Flash Fic - Dressed to Thrill

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: Dressed to Thrill
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: The Flash
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Barry Allen, Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne, Barry Allen/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne, Cisco Ramon (mention)
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~5100
Beta Credit: kyele
Summary: Eobard Thawne (EoWells) and his former protégé (and now partner), Barry Allen, are spies about to go undercover to attract the attention of a wealthy businessman with very unusual tastes. Eobard takes great delight in getting his partner ready for the ball where they are going to meet their target. If such preparation involves shaving Barry with a straight-edge razor and lacing Barry into a custom-made corset, Eobard is willing to put up with such terrible hardships.

A/N: Inspired by artwork by there-goes-all-the-cotton-candy: Barry as trophy wife in a slinky dress.

And of course enabled by kyele.

Set approximately three years before You Only Kiss Twice, but you don't have to read this story to understand what happens here. It's all pretty much sex and pining and clothes porn.

Feel free to follow me at my tumblr Obscene Circus Ponies, or on my old school (and much beloved) LiveJournal account.


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Berlin, 2009

"Barry, are you sure you want to do this?"

His former protégé and now partner in the intelligence agency they both work for is freshly showered and stretched out on the hotel room bed, looking like something out of a piece of 1980s art porn with his freshly tinted hair and brightly manicured nails. Barry looks up at him and says, "This meaning you shaving me? Or this meaning tonight's party?"

"Both." Eobard knows he's lying about the first, but telling the absolute truth about the second.

"Well, I can't go to the party unless you shave me, and I do want to go."

Eobard isn't at all surprised at how rock-steady Barry is. In the last three years, the will of iron that had impressed Eobard when he'd first met Barry has been forged into something purer and finer. It would be wrong to say that Barry's nerveless, that nothing gets to him, nothing shakes him, because that would imply that Barry's inhuman, soulless, or that he lacks empathy. And nothing could be further from the truth. It's just that Barry Allen deals with the world head on, with clear eyes and a strong and boundless heart. He understands the shadows, but he doesn't fear them.

Barry's still looking at him, and there's a question in his eyes. "Are you okay with this?"

Eobard doesn't know if he can answer truthfully. "I have to be."

"But you aren't, are you."

"I have to trust you, Barry. You are ready for this, I know that. But I don't think I am."

"You'll be right there, next to me. I'll be on your arm all night. "

Eobard lets out a deep breath. "Yes, I know. And Control will be watching everything."

"So, what's there to worry about? We're just going to dangle some bait, that's it."

"Dangle some bait - in front of a very dangerous and very deadly shark," Eobard reminds Barry.

"You'll keep me safe." Barry smiles and Eobard feels as if his world exists only in Barry's eyes. That is a very dangerous sentiment.

"I will."

"So, shall we get started?" Barry stands up and takes off the robe he's wearing. The silk slips through his fingers and puddles on the floor. Eobard restrains a gasp when Barry bends over to pick it up. It's not that he's never seen Barry naked before - because he has, many times - he's just never seen Barry naked and in high heels. Barry has always been leggy, but the heels do something to those legs, emphasize muscles that hadn't been evident before.

And it doesn't help that Barry is now hairless from ankle to groin. Eobard is intrigued by that smoothness. It is so incongruous to Barry's masculinity, which is still framed by masses of light brown curls.

Barry picks up the robe and tosses it on the bed, before giving Eobard a look. "Well?"

Eobard gets his libido under control, barely. They have work to do.

He takes Barry's arm and leads him into the bathroom. Barry's been practicing walking in five inch heels, but the carpet is still a tricky path to navigate.

"How do you want me?" Barry asks flirtatiously.

Anyway I can get you, Eobard thinks and while so much of their relationship is defined by the personal, this has to be kept professional. For his own sanity's sake. "Take a seat." He pulls out a small vanity stool and Barry follows his instructions.

Eobard readies his tools. "You'll need to keep very still. I wouldn't want to hurt you accidentally."

"But you'd enjoy hurting me on purpose?"

Eobard sighs. "Barry …"

Barry just grins and watches as Eobard whips up a batch of shaving lather, strops a straight-edged razor, and soaks a washcloth in hot water.

"Lift your arm up and hold still." Barry complies; he's just come out of the shower and his skin is clean, his body hair soft. Eobard trims the length before reaching for the blade and doesn't pass up the opportunity to soothe Barry as he flinches from the scissor snips. "Shh, relax." He wipes away the cuttings and daubs some lather on Barry's skin.

"Hey, that's cold."

