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Leonard has the strangest sense that he’s being domesticated. In the weeks since he fucked Iris West-Allen while her hopelessly speedy husband watched, they’ve invited him over five times. Three of those were for sex, preceded by dinner at his (mostly joking) insistence. Two of them were actually just dinner. The most recent time, he even found himself staying to watch A New Hope, after Iris made the mistake of saying she hasn’t seen it all the way through. (She still hasn’t, because she fell asleep. In his lap.)
This time, he’s determined to prove that he hasn’t been domesticated and he isn’t cuddly. The fact that he brings dessert means nothing.
Iris greets him with a grin and a warm, genuine, “You’re adorable.” Leonard ought to bristle. He’s not adorable. Instead, he melts as a weird, warm sensation settles in his belly.
“It’s just food.” He plops it on the kitchen counter, then steps fully into the kitchen so he can grope Barry’s ass. “Hi, Scarlet.”
Barry pushes his hips back, just about vibrating with happiness. It makes him sound like he’s purring. “Are we gonna owe you for sex now, if you’re bringing food?”
It feels like defeat, in a strange and not-unpleasant way, when Leonard admits, “I wasn’t even sure we were gonna have sex. You can pay me if you want.”
“I don’t want.” Barry breaks away from the stove to kiss him. He’s radiantly warm, half from cooking and half from his innate speedster heat. “Hi.”
Leonard goes half-cross-eyed to meet his eyes. “Hi.”
He helps get food on the table, and they all sit down. Instead of sitting together, like they usually do, his two cute do-gooders flank him. He probably ought to protest. Instead, he welcomes the chance to get his hands on both of them at once. Barry greets this with more purring.
“Look,” Iris coos, her voice warm and firm in a way that feels like a physical caress. “You’ve let him get spoiled, Len. But who can say no to a happy purring speedster?” This comes out warmly condescending. Leonard would bristle, except the condescending tone is clearly aimed at Barry, who just purrs some more.
“I have,” Leonard agrees, rubbing his hand up and down Barry’s warm thigh. “Terribly spoiled now, aren’t you, Scarlet? Now that you’ve got two people to cuddle you and tease you and tell you you’re a good boy.”
When he glances away from Barry’s happy smile and half-lidded eyes, he finds Iris watching him. Before he can ask why, she muses, “Is that the role you see yourself taking all the time, then? The one in control – at least of Barry, sometimes of me?”
Leonard doesn’t like the question hidden underneath that one. If she asks it point-blank – would he consider submitting to her – he’d have to answer honestly, and he can’t own to that. If he’s not the one in control, making the plan and counting the seconds, he’s useless. Worthless.
Rather than say any of that out loud, he slips back into the Captain Cold drawl and teases, “Like you’re complaining, when you turned into a wet melted mess with just a little teasing.”
Iris sits forward, eyes gleaming. Leonard is forcibly reminded of a cat stalking prey. “Your deflections might work on other people, but you’re not getting away from me that easily. I think the reason you read me so easily is because you know what it’s like too, hmm? To want someone else to make you feel like it’s okay to be weak?”
Hesitation is as good as admission, so Leonard doesn’t hesitate. He just says, truthfully, “Nobody likes me when I let my guard down. You wanna see it, fine. Just be aware that when you get fed up with it, it’s hard for me to go back to…” He gestures at himself. “This. I may need to leave for the night and circle back.”
Barry’s voice makes him jump a little. “It’s a mask, isn’t it? This. The counting seconds and the planning and the Captain Cold voice. What happens when you take it off?”
Leonard wishes they would stop poking at this. He can’t keep an irritated bite out of his voice when he says, “It’s raw, all right? Me, under all of this. I don’t have a better word for it. It feels like the whole world is sharp edges and I’m not protected.”
“So what if the world wasn’t sharp?” Iris asks softly.
He pauses. Considers. He doesn’t have a good frame of reference for that. As far back as he can remember, whenever he’s let his guard down, he’s paid for it. The only time he remembers being able to handle being raw was as a kid, at synagogue. The familiarity and repetition were like a cushion. Coming out into the rest of the world was like being thrown against barbed wire, but it was almost worth it for the chance to let his guard down and breathe.
