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“Thought you wanted me to be - quiet, Harry, fuck.”

The thing is, okay, Harry does want Cisco to be quiet. Quiet in a way that will not alert Earth 2’s Central City Museum of Technology staff that Dr. Harrison Wells has snuck into a supply closet to wreck a man that bears suspicious resemblance to a former meta terrorist.

But Harry also wants Cisco to come his brains out. He wants to loosen Cisco’s jaw so slack with pleasure that Cisco can’t do anything but slur Harry’s name and that obscene, earth shuddering tremble that has tempted the worst of Harry’s hungers to the surface. He wants Cisco to bring the damn building down around them with the force of his needy sounds. He wants Cisco to groan, and moan, and fucking cry his name. He wants Cisco to scream.

So. Dilemma.

Cisco arches into Harry’s spit slick palm, biting his lip in a gesture that does absolutely nothing to quiet his pants or the urge Harry has to ruin him. He stares at Harry with hair finger mused, his kiss bruised mouth open, his tongue curling out and drawing Harry deep then deeper.

Harry kisses him to quiet him, but also because Harry can’t help it. His brain feels fuzzy hot. There’s the familiar mantra of gentle, gentle, gentle in his head, reminding him of the strength in his hands and the softness of Cisco’s skin, but the words are weak under the echo of the noise Cisco made when Harry showed him the museum’s newest exhibit. Harry never heard Cisco make a sound like that. Unabashed and loose limbed and shameless with pure, simple pleasure.

Now Harry can’t think past anything but that sound. But making Cisco make it again, constantly and just for him.

When he slides from Cisco’s mouth to breathe, spit lingers between them. It’s the kind of visceral filth that always makes Cisco gasp, that always jolts Cisco from wanton to now, Harry, need it so bad. Cisco curls a hand around the hand jerking him off and moves Harry faster.

Harry doesn’t deny him, because Harry has forgotten how. The motion brings Cisco’s throat to a boil. He’s making sweet, choked little noises, like it hurts to be so close to coming. Harry just wants to make him hurt even more.

He brings the hand not wrapped around Cisco’s dick to Cisco’s mouth, watching with wobbling knees as Cisco licks sloppily at his fingertips. He slips his wet fingers under Cisco’s shirt to brush then tweak Cisco's nipple. Cisco’s head falls back and that fucking dirty sound falls out. Harry swallows it.

“Someone - someone’s gonna hear me, I can’t - ”

“You can,” Harry assures him, unsure if Cisco really can. Unsure if he can. If he even cares enough about decency at this point to try.

Cisco shakes his head, then squirms. He looks so absolutely drenched in miserable pleasure, Harry doesn’t know if he ever wants to step outside this closet again.

Then Cisco groans again. Harry’s ears ring. His own cock throbs and he presses himself into the trembles of Cisco’s body. Distantly, he thinks he hears a voice, and his instinct slips his hand from Cisco’s nipple to cover Cisco’s mouth.

The movement does nothing to quiet Cisco down. As soon as Harry’s palm is pressed against Cisco’s lips, as soon as Harry’s fingers curl around Cisco’s jaw, Cisco’s mouth opens under Harry’s skin and leaks the neediest sound Harry’s had the pleasure of hearing.

Harry’s eyes narrow. Cisco doesn’t shy away or back down. It’s not in Cisco’s nature, not with him, and his chest stings in time with his dick.

Cisco licks at his palm, and he tightens his grip, fingertips sinking into Cisco’s sugar skin. It only makes Cisco moan again. Moan louder.

“You’re not even trying, Ramon,” Harry admonishes. But if Cisco did try, he would probably succeed, and then Harry wouldn’t have those sounds to drink in and choke on. Harry can’t think of anything more tragic.

So Harry kisses Cisco’s throat. Licks and mouths at his skin then angles away to watch Cisco thrust desperately into his fist. He keeps his hand tight over Cisco’s mouth. He mumbles obscenity to coax Cisco even louder, and grins triumphant when Cisco slurs his name under his palm.

Harry doesn’t miss it when Cisco teeters from the edge of need to desperation. There’s always a glorious moment of abandon before Cisco gives in completely. Harry knows it by heart. When he sees it, he cups Cisco’s mouth harder, trying to drown the sound of Cisco’s pleasure while trying to soak it into his own skin for later.

Cisco comes over both of them. It occurs to Harry just how embarrassed Cisco is going to be once the haze of want has faded into sober reality, and he can’t help but kick up on his heels at the thrill. Cisco’s voice will go high and his cheeks will go red and he’ll be furious at Harry’s smug luxuriation. What a perfect Sunday.

After a few panting moments, Cisco pushes Harry’s hand away. Harry takes the time Cisco uses to catch his breath to find some paper towels. He cleans them both up as best he can.

He’s so caught up in wiping Cisco’s skin clean, making Cisco jerk under the sensitivity, the knock at the door shocks him.

“Um. Dr. Wells?”

Cisco’s eyes go wide at the voice. He slaps his hands over his mouth and Harry tilts his head.

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Harry whispers.

Cisco flips him off.

“Dr. Wells? This is Patty, with security. Are you still. Uh. In there.”

“Yes,” Harry says. He has no idea what else to say. No? Sorry, I’m not home? Can you come back in ten minutes? “Sorry. I needed some… paper towels.”

Cisco nods, giving him a thumbs up, and Harry wonders how even Cisco’s fingers can be sarcastic. “Good, Harry. Nice save.”

Harry flips him off back.

“… sure,” the voice on the other side of the door says. “Look I’m not trying to get you in trouble for… grabbing some paper towels, or anything. I just wanted to let you know the museum closes soon, and the cleaning crew starts in this wing, so they’ll need this closet in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Okay.”

An awkwardness settles. Before Harry can offer to bribe Patty for her silence, or at least as a show of apology, she taps the door.

“Okay. Just… wanted to let you know. And say that I’m a big fan of your work.”

Cisco laughs. Giggles, really, and Harry can barely suppress his own humor. He slaps his hand over Cisco’s mouth again. The shift is immediate - Cisco’s eyes darken, and his chest flutters faster, and Harry is painfully reminded just how much need is still heavy in his bones.

“Thank you, Patty,” Harry breathes, trying not to sound like a pervert as Cisco licks his palm. “We’ll be out before close. Promise.”

He nearly gasps the last word. Cisco’s fingers stroke over the heat between his legs. He can practically feel Cisco smiling against him.

Once the sound of Patty’s leaving footsteps echo, Cisco uses his other hand to pull Harry by the belt loops, bringing Harry flush with all of Cisco that’s still bare.

Harry replaces his hand with his mouth. His moans mingle with Cisco’s own. Neither of them try to be quiet.