A/N: Another fic for the lovely, Ruthie/westallen94, for all her staying spoiler-free when I was on my hiatus during most of 5b. I hope you enjoy!

*Many thanks to sendtherain for beta'ing.

*I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

The day had been a long one, and the synopses they gave each other had been brief. While worried about Iris' struggle with Cicada, Barry was just glad Iris hadn't been hurt; the same went for Iris of her husband when his moral compass nearly gave him away in a crime-infested underground market where his powers were rendered useless.

"So, I fended off Cicada with physical force," she explained with just a hint of pride. "How did you ward off a whole bunch of dangerous criminals that were already suspicious of you when you – and let me see if I got this right – tried to buy off every single gun of the new make and model?"

"They were dangerous, Iris! If you knew what those things could-"

She put her fingers over his lips to silence him.

"It's okay, babe," she said, replacing her fingers with her lips for a quick peck. "I'd expect nothing less from the Flash." She started to back away. "Or from Barry Allen, for that matter."

His brows furrowed momentarily. "Barry Allen?"

"Yeah," she said, as if it was common sense. "Your superhero persona just brought out what was already inside of you."

He felt the most pleasant warmth spread inside of him.

"Thanks, Iris," he said softly, completely erasing Iris' near knee-jerk instinct to roll her eyes.

"Don't let it go to your head," she commented instead, which made him chuckle.

It wouldn't be till they were getting ready for bed that Barry remembered he'd never answered her question of how he'd successfully made it out of his own very dangerous situation, with Ralph in tow no less. And she hadn't pushed for it either.

…

Barry caught her smiling smugly at him when she stepped out of their bathroom that night, a silky pink teddy adorning her figure instead of the normal two-piece she usually wore. One of her fingers was winding a long, dark lock around it, and when he met her eyes, he saw a heat there that felt completely unprecedented.

He was halfway through putting on a loose, light blue tee when her sudden arrival made his pause.

"Should I be taking this off?" he teased, the smirk at the corner of his lips unmistakable.

"That depends," she said, walking slowly over to him and pushing him back onto the bed, making him laugh. She straddled him soon after though, silencing him at once. "Are you Barry Allen? Or are you…" she leaned down and whispered against his lips, "The Chemist?"

He wanted to ask who'd told her about his corny nickname – though obviously Ralph was the culprit – and defend the uninspired title he'd come up with on the spot. But the look in her eyes informed him loud and clear that Ralph hadn't just told her his underground alias. He'd told her what he said and how he'd said it.

And she was turned on.

"So, who are you?" She murmured seductively, drawing her finger over his bottom lip. "And what are you doing in my bedroom?"

He felt himself suck in a small breath and weighed his options. Sex, obviously, was going to happen. But he wondered if he should interrogate her a little first. After all, Barry Allen (alias: The Flash), was always a turn-on for her, and "The Chemist" as he'd named himself, was a far cry from a good guy. In fact, he was supposedly responsible for-

The hell with it.

His deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression evaporated to portray instead the smirk of a bad boy, and one not afraid of doing wrong. Perhaps one even reveling in it.

He lowered his voice, darkened his thoughts, and took himself back to the short-lived identity he'd adopted earlier that evening.

"I don't give my name away to strangers, Ms. …?"

"Mrs.," she corrected, her teeth shining brilliantly as her fingers stroked his neck, tangling in the hair brushing the sides of his face.

He flipped the two of them over without warning and hovered over her, letting the heat build between them.

"Mrs. Allen, I presume?" he asked, almost purring.

"West-Allen, actually," she said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"West-Allen," he mused. "I like that."

"What else do you like?" she asked, dragging him down for the first of many kisses to come.

He groaned, squeezing her hips.

"When will your husband be home?" he growled, sending a shock of pleasure down Iris' spine.

"Not for a few hours, at least," she assured. "Maybe even 'til morning."

Her eyelashes fluttered when he lifted his head to look down at her.

"Is that enough time?" she asked, two of her fingers dipping down the line in the middle of his back.

"For what, pray tell?"

She grinned. "Well, now that we've introduced ourselve-"

Barry cut her off with a scorching kiss, plummeting her mouth with his tongue, curling along every surface, and gently tugging at her bottom lip when he pulled away.

"How's that?"

"That…uhmm…" She struggled to find the words.

"Better than your husband?" He leaned down to nip at the crook of her neck.

Her fingers dug into his skin.

"Oh, yeah." She licked her lips. "Way better."

She'll pay for that.

He kissed his way down her body, pulling the scrap of silk with him as he went, his lips and tongue and teeth covering every inch of skin it uncovered. The gentle bite and swirl around her nipples made her grip him tighter with her thighs. The lick and blow down her stomach made her heels dig into his ass. And the second his hot breath reached her core, her nails broke skin on his back and he bled.

"Iris," he growled, thoroughly aroused, as his damp hair brushed against her thighs.

"Mrs. West Allen," she reminded him, arching up, nipples erect and fingers now clenched in his hair as she awaited what he would do next.

What he better do next, she thought.

And he did – thank God.

His buzzing lips and tongue and two fingers drove her wild, swirling and pumping and making her crest twice before he decided she was finished.

"Barryyyy-emist!" she cried out, and he opted not to correct her until later. He'd tease her then, of course, since she'd started the whole thing.

But not now. Now he was wild for her and could not be restrained for any reason but her genuine plea.

His shirt long ago discarded, he hastily shoved his boxers to his ankles and kicked them onto the floor, returning to her within seconds and entering her barely a breath later.

"Barry."

"Iris."

From then on there was no sound but that of their breathing, their grunting and moaning and gasping and urging for more, faster, harder.

The wave hit him sooner than he'd expected, but Iris had no complaint, winding herself flush against him so his pleasured groan could push her over the edge.

"Barry…emist?" he teased with a half-strangled breath, still trying to come back to earth as he shakily held himself above her. His wrists gave way, so his elbows perched on the bed instead.

Iris responded by kissing the low end of one bicep and nibbled gently as she traveled up his arm.

"Yeah," she said, when her kisses moved to his neck, jaw, chin, and then pulled back, making slightly annoyed – though sexually frustrated was more accurate.

He pushed her hand back onto the bed and intertwined their fingers, doing the same to her other. Then he leaned down and kissed her, pulling away just short of a renewed arousal.

"My husband's going to be home soon," she said, dazed as she watched him fall to the side and then trace the lines of her body with his fingerprints.

"Yeah?" he asked, unbothered.

She bit her bottom lip when his fingers lightly brushed over her damp folds before traveling to her thigh and knee and back up her body again.

"You're a tease," she informed him.

He met her eyes and followed through, making a point to lower his voice the way he had as the Chemist, almost certain he'd failed at this role play as much as he hadn't wanted to.

"I think I followed through."

They shared another kiss, and it wasn't long until Iris had straddled him and was giving "The Chemist" the ride of his life.