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Cold Comfort

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They never go against their word, Team Flash, they “save“ Savitar. The paradox is no longer an obstacle to his continued existence, Iris no longer needs to die. The problem that remains then is him and how he is nothing like the man they expect him to be. It's an even more glaring contrast whilst they miss their Barry Allen, ensconced in the Speedforce. For their, pure, Barry Allen it's not a torment, though it satisfies Savitar that it's no less a prison for Barry.

That empathy that had been evident on Iris' face in the medbay, it wanes over the very trying weeks that come after Barry disappears to save the world. They don't agree on anything much, and her attempts to lead the remaining team, including him, leave a sour taste in his mouth. She tries to treat him just like Barry in that way, but he's not, because he's not where Barry would be if he were here. She lives at their apartment alone and he bunks in an abandoned room in the depths of the lower levels, as far from any of them as he can get. The more time passes the more irritated she is with him not being how he 'should' be, read: how he was, when he was hers.

“What are you afraid of?“ she'd asked him one day and he'd simply laughed. Her steely eyes had waited for an answer he had no intention of giving. He'd walked away, all swagger, without a word more. The things Barry had been afraid of had happened to him already, his damage was inevitable and complete. There was no more fear, only frustrations that proved his very pragmatic disillusionment.

Part of him still wants to be the person to make it all better, the lingering sentiment to be there for her no matter what, that he rejects. Just like she would reject him ultimately, because her Barry is out there, she is waiting for that Barry to return. It's only a matter of time before she wishes he had gone instead. She wants the whole Barry, not what remains after everything thrown at this one.

He doesn't need to kill her now but he remembers day in and day out why it was easier to hate her when he didn't have her. The anger, the established jealousy and resentment, is stronger than any longing – he knows it can obliterate the unwelcome conflict between old feelings and the cold reality his new scenario. He settles for poking at her wounds well enough to make her leave him alone for increasing periods of time. She tried, he'll give her that, but she doesn't want him the way he might have hoped for, not even when Barry is unavailable. He doesn't get to be even a paltry second best. In their eyes, no one can replace Barry Allen. Can the same be said for him?

Cisco never makes any effort with him, except to avoid, and where he can't, to insult. They've vetoed him using his own suit in public - too intimidating they say, and he wonders for whom exactly - but it isn't like Cisco is jumping at the chance to make him a new one. Barry's suit sits mockingly on the mannequin, not his , and Cisco's face always shows how little he thinks of him, how unworthy of that suit, and the mantle it represents, he is. Savitar doesn't disagree. He doesn't want to be held up to that pathetic, limited, standard anyway. He hasn't been a hero for aeons and he never wants to be one again. Whatever his future holds, it isn't what they think of when they think of Barry Allen. He doesn't fit that mould anymore.

He's bitter for so many reasons. If he'd wanted to be what they asked, he couldn't, not really. They'd not allow him to be who Iris had claimed he could because he can't take that place from Barry. He never will be Barry Allen again, so why not be unapologetically himself instead. Not the self he was, the memories he shares with his 'friends,' but the self he was twisted into by the rest of his memories, the ones they don't ask about. Their would-be future, his past – the time he is meant to forget like it's nothing to him, the same as it is to them. Like so much else they want, it's not going to happen. They don't understand. He can't let go of something that has shaped him, the impression lasting, the memories haunting. That person exists now, never able to leave him because everything that has passed could never leave him unchanged.

There's another layer to Cisco's hate, further than the distraught despisement of him because of HR's death. He blames him for breaking his word, though in the end it wasn't his choice. He'd promised what he couldn't deliver, bringing Caitlin Snow back to her friends. Trouble was, he'd done too good a job enticing Killer Frost out to play, turning her around, setting her against this team. She saw his change of strategy as a change of heart and a betrayal. He got an icicle in both his legs for his trouble. But he knows by that very action she isn't as far gone as all that, still relying on the memory of what was, not detached like she'd claimed. She'd left but she must return, for either reclamation or a reckoning. Time will tell which it is.

He realizes he doesn't have to be their ally, only not so bad they'd see him as a threat, because they're all too goody two-shoes to take out someone unless they actually are a genuine threat. That leaves a lot to work with there without being a true villain.

When they free The Flash, Barry's not really...present.

“The stars are raining. Draining. Paining. Too soon. I think maybe later. No, thank you,“ he says, plainly unaware of how nonsense it is to the people standing around him with bated breath, who want Barry, their Barry. That they have him in body but not in mind is ironic to Savitar, and not so far from the situation with him he feels. There's a very narrow margin for which Barry Allen they will accept.

His big homecoming is ruined with this setback. The sadness seeps out around the hope they profess. It's obvious to him Barry's mind is slipping around in time, out of sync with where they are – he needs grounding. Everyone looks to him then, older, wiser, the only expert they have in the Speedforce short of calling in another Flash from the multiverse.

Barry rambles ardently at him from his pipeline cell when he visits, “Your Honor, I'm innocent. I didn't do this. I didn't kill anyone.” He clutches at his head, a futile effort to block his ears, unable to stop the wash of mistimed memories he shouldn’t have. Savitar remembers how overwhelming it can be and Barry glances up at him, moving to the front of the cell, reaching out as if he knows he understands. “Can you hear the stars singing? Rhyming, chiming, timing every hour, every minute.“

He derives some pleasure at seeing Barry undone, at having him at his mercy in a different way, one he can't be blamed for. What if he left him like this, made them make do with him instead? If it held any real appeal he might have but nothing about having them 'make do' with him makes him feel anything worthwhile.

There's also the fact he recognizes some of what Barry's mutterings foreshadow, things that possibly are destined to happen regardless of his presence, like DeVoe. He's lived it once and doesn't want to get caught up in that yet again. Barry can have that trial for himself - should have that, not him suffering it on repeat in real life this time.

