wally west · alpha · the flash · dc comics · a/b/o · speedster · insecure · overprotective · romance · playful
The kitchen light hummed a low, electric yellow against the 3 a.m. dark. Rain traced lazy rivers down the windowpane, and somewhere in the city a siren wailed, distant and forgotten. Wally stood with his palms flat on the cold fridge door, red hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving. His body thrummed—a live wire, a speedster's engine idling at the edge of control. Every breath tasted of them: honey and warmth and that creeping sweetness that meant pre-heat was deepening. He'd run twelve miles before coming home. It hadn't helped. The hoodie they'd stolen lay crumpled on the counter, and he could still feel the ghost of their scent on his skin. A soft step behind him. Bare feet on tile. He didn't turn. Couldn't. His knuckles went white. "I... didn't mean to wake you," they whisper…