Title: Chasing the Moment
Series: Comrades in Arms
Author: Lacey McBain
Rating: NC-17. Slash. Wally/Bruce
Summary: The only thing standing in the way of Bruce and Wally is Dick.
A bedroom farce with extra woobie.
Chasing the Moment
Wally can feel the wind tickling his face. He’s barely moving,
his body protesting the work it takes to maintain a pace this slow, but
he doesn’t want to get too far ahead of Bruce. Even if the man
does own a jet-powered car, Wally isn’t in the mood to play
hard-to-get. Not tonight. Not after a day that already
seems longer than waiting in line for ice-cream in 100 degrees, and
yeah, the lady psychiatrist had been swell, but simple questions
weren’t really simple at all, and Batman had warned him about
that. About a lot of things, and Wally isn’t sure he understood
exactly what Bats meant about Dr. Meridian being dangerous. Until
after. It’s frightening how much Bruce understands about people
considering there are times when it feels like he understands nothing
In the distance Wally can hear the roar of an engine, tires gripping
asphalt in a relentless pursuit, and something in Wally urges him to
run faster. He’s never liked the thought of being chased—in his
worst dreams he can never run fast enough, never outrun the reaching
hands. Blood-slick claws threaten to peel the flesh from his
bones and tentacles slide around his legs, forcing him to stay
interminably still. It’s the stillness that scares him most of
all. Maybe the dreams wouldn’t be so bad if he believed those
kinds of things didn’t happen. But he knows better. He
prefers the dreams where he’s on a beach somewhere, sipping mai tais
with little umbrellas and flirting with the blond pool boy named
Fritz. He wonders what Bats dreams.
All things considered, Wally thinks he should like the doctor less,
especially since her name is Chase. Maybe he should book an hour
or two to ask her about a few things. Why his dreams are full of
quicksand and mud and streets made of ice. Why he’s sure he can
feel breath on the back of his neck, and his feet bleed rivers even
though he hasn’t moved an inch. Why there are enough monsters to
populate a planet and not nearly enough pool boys with easy smiles.
He’d like to ask her why he’s always running. Alone. He
isn’t sure he wants an answer.
The car is getting closer and Bruce must be doing 120 miles an hour
easy, and Wally wonders, not for the first time, what he’s doing.
With Batman. And more importantly, what Batman’s doing with him.
He’s known him for almost as long as he can remember. Remembers
when Dick was Robin, and Batman was a scarier-than-imaginable parent
lurking in the background, occasionally leaping off rooftops and
pulling their asses out of the fire, but mostly just there with the
occasional stern glance or sterner lecture. He didn’t think about
him for a long time, except in relation to Dick. Batman was just
a shadow on the edge of their bright, exciting lives.
Except at some point it changed, and if Wally’s honest it’s been longer
than he wants to admit. Batman’s always been an axis, solid and
stable, and Wally’s been orbiting around him like the sun for a long
time now, burning with energy, trying to get closer. And
sometimes that energy reaches out and burns off a bit of the
darkness. He can see it in the way Batman looks at him. The
way he’s gotten through his armour and it scares Wally almost as much
as it pleases him. Almost.
He’s pretty sure it scares Bats too. And that’s just …
whoa. He used to think Batman wasn’t scared of anything.
The car pulls alongside him, and it never ceases to amaze Wally that
Bruce can still find his eyes even when he knows he’s just a blur
beside him. But there’s Bruce, looking straight at him, and his
smile is focused and sharp, but not exactly Batman-focused and Wally
wants to breathe a small sigh of relief.
He pulls off his t-shirt, and rubs a hand absently over the red suit
and yellow lightning bolt of the uniform beneath. Habit since the
day he tugged off his clothes and realized he’d become the Fastest
Streaker Alive . Running naked never held much of a thrill for
him after that.
Velcro is a brilliant invention and Wally tosses both pants and shirt
through the open window of the car without slowing down. Bruce
just leans back to avoid getting hit by a flapping pant leg, and steps
on the gas. Wally’s still pulling on his mask when he realizes he
can smell the burn of jet fuel and the car is nothing but a blur of
blue exhaust on the horizon. He knows Bruce is laughing, and
suddenly he feels lighter than air. It doesn’t even bother him
that Superman and the doctor are soaring up above, watching them.
He lets Bruce set the pace. The whine of the engine tells him the
car is being pushed to its limits, but it’s an easy run for him.
He relaxes and lets himself be led.
The moon is high in the sky when Bruce pulls the car into the driveway
of Wayne Manor. He slows down at the last possible moment, tires
sliding on the slick paved stones of the driveway. It rained here
earlier. Not a surprise, but he considers changing the tires on
this car to something with more traction. He doesn’t use it
much—it’s Bruce Wayne’s car, but occasionally Batman’s needed it in a
pinch, and it wouldn’t do to spin out of control on a rain-wet street
Bruce blinks and the red streak that’s been beside him most of the way
home is now draped across the car, looking like the loveliest hood
ornament ever. Flash’s uniform is clinging to him in interesting
ways, and Bruce wonders when he started noticing that for
less-than-strategic reasons. Wally tugs off the mask and shakes
his hair free. It’s damp, and as Bruce opens his door, he can
smell sweat mingling with the rain and the heavy sweetness of
He doesn’t have a clue what to say. He clears his throat as Wally
just looks at him, open and smiling.
“Nice night for a run,” Bruce tries, and it sounds like a cheesy
pick-up line. He’s out of practice.
Wally stares at him for an instant, apparently sizing him up, and then
bursts into startled laughter. Bruce isn’t sure he gets the joke,
but there’s an arm around his shoulders and suddenly he doesn’t care.
“‘Nice night for a walk’,” Wally says in some sort of accent that might
pass for German if Bruce stuffs his ears with cotton. “Didn’t
figure you for a Terminator fan,
Bats, although you’ve certainly got
the attitude for it. And the build. The arsenal too.
And hey, we’ve done the time traveling thing before, what with the
Justice Lords and all.”
Bruce cringes and doesn’t want to think about that. The Justice
Lords, versions of themselves turned against society to create “a
better world.” A parallel earth gone terribly wrong, and Bruce
isn’t sure he wants to consider how close that world might be with
Luthor now in power.
But the Lords didn’t have a Wally West. At least not anymore, and
he was never able to get it out of the other Batman exactly what
happened to that world’s Flash. It had to have been something
terrible and traumatic, and enough to make them kill. Bruce
doesn’t want to think about that either.
The arm around his shoulders disappears, and there are hands on his
biceps, squeezing him through his jacket, and Bruce looks down into
concerned blue eyes.
“Hey, Bruce, don’t go all Batman on me. I can run home if this is
“No,” Bruce says firmly. He doesn’t want Wally to leave, although
he isn’t entirely certain he knows what to do if he stays either.
He makes a decision.
“How about a tour of the Cave?”
Wally’s certain the suggestion of a tour is Bruce’s way of buying time,
but he’s okay with that. He’s not entirely sure what’s happening
between them either, so maybe taking things slow is not a bad
idea. It’s just not something he’s used to.
Wally slides into the car beside Bruce, and he’s momentarily grateful
for the presence of bucket seats and a gear shift that clearly defines
their spaces. Wally pushes down the urge to reach across and lay
a hand on Bruce’s thigh. Even beneath dress pants, Wally can see
the muscle definition in those thighs. He doesn’t really want to
test the car’s safety features by groping Bruce at 75 miles an hour,
and Bruce is already driving faster than absolutely necessary towards
what looks like a cliff face at the back of the property.
Bruce looks like he has no intention of slowing down. Wally grips
the door panel as an alternative to Bruce’s thigh as the grey rock
approaches at a speed that seems remarkably fast even by his
standards. Bruce’s quiet “trust me” is not nearly as reassuring
as it should be, but he hangs on and offers a prayer to St. Vitrelus,
patron saint of speedsters. In between Wally’s silent plea and
his gasp of surprise, the cliff disappears and there’s a lighted ramp
opening into the Cave.
It’s been years since Wally’s been here, and even then, it was Dick who
snuck him in, although he has no doubt Batman knows about that.
He’s never been asked to visit as The Flash, doesn’t have a standing
invitation like Superman, and he can’t help but wonder what’s changed
between them. And when. He’s certain he’s never come
through the holographic rock wall—Dick blind-folded him and led him on
a series of twists and turns through the manor and down a long
staircase—but he can’t help but wonder what else is a trick of the eye,
a disguise to keep people at a distance.
Batman’s always been too good at hiding, and Wally isn’t sure he can do
this if Bruce doesn’t give him a sign. Sure, he seemed okay with
everything at the bar, although Wally’s pretty sure Dr. Meridian could
get in some serious professional trouble for outing him to Bruce, but
since he dresses up in tights and headgear with little wings, maybe it
wasn’t much of a stretch. Wally likes to think he’s more subtle
than that, but it’s possible he’s been kidding himself.
Still, Bruce was flirting
with him at the bar, when he wasn’t
not-so-gently kicking him under the table—but maybe that was for the
doctor’s benefit. Wally isn’t sure what’s real and what
isn’t. Suddenly the world seems built on quicksand.
He peers upwards out the window of the car, and the walls disappear in
darkness long before they reach the ceiling. Shadows pass across
the floor and he hears the leathery sound of wings. Bats.
He isn’t really surprised.
Suddenly the window goes dark.
“Tinted windows. You seem … distracted.” Bruce appears to
be in no hurry to get out of the car.
“I’m—I’m—” Wally wishes his tongue was as swift as his
feet. He never trips over them.
“Were you just teasing at the bar? Flirting with me for her
benefit? Or were you serious?” Wally doesn’t have to say
who he means. It was never any secret that Bruce had a thing with
Dr. Meridian, and Wally’s had entirely too much time today to
think. He doesn’t like to spend his days looking inward, but he
also doesn’t want to be someone Batman uses for the greater good.
He wants more than that.
“Which scares you more?” Bruce asks evenly, and Wally knows the hurt
shows on his face. He’s never been good at pretending. It’s
part of why he wears a mask. Except he’s not wearing one now, and
Bruce is watching him carefully. Wally looks away. He hears
Bruce sigh and there’s a hand on his arm. “I wasn’t … playing
games. Not with you, anyway.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
“I know.” Bruce leans closer, and the blue eyes are clear and
direct. Every inch of space that disappears, Wally feels his
heart beat faster. “I’m not wearing the cowl, Wally.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”
Bruce’s mouth goes tight and hard for a moment, the mask falling back
into place, and Wally wants desperately to take back the words, but he
knows it’s too late.
“I guess I deserved that.” Bruce is already moving away when
Wally leans in and kisses him. It’s not much of a kiss, fast and
dry like the first spark from a flint, but it has the same effect and
suddenly there’s so much heat between them Wally wonders if Bruce
accidentally hit the switch when his hand grabbed for the dash.
