Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I made a deal with him, Mick.”

“I’m pretty sure we made a deal, once. What’s mine is yours and all that. Including the identity of superheroes. Spousal privilege.”

“That’s - not how spousal privilege works. And I’m still not telling you. You’d let it slip that you knew and the deal would be off and it’s too good a deal to risk it.”

That's how the argument starts, with Len having found out the Flash's real name and refusing to share it, not even with his fucking husband. It ends with Mick getting pissed off and going to work out his issues elsewhere for a few months. Meaning he’s not in Central when Len gets kidnapped by Lewis and later ends up in jail - not that jail lasts long, and he hurries back as soon as he hears the news, because “damnit, Lenny, I thought you had a deal with the brat?!”

“I did, and I broke it. Shot somebody dead right in front of him.”

But Len still won’t tell Mick who the Flash really is. And he gets this fond look whenever he talks about him (Mick can tell it's a fond look. Most other people would probably think Len was just looking particularly murderous, but Mick knows his Len). And Mick is getting really frustrated right about now.

So he starts his own investigation into who the hell the Flash is. No breaking Len’s precious deal, just - investigating. Looking into interesting facts, staking out STAR Labs to see who comes and goes, that sort of thing.

Without telling Len.

Mick starts investigating, and he’s got a pretty good starting point, since he knows that the Flash is associated with STAR Labs. So, he goes and stakes it out. Boring, but it works - pretty soon, he’s got a good idea about what sort of people are regularly coming and going. And most of them he can disregard - clearly it’s not Ramon or Snow, and most of the people showing up are the wrong gender or race or age.

But then there’s a young guy who’ll sometimes arrive with the cop West and sometimes leave in a happy little group with Ramon and Snow, and interestingly enough it doesn’t always seem as if he's arrived before leaving, so to speak, though Mick can’t be sure, he doesn’t have the time for 24/7 staking out.

Still, it’s a clue. And he thinks he sorta remembers the kid from that time him and Len got arrested after fighting the Flash - hanging out at the station, watching from a cautious distance. So, obvious place to look: the police. Turns out the kid is a badge, a CSI. Okay, so maybe that just means he’s part of the Flash’s crew - like West and various other people. Except a little snooping and Mick has the info that this Allen kid got hit by lightning when the particle accelerator did its thing, and then spent months in a coma. And the first reports of the Streak started up shortly after he woke back up.

So, Mick takes one of his stake out pictures of Barry Allen and a red pen, and he draws the Flash outfit on top of him, and yeah, that looks about right.

Good. Now he knows who the Flash is, now he just needs to approach him and convince him that he should totally have a threesome with him and Len. Which means approaching him in a non-threatening manner. Wonder if the kid likes barbecue?

Chapter Text

Approaching someone in a non-threatening manner is not always easy, when you are a big, scary, burn-scarred pyromaniac supervillain.

Of course, knowing the identity of the person you want to approach means you’ve got access to all sorts of info (especially if you know a friendly hacker or two) - like where that person lives. Or that West and the journalist girl are going to be out of town for some father-daughter bonding thing for the weekend. Or that Allen told Ramon as he was leaving STAR Labs that he was planning to just finish his shift and then spend a long, lazy weekend doing nothing and watching Netflix.

Perfect.

***

Barry comes home to a house that ought to be empty - except he can hear somebody out back.

“Hello? Joe, is that you?”

There’s a voice replying - something - and that’s definitely not Joe’s voice. Actually, it sounds kinda familiar.

So, Barry walks out back, figuring it’s not like he can’t outrun any potential home invasion.

Out back there are two barbecues set up - Joe’s old barbecue and a huge, professional looking one that makes Joe’s look small and kinda embarrassed. There’s ribs on the grills - sizzling and they smell fantastic, and the table’s set for two, two huge bowls of salad (one tossed greens, one potato salad) and bread that smells fresh-baked and it all looks amazing.

“Sit down, Speedy. You’re just in time - the first batch is just about done.”

And there’s Mick Rory, dressed in a shirt that’s just that right amount of too tight, showing off his upper body very well (he does know how to play to his strengths), managing the feast that looks fit to sate a speedster.

Wait. Speedster. Speedy?!

“Did Snart tell you? Where is he?”

“Lenny’s not here, kid. It’s just you and me here, having ourselves a nice, friendly meal.”

“Did he tell you?!” and Barry’s still not quite recovered from the whiplash of dazed-by-the-food-to-angry-to - whatever this is.

“That you’re the Flash? No. Figured that out all by myself. In the future, you might want to come up with an explanation for how Barry Allen can be seen leaving STAR Labs when he hasn’t entered it for the last 48 hours and he was definitely at work that day. Now sit. Eat!” and Mick puts the first rack of ribs on a plate and - well. Usually the surprises in Barry’s life are more telepathic gorillas or friends turning out to be evil speedsters from alternate Earths or the future and similarly bad things. Finding his home burgled by a supervillain intent on barbecue?

