Warnings: canonical character death; infidelity; incest
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: Based on an ask/prompt for: "After Wally returns to life in DC UNIVERSE: REBIRTH # 1, he and Barry after a conversation about how they care for each other"
Received the prompt "After Wally returns to life in DC UNIVERSE: REBIRTH # 1, he and Barry after a conversation about how they care for each other, they kiss and fuck, it has to be cute". I've been really wanting to write something involving the Rebirth issue so I'm afraid this is more feelsy than cute. I get a lot of emotions every time I read that issue so I ended up vomiting my emotions all over the page with this fic.
As a heads up, this story does some timeline jumping between Post-Crisis and Rebirth. The story begins in Post-Crisis, right around the time that Wally quits being Kid Flash because his powers are deteriorating his health. I wanted to avoid rewriting DC: Universe Rebirth, so if you're not familiar with the issue, this fic might be confusing because it glazes over those events despite their significance to the story. I recommend reading that issue before attempting this fic? Or at least reading a summary, I suppose.
Big thanks to the person who suggested this. I've actually wanted to write this fic and this was the perfect excuse to just do it.
Sorry it's been awhile since I've posted. I've been posting on AO3 and I keep forgetting to cross-post here.
I'm no longer accepting requests but I am taking commissions. If you're interested, check my tumblr at lacemonsterbats.
It was the night of Wally's graduation party. Wally didn't know how to explain to his parents who his real friends were or how he met them, so instead, the house was filled with family and family friends. In other words, people who were essentially strangers to him.
The exception to this was Barry. No one wanted to invite Iris's widower but, in the end, it was Wally's celebration, and he earned at least one say. In the crowd of people, it was Barry's face he looked for, waiting for him to suddenly appear. That was Barry's style—always late, until suddenly he was there, and no one ever questioned it because that was how everyone perceived Barry Allen. He was never the one to stand out at a party, never the type to be noticed when he slipped in quietly through the front door.
If people had known Barry's extraordinary secret, they would have understood the truth to his vanishing and appearing act. Then, everyone would notice him.
The clock on the wall was inching closer to dinner time when Wally blinked and saw Barry there, in the doorway. Wally dropped his feigned interest in the conversation between his mother and her work friends. Barry gestured to the foyer with a tilt of his head and he was gone. Wally barely excused himself from the conversation, not really caring.
Alone in the narrow foyer, secreted away from the party, Barry reached into his pocket and pulled out a narrow box. Wally shook the box near his ear, not so much caring about the contents as much as he cared about the eyeroll reaction he got from Barry. Wally grinned a little wider.
"Just open it," Barry said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
Wally did as told. His thumb pushed up on the lid, revealing a watch sitting on tissue paper. It was clean, but not shiny. Old, but not antique. Nice, but not ritzy.
"People still wear watches?" Wally said.
He looked up for Barry's reaction and instantly feared that he made the joke too soon. Barry's eyes were averted, the faintest hint of color on his face. His sheepishness was familiar to Wally. Knowing full well that Barry would make up an excuse to take back the gift and try to find a new one in his embarrassment, Wally relented.
"Where'd you get it from?"
"It was my dad's."
Wally's gaze lowered back on the watch. Wally never met Barry's dad. He knew that his aunt had met him, once, before he died in prison. But the watch meant something to Barry—therefore, it meant something to Wally.
Wally took it out of the box, looking it over. He turned it, catching an engraving on the back.
Every second is a gift.
Wally could have laughed at the irony. But he didn't. He stared down the inscription for longer than a second.
"Do you know what I really want?" he said out loud, his voice quiet, secretive. As if they weren't already the only ones in that space.
He could feel Barry's eyes watching him for a moment.
"You don't like the watch," Barry decided.
"No, I like the watch," Wally said. He turned it over once more, looking at the clockface. Watching each precious second tick by. Distantly, in the other room, he heard laughter. Wally finally looked up, eyes locking with Barry's. Something flickered in Barry's eyes—an understanding, followed by wariness. "That's why I want to use it. When the minute hand hits the six—"
"Wally," Barry said. His name was spoken gently, but firmly. "I don't think this is a good idea."
"Five minutes," Wally said, looking at him. He could see the growing unease in Barry's posture. Adamance growing, he pushed, "Five minutes, Barry. I promise no one will even notice."
