Archive of Our Own

Hal always figured that he was a man of considerable intelligence. And yeah, sure. He understood that was exactly what a stupid person would say, so he’d back it up with proof. He had his GED, his Aeronautical Engineering degree – paid for in full by the Air Force (screw you, student loans) and finished a whole year early because waiting around for graduation was a colossal waste of good flying time – and he had a brain built for mathematics. Numbers, man. They just made sense.

Academia itself could suck his entire ass, though. The real trick to Hal’s intelligence was the real shit that kept him alive while he was streaming across the galaxy. You can’t teach that kind of thing in school, the kind of thing that allowed him to look at a set of available information and arrive at the correct conclusion while everyone else was still alphabetising their notes.

Lateral thinking, some people called it. Hal called it just keeping his eyes open.

There was a reason for this segue into his intelligence, and it had everything to do with how he was probably on the top of the smart-guy pipeline within the League hierarchy. Nobody else had figured out what he had, after all.

It had been a Wednesday. Hal had been relaxing in the Watchtower common room with Barry on his left, Ollie on his right. They’d been arguing about something – politics, maybe? And Hal had looked at Batman, collected all the ambient evidence, and figured out his identity.

No applause, please. Hal was a humble man.

People expected Batman’s identity to be some impossible puzzle locked behind years of detective work, corkboards, and red string. Only, it just… wasn’t. Or at least, it hadn’t been once Hal stopped being precious about asking for help.

Though was it really asking for help when the ring was such an integral part of who he was? If anything, it was just Hal making use of all data available to him.

When you stripped out the batsuit’s estimated weight distribution, the armour plating, the boots, the cape, you were left with one Caucasian male. Dark-haired, going by the stubble, roughly six-foot-two, somewhere in the region of 220lbs, muscular build. THen you factored in all the non-physical stuff too. Obviously a Gothamite, enormous resources, and an intelligence that Hal was willing to privately, silently, under no circumstances publicly, concede might have the edge on his own.

You bled all that info into the ring’s database, shake it around a little, season with salt, and it spat out exactly one name.

Okay, maybe a little applause.

Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Thomas Wayne.

Brucie “Golden Boy of Gotham” Wayne.

Hal had no idea who that was supposed to be. That probably said less about Wayne’s cultural footprint on the world and more about the fact that Hal had spent a large portion of his life plugged out of the celebrity social scene.

Because this Bruce Wayne guy was a celebrity, which was something Hal discovered when he went snooping for any kind of social media presence.

Ironic, really, that Batman had such a high profile private life. But that was a rumination for later, when he had time to seriously reconcile the two personalities. First, Hal wanted the victory lap. He wanted to research enough detail to start dropping casual IRL references into conversation. Just until Spooky clocked that Hal was in the know.

It’d probably make him do that weird little frown. The one that pressed lines into his nasolabial folds and made him look a little constipated. Batman only did that when he was extremely annoyed but was trying to keep it off his face.

So. Research. First thing Hal found was that this Bruce Wayne guy was goddamn gorgeous.

It was half-expected, to be honest. Batman’s whole brooding bastardy schtick had already done permanent damage to Hal’s psyche (in the sexy way, not in the scared-outta-his-skin way), so Spooky looking like that beneath the cowl kinda tracked. That being exactly Hal’s type.

Sharp features, high cheekbones, square jaw. Pretty blue eyes. Those had been the real surprise. Hal always figured Batman to have those soulless black eyes to match the whole spooky guy aesthetic. Some kind of dark smoulder situation. Hal could appreciate a dark smoulder. He could also appreciate a pretty pair of baby-blues. More so, in fact. Especially when they belonged on a face like that.

God, there was just so much content. Hal had almost been tempted to a full deep dive into the thousands of NOT CLICKBAIT Top Tencompilations of various focuses (Top Ten Times Brucie Lost his Pants, Top Ten Times Brucie Fell Off High Places, Top Ten Times Brucie Didn’t Know Why He’s Here). He bookmarked the Brucie Wayne DUI Bodycam video for later. That one looked like it’d be great to discuss over a full League debrief.

He’d also discovered rumours of a sex tape, leaked under circumstances that were suspiciously convenient for a man who might have wanted the world looking somewhere other than his face. Hal had considered searching for it, just to confirm its existence and maybe add at least forty-five seconds of it to his mental spank bank, before remembering he was supposed to be a good guy. Having a lewd vid of his hot coworker felt like a HR violation waiting to happen.

