Work Text:
It was a dangerous game the two of you had decided to start playing. But Wally had always been good at games, and he figured this one could hardly be any different.
It had been one thing to find out that you, an actual, living, breathing person could see him. Could see and hear all of them for that matter.
They’d been sitting at the table next to yours in the library, each of them hunched over stacks of DVDs when Charley had begged Wally to put away The Outsiders and pick something else.
“Okay, we get that it was one of the last things you got to see before you ended up stuck here for all of eternity, but if I have to hear ‘Stay gold,’ one more time, I’m seriously going to lose my mind.”
“Yeah,” Rhonda agreed with a dry laugh. “And I’ll be with you in Rockland, Charley.”
It took Rhonda a moment, and the other two several more, to realize that you’d finished the quote for her.
“Where you’re madder than I am.”
It had been another thing to discover that you could touch them too. To for the first time in the four decades since he’d died, feel the warmth of a person’s skin beneath his fingertips and the gentle thrum of their pulse through their veins.
He’d tried to brush it off the first time. To convince both himself and you that the feeling of your hand having instinctively reached out to find purchase on his forearm to steady yourself hadn’t been the most exhilarating thing he’d felt in his entire after life.
It didn’t matter—it couldn’t. And he just had to keep reminding himself of that lest he lose the game before it’d even begun.
It was something else entirely as his mouth pulled away from yours, but his hands held firm in their grip around your waist. His eyes searched your face as the warm glow of the old, overhead lightbulb cast shadows across the otherwise dark locker room.
Though it was far from the first of your after hours visits, he realized that it was harder now than it had ever been to remember why he’d even wanted to win the game in the first place. Now, as you stood before him, all he could think of was that he felt like Eurydice—full of the fruitless hope that you might lead him back to the light. Entirely at your mercy.
He tried to push the sentiment aside, but the best he seemed able to do was allow it to further fuel his desire for the moment and hope that you would be so kindly merciful in your victory if you’d happen to notice.
He reached up to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he contrastingly leaned back in for another bruising kiss. His drawn out groan into your mouth was low and throaty as you returned the kiss with matching ferocity.
The cold, harsh grating of the lockers dug into your back, but it was hard to care very much with Wally’s hands back on your waist, slowly creeping up under the hem of your shirt. His hands were cool to the touch in a way all the dead’s were, but he felt as real and solid as anything else. There was an electrifying sort of pulse that radiated off of him, and it only managed to intensify the feeling of his touch.
His fingers trailed lightly up the sides of your torso, stopping only just shy of reaching your bra. Your hands tangled into his hair, pulling him closer to you, desperate for more. His teeth playfully nipped at your bottom lip in response—his sly way of asking that you open up for him.
You pulled away instead. Half in an attempt to tease, half out of necessity.
“Some of us still need to breathe.” There was more than a hint of feigned annoyance in your tone, Wally thought, but he knew better than to let it deter him.
“If you can’t keep up, just say so,” he smirked, but didn’t wait for a reply. He dipped down to start trailing paths of wet, open mouthed kisses across every inch of exposed skin available to him. First across your jaw and towards your ear, where he pulled the lobe between his teeth as playfully as he had your lips. Then down your throat, where he stayed firmly planted.
You let out a quiet, but undeniable gasp as his teeth sharply grazed over the pulse point on your neck. He sucked on the spot with conviction, pausing only to press soothing kitten licks across the increasingly sensitive patch of skin.
If he’d soon have no choice but to be starved of you for the rest of his agonizing eternity, he wanted to enjoy all he could get for the time being.
He needed more. To see more, and feel more, and just before he could begin pleading his case, it seemed that the feeling was decidedly mutual. You pushed him away, moving just slightly forward along with him to give yourself the space to tug your shirt off.
He took the hint and did the same before his hands were on you again. This time reaching up towards the band of your bra where his fingers traced the seam of it before undoing the clasp. You shivered slightly as his hands slid the straps all the way down from your shoulders, tossing the offending garment off to the side.
It was blue—the same kind of blue that he himself regularly donned on his letterman jacket. The realization of the presumedly intentional sentiment made him go a bit dizzy, but he had far more pressing matters to attend to in the moment.
