#Barry Allen x Iris West | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callmeelle22 · 2 years

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Like A Star

Pairing: Barry Allen x Iris West

Rating: M

Word Count: 12, 957

Summary:

And it’s that caprice that scares her. It’s so easy to find herself wrapped up in him. She likes that fire in him and it’s there every time he lays claim to her. When he wraps his hands up in her hair as he’s riding her; when he whispers sweet nothings in her ear before they fall asleep; when he presses kisses to her mouth until she can’t breathe; when he coaxes smiles out of her on days she’d rather wallow in her feelings. She swears he holds the whole of her heart in his hands and she wants to want to follow him down any path he leads her on.

She can’t help thinking though, what if he takes her with him as he dives headfirst into heartbreak?

Or, Iris and Barry find themselves evaluating their relationship after an argument.

Read on AO3 here or below.

In one of those flashes of memory, Iris remembers going to a tree lot with her parents before her mother died. She knows that she was too young to really remember, but she gets flickers of images, of feelings: of sitting on her dad’s neck as they ducked through the maze of trees; of the overpowering smell of pine and evergreen; of her mom’s wide grin as she ran her fingers over the tree needles. She can almost see the lights looped along the gate of the lot, and the slight swell of her mother’s belly, the idea of a brother still a far off concept for Iris. She remembers that joy, feeling like they were a family, one of the few moments before her brother’s presence had seemed to bring everything to a head, before sickness came and decimated them.

This is not like that.

“Iris, there’s no way that tree is going to fit in my apartment.”

His voice comes from behind where she’s standing in front of a tall Douglas fir tree. He brushes by her, the sandalwood of his cologne wafting and mixing with that of the citrusy scent of the tree. “Plus, who pays this much money for a tree? Christmas is right around the corner. Shouldn’t the trees be on sale?”

He tries—and fails, Iris decides—to hide the hint of frustration in his voice. It’s been that way for days now, short fuses and unthinking responses, like stars shooting through the sky before one can even make sense of it. She doesn’t even try to keep the frustration out of her own voice, snapping back as she turns to him.

“Barry, you know this will fit in your apartment. You agreed to this. You offered to buy the tree and now you’re being annoying about it.” She throws her hands up. “You brought us to this lot.”

They’ve been at the Christmas tree lot for a half an hour at least. The lot sits on a stretch of land in northern Central City, trees neatly lined up by type and height for easy browsing, but they've yet to agree on one to put up before the Christmas Eve party they’re hosting together. It’s an unseasonably warm day, the temperature hovering near the 50s, and Iris is getting hotter by the moment, her exasperation at Barry almost stifling. It’s only a week until the holiday, and the lot is crowded with families and couples there to get a tree last minute, same as Iris and Barry.

Except maybe they’re smiling more than she is.

“I’m not rich,” Barry retorts, “my parents are. Besides, with the way the newspaper is doing, you’re probably making more money than me.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Then it’s probably time for me to leave you. All of your fans know I’m only with you because you’re a rich white—”

She cuts off with a yelp as Barry grabs her wrist and pulls her to him. She falls into his chest, gripping the lightweight sweater he’s wearing, the material soft under her fingertips. She first looks straight at his chest, her tall-heeled boots still only putting her at his shoulder. Then she blinks up at him, taking note of the way his emerald green sweater makes those seafoam eyes of his look bright through his gold framed glasses, and how the light dusting of hair on his face highlights the cut of his jaw. His hair is a mess, that ruffled look she likes, and Iris hates, sometimes, how attracted she is to him.

His fingers are loose around her wrist, but he brings her more firmly against him with the other hand, fingers spreading wide under the hem of her white, black, and camel colorblock sweater.

“That refrain is getting old, West.”

“Yeah?” She pokes him in the chest, ignoring the flutter that runs through her when he squeezes her waist. “Tell that to all of your insane groupies on the internet.”

“I don’t need to worry about the internet groupies when my girlfriend is just as ins—”

Iris snarls. “Finish that fucking sentence, Allen.”

He gives her a smirk, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he tilts his head to catch her eyes.

“I don’t need to worry about the groupies because my girlfriend is insanely smart—” Iris snorts, but Barry ignores it, leaning forward as he speaks. “—insanely talented—” he licks his lips, eyes boring into her, that flutter expanding until she can feel it in her chest and in her belly and right at the juncture of her thighs, “—insanely sexy.”

He punctuates that final word with a peck to her mouth, once, and then again, this time a little open-mouthed, with a lick against her tongue and a bite to her bottom lip. She pulls back when he does, but only enough that their lips are still hovering against the other’s.

He moves his hand from under her sweater, sliding down slowly over her hip to give her ass a firm pat. He dips his head and inhales against her neck.

“I thought I was the boss in this,” he murmurs.

She rolls her eyes. “Only in the bedroom.”

“Hmm,” Barry hums, nudging her jaw with his nose. He presses a kiss there. “Or in the living room.” Another press of his mouth. “In the kitchen.”

It takes all of Iris not to melt into him, not to be won over by the way his hands feel so hot on her, even through the fabric of her clothes, or by the way his voice dips with the promise of his body in hers.

“Right,” she says, though it sounds much more like a moan; Barry hears it too, and smiles against her skin.

“So then we can get the cheap tree?”

She allows herself the space to indulge in one last kiss, reaching up to curl her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. She licks into his mouth, tasting the sweet mint he’d just sucked on.

“No, Barry,” she says, when she finally pulls away. “It’s our first time hosting and we are not choosing a skinny Charlie Brown tree.”

Barry pauses for a minute, and Iris knows what he’s going to say before he does. She steels herself for it, knowing that whatever comes after won’t end the way she wants, or the way he wants either. But it’s Barry and he can never leave well enough alone so he throws it down anyway, frowning as he says,

“You know it still doesn’t feel like we’re hosting when we don’t live together. It’s just a party at my house that you’re taking over.”

And just like that, that frustration from earlier comes back ten-fold, and Iris steps out of his embrace. He lets her, dropping his hands from around her with a loud sigh.

“Iris…”

“No,” she shakes her head, and starts in the direction of the entrance. “You’re right. It’s your house, it’s your party. I don’t live there. I don’t want to live there, so you should pick whichever…”

“Wait.” He starts after her, his long legs catching up with her in just a couple of strides. He grabs for her arm again, and she yanks away from him. He frowns at her, eyes flashing from the slight, and Iris’s sudden anger won’t let her feel bad about it.

“What do you mean you don’t want to live there? You mean at all?”

This is a conversation he’s broached before, though the stakes hadn’t seemed as dire as they do in this moment. They haven’t even been together a full six months, and a half a year doesn’t even seem like enough time to be sure if this’ll work, not to say anything of moving in together. It’s such a big step, such a commitment, that Iris breaks out in hives at just the mention of it.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

Barry throws his hands up. “So when do we talk about it, Iris? A year from now? Two?”

“Maybe.” She shakes her head, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, pushing the dyed red waves back from where they’d fallen in her face. “Yes, maybe we wait. We don’t even know if we work, really, you know. Who even says we’ll be together in…”

“Iris, what are you…” he interrupts and then trails off as he moves toward her, standing firm in front of her. He reaches for her again, and she doesn’t stop him this time. “What do you mean we don’t know if we work? Are you already breaking us up?”

