs hanging off it, with a panting speedster fisting him to the crook of his elbow so fast he couldn't see the blur of the arm spearing him and his own quivering felt slow in comparison.
It didn't last. Barry blatantly needed too much stimulation on himself to keep up something only about Leonard, but the feeling would stay with him for the rest of his life. And the haze it put over his mind at least made his show of being under an influence more authentic.
The only thing that broke through it was when he suddenly remembered that he had meant to ask Barry about that record he had talked about earlier. He did now. And he deeply regretted that. No wonder one climax hadn't been enough. Not when the metahuman could wring seventeen orgasms out of himself without going soft.
Leonard would never be able to keep up with that. Unfortunately, making that mention a topic of conversation got it into Barry's head that it was unfair if he got off so much and Leonard didn't and he didn't want to be a 'selfish lover'.
No mask in the world could stop Leonard from tearing up and crying out when the speedster made it his mission to get as many orgasms out of him as he possibly could and forced ever more pleasure on him, with ever more vibrations and considerably more electric shocks to sensitive places. His prostate worked especially well for that and he felt like a bull being milked. Until he ran dry as bone. And then again, just to be sure.
He begged for all of it and moved into it as much as he could bring himself to, but all too soon he simply couldn't move at all anymore. He was not that young. And he was no meta.
In the end he didn't even feel anything anymore, except the very fabric of feeling as his consciousness became so overstrained it could only float anymore, half awake but mostly not. At that point, he didn't mind whatever the meta did to his body, he was barely even in it anymore...
...In retrospect that drifting must have taken him to sleep because he woke up normally.
Or as normally as waking could be considered when one was surrounded by a beeping heart rate monitor, the itch of an IV in his arm and the hackles-raising feeling of being watched.
"Mister Snart?"
"Don't call him that, Caitlyn!"
"It's his name."
"He's Cold. Captain Cold. He even claimed the name for himself when he presented himself to the city!"
"Cisco, I get that you are very attached to your monikers, but this is really not an appropriate time for silliness."
An uncomfortable silence followed instead of another whisper-shout and his mind already came alive with a dozen possible countermeasures to respond to the tension hanging over Team Flash. (And the alarming lack of Flash in it.) So before his eyes even blinked open he put on his most annoyed-sounding drawl:
"Why? Accidentally liberating literal sex pollen seems absurd enough that silliness is the only appropriate response."
Only then did he open his eyes and found both of them staring at him. Ramon, the brilliant mind that had engineered his cold gun, was gaping slack-jawed and the doctor's eyes were as a wide as those of a frog on a stick. But indeed, Barry was nowhere in sight. Shit. They better not be keeping him away on purpose, that could ruin his every effort. (Then everything would have been for nothing...)
To be fair, the damage on his body probably looked rather one-sided. (He recognized his wooziness as strong narcotics and shifting still ached, so he imagined that it was bad, even though he couldn't pinpoint everything through the haze of the drugs.) And they had heard at least the beginning of the disaster... But these were key supporters of Barry's sanity.
“Can you at least tell me that the kid didn't fuck himself into another coma? Or hypoglycemia?”
Yeah, he did his research. And no, he didn't like the look those two exchanged. But at least the doctor – very hesitantly and in an awkward tone – answered him:
“He did actually faint from hypoglycemia eventually, but that was... good? For you? I did give you pretty strong pain medication, but-”
“Okay, I get that you're Cold, but are you seriously gonna brush this off like nothing? I mean it does sound less serious if you call it sex pollen instead of 'a cursed object nearly made Barry kill you by driving him insane with uncontrollable lust', but... Are you seriously cool with this? Like it's just another Tuesday or something? Wait, has this happened to you before?”
“I've had a bender and woken up in a strange bed before, it that's what you mean.”
And the let that one sink in before he continued:
“Secret powers are more you people's area, so I can't claim I've done this exact thing before, but then the why and how feels a bit like tomayto or tomahto to me right now. Speaking of results: Has Scarlet recovered yet? I hear he is unfairly fast in that, too.”
“...Huh. Uhm, I mean yeah. Sort of. Well, he is kind of freaked out to be honest? But I guess it's not such a big deal...?”
Ramon frowned at him, but the message seemed to be getting through. To him anyway, to the doctor not so much. She seemed more outraged, now at the both of them, sputtering something about blood glucose levels, tissue damage, five dozen stitches and- Shit, two weeks of bed rest?
He groaned, but exaggerated it as soon as he felt the urge, rolling his eyes as the two went back to staring at him in shock. So he drawled in the most patronizing tone he could muster that he was a criminal, he had been in prison and juvie and – although that part came out more as a hiss – he had grown up with his father and Lisa had already told them what that meant. So no thanks, but he was not a fragile little snowflake and if they were going to treat him like one, they should know that they were moving on thin ice.
The doctor finally threw her hands up with a huff and a “FINE!” and left the room. That effectively left Ramon alone with him, which the kid abruptly realized, but Leonard was still able to grab him before he could flee as well. The quick movement bringing his whole torso upright and putting much more weight than before on his backside hurt like hell, but he was able to mask it with anger as he demanded that they send it Scarlet to speak with him and in the meantime, Ramon should get him his gun – unless he wanted to be 'persuaded' to make a new one again. (The kid visibly shuddered in memory and did indeed not want a repeat.)
When Barry entered, Leonard had already found a way to sit up so he wouldn't look quite so beaten down.
And he might have checked his face to be sure that he was not still covered in semen, subtly, lest the cameras gave away how shaken he really felt. But no, someone must have washed him. (And that thought made him shudder worse than any of the pain. He hadn't lied about that. Getting his ass kicked was nothing new to him. He had build a great persona by constantly getting better than others and his former self, but he hadn't started at the top. Every rung of the ladder, he'd had to fight to climb and he was ready to pay for it with blood. That of others if he could arrange it, but if need be also his own. Bodily autonomy was something else. Being used as a puppet... Someone doing something to him that he not only couldn't stop but wasn't even awake for... It was just a level of loss of control that he still couldn't cope with too well.)
So he took that control back, looking at Barry, who seemed miserable and struck with guilt but also confused – good, then there was an option of saving him yet. The other two must have already carried the work he had done on them to the kid. But the situation could still go either way, so had to be careful:
“You look even worse than I feel, Scarlet. Am I that shitty a lay?”
The shock was refreshing. Every sputter of the dangerous meta falling over himself in reaction to Leonard's action, a puppet on his strings now, felt like he could breathe a little more normally again. It felt like a piece of control reclaimed. And so he pushed on before the speedster could collect himself, chuckling with a much smaller eye-roll as he assured the kid that he was only teasing. The smile he got in return almost took his breath right away again. Even if this one was still cautious, Barry had a beautiful smile. (It was such a shame that it had to be tainted now that he knew much too viscerally what the power behind it could feel like.)
But he would get over that. Like he always did.
The next two weeks trapped inside STAR Labs before he could disappear again to lick his wounds in private were the hardest in his adult life, constantly under surveillance, constantly having to keep up his facade before the uncounted cameras, snarking with and teasing the speedster to make him believe that nothing had changed. Teasing him about some things that had happened there specifically to show that he was not afraid to talk about it and provoke the kid into teasing him back so he would internalize Leonard's apparent eagerness as he picked it from his only semi-hazy memories for ammunition.
But they were also the most rewarding two weeks of his life. Seeing the little smiles of hope turn into faith, seeing the worries melt away and the chains choking the young hero's heart that might have strangled it break down and fall away...
Because he felt like he might have actually saved Barry from himself. And that was the best thing he could have done.
It felt almost like he had been able to save himself.