Title:  Accountable - posted August 21, 2005
Series:  Comrades in Arms
Author:  Lacey McBain
Summary:  Wally's sleeping with Bruce.  Wally just got a raise.  He can put 2 and 2 together.
Warnings:  Slash.  Bruce/Wally.  R.
Notes:  Thanks to the SV Gang for listening even though Blandine giggled every time I said the word straight. *shakes head*
Disclaimer: They're not mine, but if they were, 1+1 would always equal a definite rise in something.


Wally pushes through the door to the Accounting Office on the Watchtower, and breezes to a stop in front of the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi, Leanna.”

“Flash.”  She smiles and looks him up and down with a look that’s highly appreciative.  Well, Wally knows the suit doesn’t hide very much, and yeah, he looks good.  “What can I help you with?”

“I think there’s been a mistake on my payroll deposit—”

“You’ll need to talk to Marikka.”  Leanna consults a chart that looks more complicated than the last Justice League basketball pool.  “Go on in.  You know where her office is.”

Flash nods and zips through the maze of accounting cubicles.  Marikka’s got one of the few real offices in this area of the station, even has a window that faces outside.  With every rotation of the station she gets a beautiful view of the earth.  Flash never gets tired of seeing the earth from up here in space.

She’s pulling out a file folder when he steps through her doorway.  Unlike most people, she never seems surprised to see him appear out of nowhere, doesn’t seem to think it extraordinary at all that her clients can run faster than the speed of sound or shoot fire from their eyes.  Wally wonders if she might be the slightest bit telepathic.

“Hi, Flash.  Is there something I can do for you?”

Marikka’s beautiful and blonde and not the kind of girl Wally would’ve ever figured for a Chartered Accountant, but he learned the hard way that’s not the kind of observation you make to beautiful blonde women with Master’s degrees from the London School of Economics.  She’d put him in his place faster than he could’ve run the length of the station, and Wally has never forgotten it.

“I think you might’ve made a mistake on my—”

Right away, Flash knows it’s the wrong thing to say.  Her gaze pins him like a butterfly, and she consults the file in front of her.

“I didn’t make a mistake.”  Her smile is suggesting he reconsider his position.

Flash blinks awkwardly and tries again.  “Maybe it’s my mistake,” he says.  “There was a lot more money in my account than I’m supposed to get, and if someone’s trying to bribe me, they haven’t let me know about it.”

Wally thinks it’s still unbelievably cool to get paid for saving the world.  Sure it was Bruce’s idea when the League was formed and Clark had, of course, balked at the notion, but it makes a lot of sense.  Most of them have other jobs of sorts—Wally’s tried his hand at a number of things—but it’s hard to hold down anything steady when you’re forever disappearing to save the day.  Not to mention the difficulties in explaining why there are three decapitated Toy-bots in front of your place of employment or why you came back from your coffee break with singed eyebrows and covered in bits of gorilla fur.

Wally knows.

So now they get paid, a monthly cheque just like regular working people, and it makes life a lot easier for them.  Except this month, Wally’s cheque was almost twice as much as usual, and it makes him nervous when things he counts on suddenly change without warning.  Even if the change is for the better.

“There’s been no mistake,” Marikka repeats as if he’s slow to catch on to things, and maybe he is.  “Your member status has been upgraded and the pay increase is commensurate with that upgrade.”  Wally shakes his head in confusion, and she sighs.  “You got a raise.”

“Really?”  Wally’s never had one before.  “I didn’t do anything.  Did everyone get one?”

“I’m really not at liberty to discuss that.”  She’s already closing the folder.

“Have I put in enough time?  Rescued enough people?”

“That’s not it,” Marikka says, and it’s clear she’s ready for Wally to leave her office.  “There was a request made and it was approved.”

Wally frowns.  “Who made the request?”

Marikka glares at him as she’s forced to reopen the folder she had already closed.  “Batman.”

Wally suddenly feels less happy about his raise.  “Who approved the request?”


