Warnings: underage; dub-con/consent issues; explicit sexual content; age difference; canon-typical violence; taboo/fetish; pseudo-incest/incest; internalized homophobia
Pairings: Barry/Wally
Credits: This is a non-profit, fanmade work. All characters are owned by DC. This fanfiction was written and created by me.
A/N: Someone implanted an idea of Wally being ticklish into my head and I couldn't escape the thought. I spent a lot of time thinking about Wally's tense relationships with his parents and how that could translate to Wally being unused to touch/physical affection, thus making him more susceptible to tickling.
So basically, this is just a tickling fetish fic, written by a person who has never read tickling fetish and doesn't have a tickling fetish, but was really intrigued in the concept and how it plays out for certain characters.
I think the concept and tags speak for themselves in terms of the content-including underage content, pseudo-incest between Barry and Wally, and taboo/fetishes-but there are some other things, like Wally getting seriously injured in a fight, struggling with his sexuality/internalized homophobia, and major consent issues, that are also at play. Basically, even though this fic is lighter than what I usually write, don't go into this fic unless you're expecting some problematic content.
I wrote this fic pretty fast and on a whim so I'm sorry if there are a lot of mistakes. I hope you enjoy!
Barry hadn't finished setting up the guest room. Wally lingered in the foyer of the loft, keeping a safe distance, and feeling like a stranger even though he had been to Iris and Barry's new place quite a few times—and with growing frequency in just the past month or so.
Wally adjusted the strap of the duffel bag on his hunched shoulders, watching as Barry carried a stray moving box out of the room. Barry finally stopped in front of him, offering his hand to take Wally's bag. Wally regarded the hand and simply walked past Barry towards the guest room.
It was still weird to Wally—the nice little home that Iris and Barry had created for themselves versus Iris' tiny two-bedroom apartment. The new place was bigger, more modern. The second room could have been a nice office space for Iris, Wally thought, but instead they made it into a bedroom. A gesture that was not lost on him.
With the growing arguments between him and his parents, his weekends at Aunt Iris' had increased. The guest room felt like his room. He had so many things spread out between Central City and Blue Valley that it was almost like he had two bedrooms—which might have been cool, in any other circumstance.
Barry was just being anal-retentive. The room was nice. Still, he could have spent time nitpicking over it if he had just let Wally come to him on his own.
"You really didn't have to pick me up. I could have just ran, you know," Wally said, dumping the duffel bag on the neatly made bed. The bed felt different from the one at home—this one was stiffer, neater, with lots of blankets and comforters. Like a hotel bed.
"You know why you can't do that," Barry said, using his Flash voice.
"Iris isn't here!" Wally said. He spread out his arms, falling onto the empty spot on the mattress. He loved the little bounce it gave, unlike the way his mattress at home just sunk.
Barry entered Wally's line of vision, his face appearing upside down. His brow was low and serious.
"You really shouldn't use your powers unless it's for something important."
"I know, I know." Wally was tired of lectures—had been tired of them, long before Barry had even entered his life, much less before this visit to Central City.
Wally rolled over onto his side, facing the headboard. He reached out, tracing the smooth, polished wood. He thought of the drawings on his headboard back at his parents' house. He kinda missed them. But it felt wrong to draw on this one. It wasn't his bed, not really, even though it seemed like it could be. Even though he'd like it to be.
"Wally," Barry said, softer now.
Wally looked over his shoulder.
Barry stood there, looking uncertain. It made Wally pause, reining in some of his attitude.
"I know Iris isn't here, but… I think we could still have a lot of fun."
Wally looked at Barry carefully for a moment. Barry wasn't as fun as Aunt Iris. Barry, being the smart and humble guy that he was, probably knew that. Iris wasn't like an aunt—she was like a big sister, a best friend. But Barry was important to Wally, even if Wally never admitted it. Wally averted his eyes, wanting to tell Barry that there wasn't any need for him to try so hard, but not really knowing how to say it.
"Yeah," he said eventually. "It'll be fun. Maybe we can watch a movie or something."
"Yeah," Barry said, his voice warmer. "I'm planning dinner at 6."
Wally raised a thumbs up. He listened to the door shut before rolling onto his back again. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then heard a soft click. He lifted his head without sitting up, noticing a puff of air come out of a machine plugged into the outlet. Automatic air freshener. Wally sniffed. Cucumber melon?
Even the smells here were fresh and different.
Wally was flipping through movie rentals when Barry took a seat next to him on the sofa. Barry turned his laptop toward Wally.
"Yea? Nay?"
Wally glanced at the screen. A museum exhibit on mummies. Museums weren't really his thing but dead bodies could be cool.
"I'm game," he said. He went back to flipping through the horror genre, wondering idly if people still made mummy films, and Barry's eyes followed his.
"Uh, aren't most of these films Rated R?"
Wally tilted his head toward Barry, unable to resist his smirk.
"You're just chicken."
Barry snorted. "I work with crime scenes on a daily basis. I just think we should pick something more age appropriate."
"I'm not a kid," Wally said, scowling.
Barry turned toward him. Wally felt his gaze and looked up. He frowned.
"What?" he said, defensive.
"That's something kids say," Barry whispered.
Wally felt a flare of annoyance.
"Then you pick!"
He tossed the remote and Barry snatched it out of the air. Barry set aside his laptop and quickly flipped through movies.
"We could watch this."
Wally glanced at the screen, seeing a movie clearly intended for toddlers.
"This is why you work with dead people—they're the only ones who laugh at your dumb jokes," Wally said, sinking into the couch. He felt strangely sullen. He knew his resentment was irrational but he couldn't help it—his moods could come so quick. He waited for the inevitable 'hothead' joke, the exact trigger that could always set him off.
"We should call you Man Flash," Barry said. When Wally said nothing, Barry set on a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, lighten up. I'm just joking." When Wally didn't answer right away, Barry added, "Come on. You've said way worse to me."
