This is part of a larger continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.
Hello everyone! So, obviously I don't have another chapter of 'Rise to the Challenge' for you just yet, but accept this instead! This, is part of my Earth-3 collected universe, the reading list of which you can find in my profile, though apart from being in the same universe it's pretty much unconnected. This is really just a PWP that I used to get the idea of the Hal/Barry dynamic in my head. Lastly, I nixed the idea of calling Hal 'Power Ring', because that irritates me as a name. Also, the canon Hal from Earth-3 bothers me, so have some nice, reversed Green Lantern Corp as a criminal organization.
This is dedicated to my good friend, Kit, as this is one of her OTPs, and she has successfully converted me from considering Barry as straight. Congratulations, darling.
Warnings are: rough sex, biting, fighting as flirting, cheating, semi-casual sex, restraints, and some unspecific power play. Pairing is, of course, Hal/Barry, with mentions of Hal/Carol and Barry/Iris. Enjoy!
The second they're in the door Quick is on him, a hand that nearly burns with friction even through the two suits grabbing him by the upper arm and spinning to slam him up against the wall. He snarls, concentrating for just a second to spin a green shield between them and shove Quick away from his back. He turns as the speedster stabilizes, reading and reacting to the lunge by creating a lattice of tripwires across the room.
He's not sure which one catches Quick, but one of them sends the speedster stumbling and sprawling at his feet, and out of instinct and practice more than any real plan he manipulates the lattice to catch both Quick's wrists and yank them behind the other man's back. The basic cuffs won't hold Quick, not for long, but it's enough to keep the speedster down for a moment, enough to let him reverse their previous positions, lift his temporary captive up by the wrists, and slam him against the wall.
Quick grins, barely affected and a long ways from stunned, and he moves in as the speedster starts to vibrate. Moving fast enough to get through solid objects is cheating, but neither of them have ever cared for rules.
He drives an elbow into Quick's chest — that at least stops the vibration, makes Quick spit out the air he has in his lungs — and extends the cuffs up the speedster's arms, wrapping the end of the construct around the speedster's throat and dragging it tight. Quick sneers as he's forced to bend his neck back against the wall, green energy holding it arched and threatening strangulation if he struggles. Not that it will actually stop Quick, but it's enough to give him the advantage over the speedster. A lot of practice has taught him that a second is a long time, and everything about playing with Quick is in the seconds.
One of Quick's legs snaps out, hips turning to put force behind the strike, and he grunts in pain as the blow knocks his left leg out from underneath him, slamming him to one knee. Before he can do more than tighten his construct in warning, Quick's moving again and has both legs wrapped around his neck, heels digging into his spine. It's the wrong angle to really choke him out, but speedster legs are stronger than most other people's and the pressure against both sides of his neck is painful and threatening.
He reaches up and presses his ring to the underside of Quick's left leg, and above him the speedster gives a small, choked-off snarl as another construct winds around both of the speedster's legs and forces them back and away from him. He gets to his feet, pinning Quick's legs against the wall and forcing them wide as he raises his free hand to rub at his neck.
"Didn't realize you were in this kind of a mood," he taunts, stepping close and up against Quick, who offers a sharp grin as he presses between the speedster's legs.
"What mood's that?" Quick asks, the construct forcing the speedster to sound out of breath as he arches, moves, tests every fraction of the constructs.
He reaches up with his free hand and yanks the goggles away from Quick's face, pulling until the band snaps and Quick winces. It's easy to shove the mask back and away from the speedster's face, dragging it back over his skull and flat against his neck to bare his short blonde hair and blue eyes.
He ignores Quick's question, wrapping his hand around the speedster's throat and pinning him back as he leans in to clash their mouths together. It's not any kind of a real kiss, there's too many teeth and too much of a hint of blood between their lips, but anything less than that would never be accepted. There's nothing about this that has to do with kindness, or being gentle.
Through the contact he can feel Quick start to vibrate again, just the arms, and pulls back just far enough to punch the speedster across the jaw, enjoying — for just a second — the imprint of his ring in Quick's flesh. It doesn't stop Quick this time, and the sharp blow to his ribs from a freed left hand forces him back a few inches, enough for the speedster to grab a handful of his hair with the other hand and drag him down. He yelps at the sharp sting and tear of teeth against his neck, definitely breaking skin, and goes for a solid body shot to Quick's gut to make the speedster let go.
Instead, Quick's hand curls around his wrist and yanks it to the side, pinning it against his hip. He struggles — and when it comes to arms he is stronger than Quick — but then in a flash of movement Quick lets go and shoves, sending him sprawling back against the floor.
He doesn't let go of his constructs, but that doesn't mean Quick stays in them any longer than the time it takes him to hit the floor and gasp in a breath to replace the one knocked out of him. Quick crosses the room in barely the blink of his eye, and the speedster grabs both his wrists and slams them to the floor above his head, straddling his waist and interlacing their fingers to keep his ring pressed flat against the floor.
Quick's mouth is painted red with his blood, and he glares up at the speedster even as he bucks up, trying to unsettle or unbalance the other man. Quick, of course, adjusts to the movements with a reaction time a lot higher than anyone has a right to have, and keeps the seat with easy grace. The expression on Quick's face is easy to read, obviously showing excitement, anticipation, desire, and hunger, and he snarls a warning but doesn't really fight when Quick bends down and kisses him again.
That doesn't mean that he doesn't bite at Quick's lips and tongue, or that he doesn't jerk upwards in another attempt at getting the speedster off of him, but he could be making constructs and he's not. That's practically like not fighting at all.