Barry sighed softly. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring. Wally watched him place it on his hand, gold still kissing gold, even after all this time.
"Where do you want to go?" Barry asked.
Same place as always—
"Anywhere but here."
Wally missed the escape.
It wasn't just the ability to run away from home when he needed a break. It was the ability to forget—to just run and run and run. That state of mindlessness could be a beautiful thing, it could be healing.
He picked a direction, any direction, and moved. He lost himself in the speedforce, the world slowing down and speeding up around him. He didn't think about anything else. He didn't even think about fate biting at his heels, warning him to slow down, to stop needlessly deteriorating his body. He just moved.
He missed the security of the uniform.
He missed exploring the world.
He missed seeing the universe in a lens that only he and Barry shared.
It wasn't until Barry took hold of his arm that Wally stopped running. But he didn't slow down. He looked around him, not recognizing the place they were in. Some grove, at night. Smell was one of the few senses that time couldn't interrupt—this grass smelled sweet, the air fresh. He glanced at the stars in the sky, catching a plane frozen in time. Far enough from the city to see the stars, but not too far away from other people.
Wally missed that too—the ability to just get lost in the middle of nowhere, instead of being stuck in the same damned town. The ability to get lost and not feel afraid of finding his way back. He let himself collapse onto the ground. His stamina wasn't exhausted—he could run miles if he wanted to. He could run and run and run. But if he did that, his heart would give out before he did.
Already, he could feel his pulse throbbing, his chest tightening. It was strained underneath the power of the speedforce. How many hours had he shaved off his life in these past few minutes? And was it worth it?
Barry stepped closer, his head blocking Wally's view of the waning moon.
"We should start to head back," Barry said.
Wally looked at the watch, squinting at it through the darkness.
"There's still a minute left."
Moonlight haloing Barry's face, Wally caught a hint of a smile.
"You're forgetting that you still need time to run back."
"Fine. Forty-five seconds."
"That's a stretch."
"Forty-five seconds, unless you don't think you can do it," Wally challenged.
Wally was the competitive one. Barry was the considerate one. Wally said this knowing that Barry wouldn't take the bait, but knowing that Barry would let Wally have his fun while he still had it.
Barry answered by taking a seat on the grass. Wally glanced to the bead of light above his head, a little to his left. A firefly, moving so slowly that the blink of its glow seemed permanent.
"Don't you want to head back?" Barry tried. The watch hadn't even moved. "All those people were there for you."
Wally wasn't going to correct him. Barry knew damn well that all his real friends and family weren't anywhere near Blue Valley. They were somewhere out there—but not Blue Valley.
"This is what I want," Wally said. And he didn't mean to say it, really. He knew Barry hated it when he talked this way. But in the few minutes he spent inside the speedforce, he could already feel himself slipping back into his old skin. He felt defiant again. He felt like a kid again. So he didn't stop, even though he knew Barry wanted him to. "I want to be part of something. I want the speedforce."
"It'll kill you, Wally," Barry said quietly. Wally stared into space, his jaw clenched. "What about your family? Your friends?"
"My family won't care. And my friends—they have bigger problems than Wally West. But if I could be a hero, if I could help them—"
"I don't want you to do it, Wally," Barry said, speaking up.
Wally said nothing. Watched the firefly reach its peak, right before its inevitable dim.
Wally couldn't even feel betrayal. He forfeited that feeling the first time they talked about this, after they determined the diagnosis. Now he just felt numb, defeated.
Barry filled the silence, sighing softly.
"I want you alive and well. In the best of circumstances, you and I would run the world every day. But we can't have every day. So I'd rather have you for as many days as I can, even if—"
"What if I don't want that? What if I'd rather just give it all, up until the end?"
He could hear Barry reposition himself on the grass. Wally glanced over, saw his averted eyes. A glimpse of his troubled expression.
Many times before, if he pushed hard enough, he could get Barry to cave. And he could almost see in Barry's eyes the desire to give in, to give his blessing if it meant Wally's happiness, but something blocked that. It was either Barry, looking out after Wally's well-being as always, or Barry, being selfish for once.
"Wally, I don't…" Barry started, then stopped. There was conflict in his voice. He was upset but he didn't want to sound upset. He corrected his own voice, trying to strengthen it. "I don't really have anyone else."
