Leonard Snart // Captain Cold (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hypothermic) wrote2016-02-08 09:26 am
hypothermic) wrote2016-02-08 09:26 amLeonard Snart // Captain Cold - IC Inbox
ID: coldasice
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hypothermic) wrote2016-02-08 09:26 am
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The tug at his hair surprises him, but he doesn't fight it. He just swallows, making his adam's apple bob up and down. As if he needed to make his nervousness more obvious.
He nods at Len's warning and then stays mostly still, only letting himself move his fingers, which alternate between tapping and scratching restlessly at the armrest. Len's legs tightening around him do nothing to calm him down, but it does still him completely.
The blade on his skin feels good too. Gentle, a little cold, it makes him shiver. ]
Good. [ His voice still sounds wrong, he clears his throat and tries again. ] Feels good. [ The second try is better but not by much. ]
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[A low chuckle as he glides the razor over Ray's adam's apple. In just a couple of minutes Ray's throat is clear of foam and bristle. He tugs the cloth away from over Ray's eyes and drags it over his neck, gently exfoliating and removing any lingering traces of cream.
It all looks good, but there's more to a good shave than meets the eye. He drags his fingertips down the length of Ray's neck experimentally. He hums, satisfied, and picks up the brush again to start lathering Ray's jaw.
Leonard's eyes are half-lidded in concentration, lips slightly parted as he works.]
We were around your age when we got into this.
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His relief is very short-lived however, as the reality of his situation hits much harder when he can actually see it; Leonard Snart on his lap, lips parted, giving him his undivided attention. It is way too easy for his brain to provide a different situation for this scene. One with less clothes and ideally, less blades.
Len's words don't help at all either, as if his heart wasn't hammering hard enough. Knowing Len's words are carefully chosen to make things worse doesn't make it any easier. Ray hopes that having half of his face covered in foam is at least making his blush less obvious, but he's not counting on it.
He can almost hear Madonna's 'Like A Virgin' playing quietly in the background and that doesn't help at all either. His brain is the worst. ]
I'm thirty-fou— thirty-five. Probably. [ Time-traveling made it tricky, but if they are halfway through 2016 he is 35 for sure. There's not much of a point in saying it, but Leonard's comment makes him feel young and he's starting to get fed up with himself. There are ten years between them, at most. It isn't that long. He's not a teenager, he has got to stop feeling like one.
He breathes in and looks up at Len, it's still a bad idea but it's not like he can embarrass himself much further. Leonard looks comfortable, certain. Ray can't picture himself being that calm and graceful doing anything, let alone straddling another man while shaving them. Hell, he's not that at ease while using a safety razor to shave himself.
Maybe ten years is a long time. Maybe he is a dumb inexperienced high school kid and Leonard is the cool grad student who gives him a ride sometimes. God, he is absolutely ridiculous. Everything about this situation is ridiculous. The fact that he's still enjoying it is ridiculous too.
He huffs out a laugh that is at least half self-mockery. ]
Was it your idea or Mick's?
[ He's genuinely curious and he needs to distract himself somehow. At this point he can only get more embarrassed if he gets hard, and he has to at least make a token effort not let that happen. ]
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[ This is where it gets tricky. Leonard has to concentrate on the task at hand, and there's a far-away quality to his voice as he starts carving the foam away from Ray's jaw. He leans in closer. There's nothing wrong with his eyes, but contrary to popular belief, Leonard likes to err on the side of being careful.
A scar marks the centre of his full upper lip. There's a beauty mark on his left temple. His eyelashes are silver. There are small creases at the corners of his eyes and a fine network of lines between the arches of brows. Also silver. He went grey in his early thirties. With hair as short as his there's no point colouring it, and he'd never really given a damn anyway. Some days it feels like an accomplishment to have lived as long and gotten as far as he has. Like his scars, the grey is just another reminder that he's a survivor.
At least that's what he tells himself. ]
He knocked over some barber shop and got himself a kit. Tried using it every once in a while, but he'd get fed up and rush it. He'd come out the other side with half a beard and ten bandages. Took until he was thirty to let me help him, and only after he nearly took off his damn nose. He wanted to do it himself. Like Brando.
[ He tilts Ray's head to the side to scrape off a chunk of sideburn. ]
Mick isn't the most patient guy. He needed to practice on my face before he was any good at it. He's better at taking his time if he's got a reason to be careful.
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Still, though picturing both of his teammates ten years younger makes him laugh, he chokes it back and tries not to smile because there is still a blade to his throat, but he's not very successful. ]
Like Brando.
[ Saying it makes him almost laugh again. He's a little jealous of what his teammates have, that kind of easy trust that comes with a lifetime of knowing each other. But it also grounds him, makes him feel a little less guilty about the mess of feelings he's been having since that kiss— kisses. He should be working harder at getting over it, but at the end of the day he's not a threat to their relationship, he wouldn't have been even if something else had happened that night.
