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It was getting easier.
It was- this thing between them: unspoken, physical, instinctual- getting easier with every new encounter. It weighs less and less on his mind with every knowing glance, every stolen touch, every secret rendezvous. Rendezvous- now even his vocabulary is being affected. It was getting easier, Hal told himself, until the bastard had to just open his goddamned mouth.
“I’m not him.”
The bastard said, monotonously, as was his style. The bastard. Hal was in the middle of wiping himself off and thinking about whether to get another washcloth or just hand over the one he was using when the goddamned bastard went and said the words. He could only half-convincingly mouth a “wuh?” before Bastard McBastardface went on to say:
“I’m not Barry.”
Really, truly a bastard, Hal thinks before he retorts: “yeah? No shit Sherlock. You think I’d be givin’ you handjobs if you were? Christ on a stick.”
Unperturbed, the bastard a.k.a. Bruce Wayne gets off the bed to collect his clothes on the floor. “Then perhaps it’s best if you didn’t call me Barry when you do give me handjobs.” Still no sign of emotion on his face- more Batman than Bruce in every encounter. Hal, on the other hand, look shellshocked- mouth agape and body frozen in mid-action. He could feel the heat rising from his belly, any moment he knew he’d be turning beet red.
“I... I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hn.” Was all the bastard can muster to say, after naming his shame, voicing it to the world. Giving Hal a last emotionless look, he enters the bathroom to do whatever Batmen are wont to do in bathrooms after sex. Ah. Sex. Supposedly emotionless sex, was it not the unspoken agreement. But the thing with unspoken agreements, see, is you’re never sure if you’re both on the same page right, since you didn’t really speak about it in the first place. Ah, whatever, Hal thought, throwing the washcloth and almost hitting the bedside lamp. Suddenly filled with all these roiling emotions- more than the usual after “emotionless sex”- Hal launches himself on the bed and glares at the ceiling.
What was he thinking. Well, he wasn’t thinking, was he? That’s the thing. If he was, he wouldn’t be here- buck naked on a king sized bed at some penthouse he has no idea where. And how about that? Him, Mr. ‘I’m technically homeless if not for my boss giving me back my job every time I return from space missions for months at a time’. And then him, Mr. ‘I own like almost all of Gotham don’t you know, that’s right a whole city my chum’. And then... and then... oh man, and then him. Him him. Mr. ‘Hi I’m the nicest man you’ll ever meet and I’m your best bud so please don’t think of me whenever you fuck someone else’.
Oh.
But he’s not the only one who knows a Mr. ‘Hi I’m the nicest man you’ll ever meet and I’m your best bud so please don’t think of me whenever you fuck someone else’, is he? Hal grins a shit-eating grin. He should’ve known from the start! But he’s not the one called “World’s Greatest Detective”, now is he? Why else would the Batman even agree to this kind of arrangement? It’s not out of fondness for Hal, that’s for fucking sure.
The bathroom door opens and out comes, well, you know. Looking pristine, handsome, debonair, all the nice adjectives. Hal will give him that- he sure is pretty to look at. And when they’re frantically tearing at each other’s clothes, well. Hal sits up and watched Bruce- or is it Bats? Someone in between- get ready to leave. Hall has to call out to get his attention.
“Hey!” This earned him a raised eyebrow.
“All right. You were right. I won’t call you... you know. Sorry. But, just to let you know, if ever you accidentally call me oh... I dunno... Clark? I want you to know, I won’t mind.”
That earned him... nothing. Or was it nothing? Hal could’ve sworn a small tick underneath the left eye before a curt nod and then an exit without so much a goodbye. The shit eating grin returns, and Hal stretches out on the bed, this time relaxed, arms folded behind his head. A moment of insight- the reason why this thing between them maybe works is because maybe they’re both bastards.
It’s nice to know you’re not alone in hell.
____
He had a frown like a puppy.
A cute one, mind. The way a golden retriever would look sad when you don’t give it enough attention. Golden- what an apt descriptor. Bruce folds the newspaper he’d been pretending to read for some odd minutes in favor of looking at his companion’s frowning face directly.
“You’re not saying anything.”
