How many people over the years, men and women, had been lured in by those preternaturally blue eyes? It was easy to convince himself that he only wanted to move closer, but then Wells’ hands were in his hair and they were kissing, Barry afraid to touch anything and wanting to touch everything, Wells’ split, swollen lip coppery under his tongue. He’d been thinking of Wells as weak and skinny beneath his black clothes, maybe because of the nerdy occupation, maybe because of the chair, but he’d been wrong about that, and he was wrong about Wells being fragile too. Because Wells was holding him, pulling him like he was wanted for the first time in forever, grabbing onto his belt, and oh…
“Can you?” he found himself saying, which was way ahead of where his conscious thoughts even were, and stupid and probably insulting, but he needed, needed to know before this went further or he messed up even worse. “I mean, you’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”