Author's Notes: I owe this work to my lovely waifu. I forced her to eat a bug a long time ago, so I promised to write her a fic in return. My apologies lovely, it has been many years (six) since I've made good on my promise. ;c I seem to have turned this fic into the possibility of becoming a multi-chapter. I don't know if it will ever happen but it's possible. I'm so sorry. D;
The first thing that blasted through Wally's mind was screeching pain. The fireworks and lights behind his eye lids tortured an already throbbing head. He could feel blood, sticky and cool, on his face; having trickled down from some unknown cut on his head. Keeping his eyes closed kept most of the blood and sweat from stinging the already bruised orbs. His lips were gummed shut but his ears were thankfully free. All he could hear was the thumping of some great engine but what really worried him was whatever that was holding him down.
Normally, Wally all but popped out of bed or sat instantly up when awaking from sleep but today he was trapped, firmly and completely, to the floor. He usually ripped or tore blankets in the almost frantic attempt to get upright, away from the place where he was the least alive. The place where his heart beat so slowly, he'd half convince himself he was dead.
'Fuck,' He finally thought as he explored the jumbled mess that was his thoughts. Trying to recall what was going on; Wally tested his arms and legs only to find them firmly bound by something very immobile. 'Shit, what happened? Fuck!' Wally writhed against his bonds in a frantic attempt at escape. His heart was beating slow, hard but still too slow. Much much too slow.
Many didn't understand the concept but Wally's heart had more similarities to that of a rabbit's rather than a human heart. His specialized organ could beat incredibly fast, pumping highly oxygenated blood through his system, powering his lean muscular frame to the dangerously fast speed he was so famous for. His heart was meant for speed, meant for the rush of almost constant adrenaline that kept him on his feet, on his toes. Wally's now beat like a cumbersome beast wallowing through marshes, his blood now sludge in his veins. If his extreme biological structure didn't get the blessed oxygen it so needed, his muscles would start breaking down. His body would get so desperate for nutrients that it could even eat away at his very bones to keep up his incredible metabolism.
"Shit." He whispered, as he felt a stab of pain flash from his gut. Not wanting to open his eyes yet, Wally thrashed his head and shoulders back and forth in desperate attempt to weaken whatever bonds held him. Metal and rope groaned but held fast as Wally sighed weakly in pain. The cold metal had cut into him, biting his skin. Most of his body was asleep from the lack of blood flow.
An unearthly squeal of metal against metal forced Wally to flinch violently and then hang his head as the unfamiliar sound of a bellow grated on him. Crackling rust and bits of rock rained onto the man's face, making him turn away again. Whatever was keeping him here really didn't want him to open his eyes, that or he was really having a bad bout of luck.
"Can anybody hear me!?" Wally called out, almost wanting someone to chide him for his yell. The tower where he lived was filled with prude people, who were so delicate that a mere yell would destroy their precious peace.
Wait, the tower.
Wally forced his eyes open and stared unseeingly into the darkness ahead of him. The gritty feeling of sand and dirt burned his eyes but he kept them as wide open as he could before blinking rapidly to try and wash out the abused and tender optics. He couldn't see very much, just the indistinguishable blur of lights and shapes. The tower, it had been attacked. He'd been in the Medi-Center, getting some minor cuts and bruises treated. Wally smirked as he recalled Batman gruffly shoving him into the clinic. Wally, half drunk had tried to protest with weak shoves and punches but had stopped dead when Batman insisted that Wally would go "or else the 'secret' weed stash disappears."
He'd only been trying to show his friends that he could still run to the next country with little problem, granted it had been a dare but it was his pride! He'd had to show those idiots that Canada was little more than a yawn of a run, to and from!
Wally laughed quietly at the drunken memory but coughed as his rough throat caught and gnarled the sound. He had been on Earth drinking with a few of his few "normal" friends and he'd gotten caught up in a flavored vodka drinking contest. Scott, one of the said friends was known for flavoring and cooking up the most ridiculous flavors of vodka. Everyone would only have a sip and then laugh and poke fun at Scott for his incredible (horrible) inventions. Popcorn vodka? Really? Wally's favorite had been the Skittle brew and he'd downed at least five shots of the stuff within a few minutes. His fast metabolism quickly rid his body of the toxin that made him drunk so Wally had to drink even more, even faster and had ended up being quite literally filled with the strong stuff before he could even claim to be a little drunk.
"Hello?" Wally tried again, testing the strain on his throat. He could recall being helped to an examining table and then poked and prodded by the white clad older woman. She was a lower power hero, only having the ability to see through flesh.
Wally was all too happy to chat away with the cute nurse, Rachel, in a drunken stupor. He then started getting restless when she scolded him for being stupid enough to be pressured on by drunken taunts and dares. He would heal fast, it was his nature! He didn't need another Batty to nag on him. The restless Wally had just stood to wobble back to his room when he'd heard the loud thrum-BOOM of an explosion. It wasn't near the clinic but the shockwave of the blast had taken him and the medic by surprise. The ripple that tore through the ship at the terrible force threw them both back into the wall of supplies, her head and shoulders protected by the uniform rack as he…
He…
He couldn't remember. He obviously (and unluckily) didn't have the luxury of being thrown into a nice soft pile of coats but had probably been thrown into a crate of used needles knowing his "good luck". Wally could just imagine himself, crumpling to the floor like a ragdoll.
And like a ragdoll, he was rather useless.
The normally exuberant superhero could feel himself wilt and begin to drop in his bonds. As much as he hated admitting defeat, he was in a bind that he couldn't escape by himself and thus making him utterly and irrevocably…useless.
Superman didn't need any help.
Wonder Woman never needed assistance.
Hell, even Batman could do anything and he was pretty much a rich jerk in a costume that didn't even have a power.
Wally let his head drop as the gravity of the situation finally sank in and slapped Wally smartly across the face. He was alone… and he was helpless.
Bruce snarled in frustration, his teeth creaked dangerously in his mouth as he ground his jaw. The metal slab that pinned him in place would not get the best of him. Hell, he could hold his own against the damned Superman for God's sake; a piece of sheet metal should be like wet tissue paper. However, unlike tissue paper, the cold iron was slowly crushing his chest and therefore, slowly pushing out all his precious air. The infamous Knight would not be so weak as to let himself be killed by something as ordinary and mundane as being crushed to death by a thick sheet of iron.
The man grunted in sheer frustration as he pushed against the metal. He was wedged in just the right position that he couldn't get a good grip on his impromptu prison nor could he slip out from beneath it due to the rubble and glass surrounding him. Bruce had been walking down the main bridge when the explosion rippled through the ship. He'd grabbed hold of the railing, trying to brace himself against the shockwaves that were ripping and tearing the bridge to bits. With one of the last great rolls of the heavy bridge, he had heard a low groan of metal on metal and the scream of it ripping. He was suddenly dropped. Falling through thick blackness and suddenly hitting the ground. He'd manage to catch most of the drop on the meat of his ass, the thick muscle and fat absorbing the shock but his back still came into hard contact with the floor. The floor promptly knocked all oxygen from his lungs.