So, yeah. Barry eats. He spares a moment to worry that the food might be poisoned, except Mick’s already started on his own plateful of ribs, tearing out a chunk of one of those loaves - and it all smells so good.

“So, don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, having finished off his fifth huge rack of ribs (and eyeing a sixth currently sizzling away) and made a significant dent in the rest of the food as well as the beer Mick brought, “but the bad guys who figure out who I am don’t usually try to feed me into submission. Especially not bad guys who tried to kill me last time we met.”

“We weren’t trying to kill you, not really,” and Mick gestures dismissively with his beer. “If Len wanted you dead, Speedy, you’d have been dead the first time you fought him. It’s not like your buddies could have stopped him with their pimped-out vacuum cleaner.”

“It felt like you were trying to kill me,” Barry grumbles, embarrassed, though really, he should have known Cold had seen through Cisco’s trick.

“Nah, Lenny was just grumpy that day ‘cause you hadn’t bothered to show up for any of the playdates he’d arranged for you. He gets like that - but he does like you, kid.”

Barry doesn’t blush at that. Absolutely not. There is nothing in being told by a supervillain that another supervillain likes you that should make you blush. Nope.

“That still doesn’t explan what you are doing here.”

“Tell you what - if you can stop looking at those ribs like you can’t decide whether you want to eat them or molest them and go fetch the dessert I stuck in the freezer,” - there’s a red blur and a huge ice cream cake is taking up half the table - “and some stuff to eat it with” - another blur and there’s plates and spoons clattering on the table - “maybe I’ll tell you afterwards.”

Afterwards, Mick goes about the business of closing the grills before sitting down and handing Barry another beer.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” he starts, “and I figured it’d be easier to get you to sit down and listen this way than if I’d grabbed you on the street somewhere.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“Nah, that’s Lenny’s game. I’m trying to bribe you.”

“With ribs?!”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe. Uhm. So. What’s the proposition? Because I’m not going to help you do something criminal, just so you know.”

“Nah, it ain’t criminal. Not in this state, anyway. Probably in Texas. Anyway - thing is - me and Len’s anniversary is coming up, and…”

“Anniversary?” Barry squeaks. “As in you’re married?” and oh, he’s going to hell, not only has he been fantasizing about a supervillain, he’s been fantasizing about a married supervillain.

“Yeah, coming up on our tenth year. I mean, it wasn’t exactly legal back then, but we had the paperwork fixed up all proper a while ago. So, thing is,” and Mick looks downright embarrassed, “me and Lenny had a fight and I was out of town to cool off a bit when his dad got out of jail this time, so I wasn’t around to bash Lewis’ brains in before he could try anything funny. Wasn’t around to help Len. So I need to give him a really good gift this year, to make up for me being an idiot, see?”

“And you need me to help you find a good present?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I was kinda thinking you’d be the present,” and this can’t be going where Barry’s fantasies are trying to convince him it’s going.

“Me?” he squeaks. Again. He really needs to stop doing that.

“You. As in, Lenny likes you, kid. Really likes you, and he’s a picky bastard at the best of times. So, I figured I’d give him a threesome with you.”

“A threesome?” and he really, really needs to get that squeaking under control. It’s not dignified for a superhero to squeak.

“You, me and Lenny. We’ll let Lenny figure out how he wants us and all that - he likes that sort of thing. So, what do you say?” and Mick looks at him expectantly, presumably trying to guess if he’s about to be left alone by a fleeing superhero.

“Okay,” and maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, but it’s not like he’s currently seeing anyone since Patty left, and it’s not like he hasn’t been fantasizing about Cold, and it’s not like Mick isn’t a very fine sight, and besides - ribs!

“Okay,” and Mick leans back in his chair, sounding relieved, as if he hadn’t expected it to be this easy.

Chapter Text

In Len’s considered opinion, the good thing about anniversaries - as opposed to, say, birthdays - is that your partner will hopefully be too busy sneaking about and trying to get you a present to notice that you’re sneaking around trying to get him a present.

At least, that’s the theory. Admittedly, last year that theory proved pretty sound, with Mick being barely seen for days, but on the date all he’d gotten was a Captain Cold Funko-Pop (he really needs to figure out who to threaten about some of those merchandising profits) and an uncharacteristically grumpy Mick. It hadn’t been until he’d had lunch with Lisa a few days later that he’d learned that Mick had been planning to steal him the Stanley Cup, except it had turned out that Mick’s usual style of heist planning wasn’t up to it.

Still, it’s the thought that counts.

Len hesitates outside the door to their latest safehouse, patting his parka to reassure himself that the envelope is still safe in its pocket, repeating the bloody tongue twister of a name to himself one more time - Thrihnukagigur - to be sure he won’t make a fool of himself when he presents his husband with the belated honeymoon/chance to play volcano with his heat gun. Not that Len really thinks Mick will be able to trigger a dormant volcano with that thing, but he’s sure he’ll have fun trying.

