Coming back from the world of the sleeping dead — or really intoxicated sleeping dead, the taste on the back of Dick's tongue was sour-ish and tangy. And he felt cold. But warm. Wait… wait.
Wally laid between the crook of his legs on the tiny sofa, head resting on Dick's stomach exposed to the air conditioning by how his shirt was pushed up his chest. Provided the blackout, Dick wasn't one hundred percent if his best friend had been in that position originally when they had crashed (from awesomely bad 80s movies and booze-fest in the old gaming room). But, Wally… wasn't he on the floor…?
No, wait. Screw this. Headache coming in.
Dick groaned as it hit in roaring waves, letting his head sink back onto the springy cushion, and his hand not brought up to clutch at his face decided to scramble out for something to drink.
The lukewarm vodka eased the roaring inside his skull to a minimum and Dick began feeling hovery again. Okay, better than nothing… would regret downing the rest of that bottle in about an hour though…
"Nnhha…" Wally protested in his sleep. He shifted his cheek once flat to Dick's skin, opening his eyes into small, green-iris slits, and let his nose press into Dick's bellybutton.
"Morning, dude," Dick greeted him, face warming with stupid emotions he didn't feel like getting into right now with a worsening hangover.
Wally muffled out his next sentence, twirling one of his hands limply, the other pressing between the sofa cushion underneath them and cradling Dick's ass. He tried again. "…is that why everything kinda hurts?" Dick contained his outright shivering as his best friend's lips nuzzled him, nuzzled the fine hair just above his waistband. Trying to be nerved. Keeping out all the un-.
"Were you expecting not to be hurting?"
"I don't know, maybe not," the speedster explained, complacently, and looked up at Dick with a rueful sort of half smile. "Worth it?"
"Killer Klowns from Outer Space was totally worth it."
"Remember those cotton candy cocoons?"
"Ppfft." Dick grinned. "So lame."
Wally laughed along with him, letting out a gasping hiccup that was… almost cute in a way.
A crusted bit of vibrantly neon-pink frosting clung to the inside, right-hand corner of Wally's mouth — evidence from the massive and overnight slaughter of cheaply made, yellow cake cupcakes.
"Are you still drunk?" Dick asked him this, taking a moment to stretch his arms over his head.
Wally said with a straight face, lips drawing apart, observing Dick's face, "You… keep moving. And…" He blinked rapidly. "…it feels like there's pillows stuffed between my ears."
"Okay, I think you need water before you blackout."
Dick nodded back — slowly, or he knew he risked another round of headaches — and he scooted himself away as Wally planted himself up with his hands. Dick's yellow and blue-striped polo shirt uncomfortably damp with a layer of sweat to his pits. Coordination, admittedly, wasn't in the programming when under the influence. Or wishing to out-fluence. But he knew that he could have avoided kissing the speedster, no matter how much of time Dick toyed with the possibility (for weeks, weeks — and, capitalized W-O-W, why didn't they ever notice this sexual tension earlier in their lives?)
Wally's hand crawled through the ends of black hair, combing them away from Dick's neck, and the other could feel his pulse rate speed up when Wally's lips realigned to another, much needier kiss. Dick groaned softly into it, fingers clamping into Wally's shoulders, and he licked away that spot of frosting when his mouth opening wider, stroking his tongue back against Wally's seeking out his.
"How much trouble would I be in?" Wally murmured. His partially drained glass of cold water rested, locked around his fingers to his right hand.
"For what?" Dick's numbing lips quirked. "For the already violated law about illegal drinking or for the clear intention to commit statutory rape?" He purposely rolled his hip grasped by Wally's palm.
The eighteen-year-old started to seriously frown, hardly able to mask signs of concern in it.
"The age of consent is sixteen, right?"
"Yeah, genius," Dick cackled his response, reaching out to flick the tip of a freckled nose and ignoring the cry of "EXCUSE me for not knowing everything like you-!". It should have been a glaring warning right there but Dick flashed an innocent smile — leaning into Wally's space once again. "Did I ever tell you that sixteen is legal in the Batcave?" Wally's expression drifted to frustration and to frustrated awe.
His forehead thumped against Dick's collarbone. A pathetic whimper.
"…why do you do this to me?"
"Because it's you."
I almost didn't want to work on this because Wally = drunk naturally doesn't work very well with his amazing metabolism buuuuuut… I cheated a bit and it looks believable enough. -shrug-
(503): Do you remember waking up from your blackout, kissing me ever so softly on the stomach, and saying "I love you, bro. So much," then passing back out?
Bro-Cuddles that lead to kisses that lead to other things? Bro-Cuddles that lead to kisses that lead to other things."