Quick makes a vicious, satisfied noise against his mouth, knees squeezing hard enough in on his ribs to make him answer with a groan of pain. That does drive him to make a construct, and Quick reacts to the sound of the energy but not before he has the speedster's bottom lip held tightly between his teeth. Quick's hands squeeze down around his wrists, but he doesn't let go of the other man's lip until his construct winds around the speedster's throat and jerks him backwards. He gets yanked up as well, by the grip on his wrists that Quick won't release, and he ends up still held between two thighs, green energy in the shape of a hand — it might be exactly the size of his hand, but that's an easy thing to concentrate on so sue him — pinning the speedster down against the cement floor by his throat.
Quick laughs, fingers flexing around his wrists. "Does it always have to be this way between us?" the speedster mocks, dragging him closer by his wrists and by both of the other man's legs around his waist.
"You start it," he points out, and it's almost like he's pinning Quick's hands down next to his head except it's the speedster holding him down there. "What, you want something else?"
Loaded question, but all Quick does is give a sharp smile and force him down another few inches, arching up to rub the two of them together where it actually counts. "And miss out on watching you limp out of here?" the speedster says with another laugh, ignoring the construct on his throat. "You couldn't do gentle if your life depended on it, Lantern."
He grinds down, twisting both wrists against Quick's hold and trying not to betray the swirl of something behind his chest. "If you want gentle go home to your wife, Quick." It comes out as a snarl, a challenge, and there's no mistaking the flash of anger in Quick's eyes.
"And you can go track down your hero girlfriend, is that it?" Quick snaps back.
His construct tightens, Quick glares, and for a few seconds violence saturates the air between them. He's never quite sure when this thing between them is finally going to come to blows, but he knows eventually one or both of them will snap and go beyond this play-violence. This whole thing is going to implode and end with one of them broken and bleeding, and the other… He doesn't think anyone will come out a victor on that day, and he has no idea what will happen when it's done.
But then Quick is letting go of his wrists, and his construct is fading, and the speedster is surging up into him with the strength of all of that violence, and god help him he meets it. Quick's hands tug at his hair and drag down his suit, and he tears at the other man just as feverishly. His suit is an automatic construct, but Quick's isn't and he grabs the zipper at the front of the speedster's neck and yanks it down. The speedster snarls into the clash of their mouths but doesn't stop him, and he drags the clinging yellow fabric away from Quick's shoulders to bare his skin.
"Take this the hell off," Quick demands, tugging at his suit.
"That going to be mutual?" he growls back, and Quick makes a noise reeking of frustration.
"Just do it, Lantern."
Quick moves and shoves him back with a knee to his chest and both palms to his shoulders, and he sprawls for a second but it's not a hard push and he recovers nearly immediately. Quick's standing, and he gets to his feet as the speedster starts to vibrate. He's seen the trick before, but it's still interesting to watch the yellow costume slip off Quick's muscles like water, pooling on the ground.
He has time to rake his gaze up the speedster's nude frame once before Quick flashes forward and grabs him by both shoulders, slamming him against a wall that was definitely at least ten feet away a second ago. "Take it off," Quick snarls.
It's not easy, but it's satisfying to shift his weight, grab both of Quick's arms, and spin them to pin the speedster in his place. Then he reaches into the slight consciousness of the ring and dismisses the automatic construct of his uniform, pressing close to Quick as the suit dissolves off of him into green energy that fades into the air. Quick's hands are on his skin pretty much immediately, dragging fingers and then digging nails into sensitive spots with learned accuracy, and he groans and pushes his hips tight into the speedster's.
He dodges Quick's attempt at pulling him in for a kiss and uses one hand to force the speedster's jaw up instead, repaying the stinging bite on his neck by closing his teeth into the skin below Quick's ear and digging down until he can taste blood on his tongue. Quick makes a noise that's not really pleased, so he picks another spot and does it again, and then a third time. Everything Quick leaves on him he pays back in excess; the speedster will heal.
"Like to mark what's yours?" Quick says with a laugh, bucking forward and hooking one leg back behind his knee, forcing him in closer, as if there was any more space to close.
"We both know you're not mine, Quick," he snaps into the speedster's ear, and that something is back in his chest so he bites down again just to hurt the other man for making him feel whatever it is. "Shut the hell up before I decide to fuck you against the wall instead of the bed."
Quick laughs again, and one of the speedster's hands curls in his hair and yanks him away, pulling him back until he can meet the mocking blue eyes and grin. "It's like you think that's a negative, Lantern." Quick grinds into him, and it's strong enough to almost be painful but that's good. Nothing between them should ever be anything but rough, there's no point in making anything confusing.
This is just sex, it's only ever been just sex, and that's all it ever will be. A release of aggression and pent-up energy, and the chance to have something completely different than the touch of the woman he loves, the woman who betrayed him. Something completely different than how Quick can be with his wife.
Neither of them want anything past the walls of whatever small room they find for a quick fuck.
He pulls against Quick's grip on his hair and shoves closer to seal his mouth over the speedster's, just to shut him up. Quick moans when he drops his hand between their stomachs to wrap around both of them, squeezing and stroking even though this isn't anything more than foreplay. Which is why, after a few strokes, he swaps to holding onto just Quick. The name's accurate, and if the speedster was a little more self-conscious about it he'd never let that go. Unfortunately, Quick's firmly of the opinion that the shorter recovery time is well worth going off faster as well.
Quick's nails dig into his shoulder and his scalp, and it's easy to tell when the speedster is close because the other man jerks and vibrates. He pulls back from the imitation of a kiss to watch, and to enjoy the arch of Quick's throat and the sharp, distorted cry that gets torn out of it as the speedster spills between them.
