Work Text:
Barry lands on his back, trying to steady himself and accidentally sweeping down the cups left on the table a couple of days ago. Or maybe those were dirty tubes—but neither of them seems to care now, with Wally’s lips on his neck, and Wally’s hands on his hips, and Wally on top of him.
They end up like this often, maybe too often—at least twice in the last forty-eight hours (Saturday night is an outlier and should not be counted). It’s as if they’re seventeen again and turned on in an instant and for reasons beyond scientific explanation.
However, this time, the reasons are quite obvious: they had to stop several explosions and rebuild a few buildings after a lasting fight, the tension was itching to be relieved, and Barry happened to be around, in his fitting white shirt, still hot from the shower, with his wet hair sticking to his forehead.
Wally is sorry for wasting the glasses, but it would be a shame to waste the opportunity.
He traces the column of Barry’s throat down to his collarbone, making him squirm—works every time—but when he slips his hands under his shirt, accidentally brushing against Barry’s ribs just with his fingertips, Barry breathes out sharply through clenched teeth.
“Sorry,” Wally murmurs, leaving a light kiss at the corner of his mouth in apology, and slows down a little, helping Barry to get out of the shirt anyway. He hopes it’s just a bruise he didn’t notice and not a broken rib.
Although Wally would like to bite down on the sensitive spot just above his hip bone or grip his sides firmly, he has to hold back and show some inventiveness instead. Luckily, he never had trouble with this one, especially when it was about Barry, and especially in situations like this.
They both, however, will need another shower later.
—
A few days later, Barry gets the cups, in one piece and clean, while Wally scans the table for tea.
Years ago, when Barry mentioned he doesn’t drink coffee, Wally considered it so not cool of him as an adult and a superhero that he drank up two cups right after, just in spite. He then thought he was going to have a heart attack, and more than pleasedosomethingwithhisheartbeat , he begged Barry not to tell Iris. Now, he’s sure that none of the things that happened to him happened without her knowing.
Finally, he figures out to look in the upper cabinet. Barry stands right below it, completely focused on cutting off the sandwich crusts—Wally has been watching him do it as long as he knows him, so he’s learned the way Barry positions his hands and holds the knife, and there’s comfort in this predictability.
Without a second thought, Wally grabs his waist with one hand, reaching for the cabinet.
And again, Barry flinches with an indistinct sound.
Wally recalls him hurting his ribs and wants to say sorry, but then pauses. It’s been what, three days since that fight? Even if the injury was that bad, with his regeneration rate, Barry should have recovered by now. Wally frowns at him quizzically.
“You alright?”
“Yeah.” There’s a faint blush on Barry’s cheeks, and that makes absolutely no sense either. “Didn’t see you there.”
“With your reflexes? Losing your touch, old man?” Wally aims to elbow him playfully but stops himself and puts his arm around Barry’s shoulders instead, getting the pack with his other hand.
“If I’m an old man, what does it make you?” Barry’s breath tickles his neck, and he fails completely to sound offended.
“No idea, time is nonlinear and relative to me.”
“Don’t even start.”
—
It starts as an ordinary robbery and turns into a tedious (because any task taking longer than two minutes is torture) gunfight. All the criminals in Central City seem to have broken loose in the last twenty-four hours. Besides, he and the other Flash had to deal with the consequences of several earthquakes halfway around the world.
No wonder Barry almost catches a bullet by the end of the day.
Wally spots it from across the street just in time to push him out of its way. He doesn’t think about it, just grabs Barry around the waist, and can't help but hear the small laughter he huffs out.
They are still in the middle of the robbery-turned-gunfight , under the bullets, and Wally catches sight of a wounded civilian and hears the approaching sirens, and no, there is absolutely nothing funny around them, and yes, Barry is laughing.
It could be a nervous chuckle, sure, but it doesn’t quite sound like one. Wally quickly examines him for injuries or a concussion and sees his own fingers gripping Barry’s ribs.
He might not be the world’s greatest detective, but he learned that while two may be a coincidence, three is always a pattern. And he can think of only one possible explanation: Barry is ticklish.
The thought shouldn’t amuse him as much as it does, and yet.
Once he releases Barry and stops to process the revelation, Barry gives him a sheepish look and takes off. Normally, it wouldn’t stop Wally from chasing him and… Questioning him? Teasing him about it for the rest of his life? Probably both, but for now, Wally lets him make his escape.
—
Wally traces the lightning on Barry’s bare chest with his finger—he doesn’t need to see it to feel the phantom ridges and the smooth metal. He’s lying beside him, not sure how to approach the conversation.
It’s not quite the we-need-to-talk kind of thing, but it feels like one.
They’ve been partners for years (there doesn’t seem to exist a better word for them , but partners still mostly covers what they have now, after finally moving on from long periods of silence and confessions wrapped into metaphors and puns to actually having a long and not entirely pleasant conversation about their relationship), and yet, there’s always something for him to learn about Barry.
Wally decides to skip the talking part and get right to business, and he moves his hand further to Barry’s side.
Predictably, Barry catches him right away.
“Really? What are you, five?” It’s the same softly reprimanding tone Barry has been using on him for years.
Wally slings his arm around him, leaning over. Barry still scowls at him, but Wally can tell his heart isn’t in it.
“Sorry, couldn’t help it. It’s cute, actually.” Now Barry blushes a little, and Wally cracks up from how adorable he looks and how absurd the situation is.
“Not when villains get too… handsy.”
“Huh. Reverse-Flash?”
“God. That one’s a headache.”
Wally rests his head on top of him, staring at him appreciatively. Flash avoids villains who are too tactile; that’s cute.
At the same time, Wally feels something twisting inside his chest as he once again contemplates the humanity of the man lying next to him—a legend, a knight in shining armor for some—and his own specialness, since he is privy to such secrets.
He can feel Barry’s chest moving up and down steadily, and when he slowly traces his fingers up Barry’s stomach, the hitch in his breath is barely noticeable, but it’s there.
“Don’t you dare.”
“I would never.” And he means it, although he can’t hold back a teasing smirk.
Barry huffs out an annoyed sigh into his hair, “And don’t even think about telling anyone,” and kisses the top of his head straight after. Dork .
“I won’t.” Wally wonders for a moment. “Batman probably had it on the list of your weaknesses for years, though.”