November 7, 2003
Disclaimers: So very much not mine.
Spoilers: For JL tie-in comic #17.
Summary: Wally pushes. Batman pushes harder.
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: Man, Livia gave me the original bunny, then Caro worked it. Shamelessly. Possible sequel to "Possibility."
Acknowledgments: To Caro, Livia, and Jack for audiencing.
Feedback: Reconnects me to reality. email@example.com
It wasn't a thinking thing, not really.
It was just... there he was, somehow in a. Well, Wally supposed you could call it a relationship, but no matter how good the man was, you couldn't call it dating. Or he couldn't.
But, anyway. The thing. With Batman.
And he'd gotten past -- barely -- the freaking out about the fact that there was a thing, and that it was with Batman, but... dude.
Some things just had to be acknowledged as fucking psycho.
And so it had seemed like a really good idea -- in that way where 'seemed' and 'idea' were loose terms at best -- to do something that said, "hey! This is cool, but it's also fucked up!"
And then there was the shaving and ow he'd forgotten about what a pain in the ass that was, but it was still fun because --!
The look on Batman's face!
See, because Wally had had enough time to know that the man wasn't an expressionless stone idol, no matter how much he wanted to be. He was stoic, sure, but there were nuances.
There was the "I'm amused" option, and the "I'm amused at your vast, crushing pain" option, just to name a couple.
All right, just to name most of them.
He still had the dress, and the underwear, and the makeup, and he wasn't the brightest bulb in the box, but Hawkgirl had been a good teacher with that stuff.
Which he supposed made sense, considering how limited your beauty options were when you spent the vast majority of your life in a giant winged helmet.
And there she was, Miss America, aka Lady Flash, ready for action.
And okay, so it had been a little weird to go zipping through the halls of the tower in stuff that flapped and fluttered, but he still hadn't been really thinking about it.
Wally is a man who believes that some punch lines deserve all the time and effort their lead-ins required.
And so, whoosh, into the computer room that was really Batman's room, even if no one really said it -- who had to? -- and zoom into Batman's lap and spin went the chair and he'd wrapped his arms around Batman's neck, smooched his pointy ears, and said, "let's go dancing!"
And for a while, a pretty long while, even, it was perfect.
Batman wasn't even breathing, and the eye-holes of his mask were just a little wide and he had his hands on Wally's waist exactly like he had no idea what to do with them.
And Wally had laughed -- he distinctly remembers laughing -- set one heel against the floor and spun them some more, but that was all he had time for.
The look on his face --!
Narrow eyes and thinned-out mouth like he'd never kissed anyone in his life, like he was physically incapable of kissing, like some kind of weird, freaky alien guy with his hands on Wally's waist.
"Uh..." Wally had said.
And he hasn't said anything else for a while now, because one hand moved from his waist, and it was on his knee, and now it's on his thigh.
And that's good, that's great, even. All in the plan, right? Except he hadn't really had a plan, as such.
Except that Batman's... touching him.
Stroking him, and not doing it the way he usually does, with the hunger and the hard hands and all those other great 'h' words.
Gloved fingers tracing patterns just beyond the edge of understanding over his stockings to the lace tops.
"I. Uh... yeah."
And Batman... makes a sound. A kind of 'hmm' sound that's more like a purr than anything else, and Wally thinks he should be paying attention to that, it's a new and very interesting Bat-sound, but mainly he thinks he should do it again.
Against his neck.
And he doesn't say anything else, just kisses him. Soft and wet and... wet and his fingers are tugging at the lace of Wally's stockings. Not really trying to take them off so much as playing with them.
He'd forgotten how sensitive his legs are without hair.
The back of his neck is tingling and he wants to shiver and, fuck, his arms are still around Batman's neck like a joke, and he remembers that it was supposed to be a joke, but.
It's something else now.
It's something about wondering whether or not he closed the door behind him, or if Batman even cared, because.
Batman tugs them off with his teeth, keeping a hand on Wally the whole time. Keeping him still.
There's something insanely pornographic about seeing his hands like this, in the middle of the day, with all the lights on. They're hot and slightly damp with sweat, the fingertips achingly rough on his skin.