He doesn't owe Quick anything, so he lets go and drags the speedster towards the bed in the corner of the room — a spare room inside the Watchtower that they've fucked in enough to call it theirs — without giving him the time to come down or recover. As if he cares whether Quick is comfortable.
He shoves the speedster — already looking more or less alert — down across the bed, and climbs in after him to pin Quick down chest-first by one shoulder, taking just a second to concentrate enough to form a construct, another hand, to reach across the bed and underneath the corner of it for the bottle of lube and roll of condoms. Quick stirs beneath him, giving a pleased groan, as he sets both items down and lets the construct vanish.
He leans down over the speedster, sinking his teeth into the back of the other man's pinned shoulder and then demanding, "Spread your legs."
For once, Quick actually obeys without mocking, the speedster shifting to rise a bit more securely to his knees and spreading them wide open. He pulls back, taking a breath to get enough of his concentration back to form another construct. Quick twitches and looks back at the sound, but doesn't fight the green bands that wrap around both wrists and the back of the other man's neck, pinning the speedster down to the bed.
It's show more than anything else. They both know that he isn't concentrating hard enough to stop Quick from shattering the constructs with even a trace of a real struggle. Like they both know that if Quick really wanted to kill him all the speedster would have to do is turn, grab the ring off his finger, and snap his neck before he could get the ring back. But touching his ring is a line that Quick's never crossed before.
He slicks the fingers of his left hand with some of the lube, and slides his right hand up Quick's back as he pushes two of his fingers into the other man. Quick jerks, clenches teeth, and he knows that it's too much, too fast, but he's not in the mood to play nice. He's not going to really hurt Quick, but he doesn't have to be careful. The other man will heal; he'll be just fine within the hour, or at least within a few.
Which is why he shoves in a third before Quick is ready for it, and then almost feels guilty at the low groan that leaves the other man's throat. Part of him still wants to hurt the speedster, but the majority calms down at the vocal expression of pain.
He ducks his head against Quick's back to avoid the glance of blue eyes, removing the third finger and pushing in with just two. There are other ways; he knows that the one thing Quick can't stand is going slow. He can still be mean without actually hurting the speedster; being careful doesn't have to mean playing nice.
He presses his mouth up Quick's spine as he works into the other man, grazing with teeth but not biting down, and the speedster arches underneath him. He takes it slowly, making sure Quick is pushing back against him and making aroused, wanting sounds before slipping a third finger in to join the mix. This time it goes easily, and Quick makes a pleased noise before jerking, sharp and sudden, against his constructs. They hold, but he has to scramble a bit to make them hold.
"Hurry up, Hal," Quick spits at him, through a strangled moan, and he lets himself smirk against the speedster's back.
"Why don't you slow down, Barry?" he counters.
He should probably know better than to taunt a speedster, because suddenly Quick is shattering through his constructs and turning on him, slamming him onto his back too quickly for him to really know what happened. There's the tear of plastic, Quick is still moving faster than any human can, and then there's the sure stroke of a hand down his cock. He gasps and arches, hands clenching as his brain derails for a second, but with Quick a second is all it takes.
The speedster sinks down onto him, fingers wrapping around both of his wrists and pinning them beside his head. He stutters, swallowing and trying to hold onto what little control he's got left, but Quick is grinning and obviously sure of victory. The speedster really isn't wrong.
Then Quick is moving, rising and falling with the bunch and release of muscled thighs, and he yanks against the speedster's grip on his wrists but can't get free. Not with half of Quick's weight on them, and the other half involved in stopping his ability to think or really function. He settles for falling back on instinctive movement, bucking up to meet Quick's downward falls and drawing his legs up to brace his feet on the bed for more leverage. Quick's hard again, and the speedster's grip flexes on his wrists as blue eyes shutter closed and lips curl into half a snarl.
He knows, without question, that Quick is only using him, but why would that matter? He really can't care that he's not much more than a body to Quick, since he's using the speedster just as callously. They're not even friends, they're barely allies.
Even though they're maybe the only two members of the Crime Syndicate that haven't actually snapped and fought yet. The two of them, and then maybe the constant tension between Ultraman and Owlman that hasn't quite turned into straight out violence yet. You'd have to be crazy to mess with the Owls though, to be fair, and not even Ultraman is that dumb.
Quick has both eyes firmly shut — maybe imagining someone else? The thought stings in ways he doesn't want to look at — and the grip around his wrists is bruising, the pace fast and rough and so damn good it makes him fight the speedster's hold just to move. He bucks, half twists, and it unbalances Quick enough that he can yank his right hand free and reach up to grab a handful of the speedster's blonde hair. Quick could get away, dodge his hand and pin him again, but the other man lets him pull down and arch up, clashing their mouths together halfway between.
He can feel the gasping breaths against and into his mouth, and the noises muffled between them that are somewhere in the middle of snarls and moans. For just a second he lets himself think about what it might be like to have Quick on his back, moaning and writhing with something that's actually just pleasure, where he doesn't have to hold the speedster down or fight for every step.
Then he bites down on Quick's tongue until it bleeds, and forces the thought away. That's dangerous, it's stupid, and Quick would never come even close to being that passive. He'd be worried if the speedster was.
Quick lets go of his wrist, fisting both hands in his hair and dragging him up and closer, and he braces to actually push up to sitting and shove the other man back a bit. He keeps his grip in Quick's hair, but reaches up with his free hand to grip the speedster's waist and dig his nails in. They're blunt, but he still manages to drive them in hard enough to make Quick twitch and twist away a little bit. Behind the blood between them, Quick tastes like the sharp tang of ozone, and faintly like something burnt. He'd guess that's what all speedsters taste like, side effect of the powers, but the thought of going after Quick's sidekick nephew curls his lip so he can only guess. Not only is Lightning laughably straight by all accounts, but the smaller speedster is still young even if legally an adult. Why would he ever even think about going after Lightning when he has Quick right here?