Eobard holds Barry's arm in place. "If you don't keep still, I'm going to cut you."

"And you couldn't use a safety razor?"

"Not if you don't want stubble. Now be quiet." It actually doesn't take more than a few seconds to clear away Barry's underarm hair and he repeats the process on his other side with efficiency.

"Do I want to know how you know how to barber someone?"

"That's a story for another day." Eobard wraps another hot towel around Barry's face, ignoring his protests.

Which are, naturally, voiced when Eobard takes the towel away. "I've already shaved. Why do you need to shave me again?"

"Because what you consider 'shaving' and what a real shave is are not even in the same reality." Eobard strops the razor again, stirs the lather and daubs it across Barry's cheeks and chin and neck. He takes his time, using long strokes with even pressure, clearing away any trace of facial hair. It's a sensual experience and Eobard wonders why he hasn't done this to Barry before.

Barry is silent through the process and Eobard gets the feeling that it's not out of fear of getting nicked by the long, sharp blade. Barry's whole body is letting out a very distinctive vibe, identical to how he gets when he's falling into subspace. Eobard is definitely going to have to do to this to Barry again. And again.

He's finished with Barry's face and neck and wraps the towel around him again, before wiping him clean.

The cool air that hits Barry's face when Eobard takes away the towel starts to bring him out of that state, but Eobard concentrates on cleaning up and putting away his barbering kit, knowing that if he helps Barry out of subspace, they might not get out of the hotel room tonight. By the time he's finished, Barry's coming back to himself, but Eobard can't let the moment pass without some reassurance.

"Are you all right?"

Barry smiles and nods. He's still a little out of it.

"You followed my instructions and you will be perfect tonight." Eobard trails his finger across Barry's impossibly smooth cheek and chin. "You are a star, Barry Allen. The brightest star in the firmament."

Barry turns a pleasing shade of pink at Eobard's praise and ducks his head. But Eobard doesn't allow the shyness to continue and he tucks two fingers under Barry's chin, tilting his face up so their eyes meet. "You will shine tonight."

Barry licks his lips and Eobard can't resist the moment. He kisses Barry very gently and is delighted when Barry takes his pleasure and gives it back. Barry is definitely out of subspace as he bites down on Eobard's lower lip, tugging gently.

"Mmm, do we have time?" Eobard wonders. Barry grinds against Eobard and Eobard cups Barry's naked ass, before slapping it lightly. "No, we still have quite a bit to do. Have to get you into the corset and then get your makeup on."

Barry pouts. "All work and no play will make Barry a very dull boy."

Eobard has to laugh. "Oh, Mr. Allen – if there's one thing I've learned about you – you're never, ever dull. It would be an impossibility for you to be dull." Eobard kisses Barry lightly, if just to tease, and leads him back to the bedroom.

Barry asks, "Has Cisco delivered that torture device yet?"

"It arrived when you were in the shower. Along with your dress." Eobard muses, "Cisco Ramon, mechanical engineer and master tailor. Two highly incongruous talents and yet a perfect fit for the quartermaster division."

"It also helps that he's my best friend."

Eobard isn't so certain of that. After all, Iris West has just re-entered Barry's life. But Eobard isn't going to think about that now. He has Barry Allen naked and in heels and rather impatiently waiting to get bound.

The corset isn’t going to give Barry a wasp waist. That would be too extreme, and Barry’s narrow to begin with. It will just give Barry some curves - not a Victorian ideal, but something more modern - something fitting the full-skirted Dior ball gown hanging in the closet.

"Well? What are we waiting for?"

Eobard raises an eyebrow. "Underwear?"

Barry shakes his head. "Nope - when I went for the last fitting, Cisco added a modesty panel and a cup behind it with straps. No need for anything else."

Eobard feels slightly breathless. "You're going all but commando."

Barry grins and nods. "There's so much fluff in the dress that even if I went ass over tea kettle, you'd never notice."

Rather than think about that, Eobard takes the corset from the box Cisco left behind and examines it. At first he's puzzled, there's no panel or cup, but then Barry reaches into the box and retrieves the missing items.

"They attach after I get this on."

Eobard wraps the corset around Barry's torso. It's a thing of beauty - velvet and silk and leather and steel - and eggshell white, except for the blood-red piping and red enameled grommets. Even hanging loosely on Barry, it gives him a bridal aura. Eobard never had a virginity fetish, and Barry had been no virgin when they met, but this thing inspires wonderful, terrible fantasies.

