If Wally's face wasn't so flaming red with embarrassment, Barry may have started laughing.
The nightclub outfit would be hideous on anyone else, in his opinion. A black top with no sleeves, silver sequins dotting along towards the hem. Silver, hoop bracelets bangling against lightly freckled wrists. Miniskirt consisting of a black strip of cloth, hugging the swell of Wally's muscle-toned ass, and fuchsia pink ruffles fluffing at his thighs. Shaved thighs, no less.
Barry clears his throat, to cover up any traces of mirth wanting to slip from his rigorous control. He rubs his chin, pulling on a pseudo-thoughtful stare.
"So… what exactly is the get-up for again?"
"Information gathering. Wasn't… uhh…" Wally's hands tug down on the ruffles, cheeks delightfully bright with color still. Darkening the careless scatter of freckles across his cheekbones. "I, um, I just got back. I haven't changed—will you stop looking at me like that?" he cries out, exasperated when Barry's amused grin splits to reveal his teeth.
His uncle lifts his arm from balancing on the kitchen door-frame, coming forward in the hallway.
"You don't look like yourself, sorry."
Gently, so gently, Barry's large fingers burrow into the realistic blonde wig on Wally's head, meticulously slipping out the hairpins keeping it in place. The seventeen-year-old grumbles under his breath but remains where he is standing on the braided rug, just within the hallway, limbs humming with impatience. Barry's powers hum back against him, almost like a quick, non-verbal reprimanding, until Wally calms for a moment. He pulls off the wig. His index finger slides across Wally's temple. Taps along the dusting of freckles.
He resists the urge to kiss them. So gorgeous.
"There," Barry says, and it sounds relieved, "there's my Wally."
Wally's lips curl up slowly. "Except, you know… the bad makeup and the perfume that smells like a baby prostitute."
The same finger brushes a bit of cream-colored eye shadow from Wally's left eyelid fluttering shut for him.
"It washes off," his uncle reminds him.
That should be the end of it. Barry says goodnight, makes sure Wally heads upstairs to his room, that he does his homework and goes to bed. Pours himself a little more wine, flips off the television. Sits in the dark and waits for Wally's parents to return, makes excuses to why he was around. They had only been gone a few hours. Wally didn't need a babysitter.
But they can't stay away. Not with the opportunity to be alone so unmistakable.
Something clicks and shifts effortlessly into its proper slot — Wally's eye still open, still gazing so intently up at him, the gears rotating in Barry's head.
A whisper. Wally's voice uncharacteristically soft, meek.
"You've been a very bad girl," he says, emphasising the role-play with a disappointed frown. "Came home later than usual, didn't you? You didn't even answer my calls. You know better."
"No excuses this time." Barry cradles up Wally's chin with one of his hands, thumbpad pushing away the sheen of flavored, pink lip-gloss from his lower lip. "You need to be taught a lesson, sweetie. I'm sorry." His blue eyes narrow when Wally's gaze attempts to cast itself downwards, mascara-heavy eyelashes gathering together. "Belt or my hand?"
Wally's voice cracks, "H-hand," louder than it should have with forcing it out, but the effect holds the desired results. His uncle roughly snatches onto his forearm, straight-faced as before, leading him to the roomy, tweed couch in the family living room. Pulls him to fling over Barry's lap. Wally's ruffled-covered ass positioned within easy reach. Skin feeling the cool breeze when Barry yanks away the stretchy, black undies to the backs of Wally's thighs. He's getting hard already, from the manhandling, from the warmth of Barry's legs pressing into his abdomen. He's completely unprepared for the sting of the first slap on his right buttock. Wally yelps, body jolting, cramming the side of his hand into his mouth to silence himself.
The fake, silicone breasts smash between the flat of the couch cushion and his chest, where he's laid out. Barry's other hand keeps a solid pressure on his lower back, preventing him from bucking up as faster, harsh slaps follow. His uncle switches spanking the left and right buttock, sometimes aiming for the center or right where Wally's thighs meet. Each hit punches a little air from Wally's lungs, in the form of muffled sighs and whimpers. His skull tight, pounding with his heartbeat, and he feels it right down to his dick.
Wally shudders, removing his hand and burying his face into the crook of his arm when saliva-wet fingers deliberately rub circles into the inflamed, abused skin.
"Did you learn your lesson, baby?" Barry asks him, velvet-smooth.
A thunk of a glass.
It was gonna happen. The curiosity gets the better of him. Wally glances briefly over his shoulder, eyes wide when Barry plucks a melted piece of ice from his drink. Buzzes faintly and keens helplessly when it creates lazy patterns on Wally's ass, chilly against his blood-red, sore skin and dripping wet. Can'tcan'tcan't—
He must be repeating it under his breath, again and again, because of the slow kiss pressing the nape of his sweaty neck, another behind his ear.
"Can't resist you, let you get away with everything," Barry mumbles, releasing his hip to knead him, Wally's hips arching up from Barry's lap. Fingers trailing the silky line of Wally's ass, creating sweet friction. One of Barry's hands reaches under the hideous miniskirt, fisting him with renewed wet fingers. "Spoil you, anything you want." Wally nods, head down, moaning out loud and squirming, close, so close. "Want you to be my good little girl." Another spank, more powerful and swifter, with the entire length of Barry's hand, perfectly timed with a long stroke on Wally's fattening dick. A screaming groan rips out of him and he comes, pulse after pulse of slick onto the cashmere material of Barry's dress pants.
With some aid, the teenager sits up, panting. Their eyes meet, glowing familiarly with affection. Wally nips Barry's lip in a lightning-quick, rough kiss, earning him a pinch of his leg.
"Are you okay?"
"Mmhm, 'course," Wally nods again, languid. "As good as that was," he points out, looking down and poking at a lopsided, fake breast. "I really hate these clothes."
Barry tugs up the shirt, like an unspoken command, unhooking the bra from behind Wally and letting his nephew slip it off. Exposes his pale, sinewy chest. He can't resist, he really can't. Barry touches his mouth to Wally's pec, licking around a nipple, up a collarbone. His fingertips tap out the existence of his tiny, brown freckles on a heaving chest.
"You know what they say about these?" he says.
Wally's green eyes follow his fingers. "What, freckles? What about them?"
"They're called angel kisses." Barry chuckles. "And you're obviously very well-loved, Wally."
"Uncle Barry… that's…" He gives him a mock-distrustful stare, finishing, "…incredibly lame, wow."
Wally snickers when Barry's arm locks round his neck, a balled-up first mussing his hair.
"Alright, smart aleck, homework. Now." There's no mistaking the sternness. Barry sighs, getting onto his feet. "Aaaand, I'm going to find a change of clothes, kiddo."
The mess. Body shimmer and Wally's come all over his pants and shirt. He would need to scrub out the cushion Wally had been leaning into… thank god his parents would be in late. Wally snorts, with a cocky smile and eyes raking him before he takes off for the stairs, shirtless and flawless limbs. The ruffle-miniskirt stickied and damp.
Barry reaches down, adjusting himself. It's an image that, without a doubt, will haunt Barry for the next few minutes, hour, next week even.
Until they can do this over all again.
Request from Aqua Rainrose: "Barry/Wally. Smutty, freckle fetish, sexy clothes after a mission, feminization." And they were kind enough to leave the rest up to me. I really hope that this was what you were hoping for, m'dear. And my Barry/Wally readers get a little more from me. Feel free to leave a comment/question, guuuuys. Thanks so much for reading~~