Disclaimers: They don't belong to us. Ours is just to
squee and die.

Spoilers: Vague mention of "The Brave and the Bold."

Summary: Flash has a jones. GL has it going on.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Authors' Note: Te goaded Shrift. Shrift gave it up. Te
was happy.

Acknowledgments: To GL's shoulders. And his glare.

Feedback: Much beloved.

*
 

Te: Sometimes, GL thinks about groping Flash just to
shut him up.
Te: A thumb on his lower lip. A hand on his ass. On
his cock.
Shrift: You. Are evil.
Te: As for Wally... well Wally sometimes has to shut
up even though he's ungroped.  Because John has those
*arms*. With the tattoo.

USMC. Like there's anyone who could look at John and
not *know* he was military.

Maybe it's just for the stupid people, though. The
ones who wouldn't pick up on the rigid spine or the
glares, or the whole, "I can do push-ups with one
pinky" thing.

Flash isn't too bright, but he's picked up on that. He
gets bored pretty easily -- big surprise -- and GL's
pretty much the only one willing to humor him, which
*is* actually a surprise. Wally considers it a matter
of courtesy (okay, survival) to humor him back, and.

He discovers that he *likes* John. Bad-ass military
guy, and could somebody *get* more opposite than him?

And it's not just that Wally has a thing for men in
uniform, because if he did, he'd *always* be hard. But
maybe he has a thing for *John* in uniform. Or in
clothes.

In nothing at all works pretty good, too. But he can't
quite imagine it, because John always looks so
*dressed*.

This, naturally, leads to a lot of looking, because he
always gets the worst ideas when he's bored and horny.
It's a *mission* of looking, because John has to be
naked *sometime*, and Wally's the fastest man alive,
right? Should be easy. But he kind of forgets about
the fact that, while he's fast, he's not really good
at subtle.

In fact, he's actually kind of bad at subtle, in that
way where he sometimes thinks he should ask Batman for
lessons or something, because the fourth time John
catches him loitering outside the showers...

Well, John doesn't say anything. He doesn't have to,
he's got the glare working overtime, and it's making
Wally feel like a horny twelve year old with his hand
in the teacher's underwear drawer, or something else
traumatic and.

"Steam. Like. I like steam." He smiles as innocently
as he can.

John glares.

And innocence is really *freaking* hard to hold on to
sometimes, like those times when you're not innocent
at all because John is wearing a *towel*.

A tiny, damp towel.

Tiny.

Damp.

Wally swallows.

John glares for that slightest bit longer, then
just... shakes his head and walks out.  Wally doesn't
watch him leave.

He doesn't watch John leave.

He is... the PINNACLE of not watching John leave until
he just isn't anymore because John's *ass*.

Is under a towel.

And, okay, so terry cloth is, like, way less revealing
than the uniform, but... it's the *principle* of the
thing.

And suddenly? He really needs a shower.

There are a couple of things Wally can't do fast. He
pees just as fast as anybody else, and he never,
*never* uses speed hands on his cock.

Not after that first time, anyway.

But it doesn't matter, because once he's out of his
clothes and under the hot water where John's just
been, he knows he's not gonna last long. Shoulders
braced against the wall with his hand fisting his
cock, eyes squeezed shut, and pretending he's not
alone.

It only takes about a minute or two of imagining John
crowding him against the tile, scowl fierce and water
trickling down his face, John's big hand pulling and
squeezing him tight enough to make his eyes roll back
in his head. John just holding him down and holding
him open, and making him *need* it so much that he
wants to beg. And then he's coming --

-- and shit, that totally didn't help the naked John
thing at all, did it?

He sags against the wall for a moment, knees a little
wobbly and his muscles twitching.

It's possible that Wally needs to get out more.
Because now he's got a really good mental image of
what John looks like under those clothes, and he has
the feeling he's gonna be seeing that mental image
even if John dresses up like a *nun*.

Wally blinks.

Okay, maybe if he dressed up like a nun. Because going
there? Not so much.

It wasn't a cross-dressing thing so much as a shoulder
thing.

