Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6171421.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Wally_West/Bruce_Wayne, Dick_Grayson/Roy_Harper
  Character:
      Wally_West, Bruce_Wayne, Dick_Grayson, Donna_Troy, Jason_Todd, Roy_Harper
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Sneaking_Around, Underage_Drinking, hot
      dad_alert, Porn_With_Very_Little_Plot, deadbeat_parents, Recreational
      Drug_Use, Run-On_Sentences
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-06 Words: 8521
****** coffee and kisses for your freckles and red hair ******
by ohmcgee
Summary
     (501):
     don't judge but I think I'm gonna go fuck a dad this weekend
Notes
     I don't know what to say. This happened? Wally/Bruce is my new
     favorite. Byyyyyyyye
     ps: This is in Wally's voice, so run-on sentences and stream of
     consciousness ahoy!
  This work was inspired by
      brings_a_change_for_you_and_me by likewinning
“Hey, Dickie, wait up,” Wally says, running to catch up with him. “Gimme a ride
home? Dad forgot me again.”
“Uh, I dunno,” Dick says, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve kinda got a
full car.”
“It’s alright, Dick,” Donna calls from the back. “Kori and I can walk to my
house, it’s not that far.”
“No way,” Roy says, grinning. “Little Jay doesn’t mind riding in my lap, do
you?”
“Roy --”
“Sweet!” Wally says and lifts up the seat, squeezing in the back next to Roy,
Jason, and Donna. Kori gets to ride shotgun because her and Dick’s on again off
again thing is apparently on this week.
After they drop Donna and Kori off at Donna’s house the car gets a little less
cramped. Jay climbs between the seats and gets up front with Dick and Roy leans
forward and pesters him the rest of the drive, pulling his hair, reaching
around the seat to tickle him until Dick slaps his hand away.
After they get to the manor, Jason goes off to do his angsty teenage art thing
and Wally, Dick, and Roy climb up into Dick’s old treehouse and smoke up.
Smoking’s alright, Wally guesses, but it’s not his favorite. Makes him feel
like his arms and legs are made out of lead, makes his thoughts go so slow he
can pluck them out of his head one by one, instead of mixing them all together
the way he likes.
Wally sprawls out on his back and squints up at the sunshine peeking through
the cracks in the roof as Dick and Roy’s shotgunning turns into wet sounds and
when Wally turns his head and looks over, Roy’s got his hand down the back of
Dick’s jeans and Dick’s pushing back against it and --
His tummy growls.
“Munchies,” Wally says, patting his belly and grinning at them as he pulls
himself off the floor and climbs down the ladder. There’s always a ton of
snacks in Dick’s kitchen and a million containers of leftovers and Wally needs
approximately all of them.
He’s got his head buried in a bucket of chicken when he hears someone clear
their throat, looks up and sees Bruce, Dick’s not-really-Dad, but close enough.
He just got home from work, Wally guesses, but he’s already toed his shoes off
and yanked at the knot in his tie enough that it’s loose around his neck, the
top three buttons on his shirt undone and Wally forgets how to close his mouth.
“Oh hey, uh, Bruce. Hi. I was just.”
“Eating my food,” Bruce says, pulling at the knot in his tie until it comes
completely undone. “Again.”
“Well I,” Wally says. “You know. My mom says I’m a growing boy.”
“Oh?” Bruce says, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge and tipping it
back. “If you smoke this much pot at home, then I’d understand why she would
say that.”
“Uh,” Wally splutters. “I wasn’t. I don’t. I mean, what’s pot? Is it drugs?
Just say no, I always say.”
Bruce chuckles and screws the lid back on his water bottle, licks the stray
drop of water from his bottom lip. “Of course not,” he says. “Just as Dick’s
not up in that rickety old tree house making out with someone I’ve forbid him
from seeing.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Wally says, licking the grease off his
fingers. “I just came to eat all your food, watch your cable, and maybe take a
dip in that olympic size bathtub you got up there.”
“You mean my bathtub,” Bruce says, lifting an eyebrow at him. “You were in my
room?”
“Oh,” Wally says. “No? No. I just heard about it. People talk, you know?”
“About my bathroom?” Bruce asks, his mouth twisting into a grin.
Wally sighs. “Fine. I got lost in your stupid huge mansion one day and it made
me so tired I accidentally fell asleep on your bed. Do they really make beds
that big or did you have it custom made? I mean, the headboard on that thing is
solid. Do you --”
“Wally,” Bruce says, reaching across the counter to take one of the oranges out
of the fruit bowl and starts peeling it so slow Wally wants to yank it out of
his hand and tear it into shreds. “Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?”
“And this is me stoned.” Wally says, then catches what he just said. To Dick’s
kind-of-Dad. Shit. “I mean. I’m not. I don’t --”
Bruce grins at him and slips a slice of orange between his teeth.
That’s when the little one, Damian or Dorian or something, Wally thinks, walks
in and scowls at him. “This,” he says, picking the bucket of chicken up and
turning it upside down -- only a few crumbs fall to the floor and Wally
blushes. “Is why I’m not growing.”
 
