"Why don't you make yourself comfortable, Flash?"
Snart's amused drawl grated on Barry's nerves like chalk on a blackboard.
Barry was tempted to make a biting remark how nothing about trading sexual favors in exchange for securing Captain Cold's and Heatwave's help was inclined to make him feel fucking comfortable, but he bit his lip and swallowed the resentment. That wasn't what Snart meant and they all knew it. Neither he nor Rory cared about Barry's comfort, that much was obvious from the suggestive taunt in Snart's tone, from the way the two of them had been eyeing Barry with hungry gazes from the moment he'd sped into their safe house fueled by desperation and resolve.
He sighed. "Can we skip the talking and just get on with it?"
He couldn't afford antagonizing them, not now when he needed them on his side, and he knew from experience that arguing wasn't going to get him anywhere. In a burst of speed, he shed his clothing, folding up his jeans and shirt neatly just to buy himself some extra time, even if it took him less than a second overall.
His gut was a tight coil of anticipation and anxiety. He wondered if it would ever get easier, exposing himself to two of his enemies. Whether he'd ever get used to it, if he kept making these deals, or whether Snart and Rory would get bored with him before that happened.
"Look at that, Snart. Kid's nice and eager today."
Barry scowled at Rory's grinning face. "The sooner we're done, the sooner we can get out there to find Mardon," he reasoned.
That's why he was here tonight. So the Rogues would help him recapture Weather Wizard before he wreaked even more havoc in the city. Reminding himself of the stakes helped soothe Barry's nerves; the reassurance that no matter what happened in the worn-down bedroom of Snart's safe house, it was worth it.
Rory snorted. "Whatever ya say, Red."
The brush-off grated, but whatever comeback Barry had been about to make died on his lips when Snart's body pressed against his from behind, the brush of cool leather and rough denim making Barry's bare skin erupt in goose bumps. Snart reached around him, cool, callused fingers closing around his cock. Barry gasped at the contact. He was half-hard already, like his body had forgotten what exactly this was.
Jesus. No wonder they kept making fun of his eagerness.
Mercifully, Snart kept quiet as he moved his hand up and down Barry's cock in firm, matter-of-fact strokes that had Barry rise to full hardness in no time. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made the sensations stand out more: Snart's sure touch. The clean, crisp smell of him. The solid weight of his body behind Barry. Snart's mouth wet and hot at the juncture of Barry's neck. The pressure of his cock against Barry's ass, tangible even through the layer of clothing that separated them.
Barry didn't realize he was rubbing against him, literally vibrating with nervous tension, until he heard Snart's sharp intake of breath, followed by a low chuckle. "That's the spirit, Barry."
The drawl was halfway between praise and a taunt, and Barry felt mortification rising to his cheeks in a hot rush of blood, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He would have put some distance between them if Snart hadn't been the one to pull away first, giving Barry a little shove towards the bed where Rory was lying back with one hand behind his head. His half-lidded eyes were watching Barry while he lazily stroked himself.
He hadn't even bothered to properly pull down his pants, that thick, hard cock of his peeking out of the V of his zipper, glistening with lubrication and precum, his half-dressed state somehow making the image he presented even more obscene than it would have been if he were completely nude.
Barry swallowed hard, hypnotized by the slow, easy up-and-down of Rory's massive hand, unable to look away. It was an intimidating sight, and it should have been scary, and yet Barry couldn't help feeling the muscles in his ass clench emptily and saliva pool in his mouth, unbidden desire he couldn't fend off at the sense memory of how that cock felt inside of him.
Barry stood rooted to the spot until Snart gave him another nudge, less gently this time. "I think Mick's feeling left out. Be a good boy and ride him for a little bit."
The crudeness of the suggestion made Barry's blush deepen and his cock jump, the dichotomy of want and shame tearing him apart and rooting him to the spot for long enough that Rory got impatient. "Come on, Red. Thought you were in a rush."
Barry shook off the moment of paralysis, moving toward the bed as if on autopilot, like he was being pulled by an invisible string. He gracelessly climbed onto the foot end and crawled over to Rory, all too aware of Snart's gaze on his backside, following his every motion with hungry, searing eyes that seemed to burn holes into him.
As he hesitantly straddled Rory, the other man sat up and pulled Barry closer. Their cocks bumped together when Barry was hauled forward into an unexpected, rough kiss, Rory's tongue pushing into his mouth, all wetness and heat. Barry found himself clinging to him like a drowning man while Rory's hands slid down to his ass, opening him up.
It was all too easy to ignore the probing fingers in favor of getting lost in the kiss. Rory kissed exactly like he fought, with unleashed intensity, wild and uncontrolled and overwhelming. Out there, when it was Flash vs. Heatwave, Barry's powers were an easy match for Rory's fury but here, naked and with his mouth plundered like that, all he could do was let Rory control the kiss and manipulate Barry's body the way he wanted to.