It doesn't take much effort to hook the corset closed, and the steel boning does incredible things to Barry's figure. But the magic will only happen when Eobard tightens the laces.

Eobard summons some of the threads of control and commands with a stern tone, "Take a deep breath and hold it."

Barry complies with Eobard's instructions and Eobard begins the slow, inexorable process of tightening the corset's laces. He gives Barry a chance to exhale before pulling again. It takes effort and muscle to mold even Barry's narrow, sylph-like frame into something a hint more curvaceous. Eobard himself is breathless by the time he pulls the last few centimeters and ties off the corset laces and closes the hooks at the top and base.

"Turn around, let's see.”

Barry chuckles and Eobard admires how his shoulder blades are framed by the corset, ivory skin against white leather bordered in blood red.

"What's so amusing?" Eobard asks.

"Me." Barry still doesn't turn around.

"Really?" Eobard isn't sure what Barry means by that, since Barry himself had suggested this crossdressing masquerade. "Do you have a problem?"

Barry finally turns and he's standing there, legs apart for balance in those ridiculous heels. "You might say that."

Eobard blinks. Barry is massively erect, his cock almost as red as the trim on the corset.

"I wasn't expecting this." Barry bites his lip, but he's still smiling.

Eobard blinks again. The air in their hotel room has become thin - which must be the reason why it's hard to breathe. Or it might be the combination of the hermaphroditic effect of the corset and Barry's pride in his blatantly masculine arousal.

Trying to maintain a level of professionalism, Eobard asks, "Do you need some help with that?"

"I was hoping you'd offer."

Eobard licks his lips. While he would love to give Barry a blow-job, he'd really prefer to fuck him. "Pity I don't have time to prep you." It's been a few days since he's fucked Barry and given how his own arousal feels like a baseball bat, he'd definitely need to take time and prepare Barry properly - especially if Barry's going to be on his feet for the next five or six hours. Eobard glances at the clock on the nightstand. The party starts in about an hour and a half, and he needs to put on Barry's makeup and get him into the dress before he showers and dresses himself.

"You don't have to."

"I'm not fucking you without prep, Barry. I won't hurt you like that now - too much is riding on this mission tonight."

"I know. What I'm saying is that I'm already prepped. I took care of myself in the shower. I've been wearing a plug for hours."

Eobard watches, mouth agape, as Barry spins around and rests his torso on the bed and tilts his ass in the air. Barry's legs are parted wide for balance, for provocation, and Eobard can see the shine of slick between Barry's buttocks and the plug's loop.

"I wanted you to fuck me before we went down. I hope you don't mind." Barry's tone is lilting, teasing.

Mind? Eobard isn't sure if he has a mind left. "Ahh. Yes. I mean, no. I don't mind at all."

"Good. I really didn't expect to get this turned on by the corset - but then… " Barry lets out another breathy laugh, "You know how I get when you tie me up. So maybe I was subconsciously anticipating this reaction?"

Eobard strips his sweater off. He's too hot.

"There are condoms in the night table drawer,” Barry adds. “I think I'm going to need one, too. Wouldn't want to stain Cisco's handiwork before the night begins."

Eobard is awed at Barry's clear-headedness. He, himself, can barely remember his name.

The condoms are just where Barry had said they'd be and Eobard takes two - one for himself, one for Barry. His hands are shaking as he opens the first one and smooths it over Barry's cock. As he has for years, Eobard loves the feel of Barry's cock in his hand - the length, the weight, the heat - the utter maleness of it. He holds it for a while, feeling the heavy pulse in the big veins.

Barry rocks lewdly against him and Eobard steps back. His control is barely there and while they don't have a lot of time, he wants to savor Barry in the time that they do have. Eobard shoves down his pants and puts on the condom. He'd also found a bottle of lube in the night table and uses it on his own cock.

"I'm going to take the plug out now," Eobard announces for no reason.

Barry just writhes against the bed and parts his legs a bit more, the invitation as blatant as a billboard.

The relative ease in which the plug slides out of Barry is testament to how well he’d prepped himself and to Barry's control - holding it in deep for so long. Eobard pants as he presses the head of his sheathed cock against Barry's hole and pushes gently.

Barry growls in frustration. "You are fucking teasing me, Eo."

There's a double-entendre there, but Eobard's so caught up in sensation, in lust, that he can't quite parse it out. He's not an animal; he doesn't thrust balls-deep, because that's too easy. Eobard takes his time penetrating Barry, enjoying every sensation, the perverseness of sodomizing his lover while he's getting ready to dress as a woman. Eobard grips Barry's hips, hand half on hot, smooth flesh, half on cool leather and the sensation is as sensually maddening as the tight grip Barry has on his cock.

