Impetuous And Near
by Shrift

Superman's arguing with Batman again, both of them posturing on the other side of the room. Superman's all bright colors and self-assurance; Batman is grim determination and just a trace of smugness over throwing a monkey wrench into whatever Superman's plans are. Again.

Wally yawns and glances around the Watchtower's command center. Princess looks like she's praying to Hera to give her strength. Hawkgirl looks like she wants to smash things, and GL's standing next to her with his arms crossed, biceps occasionally bulging like he just wants to be out there and doing something. Anything.

It's the first time Wally's seen him in uniform in days, and it's doing things to him.

Like drawing his attention to the fact that their uniforms are pretty much obscenely hot. And that it's impossible not to check out John's package when it's right there, especially now that he knows how it looks and feels. Tastes.

Like just this morning in John's bed, the heat and humidity so bad that it felt like someone had taken a steaming hot shower in the entire apartment, and the sheets sticking to his skin. Wally curled over the cradle of John's hips, his dick heavy with blood and warm on Wally's tongue. Bitter and salty, and a little metallic, like sucking on big, hot pennies that went through the washing machine.

John's place in the city is definitely a sauna. Wally will never ever tell him to buy an air conditioner.

Wally zones back out from that particular fantasy and realizes that J'onn is staring at him. There's the tiniest ripple of expression over his smooth, green face, and Wally just knows that J'onn must have read his mind.

"You were projecting," J'onn says. "Loudly."

Wally flushes, and he figures his face probably matches the color of his uniform. "Sorry."

J'onn doesn't say anything, instead looking over at John with a thoughtful expression on his face, and Wally's flush gets worse when the dude in question glances their way. John looks at him with those bright green eyes, frowning slightly as his attention visibly shifts gears. "You all right, hotshot?"

And that kicks off another sense memory of wearing John like a blanket, his hard dick pushing into Wally's ass. J'onn's head whips around like a snake, and Wally wonders how much more embarrassment it would take for him to die right on the spot.

Right now, he's thinking not very much.

"I'm fine," he squeaks out to John.

He desperately wants to leave and... bury his face in John's pillow and jerk off furiously, but mostly he just needs to leave so he can stop projecting at J'onn like a porno ray. But now pretty much everyone is looking at them, and Wally suspects there's no graceful way to get out of this one with dignity intact.

Not that he really ever worries about dignity. It's just that he's not sure if the rest of the team is going to be all that cool with him and John doing... whatever it is they're doing.

"Flash?" Superman says, and it's that 'is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?' tone that always got Wally in trouble in school. Because he did share, and it took a long time for him to realize that sharing wasn't the point of the question.

"Yeah, I just, um," Wally says, speeding halfway to the door and then stopping so he can finish his sentence. "I have to... go. You know," he says, shrugging in a sheepish way that he's hoping implies 'gotta pee' and not 'want to suck John's cock until he screams.' Wally smiles to avert suspicion, and his stomach feels queasy, as if he just downed a bunch of fully-loaded cheeseburgers that were sitting under the heat lamp too long.

He lasts long enough to see the frown forming on Superman's face, and then Wally makes a break for it, running fast enough through the Watchtower that it might be possible to track him from the streak marks on the floor.

John, apparently, doesn't need streak marks to track him down. He finds Wally a few minutes later, and despite the fact that it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Wally is going to be one of their rooms, John is smart and efficient enough to make the first place he looks the last.

He likes that about John. He's always had a thing for the detective type.

Wally likes John's room, too. It's cool and clean, the bed always crisply made and the remote control always on top of the TV. John's room also has the extra appeal of smelling like John, and this is something Wally has recently come to appreciate, like drinking wine that doesn't come in a box.

John props his hip against the door frame, arms crossed and shoulders filling the doorway. For a moment, he doesn't say anything, simply staring at Wally in that aloof way of his that makes Wally curl even more tightly around John's pillow.

Sometimes Wally thinks he might be hallucinating the fact that they're having sex. He's gotten knocked around a lot lately. It's possible that he's in a coma, or having really life-like delusions about spending a long weekend at John's apartment in the city. Sometimes he thinks that he'll wake up from the fantasy to find John is dating Hawkgirl and the most intimate thing he'll let Wally do is steal his french fries. That one day he'll wake up and discover John's skin doesn't taste like he remembers.

Wally thinks he's okay with never waking up.

"Hey," he says.

For a heart-stopping moment, John doesn't react. Maybe it's just Wally's weird perception of time messing with him again, but he figures there's enough lag there to read aloud the Gettysburg Address and a handful of Shakespeare's sonnets before the smile starts spreading over John's face.

It's a slow, narrow-eyed, dirty smile that spells out 'sex' in fireworks behind Wally's eyes. It makes him want to rub off on the bed, to come with John looking at him just like that.

"What got into you back there?" John asks.

And maybe it's just that hot look, or the way John unintentionally blocks the entire doorway with his body -- maybe it's the way John turns from an ice cube tray into a sauna when they're alone, but whatever the reason, Wally's on his knees before John's last word finishes vibrating in the air.

He reaches up and tugs at the zipper just under John's Adam's apple, wrenching it all the way down with a tiny scream of strained metal. The fabric parts in a deep 'v', shrinking back on itself and exposing the long expanse of John's hard torso. Thick neck, pecs, abs, and now Wally wants to pet him everywhere.

