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theywhowriteandknowthings · 6 months

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Halloween Housewarming

NSFW 18+ minors DNI. Warnings: Forbidden relationship, Alcohol, food, Brother's Best Friend Miguel, PiV sex, angst, keeping secrets, oral sex (afab receiving), nonbinary reader, Halloween costumes, ass play (if you squint), size kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Please consider checking out my ko-fi or patreon if you want to support me! [AO3 link] Thank you for beta-ing @sweetercalypso

Summary: You finally move our of your parent's house, just in time for Halloween. You and Miguel finally give into your desires.

“Yes mom, I’ve got enough food and snacks, there’s a bowl of candy outside the door for trick or treaters, but there aren’t many families in my building anyway.”

You speak into your headphones as you continue to set up your new apartment for tonight’s festivities. It’s not much, but it’s yours. The main living space is tiny, typical of this part of Brooklyn, but it’s enough. You smile to yourself as you hang the last of the bat-shaped bunting on your walls. You’ve pushed all the furniture to the edges of the small space to maximise party room.

“Well, I hope you have a lovely time tonight, and if the O’Hara boy is there, give him a kiss from me.”

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you think of Jason’s best friend. The way his smile twists your insides and makes your tongue feel too big for your mouth. You have it bad for Miguel, but your brother had made it abundantly clear. You recall the way he pulled you aside at your homecoming barbecue six months ago after Miguel had introduced himself.

Do not fuck Miguel, for all that is good and holy, he’s my best friend. Promise me?

You had promised him, but that didn’t stop you from crushing on him from afar, nor the pair of you from texting back and forth like teenagers. But he clearly hadn’t given Miguel the same pep talk.

He brought you lunch whenever he stopped by your brother’s office, always with too much food so he could make the excuse to stick around and help you eat it all. On your birthday he even brought you a cupcake and some flowers – much to your brother’s ire. The perks of working as tech support at your brother’s company meant you got more than good dental.

“Mom!” You groan down the phone as she chuckles away to herself on the other end.

“Alright, I’ll behave, just don’t tell your brother that I’m rooting for Miguel and You.”

“Thank you, mom. I love you, thank you for checking in.”

“I love you more, my Little Sparrow. Have a good time tonight.”

“I will, bye mom.”

“Speak soon.”

The line goes dead, and you don’t miss the way you’re still grinning like a fool at the mention of Miguel. You glance at the time on your phone and your eyes go wide. You’ve got less than an hour before the party is due to start.

“Shit!” You mutter to yourself as you hurry to your bedroom to get ready. You and Miguel might have planned matching costumes, not that you’d admit that to your brother, and you were excited to see if he would pull through on his end of the bargain.

~*~

You’re buzzing with nervous energy as you secure the red-lensed goggles on your head, making sure not to obscure the supple, leather-like material of your cat ears connected to the hood of your costume. You look at yourself in the tall mirror in your bathroom as you make the final adjustments.

The stretchy leather playsuit hugs your curves, and you feel heat rise to your cheeks as you realise how revealing the costume is. The front is fastened together by way of a zipper and a ridiculously oversized silver ring. Your breasts are pushed up, the zipper nestling just right so that your bra is hidden from view, but your cleavage is sinfully on show.

Miguel’s guy did an amazing job.

You think to yourself as you make a mental note to thank him for the recommendation of “Mr. Z” whom the only thing you know about him is his name, and the PO Box you had to send your measurements to. Miguel told you not to worry about the cost, it was his treat.

But now you look at the craftsmanship you realise this was no cheap throw together.

Did he get a super-suit tailor to make this?

You wonder aloud as you bite your tongue excitedly. You’ve known Miguel’s secret for months, and every time you see Spider-Man save someone on TV you’re in awe that they’re the same person. You almost can’t believe it sometimes. Then you remember that night in Manhattan when you’d been cornered by some jerk with a tire iron.

Spider-Man had come to save the day, but he made the mistake of getting too close, of not scrubbing the scent of himself off before donning the suit. Because the moment he whisked you to safety you smelled it, the raw earthy scent of Miguel that you buried yourself in every time he gave you a – very platonic, definitely not wildly sexually charged – hug when he visited you at the office.

You’d said nothing at the time, but the more you thought about it, the more you watched Spider-Man on TV, the more you were convinced it was him.

Who could mistake that ass?

You think to yourself with a chuckle as you hear the buzzer for the front door. You shake yourself physically as you try not to linger on your crush’s secret nighttime antics.

Within minutes your apartment is flooded with familiar faces, friends from work, your brother’s friends, and other people you assume are plus ones. The music is blaring and you’re making sure the chip bowls are topped up when you feel a large, unmistakable presence behind you.

“Gotcha.”

Miguel’s deep voice rumbles from behind as you feel his hands on your hips. You feel like you’re about to combust as his large fingers wrap around your waist. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you feel your lacy panties cling to you as you feel yourself getting wet already.

“Not so fast, Boy Scout.”

You purr as you place your hands on his, lacing your fingers between his thick digits. You make like you’re holding them there, and gods do you want to encourage them lower. But you quickly spin on the balls of your feet, twisting his arms up and over your head as you effectively cross and lock his arms in front of him.

“Gotta do better than that Big Stuff.”

You pout up at Miguel as he grins down at you through the Batman mask. You can only see his strong, angular jaw as he smirks at you. But his eyes are shining chestnut, flecked with crimson as he nods in submission.

“Shouldn’t have underestimated you, Cat.” Miguel growls as he lets his eyes linger on your painted lips just a little too long.

“Fucking hell.” Jason growls as he notices the two of you holding hands. You quickly pull away before cocking your head to the side with a wide smile plastered on your face. He’s dressed as Mal Reynolds from Firefly and the nostalgia of watching the series with him as a kid gives you a warm, fuzzy hit of serotonin.

“Sorry Bro, it was just part of the bit, we aim to misbehave after all.” You say with as much sincerity you can muster. He cracks a smile at the Firefly reference and his stern look melts away.

“Whatever you say Sib,” The use of gender-neutral pet name floods you with warmth. “Where’s the beer?”

“In the fridge, dumbass.”

“So,” Miguel flashes you a cheeky grin as he looks you up and down, “Cat-Them?”

“Cat Woman is fine, I’m dressed up as a specific female character. But thank you, Miguel. I appreciate you making the effort to check.” You place your hand over Miguel’s bicep, lingering a little longer than most people would consider appropriate. But you can’t help it, even with the Batman mask on, even with the fact your brother was only a few feet away, you are utterly infatuated with him. You secretly hope he’s just as smitten as you.

“Anything for you, gatita.” Miguel says with a wink, and you bite your lip at his blatant flirty tone. Your brother returns just as another round of guests need to be buzzed in. You hurry off, all the while Miguel’s eyes are on you like a hawk.

~*~

It’s almost one in the morning when your apartment slowly begins to vacate, the more brazen of your friends ready to hit the town, the more conservative ready for their own beds. Jason is passed out on your couch as you begin to tidy up.

You’d made sure not to drink too much throughout the night. You wanted to be sensible, but you enjoyed yourself just fine with only a low-level buzz.

Miguel has already located the black trash bags and had started collecting up the fallout of having over twenty people partying it out in a Brooklyn one-bedroom apartment. You load up the dishwasher quietly as you steal glances at him. You feel his eyes on you more than once as you dance around one another in silence. The tension builds between you slowly, like the soft rain preceding a raucous summer storm. You’re both just waiting for the lightning to strike.

You get the apartment back into a reasonable state fairly quickly and before you know it, you’re leaning against your kitchen counter, Miguel next to you, elbows brushing as you both nurse a glass of water each and share a bowl of salted popcorn.

“So, you wanna stay and watch some shitty horror films with me? Or do you need to get going?” You ask, you’ve barely been able to get any time alone with Miguel tonight and it sucks because you had so many cheesy superhero lines queued up to fire at him.

“I mean, sofa’s kind of taken, not sure how we’re going to watch anything tonight.” Miguel chuckles as he gestures at your brother with his thumb.

“I’ve got PC in my room and a big ass gaming monitor if you don’t mind cosying up.”

“You’re such a fucking nerd.”

“Is that a no?”

You raise an eyebrow at Miguel as you look over your shoulder at him. You watch his lips purse as if he’s offended at you even suggesting his refusal to spend time with you.

“Course not,” Miguel tilts his head at you as he elbows you gently. “Go on and get set up, I’ll get us some snacks.”

“My hero.” You didn’t expect it to roll off your tongue quite as mockingly as it does, and you try not to react as you see a flash of something dart across his crimson-brown irises.

You turn and retreat into your bedroom a little too quickly, and you fall back against the door with a large huff, heart beating too fast in your chest as you try and keep calm.

You feel like you’re a teenager again, sneaking around, inviting a boy back to your room to watch a scary movie. It’s so cliché it hurts. You thank your past self for making sure to change your sheets before the party.

