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Oliver considers Barry’s stubborn streak both a blessing and a curse at times. Right now, it’s the latter.
The night had started off well enough. Just another fundraiser for Queen Industries. They’d gone in dressed to the nines, exchanged pleasantries, and the conversation had been perfectly sensible. Up until one of the investors decided to rag on the Green Arrow, that is.
“I’m not apologising for what I said to that asshole,” Barry grumbles, his arms crossed across his chest. “He was saying terrible things about you.”
Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. This is exactly what he’d expected when he’d pulled Barry aside, the rest of the guests swanning around the ballroom oblivious to their heated conversation.
“You think this is the first time someone’s had an opinion about me?”
Barry’s eyes drop to the floor, and he lets out a breath. “No. But—“
“-no. There’s no buts here,” Oliver cuts in, because sometimes he needs to be firm with Barry. This is one of those times. “Barry, do you know how often people say stuff about the Flash to my face?”
Barry’s expression falters, and Oliver’s fast enough to reassure him.
“You can’t make everyone happy, Barr. I know you want to, but you can’t. Some people just don’t like what we do. Even less when they can blame stuff on us. But I can’t stand around defending the Flash like he’s my husband. You know why?”
Pressing his lips together, Barry shifts a little, and then his shoulders sink. “Secret identity.”
“Exactly.”
A short silence lies between them, and Oliver can tell that Barry’s working his way up to something. While he waits, he takes a long sip of his wine, surveying his surroundings. No one seems to be looking in their direction. A few people are busying themselves with dancing along to the slow beat of a song that Oliver doesn’t recognise (but then again, he’s hardly up to date with these things – Barry’s more likely to know it than he is), and others are so wrapped up in their own conversations that they’re barely aware that they’re in public, never mind the fact that the CEO of the company is having a stern conversation with his husband.
“Sorry,” Barry says finally, dipping his head. “You’re right. I just… you’re a good person. In both worlds. I just… wish other people could see that.”
A pang hits Oliver’s chest with more force than it should. It’s not like he doesn’t get defensive when people say stuff about Barry. He just needs to bite his tongue and swallow his retort, lest he give them both away.
“Hey,” Oliver says, tone a little more gentle now that they’ve gotten the hard part out of the way. He tilts Barry up by his chin with his index finger so that their eyes are meeting, and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “Let’s forget about it, okay? Just… try to be careful.”
A soft smile tugs the corners of Barry’s lips. “I will.”
“Care for a dance?”
“I don’t—“
“Bullshit. Kara and I do talk, you know.”
Barry lets out a puff of laughter, and Oliver grins. “Fine. Your funeral.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive.”
Lacing their fingers together, Oliver leads his husband out to the dancefloor, and it doesn’t take Barry long to brighten up with his arms wrapped around the back of Oliver’s neck, as Oliver sways them slowly.
If the investor throws any looks their way in the process, neither of them notice. They’re far too wrapped up in each other, and remain that way for the rest of the night.