#cffall19

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The taste of Sara's lips lingered on his tongue. Len hoped she'd gotten away. He hoped they all had. His team. He'd never been much of a team player in the past, but that was before he'd joined the Legends. And look where it had left him: holding onto a device that was set to blow at any second.

All things considered, Len supposed this was a good way to go. He wondered what Barry would think of him now. What would the Flash say once he learnt that Len had died a hero? Would Barry mourn him? Maybe. He was a god damn bleeding heart if ever Len had known one.

When the Time Masters surrounded him, Len had time for one last line. One last snarky comment. He'd make sure it was a good one.

"No strings on me," Len said, and he closed his eyes to the blinding light filling the room.

His last thought was of Lisa.

He supposed he should have expected that... his sister had always loved that damn film and insisted on watching it with him every birthday. Though he'd missed it last year, having been recently arrested for killing their father, so she'd had to come to visit him in prison instead. Lisa forgave Len that though, saying Lewis Snart's death was a better present than she could have asked for and more than made up for one skipped birthday. She'd made him promise not to miss her next one, though... it seemed like Len was going to be breaking that promise. He supposed she'd have to find someone else to carry on that tradition with her from now on. Maybe it would be Cisco? He was a good guy, and it was obvious to Len just how much the two cared for each other. If it wasn’t Cisco, though, Len just had to hope it wasn’t Rosa either; she’d messed with Lisa’s heart too much already.

But, whoever it was, they had better take good care of his little sister or Len would come back to personally haunt their ass.

No strings on me.

No strings on me…

No strings on me…

"There are no strings on me!"

Len sat forward with a jolt, panting heavily as his mind swam with mental whiplash. It took him far too long to blink away his confusion and recognise where he was.

"Lenny? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Lisa was asking, placing her hand on his back. He tried not to cringe away from her touch

"You have no strings, your arms is free, to love me by the Zuider Zee," the song continued.

"Yeah..." he said slowly, looking away from Pinocchio dancing away on the TV to Lisa. Slowly, he settled back down on his sister's sofa. "Yeah, I'm fine." His heart was racing, and he was still panting, but he was calming down again now. "Just a bad dream." But it had felt like so much more than that... it had felt real.

"You fell asleep while watching Pinocchio?" Lisa asked, looking thoroughly unimpressed. She really did love this film. "It's not even nine o'clock. And it's my birthday!"

"Sorry, Sis," Len shrugged. He didn't have much else to say. The longer his eyes were open, the more faded the dream felt. Of course, it hadn't been real... Len internally chided himself for even considering that a possibility. Speedsters and immortals and time travel? That stuff could never really exist! It had just been a dream. A very, very weird dream.

"You're getting old, Lenny," his sister teased, and Len rolled his eyes.

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The next morning, s Leonard and his team rode down the armoured van, Len could feel his heart racing in his chest. But he couldn’t let some dream interfere with his heist. He’d been planning it for months, and it was set to be the biggest haul of his career. He and all of his crew would be walking away with at least two mil’ each. He wasn’t about to bail out now.

So, Len continued on. However, he couldn’t help but throw glances over his shoulder as he dismounted his bike and grabbed the liquid nitrogen containers to bust open the door. And when the red blur did, in fact, come rushing to the rescue, Len didn’t hang around to check it out as he’d done in his dream. He jumped on his bike and got the hell out of dodge, mask still firmly in place.

Back at the safe house, Len’s mind was spinning. His dream… it couldn’t have been real. Could it? It wasn’t possible. But neither was the red blur which had interrupted his heist. Len stared at the screen, the surveillance footage he’d swiped from the van playing under his sharp gaze. It was exactly as Len had remembered it in his dream. Everything was happening in precisely the same way. The thought made Len’s stomach twist into knots. If the dream was real… then that meant that Len had only eighteen months left before he died.

But, what a hell of an eighteen months they would be: becoming Captain Cold, going up against the mob, getting rid of Lewis once and for all, travelling through time, and doing and taking whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

Well, almost…

There was one thing that Len found himself wanting desperately. One person. Someone that Len would have never expected to fall for…

And Len supposed that that was it: that was how he could find out, once and for all, whether this dream of his was coming true or not. Len would have to track down Barry Allen. If he was real, then this whole thing, whatever it was, must be real too.

That was how he found himself inside CC Jitters the next morning, waiting on an impossible man.

His dream-self had done surveillance on Barry from the moment he’d squeezed the man’s name from Cisco’s lips. Months of monitoring his comings and goings. He’d learnt everything that he possibly could about Barry, stopping only once Len had found the young man getting cosy with a female cop and noticed the way his gut twisted with jealousy at the sight of the pair… But that wouldn’t be for another year yet.

