( what a pleasure it is, sometimes, to be just barry allen. he wouldn't trade up the flash life for anything, he thinks, from living a boring and frankly meaningless life before -- now he's someone, something greater. but being barry allen, just a boy kissing another boy, that's a quiet moment of serenity he won't pass up on, gentle fingers at harrison's chin keeping him tilted just right, so barry can kiss and kiss and kiss, and have his fill of kisses, off the man that in another life would've been his mentor.
he doesn't think about eobard -- he tries not to think about eobard, at least. he shuts his eyes and takes vision away in light of feeling him, harrison, just slightly shorter but there enough that barry can make a gentle effort into pining him against the wall behind him, a solid chest knocking him back. the motion could be suggestive, or it could be desperate -- eager or wanton or sad or lonely, endlessly and impossibly filled with emotion that exudes itself in tucking harrison against the wall, slotting between his legs while barry kisses, and kisses and kisses. )
no subject
he doesn't think about eobard -- he tries not to think about eobard, at least. he shuts his eyes and takes vision away in light of feeling him, harrison, just slightly shorter but there enough that barry can make a gentle effort into pining him against the wall behind him, a solid chest knocking him back. the motion could be suggestive, or it could be desperate -- eager or wanton or sad or lonely, endlessly and impossibly filled with emotion that exudes itself in tucking harrison against the wall, slotting between his legs while barry kisses, and kisses and kisses. )