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Sometimes	By : aranel Category: DC Verse Comics > Teen Titans Views: 2374 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Sometimes
- 1
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I pretend to own any recognizable characters within this work of fiction. They are the sole property of DC and I am just borrowing them for a bit of fun.
Pairing: Wally/Linda, Wally/Dick

Sometimes, Wally thinks it’d be too easy. Sure, he’s a terrible liar, but who needs to lie, when they can out talk and out run, and basically flee at every moment of budding suspicion? Of course, it couldn’t last long, but does he really need it to?

Sometimes – Wally will admit – the hero business is the loneliest business of all. All heroes do is live and die. Their merit isn’t based on the important things. Like how they sacrifice family time for saving the world time. Or how very hard it is to keep a secret identity steady, especially when the world is in dire crisis every fifteen minutes.

Sometimes Wally wonders if he’d really be able to do it. It’s not like anyone has to know. Not that he’s stupid. He knows, above all else, he’s being followed, tracked. For whose ultimate protection, he’s not sure. But, after a while, you stop thinking about who’s watching, because dwelling will drive you insane, and besides, Batman’s always watching.

Sometimes, he’s sure he can do it. Get up and go. Run all the way there and through the door, and catch him in bed. Because, in his mind, Dick’s always in bed. Even though, he knows Dick’s on patrol from dusk ‘til dawn. It ruins the fantasy to think otherwise.

Sometimes he makes it out of bed. Sometimes he makes it down the hall. Sometimes he makes it all the way out of the city. But, he can never quite make it those final twenty miles. Always finds himself hovering just outside of Bludhaven. Wondering. Always wondering.

Sometimes, he wonders if he spends too much time thinking about Dick. If thinking about him so much is what drives this obsession. This compulsive need to be near him. The desire to be touched by him. The yearning that eats away at his insides. Eating him away. Tearing him in another direction, when he knows he should be grateful. When he knows he shouldn’t look back.

Sometimes it’s easy to look away. To go about his day. To fight crime. To go to work. To go home to Linda. Eat dinner with her, make chit chat, see how long they can make love before he’s forced to the tower, or out in the street. Serving and protecting, and never getting rewarded. At least, that’s how he feels most days.

Sometimes, Wally feels guilty. How could he possibly feel so negatively about what he has no power to change? He was granted the speed force, so he would be able to help others. To protect the helpless, and defend the weak and innocent. And all those other good things that comes with being a hero. Adoration? No. Gratitude? That’s welcome. It’s embarrassing when they cheer, and hold parades, and get in the way just to catch a glimpse of him. Wally knows he should be grateful back. But, he can’t help but feel they do it for all the wrong reasons.

Sometimes, all he can think about is life before. When they knew. And life before that, when they didn’t. And life before that. When Barry wore the suit, and seemed to know everything, even when he didn’t. Even when he was confused, Barry was always assertive. Wally feels hopelessly inadequate. He picked up after Barry so he wouldn’t be forgotten. Now a days, he feels like he’s done nothing, but tarnish the Flash name.

Sometimes he looks at Linda and thinks of Aunt Iris. Thinks of Barry. Of when Aunt Iris didn’t know, and Barry didn’t tell, and wonders how they did it.

Sometimes he looks at Jay and wonders if he’ll live as long. If he’ll ever survive to be as great. If he’ll ever know as much as Jay does. Ever be capable of distributing knowledge like he does.

Sometimes when he looks at Bart, all he sees is himself. And he’s afraid for him.

Sometimes all he sees is Barry, and he’s even more afraid.

Sometimes, more often than he’d care to admit, he thinks of how much easier it would be if it hadn’t been Linda. If it’d been someone else. Someone who understood. Or no one at all, and at least then he’d feel less guilty all the time.

Sometimes, he wakes to the sounds of screams.

Sometimes they’re Linda’s. More often, they’re his own. And then there are the screams only he hears. And it’s times like that he wants to run until his lungs burst. He’s pretty sure it’s impossible, but he could sure as hell try. No one really understands their powers anyway. Not even the wielders.

Sometimes that’s a comforting thought.

Sometimes, it’s more frightening than facing this month’s apocalypse.

Sometimes Wally’s hand’s to his cock before he’s even entertained the thought. Before it’s even formed, he’s stroking himself. Moaning softly, quietly. Breath hitching, as his hand goes slowly, the rest of his body vibrating from holding back, from the pleasure he’s eliciting.

Sometimes he’s in bed beside her, but it’s not as often as when he’s alone. And he always makes sure no one can hear, when he comes. Head thrown back and throat exposed. Chest out, back arched, legs spread. And always, always, his mind whispers. ‘Dick…’

Sometimes, he’s embarrassed. He can’t even bear to pass Bludhaven, Gotham…the entire state. And on really bad days…when he’s spent a whole ten minutes drawing out the pleasure, to the erratic beating of his heart, he can’t even look Batman in the eye. Avoids him completely. And while Bruce may not comment, Wally knows he’s dissecting him. Knows it’s only a matter of time.

Sometimes, he’s scared. He wonders if Bruce will tell Dick. Then what would he say? Depending on when Dick confronts him, he’s sure he’ll come up with something. If Dick throws a punch, he’ll know which direction to volley. If Dick laughs, he’ll laugh too. If Dick stares him down, trying to look through him, Wally will fidget, and let him.

