#cwachangingchannels

“Barry,” Iris says softly, shuffling her feet to call his attention as delicately as she can.

Still, Barry leaps, like a skittish rabbit, in his seat, and brings a hand to his chest even as a blinding smile of good-natured humour and rosy abashment colours his face. “Iris,” he says, her name like a song on his lips. His Roman accent makes the pronunciation wrong, but she knows she butchers his just as well, and there’s something special about hearing one’s name as only a loved one can say it.

“I hope you aren’t so absorbed in your studies you can’t take a walk with me,” Iris says, squaring her shoulders to assert her position, to pose the words less as an offer and more as a demand.

Barry rises, his books instantly forgotten, and a smile blooms at the corner or Iris’ mouth.

“The gardens are nearly as lovely as you this time of day,” he replies, matter-of-fact, and Iris flushes, even as she reaches out a hand for Barry to hold.

They keep an idle pace as they cross the Musaeum campus, Barry talking animatedly about his most recent learnings, and Iris keeping track as best she can between Barry’s quick tongue and three language barriers between them.

When they finally arrive, Iris leads them to a towering patch of bushes, flowering in vivid corals and pinks. A man stands before them, turned to hide his face. His shoulders are broad, and yet still slender, long arms like spindly branches that end in thin fingers adorned with rings of gold and fine stone. His hair is cropped short, grey streaking coarse, dark strands like craggy salt flats. Even from behind, he’s handsome.

Iris has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from giving away the game. She wonders if Barry will need to be told, will need a reminder of the first day they spent together, when Barry, with all his gentle heart and wide-eyed optimism had taken them on a tour of the library, through the rows of writings, the cages of exotic wildlife, and finally the gardens, where he’d won Iris’ heart swift as the sprint of a gazelle with a rose, cut confidently yet presented with hesitance, from the thorny stem.

Barry, however, needs no prompting to recognize the figure at the bush.

“Leonard,” Barry greets, bright and exuberant, and Leonard does a quarter turn, throwing Barry and Iris a self-satisfied smirk over his shoulder. Barry’s eyes crinkle, and Iris knows she’s caught him in one of those moments of contentment. They both have.

“Barry,” Leonard offers back. His voice is dulcet and smooth.

How Iris has missed it.

“When did you arrive?” Barry asks. His hand slips from Iris’ as he hurries to Leonard side, but Iris doesn’t mind. She isn’t far behind.

“Last night,” Leonard replies. “You’ll forgive me for dragging my feet, but the trade routes aren’t kind to a traveller’s hygiene and I much rathered the thought of seeing you both at my best.”

“You went to Iris first,” Barry says, with a disaffected scoff. “Of course.”

“You spend so much of your time deep in Daedalus’ maw,” Leonard replies, gesturing to the library with his chin. “Consider Iris my ball of thread. She’s had months to learn her way around, after all, where I’ve been gone.”

“How was Persia?” Iris asks, excited to hear the heart-pounding tales of travel from Leonard and his assorted rogues that make up his caravan.   

Barry, ever the moralist between them, frowns. “Do the nobility still have their gold?”

“Now, Barry,” Leonard tuts. He raises a hand to trail up the column of Barry’s throat and tilts his chin to bare blue branching veins. Barry melts under Leonard’s touch, and Iris softens too, watching as the tallest among them turns pliant as clay and in their company.

Leonard smiles, soft and amused in a way that wrinkles the skin of his lips, and Iris and Barry both shiver at once.

"Mmm. I can just see you and Len in tribal paint, capturing poor innocent me and bringing me back to be sacrificed."

"Oh yes, with our sexy but utterly ahistorical heathen ways," Iris says, laughing. "You resist, thinking that we're going to kill you, but in reality we just need you to be our third in a fertility ritual."

"What's this about a fertility ritual?" Len asks, coming up to them. He's way too sneaky; Barry yelps and tries to hop up, hitting his knees on the table which is in the way. Len ignores his pitiful moaning because he's cruel. And also knows about Barry's super-healing. "Just tell me you haven't been talking to the market vendors outside; they're vicious."