Then he picks the lock and walks in.

He expects to find Mick in the kitchen, but no. There’s something interesting in the oven, but the table isn’t even set and there’s a fancy bottle of wine that hasn’t even been uncorked yet. Odd.

There’s the sound of a scuffle coming from upstairs. Curiouser and curiouser.

He pulls his goggles on as he walks upstairs, letting the world turn silvery-blue around him, and pulls the cold gun from its holster. He lets the weapon charge with a whine as he slams the door open.

The two men inside freeze.

Then there’s a blur of red and Barry Allen has put the space of the room between himself and Mick, glaring back at him. Apart from the mulish expression, the speedster’s looking good - nice, black slacks, a belt with a fancy, red buckle, a very nice, if somewhat rumpled button shirt - the sort of clothes that just begs for someone to unwrap the person wearing them.

“So,” Len drawls, and has the satisfaction of Barry turning a startled look in his direction, as if he’s regretting the life choices he made that has lead him to this pretty pass, “would either of you two care to share with me what’s going on here?”

“Hey, Lenny,” Mick smiles, a bit too tight, returning the speedster’s glare with vigor, “could you come back in five minutes? I just need to finish wrapping your present.”

“I am not letting you put that stupid thing on me,” Barry grumbles, crossing his arms.

There’s a piece of fabric on the ground - some form of ribbon or maybe a sash, fire truck red and with a big, somewhat mangled bow stuck on it. If Len tilts his head, he can make out bits of letters - “app” and “vers” - from between the twists.

“Present, Mick?”

Mick makes a disgruntled sort of noise before answering.

“Well, so much for making it a surprise. Happy anniversary, Lenny. Look! I got you your superhero to play with,” and then he - well, he doesn’t beam, because he’s still glaring at said superhero, but he does make a ta-da sort of gesture in a very mutinously-looking Barry Allen’s general direction, and damnit, but this is a fine mess.

Len drags his goggles down and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying - probably in vain - to stop the headache he just knows he’s about to get. Then he glares at his husband - an I’ll-talk-with-you-later-about-acceptable-forms-of-villainy-and-what-really-really-isn’t-one-of-them glare, that makes Mick’s own glare fade into confusion. Seriously? He never thought this sort of thing was Mick’s speed, not to mention that he didn’t even know that Mick knew the speedster’s identity, but he’ll deal with that later. First things first.

He steps forward and to the side, leaving the door free, and jerks his head back towards it.

“Get out of here, Scarlet,” and he’s a little surprised by how tired he sounds.

“But, Lenny!” but he ignores Mick’s affronted voice.

“I don’t know what sort of blackmail he’s got on you to make you go along with this, but I’ll deal with it. Just scram.”

He starts turning back to his husband, and maybe it’s not the wisest decision, turning his back on a superhero, but right now it feels more important to give his dear husband a piece of his mind.

“But - he didn’t,” and Barry’s voice is oddly small and a little lost. “He just asked me.”

Len turns back. Tilts his head.

“Asked you? Asked you to do what, exactly?”

But the kid’s just blushing, as red as that silly leather suit of his, and Mick’s awkwardly clearing his throat.

“To be your present. I asked him to be your present.”

Len looks from the blushing speedster to his husband, standing with the by-now-probably-ruined bow in his hands, and then back to the speedster, remembering his earlier thoughts about how the kid looked fit to be unwrapped.

Oh.

Chapter Text

It’s Mick who eventually breaks the awkward silence to suggest that they should go have dinner.

Barry follows him downstairs, trying to smooth out the far-too-fancy shirt that Mick had made him put on and watching as Cold disappears into what he guesses must be their bedroom.

In the kitchen he’s told to set the table, while Mick digs out pans and steaks and checks on the really-interesting-smelling potato stuff he’s got in the oven. A little while later Len joins them, his Captain Cold get-up traded in in favour of a tight black sweater, a white envelope in his hand.

“Mick,” and he gestures for his husband to join him. Barry stays in the kitchen, too far away to hear whatever they’re saying, but he watches as Mick opens the envelope and as a wide grin spreads across his face - and then Mick reaches out, yanks Len closer and kisses him, enthusiastically, and Barry finds himself looking away, feeling like he’s trespassing somehow. If he had had any doubt about whether the story about Len and Mick being married was actually true (and he doesn’t, mostly because he actually went and tracked down their marriage certificate - he’s not paranoid, but he’s not a complete idiot, thank you), that kiss would have driven them all far away.

It looks like Captain Cold’s a really good kisser.

Looks like Len, at least, has managed to find a good anniversary present. Barry’s still not so sure how Mick’s is turning out.

At first, dinner is awkward. Barry finds himself feeling a bit too much like a third wheel, and Len isn’t talking, just looking at him, studying him, as if he’s Captain Hawk studying the amazing mouse Speedy Gonzales, and just as he did when Cold had suddenly been standing in the door opening, Barry finds himself worrying that he’s gotten into something far out of his depth.