Dammit.  Wally laughs awkwardly.  “Isn’t that a little strange?  I mean, he made the request and approved it?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Marikka confirms.  “He approves most of the major financial transactions for the League, including Personnel upgrades.”

“Who else has the authority to approve those kinds of things?”

Marikka raises an eyebrow at him and Wally knows it’s because she’s never seen him take this much interest in money matters before.  “Superman, Batman, and Green Arrow can approve any expenditures by themselves.  Wonder Woman and J’onn can approve things with a secondary signature.”

“Green Arrow?  He’s not even on the council,” Wally says.

But then again, Oliver Queen is as rich as Bruce, so maybe that’s why.  Between the two of them, they’ve pretty much financed most of the League’s endeavours.  And the Teen Titans, and the Outsiders ... Wally realizes they wouldn’t have much of a crime-fighting network if Bruce and Ollie weren’t generous with their money.

“Is there anything else, Flash?”  He’s clearly been dismissed, but he isn’t ready to let go yet.

“Did Batman say anything when he made the request?”

Marikka raises an eyebrow as if it’s a ridiculous question.  “Batman never says anything when he makes a request.  He sends me the paperwork, and I take care of the rest.  It’s my job, Flash.”

Wally knows there isn’t anything more to say, so he thanks her and heads back up to the main part of the station.  He doesn’t know what he was expecting.  Batman really isn’t the type to walk in and announce he’d like a raise for his boyfriend.  Maybe the crumbling tiles and the less-than-200-thread-count sheets are responsible for this.  Bruce was only at his apartment the one time—at least that he knows about—but Wally gets that it’s not anything like what Bruce is used to.

But it’s Wally’s life, and suddenly what’s always felt comfortable feels inadequate and he doesn’t like that at all.  He skids to a halt in front of one of the computer terminals in the corridor.

“Locate Batman.”

A pleasant female computer voice replies:  “Batman is in his quarters.”

Wally didn’t even know Batman had quarters up here.  Well, they all have assigned rooms for when they need them, but Wally got the impression Batman didn’t really use his.  Maybe he stores an extra cape there or something.

“Locate Batman’s quarters.”

“A1 security clearance required.”  Wally frowns.  He isn’t sure if he has an A1 security clearance or not.  Maybe it comes with his new upgrade and pay raise.  He’s willing to try it.

“Computer, who has A1 security clearance?”

“Batman, Superman, J’onn J’onnz.”  Wally waits, but there aren’t any more names forthcoming.  It figures, he thinks.  He and Batman are involved and he can’t even get in touch with him when he needs to.  Clark’s got access to Bruce’s quarters, but Wally doesn’t.  If Wally was the jealous type, he might be upset.

“Flash to Batman.”

No answer.  Either Bruce isn’t answering his communicator or he’s simply ignoring him.  Either is a possibility, and Wally isn’t in the mood for playing games.  Not today.

“Flash to J’onn.”  The computer console beeps pleasantly.

“Yes, Flash.”  J’onn’s deep voice sounds completely untroubled, although Flash knows J’onn’s currently monitoring everything from weather activity in the Pacific to criminal activities in their cities.

“I need to talk to Bats and he’s not answering his communicator.  Computer says he’s in his quarters, so if you could just tell me where those are—”

“I’m afraid that’s on a need-to-know basis.”

Wally sighs.  Getting to Batman at the Watchtower is a little like trying to get in to see the President or the Pope.

“I need to know, J’onn.”  Wally tries to sound forceful.  He doesn’t feel like playing the understanding goof today.  He needs to talk to Bruce.  Now.  He’s starting to get angry at the run-around, and he’s got questions he wants answers to and Bruce is the only one who can help him.

“I’m sorry, Flash.  I can contact him for you if it’s important.”  J’onn puts particular emphasis on the “if it’s important” part, and Wally can feel his face getting hot.  He hadn’t anticipated it was going to be like this, although he isn’t sure why he thought a relationship with Batman was going to be anything less than ridiculously complicated.

