#flash smut

One minute.

Wally’s grin faltered. His breathing picked up. “Okay… maybe not as easy as I thought. But still fine. Totally fine.”

Two minutes.

His arms were shaking now. A small bead of sweat ran down his temple. “Fuck… why does this hurt so much? I run at Mach speeds and this is what gets me?”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “Because you’re using muscles you don’t usually use for running, genius. Keep going. I’m enjoying the show.”

He huffed a laugh, but it came out strained. “You’re evil. You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Three minutes.

Wally’s whole body was trembling. His breathing was ragged, little grunts escaping him with every second he held on. “Okay… okay, this is harder than it looks. My arms are burning. My core is on fire. Why did I think this was a good idea?”

You leaned closer, resting your chin on your hand. “Because you wanted to show off for your girlfriend. And it’s working. You look really good like this.”

He whimpered.

Actually whimpered.

The sound was small, desperate, and ridiculously hot. His hips dipped for half a second before he forced them back up, arms shaking violently.

“Baby— fuck— I can’t— I’m gonna—”

Four minutes and twelve seconds.

Wally collapsed with a dramatic groan, face planting into the carpet. He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his skin, arms spread out like he’d just run a marathon.

“I’m dead,” he panted. “Tell my mother I loved her. Don’t tell the Justice League I went out doing something stupid for clout.”

You laughed, sliding off the couch to straddle his waist. He groaned again — this time less from pain and more from the way you settled on top of him.

“You lasted longer than most guys on the trend,” you teased, running your hands over his chest. His skin was warm and slick with sweat, muscles still twitching from the effort. “And you made the cutest noises at the end.”

He covered his face with both hands, mortified. “I did not whimper.”

“You whimpered,” you said, grinning. You pried his hands away and leaned down, kissing him softly. “It was adorable. And hot. Very hot.”

Wally’s hands settled on your hips, thumbs stroking the skin under your shirt. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Nope.” You kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way he melted under you. His hands slid higher, slipping under your shirt to rest warm against your bare back. The touch was comforting, but there was heat in it too — the way his fingers pressed into your skin, the way his hips shifted just slightly under you.

“You’re evil,” he murmured against your lips. “Making me do that and then sitting on me like this. I’m trying to recover and you’re making it very hard to think straight.”

You rocked against him once, teasing, and he groaned, head falling back against the carpet.

“Baby,” he warned, voice rough. “You keep doing that and this is going to turn into something else entirely.”

You smiled innocently, but your hands were already tracing the lines of his abs, feeling the way they tensed under your touch. “Maybe I want it to.”

Wally’s eyes darkened. He flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath him on the carpet. His body was warm and heavy in the best way, sweat-slick skin pressing against yours.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, kissing you deeply as his hands roamed your body.

He kissed down your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive skin, then lower, pushing your shirt up so he could mouth at your chest. Every touch was reverent but hungry, like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing hard, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he said, voice rough. “Even when you make me do stupid trends and then tease me about it.”

You laughed softly, fingers threading through his hair. “I love you too. My dramatic, whimpering, incredibly hot boyfriend.”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck. “Never letting me live that down.”

“Never,” you agreed, kissing his shoulder. “But I’ll make it worth your while.”

Wally held you like that for a long time — bodies tangled on the living room floor, his head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. The city hummed far below, but in your apartment, everything felt warm and safe and silly and perfect.

He might be the fastest man alive.

But with you, he was perfectly happy to slow down and let you win every single time.

camboy!barry allen who loves the way the chat explodes when he pauses, his cock throbbing in the air, untouched and leaking. he scrolls through the comments with one hand, the other lazily circling a nipple until it’s peaked and sensitive.

“you guys are so greedy tonight,” he murmurs, voice breathy and low, the mic catching every hitch. someone tips big for him to say their name, he does, drawn out and filthy, like he’s tasting it. another tip for a moan. he gives them three, each one louder, hips twitching involuntarily.

camboy!barry allen who finally slips the cock ring off after twenty minutes of denial. he hisses, thighs trembling, and the chat loses it—tips raining like confetti. he doesn’t touch himself yet, just lets the blood rush back, lets them see how swollen and red he is. “not yet,” he whispers, like he’s talking to himself. “wanna make it good for you.”

camboy!barry allen who edges again, slower this time, thumb pressing just under the head until his legs shake. he’s dripping onto his abs now, a thin strand connecting his cock to his skin every time he pulls away. the lights catch the sheen, make it look obscene. he reads a comment asking him to beg, he laughs, then actually does it. “please, fuck, let me cum.” the tips hit a new record.

