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Barry’s back hits the wall hard, the breath rushing out of him. Strong, forceful hands grip his shoulders and a knee is shoved between his legs. A gasp escapes his lips.
“Don’t even think about running,” is growled in his ear before the cowl is ripped back off his face, tipping his head back and baring his neck. The same hand trails from the back of his head to that exposed stretch of skin, a callused thumb rubbing over his wildly jumping pulse making him swallow heavily.
“I thought we were gonna meet up with the others,” he pants, which gets a brief frown and tightened hold, a body pressing into him firmer, harder. Apparently the others have been forgotten. “Blow off some steam?” Barry helpfully reminds, though it’s far more a question at this point. His hands are clenched in a green jacket, and he thinks himself more likely to pull in than push back.
“They’ll be fine without us.” Oliver’s darkened eyes have a heated gaze behind the mask he still wears. He can’t help but already start to tremble. “I’ve got a better way.” A smirk. “Just for the two of us.” Then hungry lips crash onto Barry’s and he’s lost.
They do end up going a few rounds together…in the bedroom.