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Chapter 1 - It's Kind Of A Funny Story
The first time Barry saw Hal out of the costume is when he really noticed how… pretty Hal was. When they were fighting off aliens, or looking for missing children, there was a focus. Barry had his red costume and cowl combination, and Hal his green and black suit with the white mask. Sure, Hal was muscular, and lean, and tall, but Barry was focused; there was a job to do. So, he didn’t really pay much attention to the way his hair was cut, or what color his eyes were, or the white gloves fitting perfectly on his muscular forearms.
But, when Barry left the forensics lab one afternoon for lunch, and saw Hal leaning against his motorcycle with a stupid pair of aviator shades, his flight jacket and dirty jeans, leather boots, and his hair a mess from his helmet, Barry melted all over his own shoes.
Barry never realized how perfectly-care-free Hal’s hair was. It was shorter on the sides, but longer on the top in a mop of chocolate-brown curls. There was a scar on the side of his head where the hair didn’t grow, right above his ear, but that small imperfection only added to how perfect the haircut suited Hal.
“Well, hey, stranger. I figured a nice, corporate boy like you would be taking their lunch break right now. How about it?” Hal said, patting the backseat on his bike.
“I’ve never been on a bike before,” Barry said, tongue heavy in his mouth. He was still admiring Hal, the sharpness of his jawline, the buzz of his hair near his ear.
“Oh, come on. I’ll be gentle,” Hal cooed.
Barry was going to pass away.
Hal handed him a helmet that was strapped to the back of the bike, then tugged his own on. Barry missed that pile of hair already, but something about a biker boy, eyes and face hidden behind the visor, smelling of leather and mischief, really was doing it for Barry.
“Now, hang on, Bear,” Hal said, shrugging his brown leather flight jacket off. He tucked it around Barry, helping him get his arms through the fleece-lined sleeves. “There. I won’t drop the bike, but you never know what alien or whatever will be after me,” he said.
Barry stood there stunned stupid, jacket warm and smelling of ozone and worn leather and Hal’s musky cologne. Hal saddled the bike, then offered a hand so Barry could scramble onto the back. He set his hands on Hal’s shoulders first, but then when Hal spun the bike around, squealing the back tire and doing a semicircle on the street, Barry lurched forward and grabbed his waist, earning a chuckle from Hal. Dr. Tina was standing there, grinning like mad, especially when Hal revved the engine and shot down the street.
Great. He would be getting teased the rest of the afternoon.
Hal rode his motorcycle with surprising care. Maybe because Barry was on the back. The only time he did something stupid was when Barry let go of his waist, and rested his hands on Hal’s shoulders instead. Hal would open the throttle completely, in a low gear, to jolt the bike forward so Barry slammed into his back and had to grab his waist.
Barry eventually gave up and left his arms around Hal’s waist, leaning his helmet on Hal’s shoulder so they stopped bonking heads. Occasionally, Hal would squeeze Barry’s knee when he was going to lanesplit or accelerate quicker than usual. Hal also kept weaving back and forth in his lane, making Barry chuckle at the worm-like motion.
To Barry’s disappointment, Hal pulled off to the side of the road and parked the bike. They were across the street from a pizza restaurant that the two frequently order from when they’re working on a case or a mission together. Inside, there are a few tables and chairs by the windows to eat at. Hal helped Barry off of the bike, offering his hand for extra stability, and locked their helmets to the backseat of the bike.
Barry had to bite his tongue to keep from dropping his jaw. Hal’s hair was messy from the helmet; the curls were in all sorts of directions, a few curling over his ears and down his forehead. The wind tousled the strands, making Barry want to reach out and fix them. God, that haircut really suited Hal.
“Are you alright? I didn’t scare you too bad, did I?” Hal asked, seemingly concerned for Barry’s disassociation.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Just tired, y’know?” Barry said, ignoring the heat in his face and striding across the street towards the pizza joint.
Inside, both went up to the counter and ordered a few slices of pizza each and a soda. Hal surprisingly paid, telling Barry he received his first Justice League stipend and it was burning a hole in his pocket. They sat down at the table furthest from the counter, picking at their slices, talking about everything except hero-ing. Hal was asking Barry’s favorite color, favorite foods, favorite hobbies.
And every so often, when he’d run a hand through that messy hair, Barry would lose his focus.
“How did you get that scar/” Barry interrupted, pointing at the side of Hal’s head.
