# TAKE A LAP
⤿ BART ALLEN has too much energy to know what to do with it. So, sometimes a lazy morning in bed is interrupted by his need to take a lap the length of a roadtrip.
!! wc: 1.2k. fluff. gender neutral!reader. established relationship. lazy morning-ish. silly. super fluff. taglist open. comments encouraged as always. ENJOY. req by @bearseulgs. THIS WAS SUCH A CUTE IDEA.
The mattress shifted again beneath you, the movement subtle enough that it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but after dating Bart Allen for as long as you had, you had become unusually sensitive to disturbances. Mainly because, when they were coming from him, they felt less like ordinary movement, and more like someone attempting to contain a small electrical storm inside a human body.
Your eyes remained closed as you curled deeper beneath the blankets, one arm tucked beneath your pillow while warm morning sunlight slipped through the gaps in the curtains and painted soft bars of gold across the bedroom floor. The apartment was quiet apart from the distant hum of traffic outside and the occasional creak of old pipes somewhere in the building, and for a few precious seconds you thought you might be able to drift back into sleep.
Then a hand smoothed across your back.
The touch was gentle enough that it barely registered at first, warm fingers gliding carefully along your back before disappearing again. A moment later it returned, lingering slightly longer this time, and despite yourself you felt your shoulders relax beneath the blankets.
"Babe." Bart's voice was low, though not because he was tired. He sounded like someone making an enormous effort to remain calm in the face of extreme adversity.
You responded by pulling the comforter a little higher around your shoulders.
The mattress dipped as he shifted positions. Then it dipped again. Then again. Even with your eyes closed you could practically picture him, unable to settle into a single spot for longer than a few seconds as restless energy buzzed beneath his skin.
"Babe," he tried again.
A groan escaped you before you could stop it.
For a moment there was silence, and you thought perhaps he had finally accepted defeat.
Then you felt his forehead press against your shoulder.
You cracked one eye open.
Bart was half draped across the bed beside you, his cheek squished against the blanket and his arms folded beneath his chin as he stared at you with the expression of a man who had been stranded on a deserted island for several years. His hair stuck out in every direction, still messy from sleep, and there was a faint flush in his cheeks that always appeared whenever he had been sitting still for longer than his body considered reasonable.
"How long have you been awake?" you mumbled.
His expression darkened and became almost solemn, "Thirty-two minutes."
You stared at him. Bart stared back.
The sheer seriousness with which he delivered the statement made it difficult to determine whether he genuinely considered this a crisis.
"Thirty-two whole minutes?" you asked.
"I know."
The words left him with such heartfelt suffering that you almost laughed.
"That's terrible." You played along with his anguish, shaking your head slightly before a hand came up to rub your eyes.
"It is terrible," he agreed immediately. "I've already reorganized the kitchen cabinets twice."
You blinked. "What?"
"The spices are alphabetical now." His lips quirked into a small smile, his eyes on you and much wider (and more awake) than just seconds before.. like he knew to fake being sleepy while waking you up.
"You alphabetized the spices before eight in the morning?" You questioned, shifting slightly under the blankets and his weight, readjusting so now his cheek was squished against your arm.
"I ran out of spices." The room fell quiet at that, Bart's eyes flicked toward the window. Then toward the bedroom door. Then toward the window again.
The look was familiar enough that you immediately knew where this conversation was heading.
"No." You narrowed your eyes in a way that should have served as a warning, but you knew he wouldn't take it as such.
"I didn't even ask yet!" Bart defended helplessly.
"You were about to."
His entire face brightened at that, "So you do know me."
You groaned, flipped, and buried your face back into the pillow.
A second later his weight settled carefully across your back, not enough to crush you, just enough to make it impossible to escape while he wrapped his arms around your waist.
"Babe," he mumbled into your shoulder.
"No."
"I just need to run a few laps."
"No."
"It'll take like ten minutes."
You turned your head a bit and raised an eyebrow at that, "You said that last time."
"Okay, but that one accidentally became forty-five."
"Because you ended up in California."
"In my defense, California was already there."
You could hear the grin in his voice after your face had already buried itself back into the pillow.
The worst part about dating Bart Allen was that he could say genuinely ridiculous things with such complete sincerity that arguing with him often felt impossible.
The second worst part was that he was currently warm and comfortable and wrapped around you like an oversized blanket despite being physically incapable of relaxing for more than five consecutive minutes.
"I just need to get some energy out," he continued, his voice softening as his face tucked into the side of your neck. "Just a few laps up and down the East Coast. Maybe stop in Maine. Maybe Florida. Grab a bagel somewhere. I'll be right back, I swear."
"You are describing a road trip." And as if he knew you would logically protest, he peppered your neck in gentle kisses before you could even start talking.
"It's not a road trip if I don't use roads." He mumbled against your skin, this time, you could feel the grin.
"You are not running to Florida for breakfast, we can literally go down the street."
"I could be back before your next sentence."
You turned your head enough to look at him.
The hopeful expression waiting for you was almost painful to witness.
Bart wasn't trying to leave because he was bored of being here. If anything, that was what made the situation so ridiculous. He loved mornings like this. Loved staying tangled together beneath blankets, loved the quiet intimacy of waking up beside someone he adored.
His body just, unfortunately, happened to contain enough energy to power several small cities.
For a long moment he simply looked at you, trying very hard to appear patient despite the fact that every muscle in his body seemed ready to launch him through the nearest wall.
Then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against your forehead.
"Babe," he whispered softly, and a little pathetically. "Please."
You sighed, causing his eyes to widen, and the grin arrived before you'd even spoken.
And somehow, despite knowing exactly how this would end, you found yourself laughing into your pillow as Bart celebrated a victory he technically hadn't won yet.
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