Chapter Text
The thing about plastic chairs is that they weren't a great substitute for an actual bed; the other thing is, Robert can't exactly afford to be picky and even if he 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 the internal debate is still ongoing as to whether or not he deserves a mattress at this current point in his life. So, the plastic chair stays and is staying for the foreseeable future. Besides, it's charming - in a depressing, minimalism-that-is-totally-not-a-reflection-of-his-inner-sense-of-worth way.
Valiantly ignoring the twinge his back gives that is oddly reminiscent of it being, well, exploded, Robert pulls himself out of his chair and onto his feet, taking a few seconds to stabilize himself with a hand gripping the arm in a shaky grasp. It wasn’t stable by any means, the bend of the white plastic as close as he was to tilting and falling over, but he’d worry about it if he actually ended up on the floor. So far so good.
This wasn't new, the struggle to get up in the morning, the weakness in his muscles - even before the spectacular failure that led to his early retirement, before the coma and the required PT sessions following him returning to the waking world, before he couldn't afford to attend the sessions themselves anymore and simply repeated what he remembered from them by himself at home in his shitty apartment, there's been a bone-deep ache in his frame that's only grown over the years since he took on the mantle of Mecha Man; being blown up and comatose for a few months definitely didn't help- as if that could have possibly been a healing experience for anyone- but if he really dug deep and thought about it, he couldn’t pinpoint a specific time he didn't have some kind of twinge in his spine, a creaky joint or some sort of discomfort. It was easy enough to ignore when he was actively working as Mecha Man, focusing on saving lives had taken up his entire life and the bits of it that had remained he’d dedicated to maintaining the suit.
Without those constants to keep him occupied it was harder to detach himself from his body; instead left with a dull, throbbing sense of hurt that radiated throughout the entire structure of his meat-prison just from the simple act of waking up and rolling himself into a standing position. In a way, it had been just as much of a constant as being Mecha Man had been; a reminder that he’d survived. A shitty award, but the only one he was getting.
𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘯𝘰𝘸. 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳; 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴.
A bark pulled Robert's attention away from avoiding a meet-cute of his face and the floor, the rotund little body of his best friend coming into focus as Beef gave his shin a little lick, looking up at his owner with eyes that very clearly conveyed how 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 he was and if Robert would only hurry up his self-depreciating train of thought a little faster he'd actually get to eat breakfast before they both had to leave for Robert's shift. Okay, maybe the biting admonishment about his internal mess delaying the inevitable external mess of his workplace was more his influence than Beef's, but the point still stands. Feed the dog first, hate yourself later: priorities. He’d have plenty of time to reflect on feeling like an eighty-year-old at twenty-six when he tried to dissociate from the constant stream of commentary his team was bound to berate him with as soon as he clocked in.
"Hey, buddy," Robert smiled down at the chunky dog, leaning down to give him a scratch behind the ears. "There’s my guy. Ready for breakfast?" At least his legs seemed to want to function normally now, not giving him much issue aside from a minor wobble from the right one, which he ignored in favor of moving to the kitchen, Beef at his heels.
"I'm SO ready for breakfast! Yay, kibble!" Beef, and totally not Robert imagining and voicing his own dog’s internal monologue because he was apparently going insane, responded. Kneeling down with a groan he was glad to have no one but Beef around to witness, the dispatcher dragged out the half-full bag of doggy chow from one of the lower cabinets, scooped out a cup and deposited it in one of the only bowls he owned- an ugly ceramic thing with a chip in it- before placing it on the ground for Beef to enjoy. The dog immediately went to scarf it down, tail wagging happily as crunching sounds filled the air.
"Eat up, little man." Robert gave Beef's back a few heavy pats, playing his dog like the chubbiest, cutest drum for a second before he decided he's given himself enough amusement for one morning and should probably get ready for his shift. Sunlight was pouring into his apartment from the windowed door to the balcony, highlighting how empty it truly was- well, empty except for one plastic chair and Beef's pillow- and he wasn't planning on admiring blank, paint-flaking walls all morning. An exciting prospect, really, but not something he'd call out of work for.
Robert dragged a hand down his face as he padded over to his closet of a bathroom for a cramped shower, hoping to whatever omniscient figure in the sky letting him survive this far that sitting down for the entirety of his shift and an estimated six to seven cups of coffee throughout the day magically cured all of his physical ailments.
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As it turns out, the cure to his back pain couldn't be found in the ground-up sludge that was the office's shitty coffee, but at least sitting down for so long gave him the amazing benefit of feeling his ass go numb on the left cheek. Why was it always the left one? Maybe if he concentrated on that weird sensation and why his right ass-cheek was somehow more immune to numbness than his left, he wouldn't have to focus on the intensifying ache pulsating from his hips to the base of his neck, or the headache that was squeezing tight around his temples like an invisible helmet of 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬, 𝘰𝘸.
".... You look like shit."
Speaking of invisible headaches, Robert glanced to the side and suppressed a wince at the spike of pain behind his eyes even that simple of a movement caused. "I'm trying out a new look," He droned, eyebrow ticking upwards at the sight of Invisigal staring intently right back at him as she went to lean against the wall of his cubicle. "It's called dead inside before the age of thirty. Thoughts?”
Invisigal smirked, amused. "I think you've been wearing that exact look for about a decade, so I'd say pretty terrible. Maybe you should try a different cosplay; I hear people really dig washed up twinks these days and you really nail that one." She teased, then squawked in protest as one of Robert's hands came up to shoo her away, easily dodging his half-hearted attempt to shut her up. She stayed in his personal space, though, and he didn't mind the company.
Turns out, getting the shit beaten out of you in some shitty dive bar and still coming out on top as a team does wonders for a bond between a Dispatcher and his cons-turned-heroes. Ever since that fight in The Sardine, followed by the reveal of him being Mecha Man, things had been.. Well, “nice” would be putting it too lightly but it had been easier in some ways, less of a sense of doom hanging over his head now that he knew how they all felt about it- the fact that he cared about how they all felt about it had been a surprise to him at the time, but maybe he should expect more from himself when it comes to his feelings about his team. Flambae’s reaction was unsurprising, and in Robert’s opinion, fairly justified.
He was grateful for Golem and Malevola coming to his defense, even more happy that he was able to keep the skin from melting off of his body, but he didn’t hold a grudge over the incident. Like Invisigal- like Courtney said, everyone pays for who they used to be. He can only imagine the outcome would have been worse if he hid it for longer.
"It’s too early in the morning to acknowledge those words in that order." A beep from his monitor drew his attention away, and despite the pounding in his head he couldn't help but smile widely as he processed the information on the screen. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 “𝘱𝘢𝘺𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵”; 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳. "Looks like Mrs. Cunningham's cat just shat outside the litterbox, and her doctor advised her not to do anything that would strain her arthritis.” His grin widened further at the dark look in Invisigal’s eyes. “Which means bending down to clean shit off the floor, in case you were wondering."
"Don't you dare."
"I think you're perfect for the job. Maybe you’ll make a new friend.”
"Fuck you, Dan."
With a mutual, very amiable middle finger aimed at the other, Invisigal went to perform her heroic duties and Robert turned back to his computer just in time for another call to roll in.
The next few hours passed by without fanfare; an un-shocking amount of petty squabbles over parking spaces and a notable lack of fires came and went before it was time to take lunch. Releasing his head from the tight pinch of his headset, Robert leaned back in his chair and resisted the urge to squash his eyes with the heel of his palms as he tried to rub some of the exhaustion off of his face.
Christ. Only a few hours into the day and it was already this bad? The headache had gradually intensified over the course of the morning, the feeling shifting from a dull throb to what he imagined he’d be feeling if Golem took his head and stepped on it many, many times. Too many times, he reasoned in his theoretical situation, given that he kind of wants to vomit and keeping his eyes peeled open in the fluorescent lighting of the office is only making it worse. His neck is stiff as he lifts a hand to rub at it, trying to ease some of the muscle tension there. No luck, the entire area from the top of his shoulders to the tip of his skull is radiating with a pulsing pain.
𝑫𝒊𝒏𝒈!
And just like that, he has to force his eyes open- when did he close them to begin with?- to look towards his screen. Flambae’s icon is blinking like a taunt, alerting him to the fact that the man has finally decided to show up for his shift; apparently he either resolved to not call in “sick” after all, or maybe he had just made the choice to come and kill Robert at their workplace for dramatic effect. Either way, Robert was probably going to puke his many cups of coffee up over his monitor if he didn’t go somewhere with dimmer lighting and maybe put something else into his body that wasn’t caffeine or a singular twinkie; anything outside of that, even an angry coworker, took a backburner.
His head throbbed. Lunch could wait, and Chase had commandeered Beef for his own break buddy about twenty minutes ago; a dark, empty conference room to lay down on bland-ass carpeting after downing several ibuprofen had his name practically written all over it.
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The break room had been busy, the door closed but not blocking off the sounds of his team’s usual nonsense - pretty sure Sonar was on his Vanderstenk simp soap box while multiple interjecting voices cut in to tell him off. Robert didn’t risk glancing in to make sure Flambae was too busy catching up with Prism to notice him walking by, if he was even in there. He was sure he’d get attitude on whatever calls he tried sending the ex-villain on at the very least, but he was hoping to avoid some physical payback for the moment; not that getting scorched wasn’t in his future, but sue him, he couldn’t find any ibuprofen and he didn’t need another sore-or burnt- limb right now.
Just as he reached one of the empty conference rooms, his hand already reaching to turn the handle, Robert could already tell he wasn’t going to get what he wanted. Figures.
“You little fucker!”
Apparently, Flambae hadn’t been in the break room- or maybe he had been and was simply much faster and more quiet than Robert gave him credit for- and found the Dispatcher stupidly secluding himself from the rest of the office and anyone who might sympathize with his soon-to-be plight. He had to give Flambae a little credit, at least he knew how to properly implement the element of surprise against someone currently suffering from a migraine. Still, the sudden explosion of pain sparking behind his eyes as he was launched through the door of the conference room from a solid punch to the jaw wasn’t the best utilization of that skill the former supervillain could have used.
Robert groaned and leaned heavily against the table in the center of the room, head lolling to the side as he squinted up at Flambae, still standing in the doorway and highlighted by the backdrop of fluorescents in the hallway. The taller man’s fists were clenched at his sides, flames licking around his knuckles as he glared Robert down. For a second, the Dispatcher was convinced he was about to take another shot, but after a moment some of the tension sleuthed from Flambae’s frame and he glanced off to the side.
“Yeah, so. I might have to do that once a month or so as a release of my hatred for you.” His accented tone was terse, but not loud. Despite the bruise Robert could feel blooming on his jaw, he was grateful that Flambae was speaking surprisingly softly - his headache appreciated it, at least. “But, perhaps with some time… You’ll be less of a bitch to me.” Amber eyes were aimed in his direction again, narrowing. “Um. Yeah, we’ll see.” Flambae’s voice trailed off as Robert didn’t offer any sort of response for an awkward, silent moment.
“How many months of these therapeutic punches of yours we talking about here?” Robert managed to grind out, words strained but not with irritation. This was remarkably tame compared to what he was thinking he’d have to deal with from the other man, but a combination of the light from the hallway and the deserved blow to the face he just got was making his vision swim. He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid the room swirling around him, head rolling forward so his chin pointed towards his clavicle. 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥. Robert thought, humorlessly, internally debating risking further burn scars to his body to make the snide remark.
Flambae scoffed, drew closer. “One seems to have already taken you out, bitch, what’s your problem?” Blissfully, the door to the conference room closed as he took a few more steps inside, darkening the atmosphere considerably and lessening the pounding in Robert’s skull a slight amount. “What, Mecha-dick can’t handle a little roughing up?”
“I think you know the answer to that question already. Hence this whole.. situation.” Robert’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes still squeezed tight despite the change in lighting. The room had stopped spinning, but his head felt too heavy to lift.
“Don’t you know it’s bad manners not to look at who’s talking to you? Eyes up, bitch-” And then Flambae pressed a hot hand to Robert’s head, the remaining fingers of his right hand sliding easily through the Dispatcher’s auburn hair and pulling up.
Fuck, that actually felt.. Good.
Robert didn’t fight the pressure of Flambae’s palm digging into his forehead, focused instead on the intense warmth washing over his skin from the other man’s proximity. The headache he had been nursing since rolling out of that god-awful plastic chair this morning, the neck pain that seemed a constant in his life, and even some of the muscle tension in his upper body suddenly melted away; replaced instead with a bone-deep feeling of relief.
“You look like shit, bitch.” While Flambae’s hand didn’t retreat right away, a sneer was curling up the corners of his mouth as he stared down at the Dispatcher. Not that it was seen, since said Dispatcher still had his eyelids in a lax, closed position.
A sigh escaped Robert, hand coming up to grasp the wrist of the one still stuck to his head; he meant to push it off, but when that blissful heat instead sunk into the joints of his fingers and eased away the carpal tunnel his world of button-mashing and mouse-clicking had gotten him, he kind of forgot to do that. “Not the first time I’ve heard that today,” Chuckling, his eyes fluttered open to regard Flambae’s constipated expression. “Gonna punch me again?” He muttered, feeling far too much relaxation for this situation, the laughter flavoring his tone fading to a simple, partially formed smile on his own face.
The taller man stared down at him, lips parted to reveal that gap-another sign of Mecha Man’s influence permanently marked on his body- before he clamped them shut into a tight frown and took two long steps away from Robert, the warmth leaving with him. “Psh, you look like you wouldn’t survive another,” Flambae spat out. “Toughen up, you little bitch. It’s a real bummer if I can’t even release my anger out on you properly, y’know? It’s sad for me, so- like-” He waved his hands around before settling on flipping Robert off with one and pushing the door to the conference room open with the other. “Like. Fuck you, man, I’ll punch you again some other time.”
And with that, the room grew colder as Flambae stalked down the hallway to finish the rest of his lunch break doing.. Whatever else he did when he wasn’t setting fires and trapping coworkers in rooms to call them bitch approximately five times.
Robert stood there for a second, blinking at the empty space Flambae left behind. He flexed the fingers in the hand he had touched Flambae with, rolled his head from side to side with zero complaints from the muscles and tendons lining his neck. Huh.