"No, just making future plans. Possibly involving ancient Ireland, an isolated forest grove, and a very inaccurate Hollywood-style depiction of Druids."

"Speaking of ancient places," Barry says, "I want to put it out there that I feel objectified: you only want me for my time travel powers."

"Scarlet," Len says kindly. "Stop being an idiot. I've got time travel powers now too, remember? From the Oculus?"

"Oh. Right. Huh. Wait, then why am I always the one using them?!"

"We like it when you carry one of us in each arm," Iris says. "Obviously."

"She's not wrong," Len says. "Very attractive. Anyway, we going to sit here all day or are we going to go mingle?"

"Mingle," Iris says firmly. "Definitely."

"Wasn't this supposed to be a sexy roleplay?" Barry complains half-heartedly. "We don't need to mingle."

"We didn't come all the way back in time to ancient Rome to stay indoors, Bar," Iris says.

"We didn't need to come back in time! Just because I said the way they wear the togas in Rome are sexy..."

"They are. Shows off your legs."

"Ugh, you're such perfectionists."

"We really are, Mr. 'No They Wouldn't Have Had Wool Like That Yet' Allen," Iris agrees, smiling at Barry. "But seriously, mingling. How do I look?"

"Like the daughter of a rich senator, or possibly some sort of visiting foreign king," Len assures her. "In other words, ravishing."

"You're my big scary foreign bodyguard, you have to say that," she teases.

"Yeah, actually, about that, remember how we decided my backstory was one of the German tribes? We may need to change that."

"Why?" Barry says suspiciously. If the timeline gets screwed up again, everyone's going to blame him, he just knows it.

"I got made," Len says.

"You got - how did you get made?! We're nearly two thousand years into the past! No one in this era knows about or believes in time travel! How could - who in the world could possibly make you?!"

"It was the Legends, wasn't it," Iris grumbles. "They're always butting in on our roleplays."

"No, no," Len assures them. "Nothing like that. Just recognized by another member of the tribe. Speaking of which, we're invited for Sabbath dinner tonight; and don't worry, they don't mind that you're goyim."

"I distinctly remember us agreeing that we wouldn't interact too much..."

"Live a little, Bar! That sounds fun, Len."

"Yeah, it'll be good, too," Len says proudly. "They'll break out all their best for us - they were all very happy to meet me."

Even Iris pauses at that. "Why, exactly?" she asks suspiciously.

"Not too many six-foot-plus Jews around here," Len says, smirking. "I think their neighbors are going to leave off bothering them for a while."

"You got into a punch-up," Iris says flatly.

"For a good cause, it sounds like," Barry points out, suddenly cheered. "I told you, Len -"

"If you say 'there's good in you', Scarlet, I'm going to punch you."

"Would it work better if I offered to put some good in you?"

"...maybe."

"The other way around works too, you know -"

Len snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I left Mick to clean up -"

"Mick? Why is Mick here?! This is a sexy roleplay! Mick's ace, he's not invited!"

"He's just here to, quote, 'keep us from fucking up the timeline while we're fucking'," Len says, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, he's masquerading as an ex-gladiator. There's a whole backstory."

"Uuuuuuugh," Barry says. "Not him, too! What's with you guys and the need for extensive backstories and costumes and stuff when we could just be having -"

"Forum!" Iris announces. "We are going to the forum, and we're going now. Sex later, I have trauma from a third grade report that I got a B+ on because my teacher didn't believe I'd done the research to overcome first."

Barry rolls his eyes and decides to give in, standing properly this time and offering her his arm to help her get up. His role is the shy local merchant boy who bumps into the visiting princess (and her bodyguard) and shows them around town before being seduced by their wicked, wicked ways, a role he can definitely work. Particularly as, for once, his backstory is pretty minimal. Admittedly, that's maybe part of the reason he's complaining: normally he gets a much more interesting backstory. "After you, Iris."

"Lead the way," Len agrees, his voice affectionate in the way it almost never is in public.

Somehow, he's easier letting down his guard when they're in a different type period; Barry's not sure why, but he appreciates it.

"Though," Barry adds, "I still think the amount of realism we insist on for these roleplays is a bit ridiculous."

