Barry/Caitlin, 542 words, r-rated
written for anon on tumblr who asked for "anything Snowbarry"
Make You Feel My Love
"Barry," she hushes, his lips eager against a sensitive spot behind her ear, hips slotted between her thighs, moving in small and incrementally slow thrusts. Her fingers scratch at the small of his back and tangle in his hair, the heel of her foot dragging along his calf. Their lazy rhythm has her breathless and eager, her heart beating up a small storm against Barry's chest, the slow yet steady buildup unmaking her.
It's like this every time, careful, measured, dual, but hard enough for her to know it's how he is; Barry never holds her like she's something already broken, rather he touches her the way he would anything precious. He never takes what he doesn't get back, never gives what he doesn't demand in return, he's tender and sweet in all the right places, both generous and selfish with his body – they make love underneath her sheets, on both their terms, a conscientious trade between their bodies.
"Barry," she moans, her hips lifting off the mattress and spins out of control, her eyes falling shut, head thrown back until release has reached all her extremities, her muscles and bones undone, her mind unburdened and swimming, body tingling all over.
Having stilled, Barry kisses a path up her neck, along her jawline, until his lips find hers again, brushing together, their breathing too stilted for a real kiss. He looks down at her, eyes half-lidded, his skin sticky to the touch; he smiles softly, stunning and barely-there, but his eyes shine warmth and love and every sensation in between. He settles their foreheads together and claims one of her hands, entwining their fingers before he picks up a rhythm again – she shivers but opens her legs further, the tilt of Barry's hips against her own enough to drive her mad all over again.
Barry whimpers a sigh and groans, his entire body shaking, and it only makes her hold on tighter – he buries his face where her neck and shoulder meet, and secrets away a few kisses, slowly coming down. She's never safer than in his arms, shielded, protected, old wounds healed without scar tissue, and Barry quietly promises he won't open them up again, he won't beg her grief or mourning. Only her love.
Long moments later, their breathing evened out, Barry rolls onto his side, dragging her along, pulling the sheets up over her body before she gets too cold. "You okay?" he whispers, and brushes her hair back behind her ear, caressing outwardly expanding circles into her cheek.
"Mhmm." She gnaws at her lip, fingers painting imaginary lines between the freckles on his torso.
"Hey," Barry calls softly.
She meets his eyes with a softness she thought lost to her, but Barry's meticulously peeled back any wreckage left behind – in her most secret moments she thinks she's not Caitlin Snow at all, she's Barry's girl, though she's not ready to admit that just yet.
"C'mere," Barry urges, and draws her closer; their mouths meet and his tongue rolls against hers, he outlines the shell of her ear with his thumb but doesn't tug, and she drowns, headfirst and breathing in bravely, deeply, in everything Barry is, everything he's helped her become, everything their future holds.