True. Wally was constantly giving Barry hell. He didn't like Barry saying that though. He was sick of adults talking down at him—Barry was supposed to be his friend, like Iris. They were supposed to be partners. But Barry still called him 'kid' and treated him like one too.
Wally felt Barry's hand moving, fingers dragging from his shoulder closer to his neck. Wally's body tensed in response, not understanding what Barry was up to, but getting incredibly bristly that Barry wasn't leaving him alone. Before Wally could bark at Barry to back off, Barry's hand burrowed into the crook of Wally's neck.
A jolt went through Wally's body. His shoulders hunched up, instinctively trying to catch Barry's hand, but now the other hand was attacking Wally's neck too.
"Stop!" Wally managed to get out before the laughter bounced out.
Barry didn't stop. His tickling hands seemed to work more fervently, wriggling against Wally's sensitive neck.
Wally's heartrate sped up. He tried to squirm away but Barry was faster than he was, with or without powers. Wally barely lifted himself up from the couch when Barry went after him, body pinning his. Wally's chest tightened, squeezed between the arm of the couch and Barry on his back, with all the laughter sucking the air out of him in-between. When Wally tightly hunched his shoulders, defending his neck, Barry's hands flew over his sides, trying to seek out Wally's most ticklish areas, and Wally didn't have the self control to hold back his voice.
"Barry," Wally said, trying to compose himself. Trying to find his anger from earlier to settle himself down. His voice was muffled against the suede couch. "Quit it."
"Come on," Barry said. Wally could hear the teasing laughter in his voice. The excitement was contagious. It made Wally's heart beat faster, harder. He sealed his lips shut, trying to fight it. "Just lighten up."
Wally tried to reach underneath himself. He managed to grab hold of Barry's forearms but he didn't have the strength to pull him off. He peeked behind him, catching Barry's laptop hanging on the edge of a couch cushion.
"Hey, your laptop is going to fall."
Barry glanced back. Wally pushed Barry's arms away from his stomach and stood up. Barry pushed the laptop further into the cushions and Wally didn't make it more than a few steps before Barry had his arms wrapped around his middle, pulling him back to the couch. Wally rudely landed into Barry but neither of them focused on it for long, the tickling resuming. Wally couldn't believe that Barry had caught him so quick.
"You said no powers," Wally said, gasping as Barry touched his bare stomach, his shirt riding up just far enough to betray him.
"You used your powers first," Barry said, this sort of playful growl to his voice. "I'm just trying to keep you in check."
Wally was losing his breath from all the laughing and wrestling around. A funny sort of warmth from all of the exertion prickled to his skin. He jerked in Barry's arms every time his hands brushed against his warm, sensitive skin. His heart was beating hard and fast, his face flushed. He felt hyper aware of Barry's body pressed against his back. Barry, whose long limbs strapped him in, and his breath—also tired from laughter—that fanned against Wally's ear.
It was difficult to fight back when his opponent was just as fast and strong as him. Wally actually began to feel tired, trapped—this sort of dull ache filling him. But there was something pleasant to it all—the release of pent up energy, the warmth on his skin, the sparks running down his spine with every stroke against his flesh. It felt good. Wally moved, Barry followed, both of them nearly rolling into the back of the couch.
It was getting difficult to breathe. Wally was panting between his laughs. As Barry laid his body over Wally's, pushing him into the cushions, Wally felt something stir inside of him. He felt so warm, Barry's body feeling like a furnace on top of his, the man's breath now hitting his nape.
Dread sunk into Wally's stomach, recognizing the sensations in his body. His heart raced faster, no longer just excited, but afraid. His eyes flickered around, trying to find a way out, but in the end, all he could do was pull his knees together. Barry's hands moved to his ribs and Wally could feel goosebumps all over his skin, his nipples hardening.
"Stop," he breathed.
"Come on," Barry said. Wally could hear his grin. "Just phase out."
Barry knew too well that Wally wasn't practiced enough. And if that had been an option, Wally would have done it right then and there. It wasn't long before Barry was laughing, the staccato breaths hitting the back of Wally's neck and ear. Wally's face burned with frustration and humiliation—but he couldn't stop squirming, couldn't stop laughing. This was supposed to be a game. Just a game. But Wally couldn't shake off the sinking panic. His face burned hot with embarrassment, his mind racing with prayers that Barry would just back off, that he wouldn't notice the way Wally was stiffening between his legs.
The fear was so great that Wally was almost willing to do anything to get Barry to go away—even if it meant yelling or hurting. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster, telling him to do something.
"Barry," he started, his final breathless warning.
A ringing sound filled the air.
Barry stopped immediately. He was already at his phone in the other room. He let it ring once more before picking it up. Wally listened to Barry's faint voice in the background and a wave of relief washed over him. He was safe.
Wally took a moment to breathe. Tentatively, he touched his face, which radiated warmth. He finally moved to sit up, his hair disheveled from twisting around on the couch, and he glanced down at his lap. Even after Barry was gone, Wally still had that weird, fluttering feeling inside of him. That funny heat pooling into his lower abdomen.
Wally knew what arousal was, despite the fact that his parents never spoke of that sort of thing. But he couldn't explain why it was happening now.
He brought in his knees. His face was hot with guilt and shame. He scrubbed at his face with his hands, as if to rub away the embarrassment. He wasn't used to being tickled. Last time his mom had tried that, he must have been in kindergarten. Maybe this was normal but if Wally had to guess, he'd say that it wasn't.
Even if it was. Barry was both a man and his soon-to-be uncle. So none of this felt right.
Barry took the time to walk back into the room.
"Wally?"
"Yeah?" Wally said, lifting his head up but not daring to look behind the couch.
"I have to go into the lab."
"So go."
There was a moment's hesitation. Wally could hear his own heartbeat, his mind silently begging please go. A single second could seem like an eternity for Wally. He was still holding his breath by the time he heard Barry's footsteps—moving away from him, thank God.