Another kiss to his throat and a deep breath and Batman is smelling him, slow and thoroughly and it makes Wally wish he'd thought to buy some perfume or something, because he's clean and everything, yeah, but he's just... him.
He wants to be more than that in ways he can't quite name.
Not with Batman's hands on him, palm finally flat to his thigh and sliding... up.
Cupping him through the panties.
And he hears himself gasp, and he wants to say something witty, or say anything at all, but Batman is. It's like he's covering Wally up, or protecting him or something. Not really stroking at all.
Wally turns to face him, turns into a kiss.
Batman's kissing him like he'll break and... and, okay, he never really thought of himself as particularly submissive or anything, but it feels good to follow his lead.
To just... go with it.
Follow when he pulls away, try to catch that tongue, and Batman... he's smiling. And it's a weird smile, but it feels right. Looks right on his face.
Big hand hidden under the folds of the dress, and just the smallest squeeze and yeah, he's hard, and if he shifts just a little... God.
Batman's hard, too.
And it makes him want to rip off the dress, rub the makeup off against something rough and dry, like Batman's cheek. But Batman is... holding him.
Gently, but firmly. Holding him still in his lap.
And Wally could shake him off -- easy -- but. He doesn't want to.
Another soft, nearly chaste kiss, and Batman's nuzzling against the wig, breath hot through all the false blonde.
"Beautiful," he says low and sexy and that's bad enough, hot enough, but it's also amused.
That gravelly, stones-rolling-down-the-mountain amusement that makes Wally twitch.
And Batman's leaning in again, but Wally stops him, hand against the chest of the suit -- and why does it feel strange now? -- and it's hard to breathe, but.
"So. I take it you don't want to go dancing?" And okay, so it comes out weakly, but Wally is impressed that it came out at all. He should be getting points for this.
But Batman smiles, this sharp white thing with all of his sharp white teeth, bright and deadly as a knife. And stands them up, pulling them away from the desks and. Into his arms.
And then they're dancing, only it's no dance Wally actually knows, no, that would be too simple. That would make too much freaking sense.
It's slow, and courtly, and measured, and there are a lot of confusing steps. Something like a waltz, even though the only music is the hum of all the machinery. Something old, and he feels like an idiot.
"Hey. Hey, I don't know how --"
And Batman pulls him in close, lightly and firmly, arm around Wally's waist, and leads him in a dance around the room. Step step turn, again and again, just like Wally is really a woman, just like Batman is really just a man, someone who could wear, like, a tux or something, and not be... Batman. Deadly and strange and silent save for the air moving his cape.
And it feels like fainting, like being hit with some slow, sweet poison gas, but.
He thinks he can maybe hear it.
See the buttery lights and the women, the other women in their pretty dresses, the men so happy just to...
He can feel his eyelids start to droop. And he dances.
And maybe it's pity, or maybe Batman just wants to, but he pulls Wally close. Stops them, stops the music, stops everything but the arm around him and the want.
"Batman..." His voice is low. Shocky.
"You need a name," he says, as if it's the most logical thing in the world.
"Something... soft. Emma. Esme."
And, okay, that's freaky, and maybe Batman's just going with the whole 'masks' thing -- it would be like him -- but. But. He tries a laugh. "Wallamina?"
A smirk, directed not quite at him, and Batman spins him one more time. Lets him go.
And it's ridiculous, but Wally's so hard he can feel the lace of his panties pushing -- his panties, fuck, he's wearing panties, and how had that failed to occur to him?
He shakes his head. He doesn't know what to do. What he's supposed to do.
But Batman just reaches out, slow and easy and... not casual, but something. Like maybe he does this all the time, and it's just Wally who's new and clueless. "Come with me."
Wally swallows. Nods jerkily and smoothes his dress (oh God oh God his dress) over his hips and tries not to just touch himself. Not to lose it right there.
He takes Batman's hand and lets himself be led from the room, and not back to his own room, no, that would be too fucking easy.
Into corridors that he hadn't known the tower even had, where even the lights can't push back the shadows, and he knows, knows Batman keeps it just that way.
And then they're in his room, and he wants to pay attention, wants to be able to pay attention, but the bed's right there.
