Chapter Text
.
.
Every night Barry returns to his apartment exhausted. Every night Barry stares at the ceiling for what feels like eons. Every night Barry has to force himself to walk at a normal human pace for hours before he feels drained enough to catch any semblance of sleep. This night starts like every night— Barry has been staring at the shadows of the city swim across his ceiling for one hour and thirty-seven minutes. He doesn’t know why he even tries sleeping before walking at this point.
Actually, he does know why. Every night he feels like he has reached the absolute depth of exhaustion a human being is capable of experiencing. Every night, more exhausted than the last, he then remembers he’s no longer human. Barry sits up with a huff, kicking off his sheets with a groan and flare of frustration. He pulls on a pair of grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and his faded navy blue STAR labs hoodie. His eyes burn and his head throbs as he bends down to tie his sneakers before heading outside.
He doesn’t bother locking the door; he doesn’t even bother to bring his phone. He genuinely could not care less if someone broke in and stole every item he’s ever owned. Barry doesn’t care about anything right now, and he’s not sure he has for a very long time. Starting off on his usual route around miles of city blocks, the lithe man starts pondering when he started feeling like this. Every night he comes to the same conclusion: He’s always felt like this. To some extent. For as long as he can remember, even before his mom died, exhaustion, sadness, and apathy have been the dominant feelings of his life.
Of course, Barry was capable of happiness. He felt moments of happiness all the time, usually every day, but they were always dulled by the knowledge and oppressive feeling that it was fleeting. That, by 1 AM, he would be pacing across the pavement of Central City, wondering why he was born broken.
It wasn’t always this bad, of course. He used to go through bouts of depression, but never anything this sustained. Having the weight of the world— or at least the city— hanging on your shoulders doesn't exactly help with insomnia or feelings of hopelessness. Helplessness might be a better word. Barry would never kill himself, but God, he fantasizes about never having been born. About how soothing nonexistence sounds, how restful.
He hasn't truly known rest since his mom died, but he's been stretched thinner than thin since receiving his powers and deciding oh so graciously to be the savior of the city. He doesn't regret it; he just wishes it wasn't a decision he ever had to make in the first place. He would much rather be working on quantum physics and mechanics than sustaining multiple beatings a week that would kill any normal person. But, well, admittedly he wasn't normal to begin with, and he definitely isn't human anymore. Still, it's not like a person can forget that amount of pain. Not when it's a part of their guaranteed schedule and they're always anticipating it.
Oh, who could forget about all the people he's let down? Everyone he's failed to save because he still isn't enough, even with superpowers. How many people have died because his best was and is not good enough? More than he can count now. Their faces and mangled bodies definitely don't make it any easier to sleep, and he sees them now as he continues to weave through alleyways and across streets. It would be so much easier if he didn't care. But no matter how much he tries to fool himself into apathy, the fact of the matter is, he does.
He walks by a stray cat and can’t help but feel jealous of its freedom. Nobody expects anything of it. It doesn’t think about anything except food, water, shelter, and sex. Most of all, it can sleep whenever it wants. God, that cat does not understand what a luxurious life it lives. He leans down to pet it, its fur soft and dense and white, its eyes blue and piercing. It reminds him of Snart in a weird way. Living life how he pleases- unapologetically, authentically, only for himself. Barry doesn't think he can ever live like him, but it's definitely tempting.
The cat pushes its head against Barry's knuckles a final time before padding off to wherever it desires and Barry starts walking again. That's very Snart like too, Barry muses. Oddly affectionate when he wants to be, but only when he pleases. Always leaving when Barry gets too close.
Barry has been thinking about Leonard a lot more than he cares to admit. He pictures the criminal's face while lying sleepless in bed- his knowing eyes and sideways grin. He thinks of his lips, too. How they part in amusement, how they hurl affectionate insults and nicknames at him, how kissable they look...