"I'm sorry, it's a big case so I need to be there. I'm not sure when I'll be back. But we'll hang out tomorrow."
"It's fine, you don't have to apologize," Wally said. He could hear the edge to his voice—but it was just nerves. He wasn't mad. Really.
Barry grabbed his things and was gone. It wasn't until the door clicked that Wally relaxed. He gave a soft sigh and leaned back into the couch.
Barry still wasn't back by the time Wally was ready for bed. Wally wasn't surprised, just disappointed by how boring the evening had turned after Barry's departure. With Barry gone, Wally could have snuck in that Rated R movie after all—but it just didn't feel the same, so he threw on one of his shows and rewatched some old episodes until he decided sleep was more interesting.
He laid in the bed that wasn't quite his, listened to the air freshener spit out another cloud of cucumber melon, and sighed a little.
He stirred under the covers, feeling uncomfortable, like his skin was crawling. He tried to remind himself that he was a guest here. Back at home, he had developed a bit of a nightly ritual, and the urge was especially bad now. He couldn't erase that feeling from a few hours earlier.
He turned onto his side, the shifting blankets cutting through the thick silence of the room. He chewed on his lip for a moment, just thinking. The tension in the room absorbed him. There was this almost anxious sort of feeling inside of him, like something crawling to get out. He felt too aware of the crisp sheets, like a hand gently ghosting over his arm and shoulder. Felt too aware of the light breeze coming through the crack on the window, like a breath on his skin.
He came to a stop. He focused a little, hearing the faint sounds of the city outside. The moonlight coming through the cracked window, peering past those fancy curtains that danced gently with every breeze. He exhaled softly through his nose, feeling resigned.
He turned his gaze downwards, though he saw nothing but the shadows of his blanket. His hands moved underneath the covers and that was when his heart started to race. It was beating hard with the power of both excitement and nerves.
He peeled his shirt up, his hands resting on his soft belly. He used to be kind of a bigger kid. He had always been on the taller side and he played hockey, giving him this stocky build. Ever since the lab accident, his metabolism was switched upside down, and he slimmed down to almost no body fat. His flesh was soft but his stomach was flat and smooth.
His ears went hot with embarrassment. He furrowed his brow a little, mentally talked himself up, and went for it. He started to move his fingers, trying to cover the areas that Barry had, trying to find that feeling again—
But he didn't feel anything.
After awhile, he stopped, feeling twice the fool. He shrugged the sheets a little higher up his shoulders. Stupid. The whole thing was just stupid.
Of course it wouldn't feel the same.
It seemed wrong that he had even considered trying to replicate the feeling. He should have just felt lucky that Barry hadn't noticed anything. Wally's stomach twisted with shame at the thought—he envisioned what Barry's disgusted expression would have looked like. Wally knew he was complicated, his parents liked to tell him that every day. Barry was amazingly patient despite that, even when Kid Flash fucked up and made mistakes and put them in danger. Wally would never tell a soul, would rather spend his whole life pretending that he didn't care what anyone thought—and it was true, to a certain extent, except with Barry. He was genuinely afraid of disappointing Barry.
Guys don't get erections from other guys touching them. It wasn't even like Barry had touched anywhere private, either. All he did was tickle him. Kid games. Wally breathed a little, wondering what was wrong with him. There had to have been something messed up with him or something he didn't know, for him to get a hard-on from Iris's fiancé touching him.
But these weren't feelings and thoughts that Wally could just push away. His emotions were so intense that it consumed him, this pervasive reminder. Lingering under all the guilt and shame and humiliation, he was curious. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how disappointed he was that he couldn't recreate that sensation—that pleasurable, almost electrifying, sensation.
Thinking about it was getting him hard again. Burying himself up to the nose under the heavy covers, as if to hide himself, he started to gently rub himself over his sleeping shorts. He kept his movements short, watching the blankets as if to make sure they didn't move too much and give him away.
He really shouldn't have been doing this. He should just wait until he got home. But the touch felt magnetic the moment his hand was on his body.
Already, he was growing fully erect. His eyes fluttered shut, warmth rushing into his groin, his cock swelling. His cock was trapped in his underwear, the rubbing fabric building up the friction and heat.
His hand massaged over his cock, his balls. His spine tensed, his stomach clenched—and he groaned behind closed lips, a shudder running through his body.
He pulled his shorts and underwear past his cock, letting the waistband sit underneath his balls. His cock felt smooth and hot against his bare hand. He started to rub himself, thinking about earlier. The exact thought that both scared him and excited him was the idea of Barry doing it again. He thought of himself, pinned under Barry, trapped in his arms. He tried to recall the breathlessness he felt—and just by remembering, his own breaths seemed to shorten, the exhales seeming to warm the blanket pressed to his nose. Wally felt drunk on the feeling, this sense of comforting warmth surrounding him.
He couldn't understand it. Couldn't describe it. All he knew was that the tickling had felt good—something in the heat, the excitement, the way it took the air out of him, the coiled tension in his lower abdomen. Wally didn't know why, any more than he could explain anything else, but the feeling felt most intense when Wally couldn't push back—when Barry had him trapped against the armrest of the couch cushions or was laying over him.
Wally thrusted up into his hand, his pace quickening. His hips rolled up and up, his balls tightening. His face screwed up, lips clamped shut, his heart racing faster and faster. He felt desperate, the heat in his body intense. His hand tightened around his cock and he fucked his hand until a rush of heat came through his body—his ears, his face, down to his chest, his groin.
He bit back his moan, his cry sounding like more of a broken whine between his teeth. His entire body trembled, his hips jerking into his hand, thick spurts of seed spilling down his cock, his hand. His toes curled, his entire body burning hot, and he jerked himself through his orgasm until it was too intense that he had to cease touching himself.