His finger rubbed over it. “Oh, that? My first Lantern mission. I was really bad at constructs, so I didn’t shield in enough time. Got hit right in the face,” Hal chuckled. “Do you have any scars, Barry?”
He thought for a moment. He did have a few left over scars from Big Sir, and a few from just not healing correctly, but it was nothing too bad. The worst “scars” he had were on his thighs— little lightning bolt-shaped stretch marks and friction burns from using the Speed Force.
“Only a few, though I do have these little lightning bolt marks on my thighs.”
Hal choked on his sip of soda. Barry reached over to hit him on the back, concerned. Maybe he just swallowed wrong? Barry does that sometimes. Finally, Hal recovered and held up a hand, clearing his throat. They talked a little bit more, until Barry checked his watch and realized they were cutting it close for his break.
They got back to the bike, put their helmets on, and rode toward the police station. Barry was more comfortable (and a bit more self-indulgent) with putting his arms around Hal’s waist and pressing close. It was kind of nice riding on the motorcycle, weaving in-and-out of cars and traffic. Hal waved at a few bikers they passed, doing the two-fingers down motion.
Barry was a bit sad when they got back. Hal helped him off the bike and took Barry’s helmet, strapping it to the seat. Barry shrugged off Hal’s leather flight jacket, missing the warmth of the fleece and the smell already. He wishes Hal would’ve brought Barry his own jacket instead of lending his own, because Barry would be thinking about it for the rest of the day.
“So, what’s up with the surprise lunch?” Barry asked, fixing his own tousled hair.
“I just wanted to see you; is that a crime, Allen?” Hal winked, his stupid, infuriating, flirty self. He tugged his helmet off, then tucked it under his arm. Hal dragged his fingers through the curls on top of his head, likely in an attempt to smooth it back, but just fluffed it up more, giving him the perfect, effortless, care-free look.
“Yes, Jordan. It is a crime,” Barry said, his own helmet still on to hide his blush.
Chapter 2 - 'Cause This Is About A Girl I Like
Barry was surrounded by perfection all the time.
Things in the lab had to be perfect, from notes to measurements to results, it all had to be down to a ninety-nine percent confidence interval. His lab coat had to be perfect; the white needed to be bleached every weekend he did laundry, the collar pressed with an iron, and his nametag in a specific spot so it didn’t get in the way of work and the police could still read it. Barry’s schedule had to be perfect, so there was time for rushed cases and the work that had been on the docket was completed in an efficient manner.
Being a hero was perfection on its own. Even being the fastest man alive, he had to do everything exactly right to avoid someone dying, a villain causing more mayhem, and to please Batman. Barry had to make sure his identity was hidden, so he had a list of perfect excuses for leaving work early or getting off of the subway fast or missing a meeting.
And Barry was surrounded by perfection. Clark was flawless; no moles or freckles or scars, that sweet, Midwest attitude, and perfect symmetry. Diana was the same; gorgeous, thick, curly black hair that always looked immaculate, long eyelashes, and a build that looked strong and tall but also elegant and gorgeous. Bruce Wayne was Bruce Wayne; everything is perfect about that guy!
So Barry feels a bit left out. He has scars, plenty of moles and freckles, his hair is always windswept, and he has laugh lines around his eyes. Then Hal came along, giving Barry a friendship that rivaled the Trinity. And the first thing Barry noticed about him was that smile.
Cocky-sure, usually quirked up on the left side in a sly-smirk, and a bottom lip that was just slightly larger and more plump than the top. And when Hal finally blessed Barry with that full smile, all of his teeth showing, Barry’s heart stopped. Hal’s teeth were bright-white, the sizes normal and spacing adequate, minus a small gap between the right lateral incisor and the canine. His canine teeth were also just a hair sharper than what was considered normal, adding to the beauty of Hal’s smile.
And sometimes, when Barry really got Hal laughing, that right canine tooth poked out on his bottom lip, like a little cat fang.
Hal would catch Barry staring constantly.
One League meeting, after Ollie cracked a joke at Bruce just to be annoying, Hal belted his full laugh, little gap in his teeth on display. Ollie and Hal teased Bruce, bantering back and forth with each other, until Clark calmly interrupted and told everyone to settle down. When Hal’s grin fell, that canine was pressing on his bottom lip, like a quirky vampire. Barry stared the whole meeting without realizing it, until Hal furrowed his brows and asked if there was something on his face.