He uses the shower for its intended purpose, dresses
quickly, and gets the hell out.  And for a while,
whole *hours*, even, he's okay. He's *good*.

He has the whole don't-stalk-John thing down.

But then he's eating linner (post-lunch, pre-dinner,
natch) when John walks in and sits across from him,
and snags one of his hot dogs.

And really, he distinctly remembers when that action
wouldn't have made him lose his mind, but John is
just... *looking* at it.

*Frowning* at it, like the hot dog had maybe pissed
him off in another life, and Wally *knows* he should
be saying something, or making a joke, or at the very
least still eating, but.

John. Glare. Hot dog.

"Do you know what's *in* these things?"

And the glare is on *him*.

Wally swallows a suddenly dry and useless wad of bun
and beef by-product. "Uh."

"It's *criminal*."

"Gottago."

He makes it to his room, or at least he hopes it's his
room, because his hand is in his pants and his other
hand is the fist between his teeth keeping him from
yelling down the tower.

And John's glaring, yeah, but not at the hot dog.

No, John's *eating* the hot dog. John is the star of
the ridiculous soft-core porn in Wally's head and he's
just.

John's on his knees, mouth open and eyes flaring like
alien sunrises, and Wally can't stop, can't stop
pushing, can't stop thrusting --

He bangs his head back against the door and risks
opening his eyes. Stereo, check.

Magazines, also check.

Empty bags of Doritos -- thank God, it's his room.

It occurs to Wally that he might be in trouble.

Sure, he's always been a little hyperactive and weird,
but this is like a Red Flash Diaries kind of weird.
And it's not like he can just *quit*, because how can
he quit cold turkey when it's something he's never
had?

Right, so. Maybe all he has to do is not think about
sex. Except purposely not-thinking about something
usually leads to thinking exactly that something, like
*sex* and *John* and *sex with John*.

So. Distraction. As in, finding one.

Outside of Wally's room, there's really nothing *fun*
to do in the tower. At least, not unless you're
Batman.

After Hawkgirl threatens to break every bone in his
body, he realizes that it might not be a good idea to
roam the hallways, pestering the rest of the team.
Physical pain is one thing, but Wally knows that
Batman? Is the type to get revenge. And Wally's man
enough to admit that this *terrifies* him.

Of course, before he can figure out whether he should
do something useful like save puppies, make a rare
appearance at Lulu's Limbo Lounge, or deliver iced
mochas to the touring Hawaiian Tropic girls, disaster
strikes.

End of the world. The apocalypse. The final straw that
breaks his ass.

Man, the *infamy*.

Somehow, possibly because Wally is standing next to
them and cramming Ho-Hos in his mouth, Hawkgirl gets
it in her head to explain the words 'monosodium
glutamate' to Wonder Woman. And in his opinion, her
language is a little harsh, what with all the "brain
damage" and "seizures" and "anaphylactic shock" stuff.
He protests, and maybe a bit too much, because Diana
lassoes him to the refrigerator door and makes him
watch as she gathers up every last scrap of junk food
in the tower "for the good of the team."

She's so thorough that it's like the Grinch has come
to ruin Christmas for all the Wallys that live in
Wallyville, because when Diana finally lets him go,
there isn't *anything* tasty left to eat in the
kitchen.

Sure, Batman's protein powder and wheat germ are still
in there, and hey, maybe *that's* why he's always in
such a bad mood?

"'You'll thank me for it later,'" Wally mutters to
himself, his nose leaving streaks on the observation
window.

Thank her for what? Speeding himself into an early
grave, wasting away like sand through the hourglass?
She *spaced* his Fritos!

"Aw, man, no!" he says, watching his brand new box of
Swiss cake rolls spin into outer space.

"You never know," John says from behind him. "Eating
healthy might make your powers stronger."

Wally startles hard, bonking his head against the
window and getting a serious case of Scooby-Doo legs.
"Ow."

GL stands beside him and crosses his arms. "It's your
own fault, you know. You've been acting stranger than
usual, and you're the only one who eats that garbage."