“Of course not. I just think that we haven’t even been together for six months and…”

“And fuck that six months!” The harsh tone of his voice startles Iris, if only because he follows it with, “I’ve been in love with you for over half of my life. I know that we work; I know that I want to spend nearly every one of my waking moments with you. Do you trust me so little that you’re expecting our breakup?”

“No!” she shouts back, because this is not how she wanted to spend her Saturday morning. “I love you, B. You know that. But we’re still new and we’re still figuring it out. Look at us; we’re in a fucking Christmas tree lot arguing. What about that says we’re ready to move in together?”

She waves her arm out, indicating the people trying to ignore the heated couple, their voices harsh, if not loud, the tension radiating like heat waves from the sun. Iris feels like she’s boiling, mad at him and at herself, the truth of her feelings for him the only thing she knows, even if she can’t make them translate to the easy acceptance he’s come to. He is a star, brilliant and vibrant and unlike anything Iris has ever seen, has ever experienced before. He’s always been luminous, even if he claims it’s her, and she feels as if she has to venture in slowly, lest she be blinded by him. Lest she get lost in the intense, sharp light of him.

“I just need time,” she tells him, pleads with him, her voice soft. “You told me when we started this that you would go as slow as I wanted. You lied.”

The accusation hits him like a punch, and he snaps back, his body going rigid. The expression on his face changes to one Iris can’t readily read, though it reminds her of younger them, that same shuttered gaze and pursed mouth that had appeared after one too many fights in the school cafeteria.

“You’re right,” he says, stepping away. Iris wants to stop him, to try to explain that she’s not breaking them up, that she’s only being careful. But the words won’t come. Instead, she watches silently as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his keys. “I’ll come back tomorrow to get the tree for my party. And you can get whatever time you want.” He starts for the entrance, pausing to call over his shoulder, “Come on. I’ll drop you off at home or at work or wherever.”

“No, I,” Iris shakes her head. “There’s a coffee shop inside. I’ll hang out there and call an Uber.”

She can see Barry’s mouth open to object, but she turns away from him before he can say anything, instead heading in the direction of the attached coffee shop.

The coffee shop is packed when she walks in, filled with kids chugging hot chocolate while their parents inhale caffeine like life lines. It’s a fairly large spot, with four- and two-top tables placed neatly on either side of a barred walkway leading up to the counter. Tucking her tote bag more firmly in her elbow, Iris steps into line behind a couple, their little girl standing between them, her hands clutching both of theirs. Drawn to them, Iris watches the scene for a moment.

Iris has long ago realized that the gods are not on her side, but she’s sure it’s confirmed when she notices how much the couple remind her of her and Barry. The man is tall and slim, with tanned skin and wavy dark brown hair. The woman, though a bit more shapely than Iris, has ochre brown skin, a full red-painted mouth, and box braids hanging past her butt. The little girl is a perfect mix of them both—tall for what seems to be her age, clear cafe au lait skin, big chocolate brown eyes, and a thin nose. The image comes to her, again, one that isn’t new but one that still catches her off guard when it hits her. She sees herself and Barry like this, with both a little girl and a little boy, curly-haired and hazel-eyed, with Barry’s easy grin and her expressive features. She’s seen it before, visions of herself with Barry and children, the dreams so often recurring it’s as if they’re prophetic.

But she isn’t ready for any of it, not really, and it’s hard to say why, to name the reason behind her hesitancy. Iris loves Barry. Has loved him in all the ways that you can love someone—as family, as a friend, even as an enemy. She has loved him as a lover since before she realized what that meant. She loves him because of who he is, that passion and intensity that’s an innate part of him. It’s in everything he does and everything he says, and Iris cannot help but be enamored by it. He is right brain, feelings and intuition first, despite his love of science. And she is his opposite, thinking and facts first, even if her writing fuels her sympathies. He jumps headfirst into situations, their consequences be damned, and he does it all with a lilting smirk and an arrogance that would make her want to cut him if he were anyone else. He makes her feel things she doesn’t understand, things that go against the grain of rationale, of reason.

And it’s that caprice that scares her. It’s so easy to find herself wrapped up in him. She likes that fire in him and it’s there every time he lays claim to her. When he wraps his hands up in her hair when he’s riding her; when he whispers sweet nothing in her ear before they fall asleep; when he presses kisses to her mouth until she can’t breathe; when he coaxes smiles out of her on days she’d rather wallow in her feelings. She swears he holds the whole of her heart in his hands and she wants to want to follow him down any path he leads her on.

She can’t help thinking though, what if he takes her with him as he dives headfirst into heartbreak?

“Miss, can I help you?”

Startled out of her reverie, she looks at the young man behind the counter, waiting impatiently for her order.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, having not even realized the line had moved forward. A look to her left lets her know that the family is standing on the side of the counter until their drinks are ready, the little girl now cuddled in her father’s arms. She shakes her head, as if that’ll clear the image of them—the one with her and Barry’s faces superimposed on theirs—and then she quickly scans the board of coffees. There are a myriad of choices, so many of them holiday themed, and she briefly considers the Irish coffee option before deciding on a large hot chai latte.

“It’ll be right up,” the young man tells her after she pays. Her drink only takes a few minutes, and then she’s walking back through the crowd to find somewhere to sit. She resolves to put the entire thing with Barry to the back of her mind until she’s home and she can analyze it all, so she settles at a small table in a corner, pulling her laptop out. She figures she might as well get some work done while she drinks her coffee before making her way back to her downtown loft. In a few clicks, she’s got the shared Google database they use pulled up, and she’s editing an article that Linda submitted about new commercial buildings going up in an area that wants to keep its familial feel. It’s a long piece, over 1000 words, but well-written with the humor and insight that readers have come to expect from Linda’s articles.

She’s making a quick comment in a paragraph about rearranging the order of sentences for more bang when the chat box pops up in the corner of her screen.

Linda: why are you online? aren’t you and barry supposed to be tree shopping?

Linda: don’t tell me you left him to go work.

Linda: you are such a workaholic.

Iris: *eye roll

Iris: You are so ridiculous; I can’t even get a word in. No, I didn’t leave him to work.

Linda: but you left him?

Iris: Technically, he left me.

Iris: We got into a fight.

Linda: oh good lord. of course you did. about what?

Iris: The moving in thing.

Linda: Where are you? I’ll come pick you up.

Iris lets out a breath, the first full one since she’d walked away from Barry. She’s so incredibly grateful for Linda.

************

When Iris first decided to finally give in to Barry, she’d made an effort to talk out her feelings first. With her mom and dad, she walked through how seeing their relationship had scarred her, feeling proud that she had been able to name that toxicity, feeling even prouder when her father had acknowledged that role in her life as well.

What she knows is that her parents had loved one another but that love hadn’t been enough to save their relationship or, in the end, her mother.

What she knows is that she watched them be in love one minute, fight the next, and then end the cycle with silence before starting it all over again. At three, and then four, and then five, she had only understood what she had felt, scared and unsafe. And Iris is unsure that that feeling has ever fully dissipated.

What she sees is the same thing happening to her and Barry, despite her will for it to be otherwise. They are dazzling, the two of them: entertaining and loving and passionate. Brighter than anything Iris is seeing right now in the sky as she’s sitting on her best friend’s patio, wrapped in a thick blanket and cupping a mug of spiked hot chocolate. But then she remembers what Barry had told her once before: that stars are just balls of gas, and that shooting stars are even worse…meteors colliding with the Earth’s atmosphere until they’re consumed by it.