Maybe the coffee finally kicked in.
Chapter 2
Summary:
By the next day, the slew of urgent calls that had clogged the communication lines as soon as he got back to his desk, and a constant stream of sarcastic comments paired with inane babbling from his team had nearly wiped the incident with the other man from Robert’s mind.
Key word being nearly.
Or:
Another gym scene completely devoid of homosexuality. None to be found here, folks.
Notes:
Here it is!
Chapter two ended up being.. just a little bit longer than I originally thought it was going to be, so if any flow is a little weird it's just because I'm splitting it in half. I still need to finish writing the rest of chapter three, which will take another couple of days as I'm a full-time veterinary assistant and 90% of my time is spent in surgery or doing appointments all week, lmao.
Thank you all SO much for the support! The enthusiasm around this story has been so pleasantly surprising and very encouraging. I hope to continue to entertain everyone and look forward to writing more of these goobers.
Do I know where this story is going? Technically, yes. Are Robert and Flambae (and the rest of the Z-Team) running away with my braincells? Also yes.
My tumblr is Arcturus-Ish and I'm always down to chat about headcanons or yell into the void about this game!
Hope you enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the next day, the slew of urgent calls that had clogged the communication lines as soon as he got back to his desk, and a constant stream of sarcastic comments paired with inane babbling from his team- though, Flambae was notably more quiet- had nearly wiped the incident with the other man from Robert’s mind.
Key word being nearly.
Robert showed up a couple of hours early to his next shift, wanting to take advantage of the office’s gym equipment while the building was practically devoid of anyone itching to spend their time there. The last time he had been here this early, he had nearly gotten himself crushed from a desperate effort to just get better, damn it. Recovery from a coma and the chronic sense of exhaustion that had plagued him for years aside, he was more determined than ever to get back to that physicality he had while he was Mecha Man - the ease with which he was able to disconnect from pain, discomfort and be who he needed to be.
The gym was empty, thankfully, carrying a cold chill within its expansive walls of various equipment designed for a wide variety of meta-humans; not that he could use ones catered to specific differences between him and someone with super-powered abilities, but there were still plenty of normal machines he planned on using.
Figuring it was best to start off a little slower, since the last time was still ringing in the back of his mind and those ridiculous “normies need a spotter” posters were pasted to every wall, he padded over to a rack of dumbbells. His hand hovered over the different options for weight the gym offered in this section, some of the higher numbers staring back at him like they were mocking him, before he grabbed two fifteen-pounders and inched over to one of the mats.
The section of his jaw that took the impact of Flambae’s fist still ached, an ugly bruise mottling the skin there. Tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek, Robert lost his train of thought amidst lifting the weights from his side to his chest, alternating arms every other pump.
“You’re not supposed to lift without a spot, idiot.”
Despite the condescension, not leaving him to struggle alone and instead sticking around to talk further even though he, supposedly, couldn’t tolerate him even prior to knowing he was the ‘actual real, actual hero’ he’s fought and lost to. Twice, if you count the ice-cube and the tooth.
It hardly qualified as a bonding experience, but his mind kept trailing back to that moment, turning it over from his perspective to Flambae’s. He barely noticed the cramp starting to develop in one of his forearms, not bothering to count the number of curls he was doing at this point.
“Wait, that was genuine?”
The surprise of actually receiving some form of gratitude from Robert, surprising the Dispatcher in turn when his touch had been gentle on the top of his head. Weird thing, to keep willingly involving yourself in situations with someone you’ve repeatedly insulted and spoken down to, not to mention all the commentary he’s aimed towards Robert over the comms - about Robert’s dating life, about his own interests and the kind of wet he doesn’t like to be. Whatever that meant.
At some point during his musings, Robert had switched to a higher weight, subconsciously reaching for forty-pounders and ignoring the creak of protest his right arm was giving or the dull throb in his left. His muscles and joints complaining had never mattered growing up, not when the most significant part of his childhood had been preparing himself for the day he replaced his father; they definitely didn’t matter now that the stakes were so much lower. It was a simple workout, he could- would deal.
“There you are, Bobert.”
Robert decidedly didn’t drop the weights in his hands, but the sudden presence somewhere off to his left made him jerk up in surprise, slamming one of the dumbbells into his hip. Hissing out a curse under his breath, the Dispatcher looked up just in time to watch as Sonar tucked something-his phone?- into his pocket. “.. What are you doing here?” He set the weights down.
For a second, the hybrid simply stared at him in silence before his ears gave a singular twitch and he shrugged. “Just looking for my stapler. Simple. Nothing suspicious, or worthy of like, paying attention to or wondering about,” His snout sort of tilted to the side, so Robert assumed Sonar was smiling. “Totally normal stuff.”
Brown eyes squinting, Robert decided he was, actually, going to be a little suspicious despite the extremely reassuring words from his coworker. “Why would your stapler be in the gym?”
Sonar turned around and headed for the exit. “It’s not. See ya later, Bobert of Bobland.”
Alone again, the Dispatcher decided he didn’t want to think too hard about why Sonar was- y’know what, that was probably completely normal behavior for the hybrid, so he promptly dismissed it without care. If it was something important, something else would happen and Robert would deal with it then. Ignoring the cramping in his fingers, he reached for the weights he had set down before and started another set of curls.
The Z-Team wasn’t full of normal people, Robert could hardly find it within himself to judge them for more than just the basics - like the time Sonar had tried to heat up one of his dead rats in the microwave and it stunk up the entire breakroom for a week, or the fact that Punch-Up refused to wear earbuds and his taste in music kind of sucked, or that Malevola had dragged her sword behind her one too many times and had caused quite a bit of property damage to the carpeting and flooring in the hallways. The fact one of his coworkers just appeared in the gym to stare at him, for seemingly no reason (or if there was one, he didn’t want to know), honestly wasn’t one of the weirder things that had happened this week.
A sharp pain in his right arm caused one of the tendons in his hand to clench, forcing Robert to drop the dumbbell in his grip onto the mat with a little less care than he would typically show to communal gym equipment. “Fuck,” He grunted, setting down the other and grabbing his hand with the left to rub his thumb between the space of his knuckles and wrist. The tips of his fingers felt numb, tingling with a mild electricity that was shooting zaps of discomfort up to his shoulder; it wasn’t as bad as it had been in the past, but that didn’t mean it felt good.
Lips pressed into a thin, pained line, he glowered down at the appendage like a stern look would chase away the ache. Maybe he was less like his father than he should be, though, because unlike him as a child, the pain in his arm didn’t bend to his will and immediately fix itself when faced with the scathing, disappointed look in his eyes. “Fine, be that way.” He muttered to himself, jaw clenched with frustration at what he considered a failure on his part.
Robert lost count over how many of his bones he’d broken over the years, being encased in the suit only providing so much protection before something was bound to damage the more fragile body within; eventually, the bone breaks and the stretching or tearing of muscles in specific areas of his body had stopped healing correctly, tired of repairing themselves only to be un-repaired as soon as he was out in the field, forcing his body to do more than it logically should’ve when he was still healing. After his father died, it was solely up to Robert to keep getting up like his father would have wanted to do; what his father had expected of himself and of Robert as well. It’s what Mecha Man did, and he took that seriously from a very young age. Had to.
“Yo, bitch,” A different voice interrupted the self-loathing flow of his internal dialogue, accented and pitched low despite the fact that there was only one other person in the room. “You forget what I said before? Or does Mecha-Dick think he’s too good to listen to the very important posters over there. That’s very disrespectful, y’know- rules are rules, man.”
“I’m not-” Robert cut himself off after turning to face Flambae, pausing in surprise to note that the other man wasn’t in his uniform like every other time they’ve seen each other.
Flambae was smirking at him, thumb still pointed towards that same Phenomaman poster on the wall near the benches. His hair wasn’t tied into his signature ponytail, but was falling over his shoulders and framing the low-neck of his plain, white t-shirt in thick, dark waves. In typical Flambae fashion, his workout shorts were black and had flame decals sprawled up the thighs, cut off just above the knee and only exaggerating how long his legs actually were. The expression slowly faded from the hero’s face as he took in the fact that Robert had stopped talking and was still cradling one of his hands with the other. He didn’t say anything further, however, seemingly content to just.. Stand there.
Great, another coworker staring him down in the gym. The gym that was supposed to be empty at four-fucking-AM.
Robert dropped his hand, bending over to grab the weights from the floor to hide the fact that the tips of his fingers were shaking ever-so slightly. “I’m not disobeying any rules,” He shot over to the other man, catching Flambae taking a step towards him in his periphery with an instinctive tensing of his shoulders.
Shit, is he going to punch me again?
Warm- no, hot hands brushed against his as Flambae reached over and grabbed the handles of the dumbbells over his own hold and attempted to yank them away from him. His grip was tight and searing, but Robert held his ground.
“Dude, what-”
“Ha, this is the weight you’re having such a hard time with?” Flambae scoffed down at him, not letting go of the dumbbells and, consequently, Robert’s hands. “So, so weak. I expected more from Mecha Man, y’know, this is just more sad than plain ol’ Bobby-Bob being pathetic.” He grinned, clearly enjoying having more ammunition to work with now that he had multiple new reasons to hate on the Dispatcher post identity reveal.
Robert would have tried paying more attention to the shit his coworker was spewing down at him, and part of him was getting a little offended at being called weak so often- plus, “Bobby-Bob” was a stupid nickname- but most of him couldn’t be bothered because the heat currently pulsating from Flambae’s grip deep into the bone of his hands and fingers was practically blissful.
The pain was slowly ebbing away despite how tightly the flame-powered man was holding the dumbbells captive, the closeness of Flambae’s presence causing more warmth to spread to the side of his body he was closest to. It took effort not to lean into the heat, to not release his hold on the weights because he really didn’t care if they dropped or not when the amount of discomfort he hadn’t even realized was that bad was finally going away.
“You gonna let me put these back, or do you have some kind of fetish for insulting people’s lifting abilities while holding their hands?” Was what he said instead of doing any of that, preferring to risk getting another punch to the face for a sarcastic comment than getting himself burned for.. Whatever was happening right now. “You gotta ask people before involving them in your kinks.” He smirked up at his coworker, brown eyes scrunching up at the corners as he watched the reaction his quip caused erupt over the other man’s face - literally.
The searing, blissful heat that was encasing his hands dropped in an instant as Flambae yanked his grip away, sparks crawling up the sides of his face and evaporating at the tips of his fingers - fortunately away from Robert’s skin.
“You-” Flambae sputtered, amber eyes flaring with a combination of irritation and something else that Robert didn’t have time to read. “I was simply making sure you didn’t drop them, idiot - other more actual, real hero-people need to use them, too. Psh. What kind of so-called hero doesn’t have basic respect for the equipment around him? Bitch.”
“So, we weren’t having a moment?” Robert turned back to the weight rack, having enough sense to keep his head tilted in Flambae’s direction so if he decided to take a swing at him, he’d at least have a chance to dodge.
A scoff, then some unintelligible words muttered underneath a breath before the other man said something coherent. “As I’ve already said; you are definitely not my type, Bobbo.”
The Dispatcher’s responding snicker was cut off with a brief grunt of effort as he lifted the weights back onto their spots on the rack. “You did say that. ‘Cause of my flat ass, right? Everyone loves pointing it out,” Sarcasm coated his comment. “Must be why I can’t get a date.” Robert rotated his frame so that he was facing Flambae again.
Flambae’s amber eyes had been directed somewhere low, but they flicked up to burn into Robert’s brown ones, nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath.
Dude’s pissed. Maybe I should shut up.
Words kept coming out anyway, because apparently, he had no interest in having any survival instinct. Maybe this lack of survival instinct was why he had gotten himself blown up.
“I didn’t realize you had such a deep bond with the dumbbells, man, I apologize.” He held up his hands in a placating gesture, but his expression was dancing with mirth. Sue him, his team stressed him out on the daily - it was only fair he got a couple of rage-baiting comments in now and again.
“You shouldn’t even be in here, it’s not like you using any of this stuff is gonna fix how much of a loser bitch you are and make people think you’re the shit, y’know. I bet you can’t even do it right.” Flambae shot back, crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest.
It was a little odd, trading sass back and forth between each other like usual, but with the rehabilitated villain looking weirdly normal in a plain white t-shirt that stretched almost obscenely over his defined chest and rode up a little in the stomach area, exposing a thatch of hair that disappeared into the soft, worn-in material of his workout shorts. It humanized him, just a bit.
Robert ignored how the comments were starting to sound like insults towards other areas of his life he might be inept at, not just working out, moving towards Flambae. “Alright then, babysitter, since you’re such hot stuff compared to me-” He tilted his head to the side, getting a little tired with the constant interruptions and beratement. Wasn’t the gym supposed to be practically abandoned at this hour? “- why don’t you go do your own thing in this completely empty gym and show off to yourself while I mind my own business like you should be doing?” For someone who has every reason to hate me, he sure likes to stick around.
At some point during the banter, the two had gotten closer and Robert could feel the heat wafting off of his coworker. It wasn’t close enough to feel as relieving as it had been before, but he was decidedly not thinking about either of those instances and especially not mourning the fact that his arms were deciding to feel sore again. He absentmindedly rubbed at his left wrist with his right hand, not noticing the other man glancing down at the movement for the briefest of seconds.
“Like it or not, we’re both here and both of us need to use the gym. Powers or not, I’m capable of using this equipment and, powers or not, you don’t have the right to be a dickhead.” Well, about this - if he had a genuine complaint to offer up about Robert’s performance as their team’s Dispatcher, or he suddenly decided to go to therapy and his therapist recommended that, for closure sakes, they talk about their conjoined past, then yeah. Maybe Robert would tolerate it then, but right now? It was too early for this attitude, and his arms were beginning to ache just enough to turn his mood slightly sour.
“Dickhead? How am I being a dickhead?” Flambae’s lips twisted up into a frown, eyebrows furrowing as he looked Robert up and down. “I’m like, saying you need some help, man. You’re a bitch boy, Bobby, and because I’m super strong and even like, so much nicer than that,” The hero leaned over into Robert’s space, flashing the gap in his teeth as he sneered down at the other man. “I’m going to spot you.”
