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No Guts, No Glory

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God, Len moans without actually saying a word. It’s a breath, an exhalation with no volume, no tone, swirling hot in his mouth and filling his head without it ever entering the atmosphere. Out where he can be heard, he keeps his trap shut tight, biting into his wrist to keep from slipping. He occasionally slams his hand on the wall when the urge to throw his head back and let loose becomes too much. His hips stutter forward, and Len hears Barry choke, but he doesn’t worry too much about it.

Slamming his dick down Barry’s throat only seems to make Barry want him more. It makes him go harder, take Len deeper. But Len goes still when he feels Barry’s nose graze his groin, the back of Barry’s tongue squeezing his head as he swallows. Len tries to concentrate on something else, anything else – sport stats, armored truck schedules, the rising price of gasoline, the specs on his gun - so he doesn’t lose himself too quickly and shoot down Barry’s throat.

Len only gets this two days a week. He sure as fuckin’ hell’s gonna make it last.

Len doesn’t know why it’s different with Barry. Len's had his fair share of mouth on his dick, probably more than his fair share (if Mick’s constant griping about his own current dry streak is anything to go by). Barry shouldn’t be as spectacular as he is. But he is. There are the superficial reasons why - his handsome face, his athletic body, his surprisingly talented tongue. And the vibrating, of course. Barry keeps that mostly in check, succumbing to a gently simmering pulse when he gets excited. It’s a unique experience, but nothing earth shattering; something Len could achieve at home with a fleshjack and a Hitachi wand set on low. Then there’s the superhero thing. Len can’t help fanboying over Barry just a little bit. Len grew up on a steady diet of comic books and cartoons, especially after his dad became an abusive drunken bastard. Superheroes are supposed to save the day, and a lot of saving needed to be done in the Snart household.

Maybe Barry showed up about thirty years too late, but he has tried to save Len from himself a number of times. But more importantly, Barry saved Lisa from said abusive bastard, which gave Len an opening to kill the asshole. So, in essence, superhero Barry Allen did what Len had been praying someone would do his whole young life.

He helped Len rid himself of his old man once and for all.

Having all of that on his knees is a powerful aphrodisiac. But being with Barry does things to Len that he never expected, things that have started to leave their mark. It makes him feel young again. Makes him feel new. It transports him back to a less complicated time. It reminds him that things used to be different, he used to be different.

It reminds him of what innocence and hope feel like.

Len had dreams when he was younger that had nothing to do with being a criminal. He was a boy who never realized that the sum total of his life would include lying, robbing, and killing. Len had wanted so much when he was a child. He wanted to go to college, be a star athlete, maybe run for public office.

Len smiles wryly before his lips wrap around another silent moan. Right. Leonard Snart, Mayor of Central City. What a bizarre, fucked up world that would be, huh?

Then again, stranger things have happened.

Look at the position he’s in now?

It was two months ago when Barry walked in to the secret back bathroom of Saints and Sinners and started this “relationship”. Len was stoked at his insane luck. He thought he was getting one over on The Flash, but he was wrong. The second Barry put his mouth on Len, it was game over. Now Len’s hanging around in the dark on Sunday and Monday nights, waiting like a fidgety teenager for Barry to arrive. Len doesn’t know why Barry does it, nor does he care. The point is that Len can’t seem to quit Barry Allen ... but if Barry ever finds out that Len's on the opposite side of his favorite glory hole, that'll be the end of this.

Len had seen Barry come in to the bar that night. He didn’t stop by the pool tables, didn’t order a drink, just walked straight to the bar and the greasy old man standing behind it. Len saw Barry lean across, talk in the man’s ear. Then the man directed Barry to the back with a toss of his head. Len grinned big and bright, teeth bared. In the midst of a warm summer evening, it suddenly felt like Christmas. Len knew exactly where Barry was going, and he couldn’t wait to join him.

In Saints and Sinners’ infamous glory hole.

The glory hole is made up of two private bathrooms (from back when S&S was a classy establishment apparently) that share a common wall. So, being the sleazy place this is, the ownership drilled a hole in the (astonishingly thin) wall to let patrons get each other off back there, provided you know a friend of a friend who keys you in on the secret.

Len is really curious which friend tipped Barry off. (Len’s money is on Cisco. It’s always the nerdy, goofy ones you have to keep your eyes on … obviously …) Len followed, ready to get the drop on Barry. He’d have a field day catching Barry in that compromising position, snag himself some nice, incriminating cell phone pics to boot. Len already knew that Barry Allen was The Flash, but that nugget of info didn’t seem to carry the same punch anymore. He needed something new to hold over Barry’s head.

With no one waiting to service the hole, an opportunity presented itself. Len didn’t know exactly what he intended to do when he went into that bathroom, but he had no problem playing things by ear. Barry’s just being there could supply Len with prime blackmail material. Len just had to decide what he wanted.

Barry heard Len walk into the adjoining bathroom and lock the door. Without so much as a How do you do? Barry said, “Dick out.”

It wasn’t shy or apologetic, and it wasn’t a request. It was a command. Len had heard Barry throw around plenty of those, usually accompanied by some sappy comment about his knowing that Len was good at heart, which Len snickered at and rolled his eyes. But this command was raw. Compelling. Barry didn’t know who was behind that wall and he didn’t care. He wanted something, and he wasn’t asking for permission. He was there to take it. Len wasn’t into being dominated, but this side of Barry intrigued him. It was all the confidence and self-assurance of the superhero without the suit. As much as Len teased Barry about being a kid out past his bedtime, Barry was far from that.

In that second, Len knew what he wanted.

This. This was what he wanted.

Barry Allen.

