Fic: Playing Dress-Up: Flash Style, JLA Toonverse, Wally/John, Crossdressing, PG-13, 1/1
Wally really doesn’t want to explain exactly where he got that lady’s outfit he wore in JLA issue seventeen. John is insistent.
Playing Dress-Up: Flash Style
***
Set after JLA Issue #17
***
His name was Wally West. He was The Flash, the fastest man alive.
But somehow, he had never been able to outrun his own problems. At the moment, they consisted of his recent crush, one John Stewart, the (current) Green Lantern.
That’s why he was now in his quarters, where John had cornered him, and was now being asked, “Where did you get the dress, anyway?” John was an immovable object of implacability, and even though Wally could run, there was nowhere he could go where John wouldn’t eventually find him.
He was so screwed.
“I borrowed it,” Wally replied without thinking, and then mentally smacked himself. He’d left himself wide open for interrogation on that one.
John hid a smirk and asked with saccharine sweetness, “From whom?” And of course he’d make sure to use proper grammar, even with someone who wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He was anal like that.
In a literal split-second Wally considered several answers, and discarded them just as quickly. He couldn’t say he’d gotten the dress from his Aunt Iris; he was taller and broader than her, and anyway, her clothing was a bit more old-fashioned than the smart suit he’d worn. He couldn’t say he’d borrowed it from Shayera, because it never would have fit over her wings. He could have said he’d borrowed it from Diana, but he’d never actually seen her wear a dress, unless you counted her toga, and the closest thing she’d ever worn to a skirt had been that Grecian-style chiton thing.
I am so screwed. Wally deflated and hung his head. “Er…it was mine,” he admitted. He was sure he was blushing as red as his hair, and making all his freckles stand out.
“Reeeaallly,” John drawled, green eyes glinting with keen interest.
Wally knew that glint well; it was the same spark that John got whenever he was planning to make someone’s life miserable. Wally foresaw quite a bit of teasing and ribbing over this in his future. “Yeah.”
The glint hardened. “Why?” John asked - no, demanded.
Wally tried to think of a way out of this humiliating situation. Tried - and failed. Sure, he could make a strategic retreat - i.e., run for all his speed was worth - but eventually he and John would end up alone together again. And while John would be irritated at him for stalling, the tableau would not have changed. “It was sort of leftover from my college days,” Wally admitted, because he couldn’t see a way out of this.
Raising an eyebrow, John asked, “You went to college?” His voice was practically dripping with skepticism.
Wally huffed in anger. “I’m not an idiot,” he growled petulantly.
“Never said you were,” John replied agreeably, though a smirk lurked around the edges of his lips. “Only that you never struck me as the studious type.”
And, well, he wasn’t. That was the reason why he’d become a police mechanic instead of a policeman. Well, two reasons; he really didn’t want to carry a gun, either.
But he digressed, if only mentally. Back to the conversation at hand. Or…would that be ‘at mouth’? Whichever. “I went to college, and I graduated,” Wally reiterated. “But before that, during Freshman year, I…joined a fraternity.” He grinned ruefully and gave half-hearted chuckle as he admitted, “Well, tried to.” It had seemed like the thing to do at the time. Wally had been young and stupid - well, younger and stupider - and had thought that living in a house where no one cared if you left the toilet seat up or drank milk straight from the carton or were a little (okay, a lot) messy would be perfect.
But it was really just more like one long kegger with the occasional break for pizza, and Wally, having not yet won the lottery, hadn’t been able to afford to waste his tuition money without actually passing his classes.
“Mm?” John made a noise of inquiry, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Yeah, and, uh, it was a pledge initiation to, uh…” Wally said the rest in a rush almost too quick for a non-speedster to hear, “to dress as a girl and join the Marilyn Monroe float in the Gay Pride Parade that year.” He blushed and said, “I, uh, won first prize in the costume contest.” He’d had his speed back then, after all, and even with only spending half an hour on the costume, it had still been better made than most of the other guys’ had been. His Aunt Iris had insisted on him knowing how to cook, clean, and sew. Considering how much he ate and how messy he was, and how he had to make his own suits, all of that had actually come in handy.