Then there’s no time to think because Bruce’s hands are on his face, in
his hair, and Wally can feel his whole body start to tremble as Bruce
kisses him. Hard. His mouth is unrelenting and Wally finds
himself pushing back as hard as he can, lips sucking and kissing
Bruce’s until their teeth click together savagely, and Wally’s the
first to reach out with his tongue and just push his way into Bruce’s
He gets nipped for his troubles. Gently, and Bruce’s tongue
slides over his, working it up and down like he knows exactly what he’s
doing, and Wally’s pretty sure he does because every molecule in his
body feels like it’s about to vibrate out of his skin. He can
feel window glass against his neck, and he isn’t sure when Bruce pushed
him that far over, but there’s a tongue working inside him, stroking
over his teeth and gums, tracing the curve of his cheek, and he’s
wishing the tights hid a little more because it’s no secret what Bruce
is doing to him.
“Wally.” Bruce sounds breathless, and that’s new. Wally
grins and wraps his arms around him, pulling a groan from Bruce with
his tongue. He feels teeth against the corner of his mouth, a
sharp bite of pleasure, and Wally’s head slams back against the glass
again. He thinks they’re going to break the window if they keep
this up. He doesn’t really care.
He’s always been about charm and smoothness and this just …
isn’t. It’s better than anything he’s felt before, and it finally
makes sense when people talk about being desperate to get in someone’s
pants. About need. Want. He thought he understood,
but he’s getting the idea they were just words before now. Before
“Bruce. God, I want--”
There’s a sound like a knock against metal, and Wally wasn’t aware
Bruce had super-speed, but he’s back behind the wheel before Wally
recognizes Dick’s voice outside the car.
“Bruce? Are you okay? Can you hear me?”
There’s the sound of something beeping, and Wally blinks in the bright
lights of the cave as the roof of the car slides backwards. Wally
didn’t know it could do that. He looks up into Dick’s concerned
face leaning over the driver’s side window.
“Bruce, what’s going on? Are you--?” Dick’s got a hand on
Bruce’s shoulder, and seems surprised to see him uninjured and out of
costume. It occurs to Wally there have been times when the car’s
come home with an unconscious driver, slumped and bleeding in the front
seat. He remembers frantic whispered calls from Robin when Batman
was injured, calls Dick made on an extension dragged into the linen
closet because he wasn’t supposed to talk about it. Because
someone might find out their identities, their secrets. It occurs
to him how much they both trust him, and he doesn’t want to let them
“Wally?” Dick looks back and forth between the two of them:
Bruce in street clothes, Wally in his uniform without a mask, and Wally
wonders exactly what this looks like to Dick. They’ve known each
other a long time.
He fights back the urge to laugh and gives Dick a little wave.
“Are you okay?” Dick asks, coming around to Wally’s side, apparently
satisfied that Bruce is unhurt. “Are you injured?” He runs
a hand across Wally’s ribs, which makes him squirm with laughter.
“I’m ticklish, Dick; I’m not hurt,” he says, pushing Dick’s hand
away. Bruce is doing his best not to look at them, and
Wally knows without a doubt Bruce is filing that piece of information
away for the future. He expects “ticklish” will go in some
unmarked folder labeled Flash: Primary Weaknesses. He wants
to crawl under the seat. Or better yet, slide the roof into place
and go back to doing exactly what they were doing before Dick
“Are you sure? You’re out of breath, and you’re bleeding.”
Wally runs his tongue around the side of his mouth, and catches the
taste of blood. He rubs a hand across his lips.
“I—I bit my lip when I was running.”
Dick doesn’t look entirely convinced. He glares through narrow
blue eyes that look so much like Bruce’s Wally can almost believe
they’re father and son. Most people would never imagine they
Dick’s attention shifts to Batman. “Wally wasn’t in the
car? Have you been giving him a hard time?”
Bruce doesn’t even blink as he answers in a voice that seems to come
from somewhere deep within the earth. “Not at all.”
Wally squeezes his eyes tight because he can hear the undertone in
Bruce’s voice, the one that says he wants to give Wally a hard time all
right, and Wally knows exactly what that means. Or at least he
can imagine. He pulls his discarded clothes into his lap in what
he hopes is a perfectly innocent gesture. The tights hide
nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“So what were you doing then? You’ve been sitting in the car at
least ten minutes.”
Dick’s question sounds casual, and Wally hopes the tinted glass on the
windows is the same kind rock stars use so no one can see inside.
He’d forgotten how obsessive all the Bat-family is, how closely they
watch one another, and of course there would’ve been monitors and
alarms and all kinds of things to tell them Bruce was back. It
only makes sense.
He can see Bruce reaching for the door handle, and he wants to scream
at Dick to go away. He wonders what Bruce would do if he yanked
him back down onto the seat and kissed him. It might not be an
entirely unpleasant way to die.
“Were you guys fighting again?” Dick asks suspiciously, and Wally wants
to protest because he and Bats don’t fight. They banter, and sure
it might not look like that to everyone else—it might look more like
Wally talks too much and Bruce says his name through clenched teeth
when he really means “shut up before I’m forced to kill you”—but Wally
knows they have a rapport. A connection.
“We were talking,” Wally volunteers, and Dick starts to laugh.
Bruce has silently escaped out the driver’s door, and Wally’s body is
screaming with frustration for Bruce to come back.
“Talking? Yeah, tell me another one, Wally. You’ve met
Batman before, right?” Dick shakes his head and moves aside so
Wally can get out. “What were you talking about?”
There isn’t an answer that won’t lead to trouble. “The
Batmobile. I’d never been in it before.”
“You still haven’t.”
Wally follows Dick’s pointing finger, and he can see the actual
Batmobile sitting on an elevated ramp with a spotlight shining down on
it. He knew there were a bunch of different cars, planes,
helicopters—Bruce is a freakin’ billionaire, after all—but he’d
forgotten there’s a hierarchy to all things. He hadn’t realized
there could be a car that was blacker and sleeker than the one he was
riding in, but he was wrong. The other car looks like a black cat
stretched out and ready to pounce. Someone has polished the
chrome until it shines. This car, even with its jet-engine and
its neat slidey roof, is just a poor imitation of the real thing.
It occurs to him that even Bruce Wayne’s car is a mask. It’s a
little disconcerting. He didn’t used to think about stuff like
this, and he blames the psychiatrist. Completely. Thinking
is definitely becoming bad for his health. And his love life.
Dick tosses an arm casually around his shoulders as they cross the
cave. “As soon as you get changed, we’ll pop in a movie and make
a ton of popcorn. Alfred hasn’t seen you in ages. It’ll be
just like old times.”
On any other day, Wally would be thrilled with the invitation. He
and Dick have been friends since they were teenagers, and it’s always
felt like they’re the same age even if Wally’s a few years older.
He doesn’t get to see Dick much since they both left the Titans.
These days the Outsiders and the JLA don’t cross paths very often, and
Wally knows he should be happy to have some time with him. Dick’s
still one of his best friends.
But he can’t stop himself from looking wistfully across the cave where
Bruce has settled himself at the keyboard of a massive computer.
The blue light from multiple screens sends flickering shadows across
“What about Bruce?”
Dick shrugs. “He’s not much for movies, but I’ll ask him.
Why don’t you go get out of that uniform?”
Wally hangs his head at the suggestion. The thought of stripping
out of his uniform had much greater appeal when Bruce’s hands were warm
against his skin.
“I should really talk to Batman.” Wally hesitates and turns
back. He wonders if Dick would forgive him if he just knocked him
out. Of course, Wally figures his chances of landing a punch on
Dick are probably 70-30 in Dick’s favour, even with the element of
surprise. It’s pretty damn hard to take out one of the Bats, even
if they’re “only human.” Bruce taught everyone too well.
“He’s probably thrilled to get a few minutes of peace and quiet after
the psych session with Chase today.” Wally’s forgotten how Batman
tells Dick almost everything. Except the things that are
generally most important. “Man, I still can’t believe he let her
do the evaluation. That woman is nuts. She even hit on me
Wally figures he should say something to that, something about how he’s
not surprised and make a disparaging comment about Bruce’s taste in
women. It’s what he would’ve done before, but now all he thinks
is how every step is taking him further away from Bruce. Bruce’s
mouth. Bruce’s hands.
“Bruce said he’d give me a tour.” It feels like the pinnacle of
lameness, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and Wally’s
spent the day saying exactly what he thinks and he’s not sure he can
stop now. Chase didn’t exactly tell Batman he blurted out his
secret identity, but it was still pretty clear. Wally liked her
better before the gin and tonics, although maybe he’s going to have to
thank her for giving Bats a nudge in the right direction. He is
at the manor, after all, and that has to mean something. At least
he hopes it does.
Something inside tells him not to leave Bruce alone in the Cave.
Not after the kind of day they’ve had with the doctor digging around in
their brains like someone trying to pry the last piece of almond from
its shell. Wally doesn’t really expect Bruce to tell him about
his session with Chase, but he thinks he should offer anyway. It
doesn’t matter if Bruce was in control of the plan all along; something
had to have gotten stirred up. Wally remembers the words Dr.
Meridian chose, and maybe he’s not always the brightest star in the
sky, but he’s not stupid either. Pearls. Gun.
Blood. Death. Every word was aimed at Bruce like a
and he shouldn’t have to be alone if he doesn’t want to be.
He wants Bruce to know there are options.
Like kissing him again is an option. And one Bruce should
seriously consider. Soon.
“Wally? You sure you’re okay?” Wally realizes Dick’s got
his hand on his shoulder again, and there’s a pair of tiny lines
between his eyes that weren’t there before. Wally pastes on his
happy-go-lucky Flash face.
And Wally can tell Dick doesn’t believe him because he starts pointing
out things in the Cave as they head for the stairs, as if the lack of
the promised tour is what’s slowing Wally’s footsteps. The giant
penny. The dinosaur. The Penguin’s umbrella. Dick’s
worry-meter has just reached Def-Con 3, and Wally knows it’s only a
matter of time before Alfred’s putting extra marshmallows in his cocoa
and Dick’s letting him pick the movie. Which on any other night
would be sweet, but right now just makes him feel guilty. If
anyone needs extra marshmallows it’s Bruce.
“You’ll ask Bruce to come and watch the movie, right?”
“Of course,” Dick says and he’s not even bothering to hide the concern
in his voice. Now Wally knows he’s also guaranteed himself extra
butter on the popcorn, and the prime spot on the couch, and he doesn’t
want any of it. “Go get changed. You remember where
everything is, right?”
Wally nods helplessly as Dick steers him towards the stairs and out of
the Cave with an impromptu lecture on architectural features and
natural rock formations. His last glimpse of Bruce is a dark
shadow silhouetted against the computer. He climbs the stairs to
the sound of wings and tapping keys.
It’s almost three hours later when Bruce pokes his head into the
entertainment room. Dick’s splayed out on the floor in sweats and
a t-shirt wielding a formidable assortment of remotes.