: : :
 
Wally stays over at Dick’s house a lot. And at Roy’s whenever Ollie’s out of
town. Basically, he tries to stay anywhere that isn’t his own house as much as
possible. If Dick’s house just happens to be his favorite because it has all
the best snacks and a zillion comfy places to take a nap and Dick’s kind of hot
sort-of-but-not-really Dad, then, well.
It’s not that he doesn’t like spending time with Dick. Dick’s his buddy. Dick
was the first person he called after he got his first blowjob. Dick’s the
person he asked about giving his first blowjob. Dick’s always been there for
him, has gotten him out of so much trouble, and makes a really excellent body
pillow when Wally forgets he’s supposed to be studying and passes out on him.
“S’okay if I stay here t’night?” Wally asks when he blinks his eyes open and
notices it’s dark out already.
“Of course,” Dick says, twirling Wally’s hair around his finger as he watches
some stupid sci-fi movie with giant ants in it on his laptop. “I think Bruce
likes you more than me.”
“Really?” Wally says, rolling up into a sitting position. “I can never tell if
he likes me or not. I mean, I know he doesn’t hate me like he hates Roy, but.
You think so?”
Dick shrugs. “He asks Alfred to pick up those Little Debbies you always destroy
when you’re here. So yeah, probably. Why?”
“I dunno,” Wally says, busies himself with one of Dick’s magazines. Wow, those
boobs are kind of terrifying. “I mean. Parents don’t usually like me. Eating
them out of house and home, talking too much, never leaving…”
“Hey,” Dick says, poking him in the stomach and Wally giggles. He’s so
ticklish. “Bruce never thinks that. You’re always welcome,okay?”
“Yeah,” Wally says, feeling the back of his neck go red from all the awkward in
the room. “I’m gonna go -- I still have a toothbrush here, yeah? I’m gonna go
brush my teeth and grab a shower.”
“Yeah,” Dick says, smelling him. “You really should.”
“Tool,” Wally says and shoves him off the bed.
He grabs a towel from the closet outside and walks down the hall, has to wait
for Jason to get out before he goes in, and practically moans out loud when he
gets under the water. Dick’s house has the best water pressure and magically
never runs out of hot water. One time he stayed in for like an hour to see if
he could use it all up and he just ended up deydrated with shriveled fingers
and red as a lobster for about thirty minutes. It’s like some kind of sorcery.
Sometimes he wonders if Dick actually lives at Hogwarts, then gets weirded out
when he wonders if that would make Bruce Dumbledore.
Still, he’s not one to waste water, so he puts one hand against the shower wall
and wraps the other one around his dick, closes his eyes and pictures the
usual. Topless cheerleaders, Dick dressed as a cheerleader, Dick and Roy making
out dressed as cheerleaders, Bruce --
“Oh god,” Wally says and looks down as his cock jerks and shoots come up his
chest, his knees buckling from the suddenness of it. “Wally West,” he mumbles
to himself, dragging his fingers through it. “You’re officially a mess.”
He cleans himself off the rest of the way, washes his hair with Dick’s froo-
froo lavender-jasmine shampoo and conditioner, then turns the shower off. He
wraps the towel around his waist so he can brush his teeth, then grins at
himself in the mirror.
“So fresh and so clean,” he hums, opening up the door and barrelling right
into...Bruce.
His hair is still so wet it drips on Bruce’s t-shirt.
“Sorry. Um.” Wally says. “I’m wearing a towel.”
“I can see that,” Bruce says. “I assume you were headed to remedy that before
trying to walk straight through me.”
“Sorry,” Wally says again. “I didn’t see you or I wouldn’t have...tried to walk
through you. That’d be pretty dumb, right? You’re like a brick wall.” Then he
does the stupidest thing imaginable and actually puts his hands on Bruce’s
chest. Like, right where his ridiculous pecs are and...squeezes. “Wow.”
Bruce makes a sort or strangled, choking noise in the back of his throat and
peels Wally’s hands off of him. “Good night, Wally.”
“Right,” Wally says. “Sleep. You’re going to sleep. In your bed. Have fun! I
mean.”
Bruce just shakes his head at him and walks off. Wally watches him go until he
shuts the door behind him, then breathes out a shaky laugh and runs his hand
through his wet hair.
“Definitely a mess.”
 
: : :
 