"Oh, yeah, right, that's what Superman *wants* you to
think. His stomach must be invulnerable, because even
*I* don't touch the Twinkies."

John just raises an eyebrow. Wally suddenly gets the
mental image of John sucking a Twinkie into his mouth,
and he freezes, torn between the intense need to
goeatfoodnow and the intense desire to fuck nownownow.

He whimpers. John blinks at him, and then he reaches
out, and --

"I --" Wally says, and then runs for it.

And wow, way to be *subtle*, Wally. Way to not arouse
*suspicion*. But man, he can't *help* it.

John was about to *touch* him, and sure he was going
to do it in that GL-needs-to-see-if-I'm-injured way,
but that didn't matter because there was all this
*stuff*. Going on in his *head*.

And Wally hasn't had nearly enough time to put the
"Jesus Christ *sexy*" thing in a box away from the
"Ooh, hero stuff!" thing, and now he's screwed.

So screwed.

So completely, utterly, wonderfully...

On his back, on his bed, and the sheets are rumpled
and kind of uncomfortable under him, but that doesn't
matter because his legs are spread and his tights are
down around his thighs, and *yeah*, he's screwed, but
not enough.

*Fuck*, nowhere *near* enough, because he's hard, so
hard that all John would have to do is *touch* him,
but this is *his* fantasy and the fingers sliding all
hard and insinuating behind his balls.

Aren't his.

John is there, John is touching him, teasing him,
pressing harder and going farther than Wally does, or
usually does, anyway, because he would and Wally wants
him to, hears himself begging for it even though
there's no one there, even though it's just his own
too-dry finger sliding up inside and his own mindless
fist pumping his cock, and this is going to kill him.

This want-not-have thing, and it was bad enough when
his hands were *good* enough, but, fuck, he wants
John.

*Wants* him.

Wants that sly, soft mouth and those... those fucking
*ridiculous* shoulders, so perfect to hold on to and
--

"... right, I've had just about enough of --"

*Bang* goes his door and *eep* goes his mouth and
*freeze* goes his body, because John is standing
*right there*.

Highlighted in his open door and *staring* at him.
Wally's tights are still nowhere near covering
anything up, and not even utter and possibly FATAL
embarrassment is enough to stop his dick from being
hard, hard, *hardest* because it can fucking *sense*
John's in the room, and it's completely thrilled with
the turn of events.

John blinks. Stares.

And his mouth is open, just a little, and Wally can't
*stop* himself. His arm hurts from the effort of
*trying* to stop himself, so Wally gives up and
strokes. Stares right back at John and *strokes*, and
okay maybe his hand isn't so bad, after all.

Or maybe it's just better with John right there,
taking away the need to say anything at all.

With John *watching* him and narrowing his eyes, and
*flaring* and.

Closing the door.

"Oh, *God*."

John next to the bed.

John *on* the bed and watching his hand pump, and
making this tiny, incredible noise when Wally goes
back to fucking himself with his finger.

"Wally..."

And it makes him arch, makes him struggle against
himself because he needs to be *naked* even though he
also needs to just keep doing what he's doing.

"Wally. You..."

Hands on his wrists, tugging, and Wally whimpers and
his cock is hard against his belly, brushing against
the uniform top, and it's not as important as John's
*hands*. On him.

John's eyes wide and almost desperate, staring into
his own like Wally has every answer in the world.

And he *doesn't*. He doesn't have anything but need.

"You have to tell me... do you want this?"

"Oh. Oh, fuck, *yes*."

But John *hesitates*, like he's not sure if Wally's
just narrating his personal porn soundtrack, or
something. And Wally makes this frustrated whine in
the back of his throat, because, okay, hands *good*,
but he can't help thrusting up into the air between
them. *One* of them to be touching his cock, *please*.

"*John*."

And John's hands tighten on his wrists, his eyes
fucking *radioactive*.

John smiles, and it's this evil, little smile that
isn't making Wally nervous so much as.

