Title: Tugging at the Darkness
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: The Flash (2014)
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairings: Earth-2 Harrison Wells, Barry Allen, Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne; Earth-2 Harrison Wells/Barry Allen/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne, Barry Allen/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne,
Word Count: ~5300
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Harry Wells is invited to "dinner and entertainment" at Barry and Eobard Thawne's home. He suspect that he's the intended entertainment. Part Three of Dominance Hierarchy

Author’s Note: Set in an alternative Flashpoint universe, don't ask me to explain why we've got Wellsobard instead of Eoblond, but I don't really roll with Eoblond. And while the previous two stories in this series are hardcore explorations of consensual kink, this story is mostly angst and poetry.

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Harry looks at the invitation - it is a surprisingly fine thing. Heavy white card stock, bordered in red and black and gold. The text is handwritten, the letters as perfectly formed as if they'd come off of a printer.

Your presence is cordially requested at Thawne House tonight for dinner and entertainment commencing at eight PM. Formal attire required.

Harry sighs. He could have ignored the invitation, tossed it into the circular file. He could have had a pizza and a few beers with Cisco. Watched a movie and compared it to the version from his Earth, then gone to bed.

Alone.

Harry knows, however, that if he turns this invitation down, it will never come again. And whatever chance he has would pass him by. And he'll regret that for the rest of his life.

Which is why, at 7:30 on a cold winter evening, he's dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo and riding in a limousine that picked him up at the small house in the Lavender Hills district where he lives with Cisco Ramon. The car, elegant and quiet - nothing but the finest for Eobard Thawne - is now speeding north on Highway 12, to that glass and steel palace in the woods.

This invitation is unusual, and that is what gives Harry his moment of hope. This might be theater, but it's not the semi-public display that Harry's become accustom to. He's not fucking or being fucked in front of an audience. This is an invitation to dinner.

And then he remembers the second part of the invitation - this is dinner and entertainment , which likely means someone's getting fucked.

It means that he's getting fucked.

Harry clenches his fist as arousal thrums in his veins. He'd never thought of himself as submissive, but he takes an inordinate amount of pleasure in bending to Eobard Thawne. Maybe it's because the bastard is wearing his face, speaking to him in his voice, using his cadences.

For all that Harry's not a chess player, he playing a deep game with Thawne. And he relishes it.

But not as much as he relishes the game with Barry. He wants Barry Allen almost as he wants to continue breathing. That desire is like a permanent splinter under his skin. It hadn't been this bad the first time he was here - but then, there were distractions. Jesse, Zoom, Henry Allen's death. Now, Barry is always there, always around him, beautiful and perfect, and as unreachable as the moon.

Because somehow, Barry unwound time and restarted it on a different spool. Nora and Henry Allen are enjoying a splendid retirement in Key West. Zoom - or rather Hunter Zolomon - is de-powered, a permanent resident in the Pipeline, and Team Flash's regular fuck toy. And Eobard Thawne is openly ruling the roost at S.T.A.R. Labs.

There's a small decanter in the limousine's bar, likely filled with a better-than-decent scotch, if he knows Thawne. Harry thinks about helping himself, but then decides against it.

He needs to have all his faculties at their sharpest. Going dull into any scene with Eobard Thawne is a recipe for disappointment. Everyone dances to Thawne's tune. He manipulates all them with promises, with praise, with conspiratorial silences. Thawne doesn't exploit weaknesses, he doesn't twist anyone's vulnerabilities against them. He just offers everyone exactly what they want and then gives them everything they need - up to a point. It's addictive. It's dangerous. And Harry's trapped - caught in the net of longing and persistently unfulfilled desire.

The car exits the highway and the world grows dark as they travel away from civilization, away from the city and the lights. It seems to take forever - or maybe not long enough - but the limousine heads up a long, winding driveway, and he's arriving at Thawne House.

Harry waits for the driver to open the door - he feels like he's heading towards a very civilized, very elegant doom.

The door opens when Harry's three-quarters of the way up the path. Barry's opened it, and like Harry, he's in formal dress.

Harry's breath catches - it always does in moments when he doesn't expect to be reminded of Barry's sheer beauty. And Harry's rewarded when Barry smiles in greeting, when he's eyes widen in appreciation as he takes in Harry in his own formalwear.

"Welcome - I hope you didn't hit too much traffic." Barry ushers him into the atrium - it's all cool carved glass and art and polished stone glimmering with the light from the room-length fireplace. Much like Barry himself.