Wally breathed for a second, trying to calm his rattling heart and shortened breaths. Something stirred inside his head as he waited there, letting the pleasure run its course through his body.
Tentatively, his clean hand touched his sides. His body, oversensitive, felt it. It wasn't the same, Wally realized, swallowing. But the twitch he felt underneath his skin, the way his flesh crawled under his tickling fingers—it was close.
Wally grabbed the edges of his mask, yanking it down to his neck. He tilted his head back, letting the ceiling fan blow on his sweaty skin, and tried to catch his breath.
He only had a little bit of time before Barry would be there to check on him—but he needed some time, just a few seconds, to get his focus back. If he didn't, he was afraid he'd puke all over the hardwood floor.
He was leaned against the wall in the foyer. It felt comfortable to just stand there and catch his breath. He gently pounded his fist on the wall behind him twice, trying to motivate himself. Okay. He just needed to get to the bathroom, at least. He'd lock the door, take a shower, and then—then he should be fine. And if he wasn't fine by the time Barry returned, he'd just keep the water running until he was healed up, and then he'd have the excuse of the shower for why he was taking so long in the bathroom.
Wally pushed himself off the wall, groaning to himself when he felt pain shoot up his leg. He hopped the best he could to the bathroom, making sure he locked it behind him.
A click on the Flash ring and his civilian clothes from the museum trip popped out. He got his yellow suit back inside the ring and set everything on the counter, grimacing as he tried to balance himself on one leg to do everything. He sat on the edge of the tub, naked, and looked at his leg.
"Fucker," he whispered under his breath. His leg was so red it was like he had never taken off the uniform. He knew Barry was above revenge—but he still hoped that Flash would give Captain Cold at least one good punch for this bullshit. His mutilated leg gave every cut and bruise he suffered from hockey practice a run for its money. But it'd heal. He'd never broken a bone since receiving his powers but he'd seen Barry recover from some pretty nasty stuff. It should heal, right?
Wally chewed on his bottom lip. He should tell Barry. He always knew what to do. But if Barry found out, he'd probably have a heart attack. He had threatened to take the uniform away from Wally plenty of times—an empty threat, given how much of a pushover he was beneath the surface, but after this, Wally was afraid he'd actually do it.
Usually when Wally rushed into fighting an enemy, he'd be able to justify it. This time, he had just been plain stupid.
Looking at his leg, Wally felt sick. He'd seen some gross injuries before but it was different when it was his own body. Steeling himself, he wrapped his hands around the limb—the leg was broken closer to the ankle than the knee—and he held it in place and sped up.
He could feel and see it moving—the body repairing itself, the blood drying away, the bone fusing back into place, the cut in his skin weaving back together. But it wasn't happening fast enough. Once the bone was at least back in place, Wally leaned over the tub, turning on the shower, and went back to healing the leg.
Minutes passed. Wally stopped every so often, trying to listen for the door, then would go right back into it. Finally, he stood, testing out his leg. He carefully leaned his weight into it. The limb was sore and black and blue but he could stand on it. Was it okay?
Wally sighed in relief—then stopped when he heard the door. He quickly jumped into the shower, just long enough to get wet, and hopped back out. As soon as he turned off the water, he heard a knock on the door and his name.
"Wally, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Wally said. He quickly dried off and then grabbed his clothes. "How did it go? Did you catch them?"
"I got the artifacts back. That's the important thing. But no, I didn't catch any of them."
Wally wasn't glad to hear that. He frowned to himself as he pulled on his shirt, wondering if it was his fault that the Rogues got away. He promised himself to save a good punch for Captain Cold if he ever ran into him again.
"How's your sprain?" Barry asked.
'Ankle sprain' was the lie Wally had told Barry. If he had told him his leg had been broken, Barry would have brought him back to the apartment himself. In the end, Wally supposed it didn't matter—the Rogues still got away. That thought soured his mood.
"It's good now," Wally said, thankful that he had chosen jeans instead of shorts. It'd hide the bruises long enough for them to heal completely. Already, in a matter of minutes, his leg felt good, the soreness already fading away.
Wally opened the bathroom door. Barry was already changed out of the Flash uniform and was at his laptop. Wally moved in closer—then stopped, realizing that Barry was looking over news footage of the event. Wally paled when he saw a familiar scene in the video—just moments before Wally's injury.
"Why are you watching that?" Wally asked.
"Maybe I can pick up some clues as to where Mirror Master might have taken them," Barry said, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin.
Wally wasn't going to be able to convince Barry to look away from what he thought was potential evidence. So instead, he quietly moved toward the guest room.
"I'm gonna go lay down," he mumbled.
Wally heard his name just as soon as he closed the door. Wally pretended he hadn't heard him. He hurried to the bed, lifting up his pantleg just to see if the bruises were gone, when Barry opened the door unannounced.
No amount of moving fast would ever get past Barry. Wally knew he was fucked even before he smoothed out his jeans.
Barry just stared at Wally with a tight-lipped expression.
"What?" Wally finally said, breaking the silence.
"Can I see your leg?"
"My ankle?" Wally said.
"Your leg," Barry said, firmer this time, and he crossed the room.
Before Wally could come up with another excuse, Barry was kneeling on the ground in front of him, pushing his jeans further up his shin. Wally could only see the top of Barry's head, not his expression, but he could feel his stomach twisting with nerves as his silence.
Carefully, he said, "It's healed."
"You broke it."
"I can walk on it just fine."
"Because it healed—properly, I hope." Barry looked up at him. Wally held his breath, tried to keep his gaze steady. "The first time I broke my arm, it split in two places. The speed force tried to heal it and it healed crooked. I had to rebreak my arm to get it right again. Wally, why didn't you just tell me?"
"It was just a sprain!" Wally said. He wanted to pull his leg back but he was afraid of kicking Barry's hands, which were wrapped around his ankle.
Barry shook his head to himself, making a light tutting sound.