He can’t even dive into the food properly to block out the awkwardness. Oh, the food’s delicious and he gets a second helping, but he’s mostly still full. Mick had definitely made good on his promise to bribe him with food. It’s actually a bit weird, not feeling that constantly gnawing little ghost of hunger in his belly. Good weird, though, definitely good weird.

“So - how did you two get married, anyway?” he ends up asking Mick, feeling a little desperate to break the silence with something that isn’t “Pass the salt, please?”

As it turns out, it’s just the right question.

Mick starts regaling him with a story about a heist in New Orleans. It hadn’t been their heist, technically - they’d been hired for it, as had most of the other people involved. Len hadn’t planned it, which was - if you asked Mick - probably why the whole thing had gone quite spectacularly to Hell in a handbasket.

“We ended up in some jazz dive with one of the others - fellow by the name of Midget,” - “Midnite, Mick” - “Right, Midnite. Anyway, we had ourselves some booze, a nice bar fight, ended up chatting half the night, and turns out he’s a proper witchdoctor,” - “Voodoo priest, Mick. He’d turn you into a frog if he heard you call him a witchdoctor.” - “Yeah, that. So, me and Lenny, we’d been an item since juvie, and…”

As the story unfolds, Barry grows more and more convinced that Mick is deliberately filling his tale with mistakes, bait that Len just can’t resist swallowing hook, line and sinker, until the other man has all but taken over the story, describing the wedding ceremony in sufficiently vivid detail that Barry can almost hear the drums and see…

“A snake? Seriously?!”

“A big one, too,” Mick confirms, grinning as he gets up to get the dessert. “All blue and red stripes. Never did find out what sort it was.”

Dessert involves liberal amounts of ice cream and really juicy strawberries being juicy all over Barry’s fingers. He tries to surreptiously lick them clean, only to realize that Len’s looking at him again, except - except this look makes Barry start blushing again, and damnit, this is almost as bad as the squeaking.

And then Len very deliberately licks his lips.

Right. Well. Blushing’s just a part of life, no shame in that, hey, will you look at that, he really should be helping Mick with the dishes, it’s only good manners and he can do it in a flash…

Len’s fingers close around his wrist.

“So, tell me, Scarlet,” and Christ, drawling supervillains should be illegal. Well, they probably are already, but more illegal, okay? “When Mick says you’re my anniversary present, what does that mean, exactly? What did you agree to?”

And he’s tugging, his thumb rubbing tiny, soothing circles against the inside of Barry’s wrist, and then there’s Mick giving Barry a helpful shove, and somehow it ends with Barry awkwardly mostly-falling into Len’s lap and ending up with his free hand wrapped around Len’s upper arm for support.

“Barry? What did Mick ask for?”

“A threesome. He wanted to give you a threesome with me.”

“And you just agreed?”

“Yeah. I mean yes. Yes, I did.”

Len raises an eyebrow.

“Just like that? No discussions, no list of stuff you won’t do, no safewords, nothing like that?” and suddenly Barry’s back to feeling way out of his depth, but no, they hadn’t, it hadn’t even occurred to him, and it’s not like he’s got any clue what these two actually like to do. For all he knows they might…

“Cut it out, Lenny. You’ll have him thinking we’re into all sorts of that fifty shades of tie me upside down crap,” Mick grumbles, slamming a pan into the sink with enough force to make it clatter.

“Just making sure we’re all on the same page,” and Len lifts the hand that’s not holding his wrist, slides his fingers through Barry’s hair and down to the nape of his neck.

Then he tugs.

As it turns out, Captain Cold really is a very, very good kisser. An A+, six out of six stars, top marks, would definitely ride this rollercoaster again sort of kisser, licking his way into Barry’s mouth and sucking on his tongue and pulling back to pepper little kisses at the corners of Barry’s mouth before diving back in.

When it ends, it takes Barry a moment to realize that he’s closed his eyes at some point. He blinks them open to find that his forehead is touching Len’s and his arms have come up to wrap themselves around the other man’s shoulders and he’s just a little bit out of breath.

“Hi.”

“Hi, yourself,” and Len’s lips quirk into a surprisingly nice sort of smirk. “What do you say we take this party somewhere a bit more - comfortable?”

Chapter Text

Mick finishes the dishes and puts the final pan in the sink to soak before walking up the stairs to join the other two.

Once inside the bedroom, he leans back against the closed door to properly take in the sight before him.

Len has gotten Barry onto the bed and then he’s gotten started on unwrapping his present. Barry’s shirt is partly unbuttoned and shoved back, and Len’s taking full advantage, bent over and with his mouth on the kid’s chest. Judging by the way Barry’s head's been thrown back, exposing his neck to the whole world, he’s appreciating the attention.

