Work Text:
~*~
Barry took a slow, deep breath, his feet dragging against the floor as he made his way to Len's apartment. It had been a long, hard day — going over a murder scene for the CCPD early in the morning followed by a late-night battle with another meta. He didn't want to go home, because Iris and Joe would be there, maybe Wally, and they would have stilted, awkward conversations until Barry faked an excuse to get away. Instead, he came here.
His hand was shaking when he slid the key into the lock, a mixture of exhaustion and hypoglycemia, he was sure, and he tried twice before he managed to get the door open. He stepped inside and then locked the door behind him. He shrugged out of his jacket, put it on the coat stand, and leaned against the wall for a moment to toe off his shoes, putting them neatly together and setting them off to the side.
He took one more step, coming to the edge where carpet met the tile at the entrance, and sank to his knees, hands relaxed on his thighs, palms turned up. Barry focused on his breathing, his mind buzzing with the stress of his day.
Len was cooking something — Barry could smell it, and his stomach gave an offended rumble, bile burning up his throat. He should have eaten something before he came.
Len came out of the kitchen, and Barry stared at him as he crossed the living room, picking up the box that always sat on the corner of his coffee table on nights like this. Len paused in front of Barry and carded the fingers of one hand through Barry's hair — his fingers were warm and slightly damp, smelling of soap — and Barry relaxed further.
"You look like crap, Red." Len tilted his head as he stared down at Barry, and then he opened the box, pulling out Barry's collar. Barry closed his eyes and tilted his chin up without waiting to be asked, and he focused on each sensation as it came: Len's fingers against his pulse, the fond stroke of his thumb against the hollow of Barry's throat, the delicate, careful way Len fastened Barry's collar around his neck, settling it into place and tugging at it until he was satisfied.
It centered Barry, and he took a slow, deep breath, tension leaving his shoulders. Len stared down at him, face inscrutable, and then Len curled a finger between the collar and Barry's skin, tugging again. "Do you need a leash tonight, Barry?"
Barry swallowed, a brief convulsive movement, his throat bobbing up against Len's finger. "No, sir."
That earned him another stroke of Len's fingers through his hair, and then Len stepped away, grabbing a throw pillow from his sofa. "Hands and knees. Kitchen."
Barry licked his lips and set his palms to the carpet, crawling forward. Len's eyes were still on him, so he didn't speed over to his spot, marked by the pillow Len had set down. He took his time, wasn't sure he'd be able to speed over anyway without blacking out, and he settled on his knees again once he'd reached his destination.
"Very good," Len said soothingly, and he curled his hand under Barry's chin, thumb stroking the line of Barry's jaw.
Barry leaned into the caress, his eyes sliding closed again, and he exhaled a small, soft breath when Len carded his hand through Barry's hair. He wanted to let himself lean, maybe rest his cheek against Len's leg, but that was not what he was there for tonight. He was there for peace and quiet and not having to think.
Len left him kneeling in place when the buzzer for the oven sounded, and Barry's stomach rumbled again in response. Barry flushed, but Len laughed softly, without censure. Barry opened his eyes again and watched Len carefully as he portioned out a large piece of casserole and grabbed a chair from his kitchen table on his way back to Barry, setting the chair directly in front of him and sitting.
"Open your mouth."
Len was always so careful when he fed Barry, each bite cut to fit Barry's mouth precisely, cooled just enough that it didn't scald Barry's tongue. Barry tasted beef, noodle, cheese, and he swallowed hastily, hardly taking any time at all to chew. Len watched him, unblinking, and Barry could feel heat creeping up his neck, prickling his cheeks.
Len set his fork down on the plate, and Barry made a little sound of dismay. It made Len's eyes darken, and he tilted his head as he studied Barry. Barry remained quiet, his eyes focused on the fork, on the food that was less than a step away from him, and Len reached out, curled his fingers beneath Barry's chin and tilted his head up until their eyes met. "Do that again, and I stop."
Barry swallowed. "I'm sorry, sir."
Len let go of Barry's chin and picked up the fork again. When the next bite came, Barry made sure to actually chew before he swallowed, looking up at Len through his eyelashes to watch for his approval. Len's face never really changed when they were together like this, always calm and focused, his intensity varying in direct response to how much or how little he expected from Barry for the evening. Len portioned out another bite and then another, slow and easy and methodical, and Barry appreciated the economy of his movement. It took the same amount of time to separate a bite, cool it, and feed it to Barry each time, like clockwork.
When Barry finished what was on the plate, Len stroked his fingers through Barry's hair, curling them around the nape of Barry's neck, and then rose to fill the plate again. Barry exhaled a shaky breath — sometimes Len liked to play with his hunger, liked to tease it out until he was crying from frustration — and then Len took his seat again, raising the fork once more. Tension uncoiled from Barry's shoulders, and he closed his eyes, opening his mouth again.