Iris was gone and Barry was alone and Wally knew he needed to be supportive. He knew he needed to do the right thing and he knew he owed Barry his life. He owed him everything. And this miracle of a gift would have never happened if Barry hadn't been there, if he hadn't reached out to that one sad and angry kid who wanted nothing more than to be like the Flash.
"I don't want to be the old me. I never liked the old Wally West from before the speedforce," Wally said. And it hurt to say, but it was true. He stared down the firefly, beginning to dull, and tried to focus on it. Tried not to focus on the thumping inside his chest, the heat on his face, the sting in his eyes.
Barry's hand was on his. For a moment, Wally thought Barry might have sensed the shift in his mood—but if he did, he politely did not comment on it. His fingers unclasped the watch, so easily, like he had practiced the motion.
"I like the watch," Wally said, genuinely meaning it, his heart following Barry's withdrawing hand. He sat up, feeling alert, feeling convinced that this was the moment Barry would take it back.
Barry just looked at the watch, not putting it away, but not giving it back either.
"I spent so much time obsessing over my parents that I distanced myself from you and Iris. I was so caught up in the past that I failed to see what was right in front of me. You and Iris gave me a second chance to be a part of a family again." Barry turned over the watch. Either reading it or just—staring. His brow suddenly furrowed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I wanted to say this earlier but I… I don't know. I got too nervous. This watch—its my inheritance from my dad. It's the last thing I have from him, aside from memories. It's my last attachment to him. That's why I'm giving you the watch. I'm forfeiting it—everything—to you."
Barry took Wally's hand, placing the watch in the heart of his palm, and closed his hands around it. Wally looked down at the hands that clasped his.
Barry's eyes followed his. They fell on the two rings on his hand.
They sat there in silence. Wally didn't know how long.
Barry took his hands off Wally's, staring down. His voice fell quieter.
"I stopped being your hero long ago. It didn't take long for us to become a team. We used to teach each other. So it's time to remind you of what you and Iris taught me—that it's okay to let things change. It's okay to let go."
When Barry started to finesse with the ring, Wally felt his heart skip. A feeling akin to horror sunk his stomach. A flood of memories and emotions seized him—every joke, every late night call, every summer day he spent with the person who had saved him, over and over, long before he had ever met the Flash—and the sheer power of her memory forced him grab Barry's hands, stopping him.
"Barry, don't," he pleaded. "Please don't."
Barry did stop. Wally could see the resistance in his eyes at first, this desperate need to prove himself—but it slowly faded the longer they looked eye to eye. Barry's hands separated. Wally's head fell forward, feeling so shaken that he couldn't be relieved.
He must have been visibly distressed because Barry suddenly reached for him, fingers threading through his hair. Wally felt their foreheads touch. Silence, save for their quiet breathing, filled the space between them.
"I just want things to go back to the way they used to be," Wally said, finally.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was trying to help."
Wally didn't move, letting Barry rest his head against him. But he looked, saw that the firefly had disappeared into the rest of the night. He checked the watch. They were running out of time.
Wally knew he had no right to. He owed Iris so much. And things with Barry would never be what they were supposed to be, in any sense. But he could feel this pull inside of him, telling him to do something. Before the moment was gone. Forever.
Wally rubbed his thumb over the engraving.
As a kid, he always did things without thinking.
When had that stopped?
When had he become so afraid?
He didn't take the time to build up the nerve. He tilted his head up, feeling Barry's head incline towards him, and Wally closed the distance before he could read the atmosphere. That moment, that fraction of a second when their lips touched, Wally felt that pull again. Reeling him in. He wrapped his hand around the back of Barry's head, bringing him in, deepening the kiss.
He had rushed into the kiss so fast, his lips moving almost desperately against Barry's, that he hadn't read Barry's reaction. When Barry pulled away, Wally could immediately feel the loss of the kiss. Before he could apologize, he felt a soft breath on his lips. Barry pulled away, but he hadn't left. Wally could feel him touching him, even when their kiss wasn't connected.
Barry's hands smoothed over Wally's cheeks, fingertips brushing over his ears and hair. He slowly sank back into the kiss and Wally closed his eyes, heartbeat picking up again, deciding yes, Barry's way was better. That soft, languid pull of lips and tongue and teeth.
