When Parallax was a part of him, infected him, Hal knew there were parts of himself that he lost to the parasite. Perhaps permanently, although that might've been a trauma conga line that just kept on going even years later. But, still, he was still in there and still had some small element of control.
He wasn't sure that Sinestro was actually in there. It was his face and body, but there was someone else flying the jet. Looking up at his face, hands bound together behind his back, he wondered if there actually was a difference or if he was looking for a misplaced memory.
He had been picked up from somewhere outside of the Vega System, knocked out by Parallax's power despite the strength of Krona's Gauntlet, and brought God knows where, waking up in what looked a little like a sex dungeon. Sinestro must've undressed him, with the exception of his briefs and cloak, and the thought had him worrying instantly.
"Jordan," He greeted curtly, eyes sliding over Hal's body, "the hair is...a bit of a surprise."
"Not exactly a barber out here." Hal said, meeting Sinestro's unnaturally yellow eyes head on.
Sinestro looked amused at that and it was so easy to pretend like it was just his oldest villain and friend.
But it wasn't. The lights were off and Sinestro wasn't in control.
"Your face is clean shaven." He said, fingers trailing over his skin in a way that made him shiver.
Fingers caught the long brown locks, twisting them between two scarlet fingers. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words got caught in the dry trap of his throat, and he felt like he might choke on everything he wanted to say since he saw Sinestro last.
When Sinestro said that they'd always be friends, when he let Parallax take him over. But Sinestro wasn't looking at him like they were just friends, and Hal knew that Parallax worked every wall down, that it magnified every single feeling until they were past recognition. Fleeting thoughts turned life long fantasies, and he wondered if that was why Sinestro was looking at him like he wanted to devour him.
If that had been a fleeting thought or something he had obsessed over for years and years. He'd never truly know because Sinestro wasn't there, it was Parallax and Parallax wanted him.
Parallax's eyes were practically fucking him on the spot, and Hal squirmed under the intangible touch.
And then the touch was real, hands hauling him up and pressing him hard against the wall. Teeth sunk into his neck, sharp and painful, and he tried hard to push Sinestro off of him. But it was like he was stuck there, stuck on him, and Hal couldn't help but cry out.
"Fuck, Sinestro," Hal panted, fingers clawing desperately at Sinestro, "I know you're in there, please don't do this."
"I do want this, Jordan." He murmured slowly, words muffled against his neck.
"Well I don't, get off of me."
He knew there was no point but just didn't know what else to do, trying to appeal to the parts of him that Parallax hadn't infected, the Sinestro that was deep down in there. But maybe he didn't exist, because Sinestro was pushing his cloak off of his shoulders, baring him to the cold air and those invasive hands.
For all that Sinestro taught him about patience, he was easily one of the most impatient men that Hal had ever met. And that applied to Parallax as well, Hal remembered the clawing need that Parallax had infected him with like a disease.
The combination swirling inside Sinestro's body had him mounting Hal like a rabid dog, pushing him hard into the ground and fucking into him with painful strokes.
He could feel every single inch of that huge cock deep inside of him, the odd ridged at the base, the forked tip that leaked pre-cum like a faucet. Hal wasn't meant to take something like that, a cock meant for his own species, and it felt like it was ripping him to shreds.
The only thing he had was his own blood lubricating his ass and his own cloak under his stomach, the small, terrible mercies.
It hurt, of course it hurt, but he was afraid, and that hurt most of all.
But he wasn't a Green Lantern anymore. And the Green Lanterns were gone, so maybe it was what he deserved. Fearful and fucked open raw, all for Parallax's sick pleasure.
He was half hard between his legs and he didn't know what it said about him. Maybe he had always wanted Sinestro, maybe he was fucked up enough to want it in some way, but it didn't matter. It was never about his pleasure, never about pleasure at all. Just that Hal was the last thing in the galaxy that he could take Parallax down, just that Parallax was working off the crumbs of Sinestro's desires.
Hal buried his face in his cloak and figured that he probably didn't deserve it. That even a fuck up like him didn't deserve something like that. Sure, it was Parallax, but how close was Sinestro to pinning him down every time they fought.
As Sinestro groaned lowly and pumped hot cum deep inside of him, he could only think that there was really not much of a difference between Sinestro and Parallax.
And then he was being turned over into his back, a long hand curling around his cock and rubbing him with quick, neat strokes. And all Hal could think was that it was the worst pain of all. He writhed under that hand, under those eyes, he didn't want to feel good from what had happened, but he could only respond to that stimulus. Hal arched up into that hand and quickly shot hot cum over his stomach, crying out into the cavernous space between them
Looking up into those unreadable eyes, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, he thought that, maybe, Sinestro and Parallax were perfect for each other. Two sides of the same coin, perfectly in sync with each other.
And that there was no way they were going to let him go.