In Len’s dream, the Flash had frequented this coffee shop day in and day out. So, if Len wanted to run into him, then this was the place to do it.

Len didn’t have long to wait before the door opened and in walked Barry Allen and Iris West. Iris patted her friend on the shoulder and moved behind the counter to put on an apron. But Len’s eyes were trained on Barry. He was dressed like a preschool teacher in a sweater vest and shirt with a pair of slim-fit jeans. It looked good on him, though Len would be surprised if he found anything that looked bad on this man.

The goody type didn’t usually do it for Len, but there was so much more to Barry than met the eye and thus, regardless, Len found his heart racing frantically against his chest. Though, maybe his reaction was less about seeing Barry again and more about the crushing realisation that his dream had been real.

Len couldn’t understand how that was possible. He’d dreamt about the future. But how? He wasn’t a meta… was he?

Barry was leaning on the counter now and talking to his friend. From this angle, Len could just about see the grin on the Flash’s face. One part of Len wanted to stay and watch this impossible man some more, but another part of him needed time to think things over. Getting up, Len shrugged his coat back on over his shoulders and made to leave the café. But then someone was tripping up and crashing into him.

Len stumbled, shooting a hand out to a nearby post, and steadying himself and the other man before they both went hurtling to the floor. He looked down to find Barry Allen’s big green eyes looking back up at him, the to-go cup he’d been holding slipping to the floor and spilling all over Len’s shoes. Though, Len realised he didn’t quite mind that. He could always buy a new pair.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry!” Barry said, pulling himself up. “I was backing up, and I wasn’t looking where I was going. And I… I’ll pay for your dry cleaning!” Barry continued. Len looked down at himself, seeing that some of the coffee had indeed also splattered against his new coat. Len didn’t mind that either. Barry twisted to grab his wallet from his jeans pocket, and Len realised he was still holding onto Barry’s shoulder; he quickly let go.

“They’re only clothes,” Len said. He sounded breathless. He was breathless. Len was working without a plan here, and he always had a plan. He hadn’t intended to meet Barry today, but now that he had… "Let me buy you another drink,” Len said, slipping into his drawl like putting on a good pair of gloves. He watched Barry closely and was happy to see a brush of colour sweep across the younger man’s cheeks.

"But, I was the one who bumped into you,” Barry protested, still holding his wallet as though he was going to insist on paying. Len placed his hand purposefully over Barry’s.

"Yeah, you were," Len said, smirking. He enjoyed the way that Barry grinned at him in return. Their relationship in the dream had been much more difficult. But this? This was easy. "You look like a caramel latte, kind of guy."

"How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch," Len shrugged. The truth was, he remembered it being Barry’s go-to drink in his dream. Though, his friends would often order a Flash for him as a joke. Len would have liked to make that same joke now, but that particular drink wasn’t on the menu… yet. “Also,” Len said, dipping down to pick the spilt disposable coffee cup up off the floor, "it's written on your cup."

"Oh, right," Barry laughed. Len, smirk still in place, stepped around the spill to toss the now-empty cup in the trash at the same time that Iris came over with a mop. Barry apologised to her, but she only gave Barry a not-so-subtle wink and nodded with her head for Barry to follow Len to the counter. Barry had turned an even brighter shade of red by this point.

Len ordered the man’s drink and then leant back against the counter, elbows propped up behind him and taking his time to slowly look Barry up and down.

“So, Barry, do you make a habit of running into people at coffee shops or am I just lucky?” Len drawled, and Barry scratched nervously at the back of his neck.

“Well, I try not to,” Barry laughed. “Not everyone’s as nice about it as you are,” he said, and Len almost burst out laughing. He didn’t think anyone had ever called him ‘nice’ before. “Wait, you know my name?” Barry asked. But he quickly shook his head and tapped his crown in a ‘duh’ gesture. “The coffee cup,” he said, answering his own question. “Though, now I’m at a disadvantage because I don’t know your name.”

"I don't do anything for free, Flash," Snart said. He looked at Barry with disarmingly clear eyes; his goggles had been carefully stowed away in one of his pockets. His gloved hands were interlaced behind his head. He was infuriating.

Barry shook his head. "Not even when we're trapped together and have no way out until someone realizes we're missing?"

Snart shrugged. "I had no other plans tonight."

Barry turned back to the door, heaving a sigh. If he could phase, he'd be able to get out with no trouble. The problem was that he'd only done it once and it wasn't particularly reliable. "You should reconsider your priorities."

