by Hotspur

Disclaimer: Characters owned by DC Comics and borrowed without permission, just for fun.

Pairing: Roy/Connor

Rating: NC-17

Cold water from the low hanging eaves dripped down his collar. "Fucking rain," he grumbled, pressing back a branch of shrubbery to double check the street. The coast was still clear, but he was getting impatient. "Aren't you in yet?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I don't want to set off any alarms," his companion answered, concentration evident in his tone.

"I'm getting soaked here."

"Water is an essential element of all life. Blend with it."

"Screw the zen crap. Just-"

"Voila!" the other man announced triumphantly. "We have entry!"

"About fucking time," Roy muttered, letting the branch spring back and using the cover of the foliage to slip in through the now open French door.

"Stay there," Connor ordered, shedding his own wet slicker and making a sure path through the dusty florist shop. He reappeared a moment later with two towels and tossed one at Roy. "Dry off."

Roy stripped off his own outerwear and scrubbed the towel over his hair.

"You are soaked," Connor observed, his own clothes relatively dry and his damp hair sticking up in odd cowlicks from the hasty toweling.

"Well, gee, who'd've thunk standing under a goddamned down spout would soak a guy," Roy shot back, wiping the towel uselessly over his sodden shirt.

Connor shook his head and stepped forward. "Let me help," he suggested, his hands slipping under the hem of Roy's shirt and skimming it swiftly from Roy's body. Roy shivered as Connor's cold hands brushed against his bare skin and leaned forward into the other man's body heat. The wet fabric slid over his face, blinding him for a moment before it was finally pulled free and left him face to face with Connor's wide green eyes.

He couldn't help himself; he pressed forward a little more, claiming a startled Connor's full lips. He heard his shirt hit the floor with a wet smack as Connor let it go and wrapped one hand into Roy's hair, pressing their mouths more forcefully together. The sourness of the beer they had been drinking flavored the kiss, blending into the faint salt musk of their mouths and increasing Roy's sense of intoxication. A tiny piece of conscience flared, questioning whether he was taking advantage of the other archer, but it was easily extinguished by a rationalizing voice reminding him that they planned this together, or at least, thought of it at about the same time, or at least, seemed to mean the same thing when they had almost telepathically shared *some* understanding in the course of a conversation composed of unfinished sentences and a half-hesitant grope.

Now Connor was pulling back somewhat breathlessly, avoiding Roy's effort to resume the liplock. "Not here," he reminded the red-head, slipping a finger into one of Roy's belt loops and drawing the other man forward into the dimly lit shop.

"Right," Roy agreed huskily, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. If it had been enough just to bump and grind, anyplace would have done as well. No, they had a mission.

Connor led the way unerringly to the curving stairway that led to the upstairs living quarters.

"You've been here before," Roy realized suddenly, halting at foot of the stairs.

Connor looked down at him from two steps up and reached a hand to Roy's face, rubbing fingers over the stubble on Roy's cheek. "You knew that. When I mentioned..." Connor's face darkened slightly in what Roy recognized as a blush.

Of course. He must have been here if he knew... "I didn't quite..."

"It's okay," Connor comforted, coming down one step and letting his hand trail down to Roy's chest. "He was an unconscionable bastard in some ways."

Roy nodded numbly, lowering his head. Yes, Connor understood that ache. He wondered how he hadn't realized it before, but then, when had he really allowed himself to see Connor as something other than his replacement in the neglected son role? "Let's go," he said roughly.

Connor nodded and resumed the lead, following the curve of the stone wall until he reached the second floor landing. Roy half-stumbled when he abruptly halted.

"There it is," Connor breathed.

Roy blinked in the gloom and let his eyes settle on the painting on the wall. "She really did leave it here." His whisper had an incredulous edge to it, and he reached a trembling hand toward the framed image.

Connor's fingers sought Roy's other hand and squeezed. "I thought maybe... since she kept this place..."

"I know," Roy replied, his voice hitching a little. "Son of a bitch. Dinah always said he loved that picture more than anything."

Connor nodded, staring at the figure in green, moving down a stairway just like the one they were standing in, arrow nocked. It wasn't Olliver Queen, but it could have been, may as well have been. His skin prickled into gooseflesh as he thought of how his father had walked up and down these stairs, clad sometimes in that same Robin Hood outfit - the same costume Connor still wore. "He should've loved you more," Connor blurted, overcome by the single beer he'd had, the emotion of being in a place that had been *his*.