"How can something so small be full of so many lies?" he said quietly to himself—not quietly enough—sounding exaggeratedly disheartened.
Wally knew Barry was just trying to piss him off. Sadly, it worked anyways.
"Okay, fine! It broke! But I only lied because I knew you wouldn't chase after the bad guys if you knew! But it's fine now, you got the museum artifacts back, and my leg healed. I can even walk on it. It's not a big deal!"
"Wally, you can't do that. You have to be honest with me." Wally diverted his gaze, scowling to himself. Barry readjusted himself on the carpet, trying to seek eye contact. "It's just stuff, Wally. You're more valuable than anything the Rogues get their hands off. If you start prioritizing material goods over safety, then you're thinking like them."
"Can we please not do this?" Wally muttered. "I messed up. I won't do it again."
Barry said nothing for a moment—then sighed, seeming resigned. Wally looked down, noticing Barry's hands still on his legs. Barry's hands moved lower. Wally watched, curious for a moment, but then tensed in place when Barry took his foot in his hands. Barry seemed thoughtful, eyeing Wally's foot carefully.
Suddenly, his thumbs smoothed into the arch of his foot. The reaction was instantaneous. A jolt went through Wally's body—he instantly jerked his foot back.
"Hey, stop," he said, his tone more startled than angry. Barry looked surprised too and Wally quickly grew more assertive, his brows furrowing. "Don't touch there."
Barry's mouth was a fine line. It was a look that Wally recognized but not one he saw often. It was the face Barry made whenever Wally had finally worn him out of his patience.
"Wally, just let me look. It'll take two seconds."
"You already had two seconds."
"I just want to be sure it actually healed, okay? Just humor me."
"It's fine."
"What are you so afraid of? You've never acted like this before," Barry said, looking up. This time, their eyes made contact. Wally faltered to answer because Barry had a point. Barry had looked at plenty of bumps and cuts and even a broken arm without Wally ever fretting. As Wally struggled to come up with something, Barry rose his eyebrows. "Well?"
"It just feels weird," Wally said, grumbling under his breath, his eyes averted.
"Weird? Like it hurts?"
"No. Just weird."
Barry seemed unsure what to think of Wally's response. But never one to fight, his hands dropped back into his lap. He shrugged.
"Alright," he said in a tone that wasn't.
Wally closed his eyes for a minute, knowing he had fucked up somewhere in the conversation, and even though he knew Barry would drop it and Barry would forgive him and Barry would let him wear the uniform again, as he always did, Wally found himself speaking up anyways.
"Wait," he said. Barry, in the process of getting up, paused. Wally huffed a little and said, "You can look at it. I'm like—a hundred percent sure it's fine though."
Barry sat back down on the carpet a little too quickly for Wally's taste. When Barry's hands went back to Wally's foot, Wally tensed in place.
"I didn't break my foot," Wally said at once, defensive.
"The ice block hit your foot too—also, when I touched the arch of your foot…" Barry trailed off, letting his hands speak for him.
Wally let out one shuddery breath and then clamped his mouth shut. Barry's thumbs kept prodding into his foot, trying to find the same area again. He had already found it but Wally kept his mouth shut, trying not to give Barry the reaction he was looking for. Wanting him to just stop.
Already, his mind was reeling back to the night before. Wally kept waiting for something in the room to speak to Barry, some evidence for the man's overly observant eye that would give Wally's secrets away. Secrets including that he liked when Barry touched the sensitive areas of his body. That he had gotten aroused and jerked off to his mentor—an adult man and Iris's fiancé, at that—tickling him, of all things. And the more Wally thought of it, the more nervous he became, the more his cock seemed to stiffen in his pants. He felt Barry touching his foot, one of the most delicate parts of his body, and it was like reliving the night on the couch all over again.
Barry's hands moved around, poking along the back of Wally's calves too. Even so, Barry's hands had initiated a reaction in Wally, and the lighter Barry touched him as he navigated what he thought were tender areas, the more difficult things became for Wally. He tried to not think about it. He tried to ignore the hot blush on his face and his steadily rising erection.
When Barry's hands travelled back down, testing that arch one more time, Wally couldn't stop the strained moan that slipped past his lips.
"Does it hurt?" Barry asked, eyes flickering back up at Wally.
Wally swallowed the lump in his throat. His stomach turned with dread. He was so anxious he felt sick.
"No, no, I just—"Wally scrambled to find an answer. Barry was already looking back down, his fingers pushing into the sole.
Before Barry could phrase a question, a noticeable shiver ran through Wally's body. A short silence followed with Barry just studying Wally's face, trying to make out the lie that he was certain Wally was telling, and Wally was aware of the tightness of his jeans.
"You good now?" Wally said, sounding impatient, hoping that'd get Barry to go. When Barry didn't at first, Wally tried to pry Barry's hand away.
Barry caught the hand that was reaching out to him, pushing it aside. His expression tightened, looking mildly annoyed, but his face soon fell when his eyes happened to glance downwards.
Wally froze in place, draining when he realized what Barry had saw. He snatched his arm back and Barry easily released him, not saying anything. A tense silence filled the air and Wally could feel his humiliation crawl up inside him. His face was so hot that he could feel his eyes burning with tears. Barry carefully diverted his gaze, only increasing Wally's shame.
Unable to stand the awkward tension that would inevitably follow, Wally blurted out, "Just say it. Whatever you want to say, just say it."
Barry finally looked into Wally's eyes. The man quietly sighed and his hands moved toward Wally—then stopped, unsure. Quickly, Barry said, "Kid, it's okay—"
"No, it's not," Wally said at once, his voice breaking. Wally frowned deeply to himself, realizing how pathetic he must have sounded, so he tried to make up for it by adding more vigor to his voice. "I promise I wasn't trying to—"
"Wally, I'm not upset."
Wally couldn't take it. He felt five seconds away from imploding. He moved to get up—to go where? Home?—but Barry gently grabbed him, easing him back down. Wally didn't want to look at him.