“Ah, but you said you got my number from Barry. You’re not a bad liar, Miss West, but this is a hefty thing on a hero’s conscience.”

Iris clenches her teeth. “Still not hearing a no.”

Leonard shrugs. “Just pointing out a few consequences. You and your team seem to need them laid out from time to time.” He gestures at the alley. “Case in point.”

Iris nudges the corpse’s hand. A switchblade’s shirks on the pavement.

“Self-defense?” Leonard asks.

“Not for me,” Iris replies tightly. “The kid got away in time.”

Leonard goes very, very quiet. His eyes wander back to the body, every bit of showmanship fading into an unsettling cold vacancy. His hands don’t twitch. His weight doesn’t shift. His head merely tilts.

Objectively, Iris knows he’s killed before. It comes reeling back to her now.

“Well,” Leonard says again, steady and blank, “No question now, is there?”

He whips out his phone and, before Iris can protest, says, “Evening, Flash. I’ll be needing my cold gun in less than ten seconds.”

The instant he sees the body, Barry’s rounding on Snart. “What did you do?”

“So quick to judge,” Leonard drawls, still edging on that unnerving ice.

“Barry,” Iris says.

Barry looks at her, worried and horrified. Then he looks at her.

“…Iris?” he whispers.

“He was attacking a kid,” Leonard says, “Miss West valiantly stepped in. You see the result.”

He’s glancing between Barry and Iris, lingering on Barry with a guarded expression. He’s firmly in Iris’ corner, not even looking at the dead scumbag anymore. Given his background, Iris had of course been counting on his following through. But Leonard Snart has the kind of commanding presence that, if on your side, breathes a steady wind in your sails.

No wonder so many people follow him.

Iris straightens her back. “When I pulled him off his target, he came for me.”

Part of the excitement in her relationship with Barry is how he still manages to be unexpected. And it’s very much unexpected when Barry’s eyes take on another, less worn and weary version of Leonard’s cold stare.

“He came for you,” Barry repeats.

Iris nods.

Barry looks at the body.

He takes off his cowl with one hand and offers Leonard his cold gun with the other. “I’ll check if there were any traffic cams pointed this way.”

Leonard’s eyebrows jump up his forehead. “Flash, covering a murder?”

He hurt a kid and he was gonna hurt Iris,” Barry replies fiercely. “Get rid of the body.”

Leonard’s pupils dilate.

The whole thing’s wrapped up in less than two minutes. Barry knows enough from watching Cisco how to hack a couple simple traffic cams from STAR Labs and loop some footage. His beautiful brain catalogues possible evidence, which syncs with Leonard’s criminal record and Iris’ journalist sight. It’s the most united they’ve ever been, and it’s because Iris West killed a man.

The body’s iced and vibrated to tiny crystals, along with the knife.

Then Iris turns to Leonard and says, “We’ve got leftover takeout in the fridge. I at least owe you some of that.”

Barry looks at her, hesitating. But Snart had deliberately given him an address to an apartment. A cozy one, well-lived in. His personal space, offered to a proclaimed nemesis because of Iris West.

He says, “We’ve got iced tea too.”

Leonard regards them a moment. There’s no holster, leaving him to prop his hand on his hip and let the gun idly swish on his leg. The conman’s smirk is back, but Iris thinks she can see some genuine fondness.

“If it’s iced,” he says, “I suppose I can’t refuse.”

"I can't believe they wanted you to give it back before we even had a chance to give it a test run," Barry says, reaching out and running his hand along the side of the bright green spaceship that Mick had produced seemingly out of nowhere. "Can we fly higher?"

"I can take you to the Moon if you like," Mick says proudly. "The thing's intergalactic."

"Do you gotta wear the new outfit to use it?" Len asks, gesturing at Mick. "Bright green ain't really anybody's color. Maybe Iris’. But definitely not you."

"No, I agree. Ain't my color at all. But I think the outfit’s part-and-parcel with the whole thing," Mick says, looking down at himself ruefully as he guides his friends through the air in the glowing-green replica of his old spacetime-ship that is emanating out of the green ring he'd found. He hadn't yet come up with anything it couldn't project if he just thought about it hard enough and really wanted it to work, and if there was one thing Mick Rory didn't lack, it was strength of will. "Whatever, though. Worth it for the cool stuff."

