elrhiarhodan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elrhiarhodan) wrote2017-05-05 09:00 pm
elrhiarhodan) wrote2017-05-05 09:00 pm
The Flash - Just Beginning To See (MMOM Day 5)
Title: Just Beginning To See
For: MMOM - Thirty (One) Dirty Words – Day 5 (Prompt: Mind)
Author:elrhiarhodan
Fandom: The Flash
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Barry Allen, Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne
Pairing: Eventual Barry/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne; background Iris West/Eddie Thawne
Spoilers/Episode References: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~1800
Summary: Part Four of Deadmarked. Part Four of Deadmarked. Barry witnesses Iris discovering her soulmate. Heartbroken at his own loneliness, Barry heads home after the S.T.A.R. Labs Particle Accelerator has a successful inaugural launch. The morning; however, brings unexpected joy.
Author's Notes: Written for Day 5 of the 2017 Edition of Merry Month of Masturbation, for the prompt "Mind". As with all of the Deadmarked stories, this is written for![[archiveofourown.org profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/b164c54b26e4/-/archiveofourown.org/favicon.ico)
kyele, who has been unstinting in her encouragement and delight in these tales.
Title from The Moody Blues song, "Forever Afternoon", from Days of Future Past.
__________________
Barry wants nothing more than to go home and have a good, long cry. Not because he'd failed to catch the purse snatcher who'd grabbed Iris' bag – containing her laptop with the only copy of an article that's on deadline for tonight – but because he had seen something so incredibly beautiful it makes his heart ache.
A few hours agi, in the drizzling rain, right next to the S.T.A.R. Labs trash collectors, Iris West met Eddie Thawne, and Barry witnessed the miracle of two soulmates meeting.
The movies and novels get it wrong; light doesn't shine down from the heavens, birds don't erupt in joyous song, rainbows don't magically appear. It's both profound and prosaic.
Eddie Thawne, a new detective on the CCPD, who'd just transferred in from Keystone, appeared out of nowhere and stopped the punk who'd stolen Iris' bag. Barry had been trying not to heave his guts out from punch he'd taken, so he hadn't seen Iris as she finally caught up with him. But he had seen her face as she gazed at Eddie and he'd seen Eddie's face, too.
The slowly dawning realization that they were soulmates, that fate – destiny – the hand of god – had chosen them
Even the thief had been enthralled.
And it's not only knowing that his best friend has found her soulmate, it's the aching loneliness that clawing at Barry's emotions. How many years is he going to have to wait before he meets his soulmate? And what kind of relationship will they have, when Barry's already lived a large part of his lifetime?
He takes Iris back to the CCPD – Eddie had to transport the mugger – and they both give their statements. Barry watches Iris and Eddie head off – so very much enthralled with each other – and he goes up to his lab to watch the news about S.T.A.R. Labs.
One of Iris' colleagues at the CCPN, Linda Park, has been drafted for on-camera reporting and she's very clearly bored and annoyed by the rain. Barry guesses that the regular news personalities had bugged out when it became clear that S.T.A.R. Labs wasn't going to implode after the Accelerator had gone on line. The scientific breakthroughs that are going to follow from tonight's event are of little consequence to mass media.
There's a sharp flash of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder, strange for December, but not completely unheard of. A drip on the back of Barry's neck reminds him that he'd opened a skylight earlier that afternoon. He pulls the chains to shut it and heads home.
By the time he reaches his apartment, Barry's soaked to the skin and the power is out on the entire block.
A perfect end to a perfect day.
At least his building has gas heat and good water pressure, although it's weird taking a shower in the dark. Weird, and yet kind of arousing. The bathroom's warm and there's a little bit of light coming in from the bedroom. Barry feels cocooned, safe, and strangely happy. He fumbles with the bottles on the shower rack and by luck more than planning, Barry finds the bottle of baby oil he uses as lube and manages not to spill half of it.
As he strokes himself to full arousal, Barry lets his mind wander and it lands in the realm of fantasy. Not swords and sorcery and hunky elves out to seduce, but the fantasy he's had of Harrison Wells seducing him.
Even though Barry had missed most of Doctor Wells' speech this evening, the man's voice is still present in his mind – deep and fluid, commanding and compelling. Barry knows he'll never sound like that – he doesn't have anywhere near Harrison Wells' self-confidence. But he can dream about Wells, he can take some guiltless pleasure in imagining Wells coaxing pleasure from him, telling him what he likes, asking Barry what he likes, and then telling Barry to do it, pushing Barry to do better, to be better.
The imaginary encouragement – from someone that Barry so deeply respects – is enough to send Barry over the edge into orgasm.