As Bruce Wayne, Millionaire and Play Boy extraordinaire gulped for air like a meager fish, he watched in horror as a slab of metal hurtled towards him. Rolling and twisting, he was able to avoid the sharp edge that seemed intent on piercing his body. Unfortunately, he had to reach out and catch the smaller edge with his gloved hands before it could cut into his rib cage.
Bruce used a sharp corner of the iron to rip his mask away from his face. The leather and plastic constricted his face too much for him to fully grasp his surroundings in such a bleak place. The dark around him wasn't like that of a cave, rather it was like that of a basement. He could make out faint shapes in the dark, meaning there was some sort of light source still working.
"Goddammit!" He grunted and shoved with all his remaining strength against the metal. He could feel tendons popping and snapping in protest to his sudden force against them. Bones shuddered dangerously and muscles contracted wildly as he pushed his body to the limit. Adrenaline shot through his system and Batman, now Bruce without his mask, was able to slip free. As the slab slammed into the floor with a finale crunch, Bruce fell against the iron. Chest heaving and lungs pumping like bellows, he felt his eyes roll wildly to the back of his skull as shock and the absence of adrenaline took its toll on him. His calves rippled and cramped but held him as he breathed deeply, trying to find a rhythm in which he could fall into.
In
And out.
In
And again out.
Bruce opened his eyes, sweat streaming from his brow. The salt stung but he had bigger things to worry about. What had attacked the tower? Why hadn't any of the warning systems gone off? Was everyone okay? Why attack on Friday night (now Saturday morning) when it statistically that was when the most heroes were gone whether it be by personal reasons or out on a job.
The dark haired man lifted a hand to his chest, feeling for any injuries that might have escaped his notice due to shock and lack of oxygen. Finding himself unscathed except for the minor cuts of glass and metal, he looked up. His cape was basically ribbons of clothe now, the fall and iron sheet making sure of that. Ripping away the useless material, Bruce rolled his shoulders. Throwing his head from side to side, he felt cartilage pop and bones crack. His muscles were loose and stretched too far but he could care less at the moment. He needed to regroup those that were uninjured and find those who were. As his mind scrapped by the thought of jettisoning the injured, he recalled a flash of red and yellow.
"Wally." Bruce grimaced unhappily. The boyish man could bounce like rubber but he'd been drunk when Bruce had left him in the clinic. Had the kid survived such a thrashing in such a small room filled with some of the most dangerous instruments meant to heal?
Mentally adding another chore to his slowly growing list, the dark man looked up. He'd have to climb.
Bruce snorted in frustration as his eyes strained in the darkness. He couldn't tell if he was inches from the pit's floor or thousands of feet. Surely the air pressure would feel different, or perhaps a different smell. The common clues that Bruce took to deduct and reason with were completely absent in this vacuumed spaced station. All he had to rely on was his hands and feet. His ears could catch the faint echo of steel and iron grating against each other but there was now faint gravel or rock to magnify the tones and clue him into how far from the bottom he was.
Gritting his teeth, The Batman clutched lower for a hand hold. He'd have to light his last neon light to see but he'd hoped to save it
Wally could feel the nutrients of his body slipping away, draining like water out of sand. Every last drop in him burned as his muscles begged and ate greedily into him. His very marrow seemed to glow in pain. The simple act of just laying there hurt so badly that he was half in shock already. He'd never known agony like this, the ache and pain of his very cells eating each other to simply stagnant and ultimately be eaten by another.
He was starting to break down, the sugars and fats of his body becoming a thick soup to serve his now demonized metabolism. He would kill himself by not being able to stand up.
Bruce hissed in pain as his fingers encountered another slick and sharp surface where the metal had ripped so cleanly that it was like a knife on the side of the wall. Blood welled to the surface of his fingers and he wiped them quickly on the side of his dark pants. The material was made to be lightweight but strong and airy enough that sweat didn't gather. Unfortunately, coagulated blood didn't get the luck of being let go but rather it built up, layer upon layer. The thick smell of it clouded Bruce's mind, making him lightheaded. It couldn't possibly all be from his fingers. He supposed he probably had some sort of injury he'd not seen earlier.
Wayne grunted as he pulled himself higher up the wall. It wasn't to unlike climbing his personal rock wall except there was no carpeted almost spongy floor for him to land on if he fell. Instead, he'd fall down so far and fast in the dark that he wouldn't be able to calculate the distance and instead of being ready to absorb the shock, he'd probably break one or both his legs in attempt to land on his feet.
Bruce grumbled to himself. He was feeling dark and bitter.
Alfred had tried to convince him to stay home that night, to take a personal night. A time for him to rest and relax for once in a long long time, but he'd declined. Bruce had wanted to check the security ironically enough, wanting to see if the newest firewall had the correct virus protection implanted. The new tech had recently created a worm virus to crash invading computers while simultaneously stealing back their data and hard drive information. This all to keep grabby hands out of their system, any wannabe tech junkie who thought they could hack into the Justice League's main frame was in for a nasty surprise, or should have been in for a nasty surprise. The virus was supposed to "encourage" people to contact the Justice League through more public and open ways, such as a face to face call. Unfortunately, it looked like the worm had failed. That and some other weak point had been exploited.
Snarling for what seemed like the hundredth time, Bruce pulled himself up and over a particularly jagged edge. Looking up, he breathed out a quiet, composed sigh of relief. The overhang wasn't more than a few feet across and only a meager six or seven inches wide but it was still a place where he could rest. The man would have to make it quick, his own life no longer his concern, but that of his comrade in the Medi Wing. Hoisting himself onto the edge of the cliff, Bruce searched out a spot to hold himself to the wall, while he looked out and down. The situation seemed even bleaker, as he still couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him.
"DAMN." Bruce punched the metal wall, but with no force. He just wanted out of this hole, a glass of port and then a reunion with his California King sized bed back on Earth.
'No,' He thought to himself, twisting himself around. He had to find Wally.
'Find him, find him …' the mantra raced through his head, as if it were a song he couldn't place.
Gritting his teeth, Batman continued his trek up up up.
When Bruce finally located Wally, he almost laughed as the disbelief and shock of actually finding the speedster settled in. The younger man had been through what looked like a hurricane but Bruce could still make out what had happened in his absence.
Wally had been in the Medi-Center, so Bruce had first looked there. When he'd finally arrived at the scene, he found no trace of Wally or of the head nurse Bruce had left him with. Scouring the room with his eyes, Bruce noticed that some important supplies where missing and other supplies were scattered haphazardly on the floor. It looked as if someone where in a hurry to save the expensive medical supplies and then get the hell out.
Stalking from the room, Bruce had continued down the dark hallway before stopping abruptly. Listening intently, Bruce could barely make out a faint echo of someone speaking or possibly crying out.
Starting to run, the Batman couldn't take the risk of not looking for the source of noise, even if it wasn't Wally. Thankfully, in the end it turned out to be the said Superhero.