“Look, J’onn—”

“It’s all right, J’onn.  I’ll talk to him.”  Bruce’s voice breaks into the line suddenly.  Wally wonders how long he’s been monitoring the conversation, and why he just didn’t say something the first time.  “Something wrong, Flash?”

Wally doesn’t even know where to begin to answer that question.  “Yes.”

“I’ll come down.”

“No!”  Wally’s tired of this, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation in the hallway.


Bruce sounds almost amused, and Wally just isn’t in the mood for this.  He’s involved with Bruce.  They’re sleeping together, or at least they would be if Bats actually slept or if they saw each other more than once every two weeks.  Wally thinks that ought to count for something, even up here where everything is about secrets and masks and never letting your guard down.  Wally knows he’s a step away from pouting or screaming, and he’s equally certain that’s not going to make any points with Bats.

“Just tell me where you are,” Wally says.

“You don’t have security clearance.”

Wally knows it’s meant to be a tease, but he’s really worried that he just got a raise because he’s sleeping with Batman and he needs Bruce to tell him otherwise.  He’s not opposed to being a kept man or even someone’s boy-toy, but if he’s going to be, he wants a say in it.  There are enough secrets in his life without Bruce doing things behind his back.

“Fuck, Bats.  If you don’t tell me where you are within the next three seconds, I’m leaving the station and you can—”

There’s a beep and a red light appears on the console map in front of Wally.  Section Q, Room 12.

Wally starts to run.


Bruce isn’t surprised at the sharp knock on the door a few seconds later.  Wally sounded angry and Bruce knows he runs faster when he’s upset.  Not that he gets upset a lot, but obviously something’s wrong.  Bruce hopes he can help.  He also hopes it isn’t anything he’s done.  He’s having a bad enough day without Wally being upset with him too.

He presses the code that will let Flash in.  There’s a blur and a red figure whirls to a stop in front of him.  The door slides shut and Bruce locks it.  He decides he’s willing to deal with Wally’s anger, as long as he’s here.  Right here.

Bruce tugs off the cowl and pushes Wally back against the door, kissing him.  There’s a breathless gasp under his mouth, but Wally’s kissing back and that, at least, is a good sign.  Bruce gets Wally’s mask off and runs his fingers through his red hair.  It feels like silk and smells like oranges, and Bruce thinks his day just got a whole lot better.

“Wait, wait!”  Wally’s protesting, but he doesn’t sound entirely like he means it and he’s still kissing Bruce in that hot, desperate way they seem to have when they’re together.  It’s a lot like being a teenager again, and Bruce thinks there’s something unbelievably hot about fooling around like this when they’re both a long way from being teenagers.  Especially him.

“Wally,” Bruce breathes in his ear, and traces the curve with his tongue.  Wally shudders and Bruce can feel Wally searching for the clasps on the Bat-suit.  Bruce laughs, and Wally thumps a fist against his chest protection.

“This isn’t funny.”  Wally pulls back enough to look at Bruce, and his flushed face and swollen lips just make Bruce achingly hard underneath his uniform.  He hits the clasp that releases his cape and it slips to the floor. Wally taps his head back against the door in frustration.  “I’m mad at you, Bruce, and you’re—”

“Desperate to touch you.”

Wally groans and kisses Bruce again, tongue stealing into Bruce’s mouth and sending another blast of heat down his spine.  Bruce is helping Wally undo the clasps now, wanting out of this prison of Kevlar and leather more than he wants anything else.  Wally’s hands have found skin and Bruce strips off Wally’s uniform top in one fluid motion; he’s fond of the two section design more than the one-piece.  Access is quicker.  Easier.

Bruce fastens his lips around an erect nipple, and isn’t disappointed when Wally pants and wriggles under his mouth.