Sometimes though, Wally can’t help but wonder, what would happen if Dick did none of those things. Wonder what he’d do if Dick took initiative. What would he do if Dick kissed him? He thinks he knows how he’d react. Thinks he knows how he’ll want to. He’ll want to press up against him, and kiss him hard. Run quick fingers all over his body, in case Dick thinks he wants to step away. Clutch him close and press him back, and show him.

Sometimes Wally wishes he could. But, Wally’s no fool, and he knows there’s no way. He’s married. And taken, free or otherwise, Dick will respect Linda’s claim.

Sometimes Wally wants to scream. Wants to make a scene, and let it all out. Because, God damn it, it fucking hurts! And he’s suffocating. And if he gets any more claustrophobic in his own skin, he feels he just may scream. Scream and scream and scream, until they tuck his arms tight to his chest and buckle them to his back. He could get free if he really wanted. But he knows if he did crack, he wouldn’t want to. He’d want the padded room, and the surveillance cameras, and the therapists and drugs that wouldn’t help a damn thing. Because his metabolism is enough insanity for one man, let alone piling more and more on top. Bursting at the seams like an old teddy bear that’s all hugged out. Except, Wally’s not. He’s not hugged out, and Dick’s not hugged. Not ever.

Sometimes he wonders what Dick would do if he hugged him. Wonders what Dick would do if he were insane and committed. Would it ruin their friendship? Would it eradicate any chances he may have? Would Dick even visit? The Bat clan is strange in their intimate dance with sanity. To the one side, the fallen, and to the other the falling. And Wally’s never quite sure on which side Dick will stop dancing.

Sometimes, he’s compelled to go to him. Just to see what he’d do. If Wally appeared, and showed him the passion that people can still keep inside. Protected from all the pain and death. Unmarred, and unstained, and pure. Would he kiss back? Press close? Moan and whine, and writhe. Would he let Wally taste him everywhere? Would he even let him taste him somewhere?

Sometimes Wally thinks he would. And other times, he thinks he wouldn’t. And then there are the times he’s never quite sure. Because this is Dick, and Dick is unpredictable. Even if you know him well.

Sometimes Wally imagines so hard, he’s coming and coming, and it’s not until he opens his eyes that he realizes what he’s done. He rolls off her, and feels disgusted. Because Linda and Dick are different. He loves Linda. He loves her so much it hurts.

Sometimes he’s not sure why though.

Sometimes he’s so confused, he feels he’s betrayed her. Even if he’s done nothing but imagine. But if feels like being unfaithful. When the average man thinks about sex every four seconds, one can only imagine how often a man at super speed thinks about it. But they could never understand how all consuming it is.

Sometimes he’s sure it’s just the pressure. He’s known Dick his entire life. Dick is safe, and stable, and Wally can’t help but be comfortable, even if he’s facing down his likely imminent death. If Dick is nearby, he feels he could lay down his life without a second thought. And then he thinks of Linda, and fights back. He doesn’t want to leave her alone. The widow of a martyr. A widow’s still a widow, regardless of how her husband died. She’s still alone. Wally doesn’t want to ever, ever leave Linda alone like that.

Sometimes, he’s absolutely certain things will turn out right. He and Linda will have children, and grow old and live as happily ever after as he can procure for them.

Sometimes he’s completely positive they won’t survive. He’d be doing them both a favor. And it would hurt, but not as much as him dying.

Sometimes, he makes it across the country. Into the state. To the city limits. And then he looks in, and wonders. There’s no shortage of excuses. They’re friends after all. And his life is hell. Linda cries when she thinks he’s not around. Curls up and sobs her heart out. He knows somewhere, she still blames him. And it’s then that he thinks he can pass into the city. When the doctors say it’s impossible. When the specialists say they can’t do a thing. When his teammates can’t heal a barren womb. So they can’t have a child to make it better.

Sometimes Wally gives in. Sometimes he searches. But when he finds him, he just watches. Watches from far away. Imagines a sleek, toned body against his own. Strong arms and a warm mouth, and a heart that speaks to him. ‘It’s all right, Wally. It’ll be all right.’

Sometimes he’s convinced…if he could just hear it…Everything will be all right. He goes home, and finds Linda, and holds her tight and tells her. She always says it won’t, and cries harder. And Wally tries to be optimistic, he really tries. And chokes on the bitterness.

Sometimes, he stands at the window. When she’s asleep, and there’s no crime or urgent call. Stands and wonders. Stands and hopes. Wants to cry and holds it in. Wants to be held so badly, he aches, as if it’s still inside, tearing him apart. It’s then he just wants to scream, but doesn’t. Paces. Claws at the curtains. Heart screaming, eyes clouding. Wanting…just wanting…waiting…for someone…to just….

Sometimes, only sometimes. When Wally’s too exhausted to carry on. When he’s secretly sobbed himself to sleep. Arms tucked tightly about him, and quilt tucked and draped, like a body to cling to.

Sometimes, in those dark moments. Between sleep and consciousness. Hope and hopelessness. Redemption and damnation.

Sometimes, just sometimes. The window opens, and a hand strokes back his hair. Lips kiss his temple. And a warm voice says, so very softly, “Don’t worry Wally. It will. It will.”
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Sometimes