Wayne had initially thought Wally to be dead, because only his head and neck were exposed underneath a pile of debris from the ship when it had first become unstable. The roof above where the speedster lay had fallen right on top of him, covering him with metal dust and rusting beams that had needed to be replaced. The sheer amount of crap that was covering him had Bruce's heart give a start before he realized that the other was looking right up at him.
"You alive?" He asked hesitantly.
"Bats! It really is you! I thought I was hallucinating!" Wally laughed pitifully, his lungs struggling with the amount of dust and debris that he had inhaled accidently.
"Come on," Bruce immediately set to work, throwing beams and bits of metal off of the Wally pile.
He worked quickly and steadily, gradually leaving the Speedster free to stand, if he could. Once Bruce became aware of that, he grunted and picked the other up. Wally of course laughed and made a crack about a 'bride and groom' but was steadfastly ignored by his superior.
"We have to leave." Bruce maneuvered himself and Wally to fit the other young man against his back. He helped Wally grasp a hold around his neck and shoulders while Bruce held onto Wally's left leg, to help support him against his back.
"This would make an awesome carnival ride," Wally snickered weakly into Bruce's ear.
Bruce couldn't help but forgive Wally's remark because the mental image of 'The Batman" being ridden around like a carnival horse was just too idiotic to be insulting.
Bruce grunted as Wally slid again against his back. The younger man didn't seem to have any strength left in him. He'd fallen almost instantly asleep as they had started climbing. Bruce could feel the others heart beating steadily against his back and used the rhythm to time his climbing the wall.
As Bruce scaled the incredible face of broken steel and iron, he felt the faint annoyance of forgetting something. It was on the tip of his tongue, so to speak and he couldn't remember what it was. Something important. Something to do with Wally.
Bruce continued to climb in an unhurried manner, slowly turning over every nuance, every facet of Wally's rescue and then some, trying to dislodge the annoying feeling. It grew in his gut, pressing all around his senses, almost throbbing in time with Wally's heart.
His heart.
Bruce stopped dead, catching the red head once again, making sure he didn't slip. Fuck. His heart! Wally's heart was currently beating at a lethargic pace for a human but his unique biology called for something much, much faster. Bruce hissed and began to climb with a speed he had originally deemed reckless with his living baggage. If the "good-for-nothing" speedster died… No. He had to concentrate on saving the other. Now that Bruce thought of it, Wally's body seemed colder than normal. More stiff than usual. The ginger usually emitted heat like a furnace and moved as if he were rubber.
The black haired man cursed angrily as he pulled himself and Wally farther and farther up the sheer face. How was he going to get the man's heart beating faster? Bruce snarled at the wall and looked up as he reached for another ledge. He had almost reached a cliff of sorts. Not the control room but an indent in the huge hole that used to be the ship's core. Bruce would have to settle with the cliff for now. He could forget getting to the control panel while one his team mate's was on the brink of death, lying across his back.
Black eyebrows slashed downwards as he pulled himself and the other up over the lip of the cliff. It wasn't a five-star but it was more than enough room for two people to rest.
Bruce pulled Wally from his back, unclasping the other's white, cold hands from each other. The older man knew what he had to do to get the other's heart to beat faster. He had to get Wally's blood flowing faster and hotter than it was now. He'd have to somehow encourage, stimulate Wally's body into processing more oxygen, and heating his blood to warm his heart and brain. It would hurt like the devil and Wally would probably hate him for it but he would not let the other die from rapid deterioration.
The black haired man laid the other's body as gently as he could against the ground. He made sure his spine was straight and his head was resting on a higher area than his heart. He didn't want the other's blood to pool and cool in the brain and cause a stroke. Bruce stared down at the other before grabbing at his calves and stroking roughly. He pushed and squeezed with the gentleness of a pro-wrestler. The muscles needed to be tenderized. The blood needed to start flowing in a more natural speed for the fast young red head and that speed happened to be dangerously fast.
Bruce kneaded the calf with his knuckles before switching to the other, eyeing the first appendage to calculate the pallor of his skin. It looked more pink than gray, more healthy. Bruce sighed and let go of the leg he was holding. If he wanted Wally awake, he'd have to imitate the man's core speed and warm him up. Wally could help with his own legs and arms after he was conscious but Bruce made the quick decision to scoot closer to Wally's torso and begin to press on his ribcage. He imitated CPR, pressing his fingers in, down and then spread out flat on his chest to warms the skin and muscles above the heart and ribcage. He couldn't exactly reach through the bone of the man underneath him so he'd have to do his best to coax the organ into a heavier pump. Wayne just prayed that the heart wouldn't end up just giving out in the meantime.
He pressed down on his stomach and kneaded; hard. He heard and felt Wally gasp for air, he did it again. More oxygen would mean more blood flow. Bruce brought his hands up to Wally's neck and squeezed lightly, stroking the corded muscles in his throat and pressing in to warm vessels that would lead to the other's brain. He slowly worked his hands down the other's body, his face a mask of concentration and single mindedness.
"Bru-" the word was interrupted by harsh coughing.
"Keep coughing, it'll force your blood to start circulating faster." Bruce encouraged the cough and blessed consciousness by helping the Flash sit up a bit more, but slowly.
"Bruce?" Wally now could whisper out, his voice tight with bone deep pain and confusion.
"Try and stay conscious now. Don't fall asleep." Bruce grasped Wally's face, staring him down. Willing him to listen to his message and not forget. Keeping Wally awake was vital to his life and now Bruce felt just a bit better knowing that he'd successfully woke him up. He needed to get to the galley. There would be extra food rationings, they wouldn't be particularly tasty but they would be packed with the important vitamins and minerals that Wally's body so desperately needed. He looked out at Wally, whose face was creasing in pain. His posture was becoming more bent and slumped, his cheeks looking hollow and the man in general just looked worn out.
"Start rubbing your arms. Get the blood going; don't let yourself get too cold." Bruce prodded the other into slow motion.
"Hmmn." Wally replied with a low grunt. The tingles from 'sleeping' limbs was so painful, it felt like piercing needles.
"Watch me." Bruce leaned forward and laid harm large palms against the other's calf. He grasped the leg between his hands and rubbed slowly, gaining speed; he pushed and kneaded the muscles hard enough to cause the other to groan in pain.
"Don't be such a priss." Bruce snarled out, yanking the other calf to him and repeating the heavy handed massage.
"You need to keep the blood flowing. Otherwise you'll die." He kept it short and simple for the unusually slow speedster.
"Okay, okay. You don't have to brutalize me." Wally whined, but obliged the larger man's commands.
Wally started rubbing his arms, slowly but then started to build up speed as his arms began to recover their knowledge of motion and friction. Wally groaned, grunted, hissed and cried out in pain. The tingles were excruciating by themselves, but were nothing in comparison to his bruised and malnourished muscles pulling and snapping against his bones. Bruce steadfastly ignored the pleas to 'stop stop stop!' and continued on.
