Coldwestallen, Wake Up Call
“Y’all haters corny with that Illuminati mess.”
Iris groans and rolls over in bed. Her mouth feels like cotton and her fingers struggle to wrap around her phone as she tries twice to thumb off the alarm. Some mornings even Beyonce can’t fix.
“Rude.”
A pillow to the face accompanies Len’s complaint. His voice is thick and rough from lack of sleep. Iris turns over again and grabs the fluffy weapon in her hands, lowering it enough to see Len glaring up at her with the one bloodshot blue eye he doesn’t have mashed into the mattress.
“I thought you’d be gone by the time I woke up,” he adds, little more than a murmured slurring of words, and sounding a bit put out.
“I didn’t hear you get in last night,” Iris says, stroking her fingers through Len’s close cropped hair, the last traces of deep brown barely hanging on against a sea of grey. She then moves to trace her thumb in circles over his temple until the furrow in his brow softens, leaving behind a fine set of lines she both tries and fails to resist the impulse to kiss.
“Flash drama,” Len replies by way of explanation. Iris glances over his shoulder to the far end of the bed where Barry’s sprawled out, mouth open wide, a line of drool trickling down his cheek. It should be disgusting but is adorable instead.
“Sorry I woke you,” Iris says.
Len snorts. “We can’t all sleep like speedsters.”
Shuffling forward, Iris steals a quick kiss that’s meant to be a quick goodbye but stretches long and lazy in the comfortable intimacy of the moment.
“How long until you have to leave?” Len asks when Iris finally pulls away. She checks her phone -- five after six.
“About an hour,” she replies. It’s a little earlier than she usually gets up, but, “I didn’t shave last night.”
A crooked smirk pulls at Len’s lips, and though his eyes are still narrowed and puffy from lack of sleep, he looks more awake than he did just seconds before.
“Wear pants.”
The sheets rustle as Len rolls Iris onto her back. His hands find the waistband of her underwear at once and tug them down, the springs creaking like thunder in the predawn quiet as Iris raises her hips to help him along.
Len’s every move betrays how bone-tired he is, so Iris isn’t entirely surprised when, instead of shucking off his own underwear, he sinks down between her thighs and buries his face in her folds.
Iris’ hands clamp around Len’s head as he gets straight to business, hard and rushed as neither have the time to spare. Her heart races wildly in her chest and her breathing turns shallow and laboured under the skill of his mouth, his teeth, his fingers.
Iris is right on the edge when her alarm goes off again.
It nearly gives her a heart attack, but it wouldn’t be the first time she hit snooze by mistake.
“Leave it,” Len groans as Iris’ fingers twitch against his skin, the compulsion of routine niggling at her to turn the alarm off. “You’re almost there. Just leave it.”
Iris turns her head to look over at Barry, concerned, but he’s still sleeping as soundly as he was minutes before. And once Len’s fingers start curling right there holy shit inside her, the noises that fall from her mouth are just as loud as Formation playing from the speakers.
“Fuck,” Iris keens as she comes, back bowing, bed rocking, body spasming outside her control. Len holds her by the hips and licks her until it hurts. She shoves him away with trembling hands, but he doesn’t move farther than her thighs, kissing and biting until her breathing is even and measured.
Finally, Iris reaches over and shuts off her alarm -- properly this time -- and Len crawls back up to his place in the middle of their bed, which, short of when he’s lying between her thighs, is Iris’ favourite place for him to be. Barry is still asleep, snoring softly, and Iris giggles, dropping her head to Len’s shoulder to nibble and kiss.
“Get Barry to return the favour later,” she whispers against Len’s skin. “I’m gonna be late for work.”
Rolling out of bed, Iris grabs her underwear off the floor, legs spread just enough for Len to get an eyeful of his handiwork. She’s close enough that he’s able to reach out and pinch her ass, and she yips playfully as she dances away from his greedy fingers.
“Work, Len,” she reminds him.
Len sighs but drops his arm back to the mattress. “Too tired anyway,” he drawls, the exhaustion catching back up with him all at once. “Knock ‘em dead, Ace,” he mutters before turning over and manhandling Barry into something passable as a little spoon position, Len’s front curling possessively around Barry’s back, his face smooshing into the groove between Barry’s neck and his shoulder.
Iris sighs as she watches Barry shuffle into Len’s warmth from the doorway to their bedroom, a gentle, contented smile spreading across her face.
“Sleep well, boys.”