Harry shakes his head. "No, the trip was fine."

"I hate cars. I despise being a passenger." Barry grins and the illusion of cool poise recedes. Not entirely, but just enough to remind Harry that his idée fixe is still human - or mostly human - beneath the veneer of sartorial elegance.

"Well, when you can jog ten times faster that the fastest car on the road, it's not surprising."

Barry chuckles. "True." He turned to the bar, "Can I offer you a drink?"

Harry can practically taste the fine scotch, undoubtedly better than the one in the limo. And as much as he wants a drink, he declines.

"You sure?"

"Yes, but thank you."

To Harry's surprise, Barry pours a measure for himself and takes a sip. He closes his eyes and Harry watches as Barry savors the alcohol.

When he swallows and opens his eyes, Barry catches him staring.

Harry shrugs. "I thought alcohol had no effect on you."

"It doesn't, but I still enjoy the taste. Eo and I are building a collection of rare single malts. This one is a thirty year old Balvenie. It tastes like moonlight and fresh snowfall in an old-growth forest. Are you certain you don't want some?"

From anyone else, Harry would scoff at the pretentiousness of the description, except that he knows that Barry is telling him exactly what he's tasting. Both frustrated and impressed, Harry fiddles with his glasses. He wants to tell Barry he'll have a sip, but only from Barry's own lips.

A sure road to ruin.

Harry wanders around the vast room and tries to find something about it to dislike, but he can't. It's beautiful, tasteful, modern - the perfect frame for the men who live here.

"Where's Thawne?"

And is the cue for his other host to make an entrance. The prick certainly needs his drama.

"Right here. Did you miss me?"

Harry's about to make some snarky comment, like "about as much as a bout of toe fungus" but he holds his tongue. This isn't the time or place for insults. Not when there just might be a prize for him at the end of the evening.

Barry's hands Thawne his glass of scotch, with a comment, "Harry's abstaining tonight."

Thawne takes a sip and gazes mildly at Harry. Despite the fact that Thawne's wearing the same face that Harry sees in the mirror every morning, Harry still feels like he's being assessed by a dragon. The sensation - and his atavistic response - is something he's become too familiar with.

Thawne swallows and asks, "Are you sure you don't want some?" He holds out the glass - the one that both Thawne and Barry had used.

Harry licks his lips and swallows against the dryness in his throat. "Maybe later."

Thawne simple says "Perhaps", but there's also a smirk on his lips. Harry suspects his host knows just what's going through his head.

"Hmm, maybe you should have a taste now."

Thawne takes another sip, hands the glass back to Barry and wraps a strong hand around Harry's neck, bringing their heads into perfect alignment before forcing a kiss on him.

There's just enough scotch left in Thawne's mouth that it passes into Harry's and the alcohol - mostly fumes - is a potent intoxicant. Thawne - Eobard - kisses him with familiar power, going from demanding to coaxing in a few quick seconds. Harry resists - for form's sake - and then gives in.

Eobard kisses him like he does everything else - with knowing perfection. There's precision and lust in careful balance. He doesn't demand as take what Harry's offering. Except that it's a paradox - Harry's only offering because Eobard is making a demand.

Enraptured by the kiss, Harry is barely aware of Barry - at least an arm wraps around his waist, pulling him back. Holding him upright as Eobard continues to devour him.

Barry's breath is hot on the back of his neck, his lips are like fire as they skim against the sensitive skin. Harry shudders and he's close to losing control.

The tiny part of his brain that is still functioning wonders if that is what these two want. If they want to destroy him, leave him a shattered wreck on the floor.

Eobard's kiss gentles, becomes teasing. Barry's hands loosen. Finally both men step away and Harry's left standing there, alone. Bereft.

Or perhaps not. Eobard brushes Harry's lips with this fingers, a gentle caress. Barry carefully straightens Harry's bow tie and jacket.

With a startling lack of irony, Eobard says, "Come - you must be hungry." Eobard takes Barry's hand and they head towards what Harry supposes is the dining room.

Harry follows the pair, helpless as a compass needle pointing to magnetic north.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

If asked, Harry would not be able to tell what had been on the menu - he vaguely remembers going through the necessary motions of eating. He remembers the savory and the sweet. He can still taste the dark notes of an expensive wine. But that's it.

Harry is drowning in the pheromones that the two speedsters exude. Or maybe it's his own desires. They are beautiful together, even at the dining table, Barry and Eobard are as graceful as ballet dancers working together in perfect choreography.