Wally stopped rubbing his arms and reached down to start trying to move his legs. He used both hands to lift his right leg, move the calf and foot feebly, and then lay it down flat again. He repeated this with his left leg and then slumped against the wall for rest. Bruce continued to rub out and down the younger man's chest, shoulders and neck. The strange, heavy handed touch was almost non-existent to the speedster, who just wished that the burning of his limbs would cease.
"God, just kill me. Please." Wally whined in his patented childish way, but Bruce only glared.
"…Well, don't really, yeah?" Wally tried to joke with the Bat, but was rewarded with only a twitch of the other's eyebrow.
Bruce was doing all he could to not start yelling at the speedster. Didn't he know how close he was to death?! There was no need to joke about his demise.
The Batman continued on in his single minded, deterministic attitude. The task at hand was just too great to respond and he was already wishing the other was unconscious again.
Wally wouldn't be able to tell you when the touch turned intimate but he was more than certain that the wondering hands had more on their minds than just pain management. The exploring fingers roused a reaction so strong in him that he almost felt warm. Almost being the key word. His entire body was shuddering heavily from the chill caused by his inaction. Wally tried to yelp, tried to stop the wandering hands but all he could do was tremble. The pitiful sounds the slipped passed his thought wasn't even close to a yelp, but more like a hoarse whine.
"B-Bruce…?" Wally chattered, the other's hands stroking long hard lines down his inner thighs.
"Hm," the other was concentrating far too heavily on the task at hand.
"I think…I think I'm okay now. You can stop." Wally tried to squirm away from his supposed friend, his ally but was stopped abruptly when deep dark eyes suddenly pierced into his.
"This is necessary." Bruce's face was a mask of concentration.
"Necessary!?"
"Yes, necessary. Do you want it to rot off and die? You need to get blood flow down here as well." Bruce broke the far too intimate look and reached for Wally's nether regions again.
"Rot? Wait, die!?" adrenaline shot through the speedster, filling him with just enough energy to look mortified.
"Yes, now please. Be quiet." The hands were clinical in their rubbing, in their much too private massage. Clinical or not, Wally felt warmth spread through him, like a wild fire on a brush plain.
Wally stared at the large, blunt nailed hands that were stroking along the length of his thigh, skimming the material of his costume. Batman was getting closer and closer to his sensitive shaft and sac but Wally wouldn't look away, couldn't look away. Those enticing hands weren't so much gentle, but steady and confident. Nothing like any of the petite, delicate lady friends Wally had ever taken to his bedroom. Mesmerized, Wally felt his heart stutter and then start to beat faster, more erratically. He gasped as Bruce pushed his legs farther apart, his other hand pressing at Wally's inner thigh. The speedster felt his cock twitch in reaction to the not-so-familiar touch, the heat of the other's palm was like a brand in his skin. Wally knew he would have been bright red if there was any blood in his body to spare, but at the moment all he could feel was his body soaking up the extra energy that was being given to him by Bruce's too large, too warm hands.
"Bruc-c-ce." Wally tried to speak again, but was immediately silenced by a finger stroking down the inner seam of his pants.
"Wait! I could just-" The younger man tried to push the hands away, to cup and cover himself, protect himself from the bigger man.
"I said, no." The man's voice deepened, rumbled threateningly in his throat.
Wally swallowed dryly and shook his head, not wanting to believe what was happening. Understanding Wally's distress, Bruce mumbled thickly,
"This is not an act of intimacy. This is survival. I am only doing what needs to be done." Bruce's voice slithered over and coated Wally's perception, his whole world coming down and focusing on the hands once again.
"I- Ah!" Wally tried to speak again but was interrupted as Bruce firmly brushed his first knuckle against the base of Wally's sensitive shaft.
Wally froze. Bruce continued the slow, bold and incredibly erotic stroke down the bulk of his length, ending at the head. Pulling his hand back, flexed his hand, and then gently palmed Wally's penis. Rubbing, not as gently as Wally would have liked, but rubbing in slow circles. Wally felt his toes curl as the demanding fingers coaxed hot blood to the sensitive flesh beneath.
"Aahh!" Wally felt his conviction weaken, even as his brain frantically tried to argue with itself. On one hand, he knew that this was something deemed necessary by one of the few people he trusted implicitly. However, this trusted friend was also doing something to Wally that scared the shit out of him.
"Concentrate, don't think about me." Bruce's deep voice hypnotized Wally, urging him to let go of all his fears and doubts, to just pour himself into the depths of arousal and pleasure.
Wally felt his legs shake with exertion, the explicit wrong pleasure licking along his raw nerves and set a fire in him. He knew he was hardening under the ministrations of the other but he couldn't stop it, he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop it.
More of that delicious friction, more of that hard handed brutality that felt just a little like Hell. He needed that seam on his pants to rub over his cock head in just that way, just one more time. Pressing forward, Wally reached out and caught one of Bruce's arms in his grip.
Wally felt the breath being sucked from his body as the other continued his ministrations.
Bruce wanted to encourage the other man, to tell him to come but just the thought of those words touching his tongue, sent him into a minor heterosexual panic. His eyes darted up to Wally's face, to asses and learn but was instead distracted by Wally's heaving chest and throat. He was no stranger to sex, to physical pleasure. This was something he knew intimately, but never shared with a member of his own gender. The thought was intriguing but Bruce packed it away to examine later when he had the time and mental energy.
Great gasps of precious oxygen helped bring much needed nutrients to the starved body, but Bruce couldn't look away as Wally writhed in front of him, needing him more than anything else in the world. Bruce grit his teeth and closed his fingers over Wally, squeezing lightly.
"Mh!" Wally jerked in Bruce's hands, releasing his breath in a hiss that sputtered out.
"Wallace Bruce leaned in and spoke into the other's ear, intending to demand that the young man orgasm already. But as he breathed the word, Wally seized as if shocked and then began to tremble.
"Bruce-" Wally tried to choke out the man's name before pressing himself hard into the other's hand and shook. Wally's entire body jerked as pleasure curled deep in his lower belly. His arms came up and he pressed his hands and face into the other's chest as he came hard. Twitching and gasping for breath, Wally rode out what was easily the strongest orgasm he'd had in a few years.
"Bruce..." Wally mumbled into the other's chest, his entire body rocking with aftershocks. Feeling his eyes starting to slip closed; 'what now?' flashed through the red head's mind. He just wanted to sleep. He couldn't think, couldn't function as his entire body was consumed by the conflicting effects of a brutal physical condition and a very rewarding orgasm.
Bruce stared down at the speedster wrapped physically around him. He felt numb, and cold. The heat of Wally's passion had warmed him slightly but as the warmth passed and Wally's body grew colder, Bruce felt his countenance and heartbeat cool and harden as well.
Even though the speedster was asleep, the heartbeat was slow but at a higher tempo. Bruce breathed out a sigh of relief. The hormones and chemicals racing through Wally's body helped to relax and release the stress of his unique malnourishment. Bruce slowly pulled his hand away from the other's body and then slowly began to extract himself from the impromptu hug. His stony countenance was betrayed by the gentleness he showed to Wally. Bruce couldn't bring himself to think or process what had just happened, but he knew he had to get the other home. Otherwise, this would have all been in vain.