It’s not that his parents hate him or anything. They just like screaming at
each other and throwing things at each other and getting drunk more. It’s fine,
Wally likes plenty of things better than them too. Like doing body shots with
Dick and Roy and Donna. Like bacon double cheeseburgers. Like --
Wally winces as something hits the wall and shatters.
Like pretty much anything else.
He pulls on a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and his sneakers and climbs
out the window and runs. Running’s good. Running is another thing he likes more
than being at home. When he runs he goes to this place where no one can touch
him and there’s no screaming, no glasses hitting walls, just the wind on his
face and the ground beneath his feet and that fucking amazing burn spreading
through his legs.
He doesn’t stop until he gets to Dick’s house, stops for a second outside to
put his hands on his knees and catch his breath. He never really sets out with
a destination in mind, just lets his legs carry him when his mind completely
checks out, but more often than not, this is where he ends up. Here or
McDonald’s.
It’s been a week since Wally’s bugged him about staying over. Wally knows he’s
a lot, that people need a break from him sometimes, but he hopes it’s been long
enough that he can drop in and they can play Xbox or whatever and Dick will let
him pass out on top of him and he can finally sleep without waking up every two
hours to screaming.
“Oh,” he says when Bruce answers the door. “You’re not Dick.”
“Not by a few years,” Bruce says, then swings the door open. “Come on in,
Wally.”
Wally does and he notices a few things at once: that Bruce smells like alcohol,
that he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and that the house is really, eerily
quiet. The tv’s not on, Jason and Damian aren’t yelling at each other, Dick’s
music isn’t blaring from his room. It’s just quiet. Wally thinks about
screaming just to see how much it would echo.
“I’m sorry, but Dick isn’t home,” Bruce says, even though he shuts the door
behind Wally anyway. “He took Jay and Damian to see some film in the city. They
were driving me crazy.”
“Oh,” Wally says, his face falling. He’s always sucked at dealing with
disappoint, even the smallest, stupidest ones. Once he got a blue bouncy ball
instead of a red one from the quarter machines in the supermarket and got so
upset he vowed never to spend his money there again. “That’s okay. I’ll just -
- I’ll go. Back home.”
“You could wait,” Bruce says and there’s this thing in his eyes that Wally
recognizes, the thing he sees when Iris and Barry look at him when he runs away
to their house sometimes and they don’t have to ask why he’s there, they just
know. “I wouldn’t mind.”
He’s glad Bruce doesn’t ask either.
“Are you sure?” Wally asks. “I’ve been told I talk a lot and you seem to be
enjoying a nice, quiet evening of...something. It is really quiet in here.”
“It was,” Bruce says, teasing him, and -- teasing him?
“You’ve been drinking,” Wally says. “You must’ve been to want me to stick
around and pester you.”
“I have a glass of scotch every day after work,” Bruce rolls his eyes. “And
you’re not pestering me.”
“Give me five seconds.”
Bruce gives him a look, swirls his scotch around in his glass, then knocks the
rest of it back. “I like talking to you,” he says and Wally forgets how to
blink. “Well. You talk in circles, but it’s rarely boring.”
“Everybody says it’s nonsense.”
“Maybe they’re just not smart enough to understand,” Bruce says and pours a
little bit more scotch into his glass. “I know what it’s like, having so much
in your head all at once.”
“But you,” Wally says, trying to put the pieces together, but coming up with
only edges. “You’re --”
Normal. Functional. Not a freak.
Bruce shrugs, sips on his drink. “We all cope differently,” he says. “I work
eighty hours a week and indulge in ridiculously overpriced grain whiskey. How
do you get things to slow down?”
“I run,” Wally says before he even knows he’s going to say anything. He’s never
told anyone that. No one’s ever asked him before. No one’s ever looked at him
like they know what he’s made of before either. It’s freaky and it makes Wally
feel a feeling he can’t quite put a name to.
“Did you run here?” Bruce asks and Wally nods. He can still feel the sweat on
the back of his neck and knees. He doesn’t understand why he’s still here, why
Bruce is still talking to him like he’s -- like he’s the kind of person Bruce
would talk to.
“I should go.”
“Do you want to go?” Bruce asks, watching him as he takes another swallow.
No. “No,” he says. “But it’s weird. Without Dick here. Don’t you think it’s
weird?”
Bruce puts his glass down at that and his face seems to sober up quickly. “Dick
will be home in a few hours, but you are welcome to go up to his room and wait,
if you like. You don’t have to --”
“Shit,” Wally says, suddenly realizing how what he said probably came out. “No,
shit. I didn’t mean it like -- I just mean, it’s weird that you want to talk to
me? No! Fuck,” he pulls at his hair, takes a deep breath, and spits out what he
really means to say. “I just mean that you’re hot and smart and Dick’s kind-of-
dad and rich and we have literally nothing in common and I’m kind of pathetic
but you don’t have to pity me or whatever I’m fine, I don’t need you to --”
“Wally,” Bruce says, grabbing him by the shoulders and suddenly Wally realizes
he’s shaking a little, just kind of vibrating beneath Bruce’s giant fucking
hands. “Stop.”
“Okay,” Wally says. “Sorry.”
Bruce kind of ignores his apology, just like he ignores the little outburst he
just had, and just picks his glass off the counter and tilts his head at Wally.
“Actually,” he says. “I could use your help with something, since you’re here.”
Like Wally didn’t just call him hot. Like nothing weird or embarrassing just
happened at all.
And that’s exactly how Wally ends up spending his Friday night in Bruce Wayne’s
den -- yep, people who aren’t on tv really have freakin’ dens, apparently -
- setting up Bruce’s new phone for him.
“You’re kidding,” Wally giggles when he asks him. “You aren’t actually ninety
years old, are you?”
Bruce scowls at him and Wally just giggles harder. “How do you not know how to
do this?”
“If you don’t want to do it --” Bruce says and reaches for the phone and Wally
holds it out of his reach, still giggling.
“No!” He says. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. But I totally see why you wouldn’t ask
Jason or Dick or the small angry one. They’d give you never-ending shit for not
being able to figure out an iPhone.”
“Precisely,” Bruce says. “And if you tell either one of them, I’ll --”
“You’ll what?” Wally grins.
“I’ll stop feeding you,” Bruce says, like an evil mastermind, and when Wally
gasps out loud, he laughs and -- man, that is a thing.
Then Bruce is reaching for his phone and Wally’s a shit, so he holds it just
out of reach and Bruce says, “Wally,” and leans in and reaches for it again and
Wally says, “Bruce,” grinning so much it actually hurts his face and Bruce
says, “Wally,” again, but this time it’s different. It’s his name, but it’s
also something else, and Bruce’s eyes flick down to Wally’s mouth, then back up
to his eyes, and Wally licks his lips and --
Headlights shine through the window.
“Dick’s home,” Bruce says and slips his phone out of Wally’s hand.
 
