The Speed to Rob a Queen's Heart - Olivarry

I Do, Elseworlds

Opening his eyes, Barry enters a realm of bliss. The view sets perspective in his place of such a world.

On the man opposite from him - laying comfortably beside - the guck surrounding his pairs of sapphire robs focus off the younger man.

"You staring?" The other man asks with a voice as soft as ever, devoting to maintaining that bliss Barry feels, meeting his body with warmth and his heart with, well, happiness. That warmth is only intensified by the dancing of his fingers that's tracing around his figure in place, whether it be upon his lone skin or the covers layering over it.

There's no other way to describe it. Everything he feels... it's right. Everything feels right.

"I'm just... you've got guck," he falls into laughter, joined by Oliver.

And his laugh... it's just so beautiful.

Of course, the sound of their laughs carrying the other into heavenly harmony is beautiful - feels beautiful - too, and though unity is a piece of their whole that is their relationship, expressive admiration is lonesome, at least from Barry's perspective. Sure, he can, with strength, believe that they're just as beautiful together, but that couldn't be more far from the truth. It's a classic half-empty rather than half-full, and Oliver's laugh, Oliver's beauty, deserves far better than that, measured or not.

The reality is Oliver Queen is a beautiful soul in of his own, being so that said soul's heart accepting love from another one's is almost as.

And before this reality, Barry's fantasy was the possibility of them being beautiful together - coming true as...

"Ollie!" Barry giggles as Oliver scoops his body into his arms to lid his own body with it, the sheets following as it's wrapped around his build, as is Oliver's arms.

"You're infuriating!" Oliver teases with at falsetto, accidentally gushing also. It's almost embarrassing how Barry brings out his lighter, more fun side out; the very best of him.

"What?" Barry says through his laughter at the expense of every second, entertained by Oliver's reactions to his, yes, staring.

Oliver runs his large hands down Barry's back, mapping the areas of skin that are bare rather than covered. As he does so, he craves any and every chance of skin contact with his lover, at least so Barry believes through the lust seen in his eyes and the saliva coating his lips, functioning off plausible desire. The bliss felt only develops to be unearthly, an out of this world pleasure he feels every morning he wakes up to and with him.

"Staring at me isn't gonna get you anywhere, dork." Oliver pulls his head up and around Barry's face to access his petite ear. Giving the lobe a gentle lick to tease the younger man, of course, he whispers quickly after, "But kissing me will."

The older man drops his head to be cushioned again by his pillow - well, Barry's, as it is his bedroom, his bed, his bed set - once more. He instinctively bites his lower lip, releasing it smoothly; he, too, is in awe of the sight; reciprocated admiration nonetheless.

Barry's eyes drop too, though, view landing on Oliver's exposed chest - a view he oh, so loves. And his mouth curls into a smile as he's reminded that their skin is still within contact, to which he sees, a cause of the producing heat fueling their naked selves in this cold, air-conditioned room. (And Oliver will never admit to it, like, ever, but a part of Barry chooses to believe that, though rarely, he does indeed get cold. Of course, though, it's a theory that proves he himself can provide Oliver warmth physically as he does emotionally. Regardless...) And because he does that, in longing recognition of their limbs intertwined for security, simultaneously combatting the cool air, it seems Oliver's interpreted it as Barry's non-verbalized presentation that there's more to his stare of topic.