Fic: Salchicha Caliente, DCU, Connor/Kyle
Title: Salchicha Caliente
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Connor Hawke (Green Arrow)/Kyle Rayner (Green Lantern)
Rating: NC-17ish
Summary: “Salchicha Caliente. Isn’t that Spanish for hot sausage?”
Notes: For the porn battle.
Day twelve into an epic downward spiral and Kyle figures it’s time to put on his big boy panties and stop feeling sorry for himself. He stumbles out of his bedroom around noon, dragging his fingers through his messy hair and looking around for Connor.
He’s up already, of course-has probably been up since dawn-and is waiting with tea and toast. “I went to Whole Foods while you were asleep,” he says, passing over the simple china cup. Kyle is pretty sure he didn’t own a white china tea set before Connor came to babysit him, but he does now. It’s kind of nice, in the way the bamboo blinds on the kitchen windows or the warm throw rugs scattered across the cold floors are nice. He’s pretty sure Connor would be embarrassed if he says anything, maybe apologize for the imposition, so he just enjoys the changes as they come and keeps his mouth shut.
“Any peach butter left?” he asks, leaning over Connor’s shoulder to peer into the fridge. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have noticed the faint shiver working its way up his friend’s spine. He still isn’t sure he’s translating it right, so Kyle fake-casually rests his hand on Connor’s hip as he pretends to scan the jars of organic preserves.
Definitely a shiver. He’s…not sure what to do with that. Just twelve days ago, he was swearing off sex and romance forever. He’d tried cracking a few pathetic jokes as he lay sprawled across his beaten-up couch, feet dangling over the end and arm flung across his eyes. “Maybe I’ll become a monk,” Kyle’d said, turning his head to glance at Connor. “Eschew worldly possessions, devote my life to inner contemplation, never bother with women again. What do you think?”
His friend had smiled at him faintly, lips curving at the corners, and murmured, “Your skull’s too peaked. You’d never pull it off.”
Connor has a strange sense of humor. And, it seems, strange taste in men.
“Here,” Connor says, sounding a little desperate. He grabs the peach butter and thrusts it into Kyle’s hands before practically fleeing to refill his tea cup. Kyle bumps the fridge closed with his hip and watches him with a steady, assessing gaze, taking in the blond hair and creamy skin and curiously beautiful features.
Kyle’s an artist. He doesn’t have to be gay to appreciate the extraordinary beauty of Connor Hawke. He’s also liberal enough to hate thinking in terms of gay or straight. Kyle loves women. He’s always been with women. He’s never seriously thought of not being with women.
But Connor is flushing under his curious gaze and the growing silence between them is beginning to feel something like sexual tension. Suddenly the tea cups and blinds and throw rugs are beginning to take on a new dimension, and Kyle realizes that he doesn’t mind the thought of Connor settling here. Of Connor staying with him for more than comfort. Of Connor…
“Hey,” he says suddenly, without pausing to think. “Let’s head out tonight.”
Connor looks up from his studiously intent study of the apartment courtyard and raises his brows in surprise. “You want to go out?” he asks, dubious, and it’s not as if Kyle can blame him. He has been moping around for nearly two weeks, wallowing in the acute pain of failing at life yet again, some more.
“Sure.” Kyle smiles, trying to look relaxed. He makes himself go to the counter and claim his waiting breakfast/lunch. His knife clatters against the rim of the peach butter and he has to set it aside quickly, before Connor notices his hands are shaking. “It could be fun.”
**
Connor looks entirely too dubious.
“It could be fun,” Kyle insists, clinging to optimism. He’d called up a friend and had an intense, whispered conversation as Connor took a shower. (He’d been too much of a gentleman to take one when the water could have woken Kyle from his irresponsibly lazy angst.) He’d tried getting away with, “Hey, know any good clubs that are gay-friendly?” and had been badgered and bothered and beaten into hissing, “God, okay, Connor Hawke! Now shut up and tell me where the address i-Yes, I know Ollie would boxing-glove-arrow my nuts, do you think I’m-Roy wouldn’t dare.”
