Imagine where the reader finds out about his side job and Barry is nervous about how the reader might react.
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It's not like Barry checks his safe house after work. He probably should. As a villain, there is bound to be a hero seeking for his 'lair'. What he really didn't expect is you to be there. For a moment, his wide eyes stare at you on the couch, before he flicks the light switch back off. Explaining why he's both shirtless and wearing tight booty shorts is not something he wants to do at this time. His upper chest moves as he scratches behind his neck, biceps flexing. Barry knows what that frown means. He's been on the short end of it far too many times. "Hey babydoll..." he mumbles, tugging on one of his tiny gauges nervously. "I wasn't expecting you here." he says as he drops his bag to the floor, speeding over to you. "Are you cheating on me?" Is your first response. Tears sting in the corners of your eyes and you slump your shoulders, staring at Barry. He gulps, shaking his head; milk chocolate brown locks scattering across his forehead. "Then where were you?" you croak, yanking on your gray and red high school shirt. "And why are you naked?" you add in an accusing tone. Barry really needs to get dressed before leaving the club; usually he just speeds home. Sighing, he carefully sits next to you, blue shorts wrinkling at his upper thighs. "I... My job." he stutters, "Along with being a villain, I, um, I'm a stripper." he breathes out, mossy green eyes watching the small silver ball in his belly button scrunch with his abs. The cat's out of the bag now, he supposes. The little breath that escapes you makes Barry's mind race. No, he can't lose you. You're the only good thing about him. "Do you...just take off your clothes?" you whisper, repositioning your legs underneath yourself; black opaque leggings rising up your ankles. "Or do you..." you trail off, drying your eyelashes. "I mean, I do lap dances. But I don't have sex with anyone. And I don't kiss either... I save that for you, you know?" A smirk tests his lips when he looks at you. "Being a strpper doesn't make you a slut. Just a job. I do it to get paid." the speedster defends himself, green eyes traveling with your every move until you land in his lap. Out of instinct, Barry wraps his arms around your waist, sighing, feeling your hands on his freckled cheeks, pushing his red gauges back slightly. Well, this is certainly not what he expected. Your chest presses to his; the belly button ring barely grazes your soft t-shirt. "If that's all you do... I... I'm not mad." you say truthfully, shaking your head. "I'm a little upset that you didn't tell me sooner, but, not mad." you pause, pushing his fluffy hair off his forehead only for it to flop back. Smirking, Barry leans forward, kissing your lips. "I've got my whole world in my hands, babydoll." he mutters.