You’d chosen a deep, royal blue and white set. You dub this your romantic set, not as slutty and desperate as your black and red satin sheets, but not as harrowingly embarrassing as your novelty Spider-Gwen sheets you had bought at a comic-con way before ever knowing Miguel, let alone knowing he’s actually Spider-Man.

You log in to your PC and bring up your VPN before diving into the streaming services. You trawl for a while, switching out locations on occasion, just to make sure you weren’t missing out on any region exclusives. With every flip between regions, you see the same set of films over and over, but one series sticks out for you more than the rest.

Scream.

Miguel knocks softly and you feel your heart rate soar as you mentally prepare yourself for him to enter your bedroom. You take a deep breath and clear your throat. You throw yourself back against your pillows, folding your legs to the side you go, trying to act natural.

“Come in!” You call, hopefully not loud enough to wake your catatonic brother.

Miguel inches the door open, struggling to get his large frame through the doorway and you suppress a giggle. It certainly didn’t help that he had decided to bring half of your pantry into the bedroom, as well as water, some beer, and napkins with the little ghost motifs that you bought especially for the party.

“Need a hand?

“I got it. Get the movie started,” he grumbles, his pride clearly preventing him from letting you help. He makes room on your nightstand and sets down the snacks and drinks, managing to do so without dropping a single thing.

You shake your head and crawl to the end of the bed, your room so small that your desk is well within reach as you lean forward to click play. You make sure to lean forward just right that you know Miguel has a perfect view of the way the suit fits snug against your ass. You hear the not-so-subtle way Miguel’s breath hitches behind you, followed by a fake cough, as if to cover it up.

“Hope you don’t mind; I went for a semi-classic.” You say as you turn to see him frozen in place, the bulge in his suit noticeable, but you don’t linger on it. You’re more interested by the way Miguel’s eyes are wide, his jaw slack as he stands there mesmerised.

“Earth to Miguel?”

“Shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s ok, I don’t mind.”

You crawl back up to the pillows and settle down in the middle of the bed, knowing Miguel will have a hard time staying on the bed if he doesn’t cuddle up next to you. You pat the bed as the opening credits start to roll and Miguel obeys your silent demand. It’s like he’s in a trance, his movements are slow, measured as he settles in next to you.

“Shame we didn’t have more time to talk tonight.”

Your voice is barely more than a whisper as you concede a little more room on the bed so Miguel can settle comfortably. He has his hands in his lap, no doubt trying to obscure his boner as he stares forward, seemingly laser focused on the film.

“Yeah, you were so busy. S’good to see you having fun though.”

“You have a good time?”

You lean over Miguel to grab two of the European lagers he brought in and a bag of your favourite chips. You’re being way too forward; you know it, he knows it, but neither of you want it to stop.

You hand him a bottle and twist the cap off your own as you pop open the bag of chips. You take a slow swig of the beer, the condensation from the bottle dripping over your lips and down your chin. You chuckle and wipe it away with the back of your hand.

“You’re making this awful difficult.” Miguel grumbles as you set your beer down on the other nightstand before looking over to see him smouldering down at you. His eyes are glassy, his lips parted as he loops his arm around your shoulders.

“Making what difficult?” You ask as you bat your eyelashes up at him, leaning into his embrace as you tilt your head up.

“Keeping your promise to Jason.”

His voice is strained as he places his beer bottle down, not looking away for a second. You smile to yourself at the fact he’s probably able to sense the placement of the coaster or something, one of his many Spider-skills.

You wonder what else he can sense.

“That promise was made months ago, Miguel. And under different circumstances.”

“That so?” He murmurs as he reaches up to cup your face, hesitating long enough that you grab his wrist and press his hand to your cheek for him.

“I thought you were just a hot piece of ass back then.”

“Oh yeah? And what am I to you now?”

“A hot piece of ass,” you start, a wide grin pulling at the corners of your mouth as Miguel’s plush lips curve up in amusement. “But I also like you, Miguel. Like, really like you.”

“I like you too, and you’re not too awful to look at either.”

Your eyes go wide in faux outrage as you swat at his chest with a flat hand.

“You wanna go and sleep on the floor next to my brother, O’Hara? Because I can arrange that.”

You pout up at him, your hand still lingering on his chest. You can feel his heart racing under the suit, reverberating through your fingertips and sending ripples of warmth through you. Your thighs clamp together in an attempt to soothe the ache building in your core.

“No, don’t want to be anywhere but here.”

“Good.”

The hand cupping your cheek moves up gently to push back the hood of your costume. You know your hair is a mess underneath, but you don’t care. You mirror his actions and slip your fingers under his mask, his skin is hot under your touch, and you pull the mask off gently.

His hair is a perfect mess of wavy locks, somehow undeterred by the night under a tight mask. You smirk to yourself as you scoot closer, your knees firmly pressed against his thigh.

“So, you’re the man under the mask, I didn’t expect Spider-Man to be Latino.” You chuckle gently but Miguels’ body goes rigid, and you realise the slip-up too late.

“What did you say?” Miguel’s voice is tight. His hands fall from your face as he sits up, looking at you with a furrowed brow.

“That I didn’t expect Batman to be Latino?”

You try in earnest to sell the lie, but you’re panicking now. This fuck-up could ruin everything.

“I think you said Spider-Man.” Miguel’s tone is flat as he stares at you, pushing you to say something.

“That’s weird, I meant Batman. No idea where Spider-man came from!”

“Yeah, weird.”

There’s an awkward silence as you realise you’ve killed the mood. You feel the sting of rejection under your skin, burning through you as you force yourself to look back at the film. You shift over on the bed, giving him space as you try not to spiral, but you can already feel bitter tears burning at the back of your eyes. You can’t hold it in any longer, so you pause the film.

“I’m going to go clean up and put on some other clothes,” you say, voice trembling as you try not to look at him. “There’s a pair of your sweatpants and one of your hoodies in the second dresser drawer from that time I got caught in the rain after work.”

You don’t wait for him to respond, quickly hopping off the bed and grabbing your sleep shorts and an oversized Iron Heart t-shirt. You shut the door behind you quietly before making your way to the bathroom.

~*~

Miguel seethes as he sits on the edge of the bed, his clothes laid out next to him as he slowly peels off the suit. He’s pretty sure it was an honest mistake. You couldn’t know his secret, could you?

His fangs and claws extend out as he gets more and more worked up. His paranoia might’ve just cost him the chance to finally cross over from being your best friend to being something more.

“Pendejo.”

He curses himself as he strips down to his boxer briefs, piling the suit next to the nightstand and pulling on the sweatpants. It’s only when he pulls the hoodie over his head that he smells you on his clothes. His lips part as he pulls the garment on, your scent surrounding him like a warm embrace as he feels his cock twitch.

He hears the doorknob jostle as you make your way back into the room. He turns away quickly, trying to force his fangs and claws to retract. He manages it just as you shut the door behind you, any evidence of his affliction hidden before you can see.

His heart clenches in his chest as he takes in the way your eyes are glassy, rimmed with red. You’ve been crying and he feels like a pit has opened up beneath him.

Miguel closes the distance between you in one long stride. He falls to his knees before you, cupping your cheeks as he looks up at you with such sorrow it threatens to break your heart.

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry,” he breathes as he rubs his thumbs over your cheeks.

“Nothing to apologise for. It’s not your fault I misread the situation. I get it, let’s just watch the film.” Your heart feels like it’s being crushed in a hydraulic press as you try to put on a brave face.

“That’s not it,” he says with a soft exhale. “I just- I’m scared.”

“I am too Miguel. I’ve never felt so strongly about someone, let alone this quickly. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me. I promise.”

Your heart clenches at that, knowing that he can’t make that promise – not with who he is. Neither of you can be fully honest, but you can’t wait any longer. You’ll take his word for now.

“Take me to bed.” You whisper as you turn your head in his hands, pressing a soft, barely-there kiss to the base of his thumb.

Miguel gets to his feet without a word, lowering his hands from your face. He laces his fingertips through your own and pulls you gently towards the bed. He sits down on the edge, legs spread wide as he makes room for you to stand between them. The navy sweatpants do nothing to hide the sizeable bulge of his erection and you can’t help but stare as Miguel chuckles.

“We’ll take it slow, don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I want to, I really want to.” You breathe as you lift yourself up, manoeuvring yourself to straddle his thighs. You drape your arms over his shoulders as you lower yourself onto his lap.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers as you lean forward, noses touching as you nod.

“Please.”

Your lips messily collide as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him as you grind down on his cock. His other hand engulfs the back of your head, fingertips digging possessively into your neck.

You lick against the seam of his lips and the feral snarl that escapes his mouth has you whining as you press your tongue into his mouth. Your tongues clash as you grind down harder on his cock. Your fingers tug and pull at the soft curls at the base of his skull and he bucks up against you as he pulls your bottom lip between his own.

