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When Barry got tired and hungry, he got cranky. Not the type of cranky where you pouted until someone gave you a doughnut and you took a nap. No, Barry got cranky. The type of cranky where you tell someone to fuck off and then sleep for seventeen hours straight, dead to the world like a doornail. Now, he tried not to let himself be that tired because Barry didn’t like to be mean; he barely had a mean bone in his body. But hunger and exhaustion sometimes got the better of him.
He tapped his foot in a rapidness that almost shook the meeting table with how fast it was going. His stomach was gnawing itself and withering away, and he was pretty sure he was going to have to stick toothpicks underneath his eyelids like in that one episode of Tom and Jerry. He wanted to go home, he wanted to eat ten double-cheese bacon burgers with two milkshakes, and he wanted to sleep for eleven hours without interruption. But Bruce wouldn’t stop talking about the next agenda and Hal wouldn’t stop asking questions and griping about his schedule being interfered with and he had two test flights at Edwards Air Force Base, and he couldn’t miss them and—
“As a member of the shut the fuck up club, why don’t you pay your dues and shut the fuck up?” he offered Hal with a glower, eyes narrowed in nothing short of annoyance, voice laced with venom.
Even Bruce’s eyes went wide at the words that had fallen from Barry’s mouth; Hal blinked in shock and pointed to himself, asking, “Are…are you talking to me, Barry?”
“Do I look like I’m fucking talking to anyone else besides the one person at this table who’s complaining that his life is busy?” he retorted. “Make room. Make the meeting. You’re grown. Figure it out.”
Clark cleared his throat. “Barry, I don’t think you’re feeling—”
“I’m feeling like mind your own business,” he interrupted and turned his glare onto Bruce. “Is there anything else you want to bore me to death with or are we done?”
“Jesus, what crawled up your ass?” Hal griped. “You’re being a dick.”
Barry whirled in his seat, grabbed the pilot by his shirt and yanked them nose to nose. “I’m haven’t eaten today. I haven’t slept but fifteen minutes. I’m hungry. I’m tired. I want to go home but you won’t stop complaining, and Bruce won’t stop talking. Why don’t you figure out why I’m not the usual, sun-shining-outta-my-ass happy right now?”
Hal blinked, something flipping circles in his chest at the seriousness in Barry’s expression and voice; he’d only ever heard Barry act like this when he meant business and it was usually in the middle of a fight when Barry had to show the enemy just how good he got. His face grew hot, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t have anything else to complain about.”
Barry leaned closer, their noses smushing. “Are you sure? Because I want you to be really sure about that before I tell Bruce to wrap this up.”
“I’m sure,” he admitted, nodding his head. “Positive, Bar.”
He pulled back and looked at Bruce who simply said, “Meeting adjourned until next Thursday.” Barry was the first person up and to the door when he heard Bruce add, “Flash, make sure you’re well-rested and fed before coming.”
“Why don’t you mind your own fucking business?” he retorted, not bothering to look back as he walked towards the Zeta-tubes; as he neared them, he muttered to himself, “Oh, so only Batman is allowed to have bad days but when Barry has bad days, it’s ‘Flash make sure you sleep and eat before coming.’”
A hand touched his shoulder and he looked over, seeing Hal standing there, suit powered down. “Wanna get In-N-Out and go back to my place?”
Barry’s lips pursed and he re-entered the coordinates to land them in Coast City. “You’re buying.”
“You eat like two hundred dollars’ worth of food, Bar,” Hal argued. “You have to pitch in. At least buy the milkshakes and fries.”
“How’d you know I wanted milkshakes?” he asked, a little less irked and Hal shot him a grin that made his stomach flutter.
“Please, I know you always get milkshakes whenever you’re cranky. You always make a Neapolitan milkshake and silently suck it down while reading Accessory to War.” Hal leaned over and knocked their shoulders together. “I know my best friend.”
Barry momentarily forgot about his stomach and offered a smile of his own, quick to apologize, “Sorry for being a dick.”
Hal let out a ‘pfft.’ “Please, I’m a dick most of the time. You deserve to be a dick once and a while. Give me a taste of my own medicine, y’know?”
“Yeah…but I’m not mean…and I—”
“Barry, sometimes when we’re ravenous and shagged out, we can be dicks. It happens.”
Barry looked appalled at Hal’s choice of words. “Did you just say—”
“Shagged out? Yeah, it means exhausted—in the best ways if you know what I mean~” His expression bled into something akin to salaciousness and he cocked an arm around Barry’s neck. “Shall we shag now or shag later?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, halfway torn between breaking into laughter and groaning. “No. Do not respond in Austin Powers quotes.”
“Fine, since you’re such a master debater and me a mere cunning linguist.”
“Hal, shut the fuck up,” Barry snorted.
Hal shoved is mouth next to Barry’s ear and yelled, “How ‘bout no!”
“I hate you,” he cackled, pulling the pilot along with him through the Zeta-tube.
“But do I make you horny, baby~” he smirked. “I’m not gonna stop. You gotta do it.”
Barry let out a loud groan and turned to Hal, taking a deep breath before he waggled his brows and teased, “Oh behave, baby~”
“AHA!” Hal shouted, almost collapsing into hysteric laughter, and Barry started giggling, the hunger and tiredness forgotten as he led Hal through the portal.