Ah, a non-sequitur out of the gate. They do this- this thing where they start conversations non-verbally and then start it verbally midway. Perhaps a curious skill born out of years of what you may kindly call friendship. He could pretend to not know what it’s about, but that would mean more minutes of, at this point, pouting. Bruce was sorely tempted to do so.
“There really is nothing to say.”
The pout/frown is replaced with a resigned look and crossed arms. Bruce is moved to sigh on his part. This really is a nonsense conversation they’re not having.
“Clark, what is it that you want me to say.”
“Well at this point I don’t want to force it out of you.”
A raised eyebrow met with dubious honesty.
“There is nothing happening between Hal and I. We are merely friends, just as you and I are friends.”
The dubious honesty became just plain dubious. Bruce is aware that the man in front of him could, if he was ever so inclined, use his vast privacy-invading powers to just find it out for himself. Oh, Bruce was very aware. But he is also the very bastion of honesty and discretion. Superman would never. Not for some hot gossip about his what you might call best friend, oh heavens no. Bruce is also very thankful of that fact. Of the fact that this demigod is also an aw-shucks boy next door who would never, ma’am, oh no. Perhaps Bruce should be thankful to the Kents. He should write them a really nice card this Christmas.
“Again, I don’t want to force you...”
“And I suppose I should thank you for that.”
Bruce cuts in, and Clark is visibly annoyed. It’s not often that happens, and it gives Bruce a perverse sense of pleasure. Just a tiny one, so he allows himself a small smirk. Clark frowns at that smirk. But then, a beat, and Clark shrugs. Bruce cocks his head to the side as a question, and Clark just shrugs again- their conversation continued wordless.
“I guess you’re right. It’s your business after all. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
Clark offers Bruce an apologetic smile, unaware of its effects on the latter. He looks down on his plate and then picks up a fry and continues where he left off from his lunch, as if nothing happened, as if he hadn’t almost picked apart his friend, if he’d only pursued the question like he would as a journalist. And Bruce would’ve folded, gods knew. Only for Clark though. No one else. Well, perhaps Diana with the Lasso of Truth, but that’s magic and therefore not counted. Again, a reminder to himself to write a really, really nice Christmas card to the Kents this year.
Why he was even lying to Clark, he doesn’t acknowledge to himself why.
“Anyway”, Clark says apropos of nothing, “I was thinking of asking Lois to somewhere nice this weekend...”
Ah, Bruce thought. That’s why.
______
He really does love this, having the power to fly coast to coast at no cost. Especially because he’s so broke. Well, technically coast to midwest. All to see this guy, yes, he’s not afraid to admit it. After all, the guy is his best friend. That should be reason enough right?
“Hey buddy!”
Hal greets, while tapping at the fire exit window to Barry’s apartment. Said buddy turns at the sound, and bursts into a genuine smile that just warms all of Hal’s cockles, whatever they’re supposed to be.
“Hey yourself! You couldn’t be bothered to reply to my messages but here you are in the flesh.” Barry greets/admonishes as he lets in Hal and gives him a hug. He smells of lavender, Hal notes, must be a new detergent.
“Yeah, my data plan is nada and well I just missed you.”
Both are true statements, God knows. Hal misses his bestest best bud all the goddamn time. In fact, he missed him just last night, in bed, alone in his crappy studio apartment in the west coast. He could’ve thought of Bruce, in fact that was one of the reasons for the arrangement, but Barry’s face just kept popping up instead. Ah, and so he went with it, then flew to Barry’s midwest apartment the very next day with just the tiniest bit of remorse in his heart. After all, he’d been doing it for a while now, why even regret, right? Right.
He lets himself be shepherded into the apartment and onto the sofa, to what he would call his ‘spot’, and he settles in as Barry goes to get them a couple of beers. Hal leans back, closes his eyes and smiles. A couple of beers means he’ll be staying over, which means he’s got more than enough time to hang out and have dinner and sleep over and wake up and have breakfast and not stare at his best friend’s sleeping face for a couple of minutes, no way, none of that creep stuff. Not this time at least, Hal promises himself. A promise he would break, when he saw that face beaming with the friendliest smile as he is handed over an ice cold beer. Great.