This was something meant to be tasted, savored.
Later in his own bed, after the night was over, after the magic had faded, Wally held the watch in the air. In the dim lighting, he could see its surface.
Every second is a gift.
Wally turned it over, stared at the clockface, watching one second tick. Then another. Then another.
He searched for the pauses in-between. Tried to hold onto them. Tried to make them last a little longer. Just a little.
But the rhythmic turn of the hand beat on. And on. And on.
One of the many reasons to be a fan of the Flash: he always took a second to be with the people he saved. To check on them, to ask if they were alright. Wally used to obsessively read his aunt's articles—every story of the Flash contained some interview with the people he had saved. They all described the Flash, remarking on his speed, bravery, kindness, even humor.
Other heroes, even the especially kind ones like Superman, were normally skittish around civilians and the media. But not Flash.
Wally never told Barry—mostly out of sheer embarrassment—of his childhood dream: that one day, he'd be saved by the Flash, so he'd be given the opportunity to speak to a real hero.
Meeting the Flash hadn't played out the way that Wally always imagined it. There was no crisis to be averted, no villain to face, no day to save. It was just Barry in a Flash uniform in a lab, trying to make an impression on his fiance's nephew, trying to being a little cheer to some moody kid.
But the bottom line was that Barry did save Wally that day.
Wally watched the scene playing before him. His cousin was wearing his old colors. In the time Wally was gone, lost in the speedforce, Barry fought crime side by side with a new Kid Flash. And by the look in Barry's eyes as he spoke to Wallace, Wally could see that Barry hadn't changed a bit. That even after Wally was gone, Barry could still make a difference in a kid's life. That he had lessons to teach, lives to save.
Wally should have been upset to have been forgotten. He was upset, if he was honest with himself. But ultimately, he felt proud. For the longest time, when he thought he was losing his powers, Wally had wanted nothing more than to be a part of the speedforce. When it finally happened and the speedforce fell out of his control, when he sped through time and dimensions, lost and afraid and confused, he prayed that Barry would save him again. But now, Wally saw that his connection to the speedforce had passed down the ability to his cousin—and if Wally had contributed to that in anyway, if his getting lost in the speedforce meant that Barry could fight another day and Wallace could carry on the legacy of Kid Flash, then Wally was proud.
The world was safe. And more than that, Barry could have Iris again. He could have a Wallace West, if not a Wally West. Barry could be happy again.
Wally's time was over.
That was the thought that filled Wally's mind as he felt the speedforce pulling him back in. Pulling him for good.
It was time to let the past go.
His family. His friends. Linda.
If he could spend a hundred lifetimes over with any of them, he would. But we can't have every day.
Just once would suffice.
As fast as he had relived his memories, he could feel them slipping away. Fading and fading before his eyes, all colors converging into white. All sensation in his body was gone, all thoughts disappearing. He was getting closer to the end, closer to merging with the speedforce entirely, his senses dulling and dulling until—
"Wally?"
When Wally thought of home, a few things came to mind, but a tiny one-bedroom apartment in Central City wasn't one of them.
Wally had many homes in his lifetime. When he was supposed to be growing up in Blue Valley, he was spending his summers at his aunt's home in Central. When he bought his own house and it was destroyed, he built a home with Linda in downtown Keystone. The locations didn't mean much to Wally, simply because locations were never a constant in any part of his life. To Wally, home was not an address, it was a place he could call 'ours'.
Wally could look past the superficial differences between what Barry's place was and what he thought Barry's place should be. What he couldn't look past was the noticeable absence of another person's touch—specifically, Iris' touch. Barry and Iris didn't live together. They weren't even married. Barry's home had no photographs, no stray clothes, no mess, that left evidence of any West having lived in that place. Wally idly wandered around the apartment, waiting for Barry to finish setting up the bedroom—funny enough, Barry had never been more insistent, despite Wally's easy willingness to crash on the couch—and searched for the trail of Iris West. His eyes were open for handmade soaps, bottles of merlot, roughed-up notebooks, and cheap ballpoint pens stolen from banks and hotels. He didn't find any of those things.