“You alright?” Linda asks as she comes out, sliding her patio door closed.

The temperature is sitting at a cold 45 degrees, and so they’re in matching flannel pajamas and her outdoor heater is blasting them, keeping the chill away.

The whiskey infused cocoa might be helping too.

Iris is curled in a chair, her phone face down on the little table so that she doesn’t notice Barry not reaching out to her. Linda falls into the seat on the other side of the table, placing her own blanket over her lap, bringing her cup to her mouth.

Linda lives just on the eastern outskirts of downtown, a quick ten minute drive or so from Iris. Her apartment is in a neighborhood of apartment buildings, each competing with the other by offering gym memberships or bedroom balconies or half off the first month’s rent. Linda lives on the fifth floor of a building with dark features, dark red brick and charcoal gray trim, and a sliding glass door in her bedroom that leads to her patio.

It’s a beautiful night. Linda’s side of the building faces out onto a manmade pond, the height of buildings behind them, the length of trees surrounding it. Iris can hear the nocturnal activities of the imported fish, the steady rhythm of the cicadas that live in the thick patches of grass. There are wisps of clouds in the sky, like stretches of cotton across a midnight blue canvas, and the twinkle of stars is a bit more prominent out here away from the flood of lights that Iris gets at her place.

After they’d left the lot, Linda had taken her to their favorite pizza buffet where they’d both immediately ate their weight in artisan pizzas. Then they’d come here after, Linda tossing her the pair of pajamas she’d bought as one of Iris’s gifts, a cozy black and white flannel set that she’d gotten to match her own set. Now they’re sitting out and watching the night, alternately talking and thinking.

“Linda, what if Barry and I are really just playing ourselves?” It’s not what she believes, not really, but she finds that she needs to say it aloud.“Is it really supposed to be like this? This fighting? The nights spent without each other? This ache?”

Iris thinks her voice breaks on that last part.

“I think,” Linda says slowly, carefully, “that you are both these very impassioned people. You both feel things wholly and unequivocally. And it’s not a bad thing, to feel, even this much, despite what we think in society. But you’ve both been done a disservice by your parents.”

Iris’s nose wrinkles at that. “What do you mean? Henry and Nora have a perfect relationship.”

Linda points her cup at Iris. “That’s what I mean. I don’t know the Allens but I know they don’t have a perfect relationship. No one does. They’ve either figured out how to coexist in a way that’s healthy or they’re just good at faking it. But Barry, and even you, see that and think that they don’t have to work at it. That it just is. And your parents were the complete opposite.

"Before I found my mom, I would get shipped off from foster house to foster house. And in many ways, I was lucky. I was never abused or starved like some people I knew. I also got to see a lot about human nature, I guess. These couples would foster and would only have their shit together on paper. I was witness to arguments about bills and cheating and people taking their partners for granted. It helped me to see what I didn’t want to ever experience. And when I moved in with mom, I was able to see what healthy looks like. She was dating Nathan the entire time and although they didn’t get married until I moved away to college, I was still witness to their communication habits and the way they cared for each other. I’m not perfect and Amanda and I have our disagreements. But all of that therapy mom sent me to, and her own therapy, helped us figure out how to cope.”

Iris finishes the pull from her mug that she’d taken as she listened to Linda, licking her lips as she takes in what the other woman has said.

“So you’re saying that Barry and I have a communication issue?”

Linda barks out a laugh. “You don’t need me to tell you that, Iris.”

Even Iris can’t hold in her chuckle. “Okay, yes. We’re horrible at that. And I see your point. We’re both victims of our circumstances, I guess. I know that my parents’ relationship wasn’t a good one. And as much as I try to fight against it, I find myself falling into those same patterns.”

Linda gives her a soft smile. “The sins of our parents, huh?”

Iris nods, biting at her bottom lip. “You think therapy would help us?”

“I think therapy would help most people. It’s something both of you have to want to do. And it might take a few tries to get to one you think works for you. But I think that you and Barry can be incredible together. You have to want it, Iris. You cannot be afraid of it for the rest of your life.”

Iris leans back in her chair at that, throwing her hand up dramatically to her forehead. “God, we’re not even dating for a full year and I’m talking couple’s counseling.”

“It’s what you do when you want someone in your life for the long haul.” Linda tilts her head, curious. “You do want that, right?”

“I have dreams,” Iris starts.

“Oh god no,” Linda exclaims. “Sex dreams? Don’t you and Barry have enough…”

Iris’s slipper hitting Linda’s chest cuts off her ramble.

“As I was saying,” Iris rolls her eyes, but she laughs a little too. “I have these dreams where I see my life ten years from now. Twenty years from now. Even before we got together, he was always there somehow, snarking at me, smirking at me, always making me feel alive.” She shakes her head and says it again, almost as if the reality has just sunk in. “He makes me feel alive, Linda.”

“Then there you go.” Linda throws out the words matter-of-fact. “We’ve been working for shit our entire lives. Don’t let this be the one thing you give up when it’s what you want so badly.”

“Thanks, Linda.” Iris grins over at her. “I feel bad that I’m always bringing my Barry issues to you.”

“These aren’t really Barry issues. They’re you issues.” Linda shrugs. “Besides, I’m your best friend. It’s my job. The same way it’s your job to listen as I tell you that I think I’m falling in love with my girlfriend.”

Iris turns to her friend, eyes wide. “What?”

Linda gives her an uncharacteristically shy smile, nodding as she places her mug down on the table.

“I haven’t told her yet but I’m thinking maybe at the party. I can…”

Iris doesn’t even let her finish. She squeals, interrupting her plan and jumping out of her seat, planting herself in Linda’s lap as she throws her arms around her neck.

“I’m so happy for you!”

Linda laughs and circles her arms around Iris’s waist.

“Amanda is kind and beautiful and you’re the literal best person in the world.” Iris kisses the top of her friend’s head and then places her cheek there, smiling even as her own feeling of uncertainty won’t settle.” You deserve nothing but the best love, Linda Malese.”

Linda squeezes her, the suspicious sound of a sniffle accompanying her next words.

“So do you, Iris Ann.”

II.

Christmas Eve brings in a morning sunny and cold. Barry lies in his bed, naked except for a pair of boxer briefs, his comforter pooled just above his waist as he looks out of the window. He can’t see much from his bed, just the brick and concrete of the buildings in his neighborhood, the windows that only reflect back. He’s been awake for nearly an hour now, and he guesses he should be getting up soon.

He doesn’t have much to do. With Iris gone silent, he’s spent much of the week preparing for tonight, using it to get out of his own head, to make sense of the fact that Iris always feels the need to run away from him when things start to get uncomfortable. Or perhaps, when things become too real.

The woman frustrates him on such a molecular level that Barry sometimes wonders why he even tries. But that thought doesn’t get very far. She’s been a part of his life for so long, been a part of him for so long, that the thought of her no longer wanting to be is maddening. It brings to mind a star at the end of its life, slowly collapsing in on himself. So instead of sinking into the metaphorical black hole, he’d alternated thoughts of he and Iris with the tasks necessary to get his apartment ready for the party.