“Fuck!  This isn’t how it was supposed to—”

Wally’s still trying to talk to him, but he’s distracted and Bruce helps him by getting rid of the upper body armour.  His black t-shirt is clinging to him like a second skin, and Wally skims it off in a blur, and then Wally’s chest is pressing against Bruce’s, flesh against flesh, and he lets out a slow moan and searches out Wally’s mouth again.  Hands clutched in Wally’s hair, tongue licking its way inside Wally’s lips, and Bruce thinks things are happening exactly as they’re supposed to.

“Bruce ... fuck ... this isn’t fair!  I came up here to ... oh, God ... talk to you.”

Bruce sucks at Wally’s neck, tasting his skin and knowing he’ll never find anything he wants more than this.  Blood rushes to the surface, leaving a trail where Bruce has been, and he wants Wally to see it and know that he’s not on his own anymore.

“So talk.”  Bruce licks a path down Wally’s throat, fingers twisting his nipples and Wally cries out and rakes his nails down Bruce’s back.  The quick burst of pain only makes Bruce harder.  God, it hasn’t felt like this in a long time.

“I’m ... fucking ... mad ... at you.”

Bruce can feel fingernails pressed into his flesh, and he knows Wally’s serious, but he can’t imagine why.


Bruce pins Wally against the wall, stops punishing hands from scraping down his back, and bites his neck again.  There’s a trail of small hickeys careening across the surface, and Bruce thinks they look like the violets that grow beneath the pine trees at the manor.  Dark and small and full of life.  He remembers crushing them beneath his fingers, the air filling with scent.  Bruce sucks at one of the spots, and breathes—Wally smells like heat and sweat and promises.  There’s musk and maleness and the beginnings of sex, and Wally’s everything that makes Bruce remember why he wants this to work, why he needs it to work.

He’s afraid this is what love feels like.

“Bruce, you ... you gave me a ... a raise.”

Bruce blinks and pulls back from his exploration of Wally’s neck.  


Wally pushes against him, and Bruce pushes back, and in the push-and-pull of their bodies, Bruce can feel Wally’s erection pressing into his thigh.

“You fucking gave me a raise!”

Bruce shakes his head. Not because it isn’t true, but because he doesn’t see the connection.  Or why Wally should be mad at him.

“Yes, you did, Bruce.  And if ... if it’s because you’re sleeping with me, I don’t want it.”

Bruce is breathing hard and when his brain catches up with his body, he laughs out loud.  Wally shoves him away, and they’re three feet apart, half-naked, hard and breathless.

“Is that what you think?”  Bruce supposes it looks bad—the timing couldn’t have been worse—but the raise was in the works for months.  Of course, Wally doesn’t know that, can’t have known that because Bruce never said anything to him about it.  Had forgotten about it, to be honest.  There were bigger things to worry about than upgrades to Personnel.

“Tell me that’s not the reason.”

Wally looks young and hurt, and Bruce steps forward but doesn’t touch him.  “It’s not the reason, Wally.”

“It better not be.  I’m not …”

“That kind of man?”  Bruce grins and hopes Wally will too.  He’s struggling not to.  Bruce takes another step closer.


“It has nothing to do with us,” Bruce says, and this time when he steps forward he presses Wally back against the door again and puts his hands on Wally’s slim hips.  He’s waiting for permission to kiss Wally again.

“Or my tiny apartment?”  Wally’s anger has disappeared, but his insecurity is all right there on the surface.  Bruce wants to take his doubts away.

“I love your apartment.”  It’s not a lie, and Bruce kisses him softly and keeps his eyes open.  Wally’s breath hitches in his throat, and Bruce needs him to understand he doesn’t want him to be anything other than what he is.

“Why did I get a raise when no one else did?”

Bruce’s brow furrows.  He’d thought Wally knew about this.  “The council voted to upgrade you and Green Lantern to full status given your history with the League.”

“I always thought I was a full member.  I’m on the council.”

Bruce can feel Wally’s fingers on his back, massaging his shoulders, and it feels good enough to make him want to drag Wally to bed without an explanation.