Yeah, this is troubling. A quiet, snaking desire has been growing inside Barry recently. It coils around his usual feelings of despair and helplessness, only adding to his confliction. He hates Snart. He really hates him. And he used to really believe that until things started to shift. Their game of arrest and/or murder each other had, at some point, turned into a game of taunting, then into flirtation? He thinks? The truth is, he doesn't know if he's overthinking things, and it has been driving him up the wall. I mean, the man still tries to freeze him to walls. That isn't exactly in the book of tips on how to flirt with people. He freezes Barry then call him his Scarlet all in one motion? How does that make sense? Why do human relationships have to be so complicated? His mind is racing even more than usual tonight.
He's been walking for over an hour now. It's a little past 2 AM and Barry is only the same amount of exhausted as he was when he left. One thing Barry is grateful for when it comes to his speed abilities is how much they've taught him the importance of slowing down. He walks into a nearby 24-hour corner store and buys a bottle of water. He doesn't feel like walking anymore right now. He doesn't feel like thinking anymore, either. He just wishes he could sleep.
Sitting down on one of his favorite benches and sipping his water, Barry watches the city live on without him.
A young couple leaves a bar, holding hands and beaming at the world. Someone on their phone while riding a bike almost crashes into them.
The cashier he bought his water from stands on the corner taking a smoke break, crouching down to pet the white cat with blue eyes. It must live around here somewhere.
The wind picks up and knocks a sock off a balcony where someone is drying their clothes. It falls onto a half-blossomed tree; evidence that spring is returning.
One streetlight in the middle of the road is a different color than the others. It gives off a purple-blue glow rather than a milky yellow one.
Six drunk women walk by, screeching and laughing. One of them wears a white sash with "Bride to Be" in glittery pink letters. He wonders what her fiancé looks like.
A car drives by, and one of the passengers tosses their fast food bag out the window. The trash scatters across the blacktop like a pack of spooked mice.
Barry just watches; he's not the Flash right now. This isn't his responsibility.
Someone on a motorcycle stops to pick up said trash. What a kind Samaritan. He's what's right with the world, Barry thinks. The man walks over and tosses the bag into the trash can next to the bench before hopping back on his bike and driving away. Then he turns around and drives back.
The man drives back?
Why is he driving back?
Soon, a figure is looming in front of him, casting a shadow on his already dark night. Literally. Barry sets his bottle aside and looks up at the man, confused.
"Can I help you?"
What he can't help is looking at the man. He's wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. Isn't he cold? Either way, he is definitely hot in the appearance sense of the word. The man's muscles ripple as he reaches up to take off his helmet, and two familiar blue eyes suddenly meet his.
"Snart?" Barry is very confused. He still thinks the man is very hot.
"Never thought you'd be the type to ignore a litter bug, Scarlet." The man replies, flashing a sideways grin.
"Uh, yeah, no yeah, it's just uh- it's been a long night. I'm off duty." Barry feels warmth blooming up from his chest, across his neck, and onto his ears and cheeks.
"Huh, that's new. Don't think I've seen you in any form other than eager to please." Snart takes a moment to rake his gaze over the younger man, noting how out of it he seems (and how good he looks in casual clothes) before continuing,
"You okay? You look like shit, Barry." Maybe it was meant as a dig, but a glimmer of sincerity slipped through Captain Cold's mask. Maybe even concern.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, I guess. Being a speedster requires a lot of energy, you know." Barry tries to crack a joke, but his signature grin falls just short of his eyes. Snart doesn't seem to buy it, so Barry changes the subject.
"What are you doing riding so late?" he asks.
Leonard shrugs. "Random bout of insomnia, I guess. I find riding around the city really helps wind me down at times like this."
"Really? God, I could use that. I haven't slept well in months." Barry replies offhandedly, not thinking anything of it. There's a beat of awkward silence before he realizes what he just proposed
"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to make that sound like I wanted to tag along with you- I just meant I've been going on these walks to help me sleep but they haven't really been working as well as they usually do and-"
"I have room for one more," Leonard shrugs.