The most recent time was when Wally and Dick were over, on standby for some League business Bruce wanted them there for. The last few nights they were over was pretty boring, minus the fact Barry was up until nearly three in the morning because Hal insisted on giving up his bed so Wally and Dick had a comfortable place to sleep. Instead of Hal crashing on the couch like a normal person, he shared Barry’s bed. The warmth was distracting.
“You guys are so lame. We need to do something besides crashing on the couch to American Pickers,” Hal said one night, kicking the door shut behind him as he carried boxes of pizza and garlic bread.
“Like what, old man?” Wally teased, setting out paper plates.
“I have Apples to Apples!” Barry said, setting out beers for everyone.
That earned dead-pan stares from everyone.
“What?” Barry said.
“Not Cards Against Humanity?” Dick questioned.
“No, that game is too dirty for Barry,” Wally cooed, popping the cap off of Dick’s beer for him. Barry flushed red. It isn’t his fault he didn’t like the lewd comments or reading terrible things outloud! Apples to Apples was sweet, and kind of silly!
“Alright, don’t give him a fever, now. Go get your game, Bear,” Hal smiled, opening the first box of pizza.
Barry got his game, explained the rules, and dealt the cards. While they were eating, they played, and it was fun. It was so incredibly silly, and of course Hal and Dick were still able to put a dirty twist on their cards. Of course, Hal teased both Barry and Wally when Dick drew a scary card and he threw down thunderstorms. That caused a round of yelling from both Speedsters and non-stop laughter from Dick and Hal.
But Barry’s complaints died down when he saw that full smile from Hal, gap between his teeth, sharp canines and all. Under the warm glow of the kitchen light, his big, brown eyes so full of warmth and love, that charming smile between his full lips, Barry was a goner. Screw Clark’s perfection, or Bruce’s perfection, even Diana’s; Hal Jordan was perfect.
“C’mon, Bear. You’re going to inflate my ego if you keep staring at me like that,” Hal said sheepishly, smirking so his canine was resting on his bottom lip.
“Oh, God. We really don’t want that,” Wally groaned.
Chapter 3 - … You Mean, "Love"?
Objectively speaking, Barry Allen really never found anyone hot before.
Of course, there were plenty of beautiful men, women, and everything in between that he had no issue appreciating; but, he never really body-checked anyone, focusing on their assets. Barry could appreciate a nice smile, a long pair of eyelashes, and sparkling eyes, but he never really looked at breasts and chests, or butts and thighs, or how thin and thick someone was. He just… didn’t care. Barry liked personality.
Then a certain Green Lantern barrelled into his life in a tight spandex suit, with thighs and biceps for days. Very suddenly, Barry understood the appeal of physical attraction. He liked that Hal was a couple of inches taller than him, and stockier. Barry was more lean muscle, whereas Hal carried a decent amount of bulk on him. There was something about realizing Hal could manhandle him without the Lantern ring that really did something for Barry.
And Hal has done a lot of manhandling. The first time was when the Flash was drained. His energy was depleted, and he didn’t have any of those protein bars Batman made or even enough adrenaline left to keep moving. Hal squatted down, scooped Barry into a bridal carry, and got him to the Watchtower to recover. No using the ring, no exertion, just carrying him like Barry weighed nothing. He was strong.
A few weeks later, Hal was helping Barry fix his car. Most car parts were pretty small and rather light, but it was the lifters in the motor that was giving the car trouble. To get to them, Hal had to take basically the entire thing apart and rotate it slightly. Instead of using his ring, which would’ve been much easier, Hal used his bare hands with a grunt and got it to the right angle.
Barry knew Hal had muscles; half the league wears skin-tight suits, so it was hard to miss the flex of Hal’s biceps, or the circumference of his thighs. But at their weekly League meeting, Barry learned a few interesting things about himself.
He was sitting across from Lantern. Most everyone was in their civvies, minus Batman, Wonder Woman, and Superman. Barry was wearing his work clothes, Hal was in his flight jacket and jeans combo, even Ollie was just wearing jeans and a tee. Batman was almost an hour into the first topic of the night and many of the League members were zoning out. Clark was the only one still paying attention, though it was more of a loving gaze than it was anything else.
Hal sighed, then leaned back in his chair. He put both hands behind his head, flexing his shoulders and cracking his back. In the process, the shirt he was wearing under his jacket rode up, giving Barry a front row seat to tan skin, abs, and a perfect trail of hair into his jeans. Barry’s eyes flew open, and his mouth nearly did too, his face burning. He couldn’t look away; if Hal opened his eyes, Barry would be caught.
