Chapter Text
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Bolt from the Blue
See also: anvil lightning, anvil-to-ground lightning, clear-air lightning
The name given to a cloud-to-ground discharge that strikes far away from its thunderstorm of origin. Typically emanating from the highest region of a cumulonimbus cloud, the bolt travels horizontally for long distances before altering to a vertical descent toward earth. Due to the final striking point being a significant distance from the storm, sometimes reaching up to fifteen miles away, this events can occur at locations with clear “blue skies” overhead, which gives this phenomenon its moniker.
Excerpt from Sixth Grade Science: Chapter 18, Storms
***
Leonard Snart sits in a dark corner of the bar, leans back against the unforgiving hardwood of the chair, and watches the kid. He watches without staring, keeping track of the movement out of the corner of his eye. He catalogues the kid’s smiles – the one that’s a subtle twist of wry humor, the one that’s more embarrassed than happy, the one that’s so joyous it’s contagious. He listens without looking and keeps track of the different flavors of laughter that come his way – the gentle one that makes the hair on his arms stand up like a whisper on bare skin, the surprised one that’s startled but honest, the particularly loud one that makes a couple of other patrons glance up and chuckle to themselves.
Leonard Snart sits in a dark corner of the bar, leans forward and props his elbows on the hardwood of the table, laces his fingers together and rests his chin on the resulting platform. Lisa is to his left, sipping a beer and talking animatedly to Mick, who is to his right. Mick responds to her light chatter with the occasional grunt as he drinks directly from the pitcher. The conversation flows around Len like he is the solid, jutting rock in the middle of the creek; they are accustomed to his intense gaze, to his lack of response as he thinks. He was quiet even before the kid came into the bar with his friend an hour and a half ago, but both of them know him well enough to leave him alone when he’s like this.
The kid is – approximate height, six-one, lanky – approximate weight, 180 pounds, slender, not overly muscled – approximate shoe size, eleven – hair, brown, messy – eyes, blue, clear – cute. He’s younger than Leonard usually likes them, probably mid-twenties, but there’s something straightforward in the kid’s eyes that is appealing, something that tells Len this kid not only wears his heart on his sleeve, but is unashamed of that fact. Len is a thief by trade; that kind of honesty is refreshingly rare.
The kid’s friend is – approximate height, five-four, hourglass – approximate weight, 120 pounds, curvy, toned – approximate bust, 34B – hair, black, straight – eyes, black, clear – definitely not his girlfriend. Len can see that the kid holds a candle for her, but she plainly doesn’t notice as she points out a few potential dates for the kid around the bar. Leonard is pleased to note that she doesn’t discriminate between men and women when window-shopping for the kid. He isn’t so pleased that he and his crew are sitting in a dark corner of the bar, because the kid’s friend hasn’t seen him, and therefore hasn’t pointed him out as a potential one-night stand.
Leonard Snart has broken into banks with state of the art security. He has planned heists involving up to seven men, accounting for variables down to the minute detail, mapped out to the nearest second. This? This is a cakewalk. It’s like breathing.
He stands, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and dropping five twenties on the table. To Lisa he says, “Don’t wait up for me,” and he sees her eyes follow his gaze to the bar where the kid and his friend sit.
She smiles, all teeth, and says, “All the cute ones, Lenny. It’s just not fair.”
To Mick, Len says, “I’m paying your tab to keep you happy for the night. Keep a cool head, don’t get arrested, and I’ll call you with the details in a couple of days.”
Mick glances over at the bar, giving both the kid and his friend a thorough once over. “Whichever one you’re after,” he says, “good luck. Both of ‘em look like preppy prudes.”
Lisa smacks Mick on his arm good-naturedly. “Oh, honey, if you knew Lenny, you wouldn’t even need to ask. Messy brown hair and baby blue eyes, that’s been his MO since we were kids,” she tells the other man with a grin. She flags down a nearby busboy and orders another round of beer.
Leonard Snart moves away from the dark corner of the room. He walks with purpose, striding confidently over to the bar where he catches the attention of a bartender. He doesn’t look at the kid as he places an order for a beer. He waits, patiently, for the bartender to grab a bottle from one of the coolers, expertly crack the lid open, and slide it to him with a napkin. Len jots down the number of his most recent burner phone on the napkin.