A moment passed, then another.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me, bitch.”
Robert stared up at Flambae incredulously, wondering if maybe sometime during the night the other man decided to take a bunch of random, mind-altering drugs before coming here as some sort of pre-workout. “You’re fucking with me, right?” He squinted with a slight lean away from the dark-haired man sort-of but not completely invading his personal bubble. “If you needed an excuse to hit me while I’m distracted, man, you honestly could have said that. Or just gone ahead and done it - like yesterday, remember?” His jaw aching was a good reminder for himself.
That only seemed to irritate the other man even more, which didn’t help to ease any of Robert’s confusion. “Idiot.” He grumbled, then surged forward and without warning clasped both hands on Robert’s upper-arms to better push him towards the wall of benches, the shorter man’s legs stumbling slightly to keep up with the sudden movement. “I already said, I’m very strong and you’re very weak. You need a spotter, and I find it so very amusing to watch you be bad at everything you do - it brings me joy, in fact, and because you owe me,” The hand missing two of its fingers pressed more tightly on Robert’s arm, and his lips stretched into a terse enough expression to highlight the hole in the row of otherwise near-perfect teeth the man had. “You’re going to be a good little Dispatcher and listen to me for once, right?”
Robert glared up at Flambae, too overwhelmed with the sudden shift in atmosphere to pay much attention to the heat seeping into his skin through the material of his hoodie. I just wanted to work out in peace and quiet, The thought was weary, man was he tired. His logic doesn’t even make any sense. It’s not that funny to watch me struggle. He glanced to the side, considering how almost everyone on his team actually did, in fact, find it hilarious to put him down. Nevermind. Maybe it is. That was kind of upsetting, actually.
“You gonna let me embarrass myself again?” He didn’t shake off the taller man’s grip on his arms, finally noticing how nice it actually felt despite how uncomfortable everything else about this situation was. “Because we’ve both got a shift in a couple hours, I’d rather not spend those being stuck pinned to a bench.”
Something shifted in Flambae’s expression for a split second, and he once again glanced downwards like there was something fascinating going on someplace below Robert’s eyeline; on the floor, on the bench, or maybe somewhere on Robert’s person - he couldn’t tell, his own gaze fastened onto Flambae’s and only occasionally switching to his arms- the muscles there twitching as he adjusted his hold on Robert- to make sure the man wasn’t getting ready to strike unexpectedly again.
“You do that just by existing, Bob-Bob.” Flambae finally let him go, a smug grin like he had just won an award adorning his-quite frankly-stupid fucking face. Or maybe Robert was just being pissy at this point.
Why did I even wake up today? Robert lowered himself to the bench and laid back, watching with wary eyes as Flambae stood over him. It wasn’t hard to notice how much larger than him the other man was; his frame easily towered over his own, figure clearly earned through hard work - apparently being a criminal paid great dividends, if how Flambae looked was anything to go by.
Shaking that train of thought away, because honestly he was more concerned with getting through this weird fucking moment than how his coworker looked, the Dispatcher watched as the dark-haired man easily lifted the weight plates onto the bar, somehow remembering the exact amount Robert had been struggling with that one other time they had been here together and taking two of the plates off to make it a more manageable task.
Threatening and considerate? Wow, he’s the whole package. Not.
Rolling his eyes, Robert stretched out his aching arms to grip the bar tightly, knuckles turning white in preparation to start lifting. Thoughts of this being an elaborate-but stupid-ruse to drop the bar down on his chest and cut off his air supply and let him suffocate and die with no one else around to witness the crime flashed through his mind, but as Flambae moved to be behind the machine and within just enough distance to reach out and stop the bar if Robert was struggling, quiet and shockingly scathing-comment-free, the overthinking eased somewhat and he was able to focus on his breathing and the sound of the weights clinking against each other with each pump upwards.
“Your breathing sounds like a pug. Y’know how they’re like, dying all the time? ‘Cause their faces are so ugly and smushed and ugly? Yeah, that. You sound like that.” Flambae’s voice cut in through his concentration, an irritating, accented smear across the focus Robert was pouring into trying to ignore the pain shooting up through the atrophied muscling in his arms.
“Great,” He grit out, not looking up at the man hovering over him. The angle wouldn’t be flattering for either of them, probably. “I’ll just stop breathing, then; that work for you?”
A noise came out of “the one who controls the fire and the flame” -god, what a corny-ass title to give yourself- that could have been a stifled laugh of some sort, like he didn’t want to dignify Robert with the honor of actually bringing him any amusement that didn’t involve the auburn-haired man’s suffering. Screw him, Robert was plenty funny without the influence of his own misery. Probably.
“Slow down,” Flambae advised, and then suddenly one of his hands was snaking under the bar to hover just beneath it while the other, the one missing two of its digits, clasped Robert’s forearm. “You don’t have to get all of your reps in at once, dude,” Heat sunk into flesh in a similar fashion to the words sinking into Robert’s awareness. “Time your breaths with each pump, it’ll be easier that way.”
Robert made the mistake of looking up just as Flambae finished his sentence, brown connecting with amber before sliding just to the side and instead getting an eyeful of the other man’s crotch, just barely covered by the stupid shorts he was wearing.
This is a normal gym experience. This is a normal gym experience. This gym experience is not any less normal just because the dude who hates your guts is talking you through lifting weights. It’s normal for someone to hate someone else and speak like this, you just have no social life and you’ve alienated yourself for so long you’ve lost all sight of social constructs and you’re actually the weird one, here. Robert thought to himself and despite the urge to spit a witty remark up at Flambae and turn this “lesson” into a fight, simply did what he was told.
Unsurprisingly, his breathing did get less labored and even though his arms were starting to feel a little numb again he was able to get more reps in than he had the time before. An odd sense of relief his struck nervous system as he realized this was improvement, he could still improve despite all those months of being comatose, despite his destroyed suit and pathetic excuse for an apartment, despite what every inner thought was telling him that he’d never be able to crawl himself out of the hole he was quite literally exploded into.
“You’ve been holding out on me, man.” He grunted, shifting his grip on the bar to try and get some feeling back into his fingers when he noticed the numbness was spreading, pins and needles dancing across his nerves which he steadfastly ignored.
Flambae perked up upon being addressed, gaze flicking from Robert’s face-which was coated in sweat and probably pink from exertion, gross- to sharply pin to his hands. “The fuck are you talking about, bitch?” He grumbled, dubious.
Robert laughed, a little breathless, the tendons in his forearms feeling a little bit like they were being shredded by a cheese grater, but he didn’t care. “I mean,” The laughter faded off into another noise of effort as he pushed up into another rep. “You’re not bad at giving instructions. Were you a personal trainer before you decided to become an arsonist?”
The dark-haired man snorted, expression clouded with mild irritation even as his hands darted out to grasp Robert’s over the grip he had on the bar. “Idiot, you’re about to- as you said- "embarrass yourself”, again.” Flambae lifted the bar away from Robert’s hold easily, setting it back on the rack above. “Don’t push yourself into someplace you can’t get out of, bitch, it’s so not cool. It’s lame, actually. Like, really lame.” He had a tendency to ramble when speaking, his accent snapping quickly around the words he was speaking but tone soft, remarkably quiet in the giant, empty space of the gym. “Even though it’s funny to watch you squirm around pathetically. Like a fish. A dying fish. The kind that flop around- pathetically, like you.”
“Thanks.” Robert watched surprise widen the other man’s eyes, but decided not to push it before continuing. “And you didn’t answer my question.” He was still on his back, needing to crane his neck backwards just to look up at his coworker (slash new workout buddy?) properly.
“There’s nothing to answer, bitch, I just know how to utilize my body properly.” Flambae smirked. “In more ways than just working out, if you know what I mean.”
I don’t need to know these things about you. Why couldn’t I get a normal person to work out with? Am I surrounded by perverts?
“Right.” Robert gripped the bar of the weights above him to help him sit up, swallowing a groan of pain as his arm protested enough to make him release the bar and give up on dragging himself into a sitting position for the time being. He’d just lay here for a minute, then, that’s fine.
A silent moment passed before the shifting of clothing caught Robert’s attention, brown eyes watching as Flambae moved to stand in front of the Dispatcher rather than behind.
Robert expected another rude comment, or at least a passive-aggressive accusation that he was so pathetic he couldn’t even get up like a normal person, but instead the ex-villain reached out his right hand towards the former hero and held it out expectantly.
“Oh.”
He eyed the offered hand with a blank expression, attention lingering on the missing digits for a second longer than was probably socially acceptable.
Do you deserve help after what you did? Do you think you’ve earned that? His mind supplied, freezing him in place.
Get up on your own. Get the hell up. A voice sounding hauntingly like his father’s chimed in. He kept his hands by his side, not able to come up with an argument towards either question or demand; not convinced he was allowed to fight against them.
“I don’t have all morning, you know.”
And just like that, Flambae’s voice washed out the ones in his mind, chased away by the warmth of his grip as he grabbed onto Robert’s hand and hauled him up to his feet with zero effort. His arm barely even pulled back, the fucker.
“Plus, you stink. And you’re all sweaty. Like a hippo, minus the.. You’re just sweaty, okay? Go shower.” The other man released him and took several steps away, just like he had in the conference room; like Robert’s touch was the one that burned. “Your face is all, like.. Shiny. And red.”
Robert laughed again, the sound stilted to his own ears but making a home in the center of his chest, where he could swear some of Flambae’s heat had migrated - weird. “Really flattering comparison.” He drawled, and yeah, he did feel pretty gross - he hadn’t even realized he had been sweating that much.
Hands fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie for a second before he pulled down and released himself from the sweat-soaked cotton, grabbing the hem of the off-gray tank he had underneath and using that to mop up some of the drying perspiration on his face. The cool air of the gym felt relieving on the overheated skin of his body, caressing the mottled texture of scars decorating his frame and causing him to shiver slightly.
He released the material, letting it flop down and cover him again as he swiveled on his heel towards the directions of the showers - or at least he would’ve, if a sudden crash hadn’t caused his head to whip around, concern gradually replaced by entertainment as he noticed Flambae had somehow dropped one of the weights on his foot and was whisper-shouting curses to the ceiling.
“You go-”
“If you ask if I’m okay, Robert Robertson, I am going to burn you alive and stomp on your ashes you little bitch I am-” Flambae sucked in a deep breath and squeezed his eyes shut, resolutely not looking anywhere near Robert with an expression like he was summoning all of his willpower not to let the other man know how much it hurt to have a fifty-pound weight drop on your toes. “I am fine. You saw nothing.”
Robert’s eyes crinkled at the edges in bemused acknowledgement as he turned back around, swinging his hoodie over his shoulder. Just before he reached the doors, hand on the handle, he glanced back at the ex-villain to watch as the man rubbed at his foot while hissing out words that probably shouldn’t be repeated in more innocent company.
“Hey, Flambae?”
“What.”
“Thank you.”
Amber eyes shot up towards him, but he was already retreating towards the sweet promise of a shower to get the grime of sweat off. If Robert stuck around he’d have been witness to the way an open, vulnerable look washed over the other man’s facial features, but the Dispatcher had left the ex-villain alone in the gym. No one else was around to be privy to the way Flambae stared at the place Robert had been long after he was gone, so there was no one to tattle on Flambae as he rubbed a hand over his own face, distraught.
“Ah, fuck.”
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One boiling hot shower, grabbing a cup of freshly-brewed coffee from the breakroom and letting Beef out for a quick bathroom break later, Robert plopped down onto the chair at his desk and slid the headset on, switching on the comms in time to hear the typical morning chatter pouring in.
“Morning, team,” He said over a mouthful of ground up sludge, keeping a careful eye both on his monitor and on Chase one cubicle over as the older man greeted Beef - he kept telling him that he had to stop spoiling Beef so much with these fancy brand dog treats, that he was going to make him even more fat, but the ex-hero hadn’t been listening to him lately. “Everyone ready for the day?”
“Born ready.” Golem was the first to reply, voice a deep rumble in Robert’s earpiece.
“Fuck off, Robert, it’s too early for.. English. Or talking.” There’s Invisigal’s groan; it was either actually too early for her, or she had simply drank too much the night before and wouldn’t function as a human person for a few more hours.
“Sounds like someone had a rough night.” Punch-Up chimed in, his icon blinking right beside Coupé’s somewhere inside of the building, but no word from his companion - she was probably reading one of her books and couldn’t be bothered to say anything. He couldn’t blame her, there, some of the stories seemed.. Appealing, he supposed. If you liked the sick tangle of romance and violence.
“Like you wouldn’t believe, Tiny. Hot Topic here tried drinking Malevola under the table,” Sonar piped up, sounding way too happy for this hour. “Second easiest twenty bucks I’ve ever gotten.” Ah, that explains it. What was with his team and the near-constant betting pools?
Robert scanned the grid of the section under their watch, getting an alert that there was yet another incident involving something or other Mr. Vanderstenk was unsurprisingly in charge of. “Alright, Mr. Twenty Bucks Richer, how about you go take care of this for me, alright?”
“On it, Bob-It.” A pause. “I’m working on my rhymes. That was good, right?”
Malevola spoke up, sounding much more ready for conversation than Invisigal did. Maybe demon’s had a better recovery rate. “You could do better. Sorry not sorry.”
“It was kinda shit, man.” Golem droned.
“Aw, man.”
“Perhaps you should take some lessons from Flambae. His song regarding Robert was somewhat amusing.” Coupé finally decided to join in, monotone voice and all.
Right. Lessons from Flambae. Sonar and him could be “lessons with Flambae buddies”- no, that sounded.. That sounded really wrong, actually. He’d stick to avoiding Flambae in the gym and letting the flame-powered hero berate him with song over the disturbing imagery that scenario conjured up instead.
“My skills cannot simply be taught, thank you very much. Divine inspiration is a bitch to wrangle.”
And there was Flambae, sounding smug as ever over the world’s stupidest songs of all things. Granted, the song was a little funny when he had been tipsy- y’know, before the whole bar drama- but even if it got stuck in his head at the most inopportune moments that didn’t mean he had to like it.