And so on. But he’d finally gotten the address and he’d pulled together an outfit that was comfortable and attractive and not too I think I sorta want to seduce my best male friend but was, you know, open to the idea… And then the taxi had pulled up to the Salchicha Caliente.
Connor looks over at him, brows slowly creeping up.
“What? What? Okay, it’s a bit of a dive…”
“Salchicha Caliente. Isn’t that Spanish for hot sausage?”
He has no idea. “No.” Wasn’t salchicha a kind of pepper? “Definitely not.” Living where he has for so long, he probably should have picked up a bit more Spanish.
“Hmm. Is this a sex dungeon?”
Kyle has a kneejerk reaction of how the hell do you know about those and right, Ollie’s son and oh God, it had better not be before impulsively stepping close to Connor-really close, close enough to smell cedar wood and mint gum-and grinning from one corner of his mouth. “Wanna find out?”
There’s no mistaking the flash of pure lust in Connor’s eyes, or the sudden heat in his cheeks. There’s also no mistaking his own immediate response to it.
“All right,” Connor says, a little breathless. “But if the hot sausages come, I’m throwing you at them and beating a hasty exit.”
Kyle stares at him, trying to decide if that was deliberately the dirtiest thing ever or if Connor had missed the double entendres. Carefully considering Connor’s warm, green eyes, he decides to err on the side of assuming total innocence.
“Okay, deal,” he says, hand moving to the small of Connor’s back as he leads him into the mass of writhing limbs and colored light. “If the sausages come, I’ll let you beat away.”
Yeah. Total innocence.
**
It’s not that this was supposed to be a date (except for where he’d worn his lucky underwear and sort of wanted to find out what sort of noises Connor made when his tongue was being sucked), but Kyle had figured there’d be a lot more…fun going on.
Not that Connor is boring. Connor is never boring, no matter what some of the other JLAers say. He is quiet and serious and self-composed, but he has a wicked sense of humor and a firm grasp of the ridiculous. He’s a lot like Roy in many ways, only everything Roy wears on the outside, like a badge, Connor tucks deeper in. It’s one of the reasons Kyle likes him so much.
But half an hour in, there’s been little conversation (thanks to the driving Latin beat), little eye contact (thanks to the scores of half-dressed men and a healthy dose of embarrassment), and no drinking. Kyle’s beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea, and that, of course, is enough to get him to climb to his feet.
He regularly saves the world from intergalactic threat. Bad ideas are what he does.
“Come on,” he says, offering a hand and a wicked grin. “Let’s dance.”
Kyle can tell by the sudden flush on Connor’s cheeks that the grin is working, so he lets it twist deeper. He dips his chin and looks up through his lashes, palm tingling, and it’s a serious high watching Connor drag in a quick breath even as he takes Kyle’s hand and lets himself be pulled out to a dark corner of the dance floor. “I don’t know how,” Connor tries to protest, but the words die when Kyle wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close-bodies flush, muscles tight, hips just right.
“Hey, no problem,” Kyle says. So close, he can see the light flecks in Connor’s eyes and the faint impression of teeth from where he’s been biting his lip. It’s the damn hottest thing he’s seen in ages. “Just keep your hips with mine and you’ll be fine.”
“Right.” Connor’s voice is trembling. All that iron control, and Kyle can shatter it with so little effort. It’s humbling. It’s…certainly fucking not a game. “Because hips don’t lie.”
It takes him a second to get the reference, and when he does he can’t control the snorting laugh. “That’s right,” Kyle says, falling naturally into the beat and dragging Connor with him. He moves sinuously, showing off a little, and the way their bodies rub together is surprisingly electric. “So spake Shakira. So mote it be.”
He slides a hand down to the small of Connor’s back, dragging him close, and there’s no mistaking the quick, panting breaths. The beat is fast, but Connor’s a trained hero-it isn’t the physical exertion that has him shaking. Kyle presses up and feels the hot jut of Connor’s half-hard cock against his thigh. He rubs against it-mostly by accident-as the music changes, and it twitches fitfully as Connor squeezes his eyes shut.