“Too many clothes,” he growls against your lips as he plays with the hem of your t-shirt. You nod frantically as you hold your arms up, letting him peel your t-shirt off in one swift action.

‘A little too swift’ you think to yourself, but all conscious thought is blocked out as you feel the brush of Miguel’s plush lips on your right breast, followed by the press of his broad, warm palm on the other. You groan as he palms your skin, taking your nipple between his teeth as he flicks the hardened peak with his tongue.

“So beautiful,” he groans against your skin as he rolls his hips up, grinding up against your clothed core.

“Fuck- feels so good,” you whine as the wetness between your legs grows. You’re sure to have left a damp patch on Miguel’s crotch by now.

“God, you’re so fucking handsome,” Miguel mumbles almost bashfully. You feel a wave of euphoria wash over you as you pull his head back to look down at his dark eyes splintered with red.

“You called me handsome.” You breathe as tears well in your eyes.

“Is- Is that ok?” he asks as he looks up at you, eyes full of doubt.

“It’s more than ok – it’s perfect,” you say as you cup his strong jaw in one hand and tug on the hem of his hoodie with the other.

“Too many clothes,” you say with a wink before you start to yank the material over his broad torso.

The moment your bare chests connect, you’re done for. He’s so broad, his skin searing hot against yours as you rake your fingernails down his back, fusing yourself to him as his lips latch onto your neck, sucking hungry marks into your flesh as pleasure streaks across your vision.

“Miguel,” you whine as you pull him away. You can’t stand to wait any longer.

“What is it? What do you need?”

“You.”

In one surprisingly graceful movement, you slip off his lap and shimmy your sleep shorts down, turning to give Miguel a bit of a show. You’re rewarded with a low hum as you hear him shift behind you.

Before you have the chance to turn and see what he’s doing, you feel his presence behind you, just like when you were filling up the chip bowls at the party. His large hands splay across your exposed skin possessively, fingertips digging into your hips.

“Gotcha.”

This time, you don’t playfully fight back. This time, you let him pull you back against him. You whine softly as his larger form curls around you, his lips brushing against a spot just below your ear as he presses the length of his dick against the seam of your ass. It’s sticky and wet with precome and you tremble as his tip ghosts over the rim of your asshole.

You arch back into him, pressing against him a little too hard as you feel a small stretch of the tight ring of muscle. Miguel shudders behind you as he pushes your hips forward.

“Way too eager, gatita. Where’d all that fight go, huh?”

“Who says this isn’t part of an elaborate plan, Big Stuff?”

You turn your head to the side, angling your face up to press your lips to Miguel’s jaw. You bring one hand up to cup Miguel’s face, pulling him in to kiss you as you reach around behind you with the other to trail along his length. He’s thick, his soft velvety skin confirming your suspicions that he’s uncut. You can’t get a good grip from this angle, not that it matters because as soon as he feels your touch, he snaps.

Miguel groans against your lips before dipping his tongue inside your mouth, giving you no warning before he spins you around and hoists you up around his waist. He turns around to drop you onto the bed, his large form pressing down on top of you as he kneels between your legs.

Your eyes roam over his sculpted pecs and hard abs, then you see his cock and your mouth goes dry. He’s beautiful.

“Like what you see?” Miguel chuckles as he squeezes the base of his cock in one hand before slowly pulling back his foreskin to reveal his weeping tip.

“You really have to ask?” you purr as you grab his free hand, spreading your legs wider and guiding his large fingers to your slick folds.

‘Fuck’ is all Miguel can manage before he’s hoisting your calves over his shoulders.

Once again, he’s moving a little too fast, getting sloppy as his desire takes over the logical part of his brain.

His breath ghosts against your thighs and you squirm as he parts your lips with his thick fingers before running them up to your clit, pressing firmly against the swollen bud as you hiss at the burst of pleasure that rocks through you.

“Please Miguel, just fucking eat my pussy already,” you huff impatiently, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at him. His eyes lock onto yours as he licks a long, slow stripe through your folds. He moans at the taste, sending low vibrations through your cunt.

He devours you slowly, savouring every twitch of your body, every drop of your arousal as he fucks you with his tongue, the thick muscle pressing deep inside you. You clench around nothing as he moves back up to your clit. He rolls his tongue around it torturously slow as you buck your hips up to chase the friction.

Your legs begin to tremble as he suckles on your clit and brings a finger up to your entrance, pressing slowly into you as you bite your lip, suddenly remembering your sleeping brother in the other room. You clamp your legs around Miguel’s shoulders as you feel yourself getting close. The way his finger curls and presses into your g-spot is almost too much as you whimper pathetically at every push of his finger inside you and every flick of his tongue against your clit.

“Miguel.” You cry out, unable to stop yourself this time as your vision splinters and blurs as the tight coil of pleasure in your core snaps. You come hard around him, your pussy clamping down on his finger as he continues to suck on your clit, his tongue licking hard, broad strokes as you quiver and tremble beneath him.

You’re about to push him away, overstimulation getting too much, but he preempts you as he rocks back onto his knees. He removes your legs from his shoulders with a feather-light touch. His hands ghost up the outside of your thighs and he smiles down at you, slick covering his lips, his chin, even his nose and you feel the heat rise up in your cheeks as you realise how much of a mess you made.

“C’mere.”

You hold your arms out, beckoning him into your embrace and he leans down slowly, his broad hips forcing your thighs apart a little as his dick rests heavily against your cunt. Miguel rests his elbows either side of your head as he leans in to kiss you. Your lips brush for less than a second before you’re running your tongue across his lips, tasting yourself before his tongue slides over your own. You moan as they meet outside of your mouths, twisting together between you.

Your slips slot back over one another as you feel Miguel’s dick twitch and you grind up against him, desperate to have him inside you. You let him claim your mouth as his large form presses you into the bed. It’s overwhelming in the best way, he never lets his full weight rest on you, but it’s just enough to make you desperate for more.

“Fuck me.”

You whisper against his lips as you both come up for air. His dark eyes seem to bore into your very soul as he smirks at your request. He shifts his balance, freeing up a hand to cup your face as he presses his forehead against yours. You smile at the gentle gesture as you loop your arms around his neck, holding you together in the surprisingly tender moment.

“You got condoms?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“I’ve got an IUD, and I recently got screened, came back all clear.”

“I did too, funnily enough, and it came back clear as well. Do you trust me?”

You share a look, realising that this was always going to happen tonight, no matter what, you’d both come prepared for this moment. You’d passed the point of no return the moment his hands fell to your hips at the start of the party.

“With my life.”

His smile is infectious as he bites his lip almost bashfully. He returns his attention to his cock and he looks up at you with a hesitant look.

“I’m not small, so please, let me know if it’s too much, ok?”

“I will.”

Miguel pulls back, looking like he wants to say something else, but he seems to mentally shake himself before moving his hand down your body. He brushes his knuckles against your nipples before trailing his fingers along your sternum before shifting slightly on the bed as he grabs the base of his cock. He lines it up at your core and you nod firmly up at him as he hesitates.

The stretch is blinding as he presses his tip in, just enough to make you squirm, desperate for more but already feeling the hot burn as he opens you up. You pant and whine as he eases in further, pausing every so often to let you adjust. All the while you twist your fingers in his soft locks at the nape of his neck. Your fingertips scrape against his scalp as he finally bottoms out.

You’re impossibly full and you feel another orgasm building from just being stuffed with his cock. But you need more, you need him to move. Your hot breaths mingle together, the pair of you panting desperately as you wrap your ankles loosely around Miguel’s waist.

“Gotta go slow, can’t risk waking Jason if we start banging the headboard against the wall.”

“Makes sense.” You whisper, a giggle bubbling in the back of your throat at the somewhat bizarre nature of it all.

The moment he begins to move you’re already fighting the urge to moan, to cry out and scream his name as you feel the heavy weight of him rake through you. He lets out a shaky breath as he pulls almost all the way out. He seems to hesitate and before he can ask if you’re ok you pressure your heels against the small of his back as you pull him down by the shoulders to kiss you.

You fist one hand in his hair, dropping the other to your clit so you can start urging yourself to the edge. You gasp as Miguel obeys your silent demand, rocking his hips forward to fill you up again. The combined pleasures of your fingers on your swollen bundle of nerves and Miguel stretching you out has you groaning into his mouth.

Your tongue assaults his, claiming his mouth as he claims your cunt with his cock. His thrusts get faster, just enough momentum to have you bucking your hips up every time he seats himself fully inside you. It’s merciful that he isn’t so big that your cervix isn’t taking a beating even on the deeper, harder thrusts.

“Fuck Miguel you’re fucking perfect, so fucking perfect.” You babble as you come up for air, you look down to see where you connect, and your head falls against his shoulder as you watch his length pump in and out of you. It’s pornographic how wet you are, and how easily he splits you in two.