"Spending time locked in a room with a cute boy in red leather is my idea of a good Saturday night."

Heat flushed into Barry's face, and he whirled around to glare at Snart again. "It's not red leather."

"My mistake." Snart grinned, not bothering to hide the way he looked at Barry. It was like he was strategizing the best way to get Barry out of his costume.

"You're impossible." Barry sat where he was, his back pressed against the door. Maybe his embarrassment from the whole situation would make him phase out of the room.

He closed his eyes and willed it.

Nothing happened.

"If I'd known there were other super villains fighting to get your attention, I wouldn't have been so upset when you stood me up."

"What? Your heists aren't dates, Snart. They're crimes."

"To-may-to, to-mah-to." Snart waved his fingers in the air dismissively. He was still smiling, though, and Barry hated how attractive Snart was. He hadn't even been thinking about it. Mostly. "I thrive on negative attention. And honestly, its rude for these other criminals to intrude on my Scarlet Speedster time."

Barry stared at Snart, a little lost. What the hell? "Next time you want to steal something in Central City, let me know in advance. I'll pencil you in on my crime fighting calendar."

Snart pointed at Barry and nodded with something like approval. "That is the kind of forethought I appreciate. Thank you."

Barry considered punching his way out, but that would lead to broken hands and he didn't want to deal with Caitlin afterward. Maybe if he concentrated again… Nope. He vibrated in place, but failed to phase through anything. That was a dead end, too. And Snart was just sitting there, patient and unruffled.

"Fine." Barry's teeth were gritted so hard his jaw ached. "What's the price?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"For you. Getting us out of here. What's your price?"

"I do love seeing you come down to my level." Snart stood in one smooth motion, like he hadn't been sitting on a cold stone floor for the past half hour. Barry was a little impressed despite himself.

In the next second, he bolted to his feet. There was no way he was going to let Snart loom over him. "I won't steal for you."

Snart arched his eyebrow. "I don't need you to steal anything for me. I'm quite capable of taking what I want on my own."

"Then… what is it?"

Snart averted his eyes, scanning the floor as if there was anything there besides the two of them. "I want you to come here and kiss me."

Barry laughed, loud and startled and—oh. Snart's face. He was serious. "You want to kiss me?"

"I want you to kiss me," Snart repeated. "That's all. Then we'll blow this popsicle stand."

Barry's heart hammered in his chest, his palms sticky with sweat in his gloves. He tapped the radio receiver in his cowl, but there was still nothing but static. "You're impossible," Barry said again, and he was rewarded—punished?—with another grin.

"It's part of my charm," Snart said, and Barry couldn't possibly—there was no way he could just—

He took a step closer, and Snart remained standing where he was, calm and still. He was treating Barry like some kind of shy wild animal, and somehow that annoyed Barry even more. He took a deep breath, cupped his hands around Snart's jaw, and pulled him forward into a kiss. Snart was actually just a little shorter than him, and the realization popped a little bubble of smug warmth in his chest. He tilted his head, just a little, fitting their mouths together.

It was good.

Snart wasn't kissing him back, but his mouth was warm and dry, and he smelled like something sweet and woodsy.

Okay. Toll paid.

He was about to pull away when Snart's mouth moved beneath his, careful and questing, and the kiss went from good to great.

Snart slid his hand over the back of Barry's neck and squeezed, pulling him in tighter, and his lips parted in a sweet open-mouthed kiss that Barry had to mimic. One kiss became two, three, and eventually he had to pull away, just enough to catch his breath.

Snart had closed his eyes, his lashes long and fluttering a little on his skin, and his mouth was pink and damp. The attraction was like a gut punch, all at once, and he wanted Snart to stay like this, surprised and vulnerable and for once without a bitchy one liner ready to go.

Barry kissed Snart again, slow and deep, sliding his tongue into Snart's mouth—the rasp of Snart's tongue against his sent a jolt of heat and arousal straight to his gut, and he guided Snart forward until his back hit the wall and they fumbled to a stop.

Snart reached for Barry's shoulders, his gloved fingers scrabbling for purchase against Barry's costume; their kiss grew frantic, starving, and there was nothing in Barry's head except for Snart's mouth beneath his and how desperately he needed to get closer.

Snart grunted in surprise when Barry lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the wall—Barry was surprised that he was strong enough too, that the lightning had given him abs and also biceps, and then he was the one groaning. Snart wrapped his legs around Barry's waist, the cold gun slipping from the holster and clattering against the ground; neither of them cared. Snart used his new leverage to take control of the kiss, and he tore off Barry's cowl, seizing handfuls of Barry's hair in tight fists. Barry moaned again, the sound edging into a whine as Leonard fucked Barry's mouth with his tongue.

