PROMPT POST #1
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ETA: I haven't, as of this point, deleted or screened any comments to the meme. There is a problem with LJ making comments disappear - generally speaking, browsing logged in helps, as I've heard clearing your history/cookies and refreshing helps as ( Read more... )
ETA: I haven't, as of this point, deleted or screened any comments to the meme. There is a problem with LJ making comments disappear - generally speaking, browsing logged in helps, as I've heard clearing your history/cookies and refreshing helps as ( Read more... )
Hal was never shy about his body, and never wore collared shirts when he didn’t have to, and a situation that fell under ‘don’t have to’ was rare indeed. A couple people, well-meaning, asked if he was hurt. He smiled. Told them no, of course not, just trying something different today. Most believed him. He went on like that for the majority of the day, trouncing back and forth from work to home to goddamn intergalactic space cop headquarters, with a little bit of timidity thrown in to rile up the masses; it worked swimmingly, and he had just the right amount of attention for a “first time” type gig, until Carol Ferris came along and slapped that stupid coy façade right off his face, pulled his collar down and set her mouth in a thin line frown like she was his mother. He wished it hadn’t made him so happy, but he wouldn’t try to convince himself that it wasn’t a sick pleasure of his.
“What’s this,” she bit out, eyes cold and hands clenching around a once-perfectly ironed collar.
“What do you mean?” Always playing innocent, and for Hal, playing was the key word.
“This,” she spat, jabbing at the bruising marks on his neck with freshly-manicured nails, “the damn hickeys, Hal. Who gave these to you, some cheap girl named Starla pulling shots at a bar downtown?”
As if he’d ever go after someone named Starla, or let her ravish him (he would do the ravishing in that situation, no doubt).
“No!” His tone was incredulous, as if Carol’s misjudgement of the marks was some kind of crime and she was the one at fault.
“Well then where?”
“Around.” His dodgy shrug was enough to set her off. She threw her hands up, maturity conceding to hedonism, as it would always be with them.
“Great. Well you can just go back to whoever you were with ‘around’ because I’m not going to sit here and talk to you when your neck looks like you just stepped out of a harlequin romance.
Well.
He snorted at her, unable to come up with a rebuttal that actually did not involve telling her what he had done. With what he hoped was class and finality, he re-adjusted his collar and shrugged his jacket on, leaving her at the restaurant with a half-eaten salad and an empty plate that may have, at one point, had Hal’s lunch resting on it.
On Oa, he was far less quiet about his new beauty marks. There was one at the point where his jaw and neck blended that was still visible beyond the suit, and he made a point to allow /everyone/ passing him by to see it. The envy in Arisia’s eyes was something astonishing, and he felt stupidly liberated for a man with love bites on his body. He was reminded of Carol when two long hands pulled him behind a corner and rubbed at the love bite, smiling.
“Do you know how much I’ve heard about this?”
“Enlighten me.” Hal’s voice was clipped, his eyes upward because he didn’t need to see the other man to know he was smirking that smarmy smirk he always seemed to smirk.
“The complaints are numerous, and always with just a hint of wonder as to who this mystery woman is that claimed the Oh-So-Handsome Hal Jordan for her own.”
Hal laughed. It was throaty, quiet and dark as the natural fibers of the suit reacted to the touch of his partner, sensed his familiarity and began to secede at the touch of his fingertips. It wasn't long before he was practically nude, and he couldn't help but think that maybe (just maybe) he'd willed it that way.
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