Harry wonders how he's going to survive this night - his senses are on overload just from a simple meal.

He doesn't know where to look.

Watching Eobard smile and laugh, eyes glowing with hidden secrets, is intoxicating. He wants to pull Eobard out of his chair and onto the table, he wants to take that mouth as Eobard had taken his at the start of the evening. He wants to destroy that perfection and leave Eobard wrecked and satiated - much as Eobard has left him so many times. It is the pinnacle of narcissism, this need to consume his own doppelganger, to do to Eobard what Eobard had done to him.

It is easier for Harry to focus on the devil, because the angel sitting at his own right hand is shining far too brightly.

Eobard refills their wine glasses and asks, "What do you want? What do you really want?"

Harry knows he should avoid the wine, like he'd avoided the scotch earlier, but he picks up his glass and takes a too-deep gulp. It's sweet and heady and rich and Harry's head is swimming. He looks at the devil. And then at the angel.

"I want Barry."

He's never actually spoken those words, although he's never been shy about hiding his desire. He'd risked Eobard's displeasure once by trying to assume the devil's mask with Barry. Barry had immediately seen through the sham.

Of course, punishment had followed swiftly and Harry had enjoyed the abuse far too much.

But tonight - like every night - he wants Barry. No scene, no theatre, no sham. He wants to come to Barry as an equal.

And to his horror, Harry realizes he had uttered that last sentence aloud.

Eobard shakes his head, "You are many things, many wonderful and powerful things, Harrison Wells. But you are not and you never will be Barry Allen's equal."

Harry spits out, "Neither are you, you bastard."

Eobard laughs and claps lightly. "That is certainly true."

Harry glances over at Barry, who meets his eyes with a grave stare. Harry can feel himself summed up and found wanting in that gaze, and he's heartbroken. No, he'll never be Barry Allen's equal, not in any respect.

He needs to leave, he needs to be gone - not just from this house but from this world. Coming back, staying here, it was all a mistake.

Harry pushes away from the table and gets up. He doesn't know how he'll get home but he doesn't care. He can't stay here for another second.

Except that his hosts don't want him to leave. They don't allow him to leave.

Harry's whisked from the dining room to somewhere deep in the house. A bedroom.

And not just any bedroom. It's clearly the master suite. He glances around and can see the tokens of occupancy. A pair of red gloves are tangled with yellow-trimmed black ones on a bureau. There's a dog-eared copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on one nightstand and a tablet connected to a charger on the other.

This is not a room for scening. Nor for theatre.

This is the heart of Barry and Eobard's home, and he's been invited in. To share for the course of a short while.

Harry licks his lips and finds his voice. "Are you giving me what I want?"

Barry, not Eobard answers. "Only if you understand that this is a gift, that there will be no repercussions from this night. You need to know that tomorrow, nothing will have changed. If you can't handle that, you have to say so."

"And if I do, the evening ends?" Harry can hear the devastation in his question.

Barry answers, his voice quiet. "No - not at all. We will just proceed differently."

The choice is clear. If he can't accept that what will happen tonight, in the intimacy of this bedroom, will be a singular moment in time, the three of them will revert back to the roles previously assigned. To the usual games that they play.

Neither Eobard nor Barry are touching him, but he feels the weight of their gazes like hands pressing against his heart.

Harry knows that he'll never stop wanting Barry, never stop dreaming that he could have something more than just this night. But he's not a fool and he's lived with his dreams and his desires for a long time, now. He can live with them forever.

"I understand."

Eobard turns off the light and recedes into the darkness. It's now just the two of them.

Barry kisses him and Harry consumes the taste of the sweet wine they'd just had. The kiss is like the birth of the universe, with every string vibrating in perfect concert.

Harry needs to be careful. He's not a young man and he's not a speedster with an unlimited libido and a non-existent refractory period. As much as he is enjoying the kiss, he knows that he could soon be overwhelmed and everything would end.

He breaks the kiss and Barry's whimper of longing is a balm to his ever-wounded, ever-wanting soul.

Harry steps back and looks at Barry, and for the first time this evening, Barry is less than perfectly groomed. His hair is mussed, his bowtie askew, his shirt coming loose. Harry takes pride in that, in his ability to put his mark, however briefly, upon Barry.

Barry lifts his hands to undo his bowtie, but Harry pushes them away. "Let me take care of you."

As he tugs at the black silk, Barry captures his wrists. "Just for tonight."