Len unwraps the superhero - slowly exposing skin, constantly stopping to stroke, to kiss, to map out the body in front of him. Len’s always been the type to unwrap his presents slowly - drives Mick and Lisa (who both belong squarely to the rip-the-paper-off school of thought) to distraction every Christmas without fail.

Mick grins and reaches down to pull out his own dick, stroking himself as he enjoys the sight of Barry moaning and arching into Len’s touches like an eager little thing.

The shirt’s finally off and Len’s unbuckling the belt when Barry loses his patience - Mick’s actually sort of impressed with how long he’s held out. Moving just a little faster than a normal human, the kid flips them and yanks Len’s sweater off. Then he reaches down to push down his own slacks, except that’s when Len catches up with him, grabbing his wrists and flipping them again, pinning Barry’s arms above his head with one hand.

“Someone’s being naughty,” Len drawls. “Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to rush a man unwrapping his anniversary present, Scarlet?”

He reaches down and pulls the belt free, then wraps it a couple of times around Barry’s wrists - “Hands off!” - before turning his attention back to his unwrapping.

Barry laughs, shaking off the belt with no trouble and letting it clatter to the floor, but he leaves his hands where Len put them, stretching out luxurously beneath him like the gorgeous little wanton he’s turning out to be.

“At least take them off,” he says, stroking his calf against Len’s denim-covered leg. “I want to see how far down it goes.”

It, of course, being the magnificent piece of body art Len’s back is covered with, two Eastern style dragons resting their heads against his shoulderblades, their bodies entwined down along his spine, vanishing under the fabric of Len’s jeans. If Barry asked, Mick could tell him - could tell him of talons curving around buttocks and tails wrapped tightly around strong thighs.

It’s entirely possible the tattoo artist had abruptly needed to take a couple of weeks to go visit his grandma in Saskatchewan after Mick had seen that tattoo. He wasn’t the jealous sort, but there was just something about the way that tattoo wrapped itself around Len…

Of course, Barry doesn’t need to ask Mick, because Len’s doing what he’s asked - he’s reasonable like that, occasionally. Not that he’s giving the kid any time to admire the ink before leaning forward to capture his mouth, reaching down to rub his hand against the prominent bulge in Barry’s slacks.

When Len finally gets around to removing the last bit of wrapping, pulling off Barry’s boxers and letting his dick out to stand proud, bobbing slightly, well - Mick’s not ashamed to say he’s just as hard himself. The kid’s fucking beautiful, and the sounds he makes when Len wraps his lips around that dick, well - there should be a law.

Though, considering how Mick and Len usually deal with the law, that probably wouldn’t help.

There’s a bit of unbecoming scrambling as Len pretty much refuses to take his mouth off Barry’s dick while reaching out to dig the lube out of the dresser. Still, he manages, coating a couple of his fingers liberally, and Barry’s already obligingly spreading his legs a bit extra, moving to allow Len to easily - except Len wraps his lube-free hand around Barry’s thigh, tugging it back, while he reaches back and pushes those fingers into himself.

Well, that’s unexpected. Oh, Len likes a good fuck as much as the next man (the next man usually being Mick, of course), but he is a terribly picky bastard and a control freak to boot. Mick can count on one hand the number of times he’s bottomed when they’ve invited a third party into their bed - but Jesus fucking Christ he’s a gorgeous sight like this, sucking Barry’s cock and fingerfucking himself like a pro.

Barry seems to agree, having pushed himself up in a sitting position to get a better view. Not that he gets to stay there long, because even Len has a point beyond which he loses patience - at which he pushes Barry back down, rolls a condom down his dick and then climbs aboard. The kid meets him halfway, hips pushing up as Len slides down, groaning appreciatively. Then he’s pulling back up and sliding back down, an agonizingly slow counterpoint to Barry’s eagerly pistoning hips.

Then Len rolls his hips in that way he’s got that Mick knows only to well what does to a man, and the kid’s moaning, arching off the bed, stretching, baring that pale throat and letting his head fall back, and their eyes meet across the room.

“Hey, Mick,” and it’s a little impressive that the kid can still string together a sentence, “I thought this was supposed to be a threesome?”

He looks back at Len, lifting a lazy arm to poke at Len’s chest, except he seems to change his mind halfway and aims for Lenny’s belly button instead, brushing right against his dick along the way.

“I was promised a threesome.”

Len laughs, putting one hand on Barry’s belly, then sliding it up, long fingers wrapping themselves around that neck for just a moment before sliding up past the chin and dipping into a panting mouth.

“Cheeky. Hey, Mick, why don’t you come over here and give him something better to do with this pretty mouth?”

Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Damn, but he’s done it again, gotten so wrapped up in the gorgeous, blazing sight - and he’s the one who invited Barry. Now that’s just fucking rude of him.

He walks to the bed, still stroking his cock, and Barry lets his head fall back over the edge of the bed, smiling mouth opening like an invitation. It’s an awkward angle - the bed’s too low, Mick’s too tall - and Barry can only take part of his dick in his mouth, but that’s alright. The kid certainly doesn’t seem to mind, humming happily as he swirls his tongue around the head.

