Disclaimers: DC uber alles.

Spoilers: Major ones for Green Arrow #32.

Summary: Roy and Connor, at the end of the
day.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Authors' Notes: Livia blames the crack generator,
and LC for telling her about the strip club. Te notes
that the crack generator is *Livia's* fault. Dialogue
in the diner scene borrowed from Green Arrow
#32 by Judd Winick.

Acknowledgments: To Jack for audiencing.

*

"How's your salad?" Roy eyes it from a safe distance.

"Fine," Connor says, stabbing at a crouton that
seems a little more resilient than it should be.

"It looks terrible."

"Well, that's because it is."

Roy snickers and slumps back in the uncomfortable
booth, telling Connor about how Ollie used to bring
him around here in the old days. Gotta wonder
what people thought their situation was, now that
he thinks back. A big guy and a kid, usually bruised
and scratched from being knocked from hell to
Sunday and back, wolfing down fried chicken and
pie in a corner booth at four AM on a school night.

Roy doesn't ever recall getting a second glance.

There's a radio back behind the counter, muttering
fuzzily to itself under the ambient diner noise. Roy
doesn't consciously recognize "More Than A
Feeling" till he finds himself tapping out the rhythm
on the edge of the table. Connor's still picking at his
crappy salad like he thinks he's gonna get karma points
for finishing it.

It's only the fact that Connor probably doesn't need
the extra sugar right now that keeps Roy from flagging
the waitress back down and ordering them a couple of
slices of pie instead. Connor's been kinda twitchy all
night, ever since they got out of the strip bar. Busting
those jerks at the convenience store seems like it
helped, but he's still got his head down, stabbing at
his salad like it's gonna bite him. Roy has to smile. "At
the end of the day," he concludes, "we've got a lot in
common."

"Not just at the end of the day." Connor says, finally
putting his fork down. "I think we're both our father's
sons."

Roy stops tapping on the table, staring across at
Connor. It doesn't seem like that was hard for him to
say. It doesn't seem like it's hard for him at all.
To just look into Roy's eyes and make himself...
vulnerable like that.

He comes back to himself with a start, realizing he's
kind of leaving Connor hanging here. "That would
make us *brothers.*"

"I guess it would."

"Cool."

Connor looks down and smiles. Refocuses on his
plate and frowns, and *finally* pushes it away.
"Okay."

"You're good?"

"I'm ready."

"Sweet." Roy raises his hand for the check, then
leans his head back and closes his eyes. In the
kitchen, on the radio, under the slow hush of
traffic and the low late night conversations, just
barely making itself heard over the hiss of the grill,
he can hear the intro to "Thunder Road" ramping up,
the folky buzz of the harmonica playing over and under
the piano.

He can't help singing quietly to himself as they head
up to the front and pay. Connor looks at him
questioningly, and Roy shrugs as they head out to
the car. He's *got* to get the guy some CDs one of
these days.

Thankfully, Ollie and Mia are asleep by the time they
get home -- funny how this place feels like *home*
when Roy comes back to it now. Not just Ollie's
house. It's probably got something to do with all the
things he's not saying, and the way that lately, he
misses Connor when he's not there.

Strange.

Instead of going straight to bed, somehow they find
themselves in the kitchen, just kicking back. Roy
grabs two beers out of the fridge, kind of hoping
this'll be the one time that Connor decides to make
an exception and join him, but Connor just smiles
and shakes his head. "Are you going to spend the
night?"

Roy refrains from pointing out that it's just one
beer. "Guest room's still down the hall, right?"

Connor nods, pouring himself a glass of milk. Okay,
maybe a titty bar *was* too much stimulation for
the guy. He'd spent his whole freakin' life, ever
since he was a kid, in a monastery. And in a lot of
ways it seems like he's still there. Sometimes Roy
envies that. The way Connor seems to carry it
with him, the serenity, the knowledge of just who
he is. Roy's had that. But he never can hang on to
it for very long.

"Same again next Friday?" Roy says, voice low.

Connor doesn't do a very good job of hiding his
horror. "Uh..."