Once he might have spited himself to spite Barry – in fact he'd revelled in doing so, in creating and recreating suffering for every Barry including himself - but things are different now, he doesn't have to be tied to Barry's fate like that these days. So he takes pity and frees Barry from this mental prison too...after a few days of it, to give Team Flash a decent level of appreciation for what he's giving them back.

He wants to beat Barry, to prove his superiority and there's no challenge in facing an opponent who isn't at his best. All it takes is the tiniest jolt to bring him back, not unlike the memory he has of Barry doing the same to bring Jesse out of her coma, but it does feel different, like feedback. A surge springs across the connection at him, but it works.

If there had been any doubt in his mind about Iris' inability to truly love him, seeing her greet Barry would have solidified his belief. She lights up for Barry, she throws her arms around him, she reacts with passion, not the dull acceptance and pity he gets nowadays. Her love for him is dimmed by her lack of understanding and her fear. There is no clawing back what he had long since cast aside in his quest for vengeance, it's another casualty no change to the timeline can ressurect.

Barry feels sorry for him. He feels it the moment Barry turns from Iris's embrace, back to him. The guilt is plain there, as is Barry's sinking stomach at subjecting him to this spectacle of love, the love he is denied. Barry tries to break the tension with gratitude Savitar could do without.

“I...Thanks. For looking after them. For bringing me back to them.”

Barry’s platitudes mean nothing to him. He didn’t do it for Barry, nor for those Barry loves. He did it for himself, a small thing to make life more bearable. Barry doesn’t get to check out of his life. He might be happy now but Savitar knows Eobard was right ultimately - Barry Allen doesn’t get to be happy for long, truly happy, and he won’t suffer that fate alone.

It becomes apparent once Barry is back that Barry wants so earnestly to make his life better. He wants to bring him into the fold, ignoring that the fold doesn't really want him. There's no place for him to settle into, except on the outside.

Of course Barry really wants what they all want, to make him more like Barry,more heroic, more predictable. More controllable. They'll probably always wonder if he will go off the rails again. The question of what, not if. What would push him over, other than his friends and family ripped away from him? As if it is restored wholly by him being at S.T.A.R. Labs. No, that he has endured, come out of stronger. They see his attitude, his rage, as a side effect of the pain, but it's what got him through in one piece, his protection from the same happening again. He isn't letting up there.

Savitar doesn't intend to make things easy for any of them, but things get out of control, even for him, relatively quickly.

Somehow it starts with Barry hugging him. So simple. Barry's already decided since he's gotten back that he needs to maintain a connection with him, to ground him in return. He can't help but feel Barry is taking his cues from what he would miss if he was in his position. And Barry forgets far too easily they aren't the same person with the years and encounters that separate them.

But he hugs him every day, as if he's afraid once he's started that to go without would turn him evil, again. It's so simple it seems meaningless. To begin with.

Savitar should have rejected it, but outside his recent interactions with Team Flash he hasn't been touched for years. His body is starved of it and he can't bring himself to do more than lightly protest, deride Barry not for his actions so much as for his optimism and misplaced care. That there's something more to the energy sparking this decision, to the tension he feels between them, something behind his understandable, yet lamentable, desire for contact never occurs to him.

It becomes more and more conspicuous over the weeks surrounding this change that Barry and Iris are on the outs. Something equally out of sync with them as there had been with him and Iris when Barry was 'away'. He catches snatches of arguments from time to time and it's never anything much, the disconnect comes from so much that isn't said. Because Barry left. Because Barry didn't insist he go instead. Because she finds it hard to see him embrace the man who wanted to kill her. Barry still thinks he can be remade into a hero, into another him. By now, Iris knows better and Barry won't listen, crusading hopelessly. The rift grows further with each day and each silly unresolved squabble, with every word that isn't spoken when it needs to be.




“You seem tense,“ he says frankly when Barry retreats from the Cortex to his room. He doesn't need to add anything else, the implication there is enough because it's the truth. There's a glare in response from Barry as he silently fiddles with the project on his desk. Barry's been spending a lot of time here lately and plenty of that avoiding Iris when she reluctantly visits. Wherever else Barry escapes to, it isn't the loft judging by the box Iris had dropped off earlier.

“Iris and I are having a breather. Some time apart.“ Barry admits with a pained expression, unmistakably not looking at him.

Savitar knows it's his fault in Barry's mind and in Iris's mind too. They want to blame all their problems on his appearance because this Barry Allen is too good to be at fault. He sees how Barry is pining for Iris, for what they used to have before this mess of miscommunication, and he feels something. Part of it is pity but there's also some sense of amusement he can't shake, still yearning to give Barry a taste of his own medicine, to see Barry in pain. Sometimes he had regretted taking their help, for the ill-thought out and half-hearted promises they made him, for the things they couldn't give him back no matter how much they wanted to. Not so much today. He doesn't have what Barry Allen has but neither does Barry today. He waits until Barry leaves to break into a grin, he wants to let Barry think he has a win, that he is the one giving in to what must be, relenting in his ways.

Every day Barry comes to see him looking rundown, gaze forlorn as he drowns further in misery and a peculiar thing happens, he doesn't despise him so much when he sees him like this. He's sorry for the pain, at least a little, but not much, not enough to want to intervene. It's more that he feels a building disgust for how easily he is broken down without Iris, for how he had felt himself. Barry goes through the motions of what he thinks is required but everything about him is lacklustre, missing something vital. What bothers Savitar is remembering what it is like, to be alone and wretched, how much alike they can be even across the divide that faces them. He hates it, feeling for Barry, for feeling like Barry, and he wants Barry to hate it too.

He approaches Barry this time, who asks, “What are you doing?“ bewildered briefly at the unexpected.

Savitar sidles up closer to where Barry is leaning against the concrete wall, arms still at his sides, non-threatening, but his presence invading Barry's personal space.

