"I'm not going to explain it to you again," Robin replied, head dropping back to examine each tile on the ceiling. This wasn't going to die easily.
The chest he'd previously been resting his cheek on sunk in frustration. "I just don't get it – we've made out in my room, your room, rooftops, trees... Hey! No violence!"
Robin grumbled, sapphire eyes rolling behind the tinted lenses, "It's not my fault your reflexes suck."
"My reflexes are grea-OW!"
"You were saying?"
Wally's nostrils flared as he exhaled heavily. "The point here-"
"Oh, so there is one?" Robin snorted. It was too easy to aggravate Wally, whose patience's ability to fizzle was just as quick as those feet of his. Could the younger kid be blamed? Not really, considering how cute that grumpy-face was.
"Yes," Wally answered confidently, "and it is that we've Frenched up pretty much anywhere. How's this any different?"
"Why here?"
"The couch is comfy and our rooms are too far away."
Robin scoffed. "Lazy butt – mine's just down the hallway. You could probably get there in three seconds – two considering all that sugar you wolfed down."
"But why go through the effort when we're here already?"
"Anybody could stride in and see us sucking face." Robin lifted one shoulder in an embarrassed half-shrug. "I don't like that."
"So? Miss Martian and Supey never seem too bothered."
All he could do was shake his head at the completely serious face that stared right back. "Are you saying you honestly don't mind the groping and giggling?"
"Their spit-swapping isn't going to hurt me," Wally stated. "So, next rebuttal?"
Robin sighed and cast two weary eyes across the small lounge. He'd tried to point out the blonde elephant in the room, who seemed to find pleasure in their playful snipes, for the past eight minutes and had lost all tolerance for subtlety. "Well, for one thing, Artemis is watching us with a bowl of popcorn in her lap."
"Don't mind me," the amused girl insisted with a dismissive wave of her slender hand. "I just love seeing Baywatch get rejected and shot-down like an army plane."
A smirk arose on Robin's heart-shaped face as Wally immediately went into defence-mode. "Buzz off, Blondie. You're cock-blocking me."
"Please, the stench of your socks is enough to keep little Rob a virgin for life and beyond," she sneered.
Narrowing his unseen eyes, the smallest teen sat up fully. "Little Rob? I'm almost taller than you!" he quipped.
Having taken a shine to him, further proved through her jibes about his relatively petite (yet luckily still growing) figure, Artemis cooed patronizingly "Nevertheless, you'll always be our Little Rob."
"I'm only a centimetre off Lanky McGiraffe here," he muttered.
"Thanks for the support, babe," huffed Wally.
Robin grinned. "Anytime, sweetheart."
Artemis passed the last three pieces of salted, buttery goodness—none of that packet crap, this was real heated-from-kernels popcorn— through her lips and stood with her teeth flashing in a gleeful smile. "You're punching above your weight," she told Wally.
He mimicked her rudely, a falsetto that was apparently supposed to resemble her smooth, vibrato-tainted voice accompanying the scrunch of his nose. Clearly unimpressed and not at all affected by the way-off impersonation, she pushed the red-head's feet off the arm of the couch. The boy watched her warily as Artemis sat down in the space she'd vacated, either not noticing or not caring about Wally's unhidden distain.
"Robin, honey," she began affectionately, "I say this because I care, and you simply need to hear it before you get stuck in a hole with all your limbs broken, no ladder and no Batman-patented gadgets." Gripping both his shins as though talking to a misbehaving child, she heightened her voice for the last part: "You can do better."
"Go away," Wally groaned, poking her thigh just hard enough for Artemis' butt to slip off the faux leather.
"Gross!" she growled, examining the denim of her jeans like there was a visible infection creeping up her leg.
Both boys laughed blatantly—not even attempting to conceal their delight at such an immature gesture from both parties—as she hurried away, mumbling something along the lines that no existing disinfectant in the world could possibly be able to remove the smell.
Once the merriment had subsided, Wally continued to question his boyfriend's point mercilessly.
"Once again I ask, what's the difference between here and your room down the hall other than twenty metres?"
"Privacy, maybe?"
Wally raised a slim brow. "You're seriously going to throw that one at me after last week?"
For the first time in a long while, a ripe-cherry blush intensified Robin's natural colouring. In his defence, Batman had given them the day off. So it was really an all-round surprise when the tall, well-built man burst in without knocking the moment after Wally had decided to straddle Dick's slim hips and yank both their shirts off in a matter of seconds.
Consequently, dinner at the Bruce Wayne Mansion had been prominently awkward. Alfred didn't even want to know.