He doesn’t look at the kid, but his hearing is keen under usual circumstances, and right now it is focused entirely on the kid and the kid’s friend’s murmured conversation.
“–didn’t see him before, but he’s gorgeous, Baer. Look at the muscles in his arms, yum!”
Excellent. The friend has spotted him, and has brought the kid’s – Baer’s? Hippies for parents, or more likely a nickname – attention to him.
Len risks the barest glance out of the corner of his eye, ghosting over the kid’s face as he tucks the pen back into his pocket, then pulls out his wallet and slides the bartender a crisp ten-dollar bill. There is heat rising in the kid’s face as his friend mentions Len’s arms. A blush. Len didn’t think anyone still blushed in this city; an answering heat pools in his stomach and shoots straight to his cock as he wonders how far down that blush extends.
“Iris, come on, he’s – I mean, there’s no way he’d look twice at someone like me.” The kid smiles, that wry smile that first caught Len’s attention, and glances down at his hands as he fiddles with his nearly empty beer.
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, Barry,” the friend, Iris, replies with a hint of steel in her voice. Barry. The kid’s name is Barry. It suits him. “As I’ve told you before, my friend, you are one of the chosen, of the rare species of adorable nerds, and I don’t think you know just how cute you are when you dial up that blush.”
The comment makes Barry’s already bright face go an even deeper shade, and when the bartender tries to give Leonard his change, Len shakes his head. He nods in Barry’s direction, slides the napkin with his number on it to the bartender instead, and says, “How about you give the kid over there a refill on me.”
As the bartender moves to fill the order, Len stops pretending that he’s interested in the beer in hand and directs his full, uninterrupted gaze at Barry: more specifically, at Barry’s neck where he can see the red creeping down past the collar of the kid’s shirt.
Iris is still working on Barry’s self-confidence when the bartender places the fresh beer and marked napkin in front of them. The pair pause, looking in unison first at the beer, then at the napkin. Finally, the kid looks up, and Barry’s curious blue eyes meet Leonard’s direct stare for the very first time. For a moment, the room stops. It’s cliché but Len doesn’t think he’s ever had a moment quite like this one. Everyone else fades away – he can’t see them, can’t hear them, but he couldn’t care less because he can see Barry. He can see Barry’s sharp intake of breath, and way his baby blues darken with a sudden, inexplicable desire. He knows his own eyes, usually too intense for most people to feel fully comfortable, reflect that same desire.
Leonard Snart smiles, a tight, controlled little smirk. He looks away, just for a moment, sips his beer. Then he turns his gaze on Barry for a second look, only this time he very slowly, very deliberately makes sure the kid sees the look, sweeping from his beet-red face down the length of his torso, and even further down to where the kid’s jeans have tented noticeably. Len allows his gaze to linger briefly before moving back up to meet the kid’s startled eyes. Without a single word passing between them, the quirk of Len’s lips very clearly says he likes what he sees. He takes another sip of beer.
Len doesn’t think that Barry can get any redder, but he is proven wrong as Iris crows with delight, “That man not only looked twice, Barry, but he undressed you with his eyes the second time around. If you think he’s not interested, so help me God, I will find out where he lives, beat you unconscious with a stick, and deliver you to him wearing nothing but a frilly bow. Go TALK TO HIM!”
Even if the kid does have a crush on her, Len finds himself liking this Iris more and more. The mental image she’s provided is a pleasant distraction as he waits for Barry to either pick up the ball, or drop it entirely. He doesn’t have to wait long.
“Um...” comes the hesitant voice from right beside him. Len lets another pleased smile twist his lips as he turns to meet the kid’s eyes, wide and bright, accented by his red, flushed cheeks. “Hi,” the kid says, clutching both beer and napkin in one hand like a lifeline. The other hand extends out in greeting. “I’m Barry. I’ll be your lobster for the evening.”
That startles an unexpected bark of laughter out of Len. “Leonard,” he replies, and the smile that finds its way to his lips is unplanned. He takes the kid’s hand, and is pleasantly surprised with the firm handshake that puts them on equal ground. “Call me Len.”