Wally’s stretched out on his stomach on the couch, facing towards the
TV, and Bruce can just see the reddish-blonde hair against the far
cushions. Bare feet are resting on the opposite arm rest, and
Bruce wonders exactly how much of Wally is ticklish. It’s
something which requires further investigation. For his files, of
The coffee table is littered with the remains of cocoa cups, and Bruce
assumes Alfred simply gave up and draped a cloth over the table in lieu
of coasters. Wally drinks like a dying man, and Alfred would’ve
been hard-pressed to keep up with the demand for cocoa. And
marshmallows. And popcorn. Flash’s fast metabolism is the
trade-off for his speed. Bruce knows the man would starve to
death in considerably less time than a normal human being. It’s
always made him just a bit concerned about having enough supplies at
the Watchtower. He can’t imagine a Flash who isn’t healthy and
hungry. And alive.
He’s standing at the end of the couch, reaching for him before he’s
realized what he’s doing. He draws one long finger lightly along
the bottom of Wally’s upturned bare foot.
He’s not disappointed by the response. Wally’s nothing more than
a blur of t-shirt and jeans as he bolts off the couch with a shriek
that sounds a lot like “what the fuck!?” Dick is on his feet
instantly, a remote in each hand ready to throw like batarangs.
Bruce can’t help but feel a surge of pride.
The blur comes to a halt beside him. Wally looks flushed and a
little embarrassed. And young. “Jeez, Bats! Trying to
give me a heart attack?”
“Sorry.” Bruce shrugs, but he knows he’s smiling. Bruce has
spent two hours staring at a blank computer screen, trying to forget
the taste of Wally’s mouth, the way he seemed to almost vibrate when
Bruce touched him, and it all comes rushing back with one smile.
Bruce knows he’s doomed.
He’s almost talked himself into believing it would never work, could
never work, they’re too different, and now all he can think about
is touching him. He’s known this man—this kid—almost as long as
he’s had Dick in his life, and that should be telling him something,
Bruce knows. It’ll never work.
Bruce clears his throat. “So, what are you boys watching?”
He knows it’s a poor choice of words as soon as he sees Wally’s smile
slip. He knows it before then, but he does it anyway.
Wally’s too young and too happy to be stuck with someone like
him. Bruce will have to convince him it won’t work.
“Godzilla versus Mecha-Godzilla,”
Wally says, settling back on the
couch. He pulls his feet underneath him and curls into a small,
vibrating ball of energy. Bruce wants to run a hand through his
hair and tell him he’s sorry. God, he’s so sorry. He
should’ve known better than to start anything like this.
“You don’t get enough of mechanized destruction and monsters at work,
Master Wally?” Alfred asks as he sets a tray down on the table.
There are six tall glasses of milk, generous pieces of chocolate cake
for each of them—three for Wally—and Bruce doesn’t have to ask how
Alfred knew he was up from the Cave. Alfred always seems to know.
“This is different,” Wally says around a forkful of chocolate
cake. The hand truly is faster than the eye. Bruce reaches
for his own piece and settles down on the opposite end of the
couch. Dick raises an eyebrow as he settles back down on the
floor, but says nothing.
“Ah, I suppose it is.” Alfred gathers up the empty mugs and
popcorn bowls. “It’s always different when the monsters aren’t
actually trying to kill you. Everyone needs a bit of
entertainment now and then.” Alfred looks pointedly at Bruce as
he leaves the room.
“Alfred never gives up trying to get you to have fun, does he?” Wally
asks as tiny Japanese tourists run smiling through the streets of some
Japanese town Bruce thinks he recognizes. Somewhere in the
background a monster howls.
“He wouldn’t be entirely happy if he didn’t have something to prod me
about.” Bruce reaches for his milk, and his fingers brush the
edge of an empty glass. He blinks. All the glasses are
empty, except for the one clutched possessively in Dick’s hand.
“You snooze, you lose, Bruce. You should remember that,” Dick
says helpfully. Wally looks sheepish, and immediately pulls the
last glass of milk from his lips. It’s half-empty, and Bruce has
a strange moment of clarity when he knows Wally thinks it’s
half-full. He’s got a thin line of milk cresting his lip, and
Bruce remembers Chase’s tipsy outburst about wanting to lick Clark’s
milk moustache at the bar. Bruce contemplates how easy it would
be to reach over and …
“I’ll get you another glass.” Wally’s standing again, pacing
restlessly in front of the couch, and Bruce reaches up and grabs his
wrist before he bolts.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Really.” He tugs once and Wally sits
back down, closer than before, and Bruce forces himself to let
go. It’s an effort.
“You can share mine,” Wally offers, and he’s looking at Bruce with eyes
that aren’t hiding anything at all. Wally reminds him of a puppy
dog that’s followed him home, and God help him, but Bruce wants to keep
him. Look after him. Make him his own.
He reaches for the glass and takes a slow sip. The milk is cold,
and he drinks enough to feel the shallow coating on his upper
lip. He slides his tongue along it self-consciously and sweeps
the milk away. Wally’s eyes never leave his face as he hands him
back the glass.
Godzilla screeches triumphantly in the background, and Bruce glances up
in time to see the screen go dark. Dick clicks off the TV with
one of the remotes in front of him.
“You guys up for another movie, or should we call it a night?”
Bruce shakes his head. “It was a long day.” He eases
himself off the couch, and turns towards Wally. “You’re welcome
to stay the night, you know.” He keeps his tone as neutral as he
Wally swallows and blushes, and Bruce is going to have to teach him a
thing or two about subtlety because Dick isn’t an idiot. Before
Wally can stammer out anything that might be construed as a reply,
Bruce has said his goodnights and headed for his room.
His large empty room. Alone.
It’s going to be a long night.
“Do you need anything?” Dick asks after they’ve taken the dishes to the
kitchen and tidied up the entertainment room. Wally knows Alfred
will clean everything in the morning, but there’s no reason to make
more work for him. Alfred’s not getting any younger.
“I’m fine. I’ve got the sweats you lent me, and I think I
remember where everything is.”
They climb the curved staircase just as the clock strikes two.
Wally looks at the hallway lined with identical-looking doors.
“You’re the first door on the right, Bruce’s room is at the far end of
the hall, and I’m right in the middle. I’m a light sleeper, so
don’t worry; I’m sure I’ll hear you if you need anything.”
Wally’s beginning to think the whole world is conspiring against them
tonight. Two hours of Godzilla had almost gotten his mind off the
frustration at being interrupted, but then Bruce walked into the room
and touched him. Wally didn’t think fear could make him hard, but
apparently he was wrong. And that thing with the milk—God, he’d
almost pounced him on the spot. He would’ve done it if he hadn’t
remembered Dick was right there. Of all the nights for Dick to be
in Gotham instead of Bludhaven.
“Why are you in Gotham?” Wally blurts out as Dick heads down the
hall. “I mean, you don’t live here anymore. Most of the
Dick doesn’t seem to take offense. He’s used to Wally’s
occasional lack of tact. “I just wanted to make sure Bruce was
okay. After Chase.”
“And is he?”
“He seems fine.”
Wally doesn’t know how Dick can tell, but he trusts him. Maybe
there’s some secret Bat dictionary that tells them what to look for, a
sign to reading the codes. Wally thinks Bruce was being pretty
clear in the car, but since then, well, he isn’t quite so sure.
He wants to get to Bruce and convince him this is okay before he
manages to talk himself out of anything good. Wally knows how he
And he isn’t convinced Bruce is fine.
Bruce tries meditation. He tries Tai Chi. Yoga. He
reviews the bones of the body, the pressure points that will render an
assailant unconscious, the non-lethal ways to disarm an attacker.
He even tries sleeping, although it’s nowhere near the time he normally
goes to bed. Tim had done a cursory sweep of the city, and Clark
had given it a once over and checked in before heading back to
Metropolis. Bruce was assured he didn’t have to go out, but he
still feels restless.
He tries sit-ups. Push-ups. Handstands.
He considers masturbation, but as soon as he slides a hand beneath the
thin silk of his sleeping pants, he knows it’s a mistake. His
mind is full of Wally, and he’d rather be hard and hurting than do this
without him here. It feels like a just punishment for not knowing
what he wants.
He wonders if anyone would notice if he slipped into Gotham and worked
out some of his frustration on a few would-be muggers and petty
thieves. He’s sure he can find one or two to pummel.
He tries classical music. Silence. Reading.
He finds himself craving warm milk, and maybe it won’t help either, but
it probably can’t hurt. Alfred used to make it for him when he was
little, and he isn’t sure if he remembers how much honey to drizzle in
the luke-warm liquid, how long to heat the milk so it doesn’t burn his
tongue. Alfred always made it exactly right.
He can always nuke it for a minute, just add some brandy and call it a
Maybe he’ll skip the milk altogether.
He pulls on a t-shirt and slips into the hallway on bare feet.
Wally wonders what he’s done to deserve this kind of punishment.
His routine is always the same. He eats, he runs, he saves the
world, he eats some more, he sleeps like a cat. It’s not much,
but it’s his life and he’s happy with it most of the time.
But tonight he can’t sleep.
It’s not the caffeine or the sugar. He knows that. It’s
never stopped him from sleeping before.
And it’s not even the memories the psychiatrist stirred up. The
things that make him want to run and never stop, run until his lungs
are aching and his chest is burning, and he can feel blisters forming
on the soles of his feet.
Maybe it’s partly that.
Mostly it’s thinking about Bruce, six doors down and a world away, and
Wally wonders if he’s fast enough to make it to Bruce’s room without
waking Dick. If Bruce will freak if he slips into his bed in the
middle of the night. He wonders if Bruce locked his door.
He looks down at the Gotham Knights sweatpants Dick lent him, the knees
worn through to the skin on one leg, and Wally figures it’s not a
classic look as far as seduction outfits go, but he could probably do
He rolls off the bed and tugs his t-shirt back on. The door opens
with a groan, and he slips into the hallway.
Wally almost takes a header onto the carpet when an arm reaches out and
pulls him into the shadows. Long fingers stretch across his mouth
and he can feel panic rising within him. It’s like one of his
dreams where he can’t move, except this feels entirely too real.
He starts to struggle.
“Wally, it’s okay. It’s me,” Bruce whispers, and the fingers
slide off his face, but they don’t leave his skin.
“Bruce,” Wally breathes. “We’ve got to stop meeting like
this.” He doesn’t care if he looks weak, he leans into Bruce and
rests his head against the other man’s shoulder. Almost
immediately, hands are on his back, stroking softly. It feels so
Wally rubs his face against Bruce’s thin t-shirt and breathes, and
Bruce, obviously concerned, pulls him closer. “Wally?”
“I just needed to make sure you were okay.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bruce murmurs against Wally’s hair, and the arms around
Wally’s back tighten. “We’re so screwed.”