"No kidding," Iris gushes. "We can finally do a really good alien abduction scene with this!"

"Or a proper spaceship one without the Legends butting in at awkward moments," Len agrees. “The way they invariably do even when they’re supposed to be out on mission.”

"Where'd this ring even come from?" Barry wants to know. "And how many things can you make from it?"

"Basically anything, s'long as it's green. Least that's what the space cop that tried to nick me said, what little I heard, anyway. I wasn’t really listening."

"Awesome!"

Suddenly, there's a sharp rapping - knocking, really - on the outside of the spaceship.

"Not the Legends," Iris says. "Please don't be the Legends. We haven't even gotten to the sex yet!"

"Uh, Mick?" Ray's voice comes through the hull. He sounds apologetic.

All four of them sigh.

"Could you maybe land the ship? We - that is, Sara - well, also - okay, it's a bit complicated. Someone needs to talk to you. Urgently."

"Do we have to?" Iris mutters under her breath.

"We should," Barry says reluctantly.

"What do you say, Mick?" Len asks. "Stop or run?"

"He'll be intolerable if I run," Mick grumbles. "I'll land. Hopefully it'll be quick and we can get back to whatever roleplay you've decide on."

When they land, the green plane disappearing into Mick's ring once more, Sara is waiting, her arms crossed and her expression pinched, and there's someone in the same bright green outfit that Mick's currently in standing next to her.

"Seriously?" Sara demands. "Seriously?!"

“Hypocrite,” Iris coughs into her hand.

"Listen, you can't escape your destiny by running away from it," the guy says earnestly to Mick. "Trust me, I've tried. It's a lot to take in, I know -"

"He didn't run away," Sara says, glaring at the lot of them. "He ran towards."

"...sorry, what?"

"I don't actually want your ring," Mick explains. "I just wanna use it to let my friends act out their weird sexy roleplay thing. I'll put it back after."

"...sexy roleplay?" the guy in green says, his voice strangled. "You accepted the Green Lantern ring to use it in sexy roleplays?!"

"Not me," Mick corrects. "My friends. I'm ace, personally. But otherwise, yeah."

"Seriously, man?"

"That's what I said," Sara says with a sigh.

"I said I'll give it back after," Mick says. "I promise, you'll barely notice it was missing. Can you lot buzz off now?"

“You’re definitely killing the buzz,” Len agrees.

Mick rolls his eyes.

"It's not - you can't just - the Ring is a solemn duty - you can't use it as some sort of sex toy!"

"Seems like a pretty good sex toy to me," Iris says, "what with the 'take any shape you imagine and will'."

"...well, yes, but -!"

"Anyway, what's the problem with having us borrow it?"

"Having a Green Lantern ring makes you a part of the Green Lantern Corps!" the guy yelps. "You have to help protect the universe, not - not fuck around with it! Literally!"

"I keep telling you, I don't do any of the fucking," Mick says irritably. “I just make sure things work out, that’s all.”

“Everyone in the Corps is laughing at me right now,” the guy groans. “We’re giving humans such a bad reputation.”

"Hold up," Len says. "Mick, I thought you said space cop here was trying to nick you for stealing the ring thing."

"Yeah?"

"Sounds to me more like he's trying to recruit you."

Mick looks horrified. "Become a pig? Fuck no!" He starts trying to tug the ring off his finger. "Being a Legend's bad enough as is!"

"You can't just reject the ring now!" the guy exclaims. "If you do it in this time period instead of its original era, it'll go to the next person with the strongest willpower no matter where they are -"

Mick gets the ring off - his green costume disappearing and being replaced by his usual outfit - and flings it aside.

It hovers in mid-air, glowing softly green.

It drifts hopefully over towards Len.

"Not a chance in hell," Len tells it. "The fact that I'm about 90% of Mick's self-restraint doesn't actually make us one person. Nice try."

The ring dips in a manner that suggests a sigh, then abruptly zooms very quickly up into the air -

"Great. Now we'll never find it," the guy in green moans.