Movement in the corner of his eye caused him to glance over just in time to see Chase bend down and whisper some baby-talk down to Beef. Robert knocked on the wall of the cubicle to his right, getting the older man’s attention and giving him a stern look.
Covering the mic of his headset with one hand, he frowned at his fellow Dispatcher. “That’s his sixth one this morning, Chase. Don’t think I haven’t been keeping count.”
“Fuck off. He’s like the son I never had, little guy deserves all the treats in the world.” The older man retorted, bending down to very clearly give Beef his seventh treat of however many more he was going to get today.
“I’ve been replaced by my own pet.” Robert grumbled, a smile playing at his lips even as he shook his head at his friend’s antics.
“Damn right you have. He’s better than you and everyone else on this stupid planet combined.”
Realizing it was futile to argue with Chase about this, Robert resigned himself to the fact that Beef was inevitably going to gain a pound or two since he started working at SDN and spun back to his monitor.
“Alright, Meredith Brooks,” Robert addressed Flambae over the comms, clicking his mouse to scan the information from a fresh call. “How about you divine some inspiration to unclog Mr. Stepherson’s toilet.” Yes, he could have sent literally anyone else. No, he wasn’t going to.
“That one was actually kinda funny, damn!” Prism cackled, not at all coming to her bestie’s rescue.
“You’re dead. Like, actually, so dead.” Despite his very clear misgivings, Flambae’s icon was heading dutifully over to the location the Dispatcher had sent him the coordinations to.
“Only on the inside.”
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Several other calls poured in within the hour, nearly all of which his team tackled rather seamlessly - minus one or two instances of Waterboy’s nerves getting the best of him and causing two separate instances of his teammate’s falling on their asses - the day wasn’t going too poorly overall.
In the beginning, when Blonde Blazer had given him the ultimatum of choosing one of the ex-cons to kick from the team and replace with someone else, Robert had stubbornly refused because despite what he had seen from them all he believed there was something better inside of all of them. He had been proven right, and though they weren’t the most successful or renowned team on the board, pride bloomed in his chest when he thought about how far they had all come over the past several weeks.
Somewhere along the way, with minimal pep-talking, they had all begun to function and operate as a proper team. With that new functionality came more suggested changes from Blonde Blazer and, really, Robert could understand the push from higher-ups to chase this success and integrate more people onto the team.
Phenomaman had been an obvious choice; Robert’s fear that the god-like superhero was going to blow up the sun with nothing to do aside, his success rate was much higher than anyone else on the Z-Team and his experience was undeniable. Sure, he could get into depressed slumps and Robert swore he could still feel the ache in his joints from the last time the large, insanely muscled man had gripped his entire body into what some people might call a hug but other people might call the equivalent to being hit by a semi-truck, but he was getting better and most importantly was probably too busy to consider thinking about plunging all of Earth in permanent darkness anymore.
Waterboy hadn’t been first and foremost in his mind, not at first, but he had pursued his job as the office’s janitor with such an eager willingness to be of service that Robert couldn’t help but be compelled to want something more fulfilling for him, too.
Blonde Blazer had given him a look when he brought up not wanting to choose between them to her, like he was insane for practically doubling the amount of work he had to put in to make the Z-Team as great as he hoped - but he knew each and every single one of them were more than what others expected from a bunch of ex-super villains, a hero with a public breakup and a young man with a power that people put down more often than not.
Even him. A Mecha Man who didn’t die when he should have, a disappointment to a large group of people and maybe even to his father and grandfather who had come before him. If he could get back up after all of that, do some good even outside of the suit, who’s to say these people didn’t deserve the chance to prove the exact same point.
Coming from different walks of life didn’t mean they all couldn’t head in the right direction together, especially now that they had the external support needed to realize they had the option to begin with.
“U-uhm,” Waterboy’s comm crackling to life took Robert out of his thoughts, and he immediately honed in on the stuttering hero’s location. “C-Could I get- I kinda- I kinda need some h-h… help here?”
Robert’s eyebrows furrowed. He had sent the younger man on a relatively simple mission, trying to boost his confidence by letting him deal with one alone, but maybe it had been a little too soon. “Talk to me, Waterboy. What’s going on?” He kept his voice as soothing as he could as he concentrated on pinging the only other hero available at the moment to be at the ready for an assist.
“S.. Sorry for the-for me-for the. Bother, sorry for the bother,” Herman stammered out. “Uh- the. The uh, person? Haunte- haunted… home. Uh..”
Some of the tension released from the Dispatcher’s shoulders. “Let me guess,” Beef tottered around back to Robert’s cubicle and was settling near his feet. “She’s not believing you that the place isn’t haunted?”
Silence from the other end for a moment, like Waterboy was trying to shuffle out of earshot of the client. “I-.. I.. Think.. It might be..?” He offered, hesitantly.
Robert stifled a sigh, not wanting to dishearten one of the newer additions to the team, but also not really having the energy to argue with two people who were convinced someplace was haunted. “Prism,” He switched to the illusionist. “Can you help him out, please?”
Prism didn’t bother hiding her sigh like Robert had. “Really, Mecha-Bitch?” But before the Dispatcher could cajole her into listening to him, she was already on the move. “Fine, but never say I never did nothing for you.”
“I’m forever in your debt, here.” Robert snarked back, watching his screen as the other heroes trickled in from their various tasks and missions and wandered back to the breakroom area.
Finally, the ping of success heralded the end of their slew of missions and the beginning of their lunch break.
“Waterboy, Prism, great work.”
“Duh!”
“T-th.. thank… y-you!”
Robert took off the headset and bent down to give Beef a scratch under the chubby dog’s chin. “Has uncle Chase been spoiling you rotten, hm?” He cooed down at his pet before a twinge in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t consumed anything but a cup of coffee that was only half-downed and left to cool on his desk.
“Come on, buddy, let’s take a break.”
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Robert opened the door to the breakroom with Beef following dutifully at his heels, coffee mug in hand as he instinctively headed over to the pot for a refill. Whoever used it last had turned the heat off, for whatever reason, so the entire pot was cold. Filling his cup anyway, he turned to the microwave with the intention of reheating it there only to notice it already being in use.
“Sorry, Bob, I was in the mood for hot rat.” Sonar was sitting at a table with Punch-Up and Coupé, not looking very apologetic at all - but at least he took accountability and owned up to using the company microwave for a meal that was going to stink up the breakroom for a couple weeks at least.
Malevola and Golem weren’t anywhere in the building, having left together for world-famous, reality-defying burritos of some kind that Malevola had been excited to try all weekend. Invisigal liked to eat outside, typically, or maybe she was off tormenting Blonde Blazer somewhere.
Waterboy had made the mistake of asking if Phenomaman was okay on the way back into the building and probably wouldn’t be released from that existential crisis for.. awhile.
“-I’m just saying, you could totally tap that.” Prism and Flambae were sitting at the other table, Robert catching the end of whatever the illusionist had been saying to her flamethrower of a best friend. For some reason, Flambae tensed up and growled something undecipherable under his breath to Prism, who threw up her hands in a frustrated gesture before, apparently, dropping whatever point she had.
Robert got closer and set his mug on the table the two were sitting at so that he wasn’t lingering near the smell radiating from the microwave. Would he even want to use it to reheat his coffee after that monstrosity was done cooking?
Rat coffee, coffee rat. I’ve had worse. It was only a little depressing that he cared about himself so little that he was willing to risk drinking a beverage that might taste like microwaved rat just for the sake of coffee.
“Did you manage to convince Waterboy that the place wasn’t haunted? Or was it just the client.” The Dispatcher addressed Prism with amusement, not having gotten an update from either of them when he was notified the mission was a success.
Prism scoffed, adjusting the way her sunglasses sat on the bridge of her nose. “No,” She leaned back in the chair she was sitting in, posture picture perfect just the way she liked to be. “Wetboy is still convinced he saw something skulking around but I checked. Twice- no, three times because both of them were so scared of something being there.”
Robert chuckled, looking back to stare at the microwave as it continued to spin. How long does a rat take to heat up? He really hoped that thing wasn’t about to explode; he might hate himself, but he didn’t hate himself quite enough to put his coffee mug in a microwave coated in hot rat guts.
“Yeah, he’s.. He’s got character.” The Dispatcher said, graciously ignoring the way Flambae seemed to be glaring holes into his coffee mug. Maybe he should move it before the other man decides to grab it and throw it at his head in revenge for what he now deems “the noodle incident”.
Prism set her elbows on the table, glancing from Robert to Flambae for a moment before her gaze presumably landed solely on the auburn-haired man - it was a little hard to tell, what with her sunglasses and all. “Oh, that boy’s a character alright. He’s funny as hell to watch slip around, though. Kinda cute in a weird, wet, naked cat kind of way?” Her face scrunched up as she spoke, like the comparison she just made was unsettling even though she had been the one to say it herself. “Ew.”
“Still, thanks for not treating him too shittily. I think the kid’s got potential.” Robert murmured, genuinely grateful that some of the antagonistic comments from his team had lessened towards Waterboy. They really were good people, deep down.
“Microwave’s free, Rob-Bob!” Sonar opened the door to the machine, a putrid wave of burnt rat seeping out into the breakroom as he left it hanging open in favor of swallowing his lunch down in one go.
Good people. Deep, deep, deep down. He had to keep reminding himself of that.
“Did you not bring any food with you, lad?” Punch-Up seemed relatively unbothered by the smell in the surrounding area, staring up at him with a raised eyebrow and what seemed like very mild concern.
Robert turned away from Prism and Flambae’s table to grimace in his other coworker’s direction. “I don’t think I wanna risk whatever disease that microwave is going to give me, now.” He didn’t mention that no, he actually didn’t have any lunch with him. Fortunately, maybe his appetite will be ruined permanently now because of the smell currently assaulting his nostrils.
“You would most-likely survive, but not remain unaltered afterwards.” Coupé offered, sharing an amused look with Punch-Up as Sonar started to protest that it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“It was a clean rat! I swear!” The hybrid sat back down, trying desperately to defend his lunch to his other two coworkers, who proceeded to take turns insulting each type of lunch Sonar had ever brought into work over the past week alone.
Robert shook his head, bemused but not interested in getting involved in that mess, turning back to where he left his mug and reaching out for it - room temperature coffee wasn’t the worst thing in the world, after all.
Except, when his hand curled around the cup, it was much warmer to the touch than it had been previously. Eyebrows scrunching up in confusion, Robert took a sniff of the coffee like maybe it had gotten haunted instead of that last caller’s house. Brown eyes flickered up to where Prism and Flambae had been sitting, the question he wanted to ask clear but resolutely unsaid.
“Don’t look at me,” Prism lifted her hands, even though Robert hadn’t even considered accusing her of anything. “I-” Flambae coughed something under his breath, glaring at Prism who glared back for one, tense second before she sighed. “We did nothing.”
“.. Right.” Robert nodded, taking a sip of his coffee - it was hot; still shitty office coffee that was hopefully not poisoned, but hot. “Thanks for nothing, then, I guess.” With another sip to emphasize the 'nothing', he gave a pointed stare into the side of Flambae’s profile, the dark-haired man very obviously not looking back at him.
Beef had already started to walk out of the breakroom, clearly bored with the lack of snacks being offered to him here and most-likely about to go be rewarded for his existence by Chase back at the cubicles. Robert swiveled around on his heel and walked after his dog, warming his hands with his mug of steaming, rat-free coffee.
Notes:
I have no idea what I'm doing, I can only hope and pray this somehow turns into a coherent story. I will get to the gay stuff I swear
Chapter 3
Summary:
“You should get on the floor, Mecha-bitch.”
A pause.
“I’m sorry?” Robert blinked, thoroughly off-kilter as he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you just going to jump straight into a workout without stretching or nothing? You’re dumber than you look, Mecha-dick.” Flambae snorted, like he was being the reasonable one essentially telling his coworker to drop to the ground in front of him. “You need to prepare your body so it doesn’t fail on you,” He smirked. “Y’know.. Again, and stuff.”
And that.. Wasn’t wrong, actually.
Or:
Another homoerotic gym scene, paired with some realizations from our two boys!
Notes:
And here's chapter three! A little bit delayed, I'm so sorry, but I hope it's worth it!
I'm planning on there being five chapters, so two more to go!
Again, the love and support this fic has gotten is so shocking every single time but I appreciate all the comments - they make my day!!
A big thank you to my partner for reading this one over; he doesn't know like, anything about Dispatch but he's a big supporter - what a trooper! Everyone say thank you Malachi for cheering me on and for convincing me to add smut to chapter five.As you can tell, this isn't exactly following canon so much as I'm picking and choosing what I want - but the fic's timeline will end before the events of episode 7-8, because I'm avoiding heavy angst and the overall story of Dispatch isn't what this story in particular is about! If people still tolerate my writing by the end of this fic, I might end up working on some more things, however. :)
Chapter Text
Settling back into his chair for the second half of the Z-Team’s shift, Robert couldn’t help but groan as he settled into the cushion, his back and hips protesting from the oh-so tasking movement of sitting down.
“Damn, Rob, who do you got under your desk making you sound like that?” Courtney’s giggle was the first of many he heard overwhelming the com-line, the others following suit quickly after and interjecting comments of their own.
Malevola was one of the other voices he could pick out from the clogged comms, her accent lilting with the entertainment the Z-Team so easily got from ragging on Robert. “Maybe he doesn’t have anyone and he’s just jerking it alone.”
Punch-Up was next, laughter making parts of his sentence practically incomprehensible. “Woah, Robertson! Have a little respect for the workplace!”
Robert’s forehead and his desk had a very friendly meeting as he thunked his head down and swallowed down the urge to scream.
“Hilarious, everyone. Glad my pain can be misconstrued as sexy noises, that makes me feel super great about myself and totally doesn’t say anything about your guys’ experiences.”
“Wait, pain?” Malevola again, only this time she wasn’t laughing. “Did someone jump you when we weren’t looking?”
That would imply his team were spying on him more than he was aware of, which he wasn’t sure how to feel about. Then again, the concern was sweet.