Rory lifted him up and positioned the blunt, slick head of his cock at Barry's entrance, rubbing it tantalizingly back and forth across his hole and leaving a trail of moisture.
Barry whined into Rory's mouth, grateful that the other man hadn't broken the kiss yet because otherwise he might not be able to stop himself from begging. Begging to be fucked or begging him to stop... Barry wasn't sure anymore which one it would be, not trusting his body or his mind not to betray him.
Rory pulled him down and jerked his hips up at the same time, filling Barry with one smooth, even thrust and burying himself deep inside of him. It was the best and the worst feeling in the world, too much too fast, driving the air out of Barry's lungs in a rush. His fingers dug into the bulk of muscle on Rory's upper arms, probably hard enough to leave bruises.
A wide grin on his face, Rory drew back while slowly lifting Barry up again and then pushing him back down at the same sluggish pace, making him feel every inch of his cock sliding deliciously against his insides.
"Oh, fuck," Barry muttered breathlessly, as if the words had been punched out of him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"That's the idea," Snart quipped drolly from somewhere behind him, much closer than before, and Barry would have rolled his eyes at the terrible pun and possibly shown him the finger if he'd been able to focus on anything but the steady, maddeningly unhurried rhythm Rory was setting.
Rory grunted, somehow making the noise sound happy and satisfied.
His hand came up to the side of Barry's neck, thumb tracing Barry's spit-wet, kiss-bruised lips, pressing down until Barry's mouth closed around the digit, instinctively sucking it between his teeth.
Rory was looking Barry in the eye, but when he talked, it was Snart he was addressing. "He takes it so well. Feels so goddamn good around my cock. Like he was fucking made for it."
It shouldn't have made Barry feel complimented. The warm glow at Rory's words should have been embarrassment, not pride. He closed his eyes to escape the intensity of Rory's stare and allowed himself get lost in the rhythm.
It felt— It felt good. Full and pleasant, the fat head of Rory's cock hitting his prostate ever so often to make arousal spread all over him like a warm blanket, but not enough to take him close to the edge. Barry wished someone would give some attention to his neglected cock, which bounced against his belly with each thrust, but he refused to ask for it. Rory didn't seem to be in a hurry to come either, contenting himself with deep, languid movements, his heavy breathing fanning against Barry's face.
Barry felt the mattress shift as Snart moved, but he barely paid any mind to it, engrossed in the sensations. He jumped when Rory stilled beneath him, the hand on Barry's neck tightening a little as if in warning and his other hand coming down against Barry's hip to steady him.
Confused, Barry ceased moving.
"Lean forward for me a little, Scarlet," Snart ordered in that clipped drawl of his, his hand a gentle pressure in the middle of Barry's back, cool against his overheated skin.
Barry complied without thinking, his mind still feeling pleasantly numb and floaty. Balancing himself with his hands against Rory's broad, scarred chest, he bent over, biting back a needy little groan when the motion made the cock inside of him change its angle. It was too damn distracting, and Barry didn't consider Snart's intention, didn't understand until he felt a curious, slippery finger trace the stretched rim of his hole where Rory was buried balls-deep inside of him.
The blissful, fucked-out feeling was instantly replaced by panic.
The finger pressed down, and Barry instinctively tried to shy away from the new intrusion, but Rory's hands were like vices around him, holding him in place. "Shhh, doll, we ain't gonna hurt you."
Hysterical laughter bubbled up Barry's throat as Snart's finger inched into him, right next to Rory's cock. It didn't hurt, but it was just a finger, and he had an inkling that Snart was planning to take this a hell of a lot further.
"Don't. Please. It won't—" Snart curled his finger, and the sensation made Barry briefly lose track of his thoughts. He frantically shook his head, both in denial and in an attempt to clear his mind. "I can't—"
Snart started steadily fucking his finger in and out of Barry before a second finger joined it, meeting almost no resistance as it made it past the stretched ring of muscle.
"Don't worry, Barry, you'll like it," he promised. He always had a way of saying Barry's name that made it sound too intimate and almost obscene, a dark, dirty kind of barb delivered in that smooth Captain Cold drawl, but Barry had never felt it in a visceral way like he did now, being so completely at his nemesis' mercy.
He shut his eyes and shook his head again. "No, I won't."
Snart's fingers stilled, and for a moment, Barry dared to hope that his fierce denial had been enough to deter him. Then a tiny twist of his wrist made Barry shiver and arch his spine. Underneath him, Rory grunted and his cock gave an interested little twitch.
