(A/N): I wrote this just after the episode with the club scene, but it could really be any morning after the Flash group went out.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Barry sang out.

Iris put her hand over her eyes to block the sun spilling in through her kitchen window. "I hate you," she remarked pleasantly. "I hate you more than green beans. I hate you more than flooded rain boots. I hate you more - "

"I get it. You hate me."

"How are you so cheerful? You're not a morning person." She could clearly remember her dad threatening to hire a forklift to get Barry out of bed, some school mornings.

"It's practically afternoon," Barry pointed out with disgusting verve. "How's your head?"

"Breaking in two, thank you."

"Didn't you get what I left you?"

The bottle of water and the aspirin had been a very welcome sight, and had made brushing her teeth and repairing the absolute horror of her unwrapped hair a little easier to bear. "Yes, thanks. I could just use another one."

Whoosh, and the aspirin bottle and a full glass of water appeared on the counter. She downed them with a quick thank-you.

The water hitting her squirming stomach did it no favors. She pressed a hand to her midsection and squinted at the plate stacked high with fluffy golden goodness. The tower was beginning to teeter, and Barry had just spooned more batter onto the griddle. "Tell me those are pancakes for me."

Barry glanced at the plate. "Oh, did you want some?"

She aimed a swat at him on the way past. He squirmed out of the way and laughed.

She ate the first pancake dry, to soak up the ick in her stomach. When it had done its work, she piled three more on a plate, drowned them with syrup and butter, and took it to the table. By the time she'd worked her way through them, and a cup of coffee, and Barry had demolished the rest of the tower, she was starting to feel a little more human, which meant she was ready to go on the offensive.

"I don't get blackout drunk," she remarked, by way of an opening salvo.

"I hope not, or else you're more of a lightweight than I always thought."

"I mean, I remember what I did," she said, fixing him with a beady eye as she licked syrup off her finger.

"Um," he said, apparently very distracted by the sight. "You did, um, get a little. Affectionate."

"Climbed you like a tree is how I would describe it."

He turned pink up to his ears. She hadn't seen that since high school. "I can't exactly call that an inaccurate characterization of, uh, events."

And he was talking circles around it, too. Another high school thing. She said, "Bare - "

"Look," he said, trying to laugh and failing. "Okay, you were a little tipsy and you got smoochy. It happens. I don't - I mean, it's not a thing, any more than Wally and Jesse making out is a thing."

"It is too a th- wait, what? My Wally? My brother? And weird mean Earth-2 Harry's weird shut-in daughter?"

"Hey, she's okay. She had it rough over here. Let the kid have a little fun."

"I'm not opposed to fun, just not with my little brother - ohhhh. Oooooooh. Sneaky. Trying to distract me. Well, it won't work."

He spread his hands like, Well, you can't blame me for trying.

"And," she said in a queenly fashion, "if your next gambit is the news that Cisco went home with Caitlin, then don't bother, I already know. Caitlin texted me."

Barry's fork, loaded with the last of the pancakes, paused halfway to his mouth. "I … did not know that. Actually. Um. What exactly - "

She pointed her fork at him. "No. Respect the girl talk. You want filthy details, text Cisco yourself."

Actually Iris had very little information besides

Cisco snores like a water buffalo.

Also

Point of interest

I came screaming three times.

Help please I don't know what to do

Iris hadn't been able to think of any better suggestion than, See if he's up for number four? She hadn't gotten a reply yet.

"Anyway, my point is, I kissed you. A lot. And you know what I realized this morning while I was fighting with my hair?"

"Mmmmwhat?"

"You, Mr. Barry Allen, have kissed me before."

His eyes went wide. "What," he said unconvincingly. "Hahaaah. What."

"I don't know where," she said. "I don't know when. Because I haven't kissed you before, but you've kissed me. You knew right where to put your hands and you knew exactly how to angle your head, and you knew how to kiss me, is my point."

"Look," he said.

"Other timeline? Alternate universe?"

He rubbed his hand over the back of his head. "Both of those, honestly, but - look, I'm not really sure if you want me to apologize or what, because I don't want to. I liked kissing you, and I didn't tell you for that exact reason, that it wasn't exactly you. I mean, it was you but it wasn't you. So it was weird."

"I don't want an apology," she said, grabbing her plate and taking it to the sink.

"Then what do you want?" he asked. "Why did you bring it up?"

"Because," she said, coming back to stand in front of him. "I want the chance to catch up."