"Relax. I do know some places that aren't strip
joints," he says, grinning a little. It's just that he
usually avoids them unless he's trying to impress
a chick. Overpriced coffee shops with
uncomfortable couches, all full of guys with
experimental facial hair and girls with
horn-rimmed glasses having earnest discussions
about independent film and shit. But hey, if Roy
can go to those places and pretend not to be
bored for a *girl*, then he can at least make the
same effort for Connor.

"Okay," Connor says, meeting Roy's eyes. He sets
his glass of milk down on the table. "It's a date."

Roy chokes on his beer. Connor smiles, just the
tiniest little bit, and Roy kicks him under the table.

Connor snickers.

There's a lot more Roy needs to say to him, one
of these days. There's a *lot* more, besides what
he told Connor back at the diner. He thinks Connor
gets it now, that Roy really does *like* him. That
he's not just putting up with him for Ollie's sake.

Far from it. Connor's made such a difference, in
all their lives. Okay, he drives Ollie up the fucking
wall every now and then, and Mia still thinks he's
kind of a nice space alien, and Dinah would
probably tie his shoes for him if he'd let her, but.
Hell.

Roy probably won't ever say it. He doesn't really
know *how*, but... It's like they weren't quite a
*family* before. Like they wouldn't let themselves
be. They'd all take bullets for each other, they've
all shaped each other over the years into the
people that they are now. But that's not quite the
same as being a *family*.

Maybe it's weird that it takes Connor to make
them see it. This guy that none of them even
knew about before he walked into their lives, a
couple years ago. But, weird or not, he did. He
*does*. It's not that anything really *changed* after
Connor came into their lives. It's like he just came
in and *saw* it, and... the seeing made it real.

Cutting through all the bullshit and the defensiveness
and the insecurity and just seeing what *is*. Treating
Mia like a little sister, Dinah and Ollie like husband
and wife, Ollie and Roy like they really are father and
son.

It's a good talent, clear sight. Roy kicks Connor in
the leg again.

"What?" Connor blinks, then stifles a yawn.

"You know, it's okay with me if you *are* gay-- I
mean, I'd stop trying to hook you up with girls." He
trips over his words as Connor gets this "oh no you
*didn't*" look on his face. "I'm serious, I mean, if
you're not, then that's *fine*, I'm just saying if you
*were*... I'd... I'd be cool." He looks at the two beers
in front of him and wishes he'd put one back in the
fridge. "I guess what I'm saying is, I'm cool with who
you *are*."

And by the time he stumbles to a stop, the little
wrinkle has smoothed out from between Connor's
eyes. He smiles, slowly.

"Thanks," he says, and reaches over the table and
squeezes Roy's hand, unselfconscious and sure of
himself as always. And Roy feels... *something*
twist in his throat, and it's good, it's probably
*really* good that he can't say a word right now.

It's late. He's tired. Maybe *he's* had a little too
much stimulation tonight. He's... not going to think
about it. He's just going to get up and put this extra
beer away and he's... he's still holding Connor's
hand. And somehow he turned their hands over, and
he's sorta rubbing at Connor's palm with two fingers.
Back and forth. And then in little circles.

Connor's hand twitches, but he doesn't say a word.
It's so quiet. Everyone in the house is sleeping, and
everyone in the neighborhood is sleeping, and Roy is
tracing his fingers over the heel of Connor's palm in a
slow arc. Connor's got all the same archery calluses as
he does, but none of the ones from playing guitar. He's
not really thinking about anything. Just drawing slow
patterns and listening to Connor breathe. He's got
Thunder Road stuck in his head, and he just keeps
breathing slowly and waiting for Connor to pull away.

But Connor doesn't, and... okay. Roy doesn't have to
be a *punk* about this. He can look Connor in the eye
and just *say* more of this. Or say it better.
Something.

But when he looks up, Connor's eyes are so *wide*.

And okay, maybe he's kind of... not helping. With
Connor's issues. Okay, so if Connor even *has* issues,
it's because of who *they* are, and who *he* is, but
he's definitely not helping.

Or stopping.

Or looking away.

And Connor's still just staring. Staring and taking
slow, deep breaths through slightly parted lips. Roy
moves his fingers to Connor's wrist on the next
sweep, and presses down hard on his pulse with
two fingers. And moves his other hand, slow. Slow
as he can. So Connor can stop him before Roy cups
his cheek.