Roy shook his head. "It wouldn't have mattered. He never could see - didn't even realize until it was way too late. Such a fucking waste."

Connor cast a startled glance at Roy, realizing the older man was crying. "Roy, please, oh -" he began, pulling Roy close, pressing kisses against his cheeks. Roy went stiff for a moment, his jaw tight in what seemed to be anger, but then he all but melted into Connor's arms, turning his face so lips once again met lips.

It was such a mad scheme, hatched from drink and lust and the undercurrent of jealousy and anger that neither of them had really dealt with successfully. Fuck? Yes, they wanted to fuck, they'd established that. Fuck the man who in some way got the better half of two raw deals, that was the dangerous logic that neither of them had squarely faced as the night had developed the quality of a dare. Fuck each other as if to throw it in Olliver Queen's face that the kids he fathered in two different senses of the word could get past the differences good old Ollie had done a damn fine job of creating.

See, Dad, we can fucking love each other.

That was what was at the core of it, the unexpressed edge in that un-conversation in a Seattle bar.

Neither of them realized how raw, how hurt each of them were.

Not until now, the bitter salt of tears now mingling with the sour beer taste on their tongues.

Connor gasped suddenly as he heard the tearing of fabric and felt cool air kiss his back. Roy's fisted hands pulled away from Connor's body, taking with them the remains of Connor's shirt. A pinging clatter sounded against the stone stairs as buttons bounced off the landing. An insistent tug brought Connor's arms out to his sides so his sleeves could be stripped away, and almost as quickly he was caught back into Roy's embrace, his own smooth chest rubbing against the red hair that curled across Roy's pecs. His cock was rigid, aching inside his trousers, and he could feel the answering swell in Roy's jeans. They were pressed too close together, though, to do anything more than dig fingers into one another's backs, to bruise lips with the pressure of teeth and tongues.

So fast. Roy had acted too fast for Connor to think, and now the blood surged hotly through Connor's body. His fingers were tingling as they warmed, and that brought him back to himself enough to push Roy back, to pause and gasp desperately for air. "Roy - god. I want - what if-"

"Shut up," Roy growled, dropping to his knees and grabbing hold of the waist of Connor's pants. Connor's belt was undone lickety-split, then he felt Roy's strong fingers unbuttoning, unzipping, stroking...

He groaned, staggering slightly, half falling against the wall behind him. His fingertips pressed against the rough stone as Roy jerked Connor's boxers down roughly and wrapped his fingers around Connor's cock.

God, his grip was strong, Connor thought. But of course it would be. He was an archer, too, hands developed to hook and hold through hours and years of practice. Familiar calluses covered the palm that rubbed over his hard length, like his own hand but not his hand, not in his control. He thrust into Roy's fist with a hungry sound, felt Roy's other hand reach up to grasp the flesh of one ass cheek.

"Fucking old man," Roy spat, and Connor opened his eyes. Roy was pumping at Connor's cock, but his eyes were focused over Connor's head, focused on...

The painting. The ghost of Sherwood Florist, Connor thought ironically, startled that rather than lessening his desire, Roy's hungry hurt accusatory stare just made him want Roy more, made him want to-

He shift his weight, getting a knee against Roy's shoulder with enough force to knock Roy back onto his heels. "Turn around," he ordered as Roy blinked at him in surprise.

Connor was almost more surprised when Roy obeyed, and he felt a drop of precum begin a slow slide down the length of his own cock. Roy's skin was sex reddened, flushed with arousal. The muscles of his back were strongly defined, shifting under his skin as Roy flexed his hands and waited. The globes of his ass curved enticingly, perfectly filling Roy's jeans.

Raw lust took over the larger part of Connor's brain as he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Roy's waist in order to undo the button fly that trapped what he knew would be a gorgeous cock. His fingers worked swiftly as he pressed his teeth against the juncture of Roy's shoulder and neck, drawing a delicious shudder from the other man. In seconds, Connor claimed a rosy tower of flesh, unsurprised that there was no underwear to impede him. He gave Roy's cock a firm squeeze, then stood up.


"Take off your pants," Connor ordered as he stepped out of his own trousers, kicking off his moccasins in the same motion.

Roy stood to obey, inching his jeans down his hips and then sliding them down. When his hands were at his knees, Connor reached forward, sliding one hand between Roy's ass cheeks and pressing a finger against the puckered hole nestled between them.

Roy froze.

Connor maintained the light pressure, reaching his other hand around to grasp Roy's cock. It surged in his hand, and Roy's asshole spasmed against Connor's finger.