“No, that’s all you baby, been dreaming about this and none of them compares to the real thing. You’re so fucking hot, and ‘feel so fucking good.”

Miguel’s voice is a whisper in your ear as he nips gently at your lobe, sucking the soft flesh as he snaps his hips hard. You bite into his shoulder hard, unable to control your strangled moan as he hits your g-spot again and again as his thrusts become harder, faster.

You almost worry about the noises your bed is starting to make as he seemingly forgets about the whole “being quiet” idea.

But the way pleasure is dripping down your spine like hot wax, pooling and overflowing with every circular motion over your clit, every deep, rolling thrust of Miguel’s cock inside you, you couldn’t care less who heard you.

Sweat beads on your brow as you cling to Miguel with one hand, digging your nails in deep enough to break the skin. He growls deep in his chest at this, and all notion of being quiet lays in tatters as he ruts into you so hard you see stars. You’re coming hard around his cock as you rub frantically at your clit.

His lips find yours as he stills inside you, his body quivering as he licks into your pliable mouth. With every jerk of his hips, you feel the warmth of his spend leaking out of you as you languidly drag your tongue over his. You tug him just that little bit deeper with your ankles, pulling him impossibly tight as you groan into his mouth.

You break the kiss as you feel him softening inside you. You run your fingers through his damp locks as he beams down at you, breathing heavily through his nose. You stay there for what seems to be an eternity before sense tells you to get up and pee.

“Alright, as much as it’s a romantic cliché to fall asleep in each other’s arms, I need to clean up first.”

He laughs and places a soft kiss to your nose before easing back out of you. You can’t believe how empty you feel as your combined spend leaks out of you and onto your sheets. You dress quickly and pop your head out into your living room, the heavy snores of your brother a relief as you tiptoe over to the bathroom. Miguel follows soon after you’re done, and you give him a chaste kiss as you leave him to tidy up himself.

You grab a throw blanket from the end of the sofa and drape it over your brother before heading back into your room.

You sit in the middle of the bed, back against the headboard as you sip on one of the bottles of water Miguel brought in earlier. You consider restarting the film, but the moment he walks back in there’s nothing else on your mind.

His hair is slicked back, the smell of your soap wafting through the air.

“Hey.” You squeak as you look at him with fresh eyes.

“Hey, any room on the bed for me? Or you going to throw me out on to the street now you’ve had your wicked way with me?”

“Dunno, you’re a pretty good lay O’Hara,” you cock your head as you pretend to consider your options. “I think I’ll keep you around for now.”

“What an honour,” Miguel chuckles as he eases himself onto the bed, both of you choosing to ignore the wet patch you’d decided to cover up by folding the comforter over it.

You shift over to give him room, only to snuggle into his side as soon as he gets comfortable. You wrap your arm across his chest and hook one of your legs over his thigh. He leans back and drapes an arm around you, pulling you in tight.

“So, do you want to start the movie again?” Miguel whispers into your hair as he rests his chin on your head.

“Sure, I’m not tired all of a sudden,” you say with a breathy laugh.

You roll over and grab a small remote from your nightstand and rewind the stream. Miguel gives you a funny look and you grin sheepishly up at him.

“So you didn’t need to bend over and show me your ass earlier?”

“Maybe,” You say with a playful lilt to your voice, “But you’re glad I did right?”

“Course, I’d do anything to see you bent over like that, gives me some ideas for next time.”

“Next time eh?” You feel your stomach flip at the thought of being with Miguel like this again.

“Mhm, unless you have any objections?”

“None at all, now watch the film.” You protest, huffing as you realise you’ve missed the iconic “Do you like Scary Movies?” line.

“Yess Boss.” He breathes as he does as he’s told. The pet name has you grinning like a Cheshire Cat as you try and focus on the film.

You still can’t quite believe you actually fucked your brother’s best friend, and you can’t ignore that this whole situation will cause issues for you all going forward.

But right now, all you want to think about is how tightly pressed you are against your favourite person in the whole world. And how no matter what, you’re going to make this work.

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coldflasher · 3 years

Text

Title: don’t threaten me with a good time Chapters: 1/1 Length: 7.7k Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014) Rating: Gen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Minor/Background Relationships: Cisco Ramon/Kamilla Hwang, Barry Allen/Iris West Characters: Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon, Kamilla Hwang, Caitlin Snow, Killer Frost, Iris West, Leonard Snart, Original Male Characters Additional Tags: Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, Bisexual Barry Allen, The Flash 7x12 Good-bye Vibrations.

Kamilla leaned forwards to read the front page. “The Barry Allen Drunkenness Scale.” Bemused, she looked up. “What’s this? “This,” said Cisco, “is the result of a great deal of research and a number of hard-earned lessons.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, pulling the folder towards them. “There are eight stages of Drunk Barry, each one with a varying level of severity. It begins with stage one.”

Inspired by the Santiago Drunkenness Scale from Brooklyn-99. Team Flash are throwing a party to celebrate Kamilla and Cisco’s departure from Central City, and Kamilla wants to make sure they go out with a bang. But with great power comes great responsibility, and sometimes responsibility means making sure your friend doesn’t break the sound barrier by doing the worm at Mach 2.

Read on AO3

@dctvgen (i hope this is okay!! didn’t really use any prompts but i had this one saved up and seemed like a good time to post it, lmk it’s not suitable!!)

Life came at you fast. After seven years being besties with a speedster, working to save the world, Cisco knew that to be true in more ways than one. But apparently despite everything he’d seen, it still had the capacity to surprise on him.

One minute the thought of leaving Central City had been a vague, abstract thought – a ‘what-if’ or a ‘maybe’ he dwelled upon whenever yet another crisis announced itself with a shower of broken glass raining into his Vibeuccino, or when he’d compared the news in Central City, which was all doom and gloom and murderous metas, to somewhere nice and peaceful like Keystone, where the biggest news story of the day was some kid winning the national Spelling Bee Championship. Then the job offer came in, and Kamilla had tested the waters with wanting to leave – and now their stuff was all packed and in boxes, he had a start date at ARGUS, and what had been a daydream was now a very clear reality. He’d hung up the gloves, said a final goodbye to Vibe.

It was the other goodbyes that were going to be the hard part.

“It just feels weird, you know?” he said, pausing in the middle of hanging bunting from the corner of the cortex. “We’re saying goodbye to everyone we know. This has been my life for almost eight years now. Team Flash are my family. It feels weird to celebrate leaving all that behind.”

“Don’t think of it as a celebration of what we’re leaving behind,” said Kamilla, who was sat at the desk, partway through ordering pizza. “Think of it as a celebration of everything we’ve accomplished. Making friends and building inventions and saving the world! I know it’s difficult and change can be scary, but it doesn’t have to be. We’ve done amazing things, and I think it’s important to honour that.”

Cisco sighed as he successfully stuck the flags to the wall. He climbed down from the table he was stood on and joined her at the desk in his usual chair, pushing himself back and forth with his foot. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right. I’m not getting cold feet, I promise. I’m excited. We’re going to make this work. We’ve done amazing things, and we’re going to do even more. Together.”

Kamilla beamed. “That’s the spirit.” She held out her hand for a fist-bump.

Grinning, Cisco returned it. “You’re such a dork.”

“Which is exactly why you love me,” Kamilla countered, with a few final clicks and a flourish as she placed the pizza order. She consulted the list on her phone. “Okay, so we’ve got the cake, the decorations, the drinks, and the pizza is in transit. There’s just one more thing we need.”

She slid past him and made her way towards the small metallic fridge tucked away in the corner. Kamilla typed in the passcode 05-20-80 – the release date of The Empire Strikes Back – and the fridge unlocked with a clunk, revealing two test tube holders – one containing a single emergency vial of Velocity IX, and another that held eight tubes of liquid a few shades lighter than blood.

Cisco glanced over, bemused. “Babe, did you stash your Kraft beers in my security fridge? Because that seems a little excessive.”

Kamilla eased the second rack of tubes off the shelf like a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven. “No, I’m just getting a couple of vials of 500 proof for Barry. I didn’t want him to feel left out of the festivities.”

Cisco had met a lot of speedsters in his time, but in that moment he was pretty sure he moved faster than any of them as he sprinted across the room to intercept. Startled, Kamilla jerked back and the test tubes clinked together like champagne glasses mid-toast.

“Sorry, can we just back up a little bit – you’re what now?” said Cisco.

“I’m grabbing some drinks for Barry,” Kamilla repeated slowly. “This is his special speedster booze, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Cisco said nervously. “It is, but…”

“But…?” Kamilla prompted.

“Listen,” he said, hands up in a pacifying gesture. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but that is a highly controlled substance and it’s really in everyone’s best interests if you put it back.”

Kamilla grew wide-eyed. “Why? Is it dangerous?”

“I mean, if any normal person drank it, it’d pretty much liquidize their insides, but that’s not the problem.”