Amusement was practically pouring off John in waves, washing over Wally with a briskness spray of incipient humiliation. Wally was braced to be made fun of, but the way John actually reacted was more than a bit surprising. “Show me,” John practically purred, and the way his voice rumbled, vibrations felt low in his stomach, took Wally’s breath away.
And with it, his common sense, it seemed, since Wally was ready, willing and able to accede to John’s request.
In a box in the back of his closet, underneath a pile of Ultimate X-Men comics (and if anyone ever found out that he’d bought them solely because he thought teenage Northstar was kinda hot, he’d be so screwed, and not in a good way) were his girl things: clothes, makeup, and certain accessories he needed to completely look the part.
A quick change out of costume and into…costume…a slightly slower application of make-up (because he’d really hurt himself one time moving too fast with the mascara wand and he very much did not want to repeat that) and tada! Lady Flash!
Wally stood there, trying not to fidget in his heels, or fiddle with the blonde curls of his wig. In fact, he tried very hard not to move at all, because that would give away how nervous he was, anticipating John’s reaction.
“Very…interesting,” John declared after what seemed like an eternity. An excruciatingly uneasy eternity.
Wally fidgeted, then froze at John’s look. “Oh?” he asked weakly, automatically raising his voice to the girlish lilt he’d perfected long ago.
John gave him another long look, one coal-black brow rising. “Well…no,” he corrected, then smirked. “More like really fucking hot.”
Erk. Wally would have liked to retain some of his rapidly-disappearing-the-longer-he wore-a-skirt dignity by at least replying with a coherent sentence. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “Huh?” He felt sure that his face was wearing the dumbest expression ever imaginable.
Ever since he became Earth’s (primary) Green Lantern, John’s eyes had glowed green. But Wally had never seen them gleam quite like that before… He suddenly felt like a very small, girly mouse, in front of a very big, macho he-man cat.
“You’re hot,” John reiterated, and then yanked Wally closer via his pink silk blouse, before crushing their lips together.
Wally froze, and then dove into the kiss with abandon, hands fisting in the air by John’s head since the damned man didn’t have any hair to hold onto. He sank deeper and deeper into the kiss, not even caring that the falsies were sliding out of place and getting in his way, because he was finally able to work through five months worth of frustration.
Cross-dressing as a sexual kink? Hey, if it got him laid by the man of his dreams, Wally could so go with that.
Being screwed sounded like fun.
Playing Dress-Up: Flash Style
***
Set after JLA Issue #17
***
His name was Wally West. He was The Flash, the fastest man alive.
But somehow, he had never been able to outrun his own problems. At the moment, they consisted of his recent crush, one John Stewart, the (current) Green Lantern.
That’s why he was now in his quarters, where John had cornered him, and was now being asked, “Where did you get the dress, anyway?” John was an immovable object of implacability, and even though Wally could run, there was nowhere he could go where John wouldn’t eventually find him.
He was so screwed.
“I borrowed it,” Wally replied without thinking, and then mentally smacked himself. He’d left himself wide open for interrogation on that one.
John hid a smirk and asked with saccharine sweetness, “From whom?” And of course he’d make sure to use proper grammar, even with someone who wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. He was anal like that.
In a literal split-second Wally considered several answers, and discarded them just as quickly. He couldn’t say he’d gotten the dress from his Aunt Iris; he was taller and broader than her, and anyway, her clothing was a bit more old-fashioned than the smart suit he’d worn. He couldn’t say he’d borrowed it from Shayera, because it never would have fit over her wings. He could have said he’d borrowed it from Diana, but he’d never actually seen her wear a dress, unless you counted her toga, and the closest thing she’d ever worn to a skirt had been that Grecian-style chiton thing.
I am so screwed. Wally deflated and hung his head. “Er…it was mine,” he admitted. He was sure he was blushing as red as his hair, and making all his freckles stand out.
“Reeeaallly,” John drawled, green eyes glinting with keen interest.
Wally knew that glint well; it was the same spark that John got whenever he was planning to make someone’s life miserable. Wally foresaw quite a bit of teasing and ribbing over this in his future. “Yeah.”
The glint hardened. “Why?” John asked - no, demanded.
Wally tried to think of a way out of this humiliating situation. Tried - and failed. Sure, he could make a strategic retreat - i.e., run for all his speed was worth - but eventually he and John would end up alone together again. And while John would be irritated at him for stalling, the tableau would not have changed. “It was sort of leftover from my college days,” Wally admitted, because he couldn’t see a way out of this.