But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes flutter closed and
his mouth falls open just a little more, and Roy did
actually have a plan, or something in the same
family as a plan, but his body is pretty much wired
to *move* when it sees something like that and
that's really just an excuse.

This isn't about Roy wanting to get some. Or not
*just* about wanting to get some, because while
he's having all these three-in-the-morning thoughts,
he might as well admit that he's been... watching
Connor. No. Not watching him.

*Looking* at him. It's not just that he's pretty. Not
just that he fights like a tree bending in the wind. The
way his eyes aren't *quite* the same green as Ollie's.
He's... there's something about him. About who he is,
and how you can see it in his eyes, and in the way he
moves.

Or doesn't move.

He doesn't move when Roy stands, his chair sliding
back across the floor, and leans over the table, and
brushes his thumb across Connor's cheek, taking a
second just to get it all clear in his own head. This
isn't about beer or hormones or leftover adrenaline.
This is about him... wanting to kiss Connor.

Kissing Connor.

And the way Connor opens his mouth for Roy's
tongue with no hesitation just *kills* him. Trust.
He *trusts* Roy and it makes something seize up
and *hurt*, inside.

Connor's not moving at all, just tilting his head
back a little and taking the kiss. But not... he's
not tense under Roy's mouth, under his hand.
He's got that same serenity he *always* does, and
that makes something else entirely seize up.

Roy puts his other hand on Connor's throat,
pushing his thumb against the beat of Connor's
pulse, and yeah, he gets it now. This whole night
has been about testing Connor. Pushing him.

Pushing him to look at Roy. To look at him and
see this new thing. Because even if Roy doesn't
really know how to say it, even if Roy's not really
*sure*, Connor will be able to see it clearly. The
way he sees the things inside people you'd never
expect to see there. The dad inside Ollie and the
sweet little girl inside Mia and -- *this*, now. The
things Roy's been feeling. Wanting.

"See?" he mumbles against Connor's mouth, and
Connor stiffens slightly, pushing his own chair back.
More quietly than Roy managed to do. There's
faint color high on his cheeks as he stands.

"What?" he says, soft and hoarse.

Roy blinks at him. "I just... I..."

And the words just aren't coming, and Connor looks
suspicious, like he wouldn't put it past Roy to be just
*fucking* with him. Roy shakes his head, frustrated,
and grabs Connor's t-shirt in both hands and shoves
him up against the fridge.

Connor lets himself get pushed, and Roy knows
Connor's letting him. Connor's good at that. Bending,
not breaking -- going with the flow, right up until
it's time for him to kick your ass. Roy keeps one
hand on Connor's shoulder and cups Connor's face
with the other, kissing him again, fast and deep and
*hot* as he knows how to make kisses. This isn't a
question. This is a statement.

"See *this*." he mutters against Connor's mouth,
biting his lip gently and then moving in close again.
"That's what I'm talking about."

"Oh," Connor says, and there's a moment when he
goes even stiller than usual, and Roy thinks he *is*
about to get his ass kicked -- but then Connor's
kissing back, his hands coming up to rest lightly on
Roy's waist. He kisses soft and tentative, letting his
tongue brush teasingly against Roy's when Roy
pushes in.

It's probably wrong to think of it as a tease. He
probably *shouldn't* go there in his mind, but he
also already did. It's easy to catch Connor's rhythm,
to make things slower as if he really was taking it
easy, instead of coaxing. Urging.

He slides one hand down to cover Connor's and
licks at the underside of Connor's tongue, nice and
slow, over and over, while he presses that hand
against him. Connor makes a small, surprised
sound and tightens his hands on Roy's waist. Roy
hums in approval, and pulls back just long enough
to shift his attack, and --

No. Not attacking. He can't *do* this that way with
Connor, but it's so *easy*. Just to suck on his
tongue and taste milk, to push his hand down to
his own hip and get closer. He doesn't want to
seduce Connor, not like that, but he doesn't really know
how else to *play* this.

And the fact that Connor doesn't seem to *mind*
doesn't actually help. He forces himself to stop
sucking, to not bite Connor's lip too hard, or too
many times, to stop rocking against him, to --

"God," he says, and Connor moans and Roy rocks
*hard* against him before he can stop himself.

"Roy..." There's a dreamy kind of confusion in
Connor's voice, and Connor's eyes... he can fall
*in* there, he can, fuck, *feel* Connor. Feel him
getting harder.