So, what to do, what to do?

Obviously he was gonna screw with the guy. The bastard deserved it, after years of that holier-than-though attitude he’d banked at everyone else’s expense. Last year, Batman had made it clear when they met that he’d taken the precaution of learning everyone's identities prior to their big superhero team-up. For Bat-security purposes, of course. Blah blah blah, whatever. Batman was an ass, and he’d made his paranoia everyone’s problem.

Nobody believed him at first. They’d all taken their own precautions, and they just figured Batman was swinging his dick about to become the top dog from the get-go. Then he’d said something characteristically oblique in Superman’s direction, and that’d been enough to confirm it. That, and Bats had also dropped in on the Flash’s civilian workplace shortly after. With that, everyone had come to terms that secret identities were somewhat contingent on Batman's mood.

Insufferable asshole. It really sucked how much Hal was into that.

Hal was not a subtle man. The hints-until-Spooky-cracks plan had sounded excellent in theory, but then thirty seconds into imagining it in practice, he'd seen exactly how it ended: Hal, unable to help himself, just blurting it out with a shit-eating grin. Sacred knowledge, squandered.

Direct confrontation, then. Public setting. Somewhere Bruce Wayne had to be Brucie.

He did some digging that he preferred not to describe as stalking, called in a favour through Carol's network of inexplicably well-connected contacts, and found himself at a garden party in Malibu on a Saturday afternoon. Not his usual scene, but he was on a mission right now. And if his mission required him to wear chinos, then he was just going to have to take one for the team.

Target sighted. Bruce Wayne at his 3 o’clock.

Well hello there Mr. Wayne, goddamn. All those pictures online certainly hadn’t exaggerated. In fact, Bruce was even hotter when there was no airbrush to take all the character out of his face. Hal didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing. Good, because it was always nice to look at something pretty. Bad, because now Hal knew how good he looked in person and that was probably going to affect his day-to-day life.

He could believe it now, the Batman thing. Sure, the posture was all wrong for the Dark knight, too loose and too easy, with a relaxed smile on his face as he worked the crowd. But there was no hiding that he was built like a brick shithouse, and there was certainly no hiding that jaw. Hal knew that jaw well, because, yes, maybe he’d caught himself absently staring at Batman’s lips a few times and wondering what they’d be like biting someone’s neck. (Hal’s neck, specifically.)

Grinning, Hal crossed the lawn.

“I know who you are,” he said in a sing-song.

Bruce Wayne turned to look at him. He looked bemused. “People usually do,” he said.

“Yeah, but not in the same way I do.”

Being looked at by a cowless Batman was something else entirely. For one, Hal could straight up see the internal assessment shoot behind his eyes. Just a flash of something coldly intelligent before it dimmed into something a lot more approachable. He wondered if this is how Batman always looked at people when he met them for the first time.

Then, a lot slower, Spooky’s gaze dropped. He dragged it down Hal’s body and back up before settling decidedly on his face. One of those calculating looks that had absolutely nothing to do with threat evaluation, and everything to do with a guy deciding whether he was interested.

Apparently the results were favourable, because Bruce Wayne smiled at him.

Wow, okay.

Technically, Hal had seen that before. Batman smiled very rarely, but it was known to happen on occasion. Usually when Hal ate shit on a mission. Mostly that thin, humourless thing that tended to precede something unpleasant. Not this, though. This Bruce-smile carved dimples into his cheeks and reached all the way to those baby-blues. It was so unexpectedly disarming that Hal’s entire campaign of psychological warfare quietly packed its bags and left.

Right, right. New plan. Bruce knew who Hal Jordan was, Hal knew who Bruce Wayne was, and Bruce Wayne was currently smiling at him in the afternoon sun like he had all the time in the world.

Hook up, maybe?

“So,” Hal said. “Are you doing anything after this?”

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “A little forward, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” Hal shrugged. “But you already knew that about me.”

“Did I?”

Playing it like that, huh? Made sense. Bruce had a cover to keep, and technically they’d never met. Maybe Hal would have to play along for a little bit.