“Leonard,” the kid muses thoughtfully. “That’s nearly as bad as Bartholomew. Oh–” Barry hastily backtracks. “Not that your name is bad or anything! It’s just rare that I choke on anyone else’s first name. I mean–” his face, which had toned down to pink, shoots right back to red, “I mean, not like, choke on it literally, it’s just a mouthful. I MEAN–” and red to flaming crimson, “LEN! Len’s good! Len really rolls off my tongue, oh my god–”
Leonard Snart feels the smile on his face threatening to break. He can’t hold it back, nor can he contain the laugh. It’s a low chuckle, seemingly unremarkable.
(And yet, across the room, Lisa sits up straight in her chair and stares at the kid who made Lenny laugh like that, a look of complete and total wonder on her face.)
“You really,” Len notes that he still holds Barry’s hand in his own, and neither of them has moved to pull away, “really weren’t kidding about the lobster thing.” He gives Barry’s hand an experimental little squeeze, and allows his index finger to move, lightly tracing it over the rabbit pulse on the kid’s wrist.
“I’m sorry,” Barry says, so red that Leonard can actually feel the heat that he’s emitting. “I’m so sorry. I get nervous and then I start talking and then I start babbling, and then these things just seem to happen in my mouth – I mean! Not like literally happen, like a party or something – I mean. No. No, there’s no party in my mouth, and again, I’m doing it again–”
Len takes a single step forward, not releasing Barry’s hand as he shamelessly invades the kid’s personal space. “Would it be too forward to tell you that I like the idea of things happening in your mouth, and volunteer my services to further that interest?”
“I–” the kid’s brain seems to suffer a little bit of a meltdown. “I don’t – I mean – You.” The kid blinks and then his mouth is moving again, though clearly his filter seems to have suffered a short-circuit. “You’re completely gorgeous and you have the most amazing eyes and I can feel the muscles in your arm that tell me you work out on a regular basis or possibly have an labor intensive job and all I can think about right now is that I called myself a lobster and you have a great laugh and how can you possibly want to kiss me when I keep– ”
Leonard Snart leans forward and stops the kid’s mouth with a kiss. It’s fast, nothing so explicit as to get them kicked out of the bar. It is the sweep of Len’s tongue in the surprised “oh!” the kid’s mouth makes. It is warm, wet, and just a little bit sloppy. It makes Len’s heart stutter in his chest, and as he pulls back, he resists the urge to lick his lips; Barry’s mouth tastes like cheap beer and beginnings.
Barry’s dazed expression causes Leonard another involuntary smile. That’s three unplanned smiles in three minutes. This could be dangerous.
Len’s heartbeat quickens. He says, “I’m in town on business. I have a hotel room with a hot tub.”
The kid blinks.
Len continues, “I thought I could give you one more reason to blush.”
And Barry, with his bright blue eyes that are clear and honest, and his heart on his sleeve, and his face lobster-red – Barry nibbles his lower lip, swallows nervously, and says, “Just one?”
***
Somewhere in a hidden room in S.T.A.R. Labs, a man who goes by the name Harrison Wells stands, staring at a newspaper from the future. The headline shows him what he desires – the future is intact. The man glances at a separate screen, security cameras switching perspectives to follow a young Barry Allen and, astonishingly, Leonard Snart, as they make their way to a local hotel. He watches as Barry’s fingers reach out to tangle in the front of Snart’s shirt. He watches as Barry tugs the older man into an alleyway, kissing him tentatively. He watches as Snart moves abruptly, pushing Barry until his back is against the alley wall. Snart’s knee presses between Barry’s legs, and he uses one hand to pin Barry’s thin wrists above his head.
Harrison is entranced. He watches Barry’s head tilt to one side, allowing Snart access to his vulnerable neck. His eyes flutter closed and he’s bites his lower lip as he tries, and fails, to hold back a moan.
The scene gives him pause.
The man known as Harrison Wells has learned many things about Barry Allen over the last twelve years, monitoring the young man’s continued safety from anything that might threaten to harm him. Science fairs and soccer games, sleepless nights spent starring at the secret pinup board with every scrap of evidence accumulated from his mother’s murder – first hidden in the closet of his bedroom, and later migrated to his work space at the precinct. Barry’s nights are restless, and his days are spent running, late, late, always late. Harrison has seen the child grow into the young man, and he has spent years searching every inch of that face for the first warning sign of the man that he despises, the Flash.
Harrison has yet to find any trace of that man, the monster who Barry will one day become. But sometimes his searching reveals something else, something new. And like any good scientist, when new data is brought to light, old information must be updated and revised.