camboy!barry allen who cums like he’s been holding it for days, back arching off the chair, a broken cry ripping out of him. ropes of it hit his chest, his neck, his chin. he milks himself through it, until he’s oversensitive and whimpering again. the chat calls him beautiful. he believes them, just for a second, before he wipes himself clean with a towel and signs off with a lazy, “see you next week, loves.”

camboy!barry allen who didn't know that you were seeing his videos. his former teammate, his ex-girlfriend? ex-situationship? he never knows how to call you. now that he's retired, it's been almost a year since you two don't talk. now that you are fighting and he's not, your lives are not compatible

camboy!barry allen who almost drops his phone the night your username appears in the tip leaderboard. not your real name, but close enough—initials flipped, a reference only someone from the old days would catch. he stares at it for a full minute, cock still half-hard from the stream, brain short-circuiting. no way. but the tip note says: missed that sound.

camboy!barry allen who spends the next week paranoid, triple-checking his angles, the screen, the lighting. he tells himself it’s coincidence. lots of people have those initials. lots of people miss him.

camboy!barry allen who, during the next stream, almost says your name when someone tips for a moan. catches himself at the last second, turns it into a shaky laugh. “you guys are gonna kill me,” he breathes, but his eyes flick to the chat like he’s waiting for you to speak again. you don’t. you just watch. and tip again. still the fastest hands i know.

camboy!barry allen who ends the stream early for the first time in months. sits in the dark with the glow of the monitor, fingers hovering over the keyboard. types: hey. it’s me. deletes it. types: wanna go for a coffee? deletes it. finally settles on: you weren't supposed to see that.

camboy!barry allen who stares at the message he sends and immediately regrets it. too vulnerable. too barry. he’s about to delete it when the three dots appear. your reply: too late. still think you owe me an explanation, allen. then another: and maybe a drink. your place?

camboy!barry allen who spends the next day cleaning like a man possessed. scrubs the kitchen, hides the lube stash, folds every throw blanket. the mask sits on the desk like a dare. when you knock, he opens the door in jeans and an old hoodie, hair still damp from the shower. “hey,” he says, like you’re not the reason his pulse is sprinting.

camboy!barry allen who pours you both wine with shaking hands. you sit on opposite ends of the couch at first, talking around the elephant in the room: how he’s been paying rent with tips, how you found him by accident (a late-night scroll, a familiar scar on his hip).

camboy!barry allen who goes quiet when you scoot closer, knee brushing his. “you ever think about… collaborating?” you ask, your eyes flicking to the bedroom door. he chokes on his wine. “with—with me?” you nod. “no faces. just… us.” he’s already half-hard at the idea, shame and want tangling in his chest.

camboy!barry allen who sets up two chairs side-by-side in front of the camera, ring light dialed to a warm red that makes skin look edible. the chat’s already feral when he logs on—he’s early??—and then you sit, hoodie gone, just a black ribbed tank and soft cotton panties. the tips start before either of you speak.

camboy!barry allen who sits first, legs spread, cock already straining against his sweats. you mirror him, knees brushing, the heat of him radiating. he reaches over slow, like you’re a skittish witness, and cups your jaw. “tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, off-mic. you turn your face into his palm, kiss the center of it. “start the timer, allen.”

camboy!barry allen who peels your tank up to expose your breasts, the cool air tightening your nipples instantly. he groans and circles one with his thumb, feather-light, watching goosebumps chase the touch. you arch into it, breath hitching. the mic catches the wet click of your lips parting. he pinches gently, rolls the bud between calloused fingers until you whimper his screen name. the chat explodes.

camboy!barry allen who slides his other hand down your stomach, under the waistband of your panties, sliding them to the side. you’re already slick. he hisses when his fingers glide through you, parting folds with reverent care. “fuck, babe,” he breathes, circling your clit with the same patience he uses on himself. you rock into his hand, thighs trembling. he times it to the rhythm of his own stroking, thumb pressing just under the head of his cock when he finds your entrance.

camboy!barry allen who watches your face like it’s the only thing grounding him. your hand wraps around his wrist, not guiding, just holding on. you reach for him in return, tugging his sweats down until his cock springs free, flushed and leaking. you mirror his pace, long pulls from base to tip, twisting over the head to spread the precome. his hips jerk, he bites his lip hard enough to leave teeth marks.

camboy!barry allen who leans in, forehead to yours. “wanna make you come first,” he murmurs. he slips one finger inside you, crooking just right. your moan is open-mouthed and so filthy. you retaliate by thumbing the slit of his cock, smearing the bead of precome down the underside. his thighs shake. the chairs creak in tandem.