"Are you okay?" And he sounds ridiculous and
unconvincing to his own ears.

Part of him is waiting for the snort of laughter,
the "like you'll *stop*," but it's Connor. So all he
gets is a nod and shy, shaky little smile.

"Are you --" Ready for me, he's just *not* going
to say, or anything like it. Roy shakes his head
and Connor's hands flex on him. He looks up and
Connor doesn't look dreamy at all. He's got that
'you're not stopping, are you?' look on his face
that's always just meant '*score*,' and still does,
if he listens to his dick.

He really, really wants to listen to his dick, and
how it's telling him to get his other hand between
them, stroke Connor's hard, lean chest through
his shirt and wait for it --

'It' being Connor's sweet little gasp, and the way he
leans forward, just a little. Roy groans and kisses him
again, and this time Connor's tongue sweeps *right*
into his mouth, stabbing and licking at his own, asking
for more.

Part of Roy wants to see if he can make Connor
*demand* more, out loud or not, but this isn't
anything like a game, and the fact that being noble
about this means he can kiss Connor just as dirty as
he wants to is proof of... something.

Good to be good. Something important like that,
something that's sure to mean something as soon as
he can get over the feel of Connor's heart pounding
against his palm and... Oh yeah.

Roy breaks the kiss again and drags his mouth over
Connor's jaw. Stubble and skin and the way Connor
tilts his head back is just *perfect*.

He drags his own stubble over Connor's throat and
Connor *bucks* against him. Just once, but it heats
Roy up all *over*, and it's like a *promise*. Exactly
how good this can be. How good it *is*.

Roy licks Connor's throat, and does it again just to
hear that sweet little whimper, and this time he gets
a hand on the back of his head.

"You like this?" And he means it to be an honest
question, but it comes out rough and low and
Connor gasps, hand spasming in Roy's hair.

He can't really make himself wait for a better
answer. He kisses Connor there instead, mouths
him, gets him wet and licks and licks until he can't
taste Connor's sweat over his own spit anymore.

And then he moves to the other side of Connor's
throat. "You taste so good, Connor..."

"*Oh*, I... oh, Roy..."

He's got about three minutes before he's humping
Connor against this damned refrigerator, and he's got
about two minutes before it seems like the best idea
he's ever had. He scrapes at Connor's throat with his
teeth, and that sound wasn't quiet at all.

Two minutes is optimistic. "Tell me what you want,
what you want me to do, Connor..."

"I -- I --" Connor shudders. Just once, but it's enough
to give Roy the ability to stop long enough to pull back
again. There are two red blotches on either side of
Connor's throat. Not enough to bruise but --

He forces himself to take an *actual* step back and
looks into those wide green eyes. "Hey. It's okay..."

"Roy. I... I never..." And Connor looks down and
that's...

Really incredibly obvious. And -- *obvious*. Jesus.
He'd *known* that, even if his brain hadn't actually
put it into words yet, and... *Jesus*. Say something.
He should definitely say something. "Uh." God, he
needs a fucking keeper. "Okay."

He takes a breath and reaches out, trying to figure
out what would be the least wrong place he could
touch right now. Finally he settles for Connor's
cheek. Except that Connor just leans into the touch
and it's really easy to push his fingers back into his
hair and stroke and lean in and --

"Wait."

"Roy?"

"Uh. Crap. Connor. I... don't want to take advantage
of you." It comes out in a rush, and now *he's*
blushing, because fuck, it's not like the guy *isn't*
a grown fucking man, but... He's a grown man
who's smiling at him sweetly with kiss-bruised lips
 and the beginning of a *stubble* burn.

"I trust you," Connor says.

And that would be the world's best time to say
something pointed and true about how much he trusts
*himself*, and he definitely will just as soon as he can
stop kissing Connor again.

Connor's fingers are digging into Roy's side more
firmly now, his hand curling forcefully around the back
of Roy's neck as he pulls Roy harder into the kiss.
Against his body. *Telling* Roy just how much he
wants this, and it's so good. Connor's a fast learner,
or else some things really *are* just genetic, and Roy
is *not* going to say anything like that out loud,
ever.

"How far... how far do you want to go, here?"