: : :
 
“Wallyyyyyyyy!” Dick wails when he walks through the door. “Baby! I missed you!
How long have you been here? Bruce didn’t bore you with his record player, did
you?”
“I do not have a record player,” Bruce says. “It is a cd player, Dick. It plays
cds.”
“Whatever, it’s ancient,” Dick waves him off and throws his arm around Wally.
“Come on, lets go make Jay draw us like his french girls.”
“I dunno, Dickie,” he says, smoothing his hands down his hips. “I just don’t
got curves like Kate, you know?”
“You’re both idiots,” Jason says. “Bruce, tell them to let me paint in peace.”
“Dick,” Bruce says, kind of pointedly not looking at Wally. “Go find something
to do -- something that doesn’t involve illegal substances or illegal anything,
preferably. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Fine,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. “Can we --”
“And nothing involving Roy Harper.”
Dick huffs and spends the next six hours complaining about how much he hates
Bruce, how unfair he is, how he totally, totally sucks, and all Wally can think
about is how he saw flecks of green in his eyes when he laughed.
“Say he sucks,” Dick punches him in the arm. “That’s what you’re supposed to do
when I’m being a whiny bitch, Wally. Keep up.”
“Oh sorry,” Wally grins and frogs Dick in the leg. “You’re definitely a whiny
bitch.”
Dick attacks him this time, just comes across his beanbag and wrestles him to
the ground, pinching his nipples until Wally bites him on the arm. When they
finish grappling around, Dick just sits back on his legs and looks down at him
seriously, though it’s hard to take him that way when he’s red in the face and
his hair looks like a family of squirrels live in it.
“Wally,” he says. “Do you like Bruce?”
“No, Dickie,” Wally rolls his eyes. “You’re right. He totally sucks. He’s an
awful, terrible meanie. You --”
“Wally,” Dick says firmly, leaning over him. Wally can smell the chocolate milk
on his breath; it’s gross. “Do you?”
“He’s nice to me,” Wally says, more honest than he means to be, and it sort of
hurts the way you don’t expect, like when you wax your legs. Not that he would
know anything about that.
“Oh,” Dick says quietly, like he wasn’t expecting that, and just rolls off of
him. “I’m going to steal a beer out of the fridge, you want?”
Wally rolls onto his belly and grins up at him. “Do you even have to ask?”
 
: : :
 
School sucks, but it isn’t all bad. In gym he gets to run and look at
cheerleaders and chemistry is just fucking awesome. He gets to blow things up
on purpose in chemistry and they don’t even send him to the school counselor
for it. He gets kind of sucky grades in everything else, except for maybe math
sometimes, but it’s not like anybody looks at his report card, so as long as he
graduates, he doesn’t really care.
Lunch is his favorite period because lunch, but also because Donna spends the
whole hour playing with his hair usually and everyone lets him eat their fries.
Or okay, they don’t let him, but Wally does it anyway and usually they don’t
notice until they’re gone, so whatever.
“We’re going to that party, right?” Wally asks them, his mouth full of the last
half of Roy’s burger that he probably wasn’t going to eat. “The one at that
place?”
“I wish,” Dick grumbles. “I’m fucking grounded.”
“Whoa,” Donna says. “Has that ever happened before? I didn’t know Bruce knew
what that word meant.”
Roy grins, smug. “He does when it comes to me.”
Dick kicks him under the table. “That’s not an accomplishment, asshole.”
“Sorry, sweetie,” Donna says while she twists his hair into braids. “Told Kori
we’d have a girl’s night.”
‘“I mean,” Wally says, tilting his head back to look at her. “I’ve been called
a girl once or twice. You could braid my hair. Put make-up on me. Play dress-
up, have pillow fights…”
Donna smacks him in the back of the head. “Down boy.”
Wally deflates.
“I’ll go with you,” Roy shrugs. “Ollie’s going out with some old dude he went
to school with tonight, he’ll probably be pouring himself in bed sometime after
dawn, if he even remembers where he lives.”
“Cool,” Wally says, bumping elbows with him. “Two hot red-heads against the
world then.”
“Fucking right,” Roy says. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”
 
: : :
 
Roy promises Wally on the way to the party that he’ll be his wingman tonight,
goes on and on about how he’s going to help him pull the hottest chick in the
room. So of course, he disappears on him about forty-five minutes after they
get there, with the hottest chick in the room.
That’s kind of the thing about Roy. He’s fucking great. Until he’s not.
Wally tries a couple of more times. There’s a cute hipster girl even shorter
than he is that pours her beer on his shoes when he stares down her shirt. A
cheerleader Roy recognizes from school that slaps him in the face when he asks
her about her spanky pants. Then there’s that guy that Wally bumps into on his
way to the bathroom who just makes a disgusted noise at him when he waggles his
eyebrows at him and says, “Hey, wanna help me out in there?”
So, whatever. It’s not like he has to get laid. He can get drunk instead. Which
works perfectly until he’s one of the last people left at the party and he
can’t find Roy anywhere and he can’t even remember where he is and he doesn’t
recognize any of the people there. Plus, he shared a joint with some goth chick
about half an hour ago and his paranoia level is through the roof.
Which explains how he ends up in some strange person’s closet, shaking like a
wet dog and trying keep his fingers still long enough to call Dick to come pick
him up. Wherever he is.
“Hello?”
It doesn’t sound like Dick, but Wally’s fingers don’t feel like his own fingers
right now, so he can’t trust that.
“I need…” Wally trembles. “I need you to come get me. I don’t know where I am.
It’s dark. Oh, I’m in a closet.”
“What’s the address?”
“I...I don’t know. Roy drove. I don’t know where I am and there’s people. I
don’t know anybody here and I --”
“Turn your GPS on,” Dick says, weirdly calm for him. “I’ll be there as soon as
I can. Stay right where you are.”
“In the closet?”
“If that’s where you feel safe,” Dick says. “Just don’t leave the house.”
“Okay,” Wally says. “Okay. I’ll be right here. In the closet.”
“Okay,” Dick says. “I’m hanging up now.”
And he does. And Wally waits. He keeps looking at his phone every five minutes.
He has no idea why he didn’t just call Roy to come back from wherever the fuck
he went, but whatever. He’s not thinking straight. Plus, Roy’s phone’s always
dead. And oh yeah, he’s mad at him.
He keeps hearing people laughing and kissing and talking outside the door and
he nearly jumps out of his skin when the closet door opens up and light floods
his eyes and he’s being pulled up with big, strong hands that don’t feel like
Dick’s at all, and then Dick’s throwing him over his shoulder -- what the heck,
when did Dick even get that strong? And tall. He doesn’t remember Dick ever
being this tall. How long has he been here?
“When did you get this strong?” Wally says and gropes Dick’s back and
shoulders. “Dickie, when did you get all muscley?”
Then, once they get outside, Dick sits him down on his feet and --
Dick isn’t Dick at all. Dick is Bruce and Wally is -- throwing up. In an azalea
bush. They were the pretty pink kind his mom likes.
“Are you done?” Bruce asks after about the fifth time he heaves and nothing
else comes out. “Do you think you can get in the car now?”
“I think,” Wally says. His throat hurts and oh god, he has puke on his chin and
Bruce is looking at him. “Where’s Dick?”
“At home,” Bruce says. “He’s grounded.”
“But I called him,” Wally says. He remembers doing that. He thinks.
“You did,” Bruce says. “And I answered it.”
He helps Wally get to the car, opens the door for him and everything, then he
stares at him and says, “If you throw up in my car you’re cleaning it up.”
Wally gives him the thumbs up and climbs in the passenger seat. It’s totally
fair. If it had been his dad who showed up and found him drunk off his ass and
puking he would’ve said and done a lot worse.
“I’d never puke in your car,” Wally says after Bruce gets in and drives off,
petting the leather as he watches the street lights dance off of Bruce’s jaw
line, then passes out.
 
