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Melting Point

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This... might not have been one of my better ideas. Cisco shifts where he's kneeling by the wall, the cold floor of the Cortex seeping in through his cargo pants, expecting the temperature to plummet further soon enough. He eyes the distance to the control hub, calculating the chances he could make it there to send a distress signal.

Y'know, just in case.

He'd have to break out of the restraints binding his wrists, of course, or work around them, and that's not likely. Even less likely is doing so without alerting his captor, or of overpowering her. In situations like these, it's best to wait, watch for an opportunity to get the upper hand.

At least I have a good view, he thinks, watching Caitlin - no, Killer Frost - as she leans over the consoles, checking the cameras to ensure that they're alone and turning on the security systems that will ensure they stay that way. They won't deter Barry, of course, but Barry's on his first real actual honest-to-God date with Iris, meaning nothing less than a new super-metahuman villain showing up in the same restaurant will probably tear him away. Then again, knowing Barry's luck, that idea isn't all that far-fetched.

“Hey, so,” he says aloud, attempting levity, “I see you changed your costume up. I dig the skirt. Bold choice.”

Frost shoots him a smirk. “Thanks for noticing - I wore it just for you.” There's enough chilly bite to her tone that he briefly considers taking the hint and keeping quiet.

Briefly. “Ha, ha,” he says. “But seriously, who does your gear? I need dirt on my competition.”

“Worried about your reputation, Vibe?” Frost says mockingly. “If I were you, I'd be worried about more than that.”

Ooh, Cisco isn't gonna pass up that opportunity. Baiting a villain into a nice long monologue is, like, the number one way to stay alive until help arrives. “What do you want, Killer Frost?” he asks flatly, as if he's not impressed.

Her smile widens. “Oh, the same things every girl wants. Shoes that are both comfortable and stylish. Equal pay. Revenge.”

“The Flash will stop you.” That doesn't sound quite right. “Uh. From the last one.” Cisco curses inwardly as Frost laughs.

“That's exactly what I'm counting on,” she replies, looking pleased at the prospect. “You're my bait. So all I have to do is wait for him to show up and then…” She arches an eyebrow at him, shrugging. “Well. You get the gist.”

“You expect me to sit here and do nothing while you—”

She's not as quick as Barry, but she's in Cisco's face fast enough that he rocks back on his heels in surprise. Her hand grabs his neck right under his jaw, cold leaching out from her palm and fingertips. “I expect you to behave,” she says, teeth bared.

“...yeah, okay,” he says, swallowing hard. Her eyes dart down to the twisting line of his mouth and then up to meet his gaze. She can probably feel the heat of his pulse beating against her hand.

“You know,” Frost says musingly, “I always wondered about you.”

Cisco's eyes go wide. “Wondered what?”

Her grip gentles, and she strokes his neck with her thumb; it's still cold, still a danger, but a leashed one for the moment. She leans in and drops her volume to a whisper. “Whether your interest in metas was purely... academic.” Her breath is like a winter draft along his ear, and he shivers. “I get it. All of this power, all this leather... I can't say I don't enjoy it, after a lifetime of feeling helpless.”

“Oh my god,” Cisco says, pitch climbing. “For real?

Frost tsks softly and lets go, stepping away. “Just looking for ways to pass the time,” she says casually. Her gaze pans over his body approvingly, and Cisco straightens up, keeping his head high, squaring his shoulders, doing what he can to keep some dignity, thanks. “You're pretty, but I'm not a Bond villain. I prefer willing partners, even if our ideologies are otherwise at odds.” She paces back to the consoles, idly switches between camera feeds.

Cisco gives it some thought. She's hot, but she's also Killer Frost. On the other hand, there might be an advantage to this. “...would you free my hands?” he asks.

She laughs at him; it doesn't sound like his Caitlin at all. “Nice try, but no. We're both creative problem solvers, right? I'm sure we could make it work.” Frost leans against the console and wow, okay, between his vantage point and how short her skirt is, he is seeing a lot of winter wonderland. It's tempting.

It's very, very tempting.

It's also a way to distract the scary metahuman planning to spring a deadly trap on his unsuspecting bestie, so maybe he can justify this as taking one for the team. Sure. That works. “Okay,” he says, enjoying the way her jaw drops. “What, you think you're the only hot evil chick all up on this? Psh.”

“...right,” she says, stalking towards him. “Remind me later to kill Golden Glider. But for now–” her cold cold fingertips cover his lips, "–don't talk about other girls.” She stoops to replace her hand with her mouth, which – holy crap – is even chillier. The contrast burns like a first too-big swallow of a slushee on a summer day, and is equally sweet and addictive. Her fingers comb through his hair and then curl into a fist, tugging at the roots until he breaks off, gasping. “Aw, too much?” she asks.

Cisco rolls his eyes. “Like you care?” he replies. “But no, I'm fine.” More than fine, but it's not like he's going to sit down mid-makeout to talk to Killer Frost about his kinks. She's pretty much nailing about half of them right now, anyway.

“Good to know,” she says, and pulls his head back with her grip in his hair so that he's at the right angle for her next kiss. It's good. It's so, so good. His shoulders are starting to get stiff and the restraints pinch his wrists and his knees are downright cranky about the floor situation, but he doesn't give a shit when Caitlin - Frost - is kissing him like she owns him, sinking down to straddle his thighs, running cool hands over his chest to slide up under the hem of his t-shirt. He jumps a little at the contact, laugh muffled by her lips before she shifts away. “Something funny?” she asks.