"Fuck me, damn it." Barry writhes and wriggles and tries to deepen Eobard's penetration, but Eobard isn't going to let Barry control this.

He slaps Barry's flank. "Be still." There is a deep note of command, and Barry knows that voice. He knows too well that defiance will not be tolerated, and punishment will come in a form unpleasant for both of them. Except that Eobard doesn't think he'll be able to withdraw and walk away.

Thankfully, Barry doesn't call his bluff. Instead, he obeys and stills and Eobard rewards him with deeper penetration and a healthy dose of praise. "You are so beautiful, so perfect, so good. Let me savor you."

Barry pants, "Please, Eo - please."

Between his own desire and Barry's plea, Eobard can't deny either of them the pleasure of complete penetration. He slides the last few inches into Barry's willing body and then sets to a slow, deliberate rhythm. Barry grinds back against him and Eobard wishes he'd taken the time to get out of his pants instead of just pushing them down. While fucking Barry half-naked is definitely an erotic delight, Eobard wants to feel Barry's newly smooth flesh against his own skin.

Yes, he knows that they will have many other chances, but the possessive, romantic, illogical beast in him wants everything now.

This dance is coming to a conclusion faster than Eobard wants. He pushes Barry further onto the bed, so he's balancing on one knee and the other foot, still shod, is dangling a few inches off of the floor. Eobard's thrusts may be slow and deliberate, but they are powerful. Each time he pulls back, it feels like he's peeling away a layer of his soul, and reclaiming it with each drive forward.

"I'm coming, Eo - damn you - I'm coming."

Eobard loses what's left of his control when Barry's ass clamps down, and he comes so hard he wonders if he's burst through the condom. Eobard wants to scream, "I love you," but such declarations have no place in this hotel room. Or in any hotel room. He knows that Control is listening and doesn't care if they hear him fucking Barry - this part of the mentor-trainee relationship is encouraged - but there's a very bright line that he's not permitted to cross.

Besides, no matter how close they are, Eobard is not certain that these feelings would be welcome. Or reciprocated.

He withdraws from Barry, and in an unusually graceless move, he flops down on the bed, next to his still-panting lover. Barry rolls over and grins at him. "Nothing like going to a party just after you've been thoroughly debauched."

Eobard tucks his dark, post-coital tristesse away. "Well, considering the party …"

"True enough."

Eobard gets up, kisses Barry on the tip of his nose and reminds him, "We've still got plenty to do to get ready."

"Why don't you shower? I'll clean myself up and start getting dressed."

As always, Eobard appreciates and admires Barry's pragmatism. He gets up and gives Barry a hand. They each dispose of their condoms and Barry doesn't bother putting his heels back on as he heads to the bathroom. Eobard follows and admires the ass that he'd just so soundly fucked.

By the time Eobard finishes with his shower - and washes away his dreams of what might have been - Barry's in the bedroom and he's put on the cup and modesty band that will prevent any unseemly bulges. Eobard's actually glad he's old enough not to get visibly aroused again - Barry's smoothing on stockings with a very practiced hand.

"You okay?" Eobard's mouth is bone dry.

Barry nods and gives him a bright smile. "I couldn't be better. You? Or do I need to ask? You've been doing this for a very long time."

A tiny bit put out by the allusion to his age, Eobard ignores the question and turns his back on Barry while he puts on his smallclothes. "Have you made up your mind about wearing a wig?" Cisco had delivered several, but none of them had seemed quite right.

Barry lets out a heartfelt sigh. "I know it will be a more effective 'costume' if I'm presenting as completely female, but based on the target's profile - there's a clear preference for androgyny." He runs his fingers through his now-dark auburn hair. "Besides, I've just gotten this colored - which also fits the target's preferences."

Barry's hair is wonderfully thick and right now, quite a bit longer than his usual short back and sides. Eobard considers the amount of effort still needed to get Barry ready against the time remaining before their appearance. "Okay, we'll go with your own hair."

Barry smiles at him, clearly pleased with the decision, which makes Eobard feel almost too good. It doesn't take all that long to finish Barry's coiffure, which is a good thing, since his makeup will take the best part of the time they've got left. And when Eobard's finished, Barry is a work of art. The maquillage is both understated and pure theatre - accentuating Barry's magnificent eyes and cheekbones, but not hiding the true masculine strength in his neck and jaw. Barry's shoulders are dusted with pearl and Eobard does nothing to cover the dozens of tiny beauty marks that decorate his skin.