“Comfort. Isn't that what you wanted for me, why you started coming to see me so religiously.“

Barry blinks, remaining utterly confused and Savitar takes that hesitation and runs with it. Putting his hands firmly on Barry's shoulders in a sporting embrace, as if reassuring.

“I know what a speedsters appetites are like. Need to be top of your game, don't you and I don't think you've been finding that from your usual sources.“

Savitar kisses his doppelganger before he can regret having the idea. There's a short-lived attempt to push back from Barry, a gasped spluttering that stops as soon as Savitar presses the rest of himself against Barry and shows him how accommodating he can be with a slight buzz. Barry is still indignant but it doesn't stop him pushing his body up against Savitar's, pinning him hard against the wall. He smiles as Barry delves in and kisses him back roughly.

Everything happens so fast. Urgent and needy, reactions without thought. Operating on instinct. Clothes ripped off, the press of flesh insistent and decisive. In the moment it's nothing more than push and pull, the lightning arcing between them teasingly, a potential made real with every motion that brings them together. Savitar doesn't hate Barry then, he wants him and the feeling seems strangely mutual, so little else matters. The sounds he elicits, the stroke of his hand across Barry's cock, the slide and the friction of their rutting against one another – it all sparks and his mind separates it out into flashes of memory, snippets of time he can't fully understand as it happens. It's when they come together over their stomachs, sticky and panting, that reality comes back too, crashing down with nauseating certainty at how wrong he has gone.

Barry stammers and babbles about needing to be somewhere. Anywhere but here is the blatant implication and a feeling Savitar shares oddly. The aftermath is unsettling with the uncoiling of the desire and the rush of warmth that washes over him, a clingy gratefulness that doesn't belong to him.

Later on, when he's had time to reflect on his actions, he decides it's not the worst thing he could have done, despite what everyone would think if they knew. However much he feels the wrongness, it's worth it to see how much more Barry regrets it. What unsettles him, eats at Barry. And besides, he likes having Barry at his mercy, he intends to take advantage of it if he can.

Despite the tension, Barry eventually comes back to speak to him a few days later, as if nothing has happened. The friendliness is weirder then, not faked exactly but awkward for avoiding the elephant in the room. Not that Savitar intends to avoid the other speedster, quite the opposite. He initiates a hug, it could be innocent enough but is a temptation nevertheless. Feeling both their bodies respond to the close contact, he leans in to steal a kiss, tasting tears before Barry breaks away, storming out without a look back.

Barry stops his little visits and ironically enough Savitar misses the comfort they afforded, whether the simple touch of another human being or the possibility of more – it was the only kind he'll get. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about the promise of what they could do together, two speedsters, almost equally paced – of the Speedforce coursing through his veins reacting to Barry, reaching out, like seeking like.

Savitar jerks off in his room relentlessly, watching the cameras he knows are there monitoring him. Sometimes Barry isn't that different from Eobard, though he'd never admit it. Savitar discards the covers, exposing everything for Barry to see. He works himself lazily, drawing it out a long as possible, hoping for an interruption, hoping Barry can't get it out of his mind either. When he eventually comes he's hard again almost straight away so he doesn't bother cleaning up, his come mixing with the remaining lube, a hot sticky mess adding to his descent into pure wantonness.

A week later, Barry comes back with a fierceness in his eyes and no words to explain as he reaches for Savitar. He's pushy about it, but by then Savitar would let him do nearly anything at the prospect of feeling that electric touch again. It's not the pedestrian feel of flesh on flesh he craves, he could have that with anyone – this is about the practically magnetic force between them they've discovered.

He moans into a kiss as the lightning tingles on his tongue and static permeates the room, making his hair stand on end for a moment right as Barry pushes his legs up onto his shoulders, preparing to take him. On this occasion he's submissive to Barry and he couldn't care less, hungry for a release like before. He's chasing after the mix of speed and pleasure, eager for it to take out his capacity to think, to feel, to have his humanity racing away from him. Looking back later on, thinking of the dead-eyed, slack-jawed expression Barry held as he screwed him with abandon, he's pretty sure they were both at the mercy of something else that day. Time crawling around them, bowed down to a sense of inevitability. Logic said it was wrong, emotions felt it abhorrent, but existence stretched to fit it, this space forged for them together. A blip to anyone else but a whole world they shared matched in that ability.

After that, it keeps happening. Most commonly post-mission, pent up hostility and energy Barry unleashes at him, not afraid at crossing a line because those are blurred beyond recognition when it comes to them. In those moments Savitar feels a double victory. To get what he wants, to have a form of power over Barry as the one person who can give him this, and who can take it all, to have corrupted Barry, finding the darkness others refuse to acknowledge. He'll take it all, Barry at his worst, his hate a fuel that burns so bright, blinding him to all the reasons they shouldn't do this.

“Is this your penance?“ he asks. Having divulged Barry of his shirt and tshirt already he licks a stripe from Barry's pulse point to behind his ear, sucking on the divot there as he arcs lightning over Barry's chest with his hand skimming lower and lower, earning a pant from Barry. He pauses, watching for a reaction to the question but gets none. “Does it assuage your guilt about what you did to me?“ Savitar prompts further, curious how Barry justifies their trysts in his mind.

Barry huffs at the suggestion and switches on in response, flipping from passive recipient to a player in this game. “That Barry doesn't exist, never will,“ he says gruffly as gets up, kneeling on the bed. “What I've done to you was forgive you, save you-“

“And fuck me,“ Savitar replies curtly. It could be an accusation, but he's hardly displeased at the results and it works more as an invitation. Case in point he pushes up against him further as Barry moves to straddle him.

“Is this yours, this thing that's...happening. Is it your penance?“ Barry asks quietly, in a turn of serious contemplation rarely seen when Savitar is around. He rolls his eyes at how Barry's barely able to admit what it is, reluctant to put it in words, as if that will change anything, prevent it from being the reckless folly it is.

