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rafebarrysmut · 4 months

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please take this as a prompt to write as angsty a fic as u want. mwah mwah (💌 — astrid)

(to preface: this is basically just canon divergence nonsense after barry burns rafe’s arm on his bike in s1 👹)

rafe jerks awake with a start.

he’s not sure what roused him from his (not so peaceful) slumber, until he hears the sharp knock again. it’s something hitting one of his bedroom windows - the one closest to his bed.

the room feels like a deep freezer when rafe crawls out from between his sheets. he likes the room to be cold when he sleeps - he has dreams, and dreams make him sweat.

(maybe they can be classified more as nightmares. but no one is asking, so it doesn’t really matter either way.)

rafe enjoys the cold significantly less when he has to walk through it in the middle of the night. it feels good on his arm, at least, where barry burned him. it soothes the sting that he’d been able to ignore while unconscious.

when rafe walks up to the window to investigate, he nearly keels over and dies.

because the source of the noise is none other than barry the fucking coke dealer himself.

speak of the devil, and whatnot.

rafe shoves the window open with a grunt. it opens outward, nearly knocking barry off the roof and onto the ground below. the corner of rafe’s lips twitch - he really would’ve liked to have seen that.

if he knew barry had such bad balance and coordination, rafe probably would’ve shoved the window open a little harder.

“i said i’d get you your money,” rafe says, the first to speak.

barry just rights himself, arching one brow. “i know.”

“so why the fuck are you here?”

barry doesn’t wait for an answer. he simply stares at rafe for a beat, before crawling through the window, elbowing rafe out of the way in the process.

the movement makes rafe’s arm throb, and he clutches at it with a hiss.

not sparing rafe a single glance, barry just circles the room, whistling. far too loud for this time of night.

“sweet setup you got here, country club,” barry tells him. he finally turns to look at rafe head-on, his dark eyes unreadable.

rafe is still clutching his arm, wincing. “thanks. it looks nicer without you in it, so. bye.”

barry laughs, a full-bodied thing that should make rafe want to kill him. it certainly shouldn’t make rafe shudder like a bitch in heat, but it does.

it does.

“ain’t getting rid of me that easy,” barry snorts. then, his gaze zeroes in on rafe’s hand grasping his wounded arm. “get over here and lemme see that.”

“no,” rafe answers, immediately, shaking his head. “no fucking way.”

barry purses his lips. he stares at rafe like he’s staring into his soul, and rafe wants to gouge his eyes out so he’ll stop.

“wasn’t aware i gave you an option, baby boy.”

rafe’s heart does a messy little dance in his chest, and his insides feel like a puddle of goo.

he hates barry, he really does. the fucker gave him a 3rd degree burn not even twelve hours ago. and yet. here rafe stands, eyes and stomach full of hearts and butterflies and all that disgusting shit, all because of something as pathetic as a nickname.

it’s not even an affectionate nickname. it’s condescending, and it should make rafe want to tear someone’s head off. preferably barry’s.

it doesn’t.

rafe moves closer, cautiously. when he’s within reach, barry just reaches out and grabs rafe’s bad arm, yanking him in and closing the distance.

rafe bites his tongue so hard he nearly draws blood, trying to stuff his pained groan right back down his throat. it doesn’t really work, and barry notices, but doesn’t comment on it.

instead, he takes rafe’s arm and examines it, like the burn is something he’s never seen before. like he’s not the one who put it there.

“lemme fix this up for you,” barry mumbles, still staring at rafe’s arm. like maybe the burn will magically sprout legs and run off into the night, never to be seen again.

“why?” rafe asks, swallowing around the lump that has been steadily growing in his throat since barry’s arrival.

barry uses his free hand to grasp rafe’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “because you ain’t in control, rafe cameron. and you need to get that through your pretty little head.”

“that doesn’t answer my question, like, at all,” rafe mutters, then winces when barry’s grip on his arm and chin both tighten.

“because i’m in control,” barry continues, like rafe never even spoke at all, “you got that? you ain’t making the decisions around here no more.”

“wasn’t aware i was making any decisions in the first place,” rafe mutters, glaring down at his arm.

barry lifts rafe’s arm up, releasing his chin to gently trace his fingers over the tender wound. rafe winces again, and barry grins like a shark.

