Work Text:
As a matter of routine, Hal doesn’t get days off. Sure, there’s the odd lazy afternoon when he’s in-between jobs, as he is now, or the occasional week of wallowing on Ollie’s couch when he’s in-between apartments, and he’s hanging by a thread there, but being a Green Lantern’s taught him the universe doesn’t take time off. So, consequently, he’s always on call.
It’s not a bad deal, being a space-cop. It’s just--
Well, he’s here now, lounging on the couch he gets to enjoy for at least another week before that pesky eviction notice brings the landlord knocking on his door, The Bachelorette blaring on TV, greasy snacks at hand. Hal’s content in his boxers and a ratty Ferris Aircraft t-shirt, happy to be another one of the nobodies parked in front of cheap television with cheaper intentions, no saving the world on today’s menu.
That’s probably why he startles so bad, fumbles with a beer that ends up overboard, when something smacks against the balcony door. Hal raises his fist on pure instinct and notes, under the growing discomfort of damp boxers, that he’s quite conspicuously lacking a ring.
And the sound repeats itself, a dull thud against the glass door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Hal can’t look away, partially caught in an abrupt search for his ring between couch cushions.
It’s Sinestro. Technically. It should be Sinestro, god knows Hal would recognise him anywhere, but-- he’s flying into the door, over and over like a particularly disoriented bird, too determined for his own good. It’s disconcerting, and in the same instance just about the funniest thing Hal’s ever seen. He allows himself a smile, since every day Sinestro gets a door to the face must be a good one, and resumes his search.
Locating the ring doesn’t ease any confusion but, as he slips it on, Hal figures it at least means he’s gonna be able to communicate with Sinestro. Or, whatever passes for communication between them.
“Dude,” he says as he slides open the door, moving aside once Sinestro’s latest attempt brings him inside, “what the hell.”
Any scratches on the windows are coming right out of his deposit, he just knows it.
“Jordan.”
Sinestro’s-- smiling, which is strange enough to make Hal freeze, something like apprehension tugging at his insides. First things first, Sinestro doesn’t just smile, not unless he’s in the midst of some nefarious plot or, Hal assumes, minutes away from administering some sort of finishing blow to a Green Lantern. Hell, he barely smiles when they’re engaging in less-than-advisable activities in the bedroom, focused on correcting Hal’s form, his predisposition for not standing up straight when Sinestro’s got his hand wrapped around his--
Right.
Point being? This has to be at least two signs of some impending apocalypse that Hal’s not in the mood to deal with.
At a closer glance, Sinestro’s eyes are nearly all black, swallowed up by dilated pupils that have only left a slim, golden circle behind. Hal closes the balcony door and considers that, carefully neutral like a near lifetime of space-adventuring’s taught him, and, while he’s at it, also considers the necessity of ducking into the bedroom for a quick wardrobe change.
He’s pretty sure he reeks of the beer he hadn’t drank, expects Sinestro to comment on it.
“You okay?” Hal asks instead because, as fate would have it, what Sinestro appears to be doing is sniffing loudly at empty air, eyes shut in concentration.
It’s a long moment until Sinestro looks up, pupils still blown wide, and he tilts his head, curiously feline. He says, “I’m perfectly fine, Jordan,” like it’s obvious and proceeds to launch himself at Hal with enough force to send the two of them crashing to the ground, barely enough time for a startled Oh, fuck! to make it past Hal’s lips before his head hits the hardwood floor.
This isn’t, in fact, in the vicinity of perfectly fine, not for Sinestro anyway, who doesn’t make a habit out of pouncing like an overgrown and overeager kitten. He’s nosing at Hal’s neck, not kissing but nuzzling insistently, an odd growling sound growing in the back of his throat.
Something’s seriously wrong.
“Ring,” Hal says, mildly to severely frantic, barely heard through the hand Sinestro’s slapped over his whole face for no real reason, “what’s wrong with him?”
Large quantities of nepetalactone detected.
Hal rolls his eyes, fights a shudder as Sinestro keeps nuzzling, ticklish where his moustache rubs against him. “Okay, let’s try that again.”
Nepetalactone is an organic compound primarily found in the Earth plant commonly known as catnip. It is a cat attractant that may induce rolling, pawing, frisking, drooling, sleepiness, anxiety and purring.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Hal laughs, bursts with it, really, belly-deep and so goddamn hilarious -- so inconceivably hilarious -- that he’s nearly brought to tears as he lays there under Sinestro, still nursing a bump to the back of his head and beer-soaked boxers. “Catnip? Fucking catnip?” he breathes out through his laughter, voice gone hysterically high.
He runs a hand through Sinestro’s hair, tries pulling him back so they can have, and Hal laughs again here because can’t quite help himself, a decent conversation. Increasingly frenzied, it occurs to him that maybe he’s lost it.
It’d be hard not to.
“Sinestro-- Sinestro, listen to me,” Hal tries, really tries but Sinestro won’t budge an inch and, as much as he’s loath to admit, he’s sort of getting used to the assault on his neck. He was, anyway, until Sinestro bites him and Hal makes a thoroughly undignified noise. “That’s it! C’mon, get up, I don’t care if you’re high on catnip or what but you can’t just--”
And Sinestro bites him again, sloppy-wet.
