As that gloved, heavy fist hit his face, the only feeling Hal experienced was sheer relief. Follow it up by that burning pain like drinking bottom shelf liquor after a long day, Hal was already moaning for it.
He had already come to terms with the fact that he deserved it, the pain, the taste of blood in the back of his throat from Bruce tilting the back of his head back while his nose bled. He swallowed the copper taste and licked stained teeth, grinning up at him.
“I missed you too, Spooky.” Hal sneered.
And part of that was true. Maybe he was fucked up enough, missing the feeling of impact from a person who really meant it. From someone who really hated him, from someone he really hated. It was almost easy, their feelings being mutual made it one of the stronger relationships he had. There was no questioning it, they both hated each other.
Hate was easy and uncomplicated. Sex was far more complicated, fighting as foreplay, blows like how lovers would kiss. Violence was their love language, and maybe that was the most fucked up part of it all.
That it was some sort of relationship. Hal couldn’t deny that it felt fucking good, raw and angry and completely satisfying. He wanted more, wanted to punch and be punched. It was a want and a need, and Hal couldn’t help but need.
He wondered if Bruce felt the same need or if it was just something he did to get over people he cared about far more. The asshole from the League he could use as an eager punching bag, someone he wouldn’t get in trouble for hitting.
Of course, that didn’t tend to stop him, but it certainly made him punch Hal more than anyone.
Sometimes, Hal wondered what’d be like for Bruce to kill him. If Bruce would even care, if he’d regret it or if he’d write it off as something else that wasn’t his fault. That Hal had asked for it, that he knew the risks. Maybe Bruce would cast his body into space and pretend to find him, killed on patrol and left to float in the endless void of space by some heartless enemy instead of a heartless ally.
Maybe he’d deserve it. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes and all that. And Hal was playing the stupidest game he could play, testing Bruce’s self-control when it came to controlling. Like he’d be able to stop himself if it came down to stopping when Hal needed him to.
And that was what got him off. The risk of it all, Bruce punching him and punching him until Hal stayed down. In a pool of his own blood, broken face sighing in relief before Nekron claimed him for the last time. Hal had flirted with death so often that it was like an old lover, he wondered if it’d stick if Bruce killed him.
Maybe he wanted it to.
But Bruce didn’t kill him. Instead, he punched Hal one last time before flipping him over onto his stomach. Hal turned his face, spitting blood onto the floor next to him. There were no teeth in the puddle, not that time, and Hal silently rejoiced in the fact that he wouldn’t have to go back to Guy and explain that he did it again. Instead, Bruce pushed his face down with a hand pulling at his hair, his other hand reaching and ripping Hal’s uniform right at the ass.
He felt more exposed than ever, clothed everywhere except his ass while he could feel the weight of Bruce’s armor on the back of his thighs.
“Nn...you gonna fuck me dry?” Hal groaned out, trying to look back at Bruce despite the hand holding his head down.
And maybe he wanted it, maybe he wanted Bruce to push into him and fuck him until he bled. But Bruce just responded by drizzling cold lube over his hole, thumb rubbing it around and pushing in shallowly. Hal couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed but relieved at the same time because, as much as he wanted it to hurt, he didn’t exactly want to be limping around for a week or so until he recovered.
Bruce was brutal with his thrusts after all, something that was demonstrated by him pushing in after only a couple of moments of prep, all the way in with one stroke. Hal tensed up, gasping at the pain and rolling his hips to grind his erection into the floor under him.
It hurt so fucking good, the taste of blood in his mouth and Bruce’s huge cock nearly tearing him open at the seams. He could hear the soft gasping noises that left Bruce’s mouth as he started to move, and it made it almost better to be able to hear him. A part of Hal wished that he would let loose with his mouth as well as his hips, joining Hal in making embarrassing noises, but this wasn’t about Bruce embarrassing himself.
It was hard to be embarrassed when you were the one who was doing the action of claiming. Because it was only about claiming and victory, Hal was the thing Bruce hated and he was given the opportunity to break it like it was an annoying children’s toy. Pull the battery out and smash it to pieces on the floor, satisfaction in destruction.
And Hal wanted to be destroyed. It was the only thing he wanted from Bruce, to have to pick up the pieces of himself off of the floor after Bruce was done with him.
Somehow, Bruce managed to find a way to fuck him harder, hands bruising his hips through his uniform. The pain and pleasure blended together in a way that had Hal seeing stars, rutting into the floor under his hips like it was a warm hole he could fuck. Like how he was to Bruce.
He was close and he knew Bruce was too just from the way his hips lost their rhythm in favor for slamming in as hard and as fast as he could. A part of Hal hated how he knew what Bruce felt like when he was close to cumming, but that was just another part of himself that he hated. If he liked himself, he wouldn’t be doing any of this at all, everything was a product of his hate.
And maybe he hated himself more than he hated Bruce.
None of it mattered as he crashed his hips into the floor one last time, moaning loudly as he painted the inside of his uniform with hot cum. Bruce followed seconds later, pushing in deep and filling Hal up.
It was over just as quickly as it had began, Bruce off of him within seconds to leave him on the floor like a broken toy.
Because that was all he was to Bruce. Something broken.