Hal wasn't ripped like Clark was, with bulging abs and biceps and thighs. He wasn’t quite jacked like Bruce, who hasn’t had a slice of cake since he was a kid and only eats chicken and rice, or muscular like Diana, with a strength to rival that of the sun and a body to show for it.
He had abs, but they were less defined, under a little bit of skin, like Hal worked out and fought, but didn’t say no to a cookie or a beer if someone asked. He still had that perfect V that tapered into the waistband of his pants, and hips sharp enough to cut diamonds, but he was soft in ways Clark and Bruce and Diana were not.
And God, that trail of dark, fluffy hair that went from his navel under his waistband and into his pants had Barry sweating. All the man did was stretch his arms over his head, hands resting on the back of his head as he leaned back, and Barry was going to pass out. Even Clark, more cinnamon roll than Barry, met his eyes from across the table and gave him an approving nod. Bruce was really good at hiding his emotions, but when Barry’s cheeks met the color of his cowl, the corner of his left lip twitched up.
Barry was so screwed.
Chapter 4 - No, I Mean, "Like"
Something that shouldn’t have surprised Barry, but always did, was that Hal always wore the set of his military dog tags under his clothes. The first time he noticed this was at some event Bruce had. Throughout the night, Hal undid his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress shirt, leaning back in one of Bruce’s fancy recliners and talking to Diana about his latest mission.
Barry had caught a glimpse of the metal out of the corner of his eye and paid attention to it from there on out. Maybe it was because they were so shiny against the tan skin of Hal’s neck, or the little sound they’d make when Hal shifted this way or that, or if it was the look of the chain against Hal’s strong collarbones.
Once, he and Barry went to the beach in Coast City. They were there on League business and Hal wanted to show Barry around, including a very secluded beach that was hidden from the public eye, giving them a bit of privacy while they laid in the sand and looked for fancy rocks or shells. Either that, or it was private property, and Hal was just trying to not freak Barry out for being a law breaker.
Hal stripped to his boxers, tugging on Barry’s hand to drag him into the surprisingly warm ocean. As Hal scooped Barry up into his arms to dunk him under the water, Barry noticed he was still wearing those dog tags. They shined in the bright California sun, reflecting the light bouncing off of the water, creating a beacon for Barry’s eyes.
Even on missions, Hal had his dog tags under the Lantern suit. You really had to look to see where they stuck out against the symbol on his chest, but when you were close, it was there. Obviously, Barry wasn’t close to Hal’s chest very often, but sometimes he had to scoop Hal up into his arms and tap into the Speed Force to get him away from trouble (or to the trouble). Sometimes, Hal’s chest would bump Barry’s, and he’d feel the slight poke of the metal. Barry relished this feeling; he might be a little obsessed with Hal’s dog tags.
One horrible day, Barry and Hal were at home. It was late at night; Barry had just showered and found something to watch on TV. Hal cleaned up the rest of their dinner dishes and made Barry a cup of melatonin tea (not that it did anything with his metabolism, but it was still sweet), then grabbed a beer for himself. Then, both of their communicators started buzzing and blaring, alerting them of an all-hands-on-deck situation.
Quickly, they suited up, and Barry grabbed Hal to get them to Metropolis. It was never a dull moment with Lex Luthor around, and Batman was really protective over Clark, so most situations involving Luthor were all-hands. When Barry got Hal on his feet and took in the scene, it was pretty chaotic. Robots were everywhere, laden with Kryptonite, occupying nearly every member of the League.
Right away, the Green Lantern was in the fray, making constructs to back up the needs of the team, poking jabs at Batman for getting soft over Superman. This earned an accidental Batarang to the back of the head, causing the Flash to snort a laugh while he zipped between bots to tie their legs together, causing them to trip.
It was going great, until it wasn’t.
Two of the robots ran into each other, causing a huge explosion of fire, metal, and Kryptonite. Hal was doing his best to catch the pieces in a constructed garbage can, Barry was zipping in and out to get the League out of the way, but he totally miscalculated where he would be safe and ended up in the mess.
“Flash!” Green Lantern yelled, diving at Barry and shoving him out of the way.
Instinctively, Barry wrapped his arms around Hal, so they both fell. It ended with Barry on his back, his head thunking against asphalt with a very sharp crack. Hal was leaning over Barry, his hands on either side of the Flash’s head. The dog tags dangled out of his suit from the impact of the fall, right above Barry’s face.
