Tar Beach
by Shrift

No matter how much he insists that he's fine, GL just gives him the look, the one with the narrowed eyes, the clenched jaw, and the eyebrows of DOOM. The look that says, "You will do what I say, because I know you, and you are not fine."

So Wally goes with it, because really, he isn't the kind of guy who says no to a little R&R.

Especially since he's been feeling like he lost a game of chicken to an intergalactic freight train the past few days.

Intergalactic freight train, exploding-sun-sucking wormholes. Same dif.

And he really wants to know what John considers relaxing, because he just can't picture it.

John. Relaxing, that is.

Never in a million years would Wally have guessed that they'd end up at John's place in the city, eating take-out from a Thai place down the street, straight out of the carton and Wally startling a laugh out of John with his speed-chopstick routine. They watch a couple of cheese-tastic action movies that John just rips to shreds, and Wally nearly laughs himself off the couch a few times at how John just gets so indignant about how inaccurate they are.

They're both out of uniform, which is. Nice. Weird, but nice. Because it's too hot to wear a mask, boots, and a full-body suit. And Wally didn't think that John even owned a pair of jeans, but he does, and they're the old kind that look soft and frayed at the seams.

He's glad that he's been keeping some extra stuff in the Flashmobile, because otherwise Wally would have sweated himself into a puddle of superhero by now. But he's got his trusty cut-offs that had once upon a time been his lucky jeans, long since sacrificed to the gods of summer.

After the second movie, they move up the roof. John's got an old radio up there tuned to a staticky blues station, and it isn't Wally's usual music, but he likes it, likes the smooth rhythm and the smoky voices that he can barely hear over the sound of traffic on the streets below. The beer cooler sits between them. Wally inhales a six-pack in less than five minutes, strips off his shirt and shoes, and just sprawls back on his towel.

Little squiggles of heat rise up from the tar. It's making him sleepy and warm, his skin prickling with sweat.

There's a clink of glass as John rummages in the cooler for another beer. Wally turns his head lazily and grins when he sees that John's lost his shirt.

And maybe his mouth goes a little dry when John's arm flexes as he twists off the cap. Because John's shoulders are ridiculously broad and gleaming with sweat, and his spine is actually curving as John sits on the roof with his legs spread wide and his elbows draped on his knees.

He's not like Superman. John's got the kind of body that occurs in nature, his upper body an upside-down triangle of heavy muscle on top of long, long legs, and --

Wally's glad his sunglasses are on his face, because he totally just checked John out.

Sweat tickles his forehead at his hairline, and Wally wipes at it with the back of a hand. And then John grabs his forearm, his placid expression turning a little dark.

"What?" Wally says. He tugs, but John's grip is solid.

"When did that happen?" John demands.

"What are you --" he says, and then catches on when John turns his arm and shows off the bruise on his wrist.

He guesses that it is kind of purple. And lurid.

"When did that happen?" John says again.

"Uh, you know when the snake-guys had control of the Princess?"

John looks a little gut-punched. "I left you alone with her."

"Hey," Wally says, turning onto his side. "It's not like you knew she'd gone all psychotic and evil. And besides, I got her coffee wrong. Super-villains hate that."

"Wally," John says, and shakes his arm. Gently. And his thumb starts rubbing circles on the inside of his arm, and --

It's pretty distracting.

"Hey, we won, remember?" he says. Wally sits up and impulsively wraps his arm around John's bent knee. "Don't worry, be happy."

He considers it a triumph when the worried line between John's eyebrows eases.

"Yeah, hotshot, we won."

Wally squeezes John's leg and props his chin on his arm. He's sitting close enough that he can smell John's clean, sweaty scent under the smell of coconuts from the sunscreen he insisted they both use. John tips his head back and takes a long drink of his beer, and Wally watches his neck work, the sun hot on his back.

And it's pretty comfortable for a while like that, John absently rubbing Wally's arm and Wally using John as a leaning post, idly watching John's chest move as he breathes, and Wally's eyes dipping down his belly to the worn button-fly of his jeans.

John's voice startles him, his heart tripping in his chest like his mom's caught him looking at porn.

Which, well, John kind of is for Wally, because look at him. But still.

"The last few battles we've had," John's saying. "Have you noticed a common theme?"

"Hunh?" Wally says intelligently. Sweat tickles his temple and he rubs it off on his shoulder. When he looks back up, John's watching him closely.

"You really haven't noticed, have you?" John says.

"Noticed what?"


Wally squints at him. "That's... really not helping."