“Maybe they lie sometimes,” Connor says, arching his back in an attempt to pull his lower half away from Kyle, but, God, that heat is driving him. It’s feeding him and making him want…so many crazy, impossible things.
He acts impulsively sometimes. He knows that. He’s acting impulsively now as he slides his hand down to cup Connor’s ass, hoisting him up against Kyle’s strongly muscled thigh. The heat is like a brand, even through his jeans, and he’s dying to kiss his best friend. “Hey,” Kyle murmurs, trying to catch Connor’s eyes. “Hey,” he says again, stilling, waiting until Connor finally looks up at him. There’s arousal in his gaze, and embarrassment, and confusion. Kyle lifts his free hand to brush back blond hair, fingertips mapping out the delicate shell of his ear as he tilts his own face closer, letting Connor taste his breath. “I’m here with you.”
He means…probably more than he realizes by that, but Kyle doesn’t take the time to think about it. He’s too busy leaning in and kissing Connor, soft and sweet and damp. Connor’s lips part at once as he surges forward in surprise, and that’s enough encouragement for Kyle to lick deep into his mouth and claim his tongue.
The music is gone. The people are gone. The dump of a club is gone. There’s nothing but the taste of Connor and the slick glide of his tongue. There’s nothing but his body twining around Kyle’s as if he’s almost afraid of letting go, his cock pressing between them in a heavy, impatient brand. Kyle shifts his hips to push their erections together, wanting Connor to know he’s in this too even as he teases Connor’s tongue into his mouth and sucks hard at the root.
Nails dig into his shoulders and Kyle makes a surprised noise when Connor thrusts his tongue in deep, deeper, almost fucking his mouth even as he rubs up against him. He’s hot and elemental and a little desperate. He wants Kyle, so much, and it’s staggering how deeply that affects him. Kyle thinks he could lose his mind just standing here, kissing, steps away from embarrassingly eager frottage. He digs his fingers into Connor’s ass and rubs sharply against him, seeing sparks as need fires his blood.
Connor breaks the kiss with an earthen moan, head tipping back, and if that isn’t an obvious invitation to suck deep, reddening marks up his neck, Kyle isn’t sure what is. He’s fumbling mindlessly at the front of Connor’s pants, wanting to get in when strong fingers wrap around his wrists, holding him still.
“Wait,” Connor gasps. Trapped together, their bodies are so overheated Kyle is sure they’re going to burst into flames any moment. “Wait, stop.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Stopping…just doesn’t make sense. Not when his mouth is literally watering at the thought of dropping to his knees and mouthing Connor’s cock through his pants. Kyle wonders if he’d be able to taste him. He really wants to find out. He’s halfway down when Connor grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him back up, though his wide, wild eyes make it clear he really didn’t want to. “Wait, no, people.”
Kyle tries for another kiss, but Connor turns his face away. “Kyle, there’s an audience.”
“Performance sex art,” he tries to protest, but he lets Connor push him away a step because, all right, creepy hot sausage bar or not, he doesn’t want to be arrested for public sex.
Sex. Hey, wow. They’re going to have sex. That’s…pretty much the most amazing thing in the world.
“Extreme gay edition,” Kyle adds, brows quirking, and the laugh it steals from Connor is enough to make his heart leap in his chest and do embarrassing backflips as he struggles to catch his breath. Wow. How has he missed this for so long? “Come on,” Kyle says, reaching down to grab Connor’s hand. It’s a simple gesture, but the brilliant smile it earns almost takes him down at the knees. “Let’s get out of this dive and head home.”
Pause.
“Where I’ll show you a hot sau-“
Connor’s free hand clamps over his mouth. “Don’t,” he says firmly, though his eyes are dancing. “I get that kind of humor enough from Roy.”
Which, hey, fair enough.
