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Guy wasn't the sort of guy who was into this sort of stuff. He was, in the general sense of the word "a man's man," or he was when one defined "man's man" as "someone who went out of their way to be as vulgar and aggressive as possible." So why he was laying on his back, with Hal Jordan's mouth around his cock, he really couldn't answer.
That wasn't to say Hal was particularly bad at it. He wasn't anywhere near as good as Ice, but even if it wasn't mind-blowing, it was relatively decent. And, if Guy was thinking about it, which he really wasn't because he was a bit more focused on tangling his hands in Hal's hair and pulling him down rough and—yes, oh god, do that again—then Guy would probably tell himself that this wasn't gay at all. After all, he was only doing to Hal what he had done to hundreds (okay, tens) of girls before. That Hal Jordan was the first man to put his mouth around Guy's glorious penis didn't make Guy gay. It might make Hal gay, since he was the one tonguing Guy's balls, but it didn't mean Guy was into that at all. "That" meaning "anything beyond fucking Hal's throat."
Guy didn't even know how this had started. No, that wasn't precisely true; he'd been minding his own business, saving the fucking universe, one planet at a time, when Hal had called for back up from two planetary systems over. When Guy got there, Hal dragged him down to the surface of the fifth planet out from the star (some dinky little thing whose native name Guy probably couldn't pronounce if he was trying—although, little did he know, he was getting the pronunciation pretty accurate every time Hal drew his teeth lightly over the head of Guy's erection), and just shoved him into a big clearing full of ridiculously over-sized plants, like the ones in all the dinosaur movies, and jumped him. It probably started about then. To add insult to injury, the plants had dumped also a load of silvery dust all over the both of them. Hal had made a low, keening sound that probably should have sent Guy bolting for the hill, but instead just made his cock twitch a little, and settled himself between Guy's legs.
Some little part of Guy's brain started jumping up and down about then, yelling about getting the hell of the damned planet and away from Hal The Magnificent Douchebag, and using a lot of words like "fuckdamn," "shitcock" and "holy fuck, I'm screwed." Even more odd, the rest of him didn't seem inclined to obey, or even agree, and he'd let Hal all but tear off his uniform (no, really, there were scraps of it stuck the trees ten feet away), and settle himself between Guy's legs. It just seemed like an interesting thing to do, if nothing else. The universe could save itself for a little while, because when Hal was tracing patterns on the insides of Guy's thighs with his tongue, and tugging his nipples just a little too harshly, Guy was inclined to tell all the intergalactic menaces to just fuck right the fuck off. He was fucking busy, thanks.
Hal made a noise and tried to pull away from Guy's cock, but Guy just shoved his head back down. "I always told you that you could fucking kiss my ass, Jordan. I think I like this better." Was he slurring his words? Did it matter? Not in the slightest. Guy was rock-hard and all he particularly wanted to think about was Hal Jordan's warm, wet mouth, sucking just right. Guy groaned and thrust hard, not caring that Hal was choking a little bit. When he let Hal's hair go, the only response he got was Hal grabbing his hips and pulling himself up to lap eagerly at Guy's shaft.
Guy groaned and thrust up again, the motion shaking loose another barrage of powder. Guy coughed, and rubbed his hands across his nose and mouth. The stuff burned some on his tongue. He spat on the ground, but it didn't help. Hal didn't seem to mind it, though, leaning up to suck on one pollen-coated nipple. The action sent a wave of heat through Guy's body.
'To hell with the preliminaries,' Guy thought, and shoved Hal over. Hal whimpered, looking up at Guy with eyes that were dark and irrational with need. So, okay, maybe Guy was into "that", if that included fucking a Hal Jordan who was totally begging for it. And Hal was totally begging for it, his lips slick and parted enticingly, his hips shifting and his cock hard. Guy tried to ignore the cock part. This would be just like if Ice let him fuck her ass, right? Right, exactly. He grabbed Hal by the shoulder and flipped him over. Hal arched his back and moaned like a whore. Like goddamn whore. Guy was never going to let him live this down.
Hal had pulled his own clothes off halfway through the blowjob, so Guy didn't have to worry about shredding Hal's uniform for him. Instead he grabbed Hal's hips and thrust in. Hal was tight and trembling around him, and when Guy pulled out, he thrust back with a pleading sound. Taking that as permission, Guy thrust back in, pinning Hal against the ground with one hand and holding on his hip with the other. If Hal was going to have bruises the next day, Guy sure as shit didn't care. He didn't care about much, honestly. His world had narrowed to where he and Hal pressed up against each other—where he pressed up inside Hal. It didn't take long for Guy to get overwhelmed, and he lay the length of his body against Hal's back, biting down on Hal's shoulder as he came. The pollen, he noticed, somewhere beyond the mindless pleasure, didn't burn this time. It tasted sweet, and he wouldn't have minded more.
Guy fell back and Hal mewled, hips thrusting against the air. "G-uy," he managed between wordless sounds. Guy eyed Hal's cock. It it was only polite to get a guy off after fucking him, Guy supposed. Share and share alike. And if Guy's cock twitched at the idea of sucking Hal Jordan off, Guy wasn't going to admit it.
Three hours later, someone finally realized Hal hadn't checked in for at least a day and a half and they sent someone to go check on him.
In what was possibly a fortuitous twist of fate for everyone except him, John Stewart just happened to be the Lantern closest to the particular star system and so happened to be the one stumbling across the naked, sweaty, writhing pair. Recognizing the mind-altering plant for what it was, John sighed, wished he had a blindfold, and used his ring to drag them both to a safer, and more inhabited planet. He bought them clothes, dumped a bucket of cold water on them and wished that he could either bleach his eyeballs or throw both of them into the sun—not necessarily in that order.
Hal and Guy resolved never to talk about the event ever again, and to, in fact, forget that it had ever occurred.