#i hate forced generational antagonism. me personally i have respect and admiration for those that will come after me ^_^

[guppybycharlybliss]

to be honest i kind of think a lot of the people who say really fearmongery things about how media literacy is "in decline" and how the younger generations are worse at dealing with "uncomfortable topics" than those before them are blinded by forced generational lines and their own nostalgia. our tragic and unimpeachable past youth in which we were innocent victims of the social climate around us vs their banal and doomed current youth in which they are hopelessly weak-willed agents of societal downfall. And they're stupider than us and uglier too.

[captainkurosolaire]

Destined ‘X’ Forever

“Ye wouldn’t b’ doin’ anything that’d take a special kind ov’ stupid now would ya’ ma’ Lord?” A cheeky rattle hit in a echo of the barren Ruins. For all intended reasoning's this wasn’t a planned encounter. Last he saw his Noble other halve was after attempting to salve some helpful advice to put him in a discovery. Though what the amber optic witnessed was anything but the type of discovery he meant. The pirate meant from the self. This was someone who couldn’t move on. Didn’t know how. This is hurt. He had been there, embraced it, and the result damaged him past the point of repair a self-searing that he still hadn’t entirely resolved. And forever because he couldn’t contain or control his heartbreak he discredited and discarded it. Letting it coal until he lost himself and a savage feasted on his homed temple. A severance between souls. A path to nefarious and damaging for anything that crossed was a clear future for Elune. If he paid the price and fed that side of demonizing that festered in all thing’s in varied degrees of morality. He would become consumed with dangerous and devastating levels that may scar him in irrecoverably.