Wally opened a kitchen cabinet. He glanced at the shaker of ground pepper and a memory sparked to life, of him helping Iris and Barry in the kitchen. Iris always cracked her own pepper. Wally frowned a little, mentally kicking himself for getting sad over something as silly as a nonexistent pepper grinder, but he couldn't help it. The whole situation was confusing and upsetting.
He was glad to be in that apartment. Truly. He had been running for so long, desperate to find the lightning rod that would bring him back home—wherever home was. The lifetimes he spent spinning in the timestream were terrifying and he was grateful to not only be free, but that he had landed somewhere stable. More importantly, he was grateful he landed somewhere with a Barry Allen, because while Iris would always be Wally's greatest savior, Barry had always been Wally's best guidance. If there was a path back to Wally's old life, Barry would aid the way.
Still, Wally wished things were simpler. He wished things were just the way he remembered it, without the horrors of the timestream intertwined. Wally still couldn't shake off the feeling that everything he touched was fake. That this was just a dream, a memory. That he'd blink and in an instant, he'd find himself still running through time again, a lost soul trying to attach itself to something real, forgotten as if he had never existed, the people he loved slipping further and further away, flitting between memories of his triumphs and greatest regrets.
"Wally?"
Wally had been staring at the cabinet. For how long? Wally was embarrassed to realize that he didn't know the answer to that. He looked over at Barry.
When he faltered, Barry gently suggested, "Are you hungry?"
"No," Wally said, closing the cabinet. "It's just—your place is different from what I remembered."
"Oh, well, I got the room set up for you," Barry said, still eyeing Wally closely.
Wally diverted his eyes. After the jubilance of being reunited had worn off, Barry reverted back into his natural protective state, and Wally had already grown sick of being watched like a fragile object. He pushed past Barry, walking himself to the bedroom. He flicked on the light, eyeing the neatly organized room. His eyes landed on the bedside table, expecting a small fan—something he and Iris had in common: they both liked the sound and the feeling of air on their faces as they slept—but there was nothing there, aside from a small stack of clothes.
"I set aside some things for you. I wasn't sure if—"Barry started, but Wally pressed on his ring, revealing a set of clothes on his body underneath the suit.
"I'm fine," Wally said. Quickly, not wanting to be mean, he added, "But thanks. I'll still need an outfit for tomorrow."
Wally glanced over his shoulder, seeing that Barry was still lingering in the doorway. Wally stopped, straightening himself.
"Barry, stop worrying. You're doing just fine. I would have been happy with the couch. You've done more than enough."
"Yeah, I know." Barry rubbed the back of his neck.
Wally's shoulders dropped. He pushed, "What is it then?"
"It's just—it's weird. I like seeing you. I didn't even realize you were missing until you showed up—but now I look at you, and I feel like I missed you. It doesn't make sense, I know, but…" He trailed off, with the awkward look of a man who realized he was rambling.
Wally blinked, not expecting that response. It lowered his defenses. He went back to that moment when Barry remembered him, when he pulled him out of the timestream. Wally tried to hold onto the joy he felt, almost like—like the first run after that fateful day with the lightning bolt, when he realized his purpose, when he became a part of something.
"I get it," Wally spoke up, before Barry could get away from him.
Wally glanced once more at Barry—God, he looked so young. He looked exactly like the day they had met. Wally admittedly missed the wizened eyes of the mentor he knew later in life. But he still looked—
Wally stopped that thought, turning away from Barry. When he looked away, he saw something sitting near the dresser. He drew in closer, closer—and with amazement, his heart skipping at the discovery, picked up the watch.
He turned it over, reading the inscription.
He was so blown away that his hand trembled.
But it was impossible. He had lost the watch. He wasn't sure where he had lost it—but he was certain it was gone.
Unless this wasn't the same watch. Unless this watch existed in its own timeframe, in the same way that all the familiar faces that Wally ran into had lived entirely different and separate lives than what he remembered.
Which, if that was the case, meant that Barry had never given him this watch. Which meant—
"Wally?"
Barry's voice snapped him out of his staring. Wally hadn't even heard Barry's approach. Barry had still been watching him the entire time. Something in the man's expression seemed wary.
"Sorry," Wally said, wondering if it'd be best to just set the watch back down. He didn't know what to say. He wanted to talk about the watch, to test Barry's memory, but part of him wondered if it was better to stay silent.
Barry looked at him almost expectantly. Wally's heart beat nervously.
