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“Look,” Hal said, “I’m going to be real with you.”
Across the small cell, Batman audibly sighed.
“You weren’t before?”
He had been -- or at least, as real as he could be before he’d seen the yellow-shielded cell and the Kryptonite around Superman’s wrists. And Batman’s missing belt, which meant they were truly, royally fucked.
Someone had thought ahead. A lot.
“I was optimistic,” Hal said, side-eyeing Superman when he didn’t immediately rise to Batman’s defense, “Now I’m being realistic.”
“Great,” Batman said, “When do you get alarmed? Does that cost extra?”
Hal squinted at him, unamused. Ten minutes away from his fiery, inevitable death, and Bruce was still icier than a titty on Corona Seven. It was almost impressive.
Above their heads, the ship’s speakers repeated the self-detonation warning message. Hal winced, feeling his eardrums vibrate at the intensity.
“Supes is out of commission,” he said, nodding at the Kryptonite bracelets ringing Superman’s wrists, “and we’re probably going to die in the next ten or so minutes.”
“Probably is a generous word,” Batman said, mouth downturned.
See, that was his fucking problem. It was their -- unfortunate -- last few minutes alive, and the asshole couldn’t even muster up the vulnerability to crack a smile.
“Are you going to spend the rest of our lives with that stick up your ass,” Hal sniped back, “or is that just for my benefit?”
Batman turned to him, eyes flashing under the cowl’s edge. “Land the plane, Lantern.”
“I have a proposal,” Hal said, unable to hide the way the quick jab put life back into his shoulders, drawing them back and upright, “Will you hear me out?”
Batman — Bruce — glanced pointedly at Superman, who was still slumped against the far wall of the cell, then shrugged.
I’ll take that as a yes.
“To be honest,” Hal said, heart hammering in his chest, “I always thought you were hot as fuck.”
Next to Bruce, Superman let out a choking wheeze, twitching slightly against the wall. The chains around his wrists rattled slightly, flaring a bright green.
“We have mad chemistry,” Hal continued, staring Bruce dead between the eyes, “I know you always thought about it.”
“The plane, Jordan,” Bruce growled, fists clenching.
“Me, you,” Hal said, voice rising, “Horizontal tango. Preferably while looking away from Supes. Yes?”
There was a long, awful pause as Bruce stared at him, unmoving.
“You think,” and there was that voice again, “that I want to spend the last ten minutes of my life with your dick down my throat?”
Hal felt himself flush, shoulders creaking as they bowed under Bruce Wayne’s total, outright rejection.
Well. Here went nothing.
“I was actually thinking the other way around,” he said, leering, “but if you’re insisting—”
“Jordan.”
Despite the protest, Hal could see the contemplative tilt to Bruce’s jaw. He was, at the very least, not discarding the proposal entirely.
Holy fuck.
“No,” Superman moaned, head slamming against the wall as he tried in vain to get up without the use of his hands, “--s’not--”
Bruce made a low noise in the back of his throat, nudging Superman back against the wall. “Kal.”
This time, Superman’s eyelids fluttered. “B--”
Hal faltered slightly next to the familiar, intimate exchange. When Bruce looked back up from Superman, Hal gave him a wide, knowing smile.
There was something calculated and distant in those eyes, now. Hal tried not to shiver, feeling Bruce’s gaze rove up and down his chest.
“Fine.”
Hal’s smile froze on his face. “...what?”
“I said,” Bruce reached up, unbuckling his cowl, “Fine. I agree.”
A moment later, Bruce Wayne was staring back at him with heavy-lidded grey eyes, hair mussed. There was a bitter twist to his mouth, however, that was still purely Batman.
Superman made another protesting noise, head sliding off the wall again. Hal ignored him, crawling over toward Bruce with wide eyes.
“Good,” he said, grabbing the other man around the neck before he could lose his nerve, “Come here.”
Eager, warm lips met his a moment later, kissing back fiercely. Hal moaned into the kiss, battling for control as Bruce’s hands slid into his suit, tugging him forward.
He ended up with Bruce in his lap a moment later, impossibly heavy in the armor and suit. There was no point protesting it, though -- not when the man kissed him back desperately, hands releasing his suit to twine up in his hair.
Hal made a choked noise, hips jerking upward as his scalp tugged painfully. Bruce smiled against his lips, pulling back briefly to let them catch their breaths.
When he looked up, Superman was half-upright against the wall, staring at them with wide, dilated eyes. Hal flushed, an awkward explanation lodging itself in his throat.
Was it just him, or did the Kryptonite bracelets seem to be…dimming?
Before he could voice his observation, Bruce’s mouth latched onto his neck, sucking a line up his throat.
“Fu-uuck,” Hal said, moving his hands to grip the other man’s ass cheeks through his suit, “Oh fuck.”
A gloved hand slid in between the panels of his suit, pushing past his underwear. Hal let out another groan as it gripped his cock, giving it a slow, torturous stroke against his belly.
Bruce’s mouth returned to his, pressing a bruising kiss against his lips. Hal’s mouth opened eagerly, welcoming it. He was rewarded with another rough stroke, shivering as it left pleasure twitching through his entire body.
He made the mistake of opening his eyes again, half-dazed with pleasure. Superman was completely upright now, staring -- glaring -- at the two of them with eyes that were just beginning to spark red.
“Bruce,” Hal said against the other man’s lips, “Bruce.”
They pulled apart, breathing heavily. The hand in his pants retreated, smearing the precome against his suit hem as it went.
“Kal,” Bruce turned around, expressionless. There was a bright flush across his skin, high on his cheekbones and creeping down his neck.
With a wordless growl, Superman split the handcuffs down the middle, splintering the Kryptonite into a thousand tiny shards. Hal winced as several battered against his suit, engaging his lenses so they didn’t slice into his eyes.
Bruce didn’t even blink at the display. With impressive grace, he stood, grabbing his cowl off the floor. He eyed the barred door to the cell, replacing the cowl across his face.
It took less than a second for Superman to smash the door lock in response to Bruce's silent request, opening the cell. Hal stumbled to his feet, tugging his suit back into place as Bruce stepped into the hallway.
“There’s escape pods down this hallway,” he said, “We don’t have much time until the ship detonates.”
Hal checked his ring as they hurried toward the pods. By his count, they had less than four minutes, now. They’d wasted at least six minutes doing…well.
Oh, what a wonderful six minutes it was.
The three of them crammed onto the last escape pod. It was even tighter quarters than the cell had been. This close, he could smell Bruce -- his sweat, the oil on his armor, and the lingering arousal in the air.
He could only imagine what Superman could sense.
One minute and thirty seconds later, they had successfully ejected into space and past the estimated blast radius on Hal’s ring. He waited until the ship had blown up -- anticlimactic in space, unfortunately -- to speak.
“So,” he said.
“No.”
Ah, yeah, that was definitely red in Superman’s eyes. Hal nodded, shutting his fucking mouth.
“Cool,” he said, “Yeah, totally.”
This was going to be a fun rescue. So fun.