( you're in my dreams, you're underneath my skin )

[codenamer]

[ cisco never imagined it would happen like this — then again, to be fair, he never really imagined it at all, only ever occasionally dreamed about it, woken up to wet sheets and a heavy sense of shame, to the unsettling feeling that maybe his dreams played out more like fantasies — fantasies he's chosen to decidedly ignore because they make him feel wrong, and not wrong in the i had a sex dream about a guy sense (there was once, maybe more than once, that they used to involve someone else, someone cisco doesn't even want to think about fully clothed, let alone naked, not anymore), just wrong in the i had a sex dream about my boss who is kind of like my surrogate father figure sense. it's all the more unsettling when he thinks about how real it all felt, how he can still feel it, the heat and the fullness of well's cock inside him, especially when he's not even trying to think about it at all. ]

[ like now. of course, it would have to be now, because cisco's body has never been anything more than inconvenient, awkward, and certainly not anything desirable. but he's felt it, he's felt that desire, the desire of the man sitting right next to him filling him up until he thought he might explode — maybe not quite as famously as the particle accelerator, but enough to cement cisco's name to wells' lips, enough to momentarily leave cisco speechless. cisco only spares a glance away from the movie, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, trying his hardest not to alert wells to his obvious discomfort. does he really want to talk about it? it seems like a weird thing to bring up on movie night — or, actually, ever. it's a weird thing that should probably never be brought up, but cisco's never been very good about keeping his mouth shut. ]

[ there's a certain level of trust that sits between the two of them, anyway; he's always felt like he can talk to wells about anything — why should this be any different, even if it ... intimately involves the two of them? it's not like it actually happened, or actually will happen, right? (the idea of it actually happening only passes through his mind like the flash crossing a street, fast enough not to last, but surprising enough to leave an impression, a certain whoosh in his brain, the rest of his thoughts scattered like paper in the wake of barry allen.) he shouldn't be nervous to ask, but his body betrays him yet again, his heart picking up pace when, for a split second, he catches wells' eye before he turns his attention back to the movie. ]

[ back to the movie, cisco, back to the future, it's only your favorite, it's only your birthday. but the actual day never really registered, never really mattered, not even with the barrage of gifts this morning, with the banner proclaiming HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CISCO! strung across one of the doorways. it's never been that important to him (never as important as dante's), so the reprieve from celebration and excitement over the day of his birth comes as something of a godsend. it's comfortable, despite the discomfort he's currently feeling, sharing this time with wells. it's always been their time, and the implications of that only occur to cisco now that he can't seem to get the image out of his head of them, an actual them, of whispered words and silent promises, of gentle touches and desperate breaths. cisco's face burns hot, all the way to his ears, and he can't help but wonder what it would be like. ]

[ he clears his throat, swallows the lump that had lodged itself there; it's just wells, cisco. he doesn't bite. ] So, uh, how much do you know about dreams? [ there's no lead in, no segue, just headfirst into the problem at hand. cisco's seen back to the future a hundred times, anyway, it's not like he really needs to watch it again, not when wells is sitting next to him and the only thing he can think is i think i want you. ]