Connor inhales next to Roy's ear, making him
shiver. "The guest room seems like a good place to
start."

Roy laughs a little, finding Connor's hand again as
he pulls back. "Slick."

Connor turns his head away at that, but yeah. He
smiles.

*

It's a good choice. Connor's room is upstairs but
the guest room is just down the hall from the
kitchen. Roy moves as stealthily as he can,
listening as they pass the stairwell, but as far as
he can hear over the pounding of his own heart,
they haven't woken anybody up with all their
groping around.

He reaches for the light switch, but Connor's hand
lands over his and pushes it away. There's moonlight
and some illumination coming from the streetlamp
outside, though. Enough for Roy to still be a little
nervous about looking Connor straight in the face.
There's not much else they *can* do, though, with
both of them sitting on the edge of Roy's bed.
Connor's got one leg drawn up, and Roy reaches out
and curls a hand over his ankle, smoothing his
thumb over the bump.

Connor makes a sound that's half a laugh, half a
gasp. He takes Roy by the shoulders and pulls him
down, lying back so that Roy's on top, pushing
Connor down into the bed. His thigh presses up
between Roy's legs, just *exactly* hard enough,
and Roy grunts, rolling his hips against Connor's
flat, warm stomach.

"Roy," Connor groans, head tipped back against
the quilt, "You feel so *good*..."

"Good," Roy says, his hand in Connor's hair again,
scratching lightly at the short stubble at the back of
his neck, and *yeah* Connor likes that -- he
shudders, clutching Roy *hard* and thrusting
against him, even growling a little. Hat trick, Roy
thinks, and kisses him again, kisses him more.
Deeper. Sucks harder, and the bedroom door is
closed so he can be as messy, wet, loud as he likes.
From the way Connor's breathing it seems like
Connor likes it, too.

They're building up a rhythm now, not too fast
and not too slow, just sweet and hard and *good*.
Connor's making these gorgeous, sexy noises,
getting so fucking hot and flushed as Roy puts
his hand up under his t-shirt and strokes his chest.
He keeps his other hand locked into the sweet
spot on Connor's neck, half because of the way
it makes Connor growl and half because if he
doesn't, he's going to try for third base and the
only thing that's going to let him look Connor --
or himself-- in the eyes in the morning is if
Connor goes there first. Which, if Roy's going to
be honest with himself, is either going to have
to be pretty soon now, or it's going to be a moot
point entirely.

Connor's got to be feeling it, too, because he
shifts under Roy, and Roy moves with him,
rolling off to the side. Their arms and legs are
still entangled, Connor's head resting on Roy's
forearm, it's just that it's a little easier to breathe
now. Connor tilts his head back and looks at
Roy seriously. "If I... If we don't..." He shakes his
head, smiling at himself. "I don't want to be a tease."

"No. No, I understand," Roy says. "I mean, I'm
good." And he's said that before, and he's even
*meant* it before. And he means it now-- he's just
a little breathless, that's all.

Connor smiles at him. "Okay."

"Okay," Roy says.

"I like this," Connor says, eyes searching Roy's,
"it's just that..." He smiles again, that crooked
rueful smile that makes him look like Ollie at his
least cynical. "It was easier to stop before. It didn't
feel like this. I..."

Roy strokes his shoulder, not really knowing what
to say to that.

"It seems like everyone saw it in me before I saw
it in myself," he says, his voice a little jagged. "I've
spent my entire *life* trying to know myself, to be
*true* to... to not *delude* myself, and now... How
did you...?"

"Shit, don't look at *me*," Roy said. "I mean." He's
not sure whether it would be good or bad right now
to admit that -- for him, anyway -- the gay jokes
were less about Connor's grace, his shyness, and
more about Roy's own insecurity at being pushed
out of the number one son spot. Finally he shrugs,
brushing his thumb just over Connor's eyebrow.
"You're Oliver Queen's son. To paraphrase a movie
I'm sure you haven't seen, if you don't have chicks
dripping off you twenty-four-seven, you might as
well be wearing a dress."

"Hm." Connor's got that dreamy look in his eyes
again, and then he turns his head and brushes his
lips against the banded tattoo around Roy's arm.
Kisses it, and then flickers his tongue out as if he
could taste the difference between marked and
unmarked skin.