Bruce would eventually find the transporter room with a 'dead to the world' Speedster on his back. Miraculously, the only thing that had been damaged in this room full of delicate and incredibly sensitive machinery had been the door and it had only been dented from the outside.
Laying Wally down, Bruce made sure to keep his head above his chest, and to arrange him so that the other wouldn't develop crippling muscle cramps during his sleep or what could be considered a semi-coma.
Typing in the familiar coordinates; Bruce all but prayed for the best and sent a letter through the particle accelerator. He'd scrawled on a piece of schematic, "Respond at once" and sent it through, hoping Alfred would catch the hint and send back his own statement. The exchange of paper would help reassure Bruce that the transporters were (reasonably) safe and ready for use. He did not want to become part of the dust of space if something did happen. Just the very thought of his molecules being ripped apart piece by piece and then flung in every direction gave Wayne the feeling of heartburn. How he yearned to be able to fly his vessel home. The feel of an honest engine beneath him, working towards the same goals as his own, was something he yearned for. He's never envied any of the flyers he'd come across…give him a ship any day.
Bruce smiled honestly as a note in Alfred's precise, tiny script was flashed into existence by the accelerator. Picking up the post-it, Bruce chuckled before shoving the note into his pocket, and turning to Wally.
Alfred had responded to the note with a blunt "Come home immediately, no stops along the way."
Alfred's sense of dark humor was refreshing in this mortal peril.
"Time to leave this Godforsaken place." And with that, Bruce picked Wally up and moved to the glass and plastic chamber. He gently propped the other up against the back Wally and then promptly left the chamber. Pressing the button, Bruce watched as the Flash disappeared. Stepping into the chamber himself, Bruce soon flashed away and the wreckage of the mighty League's station hung empty, and lonely in the darkness of space.
Bruce hadn't been back home for more than thirty minutes when he had decided to go look for other survivors on the abandoned space station. He'd come home, and immediately put Wally to bed with an IV for fluids and nutrients. Bruce had originally been prepared to allow Alfred to fret and fuss over him but his efforts where needed much more by Wally than by Bruce. Alfred would be able to take care and annoy the red headed man while Bruce was away. Unfortunately, this proved too much for the elderly gentleman, and he betrayed his fear to Bruce his infamous sour attitude.
"Sir? Shall I ready your transportation?" Alfred's normal steely disposition was even colder and sharper than the norm.
The sharp taste of displeasure licked about his words, reminding Bruce how much Alfred hated that fact that he continued to ignore his own physical state. Alfred was a kind, helpful man that had literally raised him, but sometimes the man really did act like an over protective, motherly hen.
"Yes Alfred, thank you." Bruce massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and finger.
"Will that be all?" Alfred was almost rolling his eyes, refusing to give Bruce the satisfaction of friendly conversation.
"Yes," Bruce grunted shortly, and turned to the older man.
"You know I have to go back, search for other survivors." The man attacked the awkward situation head on.
"Yessir, run off and ignore the fractures that spider along your ribs. Ignore the dehydration ravaging your body. Ignore the very likely interior bleed. Please, go and save the ghosts of that tower." Alfred spoke primly, but his sarcastic words cutting like a knife.
"Whatever the chance, I will not leave anyone on that station. I'll be back before the next sunrise." Bruce locked his jaw, staring at his butler and friend.
"…" Alfred continued his cold countenance.
"When I get back, I promise I'll not leave for at least a week." Bruce tried to compromise.
"Indeed," Alfred tightened his stance and bowed shortly before turning on his heel. As the man basically stalked off, Bruce let out a sigh.
He could care-less about the opinion of the President, of the Queen, hell…even Superman's occasionally snide remarks rolled off like water from a duck's back. But Alfred, Alfred was the rock of the Wayne household, the voice of reason when all went to shit. Alfred's opinion mattered more to Bruce than he would have liked to admit. Never-the-less, Bruce had to go back. Disregarding Wally, who else might be trapped, stranded and waiting for death inside the useless tower?
Wally, that fool.
He'd managed to wrap himself around Bruce's very essence and squeeze like a strangling vine. The ridiculously hyped up red head had somehow wormed his way into the Batman's armor, chewing away at the rough and gritty superhero that formed Bruce's very image.
The dark haired man had hooked the almost comatose hero up to an IV and thrust him into Alfred's care upon their arrival at Wayne mansion. Bruce told himself it wasn't due to the very intimate, very personal time they'd spent together, but he couldn't lie to himself. It had been a life saving tactic, one necessary to keep the speedster alive and aware of his surroundings. It was a mantra he had to keep telling himself.
Grinding his teeth, Bruce stood and rolled his shoulders. Popping the sore ligaments and tendons back into place, he grabbed his costume's cowl from its place on the desk. Bruce pulled it over his head and all but stomped to the personal Wayne launch bay.
He had more important things to worry about right now.
Alfred moved about the Wayne Mansion with the ease of a shadow. He knew every nook, every cranny that could possibly exist in the overly huge, mostly abandoned home. Alfred started up the servant's steps, avoiding the master of the household as much as possible. Coming up to the second level of the house, Alfred opened the hidden door and stepped out into the dark hallway. Following it for a few steps, Alfred stopped in front of what was now used as the guest room and sick bay.
Opening the door with caution, Alfred listened for a reaction before continuing on in silence. It was time to change the IV fluid bags, and God knows that Bruce wouldn't do it. Alfred was glad to at least coax the speedster back to life, for now.
Hanging the bag on the metal stand, Alfred looked down at the mess that could be called a person. 'Tsk'ing to himself, Alfred gently turned the arm hosting the IV upwards and detached the IV bag temporarily. He didn't want the plastic tubing to wrap around the arm while the other slept and endanger the operation with air bubbles in the blood stream.
Checking over the faintly beeping machines, Alfred concluded that Wally would hold for the night. He would call for the family's physician in the morning. The older man left as quickly as he came and just as silently. With his light hair and quiet demeanor, Alfred could even be mistaken for a ghost.
A faint beeping dragged Wally to consciousness granted not a very aware consciousness.
"Mmnuh." Wally grunted.
Using the most strength he could muster, the red-head lifted his left arm and dropped it over his stomach. From this position, he was able to idly scratch at the incredibly itchy IV port. Wally's entire body felt heavy as lead and more sore than he had ever been in his life, including the time he'd run around the entire world more than a few times in a row.
"…" Wally forced his eyes open, squinting and then finally allowing them to fall open as he observed his surroundings.
Thankfully, the room was dark, it was quiet and it was devoid of life. That is, except for the machine beeping faithfully at his side. Itching at the needle deeply embedded into his flesh, Wally observed his room quietly. Recalling the events of getting to this haven were more than Wally wanted to think about, and so he continued through his short checklist.
