Disclaimers: I *want* one, dammit.

Spoilers: Major ones for "The Brave and the Bold."

Summary: Flash knows he screwed up.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Rough sequel to "A wilder cry than mine,"
but could be read as a standalone.

Acknowledgments: For my the Spike, who asked. Thanks
to Jenn and the Spike for audiencing.

Feedback: Always. leytelj@gmail.com

*

"And if you *ever* run off like that, before we get all the
information -- hell, before I even know for sure which
way your silly ass is going, I will personally..."

And God, GL had been going on for just about forever
now, and it wasn't even as if this was anything new.

Everybody found a chance to lecture Flash, and could
anyone really blame him if he'd learned to hone his
power more to get the hell away from all that freaking
*noise* than anything else?

"Yeah, I got it the first time, okay? Lay off a little, I
have a headache."

"Flash --"

But he was off, taking a moment to hum just on the far
edge of what they could all see, watching the world
move in an even slower motion than what he was used
to. GL's mouth opening like the pit of fucking doom,
creaking its way into whatever else he wanted to say.

Wonder Woman frowning like she was wondering --
again -- why the hell she'd left the island of hot,
athletic lesbians. Batman looking... well, he never
could figure out what the hell was up with *that* guy
and he didn't really want to try.

He made it to his room, closed the door. Turned on
the stereo and cranked it until he remembered that
he really *did* have a headache -- and what was the
world coming to when gorillas were evil?

And he wasn't an *idiot*. He knew he'd screwed up.
GOD, did he know. But who could have thought he'd
fall for the same trick twice? Insert joke right fucking
*here*.

Jesus, it was a *gorilla*, and yeah, he could just hear
Superman giving some damned speech about
inter-species tolerance, and okay, there was a point
there -- three of them were *aliens*, for Christ's sake,
but still.

Gorillas were made for earnest Sigourney Weaver
flicks and banana jokes, not fucking *mind* control.

And yeah, if he was being honest with himself, it really
just wasn't that fucking funny. He remembered that
weird place he went to in his mind, and the ridiculous
pain and. And being *scared*.

And he didn't remember anything else. A part of him --
a really fucking *big* part -- wanted to go back to
that police station and steal the security tapes. Not
because he had any particular desire to see himself
being Grodd's little trained -- heh -- monkey, but just
because he wanted to *know*.

Missing time. Like something out of an X-Files episode.
And it was bad enough that he'd stolen fucking
radioactive *isotopes*, but...

But.

There was a bruise on GL's cheek that looked a lot
like his knuckles. And it didn't mean shit that there
was a bruise on his *own*, he knew GL. He *knew*
him, and he knew GL wouldn't have hit him unless.

It must've been really bad, that's all.

Flash caught himself pacing and stared ruefully at the
carpet. It was worn down to the padding in places,
and who knew how many miles he'd put on the thing?

His head still hurt, and why did everything to do up
here have to be stuff that would make it worse?
Reading, TV, music... *nothing*.

Fuck.

He pulled a beer out of his mini-fridge, then thought
better of it. He didn't really feel like filling himself
full of Corona for no benefit. He eased the bottle of
Absolut out of the freezer, instead, forced himself to
sit down, and just looked at it for a while.

It was kind of pretty, really. Frost on the outside of
the clear glass, liquid inside moving just a little
slower than it should.

"Drinking alone?"

"Not yet," he said, and blinked. Wondered what it
would be like to be able to form actual thoughts
before his mouth opened. Other people seemed to
manage it fine. Hell, J'onn could think for *minutes*
before opening his mouth, and did he hate it when
it was up to J'onn to give the mission exposition? Oh,
yes.

Not like he had any trouble *babbling* in his head,
but that didn't have a damned thing to do with
thinking.

His skin didn't so much as crawl as feel a little tighter
and warmer. GL was looking at him, or maybe he
was moving closer. He bit his lip. It suddenly seemed
like they spent a lot of damned time just like this, and
he didn't know how he'd stood it before.

"Flash... are you... do you need anything?"

And that was... he should've expected it. GL was like
that. Tear you a new asshole one minute and the next...
"I. Look, I'm sorry." Yeah, that worked fine. Maybe
next time he could, you know, *look* at the man?

He forced his head up and saw GL standing in his
doorway, looking like he didn't know if he could come
in or not. Or maybe wondering if he even *wanted* to
come in.

He gestured at his room, wincing internally a little at
the mess. At least he'd gotten rid of the food garbage,
though he was pretty sure Superman was jerking his
chain about the spacerats. Pretty sure.

GL just looked at him for another few endless seconds,
but then he walked in. Sat on the couch like he was
afraid it would bite him or something.

Flash gritted his teeth a little. "Are you still... are you
mad?"

GL grunted and stared at him like he was crazy. Or
maybe like he was thinking of slapping him in the
head again.

Flash waited for it, and waited for it, and was about to
start thinking he could maybe die of waiting for it, but
finally GL just leaned back against the couch and
sighed. Hooked the bottle of vodka off the coffee table
and gave him something like a rueful glare before
opening it up and taking a swig.