When Snart spoke, Barry could hear the smirk in his voice. "You wanna make a little wager, Scarlet? If you're so sure you won't enjoy it. If you're right, you win, and you get our help for free for the rest of the month. You lose, you join us on a heist."
Barry's protest was too quick and too vehement, and Snart chuckled. "Didn't think so."
The smugness made Barry grind his teeth, and he wanted nothing more than to take back his words and agree to the deal Snart was proposing – but then Snart's hand started moving again, properly this time, scissoring and bending his fingers, and Barry's faith in winning the bet faltered. He leaned further down and hid his face in Rory's chest, riding out the wave of pleasure.
He didn't want it to end, but it did, too soon. An unhappy little sound escaped from his throat when Snart pulled back, leaving behind a sickening empty feeling, despite Rory's massive girth still lodged deep inside of him.
It didn't last long. The splurging sound of lube being squirted out of its bottle was the only warning Barry had, and then Snart's cock was pushing into him, slowly filling him inch by inch, stretching him until Barry thought he was gonna burst.
It was too much, uncomfortable and overwhelming, but not painful. Barry almost wished it was, wished Snart would just thrust in fast and hard and careless, make it hurt, make Barry hate it instead of leaving him with the raw almost-pleasure of having all his nerve-ends overstimulated at once.
"Don't tell me you never thought about it." Snart leaned in, his breath brushing against Barry's neck. His voice was cool and taunting, but the words left a hot rush of shame and desire pulsing through Barry's body. "Being filled like that. Two cocks in that tight little hole of yours. Both of us fucking you so good that you never want to be empty again."
Barry made a sound of protest and shook his head in denial again, but he didn't think either of them even noticed; it was purely for his own benefit.
It seemed to take forever until Snart bottomed out. Barry's chest felt tight and his head was swimming, and it took him a moment until he realized he'd been holding his breath. He gasped for air, and his lungs burned as they filled up again. He unconsciously shifted, just a little. The sensation was incredible, both cocks rubbing against his insides at each minuscule movement. A broken groan was forced from his throat.
He didn't get to revel in the simple, gratifying feeling of fullness for long because Snart pulled back a tiny fraction and then pushed into him again, small rocking motions that got deeper and more forceful with each new thrust, building up a rhythm.
It was almost too much, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, the constant stretch this side of discomfort and yet making Barry ache for more, feeling the need build in his gut but a climax far out of reach.
He bit down on his lip hard to stop himself from pleading, gnawing on the tender flesh until he tasted blood. Rory put a steadying hand against Barry's cheek again, pushing him up a little, and his blunt, rough fingertips curled against the nape of Barry's neck. The fire in his dark eyes made it hard to look away.
"Good?" he asked, voice a low, lazy rumble.
Caught in the ebb and flow of pleasure, Barry found himself nodding. It was more of an admission than he was comfortable with, and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly at the stab of guilt.
From behind him Snart's lips trailed up the side of his neck. "Talk to us, Barry. Tell us how it feels."
He shook his head in denial. Talking was about the last thing he wanted to do. Not when he'd already lost any plausible deniability when it came to not enjoying what Snart and Rory were doing to him. But the words spilt from his lips before he could stop himself. "It's— incredible. So full. Like you're— fuck— everywhere around me." He mindlessly rubbed his head against Rory's large palm. "It burns, so good. Like you're— Oh god. Right there."
Rory had started moving too, pushing up his hips when Snart drew back a little, pulling out a fraction when Snart burrowed back into Barry, the constant seesaw motion between them making sure that Barry never got any reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure-pain.
"So goddamn pretty like that, greedy for all that cock," Rory said – to him or Snart, Barry wasn't sure. He sounded breathless and out of it. His hands had settled on Barry's ass, kneading his cheeks and pulling them apart, amplifying the sensation of getting fucked.
Snart hummed in agreement. His head was still buried in the crook of Barry's neck, and the sound vibrated almost soothingly against Barry's skin. "Should see it from my side. Watching our dicks disappear into him. That pretty hole stretching around us. Like we're splitting him in two."
He bit down on Barry's shoulder, not hard enough to break skin but firm enough to leave a bruise, and Barry whimpered. Whether it was in response to the words or the unexpected pain, he wasn't sure.
"Next time," Rory was saying – and fuck, Barry couldn't think of that now. Couldn't stop thinking about it either, the mental image with their positions reversed – Snart's lean, ungiving body stretched out underneath him and Rory pounding into him from behind – burning itself into his mind. His cock was leaking and he desperately needed someone to touch it, wondering if he could get away with jerking off.
"Please, I need—" Barry started, because apparently he had no shame anymore now that he’d disappeared into this rabbit hole.
