He was dead weight in Bruce's arms — wait, correction — he was squirmy weight in Bruce's arms.
"If you don't stop," Bruce threatened, gruffly, "then I'm not responsible for your condition when you get dropped."
"Aaaasprin…" groaned the man cradled stiffly in his arms, cowled head dangling backwards in the air.
"If you are patient." Bruce knew well that a twisted ankle to a self-healing speedster held as much significance as a splinter to an average human — but the way Wally was acting so dependent and whiny and doing all of this so childishly over atwisted ankle was somewhere between mildly exasperating and unnerving. "I'm going to set you down on this couch. Don't move that leg."
Easy enough. Leave the front room of Headquarters and retrieve the first aid kit from the cabinet. Inspect the damage and splint if necessary (though he estimated it as minimal damage). Wally rocketed from his sitting position in the middle of the inspection portion, now exposed face tensing. Bruce pulled back, meditative frown deepening. "Are you in more pain?"
"..-I'm fine…" The younger man insisted breathily, his red, costumed fingers gripping and denting the plush of the couch's armrest. "I just…It just…ow…will take an hour…"
"Anything minor with you usually takes less than twenty minutes." And now Wally was unconcerned about his own injuries? Bruce's eyes behind the cowl narrowed. "What aren't you telling me, Flash?" When green eyes were cast down, Bruce's voice boomed, "Wally."
"Metabolic changes…" Wally's tone vacant, "rapid changes that I've been keeping track of…-"
"And you were planning on telling me when exactly?"
Wally mirrored the dark frown. "I'm not a little kid, Batman; geez…" He then pouted a little, pretending to look up uncertainly through his light eyelashes at the older man. "Though a kiss might make my boo-boos feel better?" Wally's index finger pointed unabashed to the contour of his soft-looking, top lip. "Got one right here too…just in case you were wonderin'…"
Bruce's frown twitched up.
"It will heal fine on its own…" he began, tolerantly, and that sense of false and uncaring patience broke apart completely when Wally swooped up to kiss him fiercely and reined a muscular arm around Bruce's armored neck tight. There were hands that roamed and heat and hardly a moment to reflect on a passerby — if any would appear. Wally's painful whimpering smothered into the kiss.
Bruce's hand thoughtfully palmed Wally's injured leg.
"…I'm erasing the surveillance footage."
Wally laughed, and, god, if it wasn't pretty. "That—or you keep them in a private stack in our bedroom. That one from last week was pretty hot and heavy with all the moaning…"
"Hn. Keep quiet and let me finish."
"Hey, that's funny, that's what you said to me when we were fuc—OooooW!"
Repost from my Tumblr and Livejournal. Still dedicated to slashysandwitches.