They were in a terrible compromising position. How did they even end up this way?! Barry had his legs spread wide open, with Hal nestled right between them so they were pressed flush together. If Hal didn’t have his weight on his hands, they would’ve been touching from hips to chest. But somehow, Hal half-leaning up just made it so much worse.
“Oh, my God. Are you okay? Jesus, Barry! You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”
And Barry was sweet; he was innocent. Batman (albeit, on some sort of terrible alien truth-cuddle-cling-gas, latching onto Clark as if he was a lifeline), told Barry he was like a marshmallow. A sweet, fluffy, cute marshmallow that was so powerful, he didn’t need protection, but everyone wanted to protect him anyways.
But this sweetness quickly faded when the Flash looked up at Hal’s dog tags falling out of his suit, clinking right into Barry’s eyes, and the only thing he could think of, especially in a position nothing shy of missionary, was if Hal keeps them on when he makes love, and if this is how they’d be clinking together if he had Barry folded in half. Or if he’d let Barry wear them while they laid in bed together after; sweaty, satisfied, and with the cool bedsheets tangled between their legs.
Perhaps he’d even let Barry wear them under his Flash suit, or his work clothes, when Hal was off world, a reminder that Hal was always with him no matter what.
Chapter 5 - …No, You Mean, "Love"
Barry wasn’t sure when it happened, but Hal started living with him full-time when he was on Earth. It started with Wally, and occasionally Dick, living with Barry before the two moved out and into an apartment together. Then, Hal started spending the night more often. Things like his toothbrush, his motorcycle helmet, his shaver, and pairs of socks started showing up in Barry’s apartment. Then, Barry started buying Hal’s favorite snacks, his favorite drinks, and new pillows for the guest bed. Soon, Hal’s boots were next to Barry’s dress shoes by the door, his flight jacket was hung next to Barry’s coat, and they were getting their clothes mixed up in the washer and dryer. They even started showing up at the League meetings together, usually with a raised brow from Diana or a wisecrack from Ollie.
The first few comments, Barry’s face burnt. His blush flooded his entire face, flushing down and creeping out under the cowl, to his neck, and under his suit onto his chest. And Hal was so damn brave. He was the Green Lantern, the best Green Lantern, so bravery was kind of his thing, but the way he took every one of Ollie’s comments in stride without so much as his ears turning pink amazed Barry.
“Well, at least we don’t have an entire hall to ourselves in the Watchtower because of noise complaints. Do those pillows even work between the headboard and the wall?” Hal asked.
Now, it was Ollie’s turn to blush and to get a hard smack on the back of the head from Dinah.
Hal wasn’t just brave when it came to being the Green Lantern, or on missions when everything was going downhill fast and he threw himself right into the fire just to give the others a chance to recoup, and he wasn’t just brave because he met Ollie’s quips with one of his own, he’s brave all the time. Hal constantly is a valiant soldier.
For example, both Wally and Barry are terrified of thunderstorms. Of course, lightning gave them lifesaving powers, but it’s also why Hal has to clean the bathrooms with the fancy chemicals instead of Wally or Barry. Of course, Wally lives with Dick Grayson now, so Nightwing is on chemical and storm duty (deemed Chemical Storm Duty, by Hal), but when Dick is away, Wally crashes on the pullout couch.
Sometimes (it is Missouri, a Midwest state, afterall), when it’s exceptionally humid, a terrible thunderstorm will roll through. It always starts with a little rumble of thunder in the distance. Barry swears he can feel the static in the air as the wind picks up, he— and Hal’s— house creaking with the pressure. Soon, the rain will start pelting the house, and by the time the lightning is acting as a lamp in Barry’s room, he’ll be halfway across the house and creaking Hal’s door open.
When Wally stays, even into his adult years, he’ll already be in Hal’s bed at the first crack of thunder, curled up next to him, furthest from the window. The only thing visible is that tuft of red hair poking out from under the blanket, sprawled over Hal’s bicep where the Speedster is laying on him. Barry will tap Hal’s shoulder if he isn’t already awake, with a sheepish grin, and whisper to ask if there’s room for one more.
“‘Course. C’mon, Bear,” he’ll say, voice thick with sleep. He’ll scoot to the edge, so Barry can fit between Wally and Hal, and pull his comforter up over both Speedsters. With a sigh, he’ll roll over so he’s curled around Barry, one arm tucked around both of his boys.