“Not yet,” Wally giggles, and he feels Bruce’s mouth press against his
ear. The breath raises the hairs on the back of his neck.
“Wally, this isn’t going to work.” Bruce lets go, and steps back
against the wall. There’s nowhere to go.
“I’m older than Dick,” Wally says defiantly, lifting his eyes to
Bruce’s. He’s not quite as tall, but he’s not short either, and
they both know he’s stronger than he looks. “I know I can be a
goof, but I’m not a kid.”
“I haven’t thought of you as a kid in a long time.” Wally knows
it’s true. Bruce never treated them like kids. Any of
them. Even Dick, although he knows Dick doesn’t quite believe
that. It’s different because Bruce was responsible for him.
Because Bruce was Batman and Dick was Robin, and Bruce hadn’t let
anyone in since his parents died and Dick means everything to
him. Wally knows the story. Everyone does.
“Then what was that earlier? Huh? Trying to figure out a
way to push me away? Hurt me before I hurt you?”
Bruce swallows hard. “Yes, actually.”
“Oh.” The honesty is unexpected, and Wally doesn’t know what to
say, so he kisses him instead, pressing Bruce back against the
wall. The kiss isn’t gentle or tender, but it sends a burst of
heat down Wally’s spine, and he thinks this could get to be
addictive. Bruce still tastes like milk and faintly of
peppermint, and Wally licks across his top lip as if the milk were
Bruce knows exactly what Wally’s doing. He leans his head back
against the wall, and lets Wally trace his mouth with an agile tongue.
“Don’t push me away, Bruce.” Wally slips his hands down to
Bruce’s hips and feels the smooth silk of pajama pants riding
low. Bruce’s hands are clenched tight at his sides, as if he’s
afraid to touch him, and Wally slides his hands down and forces Bruce’s
fists apart. He weaves his fingers between Bruce’s, feeling the
calluses on his palms, rubbing gently at bruised knuckles. For a
long moment neither of them moves, and Wally’s fingers trace patterns
on Bruce’s skin, smooth circles over the backs of his hands.
Their fingers and palms push against each other, gentle yielding
pressure, and Wally can’t remember feeling this connected to someone
he’s barely touching.
In the middle of the hallway, a door slowly swings open.
“Shit,” Wally says, and races for the stairs.
“Wally?” Dick whispers into the darkness. “Are you okay?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Wally says, materializing in front of him.
He’s breathing hard as if he’s been running flat out, which he has—a
quick trip down to the kitchen and back up the stairs with the last
piece of cake in hand--and he knows it’s still going to look suspicious
because Dick’s known him for ages. He holds up the cake in
explanation. “I thought a snack might help.”
Dick nods, distracted, and lifts his head as if he hears
something. Damn freaky Bat-senses. He stares at the
unmoving shadow that’s Bruce.
“I was having trouble sleeping.”
Bruce slips into the moonlight and comes towards them, and Wally gets a
better look at the way the silk clings to his legs as he walks, the way
the black t-shirt is just a bit too tight, as if it’s not something he
normally wears to bed. Wally wants to slide his hands underneath
the thin fabric and learn every inch of his skin.
“Hm,” Dick says. “A regular epidemic of insomnia. Maybe we
should’ve watched that second film.”
“No,” Bruce and Wally say at the same time, and there’s silence in the
hallway. Wally can hear the tick of an ancient pendulum somewhere
in the house. The three of them are standing around as if this is
“Good thing there was no Bat-Signal tonight.” Dick’s glancing at
the skylight that brings light into the hallway.
“I could use a Bat-Signal,” Wally says absently. He realizes the
other two are staring at him, Bruce with something between horror and
amusement, and Dick with a sideways grin.
“And what would that look like, Wally? A giant lightning bolt?”
“I’m just saying sometimes you need a clear signal.” He glances
at Bruce. “A Bat-Signal can be a pretty useful thing. I
would think. If one was looking for a sign.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dick asks again, and Wally sighs and stuffs
a piece of cake into his mouth. Maybe it will stop him from
saying anything else stupid.
“I’m going back to my room now,” Bruce says, and then he’s nothing but
a shadow at the end of the hallway, and Wally wants to scream after
him: “That’s not a clear
signal, Bruce!” But he knows
there’s no point.
Dick pats him on the shoulder and doesn’t appear in any hurry to return
to his room. Wally hears a door close at the end of the hall.
“Goodnight, Dick,” he says, taking his cake and shutting the door to
the guest room behind him.
He wants a clear sign, Bruce thinks. I’ll give him a sign.
He slides open the window in his room and steps onto the ledge.
It’s about a hundred feet to the window into Wally’s room, and the only
real obstacle is going to be getting past Dick’s window without
attracting attention. But he’s Batman. He’s relatively sure
he can manage it.
Especially now that he’s got something to prove.
So maybe this thing with Wally--whatever it is--isn’t the smartest
thing he’s ever done, but it’s not the stupidest either. That
would probably be his relationship with Chase, and he’s certainly not
looking for a repeat of that level of trauma. It would’ve been
fine if she’d stuck to wanting to get into his bed, but she wanted into
his head, and worse, into his Cave. It’d only been by accident
she’d found out his secrets, and if he could go back and change it, he
would. She’s a liability.
But Wally. God, Wally, is like no one else. Sure, he’s
always known Wally’s a sweet guy, a little goofy, but with a heart of
gold, and for some reason he seems to have developed a crush on Bruce,
and perhaps it’s more than a crush because he can’t deny the attraction
between them. And as crazy as it seems, he’s willing to give it a
chance. He can’t bear to see that hurt look on Wally’s face again.
Bruce eases along the eight-inch ledge as quietly as he can.
Dick’s window is closed, but the curtains are open. Dammit.
Dick is quite possibly an even lighter sleeper than Bruce, and he’s
going to have a hard time explaining his presence on the window ledge
at two-thirty in the morning. He wishes he’d brought the
cape. At least then he could call it official business if he had
to, but this is going to look nothing except suspicious.
But if he makes it, Wally’s smile will be reward enough.
One foot in front of the other, and Bruce listens at the window of
Dick’s room. There’s a creak of the bed and the sound of someone
shifting on the mattress. Good. Even if Dick isn’t asleep,
the position of the bed will make it difficult for him to detect
movement on the windowsill. Bruce examines the relative position
of the moon. Dick might see the flicker of a shadow, but if he’s
fast, it will be nothing more than a momentary darkness against the
moon. It’s worth the risk.
He leaps the distance, and lands softly on the other side.
Wally’s window is a short run along the ledge, and Bruce makes it
easily, although he doesn’t understand why his heart is pounding in his
chest. It can’t be the exertion. He has a suspicion it has
something to do with standing on a ledge in front of Wally’s
bedroom. He must be out of his mind.
The window squeaks as Bruce pushes it upwards and steps inside.
He takes a deep breath and turns towards the bed.
“Wally,” he whispers. The bed’s empty. Wally’s nowhere to
Shit, Bruce thinks. Where the hell is he?
Wally waits just long enough to make sure Dick has gone back to his
room. He hears the door close with a small click, and he knows
it’s now or never. If he waits any longer he’ll lose his
nerve. He’s not even sure what Bruce will do when he bursts into
his room, but he’s willing to find out. What’s the worst that can
Well, utter and complete humiliation, but Wally’s willing to take the
He eases open the door and takes a quick glance down the hall.
Then he runs as fast as he can, opening and closing Bruce’s door in a
gust of wind. He feels a sudden burst of happiness as he
realizes Bruce hasn’t locked him out. Things are looking up.
Wally peers into the darkness, letting his eyes adjust. The room
has heavy curtains covering the wall of windows, except for one where
the light is shining through and onto the white sheets of the empty bed.
Shit, Wally thinks. Where the hell is he?
In the room in the middle of the hallway, Dick sees a flicker of shadow
dance across his window at the same time a rush of wind can be heard in
the hallway outside his door.
Dick turns his face into the pillow, puts a fist into his mouth and
laughs until tears are streaming down his face and his sides are aching
from the strain.
Oh God, Dick thinks. They’re perfect for each other.
Wally’s about to step back into the hall when he hears the sound of
voices. Dick … and Bruce? No, not deep enough for
Bruce. Sounds more like Alfred. Either way, Wally is more
and more convinced that none of the Bat-Clan sleep. At all.
He peeks out the window and ducks back inside. Except for the
gargoyle half-way down it’s a clean run. He’s not all that keen
about having to stop partway along a narrow ledge to navigate around
whatever passes for architectural design on Bruce’s mansion.
Maybe he can just run up and over. He doesn’t like to admit it,
but he really doesn’t like heights.
He backs up to the doorway for a running start, takes a breath, and
steps out the window. He’s doing fine until the gargoyle reaches
up and grabs him.
“Shit!” Wally blurts out as he finds himself seized by the wrist, even
as his momentum carries him forward and off the ledge. His feet
are spinning on air when he’s slammed back against the wall with enough
force to knock the wind out of him. He gasps, but doesn’t move,
and it takes him a minute to realize Bruce is standing beside him, back
to the wall, an arm thrown protectively across Wally’s chest.
Neither of them says anything for the first minute.
“Maybe I’m going out on a ledge here, but were you looking for me?”
Wally asks. He glances down and immediately regrets it.
“You weren’t in your room.” Bruce’s voice is a whisper, faintly
accusatory, and Wally realizes they’re probably just outside Dick’s
room. The fun never stops.
“Neither were you,” Wally points out. “So you thought you’d
impersonate a gargoyle and wait?”
“I was … figuring out what to do.”
“By sitting on the window ledge?”
“I wasn’t expecting to be run over.”
“I wasn’t expecting to get banged against a wall.” Bruce glances
sideways with a wicked smile and Wally can feel himself blushing to the
roots of his hair. “I mean--”
“I know what you mean, Wally.” The hand slides off his chest, and
Wally has a breathless moment when he feels like he could fall.
He closes his eyes, and presses his palms against the stone.
Concentrates on keeping his back tight against the wall. He can
feel Bruce’s dark eyes on him, then a hand on his arm. “Let’s go
“Your room or mine?” Wally asks, and really hopes Bruce picks
whichever’s closer. Right now, he’d even settle for going in
through Dick’s window if it would get them off this ledge.
“My door has a lock.”
“Yours it is.” There’s a long moment when Wally knows Bruce is
waiting for him to move since he’s closest to Bruce’s room, and Wally
can’t help wishing for a little Batman help. A grappling hook
would do, but he thinks he would’ve noticed that. Still …
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a grappling hook in your pants.” And
Wally can’t believe he just said that. It’s got to be the fear
Bruce seems totally unflustered. “No, I’m just happy to see you.”
If Wally wasn’t terrified of falling to his death, he might be more
terrified that Bruce seems to have developed a sense of humour and is
flirting with him shamelessly.
“I’m serious, Bruce. Bat-hook? Bat-rope?