“quit arguin’ and be a good boy like your momma taught ya. and while you’re behaving, go get me some first aid shit.”

rafe feels like he’s frozen in place, the words turning over and over and over in his head. until barry’s nails dig in, and then he’s crying out, stumbling backwards. he’s out of the room a second later, practically tripping over himself as he heads down the hall to the storage closet where he knows ward keeps emergency supplies, disoriented.

by some miracle, the first aid kit is sitting right in the center of the middle shelf. rafe snatches it without a thought, turning to head back to his room before pausing.

barry has never been in control. it’s a pathetic illusion, rafe decides. he won’t gain control either - another thing rafe decides. and barry needs to be made aware of that.

rafe steels himself, trying to keep his chin up as he walks back into his room. he’s not going to let barry play this little game - not in his house, not after that little shitshow of a display this afternoon.

barry has his back turned, looking at some of the paintings hung on rafe’s walls. rafe walks up as quietly as he can, but he knows the moment barry realizes he’s behind him. because barry’s body tenses just so, just enough for rafe to notice.

when barry turns, rafe swings.

barry catches rafe’s fist easily, and okay. maybe barry isn’t as unbalanced or uncoordinated as rafe had thought. in a split second, barry has a hand wrapped around rafe’s throat, squeezing tight enough that rafe wheezes.

walking them back towards rafe’s bed - forcibly, rafe would like to make that clear - barry’s face twists into a furious snarl.

rafe collapses onto the bed with a gasp when barry lets go of his neck, coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.

“try that shit one more time,” barry warns, “and you ain’t gonna like what comes next.”

then, barry leaves rafe sprawled on the bed, massaging his throat, and makes a beeline for the first aid kit. rafe can hear him rummaging through it, grumbling to himself, before returning with a few assorted items.

when barry kneels down in front of him, right on his knees, rafe almost passes out again. he feels like he’s trapped in one of his nightmares, with some added sexual tension to spice things up a bit.

“gimme your arm,” barry orders, and rafe complies.

his throat is still aching, and he’s not particularly interested in barry making that worse, too. it’s already bad enough that barry is probably about to skin him alive - he doesn’t need any more choking involved. unless it’s the sexy kind.

but even then, rafe isn’t particularly interested. not when slaughtering barry in his room feels so incredibly tantalizing right now.

instead of skinning him alive, barry just smooths burn cream over the blistered mark on rafe’s arm. the way barry rubs it in is almost soothing; a smooth circling of his fingers, his touch almost featherlight.

when the burn cream sets, barry grabs some gauze from the pile next to him. he’s about to plaster it onto rafe’s arm when he pauses, staring at the burn like he’s been hypnotized.

“you sure are pretty when you all marked up,” barry says, breathless, like just the thought of marking rafe leaves him reeling.

rafe wishes, fleetingly, that barry would be interested in marking him in ways that wouldn’t leave him in agonizing pain afterward.

but wishes never really do come true, do they?

barry finally places the gauze on rafe’s arm, carefully, then wraps it up in a sticky bandage. he looks up at rafe when he’s finished, finally not staring at the burn like it’s something fucking holy.

“you’re not in control,” rafe tells him, his voice trembling. “you’re not. just because you did this doesn’t- ”

“you damn right i did this,” barry hisses, lurching upright so he can tower over rafe.

it’s the only time he can, really, what with rafe being a walking skyscraper and all.

“i gave the pain, i took it away,” barry continues. “ain’t that control, princess?”

“no,” rafe argues, shaking his head furiously. “no.”

“what would you call it then, if you so damn smart?”

rafe glares up at him, gritting his teeth. “i don’t fucking know, sadism? narcissism?”

barry snorts, then leans down and plants both hands on either side of rafe’s head, boxing him in. “then we one in the same, rafe cameron.”

this is the part where they should angrily kiss, rafe thinks. but barry doesn’t kiss him. he just straddles rafe’s hips, pinning him down before closing the distance and sinking his teeth into rafe’s bottom lip.

rafe arches up into it, trying to tangle his fingers in barry’s hair, but barry just swats his hands away. when he pulls back, he runs his thumb over the teeth indents now decorating rafe’s bottom lip.

“i hate you,” rafe pants, staring up at barry, his pupils blown wide. “i’m gonna kill you, barry. i’ll slit your throat while you’re asleep in your shit trailer and you can die in your own filth. and i’ll like it.”

barry moves in again, biting down on rafe’s jugular. this time, he draws blood. it’s staining his teeth when he pulls back.

“not if i kill you first,” barry says, softly, like it’s a sweet promise and not a harsh threat. “in my shit trailer, where you’ll be sleeping, because you gonna come running back, rafe cameron. and you can die in my filth, all marked up by me, so everyone will know who you belonged to when they put yo’ stupid ass in the ground. six feet deep.”

rafe wants to argue, but that’s part of the problem. he wants too much with barry. and he knows he’s right. rafe will come running back, someday, some way, somehow. he will.

when barry climbs off of him, rafe feels like he’s lost a limb. he keeps losing things to barry. and this whole thing between them, it’s a death sentence. at least for one of them.

rafe shouldn’t feel emptied out, hollow and lifeless, when barry pushes open the window he’d come through and crawls back onto the roof.

barry turns back, just for a moment, to flash scarlet-stained teeth at rafe before speaking.

“see you soon, country club.”

#rafebarry #fic #rafe's pov #THIS!!!#this is amazing #the tension #this is everything

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