I don’t ship Batlantern long-term or really at all, but I absolutely believe they could have a one-night-stand situation. Because listen:
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.
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.
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.”
“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.”
Hal opens his mouth. Closes it.
Hal absolutely tells Barry.
Barry does not believe him.
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