He rakes his nails down Quick's side and gets nails to his scalp in return, and then wraps his arm around the speedster's back and flattens it up the arch of his spine. His hand fits perfectly between Quick's shoulder blades, and the speedster shivers at the touch, which edges into a sharp vibration that drags a moan from his throat. Quick's thighs press in against his hips, and he tears away from the press of their mouths, despite the hands in his hair, to lay biting kisses down the side of the speedster's jaw and his neck. He might purposefully angle his mouth to bite down harder on the already partially healed marks, but apart from another scratch of nails across his scalp Quick doesn't react to it.
In fact Quick leans into him and lets go of his hair, wrapping both arms around his back and muffling what sound like moans against his shoulder. He keeps his mouth busy against Quick's skin, feeling the sweat between the speedster's shoulders and the way it makes his arm slide smoothly over the other man's back instead of catching. Quick jerks and then vibrates again, just for a second, and he yanks the speedster's head up to fasten his mouth against the front of the other man's throat. Quick jerks again, nails raking sideways across his shoulders, and he can feel the vibration of the choked moan that echoes into the room without his mouth or shoulder to muffle it.
He groans at another rake of nails partway down his back, and then crushes Quick closer to him, and forces the speedster's head back a little farther. Quick trembles — this time he's not sure if it's a vibration or the speedster actually shaking — and the pace rises, nails clawing at his back as the other man gets frantic, desperate.
"God," Quick gasps, "Hal."
He lets go of the bite, gritting his teeth instead and lowering his head to bury it against Quick's shoulder. The speedster jerks, vibrates, and cries out, muscles tight and nails clawing all the way down to his low back. He can feel the wet spill between them of Quick's release, and part of him wants to hold still and stroke the speedster's back, ease him through the high, but the rest of him shoves that thought aside and pushes Quick back and away. The sensation of leaving Quick's tense body is enough to make him groan and clench his hands, but he doesn't pause.
He'll never treat Quick the same way as he does a real lover.
The speedster is gasping, eyes wide and pupils blown, and he appreciates the look for a fraction of a second before forcing his hands open to grip Quick's hips, flipping the other man over onto his stomach and then dragging him up to his knees. He doesn't waste any time sinking back inside of Quick — who gives another cry and arches tight enough that the knobs of the speedster's spine stand out — and curling his fingers around the other man's hips so he has the leverage to set a pace that's hard and deep, even if it's not as fast as Quick's. The speedster shifts and clenches around him, hands clenching into the sheets and head turned in to press against the bed. He lets it go for a minute or so, satisfied with the shift of muscle in Quick's back and not really needing the speedster's sounds to complete the image. Quick is overwhelmed, jerking nearly violently with every thrust, and he should feel guilty but he really, really doesn't.
Quick tried, once, leaving him high and dry. He spent the next two months taking his frustrations out on anyone stupid enough to get into his bed, and refusing to let Quick so much as touch him. Quick eventually got around it, but he hurt the speedster pretty badly in their pre-sex 'violence,' and made damn sure that Quick knew he wouldn't tolerate it ever happening again.
So what if Quick's not totally comfortable, or too sensitive for this to be pleasant anymore? He's not letting the speedster go until he's done.
Quick shakes a little bit, and he lets go of the other man's left hip to run his hand up the speedster's spine and wrap down and around his throat. Pulling Quick up against his chest, held by the grip he has on the speedster's neck, feels good, and the way Quick's right arm jerks upwards and claws, clings, to the back of his neck is almost as nice.
Quick is making small, choked, strained noises, chest heaving, and he closes his eyes to listen and sets to work defacing this side of the speedster's throat with its own collection of bite marks. The other man jerks again, clenching and quivering, and he gasps as Quick tightens around him. His hands clench down, probably enough to bruise, maybe even enough to make Quick struggle to breathe, but he's so damn close and if he just pushes a little more, a little harder…
Quick presses back, arches, writhes or maybe struggles, and his release gets yanked out of him like a blade.
The sound that leaves his throat is mostly a yell, muffled into Quick's skin, and both of them deny even to themselves that it might sound like Quick's real name. His hips shove forwards once, twice, and then push deep and still, filling the condom as he grits his teeth and pants against the back of Quick's shoulder. He knows that Quick will turn on him just as quickly as he's turned on the speedster, so he holds the other man tight and still until the energy drains off to just leave endorphins, and he can't anymore.
Quick sucks in a sharp breath when his hand slips off the speedster's throat, and he lets it slip down the other man's chest and reach back. He wraps his hand around the base of the condom, shifting to pull out of Quick and then strip it off himself, twisting the end and tossing it backwards. It lands in the small metal bin at the foot of the bed, he can tell by the sound, and he loops his arm back around Quick's waist, settling in close to the speedster's back. Which lasts for all of two seconds before Quick jerks at his neck and drives the other elbow back into his ribs, pulling away as he recoils.
The speedster turns and grabs him by the upper arm, yanking and he's a little too out of it to really defend so Quick manages to get him flat on his stomach, one hand pinning him down by the back of the neck and weight settled across his low back. It actually doesn't feel all that threatening, and the hand on his neck feels more like in case he struggles and not legitimately pinning him down.
Quick's hand drags down his back, setting scratches stinging, and the speedster makes a satisfied noise. "Bleeding makes you look good, Lantern. Makes you mine." That mocking edge is back in Quick's voice, and his mouth curls in something between a snarl and a sneer automatically.