"All the way off," Connor ordered.

Roy hesitantly obeyed, his breathing coming in ragged gulps.

"Good," Connor breathed, giving a comforting stroke to Roy's engorged cock and wriggling his finger so just the tip pushed into Roy's ass.

"Yes," Roy breathed, remaining bent over, his hands tangled in his jeans.

Connor gently released him. "Step out of your jeans."

Roy did so and half-turned, his expression caught between anxiety and desperate desire. Connor reached out and turned him around completely, touching his cheek, drawing him closer so their cocks brushed against one another. "I usually bottom," Connor confided quietly, his eyes locked on Roy's. "And I think when you've been with men-"

Roy nodded, confirming both that he normally topped, but also by his rare silence answering Connor's unspoken question.

Connor drew him closer, and the clung together for a moment, their cocks sandwiched between their bodies, rubbing together as they moved. "I want to fuck you," Connor breathed.

In response, Roy lowered himself to his knees and kissed the head of Connor's cock. "Gih," Connor gasped, feeling Roy's tongue circle the crown and lap at the precum it found there. One of Roy's hands was fondling Connor's balls, and the other... the other was groping in Roy's jeans for something.

Connor was about to ask when Roy took Connor's cock in his mouth and sucked down half its length.

"Oooh," Connor moaned, startled a moment later when the pressure of tongue and cheeks gave way and a foil packet was pressed into his hand. He stared at it dumbly as Roy cupped his balls and pressed fingers against the sensitive bridge of flesh right behind Connor's sac. Then he registered. Condom. Lubricated. Roy Harper, always prepared.

He would have laughed, but his need was too urgent to do more than to push Roy back a bit and circle behind him. Without prompting, Roy dropped to his hands and knees, and Connor tore open the foil packet as he knelt between Roy's feet. He caught the resevoir tip of the latex between his fingers and rolled the condom down his length in a practiced motion, letting some of the lubricant slick his fingers.

He took one of those now slick fingers and pressed it against Roy's asshole, sliding it knuckle deep.

"Oh god!" Roy groaned, leaning his head back as Connor pushed the finger deeper. Connor's own eyes kept glancing at the same focus point that Roy had found, the painting over their heads of a man in green, creeping down a staircase.

"Fuck!" Roy shouted, pressing back as Connor's probing finger brushed against his prostate. Connor grinned and leaned forward to nip at Roy's back with his teeth as he withdrew the first finger and pressed forward again with two fingers, opening Roy. Roy was tight, but he was relaxing easily into the intrusion into his body, making noises in his throat that tested Connor's patience as he slipped a third finger into Roy's ass.

"In me, dammit," Roy growled, bouncing back against Connor's hand.

Connor obliged, slipping his fingers from the tight heat that had trapped them and pressing his latex clad cock against the closing hole. He hooked his hands around Roy's hips and leaned forward steadily, crying out himself as the head of his cock finally popped in and Roy's ass caught him in its tight heat.

"Fuck. Me." Roy ground out, and any semblance of patience disappeared as Connor thrust forward, sinking balls deep into Roy's hot center. The half-scream that Roy released overrode any effort at conscious control, and there was only the thrusting, the heat, the tightness, milking, claiming, and - with an unexpected cry - a rippling and spasming of flesh around his cock. Connor reached down belatedly to hold Roy's cock and felt it jumping as it spurted over the floor and Roy screamed "FUCK! ME!"

Connor thrust again, blinking sweat out of his eyes, so close, so close, and as his eyes fell again on his father's favorite painting, he felt his balls tighten. He tossed his head back as he felt the condom filling, maintaining the thinnest of barriers between him and the man who had been his rival in ways too deep seated to articulate, and he spat out a word he almost never used. "FUCK!"

They collapsed together in a heap on the landing, gasping and only slowly feeling the hardness of the stone pressing into them. Connor listened to Roy's racing heartbeat slow through the ear that pressed against Roy's back, felt his own sweat starting to cool. With an effort he finally lifted himself and slid his softening cock from Roy's ass, understanding the soft groan that Roy released at being once again empty. He found one of the remnants of his shirt and used it to wipe his cock after stripping away the condom. Roy had rolled onto his side and was watching him.

"Thank you," Roy said quietly. "Somehow -" he swallowed hard. "Somehow it feels less... hollow."

Connor nodded. "I know," he answered, reaching down to help Roy to his feet. He spared a final glance at the painting on the wall. "I know."