"Hey, that wasn't so bad," he pointed out in an effort to turn attention away from his own lingering embarrassment. "We're lucky to have gotten out of that alive, let alone without the be-safe-use-protection talk. He still let you stay the night, remember?"
Wally remembered. "No, you got out of it," he protested, "while I got home to be given an even worse one from Barry. Things like 'Don't vibrate too hard – you don't want to burn anyone's intimate areas.' Do you have any idea how scarred I am?" He shuddered. "My uncle, Rob, my uncle, sat there with a straight face and told me that the lube will absorb into skin if it's put under our kind of... friction. He demonstrated with a banana and everything."
"Ouch," Robin winced, unsure of which part of that sentence he found to be the most unpleasant. "We were just playing around. What exactly do they think we do?"
"I don't know," Artemis laughed from the doorway, "but that'll make a fantastic story at your twenty-first."
"Would you just go away?" cried Wally.
"I'm going to my room," Robin exhaled heavily.
Boyish glint reappearing in his bright-lime eyes, Wally eagerly jumped up beside him. "Was that an invitation?"
"Sure, whatever."
The two had barely made it through the doorway when the glasses were tugged off and discarded to the bedside table. Wally, secret romance lover that he was, (all flirting and butt-grabbing aside) looped the slightly shorter teen into a tight, inescapable embrace. A small gap between their chests was allowed, only so that they could lock lips within seconds of the door slamming.
Wally pulled away first shortly after they'd even started. "I've wanted to do that all day," he stated with an easy grin.
The newly-unmasked Dick Grayson shrugged nonchalantly despite his heart running a little off-beat. He should have been used to the speedster's urges and ten-steps-ahead-of-his-brain body, but it never thrilled him any less to know he was wanted so desperately.
"To the bed, my love?" Wally gestured dramatically, the facial expression non-changing.
The corner of Dick's mouth tugged up as he was offered an extended hand. "Well, aren't you charming?"
"When am I not?"
"Have you ever seen yourself eat? Coz you're definitely lacking in the aster there," he answered with a thin layer of disgust raising his upper lip. "It's like a tornado of ice-cream and nachos."
Wally maintained his confident spark, swinging Dick to the left with ease. He followed suit, almost instantly atop the boy, and the familiar kisses began again.
There were three things he'd learnt by making out with the Boy Wonder.
One – there was this really sensitive part right behind his teeth, brought to his attention because he was lucky enough that Dick had a long tongue and therefore the ability to send the most whelmingly sensational tingle right to Wally's toes.
Two – the utility belt, as it turned out, was armed with a dusty, old-person's-shoes-smelling gas that makes a person cry and is hell to get out of your nostrils once it solidified. This was set off if you didn't press the secret button; at the time, Dick was laughing far too hard, apparently immune to the substance, to help his boyfriend rinse his eye sockets out.
Three – they shared a taste in Chapstick; Green Apple, no competition.
Now he was about to discover something quite blackmail-worthy.
"How can you wear such tight jeans?" he groaned into Dick's ear, threading both thumbs into the belt-loops. To prove his point, Wally tugged gently – they didn't budge.
Still pleased that he'd been successful in switching their positions, the boy mumbled something soft, sweet and playful, words indefinable due to them being said right into Wally's throat. Either one could be gentle when they felt like it. This was confirmed in between pillow-fights, joking mockery, shirt tugging, groping, biting, the sucking of necks and general feeling-up of each other when they would cuddle, smile, taste and make small boyish teases. Today was definitely one for an example of these relaxing moments. They were both effortlessly eased enough to just caress and kiss, with the occasional light grinding.
They were, after all, only teenagers.
"Can't hear you."
"I said 'They're nothing compared to the Spandex stuff.'"
Wally smirked. "I like that idea – wearing nothing."
He really did. For such a small-framed adolescent, Dick was ridiculously sculpted. No-one would have guessed that beneath that handsome, flawlessly-ironed school uniform was Robin. He wasn't beefy like the brainless jocks (there were smart ones, too, just not as many) at Wally's school, nor was he rippling under his skin like Kaldur or rocks beneath peach like Conner. But, somehow, he still sported smooth, trained muscles that twisted and moved along with his perfectly-mastered kicks and flips. It took a lot of Wally's strength sometimes not to just tackle him down in said Spandex and act out his hormonal fantasies as they prepared for missions. Not that he'd ever go further than Dick was ready for – it had to be said that though he was pretty mature and fairly experienced for someone his age, he was still only fourteen.