Barry leans against the shower wall and lets the water cascade over him, washing away the evidence of his lust. With great reluctance, he turns off the water and gets out of the shower. Muscle memory helps him find his towel and he makes it into his bedroom without tripping over anything before he flops – still damp – onto his bed.
Barry falls asleep, dreaming of blue eyes and the promise of a future that will only come in his imagination.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Barry's alarm clock goes off far too early for a Saturday morning; the power had come back on and the backup battery did its job. Barry reaches out to turn the damn thing off, and when he rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, the early morning sunlight hits his face like a fist. He'd never bothered closing his shades last night and now he's paying the price.
Barry spends a few minutes with his head buried by a pillow but it's no use trying to go back to sleep. It's seven-thirty and the storm's blown out, leaving crystal clear and almost cloudless skies – perfect running weather. Barry actually likes mornings, he just hates getting up and out when he doesn't have to. He pulls on his running gear, abstractly thinking about heading over to Iris' place to see how she's doing before he remembers what had happened last night. No, Iris is probably all too occupied with Eddie Thawne, and even if she's home and alone, Barry's not all that sure he'll be able to take listening to her rhapsodize about her soulmate.
He's about to pull on a long-sleeved shirt when something catches his eye.
Barry's spent years avoiding the mark on his arm – the tangled ball of lines that had been dead for the first nineteen years of his life. He had perfected the art of looking past it, but not looking and not seeing are two different things, especially when his mark has changed.
It's no longer a mass of lines, like a tangled ball of string. It's more than that, now; it's as if it's unravelling, one end forming something that is supposed to mean something to his soulmate. Or so the stories go. His mother's soul mark had resolved into the first words that Henry Allen ever spoke to her; his father's mark had been a line from his mother's favorite childhood poem, And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.
Barry's mark isn't anything quite so romantic. It's an equation.
3x2(9yz)4A
Barry stares at it. The equation is nonsense as it reads now; there's no context for this expression. And yet, there's something familiar about it, something teasing the edge of his memory.
Barry laughs, not out of bitterness but out of pure joy. His soulmate isn't a child, he isn't even some young, barely-old-enough-to-shave teenager. No, Barry's soulmate is an adult, with an adult's intellect. Why else would he have a soul mark that's an algebraic equation?
And then it hits him. Barry Allen – pitiable child born with a deadmark – has a soulmate. Has been in the presence of his soulmate. Has been close enough to see his soulmate.
Barry pulls on his shirt and goes for a run, the euphoria is too much to contain and he needs an outlet - running has always helped him sort out his problems.
Instead of taking his usual route, Barry retraces his steps from yesterday and tries to remember who he'd met. There had been two crime scenes, then back to his lab to process the evidence. A trip to Jitters, where he'd met Iris, then the walk to S.T.A.R. Labs. Barry circles the facility; it's the weekend and while there are cars in the parking lot - more than he'd have expected, the gates are shut.
He jogs in place for a few minutes and stares at the building. There a memory there, the equation and Harrison Wells and suddenly Barry remembers where he'd seen that equation before. It had been in one of the articles Iris had found for him, something in German, published about fifteen years ago.
As Barry runs back to his apartment, he's trying to convince himself that his memory has to be faulty. He can't have Harrison Wells - the Harrison Wells - as his soulmate. How absolutely ridiculous is that.
Back at his apartment, Barry's hands are shaking as he pulls out the binder and he tries not to rip and of the pages as he searches for the article. Of all the times for Iris to find her soulmate. All the times for Barry to find his. She'd probably come running if he told her - but since he'd never told her about his mark coming alive, a secret he's kept for the last eight years - it would be a difficult conversation to have right now.
He finds the article and his memory hadn't been playing tricks on him. It's there, in black and white, a rumination on time and speed and the human heart.
Barry's German is a little rusty, but he manages to translate the paragraphs he needs:
Imagine a superhero who could move almost at the speed of light - or perhaps a superhero who could vibrate in the same rhythm as the particles that were present at the creation of the universe. Heroes like that would have the power to reshape the very nature of life and time. Disregard the impossibility of a human being having such powers (and would they still be human or would they be meta-human?), such gifts are more the province of gods. And for a scientist, that thought-path is illogical, the nadir of rationality, the pinnacle of apostasy. A scientist would look for processes, repeatable mechanisms, or would try to work out the underlying mathematics for such feats.
Perhaps the rational scientist would recite a formula, like a murmured prayer - 3x2(9yz)4A - which is meaningless without context, but could activate these magical powers.