It's startling, one of the sexiest things that's ever
happened to Roy. And maybe the dreamy look was
just the moonlight, because the next thing Connor
does is roll on top of Roy and clutch him harder,
rock faster. Biting Roy's lip when Roy pulls away to
breathe. Roy kisses him hard for that, then grins.
There's not a lot that's lost or dreamy about Connor's
hands, his hips, his cock rubbing against Roy's hip.

It's hot. It's *so* hot, just to *watch* Connor doing
this, *going* for it on him. He untangles his arms
just enough to stroke his way down Connor's sides
and up under his shirt. His skin is smooth, sleek
over muscle, and part of him wants to roll Connor
over onto his back again and *feel* him.

Strip him and lick him and -- "Come back down
here and -- *mmph* --"

Connor licks his way into Roy's mouth and does
it again, again, catching the rhythm of his own hips
and Jesus, yes. An absolute *natural*, and it's still
good just to feel Connor rubbing himself off
against him, but he really needs *more*.

He arches up, shifting until they're rocking cock to
cock, until it's just like fucking, only hot and
frustrating and Roy pulls out of the kiss. "I want
you naked," he says, and he didn't really want to
put it that baldly, but the way Connor groans
makes him glad he did.

"Roy --"

"We don't have to do... too much. I just --"

And Connor pulls back, bracing himself on his
knees and tugging off his t-shirt, and that's just...
he can't even wait until the shirt's all the way
off before he sits up and licks the sweat from
the center of Connor's chest, catching him
around the waist when he jerks.

He can see the shirt go flying out of the corner
of his eye, but it's way less important than petting
Connor. Not too many scars -- yet. Just enough to make
the journey of his hands over that body interesting.
The way Connor pants brushes the skin of his chest
over Roy's lips and he goes with it, dragging a wet,
messy kiss over to one hard nipple and licking it.

"Roy --"

Biting it.

"Oh *please*, Roy --"

Sucking hard and moaning against Connor's chest
when those hands slide back into his hair and *hold*
him. Roy steadies Connor with one hand and slides
the other to the small of his back, digging in with his
thumb and --

"Roy --"

Biting him again, sliding down to cup Connor's ass
and squeeze.

He could definitely do this all night. Or at least
until Connor *yanks* on his hair and shoves him
back down to the bed.

"Wha --"

But he doesn't have to ask. Connor is biting his lip
and fumbling at his own fly. His hands aren't
*shaking*, but they're clumsy, and Roy knows
exactly how that feels. When it's good enough that
even the prospect of getting *more* isn't enough to
get you past the needy stupidness of lust. He strokes
a hand over his own erection and watches Connor
watch *him* and -- yeah. Pants. Clothes.

He jerks open his own button fly and Connor
moans something that might be words. It's definitely
*hot*, and *now* Connor's hands are shaking, and
the part of Roy that wants to make sure Connor
doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do, that he
has as much *power* in this as possible, is really
fucking small and weak next to the part that's
wrapping Roy's hands around Connor's own and
squeezing for just a second before knocking them
aside.

And opening Connor's jeans himself.

The sound of the zipper makes him lick his lips,
and then he's in, sliding over the briefs that have to
feel like strangling *death* right now, and he's not
going to tease.

He curls his fingers under the waistband and yanks
them down with Connor's jeans, sitting up again, and
Connor is making sharp, hot little groaning sounds,
one for every gasp, and Roy doesn't even really have
him in *hand*, yet. He wants... a little more.

He grabs Connor's hips again and pushes him back,
enough so he can get up on his own knees and get
his *own* boxers down, and Connor -- fuck.

He can move *fast* when he wants to, wrapping
one hand around Roy's dick, and he doesn't have
time to do more than curse before Connor moans
like he's dying of something wonderful and
*strokes*.

"Jesus --"

"Is this -- am I --"

"No, it's good, it's..." Fuck. He can't tear his eyes
away. That hand -- *Connor's* hand wrapped
around him and squeezing, stroking. "Fuck,
Connor, *yes*."

And he was going to go for something a little
fancier, but he settles for just getting one hand
back on Connor's hip and the other around his
cock.

"Come -- come a little closer..."

Connor stops jerking him off and Roy bites his lip,
holding on and pulling while Connor crawl-walks on
his knees, right back into kissing distance and --
yeah. Just like that.