“Hey so you haven’t seen any of my messages?”
Barry asks, in between swigs of beer. He’s already sat beside Hal’s “spot” on his sofa, and reaching for the remote on the table in front of them. Hal casually props his feet on the table, earning him a frown from his friend, which never happened before the million times he’s propped his feet on this exact same table. Barry nudges him on the side.
“Maybe don’t put your feet on my table?”
Barry asks, with Midwestern politeness. Surprised, Hal wordlessly does so, adjusting his seating. He feels the need to voice this surprise.
“I’m surprised at this, Bar-bear. You’ve never once asked me to not put my feet on this here table, like ever, before. Who even are you?”
A joke, as is his manner, but another surprise as Barry’s face turns a light shade of pink. He murmured something into his beer before taking another swig. Having been not that bottle of beer Hal didn’t really hear it all that well and is moved to ask his friend to speak up.
“I said, well I’ve never had a girlfriend who cared about feet on the table before.”
Hal had wanted to let his mouth agape but that would mean beer spilling onto the sofa and he’s pretty sure ‘girlfriend’ would care about spilled beer on the sofa.
“Whaddaya ya mean... girlfriend?”
Barry smiles an embarrassed smile before placing his bottle on the table -on a coaster, Hal finally notices, and when did his friend ever own a coaster?
“I told you I’ve been messaging you...”
“Yeah but...”
“I know, you said. But, ok. Anyway, I have a girlfriend now. Iris. I finally asked her out and she said, well, obviously yes and we’ve been going out for a while now and, oh but this is perfect! We’re having dinner later after her work and you can come with so I can introduce you guys!”
Barry goes on to say how wonderful Iris is, and how great Hal is, and for sure they’ll hit it off right away, of course his girl and his best bud, and later, well, later later maybe... Hal has to reach out and hold onto an excited waving hand to get Barry’s attention again.
“Hold on, Bar-bear. So I can’t crash here for tonight?”
“Oh, no of course you can bud! I can... I mean...” and here again Barry turns pink, but he soldiers on. “You can stay here and I’ll just stay over Iris’ place. You know your way around my place you’ve been here so many times before. You still have my spare key, right?”
Hal wordlessly reaches into his jacket pocket and jangles the keys there.
“Oh man, I’m so excited for later!” Barry exclaims with such genuine happiness that Hal couldn’t bear to say the words that had been running through his head for last few minutes: yikes, well gotta fly bud, it was nice knowing ya and hope to never see you again so I can bury my goddamn shame! And instead, what came out of his lying, smiling mouth was an enthused, “oh I’m so happy for you man!”
And he was, god knows he was. This guy, this blond, blue-eyed sweetheart of a man, deserved happiness. Of course said happiness was never going to be found with Hal, pfft, he already knew that. He just... well he just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon. Okay granted Barry had been pining after this Iris lady for what seems like years now. But did it have to happen? This soon, he means? He could have used a heads up before he flew all the way... oh. That’s right, the messages. Goddamn stupid data plan. Goddamn asshole Batman for not sharing his wifi password (‘were not here to surf the internet’, was what the asshole said). Goddamn stupid Hal. Falling in love with his best bud. His straight best bud. Goddamn.
Barry was still blathering on about ‘later’, and Hal could only nod along with that fake smile still plastered on his face, now and then making encouraging grunts and ‘yeah’s. Later, later than later, alone in Barry’s apartment, Hal finally checks his phone (which automatically connects to Barry’s wifi, natch) and sees the plethora of messages his friend had been sending him the last three weeks he was in space and the one day he was in a penthouse somewhere. He lets out a long sigh, throws the phone somewhere and burrows deeper into the couch (Barry had offered the bed, and Hal had been so tempted, but decency ruled in the end). He wonders if Bruce was busy tonight, and then quickly shakes the thought away. Might as well get a decent sleep in before flying all the way back to his sad, crappy apartment in the west coast tomorrow. He turns his head and smells the lavender on the pillow.
Ah, he thought. The lavender makes sense now. Well, at least one thing makes sense.