With his mouth back on yours, you let him in without question this time. His hands gripped and kneaded at your breasts, touching you like a lifeline—as though if he held on tightly enough you might manage to pull him back into the land of the living with you. All the while, he drank in your muffled moans and gasps like they were his own personal elixir of life.
You managed to pull strings of mumbled curses from his lips as you rocked your hips forward to meet his. He was unbearably hard and his hips chased back after yours as you pulled away—desperate to have more of you pressed against him.
“Someone’s insatiable today,” you laughed into his mouth.
And what was he supposed to say to that? Yes, I am insatiable today. I’m always insatiable for you. Just you. Forever.
What he said instead was, “Someone’s got some attitude today.”
“Sorry,” you mockingly pouted. “Let me make it up to you.”
Your fingers dipped underneath the waistband of his pants, pulling them down in a swift and simultaneous motion as you sank to your knees. Wally’s jaw fell slack as his gaze followed you—his cock bobbing just in front of your face, waiting to be granted your attentive ministrations.
The groan that came from the back of his throat as you licked a stripe from the base and up his shaft was absolutely sinful. If he wasn’t already dead, he might have guessed he’d be sent straight to hell for it.
His hands found purchase in your hair once your lips wrapped around his tip and pushed forward in an agonizingly slow movement. His grip was neither insistent, nor forceful, simply a steady presence.
“Fuck, baby,” he sighed, his head tilted back. “You’re killing me here.”
The irony didn’t go unnoticed and the amusement you hummed around him made his hips jerk. You pressed one hand against his thigh as the other wrapped around him at the base to keep him still.
You quickened your pace—hand included now—to further spur him on. His breathing grew faster and strained at the sudden change. Your tongue pressed flat against his underside with every push and pull, adjusting only to lick quick swirls at his tip with every withdrawal.
That did him in.
The muscles in his abdomen flexed and rippled as he felt his pleasure begin to grow, his release building towards a breaking point. Your efforts were increasing in intensity trying to bring him over the edge, but he couldn’t have that.
He wanted you—all of you—in every way you would allow him. He wanted to feel you wrapped around him. To see your face as the two of you tumbled over the edge together. Maybe it was selfish, but if he was playing a losing game, he wanted to at least pretend that maybe you weren’t winning any more than he was.
He guided your head back with a gentle tug of your hair. The obscene pop of your mouth releasing him blended deliciously with the moan that rolled out of the back of his throat. His pretenses fell away with your mouth.
“Nuh-uh baby,” he panted. The hand that had been fisted in your hair reached to take yours and pull you back up. “Need you. Now.”
His voice was raw and pleading.
He guided you back onto the bench, the surface of which was no more gentle than the lockers. Still, Wally waited until you were settled before he started to make quick work on the button of your pants.
“Why do you insist on wearing damn jeans every single time?” he groaned in frustration, though it hardly took him any time at all before he was dragging them down your thighs. Underwear going along with them.
You smirked without verbal reply, though it was answer enough. Because you liked to make him work for it. Because you knew he would.
Once free from the confines of clothes, he spread your legs apart by your knees, placing one over each side of the bench. He took his place kneeling between them as he leaned over you to close the distance with another kiss.
He could taste lingering remnants of himself on you and it stirred something primal within him. Something possessive, which did nothing to help his increasing want.
His hand quickly grazed over your breast before it dipped down between your thighs. He swiped a finger up your slit, careful to leave your entrance and clit untouched for the time being.
“Dripping for me just from sucking my cock,” he observed casually and cooly. The rasp in his voice gave way to something else however.
He sucked the tip of his finger into his mouth, watching closely for your reaction as he unabashedly tasted you. His lips curled at the sound of you whining at the sight, desperate for more of his touch.
“Want a taste?” he asked temptingly, pulling the finger out of his own mouth.
He slid it back and forth across your lips waiting for you to part them for him. When you finally did, he slipped it in as easily as he had his own mouth. His gaze held yours with an awestruck expression. You pulled it deeper into your mouth as your tongue mimicked what you’d been doing to his cock only moments before.