                   “I..hate..you.” Muttered off breath before turning to face and direct to ensure this was more personal his regality was cracking he was so shortly an ilm away from being granted his wishful desire by utilizing a forbidden relic that protruded a hint of Mhachi. However, by activating this, It’d cost his last remaining dignity, his humanity he akin to most chose to run from it thinking and disassociating it as ‘weakness’ for the appearance and value it often represented no-good. He was possessed and consumed with the empty. That hollow part of losing a piece that stabled and made you feel wholly, he had forgotten what living was like without it after a sip. Without something to protect to be any meaning, he found himself misplaced. Knights didn’t exist without their duties or their morals to wage crusades in belief or service; they were dull like any Samurai in the obligated swords sworn after they slew their intended advisory it was weightless and immeasurable. None of that crossed his mind that once was recognized and pristine for being intelligent, all other forms living or to be sacrificed were insignificant, they could all be shriveled and pay the price even if it brought utter devastation and internal turmoil to that which he so starved to have returned to him. This resentment stood beyond even their current vessel’s their souls were entwined to contest. Negatives and positives. “I hate you. I hate everything about you, your stupid hat, your trashy ingrate demeanor. All of it! Hate is my sum for you.. You--- you’re, why I am here in this position. You cost me, my world! If you weren’t such an irritating blight, I would’ve never lost control… I’d still have them!” Flailing his arms out in the arm like a tampered child throwing his blame. The crystallized air around him howled in chimed ice sang like a banshee as his instability continued. Captain swallowed soft listening before presenting a stepped chortle and follow, “You need a tissue? Or a tampon for yer leakage?” The Seeker fired back as during that entire rant he just nodded his head. “Mate, I’ll b’ straight blunt yer being a bitch. O’ boohoo, ye lost something in your sheltered life, you in your fancy Ishgardian Walls always catered and given and throwing a hissy fit when ye didn’t get something fer Starlight. Your rant is the same shite I’d get from a dozen of stuttering cucks at the Quicksands for me so effortlessly tossing their lass over my shoulder and tending to them from their plagued bore. -Ye hate me? What a crock… Matey you don’t hate me, you just hate yourself. You got caught, ye won a battle but I got in your most prized place -- your head. Fail to understand your performance in our last skirmish saw you ACTING more like a pirate than a noble. Ye can’t get those thoughts ov’ me outta your mind… How naughty.” Tsking with a finger waggle further adding antagonizing fuel with even more expression by holding his chest to shield his exposure in that unnerving smug. “Standing over there and wanting t’ talk about hatred and losses. Ye murdered my near entire crew, ye tried dismantling another. Ye kidnapped my Star Healer and stole her away to fuck who knows where and then n’ your whole, ‘I gotta be th’ Elite White Shining Knight’, ye let her suffer alone and vanish to silence! Ye point and like t’ remind others of their failures, their faults, but conjure a solid mirror with that fancy-dancy magick. Leviathan… I gave ye an ale and I didn’t even charge ye on your last visit t’ my Cabin. I told you…! I warned you…! I did more than enough in my part, so-wait, is this what I’m missing out on sticking around for parenthood? Just sheer disappointment? This was supposed t’ be your discovery, but let me guess, the only thing you figured out in this entire time is that, ‘O I’ve got a dick, so well, I must be one and I’ll damn the rest in my way even the ones I love? Not even factoring their own thoughts? YOU aren’t wanted back. There’s isn’t any riveting other reasoning why they discarded themselves from you.” He unleashed every form of his smash-mouth and laid out the crass even if overkill. Thick skulls often were swelled in ego and ego was born often of entitled never spoken against, here enters the brazen. All the while Shiro’s fist rattled and quenched his inner demonic price for all his sin’s and wrongs began transforming and corrupting his veins, his roots that stemmed inside became a grotesque green. “Enough! What does the pirate know of actual loss and pain? You are thieves, takers, you’re scum. Compassion and your kind don’t mix, nor does it exist. Use everything and leave, you can’t even remain devoted to a single solitary thing. Always roaming without purpose to the next big thing for your greed. Making every little detail’s about yourself. Do not forget, I met your crew… None of them are innocent. It didn’t matter which you led. They were all heathens. Neither of them could listen to their betters. They didn’t respect anyone outside you, and when you were missing and disappeared on your so-called ‘shipwreck’ those who salvaged and carried your flag paid your price. You brought them into a War against a literal Sea Empire. None of them were equipped or readied. And without me, they would’ve all been slaughtered maggots. They even wanted to kill each other and decapitate the latter to get some heroic favors or get into the panties of your ‘woman’ you led only a cult of unwashed stains. Threatening like the barbarians you raised to even lash out at my sister because her own heart was on the opposing side. Who even was brainwashed and used as another pawn on the board though despite that fact their inbreed tribal and unorthodox wild crew of yours was but the essence of chaos. You mere peasants outside the Pillars and the arrogance you bestow, are far grander than anything we harbor.” Now it was the Keeper’s turn to verbally unleash a hailstorm. They bickered like an old couple cover many generations of grudges. Building their resentments and hatred until… that moment where there wasn’t going any back and one swung. The words actually began rattling against the Captain’s inner instincts and primal urges. For his own bonded knot was mentioned and brought up. The tone of Shiro’s higher ‘superiority’ shout echoed against the blank and outdoor ruins in a condense clap. Was steering and disturbing a slumber that snarled, his complexion became more heated. Irregular and unnatural... The scoundrel’s blood began surging. Weapons in War only ever are mentioned what was used to quell or the materialistic solution. Never in mentioning how any War or Battle began. Often originated from disputes. The contesting of disagreement is what drew first-blood before any sharp dared part flesh from. “What th’ seventh hell did ye say?” The ruffian stepped in closer even against biting and foreboding chills. A vein vessel popping out of his forehead. Shiro’s visage turned to a dastardly and deviled one impractical aetherial horn’s started to lowly form on his temple. “Many things and all I assure you, I mean them all. Your crew was worthless they lapped up and swam under your dirty seawater. You a Captain? A joke, your, -kind- don’t have admirable emotions or hearts, you are written as heartless and crude as you’ll always be known utter tasteless, savaged buffoons. THAT is your booked cover and shall always be to me and anyone else with somewhat wit.” The Seeker’s steps continuing forward his framework began bulking up hit by a nerve earlier. Every part of Shiro’s weighted words came from a merciless and mean intent. Making every remark sound as categorized and labeled as possible. The first step of all Jailers and those that hide behind anything against the grain or that make them feel even the slightest uncomfortable about the insecurities often came from classification putting a firm distinction between someone else innocently in the cross-hairs to try so desperately to distance themselves and stay on their elevated ladders, artificial thrones above someone. Despite that answer wasn’t what left a sour look on the mug of the rugged slicker those didn’t seem to be what triggered him.    “No, the other.”  He corrected calmly his stance seemed like a preparing lunge.