“It's what I've got, what little I've got. Can't have Iris after all.“ He aims for spite but the conversation cuts too close to the truth, to things that he doesn't want to talk about with Barry of all people. So he turns it around, his specialty is to twist things, to pull at what Barry wants to forget – he's the veritable demon to Barry's supposed saint. Showing him what he's capable of, and there are so many things he doesn't know about just yet, but he has a thought at what would throw Barry the most currently.

“Though I have had what you can't,“ he adds, piquing Barry's interest. Barry sits up, shrugging off what Savitar's hands are doing, playing with the edges of his waistband. Savitar dislikes being ignored, but he does have the upper hand with this observation at least. Barry stares at him, waiting for elaboration and Savitar doesn't intend to disappoint.

“Who you can't bring yourself to even consider. At least not while Iris exists, but I didn't have Iris. I didn't have anyone except her cold comfort.“

Barry's eyes widen, mouth gapes, realizing the implication.

“You mean Killer Frost.“

“Yes,“ he replies, leaning in to suck at Barry's neck. “And no,“ he continues, before biting at the tender skin. “You're still so slow“ He sends a crackle of Speedforce from his finger to the wound and Barry keens, struggling to keep his focus on talking, torn between the exquisite sensation and the need to know what Savitar means.

“There is no real difference,“ Savitar states as he slants closer to whisper in Barry's ear, hot breath and the smallest spark sent to his lobe to emphasize his closeness. And then he takes it away, props himself against the wall, resting his hands behind his head and turning his voice towards mocking. “Does it help to believe things she did weren't really her? Does that make it easier to forget how she kissed you? If you tell yourself it wasn't your friend and ignore it. Like you ignored the way she looked at you.“

Barry looks away, a faint blush, embarrassment. It seems ridiculous to Savitar. But Barry here is king of leaving things unsaid, undealt with.

“It may have been Frost who fucked me against a wall, just like I'm going to fuck you,“ he declares confident of that outcome, “But it was her body that wanted your body. Doesn't matter what memories we have, who's in control up here,“ he taps a finger to his head, “Caitlin Snow's body moaned for your lips on her, begged for you in her.“

Barry says nothing and also does nothing. Frozen in anger, his only movement is that of his chest as he takes shallow breaths in and out. Savitar chooses this moment to skim a hand over Barry's erection through his trousers and Barry does his best not to react, to try not to give him the satisfaction but he always fails there, a hitch in his breath as Savitar zaps him with a hint of the Speedforce. It will hurt in the best way possible, a reminder of why they do this, forsaking common sense to chase the ecstasy of power and pain at their fingertips as much as the pleasure.

“Does it hurt you to picture? You want so hard to live in denial. Barry Allen is good and proper, he can only love Iris West. She's your destiny, right?“ Savitar questions rhetorically, removing his hand from Barry, leaving him alone, seeing the quiver at the withdrawal. “Except when she's not, when you're me,“ he hisses bitterly, pointing back at himself. Abruptly he changes tune, to thoughtful and lighter as he continues. “Maybe Cait is mine,“ he taunts, far too intimate with the nickname for Barry's liking. Barry growls somewhat possessively, amusing Savitar because Barry has no right. Barry has no claim to Snow, nor Frost, barely able to recognise the effect she had on him back then, the then that is Barry's not so distant past. It's a noise made equally in warning and in frustration, drawn out into a whimper as Savitar unzips his flies and threads his hand into Barry's boxers.

He peppers too gentle kisses across Barry's collar as he guides Barry to sit and Barry lets his head loll back, hitting the wall behind the bed, slumped against it for support whilst Savitar's hand continues his manipulations. A stroke up and down, a calloused thumb flicking over the sensitive head, causing Barry to swear.

“Did you ever think of her doing this to you, Barry?“

He revels in taking Barry apart at every opportunity, but this is a new angle. Barry likes to close his eyes, pretend something, someone, else no doubt. Filling his head with the something else would be more satisfying than the physical domination alone. He changes back to palming up and down Barry's crotch, not bothering to vibrate like he could. And then he comes back to bite where he had caressed earlier around Barry's collarbone, the savage counterbalance to the soft sensitization. There's a strangled moan from Barry at his efforts and a hectic shuffle to get undressed in a hurry, showing Barry's by no means put off by the topic discussed. He's achingly hard, leaking precum within seconds of being sprung from his underwear. Savitar teases him by bobbing on his cock, with a few circles around it, letting the lightning ripple along where he licks but it's too much for Barry, who spurts all over his mouth and chin as he withdraws. Savitar wipes his face clean and licks the remainder off his lips, surprised Barry came that quickly, wondering if talking dirty is the answer to edging him more thoroughly in future. They don't tend to talk usually, he might need to revisit this.

He's not done with Barry yet though. Whatever bizarre arrangement it may be, it's one where they both get off, no exceptions. Barry is pliable post-orgasm, sloppy hazy kisses, still eyes closed, pretending this is something else again. Savitar rolls him over onto his front, uses his back like a scratching post, caring little about Barry's muffled moans, relishing the tiny beads of blood that surface.

The marks never last long enough with speed healing. He likes them regardless, likes to see Barry changed however fleetingly, likes to mark his territory, the pieces of Barry he lays waste to. It doesn't change him but it's something he can while away and save for another day. When Cisco asks him what he's smirking at, it will be this. He will just look to Barry, nothing more said, a silent reminder he owns his ass, because Barry is the one this would take down, the one who cares if it comes out.