For the remainder of Saturday and all day Sunday, he’d let his anger guide him. He’d called and ordered the biggest tree that could conceivably fit into his home while wallowing on the couch and trying his best to forget that she’d walked away from him, that she’d told him in only barely disguised language that she wasn’t sure if she saw a future with him. That had meant a little too much of his fancy apartment scotch and endless sniping at episodes of CSI.

Monday brought clarity, the kind that manifests after a weekend of too much drinking. He’d called a cleaning service, paying extra to have them come in the following afternoon, and he’d thought while he’d been making the plans. He’d wondered if maybe Iris was right, about things moving too quickly. If she was right in her wish to take things slow and steady instead of rushing straight into forever. Sure, they’d loved each other for years, but they’d only just uncovered that love, had only just moved away from the biting and deliberately hurtful words.

On Tuesday he let that thought fester, calling to confirm the decorators, caterer, and bartender for the end of the week.

On Wednesday he resolved to call her in the morning after she was sure to have had her coffee already. The decorator would be coming by on Friday and the caterer and bartender would be there on Saturday to set up two hours before people were expected to arrive. The sinking feeling started to recede, the light returning.

On Thursday though, he’d tried to call her and she hadn’t answered. He’d chalked it up to her being busy, until he’d walked into Jitter’s and saw her laughing it up with some guy. The anger had returned. Because why was it so hard for her to see that he wasn’t going anywhere? Did she really think they wouldn’t work? Did she really believe that he wouldn’t try his hardest to be everything she needed him to be? Was the real reason she wasn’t ready to move in because she was already ready to move on? Was he being irrational? Probably, but it was what was in his gut. He’d left the shop without his coffee and instead, with anger and despair coalescing into one ball sitting in the pit of his stomach. At least he’d figured everything out and all he needed to do was open the door for the people he was paying to make his apartment a Christmas wonderland. He would be useless later.

Today, he just misses her. She hasn’t called him back because she’s the most stubborn woman he’s ever met in his life. Plus, he can probably admit that the whole “you can have all the time you want,” he’d thrown at her last week had likely had something to do with her lack of communication. Still, he has to know if he’ll see her later. He pulls out his phone.

Barry: Are you coming over tonight?

She responds in minutes.

Iris: Of course.

Iris: Were you able to get everything set up?

Barry: Yeah, I did.

Iris: Great!

Iris: And I’m sorry about not getting back to you. This week has been insane and I really did need the time.

He watches as the three bubbles appear on the screen, disappear, and appear again.

Iris: Can we talk later? After the party or in the morning?

Barry: Yeah, sure.

Iris: Beautiful. I’ll see you tonight, okay, B?

With that, he throws his found down on his bed. He doesn’t know why, but somehow that entire exchange has only filled him with dread.

She’s the ninth person to walk through the door.

His parents arrive first. At just before a quarter till 8, almost right after the caterer and the bartender finish setting up, Barry hears the knock at his door. He makes his way through the apartment, noting that his dining room table has been transformed for the food, a burnished gold tablecloth laid out across the space with trays of appetizers on sticks, cheese stuffed jalapenos wrapped in bacon and shrimp skewers and sun-dried tomatoes with goat cheese, among a host others. The bartender has a set up in the corner just before the hall that leads to his half-bathroom and his bedroom, a portable one-man bar where he’s created two holiday themed cocktails (a cranberry martini and a holiday mai tai) in addition to having a ridiculous number of red and white wines and bubblies available. It’s got all the makings of an excellent party, too much booze and too small food and he hopes it can keep the dread about the talk he and Iris are supposed to have out of the way.

His parents are on the other side of the door when he swings it open, beaming at him as they’ve always done, proud if even they wish he’d push for more.

“Oh Barry, honey, it looks great in here.”

The decorators had done an excellent job, somehow making his home look more spacious and cozier at the same time. Some furniture has been moved around to allow for the look of more space and there’s cleared flooring right in front of the tree and the window that can act as a spot for dancing if anyone is inclined. In keeping with the more natural-toned decor of his apartment, the theme follows a mix of golds and browns and various shades of red, a little green sparsed through for color. There is tinsel in places he wouldn’t have thought to put it and baubles hanging from random corners, but Barry can admit that it looks incredible to his untrained eye. The tree is the star, the nice Douglas fir fitted right in front of his expansive window, an eye treat for the apartments around his. There’s a bit a white sprayed on the leaves for the look of snow. It's just underdone enough that it looks elegant instead of gaudy. White gold lights are placed strategically, as are the mix of gold and white-silver ornaments, and it’s got the carefully curated look that’s made to appear careless.

“Thanks, mom,” he says as he greets her with a kiss on the cheek and a one armed hug. He shakes his dad’s hand as he gestures them both in. They step fully into the house, looking around, no doubt for Iris. Just as his mom opens her mouth to ask, a knock on the door sounds and Barry doesn’t even try to hide his sigh of relief.

For the next half hour, he ushers people in, hanging up coats in the closet next to the door, kissing cheeks and shaking hands. Joe and Cecile follow a couple his parents have known since before he was born. Kamilla and Cisco are next and then two of the CSIs from another shift, one and then the other. And even with just these few people so far, his house is getting loud with the sound of laughter and merriment.

He’s standing by the Christmas tree when he feels the shift in atmosphere and he knows when he looks up towards the door, she’s going to be there. She’s a beacon, he swears, Polaris guiding him home. Despite his lingering anxiety, he happily answers to the pull of her, stepping away from Cisco talking mid-sentence.

He reaches her just before she can clear the half wall that opens out into the living room. She comes up short when she sees him, as if she’s surprised that he’s right there. Linda comes in behind her, moving around her to greet him. She and her girlfriend are in red, Amanda in a form fitting red dress that reaches her knees and Linda in a red pantsuit with heels as high as Iris likes to wear. His girlfriend’s best friend mutters a “hi, nerd” before pressing her cheek against his, so as not to mess up her lipstick he supposes, and harshly muttering that he and Iris “need to get your shit together.” Amanda just gives him a smile and a warm hug before following Linda over to the bar.

Then it’s just her, always just her, and Barry has a chance to take her in. She’s standing there in a dress that he knows she wore purposefully to fuck with him. There’s no other reason for it, the swatches of cloth that show as much of her skin as it covers: the fabric a brilliant blue velvet, with a sweetheart neckline on one side and the fabric leading into a bow on the other shoulder; the dress fits close to her frame, falling to the floor in the back, a high split in the front showing off her legs to the middle of her thighs. The contrast of her red painted mouth and the complement of her usual sky-high stilettos is disarming, but Barry can be convinced that that’s the liquor talking.

(It’s not the liquor talking. He hasn’t had anything to drink since last week.)

He looks to her fingernails painted the same red as her mouth, her fingers tight on the sparkling clutch he’s holding, and it makes him lift his eyes to see why she’s gripping it so tightly. Barry finds her dark whiskey colored eyes scanning the length of him. He’s in black trousers, a white shirt open at the throat, and a red jacket with black lapels. Iris loves any reason to dress up, so when they’d sent out e-vites to the party, they’d decided on cocktail attire. With this crowd, it leans a little more black tie, even for a house party in the business district of Central City. Barry knows he looks good, and by the way his girlfriend is eyeing him, she thinks so too.

It makes something in his heart perk up, this full-bodied scan she’s giving him. His shoulders feel broader just because she’s eyeing the width of them, the line of his pants longer. The heat of her gaze crawls over his face, and Barry presses a hand to his stomach as if that’ll stop the burning he has for her.