"What the fuck is it with you?" he demands, glaring over his shoulder. "You're not mine and I'm not yours, Quick. It's not that hard, even if your brain is the slowest part of you."
The way Quick grins, instead of lashing out or snapping an insult back, makes him wary. "Your back says otherwise," the speedster says, satisfied and vicious all at once.
He tenses, and then hisses out, "What the fuck did you claw into my back, Barry?" Quick's grin shows teeth, and the speedster's hand swipes across his back, following the path of scratches across his shoulders, diagonal down his back, sideways, diagonal again. A lightning bolt. "You son of a bitch," he snarls, jerking up and trying to turn.
Quick follows the movement, blurring out of sight, and then there's an arm tight around his throat and the speedster is at his back, both legs wrapped in and around his and the free arm tight around his waist and both his arms. He struggles, and Quick drags the arm around his throat tighter, compressing his windpipe and cutting off his breathing for a few seconds.
"If you wanted a second round," the speedster mocks, "all you had to do was ask, Lantern. I'd be happy to fuck you for a change."
He gets one hand up high enough to curl his fingers around Quick's arm and pull down on it, not really succeeding in pulling it away from his throat but at least easing the pressure enough to spit out, "You're fucking joking, Quick. You wouldn't last long enough to make it worth it."
Quick lets go, and there's a flash of speed and then the speedster is on top of him, pressed between his thighs and close into his torso, left arm braced beside his head and the right hand raking across his scalp to grip a handful of his hair. He drags in a breath free of restriction, as Quick pushes closer and forces his thighs open to accomodate.
"You haven't got a fucking clue what I fuck like, Hal," the speedster hisses, threatens, promises?
"I know it's quick," he spits back, rising to the challenge and refusing to back down.
Quick's expression is somewhere between a sneer and a grin, and the hand in his hair tightens. He raises his hands to shove the speedster away and in another flash Quick has both his wrists, slamming them down on either side of his head and leaning weight in to keep them there. He clenches his hands, thinking about making a construct, maybe choking the speedster out for good measure, until Quick speaks.
"I bet I could get you off before I'm done," the speedster snarls, thumbs stroking over the pulse point of his wrists, blue eyes narrowed and challenging.
"Bet what?" he demands, holding off on making the construct. Not yet. This could go in his favor.
Quick's eyes widen for a fraction of a second — like the speedster didn't think he'd actually do anything but flat out refuse — before narrowing again as the other man obviously considers, studies him. "What do you want?"
Oh, there are lots of things he'd like to do to the speedster that Quick would never normally allow. Not for a second does he think about asking for anything that isn't sexual; what starts in these rooms ends in these rooms.
He flexes his hands, twists them against Quick's grip, and squeezes his thighs in just to see the speedster twitch and give a shiver that only lasts maybe half a second. "If you don't get me off before you go off, Quick, then I want you to suck and swallow." Quick sneers, and he smirks and jerks against the hold on his wrists. "That sound like a deal, or are you going to admit that letting you fuck me would be a waste of my time?"
Quick's hands tighten on his wrists, and then the speedster grins and lets go, bracing against the bed instead. "Deal, Lantern."
The agreement is almost enough to make him think that Quick's got some trick up his sleeve, but the speedster isn't exactly humble so misplaced confidence is way more likely. He shoves Quick back — not enough to force the speedster off, but enough to make him lean back — and then raises his arms and tucks them beneath his head, aiming his best arrogant smirk at the other man.
"Your move," he challenges, spreading his legs around Quick's hips and really enjoying the surprise on the other man's face. "What, you think you're the first to fuck me, speedster?"
Quick's hands stroke down his thighs, the left hooking under his knee as the right slides back up. "Who else?" the speedster demands, not sounding that pleased with the idea that he's not the first.
"It's not really your business, is it?" It comes out as a taunt, and Quick bares his teeth but doesn't answer.
He watches Quick reach for the bottle of lube, mostly covered by tangled sheets, and slick some onto his right hand, before the speedster hooks the left hand back underneath his knee and lifts, bracing it over that same shoulder.
"You, Quick? You ever actually fucked another guy or do you always play catcher?" One of Quick's fingers presses into him — no one's been there in a while, so the sensation isn't familiar anymore — and drives deep, left hand stroking along the outside of the thigh hooked over the speedster's shoulder.
"You're not so special either, Lantern," Quick says with a smirk, and he sneers and tries to ignore the way the words sting. Like he's got any right to think this is actually anything more than a competition and a good time.
A dozen nasty responses come to mind, but he swallows them back down instead of spitting them at the other man. Yeah, he could push, but this isn't a real advantageous position and he's not willing to test Quick right now. Right now would not be a good time for the inevitable fight between them to happen.
Quick takes it slow — what a fucking miracle — and he watches idly. It does feel good enough, Quick's got decent aim at least, but unlike the speedster he actually needs real time to recover. It doesn't matter how good it feels, there's not going to be any physical reaction until his body's decided that it's ready. Probably about the time Quick's actually done prepping and ready to fuck him. He could nearly laugh in the speedster's face for apparently not taking that into account.
If Quick is frustrated it doesn't show, and it is just about when the speedster is working three fingers into him in easy slides that his body finally decides to stir. But he can see Quick hard and ready between the speedster's legs, so concern is about the furthest thing from his mind. This will be easy; Quick's already primed and he's barely stirring.
He can feel his breathing pick up a notch, the leg hooked over Quick's shoulder tensing a little bit, and blue eyes snap up to look at him. Quick smirks, and that is enough to make him wary because it looks confident. Before he can spit some condescending, taunting remark at the speedster to figure out what Quick has up his sleeve, it happens.