"I'm serious, I'm not upset—everything is okay. I should have listened to you, I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd…" Barry trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"What?" Wally said, when Barry wasn't saying anything.
"Sorry, I just—I'm having some difficulties figuring out what I did that made this happen. Are you usually this sensitive?"
Sensitive. Wally bristled at the word.
"Don't ask me that!" he said, feeling indignant. He was so upset that he almost convinced himself that Barry truly was at fault. When Barry looked up at him, though, Wally could see that he was equally uncomfortable. The discomfort was shared between them. Once Wally reminded himself of that, he mentally calmed himself. Lowering his head, he muttered, "I don't know. It's not like I just let people touch me. I don't know what's going on."
Wally could feel Barry quietly watching him. Wally dared to glance up, deciding he didn't like the look on his face—that sense of sympathy in his expression.
Barry breathed softly, his hands settling on Wally's knees. Wally didn't squirm away from the touch.
"You're okay, it's not unnatural."
The last thing Wally wanted was the 'you're perfectly normal' speech, especially from someone who wasn't his dad, especially when his actual dad would rather keep eternally quiet than ever dream of having this conversation.
Wally followed Barry's gaze, which was fixated on his own hands. Wally looked at Barry's large hands on his slender knees. His body rose and tensed when Barry's thumb lightly started to move, stroking back and forth. Wally allowed this to happen, afraid of Barry touching him, but also curious. The touch was subtle, muted by the fabric that separated the skin-on-skin contact, but it felt nice.
"What are you doing?" Wally finally asked, voice low. Instinct told him that he should push Barry away before things got worse—yet something pulled at Wally. Something inside of him was drawn to Barry's touch. This quiet but eager curiosity kept him still, kept him from fighting.
"It's okay to want to be touched, Wally. I get it. My mom died when I was young, my dad was locked in prison. I missed being a kid. I missed the hugs, I missed people wanting to be around me."
Wally looked at Barry, unsure of what to say and feeling too stunned to even think. Wally—he wasn't like Barry. He didn't have some family tragedy that killed his parents. His parents were alive, they were just too caught up in themselves. They just didn't want to deal with him.
Much as he tried to resist the idea, Barry's words struck something inside of him. He didn't want to push Barry away. The promises of Barry's touch lured him in stronger than they had any right to—but Wally couldn't escape that feeling.
"Are you going to…" Wally trailed off, unable to bring himself to ask, his face burning. Barry looked up at Wally carefully.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Barry said, understanding. Wally didn't feel hurt by the rejection—he wasn't an idiot. He knew adults weren't supposed to touch there. Still, he felt a strange sense of disappointment. Something in Wally's expression must have spoken that thought because Barry shifted in place, quickly adding, "But I can be here for you. If you want me to."
If you want me to. Wally felt something thick in his throat. He didn't want to have to ask. He didn't want to force Barry to stay either.
The situation was weird. Wally was weird. But Barry was trying to be supportive anyways. He seemed afraid of hurting Wally's feelings, as if that might hurt him more than doing the wrong thing.
Wally was weighing his options, pitting his desires against his morals, when he noticed something in Barry's blue eyes soften.
"You don't have to hide yourself from me, Wally."
Wally could hear his heart pounding through his ears. He knew what he wanted but he was still afraid of judgment, of rejection. His hands, sweaty and a bit shaky, moved towards the button on his pants. He started to undo them. He glanced up at Barry, trying to judge his reaction.
Barry's hands suddenly moved towards him, replacing Wally's on the fastenings. Wally held his breath, intensely focused on Barry's hands, watching them as they unzipped the fly.
"I got it," Wally said, the words rushed. He pushed away his shyness, yanking his clothing past his hips, lifting himself off the mattress enough to get his clothes past his knees. He kicked the rest of the way, his hand cupping over his stiffening erection.
It felt embarrassing, to sit in front of Barry completely exposed, but Barry's attention was elsewhere. His hands went back to Wally's knees and he looked at them for a moment, his expression thoughtful, and then they began to move along the inside of Wally's thighs.
Wally stirred in place, not expecting Barry to touch him so soon. Licking his lips nervously, he began to touch himself.
It was terrifying to suddenly have an audience. Wally kept his focus on his hand so he wouldn't have to look at Barry's face. He was nervous, so nervous that he almost wasn't sure if he could do it. His hand rubbed over his cock, getting a feel for it. He tried to focus on the dull pleasure responding to his touch rather than the lump in his throat.
Barry's hands moved up Wally's thighs. Wally's breath hitched, startled, but then he relaxed into the touch. Barry's hands moved back and forth, back and forth, expanding their reach a little more each time. As Barry's hands raced over Wally's sensitive inner thighs. Wally's eyes squeezed shut, a shudder running down his spine. His hips bucked upwards, his cock pushing further into his hand.
And this repeated again and again. The light touches over his inner thighs made his body clench and unclench. Wally kept pushing up into his hand, his cock surrounded by the firm grip of his hand, and he moaned softly. Barry's fingernails dragged even higher up his legs, fingertips tracing the contours where Wally's body and legs joined. The corner of Wally's mouth twitched, trying not to laugh at the tickling.
Barry kept his hands moving, his touches light, adjusting between ticklish and soothing, targeting sensitive areas. Barry's touches were never intense—just enough for Wally to crack an occasional smile but not enough for him to twist away and break out into full-blown laughter. At times, Barry's hands would strike the perfect chord, just enough pressure in just the right area to make Wally jump in place, an electric spark racing up his spine, his heartbeat running fast.
Wally pumped his cock, building up a familiar rhythm. He became less focused on Barry, pushing the man into a part of his conscious where he was only slightly aware of him, just enough to feel the pleasure of his hands that encouraged his arousal. Wally was more lost on the heat building up in his groin. His breath was starting to shorten, his hand starting to quicken. He tried to swallow his moans but they would find ways to creep up his throat.