“West,” he says in greeting.

The corners of her mouth tug up, though she doesn’t give him a full smile. “Allen.”

He takes a step toward her, clearing the couple feet of space that feels way too far. Tilting his head, he licks his lips and asks her, “Do I get a hug?”

She swipes a tongue across her own lip on an inhale, exhaling as she lets the plump bottom lip go. She nods her assent and he immediately closes the remainder of the distance, tugging at her arm to pull her to him. He wraps his arms around her waist, spreading his fingers out wide as if he needs to feel as much of her as he can, and he does notice that she doesn’t hesitate to lean into him. She keeps an arm at his waist, so her clutch doesn’t fall to the floor, and the other she wraps around his neck, her fingers immediately going for the hair at his nape like she always does.

Barry lets himself fall into her too, holding her tight, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. The feeling of her, of them, like this, is home—contentment and desperation and familiarity all wrapped up together, with love and hope and fear mixed in too. But in this moment, when the sound of poppy music is playing in his ear, and his friends are all laughing over drinks that taste like christmas, and the only woman he’s ever loved is wrapped up in his arms, he wonders how he’d survive if she were to ever decide that she didn’t want to be his home anymore.

He holds her tight to him, inhaling the scent of the shea butter in her hair and the almond oil on her skin as he lets his head fall into the crook of her neck. He wants to whisper to her all the things he’s been thinking about her this week: that he’s sorry for leaving her at the lot, that he’s angry at her for always running away, that he’s missed the feel of her in his bed.

That he doesn’t understand why there’s a knot in his belly telling him this is the end.

“I don’t understand why it’s always me that has to catch y’all like this. Don’t you guys do enough of this in private?”

The sound of Wally’s voice coming behind them pulls them apart. Barry is reluctant to step away from her and there’s a tiny flare of optimism at the knowledge that she’s slow to move away from him too, her hand sliding down from his neck to his chest before leaving his body completely.

Wally is there with Brandon, both men in trousers and jackets, and green and red shirts respectively. Wally shrugs out of his coat and takes his boyfriend’s, hanging them in the closet before telling him,

“Barry, I’m gonna send you my therapy bill after I talk about all of these traumatic moments in my life.”

“Why me?” he asks, turning to face the other man. He nods at Brandon and shakes his hand. “Iris is your sister.”

“You’re right,” Wally nods. “But you’ve always been like a brother to me so I’ll let you both split it.”

Iris shakes her head in annoyed amusement but she’s always been a sap where her brother is concerned and she leans up to kiss the side of his head.

“We can just add it to the bill I need,” she murmurs, mostly to herself. Barry frowns down at her but she isn’t paying him any attention as she takes Wally’s hands in her own. “C’mon. Dad and Cecile are already here and I haven’t spoken to them yet.”

She starts to move past him but he stops her with his hand to her hip.

“I’ll see you in a minute?”

She touches his hand. “Yeah. In a minute.”

Any hope that he’d cultivated from being wrapped up in Iris is sufficiently dismissed when he realizes that she’s avoiding him. It takes him a while to see, as he plays host of the party. The constant knocking on the door means he’s moving from there to other parts of the apartment, making sure that drinks are full and his time isn’t being monopolized by old doctors who want to tell him stories about himself that he doesn’t remember. He watches Iris flit from group to group, awing women and enamoring men with her wit and her smile—and that fucking dress—the bright eyed and slaw jawed look a telltale sign as she walks away.

But everytime he comes to the group she’s talking to, it only takes a minute for her to decide she should be somewhere else. And at this point, Barry is pissed off at the mixed signals she’s giving him. He’s going out of his mind wondering what she’s thinking, what she wants to talk about later, and he has firmly convinced himself that she’s here to break it off.

He corners her in the half bathroom. The sound of the music and the people muffle as he slips into the room right behind her, pushing against the door before she can close it. She whirls around when she hears him, the bottom of her dress flapping and opening, giving Barry a glimpse of her thighs. He swallows.

She doesn’t look very surprised to see him. She just waits until she hears the snick of the door and then leans against the sink, folding her arms over her chest. He can’t read her expression and, for the first time since they’ve been together, Barry sees her intentionally put up a barrier between them. It makes his heart squeeze; the idea that he could lose her before they even really get started is one that fills him with a thick sort of desperation. He takes a deliberately deep breath, pushing down the panic that threatens to overwhelm him.

“Barry,” she mumbles, tilting her head in question. The bathroom isn’t large and space is limited with the both of them there. The floors are tiled in white and gray marble, with a white porcelain sink just a few feet away from the toilet. She’s not as close as he wants her to be, but he could reach out to touch her, if he tried to. Her scent fills up the bathroom, gone from his sheets after a week without her, and he wants to revel in it.

“Did you come in here to get away from me?” he asks her.

He reaches out to touch her, testing first, a hand at her waist. Then he tries for lower, on the curve of her hip. Her arms drop as he moves to press himself against her, just the faintest brush of his chest against his. She grabs at the bottom of his jacket on either side as she shakes her head in response to him, looking down at his chest.

“Iris?”

Her thin-heeled shoes put her shoulder level to him, but she keeps her head down. It’s as if she can’t look at him, Barry thinks, the way her eyes meet his for only a millisecond before they’re bouncing around again. He grabs her chin between his forefinger and thumb, lightly lifting her face to his. The opportunity to turn away is there, for how gently he’s holding her, but she doesn’t take the out.

He looks at her, really looks, at the clear penny brown of her face, the dark chocolate of her eyes, her lengthened lashes brushing her bottom lids every time she blinks; he takes in the soft snub of her nose and the full curve of her mouth. She’s always been the prettiest person Barry has ever seen, and she only seems to get more beautiful every time he looks at her, every time she stares back at him. Because she is right now, staring back at him, that ice from before thawing the longer she does. It’s his Iris in there, every iteration that he’s loved since he was six years old. Her snark and her caution, her passion and her trust, her anger and her insecurity and her convictions and her love. There is his love in there. But Barry cannot always reach it, the feeling as bright as a star, as elusive as one too.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, Iris, you are. I thought that hug meant..” he breathes out. “What’s going on, Iris, because I’m not liking this.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” She shifts on her feet. “I promise. I just… I forget how much you overwhelm me. I can’t think when you’re around and I..”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Bar..” she starts, but he gives a light shake of his head, stopping her.

“Is this some sort of new breakup method?”

Iris opens her mouth to respond and then closes it. “What?”

“Is that what you meant to do, when you came here dressed like this? Content to ignore me, to have me panting after you?”

“Barry, I would nev..”

“You don’t call me for a week. You don’t answer me when I do.”

“I told you I was busy!” she tries, interjecting, but Barry doesn’t think he’s there anymore, not fully. He’s latched onto this, this feeling, this fear that this won’t end the way he wants it to.

“I don’t,” he starts, but he doesn’t know exactly what he means to say as an image of Iris picking up the hem of her skirt and running away from him, like the night of his parent’s gala, fast despite her heels, comes unbidden.

“I just…” he starts and stops again, and he presses a hand to his heart, hoping that it stays right there in her chest like it’s supposed to.

“Do you want me to beg, Iris?” He licks his lips, his gaze steady on her, his hands tight on her body. “Do you want me to get on my knees and beg you? Because I will.”