“You’re there because Barry was.  And John’s there because Hal was.  We’ve always had a Lantern and a Flash, but because the two of you were young, less experienced, you didn’t have full status.”

“Oh.”  Wally lets out a breath.  “That makes sense.”

“You really thought I would—”

Wally looks sheepish, and shrugs.  “I don’t know.  Sometimes you’re a hard man to figure out.”

“I don’t mean to be.”

Wally brushes a hand through Bruce’s hair.  “I know.”

Bruce leans in and his erection hasn’t lessened in spite of the shift in their passion.  He presses a leg between Wally’s thighs, and feels him arch away from the door at the pressure.  “Can we maybe get back to—”

“God, yes.”  Wally kisses him enthusiastically and manoeuvres him away from the door.  A few more steps and Wally breaks the kiss, looking around.

“Where the hell’s your bed?”

“I don’t have one.”

Bruce only uses this room for computer work.  He rarely stays at the station, and the few times he does, he has another room for that.  He supposes he should let Wally know where it is, but getting him clearance would require an explanation Bruce isn’t ready to give J’onn or Clark or anyone else.  He wants Wally to himself for a little while.  He doesn’t think that’s too much to ask for, and as far as Bruce is concerned too many people already know—Dick and Alfred, Tim and Bart.  Chase Meridian.

“No bed?”  Wally sounds disappointed in a way that makes Bruce want to kiss him all over until he screams.

“Never needed one,” Bruce says between kisses.  The heat’s building again, and Bruce really doesn’t care if they do it standing up or lying down or on the fucking desk.  All he wants is Wally next to him, underneath him, naked and warm and trembling with pleasure.

“No wonder people think you sleep hanging upside down.”  

Wally smirks and Bruce bites his smile, and there’s a blur, then Wally’s naked and beautiful, and Bruce has never, ever wanted anyone like this.  He dims the lights, and slips out of the rest of his uniform, laying his cape across the floor.  It’s not much, but ...

“God, Bruce.”

Wally’s wrapped around him an instant later, kissing him, touching him, warm hand reaching for the hard length of cock, and Bruce tumbles them both to the ground—gently—and Bruce thinks maybe he’ll find a room with a bed for next time because Wally deserves better than a rough fuck on a concrete floor.  Even with the cape.

There’s the sound of someone at the door, and Wally stops touching him long enough to fix Bruce with a look that says another interruption is totally unacceptable.  Bruce agrees.

“Batman?”  It’s Clark.

Bruce clamps a hand over Wally’s mouth and shakes his head.  Super-hearing’s a delicate thing, and although Clark’s generally not that nosy, Bruce doesn’t feel the need to introduce Clark to this aspect of his life at the moment.  Sure, Clark’s probably got a suspicion, but he doesn’t need confirmation.  Or a visual.  Thank God Bruce made sure this room had a lead-plated door.

“I know you’re here, Batman.”  The voice is full of long-suffering patience, and Bruce rolls his eyes.  Wally’s grinning up at him and testing the limits of Bruce’s concentration by sucking his fingers into his mouth, one at a time.  Wally sucks Bruce’s index finger suggestively, and Bruce moans and shakes his head.

“Come on, Bruce.  I know you’re here, and I haven’t forgotten what happened earlier.”

Wally looks at him curiously, and Bruce cringes.  Of all the times for Clark to decide to check on him.

“I’m fine, Superman.”  Bruce makes sure his voice is harsh enough to forestall further conversation.

“You’re not fine.  You dislocated your shoulder and God knows how many ribs you hurt.  That was a hell of a fall, Bruce, and I know damn well you haven’t been to MedLab.  You said you’d get checked out.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.  Trust Clark to make him feel guilty for something that was at least partly Clark’s fault anyway.

“There’s nothing broken, just bruised.  Go away.”

This is exactly what Bruce didn’t want to happen.  He can see the concern in Wally’s face as he lets go of Bruce’s fingers and starts making a careful investigation of his torso.  Bruce winces when he hits the tender spot.

