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Victor wakes slowly, drifting back to consciousness. He’s comfortable and warm in his bed which means one of two things: either his dad has finally turned up the heat like he asked (doubtful) or Barry was sleeping over (extremely likely). He must have come in some time in the night with the key Victor had left him and joined him in the bed.
Victor opens his eyes and finds that Barry is curled up against his side, Victor’s flesh arm thrown over his chest. Victor can feel the soft swell of his breasts and underneath, the up and down motion of his chest as he breathes. Barry gives up on pretending to be asleep and cracks his eyes open, their dark brown dancing as he looks at Victor.
“Hello Vic.”
Victor grins at the nickname and replies:
“Good morning Barry. How was work?”
Barry sighs and flops his free arm out, as expressive as ever.
“You know, one emergency after another.”
Victor gives him a disapproving look.
“And you still sped over to Gotham? You were careful, right? I don’t want you getting too tired and running into something at a thousand miles an hour.”
Barry wacks him on his flesh arm with his free arm and whines:
“Yes, I was careful, you made me promise. And I never break a promise.”
He looks up at Victor with his puppy eyes and Victor can’t help but cave. He pushes himself up and slides over to sit on the edge of the bed, heavy metal feet clunking against the wood floor. He’s still getting used to them, after all this time.
“Come on, I’ll make you pancakes.”
Barry speeds out of bed, pulling on his pants over his boxers and squeezing into his binder. Between his a cup and victor’s dad’s unobservantness, he could probably get away with going without it, but he likes to be careful. Victor understands; after all, now he has something to hide from the world now too. Barry cheers hopefully:
“With chocolate chips?”
Victor laughs and shakes his head.
“With blueberries. You eat like trash.”
Barry pouts.
“I need the calories!”
Victor gives him a look.
“You don’t need the sugar. And no coffee for you either, not after last time.”
Barry awws disappointedly but follows him down the stairs without complaint. He waves at Victor’s father as they enter the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, eating his boring meal of oatmeal like every morning. Barry says:
“Hello Mr. Stone!”
Silas nods at him but keeps reading the newspaper. Victor pulls out ingredients, blueberries, and syrup while Barry sets the table—without his speed as Silas insists. Then he zips back over to Victor’s side as he’s flipping the first pancake.
Next thing Victor knows, he’s grabbed the syrup container and, disgustingly, tilted his head back, squeezing some into his mouth. Victor flinches back and yells:
“Gross!”
Grabbing the syrup away from him as soon as he finished. Barry does his best to look innocent as he protests:
“What? I didn’t touch it with my mouth.”
Victor muffles a laugh and complains:
“Still disgusting.”
Barry pouts:
“No chocolate, no syrup, do you want me to die?”
Victor flips the last pancake and deadpans:
“Yes.”
Barry swoons dramatically at that, making Victor catch him on instinct, although the rascal didn’t need it. He smirks at Victor from in his arms and whines:
“Take that back, Vic.”
Victor refuses:
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Fine. You can have as much syrup as you want, provided it’s on pancakes and not straight into your mouth.”
Barry hums and shrugs:
“Compromise. I can dig it.”
Victor plops a plate full of pancakes into his arms and pushes him towards the kitchen table.
“Get moving, slowpoke.”
Just for that Barry lets the tiniest bit of speed enter his run as he heads towards the table, making Silas peer over the newspaper and growl:
“Barry…”
Barry droops and apologizes:
“Sorry Mr. Stone. No powers in the house, I know.”
He quickly forgets about his scolding and sits down, starting to stuff his face. Victor takes two pancakes and hands the rest over for his boyfriend to demolish. Then he asks:
“So, what’s the plan for today?”
Barry chews and swallows, thankfully, before responding:
“Well there’s a Gotham vs Metropolis football game on this morning, I was thinking we could watch that?”
Victor smiles at him, at how the sunlight comes in the window and plays across his fringe of bangs, how it dances in his eyes, across the painted red of his nails. To match his suit, he says.
“Sure, that sounds great.”
Barry smiles wider.
“Great! I’ll make popcorn!”
Victor laughs.
“You are food obsessed, you know that?”
Barry protests:
“Out of necessity!”
Victor grins and appeases:
“Sure, sure.”
Barry finishes his last pancake and smiles widely, a smudge of syrup on his cheek. Victor licks his finger and wipes it off before leaning in to kiss him. The kiss is sweet with syrup and blueberries, and they kiss long enough to make Silas grunt before pulling apart. Barry is blushing, all the way up to his ears, and his lips are pink. Victor reaches across the table to take his hand, whispering:
“I love you, Barry.”
Barry blushes harder and grins, saying:
“Love you, Vic!”
They clean up the dishes, arguing over who will wash and who will dry, before settling on the couch with the promised popcorn. Victor switches on the tv and wraps his arm around his boyfriend, pulling him in close.
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