A part of him was disappointed. He’d braced for the bat-glare, or maybe straight up denial in that particular ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ register Batman used whenever he wanted someone to reconsider their decision to evertalk to him.

Then again, this version of him was better. Bruce was running the Brucie routine, keeping his cards face-down, and Hal had to hand it to him – the cover was seamless. If he hadn't already known this guy wore a cape at night, he wouldn't have suspected a thing.

He was hopefully furious underneath it all, and that was a thought that’d keep Hal warm at night.

“Alright,” Hal said. He deployed a smile of his own. The roguish one that’d earned him a few phone numbers. “Let's play it your way. I don’t know you, you don’t know me.”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

The corners of Bruce's eyes creased and he extended his hand. “Bruce Wayne. But apparently you already knew that.”

“Hal Jordan.” Hal took the hand and pumped his eyebrows once. Very wink-wink-part-of-the-joke. “Apparently I did.”

Neither of them let go quite as quickly as the handshake warranted.

“Hal Jordan,” Bruce repeated. His eyes flashed. “That’s not a name I saw on the guest list. How does someone like you end up at a party like this?”

“Honestly?” Hal reluctantly withdrew his hand. Bruce's grip had been warm and solid, which was extremely unhelpful information to have, because it made him wonder how they’d feel in other places. “Heard you'd be here. Figured I'd come make a nuisance of myself. I know how much you appreciate that.”

“Should I be flattered, or concerned?”

“Flattered, obviously. It’s not like I’m stalking you.”

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“Even if I was, I’m sure a guy like you can handle himself pretty well.”

The smirk Bruce gave him was deliberate in the way that sent a very specific kind of warmth straight down Hal's spine. “I can certainly handle you,” he said.

“Bold claim. We just met, remember?”

“I’m a quick study.”

Before he could help himself, Hal let out a little laugh. He probably should’ve expected Spooky to have some game, what with Brucie’s reputation, but he hadn't accounted for what that looked like when it was pointed at him in the afternoon sun, with dimples

Not that he was complaining. Hal was ready to ride this trail wherever it led to if it meant getting to see Batman let his hair down for a minute.

“Y’know,” he said lazily, “you’re nothing like what I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Hal cocked his head invitingly. “You didn’t answer my question, by the way. Real mysterious of you. Bet a busy guy like you has all kinds of plans lined up for later.”

“Maybe. But I can make time,” Bruce replied, “for the right nuisance.”

“Lucky me,” Hal drawled. “I’m really good at being the right nuisance.”

And Bruce smiled at him over the rim of his glass. Like he had nowhere better to be and had decided Hal was the most interesting thing the afternoon had produced. For some reason that was the moment it all actually landed properly. The fact that Batman, the Dark Knight himself, was hitting on him.

Heh, that was fair. Hal was worth flirting with and he’d be the first person to say so. But the cognitive adjustment required to map this onto the man who'd once told him his tactical instincts were a liability to the universe was pretty damn significant. It was like finding out your most demanding professor was fun at parties – except the professor was Batman, and the party was real, and Hal was apparently doing well enough that the secret little bat-smile kept on happening.

He wondered if it was because the cowl wasn’t on. Maybe it pinched off a circuit in Batman’s robot-brain, and taking it off rerouted all of the usual assholery into something more amicable, because nothing about this suggested the absolute-zero social grace of the Justice League's least approachable member.

If Hal had known it’d be like this, he'd have asked the ring months ago. Hell, he'd have asked the first week.

“So what is it you do that gets you onto private guestlists uninvited?” Bruce asked, having drifted another casual inch into his space.

“Eh, what can I say? I’m persuasive.”

“Clearly. And when you're not crashing parties?”

“I fly,” Hal replied, playing along. “Test pilot. Aerospace. The entire cosmos, technically, but that one's hard to put on a business card. All very boring.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who finds it boring.”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t, but it sounds better if I’m modest about it. Makes me seem more well-rounded.”

“And is that important to you? Seeming well-rounded.”

“Not really.” He held Bruce's gaze. “I'd rather just be honest about what I am.”

“And what are you?”

“You tell me, detective. You said you were a quick study.”

Something crossed Bruce's face – there and gone too fast to name, the kind of micro-expression Hal might have missed if he hadn't spent a year and a half being extremely weird about the shape of his jaw. Bruce recovered smoothly, the way he always did, and he let his eyes track over Hal in a way that was entirely unsubtle.

