​Hal flirts with Bruce constantly. Especially after the "Batman is actually Bruce Wayne" reveal. You’re telling me Hal Jordan wouldn't lose his mind over the fact that Gotham’s broody urban legend is also the Prince of Gotham? The playboy billionaire? Literal Playboy model? Three-time Time’s Sexiest Man?

​Hal would be insufferable about it.

​He leans in too close. Calls him “Brucie.” Makes jokes about how he could “handle” all that intensity. He's fully convinced that under the cowl is just a tightly wound rich boy who needs someone to knock the edge off—and that if Bruce ever let himself relax, Hal would be the one doing the relaxing.

​And Bruce?

​Bruce has been in a dry spell. He’s tired. Hal is annoying. Hal is smug. Hal is so sure of himself. So one night, Bruce looks at him and thinks: Fine. You want to see?

​Hal walks into it grinning, absolutely convinced he’s about to rock Batman’s world so hard that Bruce will be nice to him for at least a week.

​Instead—

“Can’t keep up, Jordan?”

​Low. Calm. Devastating.

​Bruce has Hal exactly where he wants him, pinned under a gaze more than anything else: setting the pace, setting the rhythm, taking what he wants, dictating every single second of it.

​“I thought you were going to loosen that stick up my ass.”

​Hal was supposed to be the one in the driver's seat, yet here he is: effectively dismantled. Bruce is treating him like a sex toy, dismantling Hal's ego with clinical precision. Hal’s already hit his limit twice, and Bruce is looking at him like he’s just getting through the warm-up.

​Afterward, Bruce is already halfway dressed, pulling his shirt on like nothing monumental just occurred. Hal is still a puddle on the mattress, staring at the ceiling and trying to remember how breathing works.

​Bruce fastens his cufflinks. Smooths his tie. Completely composed. He glances over his shoulder. ​“They won’t believe you, by the way.”

​Hal blinks. “What?”

​“The League. Or anyone, really.” Bruce adjusts his watch. “So I wouldn’t mention it.”

​Hal props himself up on his elbows, frowning. “You worried about your reputation, Spooky?”

​Bruce’s mouth curves, just barely. ​“Not particularly.” ​He heads for the door. ​“Unless you’d like them to know you couldn’t keep up.”

​Beat.

​Hal opens his mouth. Closes it.

Hal absolutely tells Barry.

And Hal, because he can't let it go, is explaining it to Barry in excruciating detail. He won't stop talking about the stamina, how clinical it was. How Bruce didn't break his stride even when Hal tried to-

And Barry cuts him off and tells him that he believes him, because Barry does not need to know so much detail about Bruce Wayne and what he's like in the privacy of his own bedroom. Or, in this case, hotel room.

Hal stops. He grins. It’s a small victory - a tiny, glorious crack in the wall of disbelief - but he’ll take it. He’s finally convinced someone. In his head, he’s up 1-0. Bruce said no one would believe him, but Barry Allen just folded.

He carried that smugness through the entire meeting like a trophy. He was so blinded by his win that the second the doors hissed shut behind the last Leaguer, he cornered Bruce at the main console.

​"Did you hear me, Bats?" Hal asked, leaning against the desk. "Barry folded. I’ve officially got witnesses. That’s Hal 1, you 0. I’m winning."

​Bruce didn't stop typing. He didn't even look up from the screen for a full ten seconds. He just let Hal’s words hang in the air until the silence was heavy.

Finally, he turned his head just enough to give Hal a slow, devastating once-over. "I’d hardly consider that a win."

"Oh, come on! You said nobody would believe me, and yet-" Hal countered, crossing his arms. "Take the L, B. I’m the one on top here."

"Need I remind you, Jordan? I gave you three orgasms by the time I finally finished," Bruce said. "You were so far gone you couldn’t even tell me your own middle name." ​He stood up then, the cape sweeping the floor as he moved. "If bragging to the Flash about your own lack of endurance is how you define ‘winning,’ then by all means, keep your point."

​Hal watched him leave, stunned into silence for all of three seconds before his survival instincts—or lack thereof—kicked back in. "So..." Hal called out after him, "No round two?"