Or perhaps, if one believes with enough strength, anything is possible.
Barry looks at his arm, at the article and feels the tears pour down his face. He's spent his whole life wishing for, looking for the impossible, and it's just been handed to him.
FIN
For: MMOM - Thirty (One) Dirty Words – Day 5 (Prompt: Mind)
Author:
elrhiarhodan Fandom: The Flash
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Barry Allen, Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne
Pairing: Eventual Barry/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne; background Iris West/Eddie Thawne
Spoilers/Episode References: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Word Count: ~1800
Summary: Part Four of Deadmarked. Part Four of Deadmarked. Barry witnesses Iris discovering her soulmate. Heartbroken at his own loneliness, Barry heads home after the S.T.A.R. Labs Particle Accelerator has a successful inaugural launch. The morning; however, brings unexpected joy.
Author's Notes: Written for Day 5 of the 2017 Edition of Merry Month of Masturbation, for the prompt "Mind". As with all of the Deadmarked stories, this is written for
Title from The Moody Blues song, "Forever Afternoon", from Days of Future Past.
Barry wants nothing more than to go home and have a good, long cry. Not because he'd failed to catch the purse snatcher who'd grabbed Iris' bag – containing her laptop with the only copy of an article that's on deadline for tonight – but because he had seen something so incredibly beautiful it makes his heart ache.
A few hours agi, in the drizzling rain, right next to the S.T.A.R. Labs trash collectors, Iris West met Eddie Thawne, and Barry witnessed the miracle of two soulmates meeting.
The movies and novels get it wrong; light doesn't shine down from the heavens, birds don't erupt in joyous song, rainbows don't magically appear. It's both profound and prosaic.
Eddie Thawne, a new detective on the CCPD, who'd just transferred in from Keystone, appeared out of nowhere and stopped the punk who'd stolen Iris' bag. Barry had been trying not to heave his guts out from punch he'd taken, so he hadn't seen Iris as she finally caught up with him. But he had seen her face as she gazed at Eddie and he'd seen Eddie's face, too.
The slowly dawning realization that they were soulmates, that fate – destiny – the hand of god – had chosen them
Even the thief had been enthralled.
And it's not only knowing that his best friend has found her soulmate, it's the aching loneliness that clawing at Barry's emotions. How many years is he going to have to wait before he meets his soulmate? And what kind of relationship will they have, when Barry's already lived a large part of his lifetime?
He takes Iris back to the CCPD – Eddie had to transport the mugger – and they both give their statements. Barry watches Iris and Eddie head off – so very much enthralled with each other – and he goes up to his lab to watch the news about S.T.A.R. Labs.
One of Iris' colleagues at the CCPN, Linda Park, has been drafted for on-camera reporting and she's very clearly bored and annoyed by the rain. Barry guesses that the regular news personalities had bugged out when it became clear that S.T.A.R. Labs wasn't going to implode after the Accelerator had gone on line. The scientific breakthroughs that are going to follow from tonight's event are of little consequence to mass media.
There's a sharp flash of lightning followed by a low rumble of thunder, strange for December, but not completely unheard of. A drip on the back of Barry's neck reminds him that he'd opened a skylight earlier that afternoon. He pulls the chains to shut it and heads home.
By the time he reaches his apartment, Barry's soaked to the skin and the power is out on the entire block.
A perfect end to a perfect day.
At least his building has gas heat and good water pressure, although it's weird taking a shower in the dark. Weird, and yet kind of arousing. The bathroom's warm and there's a little bit of light coming in from the bedroom. Barry feels cocooned, safe, and strangely happy. He fumbles with the bottles on the shower rack and by luck more than planning, Barry finds the bottle of baby oil he uses as lube and manages not to spill half of it.
As he strokes himself to full arousal, Barry lets his mind wander and it lands in the realm of fantasy. Not swords and sorcery and hunky elves out to seduce, but the fantasy he's had of Harrison Wells seducing him.
Even though Barry had missed most of Doctor Wells' speech this evening, the man's voice is still present in his mind – deep and fluid, commanding and compelling. Barry knows he'll never sound like that – he doesn't have anywhere near Harrison Wells' self-confidence. But he can dream about Wells, he can take some guiltless pleasure in imagining Wells coaxing pleasure from him, telling him what he likes, asking Barry what he likes, and then telling Barry to do it, pushing Barry to do better, to be better.
The imaginary encouragement – from someone that Barry so deeply respects – is enough to send Barry over the edge into orgasm.
Barry leans against the shower wall and lets the water cascade over him, washing away the evidence of his lust. With great reluctance, he turns off the water and gets out of the shower. Muscle memory helps him find his towel and he makes it into his bedroom without tripping over anything before he flops – still damp – onto his bed.