The ecstasy of it all was building up, making it difficult to concentrate. Intense heat rose to his skin, his eyes fluttering shut. He could feel the drag of Barry's hands, his calluses against his hips, below his bellybutton—then they'd move back down again, the very tips of his fingers stroking down Wally's thighs, the sides of his knees, the calves, the ankles.
Barry took hold of Wally's foot, placing one hand on the heel for balance, then lightly stroked along the bottom of his foot with his other hand. Wally clamped his mouth shut, fighting a moan. The light, feathery sensations made him shudder, his cock twitching in his hand. Barry went back and forth between gentle massaging and tickling. Wally breathed harder. Barry's firm hands and grip felt nice, too nice. His lighter touches made Wally tense up, his stomach fluttering with anticipation.
All of it felt good. Wally's lips parted, soft sounds escaping him, his voice rising. His cock twitched in his hands, his hips pushing up to meet his hand. Barry kept moving his hands, the tips of his blunt nails moving against the arch of Wally's foot, and Wally moaned. The tip of his cock was now shining with precum, his erection throbbing. His skin felt hot and trapped under his shirt and sweatshirt.
Wally opened his heavy lidded eyes, peering at Barry. Barry was looking down, focused on massaging and stroking Wally's foot. Barry's head dipped down, kissing the sole of Wally's foot before taking him in his mouth.
Wally lifted off the mattress. A sound escaped him, somewhere between a moan and a startled cry. His mind had trouble wrapping itself around the idea—it felt wrong, gross, but Wally's body was definitely leaning into the touch.
Barry's mouth was hot and wet, soft lips wrapped around the tip of Wally's foot. When Barry pulled off, this crude wet sound followed him. Wally felt hot sparks run down his spine, the pace of his hand more erratic, his body trembling and shaking. Barry held Wally's foot between his hands, his blond eyelashes lowered. Wally felt Barry's tongue press against his toes, his hot breath touching Wally's wet skin.
Wally could feel his lower abdomen tightening. Heat raced down his body in waves. Wally covered his face, breathing into his hand, eyes squeezed shut. He was close. He was close.
He groaned deep against his hand, his entire body tensing, his hips bucking into his fist. His voice filled the room, his hips trembling as he came, hot seed spilling all over his lower stomach. Even after he stayed his hand, his mind was floating on the high. His entire body felt pleasantly warm and relaxed.
His shoulders jerked when he felt Barry's hands, still holding his foot, start to move again. Biting his bottom lip, Wally tried to pull his foot back. Barry's hands followed, stroking his sole.
"I finished," he said, but all words were lost when Barry's fingers traced over his foot again.
It felt like small shocks were going through his body, making him jump and twitch. He could feel the tension inside of him twisting and tightening. Wally grabbed the bed covers into his fists, his expression strained. It was too much, too soon. Wally watched Barry closely, the man's expression difficult to discern. Barry's hands suddenly moved downwards and Wally stared, heart skipping, as Barry started to pull his own belt undone.
Wally had never really seen another man before. There were bathrooms and locker rooms, Wally supposed, but no one fully stripped in those and it wasn't as if he ever had any interest in looking. To him, a man's naked body was still just a joke, a punchline in a comedy film, something that only women were supposed to desire. Even so, he couldn't really remove his eyes away from Barry, completely silent with anticipation as Barry undid his fly and pulled out his cock.
Heat rose to Wally's face. He wasn't sure what to think of Barry's cock, proportionally sized to suit his adult body, as opposed to Wally who was just barely a teen. Wally noted the color, flushed red, the hair thick and dark blond around the base. Wally realized he was staring and diverted his gaze, trying to ignore the curiosity thrumming inside of him. He had noticed that Barry was already hard, even though he hadn't touched himself at all.
Wally's thoughts didn't wander long. Barry's mouth pressed against the arch of his foot, his kisses vibrating with each low, short moan.
Wally could feel his own cock stirring again. The sounds of Barry in pleasure were almost hypnotizing. Wally's gaze kept wandering back to Barry, his arousal growing in reaction to the energy that Barry was giving off. Wally had never really seen Barry like this before—Barry, who was usually calm and relaxed, who usually was the last person anyone noticed in the room unless he was in his Flash uniform. Now Barry was different, more heated and excited. The way he stroked his cock, firm and fast, seemed almost aggressive. Wally watched, wondering how different Barry's hands felt from his own, and even dared to wonder what Barry's cock felt like.
Barry mouthed at Wally's sole. Wally moaned, almost a whine, and his cock was now so hard it almost hurt.
"Wait," Wally tried again. Barry finally paused, glancing up at him. Wally felt apprehensive as he looked at him, his heart beating faster. He knew what he wanted to say but it all felt so embarrassing. "I think I'm getting—I don't know if I can do that again—"
"Yes, you can," Barry said. His words felt strangely final, as if Wally didn't have a say. Wally's heart beat faster, feeling on edge, his cock pulsing with arousal.
Barry climbed up on the mattress next to him, his pants still loose around his waist. Wally watched him move in closer. He couldn't stop himself from looking at Barry's cock, hard and pointing, the tip shining with precum. Barry rolled up Wally's clothes a little higher and Wally let him, his body growing hotter at the touch, his nipples hard underneath his bunched shirt. Barry's hands roamed over Wally's sides and Wally bit his bottom lip, expecting Barry to attack his ticklish areas.
"Barry—"Wally started, voice tentative. Barry's hands simply explored, his touch not quite feeling like anything yet, and the anticipation was killing Wally.
Then something changed and Wally let out a surprised yelp.
Barry's hands were different somehow. His hands didn't just tickle, they buzzed. Wally looked down at the hands near his ribs, realizing that Barry was vibrating his fingertips. The feeling was intense, sparks running through Wally's body. Wally's cock was already leaking.