Raising an eyebrow, John asked, “You went to college?” His voice was practically dripping with skepticism.
Wally huffed in anger. “I’m not an idiot,” he growled petulantly.
“Never said you were,” John replied agreeably, though a smirk lurked around the edges of his lips. “Only that you never struck me as the studious type.”
And, well, he wasn’t. That was the reason why he’d become a police mechanic instead of a policeman. Well, two reasons; he really didn’t want to carry a gun, either.
But he digressed, if only mentally. Back to the conversation at hand. Or…would that be ‘at mouth’? Whichever. “I went to college, and I graduated,” Wally reiterated. “But before that, during Freshman year, I…joined a fraternity.” He grinned ruefully and gave half-hearted chuckle as he admitted, “Well, tried to.” It had seemed like the thing to do at the time. Wally had been young and stupid - well, younger and stupider - and had thought that living in a house where no one cared if you left the toilet seat up or drank milk straight from the carton or were a little (okay, a lot) messy would be perfect.
But it was really just more like one long kegger with the occasional break for pizza, and Wally, having not yet won the lottery, hadn’t been able to afford to waste his tuition money without actually passing his classes.
“Mm?” John made a noise of inquiry, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Yeah, and, uh, it was a pledge initiation to, uh…” Wally said the rest in a rush almost too quick for a non-speedster to hear, “to dress as a girl and join the Marilyn Monroe float in the Gay Pride Parade that year.” He blushed and said, “I, uh, won first prize in the costume contest.” He’d had his speed back then, after all, and even with only spending half an hour on the costume, it had still been better made than most of the other guys’ had been. His Aunt Iris had insisted on him knowing how to cook, clean, and sew. Considering how much he ate and how messy he was, and how he had to make his own suits, all of that had actually come in handy.
Amusement was practically pouring off John in waves, washing over Wally with a briskness spray of incipient humiliation. Wally was braced to be made fun of, but the way John actually reacted was more than a bit surprising. “Show me,” John practically purred, and the way his voice rumbled, vibrations felt low in his stomach, took Wally’s breath away.
And with it, his common sense, it seemed, since Wally was ready, willing and able to accede to John’s request.
In a box in the back of his closet, underneath a pile of Ultimate X-Men comics (and if anyone ever found out that he’d bought them solely because he thought teenage Northstar was kinda hot, he’d be so screwed, and not in a good way) were his girl things: clothes, makeup, and certain accessories he needed to completely look the part.
A quick change out of costume and into…costume…a slightly slower application of make-up (because he’d really hurt himself one time moving too fast with the mascara wand and he very much did not want to repeat that) and tada! Lady Flash!
Wally stood there, trying not to fidget in his heels, or fiddle with the blonde curls of his wig. In fact, he tried very hard not to move at all, because that would give away how nervous he was, anticipating John’s reaction.
“Very…interesting,” John declared after what seemed like an eternity. An excruciatingly uneasy eternity.
Wally fidgeted, then froze at John’s look. “Oh?” he asked weakly, automatically raising his voice to the girlish lilt he’d perfected long ago.
John gave him another long look, one coal-black brow rising. “Well…no,” he corrected, then smirked. “More like really fucking hot.”
Erk. Wally would have liked to retain some of his rapidly-disappearing-the-longer-he wore-a-skirt dignity by at least replying with a coherent sentence. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “Huh?” He felt sure that his face was wearing the dumbest expression ever imaginable.
Ever since he became Earth’s (primary) Green Lantern, John’s eyes had glowed green. But Wally had never seen them gleam quite like that before… He suddenly felt like a very small, girly mouse, in front of a very big, macho he-man cat.
“You’re hot,” John reiterated, and then yanked Wally closer via his pink silk blouse, before crushing their lips together.
Wally froze, and then dove into the kiss with abandon, hands fisting in the air by John’s head since the damned man didn’t have any hair to hold onto. He sank deeper and deeper into the kiss, not even caring that the falsies were sliding out of place and getting in his way, because he was finally able to work through five months worth of frustration.
Cross-dressing as a sexual kink? Hey, if it got him laid by the man of his dreams, Wally could so go with that.
Being screwed sounded like fun.