Moaning into Roy's mouth and stroking him again,
a little awkwardly but still so *sweet*. Roy gives
as good as he can, sliding his thumb around the
slick head of Connor's cock and then down again.
Getting him wet and sticky, and Connor *groans*
into Roy's mouth and pulls away.

"I can't -- you feel --"

"Easy, easy," and it's a little like stabbing himself,
but he lets go of Connor's cock for long enough to
pull Connor's hand off *his*. "Take it, show me
what you like."

Connor's grip on his hand is nearly *painful* for
a moment, but then they've got it, they've got
*him*. Hands twined together and Connor
apparently likes it hard and fast. Or likes it that
way from *him*. "Roy..."

"I've got you, you're so sexy..."

Connor makes a high, whining noise and shoves
his face against Roy's neck, licking and whispering,
too low for Roy to hear over the pound of his own
blood and the sliding slap of their hands on
Connor's cock.

"I want you to come, Connor -- *fuck* --"

Connor bites him *hard* and whines again, again
when Roy squeezes him.

"Yeah -- yeah, you --"

"*Roy*," and Connor sounds so desperate, so
*needy* that Roy just wants to keep him here,
suck him off and lick him all over --

"Show you everything, make it so good..."

And Connor's *pumping* into their fists now,
*fucking* them and panting against Roy's neck, his
cheek, licking his ear --

"*Connor* --"

He comes groaning, loud and sticky and so hot that
Roy can't keep his own hips from pumping, even
without being touched. He lets Connor show him
when to stop stroking and then drags their hands up
to his mouth, sucking Connor's fingers and getting
his ear bitten.

And licked again.

"Roy... Roy..." Connor's panting, sucking in air in
deep gasps, his grip tightening almost painfully on
Roy's hand.

"Sexy," Roy murmurs around his fingers, "so
*fucking* sexy, beautiful." Connor leans in and
bites his lip *hard*, and Roy pushes his cock up
against Connor's, groaning. His skin is so hot, so
*smooth*.

"Show *me*," Connor says hoarsely, dragging
their linked hands down, and Roy takes a breath
and pulls Connor's hand to his cock. Connor doesn't
need a lot of guidance, jerking Roy with the same
rough speed that he used on himself. His grip is firm
and his calluses-- *fuck*-- are nearly exactly the
same as Roy's own. It makes it so much hotter,
strange and familiar, and Roy grits his teeth, trying
to stifle his groans. "Yeah. Just like that, just --"

He arches forward into Connor's touch, stretching a
hand back to brace himself on the wall. Connor
bends with him, sucking at the hollow of his
throat and then biting gently. The soft, slow flicker of
his tongue contrasts crazily with the force of his
muscled arm working between them, his strong
hand pumping Roy's dick. Roy's spine arches like a
bow, and then before he even realizes he's that
close, he's coming, curling forward, Connor catching
him with his arm as they both fall back on the bed.
Roy grits his teeth and presses his face into
Connor's shoulder, jerking his hips *hard* against
Connor's hot body and exhaling through his teeth.

He swallows hard, closing his eyes and trying to get
his breath under control. He gives it up after a few
gasps and just breathes raggedly. Connor's doing
the same, gasping and panting underneath him. Roy
pets him clumsily, and Connor makes a pleased
sound, squeezing the hand that's still intertwined
with Roy's. Roy squeezes back.

After a few minutes, when enough of his brain
comes back online to make him realize he's probably
crushing Connor, he rolls off to the side.

Connor tips his head to look at him. He's smiling,
but he has a funny distant look in his eyes that Roy
can't quite decipher. It's lighter outside now, Roy
realizes, not dawn but the hour before, when
everything gets *really* quiet. He pulls his hand
away from Connor's and raises it to his face, stroking
Connor's cheek questioningly. It seems to bring
Connor back from... wherever he was. He tilts his
head forward and brushes his lips softly against
Roy's.

"Thank you."

"Thank *you*," Roy says, and it's not *quite*
light enough to tell, but he thinks Connor's really
blushing now. "I'm not kidding, I mean it." He takes
a breath. "That's... kind of what I was trying to say.
Earlier."