Quick's hand, the fingers buried in him, start to vibrate, and it wrenches a surprised shout out of his throat at the sudden, intense feeling. Quick's free hand is hard on his thigh, holding him partially still as the speedster thrusts and rolls what have essentially become completely controllable, flexible vibrators. The hand isn't enough to stop him arching or gripping the sheets tight enough to turn his knuckles white, or throwing his head back and gritting his teeth to stop the sounds driving up his throat, but it keeps his hips at least partially still.
Quick laughs, and he manages a breathless snarl in response before the speedster's fingers crook and press in just the right way and whatever response he had dies underneath the strangled sound that makes it out of his mouth. His hips buck up, pressing back into Quick's fingers, and he can practically feel how smug the speedster is even though he's pretty sure his neck is locked back in an arch and he couldn't look down if he wanted to. No wonder Quick was confident, if the speedster can just do this at a whim.
It's not long before he's fully hard, and the vibration eases out and stops, letting his muscles come down from being tight and tense as Quick gives a last few rolls of the fingers in him. He unclenches his fingers from the sheets, trying to slow down the pound of his heart and the way he's been reduced to panting, sweat damp on his brow and against his back. He jerks and bites back a sound he can't identify as Quick pulls the fingers from him, leg contracting over the speedster's shoulder. Quick's free hand eases down the outside of his thigh, almost gentle, and the other man makes a low sound that reeks of laughter and satisfaction.
"Didn't know I could do that, did ya, Hal?"
He drags his head down, glaring the length of his torso to Quick's narrowed eyes. "Damn you," he manages to spit, and maybe his voice comes out rough and strained but he'll deny it if anyone asks.
Quick's hand flashes out to the side, snagging a condom from he's not even sure where and tearing the plastic wrapper open with sharp teeth, grinning and not breaking his gaze. "You'll like this next part then," the speedster mocks. "You ready to have your mind blown, Lantern?"
He snarls, hands clenching in the sheets again. "Ready for you to fail, and get blown," he counters, digging his heel into Quick's back.
The speedster pushes the condom on, hand stroking and then gripping, for a second, tightly. He forces himself to relax as Quick starts to press inwards, and forces himself not to hold his breath as it happens. Quick shudders, which makes him feel like he might still have a good chance at coming out figuratively on top of this — that makes it about endurance, and Quick doesn't have endurance — and shifts, pulling in a visibly shallow breath. The speedster slips the arm out from underneath his leg, letting it come off the shoulder, and curls the fingers of both hands around his hips.
Quick flashes a sharp grin, starting to move in shallow thrusts, and he braces both legs around the speedster's waist because something is about to happen.
Sure enough, it's only a few seconds before Quick starts vibrating again, inside of him, and he grits his teeth and fights not to arch. Quick's longer than just the fingers, and with the shallower thrusts there's no relief from the sensation of the vibration pressed up against the inside of him. It feels amazing and it's maddening, and he closes his eyes and squeezes his thighs in against the muscle and bone of Quick's waist. He registers the feeling of Quick's right hand leaving his hip maybe half a second before the speedster's hand wraps around him, grip sure and vibrating at a much lower intensity than the rest.
"Fuck," he tries to spit, but it comes out as more of a moan.
Quick's hand and hips are in sync, and it's overwhelming and incredible, and he can't help moving to meet the thrusts. His hands are back to being white-knuckled, wrapped in the sheets, and the muscles of his arms are tensed, head turned sideways and fighting to stay flat against the bed and not arch back again.
Endurance, he repeats to himself. It's just endurance and Quick doesn't have any, never has.
He tries distancing himself, thinking through codes and section numbers for other Lanterns as Quick moves and vibrates and slowly degrades his ability to think at all. It works, briefly, until Quick shoves in harder and angled differently and it shatters his concentration. He gives half a shout before strangling it back, and it seems to encourage Quick. At least, the speedster keeps the different angle and the level of strength, and both are definitely better. Quick's other hand flexes on his hip, and the parts of him still thinking about the deal snarl in satisfaction when Quick shakes for a second. Not just the vibrating parts, but everything.
"You're louder than I thought you'd be," Quick gasps out, and he forces his eyes open and looks down at the speedster, swallowing but dragging as much of a sneer to his face as he can manage.
"Imagined this?" It's half a question, but Quick jerks and groans like it's a real piece of some dirty fantasy.
Quick moves, leaning down into him and releasing his hip to reach up and drag his right arm out from underneath his head, interlacing their fingers. He honestly can't tell if it's the normal way of flattening out his ring hand to pin it, or a simpler touch. Maybe it's both.
"You've got no idea," Quick admits, in a breathy moan. The vibrations cut out for a second, and he has just enough time to gasp in a breath and tense up before they start again and it's too much, too suddenly.
He arches, head snapping back, and cries out, his fingers clenching down on Quick's hand and his thighs tightening around the speedster's waist. Quick jerks again, gives a full body shudder that shakes into his frame, but it takes another few seconds for the overload to calm a little bit, enough that he can drag his head back down to look at Quick, who's staring with half-lidded blue eyes and a slightly parted mouth that he wants right now.
He wrenches his left arm from beneath his head, reaching up and snagging a handful of Quick's hair to yank him down. Quick moans before their mouths even touch, and then gives a second, higher-pitched one when they connect and he presses his tongue up into the speedster's mouth. It's messy, and there's no skill to it, but it's raw and passionate and he couldn't care less if it still tastes a little bit like blood or there's too much saliva to be clean.
Quick's rhythm is uneven, and the speedster is starting to give full body vibrations that are cutting off the rest, snapping the sensation on and off. It's intense, definitely pushing him closer to the edge pretty fast, and it might not be immediate but he can feel it waiting around the corner.