Bat-something?” Wally knows he sounds desperate, but he’s owned
rulers wider than this ledge.
“Because that wouldn’t cause any suspicions at all. Dick
certainly wouldn’t recognize the sound of a grappling hook hitting the
roof. Just move, Wally.”
“I can’t,” he whispers, feeling worse than the time he accidentally
shorted out the Bat-cycle’s GPS with a triple cappuccino. He’s
still not sure what Dick told Bruce about that little mishap.
“I’ve seen you run down the side of a twenty-story building.”
Bruce doesn’t sound upset, but Wally figures his chances of getting to
stay in Bruce’s room are rapidly decreasing as Bats finds out he’s a
big fraidy cat who can’t deal with heights unless he’s running.
“Not from a dead stop. I need momentum to do that.”
“Can’t you just run along the ledge back to the room?” Bruce
sounds genuinely concerned.
“I can’t get my speed up, and … I have a little problem with
heights.” Wally turns his head and looks back the way he
came. He doesn’t like the thought of inching along a narrow piece
of stone at a snail’s pace, and he’ll never be able to generate enough
speed in the space he has. His balance goes to hell when he has
to move slowly.
“You probably need to work on that. Low balance beams to start,
“Bruce, can you set up my new training routine later? I’d really
like to get back inside.”
“What about vibrating through the wall?” Wally can hear the
brow-furrow in Bruce’s voice. He’s trying to find a solution,
turning Wally into a problem that has to be solved, and Wally’s never
felt more like a kid in his life.
“Not enough space,” Wally confesses. “My powers usually need a
little wiggle room.”
“I’ll remember that,” Bruce says, and it sounds like he’s
smiling. Wally risks glancing over at him and sees Bruce looking
down and shaking silently with laughter.
“Bruce, are you laughing at me?” Silence, and Wally can feel the
vibrations through the arm pressed beside him. “You’re totally
laughing at me,” Wally whispers harshly, and Bruce just shakes his
head. “You pick now to
get a sense of humour?”
Bruce swallows his laughter, and Wally has only a moment to wonder when
Dick’s going to pop his head out and ask what the hell they’re doing,
when Bruce steps away from the wall. He swings a leg out and
around until he’s standing with his thighs braced on either side of
Wally’s, his hands pressed against the wall beside Wally’s
shoulders. Wally can feel Bruce’s hard body pushing him back into
“Wally, just relax.” Bruce’s words are breathed softly into his
ear, and Wally thinks it shouldn’t possibly feel this good to have
Bruce tight against him when they could both fall at any moment.
“I’m relaxed,” Wally lies.
“No, you’re not.”
Wally can feel Bruce’s breath against his cheek. He’s about to
ask how Bruce can tell, but then Bruce shifts and Wally bites back a
moan as he feels Bruce’s erection pressing against his own. Okay,
not relaxed. And apparently fear is a turn on for both of
them. Wally thinks he should probably be more concerned about
Wally feels lips brush his ear, and there’s a husky whisper against his
skin. “I’m not going to let you fall. I grew up climbing
around on these ledges.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to talk to Alfred about that.”
“I’m going to swing my left leg around, so I’m standing on your right
side, and then you’re going to follow me along the ledge. It’s
not that far, and we’ll go slow.”
“I suck at going slow, Bruce.” Wally doesn’t know when he moved
his hands to Bruce’s hips, but he’s holding them now and he can’t
imagine letting go. They’re pressed so close together, Wally can
feel every breath Bruce takes, not to mention the hard groin against
his. He never wants to move from this spot.
Bruce leans in and gives him a slow kiss, lips soft and open, and Wally
can feel himself melting inside. The slow drag of a tongue across
his lips, and he can’t stop the moan from seeping out.
“See?” Bruce murmurs. “Slow can be good. Trust me.”
He leans in and kisses him again, eyes open, and Wally wonders what
he’s done to deserve this kind of patience from a man who’s notoriously
lacking in that particular virtue.
Bruce’s voice is low and determined when he speaks again. “I
promise, I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Wally nods, and he wonders for a moment if Bruce is talking about
something else, but the darkness in his eyes flickers away and is
gone. Wally puts it out of his mind and reluctantly takes his
hands from Bruce’s hips. How could he not trust Bruce? He’s
Bruce shifts away, and Wally feels his absence like a cold wind along
his body. He takes the hand Bruce offers and starts to step
sideways along the ledge, all the while listening to Bruce talking
softly, coaxing him like a kitten up a tree. It feels like it’s
been hours when Bruce finally steps into his bedroom, and reaches up to
pull Wally inside.
They stand in the dark and stare at each other.
The moment of truth, Wally thinks. Now what?
In the hallway, Dick is overcome with laughter again. If he
strains he can just make out soft voices. On the ledge.
He’s had to leave the room to keep from giving himself away.
He winces when he feels a sharp tug at his ear.
“Master Dick, I insist you cease these adolescent machinations this
instant.” Alfred is standing in the hallway in a blue robe and
slippers, looking at him with the kind of disapproval Dick’s certain is
only taught in British schools for butlers. Alfred was clearly
the top of his class in glaring.
“Aw, come on, Alfred,” Dick protests. “It’s been ages since
Bruce’s brought anyone home, and when he does, it’s Wally? You
can’t expect me to just let that one go.”
“Am I to assume you believe they’re an inappropriate match?”
Dick rolls his eyes. “They’re a bizarre match, but no, I think
they could be good for each other. Bruce could seriously use some
fun in his life, and Wally … well, Wally’s always better when he’s got
a focus, something to ground him.”
“So your interference is merely for sport, then?”
Alfred’s looking at him with a steely gaze, and Dick sobers
immediately. He tries to explain. “No, but they’re acting
like a couple of teenagers. I’m pretty sure they were making out
in the car, and right now they’re on the ledge--”
“And you’re up way past your bedtime.”
“Alfred, I’m not twelve.” Dick suspects there’s a certain amount
of irony in the fact that he’s whining like a kid whose favourite toy
is about to be taken away. This isn’t going to end well. He
“Your behaviour indicates otherwise, so I’m sending you to the
Cave. You may enjoy the sleeping quarters there for what remains
of the night.”
“Richard John Grayson!” Dick shuts up. Alfred only uses his
full name when he’s really angry with him. “Don’t make me drug
your cocoa. You will retire to the Cave, and leave Master Bruce
and Master Wally to finish out the night however they see fit.
Everyone here is an adult. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Alfred.” Dick follows him down the stairs. In the
distance he thinks he hears the sound of a window closing, and two sets
of voices. In Bruce’s room.
“I guess I’d better get going,” Wally says, turning towards the
door. The solid floor under his feet makes him feel like running,
and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to face Bats again, knowing he
panicked on the ledge.
Bruce is standing in front of the door to the room like a seriously
pissed-off Doberman Pinscher. “No.”
“You don’t have to pretend everything’s okay. I know I screwed up
out there, put us both in danger. If that’d been a mission--”
“You wouldn’t have been out on a ledge like that. And it wasn’t a
mission.” Bruce is standing with his arms folded across his
chest, and Wally wonders if he should tell him he looks exactly like
Superman when he does that. He decides against it.
Bruce steps forward and grasps him by the shoulders. He looks
into his eyes as if he’s making very sure Wally is listening.
“Wally, the only reason you were out there was because I was too stupid
to let you in. I’ve been trying to convince myself this is a bad
“I knew it!”
“--and yet all I want to do is touch you, taste you--”
Bruce moves closer and pulls Wally into a kiss. It’s wet and
sloppy, and Wally thinks it’s the best kiss he’s ever had. He
slides his hands under Bruce’s shirt and tugs the stretchy material
over his head, tossing it aside. Bruce’s skin is cool under his
fingers, and he can feel the hard ridges of countless scars. He
drops his mouth to kiss them, walking Bruce back towards the bed.
Wally slips off his own shirt and pushes Bruce onto his back, following
him as he shifts higher on the mattress.
“Is the door locked?” Wally really doesn’t want to be interrupted
any more tonight, or this morning, and he’s quite prepared to tell Dick
to go to hell if the need arises. Wally has other needs that are
“Yes.” A tongue circles his ear, and Wally feels like he’s just
discovering feeling. He pinches one of Bruce’s nipples, fingers
brushing the scar tissue just above it, over the heart. Bruce
arches beneath him and Wally plants kisses along his sternum. He
traces the outline of each scar with his tongue. There are a
lot. He knows that will bother him more when he has time to think
about it, but right now all he wants to do is heal every hurt Bruce has
“A locked door isn’t really a deterrent for anyone in this household,”
Wally says. After all, it was Dick who taught him how to pick a
lock, bought him his first set of lockpicks.
“Dick knows better.” Typically cryptic and Wally burrows into the
space between Bruce’s neck and shoulder, sucking at the skin with
gentle pressure, watching the blood race to the surface in a shallow
bruise. Bruce’s chest is warm against his, and Wally can’t
imagine a more perfect feeling than this press of flesh against flesh.
“What did you do? Booby-trap the door when he was a kid?”
There’s a sharp laugh from Bruce, and Wally bites his neck again just
to get him to push against him. Bruce is a big man, and every
time he rocks up, Wally can feel his whole body lifting with
Bruce. It’s amazing.
“You did booby-trap the door,
didn’t you?” Wally thinks he may
never entirely understand Bruce and Dick’s relationship. Always
adversarial, yet he’s never seen two people more committed to one
another. To family.
“A little flash-powder in a keyhole goes a long way.” Bruce is
whispering right into his ear now, tongue probing the curves, and
there’s a gentle sucking that moves from Wally’s earlobe down to his
neck. He can feel himself gasping as he shifts and finds Bruce’s
mouth. Their lips slide together, and Wally isn’t sure when
tongues and teeth became an entire language, but somehow he knows
everything Bruce has been trying to tell him. How afraid he
is. How much he wants him. How this could be what they’ve
both been looking for, and it’s terrifying and beautiful all at once.
Wally understands perfectly. He also understands that they’ve
been anticipating this for hours and neither of them is going to
last. He really wants to be naked, every inch of his flesh
pressed alongside Bruce’s perfectly scarred body. There’s an
instant when dark eyes meet his as he reaches for the tie on Bruce’s
pants, and then Bruce is helping him undo it, slipping the pants over
his hips. They’re not even off, and Wally’s reaching to touch,
hand buried in the wiry dark hair around the base of Bruce’s cock, and
Bruce arches into his hand with a deep moan.
Bruce kicks the pants away, and strokes his hands along Wally’s spine
until he reaches the sweatpants Dick lent him. Wally barely
registers the movement as Bruce flips him over and strips the pants
off. He looks at Wally appreciatively before crawling back up the
bed and bracing himself over top of him.
“I want you,” Bruce whispers. “I have for a long time.” He
lowers himself against Wally and everywhere their flesh touches, Wally
feels a flare of heat. He pulls Bruce closer.