Invisigal snickered. “No, he’s just some guy with the body of an old man,” She explained, which- rude. Accurate, but rude. “Dude’s always in some kind of pain, I’m surprised you haven’t croaked on us earlier, honestly.”
Robert cleared his throat, not really wanting to hear what the rest of the team had to say about his body at this current time - or any time, really. The flat ass comments were about as much as he could tolerate on a good day.
“Yeah, yeah. Can you guys do your jobs, now, or do you need me to regale you with stories of how my bones constantly ache and how most of my muscles feel like they’ve been put through a meat grinder to bore you into doing the one thing you clocked in this morning to do?” His head hurt with the vague inclination of a budding migraine, not solely because of this topic but he was all-too glad to pin the blame on the conversation.
The comms were quiet for several minutes after his irritated response, but he didn’t hold onto much hope that the others weren’t preparing themselves to barrage him with another onslaught of insulting comments.
“Bro,” Golem was the first one to break the silence. “You should get one of those things chicks use on their periods.”
“You mean a heating pad?” Prism clarified.
“Yup.”
“That’s not only for women, baby, plenty of people use ‘em.”
“Yeah, old people.”
“Shut up, Courtney.” Malevola said, rather harmlessly. “You think it’d help, though?”
Robert blinked in surprise at his team’s icons as they continued to discuss the merits of various different kinds of pain support they could think of. He was expecting to be put down more for his admittance, and part of him felt both guilty at the incorrect conclusion he had been eager to jump onto on account of his coworkers past behavior, while another felt distinctly uncomfortable with the fact that this inherent weakness of his that he hated so fastidiously was a self-inflicted monologue that might not necessarily be based in how the people around him, and theoretically the ones closest to him, actually viewed the issue.
Huh.
“Y’know, Rob, I’m pretty warm myself,” Malevola’s voice chimed up again. “I could hug you every-so often throughout the day, like a portable heater.”
Before the Dispatcher had a chance to respond to that embarrassing thought- he’d love some pain relief, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about the imagery of being squeezed to death at random points during the day by a 6’6 demon with a giant sword- the conversation was abruptly interrupted by Flambae’s disbelieving scoff.
“Heating pads, you serious? Those things are like, so lame,” He grumbled, clearly put-out by something. Maybe it was the mention of a lesser heat source, or maybe it was the fact that they were talking about Robert, who he ostensibly still viciously hated. “They’re like, an insult. Barely even work.”
“Yeah, well, they might work for someone who isn’t on fire all of the time, maybe?” Courtney jut in. “And I hate to say it, I really do, but you’re all the way on the other side of town right now so I think I can get away with it-” A brief pause in preparation for what she was going to say. “You sound jealous, man.”
Robert cradled his aching head in his hands. God, when would this shift end?
Another vague noise of dissent sounded from Flambae’s com-line. “What, jealous of a stupid heating pad? I’m so much better at being hot in all senses of the word. I don’t need to be ‘jealous’ of an inanimate object. I’m like, so amazing like that.”
Invisigal was laughing, sounding out of breath from the sheer force of her amusement at this conversation. “No, dude! You’re so totally-”
“As enriching as this talk is, there’s a bank robbery on Main street.” Robert interjected before Invisigal could get herself in trouble. The temptation to write his whole team up was a strong one on a typical day, but she liked to test his patience the most. “Which means, get to work.”
“Robert Robertson,” Phenomaman suddenly spoke up, having probably spent the last several minutes of his recovering state being confused about this topic and why Robert was, apparently, so fragile. Human’s inherent weakness in comparison to himself seemed to bewilder him, so it made sense that Robert’s condition would inspire more bafflement. “If heat is such a valuable asset, perhaps I could hold you in my arms and fly you close to the sun. Would that help?”
The Dispatcher paused, considering. “Well, I would die. So, in a way, it might.”
As his team rushed to tie up the bank robbery in a timely manner, the chatter on the lines-thankfully-shifted away from Robert and mostly faded in the background of Robert’s focus.
Flambae didn’t say a word for the rest of the shift.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The rest of the week passed by in a blur.
After the failure of the suit test that had landed Robert in the medical ward and had decimated Royd’s faith in himself to complete the repairs successfully, that part of his journey to becoming Mecha Man had severely stalled - it was only a matter of time before Royd picked himself up and stopped blaming himself for a disaster Robert didn’t even count as one; the fact that someone was this dedicated to returning him to his role as Mecha Man touched on an emotion the former hero didn’t have the ability to explain to himself, yet. But until Royd decided he was ready to keep trying, Robert was.. Oddly content to pour himself into dispatching and maintaining his bond with the Z-team.
There had been bumps, sure. But he knew more about them all then he could have ever pictured himself knowing before; with the exception of Flambae, they had all let him know the real them and he had spent more time with them outside of work than he expected to find enjoyable. Their names, their hobbies outside of villainous pastimes, even their favorite colors had become important information for Robert - he actually held more fondness for all of them than he was willing to admit just yet, but somehow he had a feeling that they thought the same of him.
Even Flambae had been less snippy towards him on calls, quiet in a way that could potentially have been concerning if Prism didn’t seem too bothered by it. The Dispatcher had nearly embarrassed himself, catching the icon herself right after a shift to quietly prompt her on the flaming hero’s wellbeing, only to have her point directly in his face and cackle almost-evilly.
Robert blinked at the finger nearly pressing against his nose, beyond confused. “Sorry. What’s funny?” He asked, not pushing away the appendage out of respect for his team member, but hoping that one of her perfectly filed nails didn’t end up in his eye somehow.
“Oh, Mr. Dispatcher, don’t worry about a damn thing,” Prism grinned at him, hand shifting to pat at his cheek in a way that could have been construed as condescending but Robert could tell from the endeared expression on the idol’s face that she didn’t wholly mean it like that. “I’ve got some money on the line here, alright? You behave yourself now.”
And then she had left, and his questions about Flambae and on how many bets were currently being placed for things he didn’t even want to know about went unanswered.
Outside of that weird moment in the parking lot with Prism, the only drama in his life had been the intensity of the calls he sent his team on - the Red Ring had become a much more prevalent issue, with smaller crime groups coming out of the woodworks to play a hand in making nearly every shift an exhausting hell for everyone, Robert included.
It felt like they were getting to something big, something they needed to be prepared for, and despite his contentment at being the Z-team’s dispatcher, he was starting to get antsy with the urge to do more. Be more.
After another exhausting shift, Robert waved off invitations from some of his coworkers to go out to one of the dwindling amounts of bars that would still serve them, claiming he had some work to catch up on. Which wasn’t the whole truth, but they didn’t push him.
“You live here or something, now? When are you gonna drag your skinny, sorry ass home?” Chase chided him from his cubicle, already packed up and ready to go for the night. The sunset gleamed through the windows, casting the older man in a warm sort of light that Robert thought suited him, despite the insults currently being cast his way.
That was their love language for as long as the auburn-haired man could remember; his first and only babysitter-bully combo had been Chase, the speedster having been the only constant presence in his life. His father’s absence was like a presence in of itself, but with Chase there it had been bearable, livable.
“Got something I need to do, first,” Robert shrugged, still seated but rolling back a bit from his desk so he could watch Chase bend down to lift Beef in his arms and coo nonsensical noises to the dog. “If I can’t work on the suit, I might as well work on myself.” He sighed, the aching joints of his knees and the sharp pain in his ankles already not looking forward to the punishment he was going to subject them to.
Chase eyed him, a frown deepening the wrinkles on his aged expression. “If you worked any harder on yourself, there wouldn’t be anything left of you, boy.” He snapped. “Are you just trying to avoid that pathetically sad chair of yours you call a bed? Or are you just avoiding your own mind.” The retired hero squinted, mustache twitching like he couldn’t decide between smiling at his own quip or frowning to maintain that faux frustration he had with his former charge. It was worry and they both knew it, so there was no point in saying it outright.
Robert chuckled, the sound faint to his own ears. “Pretty deep thinking, old man.” WIth a sigh, he leaned his head back on the chair and rubbed his hands down his face. His legs throbbed; even sitting down all day did nothing to dispel the dull ache that increased to a sharp pain every time he put weight on them. He could still walk without a limp, at least it hadn’t gotten that bad this week, but it wasn’t the enjoyable sort of pain regardless. “I just.. I need to do something, Chase.” He finished, lamely.
“You do plenty, dumbass. Or what, is saving dozens of lives while also repairing the integrity of your team of even dumber dumbasses not good enough for you anymore?” His friend retorted, but it lacked heat. Chase was concerned about Robert, had been ever since Robbie Robertson had pulled him aside and asked him to take care of his kid when he was too busy to. Which had been nearly all the time. “The world isn’t going to fall apart just because it ain’t all on your shoulders, kid.”
Robert gave Chase a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. If all of that weight wasn’t on his shoulders, what use did he even have? “Mind taking him home for me, giving him dinner?” He nodded in Beef’s direction, reaching out to give his dog some love. The black and white pooch gave a bark, tongue lolling out happily to finally be getting some attention from his owner. “I don’t want to keep him waiting longer than he has to, but I need to..” The Dispatcher trailed off for a moment, lost in thought. “I just need to do something with myself.”
Chase grinned. “Don’t go jerking off in the men’s room stalls, fucko. It’s a public place, have some respect.” While Robert rolled his eyes in response to that totally original comment, he shifted the weight of Beef in his arms so he could pull one hand out and settle it on the younger man’s shoulder. “It ain’t a hardship on me to take care of him,” Chase tilted his head so he connected his gaze with Robert’s, eyebrows lifting with a significant look. “Just like it ain’t a hardship on me to take care of you. Give yourself that.”
Because he knew Robert was going to argue, Chase gave his shoulder one final pat before walking away and bringing Beef with him.
If Robert stayed seated at his desk, staring at nothing, for longer than necessary to get his legs operating again- well, no one was around to see.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back at the gym, Robert made the foolish mistake of thinking he’d be alone again.
It had started out normally enough - while some stragglers still remained in the building, finishing up work, there really wasn’t a reason that anyone would be populating the gym after a shift on a Friday night. The fact that he thought about being alone was indication enough that he wasn’t going to be - because the world revolved around making Robert’s life harder than it had to be.
Maybe I need therapy, Robert thought, pausing in the entrance as his gaze connected with the one other person standing smack dab in the center of the room. Or to be euthanized.
“What are you doing here?”
Flambae, unlike the second time the two had run into each other here, was still in his suit. His arms were crossed over the deep vee cut out of the material, staring Robert down like he knew he was going to show up.
Which, weird. Maybe the Z-team was stalking him; he thought back to when he had spoken to Sonar the other day, when the hybrid had clearly been futzing about with his phone. Were they keeping tabs on him for some reason? Updating each other on his whereabouts?
“I should be asking you the same thing, bitch.” Flambae finally responded after glaring him down for a long, drawn out moment of silence.
Whether or not Flambae was in on this theory Robert was concocting, he didn’t have the energy to fight with his coworker. He just wanted to get light exercise in, ignore the pain he was experiencing enough to exhaust him completely so he could sleep tonight - the chair was all he had, but even it felt soft on his limbs when he overworked himself enough.
“I’m sorry, do you own the gym now? Last time I checked this was still SDN property,” He drawled, moving closer to the center of the room because that’s where the mats were, not because Flambae happened to be standing on them. “I’ll just be here for a little bit, man; you can ignore me.”
Snorting, the dark-haired man uncrossed his arms, stance shifting so that he was, once again, invading the shorter man’s personal space.
Maybe they’re all touch starved. I hope this isn’t some psychological thing I need to figure out. Robert thought, a little resigned as he tilted his head up to make eye contact with Flambae.
See, despite all of the flame-hero’s bravado and general obstinance, the Dispatcher had him beat when it came to maintaining eye contact. Ever since their first “gym moment”, as Robert had taken to dubbing these recurring nightmares, Flambae’s gaze tended to wander, skittering to somewhere around Robert’s chin-for some, unplaceable reason- back to his eyes again.
Case in point, those fiery eyes dipped down for a brief moment before flickering up.
“You should get on the floor, Mecha-bitch.”
A pause.
“I’m sorry?” Robert blinked, thoroughly off-kilter as he raised an eyebrow.
“Are you just going to jump straight into a workout without stretching or nothing? You’re dumber than you look, Mecha-dick.” Flambae snorted, like he was being the reasonable one essentially telling his coworker to drop to the ground in front of him. “You need to prepare your body so it doesn’t fail on you,” He smirked. “Y’know.. Again, and stuff.”
And that.. Wasn’t wrong, actually. Robert had been a solo hero, for the most part, very rarely teaming up with other heroes and even less frequently training with them - essentially never, unless you counted sending Trackstar to buy you Twinkies as a training exercise. Stretching made sense, sure, but was something he rarely did outside of physical therapy when he had been able to afford it; he hadn’t cared about warming up, only wanting-needing to push himself until he saw results. Now that he thought about it, that was really, really stupid.
“You’re right,” Robert hummed, noting the surprised shift to Flambae’s expression. “Are you going to help me with that too?” He suggested, pretty much entirely kidding.
“That’s why I said get on the floor, idiot-” The other man snapped, sentence cutting off as he watched the Dispatcher drop down while still maintaining bemused eye contact. Hot air escaped his nostrils as he huffed, amber gaze flashing.
“Okay, I’m on the floor now. Where do we start?” Robert’s mouth was tilted into a lopsided grin as he watched his coworker’s hands clench at his sides, seemingly at a loss for how to respond to his compliance. He hated himself, sure, but considering how Flambae had helped him a couple times now in this exact type of scenario, he wasn’t above listening to someone who clearly knew more about this sort of thing.
Silently, the flame-powered hero got to his knees before Robert and motioned for him to lay back. With a brief hesitance to his obedience, Flambae had the other man with his spine pressing into the floor of the gym, his hands like scorching brands of heat as one gripped onto his knee and the other glued itself to his thigh.