: : :
 
When Wally comes to they’re pulling up in Bruce’s driveway. Bruce puts the car
in park in the garage and comes around to Wally’s side of the car to help him
out. Wally’s sobered up a bit, but not enough not to wobble on his legs when he
stands up. Bruce holds him up and Wally just sort of tilts forward, needing
something solid to lean against for a minute.
“Wally…” Bruce says, like a warning, but Wally just listens to his name rumble
in Bruce’s chest when he speaks. Listens to the ba-boom, ba-boom of his heart
beating. He shifts on his feet and Bruce’s hand slips, presses against the
lowest part of his back, and Wally looks up at him, at the green flecks in his
eyes and the chapped spot on his bottom lip and the scar on his chin and wants
to know how he’s even fair.
“I’m drunk,” he says. “And my mouth tastes like a family of roadkill crawled in
my throat and died.”
“That’s --”
“But somehow, I still think this is a good idea.”
Then he stands on his tiptoes and closes his eyes and leans forward. His mouth
only brushes Bruce’s for a split second before Bruce turns his head and his
stubble scratches over Wally’s lips. It’s prickly and kind of nice, but not
exactly what he was going for.
“Wally,” Bruce sighs and takes his hand off of his back. “No.”
“Come on,” Wally tugs at his shirt. “Just once? You won’t even remember it in
the morning.”
Bruce’s mouth quirks up.
“That,” Wally says, licking his lips. They still feel kind of...prickly. That’s
really the only word he can think of to describe it. “That wasn’t quite right,
was it?”
“No,” Bruce says, almost fondly. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You’re going
to feel like death in the morning.”
“Are we going to your big, big bed?”
“You’re going to the guest room,” Bruce says. “And you’re going to drink a lot
of water.”
“I hate water,” Wally says. “It’s like drinking nothing. Except nothing
probably tastes better.”
“I can run to the gas station and get Gatorade,” Bruce says and Wally looks up
at him and laughs.
“Oh, you were serious,” he says when Bruce doesn’t laugh. “That’s weird. No,
I’ll be fine. Just need to put some water and tylenol in me.”
“Ibuprofen,” Bruce says. “Not Tylenol, unless you’ve got an extra liver on
stand-by somewhere.”
“Nope,” Wally says, rolling into the guest bed. “All out of those. Stay?” He
tugs on Bruce’s belt loops. “It’s cold in here. Dark. I’m scared of the dark,
Bruce.”
“You’re relentless,” Bruce sighs and peels Wally’s hand off of him. “I’ll be
right back.”
“That’s what they all say,” Wally mumbles into his pillow and everything goes
dark.
He wakes up about six hours later with a bottle of Advil on the nightstand next
to a glass of water and one of each flavor of gatorade on the floor next to
him.
He grins even though it hurts him in his brain and grabs the blue one, washes
down four Advils, and passes back out.
 
: : :
 