Barry grabbed at Snart everywhere he could reach, shoving the parka off his shoulders and clawing at his jeans. He was electrified with the idea of dropping to his knees, of Snart's hands still in his hair, of Snart making him—

Snart smeared kisses from Barry's mouth to his cheek and set his teeth against the line of Barry's jaw, and Barry clutched at the backs of Snart's thighs to keep him in place. "Barry," Snart gasped, and Barry froze with a shock of horrified understanding.

Snart knew his name.

And his mask was off.

Barry let go of Snart like his hands were burning, his mask back in place in a burst of speed.

He was wrecked, his chest heaving with breath. What had gotten into him? And Snart—Snart looked just as disheveled, his parka low on his arms, his eyes dark and his mouth swollen and red.

"That was—" Snart's voice cracked, and a flash of embarrassment crossed his face as he cleared his throat.

"What did you call me?" Barry asked. God, his lips were still wet from—he swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and resolutely did not think about kissing Snart again when Snart tracked the movement.

"Barry Allen." Snart shrugged his parka back on and grabbed his gun from the floor. "CSI for the CCPD. Foster son of Detective Joe West, and part-time Central City vigilante. I know who you are."

Barry considered denying it, but Snart knew about his family and he wasn't sure he could risk it. And they were still locked in together.

He pulled his cowl down and glared at Snart. "If you go after my family or… or anyone else like you did Caitlin, there's nothing in this world that will stop me from coming after you."

Snart raised his hands in surrender. "You're putting the cart before the horse, kid."

"How did you find out?" Barry crossed his arms over his chest. His pants were still uncomfortably tight, but he was at least grateful for the distraction.

Snart shot Barry an amused look as he adjusted his shirt and wiped his mouth. "You're not as secretive as you think you are. You were so protective over Doctor Snow that I decided to keep an eye on STAR labs. You were the only one I couldn't place, so I followed you. It was easy enough to put two and two together when you disappeared in a streak of lightning."

Barry rubbed his hand over his face, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Are you blackmailing me? Are you going to tell everyone who I am?"

"Now where's the fun in that, Barry?" Leonard asked. "All I want is this. You leave me alone unless I ask you to pencil me in on your dance card."

Barry shook his head. "I can't do that, not when you're killing people. Things can be replaced if they're stolen. Lives can't." He darted a look over at Snart. "I mean, unless we can come to an agreement. You're a good enough thief that you don't need to kill."

"Appealing to my ego? I like it." Snart nodded once in agreement. "Fine. I won't kill anyone, and you'll let me steal to my heart's content. No one will know your secret but me."

"Fine," Barry bit out, and he rubbed a hand through his hair, tensing when Snart drifted closer. "What?"

Snart gestured between the two of them. "We're not gonna talk about what just happened?"

"Nope." Barry shook his head immediately. "Proximity and adrenaline. Case closed."

Snart actually sighed at that, shaking his head. "Well that's a pity. Still, an agreement is an agreement." He put his glare goggles on and gestured at Barry to move away from the door. Barry skirted behind him and turned his face from the glare of the cold gun, using the opportunity to slip his cowl back on.

Snart froze the door with a beam of freezing cold, and then planted his foot where the metal had gone brittle, kicking it several times before it shattered and the remnants of the door swung open.

The meta that had trapped them looked long gone.

"Thank you," Barry said, "for keeping your word."

"I was stuck in there too." Snart settled the cold gun back in its holster. "I'll let you know when you should pencil in our next date."

"We're not dating, Snart!"

Snart spun around, smiling in what looked like genuine amusement. "You just pinned me to a wall and kissed the shit out of me, Red. You can call me Len."

Barry opened his mouth to protest, but then the radio crackled to life in his ear, and the voices of his team spilled out.

"Barry, please come in, we're going crazy over here. You're not dead, right? Caitlin said you weren't dead!" Cisco.

Barry watched Snart saunter away and sighed, deep and annoyed. "I'm okay. Snart saved me."

Dr. Wells cut in next. "Snart saved you, Mr. Allen? What was he doing there?"

Barry bliked. He'd been so focused on that meta, on getting out of that room, that he hadn't even wondered what Snart was doing there in the first place.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "And we've got a bigger problem. I'm on my way back."

There was no way he would be able to tell them everything that happened. Attraction aside, Leonard Snart was going to be more of a threat than ever.

But now he knew what his name sounded like in Snart's smooth voice. He knew how he tasted.

He needed to be more careful.

He also couldn't help wondering what would happen the next time Snart wanted his attention.