And before he even realizes what he’s doing, he does, dropping to his knees, his hands moving to grip her on the sides of her thighs.

“Barry,” she says his name, her eyes wide, but nothing else comes out. He doesn’t know where to go from here either.

He lets his head fall onto her belly, the velvet of her dress soft against his forehead. He circles his arms around her, fully hugging her to him, not even caring about how uncomfortable it is for his arms to be stuck between her hips and the sink.

The silence reigns. There is the faint noise of voices on the other side of the door; he thinks he can even hear Cisco’s boisterous laugh. The music is the loudest, an acoustic version of Joy to the World that he’s not sure he likes. But none of that can take away from this moment here, especially when Iris sinks her fingers into his hair.

He holds on to her, for how long he doesn’t know, just reveling in being there with her. The scratch of her nails against his scalp, the sound of her breathing, the thumping in his chest. This is…it’s… it.

“I’m begging you, baby, not to give up on us so easily.” His voice is only an octave above a whisper.

Her voice is even softer when she answers. “I’m not. I’m just scared we’re gonna fuck this up, Barry.”

And what can he say when he’s afraid of the same thing?

They’re playing an eclectic mix of music, R&B and pop versions of Christmas music mixed with neo-soul and motown. There’s an ipad that's plugged into a speaker, and the guests get to add music to the queue at their whimsy. The ending of Mariah Carey’s most popular Christmas song is ending as he steps next to Iris.

They’d stayed in the bathroom for only moments more, until Dr. Williams knocked on the door to use it, giving them both amused glances when they came out together. He’d given her a bit of space—given himself a bit of space—walking over to talk to Joe and Cecile while she put on a smile for his parents and a couple of their business associates. But now she’s alone, standing by the tree that he should have just let her pick out, a glass of the cranberry martini in her hand. He moves to stand next to her and she gives him a soft smile when he brushes his arms against hers.

The song changes then, the stark quiet of an opening, and then a voice comes on, with a slight rasp, the melody of a piano accompanying her, “Just like a star across my sky. Just like an angel off the page… ”

“Hey, dance with me?” His voice is low and steady as he asks, holding a hand out to her. She looks at him for just a moment, then she tosses back the rest of her drink and sets the glass down on the windowsill. Then she takes his hand.

He leads her into the space right in front of the tree, twirling her out once before bringing her back to him, looping an arm around her waist. They move together, in the light of the tree, under the pull of the song, their eyes locked. It’s just the two of them again, everything around them fading until it’s but a dull hum in the background, his focus only on this moment.

“ ...Just like a song in my heart. Just like oil on my hands. Oh, I do love you. ”

Barry hums at those lyrics and Iris tugs on her bottom lips with her teeth, her nails absently scratching at his nape.

“ Still I wonder why it is, I don’t argue like this, with anyone but you. We do it all the time. Blowing out my mind. ”

“This song reminds me of us.”

She says it before he can, but he’s thinking it, the lyrics so true to their current circumstance that it’s as if she wrote it for them.

“ ...you make me feel like I'm alive. When everything else is so faint, without a doubt, you’re on my side. Heaven has been away too long… ”

He hums in agreement, pushing her out into a spin that she catches on to easily. She comes back into his chest with a smile, this one the most genuine he’s seen all night, the words of the song still enveloping them.

They dance for the remainder of the song, swaying easily to the music.

And when the night ends nearly two hours later, and she peels off her dress and climbs into bed with him, curling around his torso, he hears the words before he falls asleep,

“Can’t find the words to write this song. Oh, your love.”

III.

He reaches for her in the middle of the night.

In the space that belongs to quiet and contemplation, Iris wakes to the feel of Barry’s fingers stroking her belly, his long body nestled up behind her. All of him is hard, his thighs pressed against hers, his sex nestled on her ass, his chest warm on her back. She can’t say that they've gone this long without each other since they’ve been together, and her body responds immediately to him.

He traces on her slowly, like he’s carving lyrics into her skin, oh, i do love you. She lets him touch her like that, just those slow, easy words, her body sinking, melting into the bed, into him. But it’s not enough, it’s never enough, so she shifts on the matress, turning on her back. The color of his eyes look almost translucent in the dark, with only the faint lights of the night seeping through Barry’s windows. There’s a depth of an emotion there, has been there since he’d fallen to knees for her earlier tonight, but it’s magnified somehow. He climbs on top of her, holding himself up on an elbow, watching her for a long moment before he makes his next move.

He leans down to kiss her, and she welcomes him greedily. An entire week, she laments, without his mouth on hers, and the moan that escapes when their lips meet is instinctual. She reacquaints herself with the feel of his mouth, the shape of his lips and the slide of his tongue, even the bite of his teeth in her bottom lip. She’s only ever liked kissing Barry like this, with the sort of intimacy that asks of openness and freedom, for connection and a weakness for the other.

They kiss and they kiss and they kiss. Iris opens her thighs for him, letting him sink into that space that’s reserved for only him. She wraps her arms around his neck, keeping him close, her breasts—nipples puckered—pressed tight against his chest, her thighs squeezing on his hips, his dick nestled against her pussy, hard like steel, the responding rush of her wetness coating him. Her hips move, seeking him, but he stills her with a firm grip to her left hip, fingers spread out against her flesh.

“I’ve missed this,” he tells her, gravel in his voice, the sound gliding across her skin. “Your mouth, the feel of you beneath me, your smell in my sheets.”

He kisses at her mouth again, sucks her tongue into his, holding hard onto her hip. She loves the slight roughness of it all, her mouth swollen and the indentation of his hand on her body. Her eyes close as she basks in it, as Barry starts to alternate kisses, on her mouth and then her cheek and then under her jaw. He licks a path down the middle of her torso, right into her belly button, before kissing his way back up. He kisses around the top of her left breast, then plants an open mouthed kiss there, the sensation different but not unpleasant, her nipples hardening in request for the same attention. He gives it another kind, the strum of his fingers, as he slides back down her body. The slight chill of the air cools at the moisture his mouth leaves and the heat of his breath and of his body warms her up, and it’s that dichotomy that has her breathing out his name.

He looks up at her at the sound, still moving down, tracing his hand from her hip to her thigh to open her for him. She watches him, as he pushes down on her thigh lightly, the action causing her other leg to flex down too. He settles himself between her thighs, breaking eye contact as he faces the whole of her ready for him. But she doesn’t need his eyes anyway because she’s got his tongue, licking into her without ceremony, and then Iris can’t see anything besides the back of her eyelids.

She can feel, though, the swipe of his tongue as he licks up the center of her once, and then again, and then again, before tongue kissing her cunt, using the whole of his mouth to cover her. Her hips arch off the bed but he’s there to hold her back down, with both of his hands now, the rough tips of his fingers contrasting so beautifully with the way he’s so softly kissing her sex. He circles a tongue around her clit, lapping gently at the nub, then comes back down to taste the wet coating her walls. It’s a rhythm he starts, up to her clit, down to the very core of her, slow and easy and open-mouthed and so. fucking. good.

She whispers his name in the dark, “Bar-Barry,” stuttering out the syllables because nothing is clear anymore, nothing except this, except them. The pleasure builds, a mounting inferno, and Iris finds herself screaming out for him as she comes, “Barry-y ,” his name loud, her voice cracking there at the end.