Shiro knew all too well what he said and brought a gleeful sinister grin to further elaborate the struck cord. “Ah right, the pathetic and high-excuse of a complex woma--” Right before he could finish that deplorable remark. The Blackguard used a rash Ghost Step (Shukuchi) to close in and lob for a full-force spinning roundhouse.   (Previous)  — /References/ —   ♫ ‘Invincible ♫ — (Next Page)

[pinkletterday]

Strangers In The Cold - Pt 1

Pairing: Barry Allen/ Leonard Snart

Rating: Teen and Explicit

Tags: one night stand, gratutious banter, gratuitous smut, age difference, bad decisions, pre-series au

Summary: Nineteen-year-old Barry Allen is trying to drown the ghosts of his Christmas past in some (slightly illegal) alcohol when a beautiful, obnoxious stranger invades his table without so much as a by-your-leave...

Part 2 of the Coldflash vs Olivarry polyam AU

Notes: Baby's first slash story! I posted this late last year, one of the first fics I wrote after ten years. The story that planted the seed that grew into the series. It's so rough, in hindsight, and there's a lot I would change if I had written it now but I'm still mad fond of it! :)

Read on AO3

"Last Christmas, I gave you my heart, and the very next day you gave it away..."

The whole point of coming to a dive bar, Barry thought sourly, was to get the fuck away from Christmas cheer. He had not accounted for the fact that even the city's seedy underbelly seemed obliged to pay lip service to tinsel, kistchy multi-colored lights, and God forbid, Wham!

He fatalistically contemplated the somewhat suspect contents of his glass, then took another sip and grimaced. It did not taste any better now than it had when he had sat down with it.

"You know, if you're out to drown your sorrows, a finger of whiskey isn't going to do much even if you faceplant in it."

The voice was entirely too unfamiliar to be taking such a familiar tone with him and Barry looked up from his glass in irritation to tell him so, but then...wow.

Six feet, buzz cut black hair, ice blue eyes and a face carved by Michaelangelo. Jesus. Barry hadn't discovered he was bi until last year, but he realized he had definitely found his type in men.

Not that he looked remotely like...him. Except for the build and the beauty. This man was much older for one, clearly in his thirties. Even his eyes were blue like flint, not blue like...anyway.

The stranger was smirking now and Barry also realized that he was gaping like a fish. He quickly closed his mouth in embarrassment and returned to his drink.

Be cool, Allen. "Who says I'm trying to drown anything?" He retorted with dignity.

"Well, you're drinking alone and your face looks like a puppy that got left at the shelter," shrugged the stranger. "But you've been sipping at an inch of whiskey for ten minutes so maybe you don't actually want to be drinking."

Okay, gorgeous or no, this guy had no business telling him what he wanted out of life. He was not a puppy but a...well...mostly grown man. With a fake ID.

"And you're my guardian angel, here to rescue me from poor life choices?" asked Barry snidely.

"Hardly," the stranger drawled, sliding onto the stool across from him. What the hell. Who said he could do that? "I just came in here for a drink to see the place was packed. And you are hogging a whole table by yourself, not even drinking, while I don't have a place to put down my beer." He accentuated his point by setting his sweating bottle down between them.

Barry sputtered in indignation and considered telling this asshole, "You're an asshole" but he was about twice his size, and the last thing he had energy for was a fight and...he really did not want to be drinking alone.