"Barry, stop, it's too much," Wally said, squirming to get away from Barry's touch.
"No, it's not. You can do it again," Barry said, his tone almost matter of fact.
Wally's face burned hot, a moment of disbelief sinking over him. He didn't know what Barry was planning but he usually wasn't this assertive unless he was upset. Barry didn't seem upset—but Wally was unused to this level of intensity.
Wally tried to control his reactions. He leaned on his side, trying to get away from Barry's hands, but Barry climbed over him. It was like the couch all over again, and something about that thought made Wally's head dizzy. Barry's weight pushed Wally deeper into the mattress, pressing his cock against the sheets. Wally's cock rubbed between the bed and his stomach, which was still messy with his ejaculate.
Wally felt sensitive all over his body. He couldn't stop twitching, couldn't breathe, and his laughing was so exhausted that it sounded more like crying. His body kept fighting, trying to get Barry off but Barry was much taller, much stronger, and Wally couldn't even wriggle out from under him. He couldn't focus on escaping because Barry's vibrating hand kept moving, over his ribs and hips and the back of his thighs. Wally could feel Barry's other hand, his knuckles occasionally bumping up against his back.
Wally's head spun at the realization that Barry was touching himself too. The became more aware of the heat on his face. He could feel every hitch in Barry's breath, could hear his strained moans. Wally finally relented, wrangling a hand between his legs, grabbing himself, his hand crushed between the weight on top of him and the mattress.
His cock felt so sore, so hot. He started to jerk himself again. The movements were limited, awkward, but already, the hot friction was building up, just as intensely as before.
Barry's tickling increased and Wally bucked in response, squirming underneath Barry's form. The corner of Wally's mouth twitched, wanting to smile but also finding it difficult to breathe. Wally felt something in his hair—Barry's kiss, Wally realized. Wally should have been embarrassed. His own parents didn't even kiss him. But Barry's nose was buried in Wally's hair, his breath hitting him, and it felt more comforting than humiliating. His mind was travelling back to earlier, to what Barry had said—I get it, Wally. I missed being touched. I missed people wanting to be around me.
Wally closed his eyes, focusing on the pleasure in Barry's voice, those low grunts and groans, and focused on the touch of Barry's hand that teased his skin. It seemed almost impossible that Wally would finish again. His trapped wrist was getting sore. Near the end, Wally was moreso rutting against his hand, desperately seeking friction and touch against his aching cock. He breathed, heavy and haggard, into the sheets, his body shuddering with every sexually aggressive groan he heard in his ear. The hand on Wally's side was no longer teasing but gripping hard, holding onto him for support.
The grip tightened, fingers nearly bruising the skin. Wally heard long deep moans from Barry before he felt Barry's head drop against his shoulder. Barry's hot ejaculate hit the back of his thigh. Wally's senses were filled with Barry's orgasm—from the body shaking on top of him, to the smell of sex in the air, to the sounds of his gasping breaths. Wally's eyes squeezed shut, his own body trembling, and he came for a second time, his seed leaking against his hand.
Wally laid his head against the mattress, closing his eyes and trying to catch his breath. His entire body felt drained. He pushed his hand through his hair, no longer damp from his shower.
Something brushed against his thigh and Wally winced.
"Stop that," Wally said, more firmly this time.
"Sorry, I just…" Barry trailed off and Wally glanced back, watching Barry attempt to clean off his leg with the sheet as carefully as possible.
Wally looked at him for a moment, feeling almost dumbfounded. In a matter of moments, Barry seemed back to his usual self, looking quietly concerned and lost in his own thoughts.
Wally took the sheet away from Barry, doing it himself.
"I'm sorry, I lost control," Barry said, not looking at him.
Wally paused, wondering about that.
From his perspective, Barry had never seemed more in control.
Car rides were awful.
They were especially awful when Barry was the one driving. Wally kept hoping for the entire duration of the ride that Barry would just pull over, stop the car, and announce that they would just run the rest of the way—but he wasn't holding his breath for it.
Wally stared at the neverending country roads leading into Blue Valley.
All this just to seem normal.
All this to just go back home.
After four miserable hours of driving, Barry was parked on the street in front of Wally's house. Wally looked at his house, knowing that his stay would not be permanent, that sooner or later his dad would make a phone call to Iris, or some crisis would have Wally running back towards Central City to join Barry's side. He knew that. But he wasn't looking forward to the purposeful silences or the tense back-and-forths from his parents.
He didn't realize how long he'd been staring until he heard Barry's voice.
"Wally."
Wally turned around, just in time to see a hand coming toward him.
"Hey!" he said, but he was too slow.
"Lighten up."
Wally flinched the minute Barry's hand was on him—he shrugged his shoulder to defend his neck. He trapped Barry's hand but still couldn't stop that sensation, couldn't stop the chortle that crawled up his throat.
"Knock it off," Wally managed to get out. Barry's hand slowed to a stop without Wally having to push him away.
Wally relaxed his shoulders. He opened his eyes, caught Barry staring at him with his knuckles still resting against Wally's neck, and blinked in surprise.
"You okay?" he said. He wasn't usually the one to ask that question but he wanted to know what Barry was thinking about.
"Yeah, I'm okay," Barry said softly, his eyes not leaving Wally's.
Wally didn't understand the look but he seemed to recognize the importance of it, his mind committing it to memory.
Barry loosened his seatbelt, leaning over to kiss Wally on his forehead. Wally finally snapped out of his wonder, instantly grimacing.
"Hey, don't kiss me, that's—"
"Little kid stuff. I know."
"If you know, then don't do it," Wally grumbled. He quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching into the backseat for his bag, his pink face turned away from Barry.
Wally stood in the driveway, giving a quick wave goodbye as Barry pulled back onto the road. His eyes followed the car as it made its turn at the end of the block, disappearing from his sight.
Wally gently rubbed the side of his neck, touching where Barry had touched.