The room was incredibly ornate, as he expected it to be in the Wayne Mansion. The hangings looked to be made of silk, and there was even carved mahogany trimming decorating the walls. His bed looked like an antique, priceless probably. Wally didn't have much taste for the fancy and ornate but he did appreciate the pure feeling of wealth that seemed to ooze from the walls. It was too dark to make out but it looked as if there was even a portrait painting of some great relative of the Wayne family. With a sigh, Wally drifted back to sleep, knowing he was safe in the Batman's home.
The Batman all but growled at the speech recognition panel. The sparking tech responded by opening the door halfway and then dying with a loud pop. Bruce pushed his way inside the bay and continued his stride down the dark hallway towards the bridge. Taking off at the Manor had taken too long, and he was beginning to get "grumpy" as Wally would put it. Then again, Wally considered him to be "grumpy" pretty much all the time.
At the thought, Bruce's tired brain began to revolve slowly around the speedster as he made his rounds across the ship, looking for more trapped personnel. The dark haired man didn't fully comprehend the man that was Wally. He could be so utterly annoying but yet such an essential part of his team.
The dark figure slipped from corner to corner, from room to room; exploring every nook and cranny with fine precision.
"Batman." A calm voice crackled from his belt.
Bruce could feel himself sag just the smallest bit at the familiar baritone.
"Superman." He touched the radio near his ear and replied.
"It is good to hear your voice my friend." The alien said with a rarely used title, belaying his gratitude at finding the other alive.
"What happened?" Batman's thoughts sped up, wondering what could have caused the Man of Steel to be absent for so long.
"It appears as if we've been hit with a worm hole. We will need the help of young Richie after all. " Superman sounded exhausted. "I've been supervising escape pods and pulling them from the event horizon of the hole. It's shrinking."
"So it wasn't a problem with the new virus protection?" Bruce didn't like the sound of the growing situation. Time-Space technology was incredibly rare.
"No, I believe it was meant to look like faulty technology but it was probably a virus allowing whoever attacked us, to lock onto the station." Superman confirmed with a tick to his jaw that Bruce rarely saw.
"Then we will need young Richard's help. He will be able to locate the technology and thus its user's." Bruce pushed the young tech-savvy mutant.
"Yes." Superman remembered the last request for the blonde's help by Batman.
"I've re-checked the station and found no other occupants. We are clear to return to Earth and re-group." Bruce felt the ice creep into his voice. He steered the conversation down a new path.
"Excellent. I will escort you home." Clark added.
"I will be out shortly." Bruce made his way back to his ship, scowling the entire way.
His muscles tensed as he approached the hanger where the wreckage of countless vessels lay scattered around his own. Adrenaline pumped through him, even as he breathed silently, counting to calm the growing fire.
"Worm holes." Bruce grit his teeth again, he'd previously advised the team to work with young mutant genius Richie Foley. They'd seemed to think delaying his arrival for schooling was a good idea, maybe now the team would take real action. This oversight could not continue and Bruce would find the way to push himself and his associates that much farther.
A flash of red streaked across Batman's eyes. It was accompanied by a magma spike of fear and anger. Wally could have died. So much like another young soul he'd felt the weight of. Jason's death had ripped inside his mind and torn a gaping wound that continued to fester. His whirling thoughts again circled Wally's name, his face. He had successfully saved the excitable young man. Unlike the other one, he was able to save this important other and soothe a small spark of the fire that still savaged him with guilt.
Batman took off in a jet of rocket propulsion, leaving behind the wreckage of the previously thriving tower. His brain grew foggy as he punched in the coordinates for the Wayne Manor a second time that night. Descending through the atmosphere was a familiar scream and grind of dense air against metal. The sleek wings of his ship held fast and cut through the night as Bruce typed in the cruise control command and initiate sequences. Fifteen minutes later, he was descending into the landing station through the rear of the ship. Dialing in the necessary code, he ensured the ship would return to the secret bay. The massive black shape hissed as it shot off into the night sky. The computer would take it back to the private station, where an automated process would dock his space traveling vehicle and start any necessary repairs.
Bruce hit the ground, his legs heavy and his chest still red hot with confusing emotions. He needed to check on Wally. He'd been able to rescue an integral part of the team who had been left behind by everyone else. The thought gathered speed in his mind. Walking slowly but with purpose, the tall man made his way to the Medical Suite, not even bothering to remove his cowl and mask.
Breathing lightly, Wally was asleep by all counts. Bruce leaned over, his muscles cramping with an unnamed tension. Bruce felt his self control flicker in his exhausted, seething brain as he watched the speedster twitch and groan in his sleep.
The excess activity even while asleep annoyed him to the point of speech.
"Wally." Bruce scowled.
Wally knew someone was watching him. He was instantly aware, still groggy, but aware of the medical suite and someone in the room. He turned over and was suddenly blasted with the scent and sight of one Bruce Wayne.
"Uh, Bats?" Wally took in the sight of the other still in full regalia. He stole a quick glance at the clock and was shocked by the hours now approaching early morning.
"Did you just get back?" Wally sat up and rubbed his eyes. He threw his legs over the bed side and winced as his feet hit the cold floor.
Bruce lethargically began the familiar motions of removing his cowl. It felt silly to wear the mask and cape in his own home, among friends. The hard plastic landed on the granite floor with a loud smack before rolling away. Wally followed the motion with his eyes, unsure of what to do with this odd behavior.
"So…everything went well? The Tower-" Wally's nerves again suddenly couldn't handle the brutal silence that Bruce seemed to crave.
"Yes, everyone is safe." The answer cut into Wally's words as Bruce stepped forward, suddenly intruding on Wally's space. He deftly stepped up to the speedster's legs, his tall stature suddenly towering over Wally.
"Did you also –" Wally started before suddenly feeling the air rush from his lungs as he was pushed onto the bed.
"Yes." Bruce interrupted again, dark hunger becoming evident in his voice.
"This suddenly got weird." Wally joked out loud but felt his heart speed up as Batman deftly lifted his under shirt and let it drop to the floor as well.
"Yes," Bruce hissed as he crowded Wally towards the bed again.
"Bruce? What's going on? Wait," Wally tried to ask, fending off the Batman with a measly forearm. He felt his knees knock against the bed frame and then he was suddenly falling down into the mattress.
"Wallace, do you recall earlier this evening? How I extended a favor to you, as a comrade and friend in your hour of need?" Bruce knelt on the bed at Wally's side, leaning over the other.
"Y-yeah, why? Need a favor?" Wally felt his throat constrict around his words, his face was growing hot and he needed a snack.
"Exactly. I need you to return the favor." Wally swallowed as he heard the words. His mind raced with thoughts, images blazing across his mind with stark intensity.
"You want me to…return the." The Flash ended the sentence and looked everywhere but the eyes of the man above him.
His face and eyes had always been a window to his mind; every emotion flashed across it and hid nothing from the world. His hands grasped instinctively, his hearing grew fuzzy as he imagined doing just that. Returning the favor.
"You really want ME to?" Wally asked without thinking.
Growling angrily, Bruce shoved Wally down fully onto his back. The dark haired man didn't even know exactly why he wanted this. A raging volcano had erupted in him and was overflowing. The rush of memory and even exhaustion pushed the Knight to a mental precipice. Bruce didn't know exactly why he wanted to tease the young red-head but it was more than enjoyable. The predator instinct in him luxuriated in the confused yet still present prey of his.