He gets himself to completion with a couple of strokes, directing his cum over Barry's ass. Working it around Barry's rim he's smug when he feels Barry arch up under him, wanting more, whining about him being such a tease. It doesn't take long for him to get hard again with the promise of Barry willing under him, but still he takes his time opening Barry up with his fingers, making him beg to be filled and then making him beg to use his powers too. He wants that too, so they can feel the thrum of connecting through the Speedforce as their bodies buck up and down, but he wants Barry to say it first, say it second, say it again and again until he deigns to give it to him.

As he lets the Speedforce flow over him, over Barry, it is unimaginable one instant and his whole world the next, driving him to seek every point of contact possible, to be all and everywhere and everything Barry Allen. There's a staccato of moments he lives with each thrust, moments out of time, out of place, some his, some others, something beyond either of them, something larger they are tied to, its gravity swallowing them whole at times. He comes to an eternity of the stars falling, every nerve on his body lit up, overwhelming and endless as experienced. His jagged breaths as the rush drags through him feel at once like his first breath and his last, and his vision is a pinpoint, staring into a pitch black void of peace as he empties himself thoroughly. And then the bond is cut. They are back to reality, back to thought and feeling, sweaty and hungry masses of entirely different substance.

When they're done Barry scurries off like usual, no doubt to switch the camera back on, ensuring no one asks any question about why Savitar isn't being virtually babysat.

The pleasure doesn't end there for Savitar. He takes stock of the effect he has outside of what they do in his room. How it consumes Barry because Barry has things, people, to lose. Barry feels shame over what they do and their activities aren't the only reason for the sleepless nights he clearly has. Gradually, Barry is turning into an anguished and despondent version of his former self. His friends and family will surely wonder what change he's undergone to bring out those dark circles under his eyes, that distant look, the sense of doubt in his goodness.

Savitar doesn't question his tactics. Not until she comes back four months later.

The woman who looks at him, who has unexpectedly appeared and tracked him down in the bowels of S.T.A.R. Labs, is not Killer Frost. She's not Caitlin Snow either, though if she closed her eyes you could be fooled into thinking so. She doesn't bother with pleasantries.

“What did you do to Barry?“

He lowers the book he was reading and smirks before replying.

“All the things you'd like to.“

She's temporarily confused, then blanches paler still - an achievement with her complexion - and turns on her heels. The sound they make on the floor as she retreats is off-kilter, not the confident consistent rhythm of when she entered, certain of her world.

He gathers there's a lot of kerfuffle going on upstairs in relation to her return but he doesn't concern himself with finding out details. He lets the team deal with one of their own, if that's what she is again, on their own. Barry doesn't visit him for a while and when he does, everything about him is strained, his lips pressed into an angry thin line when he's not talking, which is a lot of the time.

Barry doesn't respond to any of Savitar's jibes, bearing the sting of truth from the words he aims at him but not taking the bait for what games he has in mind about this little development with Caitlin Snow. It irks him Barry is so stubbornly resistant but he finds he still accepts his lips, his supplication, Savitar on his knees. His attention, mouth suckling around Barry's cock, demands recognition. With a swirl of tongue he makes Barry moan.

Satisfaction grows, as does his own desire, with each sound he entices from Barry. He takes it as a challenge to see what noises he can inspire and how loud he can get him to be. All the while at the back of his mind he wonders if she would dare come back down here, whether they could be caught in the act. She already knows in the loosest terms what they have done. This secret they share, just like the secret he has on her, how she would do the same if she could. There is a definite sense of excitement in him at what it could be like, to have her witness what has previously only been Barry's dirty little secret, exposed in so many ways. He sucks harder, moves to indulge Barry's inclination to go deeper and is swallowing his seed in no time, no powers invoked on this occasion. Just a good old-fashioned blowjob that had Barry practically speechless and thrusting into his mouth incoherently by the end.

Afterwards, Barry does his pants up wordlessly, not looking at him. He gets a few steps before he crashes onto the bed, overwhelmed, and lies there staring up at the ceiling pensively. Savitar is hard himself and paying attention to Barry in a way that suits his purposes more, joining him on the bed and eagerly grinding up against his leg as he sparks his fingers around and across Barry's neck. Barry tries his hardest not to react to the touch, to not show the appeal of what he's doing to him, which only frustrates him more and makes him lash out.

“Who did you imagine sucking you off this time – Iris? Patty? Another ex-girlfriend, a crush of yours? Cait ? Was it someone faceless? Or did you let it be me?“

He feels Barry tense up beside him and knows he hit his mark.

“Ever since the first time I'll always own a piece of you you can't get back. Another slice of your innocence served up,“ he whispers into Barry's ear. Increasing his pace, he enjoys the unique blend of knowing he's got to Barry and being deliciously close to gaining his own release. He wheezes a little when he accesses the Speedforce and has that extra added thrum beneath his skin where he touches Barry – it's nowhere near as good as when they both do so at the same time, but he hopes he won't have to wait long for Barry to get onboard with that plan, he rarely keeps him waiting even when the reverse is often true. Barry is rarely in control, which is how Savitar likes it.

Except he's misjudged things. Barry pushes him away forcefully, shimmying off the end of the bed. Revulsion is evident in the furrowed brow and the scowl that graces his face. Savitar can't tell if it's directed at him, for Barry himself or both of them. Who it's for doesn't turn out to matter; whichever it is, it has the same effect.

“You should be more careful who you give yourself to,“ he shouts after Barry, who storms out the fastest he's ever seen him leave. He's left with only his hand and a smug smile, but he doesn't regret it one bit. He has so many fresh fantasies to choose from, a delectable choice of memories from Barry, of with Barry. He slides his hand up and down his cock relishing the pick of the day, and ends up coming undone to the knowledge of the sounds he can rip from Barry against his better judgment. Spilling over his thigh with a grunt, he coats his fingers in it and licks it off each in turn. Another metahoprically sweet reminder of what he's done today, the taste is indistinguishable from Barry's he swallowed down earlier. For once he sleeps well.



For Barry, things had been weird since she'd returned. Well, weirder.