“You’re clearly confident,” Bruce said. “And seeing as you’ve crashed this high security party, I think you’re impulsive too. Probably used to getting what you want.”

“See?” Hal said, grinning knowingly. “You already know me so well.”

The corner of Bruce's mouth pulled up. Hal was beginning to count those smiles. “I’m starting to think you might be more interesting than you look.”

Hal pressed a hand to his chest. “I look extremely interesting.”

“You look like trouble.”

“Guys like you,” he said, “are always looking for trouble.”

Bruce let out a little chuckle. “Maybe I am.”

And from there, it was easy.

Weird fucking thing to think about when it came to Batman. In Hal's experience, Batman seemed to derive genuine sustenance from being a dick. He made everything hard on principle (there was a double entendre there that was relevant right now): Objections, plans, missions, entry into the Watchtower when you were twenty minutes late and he was in a mood. Easy just wasn’t in his vocabulary.

The conversation unspooled. The flirted ratcheted up. The implication layered and layered, until finally Bruce said something low into his ear. And listen, Hal didn’t consider himself the type of guy to let himself get carried away by a little flirting – except he absolutely was, and before he could think better of it, they ended up pressed up together in a gap between two sculpted hedges about forty feet from the nearest cluster of guests.

Hal was way off the original plan now, by that was okay. Being adaptable was one of his better qualities.

Turned out Brucie Wayne’s playboy reputation wasn’t just a cover for the Dark Knight beneath. Hal now had empirical data that the guy had no reservation and a very committed mouth. Which was fine, because Hal had no reservations either and had been told, by multiple credible sources, that he was also excellent at this. So it all evened out.

To get all academic about it: Bruce kissed good, Hal kissed back, fun thing happening in pants.

He had one arm locked around Bruce’s neck and a fist curled into the back of his shirt, licking into his mouth while an untrimmed branch made a sustained attempt on his left ass cheek. He didn't particularly care. His higher functions had moseyed on down south and were now introducing themselves to the thick thigh pressed between his legs. Bruce was the all-over kind of guy, apparently. He’d bracketed Hal in completely, one forearm against the hedge by his head, closing off any exit Hal had no intention of using anyway.

That was exactly the kind of no-holds-barred shit he’d always expected of Batman. Very macho of him, really. Hal gave back as good as he got because there was no way he was going to let this asshole out-kiss him.

Hal was the kind of man to move fast. He got a hand under the hem of Bruce’s shirt and pressed his palm into the warm skin of his lower back. He got an amused hum against his mouth for his efforts, which was terrible for his concentration. He wanted Spooky to make more noises like that.

Surreal, Hal realised.

This is Batman, Hal remembered.

I don’t care, Hal decided.

He was working out how to flip this, get Bruce against the hedge instead, when the hands on his jaw dropped. They found the cut of Hal's hips and kept them there. Big hands, fingers curling into skin, a thumb hooking into the waistband of his dumb chinos. The kind of This is what’s happening right now shit that sent Hal’s adrenaline doing something unhinged inside him.

They weren’t entirely dissimilar in height, but Bruce was broader. Probably stronger if Hal didn’t use the ring – though you wouldn’t find him admitting that to anyone. It did raise a question, though. As Bruce's hands pressed in, as the topiary sucked him further into the hedge, as the branch digging into his ass slipped up to scratch at the small of his back, Hal's monkey brain produced a single coherent thought:

Could he actually pick me up?

Like, physically. Out of this hedge. If Batman decided to get hands-on about the situation and simply remove him, could he do it? How easy would that be? Was Hal into that?

Hell yes Hal was into that, goddamn, was that even a question? Ho-ho, big boy, get those biceps on the payroll.

He let out a little sound against Bruce’s mouth that was extremely dignified and not at all a gay little moan, especially when those lips trailed from his jaw to his chin to his neck. And, yup, those were teeth. Excellent. Exactly what Hal had fantasied Batman would do, so reality was definitely holding up well against the imagination. One for the dream journal.

His fingers tightened in Bruce’s hair as he said, “Damn, Batman. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

Bruce froze against his neck.

“...What did you say?”