Ready to beg.  Anything, just --

"Touch me." Because he can't *move* the way he wants
to with John's big, warm hands holding him down, but
he's greedy.

John moves in this slow, deliberate slide. Moves up
and over, and kneels between Wally's legs right on top
of his tangled uniform and.

Now he really can't move the way he wants to.

John. Tease. Going to kill him.

Wally's pretty much making nothing but embarrassing
*want* noises right now, and he can't really care
because.

John *finally* moves, so slowly that Wally can feel
the heat off his skin before John finally settles in
between his legs.  Just covers him like this big
electric blanket.  With muscles.

John's face is *close*. Watching. Breathing on him.
Still *smiling*.

Wally opens his mouth, because goading -- he's good at
goading. But John's already a step ahead, moving in
for the kill. Or for a kiss, but they're really the
same thing right now. Soft lips and insistent tongue,
kissing hard and deep in that messy, nasty,
wanttofuckyou way that nobody who looks at John would
think he could do.

Okay, Wally's been *hoping*.

And John just keeps kissing him, hot and wet, the
constant catch of lips and rougher tongue, and the
sharp bite of teeth. Wally breathes through his nose
and *rubs*, like, his entire body against John because
he can't be still. His cock is trapped between them,
making John's uniform damp, and it feels like a thin
layer of *nothing* but it's driving him crazy.

He wiggles some more and *oh*. John's hard, and that's
just. The fucking hottest thing *ever*.

It makes him go a little crazy. With the kissing back
and the rubbing. And he's holding onto his speed so
hard Wally can hear it humming, but he wants to be
here, and he wants it slow, and.

John's voice in his ear, hands loose on his wrists.
"Do you want me to fuck you? I want to."

And that makes him just *lose* it, vibrating so fast
and hard under John that it takes a minute to figure
out that he *didn't* just come, and then he has to
whimper *again*, toss his head and clutch at John's
shoulders and John actually looks *worried* for a
second.

"Wally, are you --"

"Oh Jesus Jesus *John*. Do it, come on, fuck me, I
can't. I can't wait --"

And John's growl should be illegal on multiple
planets, but it's exactly what Wally needs to hear.

Forces himself to move, to let go long enough to grab
the battered tube of lube from under the pillow and
*forces* it into John's hand.

"God, you use this... you use this *here*?"

"All the time. Need more. Thinking about you, your
body -- *John* --"

And he thinks it could break him to see John's hands
shake like that, to not be able to do anything about
it but *want*. But then John's slicking his hand,
getting it shiny and wet, wet like his mouth, and it's
all Wally can do not to just wrap his legs around the
man and hold *on*.

But then -- *fuck*.

Fingers so cool and so *wet* and pushing so *deep*,
and Wally whines high in his throat and thrusts back.

Does it again because it feels so good, because John's
growling *again*, sweat on his forehead and eyes in
perma-glare mode.

And Wally's body is just one big *yes*, because he
could come like this, just like this, cock bouncing
against his belly and John's fingers inside him, and
John's other hand on his hip, holding him still and
steady, and oh fuck *yeah*.

Making him take this. Making him *feel* it.

"I could just *watch* you..."

And oh, God, John has the *best* ideas, John's a
*smart* man with smart, flexing fingers and. "Want you
to, anytime --"

"God, Wally --"

"You could -- watch me come for you. Watch me need it,
John, fuck you feel so good --"

*Hard* push and this *twist* and Wally's vibrating
again, shaking himself apart and holding on to the bed
for dear life because John's turned *on*. John wants
this, wants him --

"Want me oh God you want me --"

Hard squeeze to his hip and John's shaking his head
and looking almost *hurt*, but Wally knows that look
now. Knows what it means and if he had any room in his
soul to be anything but turned on to the point of
*death*, it'd make him happy.

John yanks his uniform down just enough, and Wally
angles his hips up and catches the first *push* almost
before he's ready.

Gasps and John gasps and --

"Be ready. Wally --"

And there are no *words*, because John slides *in*,
slow but not slow enough, not fast enough, spreading
him open and turning him on, and making him need so
*bad*.

