"… Give this a shot?"
He says it like it's the easiest question he's ever asked anybody.
"Yeah, I would like that."
She says it like it's the easiest question she's ever been asked. And it is, in a way. They are supposedly destined for each other. It's a thought that once bothered her to the point of forcing herself to refocus her mind as fast as she could. A thought that she now welcomes, and with widely open arms at that.
She busies herself with setting the table, desperately trying to hide her stupidly excited grin, and hoping that her nodding during her reply hadn't been too frantic.
This is finally going to happen.
Our little game of pretend and tiptoeing around each other is finally over.
We have won.
And winning is the best feeling. Although she knew that they had both kind of known that all along, ever since the "Iris West-Allen" discovery (and maybe even long before that, she almost admits to herself), knowing it is going to happen didn't feel quite as liberating as knowing it is happening.
Her mind quirks with the epiphany that they'd both just told each other a white lie. Yeah, I would like that. That is a lie. She wouldn't like it. The mere thought of it sends her to the moon and back in bliss. Give this a shot? Knowing them, their future and their destiny, it won't be just a shot. They both know that this is it for both of them. This is the happy ending that both their love lives will inevitably have, and deserve. No more awkward-first-date-leads-to-getting-to-know-you-leads-to-getting-close-and-personal-leads-to-so-on-and-so-forth. They had their first play date when they were 10 (not that they would have called it that at the time). They had already gotten to know each other so well. They are close and personal with each other, enough now that they both know that they're both deeply and irretrievably in love with each other.
With the tiniest hint of annoyance, Iris does acknowledge to herself that there are still some hurdles that her and Barry have to get past in the same way as normal couples, the ones that weren't childhood best friends before making it official. The awkward behaviour shift that comes with learning and remembering how to act like a couple with and around each other. The affectionate nicknames (the idea of calling her best friend "babe" or "honey" is such a foreign thought). Learning how to kiss each other, and actually on the lips, although that one doesn't sound so bad. She pictures it happening not weirdly or awkwardly like first kisses usually are, but like they are two people madly in love who have already kissed each other before (a fantasy that somehow, to her slight discomfort, provokes an odd feeling of déjà vu within the very back of her mind). It would be fun, either way, although not as fun as their first time having sex. She looks straight at him as that thought pops into her head, only to quickly steal her glance away before her imagination becomes too… imaginative. And graphic.
There he is, right in front of her, mere inches away. His hands are sliding sensually over her shoulders and neck before making home on her jaw. They pull her face forward for a kiss, and she gladly, willingly, hungrily obliges. Their lips are together, and her tongue is in his mouth, and it feels so good, so right, that she almost can't help her next move, which is to gently urge him to lie on the mattress. It bounces a little as her knees bracket his hips and she lowers herself to sit and feel him hardening. Her smirk becomes a grin as she unbuttons his shirt and he grins back in satisfaction and in awe before she wipes away his smile with another deep, loving, passionate kiss.
"To family," she suddenly hears her father say, and before she knows it she and everyone else in the room are repeating it, glasses raised. It's been less than a minute and she's already began a detailed fantasy of her first time with Barry. Flustered, she allays her previous thoughts, ready to have a nice, innocent celebration dinner.
And then all hell breaks loose. She knows as soon as she notices that Cisco has that vibe-y look on his face. She'd thought so many thoughts in the 45 seconds between Barry's question and Joe's toast, but for the next few minutes, which turn into hours, which turn into days, she only has one proper thought in her head.
This cannot be happening.