Harry's stung by the reminder that this is not going to last, but he puts it aside. "Yes, just for tonight." The tie is freed from the collar and Harry drops it to the floor. He slides the jacket off of Barry's shoulders and it lands on the rug with a quiet susurration.

The cloud have blown out to reveal the moon at apogee and its light bathes the bedroom in a cool glow. He undoes the collar stud, exposing skin only a few shades darker than the pure white shirt. Harry slowly, carefully undoes the rest of the studs, revealing first Barry's collarbone and shoulders. He skims his hands along them, they are like structural steel covered in the finest marble - not unlike this house. But they are much warmer than marble. And as Harry places his lips against them, he discovers that they much sweeter.

Barry's smells like a cool forest with an undercurrent of ozone - that is the speed force that thrums in his very molecules. It is far more intoxicating that either the scotch that Eobard had shared with him or any of the wine he'd consumed.

Harry mouths Barry's shoulder as he pushes the shirt off. His lips trail a path along Barry's collarbone, nipping lightly against bone and muscle. He pauses at the hollow at the base of Barry's throat, that perfect cup. He lingers, feeling Barry's strong heartbeat, speedster rapid and steady. Barry shivers, restless, and Harry moves on.

Harry's diverted from his journey by the tiny trail of moles that grace Barry's neck. He nips at them and is rewarded with a breathy moan.

Harry steps back to view his handiwork.

Barry is caught in a pool of moonlight, his arms captured by his shirt, his skin shimmering like the most precious pearl, and Harry's reminded of a Renaissance statue of a captive slave. Harry lifts Barry's right arm and undoes the cuff, pocketing the link and then repeats the action with the left. The shirt falls loose as Barry pulls his arms free and Harry unbuckles Barry's belt and tugs the shirt until it too, falls to the floor.

Harry could spend all night worshipping Barry's torso, but he knows that this has to end at dawn. He gently palms Barry's groin and is pleased to find Barry aroused. Even through the fine fabric of his trousers, Barry's cock leaps against Harry's hand.

He's wanted this for so long - but wanted more that this. He could fall to his knees and take Barry in his mouth, he could bring him to pleasure. But he's done that before and tonight he needs more.

Harry needs to bury himself in Barry, to imprint himself on Barry's body. To imagine, if just for a few hours, what it would be like for Barry to be his and his alone. Urgency riding him, Harry strips those trousers from Barry's body, along with his short. He kneels and removes Barry's shoes and socks, and then leads him to the bed.

Barry is all silver and pearl against the dark sheets, until the clouds draw a veil across the room and everything is cast into shadow.

Harry undresses with little care and as the clouds drift away and take the shadows with them, he can see Barry grinning at his eagerness.

Harry's about to kneel on the bed but Barry stops him with a single gesture. "Just one rule, Harry."

"What?" He can't imagine what stricture Barry is asking for.

"Condoms - you don't get to take me bare."

Harry's confused. "There's no disease in me, there's nothing in your blood." He thinks of the dozen time that Barry's had him bare, except for generous amounts of slick.

Barry lifts himself up and makes to get off the bed. "This is my rule and if you are not prepared to comply, then we end this now."

Harry looks into the shadowed corner of the room, to where he thinks Eobard sits and watches.

"This has nothing to do with Eo. It is what I require."

Harry shivers at the pure steel in Barry's tone, he's unbearably aroused by it. "Where are they?"

Barry reaches out and turns on the lamp on the night table. Light fans out in a small arc. Next to the tablet he'd noticed earlier, there's a small, unmarked box and a matching bottle.

Condoms and lube.

"Okay." Harry's not sure he understand why Barry's making this demand, but he has no choice. Not if he wants to proceed.

"Good." Barry grins in the moonlight and reaches for the box. "Let me."

Harry nearly loses control as Barry's long, cool fingers roll the condom over his cock. Barry doesn't abandon him, he teases Harry's pubes, he cups his balls and when Harry spreads his thighs, those fingers explore a little further back.

His control is poised on the edge of a very thin blade and Harry wraps his hands around Barry's wrists and pulls them away.

Barry know just what the problem is. "If you want, I can put a ring on you."

Harry shakes his head. "No, no toys tonight. No bindings."

Barry nods in approval.

Harry kneeling on the bed now, Barry's thighs spread and resting on his legs - displaying everything. Harry reaches for the bottle of slick and starts to prep Barry, who is a tight as a virgin. He realizes that this is one instance of Barry's speedster metabolism and healing working against him.

Harry takes care and wills himself to patience as he works first one, then two fingers into Barry. "Are you all right? I'm not hurting you."