When he finally pulled it back out, he reached down to find your clit this time. He pressed a few tight and barely there circles to it before slowly dipping into your entrance.
He pumped his finger in and out of you going slightly deeper each time. Your back arched up off the bench with a gasp when he finally dragged the pad of his finger over your g-spot.
“Fuck, Wally,” you moaned out, loud and unrestrained. He wished the sound of his name tumbling out of you like that could play on a never ending loop in his mind forever.
You snaked your own hand down between the two of you. He was mildly surprised when he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist to pull him out and away from you. Concern painted his face almost immediately.
“You okay, baby?”
You answered with an exaggerated nod.
“Want you inside of me,” you pleaded. “Please, Wally.”
He saw his own emotions mirrored in your eyes—desperate and longing, greedy and wanting. Maybe you weren’t any better at this game than he was, he thought.
He reached up to cup your cheek in the palm of his hand. The touch was intimate and vulnerable in a way he very rarely allowed himself to be when the two of you were like this.
Though no words were exchanged, the look that passed between the two of you said everything it needed to. It was a surrender. A white flag in a field soaked with the blood that would one day inevitably spill from your shared affections.
His touch retreated to finally guide himself into your entrance. He sunk in deep and sharp with no hesitation or restraint. Two gasps simultaneously escaped each of you, but you surged forwards to catch his lips before any more could.
He drove into you with conviction though his pace remained slow. As he’d been doing the entire night—he was trying to savor you. To memorize the shape of your tongue and the impressions of your teeth with his mouth. Commit the wet, velvet heat of your cunt wrapped around him to memory.
You broke the kiss with a moan as his angle shifted to hit against the most tantalizingly perfect spot with every thrust. The sound spurred him on to pick up the speed of his thrusts. His combined efforts made your walls begin to clench around him, silently pleading for more of him.
“So fucking good for me, babygirl. You feel so fucking good.” His eyes fluttered open to look at your face strained in pleasure. His thrusts were forceful enough now that you were being rocked up and down the bench with every one.
You whined embarrassingly loudly as his hand brushed against your clit once again. If anybody else besides Wally had been near enough to hear it, you might have considered having to kill them all over again.
The pressure he kept was light and gentle—far too under stimulating considering how close you were, but still making you reel nonetheless.
“Please—” you gasped, bucking your hips up into him.
“Please, what?” he asked. His voice was breathy and strained, evidently just as close as you were.
“I need more,” you begged, your hips still searching to meet his.
“Well since you asked so politely.”
His pace became relentless with that—his cock driving even deeper into you than before. You could feel and hear the slap of his skin meeting yours with every thrust. The pressure he kept on your clit became torturous in all the right ways as your hands gripped tightly around his broad shoulders still protectively hovering over you.
He fought to hold steady though his resolve was quickly wearing thin with every push and pull of his hips and sound that fell from your mouth.
“Come on, baby, come with me.” And god what a pathetically sentimental request it was, but what more did he have to lose other than you. And he knew as well as anyone that there was nothing to be done about that.
You threw your head back against the rough bench as your eyes tightly shut, your eventual orgasm now only moments away. Wally’s hand returned to your face, gently guiding you by the jaw.
“Wanna see your eyes,” he offered in simple explanation, words beginning to fail him. You obeyed, willing your eyes to stay locked with his as the two of you tumbled towards a blissful ecstasy.
He waited to feel you unravel around him first, always the gentleman. It wasn’t until your walls were wildly fluttering around him, your back lifting off the bench to meet him chest to chest, that he finally allowed himself his own release.
His thrusts stuttered and slowed to a stop as he spilled into you. Weightless and spent, he broke your gaze only to lazily, almost messily, kiss you. It was met in earnest, only broken when he pulled away to begin to search your eyes for something.
Some kind of sign that it was okay—that as hard as he’d tried, this was one game nobody but himself had been expecting him to win. He stayed seated inside you going soft, and hovering just inches above your face. He found the confidence he needed to speak in the comforting warmth of your shallow breaths against his face.
“Promise you won’t leave me,” his eyes were pleading, holding the depths of every one of his years in ways his body couldn’t. He knew the truth of the matter—you both did—but that wasn’t what he was asking for.
“I promise.”