And even if it makes him feel a little lonely, it's good to know he wouldn't be a homewrecker even if he tried. ]
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[ He says with a smirk, eyes slitting.
It's not always an easy trust. Both men are damaged beyond repair. The scar splitting Leonard's lip wasn't from Mick. That was his father's fist. Lewis had taught Leonard many things. Life lessons he would never forget, no matter how hard he tried.
That he wasn't worthy of love, and was only as important as his next job. How to fear. To hate.
He takes the razor below Ray's nose to remove any traces of a moustache with quick, short skiffs of the edge of the blade. He puts his thumb over Ray's upper lip to stretch the skin and protect it. ]
He likes Pacino too. Can't count how many times he's made me watch Scarface. I hate that movie.
[ To love, he'd learned from Lisa. To survive, he'd learned from Mick. To trust? That was something he was just beginning to understand. That, he was learning from Ray, and his experience being part of a team on the Waverider.
He clears the unfortunate patch of hair beneath Ray's lower lip with one stroke, carefully guiding the razor over the curve of his chin. There's still one cheek to go. Leonard's touch is as certain as ever, his gaze discerning. This kind of work is what he excels at. He can perform at this level for hours, fully focused, before his eyes get tired and his hands start to shake. His palms don't even sweat anymore. ]
Almost as much as I hate Top Gun.
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Come on, you love Top Gun.
[ He's still hyper aware of everything Leonard's doing, and he's still very obviously nervous, but it isn't as bad as it was just a minute ago.
Ray's always been good at rationalizing his feelings. It takes him a while but he's getting there, he knows where this attraction is coming from. Len has his back, he's helped him, he keeps looking after him. Ray' friends back home have never been that close. After coming back, out of the people who's known he was alive only Felicity had checked up on him, and mostly to tell him to come back.
He'd never had anyone making sure he was eating and sleeping, no one close enough to clue in on him needing it. No one who would go through the trouble to shave him... which granted, Len's getting a kick out of it, but so is he. And it's impossible for Ray not to enjoy the attention, not to love Len a little for giving it to him. ]
You don't learn by heart a movie you hate.
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[ So maybe it's a lie that he doesn't like Top Gun, who doesn't? But the rest of it's true. He remembers everything. Even the stuff he'd rather forget.
Those few years before his father went to jail. The first time he'd seen his sister with a black eye. Leaving Mick after he'd saved him from the flame, and lost most of his skin in the process. When Ray had changed his bandages, bathed him, fed him, and protected him when it would've been easier to turn his back. Leonard still doesn't know why he did it. At the time, he'd had nothing to offer. Ray had more to lose than gain by helping him. He'd since come to realize that Ray himself didn't know why. Didn't have to.
Ray Palmer never needed a reason to save anyone.
Leonard couldn't say the same for himself. He didn't have that sort of kindness in him. Never would. Leave it to Barry and Ray to be the heroes. Leonard will protect what's his, but he's not about to bend over backwards for a stranger. It might seem hypocritical that he's doing what he is with that attitude, but it just so happens that Ray isn't a stranger anymore.
Poor schmuck.
He shifts his weight in Ray's lap to get the other side of his face. He'll remember every scar and freckle after this. He's carefully not to nick that perfectly carved cheekbone when he goes over it, as tempting as it is to leave a mark of his own. Maybe Ray would decide to leave before it's too late. Spare them all the agony.
The last line is clean and bloodless. He wipes Ray's face down with the cloth and leans back to admire his handiwork. It all looks good, but what really matters is how it feels. Leonard brushes his knuckles over Ray's jaw and is satisfied. Temporarily. ]
That's better. Now your outside matches your inside. Softer than a baby's ass.
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Ray lifts his own hand to rub at his jaw. It is a great shave, his skin hasn't felt like that since he first started growing a beard when he was in high school. ]
Best I've had. [ He smiles at Len, blushing again. It's hard not to with the keen awareness of the weight on his lap.
He pauses for a moment, going over Len's words again. ]
Wait. You think I'm soft?
[ There is more than one way to interpret that comment. Ray has not realized this yet. ]
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Well. Not after that shave.
[ He drops the razor into the rinsing bowl and gives Ray's cheek a rough pinch. He hadn't explicitly tried to torment Ray throughout the cut and shave. Ray does a better job torturing himself than Leonard ever could. He just likes to watch.
When he climbs out of Ray's lap and turns his back to stretch out, arms over his head and one leg out behind him, it's not to illicit a reaction. Couldn't see it if he did. He's just stiff and sore. It's been over an hour from start to finish. Leonard's in his forties. Whether he'll admit it or not, it's not the same game as when he was twenty or thirty. ]
Get lost, Raymond. I need a nap.
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Yeah, okay. Thanks.
[ It's not a bad idea to get a minute or two to himself anyway, so he scurries out, trying not to think too hard about these sessions becoming a regular thing or about whether or ot he'd like it to. ]