Barry smiles and there's no guile in his expression, no mockery - after all, he'd been doing this with Eobard for a long while and has to be familiar with the sensations.

"I'm fine. I won't break."

Harry nods and feels a droplet of sweat roll down his forehead. "I know, but I might." He takes even greater care as he introduces a third finger. Barry's hips launch off Harry's lap and Barry's cock, already impressively hard, pulls up tight against his belly.

"You like that?"

"Very much. Can't wait to feel your cock in me."

Harry sucks in a breath. He's never been particularly interested in dirty talk, but Barry's needy whine is like a whip to his desire.

He strokes Barry's thigh and feels the long muscles flex.

"Please, Harry - don't make me wait."

"No - of course not." Harry reaches for the lube and slicks himself up. He lifts Barry by the hips, a little higher, a little closer, and pushes with gentle insistence against Barry's entrance. Barry arches against him, taking Harry's cock faster and deeper than Harry had planned.

Harry shifts and holds Barry down, taking control of Barry's body. "We do this at my tempo."

Barry hisses and tries to deepen the penetration even further. Harry's holding Barry's hips, refusing to let Barry take charge, to take his pleasure at Harry's own expense.

Harry's stretched out over Barry now, using the full weight of his body to keep Barry still. He's moving his hips in the smallest of increments, teasing Barry, drawing out their pleasure - his pleasure - until he feels Barry vibrating beneath him.

Too many times Eobard's taken him and used his own powers to all but break Harry apart, but he's never experienced anything like this. It's a sensation that defies description.

Harry pins Barry with his hips and cups Barry's face - he wants to see every expression in Barry's eyes as he comes apart on his - Harry's - cock.

But Barry's eyes are filled with lightning, he's blind with desire.

Harry rocks his hips - not the teasing motion he'd used before - but a full thrust to seat himself fully in Barry's body.

Barry's mouth opens and his head rolls back. Harry's caught between physical and emotional ecstasy. He won't be able to last much longer.

Then Barry does something that devastates him. He flings out an arm, and cries, "Eo - I need you."

Harry stills as Eobard runs to the bed in a blaze of red lightning. He's kneeling next to Barry, his hands cupping Barry's face, stroking him gently, whispering words that Harry can't hear. But when Eobard looks up at him, his eyes aren't red, nor is his tone threatening when he says, "Barry's fighting for control - you need to finish this, you need to take your pleasure."

Harry takes a deep breath and tries to find his emotional center. He strokes in and out of Barry and watches as Eobard rests his head next to Barry, whispering words of praise, words of love. Barry whimpers and arches against Harry. As he comes in a shuddering rush, Harry feels the scalding wash of Barry's semen against his belly.

Harry's hips are whipping back and forth as he seeks his own ecstasy, but he can't find the peak. He feels lost and bereft. A failure.

And then Eobard's gone from the bed. He's standing behind Harry, holding him still. "Slow down, enjoy the moment. He pushes and pulls Harry, resetting the rhythm. "Good, good. This is good for both of you."

Eobard's lips are against his ear, and he's whispering praise for Harry now. "You are so beautiful together, you are magnificent, Harry Wells. Now take what you need."

Harry comes with those words, his orgasm feels like it's tearing away parts of his soul. The world goes white and then fades to a soft, warm black. Someone - Eobard - eases him out of Barry and maneuvers him onto the bed.

Dimly, he realizes that Eobard is caring for him, removing the condom, cleaning him up. He opens his eyes just enough to watch Eobard care for Barry, too. In this state, he's confused - seeing himself moving around the room, setting everything to rights. It's surreal, an out-of-body experience, but he's too caught up in the bliss to say anything.

Barry rolls against him and drapes an arm over his waist. He murmurs, "Is this want you dreamed of?"

Harry doesn't answer, because he doesn't know the answer. Instead, he kisses Barry and lets the outgoing tide of desire sweep him away.

Just before sleep claims him, Harry feels the bed dip as Eobard joins them. He's caught between the two men, imprisoned by desire and circumstance.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry wakes and he's alone. This doesn't surprise him.

He gets up and looks for his clothes. They are draped neatly over a wooden valet stand, along with a new package of underwear and socks. Harry debates showering, but the door to the en suite is left open and he spies a pile of clean towels.

He doesn't linger in the bathroom and is dressed are ready to go within the half-hour. Harry hopes that there's a car waiting because hitching a ride back to Central City in a tuxedo on a Saturday morning will be a rather epic walk of shame.