"Well that's good that you asked first," snarked Barry instead, "It would have been pretty rude if you had just insulted me and plunked yourself down."

The stranger simply smirked at him in and took a long pull of his beer. Barry's eyes involuntarily travelled to the line of his neck, those plush lips wrapped around the mouth of the bottle, the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed...get it together Allen, God.

And of course the stranger had seen him looking. Barry tensed but his smirk just grew wider.

"So," he leaned forward casually so that his head was less than a foot apart from Barry's. "What's an underage boy like you doing in a place like this?"

Barry scowled. "Not underage. I'm in college."

"Old enough to vote, but I doubt you purchased that legally," the man gestured at Barry's still full glass.

Barry didn't even try to deny it. This was a college town, fake IDs were a dime a dozen and he was well aware that he had a face that was...challenged in maturity. Maybe that was why no one took him seriously about anything. Joe certainly hadn't. You need to grow up and face reality, son. Barry's morose mood returned.

"The law can be wrong." He gripped his shot glass, staring fiercely into the amber liquid.

"I'll drink to that," the stranger leaned back and saluted with his bottle. "I believe it was Dickens who said "the law is an ass'"

"It is," said Barry vehemently. Then felt a stab of guilt at the thought of Joe. "I mean, sometimes," he amended, sullenly.

"Ah. Not about to throw in with the criminal element then." His companion said sardonically.

"No," said Barry quietly, "I just think...sometimes the law doesn't take everything into account."

The man quirked an elegant brow. "Such as?"

Barry hunched his shoulders and picked at his napkin. "That things aren't always what they seem. " He continued absently, almost to himself, "legal doesn't mean right. Sometimes, doing the right thing isn't always legal."

He came back to himself and looked up self-consciously to find intent eyes on him. "I see that college has been teaching you a lot," the man said. "Although possibly not what your parents are paying your tuition for."

"Scholarship," Barry retorted. "My foster father is only paying my room and board."

"Good for you." Why did he seem to make even compliments sound sarcastic? "Academically gifted intellectual thinker of your generation. Yet still brooding into his perfectly good whiskey."

"I'm not brooding," said Barry sourly. "I'm...celebrating."

"Ah. Your Christmas parties must be very popular," the older man deadpanned. "What are we celebrating then?"

Maybe it was because Mariah Carey had just followed Wham! on the radio but Barry suddenly felt like nothing mattered anymore. He was overtaken by an impulsive recklessness. "I'm celebrating the one year anniversary of my rejection."

Because why the hell not. Bars were invented to inconvenience strangers with embarrassingly personal sob stories. Well, according to the movies, that was usually the bartender's job, but this one seemed busy with the holiday crowd.

"Mazel tov. That's certainly a long time to be moping," said the asshole, "I admire your dedication."

Barry glared at him. "She is - was the love of my life," he said sullenly "I've loved her for at least ten years."

"Right out of the womb then," snarked The Asshole, and yeah, that remark earned him the capitalization.

"Polite and hilarious," said Barry. "You are a catch."

The corner of The Asshole's mouth turned up in an almost-grin and Barry kind of hated the thrill of satisfaction that coursed through him at the sight. He had solved the age old nerd conundrum of why girls fell for jerks. Sex appeal clearly trampled over self-respect.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Sam," he lied, because Joe West hadn't raised a fool, no matter what he thought.

The Asshole snorted. "Sure you are."

Barry tilted his chin defiantly. "I don't need to ask yours. I've already given you one."

"Oh?"

"Starts with A, ends with hole." So much for not antagonizing a potentially dangerous stranger.

Asshole didn't seem antagonized. There was a definite flash of a grin, ruthlessly smothered. Shame. Barry really wanted to see the full effect, asshole or no.

Ok. Let's not go down that road, Allen. For one thing, lightning doesn't strike the same place twice. Just because an incredibly hot guy picked you up once doesn't make you a sex magnet. 