He swallows and jerks hard at Quick's hair, and the speedster gives a sharp shudder and loses control almost completely for a second, slamming in jerkily and then going stiff and still. He can feel the tremble in Quick's muscles, hear the distinctive cry against his mouth, and the last functioning part of him lets go of the speedster's hair and reaches down to yank the other man's hand away from him.
Quick eases after a second, weight nearly collapsing on top of him, and the speedster's head tucks down into his shoulder. He takes a minute to breathe and fight down the remaining shudders, trying not to feel the pressure and movement of Quick's stomach against him. It takes a bit, but without the continuous stimuli he manages to back off from the edge.
"I win," he says, and maybe it comes out raggedly and way less dangerous than he'd like but there's not much he can do about it.
Quick makes some kind of muffled noise into his shoulder, and then the speedster turns his head enough to speak into his neck instead, less muffled. "Worth it," Quick answers, sounding groggy and totally exhausted. "Just, give me a minute."
He snorts, closing his eyes and letting go of Quick's wrist to reach up and reaffirm his grip in the speedster's blond hair. "You need a minute, Quick?"
"Shut up," the speedster says with what he's pretty sure is supposed to be a snarl. "Think about something gross or boring, Lantern. At least make this worth my time and don't just go off in a second."
"You're getting us mixed up."
Quick elbows him in the ribs — not hard, but enough to get the point across — and he shakes his head and lets it go. Quick's hand is still interlaced with his, lightly pinning it down, and the other man is fairly heavy, but none of it is really uncomfortable so he eases and grudgingly returns to thinking about the section and rank numbers of the rest of the Lanterns. That's information he had to memorize, but god is it mind-numbingly boring.
It works well enough until Quick moves, pushing up and shoving out a breath. He flicks his eyes open to watch the speedster, letting go of the hair and only minding a little bit when Quick pushing up presses a lot of weight down onto his ring hand. He lets his legs fall away from the other man's waist, and it's a little bit soothing to his pride that Quick shudders just as much as he does when the speedster pulls out. Quick tugs the hand interlaced with his free, and reaches down to pull the condom off and tie it shut, before leaning back far enough to drop it off the foot of the bed and into the waste bin.
He shifts — resisting the urge to cross both arms beneath his head again — and flashes a smirk up at Quick, flicking his left hand down in an obvious indication. "Pay up," he demands, and contrary to the glare he expects Quick grins, settling between his legs.
"Had your own fantasies, huh?" the speedster asks, with a knowing edge.
Quick's hands slide up his thighs, confident, and he swallows and throws the speedster's own words back at him. "You've got no idea."
There's something in Quick's expression that looks hungry, mixed with something darker but just as strong, but the speedster ducks down before he has the time to figure it out. Like he's got the brain power to do that at the moment.
Quick's tongue takes one long swipe up the side of him, and the speedster's definitely not new at this. His mouth parts as Quick's does, and he takes in a sharp breath as the speedster takes the head into his mouth, blue eyes closing. He was expecting a lot more glaring — Quick doesn't have his kind of pride, or arrogance, but the speedster is a long way from humble or selfless, and this is a pretty one way act — but the eased relaxation and naked desire in the way Quick's hands tighten and release on his inner thighs is, probably, better.
There's something strange about the idea that Quick is enjoying being down there, but he's not going to complain. It's… thrilling, and even if it is just a deal he won, he really likes the sight of Quick's mouth around him. Especially when the speedster sinks farther down for a moment, nearly to the base, and then pulls back. He makes a sound that's something like a groan, and Quick lets go of his left thigh to reach in and wrap a hand around what his mouth isn't covering.
He happens to catch the flick of Quick's blue eyes up towards him, and he can definitely feel the curve of the speedster's mouth around him as it lifts in what's at least a smirk, and might be a grin. He has about enough time to vaguely wonder what Quick is about to do, but not nearly enough time to think it through and actually make the connections.
Quick's free hand presses down hard on his hip, and the speedster's tongue vibrates against the underside of him. He bucks up in reaction and shouts something that might be a combination of a couple different swear words, and the hand on his hip is the only thing — beyond Quick's reflexes — that stops him shoving deep into the speedster's mouth.
He's pretty damn sure that Quick laughs at him, but it's muffled and distorted by vibration, and he hasn't got the spare concentration to actually be irritated. Not when Quick's tongue is stroking, flicking, digging unerringly into sensitive spots, and vibrating the whole time.
He really shouldn't have been surprised. If Quick can vibrate limbs and parts independently of each other, of course he can do it with his tongue too. Realizing that doesn't stop it from feeling way too damn good, but at least realizing sooner would have killed the shock value.
He fists his right hand in the sheets near his head, and the left down near his hip to stop himself from reaching down and wrapping it in Quick's hair. Even if the speedster would let him have a hold like that, he's not that desperate. If by some miracle Quick doesn't know how good this feels, or how fast it's dragging him back to the edge he'd barely backed away from, then he's not going to tell the speedster. Quick is smug enough as it is.
He can barely keep his gaze on Quick — whose eyes are closed again — but even when his neck wants to arch back he holds it down, because there's no way in hell he's missing even a second of what this looks like. Even if this never happens again, this is a memory that he's going to jerk off to for a long time. Quick might tolerate his pins and his usual dominance, but he's under absolutely no illusions that the speedster will always be or even usually is a more submissive partner in bed.
Quick's anything but submissive, and he wouldn't be interested if Quick was some fawning, arching, doe-eyed thing. It's the fact that Quick struggles, that he challenges, that makes the speedster something he keeps coming back to.
He's not going to lie and say he's always dominant either. Quick's not the first to fuck him and the speedster probably won't be the last. He's just picky about who gets to do that. It has to be worth it in some way.