"You'd better hurry to it." Bruce sneered down at Wally, his eyes flashed with dark emotion. He told himself he hadn't thought of this before, he never had those occasional dreams filled with quick touches, pink lips and red cloth.
"Yeah, ok." Wally could feel his mind going blank, shutting down at the overload of sensory input and information. He tamped down the immediate heterosexual panic that raged momentary and realized that he was starting to get hard.
Overheating, Wally felt sweat begin to pool at the base of his neck and chest. His system was buzzing from the liquid nutrients he'd had via intravenous earlier. Wally's heart was speeding up; his blood rushed through his body and roared in his ears.
His fingers shook as he sought out Batman's hips. He grasped tightly, fingers knotting in the thick material of the black suit. He wasted no time and stroked inwards to find the seam and zipped that hid away the skin beneath. Dexterity rewarded the Flash and he licked his lips as he pulled the zipper down and unwrapped the man above him.
"Why do you want this?" Flash's tongue didn't seem to care about his numb brain. He couldn't think but the words kept coming. Anything was better than the uncertain silence.
"Why do you?" Bruce answered confidently.
Wally swallowed hard again. Everyone fantasized about The Batman. Everyone. Who was he to deny the universe of the proper appreciation of masculine beauty and strength that is the stupid stupid embarrassing Bruce Wayne?
Wally grumped but forged ahead with a stubborn sigh.
The Flash felt his stomach drop as the body heat of Bruce Wayne began to climb in reaction to his hands and touch. He pressed closer and felt the man above him shift restlessly. Without letting himself think too much about the future, Wally cupped the other fully through the tight cotton under garments. Wally tensed, surprised that his boldness hadn't been rewarded with a quick death.
Wally felt his ears burning along with the rest of his face. His numbness had worn off to be replaced with a warm muzzy feeling. Wally felt the embarrassment of the situation as keenly as anyone, he knew what he was doing was considered taboo by many conservative minds. His response to this path of thinking was to explore slowly, gently pondering with the tips of his fingers.
Bruce was half hard and already burning hotter than a furnace. Wally felt his own body take an even greater interest in the situation. The fog of sleep and insecurity was fast melting away into an eager hot rush. The Speedster knew he harbored thoughts that were not always one hundred percent straight but this was far into the stratosphere of what Wally thought was possible in his life. The heated flush had crept throughout his face and down his neck at this point, his fair complexion lending itself easily to a clue as to how this interaction affected the younger man.
Bruce's quiet breaths sped up just the smallest bit and Wally just knew he would be jacking off to that quiet grunt for the rest of his life. Damn the stupidly attractive Superhero. Wally's thoughts spun faster as he stroked more quickly. The turgid flesh began to lengthen and harden further. Wally continued to be fascinated with the way Bruce seemed to fill his underwear, with the way it pressed obscenely out at him. Even the small wet spot seemed to fill Wally's senses.
"Yess." Bruce grunted around his seemingly favorite word. He smiled wickedly before pressing his dick firmly against the cheek of the other.
His eyes lit in a filthy sort of glee a he rubbed small circles into the cheek of the younger man with his filling cock through the tight underwear. Bruce really didn't much care to examine the process of needing to save Wally and then apparently fucking him. As Batman, he'd saved plenty of people, both civilian and hero. Why had the private and intimate rescue of this young man set such a fire? He'd be glad to avoid the more-than-necessary visits to his company appointed counselor and psychologist. More than likely, he'd like roll up and hide from the drama for a few months with the new company of one Wally West.
While Bruce brooded over the affair above, Wally's sudden intimate contact did not go unnoticed. The speedster felt instantly alive and sharp, as if his whole body was charged with static electricity. The soft musk of male sweat permeated the air and Wally felt as if his cheek were burning from the heat emanating from the man in front of him. Wally inhaled involuntarily, deeply through his nose and tried to ignore the interest his dick had in the unexpected morning face-fuck.
Bruce wasted no time and proceeded to rid himself of his thinning undergarments and was left hanging above the wide eyed speedster. Grasping himself, and lazily stroking along the shaft, Bruce smirked at the red-head.
"Did you want to get naked too?" Bruce tugged at his balls and adjusted himself.
This crass, masculine thing that was also Bruce Wayne tore at Wally's senses. He found himself unable to control the impulse to shimmy easily out of his sleep wear. He felt his nipples harden in the cool of the room.
Bruce reached out and put a large thumb on a small freckle of the other man's forehead. "You want to do this, right?" he asked gently, surprisingly the smaller one.
"Y-…Do I have to say?" Wally stuttered, feeling a little panic.
"No, but you may nod." Bruce loomed above him, grasping a shoulder with one hand and holding out the other.
Wally stared at the calloused fingers, a million thoughts rushing through his mind. Giving up on thinking, he nodded forward into the large and warm hand that reached before him.
Surprisingly soft, Bruce caressed the sides of Wally's face before thumbing open his mouth.
"You do have beautiful lips." The compliment was low and quiet but the implication of it went straight to Wally's cock.
Failing to respond verbally, the speedster leaned forward and licked at the source of heat. He ignored the sudden salty taste to put as much as he could in as once. Gagging, he coughed and then corrected for depth. The awkward display didn't just lure a response from the Dark Knight but flamed the response into a tentative stutter of his hips, his cock continued to pulse and leak.
"Yes, just like that, keep going." Bruce encouraged, his low voice providing pure agony to Wally as his cock strained a bright red at the lack of attention and touch. He told himself he had never thought about this when on the odd job with the Flash, he'd never imagined what it would be like to feel that small pink tongue lick around him. He would tell himself these things, but know they were lies.
Wally groaned around the rigid flesh of the other's shaft, his nose just barely tickled by thick dark pubic hair. He tore one hand from Bruce's hip to cup at the other's balls. He tugged and massaged gently while gripping Bruce's other hip tight with the free hand.
"I know you want to touch yourself." Bruce teased Wally, his body shrieking in delight at the touch of his new inexperienced lover.
Face burning with heat, Wally snatched his other hand from Bruce's hip to his lap in a frantic move. He winced as his dry hand rubbed at the fragile raw skin of his prick.
"Like a child." Bruce huffed in genuine frustration before snapping his hips away from now thoroughly bruised lips.
The Batman reached down into the abandoned utility belt of his costume and was rewarded with a small medical tube. Snapping the top off, Bruce began to generously coat his hand with a clear gel with no scent.
"It's going to be cold," Bruce sat heavily on the medical bed, warm and huge on the Wally's side.
Stiff with conflicting feelings and uncertain thoughts, the smaller man watched in awe as Bruce methodically slicked his hand and then turned into him. Wally's hearing continued to buzz and he slowly brought a hand to his lips. Licking gently at the pads of his fingers, the speedster looked his fill at the man sitting next to him. The past twenty minutes had been so unusual; he felt he was almost dreaming the whole thing.