“Me too. You have no idea how hard it’s been not to--”
Wally feels teeth on his neck, a tongue licking a slow stripe of
moisture at the base of his throat. “I didn’t want to ruin
“I didn’t want to lose a friend,” Bruce says, and pulls back to look at
him. He brushes a red curl off Wally’s forehead and kisses the
spot gently. “I thought friendship would be enough, but--”
“I want more,” Wally finishes, and shifts so Bruce is forced to let
Wally take some of his weight directly on him. He wants to feel
Bruce driving him into the mattress. He’s hard and hot, and Bruce
talking to him like this is maybe the hottest kind of foreplay he’s
ever found. Bruce has always been more talkative than Batman, but
that’s not saying a lot.
Bruce’s cock is leaking against his, and Wally can feel the rough
tickle of hair against his skin. He adjusts himself so their
cocks can slide together. He know he won’t last long, and he’s
going to have to explain to Bruce that the Fastest Man Alive thing is
really just a nickname, and usually it’s not like this. He does
have stamina. Really.
And an amazingly short refractory period.
He’ll explain when he can form coherent sentences again, when Bruce’s
fingers aren’t between them, stroking their cocks together with a big,
steady hand, fingers wet and warm. Wally’s reduced to a series of
sounds, some of which he knows are the letters in Bruce’s name, but he
can’t seem to put them together in the right order, and he can’t bring
himself to care. Bruce is still kissing him, tongue fucking him
while his hand relentlessly strokes them together, and Wally’s rapidly
losing control. He’s making hoarse sounds and so is Bruce, and
Wally knows he’s the reason for that. He can’t help but feel
pleased with himself.
He starts to vibrate. Just a little.
Bruce gasps, and Wally opens his eyes, but there’s nothing on Bruce’s
face but amazement and pure lust, and Wally knows they’re both a second
away from gluing themselves together with glossy white cum. He
plunges his tongue into Bruce’s mouth one more time, lifting his hips
in a final thrust, and pulses into Bruce’s hand with a groan he knows
Dick’s got to have heard.
Bruce’s breath is ragged and uneven, fingers slipping in Wally’s cum,
and Wally wraps a hand around Bruce’s cock and rides out the rhythm
in long, sharp strokes. When he comes, Bruce shouts Wally’s name,
and it’s the best sound in the world. Wally kisses him again and
again until Bruce is laughing around his tongue and telling him he’s
Wally wraps his legs around him, slips his arms around his back and
locks his hands together. Wally doesn’t want to take any
chances. He knows Bruce. He’s going to hold on to him with
everything he’s got.
Bruce grabs the corner of the sheet and wipes the worst of the
stickiness away. They roll together so Wally’s on top, and Wally
likes the way they fit together here, like this, surrounded by shadows
and moonlight. Bruce’s hands tangle in his hair, then trace the
muscles in his torso, and Wally thinks this might be what love feels
like. He starts to vibrate again.
Bruce’s arms tighten around him a fraction. “It’s kind of like
holding a purring cat,” he says, as if he’s always had lovers who
vibrate when they’re happy.
“Got a lot of experience with that, do you?” Wally can’t resist
the urge to tease. Bats never struck him as much of a cat person.
“There are slow nights even in Gotham,” Bruce confirms. “And a
lot of cats.” His fingers trace circles on Wally’s back, causing
little tremors of heat to surge through his skin. “Besides, Clark
seems to be uncannily receptive to the pathetic mews of treed felines,
and he always makes me hold them. I suspect he’s trying his own
sort of pet therapy on me.”
Wally laughs and kisses Bruce. It’s quite possible he’s been in
love with this man since he was sixteen. It seems like a
reasonable age to fall in love, although it’s probably insane to wait
all these years to act on it. It’s not as if he’s just been
waiting around for Bruce to get a clue, but he hadn’t wanted to hope
too hard that a relationship was ever a possibility. He was happy
to work with him, to know him, to call him a friend. To be close
enough to breathe him in and carry those memories back to his room at
night where he could weave his own fantasies in the darkness.
Wally realizes he’s been quiet for a long time, and that’s not usual
for him, even after sex. Bruce is pushing fingers into the
muscles of his back, holding them there for measured moments. He
can feel his muscles loosening beneath Bruce’s touch. Pressure
points, Wally thinks, and he knows it shouldn’t surprise him, but he
really hopes Batman doesn’t accidentally use the wrong one and cripple
him when he really means to relax his muscles. That could be hard
to explain to the League.
This whole thing could be hard to explain if it comes down to it.
Wally can’t remember if there’s a policy on team members dating one
another. If there is one, he doesn’t want to know about it.
“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, Bruce, so don’t even think
of backing out on me now.” Best to dive in and set the ground
rules to start. Wally thinks it’ll be harder for Bruce to get
away if he keeps him pressed into the mattress like this, kissing his
face and neck, trailing long fingers along his skin.
“I’m not good in relationships.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Bats.” Wally laughs.
“Jeez, you and Dick are way too much alike.”
Bruce stiffens beneath him, and not in the good way, and Wally reminds
himself to keep family members out of the pillow talk. He’s
never, ever going to be able to say the word dick in a sexual situation
with Bruce. That would be just … too weird.
“Bruce? You’re brooding. I can tell.”
There’s an intake of breath, and Bruce’s eyes are taking an intense
interest in the ceiling. “You and Dick never …” He trails
“No!” Wally replies, horrified. The thought has never even
occurred to him. “Dick’s all about the babes. You know
that. Dick and I are just friends. The way you and Clark
are friends.” Wally has a sudden sobering thought. “You and
Clark are just friends, right? I mean, there’s always been talk
about you guys, but I never believed it, and--”
“Wally,” Bruce intervenes. “Clark and I are just friends.”
“Whew, that’s a relief because I really don’t want to imagine you and
the Big Blue Guy--”
“Wally! Is there an easy way to get you to stop talking?”
“Um, put something in my mouth?”
“Oh, fuck,” Bruce says, and kisses him hard, tongue pushing past his
teeth. Wally knows they’re both thinking of other things, and
Wally starts to vibrate again at the thought of what it would feel like
to go down on Bruce. What it will be like to have him
inside. He knows it’s going to happen, and the thought sends a
trill of happiness through his body. Wally can feel the vibrations
start to get stronger, and Bruce swears and clutches him tighter.
Kisses him harder.
“Or you could gag me,” Wally supplies between kisses, and Bruce groans
and rolls him over.
Neither of them says anything else for some time.
It’s almost ten when Wally decides to make a break for the
kitchen. He’s slept solid for the last few hours and now he’s
starving. Bruce isn’t exactly sleeping, but Wally suspects he
doesn’t sleep much and they’d settled into a comfortable sort of
touching that Wally would never have predicted. He knows Bruce
will try to push him away in spite of himself, and he knows now he’ll
have to push back. He’s starting to figure out Bruce is just a
traumatized little boy in a scary bat-suit, and sometimes you have to
hold him even if he thinks he doesn’t need it.
Wally practically runs into Dick at the top of the stairs. The
smirk is just a little too bright this early in the morning—Wally
really needs to eat and mainline some caffeine before he deals with
Dick. Wally can guess he’s seen where he was coming from.
Yeah. He takes a deep breath.
“Dude, I’m dating your dad.”
“Okay,” Dick says, and Wally lets out the air in his lungs.
That’s not what he expected from Dick at all.
“Okay? Really?” He’s pretty sure a squeak isn’t a dignified
response, but it’s out there and he can’t take it back.
“Yeah. I always knew you crushed on him. And last night you
guys were being so obvious--” Dick stops, and Wally’s forced to
re-assess the extent that Dick’s good looks and charm let him get away
with murder. They’re going to have to do something about
that. Something that involves a huge amount of personal
embarrassment. And possibly photographs.
“So you knew.” It’s not a question because they both know the
Dick’s backpedaling now, and Wally would find it more amusing if last
night hadn’t been such a farce. At least it ended pleasantly
enough, but it bugs him that Dick would come between him and Bruce,
even if he knows deep down it means Dick thinks they’ve got a chance,
that they’d keep trying to be together. It’s not as if Wally
hasn’t done the same thing to Dick in the past—that extended stay at
his apartment when he was dating Barbara really wasn’t entirely
necessary—but they were kids then, and this is different.
Sneaking around was half the excitement. Wally has a moment where
it occurs to him he’s possibly the most emotionally mature of the three
of them, and that’s a scary thought.
The hallway feels brighter when Dick smiles, and Wally just can’t stay
mad at him. He shakes his head. “If you ever do that
“What, you’ll ground me?”
“No, I’ll tell Alfred, and he’ll ground you.” Wally has no doubt
Alfred would do it too. It doesn’t matter that Dick’s an adult
who doesn’t even live here any more. Alfred would do it, and Dick
would obey. Grudgingly.
“I’m not a kid,” Dick says, but there’s not much conviction in the
words because he knows he’s been acting like one, and Wally suspects
Alfred’s had a hand in tempering Dick’s attitude between last night and
“Neither are we.” Wally wants to tell him this is the best thing
that’s happened to him, that he feels more alive when he’s near
Bruce. He wants to tell him Bruce laughs more with him, smiles
more, and doesn’t threaten to strangle him nearly as often as he used
to. Instead he says, “I think this could work out.”
Dick leans closer and Wally knows he’s talking to Nightwing now.
There’s something in the set of the jaw, the intensity that takes over
his eyes. “Don’t break his heart.”
Wally understands the threat that isn’t spoken. He imagines he’d do the
same if Bruce was his father/mentor/partner/everything. Wally
holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. At the very least
it may lure Dick into a false sense of security because Wally hasn’t
forgotten that there’s still revenge to be exacted. And it’s
going to be sweet.
Wally pulls Dick into a tight hug, and then he’s gone, heading for the
kitchen. He knows Bruce is waiting for him back in the room.
He quickens his pace.
Dick looks up to see Bruce standing in the doorway of his room, wearing
a simple black robe. They look at each other carefully.
They’ve never talked much about this kind of stuff, and it still feels
as awkward as it did when Dick was twelve and Bruce tried to explain
the bats and the bees. Dick figures it’s a miracle he’s not still
a virgin given that particular conversation. The book left on his
bedside table later that night was infinitely more helpful and less
scary. He’d assumed it was Alfred who’d left the book, but as
with many things concerning Bruce, he’d been wrong and only discovered
it years later.
Bruce clears his throat. “So, do we have your approval?”
Dick has to admit Bruce looks happier this morning than he has in a
while. The weight he’s been carrying lately with the Justice
League and all the incidents in Gotham seems to have lightened a
little. Maybe it’ll be easier with someone else carrying part of
the load. And Wally’s got pretty broad shoulders.
“You don’t need my approval, Bruce.”
“I didn’t say I did.” And that’s typically Bruce. Dick
feels the old flare of anger, but he stops himself as Bruce
continues. “But I’d really like to know what you think.”