“The fuck-” Robert’s head slammed back onto the mat underneath him, eyes practically popping out of his head as he stared at the ceiling. Flambae’s hands were searing, grip unyielding as he suddenly pushed the leg in his hands back until the top of Robert’s thigh was pressed into his stomach and he was hovering over the smaller man, the open design of his suit making it so the hair on his chest was practically shoved into Robert’s face. “Oh. Wow.”
The heat from the taller man’s hands bubbled over his skin, permeating through the material of the shorts he had changed into before heading here, the positioning Flambae had him in a brief strain on his ligaments before it immediately melted into a soothing, pulsing warmth. It felt amazing, years of torn muscle and scar tissue that had knotted up in an overbearing sense of pain he could never get rid of dully throbbing away into a distant thought in the back of his mind as Flambae’s hands gingerly shifted their grip on his knee and calf, a vague notion of a massaging gesture.
“You’re pathetic,” Flambae spat down at him, but the words fell flat. His eyes were fiery pools of pure concentration, all of his focus blistering down to the man he had pinned to the ground. “Mecha-bitch never learned how to stretch himself properly, hm?” He grunted, pushing Robert’s leg further upwards as his hands lowered just slightly, one of them clasping beneath the Dispatcher’s thigh to better maintain the position.
Robert swallowed down a gasp as his hip popped, tension seeping out of his frame despite the strenuous posture and fucking weird situation he was in. Distantly, his subconscious mind was racing with thoughts of how nice it would feel to have that heat pressed to the different sections of his body that gave him the most trouble; his neck felt pinched, shoulders crying out for the same relief his calves and knees were receiving.
It felt like dangerous territory for reasons he didn’t know where to start unpacking, but Robert allowed himself to sigh and didn’t protest when Flambae’s heavier frame inevitably pushed him more firmly into the mat. “If I’m so pathetic, why are you doing all this?” He shot back, eyes stubbornly snagging onto Flambae’s.
The gnawing, biting, clawing protests every muscle and tendon in his body subjected him to every single day, the pins and needles, the numbness in spots that occasionally flared to life like a wildfire on his worst days - all of it felt dulled, like a shout from a different room he could tune out so much easier now. Even on his best days, the ones he got a somewhat normal amount of sleep, ate more than a protein bar and a cup of coffee, allowed himself the privilege of downing ibuprofen- even those, the creak of his joints and the pounding in his head were a constant companion. Now, even though there was still the taut line of his spine, his head still felt heavier than it should on account of his neck straining to keep it upright so he could preserve eye contact with Flambae, his shoulders felt stiff - the near-excessive heat pouring off of the other man was a soothing balm he didn’t even know he needed this badly.
“Maybe I like seeing how pathetic you are,” Flambae growled, his mangled hand wandering to Robert’s other leg and giving it the same treatment as the first, practically bending his Dispatcher in half and self-satisfied smirk only growing as the action dragged a grunt from that sarcastic mouth of his. “It’s like a release, for me, you see. Because I’m so much better than you,” He leaned forward a little more, almost completely over Robert now, casting those brown eyes of his in the shadow of his own body. “This is where you belong, Robo-bitch; taking my help, needing me to show you how lost you really are.”
Bit uncalled for. Robert thought to himself, hands scrabbling for purchase on the mat as Flambae abruptly released one of his legs to finish stretching the other one. God. This asshole’s hands shouldn’t feel this… He huffed out a noise of pain at a particularly rough knot on his calf was worked out by Flambae’s wandering thumb, the digit pressing harshly into the spot like he could sense it there and it offended him that something else aside from him was causing Robert problems. For all his faults, and for how much of a pain in the ass he was, Flambae was good with his hands.
“Sounds like you’ve got some psychological issues to work on.” The Dispatcher’s eyes screwed shut and he let out a breath of relief as the knot released, muscles loosening and relaxing in Flambae’s grip as the hero finally-unfortunately-released his legs and shuffled backwards.
Flambae stared down at him wordlessly for a minute, eyes blazing with something as they roamed over Robert’s frame, lingering on the casual slump to the Dispatcher’s body, the open expression someone wore when something heavy had finally been lifted off of them- in this case, Robert’s chronic pain. Realization swam in the amber depths of his gaze, lips parting to reveal the gap in his line of teeth as he readied to speak.
“You-”
“Holy shite!”
Whatever Flambae was about to say got interrupted by the Dublin croak of the ex-carny as Punch-Up, who had apparently had the same idea as Robert had and was going to take advantage of the empty gym, stopped in his tracks and pointed directly at them, mouth agape and eyes wide.
Robert groaned as he forced himself to sit up, something in his core feeling doused in freezing water as Flambae retreated and whirled around to glare down at Punch-Up. He took his scathing warmth with him the more distance he took away from Robert and put towards his other coworker, striding to the shorter man with a low hiss.
“You weren’t supposed to be here, shitface.” The dark-haired man jabbed a finger in Punch-Up’s face, the action somewhat comical as he had to bend down not-insignifigantly to do so.
Wait, what?
“Oh shit, is it Friday?” Punch-Up glanced at his wrist, seemingly realizing he didn’t have a watch and, even if he did it wouldn’t tell him what day of the week it was, and then grinned up at Flambae. It was hard to tell if the Irishman was agitating Flambae purposefully, or if he just didn’t care when being faced with the much taller man’s ire and was thick-headed enough for it to work. Honestly, it could very well be both. “Sorry, lad.” He didn’t sound very sorry, eyes gleaming with interest as he glanced over to Robert, who was still sitting on the ground.
Flambae stood in the way of Punch-Up’s view of Robert, preventing the Dispatcher from being able to see his expression nor hear what he suddenly whisper-yelled down to the other man. It sounded angry, but the words weren’t clear.
“Right, right,” Colm sounded like his grin had widened even further, if that was even possible, like something delightful had happened instead of him just happening to walk into the gym at the same time Robert and Flambae had been using it. “I said I was sorry, y’know. I was just here to give Theresa and Susan a little fun, I swear, nothing else.”
“Listen, guys,” Robert’s voice strained on the words as he got himself up, already missing the searing alleviation of Flambae’s hands on him. Not because it was Flambae, but because of how much the heat had helped, of course. I need to get better sleep. I think I’m starting to lose it. “We can all use the gym. It’s huge.”
Punch-Up snickered, glancing up at Flambae as he side-stepped the taller man currently looking like he was about to blow the entire place up. “Sure is, lad,” His grin softened into something more friendly and less mischievous when he turned his focus towards Robert. “Though Flambae here likes having what he wants all to himself.” The strongman’s hands rested on his own hips. “If you know what I’m sayin.”
Robert stared at him with a blank expression, then risked a look at Flambae. Steam was rising from the exposed bits of skin the handmade suit didn’t cover, and it was getting late and- listen, Robert didn’t have it in him to stop a fight breaking out between two of the Z-team members. He’d probably get squished or set on fire somehow and at this point, it was past Beef’s bedtime.
“No clue,” He drawled, already heading towards the locker room doors so he could pick up his work clothes and get out of here. His calves had started to cramp again without Flamba- without the stretching helping tame the discomfort, and when his back started to throb again he decided to call it quits. He’d suffer in his chair for the night and just hope to eventually pass out before the sun rose. “Well, Flambae can fight you for the rights to the gross, sweat-soaked exercise equipment all on his own. I’m done for the night.” If that’s what he had wanted all along, to work out by himself, then Flambae could probably get Punch-Up to leave or just deal with one other person working out at the same time as him.
“Thanks,” Robert tossed over his shoulder to Flambae regardless, ignoring the weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that quelled when some of Flambae’s visible irritation waned at the gratitude shown his way. “See you both on Monday.”
“What are you talking about? We’ll see you tomorrow, lad- oh, he’s gone.” Punch-Up’s voice lowered when he realized Robert hadn’t bothered to stick around for more than a minute after his farewell; the man must be eager to go back to his dog. “Must’ve been desperate to escape you, huh.” He hummed, not flinching when he felt hand slap the top of his head.
“Shut up, bitch.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Robert felt like he was burning alive. Scorching heat lapped from his collarbones to the spread of his shoulders, trailing after a pair of hands wandering across his body, mapping it like they were memorizing every detail. Fingers wrapped around one of his shoulders, the sear of pressure easing the tension hiding beneath the skin there before trailing up to his neck and cupping his jaw. The touch was ginger, but the heat was blistering and the combination had his brain melting into mush.
“Let me take care of you,” An accented voice cooed down at him, sounding sharply familiar but in a way that Robert felt too dazed to address, his head feeling like he was swimming in a pool full of cotton. “There we go.”
Ah, he was dreaming.
A pair of hands, one with all five fingers intact while the other only had three, roamed his wiry frame, palpating each sore spot like they could predict where each one was, like they knew all the ins and outs of Robert’s pain and sought them out to soothe the ache away. It was working, each firm press or gentle graze of a calloused palm had years of taut stress ebbing out of his body. Maybe he was dreaming, or maybe he had actually been killed by the plastic chair in his room after misusing it as a bed all this time, and he had gone to Heaven - or really, really nice Hell.
When those hands gripped his hips tight, thumbs digging into the bone and causing all of the tension to seep from his lower body, Robert felt a sluggish realization that this wasn’t something he should be dreaming about. But it was hard to switch the channel when this one was so appealing, when the disembodied voice spoke so soothingly and the hands were so, so warm as they cradled him like something precious. It felt like unattainable bliss dropped in his lap, and who was he to say no?
A distant thud had him turning his head, the dreamscape around him shifting and brightening briefly before darkening again, like smoke had permeated the area but hadn’t clogged his lungs yet. It smelled deep and rich, like cloves and sandalwood - like something, someone his sleeping consciousness couldn’t drag up the name of.
“Eyes on me, Robert,” And then a heated grip was grabbing at his chin and forcing his gaze upwards. His brown eyes connected with amber ones as Flambae smirked down at him. “Doesn’t this feel better?” The man crooned, leaning down close enough so that they shared the same air. “You want this, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question, it was fact.
Robert would nod, but the grip on his chin was too firm, the all-encompassing heat making his vision swim. Or maybe it was the lack of air- wait, why was it hard to breathe?
The image of Flambae his unconscious mind had conjured suddenly disappeared, replaced by a loud, pounding noise that progressively got closer and closer while Robert became more aware of a heavy pressure on his chest, preventing him from taking deep breaths.
“You DEAD in there, dude? Hello?”
Robert jolted awake as Invisigal’s voice snapped the final thread keeping him from the real world, and he was suddenly made aware of Beef, in all his fat glory, sitting directly in the middle of his chest and staring down at him with all the innocent love in the universe that only a dog could give. The pounding in his head was actually the pounding of the door as Invisigal brutalized the wood with her fists. Dressed in only his underwear and a thin, white shirt, Robert shivered.
“Hold on,” He croaked, throat dry and eyes crusted over with exhaustion as he rolled Beef (gently) off of himself and sat up. Apparently, sometime during the night he had fallen off his chair and had been sleeping directly on the floor. Hence the dog using him as a poor substitute for a pillow, and the fact that his back hurt even worse now. “Hold on!” He repeated, a little more clearly, shuffling to the door with creaks and crackles of protest from his knees, ankles and hips for every step.
“You sure you aren’t dead? You look like shit.” Courtney looked him up and down as he opened the door, one eyebrow ticked up. “Are you just waking up now? It’s like, one in the afternoon.” She pushed past him, inviting herself into his dingy and depressingly-devoid-of-personal-touch apartment.
“It’s Saturday,” Robert’s head turned to follow his coworker as she basically broke into his space, too tired to argue. His excuse was weak, even to his own ears. “I had a late night.” Aka, he couldn’t sleep in his stupid ass chair and had stared at the ceiling all night wishing morphine could be sold over the counter.
Invisigal was crouched on the floor, rubbing Beef’s belly so aggressively that the dog was practically flopping around - but he didn’t seem to mind the rough love, so Robert didn’t discourage her just yet. “Yeah, man, that isn’t any better than any other weird story you’ve told me about your sleeping habits and.. Yeah, pretty much everything else you’ve ever done. You do realize how concerning you sound sometimes, right?”
Before he could think of any kind of retort, the door he was just about to close was suddenly pushed open even further and his face connected with a broad chest.
“Wassup, bruddah!” Royd was smiling down at him as he too pushed past Robert and entered his home.
“Hey, lad!” Colm was next, getting by practically unnoticed in Robert’s surprised daze as the one person breaking into his home suddenly turned into nearly a dozen. Janelle was right behind him, carrying something in her hands that Robert didn’t have time to examine because Malevola picked him up by his arms and carted him into his own apartment with a loud whooping noise.
“Yooo, Bobbie-Bobertson!” Sonar, of course, was practically glued to Malevola’s side, but turned to set something- a lamp? Two lamps? - down on one of the many empty spots on his floor.
“Wh-”
“Didn’t BB tell you?” Courtney popped up next to him, crooking her head to the side. “We’re having a house warming party for you. I told people to bring a lamp, or something.”
They both turned to watch as the rest of the Z-team filtered into the room, including Chase and Blonde Blazer, somehow all of them finding some space to place themselves and the army of lamps brought in with them. Well, there was a couch being set down by Blonde Blazer, someone had brought alcohol, and there was the distinct smell of mozzarella sticks and garlic knots floating in the air, but the lamps did outnumber them.
“I’m in my underwear.” Robert watched his team interact with each other, each of them having come up to him to place a lamp somewhere and give him a greeting or a slap on the back - or a back-breaking squeeze, in Phenomaman’s case. Music was playing softly, undercutting the chatter as everyone spoke amongst one another, but it was a pleasant buzz in his ears rather than an overstimulating one.
“Put some pants on, then, bitch. Nobody wants to see that flat ass of yours.” Flambae’s voice wasn’t loud, but it immediately startled Robert out of the overwhelming busy-ness around him, brown eyes fluttering up to find the other man at his side. He hadn’t even seen him come in.
“I’ll do that.” Robert murmured, unsure if Flambae could even hear him over the sudden outcry for ‘shots! shots! shots!” coming from the rest of the room. He stayed rooted to the spot, however, stuck staring up at Flambae as the vague recollection of the dream he had been startled out of started coming back to him.
One eyebrow raised, the man gave him a sneer. “What, cat got your tongue, bitch?”
