Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It started slow: the blurring of the same face into contorted features resembling emotions Barry never even dared to say out loud. Why sometimes those blue eyes seemed colder when glasses protected them than when there weren’t any. He did not understand the hot feeling pressing against his ribs when he closed his eyes and yet he feared he would wake up one day without that feeling and be lost. 

He wouldn’t have called it obsession. Not really. Being obsessed would result in harm, in the need to own something or worse–someone. He knew of too many cases where the one being obsessed with someone else had ended up in jail or worse. He wasn’t like them, really. 

You cannot just take something that does not belong to you, Barry.

It wasn’t that he took something away… not physically. He just–waited. Waited until he thought he was alone with it. Let his fingers brush over it with a sensuality that would have shocked himself in another–clearer–moment, if his brain wasn’t running on anything but him already: That drug that called itself Eobard.

He had stood there on the dimly lit street after Eobard had left and Cisco had logged off, stood there and touched the fabric he had torn from his enemy’s suit while they had fought. Touched the blood on it. Clenched his fingers around it and held onto that thing like a lifeline before he heard sirens in the far distance and decided to leave. He had tucked it behind the collar of his suit–right against his chest. Felt the strange sensation of that small piece of cloth piercing into him like little needles asking to penetrate his skin with utter reverence. It made him shiver and his knees weak and he had needed another moment where he focused on his breathing before he ran. 

Run, Barry. Run. 

He was sure he would hand the cloth to Cisco after his return to the Cortex–would offer a logical explanation of why he brought the torn fabric with him. Would ask Cisco to run analyses and find weak points on how to defeat the Man in Yellow. Of course he would. First thing once he arrived back at S.T.A.R. Labs.

But running back felt like losing equilibrium. He was in a state of lost tranquility, felt like he needed only one additional step to lift himself off the ground and into the dark night and forced himself to stay focused on the lights around him. 

It wasn't so much the victory in the fight that pushed him to run harder. It was what had come after. 

It was that Eobard had seen for the second time what Barry tried to hide from him. 

And the smirk Barry got in return together with the piece he had then held clutched in his fist were just enough to send him spiraling. 

Run, Barry. Run.

Eobard had breathed it into the cold air just before he sped away and Barry remembered all the times that he had listened to those words seeping into his skull–into his very being while he had run. It was almost impossible now to not close his eyes while he thought of those words. Just because that shiver felt like electricity embracing him with devotion. The next seconds Barry forced himself again to focus before his feet made contact with the floor in the Cortex.

The first thing he did when he entered the Cortex was to lift his hand to his chest, ready to retrieve the piece of cloth out from where it was glued against his skin. Just–that in that exact moment something had let Barry's hand move to his head and made him rub his forehead to conceal his sudden change of mind.

He didn't want to hand it over. No one would miss anything that they didn't know existed, right?

And even if they found it, he would explain it with the rush, the adrenaline and all the hundreds of other thoughts that–naturally–had occupied him. 

Why did he feel so strange doing that? He had sped out the next second Cisco had been returning to his workstation and trying to analyse the video footage and just before Caitlin was about to ask for the newly won bruises and hid in the Speed Lab. 

They would at least need another few minutes to collect themselves and comment on his weird behaviour and Barry did not mind that. Because now he could be alone with… it. 

He knew exactly where the cameras were when he walked in. Almost too casually turning his back towards the one overseeing the entry to the Speed Lab he eventually reached the drawer in the corner just out of sight. 

It itched his fingertips as he slid down the zipper of his suit, itched to keep the cloth hidden and to take it home with him instead. To keep it in his room and look at it whenever he wanted… but he knew someone from the team could still watch him. 

A strange tingling ran down his spine at that thought, the unmistakable sting of doing something forbidden burning in waves down to his fingertips. It reminded him of the time when he had once stolen money from Joe's wallet for a bus ride to Iron Heights. Joe had eventually found out–of course he had–and had grounded him for a week. It had made Barry just more careful the next time. 