Big, and neatly made, and just demanding all of his attention. And dammit, it's just a bed, and it's just sex, and Batman is.
It's all different now, is all. Something about the brush of his dress on his thighs, something about the hand on his waist. So gentle.
Leading him over and laying him down and the kiss this time is harder, but it's still not right.
It's... it's slick and hot and purposeful, but it's still... off.
And it's still so good.
And that hand is back on his leg again, stroking his thigh with hunger that should be familiar, but only manages to be hot, to make something twist and break inside him with cruelly liquid force.
He moans into the kiss and Batman is leaning over him, stroking him and kissing him and Wally can't help but spread his legs.
Doesn't really want to, because. Because even though it's fucked up, even though he's sending a message and agreeing to things he doesn't really want to agree to, it's hot.
Maybe because of all that.
Because of the happy, uncomplicated sound Batman hums into his mouth and God, oh God, he aches, and he arches up and to the side, trying for more contact and letting himself be pushed back down just the same.
Can't stop himself from begging and doesn't know whether to be grateful or not that he can't form actual words, because.
Soft kisses and hard, hard hands, pushing his thighs even further apart and ghosting around his cock, not quite touching, not quite... daring? Pushing?
Nothing makes sense anymore, and Wally has a moment where the pain pushes past everything else, and then Batman's hand is on him again. Squeezing and gentling him and. God.
So soft, so wet, kissing his way to Wally's ear and stopping.
"Now, do you understand?"
And it's too much, the voice is too much, low and even and steady, just like he isn't driving Wally crazy, like his hand isn't right there and his breath isn't hot and damp and smelling of coffee and he cries out and jerks and comes.
Right there, just like that.
In his panties.
He turns his head away and squeezes his eyes shut.
Pants and shakes and God, wants more, and now, and something like sanity.
Because Batman is kissing him again, all slow force and demand, and Wally has nothing to resist that.
Batman licks his tongue and kisses all the tension out of him, all the questions and confusion and everything but the need to touch.
Run his hands over barely-stubbled cheeks and smooth, alien mask and kiss back. Give back.
Because it's all he has left.
And God, it all makes him feel so soft. So open and wanting and needy, and Batman's tongue is good to suck on but it's not enough.
And Batman sits up, and finally, finally starts stripping out of the suit. And at first Wally can only watch, because it's hot, it's always hot -- pale skin and paler scars and he follows Batman up and kisses his chest, dragging his mouth when just kissing isn't enough.
Leaving bright, damning streaks of lipstick behind.
Can't keep himself from shivering and wants. Something solid, something real, something that makes sense.
Something like Batman's hand on the back of his head, fingers carding through the wig and pushing him down.
And it's maybe gratitude, or maybe just need, but either way he has to do it. Tongue the head of Batman's cock and kiss it, mouth it, make love to it.
"Beautiful," Batman says again, and this time it sounds like he means it. No amusement, no mockery, no endless weight of knowledge.
Just the word, and the hunger and pleasure behind it, and the hand stroking through his fake hair, his wrong hair, and it doesn't matter, because he is.
Feels himself flush all over and goes down, slow as he can, steady as he can. Weight of the man on his tongue, blunt push against the back of his throat, taste of him burned onto his mind, and he can't stop. Can't think.
Groans around Batman's cock and Batman makes a sound, tiny and raw and choked and desperate, and it makes Wally burn inside, heat and need and God, swallow. Dark, wiry hair tickling his nose and Batman's hand on the back of his neck and Batman's deep, so fucking deep and thrusting.
Short and sharp and hungry as he feels.
Never wants to let go.
Even when Batman pushes.
Even when he comes, silent save for a long, shaky exhale, and Wally closes his eyes and swallows it all.
Pulls off and pauses, forehead pressed to Batman's thigh and sweat making his wig, his fucking wig itch.
He pulls it off and tosses it aside.
Lets Batman pull him up into a kiss, moaning at the feel of his hand in his sweaty hair.
He wonders what he looks like, now.
But Batman is nothing but gentle. Nothing but loving, soft and approving.
Holding him close.
Like something to be cherished.
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