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Connor Hawke (Green Arrow)/Kyle Rayner (Green Lantern)
Rating: NC-17ish
Summary: “Salchicha Caliente. Isn’t that Spanish for hot sausage?”
Notes: For the porn battle.
Day twelve into an epic downward spiral and Kyle figures it’s time to put on his big boy panties and stop feeling sorry for himself. He stumbles out of his bedroom around noon, dragging his fingers through his messy hair and looking around for Connor.
He’s up already, of course-has probably been up since dawn-and is waiting with tea and toast. “I went to Whole Foods while you were asleep,” he says, passing over the simple china cup. Kyle is pretty sure he didn’t own a white china tea set before Connor came to babysit him, but he does now. It’s kind of nice, in the way the bamboo blinds on the kitchen windows or the warm throw rugs scattered across the cold floors are nice. He’s pretty sure Connor would be embarrassed if he says anything, maybe apologize for the imposition, so he just enjoys the changes as they come and keeps his mouth shut.
“Any peach butter left?” he asks, leaning over Connor’s shoulder to peer into the fridge. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have noticed the faint shiver working its way up his friend’s spine. He still isn’t sure he’s translating it right, so Kyle fake-casually rests his hand on Connor’s hip as he pretends to scan the jars of organic preserves.
Definitely a shiver. He’s…not sure what to do with that. Just twelve days ago, he was swearing off sex and romance forever. He’d tried cracking a few pathetic jokes as he lay sprawled across his beaten-up couch, feet dangling over the end and arm flung across his eyes. “Maybe I’ll become a monk,” Kyle’d said, turning his head to glance at Connor. “Eschew worldly possessions, devote my life to inner contemplation, never bother with women again. What do you think?”
His friend had smiled at him faintly, lips curving at the corners, and murmured, “Your skull’s too peaked. You’d never pull it off.”
Connor has a strange sense of humor. And, it seems, strange taste in men.
“Here,” Connor says, sounding a little desperate. He grabs the peach butter and thrusts it into Kyle’s hands before practically fleeing to refill his tea cup. Kyle bumps the fridge closed with his hip and watches him with a steady, assessing gaze, taking in the blond hair and creamy skin and curiously beautiful features.
Kyle’s an artist. He doesn’t have to be gay to appreciate the extraordinary beauty of Connor Hawke. He’s also liberal enough to hate thinking in terms of gay or straight. Kyle loves women. He’s always been with women. He’s never seriously thought of not being with women.
But Connor is flushing under his curious gaze and the growing silence between them is beginning to feel something like sexual tension. Suddenly the tea cups and blinds and throw rugs are beginning to take on a new dimension, and Kyle realizes that he doesn’t mind the thought of Connor settling here. Of Connor staying with him for more than comfort. Of Connor…
“Hey,” he says suddenly, without pausing to think. “Let’s head out tonight.”
Connor looks up from his studiously intent study of the apartment courtyard and raises his brows in surprise. “You want to go out?” he asks, dubious, and it’s not as if Kyle can blame him. He has been moping around for nearly two weeks, wallowing in the acute pain of failing at life yet again, some more.
“Sure.” Kyle smiles, trying to look relaxed. He makes himself go to the counter and claim his waiting breakfast/lunch. His knife clatters against the rim of the peach butter and he has to set it aside quickly, before Connor notices his hands are shaking. “It could be fun.”
**
Connor looks entirely too dubious.
“It could be fun,” Kyle insists, clinging to optimism. He’d called up a friend and had an intense, whispered conversation as Connor took a shower. (He’d been too much of a gentleman to take one when the water could have woken Kyle from his irresponsibly lazy angst.) He’d tried getting away with, “Hey, know any good clubs that are gay-friendly?” and had been badgered and bothered and beaten into hissing, “God, okay, Connor Hawke! Now shut up and tell me where the address i-Yes, I know Ollie would boxing-glove-arrow my nuts, do you think I’m-Roy wouldn’t dare.”