Connor blinks at him like he isn't making any sense,
which, well, is kind of the truth. Roy grins and
kisses his forehead, near his hairline, then pulls him
close. So sue him -- he's a cuddler. Connor doesn't
seem to mind, holding himself away from Roy for
just long enough to kick his jeans off.

"You make things better," Roy mutters into his ear.
And maybe a lot of his past relationships would
have gone better if he didn't save the important
emotional stuff for the afterglow mumbles. But he
is who he is. So far, Connor seems to be okay with
that. "I like who I am when I'm with you."

"I... wow." Connor breathes out, and Roy squeezes
him. A few moments pass in silence, and Roy thinks
maybe Connor's just not going to say anything else,
but then he brings his hand up to rub against Roy's
chest. "I... I don't know *who* I am when I'm with
you."

Roy blinks, but Connor's hand keeps making
reassuring circles, so he doesn't panic, quite. "Is
that a bad thing?"

"I don't know," Connor says, the very slightest edge
to his voice. "It's been interesting."

"Okay," Roy says. And he feels... *totally* in over
his head here, but at least that's familiar. He takes a
deep breath, then yawns, turning his head and
pressing his face into the pillow.

"I guess I should... head up to my room." Connor
says after a minute, and Roy blinks, waking up a little.

"Oh, you..." He's about to say 'you don't have to go'
but-- there's a good way to tell everyone about this,
and both of them coming out of the guest room in
the morning with Roy looking cheerful and Connor
looking fucked six ways from Sunday *probably*
isn't it. "Yeah, I guess you probably should."

Connor crawls over him, and Roy sits up a little,
watching as Connor tugs on his boxers and his
jeans. No. Roy's jeans, he and Connor realize at
almost the same time, as Connor stares at the
buttons, then looks up at Roy and laughs. Roy
gives him a patented slow grin, then rolls over,
propping himself up on his elbows, and does up
the buttons himself.

"Or you could stay," he murmurs, nosing at
Connor's belly, and Connor stands up hurriedly.

It really shouldn't be this ridiculously hot to watch
Connor blushing and shifting on his feet and wearing
his *jeans* -- they're just jeans, and it's not like
Connor is a girl in any way, shape, or form, but...

Connor probably wouldn't be looking at him like
that if he didn't feel it, too. Well.

"Roy. I think..." He looks back over his shoulder,
like the door is a thousand miles away and heading
for two, instead of just a few feet.

Roy's reasonably sure he shouldn't tell Connor how
cute that is. Reasonably. "There's a place I know..."

Connor looks at him again, eyes wide and watchful.

"Great seafood. Um. I hear the eggplant
parmigiana's good too," he adds before Connor
can remind him about the vegetarian thing. "I was
thinking we could head there for lunch."

The smile is back on Connor's face. "Okay."

Roy makes something of a show of leaning back,
just because he can. "'Night, Connor."

Connor looks down for a second, lashes brushing
his cheeks, and he's pretty much the picture of sweet,
innocent vigilante. Right up until he looks up again,
and the gleam in his eyes isn't innocent at all. "Mia's
taking Dad to a movie tomorrow afternoon."

And that's... very much an invitation. "Noted," Roy
says, and slides a hand down the center of his chest.

Connor narrows his eyes at him, and... blinks.
"Goodnight, Roy."

He watches Connor leave. Part of him is yelling
about getting himself *into* things, but that part
never says anything when he really *is* being an
idiot, so he feels reasonably secure about ignoring
it now.

He lets himself focus on the taste of Connor in his
mouth, and the song still playing in the back of his
head. He sings softly to himself, enjoying the buzz
of it on his stubble-burned lips.

"Hey, what else can ya do now, except roll down
the window, and let the wind blow back your hair..."
He tucks his hands behind his head, and lets his
eyes drift closed.

Tomorrow morning he's going to have to wear
Connor's jeans to breakfast. It'll be easy enough to
cover by saying his got ripped up in the fight.
Ollie probably wouldn't notice anyway. Mia's another
story-- they may have to take her aside for a talk.
She'll *probably* be cool, unless she's got some kind
of crush on Connor or something, in which case she'll
be sulky and horrible for a week or two. But they
were due for something like that anyway, sooner or
later. This family can't do anything the easy way.

That's something to think about in the morning,
though. They're on the way, and they'll just have to
see where this road goes.

[end]