“Stop that!” This time Hal grabs him by the collar and it’s only then, the blue fabric clutched tight in one fist, that it dawns on him Sinestro’s Yellow Lantern uniform must’ve melted away at some point or another.
Weird.
It’s all weird.
“Stop what?” Sinestro sounds-- no, Hal wouldn’t call it soft but close enough to wander, relaxed and hazy like never before. “I’m not doing anything,” he adds, seemingly confused and that’s gotta be another first. Precariously graceless, he moves off Hal and proceeds to… roll on the floor. There’s no good word for it, he is rolling on the floor, the whole lithe immensity of him.
In the ensuing minute and a half, Hal feels like he’s the one who’s taken something very potent and very hallucinogenic. All he does is lay there on his side for the longest time, staring at Sinestro.
“Ring,” he starts, remnants of amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth, “Is Sinestro some kinda cat?” It’s maybe -- a hard maybe, really -- the worst thing he’s ever asked his ring, half expects a disembodied head of a Guardian to come calling. Probably not Ganthet, Hal thinks he’s got a soft spot for him, but somebody’s probably taking note of this, another strike on the blatant misuse of Green Lantern resources list.
Korugarians have been observed to display certain feline attributes.
Hal laughs, again, and thinks he’s spent too much time around Sinestro lately. It’s either second-hand catnip or sheer absurdity getting to him. He stands up eventually, still half-disbelieving, and watches Sinestro for a second longer, seemingly pawing at the coffee table’s leg.
“Okay, so it's really-- like, what, space catnip? Is that it?” Hal’s mostly thinking out loud as he returns to his seat on the couch, turns off the TV while he’s at it, all thoughts of the afternoon he’d planned out now a million miles away.
In an instant, Sinestro descends on him, moving faster than Hal would’ve given him credit for in his current state. Here comes another oddity: Sinestro curls up in his lap, and at six-foot-something-ridiculous there’s a lot of curling up to be done, and starts-- purring. Hal screams out loud.
Sinestro can purr.
Sinestro is purring.
“Hey.” Hal cups Sinestro’s thin face, stares deeply into half-lidded eyes, still lacking any hint of yellow. “Hey, hold on a second, you asshole, you’ve never purred before!”
And, probably to spite him, Sinestro purrs louder. Pressed up so close, it reverberates in Hal’s chest, makes him want to really hold Sinestro, like they’re something more to each other than one night stands on repeat and mortal enemies. He leans into it, unthinking, still caught in the unreality of it.
The universe’s had it out for Hal since day one, he’s well-acquainted with the notion, but nothing can really prepare him for --
“Ugh, Jordan.”
-- that.
Against all odds, it’s not Sinestro, who hasn’t magically manifested across the room, but Soranik. Her hair’s a little shorter than the last time Hal’s seen her and the yellow uniform still takes some adjusting to but there’s not much else he can glimpse over Sinestro’s shoulder, nothing other than her going through every stage of grief and then some anyways.
“This is ridiculous, just let go of my father--” is what Soranik starts to say at the exact same time the front door bursts open and Hal himself starts to feel a little queasy at the sight of John Stewart.
“Um,” Hal says, lacking most conventional explanations.
Sinestro’s purring picks up, nuzzling Hal’s neck again, and, absurdly enough, John and Soranik exchange a look. Or, specifically, A Look. Hal can’t even say whether they’ve spoken more than twice total but, here they are, sharing ominous and significant looks.
“What?” He looks between them, vaguely worried.
It occurs to Hal that he’s no great detective -- never been, never will be -- but, hey, even he can put together a puzzle every now and again. Whatever John knows, it’s because of Katma, that much seems obvious in hindsight. “What,” he repeats.
Soranik looks at John again.
“Is this--” No, no, no, repeats endlessly in Hal’s mind, anything but that, “Is it some kinda sex thing?”
“Look, Hal, whatever’s going on here is your business, I just got a distress signal from the ring and you know what? I kinda gotta get back to the league anyway,” John says, quickfire and looking at a nonexistent watch. Hal’s never seen him frantic and he’s certainly never seem him quite this eager for a quick escape. “Uh, see you around.”
He’s gone in a flash of green, out through the balcony door Soranik left open. She, for her credit, lingers awkwardly behind.
“It’s not... exactly that,” Soranik starts to say, averting her gaze, “That’s kissing, on Korugar.” She huffs, shaking her head. “We were off world, he got a faceful of catnip and just took off, I’ve been trailing him ever since. I did not wanna see this.”
“There’s nothing going on between--”
“Save it, Jordan. I already know.”
That’s one conversation Hal had been counting on never happening. Soranik makes a vague gesture, dismissive, and turns back towards the fastest way out. “He’s your problem now,” she adds and with that, Soranik, too, leaves.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes out, abruptly exhausted.
There’s little to be done with a still loopy, overly affectionate Sinestro, who’s still happily purring away. One thing alone comes to mind. “You’re gonna kill me tomorrow,” Hal says, mostly resigned, as he flies the two of them to bed, grateful for the ring. They’ve rarely slept together, in the real sense of the words, but it’s hard to think of a better opportunity.
Hal throws an arm around Sinestro, pulls him close and prepares himself for his eventual demise. Just for now, they’ve got all the time they need.