Before he puts on the most fragile part of the makeup, Eobard takes the dress out of the closet. It's modeled after vintage Dior, but in a color that Dior would never have used, blood red instead of the more common scarlet. It should clash with Barry's hair, but it doesn't. It should bring out the pinker tones in Barry's skin, but the blue undertones in the fabric will only make Barry look like he's been carved out of ivory and kissed by the setting sun.

But first, there are masses of tulle petticoats to give the skirt the volume it needs, and Eobard takes a deep breath and puts a tight clamp on his near-impossible arousal as Barry twirls.

"You like?"

Eobard nods tightly. "Yes."

And of course, Barry is utterly focused on the job. "You think the target will appreciate this effort?"

"He is a man with very precise tastes."

"That's why you're coming along, too."

Eobard doesn't tell Barry that even if the target's preferences weren't equally divided between watching and participating, there is no way he'd allow Barry within five feet of the man alone. Barry doesn't yet have the experience to deal with the threat this target represents. Eobard can admit to himself that he's not happy with the idea of another man putting his hands on Barry. The target is young – younger that Eobard and older than Barry – and a giant of a man, wealthy and fit, and despite his questionable political allegiances, very attractive.

"Bend down." Barry ducks his head and Eobard carefully slips the dress on. Barry turns and Eobard zips up the back. "Let me see."

Barry steps into the center of the room and Eobard reminds himself that he is - above all things - a professional. And, as such, he casts a professional eye over Barry's transformation. Thanks to Cisco, the dress fits like a dream. Barry's corseted torso gives the illusion of feminine breasts and the cut of the bodice continues that suggestion.

"Beautiful," Eobard says. He fluffs Barry's hair and makes a few inconsequential adjustments to the line of the dress. "You're right; a wig would be too much."

Barry drops his eyes and looks far too demure. "I didn't think this would be something I'd like, but I do."

Eobard understands far too well. "We can explore this in private."

Barry looks up, his expression hopeful, and Eobard is struck by the memory of Barry Allen, eager student. He ruthlessly suppresses the memory. "Let me get dressed and we'll put on the finishing touches."

Barry carefully sits in one of the lounge chairs, legs elegantly and modestly crossed, and Eobard's highly conscious of Barry's eyes on him. Putting on his tuxedo shouldn't be such a challenge, but he struggles with the shirt studs.

"Can I help?"

Eobard accepts Barry's offer of assistance by simply walking over to him and handing him the studs and then the cufflinks - ruby, to match Barry's dress.

"Thawne family heirlooms?" Barry asks.

"Not these. They were a gift from my mother when I graduated with a double-first from Cambridge." Eobard manages the bowtie on his own, and the buttons on the subtly patterned silk vest that accompanies this particular bit of evening wear. But before he arms himself and puts on his jacket, he needs to put the finishing touches on Barry.

"Put these on." Eobard hands Barry a pair of white kid gloves. They are opera-length and reach the middle of Barry's bicep.

Barry's struggling to get them on and comments, "What are these, arm condoms?"

Eobard chuckles, "Actually, that's not a bad description. They are supposed to be very snug. Hold on and let me help."

Barry gets up and Eobard stands behind him. Under normal circumstances, Barry's a couple of inches taller than Eobard, but now – in those ridiculously sexy heels – Barry has almost a half a foot on Eobard. It's a strange sensation and Eobard's not quite sure if he likes it. Or if he likes it too much.

But it isn't the time for such contemplation. He tugs the gloves all the way up Barry's arms and it's almost like he's putting the corset on. It's just as arousing. Eobard takes a deep breath and fumbles a bit with the buttons at the top of each glove. "There, almost all done."

"Almost? Anything more and I think I'm going to pass out from strangled lust." Barry sounds just as breathless as Eobard feels.

"Two more things and you'll be ready." From the makeup case on the desk, Eobard takes out a lipstick in a shade that perfectly matches Barry's dress. He doesn't go overboard – Barry's incredible eyes are the focus. Just a little bit to give him a depth of color. Eobard stares at Barry's mouth and tells himself not to think about fucking those lips.

Yet.

"Eo?" There are too many questions in Barry's eyes. Too much heat, also.

Eobard steps away from that pillar of temptation and retrieves a briefcase from the closet. His hands are shaking again and it takes three tries to enter the combination before he can press his thumb and then his index finger on the scanner. The locks pop open with an audible snick and Eobard opens the case. He takes out the Walther PPK, inserts the magazine and confirms that one round is chambered and the safety is on before tucking it into the holster built into his vest.