Bruce never asks his opinion about relationships. Cars and
weapons, computer technology, Tim’s training and anything relating to
acrobatics, but not relationships. God knows Dick doesn’t have
the best track record either. He doesn’t know what to say.
“Dick.” Bruce lays a hand on his shoulder. “Your opinion
means a lot to me.”
“I—I think it’s great,” he manages to get out, and he hates that
sometimes Bruce can still make him feel like a kid. He’s always
looked up to him with something akin to hero-worship, and that was long
before he realized Bruce thought of him as something more than
Robin. More than a sidekick. That even if Bruce fumbled
horribly sometimes, he was trying to be a good father to him.
Dick can forgive him almost anything because of the effort Bruce put
into trying to do the right thing even when he didn’t know what he was
“Your vagueness suggests--”
“Stop analyzing,” Dick says with some frustration. “Wally’s my
best friend and you’re my—look, Bruce, nothing would make me do a
backflip quicker than seeing you happy, but I know you. Both of
you, and you’re going to spend half your time pushing him away and he’s
going to run the first time he gets really hurt. It’s got
Disaster of Epic Proportions written all over it.”
“So, you think it’s a bad idea.” Bruce frowns.
“No, I think it’s a great idea, and God knows Wally needs a billionaire
to keep him from starving, but the two of you are as different as night
and day. You’ve got to hang onto him when he wants to run and
“--got to stop Bruce from pushing everyone away when that’s the last
thing he wants.” Wally materializes beside Bruce, a half-eaten
muffin in one hand, and a half-dozen danishes in the other.
There’s a carton of orange juice tucked under one arm. “Yeah, we
Bruce smiles and plucks an apple danish from Wally’s hand and passes it
to Dick. “Have a pastry and stop worrying so much. You’re
going to give yourself an ulcer before you’re twenty-five.”
Wally leans back so his head is resting against Bruce’s shoulder.
“Did he give you the ‘if you break his heart, I’ll break your legs’
speech yet?” Dick feels his face growing hot, and maybe this is
payback for last night. Yeah. That’s totally what it
is. He supposes he deserves it.
“Not yet, but I expect it was forthcoming.”
“I never said that,” Dick protests as Bruce slips an arm casually
around Wally’s shoulder, and the grin that spreads across his face is
wicked. Dick takes a step backwards. Oh, they’re really
going to make him pay for last night’s interference.
“I imagine it was implied,” Bruce says and Wally nods vehemently.
He’s going to get Wally for this. Wally flutters his eyelashes at
Bruce, and Dick wonders when he lost control of the situation.
“Oh, sweetie, he just worries about us. You know how kids are.”
Dick cringes as Bruce cuddles—there’s no other word for it—Wally
closer. “We’re going to have to think of something for him to
call you, dear.”
“Wally?” Dick squeaks out. He suddenly feels like he’s been
transported to a parallel world, and he’s going to bolt if he has to
watch the smiling and cuddling any longer.
“No, that’ll never do,” Wally says. “Maybe you could call me
“Or Mom,” Bruce adds helpfully.
Dick glares at Bruce with a look that could wither old-growth
forests. “Okay, enough, you guys. I’m sorry about last
night. I had no right to interfere. I’m happy for you, and
can we please all just go back to being oblivious? Or at least
“Well, you might want to get some earplugs if you’re going to be
staying here,” Wally suggests, and Dick can’t help the horrified look
on his face. Sure, Bruce isn’t exactly his father, but he still
doesn’t want to know what goes on behind his bedroom door. He
hasn’t honestly wanted to know since he was thirteen and he got a face
full of flash-powder instead of a peek at Vicki Vale.
“You win,” Dick says, and heads for the stairs. Wally’s babbling
loudly about sound-proofing and sturdier mattresses and something about
leather, and Dick’s about to put his hands over his ears and just
run. “I’ll see you later, and we will not talk about this.
Dick thinks he hears Bruce’s rich laughter behind him, and he can’t
help but smile. It’s a nice sound, and he doesn’t hear it often
He bites into the pastry Bruce gave him and follows the scent of coffee
to the kitchen.
Wally licks icing off his fingers. He’s lounging on the end of
Bruce’s bed, watching him carefully dissect his pastry as if it might
contain a bomb.
“I had the Bat-Hound sniff it before I brought it up. Ace gave it
the thumbs up, Bruce. No explosives.”
“Hm?” Bruce says, looking over at him, puzzled. Wally wonders if
he remembers he even owns a dog. He’s pretty sure it’s Alfred who
takes Ace for walks. He wonders if Bruce would notice if he put
the dog in a mask and cape. A utility collar. It might be
“Never mind. So, you think Dick’s really okay with this?”
“He wouldn’t have been such a pain in the ass if he wasn’t. He’s
never had any problem telling me when I’m screwing up.”
“True.” Wally’s listened to more than one rant from Dick over the
years, and in some ways he feels like he’s already worked out a lot of
the potential issues with Bruce through watching the two of them say
exactly the wrong things to each other.
Wally takes a long drink of orange juice, and smiles at Bruce.
“You really need to invest in some instant coffee. Alfred’s
brewing a pot, but it takes forever.”
“It takes eight minutes to get a pot of perfect dark roast.
Instant coffee is swill.”
“You’re a coffee snob, you know that?” Wally looks longingly at
Bruce’s danish. “Are you going to eat that or just torture it for
Bruce glances at him and hands over the pastry without a word.
Wally makes a concerted effort not to eat it at super-speed. He
knows it’s a little disconcerting, even though Bruce has seen him do it
a thousand times.
“So, sweetie, what do you want to do now?” Wally bats his
eyelashes at him and stretches.
“You do realize that was only because of Dick, right? No pet
names.” Bruce is sitting entirely too far away in an over-sized
leather chair, and Wally can’t shake the thought that his silk robe
still drapes around him like a cape. Apparently you just can’t
take the Batman out of Bruce.
“You let me call you Bats.”
“I didn’t think there was any point in trying to stop you,” Bruce
admits, and Wally grins. Probably true. He’s been doing it
so long, he doesn’t think he can break the habit. “But no other
“Or my death with be painful and slow, and you’ll make me suffer in
excruciating ways. I know the drill.”
“Exactly,” Bruce says, and Wally worries when he can’t tell if he’s
joking. He rolls off the bed, languid as a cat, and straddles
Bruce’s lap, knees bent on either side of his thighs, bare toes
pressing back against the edge of the chair. A raised eyebrow is
Bruce’s only response.
Wally leans in and kisses his neck, feeling Bruce’s pulse steady under
his lips. “So how would you make me suffer?”
Bruce seems to be thinking, which should be more disturbing than hot,
or maybe it should be comforting that Bruce doesn’t appear to have a
ready list of possible Wally-tortures at the forefront of his
mind. Wally takes it as an opportunity to slide his hands into
the loose folds of Bruce’s robe and start a conga-line of kisses down
He doesn’t get far before Bruce has a firm arm wrapped around his
waist, and Wally feels the light touch of a finger against the sole of
his foot. He swears, and would’ve bounced into the air except for
Bruce’s grip on him.
“No fair,” Wally gasps, struggling in Bruce’s arms as that finger
tickles him like a feather, and Wally squirms, breathless and laughing,
not really trying to get away anymore.
“All’s fair in love and torture.”
Wally’s laughing so hard, he almost misses the L-word, and he knows
it’s just an expression—well, except for the torture bit—but it’s
Bruce, who chooses his words carefully and always means more than he
says. Wally kisses him and doesn’t care that he’s shamelessly
wriggling because Bruce’s hands have moved to cup his ass and Wally
hasn’t felt this alive in a long time.
“Master Bruce, I’ve brewed a fresh pot of--”
Wally’s across the room leaning against the fireplace mantel before
Alfred finishes his sentence. He knows he’s flushed and breathing hard,
and he rubs self-consciously at the hole in the knee of the sweatpants
he’s wearing. Someday he’s going to have to ask Bruce how he
always manages to look as if he’s been interrupted doing exactly
nothing at all.
“--coffee. Master Wally, good morning.” If Alfred
disapproves at finding him here, it doesn’t show. He glances at
Wally’s outfit and makes a tsk-ing sound. “I really wish Master
Dick would part with those. They’re in such dire disrepair, I
fear one good tumble and they’ll be beyond saving. The least he
could’ve done was find you something that doesn’t look as if it’s been
mauled by small rodents.”
Wally laughs and takes the coffee Alfred hands him. It smells
wonderful. Maybe he’s going to have to get some of the fancier
stuff. He thinks of what’s in his kitchen cupboards at
home—peanut butter and crackers and enough canned food to stock a
nuclear fallout shelter. He’s going to have to go shopping if
he’s ever going to have Bruce over for dinner. Or
breakfast. It’s a nice thought.
“--board meeting at 2:00 at WayneTech, and a charity benefit this
evening, but you’re only required to make a brief appearance. You
should have adequate time to return to the manor and change into your
tuxedo unless you feel it necessary to save Gotham on your way home.”
“I’ll try to refrain, Alfred. I know how you despise it when I’m
late.” Bruce is sipping his coffee and glancing over a file
folder Alfred has placed on the table beside him. Wally can see
columns of numbers running across the page. Sometimes he almost
forgets Bruce has another life.
“Very good, sir.” Alfred turns and leaves with a warm smile to
Wally. Somehow he knows he’s got Alfred’s approval, and he’s
surprised how much that means to him.
“You know,” Bruce says, “you don’t have to bolt every time someone
comes into a room.”
“Doesn’t anyone knock around here?” Wally asks.
Bruce just looks at him. “No, not really.”
For people who are notoriously paranoid about their privacy, they’re
awfully casual about personal space at the manor. Wally’s always
known this, but it was never really a problem before.
“I’m not used to it. And I don’t want to … embarrass you.”
Wally’s on his third cup of coffee already, and he might never go back
to instant again. He thinks he may have discovered heaven here at
the manor. Bruce, Alfred’s chocolate cake, and dark roast
coffee. He can die a happy man.
“You couldn’t embarrass me.” Wally knows Bruce is lying through
his teeth, and it’s kind of sweet. “That’s not a challenge by the
way,” Bruce adds with a smile, but he’s distracted by the pages in
front of him and Wally figures it’s probably time to go. For now.
“I should get back to Central City,” Wally says and he wonders if
things are going to be awkward between them. He’s got a hand on
the door when he feels Bruce behind him. He doesn’t touch him,
but Wally knows he’s there.
“I wish neither of us had places to be today.” Wally knows it’s
hard for Bruce to say things like that, to take the risk. He
wants to tell him he’s not going to hurt him, but he knows it’s going
to take time for him to believe it. There’s a pause, and Wally
can feel the heat from Bruce’s body. “I do own the company, you
know. I could probably cancel the--”
Wally shakes his head and turns around. “We both have lives,
things to do. I need to get home and feed the Spinster.”