She's not the friend they once knew and she's not entirely the villain who was against them either. Whoever she is, she has come home finally and no one is happier than Cisco at this. For everyone else it's distinctly awkward.

She'd asked to be called Frost and Barry finds it hard to bring that name to cross his lips, like Caitlin is denied being, lost to them all, but maybe he should be grateful this isn't his friend so frequently seen standing arms crossed to one side in the Cortex.

The confusion surrounding her return makes it easier to shy away from her, everyone assuming it's due to the emotional distance coming from her betrayal and not the inappropriate flashes of images Savitar has put in his head. At first, she'd been exasperated at his hesitancy around her but something had changed a short while after she'd come back and now she tries to stare past him, prefers to direct her pointed observations to other members of the team. She gives Savitar the cold-shoulder too. Barry doesn't know what he should make of that.

Savitar had at least ignored them all during this, but since Barry has started avoiding him – not giving in to what he wants - Savitar has come up into the light, claiming he wants to make amends and be a part of the team. His version of help seems to involve lounging around against the edge of a desk in the Cortex, making snide remarks that are occasionally helpful and looking entirely too amused at how Barry won't do anything more than glance at him or Frost. There is no hiding how entertained he is by this turn of events and the one reprieve Barry gets from the gnawing worry it causes is when Cisco unleashes his tongue on Savitar, capturing his attention with petty barbs traded. Amusement can only last for so long though. Really he should see it coming, the storm Savitar is intent to whip them into.

When he gets the message and opens the link he doesn't know, at first, what he's looking at. A blurry video comes into focus as it loads. He blinks as he realizes he's watching a woman blindfolded on a large bed, arms and legs cuffed above and below, attached to the posts. A man is in the view too, head between her legs bobbing slightly as he eats her out. A moan erupts from his phone and he's really glad he isn't with anyone else right now. He sighs in annoyance at this, Savitar's idea of a sick joke to send him some porn video. He's ready to close the app when the man stops his ministrations. The pause has him asking a question to the woman and suddenly Barry's aware it's Savitar. Everything takes on a new skew then, delivering an urgency for Barry to figure out what this is exactly, what it means and how it fits in with the game Savitar is playing with him.

“What do you want?“ he asks her loudly enough for it to be picked up by the mic. Barry can't make out her first reply, obviously mumbled, but Savitar demands it spoken clearer.

“I want you inside me.“

That's when he knows it is a sick joke, on a whole different level than he'd gathered – he recognises that voice too, the sharpness of Frost's tone apparent when she speaks up the second time.

“No,“ Savitar replies, nonchalantly denying her. Savitar faces the camera and Barry is sure he's addressing him. “It's a shame, but I'm saving that for a special occasion. “

Nevertheless Barry watches as Savitar shifts up and over her, almost as if intends to do so anyway. He sees a hand reach in between the two as if positioning his cock but he doesn't remove it like he'd expect. Frost is bucking up as much as she can with the restraints and Savitar withdraws each time. The behaviour is one Barry knows well himself, Savitar wanting everything under his control.

“Remember what we talked about,“ Savitar points out as he repositions his other hand on her hip to hold her in place. “Who else do you want to wet his dick on you?“ Savitar asks and Barry realises he's probably teasing her with his own, the movement the camera scarcely captures from its position is most likely Savitar rubbing himself up and down her folds.

He knows he should stop watching. He should have stopped watching the moment he knew what was happening. He should have closed it down the second it came into focus. For some reason he can't turn away. There's curiosity - what will Savitar do next - and there's fear, for what Savitar will do next, for what he wants him to do next.

And then Frost is whimpering out her answer breathily but clear enough there is no mistaking what she proclaims.


He sucks in a breath hearing it, mind reeling at the confirmation. Perhaps it shouldn't surprise him, not when he knows what Savitar and Frost got up to, but before it had been theoretical. Something about it had been not real to him, a despicable second hand fantasy described to him more like it was fiction. What had happened wasn't to him no matter how vivid the images described to him were, and even for Savitar it was left in the past. But now it is here, in front of him, the messy reality beckoning sordidly.

“Tell me what you want,“ Savitar instructs with a grind of his pelvis against her for motivation. “Spare no detail.“

Her voice is hoarse and faltering as she responds, Savitar literally pressing her for more when she takes longer than he thinks she ought to. Barry listens to her confessing her want for him, to have him long and hard inside her, his skilled hands skirting all over her skin and his mouth sucking on her neck to try, futilely, to mark her as his . Every word goes straight to his crotch, getting him burning with desire.

“Tell me how you dreamt of his finishing.“

“Saying my name as he cums inside me.“

“And what name would that be?“

There's hesitation from Frost and Savitar repositioning himself down there. With the way her mouth curls into an O of pleasure he has no doubt he's giving her at least some of what she'd wanted. A shallow thrust and Savitar pauses then for effect, taking it away, leaving space for her to continue.

“Cait,“ she admits, making Barry's mind swim with guilt and apprehension about who this is - thinking of him, inadvertently spurring his imagination - how much his friend it is, who let herself fall into the clutches of Savitar, just like he has.

Savitar looks directly to camera again before asking her, “Do you still want him?“

“Mmm, yes. Please, “ is her almost moaned reply.

Barry can see her shifting under Savitar, deprived of contact and determined to get it. Savitar takes no notice of her actions, focused on sticking to the script he has in mind.

“You want him to make you scream with pleasure?“


Barry used to do a good job of fending off any sexual thoughts about Caitlin. There was attraction, denied, because they were friends. However, Savitar's use of her, or rather of Frost, as subject of his dirty talk have long since broken that barrier. Now he sees her practically undone at the thought of him and selfishly he wants to know what it would be like. Savitar is forever lording it over him about how naive and inexperienced he is and it grates.