Barry falls asleep, dreaming of blue eyes and the promise of a future that will only come in his imagination.
Barry's alarm clock goes off far too early for a Saturday morning; the power had come back on and the backup battery did its job. Barry reaches out to turn the damn thing off, and when he rolls over and tries to go back to sleep, the early morning sunlight hits his face like a fist. He'd never bothered closing his shades last night and now he's paying the price.
Barry spends a few minutes with his head buried by a pillow but it's no use trying to go back to sleep. It's seven-thirty and the storm's blown out, leaving crystal clear and almost cloudless skies – perfect running weather. Barry actually likes mornings, he just hates getting up and out when he doesn't have to. He pulls on his running gear, abstractly thinking about heading over to Iris' place to see how she's doing before he remembers what had happened last night. No, Iris is probably all too occupied with Eddie Thawne, and even if she's home and alone, Barry's not all that sure he'll be able to take listening to her rhapsodize about her soulmate.
He's about to pull on a long-sleeved shirt when something catches his eye.
Barry's spent years avoiding the mark on his arm – the tangled ball of lines that had been dead for the first nineteen years of his life. He had perfected the art of looking past it, but not looking and not seeing are two different things, especially when his mark has changed.
It's no longer a mass of lines, like a tangled ball of string. It's more than that, now; it's as if it's unravelling, one end forming something that is supposed to mean something to his soulmate. Or so the stories go. His mother's soul mark had resolved into the first words that Henry Allen ever spoke to her; his father's mark had been a line from his mother's favorite childhood poem, And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.
Barry's mark isn't anything quite so romantic. It's an equation.
Barry stares at it. The equation is nonsense as it reads now; there's no context for this expression. And yet, there's something familiar about it, something teasing the edge of his memory.
Barry laughs, not out of bitterness but out of pure joy. His soulmate isn't a child, he isn't even some young, barely-old-enough-to-shave teenager. No, Barry's soulmate is an adult, with an adult's intellect. Why else would he have a soul mark that's an algebraic equation?
And then it hits him. Barry Allen – pitiable child born with a deadmark – has a soulmate. Has been in the presence of his soulmate. Has been close enough to see his soulmate.
Barry pulls on his shirt and goes for a run, the euphoria is too much to contain and he needs an outlet - running has always helped him sort out his problems.
Instead of taking his usual route, Barry retraces his steps from yesterday and tries to remember who he'd met. There had been two crime scenes, then back to his lab to process the evidence. A trip to Jitters, where he'd met Iris, then the walk to S.T.A.R. Labs. Barry circles the facility; it's the weekend and while there are cars in the parking lot - more than he'd have expected, the gates are shut.
He jogs in place for a few minutes and stares at the building. There a memory there, the equation and Harrison Wells and suddenly Barry remembers where he'd seen that equation before. It had been in one of the articles Iris had found for him, something in German, published about fifteen years ago.
As Barry runs back to his apartment, he's trying to convince himself that his memory has to be faulty. He can't have Harrison Wells - the Harrison Wells - as his soulmate. How absolutely ridiculous is that.
Back at his apartment, Barry's hands are shaking as he pulls out the binder and he tries not to rip and of the pages as he searches for the article. Of all the times for Iris to find her soulmate. All the times for Barry to find his. She'd probably come running if he told her - but since he'd never told her about his mark coming alive, a secret he's kept for the last eight years - it would be a difficult conversation to have right now.
He finds the article and his memory hadn't been playing tricks on him. It's there, in black and white, a rumination on time and speed and the human heart.
Barry's German is a little rusty, but he manages to translate the paragraphs he needs:
Imagine a superhero who could move almost at the speed of light - or perhaps a superhero who could vibrate in the same rhythm as the particles that were present at the creation of the universe. Heroes like that would have the power to reshape the very nature of life and time. Disregard the impossibility of a human being having such powers (and would they still be human or would they be meta-human?), such gifts are more the province of gods. And for a scientist, that thought-path is illogical, the nadir of rationality, the pinnacle of apostasy. A scientist would look for processes, repeatable mechanisms, or would try to work out the underlying mathematics for such feats.
Perhaps the rational scientist would recite a formula, like a murmured prayer - 3x2(9yz)4A - which is meaningless without context, but could activate these magical powers.
Or perhaps, if one believes with enough strength, anything is possible.
Barry looks at his arm, at the article and feels the tears pour down his face. He's spent his whole life wishing for, looking for the impossible, and it's just been handed to him.