Still unsure and uncertain, worrying about when the right time was for things, how slowly to take a relationship, what to do with his hands, with his tongue.
More murmuring followed as he thought all of this over.
"Pardon?" he chuckled, managing to pick up the sole "pants" part.
"I questioned why," Dick sighed, lips reluctantly drawing away from the smooth spot right below his jaw, "in the first place it was that you were intending to get me out of my pants," Wally blushed, "and, if that was indeed your aim..." He sat up—still pinning the red-head, who watched with both curiosity and hunger, between his lean thighs—and undid the metal button. "...then this would be a good start."
Wally nearly gaped. He was just kidding with the "wearing nothing" thing, actually. But now, Dick was giving him the go-ahead to do something more than just steamy making-out. Instead of letting his jaw fall off, he sniggered. "What? No Bat-traps? You're beginning to go tender."
"Why would I have Bat-traps in my fly?" Dick asked, eyes squinting as though talking to a madman and not his boyfriend.
Flaunting the famously mischievous grin once again, Wally leant up on his elbows. "Maybe to cover up that shade of pink?"
Dick readjusted. Turning the same hue as his silky boxes, the supposedly-dominant one of the pair rubbed his neck, a self-comforting habit he'd fallen into over time. "I didn't... I just thought they... They're nice, okay? They fit right and everything."
In an effort to calm the enflaming blush, Wally placed two hands on the waistband and let them creep up beyond the hem of Dick's T-shirt. His nails gently tapped and drabbled across the latter's bare stomach.
A sharp, frightened yelp sounded out across the silence. It was the unmistakable, high-pitched squeak like that of a cartoon mouse, or something from Nicky Minaj's Stupid Hoe. Even though he was currently in the stage where his voice was mostly a deepened version of its former self, Dick still cracked highs when everyone least expected it—M'gann thought it was the cutest thing in the world (as did Wally, however he'd never say that for the simple reason that he valued his life)—this was the weirdest thing that'd ever slipped out of that mouth.
Wally paused. "Dick, did you just-"
Dick shook his head in denial, his lips latched together under his hand, but as fingers darted another burst of laughter escaped him.
"No way," Wally breathed in disbelief. "You're-"
"No," Dick insisted, "no, I'm not."
"Yes you are," Wally cheered triumphantly. "Yes you are!"
Dick tried to get away, he really did; seemingly forgetting that his captor was literally one of the fastest men alive, a fact he was well-known to take advantage of. No longer kind and peaceful, eight little terror-inducers clawed away at all the pride Dick had as the young boy was thrown into a fit of unstoppable giggles.
"Please," he begged amongst puffing and pleading and crying, "please, s-stop, ha! Ju-jus-st sto-p-p-p!" He threw his head back, the gaping smile completely contradicting his inner panic.
Apparently, even the rock-hard abs of Dick Grayson weren't immune to something as simple as a good tickling. Rolling wildly like a feral animal, he thrashed out and squirmed in irrepressible jolts while Wally cackled ominously.
"Whose reflexes suck now? Huh, Richie? YOURS! Your reflexes suck!"
That didn't receive any answer other than the repetitive squeals and tears. Dick gasped back oxygen – it was only a matter of time before an organ exploded; heart, belly or something worse. Didn't Wally realise his bladder could only take so much?
Summing up the last burst of strength, the boy tipped his lithe body over the edge of his mattress. Managing to land without any damage or pain, other than his stomach from laughing so hard, he turned back around.
Wally watched him with interest and a grin. T-shirt shoved up to his ribs, jeans still unbuttoned, cheeks flushed with an adorable tint, Dick made no attempt to cower weakly beneath his hands. His breathing was a little off and his eyes were caught between relief and fear of a second attack. Neither made a sound, letting the panting smooth out in the room.
Wally had always liked the way Dick-
No, scratch that – he had always liked Dick. Everything about him was the precise mix of boyishness and grace; Converse shoes and fitted blazers, cheeky laugh and liquid movements, ravaged, jagged spikes gelled roughly from his combed hair. Now, he himself looked ruffled, frayed at the edges.
In conclusion he, as always, looked perfect.
Draping an arm down to draw lazy swirls on a nonexistent pattern over Dick's compliant body, Wally smiled kindly.
"I'm not going to tell anyone," he promised.
A soft sigh, allowing each muscle to relax. "Thanks, dude."
Wally took the boy's hand in his and kissed each of the five knuckles. "It'll be our little secret."
"Always."
"But, next time, we make out on the couch."
"Deal."