And if it did...well it hadn't ended well last time.

"So Sam" said Asshole, "Tell me about this lifelong love of yours."

No. He might be feeling like dirt and hate Iris a little right now but he wasn't giving her away to some obnoxious sneering stranger in a bar. She was too precious. He wasn't sharing what he felt for her with anyone ever again, in fact. Being destroyed once was enough.

"Nothing to tell," he shrugged with forced nonchalance, "she didn't feel the same way. Had a falling out with her Dad too. I went off to college. Christmases are awkward now."

"Getting turned down by a girl is one thing," allowed Asshole. "Managing to piss off her father is somewhat over-achieving. Didn't think you were a good influence on his little girl?"

Barry actually had tried hard not to consider what Joe may have thought about his feelings for Iris. He instead held on to the fact that whatever else, Joe loved him too. "Never told him," he shrugged again. "Her Dad's my foster father. We had a fight about my life direction."

Asshole blinked. "Let me get this straight. You're in love with your sister?"

"She's not my sister!" Barry exclaimed. He hated, hated when people referred to them as foster siblings, hated having to feel like having feelings for a girl he had loved since before his parents were taken from him was somehow dirty and wrong, hated thinking that maybe Joe and Iris herself expected him to be her brother. "You know what, why am I talking to you -" He didnt need to defend his feelings to some random jerk in a bar -

"Whoa kid, slow down." Asshole actually laid his hand on Barry's arm as he tried to get up from the table, arrested him in place. He stared at the graceful fingers wrapped lightly around his forearm. "I see I hit a nerve. I'm not judging, believe me." He seemed oddly sincere. Barry sat down.

Asshole looked at him contemplatively for long enough that Barry began to feel foolish about his outburst. When the older man finally spoke, his tone was surprisingly soft.

"When you're in the system," he eyes intent on Barry's, "it tries to pre-define your relationships with other people and impose them on you, just because you have to live with them. They tell you who your parents are supposed to be, who your siblings are, who you're supposed to turn to for help. But people don't work like that. It's all just another bunch of bullshit rules.

Barry felt like a fly caught in the stranger's intense blue gaze. His breath caught in his throat and his pulse quickened, but more than that was the odd feeling of kinship he felt with this man, who seemed to really understand what it was to be small and powerless.

"Yeah," he breathed, finally looking away. "It's all just a bunch of bullshit rules." He took swallow of whiskey for the lack of anything to do with his hands. It burned a little on the way down, and Barry was proud of not coughing.

"Glad we cleared that up," the stranger leaned back on his chair and also took another pull of his beer. Barry thought somehow that he hadn't meant to open up that much either.

"What about you?" Barry asked. It was only polite. "Why are you drinking alone?"

"Alone?" snorted Asshole. "What are you then? A dramatic bar stool?"

Barry ignored the jibe. "You came here to drink alone, though."

"Sometimes a man just needs to get away from other people before a justifiable stabbing occurs," said Asshole. "Sometimes a man does want a celebratory drink all by himself. Sometimes those reasons coincide."

Barry considered this. "So you're pissed off at people, but you're happy about it?"

Asshole actually huffed a laugh, making another thrill of victory run down Barry's spine. "More like, I pissed a lot of people off and it was a job well done."

"I can see how you'd be very good at your job," said Barry. "My career counsellor always told me to choose a field that suited both my talent and ambition." Asshole was clearly biting the inside of his cheek in amusement. "And you, Sam," he asked. "How is your ambition working out for you?"

"I had two." Get Dad out of prison. Marry Iris. "Now one seems to be off the table." There was another dull stab of pain in Barry's chest.

"The girl," Asshole nods in understanding. "Ambition should have no truck with feelings, Sam. One is to do with you. The other relies on other people. In the end, the only person you can truly trust is you."

"Well that's...cold," said Barry, taken aback.

"Perhaps I am," Asshole said without rancor. "But I'm not the one trying to find the meaning of life at the bottom of a whiskey glass here."