And Frost isn't the only one left desperate. Barry wants to do something too. End it, teach Savitar a lesson, something other than watching, aching for release.

“What do you say Barry?“ Savitar questions with a smirk, picking up the camera off the tripod and panning it around the room. It swings past a set of large windows, landing on a clock. Why? Barry thinks, until he cottons on to the fact the clock says the same time as his watch does. This is a stream. Live.

And then his brain rewinds back to the setting, to the something jarring about the glimpse Savitar had shown. The windows, the layout – it clicks. Those are just like his and Iris' apartment. A flare of sickening worry speeds through his synapses at the idea Savitar has gone too far this time, further than the debauchment evident, to compound it with where it was staged, what could be unveiled and to whom. Barry races over there, thankful at finding the apartment empty, Iris still at work. But he stops in hallway on his way out and can hear faint cries from nearby that definitely warrant investigation.

Phasing through into apartment 4 the noises crystalize into those he recognises from the video, verifying Savitar and Frost are here. He turns to spy the bed set up in plain view in the middle of the empty living room. His arrival is apparently that special occasion Savitar expected – he enters her again, sinking deeply this time, just as Barry enters the room. He witnesses Savitar pumping into her; a harsh, brazen look on his face. His pace is unforgiving and she pants, bucks underneath but it's not what she needs. He's not touching her like she'd described wanting. It's all about him. With a sinful sigh he comes and pulls out. Frost is left denied, so wound up and physically begging for more with her attempts to seek any joining she can.

Savitar stalks around her. “Are you ready for the real thing?“

Barry doesn't miss the begrudging emphasis used and wonders what is going on there. He has no clue what lurks in the largely unknown interplay Savitar had with Frost, nor what that is like versus this, when she is Caitlin in part too. Savitar questions her but he looks defiantly at Barry, a challenge raised. He bends down to tell her more gently, encouragingly, “He's here.“

She strains a little with her confinement then, like she is struggling with being made to wait – something Barry is also acquainted with from Savitar - yet she otherwise waits patiently. Savitar continues staring him down throughout, watching for his reaction.

A moment later he's up against Barry, tongue licking his lips, seeking entrance. Immediately he has a hand in Barry's pants, rubbing him, making him curse and steady against the wall at the surprise.

He'd already been on edge when he'd arrived and soon Savitar has him rock hard. He pushes up into Savitar's hand, wanting more and not daring to ask for it, trying to take it where he needs like he's learnt he needs to around the other speedster. Savitar surprises Barry further by taking his attention lower, an eager mouth on him, and as usual being an absolute tease, never sticking with a pattern for very long. All of a sudden he deep throats him, gloriously taking his whole length at once. Then he proceeds to pull back whilst sucking on Barry's cock leisurely, torturously slow as he does, pulling off with a pop. Barry is breathless, his loins throbbing and still holding himself up with one hand scraping where it rests against the bare brick.

Savitar stares up at him lustfully, looking like the cat that got the cream, so pleased with how wrung out he has Barry. Barry doesn't care at this point, he simply wants more , a conclusion to the ordeal. There's a slither of anger that strikes, where he thinks about grabbing Savitar's hair, dragging him back to fuck his face. He doesn't know if he would have done it but either way he's too slow in this addled state. Already, Savitar is out of reach and across the room, arms wide, indicating to Frost.

“You wouldn't want to disappoint.“

Frost moans in anticipation, pushing her cunt up in the air, welcoming. Barry shakily walks up to her, settling on the bed between her legs. He's too wound up himself to be able to satisfy her and he has some sympathy there. He vibrates a finger in preparation to get her off using his powers. Savitar has other plans.

“Ah, ah, ah! No cigar,“ he chastises.“You heard what she wants,“ he says, grasping Barry's cock as the example, “Give her what she wants.“

Savitar slopes out over the bed, sidles up to Frost, whispering in her ear. “He's so hard for you,“ he says, managing to make it sound almost condescending, like he's mocking Barry and her for needing encouragement. She writhes under Barry, ever desperate for something more.

And so he delivers, sinking into her tight pussy. The temptation to thrust mindlessly is there. Of course he resists, not as heartless as Savitar had been with her no matter how horny he is. But then Savitar is interfering in the order of things. He lodges himself behind Barry on the bed, not allowing any retreat, and introduces one lubed finger to his ass, making him lose control briefly, bucking back onto it in response. He tries to keep his pace even, hands exploring up to her breasts, caressing inexpertly due to his divided focus. Long fingers are curling into him, stroking his prostate over and over and he can't stop himself coming, leaving Frost so close but not quite there, judging by her whimpered attempts to chase the action stopped short.

Savitar laughs lowly, huskily. Barry knows it's because he's amused at how he's playing them and he wishes he could get his own back, play Savitar instead. He could leave, risky as it is to not give in if Savitar sees fit to spill the beans on their string of rendezvous. In truth, he's not sure what he needs to do, except that he doesn't feel done despite one orgasm and there is plenty of promise for more, everyone willing. Especially the woman spread before him. There's a swell of protectiveness too, mixed with defiance – someone should be thinking of her. Barry doesn't want to back down, challenge unfulfilled. Now he understands it better, it's not solely to get her off. It's to get her off despite Savitar's best efforts to distract and to prolong this base encounter. Fundamentally this is a clash of wills.

“Don't worry,“ Savitar says, slipping his hand through Barry's legs to fondle her in all her wetness and garner a deep moan, “Speedster stamina is impressive, we'll get him up again in no time.“

Savitar removes his hand, wiping the moisture on the inside of Barry's thighs. He's annoyed at being used like that, until he's aware of Savitar slipping his cock into the slick gap there, nudging Barry's legs closed with one of his own. He begins unhurriedly, the slide fluid and made easier by his pre-cum that Barry feels damp where the head of Savitar's cock brushes against his balls with the end of his thrusts. He stabilises himself with his hands more firmly planted on the bed as Savitar increasingly swiftly fucks the hollow compressed around him. That's when he sees his chance to gain traction by making Savitar lose control. Barry shifts his weight, finding it hard to balance on one hand but manages it. He spits several times into his other hand and forms a taut almost closed fist, inserting it in place which lets Savitar fuck that bit deeper past his thighs. This earns a groan from Savitar, who thrusts harder, his cock fully enclosed in Barry's flesh.