“You stubborn, son of a—” Wally whispers in his ear and slaps him on the ass.

“You’re being stubborn,” Clark complains through the door.  “I’ve got half-a-mind to use the security over-ride on this door and take you down to MedLab.”

“No!” Bruce lets out.  “I’m resting, Clark.  I promise.”

“You don’t even have a bed in there.  You’re probably slumped over that damn desk.”

Bruce grins and kisses Wally, trying to reassure him he’s all right.  He doesn’t need to go anywhere.  Bruce smooths the frown lines away from Wally’s forehead.

“I can assure you I’m quite comfortable.”  Bruce presses his groin against Wally’s, feels Wally’s legs coming up to wrap around him.  Wally’s mouth is planting small damp kisses along Bruce’s sternum, and he shivers at the touch.  Perfectly comfortable.

Clark sounds reluctant to go without checking Bruce’s condition for himself.  There’s the sound of shuffling feet in the corridor.

“All right, I’ll leave you alone, but next time you pull a stunt like that ...”  He trails off.  “You know how I feel about hurting people.”  There’s the sound of Superman leaving, and Bruce lets out a sigh of relief he’s certain Clark will have heard.

Bruce knows he should go talk to him, that Clark won’t feel right until they’ve discussed what happened and he’s x-rayed Bruce to make sure he isn’t lying about the broken ribs.  Clark will hug him and Bruce will glare, and all will be right with the world again.  They’ve been friends a long time.

But right now Bruce has other things on his mind—like the warmth in his groin, and the soft hair on Wally’s thighs.  Bruce leans into Wally’s kiss and rocks gently against his muscular body.

“Are you in pain?” Wally whispers, and his fingers trail across those tender ribs again.  Bruce shakes his head and deepens the kiss, sucks Wally’s tongue into his mouth, and feels his erection twitch.  “What happened?”

Bruce wonders why he’s been cursed with lovers who want to talk to him more than they want to fuck him, and Bruce slides a hand between them and adjusts their cocks so they can slide against one another with the maximum friction.  He’s got nothing here to use for lube, and he’s running out of time, anyway.  There’s going to be another interruption any minute, and he wants this.  Wally.  Some moment of togetherness, however small it may be, to carry with him back to Gotham.


He sighs.  “Clark and I were sparring in the anti-grav cell, and I hit the gravity button with a batarang.”

“On purpose?”  Wally’s stroking his back all the way down to the curve of his ass, and he’s matching Bruce’s rhythm with gentle lifts of his hips.  It’s slow and sweet and it feels more intimate because they’re talking about nothing important.  Like long-time lovers might.


It’s rare he does anything that’s not on purpose, but he’d hit the floor harder than he’d intended when the gravity came back on.  Normally Clark would’ve just caught him, but he’d been tangled in a bat-net at the time and had landed as hard as Bruce, which didn't make any difference because Clark’s invulnerable.  But Bruce ... isn’t.

“Be careful,” is all Wally says, and Bruce is grateful he’s not fussing over him.  He gets enough of that from Clark and Alfred, and occasionally Dick.

Bruce lets his fingers trace the curve of Wally’s face.  He’s beautiful.  His mouth is soft and perfect, and Bruce realizes there’s no hurry.  They’ve tried frantic and desperate twice today and it hasn’t gotten them anywhere, so Bruce is willing to settle for slow and achingly good.  Wally’s holding him, but not tight enough to make him feel trapped, and Bruce is leaning on Wally, but not enough to pin him down.  With every lift of Wally’s hips, Bruce feels their cocks rubbing against one another, hard, hot flesh, slick with their own fluids and each other’s, and Bruce slides one arm under Wally’s waist and drags him even closer.

Wally moans and tilts his head back, and Bruce kisses his neck, marking every spot with the edge of his tongue and swollen lips.  When he comes back to Wally’s face, there’s a smile there, closed eyes, a half-open mouth, and Bruce is a heartbeat away from whispering words he hasn’t said in years.  Hasn’t even thought in a moment like this.