"It's just, you probably don't know or remember this, but… there was a time when you gave me this watch."
Barry didn't say anything, seeming to think this over. Wally's gaze fell, inwardly berating himself for saying anything at all.
Let the past go.
"Sorry, here," Wally said, handing over the watch.
Barry took it and before Wally could move past him, he heard Barry murmur:
"I remember."
Wally froze in place. He thought over Barry's words, wondering if he truly meant it. It was impossible. If in this timeframe, Barry had never given him the watch, then how could he remember? Wally glanced at Barry, seeing the tight concentration in his eyes. Maybe remembering was impossible—but he could see that Barry was still trying. Trying to pull out his other memories from the timelines outside of his own.
Wally's heart was racing. Conflict clouded his mind, his chest tightening. He should stop this. Things had changed since that night. Entire lifetimes had been changed.
"Its okay if you don't," Wally said quietly.
Barry looked directly at him.
"How much do you remember?"
Wally breathed a little, considering the question.
"I don't know. The timelines are all spotty—the speedforce really mixed things up. My childhood seemed pretty consistent—"
"I meant the night I gave you the watch."
Wally fell silent.
The memory hadn't gone anywhere. But at Barry's mention of it, Wally could feel all the emotions from that night rush back into him. He felt that familiar pull, as hard as he tried to push it back. Stop this. He yearned to go back to the feeling when he kissed Barry, that moment of being fearless, driven by love and connection. But he stayed silent. He was afraid of heartbreak, afraid of being forgotten, afraid of interrupting the beautiful life that Barry had built for himself in Wally's absence.
Barry eventually turned away, setting the watch back on the stand.
A tentative hand reached out. Wally placed his hand on Barry's shoulder, and almost instantly, he felt his nerves slip away. Touching Barry felt so natural. Barry looked over his shoulder at him. Wally started to lean in.
"I don't think this is a good idea."
Wally stopped short of Barry's lips. He could feel his own heart beating. Nervous. Wally's gaze lowered, thinking.
"You've said that before," Wally murmured.
"And I was right, wasn't I?" Barry said. So, he remembered. But for once, Wally wasn't up for the challenge. He was still tender from the emotional wounds he suffered from all the people who hadn't remembered him. His hand went from Barry's shoulder to hanging loosely by his side. Wally suddenly felt Barry's touch on his cheek, remarkably gentle. "Wally—I haven't forgotten. It's just—things are so different from that time."
"It's okay, Barry. I understand," Wally said, removing Barry's hand.
"I mean it, Wally," Barry said, a power to his voice. Wally willed himself to look at him, saw the conviction in his eyes. "When I look back on my life, and I think about moments where I felt like something was missing, I now realize that what I was missing was you. It was always you."
"That's impossible," Wally decided, his voice dismissive. Barry was right. It was a different time. And even if Barry truly remembered everything, their lives were still so different. They were too different. And Barry had Iris, while Wally—Wally was supposed to have Linda but now he had no one, no family, no friends—
He started to move away. Hands fast, Barry grabbed him, pulling him back in. Once there, they stopped.
In that span of a moment, Wally felt something turn.
He blinked at Barry, noting the closed distance between them. And being this close to Barry—it felt like home. It reminded Wally of the good times, in between all of the bad. When no one else was, Barry was there, saving him again and again. And in that moment as they stared, everything came flooding back to Wally, pushing through him as surely as the moment Barry said his name, right as he pulled him and saved him from the timestream.
He kissed Barry hard. Barry was pushed back, a dull thud sounding as he was pushed against the dresser. Wally didn't let up, his hands on Barry's face, pulling him in—because fuck it, even if he'd regret it later, even if it was wrong, Wally had come so far and waited so long for this.
Barry's hands were over his, and Wally realized Barry was returning his kiss, lips moving against his. Wally felt the trace of Barry's tongue on his lip. His heart raced faster and faster, pumping with excitement, his breath shortening.
He felt Barry's hands on his body, the heat of his kiss, and it was like time hadn't skipped a beat—that they were still in that lost field, picking up where that first kiss had ended.
They moved faster, hands everywhere, mouths hungry. Barry yanked him in by his hips, a hand wrangling its way into Wally's jeans. Wally groaned against Barry's lip, hand digging through Barry's hair. Barry's hand grabbed him, skin against skin, working him up. Wally was quickly getting stiff. He mouthed at Barry's lips, the touch so warm.