Snart chuckled, far too composed. He was leaning close, mouthing the bite mark. "Look at yourself, Barry. Gagging for it. So desperate for anything we'll give you."
Barry wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to go to hell, but then Snart wound his arm around Barry's waist and his hand was on Barry's dick – those wonderful, clever fingers wrapped firmly around him, stroking him in time with the thrusts coming faster and more punishingly now.
It was all too much, overwhelming him in the best and worst possible way. It barely took a handful of strokes until he came, every raw nerve-ending in his body on fire, like he was plugged into the Speed Force without warning, shaking apart at the seams from the sheer overstimulation.
The force of the orgasm left him wrung out as if from an intense fight, struggling to come up for air. He felt someone's hands tightening on his waist, felt Snart lose his rhythm, the hot spill of wetness in his ass, but it barely registered at the edge of his consciousness. He was free-falling, tumbling down down down, and then –
Barry slowly blinked his eyes open, wincing at the bright light filtering in from the window. On the pillow next to him, Snart was lying with his head propped up on his arm, watching Barry with an expression that didn't give anything away. Snart— Fuck. The memories from last night rushed back at him like a derailing train.
Whatever Snart must have seen on his face made him smirk. "Sleep well, Barry? I take it whatever you needed our help with wasn't that urgent after all."
Barry tried to sit up but didn't get far, held down by the bulky arm that was thrown around his waist.
"Um, no. I mean, yes, it was. It is. I just —"
"Ya don't gotta make excuses, Red," Rory's rumbling voice came from behind him. "You want something, just ask."
Barry frowned, unsure what he was getting at. "I did? I asked you to help me track down Mardon, remember?"
He looked at Snart questioningly, catching him make eye contact with Rory over his shoulder. It made Barry feel uncomfortably left out of the loop. Then those piercing blue eyes turned on him again, and the shiver that ran down Barry's spine in response was not entirely unpleasant. Rory pressed closer, his morning wood pushing insistently against Barry's ass.
"What Mick means," Snart explained, words enunciated painstakingly slowly, like he was giving Barry some kind of vital information, "is that we ain't gonna give you any grief for coming to us looking for some stress relief. No need to feed us some pretty story, pretending you're only offering up your body in exchange for a team-up."
Barry frowned, trying to cut through to what Rory and Snart were trying to tell him.
"Right," he said slowly. He laughed and shook his head. "So what you're saying is that you'd rather get to fuck me without actually having to give me anything in return? You must be out of your minds if you think I'm gonna agree to that."
He watched the smirk disappear from Snart's lips as his jaw clenched. In a smooth motion, he rolled on top of Barry, pinning him down. Barry tensed, ready to fight his way out of there, but Snart caught his gaze, his hands tightened on Barry's wrists in warning. "What I'm saying, Barry, is that the reluctant act is starting to lose its appeal. It was a fun little game at first, letting you pretend you were being coerced. That you hated every minute of it. Like an innocent little lamb to the slaughter. Thing is, you're buying into your own story. And we'd rather have you actually admit you want it and relax than end up twisting yourself in knots."
Barry swallowed. Suddenly, the icy intensity of Snart's gaze was too much and he had to turn his head to avert his eyes, but all that got him was coming face to face with Rory, whose callused fingertips were lazily drawing patterns on Barry's exposed skin.
There was something about the casual, unhurried touches this morning that was more intimate than the rough, dirty sex last night, and Barry didn't hate it as much as he knew he should have.
It didn't matter. There was a flaw in Snart's suggestion. "What if I really need your help?"
"Then you got it," Rory said, like it was that simple.
"No more deals," Snart agreed. "No questions asked."
Barry looked back up at Snart's serious expression. He wondered if he could trust their promise, if he could live with himself, knowing that he was letting two of the Flash's villains take him to bed – willingly, without ulterior motives.
Snart's hold of Barry's wrist had loosened a little, his thumbs stroking along the insides, where Barry's pulse was beating rabbit-fast and frantic. "So what d'you say, Scarlet? We can get our guns, go out and find Weather Wizard for you. Or Mick can make pancakes. We'll have breakfast, maybe go back to bed after. Or maybe we find out how sturdy that kitchen table we bought the other week really is. Your choice."
It was hard to keep a clear head when their twin touches were driving him to distraction, when both their bodies were pressed against him and he was feeling warm and safe, still worn out from last night, wrapped in crisp, fresh covers that smelled like laundry detergent.
Barry almost resented Snart and Rory for putting this choice before him now, like this, when everything about the situation was designed to make Barry feel comfortable and it was hard to resist the magnetic pull between them.
He took a deep breath and decided to take a leap of faith. "I guess I am kinda hungry."
His voice was almost steady. He was rewarded with a rare, genuine smile from Snart. "That's our boy."