As he spoke, Cisco headed over to the shelf on the wall, ran his fingers along the various binders tucked onto the shelf, and pulled one off. Cisco carried it over to the table, pushed aside the keyboard and laid the folder flat in front of her.

“The problem,” he said, flipping it open, “is this.”

Kamilla leaned forwards to read the front page. “The Barry Allen Drunkenness Scale.” Bemused, she looked up. “What’s this?”

“This,” said Cisco, “is the result of a great deal of research and a number of hard-earned lessons.” He picked up the metal test tube rack and returned it to the fridge, his fingers flying across the buttons to input the code before he slid the vials back into place. “It’s also the reason why this stuff doesn’t leave the lab except in dire emergencies, including but not limited to break-ups, deaths and severe metahuman disasters.” Decisively, he closed the fridge and it locked again with a clunk and a beep.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you are fortunate enough to have never before encountered an inebriated Barry Allen,” said Cisco. “Let me walk you through it.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, pulling the folder towards them. “There are nine stages of Drunk Barry, each one with a varying level of severity. It starts with stage one.”

1 DRINK BARRY: A LITTLE CLINGY

One of Barry’s many wonderful qualities is his propensity for affection. Unimpeded by the bounds of modern-day toxic masculinity, 1 Drink Barry generously bestows physical affection on everyone he encounters. To put it plainly: he’s a hugger.

Standing outside Barry and Iris’ front door, Cisco checked his watch.

Usually at this time of night, he’d be hanging out in the cortex watching the red dot darting around on the monitor as Barry did a lap of the city, or in his lab tinkering with some new invention. Tonight, though, was different. They’d all agreed work was off-limits – time to take a hard-earned break. Cisco had been looking forward to it all week, but he guessed the rest of Team Flash didn’t share his enthusiasm, because they were late. That wasn’t like Caitlin at all. Shrugging, he lifted his hand to knock.

The click of heels made him turn just in time to see Caitlin bouncing up the stairs in her heels. “Hi, I’m here! Sorry I’m late; Frost and I couldn’t agree on an outfit.” She leaned in. “Did you bring the, uh…”

Cisco slid a silver flask out of his pocket slightly. “Sure did.”

“Then I guess we’re ready to go!”

“Damn right. …Ladies first?”

Caitlin knocked. They waited, listening to the rattle of six locks being unfastened one at a time, until the door opened to reveal Iris standing on the threshold wearing a tight red dress and a leather jacket.

Cisco whistled. “Damn. You look good.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” said Iris as she stepped back from the door to allow them entry. “Barry will be down in a second, he got held up at work, so he’s a little behind –”

There was a whoosh and a crackle of lightning, and Barry skidded to a stop beside her with windswept hair and a grin. “Here! Hey, guys.”

“Oh. Famous last words.” Iris reached for her purse and swung it onto her shoulder. “Well I’m also running late, so I’d better get going. You guys have fun! And try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I’m afraid we can’t make any promises, cos everybody knows there ain’t no party like a Team Flash party!” said Cisco. “You sure you don’t wanna come with us? It’s gonna be one hell of a night.”

“Thank you, but I’m going out with a couple of the girls from CCPN tonight, so… rain check?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Cisco warned.

“You’d better.” She rested her hand on Barry’s arm. “I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Barry, and he leaned in for a kiss.

“Boo! Get a room!” Cisco hollered.

Iris rolled her eyes fondly. “Goodbye, Cisco,” she said, and headed out.

Cisco sighed. “And then there were three.” He looked from Barry to Caitlin and back again, stretching out on the sofa. “Okay, drinks!” He headed into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and three glasses in the other.

“Uh, isn’t the drinking supposed to start after you leave the house?” asked Caitlin.

“Only if you’re an amateur! You always have a drink or two before going out on the town. It’s financially savvy.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Barry when Cisco offered him a glass. “No use wasting perfectly good alcohol when it doesn’t even touch the sides.”

“That,” said Cisco, “is why you’ll be drinking this.” He pulled out a silver flask from inside the breast pocket of his blazer. “I call it 500 Proof 2,” he said, and held it dramatically aloft like Frodo holding the one ring.

Caitlin wrinkled her nose. “Really?” she said.

“The name’s a work in progress,” he admitted. “But the drink itself…” He kissed the flask. “She’s ready to go.”

Barry eyed the flask warily. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, you’ve earned it. The city can manage without the Flash for one night. Go on, live a little.” When Barry continued to look skeptical, Cisco started to chant. “Barry, Barry, Barry–”

Grinning, Caitlin joined in. Barry endured it for all of thirty seconds before he rolled his eyes and snatched the flask. Caitlin and Cisco both cheered.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” said Cisco.

He splashed wine into his and Caitlin’s glasses, and passed one to her. She took it with a twinkle in her eye.

“All right, Team Flash!” Cisco whooped, and they clinked their glasses against Barry’s flask before they all drank.

Barry pulled a face. “Jesus! That’s – that’s potent.” He coughed, eyes watering.

“You’re welcome,” said Cisco. “We made a couple of tweaks to the formula. It should stay in your system longer instead of just burning off in thirty seconds flat like the first batch.”

“It tastes like rocket fuel!”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll put some hairs on your chest,” Cisco said dismissively.

“You can say that again,” muttered Barry, massaging his chest.

“Speaking of hairs on your chest,” said Caitlin, curling up comfortably in her seat. “Did they grow back yet?”

“Not entirely,” admitted Barry. “It’s sort of a peach fuzz.”

“That’ll teach you not to get so close to my experiments,” said Cisco.

“Maybe it’ll teach you to label them better,” said Caitlin.

“Really? Don’t do me like that!”

“Sorry, it’s true.”

This triggered a bout of good-natured bickering as they debated the results of some of Cisco’s more disastrous experiments. Before long they were all laughing, loosened up by the drinks. Barry, who was perched on the arm of Caitlin’s chair, leaned against her.

“I love you guys, you know that?”

“We love you too, Barr – ooof! Oh. Okay,” said Caitlin, bewildered. Barry had slid off the arm of the chair and squeezed up next to her, taking up half the chair like a Great Dane still trying to sit in its owner’s lap.

“Look at him, he’s getting tipsy already,” Cisco teased.

“Shhh.” Barry rested his head contentedly on Caitlin’s shoulder. Amused, she patted his knee.

Cisco downed the rest of his drink. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

He offered Caitlin his hand – only to have Barry grab it instead. Then he grabbed Caitlin’s hand too.

“Oh, we’re holding hands?” said Cisco. “Is that a thing we do now?”

“It is when we’re running,” Barry said, grinning.

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Oh. No, no, no runni–”

The rest of her sentence was lost to the wind.

2 DRINK BARRY: KINDA CLUMSY

When Barry became a speedster, he gained a massive boost in motor functions, including enhanced reflexes that have massively improved his coordination. Prior to this transformation, his ability to walk unhindered across a flat surface was roughly equal to that of Bella Swan from Twilight. Two-Drink Barry is harmless, but he must be kept at a safe distance from breakable objects.

Okay, so travelling at super speed sucked – Cisco would stick to breaches from now on, than you very much – but he had to admit it had its advantages. They’d beaten the evening rush by minutes and found themselves a table, where they had been comfortably situated for the past half hour. Since then the bar had filled rapidly, and now they were surrounded by people. Glasses clinked, bodies gyrated. All around them was laughter and the throb of music; he could feel the buzz of the bass against his elbows where they rested on the table.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” asked Caitlin. “No monsters, no metahumans… just the three of us having a few quiet drinks.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Cisco said darkly. “Also, I don’t know that the ‘drinks’ part is entirely accurate. The fastest man alive is about to lose his title. Where the hell is he?” Barry had offered to get the next round, but that was ten minutes ago and they hadn’t seen him since. Frowning, Cisco and scanned the room.

Just as he had started to get concerned, the crowd parted and Barry appeared with three glasses in his hands.

“It’s about time! What took you?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Barry. “I got held up at the bar, there was a huge li–”

Whatever he’d been about to say next was cut off as he abruptly tripped over his own feet.

All three drinks spilled everywhere. Lightning flickered as he lurched forwards to try and intercept, and he managed to right the glasses, but not before the majority of their contents had ended up all over the table.

Cisco’s plastic cup floated across the tabletop in a puddle of dismally fizzing coke, which dripped steadily into his lap. Caitlin looked down at her soaked sweater, hands held up in shock. Her eyes flared white.

“This,” snarled Frost, “is a cashmere sweater.”

Barry’s eyes were wide. “Oh my God, guys, I am so sorry.”

With a jerk of her head, Caitlin regained control. “It’s fine,” she said, then winced, presumably in response to whatever Frost snarled in the back of her head. “Really. It happens to the best of us.” She pulled the sopping wet fabric away from her with a grimace. “Um… does anyone have a tissue?”

“Let me get some paper towels!” said Barry.