Barry didn't keep track of how much time had passed, stirring only when he heard Len start the dishes. He was warm and full and content to remain on his knees, half-dozing as he waited for Len's next instruction.
"Tell me your curfew," Len said, and Barry blinked his eyes open, looking up at Len.
"I don't have one tonight." Barry swallowed. "May I stay? Please?"
Len smirked and moved closer, crouching in front of Barry. "You think you deserve to stay?"
Barry blinked at that, frowned, his forehead furrowing. "I… I don't understand why I need to deserve it? Sir?"
Len averted his eyes for a second, and then he curled his hand around the back of Barry's neck again, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to Barry's forehead. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry." He pulled away and gave Barry a long, searching look, his fingers idly caressing the collar. "Come on. Up on your feet."
Barry breathed a little sigh — he didn't particularly want to move, but even with his accelerated healing, his knees were beginning to twinge from kneeling so long — and rose to his feet, wincing a little. Len didn't touch him, letting him stand on his own, but he didn't step back, either. It made Barry feel like if he did fall, Len would catch him, and the thought slotted warmly in his head. Even his heartbeat seemed to slow down, a honeyed sort of pleasure sinking into him, and he followed Len wordlessly down the hall.
Len quirked a small smile when they reached his bedroom, and he hooked a finger in Barry's collar, stroking Barry's throat as he tugged him forward. It made Barry's pulse race, his skin prickling like he'd just been startled awake. His eyes flew up to meet Len's, and he was smirking, of course he was smirking, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and gleaming with satisfaction. Barry blinked, stumbling a little as Len tugged him toward the bathroom by his collar, and his cheeks flushed with heat when Len paused to let him get his bearings again.
Barry especially liked nights like this one, when Len took charge of everything, peeling Barry's shirt and pants off. Tonight was a bath night, and Barry smiled to himself at the consideration, knowing he'd most likely fall on his ass if he had to stand for a shower. Len's apartment didn't have a full-sized bath, but Barry made it work, bending his long legs, his embarrassing, knobby knees poking up above the water. Len didn't seem to mind, though, running his fingers idly over Barry's exposed skin. "Clean up," he said after a minute or two. "I'll get your clothes."
Barry smiled to himself as he watched Len leave, and then he scrubbed himself clean of his day, leaving his skin rubbed pink with his efforts. He remained in the water until Len came back, setting Barry's pajamas on the corner of the sink before he took one of his big, horribly expensive towels and held it out. Barry stood and stepped out of the tub onto Len's bath rug, and Len dried him, dragging the towel over Barry's thighs, his stomach, his chest, all the while ignoring the interest Barry's body showed at the care, Barry's dick growing heavy and starting to thicken.
Len finished drying Barry and then dressed him, pulling down the STAR Labs T-shirt Barry used to sleep in over his head and tugging it into place over his sides and stomach, and then kneeling in front of Barry to help him with his pajama bottoms.
"C'mon," Len said, and he hooked a finger beneath Barry's collar, pulling him forward for the hell of it. The bed was turned down, and after a look at Len, Barry climbed onto the mattress. Len tucked Barry in and then slid beneath the blankets, sitting up and reaching for a book he'd left on the nightstand. Barry scooted down Len's bed, giving him just enough room to rest his head on Len's thigh as he stared up at him.
His favorite part of Len's evening routine was when he pulled out his reading glasses, and Barry smiled, small and pleased and tired. Len turned the page in his book, and then his hand rested on Barry's hair. Barry loved this, too, the restless energy that always made Len move, his fingers threading through Barry's hair, petting him in an absent sort of way, even though Barry knew he was always paying attention. Knowing Len had an eye on him made it easier to fall asleep, and he snuggled closer, still resting his head on Len's thigh, and closed his eyes.
~*~
Breakfast was a huge helping of pancakes and eggs and orange juice, and Len allowed Barry to feed himself this time, an action that told Barry that this would be over soon, done until the next time Barry needed it.
He didn't want to be done.
He also had work in half an hour.
Len watched Barry for another long minute, and then he rose from his seat, leading the way back to the door, to that place on the rug where Barry always traded one part of himself for another. Something must have showed on Barry's face, because Len kissed him, soft and gentle, tasting of coffee and maple syrup, and then he unbuckled the collar, checking it for damage before setting it into its box again.
Barry sighed and smiled at Len, a wry, rather sad thing, and rolled his shoulders. Barry never knew how much tension he was carrying until it all went away. "I'll see you soon, Len."
Len smirked, something almost demure about the way his eyes flickered down and away before meeting Barry's eyes again. "Give 'em hell, Red."
Barry grinned outright at that, and then flashed away. It was a great morning. Time to seize the day.
~*~