And John just *stops* there, catching his breath and
shaking a little, too. Reaching up to stroke Wally's
face and fuck, he still has the *mask* on and he can't
handle that at all.

Rips it off and John gasps again, even though they've
seen each other. Even though they *know* each other,
and there's a hand in his hair, tilting his head back
and his face up for another one of those
mind-destroying kisses.

John, *John* groaning into his mouth and starting to
move, and Wally has to break the kiss to yell because
it's perfect.

Better than anything he'd ever come up with. Better
than the shower, the Twinkies, *everything*, and John
rears up above him and slides out *slow*, and then
pushes in fast and *hard* and Wally yells again.

Again.

And there's a look on John's face like he wants Wally
to be quiet, like something like that is even humanly
*possible*, but then it fades into this pure, raw
hunger.

Darker than his skin and twice as addictive.

"You feel -- inside me --"

Hand on his dick, big and hard and implacable, and
John's thrusting faster, fucking harder, and Wally
can't do anything but cry out more and *beg*.

"Please. Please just... oh *fuck* --"

Thumb over the head of his dick and John's dick in
*deep* and it's never felt like this. Not even close.

"Gonna. Gonna make me come --"

"Do it. Show me --" Strangled little groan and John
pumps faster, pumps his hips, and Wally has to *feel*
it.

Feel those muscles working, that hot, sweat-damp skin.
Has to pull John in tighter, deeper -- "Oh *God* --"

Comes all over John's fist and his own belly,
white-out taking away all higher brain functions,
everything but *more* and *faster* and --

"*Wally* --"

"Come inside me, I want --"

Hard, *hard* kiss and John's fucking his mouth in the
same rhythm, the same exact rhythm, and this is
perfect, so perfect, and Wally wraps his arms around
him and wraps his legs around him, and holds him
there, right *there*, until John cries out into his
mouth and comes.

Doesn't stop thrusting, doesn't stop kissing, and the
sounds are even hotter now, even *dirtier*, and Wally
wants to *ride* him, wants to chain John to his bed
and never, ever let go.

Wally squeezes harder and kisses with everything he
has, holding John until he slows, until he stops and
makes a concerted effort not to just fall on Wally
that Wally does his best to thwart.

His best is very good.

And for a while, they just lie there while their lungs
catch up, John's weight pressing him into the
mattress. Skin still pleasantly warm and sweaty, and
all tingly underneath the surface. Well-used. Mm.

John chuckles, and the little vibrations ripple out
from where his nose is pressed just under Wally's ear
and he can feel it in his *toes*.  "You like steam?"

"Hey. You try being coherent when you're wearing a
towel. I'm wearing a towel. Never mind."

John lifts up a little on his elbows, as far as Wally
lets him, which isn't far at all. He doesn't say
anything, just tilts his head and looks with those
*eyes* like he's reading Wally's mind. Except this is
John, not J'onn, and thank *God*, because J'onn
doesn't need to see what's in his head right now.

"It's just -- *you*, with those arms and the glare and
your *ass*, and yes, I like steam."

John's staring at him with gentle amusement, but he
doesn't mind, because it's the kind of look that means
the more he talks, the more John wants to shut him up
by making use of Wally's mouth.

And. Mouth.

"I could *kill* for some Doritos."

John rolls his eyes. "Kill yourself, maybe."

He whimpers. Dignity is for people who don't fear the
wrath of Amazon princesses.

"Why can't we be in the alternate universe where she
bakes cookies?"

John snorts at that, and then he smiles. Wally's never
really noticed before that John smiles with his entire
face.

"This dimension isn't so bad."

And. That's almost *nice*, and it makes him a little
suspicious.

Wally squints at him.  "Yeah?"

"There could be evil, mind-controlling gorillas."

And Wally thinks hard, really *hard* about smacking
John in the head, but... he settles for squeezing him.
 

"Just you wait until I go into snack food withdrawal,
big guy.  I'll make evil gorillas look like a
cakewalk."
 

end.