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Boyfriends (of Doom) The Beginning

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“For the last time, there is no reason for you to be acting this way!” Eobard Thawne shouted, finally losing his temper. His partners had been pestering him for almost an hour and he was sick of it.

“You haven’t slept in no one knows how long because you don’t feel the need to provide us with that kind of information!” Malcolm Merlyn shouted back, hardly deterred by Eobard’s temper. “Do you even try to sleep? I’ve looked all over this lair and I can’t find any evidence that you even have a room!”

“Why does it matter? I am fully functional! You’re playing right into the orange person’s hands, getting involved like this. That book is going to cause you nothing but trouble!”

Eobard had to take a step back. He hated people getting into his personal space. It made him feel weird, like everything was suddenly operating at normal speed, rather than slowing to his heightened perception. Malcolm was too close, but as he stepped back, he knocked straight into Damien Darhk, who had been standing silently behind him.

He hadn’t noticed, which wasn’t a good sign. Letting a professional assassin stand unnoticed at his back was a good way to get even more dead than he was already.
Damien instantly steadied him. “Don’t go anywhere, Eobard,” he chided. “We still have questions for you. After the vault, you said we were going to be equals. How can we trust your word when you won’t trust us with the details of your basic functions?”

“After all, you claim to be the mastermind of this little adventure. If you don’t take care of yourself, you can’t very well do that,” Malcolm agreed, crossing his arms. As expected, he was holding the damn book in one hand.

Eobard badly wanted to use his speed to snatch the book and tear it up. It was bad enough his ancestor had to go and sterilize himself, leading to Eobard’s existence being erased from reality. On top of that, his ancestor went on to write a book, of all things, detailing his love life with the Flash and giving advice for other people to interact with speedsters. All his years of exacting research, undone by the personal recollections of the man who had effectively murdered him, based on the behavior of his most hated enemy. He hated that book.

He shrugged out of Damien’s arms and edged to the side, so that the three of them stood in a rough triangle. That was much better than being caught between them. He shook for a moment to make sure his senses were awake. Something about Damien catching him had dulled him for a second.

“What do you want to know?” he asked in a forced voice of calm. Maybe satisfying them would make them leave him alone.

“Where do you sleep? That’s an easy one to start you off,” Malcolm replied, getting smug look on his face.

Eobard briefly wondered if that smirk would stay put if he handed Malcolm his own intestines.

“Usually, at my desk. I work very hard and sometimes I just fall asleep over it. Next?”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “So you don’t have an official bed of your own?”

Eobard squirmed a little. That was true, but he had a feeling admitting it would send Malcolm through the roof. It would be amusing to watch him turn red and splutter, but he would only get more interfering when his blood pressure dropped again.

How could he explain the truth without sounding pathetic? He didn’t sleep much because it wasn’t restful. He was a speedster and lying still drove him crazy. Sleeping was nearly impossible, between his frenzied brain activity and the mysterious muscle cramps that plagued him if he was still for more than a few seconds.

“You could say that,” he finally said, plastering a fake smile on his face. It wasn’t a total admission, since his statement relied on Malcolm’s words rather than his own, and it would still answer the question. More or less.

Damien snickered. Eobard found himself oddly united with Malcolm, as they both shot him a dirty look.

“Don’t scowl at me,” Damien growled, instantly hitting murder-mode.

“Damien, you are not being very helpful,” Malcolm said, in the same forced voice of calm that Eobard had been using.

“How can I be helpful? Our scary speedster is acting like a naughty child and you are fitting yourself perfectly into the role of exasperated mother. If the Legends could see us, they’d laugh themselves sick.”

Eobard fantasized about throwing Damien on the floor and stomping on his throat a bunch of times. He was not acting like a child. He was acting like an adult faced with invasive and unwanted questioning.

“Need I remind you the handbook clearly states that speedsters require just as much sleep as everyone else? Eobard has been running himself into the ground and it is our responsibility as co-conspirators to keep him in good health. When I orchestrated the Undertaking, I kept a close eye on all the people who helped me, both to ensure their safety and to keep them from stabbing me in the back. That mentality will help us in this situation.”

“Except that your Undertaking only accomplished the death of your son and led to you fleeing a number of nasty ends,” Damien sneered.

Malcolm dropped The Care and Feeding of Your Speedster by E. Thawne on the desk and punched Damien in the face.

Eobard’s watch blared a warning that the Black Flash was getting close, so he left them to brawl it out and absorbed himself in the Speed Force.