The second time Wally wakes up, he instantly wishes for death. Not even because
of the hangover to rule all hangovers, but another reason entirely.
For some shitty reason, say for instance he was Hitler in a previous life and
this is his karmic punishment or whatever, he always remembers the horrible
things he does when he gets wasted. And it’s not exactly that he did anything
truly horrible, not anything that he wouldn’t have done or at least wanted to
do while sober, it’s that he remembers everything else. He remembers Bruce
coming to get him, Bruce turning away from him when he tried to kiss him and
then taking care of him like a -- like a kid, basically, and yeah. There’s
really no other way to take being rejected.
He’s in the middle of trying to figure out how high up he is and if he can jump
out the window so he won’t have to look at Bruce’s face when he tries to leave
when Dick walks in with a plate of bacon.
“Cool, you’re alive,” he says. “Jay and I had a bet going.”
“My best friend,” Wally shakes his head and snakes a piece of bacon off the
plate when Dick sits down next to him on the bed.
“Sorry I couldn’t come get you last night,” he says. “Bruce is serious about
the grounding thing. It’s weird. And he like, gave me an extra speech this
morning about how irresponsible and reckless Roy is. He sounded really pissed.
I haven’t even talked to him! I don’t get it.”
“It’s cool,” Wally says. He really doesn’t want to think about last night.
“Have you talked to Roy?”
Someone should probably check on him. He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t usually
just leave Wally hanging like that. He might be in a ditch somewhere. Or passed
out in the Waffle House bathroom like that one time.
“No, but Bruce said I could run you home after you eat breakfast and I think
I’ll swing by and check on him then. And smack him across the head a few times
for you. I’m sorry he did that to you, man. I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“It’s no big deal,” Wally shrugs. “It’s just Roy.”
“Yeah,” Dick sighs. “But still. Anyway, I’m gonna grab a shower before we
leave. Then you can, if you want.”
“Sounds good,” Wally says and shoves more bacon in his mouth.
The door opens again a few minutes later and Wally turns to ask Dick if he
needs directions to his own bathroom, but thankfully he forgets how to make
words when he sees Bruce standing there.
“Feeling better?” Bruce asks and shuts the door behind him with a soft snick.
“Bacon,” Wally says, holding the piece in his hand up, like that’s an answer.
But Bruce smiles and nods, so maybe it is.
Suddenly Wally’s very aware that he shed his shirt some time during the night,
which sounds like something he’d do, but folding it up and setting it on the
dresser definitely doesn’t, so something’s not adding up there. He scratches at
a phantom itch at his chest, getting his skin all greasy from the bacon as
Bruce comes over and sits on the bed. He doesn’t sit as close as Dick had, just
far enough away to have A Talk.
Wally thinks he might throw up again.
“I kissed you,” Wally blurts out. He's not very good at the waiting part. “I
mean, I tried. You didn’t want me to. I’m sorry. I was -- I mean, you know I
was drunk. Sorry about that. And sorry you had to come and get me and --”
“Stop,” Bruce says, almost meeting his eyes, but not quite. “Stop saying you’re
sorry.”
“Sorry,” Wally says. “I mean. Whoops.”
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Bruce says. “You called a friend
for help. Dick couldn’t come, so I came instead. And I’m not going to chastise
you for getting drunk. Perhaps you should have been more responsible about it,
but I’m not anyone to judge.”
“And,” Wally says, his mouth suddenly parch dry. “And the other thing. The
thing where I -- you know. I should apologize for that. It was --”
“I said,” Bruce interrupts him, finally meeting Wally’s eyes and wow. Wally
wasn’t ready for that. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
“Oh,” Wally says, wetting his mouth. “What?”
Bruce sighs, then closes his eyes. “I’m only going to do this once,” he says,
but quietly, like he’s only talking to himself, and puts his hand against
Wally’s cheek, presses his mouth against Wally’s and Wally’s too fucking
shocked to do anything back, and his mouth is so fucking dry and probably
tastes like bacon grease and morning breath, shit, but Bruce just --
He kisses him. Open mouthed once Wally gets his shit together and parts his
lips for him and Bruce's hand slides around to cup the back of Wally’s neck,
and then there’s the briefest slide of their tongues, the smallest, barely-
there hint of teeth on his bottom lip, and then Bruce is pulling away,
retracting back to his side of the bed.
“You’re too young,” he says to an empty space on the wall. “We can’t -- I
can’t. But I couldn’t let you think that I didn’t want you.”
Bruce just -- he just said that. Bruce just fucking kissed him like he has
definitely never been kissed before and Wally’s still holding a piece of bacon
in his fucking hand.
It’s the most ridiculous moment of his life, probably, until Dick barges in the
room with blue hair and says, “Roy accidentally joined a cult. We have to go
get him.”
He doesn’t even hear Dick and Bruce yelling back and forth at each other, just
leans back on the bed and touches his mouth and thinks I know what he tastes
like.
Only once, Wally thinks, grinning with a mouthful of bacon. Fuck that.
 
: : :
 
They manage to get Roy back from the weirdo cult girls safe and sound and Wally
spends half the week coming up with his plan. He meant to wait until the
weekend to try and pull it off, but by the time Thursday rolls around his
patience is completely shot and he can’t focus for anything, so at lunch he
asks Dick if it’s cool if he sleeps over that night.
“On a Thursday?” Dick asks, giving him a funny look.
“My parents,” Wally shrugs, even though he feels kind of like an ass for
pulling that card, but it works, so whatever.
He goes home with Dick that afternoon and they sprawl out on Dick’s floor and
Wally does Dick’s chemistry while Dick does Wally’s econ for him and Dick snaps
at him about a dozen times to stop tapping his pencil on the book or shaking
his leg or grinding his teeth or --
“Wally,” he says. “How much Adderall did you take today?”
Wally flips him off and goes back to drawing squiggles in the margin of the
paper. While Dick is texting and doing Wally’s econ for him, Wally’s think
about Bruce.
Bruce. Bruce will be home soon, looking all hot shit in his suit and tie,
smelling like coffee and rich things, and --
“Sweet,” Dick says after his phone buzzes. “Bruce is working late. We get to
order pizza.”
Wally drops his head to the floor and groans. There is nothing more unfair than
his life.
 