Wait, that’s not humming, that’s…

“Holy fucking Christ, kid. You’re a fucking human vibrator!” and Len’s laughing at him, he knows that even before he looks at him, that silent smirk-laugh that’s all Len. “No wonder you wanted to ride him.”

Len reaches out, tugging at the collar of Mick’s shirt, and the kiss is good and wet and ends with Len pulling back slowly, sucking at Mick’s bottom lip, and Mick following, wanting more - except he manages to forget what else he’s doing, thrusting forward a bit too enthusiastically and ending up choking the kid, earning himself a somewhat flailing fist to the thigh.

“Sorry, sorry,” and he pulls out, reaching down to cradle the back of Barry’s head as he coughs, while Len stills, waiting for them.

“That’s - that’s okay, just,” and his voice has turned all rough on them, “just come here?” And Mick’s more than happy to comply, and it certainly feels like all is forgiven, as Barry starts playing, sucking and licking, letting just the tip of his tongue vibrate as he traces the thick, pulsing vein along the bottom of Mick’s cock. His hands reach back, one to wrap itself around the lower part of Mick’s cock and stroke, the other finds his balls, vibrating fingertips brushing against the sensitive skin.

“Christ, but you’re a fucking tease, aren’t you, Speedy,” but he says it fondly, letting his hand move from Barry’s head to the nape of his neck, rubbing it gently, and Barry hums happily around his dick. Mick wraps his other hand around Len’s cock, not even stroking it so much as letting Lenny fuck into his fist, ‘cause he knows that his husband likes the feeling of his burn calluses against his dick more than his own hand.

It doesn’t take long before Len’s coming, dragging Barry with him over the edge, and collapsing down next to him on the bed, barely remembering to pull off the condom and throw it in the general direction of the trash can. The pair of them are grinning like idiots at each other and Mick can’t help but grumble as he finally steps out of his pants and pulls his shirt off and lets it fall to the floor before kneeling on the bed.

Barry blinks up at him, still a bit post-orgasm languid, and Mick takes advantage and leans in to get his own kiss. It’s a sloppy, lazy thing, but still nice.

Then he pulls back, reaching out to stroke those nice abs and thumb one of Barry’s nipples while lazily pulling at his own still-hard dick.

“Hey, Barry. Can I fuck you now?”

“Well, I don’t know,” and he stretches that neck again, looking back at Len, asking in a wheedling voice: “Can he?”

Cheeky little shit. Cheeky little shit, who’s just begging for a lesson - and who has been flaunting that neck all night.

Barry makes a very satisfying squeak when he latches on, nipping at the skin and feeling a pulse as swift as a bird’s beneath his tongue.

Len lets him play for a bit before shoving him off, sliding a hand under Barry and rolling him, until the kid’s lying on top of Len, Len’s legs between his and conveniently spreading them, the fingers of Len’s left hand tangling in his hair and those of his right squeezing one of his buttocks, pulling it just a bit to the side.

“Sure he can, Scarlet.”

Of course, Mick’s momentarily distracted, bending down to lick his way up Barry’s spine, nipping gently at the nape of his neck, dragging his hands down the kid’s sides, feeling ribs that are just that bit too easily traced and briefly wondering if the kid would object to spending a few days locked up in a well-stocked kitchen with Mick.

Right, enough fantasizing, he’s got work to to. He leans down from the bed to pick up the lube that Len has let fall all the way to the floor, then slides a slick finger into Barry’s tight hole. That gets him a sharp inhale and not the breathless moan he’d been hoping for.

“You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just - been a while,” and he pushes back a bit, making Mick’s finger slide a bit deeper. “Come on, Mick, I won’t break.”

“Doesn’t mean you need to be the fastest man alive at everything,” Mick grumbles, drizzling more lube down Barry’s crack before slowly sliding that finger in and out. He more feels than sees Len’s hand move down to grab Barry’s thigh, holding him in place.

Nice and slow, that's the ticket. Barry relaxes, and two fingers in Mick twists them, finally earning that moan as well as a buzzing shiver from the kid - and a surprised moan from Len.

Len turns his head and Mick can’t hear what he’s asking, a hoarse whisper, but the kid answers something that sounds like “no refractory period,” and Mick can’t help but laugh at that.

He’s about to go for three fingers when Len takes his hand, fingers tangling with his, and sure, that works. He drizzles more lube and then they both slide in, Len’s long index finger joining his two callused ones, and the kid’s moaning, vibrating and rocking back and forth, his own hands having vanished somewhere between his and Len's bodies.

Mick pulls out, leaving Len to keep fingering Barry while he stretches to grab another condom. Two of Len’s fingers are still in Barry when he’s ready, holding him a little open, and Mick leans forward, lining himself up.

