Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/180341.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_-_Comicverse, Green_Arrow
  Character:
      Roy_Harper, Oliver_Queen
  Additional Tags:
      Homophobia, Alternate_Universe
  Stats:
      Published: 2004-08-10 Words: 2300
****** A smile of melted red ******
by shrift
Summary
     Society's limitations don't mean anything when you run around in
     tights every night fighting crime.
Notes
     This does not fit into canon. No canon here. Don't even bother
     looking for it.
     Title from "Gargoyle" by Carl Sandburg.
Hate crimes, Ollie says. You're going undercover, Ollie says. Why, it's
practically a family tradition, Ollie says. Because Ollie won't tolerate
discrimination in Star City, not while he lives and breathes, but he already
did his time in the undercover gig, so it's Speedy's turn now.
Right. Which is exactly why he squeezes Roy into a T-shirt and pair of jeans
that Roy outgrew three years ago, slaps him heartily on the shoulder, and sends
him into a gay bar with a fake I.D. that only works because using a bow every
day seems to add years like a camera adds pounds, in a way that makes arm-
wrestling contests a lot more fun than they used to be.
Either that, or the bouncer just likes the way Roy looks.
He pays the cover and steps inside, and the bass thumps in his sternum so hard
that, for a moment, he's breathless. Strobe lights flash over his eyes and
leave an after burn of bright purple. A body bumps into him from behind, so Roy
moves forward because it's the only place to go.
Forward to the bar. Roy's only been able to drive legally for a couple of
months, but he's supposed to blend in, right?
Fuck it, Roy doesn't know what Ollie's thinking, sending him in here like this.
He's just here to catch the bad guys, and they're not the cops, so a drink
isn't out of line.
And maybe he's a little nervous.
Guys are everywhere. By themselves at the bar and looking lost. Holding hands.
Kissing, some slow and some fast. Dancing. Some of them look like they're
fucking with their clothes on out there.
Roy orders a drink and nearly inhales it through his nose when he thinks of
Ollie doing this, shaking his ass out there on the dance floor, maybe picking
somebody up and hoping the bashers attack on the way home, because Roy just
can't imagine Ollie doing that. Having sex. With a guy.
It... no. Just no.
Roy, though, he's thought about it. A lot. Because he likes thinking about sex,
and society's limitations don't mean anything when you run around in tights
every night fighting crime. He's done some stuff with girls and boys. And it's
funny, because he's been thinking that girls are easier. Dates, compliments,
gazing into their eyes -- it gets him right where he wants to be. Girls are
soft and they smell good, and they sure as hell feel good. But it isn't a girl
that walks up to him after twenty minutes, slides two fingers behind the button
snap of his jeans, and says, "I wanna suck you off so bad."
The drink is sweet on Roy's tongue, and his throat is so dry that it clicks
when he swallows before saying, "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Guy's taller than Roy is. Lean. Messy dark hair, and almost pretty when
the red strobe light slides across his face. Roy can't see his eyes in here,
but he's gonna pretend that they're blue.
There are a million reasons why he shouldn't do this. Maybe a million and a
half. But Roy doesn't really care right this minute. He smiles at the guy,
pushes away from the bar, and says, "Lead the way."
The guy grins and tugs at Roy's jeans, and Roy feels his heart beat out of
rhythm with the bass still pounding in his sternum. He grabs the guy's shoulder
so they don't get separated in the push of bodies on the dance floor. They
break through the knot of people and stumble forward, the air suddenly cooler
on the back of his neck. And then they move into another room, a room that's
even darker and filled with guys having sex.
He wants to gawk. He wants to watch, but his sense of cool tells him to keep
moving, keep moving with the guy who wants to suck on his dick, because that's
better than watching, and just move. The guy, Roy's guy, backs him against an
unoccupied stretch of wall and slides his hand up Roy's shirt, his palm hot on
Roy's belly. Two guys are fucking next to him, about a foot away.