Cisco reached out to stop him. “Actually, Barr, maybe you should –”

But it was too late: Barry had already turned around and crashed into a guy going in the opposite direction, who slopped beer all over himself. Cisco winced sympathetically.

“I’m sorry!” Barry said, while the guy glared and shook his wet hands.

“Maybe you should take a seat,” said Cisco.

Still apologising profusely, Barry sank onto his stool and shrank in on himself, nursing what was left of his drink while Caitlin went to get something to clear up the mess.

“So I guess those adjustments we made to the 500 proof are working, huh?” Cisco said with a smirk.

“Oh, they’re working,” said Barry. “Speaking of which, can I get a top-up?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Caitlin asked, returning with a wad of paper towels. She started to mop up the table.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m not even buzzed, seriously. Tipsy at best. Come on, hit me.” He waved at his drink.

Cisco and Caitlin exchanged looks. There was a slight flush to Barry’s cheeks, and his eyes were a little brighter than usual, but other than that he seemed stable.

“I have wanted to study how the speedforce interacts with alcohol,” Caitlin admitted. “Metabolic processes aside, I am interested to measure the effects.”

“What the hell,” Cisco said. He unscrewed the cap of the flask and tipped it in to Barry’s glass, pouring a generous measure. “Knock yourself out.”

Barry beamed and picked up his drink. “Cheers,” he said, and they all clinked their half empty glasses.

Three Drink Barry: Barry Dance-Pants

This Barry is able to flawlessly replicate the choreography for every single Britney Spears music video unprompted. So far we have been unable to determine where he acquired this information.

They all agreed that it was best if Cisco got the next round. He didn’t retrieve the next lot of drinks any faster than Barry had – if anything, he was slower; people kept shoving in front of him every time he got close to the bar – but at least the glasses stayed upright this time. When he returned to the table, though, Caitlin was alone.

“Where’d Barry go?”

Caitlin frowned. “I thought he was with you.”

“Nope.” He passed her drink over to her.

Caitlin worried at her lower lip.

“Hey, don’t stress,” said Cisco. “Barry’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“I don’t know. He’s been gone a while, and he wasn’t exactly steady on his feet. He might hurt himself.”

“Good thing we have a doctor on call,” said Cisco, sipping his drink.

“That’s not funny. Seriously, I’m worried about him. I’m not sure he should be left unsupervised.”

She had a point. Speed and immense clumsiness wasn’t a great combination – they’d learned that the hard way. Cisco downed the rest of his drink with a grimace. “All right, let’s go look for him.”

They got up and headed out onto the dancefloor. The music was so loud that the entire room vibrated, Britney Spears’ Womanizer throbbing through the room. Caitlin pulled back and made a face as she almost inhaled a mouthful of some stranger’s coarse blonde hair. She batted it away like cobwebs.

“Ugh. Remind me why we decided to come out on the busiest night of the week?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” muttered Cisco, craning his neck. “Man, I can’t see him anywhere. It’s like playing Where’s Wally? Hey – hey, excuse me! Can I just squeeze – guys?” He attempted to slide past a knot of people, only to give up with a frustrated sigh. “Jesus, it’s like talking to a brick wall. What the hell are they looking at?”

Caitlin stood on her toes. “It looks like...” She stopped. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

She grabbed his arm and steered him through the crowd, using him as a battering ram to force her way through. Eventually, breathless and sweaty, they made it to the outskirts of the dancefloor, where Cisco finally got a good look at exactly what had captivated everyone’s attention.

Barry was in the middle of the dancefloor, tearing it up. He strutted up and down, squatted and slut-dropped before he arched his back and pumped his hips forward in several lewd thrusts. The crowd cheered.

“Oh my God,” said Caitlin.

“He is killing it!” Cisco cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Yes, Barry!”

Barry winked and blew a kiss, rolling over to air-hump the ground with an alarming level of enthusiasm.

“Should we maybe go over there?” asked Caitlin.

“In a second,” said Cisco. He held his phone up, pressed record and zoomed in on Barry’s gyrating body, careful to keep his face in shot. “I wanna get this for posterity’s sake.”

“Cisco!” Caitlin scolded, and reached out to cover the camera.

Cisco jerked the phone out of reach. “You are aware that his ringtone for you is still thirty seconds of you butchering Summer Lovin’?”

Caitlin pursed her lips. “On second thoughts,” she said. “I hope you’re getting this in HD.”

Cisco grinned and went back to recording.

“Okay, that’s a little embarrassing,” Kamilla conceded.

“That? That was iconic,” corrected Cisco. “The man has moves. I swear he was a professional dancer in another life. I still have that video; I’ll show you later if you ask me nicely…”

“I’ll hold you to it. But none of this explains why this stuff has to be so rigorously controlled. I mean, being clumsy, affectionate, kinda sloppy, tearing it up on the dancefloor… that sounds like pretty standard drunk behaviour.”

“The first three drinks aren’t the problem,” Cisco said darkly. “It’s what comes after that you have to worry about. See, drunk Barry is insatiable. One drink is never enough. Once he’s had a taste of that sweet, sweet 500 proof concentrated speedster juice, he won’t rest until he’s had more. And while he may be an icon, three-drink Barry soon gives way to…”

FOUR-DRINK BARRY: LOUD BARRY.

Barry Allen is a hero in every sense of the word. Time and time again he has sacrificed everything for the noble goal of making the world a better place. Barry doesn't save lives for the glory or the recognition; he does it because it's the right thing to do. But four-drink Barry… he thinks a little recognition might be nice.

The final chords of Womanizer faded out into a sea of applause. Beaming from ear to ear, Barry took a series of bows, flapping his hand as if to say, ‘oh, stop it!’ After a few more moments of thoroughly enjoying the spotlight, he disengaged from his loving admirers and headed back towards Cisco and Caitlin and slid breathlessly back into the booth. His sweaty hair stuck to his forehead.

“Where did that come from?” Cisco asked, impressed.

Barry shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Clearly. I think you just earned yourself another drink!”

Cisco handed him the flask, and Barry clinked it cheerfully against Cisco’s beer bottle before he tipped it back and swallowed with a grimace. His eyes watered.

“Damn. That never goes down any easier.”

“Well it is just concentrated alcohol,” Caitlin reminded him. “Speaking of which…” She pulled her testing kit out of her purse. “Four drinks should be more than enough to start showing some side-effects. Let me take a quick blood sample.” Before Barry could object, she stabbed a lancet into his finger.

“Ow!” Barry put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it.

“Everything okay there?”

They all turned. A blond man in a grey t-shirt stood a short distance away, looking at them in concern.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just hurt my finger.” He held it up ruefully.

Blondie moved closer. “Well it’s your lucky night: I’m a nurse. Why don’t you let me take a look?”

Cisco plastered on a smile. “That’s real nice of you, but our friend here is actually a doctor, so –”

Barry held out his hand, overriding Cisco’s objections. Blondie took it and examined it, tracing his palm with the tip of his finger. Cisco rolled his eyes hard and took another swallow of his drink.

“I was just watching you out on the dancefloor,” Blondie said. “Those were some impressive moves.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Barry said modestly.

“No, it was definitely something. If I busted out a routine like that I’d be laid up for a week. What’s your secret?”

“Funny you should say that, cos…” Barry leaned in and said impishly, “I’m actually the Flash.”

Cisco choked on his drink. It went straight up his nose; his sinuses were on fire. He coughed hard, eyes watering.

“Are you okay, man?” the stranger asked concernedly.

“Great,” Cisco managed.

Satisfied, Blondie’s attention returned to Barry. “Well, I think your finger’s okay.” His thumb pressed against the inside of Barry’s wrist and his forehead creased slightly. “Your pulse is pretty fast, though.”

“Is it?” Barry said, resting his chin on his hand. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes.

Blondie released him, but he showed no signs of leaving. He looked Barry appraisingly up and down. “So you’re the Flash, huh?”

“Yep,” Barry said. His eyes twinkled. “Fastest man alive.”

“Mm. Maybe we’ll have to test that.”

At this point, Cisco decided, enough was enough. He slapped Barry on the back hard enough to make him stagger and complain, “Ow!”

“Ha!” he said. “This guy. He’s a kidder, right? A real riot. Hey, uh, Barry, can I talk to you for a second?”

Before Barry could object, Cisco had grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him out of the main bar area into the corridor, where there was a line of people waiting for the bathroom. Out here it was cooler and while he could still feel the throb of the music through the sticky soles of his sneakers, at least he could hear himself think.

“Dude,” he said. “Seriously? What the hell?”

“Oh, come on. It’s just a little harmless flirting. Iris and I, we have an agreement–”

“I’m not talking about the flirting! You can’t just –” Cisco stopped and made himself take a very deep breath before he lowered his voice. “You can’t just tell people you’re the freaking Flash!”

Barry gave a slow, confused blink. “But I am the Flash.”