And so on. But he’d finally gotten the address and he’d pulled together an outfit that was comfortable and attractive and not too I think I sorta want to seduce my best male friend but was, you know, open to the idea… And then the taxi had pulled up to the Salchicha Caliente.
Connor looks over at him, brows slowly creeping up.
“What? What? Okay, it’s a bit of a dive…”
“Salchicha Caliente. Isn’t that Spanish for hot sausage?”
He has no idea. “No.” Wasn’t salchicha a kind of pepper? “Definitely not.” Living where he has for so long, he probably should have picked up a bit more Spanish.
“Hmm. Is this a sex dungeon?”
Kyle has a kneejerk reaction of how the hell do you know about those and right, Ollie’s son and oh God, it had better not be before impulsively stepping close to Connor-really close, close enough to smell cedar wood and mint gum-and grinning from one corner of his mouth. “Wanna find out?”
There’s no mistaking the flash of pure lust in Connor’s eyes, or the sudden heat in his cheeks. There’s also no mistaking his own immediate response to it.
“All right,” Connor says, a little breathless. “But if the hot sausages come, I’m throwing you at them and beating a hasty exit.”
Kyle stares at him, trying to decide if that was deliberately the dirtiest thing ever or if Connor had missed the double entendres. Carefully considering Connor’s warm, green eyes, he decides to err on the side of assuming total innocence.
“Okay, deal,” he says, hand moving to the small of Connor’s back as he leads him into the mass of writhing limbs and colored light. “If the sausages come, I’ll let you beat away.”
Yeah. Total innocence.
**
It’s not that this was supposed to be a date (except for where he’d worn his lucky underwear and sort of wanted to find out what sort of noises Connor made when his tongue was being sucked), but Kyle had figured there’d be a lot more…fun going on.
Not that Connor is boring. Connor is never boring, no matter what some of the other JLAers say. He is quiet and serious and self-composed, but he has a wicked sense of humor and a firm grasp of the ridiculous. He’s a lot like Roy in many ways, only everything Roy wears on the outside, like a badge, Connor tucks deeper in. It’s one of the reasons Kyle likes him so much.
But half an hour in, there’s been little conversation (thanks to the driving Latin beat), little eye contact (thanks to the scores of half-dressed men and a healthy dose of embarrassment), and no drinking. Kyle’s beginning to wonder if this was a bad idea, and that, of course, is enough to get him to climb to his feet.
He regularly saves the world from intergalactic threat. Bad ideas are what he does.
“Come on,” he says, offering a hand and a wicked grin. “Let’s dance.”
Kyle can tell by the sudden flush on Connor’s cheeks that the grin is working, so he lets it twist deeper. He dips his chin and looks up through his lashes, palm tingling, and it’s a serious high watching Connor drag in a quick breath even as he takes Kyle’s hand and lets himself be pulled out to a dark corner of the dance floor. “I don’t know how,” Connor tries to protest, but the words die when Kyle wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close-bodies flush, muscles tight, hips just right.
“Hey, no problem,” Kyle says. So close, he can see the light flecks in Connor’s eyes and the faint impression of teeth from where he’s been biting his lip. It’s the damn hottest thing he’s seen in ages. “Just keep your hips with mine and you’ll be fine.”
“Right.” Connor’s voice is trembling. All that iron control, and Kyle can shatter it with so little effort. It’s humbling. It’s…certainly fucking not a game. “Because hips don’t lie.”
It takes him a second to get the reference, and when he does he can’t control the snorting laugh. “That’s right,” Kyle says, falling naturally into the beat and dragging Connor with him. He moves sinuously, showing off a little, and the way their bodies rub together is surprisingly electric. “So spake Shakira. So mote it be.”
He slides a hand down to the small of Connor’s back, dragging him close, and there’s no mistaking the quick, panting breaths. The beat is fast, but Connor’s a trained hero-it isn’t the physical exertion that has him shaking. Kyle presses up and feels the hot jut of Connor’s half-hard cock against his thigh. He rubs against it-mostly by accident-as the music changes, and it twitches fitfully as Connor squeezes his eyes shut.