Harrison’s mind is a great and terrible thing, perhaps because it does not belong solely to a scientist born of the 20th century. Thoughts move like lightning along each synapse, a series of rapid-fire bullets – Leonard Snart far exceeds Barry’s age, yet Barry is undeniably attracted to him – Barry Allen has always been attracted to members of both the male and female genders, but this is the first time his exploration of the male body has gone beyond drunken college fumbling – Barry Allen has grown into an attractive young man who clearly has a healthy sexual appetite – despite all signs to the contrary, the name on the newspaper still reads Iris Allen-West–
And yet all of these things might not have attracted his attention if not for one curious, fascinating fact – Barry Allen is beautiful in submission.
The man known as Harrison Wells tucks the thought away, internalizes it, and begins to plan accordingly.
***
Len finds himself loving every inch of Barry’s body. The kid isn’t a mountain of muscle, but he is so very hot, skin practically on fire beneath Len’s perpetually chilly hands. He makes the most delightful little noises as Len licks a particularly sensitive part of his neck, biting hard enough to bruise, and he can feel the kid’s pulse racing at light speed between his teeth. His own blood is pounding in his ears as he bites down again, eliciting a strangled gasp of pleasure from his pliant partner. He presses his body up against that warm, willing one, presses his straining erection into the curve of Barry’s thigh and feels a straining twitch from Barry’s already-stiff erection in reply.
“Hot tub?” Barry groans, and Len releases Barry’s wrists, only to find those deceptively slender arms wrapping around him in an unrelenting embrace. One of Barry’s hands finds its way underneath Len’s shirt, and Len has to forcibly restrain himself as the kid drags his blunt, boy nails down against the length of Len’s back. It stings, but the thought of this fragile-looking kid making him bleed almost makes him lose what little control he’s managed to keep.
“Kid, if you keep it up, there is no way we’ll make it that far,” Len growls. “I will fuck you in this alleyway, we’ll get arrested for indecent exposure, and I’ll have to contact my crew to break us both out of prison.”
“Nah,” the kid says, and his blunt nails scratch down Len’s back again. This time he is positive the kid draws blood. “I’ll pull every favor I have at the station to get it stricken from the record. I’ll probably get mocked for the rest of my life, but no jailbreaks needed.”
Len pauses, plays that over in his head, and feeling far more in control of himself, he asks distantly, “You a cop?”
“Huh?” Barry frowns, a tiny, confused curl of his lips. Len feels the tightness in his stomach settle back down. His instincts haven’t failed him; this kid is not a cop. “Oh! No, sorry,” Barry says. “I’m just an assistant forensic analyst. I work at the precinct and I’ve done pretty much every officer there a favor or two...”
“Favors, hm?” Len has the inexplicable urge to smile as the kid backpedals hastily, the lobster-red blush he’d been sporting at the bar returning full force.
“Oh, um – yes, favor, like putting rush orders on their evidence,” Barry stutters out. He laughs, shaking his head. “You dirty old man, now instead of picturing you naked, I’m picturing every officer I’ve ever worked with naked and oh, ew,” Barry wrinkles his nose, “Yup, there goes my libido. You killed it. You killed it dead.”
At this, Len does smile. He takes a step back from where he still has the kid pinned against the wall, exhales slow and deep, and straightens his shirt. “I’m not that old.”
“What?” Barry straightens his own shirt. “Oh! No, dirty old man, with an emphasis on the ‘dirty,’ not the ‘old.’”
“Well, I suppose it’s good we’re heading to a hot tub, then, if that’s how you feel.” Len grins, watching the red creep back down Barry’s neck. This might become an obsession, seeing just how red he can make Barry blush, with the power of his words alone.
Then again, hot tub. Words probably won’t be necessary.
Barry smiles at him, and Len had it right earlier when he figured that the kid wore his heart on his sleeve. Leonard Snart has kept his cool in the midst of gunfire and high-speed chases. He knows the thrill of the fight, of the chase, of success. He has been a criminal since he was a teenager, and he recognizes that Barry’s smile is very, very dangerous.
Leonard Snart has been chasing dangerous since he was old enough to run.
It is with this thought that he turns from Barry and begins walking down the alleyway. Len glances over his shoulder, eyes taking in the kid’s debauched and rumpled appearance. He smirks and states with finality, “Hot tub. Two blocks. You coming?”
Barry grins.
***