"You done this before, Red?" the guy asks.
Roy tilts his head back and says, "Yeah."
"Right," the guy tells him like he knows better. And Roy tries not to blush,
because everybody lies about this, right? Roy looks older than he is, so he
could have done stuff with a guy -- has had sex with a couple of girls, even -
- but his nights are kind of busy, and that isn't his fault. He feels his skin
going hot anyway, and he wants to punch a big hole in something, maybe with one
of Ollie's trick arrow bombs. Or at least he does until the guy leans in closer
and says, "Mmm," like he likes the heat rising under Roy's skin, and drops to
his knees.
The guy pops the button on Roy's jeans and unzips him, and Roy's head goes
back, hits the wall with a thunk, but nobody cares. He puts his hand on Roy's
stomach again, and it feels like there'll be a mark there tomorrow. The guy
tugs at Roy's jeans. They're so tight he has to help get them down, and he
doesn't realize that he's moving with the beat of the music until the guy says,
"Jesus." He puts his hand around Roy's cock. Strokes up once. Says, "Fuck,
you're red all over," and sucks the head of Roy's cock into his mouth.
For a moment, Roy can't breathe. His pulse pounds in his throat and his hands
twist around nothingness. He's pretty much been half-hard since he walked in
the door of this bar, and the slick, wet mouth on his dick feels better than...
better than fighting. The guy licks and sucks, and he's noisy, but everybody's
being noisy in here.
The air is thick with sound, sticky with alcohol, sweat, and the bitter funk of
sex. He's going to reek of all this when he leaves, but Ollie can't bellow at
him when they meet up later, can't lecture, because he's the reason why Roy is
in here at all. Roy slides his fingers through the guy's dark hair, just the
one hand, because he doesn't want to do anything to make this to stop. Roy
clenches his other hand against his thigh and turns his head.
Blond guy getting fucked a foot away has his eyes open. He winks, and then a
few heart beats later, his grin collapses into a grimace, and he shoots against
the wall, his mouth open and red.
Some day, Roy thinks, and then his guy slides his hand from Roy's stomach down
to his balls, and Roy can't think about anything else but this and the tight
ring of the guy's lips as he sucks. Sweat tickles down his sides and the middle
of his back, and the wall feels warm and a little rough against his ass. His
legs are trapped in his jeans; he wants to fuck, but he can't, so he moans
instead. Roy moans a lot, and his guy must like it, because he makes a noise,
too, and the vibration drives Roy a little crazy.
"Oh --" Roy gasps. He lifts up on his toes and thrusts with his hips, and even
though the movement is shallow, it's enough to get him off. Roy tugs at the
guy's hair, and he pulls off Roy's cock with an obscene slurp that just does it
for him, so much that the guy doesn't even finish stroking up once before Roy
comes.
He's breathing hard and his hands shake when the guy finally stands up and
presses against Roy's hip. Roy just does it, doesn't stop to doubt or think, or
worry. Roy just unzips the guy and pulls out his cock. Guy's hard, cut and wet
at the head, and Roy can't help but like that, can't help but love being a
turn-on to somebody else like this.
"Yeah, do it, Red. Just like that, fuck," the guy says, his breath warm and
humid on Roy's ear. He doesn't sound anything like... anybody Roy knows. Roy
jerks him harder, does some things he likes to do on himself. And if he's vain
about his hands, he knows he has a right to be, because he's an archer, and
he's good at it. And maybe he's good at this, too. The guy seems to think so,
because he grabs at Roy's shirt, drops his face in the crook of Roy's neck, and
comes in a couple of minutes.
Roy watches men fucking against the opposite wall while the guy makes a high
noise and mouths at Roy's neck. The guy sucks at Roy's throat a little harder,
so Roy moves into it. As he turns, he sees more than one set of eyes gleaming
at him in the darkness.
Roy tilts his head a little more, and decides that he likes it.