The house is quiet and he wonders where his hosts are. Probably making themselves scarce to avoid any morning-after awkwardness.

Harry makes his way back to the atrium and finds both Barry and Eobard there. Barry's in his suit - his speedster's suit - and with his cowl down, he looks impossibly young.

Harry half-hopes that Barry takes off without acknowledging his presence, but those hopes are in vain. Barry comes over to him, a wary smile on his lips. "Are you all right."

"Yes." It's easiest to stick with that simple, unequivocal word.

Barry nods, seeing everything that Harry wasn't going to allow himself to say. "Later, then." With that, Barry's gone in a blaze of golden lightning.

Harry can feel the weight of Eobard's eyes on him and he knows he's not going to escape so easily.

"Would you join me for a cup of coffee?"

"Of course." It's not like Harry's got much of a choice. He follows Eobard over to a small nook and sits.

Eobard hands him a mug, it's perfectly brewed and fixed just the way he prefers. Which is, not at all ironically, just the way that Eobard prefers. When Eobard sits across from him, Harry feels like he's facing his own doom.

The moments tick away in heartbeats and Harry doesn't know what to say.

"Do you understand what happened last night?"

Harry shakes his head and stares into his coffee cup.

"Barry wanted to give you what you wanted and in turn get something he needed."

"Within the strictures you've established for him."

Eobard shakes his head. "You really don't understand my relationship with Barry, do you?"

"No, I guess not." Harry struggles to remain civil.

"What you don't see is that Barry is the one who sets the rules."

Harry finds that impossible to believe. "You, the master manipulator, let Barry Allen dictate to you?"

"Of course. Just because Barry needs my steady hand doesn't mean he's without agency in this relationship. He controls everything."

Harry knows, from his own experiences that in a healthy relationship it is the the submissive who has true control. But he's never seen what Barry and Eobard have as being healthy. Perhaps he's been wrong.

"Barry has issues with control and it's been something we've been working on, together."

Harry's confused, "What do you mean, control?"

"Barry's a speedster - and as a speedster, he can, theoretically, climax many times over the course of an encounter. Have you ever seen him come more than once?"

Harry thinks back on all the times he's scene with Barry and Eobard and no, he can't recall a single instance when Barry's had multiple orgasms. Eobard has, but never Barry. And he realizes something else. "He never comes without your approval."

"You believe that's my doing, do you not?"

"It isn't?"

"No, not in the least." Eobard shrugs. "There's no reason for that type of control - not with a speedster. Barry's issue is that he has too much control. Very often, he will hold on until he's ready to break apart if he doesn't have permission to let go. He'd hoped that being with you be the last step in unlocking his control."

Harry thinks he should feel used, but he doesn't. "I'm honored by the trust he's placed in me. I'm just sorry that I couldn't give him what he needed."

Eobard takes a sip of coffee and Harry resents how the mug masks his expression. He can't read Eobard this morning, not with all of his own confused emotions clouding his judgment.

But then Eobard puts the cup down and lets out a small sigh. "You will never be able to give Barry Allen what he needs. But not for the reasons you think."

Harry can't imagine what Eobard is getting at.

"Once upon a timeline, you made a choice."

"And what choice was that?"

"You chose to put your child's needs before Barry's."

Harry's about to give vent to all his outrage, but Eobard cuts him off.

"And that was the right decision. Jesse is your flesh and blood and she needed to come first with you. She always will."

Eobard stares at him and Harry begins to comprehend.

"Barry needs more than you could ever give to him. Barry will always come first with me, his life and his well-being are my only concern. He can trust me without question because he knows I will never abandon him, never turn my back on him."

Harry knows that is the absolute truth.

But Eobard isn't done with him, and his words are like bullets. "You may want him, you may even love him - and I don't doubt that you do - but Barry will never love you in return. He likes you, he admires you, he looks up to you. But he can't trust you with his heart because he looks at you and always sees you leaving him behind."

Eobard gets up and Harry forces himself to meet his doppelganger's eyes. "So, what now?"

"What do you want, Harry Wells?"

He thinks of last night, of Barry in the moonlight, of Eobard on the bed next to Barry, of all the things he didn't understand then and everything he understands now. "I want to give whatever the two of you are willing to take from me."

Eobard reaches out and strokes Harry's cheek, a smile ghosting over his lips. "That is the only acceptable answer."

Eobard leaves him with his coffee and his broken heart. It seems fitting.

FIN