The momentum of the more vigorous thrusts pushes Barry forward, each movement teasing the tip of his semi-erect cock poking at Frost's folds. She lifts up at this, meeting him where she can and mumbling practically incoherent pleas. He's captured between two people panting and groaning at the feel of him and he dizzies at the thought. It's not enough though, not for what he intends. Barry gives an experimental squeeze of his fist, and another when Savitar groans again more enthusiastically. A third thrust and Savitar is erupting into his hand, the warm liquid seeping through the cracks of Barry's fingers and dripping onto the sheets.

The thrill of achievement soars in him as Savitar collapses back onto the end of the bed in a heap and Barry glances down to see he's completely risen to the occasion now, ready to go once more, as planned.

He presses into Frost slowly, conscious of how worked up she is and his need to pace himself to ensure he can get her off this time. She moves to meet his thrusts and he builds up a rhythm to match hers. He can feel her tensing underneath him, getting her closer with each lunge into her core.

He's been so focused on her, it's only when he glances up at the motion he catches from the corner of his eye that he sees Savitar is back on form. He's ready again too, sitting up at the head of the bed, watching them with a hand on his dick. It doesn't take long for Barry to note Savitar is stroking himself carefully timed to Barry's pushes into Frost – forcing a parallel where there is none. Barry refocuses on what he's doing; on Frost's pert tits heavy with her breathing and bouncing a little as he fucks into her, on the small eager noises she makes instead of the fapping in the background.

Naturally Savitar is not content to be irrelevant. He goes to take off the blindfold and Barry stops midthrust with difficulty and a grunt, dazed to be looking not at the icy eyes of Frost he's gotten used to over recent weeks but the uncertain ones of Caitlin Snow. He feels a panic, a churning in his gut. Because this isn't what he thought he'd stumbled into, it's worse somehow. Savitar tricking him into crossing yet another line. Making him want to. His cock is still hard in her and he can feel her lightly clenching around him, making him want to continue even in the face of what's been disclosed.

He looks up to find Savitar smirking, pleased at how this reveal throws Barry. Then he's leaning over, fiddling with the cuffs, which is when Barry spots he's turning them off – they're no ordinary handcuffs, power dampeners. Not S.T.A.R. Labs ones, those he’d have recognised, he suspects something of Savitar’s design. Her eyes change instantly back to the silver ringed ones, white cascading in her hair, and now truly Frost she smirks herself, before biting her lip in a manner that is eerily familiar despite the differing context.

He's frozen above her, on the edge of some thought that won't quite form and not knowing what to do. Frost pouts and says something to Savitar that Barry doesn't take in fully, something about a deal they had. Whatever it is the next moment he's gagging her with what used to be the blindfold and she's biting down hard on it whilst attempting to fuck him back from her prone position, or at least engage him enough he'll start up again. At the lack of response she plummets the temperature selectively around her wrists and ankles, shattering the brittle restraints and zoning in on him, tugging his backside to bring him flush with her.

His dick throbs but he doesn't move, merely allowing sensations to pass over him from the others' attentions. There are hands on his hips, guiding Barry from behind and the press of Savitar's cock opening him up with the tingle of Speedforce to cajole him into participation. That zaps him back into the present, acutely aware of his surroundings then, of the air on his naked body and the hot and cold of bodies either side of him. Right now he doesn't want to care. He doesn't want to think, to feel the weight of his decisions that led him here. So he taps into the Speedforce as well and lets it obliterate all other considerations, to be just himself in his body for a time. They descend into a mess of a rhythm, a stuttering push and pull of people, frenzied between the three of them and their warring passions, everyone for themselves.

As Frost is undone, she loses the control she's had and he doesn't perceive it initially, only when it's a more profound chill encroaching on them. It's refreshing at first, sensitized by it, a counterpoint to the rapid fire feeling tracing in and through him with the Speedforce. Quickly it becomes too much, dulling the flow of speed in his veins and bringing him back from the oblivion he's seeking. Vibrating to shake it off pushes her over into orgasm and she's coming with stifled screams as he pumps into her. Behind him Savitar is gripping his hips, spurned faster and vibrating in return until both he and Barry lose their load almost simultaneously.

Bonelessly, they collapse into a pile on the massive bed. He closes his eyes, adjusts his arms so his fingers can grasp at bare fabric under them - a tactile sensation not related to a person for a change – his breath sluggishly evening out from the activity.

None of them speak and Barry lies in silence, facing up to what he has done now his capacity for thought has returned. Except he can't figure out exactly what this is, what it means for the future. He only understands the why; how Savitar riles him up, makes him reckless. Because Savitar intrinsically knows what he wants, what he secretly wants. He's lead him down a path he shouldn't be on, but Barry hasn't made much effort to right himself from the track he'd ended up on. Each time he'd resisted Savitar had found a crack in his resolve to exploit.

He's smart enough to tell Savitar wants to ruin him, make him just like him, the same as Barry had first thought he could do to Savitar, albeit with nobler intentions. But has Savitar succeeded already? Can he turn back now and does he want to? He'd thought of it as hot meaningless sex, but it isn't. They dislike each other, sure, but it does have significance, this thing only Savitar can provide. This thing that Savitar seems to need as much as him, going out of his way to orchestrate pulling Barry back into it. Savitar has nothing else, no one else, and Barry doesn't want to take another thing away from him. It's a convenient excuse to cover up how he can't give it up either.