And brave, courageous, caring Hal; when lightning flashes in the room, causing Barry or Wally to jump, Hal will gently shush them and hold everyone a bit tighter. He’ll pull the blanket up a bit higher, or fluff a pillow so it’s a bit more cozy, and block the storm with his strong body.
“It’s alright, you know I’d never let anything happen to you both,” Hal would say, voice raspy and syrupy with sleep.
Come morning, Wally is usually back to his spot on the couch, or making breakfast. The sun will be shining through the curtains, or rain will still gently be falling on the house. Barry usually wakes up warm and safe, still tucked under Hal’s blankets and under his arms. Of course, once the sleep wore off, Barry would be horribly embarrassed and scramble out of bed, rushing into the restroom to hide. Hal would never say a thing when he woke up, whether that was out of respect for Wally or Barry or both, no one really knows.
And even though it was just a thunderstorm, in Barry’s (and Wally’s) mind, he was so damn brave for protecting them from another life-changing, traumatizing event.
A true act of bravery was when Dick Grayson and Wally came over for a barbeque.
The weather held up just long enough to play a few rounds of cornhole in the sun, sipping on the lemonade Barry made that morning, and getting the food on the grill before dark, poofy clouds started gathering on the horizon. Dick went to Wally immediately, like a great boyfriend, and grabbed his hand in a reassuring manner. Hal beckoned Barry to join him at the grill, standing close enough their shoulders brushed, distracting him from the impending doom of the clouds.
Finally, right before the rain, they managed to pick up everything and get the food inside. Hal prepared everyone’s plates and set a big bowl of potato salad and a bag of chips on the table, topping off everyone’s lemonade. He sat close enough to Barry that their legs were touching, offering comfortable reassurance. There were jokes, laughter, and Hal’s stories of braving alien planets and stopping wars.
But, that wasn’t the bravery during Dick’s visit.
After the plates were cleared, Dick clapped his hands together with the big, bright smile Barry knew Wally was weak for.
“I have Alfred’s cookie recipe! I brought the ingredients to make them.”
Wally blanched. Barry had to bite his lip to keep from grimacing. Hal washed the dishes, smiling over his shoulder.
“That’s great, kid! Have at it.”
He must’ve not seen Barry and Wally shaking their heads when Dick’s back was turned. Dick was the worst cook imaginable. That isn’t from lack of trying, he just… didn’t have skill. The first time Barry had Dick’s cooking, it was when he was visiting their new apartment for the first time. Wally tried to order pizzas, but Dick insisted on cooking. Barry told Wally it was fine; it was only a simple pasta dish, how bad could it be?
Talk about the saltiest, crunchiest, flavorless pasta he has ever eaten. The high-calorie protein bars Bruce cooks up in the lab for Barry, Wally, and Bart were a five-star Michelin meal compared to the absolute monstrosity Dick made. Luckily, he didn’t cook very often, letting Wally carry that burden while he did dishes.
Hal only turned to Barry and gave him that cocky-sure grin, drying the last plate. Dick quickly started measuring ingredients, locating a baking sheet, and humming to himself. Hal started a pot of coffee, Wally tried to correct some of Dick’s errors, and Barry sat at the table and smiled despite the storm outside and impending doom of Dick’s cooking.
Finally, he was done. The cookies smelled okay, but… they were shaped a little like deflated footballs and as thick as hockey pucks. They were supposed to be chocolate chip, but there were no chocolates visible and they looked a bit like oatmeal cookies instead.
“Okay, so they’re ready, but they don’t exactly look like Alfred’s…”
Wally grimaced, looking at the plate.
“I’m not sure about this, baby,” Wally said, wincing when Dick thrusted the plate at him.
“Oh, come on, Walls. It isn’t that bad,” Dick pouted, holding a plate of the questionable-looking cookies.
Wally shook his head, lips firmly pressed together. Barry wanted to tell him to make the sacrifice for his boyfriend, but he understood. But brave, wonderful, Hal set his coffee mug down and shouldered Wally out of the way.
“Alright, alright. Let me try first. Can’t be any worse than rations,” Hal said, picking up one of the supposed cookies.
Wally took a step behind Barry, using him as a shield. Hal inspected his treat, made a pleased hmm sound, sniffed it, and took a bite. At this point, Wally was clinging to Barry, watching Hal’s every move. Then, Hal put a hand around his throat and gagged. Dick gasped and Barry moved to give Hal the heimlich, but he started laughing.