“Huh?” Bruce is looking at him like he’s speaking a different
“My hamster. He spins around on that little wheel all day.
Seemed like a good name for him.”
Wally can tell Bruce is trying not to laugh, and then Wally’s being
kissed again. The door is hard against his back, and Bruce’s
mouth is demanding. It feels like he’s drowning in fire, and
Wally doesn’t want to ever stop feeling this way. Bruce kisses
him like he’s the most important thing in the world, and Wally can’t
believe he was afraid this was going to end before they even got
“Don’t leave yet,” Bruce whispers, and tugs him towards the shower,
slipping his robe off as he moves backwards. It falls to the
floor with a soft sound, and Wally follows without a second thought
because Bruce is magnificent by any definition, and he wants him like
he’s never wanted anyone before.
He strips off his clothes and takes Bruce’s hand.
Bruce is nowhere near a blushing virgin, and yet this feels new.
He wonders if it’s because he knows Wally so well, more than his
strengths and weaknesses, the things that could be exploited by an
enemy. He knows he likes peanut butter and Cheez Whiz on Wonder
bread, and that he won’t eat brussel sprouts because they remind him of
the aliens on Vespa 7 who tried to make him a ritual sacrifice.
He knows his sneakers are constantly coming undone when he’s wearing
normal clothes, and he switched to cappuccino because he couldn’t
remember if it was “espresso” or “expresso” that he wanted to
order. He hates his red hair and his freckles, loves his
super-speed, and secretly watches Coronation
Street with Green Lantern
when there’s no one else around. Bruce knows because there are
cameras in every common area on the station and he pays
attention. To everyone.
But if he’s honest, he probably knows enough about Wally to qualify as
a stalker. A really obsessive-compulsive stalker with an eye for
He chases a droplet of water down Wally’s chest with his tongue.
Teeth graze a nipple, and Wally’s fingers tangle in Bruce’s hair as he
shifts to his knees, tongue marking a path through the pale hair on
Wally’s stomach until he reaches the reddish mound at the base of his
cock. It’s beautiful and thick, and Bruce strokes it gently as
Wally leans his head back and clutches at Bruce’s hair.
Bruce swirls a tongue around the tip, and Wally’s hips shift under his
hands. Bruce slides a wet hand between his thighs, pushes them
apart for a better angle, and strokes his balls even as he licks the
“God, Bruce,” Wally says, looking down at him, and Bruce smiles around
Wally’s cock and sucks the head gently into his mouth. Wally’s
eyes flutter closed and Bruce can tell it’s taking an effort for him to
stay still. It’s hard for him to do anything slowly, and Bruce
“I never got to tell you exactly how I’d torture you,” he says, sliding
off and stroking the head of Wally’s cock with his fingers. It
bumps against his hand enthusiastically, twitching with every stroke.
“No, you didn’t.” Wally’s leaning back against the white tile
wall for support and Bruce wishes he knew how to paint because he wants
to remember exactly what Wally looks like at this moment. Head
thrown back, cock thick and heavy in Bruce’s hand, water beading on his
skin like diamonds.
“This,” Bruce murmurs, as he opens his mouth to take Wally inside.
“Fuck,” Wally says, and thrusts hard enough to hit the soft palate of
Bruce’s throat. He opens wider, and holds Wally’s hips, forcing
him to slow down, appreciate every stroke of his fingers, every slide
of his tongue as Bruce sets a rhythm. “Bruce, I can’t—I can’t
take much more of this.”
Bruce hums an acknowledgement around his mouthful of cock and he can
feel Wally begin to vibrate as he moves closer to climax. The
trembling moves through Wally like a wave and transfers to Bruce so
that by the time Wally comes in Bruce’s mouth, they can both feel every
vibration. It’s the most amazing sensation Bruce has ever felt.
He slides up Wally’s slumped body, kissing him everywhere he can reach,
and then he turns him towards the wall with gentle hands. He
takes the sponge and lathers it with soap, stroking it over Wally’s
flushed skin. Bruce traces patterns in the bubbles, slides a hand
between Wally’s thighs, and the strangled “God, yes, do it” is all the
permission he needs to slip a finger inside.
Wally’s relaxed and warm, and it doesn’t take much to spread him wider,
and Wally’s talking to him about how good he feels and how he wants him
inside, and Bruce thinks he can get used to the constant stream of
conversation when it’s like this. It’s encouragement and
reassurance, and Bruce’s never been so sure he knew what someone
wanted, but Wally’s not afraid to tell him and it’s easy to
comply. Two fingers, three, scissoring inside him, soap bubbles
sliding down Wally’s back and slicking his ass. Bruce’s wet
fingers pushing deeper and faster until Wally’s breath is coming in
ragged pants and Bruce knows it won’t be long for either of them.
“I want you inside me. Now,” Wally says, and one hand reaches
back to pull Bruce closer. Bruce helps brace him against the
tiles and then he’s slicking himself with soap and pre-cum, and
spreading Wally as far as he dares. There’s a moment of tightness
where he can feel Wally’s muscles clench around him and then he’s
sliding deeper, inch by inch, until he’s buried.
“You’re beautiful,” Bruce whispers against Wally’s neck, and he’s being
nothing except honest.
“Move, Bruce. I want to feel you moving.” And Bruce moves
because he can’t imagine not responding to that golden voice. He
slides slowly back and thrusts in sharply with a grunt of
pleasure. It’s been a long time since he’s done this and he knows
he’s always enjoyed it, but this is so much more than what he’s known
before. He strokes Wally’s cock with one hand, not surprised to
find he’s hard again.
“Fastest man alive indeed,” Bruce murmurs as he thrusts deeper.
Wally moans and pushes back into him, reaches down a hand to help him
set a rhythm, and Bruce sucks water off Wally’s back as they move
together. He mouths Wally’s name against his shoulder.
Slide and thrust, slide and thrust, and Bruce can feel the pressure
building, knows the precise moment when he hits Wally’s prostate
exactly right, and the vibrations move through them again. All he
can do is stroke and slide and thrust and lick and suck and kiss until
his mind empties of everything except this lightning burn of pleasure
that threatens to consume him.
“Oh God, Wally,” he yells as his cock empties, and Wally’s yelling too,
and he knows there’s semen spattering against the wall under Wally’s
hand. They’re both trembling—vibrating—and Bruce can feel the
clenching and unclenching of Wally’s muscles around his shrinking cock,
and he doesn’t ever remember it being like this. This good.
And it terrifies him the way nothing else ever has.
Wally adjusts the Flash uniform one more time, the mask still dangling
from his hand, as he waits in the main foyer for Bruce. He’s not
sure what a foyer is except a big empty space with not much purpose,
but he’s not going to dwell on the fact that it’s the size of his
apartment. He’s not.
He looks up to see Bruce coming down the stairs in a tailored navy
suit, perfectly put-together and Wally swallows awkwardly. It’s
hard to feel fashionable in red and yellow spandex. He’s so used
to Batman wearing a mask, sometimes he forgets exactly how stunningly
attractive Bruce is when he’s playing the billionaire. He tries
hard not to shuffle his yellow boots on the Italian marble floor.
“You look great,” Wally says, and Bruce smiles at him.
“So do you.” It’s a Bruce Wayne smile. A rich playboy
smile, and Wally knows it’s hard for him to play these roles all the
time. It gets confusing knowing what expressions go with what
“Wally, you really are amazing.”
There’s a hand stroking his cheek, and Bruce looks apologetic and
worried all at the same time. Wally wonders if Bruce has any idea
how vulnerable he looks right now, and he wants to tell him
everything’ll be all right. He settles for pulling him into a
hug. He can smell some sort of cologne that’s musky and spicy,
and it suits him perfectly.
“I like the cologne,” Wally says into Bruce’s collar. Bruce isn’t
letting him go, and any minute Wally’s going to start worrying about
wrinkling Bruce’s suit. Wally tries to take a tentative step
backwards, and can’t budge. Bruce’s arms are like a vise, and
that’s just weird because the man’s made a science out of keeping
people at a distance, and all of Wally’s alarm bells are going off.
“Bruce? Hey, I’m just going back to Central City. I’m not
going to disappear. Promise.” He tries to make it sound
casual, but it really isn’t. He just isn’t sure why.
“Don’t run away,” Bruce says, and lets go enough for Wally to fill his
lungs with air again.
“I won’t. Check the mail, water the plants, feed the Spinster,
maybe save the world. Nothing big.” He wants Bruce to
laugh. Or even crack a smile.
“Just be careful,” Bruce says too seriously, and kisses him hard enough
to make him take a step backwards, and suddenly Wally gets it.
Really gets it. Why Bruce has been distant these last few months,
but still keeping tabs on him, on all of them. The Justice Lords
scared him. Scared him enough to pay attention to what they told
him about the events that caused their world to change: Luthor’s
presidency, Flash’s death.
Fingers tangle in Wally’s hair and there’s never been a kiss so brutal
and so loving before. There’s blood from a broken lip in his
mouth and if Bruce were the kind of man to cry, he thinks he might
taste tears too. But Bruce hasn’t cried since he was eight, and
the closest he can get to saying he’s terrified is this kiss and Wally
kisses him back and tries to tell him it’ll be all right.
Whatever happens, it’ll be all right.
He knows Bruce doesn’t believe him. It’s obvious in the way he
holds him, touches him, as if Wally’s already dead and just doesn’t
“I’m always careful,” Wally says when Bruce finally lets him go.
“And I’m not running away, I’m just doing my job. You have a
couple of those too.” Wally points at the silver briefcase
sitting by the door.
“Bruce, I’ll be back as soon as I can, but I can’t stay here.
Central City needs me, just like Gotham needs you.”
“I know.” Bruce seems to realize he’s being difficult,
over-protective, and there’s a visible effort to relax. The set
of his shoulders doesn’t change.
Wally touches his face gently. “I’m really fast. I can be
here in minutes, and I will be
“If you don’t, I’m coming to get you,” Bruce says, and Wally knows he
“Deal.” Wally nods and kisses him again. This time it’s
slower, deeper, and Wally knows it’s going to be a long time before
Bruce says anything about love, but somehow it’s right there in the way
he moves, the way he kisses him. There’s something like sadness
too, and he wishes he could reassure Bruce nothing will ever happen to
But he can’t. Bruce would know it’s a lie.
They step apart and neither of them says anything else. Wally
tugs on his mask and breezes out the door. He turns at the end of
the driveway to give a small wave. He knows Bruce will watch him
until he can’t see him anymore.
He wonders if he should check his suit for some miniature Bat-tracker,
but decides it doesn’t matter. Bruce protects. It’s what he
does, and it’s one of the reasons Wally’s always looked up to him,
trusted him. Maybe even loves him.
Wally turns towards Central City and lets the wind and the rush of
speed empty his mind of thoughts. Gotham becomes just a dark
shadow behind him.
But he knows he’ll be back.
As fast as he can.
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