“Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed.
“Batmobile lost a wheel.”
He lifted his head away from the microscope.
“And the Joker got away. Hey!”
He knew that voice. He didn’t have to turn around and look. There were few people who had access to the Batcave and even fewer who would have the audacity to invade it whilst singing a song. Out of tune, no less.
“Flash,” he said.
A red blur appeared beside him, all bright smiles and even brighter spandex. “Yeah, Bats?”
Flash grinned and cocked his hip against the console. He folded his arms over his chest, nearly obscuring his symbol. “C’mon. Tis the season to be jolly.”
He offered the speedster a deadpan look. “It’s July.”
“Frankly, a little jolly now and then could only help you,” Flash retorted, completely ignoring logic and rationality.
Bruce twitched. He glared, though it wasn’t as effective without the reflective lenses in his cowl. Flash tended to think him less dangerous when he didn’t have the cowl, as he rarely did when investigating using his lab equipment.
“I’m just saying.” Flash’s grin widened.
Bruce worked his jaw and determinedly turned his attention back to his microscope. “Don’t you have work to do?”
From his peripheral vision, he watched Flash’s smile morph to a pout. “Killjoy. Haven’t you ever heard of Christmas in July?”
“Don’t care.” He adjusted the magnification. There was something about the cut of this scale that wasn’t natural.
“Because if it’s not justice, it must not be important?” Flash proposed as he moved closer, all but leaning over Bruce’s shoulder. “What are you working on?”
He ignored Flash. Sometimes, if he didn’t interact, Flash would go away on his own and Bruce could pretend he didn’t miss the company.
Flash started to hum. Another Christmas song this time. The song was close enough to Santa Clause is Comin’ to Town, though once again, out of tune.
And sometimes, he wanted peace and quiet and didn’t care that he had to be alone to get it.
“You know,” Flash said as he leaned on Bruce’s shoulder, but not enough to overbalance him. “It’s winter in Australia.”
Ignore. Ignore and he would eventually leave.
“I’ll bet they’re celebrating Christmas. In July.”
Bruce turned up the magnification on the scale. It was a cycloid scale without smooth edges, and did not match the circumstances in which he found it. Which suggested he was perhaps dealing with an aquatic perpetrator. Would a conversation with Aquaman be in order?
“I could speed on over there and check?” Flash suggested, leaning a bit harder, so that the scent of his cologne hit Bruce’s nose as he exhaled warmly over Bruce’s ear.
No. He was apparently not leaving any time soon.
Bruce sighed and pushed back from the microscope. This was apparently taken as an invitation as Flash leapt into the narrow space available and made himself comfortable on Bruce. He now had a lapful of eager, wriggling speedster.
“There.” Flash smirked, draping his arms over Bruce’s shoulders. “Honestly, the things I do to get your attention.”
His hands inexplicably found themselves drawn to red-clothed narrow hips, his thumbs tracing the jut of a gold arc. “Australia still celebrates Christmas on December 25th,” Bruce pointed out.
Flash blinked at him and then pushed his cowl back, red hair sticking up in all directions. “You have a hot piece like me in your lap, and you’re going to lecture me instead?”
Bruce arched an eyebrow. “I was working.”
Green eyes rolled. “You’re always working. I’m always working. We’re both working. But I at least take breaks. Which is what you should be doing. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”
Bruce was about to protest on principle alone, until he glanced at the clock on the computer and realized that Wally was right. No wonder his vision was starting to blur. He’d been staring at the sample for several hours, and prior to that, he was processing other evidence.
He swallowed down his protest and allowed Wally thirty percent more of his attention. “Very well,” he said, rubbing the speedster’s hips. “I assume that means you had something in mind.”
“Well…” Wally drawled and performed a scootch forward that nestled his groin directly against the equipment belt. “I say you take off this thing, and I take off my thing, and then the both of us go use that cot I know Alfred put down here for you.”
He blurred forward, pecking a kiss on Bruce’s lips that tasted of strawberry lip gloss, and wriggled his hips again.
“What do you say?” Wally prompted, pressing their foreheads together, their lips tantalizing inches apart.
To be fair, if he worked any longer, Alfred would come down here and start to fuss. Wally was also right in that free time for the both of them together was rare. Wally understood Bruce’s dedication and vice-versa, but Wally was also the one who had taught Bruce the value of enjoying that which he was trying to protect.
“Yes,” Bruce said. “But only if you agree to help me look into this scale. It is stumping me, as you so accurately guessed.”
“Deal.” Wally grinned and stole another kiss, though this time he lingered, or perhaps that was because Bruce pressed a hand to the back of Wally’s head, keeping him close.
He couldn’t feel the heat of Wally’s body through the thickness of the kevlar, but he could imagine it. Even better was the slow movement of Wally’s lips against his own, the lingering taste of strawberry, and the little happy sounds Wally made in his throat.
He supposed, times like these, taking a break every now and again didn’t hurt. Though he swore that if Wally started singing Christmas songs again, Bruce was going to toss him right out the door.