“It’s actually really good. Soft, sweet, a little crunchy, the perfect chocolate chip cookie,” Hal said, taking another bite.
Dick smiled, pleased, then offered Wally one with a I told you so. He took it a bit begrudgingly, and shoved half of the hockey-football in his mouth like he had to force himself to do it. Then, he grinned around his full mouth.
“Hey! It’s great, songbird!”
Hal put his cookie up to Barry’s lips, hand under to catch the crumbs. As if this was a normal thing to do, Barry took a bite and licked the crumbs from his lips, then nodded his head.
“Wow, Hal, you sure are brave for trying these first. I’m glad you did, they’re good!”
Dick preens under the praise, still holding his plate of weird cookies, apron tied tight around his waist. With a cocky grin, Hal flexed his arm, nearly making Barry choke on his bite of cookie.
“I’m not a Green Lantern for nothing!”
Epilogue - Oh, Maybe You're Right
Hal has a reputation as a… bit of a dog.
He’s had a lot of flings, a lot of girlfriends and boyfriends and everything in between, and has no issue admitting what he finds attractive. He’s told Bruce he’s hot with the whole scary thing, Clark he’s cute because of that Kansas charm, and Diana she’s gorgeous with the warrior bit she has going on. But Barry was a different story.
It’s funny, really, how Hal is confident hitting on everyone else except the one guy he actually wants to date; he would settle down with Barry even, marry him, and never need another fling ever again. Barry was everything to Hal; funny, intelligent, caring, a little shy but courageous, and the most attractive person Hal has ever seen. Barry had beautiful blue eyes, like two swimming pools of clear, blue water on a hot day, thighs for days (with little lightning bolt-shaped stretch marks that Hal obsessed over when he wore shorts), and a strong stature.
And, God, Barry was so damn smart. He was the best problem solver; not only that, but he knew his way around numbers, chemicals, even silly trivia questions. When Hal realized that, even being a Lantern, he had to catch up on years worth of taxes, Barry was there helping him out, sitting down with a calculator and chewed-on pen and running the numbers.
But what really did it for Hal was those damn hands.
Long, delicate fingers, with freckles on the back of his hands. Soft, pale skin with no callouses on his palms, and a smooth, creamy wrist with a few blue veins visible. An elegant knob where his hand connected to the wrist, and that Flash ring, that glinted a beautiful gold from Barry’s middle finger. His nervous habit was twirling the metal around the finger, which always had Hal staring.
Good thing for the mask!
So, because of this twisted obsession, Hal started playing with Barry’s hands while they were on missions, or while they were listening to Spooks drone on and on and on. When they were waiting for the League to wrap up, Hal would grab Barry’s hand and stroke his thumb across the long digits. Barry always sat next to him at the debrief, too, so when he rested his hand on the table, Hal would play with his fingers or twist the flash ring around.
And Barry— sweet, delicate Barry, never said a word. He just started grabbing Hal’s hand right back.
So, Hal took it a step further, and started laying his head down by Barry’s hand until he brushed his fingers across his face, or into his hair. When Hal took a bad hit on a Lantern Corps mission and was recovering in the Watchtower, Barry was by his bed, hand resting on the metal frame near Hal’s head. Hal, still deranged and on a cocktail of medication, bonked his head against those long fingers until Barry scratched his scalp. Sometimes, Barry would even brush down the bridge of Hal’s nose, or brush hair off of his forehead when they were taking a quick break from fighting the bad guy of the week.
So, Hal got bolder, and started pressing kisses into Barry’s knuckles. It was just normal, flirty, Hal; but, secretly, it was because he didn’t know how much longer he could go without Barry. They were quick, fleeting kisses. When Hal was playing with Barry’s fingers, he’d bring the middle knuckle to his lips and give it a little peck. Sometimes, he’d do the back of his palm, or that little knob on his wrist, but it was mostly the middle knuckle.
This led into Hal kissing the tips of Barry’s fingers, his palm, the back of his hand, anything he could get his lips on. Drunk one night at an event Ollie was having, Hal managed to find his way out into the garden staring up at the stars with Barry. They were obviously holding hands, something Hal indulges in frequently, when he brought it up to the sky and used it as a measuring instrument. Before Hal knew it, the tips of Barry’s fingers were on his lips, and his palm was laying flat on his face.