- and then straight back down to slip itself onto Iris' finger.

"Uh," Iris says. "I'm really flattered and all, but that ring finger's kinda already being used by my wedding ring..."

"You know," Barry says dreamily, "the skin-tight black-and-green uniform you've got on now looks really good on you."

"And you know I'm always up for some space-cop-and-robbers," Len agrees, his eyes equally avid.

"You've got to be kidding me," the guy says, putting his head into his hands.

"Oh, believe it," Sara says. "They're always like that."

"He's here!" Iris hisses. "Tell me you have the packet of sage I told you to bring!"

"Yeah," Barry says, reaching into his pocket. "I brought three - that enough?"

"We'll have to hope it is," Iris says. "The demon's shadow-servant stole my pack. And with the door closed - we're on our own."

"My phone -"

"Reception doesn't work here," she says grimly. "It never does."

Barry checks. "You're right," he says. "It's not. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run ahead. I've led us straight into his trap."

"It's okay," she says. "It's your first time going up against the paranormal like this, and this demon is an expert at illusions and temptation. He knows everything you've ever wanted. We'll have to be vigilant in resisting him."

She pauses.

Nothing happens.

Barry and Iris glance at each other.

“We have to be very vigilant in resisting him,” Iris says again, her voice a little louder this time.

Still nothing.

Barry reaches over and taps on the bedroom door. "Len?"

There's a grumble.

"Len, you okay? That was your cue."

"I look dumb," Len mutters.

"No you don't," Iris objects. "You look good in anything."

"Agreed," Barry says. "You're going to be the sexiest incubus sex demon."

"I'm basically wearing nothing but silk scarves and a pair of horns," Len grumbles. "I look like some sort of harem slave out of an old orientalist-fetishizing Hollywood movie."

Barry and Iris share a look.

"...that sounds pretty good to us?" Iris says.

"Really good," Barry agrees. "Just based on the description, I would totally permit myself to be ensnared into the evil clutches of a demon like that for some serious sexytimes before convincing him to fall in love with us, breaking free, and finally rescuing said demon from hell so that he can join our anti-evil-paranormal group."

"Yeah, seriously. Sounds just right."

"I have a tail!" Len bursts out. "I don't want a tail! Tails are stupid!"

"Hey, the tail's a must! You're a demon!"

"Mick's costume is cooler."

"Mick is A, the shadow-servant, not the demon; B, just re-using his ninja costume, which is the only reason he agreed to do this at all; and C, not involved in this roleplay!"

"He's the villain! He's the one keeping demon-me captive so that you can ultimately rescue me from him!"

"Fine. He's not involved in the sexy part of this roleplay."

"C'mon," Barry says coaxingly. "We promise that even if you don't look good, we won't laugh or anything."

A grunt.

"Please?"

"...fine."

The door opens.

"What's that?" Barry asks, looking wide-eyed at the open door, falling back into character. "Is it -"

"It's the demon," Iris says. "He's luring us in."

"Then we shouldn't go!"

"We don't have a choice," Iris says. "The shadow-servant is watching the hallway behind us, and he wields fire. The only way out is forward. We'll just have to resist whatever temptation he offers."

"Can we?"

"We have to." Iris offers Barry her hand and he takes it.

Together they go hand-in-hand into the room, stopping dead when they see what's before them: a vision in a dozen silk scarves woven together, each a different shade of blue, two graceful horns curving up from his forehead and a thin blue tail, spiked at the end, curled around his thigh.

The demon lounged on the couch. Unlike the rest of the house, which was deserted and dusty, this room is warm and lived-in, with a carpet and a couch and a bed and even an inviting, flickering fireplace (courtesy of the shadow-servant).

"Won't you come in?" Len purrs.

"Oh, we are definitely doing a harem roleplay after this," Iris squeaks. "I call first dibs on evil empress."

Barry elbows her for breaking character.

Len snorts, but relaxes, somehow looking even more seductive and demonic as he does.

"You and Iris' weird thing for kinky illicit affairs aside, you know perfectly well that Mick would kill us all if we did anything that unsanitary in his kitchen," Barry says.