Dark eyes betrayed no feeling as Bruce watched Wally lick down into the V of his thumb and forefinger. The younger man made short work of the chore, he then reached slowly for his partner. Almost simultaneously, the men moaned as they received the other's respective hand. Wally's voice keened high as Bruce's hand was again brutal and solid around his length. There was little room it felt as if Wally were fucking into a vice. The unfamiliar feel of a man's calloused hands on his sensitive skin was absolutely terrifying yet exhilarating.
Foreheads pressed together, Wally could almost imagine he could feel a pulse. He small thought didn't distract from the fact that he was currently jacking off The Batman who was returning the favor. Bruce's large calloused hands stroked slow but steady across the heated flesh of Wally's cock. Wally in turn pulled with a quick yet firm pace that was accompanied by occasional soft twists and tugs to his base and balls. The rhythms occasionally faltered, Bruce bit into Wally's neck without much fore-warning, causing the red-head to falter for a moment. Wally returned the favor by thumbing the wet slit of Bruce's cockhead. Wally gently explored the small opening with the tip of his finger, and Bruce couldn't help by groan loudly into the warm skin of Wally's neck.
"Wallace." The older man's voice was hoarse, his entire focus intent on that hot tiny hand and the man attached to it.
"Bruce, I-" Wally didn't know what to say, he didn't want to say anything. Bruce responded by covering the other's entire prick with one large rough hand. He jerked quickly in rhythm before grinding deep into the other's body with a tight hot squeeze. Wally felt all air leave him and he came as he knew Bruce orchestrated. Every bit of energy he could muster left him in the small jerking of his hips, the harsh rise and fall of his ribs as well as his hands that continued their quest to explore and touch the unexpected.
"Bruce-Bruce" Wally's voice was thick and warped, his whole body was hot and yet cold. His hands became more urgent as they flicked around the shape of the thick cockhead, tracing veins and exploring wrinkles.
"Just…come here." Bruce finally broke, needing to come after the continued abuse of the last twenty four hours. His cock pulsed with interest.
He grasped Wally's thin hips and pulled them into his lap. Bruce wrapped the thin legs around his thick waist; he pulled the other's groin into his own and sighed in frustration. Large hands held thin hips in place as Bruce thrust between the crease of Wally's thigh and his soft cock. Wally groaned, almost in pain at the over-sensation on his soft length. One of the big hands left the bony hip, to cup the cheek of Wally's ass.
"Fuck, Wallace." The dark Hero's voice was almost too low to be heard. Pumping finally and grasping tightly with both hands, Bruce pulled Wally to his body and came hard. Pistoning into the tight hot space between their bodies felt so delicious that it was all Bruce could do to not purr. The strange feeling of awkward bones and rigid muscle was more foreign than any language. The way Wally seemed to curl into the hard grip and fit of Bruce's arms was stranger still. The bigger man's fascination with that tight heat, racer's mind and even tiny freckles was the most alarming by far.
Bruce had previous experience receiving and giving away these intimate exchanges with close friends and physical partners, but this mutual interest hadn't played into that pattern.
Panting deeply, Bruce let his head fall against the Wally's shoulder. He leaned into the bend of the other's neck, where he had bitten and inhaled deeply. He was rewarded with the salty wet smell of recent sex and mingled sweat. He didn't want to cross-examine what was happening at this very moment, so he didn't.
The strange peace and growing silence was shattered abruptly as the deep gong of his door bell chimed through the early morning air. Instantly Bruce was aware and alert no-matter the endorphins currently streaming through his system. Looking down, he opened his mouth to demand Wally get back in bed for more rest. Finding him drooping, Bruce encouraged the lanky, now naked, limbs back under the sheets. The bell's tone rang through the air again, piercing the early calm with pending action. Bruce grimaced, but leaned down to catch Wally's listing head and lift the other's face to meet his eyes.
"Bruce.." Wally acknowledged the looming figure.
"Don't leave the house. I'll send Alfred in with food." Bruce stood and with a few long strides, was out the door. The brunette knew his friend would know better than to ask about the state of the room. It did leave Bruce with the strange task of figuring out what in the Hell was happening in that tower and now in his house.
Wally's face burned unexpectedly, he felt the soft touch as if it was burning into his skin. Grimacing, he fell into an awkward half sleep filled with questions and dark figures with large hands.
Bruce made his way through the house, he stopped at one of the many black granite bathrooms to wash his hands, grab a comb and toothbrush. He had the good fortune to still be wearing the slim black slacks and sleeveless top that came with his entire uniform.
As he continued his trek to the front door, he stepped lightly down a few flights of stairs while brushing his teeth methodically. After flicking the comb through his hair a few times, he set the utensils by the stairwell and continued his journey into the foyer. There, he greeted Alfred who spoke warmly to the guest that had unfortunately decided to visit so early in the day.
"Richard." Bruce felt weary suddenly, he knew it wouldn't show but the feeling aggravated him.
"Hey Batman-I mean Mr. Wayne! Sir!" The young mutant teen was fidgeting much like a speedster he knew. The tension and stress radiated off the boy, his entire being fizzing with energy. He had heard that the mutant skills possessed by this young, blonde, blue eyed boy, was incredible intelligence and creativity. Granted, these powers seemed much like common sense to Bruce, but to each their own titles. Richie was a junior member of the League along with his mutant friend, Virgil. The two were generally inseparable; it was strange that the electric one was missing.
"I heard about the tower! I want to help!" the words spilled out of him, as Bruce knew they would. He made no effort to stop them; it would only slow the inevitable.
"Yes. It was attacked. Come, I will show you the images taken during the night." Bruce led the other inside. Richie almost laughed with eagerness and jumped to Bruce's side.
Bruce turned to Alfred and gave him low instructions to bring a full breakfast to the other guest in a few hours time. Alfred bowed his head and was then gone.
"You wouldn't believe who also contacted me last night!" Richie was fairly bouncing off the walls as Bruce led him down into the caverns of his cave. He'd instructed his vessel to take images and videos of his path and exploration after he'd transported Wally down to Earth. The HD footage would reveal plenty to the detail fascinated mutant accompanying him.
"Who?" Bruce continued to operate on auto-pilot as he dialed in the codes for his computer network and then started his servers.
"Aliens!" Richie fairly danced on the spot.
"Ah. They do that once in a while, don't they." He stated rather than questioned.
"Yeah, that's true but these ones wanted to talk to the Joker! And they didn't really contact me; I was spying on their wave patterns and intercepted a few broadcasts. It sounded like they were listening to audio clips of the Joker! But you know what's weird? It was an audio clip of him laughing and saying "The early Bird catches the WORM!"
"I mean, I love a good pun and all, but it's kind of sick. I feel like this is somehow my fault for not being here sooner, but I had no idea there were any attacks planned on the tower-" Richie continued to speak quickly in the background, Bruce had gone silent and still at this point.
The Joker. He would never be allowed to kill anyone else under the Batman's wing. The man upstairs was proof of that.
The chase for the mad man would now begin in earnest.