“Mm. Like, I always figured you were more of the no-fun-allowed—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

In fairness to Hal’s reflexes, being flipped in similar scenarios would normally be excellent news for him and his incredible ass. He was a man who knew what he liked, and what he liked included someone with grip strength and the follow-through to actually do something about it. Under literally any other set of circumstances he would have been delighted. Unfortunately, current circumstances included a pocket knife that was now pressed against his throat.

He took a dazed moment to check in with himself. His boner hadn’t flagged in the slightest. Good to know.

“Who the hell are you?” Bruce hissed into his ear. No, not Bruce. Batman.

“The hell do you mean?” he snapped back. “You know who I am.”

Hal wasn’t too concerned about the whole knife to the neck situation he’d found himself in. Spooky would never actually cut someone’s throat. This was just Batman doing what Batman did best, and what Batman did best was make himself out to be the big scary bastard-man. That kind of thing never worked on Hal.

The blade pressed in. Not breaking skin, but making a point. “I won’t ask again.”

“It’s me,” Hal hissed. Then, quieter in case of witnesses. “Green Lantern.”

Bruce froze again. “...What?”

“Yeah. Green Lantern.” Hal wriggled a little, which didn’t help the situation. His brain was still more in tune with his dick than it was with the knife. “‘Brightest day, blackest night?’ Big green guy, part of the team, we've met multiple times. Ring a bell?”

Bruce just twisted his arm further behind his back, so Hal produced a put-upon sigh from somewhere deep in his chest. The ring had been sitting pretty in his dumb chinos all afternoon – he always kept it hidden in situations like this, but he also always kept it to hand to. You never knew when you needed to prove yourself to the man you’d hoped would get you off in the bushes.

He summoned up a pinch of willpower to draw the ring back where it belonged. As it slipped onto his finger, it cast a performative green glow across the both of them.

“There,” he said, holding his be-ringed hand up. “Happy?”

At this angle, he couldn’t get a good look at Bruce’s face, but he could feel the stare drilling into him. Hal was extremely familiar with the weight of that stare. He was, after all, the number one recipient of Batman’s ire during missions. It always felt like something uncanny creeping out of the shadows to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Not the way Hal wanted to be looked at right now. And it certainly wasn’t the way he was hoping to spend the rest of the afternoon. Ideally, in the next ten minutes he’d would’ve been relocated somewhere plush and horizontal so he could get his ankles around his ears and see what all the Brucie Wayne fuss was about. Or he could’ve just been bent straight into the bushes. That would’ve worked just as well, Hal wasn’t picky.

His dick told him there was still a chance either of those futures could come true. Which was optimistic, considering Bruce still had a knife to his throat.

After a beat, wherein Hal seriously considered jolting back to headbutt his way out of the situation, Bruce finally let him go.

“Thank you,” Hal grumbled, rolling his shoulder. Bats wasn’t gentle when he had someone restrained. If his arm had been pulled any further back, it might’ve even been pulled out of its socket. Not like Hal would’ve ever let it get that far.

He glared at Bruce.

Who was— Well.

Pause. Take a moment. Why the hell had this even happened?

Batman was an asshole, but he never seemed like the type of guy to pull a knife out mid makeout. No, wait, actually. He was absolutely the type. The threat of danger could possibly be one of the reasons Hal was into the Batman in the first place – which was not something he wanted to ever unpack, thanks. This, however, didn’t exactly seem like the right moment for it.

It had been going well. There were teeth and tongues and Hal’s dick had a straightforward path to a great evening. It was almost as if—

Hal glared at Bruce with a little more panic.

“You didn’t—” he started.

Bruce was staring at the ring. God, he was staring at the ring wide-eyed in a way that Hal would never associate with Batman in the slightest. Like he was seeing it for the first time and trying to reconcile its existence with the current scenario.

Hal briefly felt his entire soul drop down his stomach and out of his ass.

“You didn’t know who I was,” he said weakly.

Bruce's jaw tightened. It was a very small movement. On anyone else it would have been nothing. On Batman it was basically a full confession.

“You didn’t know who I was,” Hal said again. “How did you not know? You told everyone you knew! You told the whole League—”

“I knew,” Bruce lied.

“Did you? Did you, Batman? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re pretty surprised by the current turn of events.”

“...Who’s Batman?”