: : :
 
Still, pizza is pizza. Wally puts away an entire pineapple, bacon, and olive
one on his own and half of Dick’s mushroom before Dick bites his hand. After
dinner, they lounge around in the living room with Jason and Damian, watching
X-Files reruns until Damian passes out and Dick gets up and totes him to his
room like the kid isn’t half his size or something.
Wally tries to stay awake until Bruce gets home, he does, but it’s been a long
day with a lot of shit going on in his head and he just ate a truckload of
pizza, so he gives up about nine forty-five and crashes on top of the covers in
the guest room.
He wakes up about an hour and a half later from a particularly horrifying
nightmare about ladybugs, realizes he barely drank anything with his eight
hundred slices of pizza earlier, and pads downstairs to get a glass of water.
“Wally,” Bruce says, scaring the bejesus out of him when he opens the cabinet.
He’s just standing there in the dark, leaning up against the counter with his
sleeves rolled up to his elbows, eating a piece of cold pizza like it’s no big
deal. Like he’s too cool for electricity or something. “It’s a school night.”
“I know,” Wally says. “I just --” No, he can’t give Bruce the same bullshit
excuse he gave Dick. “We did all our homework, scout’s honor.”
“Mmhm,” Bruce says, washes his pizza down with his nightly glass of scotch.
“Anyway,” Wally says and grabs a glass out of the cabinet, walks over to the
fridge and presses it against the dispenser. “I just came to get something to
drink. I won’t bother you.”
He can feel Bruce watching him as he fills his glass up, meets his eyes when he
turns around and raises the glass to his mouth.
“You aren’t bothering me,” Bruce says and when he shifts and the moonlight
spilling in through the curtains hits him just right Wally notices that his
shirt is unbuttoned all the way down, his tie draped loosely around his neck
and --
Well. That’s.
“Wally. You need to stop looking at me like that,” Bruce says and Wally jerks
his eyes up.
“Well, you need to stop looking like that,” he says and sets his glass down on
the counter, then closes the distance between them, steps right up into Bruce’s
space and looks up at him.
“Wally…”
Wally tugs on the end of Bruce’s tie until it slips all the way free and places
it on the counter next to his scotch.
“I’m legal in twenty three states,” Wally says, pulling everything out of his
head. “I’m old enough to get married, join a union, apply for a passport, join
the army --”
Bruce kisses him before he can rattle off all the age of consent factoids he
memorized this week, which is definitely, totally better. He grabs Wally’s face
and backs him up until Wally’s back is up against the refrigerator and Wally
hears a couple of magnets clatter to the floor, one of Damian’s report cards,
and a take-out menu from that Thai place Jason loves.
Wally’s head is spinning. Bruce isn’t kissing him anything like the morning he
was hungover. This is a hungry, desperate kind of kiss that makes Wally’s mouth
sore and his dick wet. He slides his hands inside Bruce’s open shirt as Bruce
licks into his mouth and sucks on his bottom lip, flattens his palms out over
Bruce’s chest and feels Bruce’s breath hitch against his mouth. He slides his
hands up all that hot skin and muscle, up and over his shoulders, then Bruce is
kissing him even harder, fucking Wally’s mouth with his tongue and pressing
their bodies together and fuck, Wally can feel him.
He wants -- oh fuck, Bruce wants him. Maybe it’s ridiculous that that’s just
now really hitting him, but that’s what happens. All of a sudden the
realization that Bruce is totally into this just as much as he is just slams
into him so hard it makes him dizzy and Wally is scrambling to push Bruce’s
shirt off his shoulders, clawing at his skin and biting at his mouth, wrapping
one of his legs around Bruce’s waist and Bruce fucking growls into his neck and
hitches his leg up higher and grinds and --
“Fu-uck,” Wally gasps out when Bruce’s dick drags over his.
“Shh,” Bruce says, putting his hand lightly in front of Wally’s mouth to keep
him quiet and Wally just turns his head and sucks Bruce’s fingers into his
mouth. They taste like salt and sweat and nicotine and Bruce’s breath catches
and his eyes go really, really wide and Wally takes his finger down deeper.
“You have no idea…” Bruce says and Wally lets his fingers out of his mouth,
says, “Please,” before Bruce can tell him what he doesn’t know, and then Bruce
is pulling Wally’s other leg up and wrapping it around his waist and Wally
instinctively wraps his arms around his neck and Bruce just starts to fuck him
despite the layers of clothes between them. Despite the fact that Damian and
Jason and Dick are upstairs, that the refrigerator is wobbling a little bit
every time he thrusts against him, despite every reason for him not to want to
do this, he is. And he’s breathing hot and heavy against Wally’s neck and Wally
says, “Oh god, I’m going to come,” and gets Bruce’s sweaty palm flat over his
mouth when he does, so that he doesn’t wake the whole house when he screams.
Bruce pulls his hand away when Wally stops whimpering and kisses him through
the rest of it, slow and lazy sucking kisses, sweet, sharp bites on his bottom
lip, until Wally’s too fucked out to even kiss back.
“Beautiful,” Bruce murmurs next to his ear and Wally shivers.
“No one’s ever called me that,” Wally says and Bruce says it again -- and then
again, until Wally’s starting to get hard again just from one stupid word.
“Oh,” Wally says. “You didn’t -- wow, I’m a dick.”
Bruce just chuckles. “I’m not as young as you. Takes a little more than a
little kitchen grinding to get me there. Sorry.”
“Sorry? Shut up, god. I’ve needed your dick in my mouth since forever, Bruce.”
“Wally, no,” Bruce whispers as Wally drops to his knees and tries to undo his
belt.
“Please,” Wally says. “I promise I’ll make it so good. I’ve been practicing
‘cause I had this feeling you were big and I didn’t want to --”
“No,” Bruce hisses and hauls him up off the floor, pointing up at the ceiling
and -- oh. Wally finally hears it, footsteps padding around upstairs. It’s
probably just Dick getting up to take a piss, but. Yeah.
“Fine,” Wally whispers in a huff, then looks up at him. “Raincheck?”
Bruce touches the corner of Wally’s mouth with his thumb and Wally has to fight
the urge to suck on it. “Raincheck,” Bruce says, then kisses him one last time
before he heads to his room.
 