“Can I fuck you now, Barry?” and both he and Len laugh at the kid’s reply, all cursing and begging and “yes, damnit, get on with it”.

Well, it’s bad manners to leave a guest wanting.

In the end, they don’t last long - Mick’s been hard for far too long already, Barry’s a blur that makes funny, buzzing moans, and Len seems to somehow be borrowing some of that “no refractory period”, because he’s bucking up in counterpoint to each of Mick’s thrusts as if he hadn’t just come and Christ, Mick doesn’t remember Len taking so little time to be ready to go again since their early twenties.

Mick finds himself speeding up, fucking almost brutally into Barry for a moment or two, and then he collapses on top of the vibrating body, letting it bloody well milk him dry. Then he lets himself be shoved off by a Len grumbling about being squashed and watches a bit blearily as the other two reach their second orgasms of the night, Barry’s hand a blur around their cocks.

Fucking hell, but that’s hot.

In the end, it’s Len who shoves Barry off as well and staggers his way into the bathroom, returning with a couple of washcloths. Mick gets one in the face because Len’s an asshole, while Barry gets another deep kiss and can just lie back and enjoy. Mick’s pretty sure the kid’s already asleep before Len’s done.

Of course, Mick’s the one who ends up having to stagger back into the bathroom to throw the washcloths in the laundry basket. Because Len is an asshole.

An asshole who has arranged himself and Barry on the bed so that the speedster will be sandwiched between the pair of them when Mick lies back down, his head coming to rest against Mick’s chest.

“Happy anniversary,” Mick tells him, and they share a sleepy kiss. “Did you like your present?”

“Mmmm. Thinking of keeping him, actually.”

A small noise makes Mick look down, down into a pair of sleepy eyes just before they slide shut again, an arm coming up to slide around him, dragging him closer, a face nuzzling into his chest.

He wraps his own arm around the speedster, who starts humming ever so slightly in his sleep.

“I mean,” and Len yawns widely before finishing, “what sort of husband would I be, if I didn't want to keep such a lovely present from my husband?”

Chapter Text

It’s the smell of frying bacon that seems to finally draw their guest back into the land of the living - or out of the land of nod, at least.

Mick and Len have been awake for a couple of hours, but have removed themselves to the kitchen, leaving the kid to sleep. Len had briefly worried that Barry might be oversleeping for something, but Mick had assured him that Barry’s schedule for the morning was clear.

They had removed themselves to the kitchen, where Mick had eaten his breakfast and entertained Len with a with a no doubt embellished retelling of how he’d figured out the Flash’s identity and persuaded the hero to be Len’s anniversary present. Once that story is told, Mick settles down to stare at his lighter flame for a bit, while Len digs out the blueprints for the job he’s currently planning and starts taking notes.

A nice, lazy morning. Just the way they like them,

An hour or so later, Mick stirs and starts digging out eggs, bacon and more from the fridge. Len smiles - it’s nice having a husband that will cook for you and who knows that Len’s appetite doesn’t actually exist until he’s been awake for an hour or two.

The first sign they get that Barry’s awake is the clanging of the old pipes of the safehouse heralding somebody taking a shower upstairs. Len frowns at his blueprints, then decides to pack them up - deal or no deal, there’s no need to leave incriminating evidence like that out in the open.

Barry comes slowly down the stairs some ten minutes later, dressed in the clothes Len assumes the kid must have arrived in before Mick made him put on his “wrapping”. He pretty much makes a beeline for the empty spot at the table and all but inhales half the coffee pot.

“Good morning, Barry. Sleep well?”

The kid looks at Len - sitting comfortably at the table in his dressing gown, having started on a newspaper crossword puzzle because he can’t just sit at the table and do nothing - and blinks. Slowly.

“Yes. I slept fine. Yes. Thank you, and good morning. Uhm - maybe I should just…”

Which is the moment Mick picks to put down a plate brimming with scrambled eggs and bacon and hashbrowns, some slices of melon neatly wrapped in thinly sliced ham balancing precariously on the rim, in front of the kid. Then he takes advantage of having his hand free to reach out, tip Barry’s chin up and give the kid a nice, deep kiss.

“Morning, Doll. Should just what?”

“Should just - eat my breakfast?” Barry tries, earning himself a friendly pat on the head and a “you do that”.

Len catches the kid’s gaze.

“Nice save.”

Barry glares at him. Then his eyes narrow, no doubt because he’s noticed the piece of bacon Len has most nefariously filched off his plate, because why not take advantage of Barry being distracted? He is a thief, after all.

Barry wraps his arm protectively around his breakfast - as if Mick won’t make sure the kid’s properly fed before he gets to go anywhere. Len smiles innocently and turns his attention back to his crossword puzzle, waiting patiently for his own breakfast.

The stack of blueberry pancakes smells divine. Barry looks at them like a starved puppy.