And now? His fingers refuse to open up when they hold the cloth and Barry imagines feeling that known spark jump from the piece to his fingers once he does let go. He shuts the drawer slowly, his eyes still glued to the yellow colour half hidden behind the speedster energy bars and so out of place. 

He won’t look at it anymore. He will leave it there and go on with his day. It is just a memento, no, something to be analysed… a trophy, his–

“Hey Bar.”

Barry spins around, his surprised reaction quickly covered with a soft and relieved chuckle. 

“Hey Joe. Thought we’d meet later at–CCPD?” Barry lifts his hands in a wavering gesture before he puts them onto his hips. The questioning tone at the end of the sentence slows down Joe's steps before he halts in front of his foster son.

“Bud, you were late. And when I got Cisco’s alarm about Thawne, I came here. You alright?"

Joe does his typical fatherly inspection and it makes Barry hyperaware of his own posture while the eyes of the elder man are scanning his body and wounds. He carefully unlocks his jaw before he narrows his head and smiles again, letting a bit of the fatigue show to sell the lie. He is really getting good at this and he does not know if it should relieve or frighten him. 

He is fine. He just does not want to worry Joe. Or anyone else. They–would not understand. 

“Yeah, just–a bit worn out.”

“Worn out?” Joe steps closer, a final look at Barry’s face before he slings an arm around his shoulder to accompany him back to the Cortex. “You just had a fight with the Reverse-Flash. Or should I say that you both took a beating? Come on, Caitlin asked me to get you back. She’s worried you are trying to hide from her.”

Barry lets himself get escorted out of the Speed Lab and urges himself to not look back to the drawer on the far side of the room. 

The whole time his eyes flit to the hallway and back to Caitlin who's applying gentle but precise pressure to his ribs, checking for fractures beneath the bruise while her lips move. “Barry?” Caitlin's hands have stopped and her head is tilted in that manner that tells him he hasn't followed anything she had said to him. Probably for the last two minutes given the angle her head is positioned now. 

“Yeah, yep?” He turns his head up, his eyes catching Cisco walking down the Cortex to the hallway. 

To the Speed Lab?

Barry's stomach drops at the realization that Cisco could–will–go to the drawer. He will see it. He will–

Caitlin attempts to ask him for a number on his pain index again but is interrupted by Barry shouting past her to Cisco while he slides off the stretcher, bothering only to murmur a ‘Thank you’ to her. She shoots a look at Joe to get his attention but he's immersed with the video feed on the screen in front of him.

Cisco turns, datapad in hand and some of those protein bars to restock the drawer in the Speed Lab, when Barry jogs to him, all too cheerfully, and pats him on the back. 

“Mind, if I join you? Oh, gimme that. I can help you carry them. Might eat one on the way.” 

Cisco snorts but hands the bars to Barry while they walk down the hallway.

This whole day is a test. 

Barry knows he can't keep the piece of cloth in the drawer. There's Wally buzzing in and bustling around and then there's Iris trying to get him on another date and keeping him from returning to the Speed Lab and he wants to go, he really wants to but if he does–

What if someone finds it while he's gone? What if he needs to run off for another fight and Cisco or Wally check the drawer?

Oh, the questions, and oh the doubts on his sanity! They'll never leave him alone with anything anymore. The disgust and embarrassment they'll carry in their looks whenever they'll watch him pass.

They don't know. That it wasn't meant to mean anything. They'll make it mean something, even if it doesn't…

It's–

He needs to put it somewhere safe. 

The tingle in his spine is permanent now and his ears turn warm and if anyone looked closer they'd see the tips turn pink and his fingers fidget with the hem of the sweater he changed into. 

Joe has fetched himself a cup of coffee and talks to Iris and while Caitlin hovers over her workstation Barry takes his chance. He pushes himself away from the workstation he's been leaning on and walks down to the hallway. 

“Uh, Bar-” Barry groans inwardly, his fingers twitching once before he turns and looks back at Joe and Iris.

“You want to head to CCPD with me? I think Captain Singh wanted a report on the latest meta crime scenes.”