“Nah. I’m gonn- I’m going to put pants on.” The Dispatcher swallowed, feeling the back of his neck heat up from Flambae’s gaze alone as he walked past him towards his bedroom.
Fuck.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pants on, and the shock of the sudden appearance of everyone he could consider a “friend” thoroughly processed very normally, Robert could say that this- while a little boundary-crossing- was.. Nice. He leaned against one of his walls, watching as some of the others danced to the music playing from Invisigal’s bluetooth speaker, while others lingered in what could be described as his kitchen.
A smile lingered on his lips as he sipped at one of the beers Golem had snagged from the others to give to him, because apparently even at a housewarming party meant for him he had to fight the others for beer also meant for him. Typical. He couldn’t find it within himself to be annoyed, though, a sense of fondness, pride and the closest thing he’d felt to happiness in a long time sitting comfortably in the center of his chest, like it was always meant to be there he just needed the right people, the right circumstances to let himself feel it.
“Chad.”
Maybe he wasn’t meant to ever experience peace, after all. Robert dragged his gaze away from the others to focus on Flambae, who was cradling his own drink in one of his hands and settling himself to lean on the wall next to Robert. Trepidation lingered between them, teetering on the line of expectant and strained.
“I’m sorry?” That’s a new insult. Makes me miss bitch, actually.
“My name.”
Oh.
Oh.
“You and the others had this whole team bonding without me and- well-” Flambae floundered with his words, dragging the awkward moment out by swallowing a mouthful of his liquor before continuing. “I’m too amazing to be left out, y’know? So, Chad. That’s my name.”
The noise around them dwindled to a faint buzz as Robert turned his upper body to face Flambae- Chad, giving him all of his attention for this moment.
“Nice to meet you, Chad.” Robert smiled up at him, voice soft but audible enough given how close the two of them had gotten.
In typical Flambae fashion, the man’s eyes couldn’t keep contact with Robert’s for very long, dipping lower to - oh, was he staring at his mouth? This whole time?
There wasn’t much time to linger on it, though, because Flambae blustered forward with a mixture of confidence and a sudden eagerness to shift the subject - odd, because usually the man couldn’t get enough of talking about himself.
“What’s your deal, man?”
Oh, okay. Back to sudden spouts of hostile questioning. Cool.
“I don’t follow.”
“You said you were in pain like, all the time.” Nose crinkling, Flambae gave Robert an updown, expression speaking more of his confusion than any actual intention to pick a fight. “You’re a normie; can’t you just like, pop a tylenol or some shit?”
This.. was an odd conversation piece to have while there was a literal party going on around them, but Robert had long since accepted that his team of rejects were going to be weird and so he accepted the questioning- accusation?- with a roll of his shoulders, unsure. “Doesn’t really help much, I guess,” He took a sip of his beer, vaguely aware of the warmth of Flambae at his side seeping closer to him, but not reacting to it despite the way his skin was suddenly thrumming the same way it had in his dream. “It’s pretty much always there.”
Flambae didn’t respond, just kept looking at him like he was expecting him to explain further.
Robert picked at the label on the bottle in his hands, breaking eye contact to examine the repetitive task like it was going to save him from the shame of admitting just how much his physical condition bothered him.
“Being a hero, doing what I did as Mecha Man.. It made it worse, sure, but a lot of this stuff has been around since I was pretty young.” He didn’t look up at Flambae, didn’t want to see what expression the other was wearing. “It’s not always.. Y’know.. Crippling, but there were days back when I was actively doing hero work that sometimes I just.. Couldn’t get up. The suit helped, made it easier,” A rueful smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He took another sip of beer. “But even just dispatching, doing what I do now, it never goes away.”
His head leaned against the wall behind him, eyes casting up towards the ceiling. “I hate when people notice it,” Robert admitted, swallowing his own shame down because he knew it wasn’t serving him to carry around. “But yeah. I’m in pain and not much helps. It’s kinda obvious at this point, huh.”
The Dispatcher risked a glance at his conversation companion, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as he watched Flambae stare holes into the futon that Blonde Blazer had brought as a gift, the only piece of real furniture he actually owned at this point.
“I’m sorry, is this boring you?” He teased, not taking it to heart even if he had been so annoying talking about his pathetic issues that Flambae had been tuning him out to examine the green cover of the couch. “Or are you thinking about setting my futon on fire? Because, if so, please don’t - I haven’t had one of those in years.” Robert joked, but was sort of serious about the couch comment - he really, really couldn’t afford to replace that if it “accidentally” got set on fire, and he really, really didn’t want to sleep in that fucking plastic chair again.
“Fuck off, I was listening,” Flambae muttered, the rest of his alcohol had been downed at some point during the conversation and the glass in his hand had been placed somewhere while Robert wasn’t looking. “You said…” He paused, hesitating, like what he was about to ask held some weight to it. “You said not much helps.” Another pause, terse line to his jaw that told Robert how difficult this sort of thing was for Flambae to talk to him about. “Heat helps, no?”
The Dispatcher tried to give a noncommittal shrug, not really wanting to divulge just what he had noticed from his own experiences with the hero’s hands all over him, how his skin still prickled with the absence of it. “I don-”
“Don’t lie to me.”
That demand caught Robert off guard, and he stared at the other man for a long moment. Right. Somewhere between the time he told the team he was Mecha Man and now, a thought in the back of Robert’s mind was how forgiveness between the two of them for their shared past could be given and received. It was too soon for it to be less than a blip on the radar for either of them, but both of them had been making decisions that could lead to something different.
Honoring his request, Robert dipped his head into a nod. “Yeah. Heat helps.” He hadn’t wanted to lie to his team in the beginning, and he didn’t want to lie to Flambae now. Being honest, even if it was shameful, even if he had no idea why Flambae would want to know this information about him - it was important, somehow. Significant.
When Flambae didn’t respond, once again falling silent, Robert went from taking a step in the right direction to leaping in another without knowing where it was going to take him. His mouth had a mind of its own, it seemed.
“Listen, man,” He started, staring intently up at his teammate. “I don’t regret doing what I did. I was doing my job.” Robert could only hope, for the sake of his jaw and the tenuous understanding the two had between them, that this wasn't crossing a line he couldn't come back from. “But, I was born to be Mecha Man - I was born to be a hero until I died as one. It was my life, my purpose; I grew up knowing that and prepared myself for it.”
Flambae’s head jerked to face him more directly, but Robert continued on before he could interrupt him - he needed to get this out before he got clocked in the face again.
“You, obviously, weren’t raised the same way. You had different opportunities given to you, you did what you did as a result of that, and I think that must have been.. hard,” The intensity of the other man’s gaze was almost too much, but Robert didn’t flinch as he met the amber eyes head on. “But. Despite all that, and despite not always having the best intentions for doing what you do,” Like climbing up the ranks by putting out his own fires, most notably. “You chose this for yourself. You chose differently, despite the shitty cards you got dealt, and that's more than most would do.”
Robert smiled, a little tentatively, like he wasn’t allowed to direct that expression fully towards Flambae - not yet, not until whatever this was between them was something they could accept. “What I’m saying is, you’re a good man.”
Flambae remained silent, practically frozen in place as Robert’s words fully sunk into him. His eyes were widened just slightly, hands clenching and unclenching at his side like he was internally debating on whether to use them to pummel Robert or - do something else with them.
“You care about the team, that much is obvious. You’ve come a long way since I first started working at SDN, that’s for sure,” Robert continued on, undeterred by the other man’s quiet, shellshocked stare. “I’m proud of you- of all of you, obviously. But I wanted you to know that.” He meant that seriously. It was important to him that Flambae knew that Robert was proud of him, that deep down, he didn’t care what he did all those years ago and that, despite not regretting what he himself did in return, it still wasn’t something he was proud of himself for. He wouldn’t want to repeat that damage, to hurt Flambae again even if it was in some kind of different way.
“And I won’t lie to you. Not again.” Robert finally dropped his gaze, unsure how to keep going but not knowing how to stop himself. “I know you probably don’t want to hear it from me, of all people, but-”
“Thank you.”
It was barely audible, but Robert was so attuned to Flambae that he picked up on it regardless. His eyes fluttered back upwards, connecting with Flambae’s before the other man looked away, grimacing like he tasted something sour.
“Put your fucking brown eyes away, bitch, now is not the time.” He muttered.
Robert frowned, unsure if the beer he drank was really affecting him that much or if Flambae’s fourth shot of the night was affecting him to the point of nonsense.
“.. Huh?” He said, eloquently, squinting in confusion.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, one ‘thank you’ is all you will ever- and I mean ever be getting from me, Robert Robertson,” Flambae jabbed a finger in his face, then lightly pushed it into his cheek so that Robert’s expression was tilted away from him. “And blink once in awhile, yeah? It’s like you’ve got some sort of.. Staring… condition.. Where you.. Stare- just shut up, okay?” The man spluttered, moment apparently over as he continued to grumble incoherently to himself, separating himself from the wall he had been leaning up against to go look for Prism somewhere in the apartment.
Robert glanced down at the empty beer bottle in his hand, feeling the warmth Flambae had brought with him fade away and the noise of the party around him swell up in volume now that his focus had left the other man.
“I’m surprised he didn’t hit you.”
Malevola sidled up to the spot Flambae had vacated, offering him another beer. Robert took it, hand slipping on the condensation on the neck of the bottle but thankfully keeping it in his grasp.
“.. Me too, actually.” Robert took a sip, watching Prism grab Flambae by the shoulders and shake him around while exclaiming something animatedly - but not loudly enough for him to hear the words.
An amused sound drew his attention back to his other coworker, Malevola staring him down with an observant, sharp look in her eyes.
“Yknow, it’s a little funny,” She started, looking away from Robert and somewhere off to the side. After a second, Robert realized she was staring at Sonar from across the room, the hybrid having shoved two beer bottles in his mouth while trying to chug them both, actively being encouraged by Punch-Up and Invisigal. “When I first met Sonar, I honestly didn’t really like him.” But the look in her eyes was so fond, Robert felt himself looking away, like he was intruding if he observed the emotion for too long. “He was super, super difficult to work with.”
“What, like he still isn’t?”
Malevola laughed loudly, putting her hand on Robert’s shoulder and squeezing. “No, he absolutely is a bitch to work with sometimes; I’m saying this as a sponsor and a friend.” She agreed with him. “But I would die for him, and he’d do the same for me. Even if it was rocky at first.”
Robert didn’t know what point she was trying to make, but nodded along anyway. This was good information to know; he liked learning more about his team, even when the things they told him sometimes didn’t make any sense - or, well, a lot of the time didn’t make sense.
“I like doing things for him,” Malevola kept talking, drinking from her own shot glass - he still wasn’t sure where his teammates had acquired the dishware, but he wasn’t going to ask. “He’s important to me, so even if the thing is small.. I like doing it. Makes me happy to make him happy, y’know?”
Robert thought about Chase using his powers to make his lonely, twelve-year-old self just a little bit more okay with being alive. He thought about the team breaking into his shitty apartment to bring life and joy into it. He thought about coffee heated to perfection while he wasn’t looking, and then he stopped that line of thought with a firm shake to his head.
“Yeah,” He murmured, sharing a smile with Malevola before they both turned to survey the room. If their eyes focused on different people, well, neither of them would tell on the other. “Yeah, I think I do.”
Chapter 4
Summary:
“I’ll kill you if you try to lie to me.” It wasn’t an honest threat, but the taller man’s tone was serious. “Bitch.” He added, like and afterthought, halfhearted and easily ignored.
Robert couldn’t be expected to formulate a response after that, because as soon as Flambae was finished threatening him the impact of the moment hit the Dispatcher full-throttle, knocking all protest or self-denial from his mind with the first, almost tentative knead of Flambae’s hands.
Using the heel of his palm, Flambae started to press little circles into the base of Robert’s shoulder blades, gentle at first but with increasing firmness as he took in just how tense the man beneath him truly was.
“Holy shit,” He grunted, thumbs smearing a line of heat from between his shoulder blades to the back of Robert’s neck and circling each knob of his spine until he reached the back of the Dispatcher’s skull. “No wonder you have a stick up your ass, you little bitch. You’re like, hard as a rock- and not in the fun way, y’know? Like, this is actually a little concerning. Or would be. If I, like. Cared.”
Or:
Flambae finally gets his damn hands on that man!!
Notes:
Thank you all for the CRAZY amount of support on this fic?? We're in the home stretch!!
I'll be updating the tags as we go along, but in the last chapter we're going to earn the E rating, as a warning- I just wanted to keep it separate from the rest of the fic in case it wasn't someone's cup of tea so they could avoid it if needed. But there is some mature content in this chapter! Nothing too crazy.
I have NO Beta at the moment and I am operating on barely any sleep for the past week and a half so if this is garbled nonsense- oops! If not, I totally intended for it to be perfect (lying).
Thank you to @SisterBootknife (sifr) for pointing out in one of the other chapters that rats explode in the microwave! I had no idea but this chapter makes up for that lack of knowledge on my part haha
Chapter Text
The party lasted for a few more hours, the Z-team covering up the fact that they were reluctant to leave Robert alone in his slightly-less-depressing apartment by drinking copious amounts of alcohol and giving Robert one of the worst headaches he’s had all week with their loud music and whatever their definition of party games were.
Waterboy had to leave early, looking a little green around the gills from his unfamiliarity with drinking, needing to get back to his grandmother and her uncountable amount of cats to settle her down for the night.
The others had remained, a couple of them trying to rouse the dwindling energy of the crowd still hanging around.
“Hear me out: Spin the bottle.” Sonar splayed his hands out wide like he was presenting a slideshow at a TED talk; he was sitting next to Malevola, who simply shook her head with an affectionate smile.
“Ooh! How about seven minutes in Heaven?” Invisigal chimed in, tipsily leaning into Golem but directing most of her attention towards Blonde Blazer across the room.
“How about, in the next “seven minutes”, you all “spin” towards the door and leave me to the “Heaven” that is cleaning up this mess?” Robert droned from his spot against the wall, where he hadn’t moved from in the last fifteen minutes. Blonde Blazer, Invisigal and even Malevola had all tried to get him to dance earlier, back when everyone else was doing the same, but he could only do so for so long before his body had started protesting again. So, wall-crutch it was.