“I…don’t know. Ritual – repetition – helps. Other than that…”
“What about spanking?” When he turns to look, Barry has his head tilted. His eyes are focused, his brow furrowed, like he’s working on a puzzle. “Don’t count, I don’t think that’ll help. But there is a pattern to it.”
Leonard tries to put that into context. He’s tried implements on his own thighs before and liked some of them – the crop, the flogger. Leather paddles are fine. Wooden ones… (He had a big wooden brush as a kid, back when he had enough hair to need one. Lewis thought it made a fine paddle.) “Nothing wooden,” he says slowly.
“That works just fine.” Iris is openly purring now. While he’s been lost in his head, Leonard missed the change in her. She’s gone from cute and relaxed to sitting in her chair like it’s a throne. His brain skips like a scratched record, just from seeing the look in her eye. “I prefer a crop anyway. So much more versatile.”
He has to at least put down more safeties, or they'll both end up in over their heads. “You draw blood, we stop. I’m a lot less durable than a speedster.”
Iris arches an eyebrow. “How hard do you expect me to go?”
“Hard enough to get my head to shut up.” It’s a telling answer, but Leonard is beyond caring. If Iris is cocky enough to think she can get his racing thoughts to quiet down, he’ll take whatever she dishes out.
She sits forward and crooks a finger imperiously. Without thinking, Leonard sits forward. Her warm, purring, “Good boy,” makes him sway toward her like he’s drunk. Is this how she felt, when he started moving her around? He ought to tease her a lot less for it, then. (He won't actually stop, of course.)
“Now.” Iris sits back lazily, every bit the queen lounging on her throne. “There are two ways this could go, Leonard. You could be a good boy and do as you’re told, and maybe I’ll give you a reward after I spank you. Or you can disobey me, and then I have this adorable speedster hold you down while I take strips off your ass. It’s all up to you, really.”
The condescending tone that she was aiming at Barry earlier is back in full force, aimed at him. Leonard ought to bristle. Instead, he finds himself nodding too immediately and instinctively to stop.
“Oh?” She smirks. “Is that, ‘yes Mistress, I’ll be a good boy’?”
Without hesitation, Leonard agrees, “Yes, Mistress. I’ll be good for you.” He should probably be ashamed, but it doesn’t even cross his mind. Everything has narrowed down to Mistress’s – Iris’s – orders. After so long of planning and anticipating and worrying all the time, he finally has orders he can trust. He doesn’t have to be the one in charge anymore.
Mistress casts an indulgent gaze at Barry. Leonard is curious how he’s responding to all of this, but he can’t take his eyes off his captivating Mistress. “Barry, good boy, will you go and fetch me my crop? You have permission to run, just for this.”
A rush of air, the crackle of lightning. Barry reappears, tousle-haired and pink-cheeked, holding a long crop with a slim leather tip. Mistress takes it from him and pets one blushing cheek. “Baby. Are you eager to watch your Mistress slap down another sub?”
Barry nods. His eyes flick to Leonard like he’s shy.
“I don’t know that I’ll be able to focus on both of you,” she cautions, still petting Barry. “This is Len’s first time. He’s going to need my full attention. But I would be very pleased if you’re willing to keep helping me like this.”
“I can try, Mistress,” Barry agrees. His tone seems genuine, but Leonard feels like he’s been doused in cold water. Right. It was one thing for Barry to watch Iris get turned into a soft and pleasured mess – his reactions were an integral part of the game, and Iris was still the focus. This is very different. This is an intruder stealing his Mistress, who he’s used to having to himself, and worse, that intruder doesn’t even deserve the chance to submit. Barry must know that. If he isn’t upset already, he will be…
The tip of the crop flicks up under Leonard’s chin hard enough to sting, forcing him to look back at his Mistress. Her tone brooks no argument. “You will focus on me, Leonard. Not the noise in your head, not whatever Barry is doing. Me. Nod if you understand. You do not have permission to speak.”