He didn’t say it quietly. Several heads turned their way.

Cisco gave an uncomfortable laugh and rolled his eyes, before darting them at Barry like, ‘this guy, am I right?’ After a moment, the bystanders lost interest and went back to their conversation, and Cisco lowered his voice. “I know that, Barry, but it’s a secret, remember?”

“A secret?” Barry’s eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh! Right, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You know what? It’s all good. Just a little misunderstanding. But uh, let’s keep that one under wraps from now on, okay? Lips…” He mimed zipping up his mouth.

Barry nodded dutifully. “Got it.”

“Okay.” Cisco exhaled heavily. Jesus. Babysitting a drunken speedster was hard work.

Barry patted him on the shoulder. “M’gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in…” He held up two fingers. “Two seconds.”

“You’d better be. And remember –” He made the zipping motion again.

Barry imitated it, pretending to lock his mouth up and tossed away the imaginary key. Then he went to join the queue.

Feeling like he’d just aged a decade, Cisco made his way back to their booth. Mercifully, Blondie had gone to chat up some twink at the bar. Cisco sank back onto his stool and buried his head in his hands.

Caitlin, who was squeezing a few droplets of Barry’s blood onto a testing strip, made a sympathetic sound. “Not having a good time, huh?”

“I’d be having a great time if Black Canary over there could quit singing about his secret identity for five freaking minutes.” Cisco snatched the silver flask off the table and screwed the cap back on with a sharp twist. “We’re cutting him off right now, before we get into any more trouble.”

“Oh, come on, cut him a little slack. He doesn’t exactly get to let loose very often.”

“There’s letting loose and then there’s whatever the hell this is.” Cisco shook his head. “It’s like –”

A high-pitched shriek cut him off, and Cisco grimaced as it rang throughout the room. Everyone turned to the source of the commotion – and Cisco’s heart sank. Barry stood on the stage, fumbling with the microphone stand.

“Is this thing on?”

“Oh God,” said Caitlin.

Cisco launched himself at the stage, fighting through the crowd. As he did, Barry continued to ramble into the mic.

“Hi. My name’s Barry, Barry Allen, and I just wanted to say something real quick. Because I love this city. It’s like… my favourite city. And I love all of you. Especially you.” He pointed unsteadily at someone in the crowd and gave a clumsy wink. “Anyway, I’m gonna tell you a secret while I’m here. You guys can keep a secret, right? Shhh!” He put his fingers on his lips. “See, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but…” He leaned in so close that his lips brushed against the mic. “I’m the Fla –”

Just in time, Cisco jerked the mic away from him. “Flaaa–ha! Okay, that’s quite enough of that. I think my buddy here needs some air. Come on, Barry, let’s go.”

Luckily, Barry didn’t resist. He whooshed cheerfully as Cisco shunted him back to their booth and into his seat, then lolled sideways against Caitlin, who – with reflexes well-honed from constantly grabbing flying paperwork – managed to save her testing kit from being swept off the table.

Barry giggled. “I’m fast,” he said.

“Okay,” Cisco said resignedly. He turned to Caitlin. “Got any better ideas?”

She shrugged. “Pray that six-drink Barry is a little more tight-lipped?”

It sounded like a terrible idea. But when had that ever stopped them? With a shake of his head, Cisco withdrew the flask from his pocket.

“Hold on.” Caitlin’s voice had dropped an octave, and silver began to creep down from the roots of her hair. “I wanna see this,” said Frost. “It’s gonna be a total shitshow.”

Unfortunately, Cisco suspected she was right. He splashed more alcohol into Barry’s glass. “Here you go, big guy. Drink up.”

Barry looked down at his drink and frowned. “Can I get ice in this?”

Frost passed her hand over the glass and a chunk of ice dropped to the bottom with a clink.

“Awesome,” Barry said, and downed it.

“Oh God,” said Cisco. “We are so gonna regret this.”

“Okay,” said Kamilla, looking up from the binder. “I think I’m kinda starting to see the problem. But we won’t have that issue tonight. Everyone at this party knows Barry’s the Flash.”

“Listen,” said Cisco. “Four-drink Flash is a cake-walk. The worst is yet to come.” He flipped the page. “Let me introduce you to five-drink Flash.”

5 DRINK BARRY: THERAPIST BARRY

Five-drink Barry got a little too invested in Iris’ Intro to Psychology textbook in college. He’s all heart, zero clinical training.

Leonard Snart lay back on his bunk in Iron Heights, one leg resting lazily over the other, flipping through a nudie magazine. At least, that was how it appeared from outside the cell. Tucked between the pages was a blueprint of the prison, which his sister had smuggled in during her last visit. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight.

One of the guards struck the bars with his baton. Len glanced up.

“Snart. Get your ass out here. We’ve got a phone call for you.”

“Who from?” Lisa didn’t usually call so soon after a visit, and Mick never called at all; the signal on the Waverider was terrible.

“What do you think I am, your PA? Just get your ass out here.”

Interest well and truly piqued, Len tossed his magazine aside, careful to make sure the blueprint stayed safely tucked between his pages as he crossed the cell and waited for the door to be unlocked. Given his status as a high security prisoner, the guard cuffed him before leading him to the payphone booth in the reception area, the walls marked with grease stains and graffiti. With some difficulty, Len picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Leonard Snart speaking. How may I be of service?”

The quality of the call wasn’t great. He could hear the throb of music, people talking and shrieking and laughing in the background.

Then a familiar voice said, “Snart? Is that you?”

Len’s forehead creased. “Barry?”

“Shmart. Snart.” Barry cleared his throat. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“…Peachy.” Len flicked a glance over his shoulder. The two prison guards stood watching him with folded arms and distinctly unimpressed expressions. “Can I ask if this is a business or a personal call? Because this isn’t exactly a secure line.”

“I just –” A loud, deep burp echoed down the line. “Wanted to check in n’ make sure you’re doin’ okay.”

“What?”

“Because I wanted you to know,” Barry said, his voice thick and indistinct, “that it’s okay not to be okay, you know? You shouldn’t bottle up your emotions. You gotta let ‘em out, you know? After everything you’ve been through with Lewis, I just wanted you to know that if you ever needed to talk…” He choked up, before recovering. “I’ll be here.”

“Barry, are you drunk?” Len said incredulously.

“See, there you go again, changing the subject. Have you ever noticed that you often use de… def… deflection as a way to avoid talking about difficult subjects?”

“I’m hanging up now,” said Len.

“No, no, no, no, wait! Wait!” Barry said urgently. “You need to talk about what bothers you. Don’t just bottle it up. Your emotions are a beautiful thing. Emotions are what make us–”

“Barry?” came another muffled voice on the other end of the line. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” Barry said immediately.

“Barry, give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Just give me the god damn –”

The sound of static and scuffles crackled down the line, and Len grimaced, lifting his head as far away from the speaker as he could to keep from being deafened. Over the commotion and the continued music blasting in the background, he could hear Barry shouting.

“You can be anything you want to be! Your past does not define you!”

“Okay,” said Len, and went to put the phone down.

“Wait!” said Barry. “Before you go, do you have a number for King Shark? Because I wanted to check in and make sure he’s doing okay. I know he looks scary, but underneath that slimy exterior he has the heart of a –”

Len rolled his eyes and hung up.

Sober Barry was a seasoned fighter, with speed, agility and hard-won experience on his side. Fortunately for Cisco, however, Drunk Barry’s combat skills comprised of slapping and some half-hearted attempts to bite, which meant that he was able to wrestle the phone away from him fairly easily. As he hung up, he glanced at the caller ID and blanched.

“Seriously? You’re making phone calls to Iron Heights? Are you gonna tell all the bad guys your secret identity too?” He held Barry’s phone up. “You know what? I’m keeping this; you clearly can’t be trusted.”

“My phone!” Barry said, and made a pathetic grab for it.

“Nope. Not happening, pal.” Cisco tucked it into his back pocket.

Barry pouted.

“Hey, don’t give me that look. I’m going to give it back later, I promise. I just need you to sober up first.”

“Okay,” Barry said sorrowfully. His bottom lip started to tremble.

“Oh, no,” Cisco said. “Not the lip – oh God, Barr, you’re breaking my heart here.”

“What’s happening?” asked Frost, returning to the table with two more beers, frost creeping down the side of the bottles. She gave a disinterested look at Barry, who was staring at the table with tears brimming in his eyes. He sniffed hard.

“Uh-oh,” said Cisco. “Six-drink Barry must be…”

SIX-DRINK BARRY: SAD BARRY

Shortly after his fifth drink, Barry loses his well-honed ability to repress and crumbles under the weight of well over a decade of trauma. In times of crisis, he can be medicated with chicken wings or, in a pinch, large servings of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

Cisco turned to Frost for help, but she inched away, rapidly shaking her head. Great, thought Cisco. Super helpful. He rubbed Barry’s back tentatively.

