Opposites Attract [ColdFlash Oneshots]

Got A Melancholic Temperament (That's What They Said To Me), Part 3

Chapter 6: Grand Theft Auto's Just the Name of a (Video) Game

He woke up feeling disoriented. His lower back was sore and some of his muscles were aching, ones he hadn’t felt in a while. He was on a bed much too soft in a room too bright, and he was definitely naked. When was the last time he even slept naked? He ran his fingers over the fabric of the sheets, high thread count, and he realized he wasn’t alone in the bed.

And then it caught up with him.

Barry. Barry Allen.

And almost a month of—

Oh fuck.

His memories. They were—

He was back to normal. As if he’d never forgotten. Except the headache. That could be from any number of things though. Like the stress of waking up with Barry Allen’s arm across his chest, breathing little bunny-snores next to him.

Urge to murder rising.

He needed to get out of here. He was out of the bed and across the room before thinking, reaching for the outfit at the top of the closet, the one they’d set aside from when he’d first been de-aged, clothes that should fit right. Those little skinny jeans from nineteen were definitely going to waste, no way he’d fit anything close to them. Why Barry had even spent so much—

What the hell was he doing thinking of jeans right now? He hauled on his pants and could hear Barry stirring.

“Mm, Lenny? Come back to bed.”

He stilled, then kept dressing.

“Thanks but no thanks, Barry. I’ll be skipping the post-coital breakfast too, so sorry.” His voice had more ice than even he had expected. Behind him on the bed, Barry actually yelped.

“Snart? Holy shit. Holy—you’re—you—and that means…”

Len turned as he pulled his sweater down. Barry was there on the bed, sitting up with his hand pressed to his forehead, totally gobsmacked.

“Morning, Scarlet.” He moved toward the door. Barry was up in a second and in front of the door, swore, was a twister of lightning and then reappeared in front of the door again with clothes on, clearly ones he’d grabbed off the floor. One of them was Len’s (Lenny’s, ugh) shirt.

“Wait.”

“Get out of my way.”

“We should talk—”

“Not interested.”

“We had sex.”

“Trust me, I know.” His sore ass wasn’t about to let him forget. He really didn’t want to think about that right now though.

“So sit for ten minutes and talk to me. Or come with me to the lab, Caitlin’ll need a blood sample.”

“I have business to attend to.”

“What business?”

“None of yours.”

He moved to get past Barry, who looked determined to hold his ground, moving into his way, so he shifted at the last second and grabbed Barry by the front of his shirt, slamming him against the door of the room.

“Let me make myself clear, Barry. I’m leaving. You will not stop me. I’m going to wake up my sister and get the hell out of this house and then I’m going to make myself a new cold gun and the next time you see me, you had better be ready to run.”

Barry blanched and Len shoved him out of the way and opened the door, making his way down the hall.

Wally trundled down the stairs with heavy steps. Len stopped. Wally stopped.