“No, it's just. Cold hands,” he says.

Frost hums thoughtfully, pushing his shirts up to bare his chest, trailing shivers in the wake of her touch. “It took me a long time to get this much control,” she comments, pressing her palms flat against his ribcage and he sucks in another deep breath at the chill. Her thumbs swipe across his hard nipples, and that never really used to do much for him, but apparently the trick is ice and maybe a little bit of fear, because the sensation goes straight to his dick. “Every time I touched someone they'd die.” Without warning, she digs her nails into his skin and drags them down and in, leaving angry red arcs that only stop when she hits his beltline. “It was unbelievably frustrating.” Now, when she puts her palms against his skin, the iciness soothes the marks she'd left.

“Let me help with that,” he murmurs, kneeling up to press his open mouth beneath the angle of her jaw, dragging his teeth along the column of her neck, nipping harder at the base where it curves. It's her turn to shiver, and she cants her hips, seeking pressure and failing, if her grumble of disappointment is any indication. “It would be easier if my hands were free,” Cisco suggests.

Frost laughs and climbs off him.

An undignified noise escapes his lungs, and he clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, watching her walk back to the console. “Hang on, are—?”

She smirks at him. “Patience, Vibe.” After a glance at the computer screens, she snags one of the rolling chairs and pulls it over. When she sits, he winds up with an even better view than before.

“...yeah, okay,” he says.

“Look at you,” Frost coos, stroking his hair out of his face. “So pretty. You should really reconsider this whole do-gooder thing. It's so much more fun on this side of the law.” That should not be as appealing as it is. She lifts one leg to crook a knee over his shoulder, and he takes the hint, kissing his way up her inner thigh until he reaches the warm, wet heat of her.

It's nice to know she's not cold everywhere. Or maybe she warms up when she's worked up. The latter makes more sense, because she gets hotter as he presses his mouth harder against her cunt, wetter with every stroke of his tongue against her clit. If he'd had his hands free, he could really go to town, but he knows he can make this work.

“Fuck,” she says breathily above him, her hands buried in his hair, hips rocking up like she can't help herself. “Fuck, Cisco, oh my god.”

Hearing her soft cries is like a drug he pursues through her first light, trembling orgasm and into a second that makes her wail. Cisco's so hard in his pants he can't move, and he lets his cheek rest on her knee for a minute while he catches his breath.

His legs are really screaming at him now. Worth it, but he needs relief. “Cait—” he starts, voice raw, then corrects himself with a firmer tone, “Frost. Please.”

“Oh, oh, right, yes,” she says, pushing herself up using the arms of the chair. It rolls backwards for a few inches before she catches it, but she doesn't pull it close again. She uses the space to join him on the floor, hands going to his fly while her lips catch his in a series of short, open-mouthed kisses, her icy tongue flicking against his.

He groans out loud at the first touch of her fingers, glad they aren't cold when they wrap around his dick, basking in the praise she gives him. Your mouth was so hot, your tongue felt so good, you've been so patient, come on, come on, I want to see you, so pretty, so good, come on...

It's not long before he's pulsing heat over her fingers, stammering and cursing in two languages.

Cisco slumps, shifting to the side to take the pressure off his knees. Caitlin pulls him so that he can curl up, half in her lap. There's a sharp snip as she cuts through the ties on his wrists, and then her fingers are gentle in his hair, letting him have a minute.

Blinking his eyes open, he spots the scissors next to some sanitizing wipes, a half-melted glass of ice cubes, and a small blue gelpack. “I was wondering how you did that,” he says.

“Hm?” Caitlin asks.

Cisco rolls his head to look up at her. “The cold, in your hands and mouth. Nice touch.” She's taken off the wig, and her hair is still pulled up into a bun, uncharacteristically severe, forehead bare with a headband holding back her bangs. Her blue lipstick is hopelessly smudged, probably smeared all over his own face and neck, and he really tries to care but fails miserably.

“Thank you. I was worried it would be too much.”

“It was great,” Cisco says. “But next time maybe we can try this somewhere with carpeting?”

“Aw,” she replies, curling over him to kiss the tip of his nose. “When we go home, I'll get you straight into a hot bath, let you soak for a while, how's that sound?”

“Perfect,” he says, beaming at her. “You're perfect.”

She flushes pink, which looks oddly adorable with her blue contacts. “Don't,” she says. “I just—”

“Play along with all my ridiculous ideas and— oh, that reminds me, are the cameras in here—”

“Re-routed to your private server, yes.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Maybe we can watch it when we get home tonight?”

“Maybe,” she hedges. “First, we need to clean this place up. Then home for food and a bath. No arguing.”

“Doctor's orders?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows just to make her laugh.

She does, but her gaze is heated. “Save that idea for another night,” she tells him.

“Oh?” he says, then realizes what she means. “Oh! Oh, nice. Yeah, I am so down for that.” He's surprised he hasn't thought of it sooner. She looks really good in her white lab coat.

“C'mon,” she says, patting his shoulder. “Let's get out of here before someone thinks to check in.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, rolling off her lap and onto the floor for a long, lazy stretch before he sits up. “You gotta admit, though, this was a great idea.”

“It…” Caitlin pauses. “...might have been one of your better ones,” she allows.

Yeah it was,” Cisco agrees, throwing up his hands in triumph only for his shoulder to twinge in protest. “...ow.”



- end -