John makes this irritated noise and pulls off Wally's sunglasses, tossing them over his shoulder. The sudden brightness makes him blink rapidly and knuckle at the purple spots flaring behind his eyes. John's hand slides up from his forearm to grip his shoulder.

"You've been the key, Flash. Twice in a row now."

And Wally really doesn't know what to say to that, except, "I guess it was just my turn?"

John's head goes back and he laughs.

"Hey," Wally says, feeling a little wounded. "I can save the day. Sometimes."

John stops laughing almost immediately, his hand sliding up again to cup Wally's neck, and --

Wally goes very still.

"What I'm trying to say," John says, voice quiet and precise, "is that it's the end of the world without you."

It's everything he can do not to spin a hole through the roof. "This isn't a joke, right?"

"What? No!" And Wally can tell it's the truth from the way John's scowling at him like he's his own species of idiot.

"Just checking," he says. And then he pushes himself up using John's knee for balance and kisses him. John's lips are cool and wet from the beer, and because there's a difference between being foolishly bold and actively suicidal, Wally decides to settle for just the catch and press of John's mouth against his own.

Except when Wally tries to pull back, John holds him there, and --

Apparently, John's got other ideas.

John's mouth opens and Wally doesn't even pretend to resist, perfectly happy to climb onto John's lap while his mouth is getting licked. And John's concentrating on rubbing just the roof of his mouth, which is making it tickle and itch, and it's driving him crazy, which --

Is probably the point. Hey, cool.

They ate the same thing for dinner and they're drinking the same brand of beer, and it makes all of the tastes seem to cancel each other out until there's just tongue and wet, John's hand heavy on the back of his neck, not that there's anywhere else Wally wants to be. And it's just John's slick lips sucking on his mouth, eventually giving way with an audible pop.

"So, hey," Wally says after a second, sitting pretty snugly against John. So snugly that every time one of them breathes, it's a sweaty slip of skin against skin, and --

His thigh tickles. Wally looks down to see that John's playing with the frayed bottom of his cut-offs.

"Hmm?" John says. His thumb slides underneath the hem of his shorts and strokes Wally's inner thigh.

"Never mind." Wally wraps an arm around John's shoulders and goes to town, kissing John as hard and deeply as he knows how, with the slide and catch of lips, tongue and skin, John's chest pressed against his own. John's hand is still stroking its way up the leg of his shorts, his other hand this hot point of contact on Wally's lower back.

He's still got a hand free, and really, Wally considers this a travesty, so he immediately slides it down between their bodies, trailing over the hard bump of John's nipple. He slides his hand around John's waist and down, dipping his fingers under the waistband of John's jeans.

John pulls away for a moment, his breath coming in hot pants against Wally's mouth. He pushes with the hand on Wally's lower back, and he rocks forward, half-hard. John's jaw clenches and air hisses between his teeth.

"Unh," Wally says and buries his face against John's sweaty neck, because John's thumb is sliding behind his balls, and, "Oh, God."

"Do you like that?" John's asking. "I thought you might."

And Wally's not quite capable of speaking English at the moment. "Wha?"

"You talk about girls all the time, Wally, but you never seem to go on dates," John says.

"I'm... picky?" Wally tries, and John just laughs, which feels really good when Wally's this close.

"Maybe you are," John says. "Maybe you need my hands on you."

Wally can't quite do anything but whimper when John says that, because it's true, and John's fingers are pressing up hard behind his balls.


John's eyes are hooded and flaring, a bright, bright green. "Maybe you need someone strong enough to hold you down."

Wally just wriggles on his lap, because yes, please. "John."

John's hand slides down the back of his shorts, his middle finger pressing and rubbing, and then sliding in even though sweat and the barest amount of sunscreen aren't quite enough to smooth the way. Wally sits back on John's finger, and the buttons on John's fly are pressing hard against his cock.


"Yeah, you need someone strong enough to hold you down and fuck you," John says.

Dazed, Wally says, "That would be good. That would be really, really good."

The sharp honk of a car from the street below startles them both, and John's finger hits him in just the right spot. When his vision fades back in, Wally realizes that he's got his arms and legs wrapped around John, hips rocking, and --

John isn't exactly fighting him off, despite the fact that they're in public. He feels the hot sting of lips and teeth on his neck, and he moans.

And then John's pulling out his fingers and shoving him off his lap, and Wally's too shocked to do anything but sit there and watch him stand up. And then John's hauling him up, too, pushing him toward the stairwell door. Wally's bare feet slap on the steps as he stumbles down two floors, John following him closely enough so that their hands keep tangling on the on the banister.