Deciding to test a theory, Len gets up and very deliberately turns his back on Barry as he fetches the orange juice in the fridge. When he sits back down, the stack in front of him seems noticeably shorter. He raises an eyebrow at Barry, whose face seems stuck somewhere between blushing and mulish defiance.

Cute.

Smirking, Len sneaks out another piece of bacon and bites it in half. Barry looks at him suspiciously, then down at his plate as if counting his remaining pieces, then back up with an I-know-you-stole-that-bacon-even-if-I-can’t-figure-out-how-you-did-it-you-cold-hearted-bacon-thief look in his eyes. Len sniggers and most definitely isn’t tempted to reveal the nice little stash of pilfered pork hidden in his napkin.

Mick returns with a new stack of pancakes - raspberry, this time - and puts it in front of Barry. It’s an impressive stack, easily twice as high as Len’s was to start with. Barry looks at it for a moment, then suddenly looks terribly guilty.

This is getting ridiculous.

Len gets up - again - and he’s not even sure what excuse he’ll come up with this time, but he’s barely turned his back before the air in the kitchen moves as if there’s a strong, sudden draft, and he turns back to find a neat pile of raspberry pancakes on his plate.

Ridiculous. Cute, but ridiculous.

He sits back down, not even bothering to go through with the pretense, then slowly and deliberate pulls the last two pieces of bacon out from their hiding place and holds them out. That earns him a cautious smile and a blur and he’s left holding just one piece.

Which he has just taken a bite off when Mick turns back, looking at the pair of them suspiciously. They both do their best to look innocent. Neither are particularly succesful. Still, Mick grunts and turns back to finish the cinnamon toast he’s preparing.

Once the toast is on the table, along with a platter of sliced fruit, Mick sits down and starts chatting with Barry. Len turns most of his attention back to his crossword, content with just offering a snarky comment once in a while.

It’s nice, this morning. Relaxing. And Mick’s clearly enjoying feeding somebody with a bigger appetite than Len’s ever going to be able to offer him.

They should do this again.

In fact - it might be nice to get the kid to themselves for a little while. And Mick’s birthday is coming up soon enough and Len has been trying to think of a good present. Other than the keys to that fireworks shop Mick likes so much over in Keystone.

Perhaps they should kidnap Barry. It would need to be from some sort of public place, to make sure he couldn’t just flash away right at the start, and they’d need something to restrain that speed once they were out of everybody’s sight - nothing harmful, though. Perhaps those power dampeners Ramon had made for transporting the metas to Ferris Air would work?

Of course the kid would probably be too peeved about being kidnapped to want to have sex with them, but Len’s pretty sure Mick would be more than happy to just feed the brat - so, a place with a decent kitchen and a well-stocked pantry, and isolated enough that they wouldn’t be easily found by any rescue parties.

But keeping Barry Allen away from Central City means keeping the Flash away, increasing the likelihood of somebody making a connection between the two. That won’t do. Len likes the Flash’s identity to be a secret - it might not be particularly convincing blackmail anymore, but he likes being one of the few who knows.

So - he’ll need to make sure that the Flash makes an appearance in Central while Barry Allen is kidnapped by Captain Cold and Heatwave. Hmm. Perhaps there’s another speedster who’d be amenable to playing a bit of dress-up? While he can’t remember seeing that Reverse-Flash person around since the black hole mess - and besides, considering how Barry had been acting back then, Len somehow doubts that one would be willing to play along - but perhaps there’s another speedster somewhere? After all, if there’s two, why not three?

Or perhaps Barry himself could be persuaded - once he’s cooled off and been plied with Mick’s cooking for a day or two - to see the benefit to his secret identity in being known to be kidnapped while flashing off to save a kitten from a burning tree or something, and then come back to being kidnapped afterwards.

He’s so distracted by his plans that he doesn’t hear what Barry says and ends up getting punched in the shoulder by Mick as a polite way of getting his attention. He glares at his husband for a moment.

“I said, I’ve promised Iris I’d meet her for coffee in - five minutes ago, actually. So, I really need to go. It’s been great, you’ve been,” and he blushes, because apparently Barry Allen’s the type to happily have enthusiastic, filthy sex, but he’ll be awkward when it comes to talking about it the morning after. And he’s looking nervous again, unsure, standing and ready to leave and really, the kid is cute and ridiculous and Len’s too old for this.

Still, he gets up, stalks up to the kid and gives him a proper kiss goodbye.

“Don’t be a stranger, Scarlet,” and the kid smiles, ray of sunshine that he is, and then he’s gone.

“What’s gotten you so distracted?” Mick asks as he starts putting away what little food’s left and hands him a dishtowel.

“Nothing,” he answers as he accepts the first dripping plate, because he might not be able to actually spring the surprise of Barry’s future kidnapping on Mick quite like Mick surprised him with the threesome, since he’ll need him for the actual work, but he’ll be damned if he tells him already, “just making plans for a heist for when we come back from Iceland. How do you feel about the bullion exchange?”