===============================================================================
The bar's bathroom is long and narrow, and almost as funky as the back room.
Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, and there are guys fucking in the stalls.
Probably doing something else, too, something with pills and needles, but as
long as Roy doesn't see it, he doesn't have to do anything about it.
There aren't any paper towels left in any of the dispensers, so Roy takes off
his shirt and uses it to wipe himself down. He leans against the counter and
rinses his shirt under the tap. In the mirror, Roy's reflection is speckled
from soap and age. He doesn't look any different. Ollie probably won't be able
to tell.
Roy squeezes as much water from his shirt as he can, and then throws it over
his shoulder. It lands with a wet slap against his skin. He walks out of the
bathroom, and has to untangle himself from interested hands a couple of times
on his way to the rear exit. It opens into a dark alley just like Ollie said it
would, and Roy figures this is his best bet for attracting a little violent
attention.
The heavy door slams shut behind him, and Roy takes a little walk. Puts a
little swing in his hips. He actually has to, because his jeans really are that
tight, not to mention wet, and things are starting to chafe. He has no doubt
that Ollie's watching from the rooftops, and laughing his ass off.
The back of his neck prickles. Roy keeps walking even though he's picking up
movement in his peripheral vision, big shapes, glint of moonlight on metal.
These guys are picking on the wrong queer tonight, and they don't even know it.
Roy suppresses a fierce grin, and turns into a dead end.
"You lost, little faggot?"
Roy spins on his heel toward the voice and pretends to be scared. Maybe next
time he sees Gar, he'll ask him for acting tips. "Hey, uh," Roy says, slurring
his words a little, "think I took a wrong turn."
"Fucking homos," another voice says, and they start coming forward. There's six
at least, almost all of them built like a high school football coach's wet
dream. One slaps a wood baseball bat in his palm.
Roy is going to take great pleasure kicking their asses into next Tuesday. He
raises his hands as they advance, does an artful stumble over some garbage as
he backs away. "Hey, no, I --"
"Shut your fucking mouth, fag!" the closest guy says. He looks like a skinhead,
blond hair shaved close to his scalp and a neck almost the same width as his
head. The guy raises the baseball bat over his head like he thinks he's going
to use Roy for batting practice, and just as the bat begins the downward arc,
there's a piercing whistle overhead.
Ollie stands at the edge of the roof overlooking the alley, leaning his elbow
on his knee. "Boys, didn't your mothers ever tell you that if you can't say
anything nice --"
"Who the fuck are you?" baseball-bat-guy demands.
"Language," Ollie warns.
"Fuck you!"
Ollie grins. "Wrong answer."
Ollie fires a trick boxing glove arrow and leaps, tossing Roy's bow and quiver
at him as he flies to the ground. Roy snatches them out of the air easily,
slinging the quiver over one shoulder, dropping to one knee, and going to work.
It's six to two, and the odds aren't very sporting, because Ollie and Roy drop
the guys in a matter of seconds. He was kind of hoping they'd resist a little
more.
"Have you learned an important lesson, Speedy?" Ollie's standing next to him
and looking satisfied like he always does after performing his civic duty.
For a minute, Roy's mind blanks. His blood is singing with sex and adrenaline,
his bow in his hands and the night air cool on his bare skin. "Uh, about
tolerance?"
"That's right!" Ollie says. "In the Declaration of Independence, you punks, it
says that 'All men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator
with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness.'" Ollie kicks one of the bashers in the spine. "But if
your happiness comes from hurting innocent kids, that's where I come in!"
Ollie guards the bashers, glaring at them fiercely, while Roy goes in hunt of a
working telephone to call the Star City Police Department. It isn't until
later, when they're on the roof watching the bashers get cuffed and led away,
that Ollie finally asks, "Say, what happened to your shirt?"
Roy lies smoothly. "Guy tripped and spilled a drink on me."
"Huh," Ollie says. "I would've guessed a wet T-shirt contest."
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