He swallows them and closes his eyes, afraid that Wally’s going to see how much this means, how desperately he wants this.  He kisses him and the gentle back and forth slide isn’t enough anymore.  For either of them.

Wally’s fingers wind their way into Bruce’s hair and if they were on a bed, the springs would be starting to creak.  They’re rocking against each other, their bodies hot and wet and totally in synch.  Bruce feels Wally tensing beneath him, pushing harder the closer he gets to orgasm, and when Wally’s breathing grows ragged, when their rhythm speeds up, Bruce says his name, says it instead of “I love you” and hopes Wally knows what he means.

Bruce can feel Wally’s orgasm rippling through him, and he’s only a moment away himself.  Wally kisses him hard enough to bruise, cups his ass and pulls him against his pelvic bone, and Bruce thrusts and thrusts again, can feel the twinge of his bruised ribs as he arches into Wally, coming with a loud moan of pleasure.  He doesn’t even care that he’s aching or his cape’s a complete disaster.  He reaches out and drags the end of it over top of them.

“We’re going to scandalize a lot of people,” Wally says.


“You and me.  Like this.  I’m not sure Bart and Tim will ever recover.”

“I’m not sure I care.”  Bruce buries his face in Wally’s neck, pleased at the way Wally’s damp hair curls at the ends.

“Bruce?  You know it’s more than just … this, right?”  Wally’s looking at him carefully.  Neither of them is ready to say the words.  Bruce nods and kisses him again.

And again.

A communicator beeps harshly.

“Yours or mine?” Wally asks, reluctantly rolling out of Bruce’s embrace.

“Mine, I think,” Bruce says, starting to get dressed.  The beep sounds again, louder this time.

“Batman here.”

“Superman reported you were injured during training this afternoon.  Have you been checked by MedLab yet?”

Bruce rolls his eyes.  Clark’s too damn much of a Boy Scout for his own good.  “No,” Bruce says through clenched teeth.  “I’ll do it before I leave.”

“You know the protocols about injuries, Batman.”

“I should; I wrote them.”  Bruce suspects his level of annoyance is lost on J’onn.

“And did you work things out with Flash?”  Bruce sees Wally glance up at him.  He’s halfway to getting dressed, and Bruce steps across the room to trace the hickeys he’s left on Wally’s neck.


“Anything wrong?”

“A misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“Good.  It’s unusual to see Flash ... unhappy.”  Bruce certainly doesn’t want to do anything to make Wally unhappy.  Quite the opposite.

“Batman out.”  He clicks the communicator off and glances at Wally.  “We’re okay?”


“If I give you another raise, will you do that again?”

Wally laughs and tugs the rest of his uniform over his head.  “You’re impossible.”  He kisses Bruce lightly, and brushes a hand across his ribs.  “Do me a favour and have those checked.  Please?”

Bruce nods, and then Wally’s gone leaving him alone in a room that smells like Wally and sex.  Bruce closes his eyes and thinks he could be happy if the world would just let him.

He tugs on the rest of his uniform, gets a new cape from the closet.  He closes and locks the room, sets the security protocols in place.  He wonders if he can skip the visit to MedLab, but decides it isn’t worth the confrontation with Clark.  When the turbo lift arrives, he reluctantly announces his destination.

“MedLab, Level 4.”

As he pushes through the glass doors into the lab, it occurs to him he might be sporting hickeys of his own.  He hadn’t thought to check, but part of him hopes Wally’s left him some tangible evidence of what they’ve shared.  It’ll keep him going until they can see each other again.

No doubt Dr. Emerson will wonder at the faint bruises and then mistakenly assume they’re from training.  Nothing more.

He is Batman, after all.  There are very few people he’s accountable to and fewer he owes explanations to.  Especially about this.

He’s entitled to a few secrets.


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