He nods, focusing on the pressure of the crop against his chin. The anxiety doesn’t dissipate, but it gets quieter. Barry might not like this, but Mistress has made herself clear. They all know what they’re getting into. Any one of them could stop this right now, ask to regroup and make a better plan, but they haven’t. So it’s okay. At least for right now.
“Very good boy.” Mistress stands, still pressing the crop firmly under his chin. Leonard is forced to stand just to relieve some of the pressure. He hasn’t felt this weak since he was a scrawny kid in juvie. It’s all in his head – she hasn’t touched him, she can’t make him do anything, she’s too small – but it feels absolutely, unshakably real.
Quick as the Flash, she drops the crop down and lands a thuddy hit on his thigh. “Walk. Up the stairs, into the bedroom. I want you over the bed, naked.”
Leonard walks. The tip of the crop settles lightly in the small of his back, an unspoken promise if he dawdles. So he doesn’t dawdle. He’s up the stairs in record time, into the bedroom, and then…pauses. Mistress wants him naked. Mistress is going to see him. She’s seen him before, but not like this (not when he can’t hide in a persona or distract her with pleasure).
The crop lands sharply across his ass, jolting him forward into the bed. He catches himself on both hands. He doesn’t notice that he gasps, only the sound lingering on the air.
“If you have a concern, you voice it, Leonard.” Mistress’s voice brooks no argument. “If you have no concern, you do as you’re told. That will be true any time you submit to me.”
It takes longer than Leonard would like for him to remember how words work. He knows them. He just has to think about how they fit together, and then how they come out of his mouth. “Not sure I can be naked for this,” he says. “First time. Already raw. Can’t handle body shit on top of that.”
Mistress’s tone gentles. “Thank you, Len. That makes sense. One way of being vulnerable at a time. I would still like you to take your pants down, at least.”
This is somehow both better and worse. Leonard feels like a child with his pants down around his ankles and his ass hanging out. (Back in the days when Lewis made a pretense of only spanking him. Before he stopped giving a shit about doing punishment the ‘proper’ way.)
He braces himself on the bed and shakes his way free of the sense-memories. Different context. He may need Mistress to prove that, though.
“Hey.” Barry flashes onto the bed in front of him and sits cross-legged. He changed, either while Leonard was dropping his pants or while flashing onto the bed. Now he’s in a soft, worn t-shirt and baggy sleep pants. He looks adorable. “Stay here with us, okay? I promise it’s gonna get a lot harder to be anywhere but in your body.”
Mistress’s crop presses against Leonard’s bare thigh in warning. “We go until I say you’re done, or until you tap out,” Mistress cautions. Not a number. Good. This loose, soft place Leonard is falling into in his head seems like numbers would be even harder than words. “Nod if you understand.”
Leonard nods. He ought to quip, just to prove he still can. The words don’t come.
The crop makes a quiet whistling sound when it splits the air. Leonard gets so lost in following that sound that the smack of impact comes as a surprise. Pain bursts across his ass in a bright, sharp, narrow line.
“Fuck,” he whispers instinctively, as the first sharp pain dissipates and a warm, throbbing ache settles in its place.
Two more bursts of pain in quick succession. “I didn’t give you permission to speak,” Mistress scolds, as quick and sharp as the crop strikes. “You may make noise, Leonard, but you may not speak.”
He doesn’t make noise, at first. It’s deeper than habit – it’s survival. Crying out in pain is a quick way to get more pain (or dead, in too many situations). But the more of this warm, pleasure-painful, throbbing ache spreads through him, the more he settles into the idea that he’s safe here. It’s okay to let his guard down. Mistress has him. Mistress is giving him permission to really, fully inhabit his body – with all its quirks, all its wrongness – for the first time in a long time. And if that means he makes noise instinctively, that’s okay too.
He’s so wrapped up in sensation that he misses when his eyes close. He only knows they’ve closed because they have to flutter open when someone touches his face.
Barry smiles at him, bright, so bright and happy. “Hi,” he murmurs, voice pitched low and soft. “You’re all done, Len. You wanna come up on the bed?”