Barry's mouth hangs open for a moment
"Uh, well, I really don't want to intrude on your drive and-"
"Come on, Scarlet."
Cold motions to his bike with his head,
"Let's go for a drive and see if we can't help you sleep." He holds a black-gloved hand out to Barry, who stares at it warily for a moment before blinking and grasping it.
"Okay, let's try."
The burly man guides Barry up with ease, and the speedster can't help but blush a bit at the contact. He throws away his half empty water bottle while Snart replaces his helmet over his buzzed head and flips up the bike's kickstand, straddling it in a way that has Barry's stomach fluttering.
"Sorry, I only have one helmet. Wasn't expecting company," he says as Barry walks over.
"No worries, I'd probably be able to save us both before impact if you crashed," the younger man replies as he straddles the bike behind his supposed enemy. He hesitates a moment before wrapping his long arms around Leonard's waist. Barry can feel the ridges of Snart's firm muscles and the surprising warmth of his skin. Despite himself, he rests his head in the crook of Len's shoulder and feels him tense before relaxing. If he had 360-degree x-ray vision, he'd see the faintest reddening of Captain Cold's cheeks under his helmet.
"How are you so warm?" Barry asks
"The cold doesn't affect its Captain, Speedy. Now hold on tight."
Leonard hoists his feet up and starts off. Slowly at first, allowing the boy holding him to get used to the sensation. Not that the top speed of the bike could even come close to what his Scarlet was capable of, anyway.
His Scarlet?
God, he's in trouble. The pleasant warmth of Barry's limbs around his waist and the head on his shoulder weren't helping him forget his growing feelings for the man either. Why did he even turn back? He had his helmet on, Barry never would have known it was him. It was just something about the look in his eyes. Barry usually has such a natural brightness about him- a sense of life. He barely recognized him tonight, looking so hollow and exhausted. Leonard hadn't meant to turn around; he was perfectly content continuing his peaceful drive alone, but he couldn't leave Barry alone looking like that. He seemed to need this drive way more than Leonard, and his body moved on its own. Wow, he's gone soft.
He's finding it increasingly hard to regret his decision as they wind through the streets of Central City, intertwined. Barry has started tracing random shapes across Len's abdomen, nuzzling further into the crook of his neck. God, Barry doesn't know what he does to him. The feeling of the man pressed up against his back, fitting so perfectly, was driving him insane. And it wasn't just tonight. This feeling had been building inside of Len since he'd seen the freckled, radiant, perfect boy beneath the suit. Hell, it started because of that wonderful, awful, sinfully tight suit. Damn you, Cisco. But also thank you. He'd be lying if he said this drive wasn't at least partially spurred on by images of Barry beneath him, moaning and writhing back against his hips. Such thoughts are plaguing his mind more and more often these days, and they wouldn't be possible without a suit that leaves so little to the imagination. Leonard looks down at Barry's hands clasped around him. It's ironic how certain things find you when you are trying to escape them.
Len is startled out of his thoughts as Barry lets out a soft sigh, warm breath fanning against Len's neck. His skin feels like it's on fire, goosebumps rising like they're trying to reach out closer to the boy. A similar warmth is starting to grow in his abdomen, and Leonard is about to find a reason to cut the ride short when he feels Barry's lips graze the nape of his neck with a feather-light touch. Fuck it. The tension is too much for Len to stand any longer, and his self-restraint is shot. Silently, suddenly, and without much thought, Leonard takes one hand off the handlebars and guides Barry's hands under the fabric of his shirt. They're warmer and softer than he's ever imagined. Len might have regretted this decision if he didn't feel Barry's hands immediately run up his chest, or the way Barry shifted his hips behind him, something hard pressing against his back.
"Fuck" is all Len manages, and he feels Barry smile into his neck before nipping at his already feverish skin.
Suddenly, Leonard doesn't think this ride is going to help either of them sleep.
Maybe a different kind of ride will.