In the dark of the stairwell, it's suddenly cool, and Wally shivers, his feet scuffing along the carpeted hallway of John's floor. John presses him into the door, his body hot along Wally's back as he digs for his keys and turns them in the locks. They stumble into John's apartment, the door slamming shut behind them. John's hands are big, warm, and insistent, pushing him into the bedroom.

Wally climbs into John's bed and buries his face in the pillows, because the sheets and pillowcases smell like him, and Wally could stay here for the rest of his life. And then John's climbing over him, one hand pushing under the waist of Wally's cut-offs to cup his cock while John unzips the fly.

John tugs off his shorts, the loss of his body heat making Wally shiver again. He looks over his shoulder when he hears the pop of buttons and sees John stripping out of his jeans. He can't help but rub against the comforter while watching John get naked, because it's John. Naked and hard. And Wally wonders if he can get a statue made, because shit.

He draws up a knee, still rubbing against the comforter, and John growls, the mattress dipping as he climbs back on and covers Wally's back. John sucks a messy kiss onto the side of Wally's neck, wet cock riding against his ass.

"You want me to hold you down," John's saying, "lick your ass until you beg me to fuck you."

Wally's entire body says yes because he can't. He's too busy groaning and pushing his ass against John's cock, and then John finally slides down his body, tormenting Wally on his way down with his wet mouth and his big hands. John tugs at his hips and Wally rises up onto his hands and knees. There's a total loss of sensation for a few heart-pounding moments, and Wally just vibrates in place.

And then John's thumbs hold him open, and his tongue swipes hot and wet over his ass. Over and over, and then in, and maybe Wally yells. He's not sure. There's just John's tongue and his hands, and Wally pushing backward into it, because Jesus, there's nothing like this. Hot, insanely hot, and almost enough, his body shaking harder every time John pushes in with his tongue.

"Fuck me," Wally finally manages to say, and then he can't stop saying it. "Fuck me. Fuckmefuckmefuckme fuck me."

John's hands clench hard on his ass, and then his tongue and hands are gone, leaving Wally wet, open, and twitching. He hears a drawer being yanked open on the nightstand next to the bed. And then John's big, slick fingers are pressing inside him roughly, and Wally doesn't mind at all. He pushes back and back, until John pulls out his fingers and there's that liquid sound as he slicks up his cock.

"No idea, do you," John's saying into his back, his cock pushing inside, and it burns, but Wally doesn't care.

"Please," he says, trying to thrust back. But John grabs onto his hips, and just. Screws himself into Wally's ass so slowly that his arms are trembling by the time he can feel John's hair prickling against his ass. John's dick is big and hard inside him, and fuck, Wally wants him to move. Move and never stop moving.

John's first thrust is shallow, and it makes him whine in the back of his throat, so John responds by trying to fuck his way up Wally's spine. He grabs onto the headboard and shoves back as John pushes forward, their bodies moving the mattress and thumping it against the bed frame. The sheets feel rough under his knees, and he braces with one hand, reaching down for his cock.

Wally jerks himself off clumsily, John's hands pulling him back onto his cock, and his balls are so tight that he knows he's going to come soon. Sooner than he'd like, but fuck it. And so when John pulls him back again, Wally lets go of the headboard, sitting back hard on John's cock, throwing his head back onto John's shoulder and coming all over himself. Wally twitches hard around John's cock, and he can hear John's breath catch in his ear.

Gravity eventually tilts his body forward onto his elbows and knees, and John follows him down, still hard and big in Wally's ass. His body is incredibly happy, and when it's happy, it wants to move, but Wally likes where he is, so he just. Vibrates.

John makes this broken noise and pushes him down hard into the mattress, hips grinding and moving constantly. Wally's dick twitches, but it's way too soon, even with John fucking him like it's going to kill them both, his nose tucked against the corner of Wally's jaw.

Wally tries to be helpful and move, but then John's mouth closes over the meaty part of his shoulder and bites so gently, and --

It makes him clench hard around John's dick. Again and again, until John's coming in his ass, his arms shaking as they bracket Wally's body. He cheats a little and pushes at the inside of an elbow, and then John drops his full weight onto Wally's back.

"Hey, hotshot," John says, and his voice is so deep and thick that it sounds like he's drugged.

"Mmrrff?" Wally says, his face half-buried in one of John's pillows. It still smells like John, but now with added sex and coconuts.

"You all right?" John's skin slides against his back, but doesn't move away. Wally hooks his legs around John's ankles to keep him there, just in case.

"M'fantastic, man." Wally's eyes are already closed. He hopes that the Thai place down the street stays open late, because he has the feeling that he's going to be hungry when he wakes up.


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