In the back of his mind, what little is still functioning, he knows that this also probably won't be the last time that he lets the other man fuck him. Quick makes it worth it.
He swallows, hard, and a shudder drags up his spine and back down. "God, fuck."
Quick shifts, covering a little less of him with the hand and sinking further down, lips tight and cheeks hollowed. The pressure, the vibrating buzz of the speedster's tongue, and the sight are enough to yank him right to the edge. He doesn't have time — and he wouldn't bother even if he did — to warn Quick before he tips over, shoving up and fighting desperately to keep his eyes open and his gaze fixed as the release whites out all other thought.
Quick doesn't recoil, and he gives a shaky, uncontrolled sound that almost sounds like a plea as he feels the muscles in Quick's mouth contract, and sees the speedster's Adam's apple bob up and down. The vibration lessens, but doesn't stop until Quick's done swallowing, and he's just starting to come down from the initial rush.
His hands loosen in the sheets, and Quick slides back off and releases him, which drags another unidentifiable wanting noise from his throat.
Quick smirks, smug and satisfied, and holding his gaze, purposefully swallows one more time. He inhales sharply, too wrung out to be aroused but fuck, and Quick moves forward and crawls up over him, left hand bracing beside his head and left thigh pressed hard between his legs, the right leg up over his and settled beside his waist.
Quick's grinning, and damn speedster energy; he really wishes he could be that awake that fast. "Still going to try and say getting fucked by me isn't worth your time, Lantern?"
He drags in a breath, forcing something that might be at least a little bit like a smirk. "You lost, Quick," he reminds the speedster.
"Barely," Quick counters, instantly. "I know what it feels like when you come, and you were seconds away."
The snarl comes a bit more easily than the smirk, and he should probably be moving or grabbing something of Quick's in case the speedster does something aggressive but he's way too tired. "But a second is all it takes," he spits. "Isn't that right?"
Quick's hand is suddenly at his throat, fingers pressing in tightly, and that forces a surge of fight or flight adrenaline that drags a warning noise from his chest and sharpens his mind down to exactly what nasty construct he's about to fling in Quick's face. He'll lose, but he'll hurt the speedster first. Quick doesn't get to take him down for free.
Then Quick's hand is loosening, still over his throat but with barely any pressure. There's something in Quick's expression that doesn't fit, but before he can figure it out the hand is sliding back to grip his hair and the speedster is leaning down into him. The kiss is more passion than he can match, but Quick doesn't seem to mind that he only sort of responds, and there's no other grip or grind to reinforce the other man's desire. Instead, Quick groans and shudders, and then pulls back with a huff of breath and a slightly faster than normal movement to drop down onto the bed to his left, closer to the wall and high enough up to actually be on one of the pillows they'd otherwise avoided.
"Yeah," Quick admits grudgingly. "You're right; asshole."
He manages to pull enough energy together to roll over and up on top of Quick, bracing his weight on both arms as he looms over the speedster. "I know; jackass," he counters, and Quick rolls his eyes and snorts, looking very unimpressed.
The speedster rolls onto his left side, closing both eyes and pointedly ignoring him. He takes the challenge by wrapping his hand around Quick's right wrist and dragging it with him as he lies down behind the speedster, shoving his knee between the other man's thighs and leaning weight into him to all but flatten Quick down chest-first against the bed. The wrist he traps against Quick's lower back, pressing his teeth into the flesh near the top of the speedster's spine. Quick rocks the top shoulder back, nailing him in the face and forcing his teeth loose, before using the distraction as he recoils to twist the captured wrist and drag it forward, with his hand still holding onto it, around the speedster's waist.
"Keep your damn teeth to yourself or get out of the room," Quick grumbles, settling down and not objecting to his weight or leg. "I'm not your chew toy."
"You do a good impression of one," he taunts, leaning back in now that he's pretty sure Quick isn't going to smack him in the face again, and pressing up against the back of Quick's neck.
"How about next time I pin you down and cover your neck with bites and we'll see how you like it?" the speedster demands, with venom but not nearly as much as usual.
"What the hell makes you think there's going to be a next time?"
Quick laughs, and then twists and arches so they rub together and he twitches and draws in a sharp breath at the deliberate manipulation of too-sensitive parts. "Like you're going to be able to resist coming back for seconds. Make that deal again, Hal. I'll win." He doesn't have an answer, or a come back, and Quick makes a satisfied noise and eases down into the bed. "Just sleep, Lantern. When you finish putting your brain back together you can try convincing me that wasn't good enough to make you want more."
He tries to find something to say, he really does, but finally has to settle for just closing his eyes against Quick's skin and giving up.
Right now he hasn't got the energy, but he'll take Quick down a notch. Just, make it later, after he's recovered. Much later.
A/N: Like I said, total PWP. XD But it did actually let me explore how the two of them work when they're both, well... assholes. I've actually got a whole timeline for these two in my head now, including how they eventually realize they're more than just not-friends with benefits. It's a hell of a story.
For the moment, they're not so nice to each other. They're both firmly convinced this is just casual, and convenient, but my, there they are falling asleep next to each other... The both of them being Crime Syndicate leaders and supervillains that would never ever do that... Yeah, they're both morons; it takes some serious events for this to click in their head, though they do get nicer to each other as time goes on. Sorta... In ways. XD
So, when it comes to continuity, this happens very early, before anything but 'Seeing Red and Green.' Hal and Barry are a long, slow, road but by the time Roy and Jason and everyone are working things out, they're already finished. Earlier generations, after all. I've got another complete story written for them that I might post next week, but if something else preempts that, so be it.
See you next week!