It took Len all of a half second to comply.

At first, Len pictured Barry doing this to rage against his image. It must be hard being a goody-goody all the time. Not that Len didn’t believe Barry was a good person. He’d proven that an infuriating number of times. But when you do good things for people, they begin to take you for granted.

And they rarely give back.

Barry didn’t use a condom. He never does. With his superfast healing, he probably figures that his immune system can fight off any STD he may come in contact with. Besides, his team over at S.T.A.R. Labs could probably cook up an antibiotic cocktail in a snap. Barry wouldn’t even need to part with any embarrassing details. So sucking a random guy off unprotected isn’t really much of a risk. Beyond that, Barry probably wants the intimacy, a connection, but with a person he doesn’t have to worry about emotionally later on.  

Or he likes a dick in his mouth and blowing dildos at home alone wasn’t cutting it. Len doesn’t know the ways and means of Barry Allen getting off.

But he has to admit, he’d like to.

Len has wondered how Barry deals afterward. Does this linger in his mind for a few minutes? A few hours? Does he fantasize about who could be behind that wall? Does he feel ashamed after? Throw himself into training or research or whatever the fuck he does in his off time to forget? Or does he shrug it off the second he walks out the bathroom door? Leave it behind?

Because the side-effects for Len have been varied … and complicated.

Len thought that doing this, having this secret tucked away while fighting The Flash, would be hot as shit … and it is. He even started pulling more jobs just for the thrill of the confrontation. But when faced with coming close to killing Barry, even mortally wounding him, he found himself pulling his punches. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Everyone has their off days. But people have begun to notice. If this continues, he’s going to lose his street cred, which means that not only will The Flash be on his ass, but thugs from all over Central City will come after him, trying to remove Len from his throne.

Len had never intended on sticking around, but he’s been here longer than he’s been anywhere. He has to either change entirely to keep doing this with Barry, or leave Central City and cut all his ties.

Len could go if not for this choke hold Barry seems to have gained over him.

Barry has become a drug to Len – one that Len’s using while knowing full well it’s eating him away.

Contemplating this has made Len lose his edge, and feels himself on the verge of cumming. And Barry knows that he’s cumming, knows that the hand slamming against the wall, gaining strength which each hit, means that his mystery dick is about to blow, and he becomes ruthless.

Len doesn’t want this to end, but he has to admit, this is the best part, where mild-mannered superhero becomes primal, ravenous animal. Barry grabs hold of Len’s cock at the base, pulls slightly to hold Len steady, and goes to town on him, sucking from head to hand tirelessly, like an unstoppable machine, shaking with the effort it’s taking not to pull Len through the wall. Len visualizes putting his hand to the back of Barry’s head and holding him down on it, fucking The Flash’s pretty mouth, those wide, hazel-moss eyes staring up at him, sparking with lightning.

It might simply be the stimulation that does it – the hot, wet sheath of Barry’s mouth swallowing Len over and over that makes Len cum. But truth be told, it’s probably the fantasy. It’s been a long time since someone’s wanted Len this way, with this much fire and enthusiasm; been a long time since someone has made Len feel like more than a hole in the wall, ironically enough. He just wishes he could see that want on this kid’s face.

But if he did, he’d have to leave.

Len doesn’t like how quickly he turns into a limp noodle in Barry’s hand, but after he cums, he’s ready to sink to the floor and stay there, take an hour to recover. But he can’t, not only because someone else might come in, but because he’s seen the floor in this place.

He hasn’t had a tetanus shot in a few years. He’ll pass.

He feels Barry breathe heavy, hears him sniffling and coughing to clear his throat. But before he stands up and leaves Len completely, he drops a kiss on the head of Len’s dick.

Len doesn’t remember when that started, but it hasn’t always been there. It’s sympathetic and juvenile … but Len has started to look forward to it.

"So I’ll see you tomorrow?" Barry asks as Len tucks his dick back into his jeans and zips up.

Len knocks once for yes - the back room code created for those who truly want an anonymous experience.

"And maybe next time you can do me, huh?"

Barry chuckles, slightly embarrassed, but Len swallows hard, his stomach twisting like hooks have dug in and grabbed hold. Oh God. Face fucking Barry is one thing, but if he gets Barry in his mouth, if he gets a taste …

All of that power might be the end of him. 

He hears Barry sigh. “That’s … that’s alright. That’s not why you’re here, is it? I shouldn’t expect …”

Len knocks once. He hears Barry inhale sharply, then the bathroom goes silent. Len pauses, and knocks once again. Then again. Pause-knock, pause-knock, again and again until he hears Barry snicker. “Oh, well, I guess that’s a yes then?”

Len doesn’t want there to be any question. He doesn’t want to leave Barry with any doubts.

He doesn’t want Barry looking for someone else.

Len pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He types the word out in a blank text message window and puts the phone up to the hole. He hears Barry move, attracted by the glow of the screen, kneeling back down to get a closer look.

“Yes,” Barry whispers, as if it’s an answer he’s been waiting a long time for. “Alright. I’ll be here tomorrow … with bells on.” The lilt in Barry’s voice, the way a few of the words crack as if he isn’t a man in his twenties, but a smitten teenage boy, wraps around Len’s chest like chains covered in ice, burning him. Paralyzing him. He hears Barry leave the bathroom, and Len knows he should leave, too. Not Saints and Sinners, but Central City. But he can’t. Because Barry Allen wants Len to blow him, and Len wants to know – if Barry blowing Len brings back memories of everything good in his past, things that he’s forgotten, what memories would having Barry in his mouth bring back?

Len will have to find out.

Tomorrow night, a new stage in this torture begins.