camboy!barry allen who adds a second finger, stretching you slow, scissoring until your hips chase his hand. you fist him tighter, wrist flicking on every upstroke. the wet sounds fill the room, your slickness, his precome, the soft slap of skin on skin. the chat’s a blur of please and more. someone tips for synchronized moans. you both oblige, breath hitching in perfect unison.

camboy!barry allen who feels you tighten around his fingers, your thighs clamping his wrist. “please, nghh, please,” you gasp. it undoes him. he curls his fingers, presses his thumb to your clit, and you come with a broken cry, pulsing around him, slick coating his palm. he follows seconds later, spilling over your knuckles in thick ropes, some hitting your bare thigh. the sight makes him shudder through the aftershocks.

camboy!barry allen who doesn’t let go right away. he keeps his fingers inside you, gentle, riding the aftershocks until you sag against his shoulder. then you recover your breath and just tell him, "log off". it takes a few seconds for him to react. "mmh? oh!" he catches what you said without having to repeat it. he presses two buttons and the screen goes dark.

you practically jump over him, straddling his lap and kissing him rough and filthy. "i fucking missed you, you pervert." you tell him between kisses. that sends a shiver through his skin.

camboy!barry allen who lands on the mattress with you already clawing at his shoulders, your mouth hot and desperate on his. “missed you too,” he rasps against your tongue. “every goddamn day.”

camboy!barry allen who rolls you beneath him in one fluid motion, knees nudging your thighs apart. . you’re bare now, slick and shining from earlier, and he stares like he’s memorizing. “look at you,” he whispers. “still perfect.”

camboy!barry allen who lines himself up slow, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance. he doesn’t push in yet—just slides through your folds, coating himself, watching your hips chase the pressure. “been thinking about this,” his voice trembles. “every night after i logged off. you, here like this.” he sinks in one inch, stops, lets you feel the stretch. your breath stutters.

camboy!barry allen who bottoms out with a groan that vibrates through your ribs. he stills, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re tight,” he breathes. “missed how you squeeze me, like you never wanna let go.” he draws back slow, until only the tip remains, then glides back in. the drag lights every nerve.

camboy!barry allen who sets a rhythm like he’s savoring: long, unhurried strokes that bottom out and linger. each thrust nudges that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. his hands frame your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “you’re so good,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “taking me like you were made for it. my girl.”

camboy!barry allen who angles his hips just right. your back arches off the bed, he swallows the moan with a kiss. “that’s it, sweetheart,” he praises. “let me hear you. missed those sounds so bad.”

camboy!barry allen who slips a hand between you, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. he circles in time with his thrusts, lazy enough to make your thighs tremble around his waist. “come on,” he coaxes. “wanna feel you fall apart around me. been dreaming about it for a year.”

camboy!barry allen who watches your face like it’s the only thing in the universe. when your eyes flutter shut, he nudges your chin. “eyes on me, sweetheart.” you force them open. you come with his name on your tongue, clenching hard around him, slick pulsing in waves. he groans, hips stuttering, but doesn’t follow yet.

camboy!barry allen who fucks you through it. only then does he let go, burying himself deep, spilling hot inside you with a broken, “love you, fuck, i love you.” he collapses half on top of you, face tucked into your neck, both of you shaking.

camboy!barry allen who stays inside, softening slowly, arms wrapped tight like you might vanish. “don’t leave again,” he mumbles into your skin, voice small. you card fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “not going anywhere, allen.”

So when he saw you peeling the second skin off your new thigh tattoo while you showered, you let him take over. He knelt just outside the shower, eye-level with your hip. He was so much kinder to you than you were to yourself when he began to pull away the adhesive, letting the warm water do most of the work, letting it wash away excess ink that pearled down your leg.

“Are you gonna let me wash myself, or do you want to do that too?” you joked when the last of the second skin finally came loose and he stood to throw it out—his jeans were a little wet from how close he had sat to the shower.

“Are you offering?” he grinned, “Because if you are, I can definitely do that for-”

“I’m alright. But thank you, baby.”

You smiled as you watched him turn to sit on the toilet lid, grumbling something or another about false hopes. You snorted at his general kicked puppy demeanour.

“I can’t believe you’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing!”

“I try to help and she mocks me! Oh, I am wounded.”

You press your lips together, smothering your laughter as you watch him clutch his chest and press his hand to his forehead, slumping dramatically against the toilet.

“I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“Watching me shower isn’t enough?” You’re slow to lather yourself as you turn away from him, neatly avoiding your fresh tattoo with your sponge, opting for a gentle soapy hand instead—you’d been through this process enough times to have figured out your dos and don’ts. 

It wasn’t quite second nature but close enough.

“It’s definitely not unpleasant,” you could hear the smile in his voice.

“Can’t just be content with watching, can you?” you rinsed off, tucking your head forward to get the back of your neck. Before you could even reach to turn off the tap, Wally was stood by your side, towel in hand.