"Touché," Barry conceded sarcastically. "You have the soul of a poet."

"I don't believe in souls."

"Wow. I wonder what kind of people come to your Christmas parties."

An odd, sharp gash of a smile slid across Asshole's face. "The very, very bad kind."

Barry again had that feeling of being some form of small prey ensnared by something with very sharp teeth. It should have frightened him. Instead it seemed to make his blood run further south. He flushed and looked away, taking another sip of his drink.

Don't even think about it. We're not doing this again.

There was a silence that seemed somehow expectant.

We're not.

"There are ways to mend broken hearts other than with alcohol, you know," said his companion, his face unreadable. "I never went to college myself but I keep hearing that it's a place for experimentation."

Barry suddenly felt his whole body tingling. Danger, Will Robinson.

Except he was hardening in his jeans. No. Down boy. Bad penis. Very bad.

He decided to play dumb in case he was getting his wires severely crossed. "If you mean weed, it turns out I'm allergic. And yeah, that was fun finding that out. I'm not into the whole drugs and partying thing."

Asshole was still looking at him like he was an interesting science experiment. "And the other thing?"

Barry's body went awash in heat so suddenly was like being dunked in warm apple pie. Oh my God no way this is happening again. "Sex?" Asshole inclined his head for Barry to continue. "Um. I tried that. Once. This summer."

"Did you? And how was it?"

"Well it was," pretty fucking amazing, "pretty good, actually."

"Ah."

"But then he died."

Asshole looked incredulously at him and Barry started laughing almost hysterically. Yes, this was his life.

"You seem to have recovered."

"No, I mean. I only knew him for less than twelve hours." Less than twelve of the most intensely pleasurable hours of his life. "We went our separate ways. Two months later I find out he died in a boating accident. It's...I'm not actually sure how to process it."

This was an understatement. Part of the reason he had never told anyone was because he wasn't sure how to explain that he couldn't get himself off to the memory of the best and only sexual experience of his life, because every time he tried, he kept remembering that the hands and mouth that had pleasured him so intimately were now cold and dead at the bottom of the ocean.

"Jesus, kid."

"Yeah," He slumped in his seat and blew air through his cheeks, ruffling his bangs. "After a while I started to think - maybe it's me."

"What, like your dick is cursed?"

"More like my ass." What was Barry's mouth doing and when had it become detached from his brain? Not only had he just outed himself to this complete stranger, said stranger now knew more about his sexual history than anyone in his life.

Not that anyone in his life even knew he was bi or that he'd lost his virginity. Gay virginity no less. Gayginity?

His companion did not seem privy to Barry's half-hysterical musings. He simply nodded, as though filing away the fact that Barry had only ever bottomed as important information.

"You know that something happening once does not constitute a pattern, right? There are things in the world that happen regardless of your existence?"

"I'm not an idiot," Barry met the older man's amused expression with an unimpressed one. "It's just fucked up, is all."

"But you're still afraid." Asshole nodded almost sympathetically.

Barry shrugged. "I guess."

"I could help you not be afraid."

Is this really happening again?

"Oh? And how is that?"

"I think you know."

So. This is a thing that is happening again. He should have remembered that that proverb about the lightning was a scientific fallacy.

Apparently he, Barry Allen, was catnip for beautiful blue-eyed obnoxious older men who liked beer. And twinks.

"Do you usually play sex therapist with college students in bars, or is this a way of giving back to the community during the holiday season?" When in doubt, build a wall of snark.

"I don't usually go for guys your age," Asshole inclined his head in concession, "but it's hardly an act of charity. I don't think you quite know your own allure, Sam."

"I have allure now?" Apparently his pale scrawny nerd ass did have some mysterious allure for this to have happened a second time. "Is that why you've been annoyingly sarcastic at me since you sat down?"

"And here I thought we were having some quality banter. I didnt hear you objecting."