He comes up and she breathes out heavily, her chest heaving, Barry’s torso flushed red with the exertion. He settles on his haunches, and licks out at his lips, at her juices covering his mouth.

“Come here and taste yourself,” he demands, and she follows the directive, rising to her knees to kiss him. It’s such a lewd action, tasting the tangy sweetness of herself on him. He wraps one arm around her waist, squeezing her to him. Then they’re moving. It’s when they’re together like this that Iris remembers how strong he actually is. He maneuvers them so that he’s sitting on the bed, up towards the pillows, lifting her so that she’s in his lap, legs on either side of him. His legs cross under her and then she’s wrapped up around him like a lotus, his dick nudging her belly, her body still wet and throbbing, readying itself for his length.

It’s unusual for Barry to be this quiet in bed. This feels different, with a depth to it that’s been missing the past week, their brief separation a space of tension and restrained energy. Maybe he’s living in that place now, giving this moment significance, even if they don’t quite get it yet.

Still, she cups his jaw and asks. “Are you okay, Barry?”

He presses a kiss into her palm. “I’m always okay when I’m with you.”

It’s not quite the truth. He knows it and she does too, but she understands what he means. When it’s just the two of them, when they’re not worried about anything other than giving and receiving pleasure, when the only thing that matters is their mutual infatuation, they can be okay. After tonight, Iris is committed to making this feeling the one that prevails.

Now, though, it’s the pleasure she wants, the unspoken need for him growing. He catches on to it, in her head and in her body like always.

Barry reaches down and she looks in between their bodies, watching the way his elegant fingers circle the length of his sex.

“Rise up just a little,” he tells her, and she holds tight on to his neck, bringing herself closer as she lifts her hips just enough that he can seek entrance to her heat. He pushes in, just a little, before bringing his hands back to their favorite position and bringing her down fully on him.

“Fuck, Barry,” she hisses out, at the same time that he grunts against her mouth, his teeth biting down hard into his lip.

They’re both still, savoring the feel of each other—the heat and the slick and the desire. She holds his gaze, wondering how she looks to him, with her puffy mouth and her hair out of its bonnet, falling against her shoulders. Her eyes have likely gone dark, the brown of them like liquid chocolate when she’s aroused, her lids lowered so the only thing she sees is him. He’s so beautiful to her, the sharp cut of his jaw and the straight line of his nose, her yearning reflected back at her ten-fold in his stare.

Their movements are slow, steady. She rocks her body atop his, just light thrusts of her hips, and he keeps her focused, his grip tight on her as he guides her to whatever cadence he’s hearing in his head. She moves her hands to his shoulders, the action shifting her just enough that she seems to fall deeper onto him, her sex flooding with arousal at the change, her sex gripping him tigher too.

“God, Iris,” he murmurs against her mouth, his breaths deep, harsh. “Tell me that you’ve missed this. Tell me it wasn’t just me.”

“Yes,” she moans, and he doesn’t fuck into her faster, but somehow it’s deeper, so much deeper, as he holds her body at a slight tilt. She lingers in this rush of unadulterated pleasure, in the flex of Barry’s hips, and in the the sound of their sex-the heavy breathing, the slide of her skin on his, her slick dripping down on his cock.

“Yes what?” he questions. She can feel it coming, just like before, though this seems more gradual.

“I’ve missed you, B,” she says, eyes drifting as it climbs, up through her thighs and right to the juncture of her thighs. “I missed you so much.”

When she comes, it’s hard, her body clutching Barry’s, her nails digging into his sides, stars exploding behind her eyelids. He comes with her too, the flood of him in her womb such a carnal feeling that she almost comes again.

He drops his head down on her clavicle, softly kissing at her skin until they’ve both calmed down. Then he leans back and pats at her ass. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and go to sleep.”

************

When Iris wakes up again, she’s alone in the bed. She’s in the middle, the comforter twisted around her, her hair a mess around her head because her bonnet is still lost in the pillows somewhere.

She feels rested, despite their late night dalliance, but her limbs do still feel achy from the exercise. She reaches up high and then does a full body stretch, pushing out her legs and basking in the memory of this morning. It’s a twisted one, the tender yet intense way he’d held on to her, the haunted look in his eyes, the honest glimpse into the same fear that Iris harbors, a fear that she, naively, had thought that Barry didn’t.

When she falls back straight onto the bed, she startles at Barry sitting in the chair that’s in the corner of the room. He’s in just a pair of sweatpants, his torso bare. He looks a little bit like a depraved angel, hair messy and lips pouty, his eyes darkened like the murky blue of the Atlantic Ocean.

She can’t read much in his gaze, not quite understanding what his silence means as he looks over at her, hands steepled over his stomach. She stares back at him and she can feel it, the strength of the love she has for him, like a physical thing. It’s warm, when she just lets it be, flooding her system, cocooning her in its embrace. It’s only when she doesn’t, when she allows the fear to take over, that it hurts, like a lightning bolt hurtling straight through the sky to strike her in the heart.

After the week she’s had, she knows what she wants. Last night had been eye opening, the differing interpretations of their relationship, the terror that they’ve both been living with, the truth that it’s them, it’s always been them, it will always be them, as long as they try. Linda was right, that they can’t do this alone. She hadn’t intentionally avoided him at the party, had only meant to gather her thoughts; but Iris never wants to see Barry like that again, on his knees because she’s letting things she’s got no control of run her. That she could do that to him… she shakes her head. She just wants forever with him and that starts with them talking.

“You want breakfast?” The question comes out of left field, but she goes with it.

“Sure?”

“I ordered some from the little spot at the corner. They're open until just noon today. It should be ready soon. I can go grab it while you shower?”

She nods. “Okay.”

She watches as he stands, the length of him unfolding from the chair. He grabs a white t-shirt from one of his dresser drawers and slips it on before doing the same thing with sneakers and a coat from his closet. Then he comes over to the bed, standing against the edge.

“Come here,” he calls for her, his voice a touch deeper than it was moments ago. Like it always does, the command makes something primal flutter through her. She obliges him, climbing to her knees to reach him. She’s still naked from the night before, and the slight chill in the air causes goose pimples to rise on her skin. He’s there to stave it off immediately, pulling her close to him with his palms full of her ass.

He just stares down at her, at first, his gem colored eyes vivid. She’s always thought that there was something erotic about being naked against a fully clothed man like this, that illusion of dominance that she will only ever admit out loud when she’s in bed with Barry. She feels safe with Barry in that. She knows not fully, not until she’s worked on the emotional scars that are too deep to be merely talked out, to be loved out by Barry. But she has this, here, and it’s worth fighting for.

“What?” she asks, finally.

He puckers his lips at her and she obliges him here too, pressing her mouth to his. It’s a quick kiss, and Iris finds herself following after him when he pulls away.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says.

She nods. “Okay.”

He gives her left cheek a quick slap and then he starts for the door.

“Hey Allen,” she calls out. She waits until he’s facing her again to say, “I love you. You know that, right?”

“I do know,” he nods. “I love you too, baby.”

She does take a quick shower while he’s gone. She dresses in a pair of his old boxers and one of his t-shirts, despite the fact that she keeps a few items of clothing here, and brushes her hair up into a topknot. By the time she’s done, Barry is back, unpacking the food he’s brought.