And Hal kept this up; at every chance he had, his mouth was on Barry’s hands. He would always be rewarded with a small blush, especially when Hal presses his lips to the pulsepoint in Barry’s wrist, and a snort of laughter. Barry called him a flirt once, if only he realized how utterly in love Hal was. The League hated it (minus Superman, who thought it was cute). Even Batman, stoic, calm, Bats started to roll his eyes at Hal.
Hal managed to kiss all the way up to the crease in Barry’s elbow, before one day, after a very close call on a mission, Barry beat the flirt-contest he probably had no idea Hal was having. The Green Lantern was almost crushed to death, too busy fighting with who other than Spooky to notice an entire building getting dropped on top of him, but the Flash scooped him up and got him out of the way.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Flash yelled, once he had set Lantern down.
“Awe, are you worried about me, Carebear?" Hal teased, using his ring to (literally) bat some bad guys out of Superman’s way.
“Well, what if I am, Hal,” Barry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. Of course, Hal’s eyes lingered there, which earned a blush from Barry, the pink cheeks framing the cowl. Though Hal wasn’t only looking at that broad chest, it was those damn delicate, long fingers in his red gloves.
So, because Hal was a lovestruck moron, he wrenched Barry’s hands away from his body and rested his cool, gloved hands on his own face. Barry let him, even though there was chaos with this mission, and Hal took that as permission to kiss both of Barry’s palms.
“I’m okay, Barry. Thank you.”
Then, Barry grabbed Hal by his shoulders, yelled at him for being reckless for a few moments, then sighed. He let his hands drop down Hal’s chest, to his hands, and squeeze. After he let go, Barry kissed his own index and middle finger tips, and pressed them against Hal’s lips, just barely pulling the bottom one down.
“Just stop arguing with Batman. Fight at the debrief.”
Then, Barry stepped away to rejoin the fight. There wasn’t much left; Diana was lassoing the leader, Clark was talking with Bruce, probably going over next moves, and J’onn was cleaning up the mess. So, Hal could steal more of Barry’s time to be an even bigger moron.
“Now, hang on,” Hal’s brain finally caught up with what Barry just did. Hal reached out, grabbing the crook of Barry’s elbow and his hip, spinning him around at a rate even the Flash was impressed with. “You can’t get out of that one.”
Barry, already pink on the edges of his cowl, frowned with that stupid, pouting lip.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Barry said, hands curling on Hal’s chest.
“C’mon, Bear. After that stunt? You wanna kiss me,” Hal sing-songed, bringing one hand up to gently tug the cowl down. They were fighting aliens on another planet. Who cares if their identities were revealed! He left his hand cradling Barry’s face, gloved thumb tracing his cheekbone.
“It isn’t fair you get to keep your mask on,” Barry sighed, hands curling around Hal’s neck to play with the hair on the back of his neck. And man, those gorgeous ocean-blue eyes. They swam with emotion, and Hal was a drowning man.
“Okay, honey, let’s make it fair.”
Hal used his ring to make the mask disappear, so his boring brown eyes were staring into Barry’s exciting blues. The only thing not mundane about Hal’s eyes was he was sure there were hearts in his pupils. Like, probably big, animated pink ones. Barry smiled once the mask was off, letting Hal pull him a bit closer so their chests were flush, one hand on his lower back and the other still cradling Barry’s face.
He could tell Barry was nervous; his cheeks were still pink and his eyes were crinkled with that innocent fear of oh God what if I mess this up. Instead of Hal being the sly dog everyone thought he was and planting one (tongue and all) on Barry, he smiled reassuringly. Gently, he kissed the tip of Barry’s pink nose, then between his blonde brows, then on his slightly-sweaty forehead. Hal paused, making sure he was reading things correctly, and fought back a mirk when Barry impatiently brushed his nose against Hal’s. Then, he kissed both of his blushing cheeks, both corners of his jaw, and both corners of his mouth. Barry made an impatient sound in the back of his throat, then tugged Hal the rest of the way so their lips met.
It was soft; the best kiss Hal has ever had. It wasn’t anything scandalous, just the press of their lips over and over, soft and sweet and so uniquely Barry. When he tried to pull back again, Hal kept their lips locked, barely opening his mouth, deepening the kiss.
“It’s not fair! You never let me kiss you like that after a successful mission!”
“You kiss me every night after patrol.”
Barry smiled against Hal’s lips, but didn’t pull away.
“It just isn’t the same, Bruce.”