"I can't get over that you carry the same gun as James Bond."

Barry's weapon of choice is the rather conventional Glock 22 that he'd been trained on. But then, Barry hates carrying, despite the fact that he's an excellent marksman. And of course, tonight, he's unarmed. There's simply nowhere Barry can put a weapon.

"You know that there's a reason why Ian Fleming gave Bond that weapon."

Barry chuckles, "Yes, I do. Because it doesn't ruin the line of the tuxedo jacket."

From the same case, Eobard takes out the last piece of Barry's ensemble. He opens the old velvet bag he'd tucked in there and a strand of pearls spills into his palm.

"Eo – " Barry doesn't ask if they are real, because Barry knows how much Eobard despises fakes and frauds.

"These are a family heirloom." Eobard fingers the silky smoothness of the pearls, each perfectly round and perfectly matched, and about twenty millimeters in diameter. He doesn't have to say which family, since Barry knows that his father didn't bring fantastic wealth into his marriage.

"Are you sure?" Barry isn't being coy. He knows just how much Eobard values his families' legacies. This particular piece had been a gift from his maternal grandmother, who had handed it to him with the instructions to give it to his bride on his wedding day.

Well, he's never going to have a bride, and while he longs for the right to marry Barry, he's not at all certain that Barry would want to marry him. And that is irrelevant at this moment. Eobard simply says, "Yes, I'm sure." He drapes the pearls around Barry's neck and fastens the clasp. "There's another layer of protection in these. Cisco's put in a low-power tracker in the clasp."

"Just in case I lose them?" Barry isn't joking.

"No, just in case I lose you." "And neither is Eobard.

He steps back and Barry turns around. He's gorgeous, and the perfect bait for their target. Eobard doesn't want to let Barry out of the room. He wonders if there's some way he can engineer a minor accident in the distance between this room and the hotel's ballroom without being too obvious.

But he can't; this mission is too important. So Eobard puts on his tuxedo jacket, lets Barry do his own version of smoothing and primping and picking invisible bits of lint off his lapel, and the says, "Ready?"

Barry nods and lets his posture fall into a different line. Yes, he's still tall and broad-shouldered, and there will be very few people who won't realize he's cross-dressing, but Barry is no longer masculine. Yet he's definitely not feminine – despite the dress and the heels and the makeup.

No, Barry is now other, and based on the target's profile, he'll be completely irresistible.

Eobard steels himself for the night to come and offers Barry his arm. They are an eye-catching couple as they walk down the hotel hallway, passing other guests on the way to the ball.

Just before they enter the grand salon, Eobard slips on the wedding band he'd secreted in his trouser pocket. Putting it on earlier would have been too fraught; he doesn't want to hear Barry make a joke about it. Eobard doesn't think he would be able to smile and pretend about something that means so much to him.

Ring securely on his finger, Eobard taps a tiny switch on his glasses, activating both the camera and the tiny speaker in the earpiece. Cisco confirms that he's on-line and ready. Eobard hands their invitations, with the names of "Doctor and Mrs. Harrison Wells" on them, to majordomo at the doorway. In another century, the man might have announced their entrance, but such niceties are no longer observed.

As they enter, Eobard reminds Barry, perhaps unnecessarily. "We are not to be separated."

"Of course, I'm your arm candy tonight." Barry's words are joking but his tone isn't. Barry's not armed and he's far too constrained by his clothing to effectively defend himself.

"Exactly."

"Target is at your two o'clock and approaching." Cisco's got eyes on the entire ballroom, of course.

"Here we go." Eobard steers Barry towards the target and from the sudden tenseness in Barry's arm, Eobard knows that he's spotted the man they're here to meet.

A dozen carefully navigated steps later and they are face-to-face with the target. The man's eyes are glued to Barry and Eobard is repulsed at the obvious lust.

"Hunter Zolomon, it's been a while." Eobard holds out his hand and Zolomon takes it.

"Harrison, it's good to see you." Zolomon is still staring at Barry, practically drooling. "Please introduce me to your lovely… wife."

FIN

Comments

[riverotter1951.livejournal.com]

Wow - this is so hot. Now I want the sequel.

[elrhiarhodan]

Thank you!!!!

This is a major AU for me - I'm deep into the origin story - so the follow up to this fic may take a while.

But thank you for reading and sharing your pleasure in it.