cisco_ramon | (no subject)

Entry tags:

psl,
sirius black

(no subject)

It probably doesn't hurt that Cisco's been to another dimension before this, though the last time he'd crossed into the mirror universe intentionally, and he'd known how to get back home. So far this place is nothing like Earth 2; he hasn't found anyone's doppelgangers, and though there are several people here with varying powers, the only metahuman he's met is Barry Allen. It's the real Barry from his Earth, Cisco's best friend, the same Barry he left behind when he came here, though from what Cisco considers their past.

Neither of them know how to get home, which is actually fairly unsettling considering they're both smart guys with experience in this sort of thing. He can't really believe it when he first considers it, but Cisco actually wishes Dr. Wells was here, or Harry, more accurately. As much knowledge as Cisco and Barry have, the real genius behind all of it has always been Wells.

Still, Cisco isn't the the type to give up easily. He can't get his hands on anything much more powerful than a regular (out of date) laptop, but he's making do. The calculations take longer and he has to do a lot of work by hand, but at least working makes him feel like he's doing something. Sitting at a cafe with his computer, pen and paper, and a fresh cup of coffee he can almost pretend he's at Jitters, that Iris or Caitlin will sit down across from him, that he'll get a text from Barry or a call from Joe. Drowning out everything with his headphones, Cisco lets himself get caught up in the dream, oblivious to everything around him, focused entirely on the screen in front of him and the music in his ears.

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"Oh, she does now," Cisco replies with a grin. "She didn't for a really long time, but Barry finally told her." Of course the timing had been a little wrong, considering Iris had been with Eddie at the time, but it seemed like the timing for Barry and Iris ended up always being bad, no matter what was going on.

Sirius's next question, though, is more difficult to answer. Cisco doesn't think Barry's trying to keep his identity secret here, but he isn't sure who all Barry's told about his super speed, and he doesn't want to be the asshole who outs him if Barry's keeping it on the DL. "He did go to Jitters a lot," he says by way of answer. "And not just for Iris, but I'm sure that didn't hurt," he adds with a smile. He doesn't mention that he'd had his own crush on a barista there, mostly because the story is kind of long, and even though what happened is cool, Cisco didn't end up getting the girl in the end anyway.

"Having a cocktail named after you would be amazing," he says, thinking about what his own drink might be like. "I'd probably end up with something super uncreative. Like a margarita or something," he adds with a smirk.

Sirius can't imagine how that particular conversation might have gone down, if the Barry he met already made that leap or if he's still harboring the secret. In truth, he isn't too bothered either way; merely curious. It's been some time since he last ran into Barry and it's not as though they're anything more than fond acquaintances.

"Ah, but why would a margarita be uncreative?" Sirius asks, genuinely curious as he sits up a little straighter. "I haven't had the best experiences with tequila myself or--" He cuts himself off with a laugh a shake of his head. "I should say I've had very good experiences with tequila, but also many regrets the following mornings. I suppose it's a give and take sort of thing. Which is to say, I'd think it'd be an honor to have ones name linked to such a thing, don't you?"

Grinning, he takes another sip of his tea then lets out a soft, inquisitive sound. "But what sort of name is the question. Would it simply be called The Cisco?"

Despite knowing who Sirius is, he'd forgotten that Sirius comes from a different world than Cisco does, one where, despite having their own level of prejudice, racism doesn't really exist. Cisco's not even sure if the Harry Potter novels had a concept of Hispanic people, but it's clear that Sirius doesn't understand the joke Cisco had been trying to make.

"Well, if it's going to be like Barry's it'd be called the–" he starts to say, then stops himself, again realizing that Barry might not be telling people he's the Flash, and maybe Cisco shouldn't be advertising his own powers either, as generally useless as they are here.

"You know, my name doesn't really sound like a very good drink name, come to think of it," he says with a little laugh. "Yours, on the other hand, would make for a great one. I would totally order a Sirius Black."

There's something curious in the way Cisco stops himself mid-sentence, though Sirius responds only with an arch of his brows. As far as he's found, everyone in this place has their secrets and he certainly can't say he doesn't have his own. He won't pry.

At least not yet.

Instead, he only grins a little and cocks his head, his hair falling over his eyes briefly. "Would you?" he says, voice low and frankly flirtatious. Some of it is intention and some of it Sirius will insist is purely instinct. He's long enjoyed getting a bit of a rise out of people, particularly those who look at him the way Cisco has been. "Dry or on the rocks?"

It doesn't happen to him often, so it catches Cisco off guard when he realizes that Sirius is flirting with him, and blatantly at that. He's sure that the expression on his face is 'deer in headlights' for at least a couple of seconds until he blinks himself out of it, closing his mouth and swallowing.

"Straight up," he says, and his voice is a little higher than usual, but he thinks his expression is at least less insane now. "Well, not straight," he adds with a wink, doing his best to flirt back.

For a moment, Cisco only stares at him with wide, dark eyes. Sirius doesn't waver, however, merely bringing his teat to his lips for another taste, eyebrow arched over the rim.

