His freckled fingers drum impatiently over the smudged glass of the coffee table, fanning before landing with a pitter-patter of hushed rhythm. His.
Wally is familiar with the habit. It's his after all.
"What do you think?" His thin lips draw apart, together, as the other boy asks this with a patient sort of smile — lips smooth and with the slight shine from his lip balm and pfffft, it wasn't girly to wear it when you actually needed it. Huh. Wally had no idea that he even had dimples.
Wally nods, continuing to eye the other boy from the bright blue eyelets of his trainers to the cowlicks of his orange hair. "Pretty good."
Absently, he threads the top of his own head and presses down.
The other boy's — HIS — smile widens pleasantly to reveal his teeth. And it sooo isn't sexy. Uhhhhh. Shit.
Wally jumps a little in his seat as his doppelganger stands from the butterfly chair, brushing his hands down the front of his wrinkled flannel shirt and walking around the coffee table. Wally's heart thuds a little in his throat when he bends forward, hands to knees, and familiar olive green eyes level. "I get it, Wally…" His own voice rasps, edging with determination. "I get it." Determination for what…?
Hands. Hands gently touch where his breast bone is, caressing into the gray flannel of Wally's shirt, and an index finger hooks the collar when Wally reacts with a weak shudder. Shit. "M—" Wally feels himself being yanked upwards. Lips. Oh, god, his lips are trapped by another smooth pair. Moist. They nudge Wally's to separate and, god, his tongue, his own tongue rubs languidly, cautiously against his.
Tongue fucked. Wally is being tongue fucked. By his own tongue. There were a lot of things wrong with this picture. A lot, a lot of things wrong. But…
Wally squeezes his eyes shut, groaning into the possessive kiss and digging his nails into the stripe of skin exposing the lower back underneath the other boy's shirt. An echoing groan, higher in pitch — and it is the one thing that distinguishes an individual trait between both boys. He, he, tastes like the cheesecake Danishes several hours ago. His doppelganger pulls from the shared airspace, dabbing saliva from Wally's chin with a thumb. Almost motherly in fashion. "Not bad for a first time, huh?"
"Your freckles are green," Wally manages to inform him. Speaking is hard. "…should fix that." For the briefest of moments, the olive green of his irises mottles with a coppery color before solidifying green. The freckles darken immediately to brown. Wally asks painfully, "Am I really that much of a manslut?"
Instead of patient, instead of leering, his own smile is sympathetic. "Sorry, Wally." Looking outright embarrassed is something new to Wally. Looking at himself looking embarrassed is… well, you get the picture. "I should have tried to establish a stronger control of your emotions. Or…on your hormones."
"…" A feeble chuckle. Oh god, he is a manslut. He is a manslut and someone else knows.
"…you're getting better at shape-shifting at least?"
The other "boy" gives him a Wally style, one-arm shrug.
"That's the good news."
A cringe. "Wait… there's news?" A hint of panic. "Wait… there's bad news?"
"I can't…" Wally watches with semi-horror as pale, freckled cheeks flush uncomfortably. "…shift into my true form when… aroused."
His frowning doppelganger cups a hand over himself. Aroused.
"Does that mean…" No no no. Stay down. This is not sexy. Unnnnf. "We have to…?"
A firm head shake. "There is nothing you need to do, Wally. This is not your fault."
The frown quivers. No tears building up. Good. How do you comfort yourself crying?
"I just… I don't know…"
"I can, uh…" So not awkward. "…show you?" Wally offers. The flush deepens and the original pair of green eyes widen impossibly big. Wally waves his hands frantically. "Not like— no, I wouldn't take advantage of me—you—uh-!"
The other Wally keeps his hand over the space of his jean crouch, simpering. "I can figure it out…I've researched the male anatomy and it's…o-oh—!" His hand jerks away, as if coming into contact with something hot, and Wally can definitely see now the tent from where he is. That hand… is blurring.
"Don't do that." Wally stands and cradles the other's face, keeping eye contact and ordering sternly, "Calm down. Take a breath." The other Wally reddened and flustered does as he is told, releasing a long inhale. His entire right arm is blurring. Wally licks his lips. "I'm going to try to… channel it out."
"Will that work?"
Lying wouldn't help. "…I have no idea," Wally confesses, and takes the plunge by clamping onto that right arm with his hands. It's not like Barry's vibrations at all; these feel… choppy… volatile. He tries to match the frequency and it works somewhat but… these are his powers. Wally knows them. They aren't developed. They are… as much as he would to not to acknowledge it… they are dangerous. And all of this for helping his teammate practice shifting into men?
The other Wally steps out of his grasp as Wally lets go, buzzing in place for a few seconds (in reality nothing more than a rainbow strobe of flannel-colored, orange, bright blue) and stills, breathing hard. "Your powers are… chaotic."
"Tell me about it," Wally answers dryly. "You need to change back soon."
His doppelganger makes an agreeable noise, weaving around Wally and the coffee table, mumbling an "-just excuse myself."
He squeaks — Wally didn't know he squeaked — when Wally wraps a hand in his and pulls him back to his side with a serious expression. "No offense but I don't trust you by yourself. Besides…" A mischievous grin that is mirrored back as the last sentence registers, "I know where all our spots are."
Written on impulse. Kinda a strange AU. But hnnng, okay, when I saw comics M'gann shape-shift to Tim Drake to save him from a fatal bullet wound…I had urges for more things like that. Hence my impulse. I give full blame to the antics of Roro (lilnarusasu on Tumblr) and Kelly (Vladbride on FFN). WALLYCEPTION. WE MUST GO DEEPER.