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Officially, there is an extended Justice League meeting in the Watchtower. Unofficially, it’s rather an open day. However, the most adequate description for what’s happening is take-your-kids-to-work day.
Wally is sitting across the table from him, a wide grin on his face, and Barry guesses the reason for it immediately. The bright yellow sticker with his name on it, that he put on the pizza boxes in the common fridge earlier, is now on Wally’s suit, right on the symbol on his chest.
Barry should blame it on Wally, with his inability to stay serious in any situation and his “Should I call you ‘my lord’?” because it’s obviously not Barry’s fault. He tells Wally to stop, not harshly but firmly and unambiguously, despite the momentary short circuit in his own head.
Or, probably, he should blame it on Garth, always following the etiquette unwaveringly. Or the Atlanteans and whoever came up with the titles and forms of address. Or the supervillain who had them all gathered in the bunker in Alaska. Or…
Or, instead of blaming anyone at all, he could admit that his heart skips a beat and he feels lightheaded every time he hears someone refer to Wally as his .
Barry can check off almost every virtue (though he would never acknowledge this because humility is on the list), and this funny feeling in his chest changes nothing. It’s not even greed. Or possessiveness, for that matter.
It’s about demonstrating their unbreakable bond and others acknowledging it.
Even if others mean their mentor-mentee relationship most of the time, like when Batman says, “Take your boy,” curt and business-like. Struggling to keep his own expression straight, Barry notices Wally’s slightly furrowed brow and tensed jawline.
He apologizes right after, but Wally shrugs it off nonchalantly and actually looks like those phrases don’t bother him the slightest, and Barry is okay with this, too. Which means the matter is settled.
At least that’s what he thinks.
Until Wally whispers hoarsely against his lips, “Call me yours,” and then almost whines when Barry’s grip on his shoulders tightens instinctively. “Call me your boy.”
It’s only been a few hours since they made it out of the bunker and slept it off. Now, the sound of Wally’s voice is soft against the rustle of the sheets, and his expression unreadable in the morning light pouring over him and making his skin glow golden.
There’s no way to tell if he’s joking, or offended, or decided to try something new. Barry props up on his elbows to meet his gaze.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve already said that back then, so how many times do I have to tell you that you’re not my—”
“But I am ,” Wally objects matter-of-factly. He stops rocking his hips but doesn’t pull away. “And I like it.”
Barry almost chokes on air, failing to counter with anything that doesn’t sound possibly offensive or isn’t complete bullshit.
“Right. Sorry.” In his defense, it’s hard to argue with someone when they look at you with such unrestrained adoration while grinding against you. “It’s just…” Humiliating. “...Weird.”
Wally leans down to kiss him, and Barry knows this smirk all too well—nothing good or lawful usually follows after this expression. “I’ll figure something out.”
He does, indeed. And now he’s sitting in front of him, literally glowing self-contentedly.
Why did he consider this to be his best idea. Why couldn’t they settle on something more… traditional. (Hickeys don’t last long due to their accelerated regeneration. Besides, Barry is too decent to leave marks out in the open.)
Considering the number of League members sitting at the long table, the angle of view, and that only a few people know about the nature of their relationship, Wally's little stunt is barely enough to get the Titans to snicker.
However, when Wally catches him staring and winks at him, his grin instantly growing wider, even though it seems impossible, it makes the blush spread across Barry’s face and lower (and he hates it).
Barry honestly makes an effort not to look before him, focusing on the report and not the implications Wally might have put in his performance, intentionally or not.
Hal leans closer and mutters without lowering his voice, “Now that’s a snack, huh?”
Barry has to use willpower worthy of the Lanterns to stay still and not bury his face in his hands with a groan.