When Cisco finally speaks again, his smile widens, gaze dropping to the stretch of Cisco's shoulders in his shirt, the fall of hair that isn't very disimilar to Sirius's own. "A little bent then," he says, smirking now as he taps his fingers against his mug. "Not certain what that would entail if I'm honest. Perhaps simply an addition to a regular drink. A promise."

Cisco isn't sure what Sirius means, if the comment is specifically directed at him, or what sort of promise Sirius is insinuating. What Cisco does know is that Sirius didn't explain it because he wants Cisco to ask. If Cisco was a stronger person he'd just shrug and let Sirius do the work of filling in the blanks, but there's no way Cisco's not going to go crazy if he doesn't find out what Sirius is implying.

So he gives in. "What kind of promise?" he asks, pitching his voice low in a way that he hopes comes across as sort of sultry.

It's evident to Sirius that this isn't the sort of conversation Cisco is accustomed to. In truth, it's not one he's allowed himself to indulge in much recently either. A war doesn't quite lend itself to flirtatious conversations with people he's only just met. If anything, he's learned to barely speak of anything at all, invitations given and accepted only with significant looks and barely discernible nods toward darkened corners and back alleys.

To say Sirius's skills are a bit rusty in this department is an understatement.

"Perhaps invitation is a better word," he says, still smiling as he sets his tea on the table and leans forward. "To be accepted or rejected by the person paying for the drink."

Cisco's throat goes a little dry and he works to swallow to wet it, managing not to cough in the process. Then he licks his lips.

"And what would the invitation be for?" he asks, his voice dropping to a sort of rough, almost whisper. It's so different from what Cisco's used to, way closer to the night he met Lisa Snart than his experience with any girl he's actually dated. He doesn't think this is going to end the same way (Sirius is definitely not planning to kidnap Cisco and force him to build a weapons for him), but he's not exactly sure how to react. He does know that he's finding the conversation interesting, and in a way that's as much physiological as it is mental.

Cisco reacts adorably, still gaping for a second before Sirius actually sees him swallow and lick his lips. Sirius tracks the momement, his grin widening before he lets out a quiet, endeared laugh.

"Well, I suppose any number of things. A party or concert, maybe. A night out on the town. Or a date, perhaps. One of those frightly American things like bowling or knocking a ball around a tine obstacle course. Or," he adds, his smile widening as he lets his gaze drop down the length of Cisco's torso and back up again, "something a bit more athletic."

Cisco's mouth drops open before he can stop himself, his eyes going a little wide at what he thinks (hopes?) is an implication of sex. He shakes it off quickly as snaps his mouth shut, offering what he hopes is something close to an attractive smile.

"I think you're talking about putt-putt golf," he says, mentally rolling his eyes at himself for landing on that instead of something else. "There are worse first date ideas, though," he goes on, because he might as well. "I've had some doozies. But, uh. Athletic," he adds with a soft, deep laugh. "I could be up for something like that. Figuratively speaking," he adds, his voice breaking in a way that isn't sexy at all.

In truth, Sirius doesn't particularly care what the activity is called, but he does file it away all the same, just in case it might be useful in the future. He's never participated in such a thing before, but he thinks he can see the appeal. At least for awhile; it does seem as though it'd be terribly boring after too long.

His grin widens however as Cisco continues, one eyebrow arching briefly as he glances downward. The tabletop obscures any view he might have of Cisco's lap, but the implication is likely obvious enough. "Yes, figuratively speaking," he says. "Not literally in any way?"

"No, yeah, literally too," Cisco replies, and he's blushing so hard that he feels like his face might actually burst into flame. He's not great at flirting on a good day, not to mention he'd be a lot better at this if he weren't so sober (and caffeinated), and he's never done this with another guy before, so he doesn't even have the confidence of knowing for the most part what he's getting into. And it's definitely not that he isn't interested, because he absolutely is (a fact his anatomy can attest to), but he's just so completely out of his element that he's lost any chill he's acquired over his 27 years of life.

He clears his throat. "I, uh. This point might be moot because we're talking about a theoretical drink at an imaginary bar, but I, um. I'd order a Sirius Black, I guess is what I'm saying."

Dark as Cisco's skin is, Sirius can't tell if his cheeks are reddening in any way, but he's clearly flustered, stumbling over his words in a way Sirius can only describe as adorable. It's a boost to the ego as well and he sits a little more comfortably, taking another sip of his tea as he keeps his eyes on Cisco, admiring the white of his smile and thick hair. Sirius can't help but wonder what it might feel like to run his fingers through that hair.

"Yes, you said," he replies at Cisco's admission, lips twitching into a brighter smile as he licks the tea from his bottom lip. "Straight, on the rocks, or a little bent?"

"I guess it would have to be bent, wouldn't it?" Cisco replies with a soft grin, and though he'd had certain thoughts and feelings regarding his not-quite-straightness for a while, he'd never talked to anyone about it before this. Sirius didn't know that, of course, and the last thing Cisco wanted was to make this conversation (one he was enjoying a lot) weird.

"I mean, assuming I'm interpreting my options correctly," he adds, chewing on his lower lip. The thing is, Cisco really likes the way Sirius is looking at him, and he hopes his fumbling isn't going ruin whatever might happen next, hasn't ruined it already.

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