Hal produced a noise that started as a laugh and curled into something wet and nasal. “Really? That’s how we’re playing it?” he snapped. “C’mon, man, give me more credit than that. Even if you weren’t him, you’re from Gotham. You’d know who he was regardless. You can’t gaslight your way out of this, so don’t even try with me.”

A part of Hal respected the terrible attempt. He probably would’ve done something similar if the tables were turned.

Bruce’s surprised-face turned into Bruce’s angry-face, which felt a helluva lot more like Batman. “How did you know who I was?”

“Because I’m incredible at what I do. But that’s not the question we should be asking. We should be asking how the hell did you not know. You know everyone’s identities! You told us all, and—”

Pause again. Rewind. Think back to Batman asserting himself back in that first League meeting last year.

“Oh god,” Hal said. “It was all a bit, wasn’t it? You didn’t know any of our identities. You were just being a dick!”

Batman had the nerve to look affronted at that. “Of course I know everyone’s identities.”

“Yeah, well, that’s real convincing for a guy who just had his tongue down my throat.”

“It’s just you I didn't know.”

“I— What?” Hal furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Bruce set his jaw. His eyes moved sideways, not quite looking away, but angling toward something that wasn't Hal's face. Hot damn, that was the face of a man who was incredibly pissed off by what he was about to say. “Obviously I was going to include you in the general assertion,” he grumbled. “You’d be insufferable if you knew you were the only one I hadn’t figured out.”

And goddamn. He was right.

“So you proactively lied to the entire League in the hopes you’d figure me out before we figured you out.” He squinted at him, just to make sure he was correct. “To protect your ego, right?”

“To maintain a standard of—”

“Your ego, Brucie.”

Bruce looked at him with a face that could have curdled milk. Hal looked back at him with a beatific glow. Batman sure was right, he was totally going to be insufferable about this. He was going to be so insufferable about this. He hadn't even started yet and he could already feel the potential of it, vast and golden, stretching out in front of him like open sky.

“So just to recap—”

“Don’t.”

“—you figured you’d lie to everyone—”

“Lantern.”

“—you couldn’t figure out that I was me—”

“The ring has a perception filter that I’m still circum—”

“—and it turns out that I’m your type, ‘cause you were totally down to fuck.” Hal nodded to himself, pleased. “I could sense it in the winds. And I could absolutely feel your dick through your pants. He was happy to see me.”

Bruce's expression had arrived somewhere beyond anger. It was hot. “Are you finished?”

“Genuinely unsure,” Hal said. “Give me a minute.”

“Do I need to remind you that you were the one to make a move on me? Knowing full well who I was.”

Hal shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah, well. It’s less weird when you remember I thought you also knew.” He met Bruce’s eyes. “Besides, Batman’s hot. So’s Bruce Wayne. And Bruce Wayne seemed to be pretty into Hal Jordan before Batman came back.“

Oh-ho? And was that interest moving across Bruce’s face? Was that the same way he looked at Hal over the rim of his glass an hour ago? Before either of them had been anything other than two men checking each other out at a party. Interesting. Very interesting.

The Batman overpowered the Brucie, and the look of interest was replaced with that hot angry jaw twitch Spooky did whenever someone got one over on him.

“The ring’s perception filter isn’t infallible. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Hal agreed, grinning.

“I'd been tracking an anomaly for a few weeks. Inconsistencies in its shielding. I would have gotten there.”

“Sure you would’ve.”

“I would have.”

“Mm.” Hal rocked back on his heels. “And in the meantime you were going to do what, exactly? Take little old me home?”

Bruce said nothing.

“I’m still down for it. If you are,” Hal continued, watching the way Bruce’s eyes flickered down to his kiss-swollen lips. “Nothing’s really changed, except now you know that sometimes I wear space-spandex to work.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, and you’re apparently into it. So…we doing this, or no?”

Pause pause, Bruce’s turn to pause. He narrowed his eyes and visibly ran through all of the presented opportunities. Back away, head back to the party, pretend he hadn’t dry-humped a colleague in a hedge maze. Or, roll with the punches, get over his reservations, and have a helluva good rest of the day. Preferably without pants on.

Decision made, Hal drank in the way Bruce sighed in defeat.

“My car’s out front,” he said. and turned on his heel without waiting to see if Hal was coming.

And goddamn, Hal was definitely coming. Hopefully in more ways than one.