Passed him the bottle.

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes, but I'm not going to
kill you.'" Flash tried a smile and took his own swallow.

"Yet."

"Right."

"You could've..." GL shook his head. "You know all this
already. You *knew* it."

"GL --"

"Just don't do it again."

"You sound like my mother," he blurted. Again with the
mouth. Jesus. "No, I didn't mean that."

Another long look, another chance to wonder if this was
the time they would just give up on trying to get each
other and go their separate ways.

Or maybe if this would be one of those times when GL
reached out, and it was always him reaching, choosing,
deciding for whatever fucked-up reason --

"Flash."

"You *know* my name." God, was he fifteen? Twelve?

GL snorted. "Yeah, and you call me 'John' *all* the time."

"Well, it's just, with the uniform..."

GL looked him up and down. The reds were a little
worse for wear, but very much there. Right.

"You know, sometimes I hate this secret identity shit.
I think we should all get drunk and take the masks off
and see what we all *look* like."

A laugh. "Do you really want to get *Batman* drunk?"

"I... okay, you have a point."

GL took the bottle from him and tipped it right back, far
enough that the line of his throat was plainly visible
through the uniform. Images of a week ago, GL's
mouth on him, moving down, getting him wet, making
him so hard that he didn't even last a minute, and
yeah, ha ha, Hawkgirl, let's see you deal with that
when your metabolism was on amphetamines.

GL caught him looking.

"Uh..." Yeah, and he was just living brilliance tonight,
wasn't he? "I was just."

GL tilted his head at him and smiled lazily. It wasn't a
GL smile at all, really. It was a *John* smile, like he
only ever saw when the doors were closed and GL
was making him work to slow down, if only so he
could *feel* it and.

"We drink too much," he said, and fuck, it wasn't
even close to what he wanted to say -- though he
didn't have a clue what *that* was.

GL back in a heartbeat, staring at him narrow-eyed,
and Flash wanted the mask off, just for fucking once,
and again. His *own* mask, so maybe GL could find
whatever he was looking for.

"I just mean... okay, I have no idea what I mean."

GL nodded slowly and set the bottle down on the table,
a little ring of condensation doing absolutely nothing
against the metal surface. And it made sense that
everything in the tower was really *durable*, but it
was still weird. Furniture like abstract art and GL was
still looking at him and there was that darker on dark
bruise on his face and Flash gave up and reached out.

Touched it with just the tips of his fingers. GL clutched
at his own thigh like maybe he wanted to brush Flash's
hand aside, but he didn't move.

"What happened? What did I do?" He swallowed and
forced himself to keep looking.

"It was all right. You were... he was controlling you."

Flash felt his mouth twist. "Yeah, I figured that much
out. But... I don't remember any of it."

"It's a bad feeling."

Flash nodded and moved his hand away from the bruise.
"You don't... you have no *idea* how sorry I am, G."

"It could've happened to either of us. *Any* of us."

Flash smiled a little. "Yeah, because any of you would go
running in without backup or protection. Riiight."

GL sighed, ring flaring, and John was sitting there in jeans
and a t-shirt and workboots, looking like anyone you'd
see on the streets, except not, because his spine was
ruler-straight and his eyes...

Still that scary green, sure, but that was only part of it.
"Look, I know what you're going to say --"

"No, you really don't. Flash, how the hell do you think
we *learned* to be careful? You think I never fucked up?"

"I think you cleaned up your mistakes so well that no one
could ever find them again."

GL scrubbed a hand over his buzz. "The good guys *did*
win, you know. I don't know if I remember correctly, but
there was something about a high-speed rewiring job...?"

Flash rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned over.
Closed his eyes.

"I'm just saying -- we all clean up after ourselves."

Flash forced himself to nod and thought about the bottle.
Thought about GL's mouth, and how it was way too soft
to be a man's, and how he'd never, *ever* say anything
like that aloud, and sometimes he thought he had no idea
what he was doing. Ever. Not on the job, not in this, and
it was like...

It was like he was just really good at faking it, and going
through the motions. Run the innocents to safety, catch
the bad guys, relax into GL's touch and watch him go as
soft as his mouth, like this was maybe really *his* life,
and it all made sense, even if he wasn't really sure how
he'd gotten here.

He didn't want to ask, though. Because... he didn't want
to ask.

And John didn't even blink when he moved to straddle
him, when he wrapped his arms around his neck and held
on.

Didn't move, breathed like he had all the time in the world.
Like it was perfectly normal for Flash to move first, or maybe
like he'd been waiting for it. He held onto Flash's hips and
made him wonder if he could feel the hum of his constant
vibration. If he liked it.

And the kiss was as slow as he could make it. He wanted
to *taste* John. This big, tough, serious guy who really
seemed like he wanted him, like there was something
there to want.

"I want to know everything that happened," he said, and
he hadn't really meant that, either, but John just nodded.