Barry smiles, returning the harmless question–he doesn't know, does he?--with a nod before he responds: “Yeah, just lemme grab something from.. ugh, back there.”

Joe nods as well, before he turns back to Iris and Barry hurries with anything that doesn't scream traitor out of the Cortex.

It's in his pocket. 

It's warm and making him fuzzy and his hand goes more than once there to brush over the denim he wears and he's glad–so glad–that he could save it and have it closer to him again.

He can't fathom losing it.

He understands that his focus wavers and he manages just so to keep his eyes and fingers on the report he needs to analyse. Even if his thoughts are somewhere else. 

He remembers the stand-off with Thawne from the night before while his index finger runs down the words the witness used to describe how the meta had appeared in front of them.

And Barry remembers how he had witnessed the Man in Yellow himself for the first time. A being so otherworldly yet so known to his own body like a missing piece of the puzzle. He also remembers how Thawne–when he was still pretending to be Harrison Wells–had described to him the sensation of the Speed Force in order to teach him to phase through a wall. How foreign and yet so logical it had seemed to follow his words. How strange and yet so familiar the revelation of Harrison Wells as Eobard Thawne had felt. How this man–his enemy–had never left his thoughts after that. But the man, disguised as his mentor, had already started rummaging through his thoughts before.

His hand moves down under the table to his ever restless legs and dips into his pocket before he closes his fingers around the fabric and imagines he feels that familiar spark again. 

He wonders where Eobard–Thawne–is. He wonders what he does. He wonders, if he knows that Barry thinks of him. Barry thinks of him. Too often, too immersed, too fractured to call it coherent and fluid and logical. Those thoughts have nothing to do with defeating him. They have to do with what happens after. With how Barry can keep him. 

Barry had him–once. At Flashpoint, where the man he hated had been the only anchor to the life he had left behind. The man that wore his own face, blond ruffled hair and dark stubble that grew on that mortal skin. Skin he had bruised over and over and over again–for every day he had held him captive. Bruises that became proof of Thawne belonging to Barry; bruises that disappeared too quickly, that needed to be renewed like a contract. 

And Thawne–that Thawne from Flashpoint had known the instant Barry stepped into his cell–what that punishment meant. It had never been about hate alone. Or revenge. It was disgust covering the shock and realisation that Barry could never leave Thawne, couldn't erase him, couldn't just kill him. He never would. 

He needed him.

Simple as that. 

And this Thawne? The one that stood before him wearing the face of Harrison Wells again? He knew. He had laughed and breathed the words into the wind that made Barry shiver with delicate delight. 

And when his phone vibrates, alerting him to the Man in Yellow appearing again, his breath slows and he feels his chest tightening with that welcoming feeling again. 

Thawne's smirk has grown into something darker, something more intimate. It is as if he remembers the beating, the hushed words, the caress after. He craves it, doesn't he? 

Thawne hovers over Barry, his own ribs bruised but already starting to heal while he holds Barry by his cowl. His fingers trail down Barry's jaw and dip into the wound at his lower lip before he exhales heavily. 

“It is always us, isn't it, Barry? You keep me and I keep you, no matter which timeline; no matter how often you try to outrun me. I caught you this time. But you wanted that, didn't you, Barry?”

He doesn't call him Flash. His voice doesn't seethe with venom. Barry believes to hear affection and want. Shall they fight over who binds whom this time like in a lover's quarrel?

Thawne's thumb returns to Barry's lip and smears the red down to his chin. 

“Have you told them? Have you told them you keep a part of me close to you?” I can sense the negative tachyons on your body, Flash. What will they think when they realise you never meant to defeat me?” 

Thawne's own lips draw closer and closer and his hot breath hits against Barry's face and Barry wishes nothing more than to close the gap. He's scared, not at that thought, because it isn't the first time it appears. He's scared that someone might watch them, might find out that Barry's truth is stronger than the lie he tries to uphold. It has always been stronger, hasn't it? 