"Which is why we would pick a different kitchen -"

"Literally none of our friends would agree," Iris says. "And no, we're not breaking into a kitchen."

"You and Barry's weird thing for not breaking the law aside, it would be the easiest -"

"No, Len," Barry says firmly. Or as firmly as he could, given his current position. It didn't exactly lend his words much gravity.

"Fine. Have it your way."

"I feel like I should have a 'you and Len' moment to match both of yours," Iris muses. "But nothing really comes to mind immediately."

"Well, you could always...no, you're right. It's hard to do on demand," Barry agrees.

"No kidding."

"Listen, wordplay aside -" Len begins.

"Wordplay aside? Are you sure you're feeling okay? Do we have the wrong Len?"

"Shut up. Anyway, are we going to go forward with this or not?" Len asks. "Because Mick did put in a lot of effort into making all this sushi for us."

"Not to mention setting it up on me," Barry adds, injured. He’s splayed out on the table, which to be fair had been made much more comfortable for him to lie down on – especially now that he’s gotten more relaxed with being naked around his lovers. The rest of the room is lit up in candlelight, with soft music playing, and it’s a nice temperature that makes him feel comfortable.

At least until Iris started laughing, anyway.

"Oh, come on -" Iris starts.

"I’ll have you know that Mick rolled his eyes and muttered about us being weirdos the entire time, and it took nearly thirty minutes to set it all up!" Barry protests. "I think I'm entitled to at least get the rest of the roleplay played out once. Unless you have a serious objection, of course."

"No, no, no serious objections. It still seems like an interesting idea. It's just - oh, I don't know," Iris says. "It just seems so silly - oh, not you, Barry, you know I always like to see you naked, but just - the idea of eating some sticky undoubtedly uncomfortable food off of you -"

"Sushi," Len corrects.

"Sushi is food, Len."

"It matters that it's sushi," Len says firmly. "For one thing, it means less of a mess than other types of food - I mean, can you imagine eating pasta?"

"No. Ew."

"Exactly. Anyway, second advantage of it being sushi, we get use our chopsticks all over Barry's vulnerable little body while ignoring him the whole time -"

"I do like that part," Iris admits.

"Me, too," Barry says, sounding vaguely dreamy. "That part sounds great."

"But - Barry's kinks aside - isn't it, I don't know, sticky? And not in a good way?"

"No, don't worry," Barry assures her. "It's not really that uncomfortable at all. Mick was very careful not to use any soy sauce where it might drip or stick."

“Well, he is very thoughtful.”

“Long-suffering, I would say. But he did work so very hard on it...”

"Besides," Len interjects. "Barry's not the only one who had to put time and effort into preparing this. There's all of my ink, too."

Both Barry and Iris go still, much like hunting dogs abruptly alerted to an interesting scent.

"Ink?" Barry says. “Like…tattoo ink?”

“You don’t have any tattoos,” Iris says. “…do you? I mean, you didn't, and we've more or less been over your entire body. Repeatedly. And at length." She'd been minorly disappointed, but not excessively so; it had let to them finding out that Len was Jewish, and honoring his mother's memory, and extracting bits of personal information from their excessively secretive lover was a victory in and of itself. "Unless, I mean, you got some since we last, uh, examined you?”

"No way," Barry says. "It'd still be swollen. It has to be fake."

"You got fake tattoos, Len? Really?"

"We-ell," Len drawls, dragging the word out. "I mean, I am supposed an evil Yakuza gangster, here to negotiate the terms of Iris's total capitulation to my evil whims because I've been pursuing her ever since I fell in love with her feisty attitude, except I want her to consent and thereby lure her into bed by using her childhood sweetheart, who got involved with the wrong people and is now in my total control, as the bait, right?"

"Yes," Iris says, eyeing him. He's dressed in a very sharp suit, dark blue and black. Like most of Len's clothing, it covers him from neck to toe to wrist, leaving only his face and neck and hands bare - and there were no tattoos visible there.

"So, Yakuza are famous for their ink, right?"

"Right," Iris says, swallowing a little. "So in the interest of being accurate..."

"Exactly."