"No." This time Barry met that even gaze head on so the man couldn't mistake his meaning. "I wouldnt object."

"I sense a "but."

"The "but" was the whole conversation that came before. I'm weird, fucked up and I won't have any idea what I'm doing."

"Well, unless your former paramour did some very questionable things, you must have some idea."

Flesh slapping against flesh, the strange, painfully sweet burn, lips and teeth on his throat sparking electricity down his chest. "I know what it's supposed to be like," Barry ruthlessly stamped out the flare of arousal. "But I wouldn't know what to do in the driver's seat."

"Fortunately for you, I like to drive." The Stranger leaned forward, smooth as a cat (one could no longer call someone they might possibly be having sex with Asshole) "So what do you say?"

Barry tried to ignore the discomfort in his jeans and his hardening nipples to ponder this. "You could be a serial killer?"

"Did that concern you before as well?" the man asked drily.

It had, fleetingly. But Barry had been a very horny virgin then, ambushed by a gorgeous older boy. He had not exactly been thinking with the right head. "Touché. It's still not a good idea though."

"No it isn't," the Stranger admitted but his gaze was heated and his voice pure smoke and whiskey. "But sometimes bad ideas are the best ones."

Sparkling blue eyes. A cheesy, confident grin. "Wanna get out of here?"

Some risks were worth taking, whatever Joe thought.

"Point," said Barry, revelling in his own recklessness. "Then I guess there's just one more thing."

"Which is?"

"Don't die."

Barry had tried to make it sound glib and off-hand but had obviously failed by the way the Stranger's expression softened. It was startling how that arrogant marble face could look kind and almost vulnerable. 

And then he smiled. A genuine, small smile that made Barry's heart stutter and his bones feel liquid. This was ridiculous.

"I'll try my best. Personally I'm very much against dying, myself. It's a bad habit to get into."

"Okay." said Barry, but inside he was a tumult of emotion and he knew he didn't exactly have a poker face. Eagerness and desire warred with fear and uncertainty, but he would not back out once he had committed.

Stranger looked almost gently at him and reached out a hand to trace Barry's jawline. His fingers were long and beautiful and Barry's skin tingled where he touched him, eyelids growing heavy with want.

He realized wanted those hands touching him all over his body.

"Look at me," Barry obeyed that smoke-and-whiskey whisper as if in a dream and was caught again in the spearing blue. "I'm going to take you to my motel room at the Clarion. And then I'm going to undress you slowly and take every beautiful inch of you apart.

But I'm not going to hurt you. And we can stop any time you want. I'm not into non-consenting partners. Do you understand?"

"Sshh Barry. I'm going to take care of you." Gentle lips and strong arms around him. "You tell me and I'll stop. You're so good for me, pretty boy."

Barry wondered what the Stranger made of the sudden sadness that washed over him even as he turned his face into the warmth of the man's hand.

"Yes." He held the Stranger's gaze and brushed his lips over his thumb. "I understand."

***

The winter chill was biting even through their coats as they walked away from the glow of the bar's Christmas lights of the bar to the darkness of the parking lot. The snow that crunched underfoot seemed loud in Barry's ears, along with the pounding of his heart. He was really doing this. Again.

He was either the luckiest sonuvabitch on the planet or the stupidest.

"So, um," Barry stammered as they got in the stranger's car, "what do I call you?"

"I'm registered at the inn under Michael Lincoln."

"Is that your real name?"

"No," he snorted, buckling in.

Barry suddenly felt daring. He ran his hand over the Stranger's thigh and put his mouth by his ear. "Let me rephrase that for you," he whispered, letting want turn his voice rough. "What name do you want me to call out when you're fucking me?"

The man's eyes were dark and hot under the fan of lashes when he turned to him. He pulled Barry toward him by the nape of his neck and brought that cupid bow mouth so close to his that Barry could almost feel his lips against his own.

"Leonard," he breathed into his mouth. "Call me Len." And captured Barry's mouth in a searing kiss.

 ***

Part 2