So Barry–the hero who fights villains, who fights demons inside himself–grabs Eobard by his collar and shoves him away before he stands up, ragged breathing from the sweet ache in his chest and the blows they have bestowed upon each other. 

To keep Eobard, to escape that lie that he needs to defeat evil when evil has ever been a part of himself; to escape only for a moment, a fraction of time from everyone questioning Barry's sanity, Barry then just nods. His head narrows in that subtle surrender that only Thawne ever understood. To keep Thawne, his blood stained lips part to seal the contract: 

“Take me, then.”

And Eobard steps closer, stretching out his hand and letting his fingertips crack with small lighting pulses over Barry's chest; the spot he knows Barry has hidden the fabric of his suit again. Where the heart of his counterpart is. Yellow lightning responds to his red and it dances in perfect harmony back and forth. Equilibrium.

And in the next moment both are gone. 

Chapter Text

He is a beast. A gentle one. The next time a power surge overcomes him, so unforeseen that Barry has no possibility to escape, Eobard apologizes. He always apologizes. The bruises are his, proof of his everlasting connection to the young man in front of him. It never even occurs to Eobard that they are just dust in the wind. They are not. They are everything. Their powers grant them immortality and it is more than just not aging as fast as humans do and watching everything around them writhe away. They experience time and life differently: Running back and changing things creates another timeline: Killing Nora or keeping her alive; Barry keeping Thawne as prisoner and Flashpoint. In fact, every time one of them runs back, forth and back again, they multiply the multiverse they know. 

They do not care. Not these beings from this Earth. 

The power of a god in the hands of men who unflinchingly would betray the world for each other. It is pure need that drives Eobard always back to Barry. It is pure greed that makes him want to surpass him. And it is pure pleasure to keep him close. 

Eobard doesn’t need to say it. It is shown in the marks his fingers leave on Barry’s skin, displayed like an exhibit every few hours he returns. Eobard never goes far. He does not dare to. Not that he believes Barry will escape… no, Barry would not even think of fleeing, that much he knows. But with the rest of the team he once led he knows his time is limited. 

He scoffs at that thought. Time is a bending mechanism, like a music box he can wind up and let run again and again. But yes, manipulating time comes with risks. And he didn’t survive to get Barry just to lose him again that quickly because of carelessness.

So he does not travel back in time but relies on stepping into the Speed Force when he wants to. He observes the young speedster in front of him, sitting on the floor with his hands in his lap. Barry looks inviting. And maybe he does invite him. If not with words then with his posture, Feet apart and knees bent, slightly spread, inviting like someone who wants to be taken. Eobard lets his tongue flicker over his lips, briefly, a habit that had evolved during his earlier years as Harrison Wells. Whenever he gets lost in thoughts, imagining things, he had felt his lips stay apart, as if it were an effort to breathe. Those thoughts had revolved around Barry. Solely around him. Barry blinks, noticing Eobard’s move and something like a smile appears and disappears too quickly. He is inviting. He wants to. 

A pair of metahuman handcuffs he had started designing with Cisco before his reveal as Eobard Thawne are wrapped around Barry’s wrists. Barry’s eyes had been wide and innocent - or so the scarlet speedster had told himself - and consented before Eobard could even ask. 

It had been far too delicate how Eobard closed the handcuffs around Barry’s wrist. It had been far too enticing to watch Barry’s metabolism slow down and his adrenaline rise.

Eobard could sense the Speedforce hovering around Barry, could sense the particles halt and wait to resume their path. But neither Barry nor Eobard intended to interrupt what they just started. 

Barry still looks at Thawne–Eobard–the man, who so easily whisked him away and wonders again, what he thinks. He had time to read Thawne once he knew who he was. And false identity or not, he believes he could read him as Wells, too. Barry swallows once he sees Eobard’s tongue flicker over his lips and something inside his guts tightens. His toes flex inside his boots, a reflex caused by the behaviour of the man standing in front of him. It is not the first time he sees himself as prey. It is just this time where he takes over the role until they switch again. Again. Barry wants to huff a soft laugh but holds himself back. If he told anyone about this, about how two people change millions of destinies to dive into another level of their relationship– no, they wouldn’t understand. They do not need to. 