"Uh," Barry says. He also looks like he's having some trouble thinking straight. Iris sympathizes. "Out of curiosity, how much of you did you cover...?"

"It took nearly four hours to apply it all," Len says primly. Barry and Iris both stare at him hungrily. "Even though we were using just body-paint.”

“That’s a lot of time,” Barry says.

“A lot of ink,” Iris agrees.

“Oh yes. It’s very…extensive. What can I say? I wanted to be accurate and Mick had some spare time while he was waiting for some of the fish for the sushi to be shipped over. Sad for all that effort and detail to go to waste. But I suppose if we're not doing the roleplay after all..."

"Iris," Barry says, his voice strangled. "Please."

"Oh, all right," she says, wiggling a little. "But in return, Len, don't you dare get rid of that paint until we've both had a chance to fully examine it."

"Deal," Len says cheerfully. "You want to go get into character?"

"Right. Definitely no Doomworld," Len says. "Maybe, uh..."

"We could all be heroes?" Barry suggests hopefully. "Hero team-up?"

"And how do your normal team-ups with other heroes go, exactly?"

"Uh," Barry says. "Well, Oliver Queen -"

"Yes, please," Iris says.

"No," Len says firmly. "Veto."

"...good to know. He shot me with arrows once, and the other times it's mostly been...well...they mostly involve a world-ending disaster and getting a nice manly platonic beer..."

"No."

Iris sighs.

"What about Kara?"

"Almost invariably involving a disaster..."

"I don't think we could really fit in a good sexytimes in that, unfortunately," Iris says mournfully. "Come on, this is, like, the absolute basics! Superheroes are literally our lives! We all listed it on our Want To Roleplay This list - even Mick said he'd be happy to help with this one! We've got to think of something!"

"Think that being actual superheroes-slash-supervillains has taken some of the shine off," Len says.

"Maybe if we pretended to be a different superhero-supervillain set..?"

"Like who? Gotham?"

"Definitely not," they all chorus.

"Uuuugh," Iris says, putting her head in her hands. "This shouldn't be this hard!"

"You're thinking about it the wrong way," Mick says, balancing the plates with their dinner on his arm as he makes his way into the living room. He dishes them out. "You're limiting yourself by focusing on superheroes and villains."

"What do you mean?"

"Rotate all the roles. Make Len the intrepid reporter," Mick says practically. "Iris the hero, Barry the villain."

"Ooh," Iris says. "Barry and I as old childhood friends, sweethearts, but then we fell out over our values as Barry went evil -"

"And then we both fall in love with Len -" Barry adds.

"You start competing for my attention -" Len adds.

"We could also do a variation where Barry and I are both villains while Len's a civilian -"

“Len’s probably not good at being a civilian, though.”

“…true. Maybe Barry as the civilian?”

“How is that different from the current status quo when he’s not in costume?”

“Well, Iris is evil…”

“It’s a start,” Iris says firmly. “A good start. We might even get somewhere.”

"So glad to help," Mick says. "Now shut up and eat the dinner I made you."

"Thanks, Mick."

"Yeah, thanks! This is great!"

"You're the best," Iris says. "And thanks for rescuing us from our own narrow-mindedness; we would've been going in endless circles without you."

"Well, someone needs to keep you guys out of trouble," Mick says, but he sounds pleased. "Just keep me out of the sex and romance parts of it."

"Do you know," Barry says, already halfway into his dinner, "I think Joe still thinks Mick and Len are dating?"

"He does?" Iris asks skeptically. "But we're so - obvious!"

"It's 'cause Len and Mick are married," Barry says wisely.

"Well, I can't marry you two," Len points out. "You're already married to each other and you only get one. And this way me and Mick don't have to testify against each other."

"Not to mention it lets Len do our taxes," Mick agrees.

"Well, Joe thinks that we're just neighbors," Barry says. "Len and Mick upstairs, us downstairs -"

"Is he blind? Half my stuff is down here!"

"Hey, it keeps him from shooting you. I'm taking it as a win..."

"Still, Bar, shouldn't we tell him eventually..?"

"I'm okay being a dirty little secret," Len says hastily. "Really."