“Maybe they lie sometimes,” Connor says, arching his back in an attempt to pull his lower half away from Kyle, but, God, that heat is driving him. It’s feeding him and making him want…so many crazy, impossible things.
He acts impulsively sometimes. He knows that. He’s acting impulsively now as he slides his hand down to cup Connor’s ass, hoisting him up against Kyle’s strongly muscled thigh. The heat is like a brand, even through his jeans, and he’s dying to kiss his best friend. “Hey,” Kyle murmurs, trying to catch Connor’s eyes. “Hey,” he says again, stilling, waiting until Connor finally looks up at him. There’s arousal in his gaze, and embarrassment, and confusion. Kyle lifts his free hand to brush back blond hair, fingertips mapping out the delicate shell of his ear as he tilts his own face closer, letting Connor taste his breath. “I’m here with you.”
He means…probably more than he realizes by that, but Kyle doesn’t take the time to think about it. He’s too busy leaning in and kissing Connor, soft and sweet and damp. Connor’s lips part at once as he surges forward in surprise, and that’s enough encouragement for Kyle to lick deep into his mouth and claim his tongue.
The music is gone. The people are gone. The dump of a club is gone. There’s nothing but the taste of Connor and the slick glide of his tongue. There’s nothing but his body twining around Kyle’s as if he’s almost afraid of letting go, his cock pressing between them in a heavy, impatient brand. Kyle shifts his hips to push their erections together, wanting Connor to know he’s in this too even as he teases Connor’s tongue into his mouth and sucks hard at the root.
Nails dig into his shoulders and Kyle makes a surprised noise when Connor thrusts his tongue in deep, deeper, almost fucking his mouth even as he rubs up against him. He’s hot and elemental and a little desperate. He wants Kyle, so much, and it’s staggering how deeply that affects him. Kyle thinks he could lose his mind just standing here, kissing, steps away from embarrassingly eager frottage. He digs his fingers into Connor’s ass and rubs sharply against him, seeing sparks as need fires his blood.
Connor breaks the kiss with an earthen moan, head tipping back, and if that isn’t an obvious invitation to suck deep, reddening marks up his neck, Kyle isn’t sure what is. He’s fumbling mindlessly at the front of Connor’s pants, wanting to get in when strong fingers wrap around his wrists, holding him still.
“Wait,” Connor gasps. Trapped together, their bodies are so overheated Kyle is sure they’re going to burst into flames any moment. “Wait, stop.”
“Are you kidding me?”
Stopping…just doesn’t make sense. Not when his mouth is literally watering at the thought of dropping to his knees and mouthing Connor’s cock through his pants. Kyle wonders if he’d be able to taste him. He really wants to find out. He’s halfway down when Connor grabs a handful of his hair and yanks him back up, though his wide, wild eyes make it clear he really didn’t want to. “Wait, no, people.”
Kyle tries for another kiss, but Connor turns his face away. “Kyle, there’s an audience.”
“Performance sex art,” he tries to protest, but he lets Connor push him away a step because, all right, creepy hot sausage bar or not, he doesn’t want to be arrested for public sex.
Sex. Hey, wow. They’re going to have sex. That’s…pretty much the most amazing thing in the world.
“Extreme gay edition,” Kyle adds, brows quirking, and the laugh it steals from Connor is enough to make his heart leap in his chest and do embarrassing backflips as he struggles to catch his breath. Wow. How has he missed this for so long? “Come on,” Kyle says, reaching down to grab Connor’s hand. It’s a simple gesture, but the brilliant smile it earns almost takes him down at the knees. “Let’s get out of this dive and head home.”
Pause.
“Where I’ll show you a hot sau-“
Connor’s free hand clamps over his mouth. “Don’t,” he says firmly, though his eyes are dancing. “I get that kind of humor enough from Roy.”
Which, hey, fair enough.