John's shoulders thump back against the doorframe as Wally nuzzles his cock, tugging the uniform down even farther. Saliva pools in his mouth as he watches John's dick harden before his eyes, and Wally has this really desperate need to suck him. To take John's dick and let it reshape the inside of his mouth, to make John squirm and move his hips.

Wally likes it when John is greedy.

He leans in and buries his nose in the dip where John's thigh turns into his pelvis, sliding his hands up the slippery fabric covering John's strong legs. Big hands cradle his head, thumbs rubbing where his ears are trapped underneath his mask.

"I want to fuck your mouth," John says casually. Wally looks up and sees that John is still smiling, his eyes a narrow curve of green. His hands direct Wally to where they both want him to be. He opens his mouth and goes eagerly, sucking in a breath through his nose as John fills his mouth with hard cock.

If this is a dream, Wally is really okay with never waking up. He's ready to declare it the best coma ever.

John starts off slowly, like he's teasing himself with Wally's mouth, which makes Wally moan and curl an arm around John's hips. He swallows and licks as much as John will let him, reaching up to cup John's balls, coarse hair rasping against his gloves.

He grunts and Wally can feel the vibration of it everywhere he touches John, and the dick sliding back into his mouth makes his jaw twinge. He's starting to learn John's body, starting to understand that the little curling snap of his hips right there means that John's really getting into it. Pushing faster, a little deeper, fingers kneading Wally's head.

Wally's hard -- he's been hard for a while -- and the quiet noises John makes during sex are killing him. Making him want to squirm around so he's humping something other than air. It's nothing but deep, wordless "unh" noises, and it's like John doesn't need to say what he wants to do to Wally anymore, because he's just taking what he wants, and really fucking enjoying it.

"Wally," John says, and that's the only warning he gets before the big head of John's dick is pushing at the back of his mouth.

He's always been pretty good at swallowing things, and the way he eats, he has to be unless he wants to hire a guy to hang around all day just in case he needs the Heimlich maneuver. He gags for a few seconds before his survival instinct kicks in, and then he swallows. John's hands tighten on his head to the point of pain as he swallows again, and Wally's jaw feels like it did the time he speed-chewed twelve pieces of Hubba Bubba.

"Oh yeah," John groans when Wally's nose is buried. His thumbs rub light circles over the points of Wally's jaw. "Just like that. Fucking --"

Wally's chin is wet with spit, gloved hand squeezing John's balls. Wally can feel the flex of John's ass underneath his forearm, can hear the harsh sound of John's heavy breathing. John is fucking his mouth now, hard and fast, and it takes almost all of Wally's concentration to keep up, keep swallowing, keep his teeth covered.

Wally hears John's breath hitch, and then John curls around him, his legs braced wide and his arms wrapping around Wally's shoulders and head. John thrusts wildly a few more times, his breath hot on Wally's nape even through the uniform, and then he comes and Wally's trying not to choke again. He swallows, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, until John gently tugs him off his dick.

He presses his face into John's warm hip and sucks in breath after breath of air, his lips swollen and hot. He can still feel the shape of John's cock in the back of his throat.

John pulls at him again and Wally stands, knees a little shaky from the lack of oxygen. He feels hot and sweaty under his uniform and he pulls at his mask, tugging it off and dropping it to the floor. He follows John's hands, leaning into him, and --

John looks satiated. Sleepy, his eyelids heavy. He holds Wally in place with an arm like an iron band across his back, and pushes his hand inside Wally's uniform to make a fist around his cock. His big hand slides easily. Wally's good and wet. He's been hard for a while, and now he's so turned on that he feels like he's going to squirm out of his own skin if John doesn't do something.

"Come here," John says and Wally falls forward against his chest. John pushes his tongue into Wally's mouth and then spins them, and there's a cracking noise and a sharp burst behind his eyes as his shoulders hit the wall, but he doesn't really feel any pain. John crowds him, a hard hand on Wally's neck holding him in place, still jerking his cock. Big thigh shoving between Wally's legs and pressing up against his balls.

Wally's lips catch on John's teeth as he just hangs on and kisses back. John jerks him hard, just as hard as Wally would jerk himself, and all he can do is breathe and moan into John's mouth, cheek, ear, shoulder. "Yes. Fuck. God. There, right --"

He comes all over John's slick fist, his uniform, John's bare chest. Wally sags, and John is there to push him back against the wall and hold him upright. John's neck smells like aftershave and sweaty sex.

"I'm never gonna be able to look at J'onn again," Wally mumbles, his lips sliding against John's skin.

"You do realize that I have no idea what you're talking about, right?"

"There's gotta be some way to stop it, right?" Wally says, lifting his head and peering at John, post-orgasm high still making him a little woozy.

"Stop what?" John says, exasperated and scowling now, although he's still pressing Wally into the wall.

"Hey, it's not my fault J'onn reads minds," Wally protests. "Does your uniform have to be so tight? Wait -- forget I asked that."

"Wally," John says, shaking his head. His smile is one of the rare ones, this gentle, indulgent smile that only Wally seems to get. He really would have to strangle anyone else John looked at like this, even if he only gets this smile when he acts like a complete dork. It's his smile.

"Hey --" Wally says, and doesn't know how to continue because he's not entirely sure of what he wants to say.

John seems to know what he means, anyway. "I don't mind."

Wally looks over and sees that the door to John's room is wide open. It has been the entire time.

"Cool," he says.

Still smiling, John lightly cuffs the back of Wally's head. "Idiot."

Wally figures that talking is overrated, anyway.


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