The little exhale you let out was amused but you took his hand as you stepped out and gratefully took the towel from him.

“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?” Wally said as he watched you dry off.

“Maybe. But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

You pecked him on the cheek before reaching past to hang your towel up, only to slow when you caught your reflection.

Wally’s arms wrap around your bare middle, his lips pressing against your shoulder as you watch on in the mirror.

“Absolutely stunning,” he whispered against your skin. 

“You’re just saying that.” You rested your arms against his, leeching off his body heat as you tucked yourself against him. 

“No. I meant it. Your new tattoo really suits you.”

His fingers brushed along the sensitive skin, making you shiver, just barely putting a dent in the underlying itch in your skin.

“Thanks,” you said softly, “Could you-”

You hadn’t even needed to reach for the lotion that Wally grabbed it and started gently guiding you to lean against the bathroom counter.

And suddenly he was kneeling in front of you again but this time you could hardly look away. It was hardly your fault you felt the urge to sink your fingers into fiery red hair—not tugging, just petting as Wally warmed the lotion between his hands.

“I like you like this.”

“Yeah?”

His hands were so careful as they rubbed moisturiser on your freshly inked skin. His lips were soft against your skin as he pressed a kiss to your hip before pulling away, leaving you a little flustered and your heart racing.

“You’re not gonna follow through, are you?” you asked as you watched him, watched as a shit eating grin took over his face.

“Do you want me to?”

You swallowed, “Yes.”

Your quiet words had barely been uttered when you were being lifted onto the counter and kissed silly.

 There was nothing patient about Wally, his roaming hands, his eager lips against your own, the way he pulled you closer to kiss you deeper, to devour you and leave you breathless.

“Wally,” you mumbled into the kiss, moaning softly as his fingers gripped your thighs.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you shivered as a finger ran through your folds, brushing over your clit, bumping against your piercing. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

You let yourself melt against his touch as you rest your head against his shoulder, muffling every moan and sigh against your neck, all as his fingers press against the warmth between your legs.

“You’re such a tease,” you said. And Wally just smiled as he pulled away to take his fingers into his mouth, keeping eye contact as he wet them, running his tongue between his middle and ring finger before he pulled them out, leaving his skin shiny with spit in the low light of the bathroom

“I’m just the worst, aren’t I?” he said, finally pressing his fingers against your clit again, wet and soft and warm as he rubbed slow circles against your pussy, making your toes curl and the breath in your throat catch. You couldn’t be blamed for the way you rolled your hips, not as you matched his pace, desperate for just a bit more.

There was nothing patient about Wally, not for anything or anybody—but when it came to taking you apart, to watching you moan and squirm as you grew wetter under his touch, he took pleasure in being slow, taking his time to make you whimper softly, to make you come apart under his care.

Your hold around his neck tightened as you pulled yourself closer, craving more than the building tension in your belly and legs, more than the warmth and tension that bloomed under your skin, grinding against his hand in an attempt to take what he wouldn’t give. 

You didn’t even need to beg, need to *ask* before he was pushing into your drooling pussy, fingering you open with the same care and slowness, reaching deep and curling his fingers just so, leaving you whimpering softly.

“Wally,” you moaned, legs falling open further as he stretched out your soft cunny, “More? Please, I’m-”

His thumb pressed against your clit, playing carefully with the bar that pierced your hood, only for you to yelp as his hand began to vibrate.

“You know, I love that piercing,” he mumbled in your hair, talking as if your body wasn’t trembling in his hands, wanton moans on your lips, the bathroom counter under you slick from your pleasure.

“Babe-”

“Does that feel good, baby?” Wally asked, painfully earnestly, green eyes meeting your teary ones. You nodded as best you could, nails digging into his back as you gripped his shirt.

“Please, please, please.” You were so close. You were so close you just needed a little more.

“I’ve got you,” which was all the permission you needed for your orgasm to come crashing down on you, walls clenching down on him as trembling thighs clasped Wally’s hand.

He didn’t slow until you were coming down from your high; he pulled away carefully, pressing soft kisses to your face as you whimpered at the oversensitivity.

“You did so well,” he said softly, “Thank you.”

You laughed breathlessly at his thanks, as if he had been the one to receive the mind-blowing orgasm.

“I love you,” you said as you tucked your face against the crook of his neck.

You heard his soft inhale and then the elated smile in his voice, “Yeah?” he kissed your forehead, “I love you more.”

(“Can you help me shower?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”)

hi 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 i’m not dead

for some reason this felt like ‘baby writing their first smut’ all over again, so I apologise, but also I wanted to get back into the rhythm of writing