His eyes widened. "Catch up?"

She leaned over and propped her hands on the back of his chair. Their faces were about six inches apart, if that. "Catch up," she said. "How many kisses ahead are you?"

"I - I didn't count," he said, now beet-red.

"Well, how about this," she said. "You tell me when I'm close." She angled her head and pressed her mouth to his.

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Yes, Barry Allen did know how to kiss her.

He knew how to lick her upper lip, he knew how to skim his knuckles along her neck, how to trace the shell of her ear.

But she was catching up.

She learned that if she scratched the back of his neck, his mouth would fall open on a sigh, that if she nipped his lower lip, he would kiss her harder.

Also she learned that he had a little syrup at the corner of his mouth, though she was pretty sure that wouldn't be apropos anytime except now. But the way he moaned when she licked it clean, that was knowledge she could use.

It felt right, absolutely natural, to climb into his lap, straddling him, and feel his long arms wrap around her waist, pulling her tight against him so her breasts pressed against his chest, so the soft material of his Star Labs sweatshirt brushed her stomach where her ancient CCPD t-shirt rode up.

She'd lost count too, kissing and kissing and kissing.

He caught her shoulders and pushed her away an inch or two. "Iris," he said. "Iris - I - "

She stared at him, panting. On his lap like this, they were eye to eye. The sun spilling through her kitchen window spread hot and buttery across her shoulder and lit the soft hairs that dusted his face and neck, and struck gold in his eyes.

Something hard and thick and hot pressed into the melting softness between her legs.

She felt soft and quivery. Something told her she could climb off Barry's lap right now, go change clothes, and they would never speak of this again. They would go back to their strange circling wariness, the cautious approaches to the topic of we're-meant-for-each-other, the quick jumping back as if they'd touched an electrical wire. At some point, maybe when they were eighty, they'd finally have it out.

But she was tired of it.

She'd fought the notion of destiny, that time or God or the universe wanted her to be with Barry. She'd accepted Eddie's proposal out of - well, she still didn't know, and she didn't know how it would have turned out. But she'd been deliberately flouting that destiny, telling time/God/the universe that she, Iris West, chose for herself. She did not have her fate chosen for her, even a fate she maybe might have wanted.

Something occurred to her that never had before:

Sometimes the choice was so easy, it felt like destiny.

His fingers traced a circle in the small of her back. He said quietly, "Iris - ?"

"Do you have anything?" she whispered.

He jolted slightly, then pulled her closer. "No. You?"

"No. Could you maybe - ?"

He let out a choked laugh. "There's no way I could walk in this condition, much less run."

She rolled her hips and gasped as the thick ridge of his erection pressed the throb of her clit. He gasped too, fingers flexing on her sides.

"Really?" he moaned.

She hooked her ankles around the back legs of his chair, for leverage, and rolled her hips into his again. Through layers of cloth, their most intimate parts rocked together.

They weren't kissing anymore, just holding each other. His fingers grasped her hips, pulling her tight against him, increasing the friction. She pressed her forehead to his and their breaths mingled hot between them.

"Iris," he moaned when her fingers curled into his shirt. "Iris, Iris - "

"Barry. That - please - oh - "

She grabbed the back of his chair again, hoping distantly that they weren't about to take the mother of all embarrassing spills, and ground her hips into his, chasing the satisfaction just out of reach. He shifted his legs, propping his feet up on the chair rungs maybe, and the change in position hit her just right.

She arched, letting out something that might have been his name and might have just been a primal scream. It had barely let her go when he pressed his forehead into her shoulder and let out a deep, shuddering moan.

She sagged into him, panting, a little dizzy, a little dazed.

After all this time, they'd just humped each other like a couple of teenagers over breakfast.

His thumb moved tenderly against the skin of her back. "For the record," he said in a hoarse voice, "I never did that with any Iris but you."

"Good," she said. "Th-that's good to know."

He sighed, and she cupped the back of his neck and kissed his ear. He turned his head to find her mouth and they kissed, soft and open-mouthed, all tenderness, no urgency.

"What are your plans for the day?" she asked in a whisper.

He cupped her face, combing her hair back behind her ear. "I've got this one errand to run and then I'm all yours."

"How long will it take?" she asked, grumpily jealous of anything that would take him away from her, even for ten minutes, when they'd just (finally) taken the next step.

"Not long." He kissed her and smiled against her mouth. "I've gotta go buy a lot of condoms."

FINIS