: : :
 
“So,” Dick says at the breakfast table the next morning, licking the icing from
his toaster strudel off the back of his hand. Jason and Damian haven’t gotten
dressed yet, so it’s just the three of them. “Since you and Wally are screwing,
can I stay at Roy’s tonight?”
Wally chokes on his waffle.
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.
Dick rests his chin in his hands and waits.
“Yes,” Bruce finally says, though it sounds like it’s being pulled from his
teeth. “I suppose you can.”
Wally nudges him under the table with his foot, grins, and steals a piece of
sausage from Bruce’s plate. “And you were worried!”
 
: : :
 
Still, even though Dick knows and is pretty much cool with it as long as Wally
Never Ever Not Ever speaks of their sex life, Bruce still isn’t cool with
letting the other two in on it, so that means more sneaking around.
The next time Wally stays the night, he goes to the guest room like he always
does after Dick passes out. He lays awake and drums his fingers on his stomach
and counts to a thousand, waits until Damian’s asleep and Jason’s done painting
and has gone back to his own room before he quickly and quietly slips down the
hall to Bruce’s room, which at least is far enough away from the other bedrooms
that they don’t have to be too paranoid.
Bruce is laying on top of the covers reading when Wally lets himself in. Bruce
is shirtless, wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants, and sets his book down
when he sees him.
“Hello,” he says, smiling. “Did you get lost?”
“Mm,” Wally says, starting at the foot of the bed and crawling toward him.
“It’s a big house. I thought this was my room.”
He bends down and kisses Bruce’s belly, then feels Bruce’s hand in his hair.
“Come here,” Bruce says and drags Wally up to his mouth, kisses him slow and
soft at first, runs his fingers through his hair and down his spine. When Wally
rocks his hips against him the tempo of the kiss changes to something hungrier
and Bruce’s hands move from Wally’s hips to his ass, squeezing and kneading as
Wally sucks on his tongue, then gripping hard and dragging Wally over his dick.
“Fuck,” Wally gasps out into his mouth. “I want that.”
Bruce chuckles, pulls Wally’s ear between his teeth. “I do believe I was owed a
raincheck.”
“Fuck yes,” Wally says and scoots off of him, back down the bed, chanting
please let this be good, please let this be good in his head over and over.
When he finally gets Bruce’s clothes off, Wally goes for his dick like a too-
eager puppy, laps at the precome spilling over the head of his cock, then laps
at it again when that makes even more spill out, making Bruce let out this sort
of shuddery breath above him.
He gets Bruce’s hand on the back of his neck when he wraps his mouth around him
and swallows him down and Wally never liked that much before, but now it makes
his dick leak, makes him want to hump the mattress while he takes as much as
Bruce’s cock as he can.
Which isn’t enough. He wants all of it, wants to feel every inch of Bruce in
his mouth, but every time he tries to go past a certain point there’s choking
and gagging and Wally thinks it can’t be that hot, but this time when he gags
Bruce’s hand tightens in his hair and he says, “Wally, Christ,” like Wally had
just done something amazing, so Wally tries it again.
He chokes a little again, or a lot maybe since tears kind of well up in his
eyes, but Bruce gasps again and more precome floods Wally’s tongue and fuck it
tastes good, so Wally keeps it up. After a while of doing that his throat feels
raw and his jaw very well may be stuck in the wide-open position for the rest
of his life and even his neck has a cramp in it from bobbing up and down for so
long and it’s best feeling ever.
“Your mouth,” Bruce says, looking down at him with this frenzied look in his
eyes that Wally’s never seen before, his mouth bitten red, his hairline matted
with sweat. “Can I, please --”
Wally looks up at him, his mouth stretched wide and filled up, just barely nods
his head, and Bruce takes hold of his face with both hands and just brings
Wally’s mouth down on his cock, fucking Wally’s face on him until he says,
“Wally, I can’t --” and Wally feels the hot splash of come against the back of
his throat, then more of it filling his mouth, spilling down his chin. There’s
too much to swallow so it goes everywhere, makes him completely filthy, but
apparently Bruce is okay with it because he sits up and kisses him, sucks the
come off his chin and his tongue and his lips and everywhere else.
“You’re perfect,” Bruce says, kissing his cheek, his forehead, and it’s weird
how proud Wally is of how heavy Bruce’s breathing is. “That was amazing.”
Then he’s pushing Wally’s sweats off his ass and wrapping his hand around his
dick and Wally bucks into it.
“So gorgeous,” Bruce says, kissing down his chest as he strokes him. “One day,”
he says. “I’m going to map out every freckle on your body with my tongue.”
“Oh god,” Wally says and his hips jerk and he comes all over Bruce’s hand,
shaking so bad Bruce has to hold him together.
“You know, you’re kind of filthy for an accountant,” Wally says as Bruce brings
his hand up to his mouth and sucks the come from his fingers.
Bruce snorts.
“Do you really,” Wally starts, then stops to chew on his bottom lip. “I mean.
Do you actually like my freckles? Really? Most people --”
“I hate most people,” Bruce says. “And yes, I do.”
“Oh,” Wally yawns and curls around him. “Cool. I’mma go to sleep for a little
bit now.”
“Yes,” Bruce says, peeling him off of him. “In your own bed though.”
“Ugh,” Wally groans. “It’s so faaar.”
Bruce chuckles and stands up, pulling Wally out of bed with him, tugs him close
and kisses him, runs his fingers through Wally’s hair and smiles. “Raincheck?”
“Fine,” Wally grins. “Raincheck.”
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