It does not scare him that the lives of others do not matter to him right now. What matters is how the mesmerizing blue of the eyes Eobard inhibits turn dark. There, another sweet twist inside Barry. 

To be owned by someone is pure pleasure. And pain. The amount of times Barry breaks down in tears, willingly, freely, desperately only fuels Eobard’s desire to do it again. Bruise after bruise after bruise paint a lovingly torturing path on Barry’s body, now stripped of his suit. His legs are covered in bite marks, his thighs blue and black and red and Eobard’s thoughts linger on the biological reaction of the body beneath him. How pain dissolves from black to purple to red (Barry) to yellow (himself). It is meant. It cannot be different. 

And so he listens to Barry’s sobs, begging to be torn apart again and Eobard does not hesitate. He relishes in it. He takes his deserved time. Letting his teeth wander up another trail of skin, still unharmed. Biting into it with such force that Barry’s leg would jolt if Eobard wouldn’t hold him down. Licking the spot with his tongue to taste the flesh with his saliva on it. 

Barry winds beneath him, hands still aching to be freed and yet he keeps his legs apart for Eobard. He is spreading them further–more–wanting to be taken by the only force he ever let himself be consumed by. His face remains tear-stained, so beautiful to be admired that Eobard lets his hand move to his cheek to cup his face. 

Barry whimpers Eobard’s name over and over again, and every time he does his thighs twitch as reaction to that. Unwillingly… willingly. 

Being stripped of his powers by the handcuffs makes Barry extremely aware of how different mortals experience pain and healing. He's stripped of his healing factor–even if just temporarily–and though experiencing pain has never been different for him as mortal or as speedster, the healing process is different. Slower, yes and with it more intense. Waves of pain pulse from each mark and make a stark contrast to the touches Eobard bestows him with. He tries focusing on the one and fails, understanding again that pleasure can only be achieved when it's as close as it can get to the pain it follows. 

He grunts as Eobard’s teeth sink into the soft flesh of his inner thigh again–how could he find another unharmed spot?--and his breath grows more shallow than before. 

His thoughts wander off, and for a second he thinks of the others, of Iris and Joe and Cisco and Caitlin. It would be abhorrent to them if they saw what he does. What he lets Thawne –Eobard–do with him. There is still one part of him that judges what happens, that wants to erase the memory that's currently created but Barry has stopped fighting his self-punishment. That part that's still stuck in morale and logic and old habits will need time until it withers away like weeds pulled up by the roots. 

And so that flickering thought vanishes as quickly as it came, gets pushed away by the heavy and lean–and wonderfully naked–body that's moving up on him and Barry stops thinking at all. 

Eobard's skin is marked–if not from bruises similar to Barry’s because those vanished some days ago after their previous collision due to sped-up healing–but from scars that tell from earlier encounters, experiments, punishment. Since he wears the skin of Harrison Wells Eobard has inflicted as much torment upon himself as on his counterpart–and has experienced the same from Barry. Years spent in this skin with these blue eyes have made him almost indifferent between his actual one and Wells’s. It isn’t so much that he prefers one over the other–no, that is not true. He has watched Barry grow up and become the man that lies beneath him in this skin; has continued his obsession in this skin with interruptions in Flashpoint; but every day in the body of Harrison Wells is giving this skin additional meaning. The more Barry has been hunted and hunts Eobard down in this body the more he wants to stay inside it himself. 

And he will break Barry with this body again.

He wants to watch the pupils in Barry’s eyes widen with delight–and pain–as he spreads the young man’s thighs with his lean fingers even more; wants to observe how Barry’s eyes trail down the body of Eobard in Wells’s body; how Barry notices the dark trail of neatly trimmed hair leading from his abdomen to his cock. Barry is inviting him with his flushed face and his heavy eyelids and Eobard savours every moment. 