"I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Not now, though..."

Low chuckle. "That's fine, too."

Hands moving up over his back, warm through the suit
and Flash leaned in for another kiss and tried to remember
how to be Wally, even though he didn't really think --
*couldn't* really think Wally would ever have a place here,
no matter what they did.

No matter what it felt like when John pushed the mask
back up over his nose and forehead, pushed a hand
through his sweaty hair and then just held on.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, and he thought he
could maybe taste the noise John made under the burn
of alcohol. Stronger and more important.

And he tried to take it easy, to move as slow as he
thought regular people did, but it was too much not to
move, not to grind his hips down, not to touch John
everywhere he could reach until John made another
one of those great, those fucking wonderful noises
and pushed and moved them until Flash was flat on his
back and John was braced over him. Staring him down
and smiling with weirdly serious eyes.

Something like the way Flash thought he looked when
there was food around, and he didn't have any fucking
clue why this was happening, why he could flirt and hit
on women all day long and spend all night like *this*.

Why John wanted it.

"Touch me," he said, and he didn't know he was going to
say *that*, either, but at least he could agree with the
sentiment wholeheartedly.

"You gonna let us get naked this time?"

"No promises."

John snorted again and kissed him. On his mouth, yeah,
but more like with his whole body, pressing him down
against the cushions, giving Flash his whole hard,
wonderful length and he'd wrapped his legs around the
man before he knew what he was doing.

Pushing up hard and not even trying to get a better
position, because there *wasn't* one. John pulled away
a little and dragged off his t-shirt, and Flash found
himself *wriggling*, desperate to get out of his own
clothes and nothing like successful.

"Jesus, if you keep moving like that --" Gasped out
groan and Flash knew he'd gotten him in a good spot.

"What? You gonna come? You gonna come on me?"

"*Fuck* --"

And then John had his wrists and held him down and
rocked them together, and Flash rocked them together,
and the clothes were in the *way*, but it was too hot
to stop. Too *much* to stop, and he came right there
in his fucking uniform.

And the way John was looking at him made it impossible
to apologize. So fucking *hungry*, and maybe even a
little angry, and then John was kneeling up and popping
open the buttons on his jeans --

"Jesus, you're hot --" Didn't want to say that, didn't know,
and he was so sick of his mouth and he was so fucking
*needy* for this, because John had his cock out, and it
was dark and hard and slick at the tip.

Felt his mouth water and couldn't think, couldn't stop,
couldn't *not* yank John further up his body and just...

Oh Jesus, yeah.

"Wally --"

Impossibly good to hear his name like that, all groaned
out, and he felt more than saw John bracing himself,
pushing his wrists down harder against the cushions.
And it wasn't the best way for him to do this, he
couldn't get quite enough, except when it was too much,
but *fuck*.

Taste exploding on his tongue and the weight and the
feel and he was hard again, grinding up against nothing
and wanting more, wanting his hands, wanted to be
doing just this, because he isn't a fuckup here.

Feel of John all over him like maybe he *couldn't* be a
fuckup here, and John pushed his thumbs against
Flash's palms and rubbed circles there. Moved his hips
so *slowly* and if he couldn't hear the man panting,
he would think... he didn't know what he would think,
and had no idea what to do with this beyond suck
harder, urge John on with his own moans and pray for
some contact for his dick.

Getting harder, needing more, and maybe John heard
it. Psychic like fucking J'onn, and okay, that was a
terrifying thought, but this was... just right.

John fucking his way into his mouth. John holding him
and rubbing him and maybe needing him, and he was
so hard he ached.

So hard he couldn't stop drooling and swallowing and
God, *in*. Down into his throat and hard and wet and
slick and he wondered if it was like this for women. If
this was really what it was to be fucked. Opened up and
taken and he couldn't stop moaning, couldn't stop
*writhing* --

"Flash --"

And it didn't take long and it took forever, and either way
it was just perfect: John spilling down his throat and
sobbing out something that almost sounded like pain.

Next time, he wanted to see the man's face.

Next time, this time, and John was pulling out and
yanking at him until he was bent half over the arm of
the couch and John had a hand around him.

John was --

"Fuck, just look at me --"

And whatever was on his face made John narrow his
eyes, make him stroke faster and squeeze harder until
it was like his orgasm was yanked out of him by main
force, until everything was just the feel of skin on skin
and the taste of John in his mouth.

John drinking down every look on his face and John
just, God, everywhere.

"Jesus," he managed.

And John was nodding, moving in close and they were
in *serious* danger of falling off the couch, but fuck,
John could *fly* and the kiss was more important than
anything else.

That one, and the next, and the weirdly *soft* ones
on his eyelids and in his sweaty hair.

"Don't do that again."

GL words, and he was about to say something, *do*
something, but it was *John's* voice. Easy and mellow
and coming from somewhere infinitely better than
anywhere they lived.

Flash nodded in the circle of John's arms.

And tried to figure out what he was doing.

End.