He blinks slowly. Done. Yes. There’s no new pain, only a constant, warm ache cushioning his thoughts. He tries to find words to answer, and can’t remember how they fit together. It’s not alarming. It’s a strange rightness that makes him feel like he’s himself – really himself – for the first time in many, many years.
“Hi, sweetest.” Mistress’s voice, pitched low and soothing like Barry’s. She sounds warm and light, like she’s happy. “Come up on the bed with us. Let’s get you comfortable now.”
He lets the two of them help him. His body feels clumsy, like it fits all wrong, or like he’s just put it back on after a long time out of it. Once he’s on the bed, he gropes for either of them – both of them – whoever will indulge him, and pulls them down on top of him. Mistress resists a little. Barry, sweet cozy Barry, beams and lays down fully on top of him, like a weighted blanket.
“Does that help?”
Leonard nods slowly. It does. The pressure feels like it’s squeezing him back into his body, reminding him how it fits.
“Where did you go in your mind, sweetest?” Mistress’s hand cups his cheek and guides him to look at her. He focuses on her smile, the sweep of her tousled hair – anything but her eyes. “It seems like it’s hard for you to get back.”
He hums. It is, and he doesn’t know how to make it quicker. He hasn’t lost words like this in years. He thinks he may have clawed them back, the last time this happened, but he doesn’t want to this time. Not as long as he’s still safe.
“It’s okay, Mistress.” Barry snuggles closer and murmurs, “This is good. This is what’s under all the masks.”
Mistress’s face softens. “This is what people react badly to, sweetest? You, wordless and sensitive?” She nuzzles closer for a quick, chaste kiss. It’s so soft, and so much that Leonard almost needs to pull away. He can feel everything. But he breathes through the heightened sensitivity, and is glad he did. “They didn’t deserve it then, Len. I’m happy to give you this.”
It doesn’t make sense, but maybe it doesn’t have to. Leonard settles into the pressure of Barry’s body and the warm ache, and lets them anchor him while he finds his way back to himself at the pace that feels most natural. There’s no rush. Mistress says she’s happy with this.
The more he comes back to himself, the more the sensitivity starts to grate on him, until finally, he settles his hands on Barry’s waist and urges, “Off, up. Too much.”
Barry slides off of him and sits nearby, close but not touching. “Okay, that’s okay. This is normal too. It’s like having to reset yourself, isn’t it?”
Leonard nods. This part, he would like to do as quickly as possible. He hates being this sensitive. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he accuses, though not angrily. “I’ve watched submissives after scenes. This isn’t normal.”
“Well, maybe not normal for everyone,” Barry amends. “But I think…the way you process might be different than a lot of people. Not bad. Just not…normal.”
Leonard’s temper rears up, hot and hard. He shuts it down viciously. He hates this oversensitive time, when even his feelings burn hot instead of being cool and distant like they normally are. The worst part is that Barry is probably right. He got put through evaluations by the juvie shrinks, the prison shrinks, the lot, and every diagnosis was worse than the last. The one thing they could agree on: he’s not normal. “Yeah, I know that,” he agrees tersely. “Like I said. People see this side of me and hate it because it’s not normal.”
Iris growls. “And they were shortsighted and cruel, all of them. You made it sound like you’re horrible when you let your guard down, Len, but you’re not. You’re sweet. It was a privilege to see you like that, with no words, no defenses, nothing – still trusting us to look after you.”
Leonard feels like he’s just missed a step going down the stairs. “It’s…what.” It isn’t a question. He just can’t make sense of her assertion that seeing him wordless and useless was a privilege.
Iris crawls closer to him, though she respectfully leaves him a good foot of space. “I said, it was a privilege to look after you, Leonard. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
Leonard doesn’t know how to address that, so he simply doesn’t. He diverts them into watching mindless TV and drinking hot cocoa, and not snuggling him. They don’t even protest. They simply cuddle up just outside of his area of overwhelm, and smile. And somehow, that little show of respect leaves Leonard as warm as if he was pressed between them.