The handcuffs cut into Barry’s wrists the more he wishes to free himself. He knows he cannot without the permission of Eobard, who is grabbing them and pushing them up so Barry’s arms are lifted and out of the way. The pain is bearable. Barry’s desire to be able to touch Eobard in return is not.

The body beneath him stripped of his powers is almost human now and Eobard reminds himself how careful he needs to be. It is another surge that overcomes him though, just because of that–of the set boundaries they agreed to and the urge to test the same now. How far will they go this time? Eobard observes his own hand around Barry’s throat, not letting go until Barry’s lips pale and Barry blinks rapidly. They look enticing like that, welcoming him again and Eobard lets go, listens to Barry’s choked cough before his own lips seal the other’s mouth again. 

He keeps them sealed the moment he positions himself, keeps them sealed the second he enters and continues to keep them his when he thrusts in fully. 

Barry’s strangled cry relieves him of Eobard’s lips and the sound that fills the room is so delicious that Eobard stills inside Barry, listening to his heaved breath and swallowing. His left hand stays on the thigh he keeps spread while his right moves up now to trace those perfectly parted lips that gifted him with this melody. Eobard cannot help but smile broadly at the reaction he receives, feeling Barry tightening around his cock and his smile turns into a mischievous huff. His fingers pull down Barry’s lower lip before he pushes two fingers into Barry’s mouth. 

Barry is inviting. Greedily inviting with his mouth as with his thighs he keeps spread. His hands move and twitch and follow incoherent directions but stay behind him on the floor while his tongue circles Eobard’s fingers and Eobard pushes deeper and deeper until he hits Barry’s throat. And while Barry tries not to gag, Eobard leans over–only a breath keeping both men apart–and starts thrusting in again. 

Eobard considers stepping into the Speedforce now, just for the sake of fucking Barry endlessly before he would come inside him. Doing it again. And again. Filling him with his cum to the fucking brim until Barry has no other choice but remaining like this on the floor, thighs lifted and spread and cum leaking because he cannot contain it anymore. Eobard contemplates switching to Barry’s mouth and coming into that as well, making him gag not only from his fingers but his seed too. Eobard's thoughts race in a dozen directions on how to break Barry and he scolds himself. He has time. Now he has. 

Fucking Barry–or getting fucked when Barry would be the one chasing Thawne–was different as Speedster. He would have said “worse”. The common disadvantage of having everything too slow around them was the mightiest advantage being human. And now that Barry was on the grateful receiving end Eobard wanted to make it right, take his time and cherish the body beneath him as long as he could. 

His fingers dig into Barry’s thigh again with force and Barry cannot even whimper. His lips are closed around Eobard’s fingers and he sucks needily while gagging and trying to catch his breath; before Eobard shoves his fingers back in. The pain that Eobard inflicts on him is just another note in that harmony of pleasure the other Speedster worships him with and Barry memorizes everything: how he is being held, fucked and tortured just so he can pay Eobard back in kind next time.

Eobard smears the spit from his fingers on Barry’s cheek down to his chin and he imagines now vividly how he will come on his face, covering him in white ropes of seed and he realizes how close he is. He is so close that his hand returns to choking Barry while he pumps into him, feeling Barry’s cock twitch against his stomach, feeling Barry tightening around him even more. And before Barry would tell him that he needs to come, that he wants to come, would ask permission to, Eobard does tap into the Speedforce for his own sake. Extending this, intensifying this by having Barry now as his personal fucktoy, he goes on slamming into him over and over while he leaves mark after mark on the young man, clawing into his skin, restraining himself every other second to drag this out more before he resumes to fuck him. 

And only then–when the man with the power of a god cannot hold back anymore does he step out of the Speedforce again and watches Barry’s eyes widen in absolute surprise and horror and pleasure, as he pulls out and shifts to come on Barry’s face. 

Barry’s face is inviting. So, so inviting with the smears of come and spit that Eobard watches him a moment before he leans in again, taking a taste with his tongue over Barry’s chin. 