“Hey, Barry. You doing okay there, bud?”

Barry looked up. “I just got off the phone with Snart. He’s having a really hard time, you know? I mean, some people just can’t catch a break. He had a crappy abusive drunk for a father; he practically raised his sister. In and out of juvie, never graduated high school – and in spite of all of that, he comes up with these brilliant heists – like seriously impressive – and then the Flash comes in and totally ruins every single one of them. I mean, come on. The guy’s gotta make a living somehow, am I right?”

“Uh,” said Cisco.

“I always said to him, you can do better.” He poked Cisco clumsily in the chest to emphasize each word. “You have what it takes to be a hero. So the guy joins the Legends, becomes a hero, and then he freaking dies in an explosion. Kaboom! And then he comes back, returns to Central City to start over, robs one lousy bank and gets thrown straight back in prison. How is that fair?”

“Jail time seems like a fairly reasonable consequence for grand larceny,” said Frost.

“It’s just a bad habit,” Barry said forlornly. “He deserves help and compassion, not a prison cell. Do you know what it’s like in Iron Heights? The food is terrible. My Dad spend a decade in there and he always said…”

He trailed off. For a moment Cisco thought he’d gone into a trance, as he stared down at the table, forehead slightly creased. Then he saw the haunted look in Barry’s eyes. The face of a man who had seen terrible things.

They needed a distraction. Luckily, Cisco had just the thing. “You know what?” he said. “Maybe the food in prison isn’t great, but you know what’s awesome? The food you can get delivered right here. Nice, starchy, alcohol-absorbing food. Let’s look at a take-out menu and see what we’ve got.” He pulled up JustEat on his phone. “We could get you a pizza… maybe some fries… a couple of burgers; that sounds–”

“Chicken wings,” Barry said distantly.

They both turned to look at him.

“Chicken wings?” said Frost sceptically.

“Chicken wings,” Barry insisted.

“Okay!” said Cisco. “We’ll get chicken wings.” He added one portion to the basket. Then took another look at Barry’s face and hit the plus button several times. “Lots… and lots… of chicken wings.” He locked the phone. “Okay, food should be with us in a couple of minutes. So what now?”

“More drinks!” Barry said.

“No! No more –”

It was too late; there was a crackle of lightning and then the flask slammed back down onto the tabletop.

Cisco closed his eyes in defeat.

8 Drink Barry is a Michelin-star chef

Sober Barry’s cooking is average at best, but 8 drink Barry reveals a deep inner passion for the culinary arts.

It was a little past two am when a breach opened at the top of the stairwell, pulsing and flickering with pale blue light. Frost and Cisco staggered out of it, each holding one of Barry’s arms to keep him from escaping.

“Okay, almost there,” said Cisco. “You’re doing a great job. Can you let us in?”

Barry patted himself clumsily down until he found his keys and tried to open the first lock. He kept missing the keyhole. After his third attempt, Barry sighed and collapsed forwards, head resting against the wood panelling. Then he started vibrating.

Cisco suddenly realised what he was trying to do. “No, no wait, don’t–”

There was a buzzing sensation, a sickening lurch, and then all three of them fell straight through the front door.

Frost gave a full-body shudder and released her hold on Barry’s shirt to rub her arms.

“Never do that again! It makes my skin crawl.”

“I feel like we should have a rule about phasing under the influence,” Cisco muttered.

Together, they managed to get Barry onto the couch, where he lay blinking up at them, floppy as a rag doll, barbecue sauce smeared down his chin. More of the wings had ended up on his face than in his mouth, but Cisco hoped the restorative properties would kick in soon.

“Hey, Sad Flash. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m hungry,” Barry said. He clawed his way to a standing position. “Gonna make food.” Yellow light blazed as he sprinted into the kitchen.

Frost turned to Cisco. “He’s still hungry? He had like, eight servings of chicken wings!”

“Just go with it,” Cisco muttered, and then the alarming sounds of crashes and bangs came from the kitchen. “Barry? Do you need some help in there?”

Lightning crackled erratically as Barry sped around the room. Within seconds, every available surface was strewn with culinary equipment: a chopping board; a stained knife; various ingredients. A knife flashed as he rapidly diced an onion and swept it into the pan too fast for the eye to follow, and then the burner came on with a click and a whoosh. Oil sizzled as Barry dropped a steak into the pan. He grabbed a wine bottle off the side, yanked the cork out with his teeth and spat it across the room; it missed Frost by inches, and she recoiled in disgust. Barry sniffed the wine, and after a moment of consideration, he sloshed a generous amount into the pan. Flames leapt skyward, and Barry expertly tamped them down.

“Uh… what are you doing?” said Cisco.

Barry flipped the steak with a flick of his wrist. “Cooking.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but I thought you were going to make pasta, or fries, you know – normal drunk people food, not –” Cisco inhaled. “What even is that?”

“Braised steak in a red wine sauce, with asparagus on the side,” Barry said.

“…Right,” said Cisco. “Sorry I asked.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Kamilla.

“It isn’t,” said Cisco. “It’s goddamn awesome. The problem with 8-Drink Barry is that hot on his heels is –”

9 DRINK BARRY – SLEEPY BARRY.

On the night the particle accelerator exploded, Barry went into a coma and remained unconscious for nine months. During that time, his score on the Glasgow Coma Scale was a 5. Rumour has it that nine-drink Barry scored even lower than that.

“This is the worst night out I’ve ever been on in my life, and I share a body with Caitlin. Her idea of fun is wearing hideous pyjamas and watching documentaries on Hulu,” Frost hissed.

They stood on the doorstep laden with plastic bags while Cisco searched through the assortment of keys Barry had given him, trying to find the one for the first lock. “Look,” he said, inserting one into the lock with a crunch, “I know it hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing, but hopefully he’ll have got the rest of it out of his system while we were out breaching to every grocery store in the city.”

“Right, because Gordon Ramsay in there had to have…” Frost slid the bottle of wine out of the grocery bag. “Whatever the hell this is. Chateau Belair Mona–whatever. As if a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle is going to taste any different than the fifteen-dollar fifty bottle from the liquor store.” She rolled her eyes. “What the hell is he even going to do with it?”

“To be honest, as long as he doesn’t drink it I could care less what he does with it. Just keep him distracted for long enough to get some more food inside of him and make sure any breakable objects are out of reach before he gets down to the two-drink level.” He shook the keys in frustration. “Jesus, how many keys do they have?”

“I still don’t see why we had to–” Frost paused and narrowed her eyes. She sniffed sharply. “Is something burning?”

They looked down. Thick grey smoke billowed out from underneath the kitchen door.

Seconds later, the door burst off its hinges in a cloud of icy fog.

Inside the loft was total chaos. Barry slumped at the kitchen table, dead to the world, his hand still loosely clasped around the flask of speedster booze. A small puddle of drool on the table shone in the firelight. Behind him, his frying pan lay abandoned on the range, smoking violently while flames leapt towards the ceiling.

The piercing shriek of the smoke alarm tore through the room. Frost blasted the frying pan with a thick stream of ice and cold energy crackled from her palms, barely making a difference in the temperature of the room. Cisco grabbed a damp tea towel off the side and beat at the flames, trying frantically to extinguish the blaze. Behind them, Barry didn’t so much as twitch, his snores drowned out by the alarm.

“Okay, I think I get the gist,” said Kamilla, looking up from the folder. “No-booze Barry is the way to go.” She hesitated. “But just out of morbid curiosity, what about nine-drink Barry?”

“Unchartered territory,” Cisco said darkly. “We figured eight drinks was enough.” He closed the folder conclusively. “So yeah, it sucks that Barry can’t drink with us, but with great power comes great responsibility. And sometimes responsibility means making sure your friend doesn’t accidentally break the sound barrier by doing the worm at Mach 2.”

Cisco went to slide the folder back onto the shelf. As he did so, his gaze caught a framed photo on the countertop. He paused and picked it up, smiling sadly. It was a picture of himself, Caitlin, Barry and Thawne – or Wells, as they’d believed back then – from the early days. They all looked so young, grinning at the camera, hair tousled where Barry had sped out from behind the phone before the shutter clicked. His chest ached.

Kamilla put a hand on his arm. “You’re going to miss them, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He put the photo down. “But we gotta keep moving forward. Speaking of which, it is beyond uncool to be late to your own party, so we’d better get shaking.” He held out his arm. “Ready?”

“You go,” said Kamilla. “I just have a few last-minute things to take care of. I’ll catch up.”

“Okay.” Cisco kissed her on the cheek and slipped out of the room.

Kamilla glanced over her shoulder, bit her lower lip. Then her gaze slid over to the fridge.

Tiptoeing across the room, she approached the container and input the code again. Her hair tossed as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. Then she slid out a single blood red vial and tucked it into her purse.

Just in case.

#DCTVGenPrideMonth #the flash fanfiction #my fics

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