Wally reached for his own clothes, pushing them past his hips. Barry adjusted his grip, his hand more firm now, the movements more seamless as he stroked Wally. Wally moaned into the kiss, wet and hot, filled Barry's mouth with his tongue.
Wally broke away, listened to Barry's breath hitch as Wally started to pull at his clothes too, hands yanking at the fastenings. Barry's body tensed—then relaxed, as Wally took him into his hand, stroking him as well. His sigh enters Wally's ear. Wally's entire body warms in response. He nipped at Barry's jawline, his ear, his neck. He stroked Barry's cock, grip firm, pace quick.
Wally's body pushed closer into Barry's. They're leaned up against the dresser for support, their bodies tangled. Their mouths met too hard, teeth catching, but Wally didn't care, too focused on the heat, the friction of where their bodies met. He had placed himself between Barry's legs, hand now wrapped around both of their erections. Every push and pull of Wally's hands grinded their cocks together, the friction and heat building.
Barry's hands were wrapped tight around his hips, thumbs digging into the hipbones. He rocked his hips, pushing up, his erection trapped between Wally's cock and hand. A moan shuddered past Wally's lips, eyelids lowering. The head of Barry's cock was leaking, the precum pressing against Wally's thumb. Wally resisted the urge to taste it, wrapped his hand a little tighter around their erections. He thrusted into his hand, listened to Barry's moan echo his as their cocks rubbed together.
Heat spread throughout Wally's body. Barry's hands roamed over his back, up his shirt, skin against skin. Barry was bucking up, meeting Wally's cock and hand. A breath shuddered in Wally's ear, sliding into a moan, and a shiver crawled down Wally's spine.
Wally picked up the pace of his hand. Their movements are frenzied now, the dresser groaning with every roll of Wally's hips. Wally feels Barry's forehead rest against his, feels each heated breath ghost against his wet lips. Suddenly, in the middle of it, he hears a soft sound breaking through the passion of Barry's voice, almost like a laugh.
Wally looked into his eyes, trying to figure it out.
"What?" Wally pushed.
Wally could feel Barry's head against his as he shook his head.
"Nothing. You're just—you're taller than I remembered."
Wally looked at him for a moment, then kissed him again.
Silhouetted against the night sky, Barry was just a dark shadow hovering over him, flickers of starlight on the high points of his face. Wally was locked under him, back pushed into the soft grass. The breeze was cool against Wally's bare skin but the space between him and Barry was so, so warm.
Wally's eyes closed shut as Barry's hot mouth pressed into his neck. Wally felt his throat tighten—then he moaned, hips stuttering as he pushed his cock into Barry's hand.
Wally's eyes opened again. Past Barry's shoulder, he could see a faint glow. The firefly coming back to life. They weren't just running out of time. They were racing it.
Even so, Barry never slowed down. Even so, he breathed into Wally's ear, "I need you here, with me."
And Wally wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Barry that he didn't need him at all, that Barry would leave him behind and forget about him—but maybe the fear swallowed Wally too deep, or maybe he just didn't want to ruin the moment.
He wrapped his arms and legs around Barry's form. The heat between their bodies was rising, rising. Wally felt his chest tightening, heart beating so fast it could burst. Maybe it would.
"Promise you'll stay," Barry murmured, lips moving across Wally's skin.
And Wally knew Barry meant it, could feel it in his voice, even if the aches in Wally's bones and the stars in his eyes from not stopping argued otherwise.
"Okay," Wally had said.
And when Wally thought back on that night and thought about it, he realized he had truly meant it.
Wherever Barry was, Wally stayed.
A/N: I tried to explain this in the fic but in case I didn't make it clear: In case you're wondering why Henry's watch still exists when it was supposed to be destroyed by Manhattan in the Rebirth issue, my theory is that the destroyed watch was from the post-crisis timeline, and that Henry's watch could still exist in N52/Rebirth timeline. I know that it's possible (and probably more likely) that Manhattan completely plucked the watch out of existence from all continuities but... I'm choosing to ignore that possibility for my fic. (I'm probably the only one overthinking this lol)
Thanks for reading!