The living room doesn’t really look like there was a party here last night. The caterers had packed up their goods and the bartender too, and apart from a couple champagne and martini glasses still sitting on the tables and windowsills, and the decorations, his apartment looks like it usually does, cozy and lived in. It only occurs to her when she sees the light of the tree on that it’s Christmas morning. She and Barry have plans to make rounds later on, to his parents’ for early evening cocktails and then to her dad’s for a low key dinner.

They decide to sit on the sofa to eat. He’s gotten them both containers of chicken and waffles, with a sweet jalapeno syrup. There’s a citrus fruit platter, slices of grapefruit, oranges and kiwis, with some blueberries and blackberries there adding color.

She’s only a few bites in but she’s going out of her mind with anticipation and so she just blurts out, “I think we should go to counseling.”

He, apparently, had been feeling the same apprehension because he exclaims at the same time, “Are we breaking up?”

They both gasp at the other, mouths wide in shock.

He puts his plate down on the table, and wipes his hands against his sweatpants before turning to her.

“Counseling, Iris?”

She doesn’t like the incredulity in his voice, as if counseling is a concept that doesn’t have a place with them, but she’s more concerned with his worries right now.

“Barry, why do you keep asking me if we're gonna break up?”

“I’m just trying to figure it out.” Barry stands, moving from around the coffee table, starting to pace in that space on the side of the couch. He stops after a moment and turns back to her. “Is this another way to keep from letting your guard down?”

Now, she swears he’s just being obtuse.

“No, Barry. This is me explaining to you that I think we need some help.”

“So you’re telling me that you don’t think we can be in this relationship alone?”

She stands up too, exhaling loudly. “I’m, apparently, not telling you anything because you won’t listen. This is what I mean. Our every conversation is snark and innuendo. And if it isn’t, it’s because we’re arguing. Like right now.”

“This isn’t an argument,” he disagrees. “This is me wondering why I’m not enough for you, why you want to bring someone in to talk about things that we can solve.”

Iris shakes her head vehemently. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

She takes a second to look at him, to really look. Sometimes it’s easy to forget the world Barry grew up in. In some ways, it was like hers. Present to others an image that doesn’t ask questions, keep issues in house. But, at least where the two of them have been concerned, they’ve never been good at that. Her heart has always been on her sleeve for Barry, and his for her too.

She grabs his arm and pulls him back down on the couch and he lets her, going with it when she crawls into his lap. She thinks they need this closeness to finish this conversation. His hands land on her hips, their natural spot when she’s anywhere near him, and she spreads her fingers on either side of his neck. She can feel the pounding of his pulse beneath her fingertips, as fast as her own, and Iris takes a calming breath, hoping that he can mimic it too. She’s determined now, to fight for this, but not in a way that’s going to keep hurting them both.

“The way we are right now,” she starts, gaze intent on his, “we’re not, we’re not safe for each other. You’ve spent this entire week thinking I'm going to break up with you because of an argument and I’ve been spiraling, scared out of my mind that my hesitancy is going to ruin us. That’s not healthy.”

He seems to be listening now, taking the words in as they are, not to react to them. She nods and continues.

“When I asked you for time, to go slow, I wasn’t being difficult. I know that I’m still learning what it means to be involved with someone else. And, frankly Barry, you are too. Unless you were lying to me about your previous relationships.”

He shakes his head with a quick flex of his fingers on her hips. “Of course I wasn’t.”

“We are not the perfect Allens or the destructive Wests. We’re going to have to work at this in a way that your parents might not seem to and trust each other in a way that mine didn’t. We can’t just expect it to work because we love each other. Because if it doesn’t, if we b-break, I don’t think I c-can…”

She sees Barry’s expression soften at the break in her voice, at the vulnerability she’s tried to keep at bay, even with him. She bites at her lips as he circles his arms around her tight, stemming the tears that are inexplicably threatening to pool in her eyes.

“Counseling’s not just about us as a couple, but as individuals. Don’t you want to be the best for each other?”

Barry’s stares at her, the sensation as potent as it always is. It’s a crazy thought, that the man can see into her soul just by looking at her, but she swears it's true, especially when they’re together like this. He had always been able to get into her head, his pointed remarks effectively hitting their target; he had always been able to get to her heart, the only person who could make her feel. And now she thinks he can see right down to the bones of her.

“I’ve always told you that I’ll give you whatever you want, West. All you have to do is ask me. I mean that.”

She smiles at him, big and wide, for the first time since last Saturday.

“Then please, Barry Allen, can we go to couple’s counseling?”

Barry sighs loudly, running a long-fingered hand over his face. “Yes, we can.”

Iris yelps in delight, leaning down to give him a big kiss on the mouth.

“I will say,” she adds, thinking now, “that you didn’t give me the tree when I asked for it.” She nods her head at the tree sitting brilliantly in the window. “And you still got the one I wanted.”

He snorts. “It was the principle.”

“It was your ego.”

He harrumphs, but doesn’t respond to that. He goes quiet then, reaching up to caress her cheek with his knuckle. He comes to a stop under chin, his thumb rubbing gently against her bottom lip.

“Don’t let a week pass us by again.” He speaks softly, his voice deeper somehow, the sound shooting right to the core of her. “You can't go that long without talking to me. I won’t accept that again.”

She nods, her face still in his hold, her body lighting up in response to the command. “I won’t,” she whispers back.

“Come here, star,” he says, and she’s moving forward before the new nickname registers.

She tilts her head in question. “Star?”

She thinks his cheeks pink as he answers with a shrug. “I don’t know. I was thinking about that song we danced to last night.”

She continues her descent, stopping when her chest is brushing against his, when her lips are put a millimeter away from his. “You’re such a fucking sap, Allen.”

She ignores the sap in her own voice just now.

“Yeah?” He keeps his gaze steady on hers. “How about I take you in the bedroom and show you how much of a sap I am.”

She gives a smug grin, this one reminiscent of those goddamn smirks he’s forever giving her. “Or you can show me right here.”

He does it then, that smirk of his wide as he goes to pull at the hem of her shirt. He taps at her hip, thrusting his a little. She shivers on top of him, her eyes fluttering closed.

“God, I fucking love you, Iris.”

She looks at him through the narrowed slits of her eyes, her smile lust-drunk as Barry cups a hand over one of her breasts, rubbing gently over a dark brown-tipped nipple. “I love you too, Barry.”

And then they proceed to show each other: with deep, wet kisses, and with long, slow strokes. With Iris’s nails digging into the skin of his shoulders and with Barry’s palms gripping her hips, his mouth pressed against her ear as he talks her to orgasm.

Later, he’ll sing to her, as the song plays from his phone when they leave his parents’ place for hers; as she sits next to him remembering their dance with her fingers holding his on her thigh; as the stars guide their way.

“I have come to understand the way it is. It’s not a secret anymore, cause we’ve been through that before. From tonight, I know that you’re the only one. I’ve been confused and in the dark. Now I understand, yeah, yeah.

I wonder why it is, I don’t argue like this, with anyone but you. I wonder why it is, I won't let my guard down, for anyone but you. We do it all the time. Blowing out my mind.

Just like a star across the sky. Just like an angel off the page. You have appeared in my life. Feel like I'll never be the same. Just like a song in my heart. Just like oil on my hands.”

#westallen fanfiction #barry allen x iris west #wicked game universe #angst with a happy ending

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