Barry trembles, desperate with his muscles clenching around nothing, the gaping of his ass so welcoming again. His mouth wavers as he begs now, begs to come as well. 

“Eobard, please. You’re–please. Make me come. Please let me come.” His hands writhe again, emphasizing his dilemma by not being able to touch himself–and not wanting to–and Eobard wants to chuckle at the sweetness of Barry’s voice. But it is inviting, watching the other’s face with his come; it is inviting to feel Barry beneath him wiggle slightly to create friction. It is pure control that makes Eobard Thawne grin so devilishly instead. 

“Is that so,” Eobard breathes, feeling Barry’s cock twitch against his stomach again and he keeps his own hands away for now. 

“Tell me, Barry. Tell me how you want to come. And maybe I'll let you.”

Barry whimpers now, eyes diluted and heavy as he tries to form a sentence. “With your fingers inside me. With your hand–around my cock… Please, Eobard.”

Eobard’s eyelids waver with the mention of his name, they do every time and he knows it is more than just acknowledging the Man in Yellow as who he really is. Even when he wears another man’s skin. And so Eobard’s smirk dissolves into an almost fond expression as the older man moves his left to the delightfully gaping entrance again and pushes two fingers inside. Barry’s eyes roll back instantly and he groans, as he feels pressure on his prostate and it is almost too much after those moments he felt empty. Eobard massages the nub inside him torturously slowly and observes how Barry’s torso moves with each push. “I haven’t even touched your cock yet,” he croons and receives another–louder–moan now before Barry returns to begging. 

Eobard shifts, leaning slightly over Barry again–Barry who is not able to speak anymore while his weeping cock twitches against Eobard’s stomach–and Eobard finally takes Barry’s cock into his hand. The sounds that fill the room are beyond everything beautiful Eobard has ever heard. 

“Tell me you want to come. Tell me, Barry, that only I can make you come. Say it.”

Barry wants to. He needs to. He can only come when Eobard allows it. He can only come because it is Eobard who is doing this to him. Because there is no one else that can evoke those feelings–that unrestrained desire and need to be complete through the other–like Eobard can. 

With every strength he can muster Barry speaks, talks in tongues seduced and torn and bruised and pleads for release. “Please. Only you. You are the only one. Please. Let me… make me come. Eobard…”

Eobard’s breathing is as ragged as Barry’s, as he is dragged towards the abyss into which Barry is about to fall. He watches as Barry’s tear-stained face contorts.

“That’s it. That’s it. That’s my Barry. That’s it. Take it. Take it. Come for me.”

Eobard feels the nub beneath his fingers harden the second he increases pressure and Barry’s cock swells and pulses, hardening more, ready–ready to come.

And Barry comes beneath him. Loud, agonizingly deliciously loud. Ropes of white come hit his own as Barry’s stomach. Eobard does not stop massaging the prostate and Barry’s cry turns into a tortured groan, before he whimpers and winces. Eobard is mesmerized of the sight that presents itself to him and drags it on for a few more seconds, stroking Barry’s cock until Barry is too defeated to make any more sound. 

Eventually Eobard relieves Barry from his touch, turning to the nightstand on his right to wipe his hands clean before he reaches up and cleans Barry’s face with soft and reverent strokes. Barry’s eyes remain half lidded but they stay on Eobard’s face, while Eobard releases him now from his shackles. 

Barry chuckles, worn and bruised and feeling the particles of the Speedforce resume their paths and the first thing he does is lifting his freed hands to cup Eobard’s face. Eobard stills, careful to not break this moment with anything unnecessary now because… hasn’t everything led to this exact moment now? He waits for Barry to say anything but Barry remains silent, his eyes fixed on Eobard as if he is the only fixed point that matters, his thumbs continuing to caress his cheeks. Barry parts his lips, everything he ever wanted to confess on his lips–he always confesses, in every timeline–but Eobard is quicker, leans down again, pausing for a moment to watch his lover sigh sweetly and kisses him.