Brown eyes surveyed the room when nobody laughed at his comment. “Tough crowd.” At least nobody was offended, but the drunken groans that had followed weren’t encouraging for any potential he had as a comedian.
Chase had gotten up from the futon with a creak to his limbs that Robert could, unfortunately, relate to. Grumbling, the older man pointed his finger at all of the heroes in the room. “You lot have kept Beef way up past the little guy’s bedtime,” He wasn’t completely drunk off his ass, but his stance did wobble a bit as he motioned down to Beef who, in typical Beef fashion, was passed out on his pillow after a whole evening of sneaking snacks from everyone in the Z-team. “Even he’s exhausted by your antics.”
Prism and Flambae were still tucked away in the kitchen, the two of them had been in a tense whisper match for the better part of thirty minutes, the topic unknown as Prism had shooed away anyone who had tried to join and Flambae hadn’t made any effort to leave the conversation. It probably wasn’t anything to worry about, so Robert didn’t think to bother them.
“Are you sure it isn’t your bedtime we’re talking about, here?” Courtney giggled, much more drunk than Chase was, enough to miss the venomous look the older man shot her way.
Eager to end the night on a positive note, Robert caught Blonde Blazer’s eye and, like they could read each other’s mind, they both moved towards their prospective targets - Robert placed a hand on Chase’s shoulder, stopping him from moving towards Invisigal while Blonde Blazer directed Courtney’s attention towards herself with a simple wave of her hand. Easy enough.
“Thank you all for coming, but Chase is right about one thing - it’s probably time for you guys to head out.” Robert started to gently direct the older man towards the door, more than happy to escort his friend home so he wasn’t wandering the streets by himself, when Prism decided to speak up.
“Royd, baby, weren’t you planning on taking Chase home tonight? Since you were his ride here, and all.”
“Fo’ sure I was, yeah.” Royd and Prism were staring at each other from across the room, the latter making some kind of motion with her hands that Robert couldn’t discern, and it felt like the rest of the Z-team, minus Phenomaman- were purposefully ignoring; acting just a bit too natural for his instincts when it came to his team.
“C’mon, bruddah.” Royd practically scooped the retired hero up, despite drunken protests and threats alike, before escaping the room in a hurry that wasn’t entirely like the man.
Prism jammed her elbow into Flambae’s ribs and shot a look up at him before the rest of the Z-team, as if puppeteered by some connected string, started to get up and shuffle towards the door.
“Byeeeee, Rob-” Invisigal waved, clearly inebriated but cradled gently in the considerate curve of Blonde Blazer’s arm as the taller woman steered her to the exit with her own soft ‘goodnight’ to Robert.
“See ya.” Golem, with the aid of one of Malevola’s portals, was next.
“Cheers on the new futon, mate! Make good use of it, yeah?” Malevola teased with a knowing look; at least one of them could be in the know, because Robert was completely in the dark at what she could be referring to. Or maybe he was tipsy. Or both.
All of Sonar’s shots had caught up with him and he barely groaned out some semblance of a ‘bye, bobert’ before Malevola pulled him through the open portal and it closed with a woosh. Hopefully Robert’s bathroom didn’t have coke smeared all over.. Well, everywhere.
“I bid you farewell until our next meeting on Monday, Robert Robertson,” Phenomaman’s large palm dropped heavily down on Robert’s shoulder, causing him to almost lose his balance from the force of it. “Your home is far less dark and filled with sadness, now; perhaps so many new light fixtures will return the light to your own eyes, as well.”
Robert nodded, trying to decide if he should laugh or be a little bit offended; he settled for a mild chuckle, giving Phenomaman’s hand a little pat. “I’m sure it will, P.” He reassured, though admittedly had an appreciation for keeping his apartment rather dim.
“Goodnight, Robert. My next suggestion for you would be to purchase a bookshelf, you are sorely lacking in any interesting literature to consume,” Coop’s voice was monotone, as usual, but she seemed to pity the fact that he didn’t own a plethora of romance novels. “I will compile a list of tales that you should explore for yourself, should you have the time.”
“I look forward to it,” Robert’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled, thoroughly amused at the fact that this former (current?) assassin was obsessed with cheesy, trashy romance books. Somehow, it suited her. “Have a good night, Janelle.”
“Robert!” Punch-Up wasn’t tipsy, nowhere near buzzed due to his constitution, but his cheery personality made up for it. He lightly tapped one of his fists to Robert’s thigh in a friendly sort of way, mustache twitching with the grin that stretched across his face. “You dog! Don’t go too wild tonight, you hear?”
.. Okay, no, some of them were definitely being weirder than normal, tonight.
“Right.” The Dispatcher squinted down at his teammate, dubious. “.. You guys didn’t hire a stripper to come knocking on my door once you leave, right? Because, if so, you really wasted your money.”
Some sort of choking, hacking, spitting noise came from the kitchen and Robert turned to look but only saw Prism patting Flambae on the back somewhat aggressively.
“No, lad! Well, depends on your defini-”
Janelle put her hand on top of Colm’s head, effectively shutting him up with only a touch that wandered down to the back of his neck. She pushed him in the direction of the door. “We are going home, Colm.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Punch-Up was definitely not put-out about being directed so productively, giving Robert a salute and a wink as he passed by. “See ya, Robbie.”
Prism didn’t even dignify him with a proper goodbye, merely gave Flambae’s back one final slap and said something Robert couldn’t hear from the distance between them, then sashayed out the door without another word. Figures, she probably had some product to film a review on to advertise a new track or a music video to record. Still, it was touching that despite the Z-team’s lives outside of their hero work, they all took the time out of their night to make his more memorable than it would have been if he was left alone with only a chair and Beef for company.
It hit him just a moment later that he still wasn’t alone. Flambae was leaning against the kitchen island, eyeing him with a completely unreadable expression on his face.
“.. You need a ride home?” Robert offered, the words sounding stupid as soon as they left his mouth and he finished the question with a slight wince.
“I can fly, idiot.”
Right. Of course.
“Mhm,” The response he gave the other was a little lazy, his brown eyes taking in the mess that the others had left- empty beer cans and bottles alike, shot glasses lining the counter with some only partially filled while others were completely dry- but he resolved to deal with that in the morning. His body thrummed with overstimulation from the night, but his mind was a content buzz in the aftermath. “You need something else, then?” He owed Flambae the consideration of asking, at least, even if his body was begging for him to sink into his new futon and pass out to escape the aches and pains itching underneath his skin.
Flambae pushed off the island, making his way into the living room and stepping closer to Robert with a determined line to his mouth.
“You can hit me again, but a stripper might show up at any moment. Don’t wanna tell them to leave while sporting a bloody nose, might be a bit unseemly.” Robert joked, secretly hoping his coworkers hadn’t actually paid for someone else to come to his place of residence.
“Y’know, Bob-Bob, I’m in a generous sort of mood, tonight.” Flambae’s tone was quiet, the roughened accent of it rolling smoothly between the two as he took several more steps into Robert’s space. Robert, for his part, kept taking a step back until he felt the plush cushion of the futon against the back of his calves.
Robert swallowed past a sudden lump in his throat, unsure of how to feel about the sudden temperature shift in the room. Even with the balcony sliding door partially open, the cool night air breezing through, his skin didn’t prickle with goosebumps because Flambae was practically a walking furnace and was only a foot in front of him, currently.
“Feeling charitable is typically a good thing,” He quipped. “Are you going to donate to an orphanage? Volunteer at a soup kitchen? Plenty of options.” He didn’t know why he kept talking at this point, but Flambae’s stare was, finally, completely and unwaveringly on his and maybe if he had something more to say it would stay that way. An odd thought, to be sure, but Robert couldn’t be sure he was actually thinking right now. He could blame it on the three beers he had, but he knew that wouldn’t be anywhere close to the truth - but the truth was harder to place.
“I’m going to help you.”
That gave the former hero pause, bewilderment swamping his expression. This was leaving him off-kilter in ways he wasn’t sure he felt comfortable with, unsure how to respond to something like that coming from someone like the man in front of him. The conversation they had before had been productive, presumably, but this? It came out of nowhere, so it must be some kind of trick.
When Robert didn’t respond, finally coming up short on words, Flambae gave an aggravated sort of sigh and got even closer. “Don’t play dumb with me, you know exactly what I mean, Robo-bitch.” Met with silence, the flame-user’s words scraped out from between gritted teeth like this was physically paining him to get past his Dispatcher’s thick skull. “You were the one who said heat helped, yeah?”
There was limited space between the two men now, but Robert was holding his ground. His eyes, brown and wide, were fixated up at Flambae, fastidiously ignoring the strain it was putting on his neck.
“In case you haven’t noticed; I am very, very hot.”
Okay. So he wants an ego stroke?
“Are you trying to get me to agree with you on how attractive you are?” Robert wasn’t so obtuse that he couldn’t admit that information to himself, but he wasn’t exactly at the point of actively wanting to fan the metaphorical flames of Flambae’s roaring ego.
Flambae threw up his arms with a frustrated, strangled sort of noise. “No! I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, but-” A palm hovered just a touch shy away from pressing to the center of the Dispatcher’s chest, like the flame-powered hero was waiting for some kind of signal from the other man before committing to touching him. “- I’m giving you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here, bitch, do you want to feel better or not?”
Blinking past his shock, at the sudden yes, I do that sang across aching muscles, overshot nerves, sore tendons, pained ligaments and the dull pounding in his bones, Robert tilted his head to the side. He couldn’t pretend not to get it, not when it was painted out clearly for him to see, but he could be so difficult about it that the offer eventually got removed.
“You don’t have to, Flambae.” Robert murmured, assuring the other man despite the sincere appeal the offer had. “My.. thing.. Is my responsibility.” After everything, Flambae was the last person who should be trying to give him this.
But instead of being mollified, his answer only seemed to irritate Flambae further.
“I don’t have to do anything, bitch; especially not something I don’t want to do.” He snapped, and when there was no flinch or protest from the smaller man, finally set his palm on the center of his chest and applied a firm, insistent sort of pressure. “Jesus, man. Have you ever considered that some people fucking might maybe fucking, y’know, want to do something for you?”
Robert’s mouth flopped open, uselessly, no words coming out. Undeterred, Flambae kept going.
“Because I do.” Amber eyes shining with bright, unadulterated want. It was impossible to misconstrue at this point, however confusing it was to witness. “You owe me.”
It was a weak excuse, that “owing” shit. But it felt like an out, like something Flambae was willing to give Robert to make accepting this easier. Maybe he was making it easier for them both.
It would be selfish of Robert to let this happen.
“Okay,” The shorter of the two conceded, deciding to be just that: selfish. When was the last time that had happened? “How do you want me?”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The positioning of the whole thing had been an awkward shuffle of Flambae pushing Robert back onto the futon before snapping at him, demanding he shed his shirt and lay with his front down. Despite hesitating a little when listening, Robert had inevitably given up the futile argument as he offered the other man complete access to his back. It was strangely serene to do so, he thought with some twisted sense of interest as he settled more comfortably into the cushion below him, hoping that little spark would eventually die down.
It was almost completely silent, a warring difference between the hustle and bustle of the party that had invaded his apartment barely fifteen minutes ago. The only sounds filling the space now was his own stilted breathing and the rustle of Flambae behind him.
Maybe he should be more self-protective, here. Maybe Flambae was only offering a back massage of all things to lure him into a sense of complacency so he could cook him alive. Even as he thought that, the idea was immediately dismissed. For better or for worse, Robert trusted Flambae enough to let him have this.
“Tell me if it’s too hot,” Came the unexpected mutter, the jolt of another person’s flesh connecting with his as Flambae’s knee dipped into the cushion and his palms-rough, calloused, boiling-rested on the curve of Robert’s spine. “I’ll kill you if you try to lie to me.” It wasn’t an honest threat, but the taller man’s tone was serious. “Bitch.” He added, like and afterthought, halfhearted and easily ignored.
Robert couldn’t be expected to formulate a response after that, because as soon as Flambae was finished threatening him the impact of the moment hit the Dispatcher full-throttle, knocking all protest or self-denial from his mind with the first, almost tentative knead of Flambae’s hands.
Using the heel of his palm, Flambae started to press little circles into the base of Robert’s shoulder blades, gentle at first but with increasing firmness as he took in just how tense the man beneath him truly was.
“Holy shit,” He grunted, thumbs smearing a line of heat from between his shoulder blades to the back of Robert’s neck and circling each knob of his spine until he reached the back of the Dispatcher’s skull. “No wonder you have a stick up your ass, you little bitch. You’re like, hard as a rock- and not in the fun way, y’know? Like, this is actually a little concerning. Or would be. If I, like. Cared.”
Ignoring the combination insult-worry that was being aimed down at him, Robert let himself melt into the futon he was currently being squished into by the weight of another man above him.
God. This feels so good. Way better than any dream by far.
He was purposefully keeping himself as quiet as possible, face tucked into the crook of his own elbow, not wanting to risk any verbal retort lest something else escape in its place instead. It was humiliating enough to accept any kind of help, but from him? Yeah, no. There was no way in hell he was going to make any kind of noise, here.
Fortunately, his lack of a response wasn’t making Flambae stop his ministrations. After spending several minutes essentially petting the back of his head, his thumbs rolled to the spot right behind his ears with one pausing, just for a second, at the notch in Robert’s right ear; at the first, careful brush of a heated digit, Robert tilted his head just enough to give Flambae more access, releasing the softest of sighs. So much for making no noise.
For his part, Flambae’s commentary dried up in the air, stifled by every barely-there breath or smothered grunt coming from the other man, like he was under some sort of spell and speaking would break this moment- whatever it was.
Robert gripped the material of the futon he was laying on as Flambae finally moved downwards again, really putting some elbow grease into working the tension out of his broad but thin shoulders, like the thick knots of overworked muscle personally offended him. He felt like he was being boiled alive, talented hands searing away every single trace of pain in Robert’s upper body.
If a muffled grunt escaped him, Flambae didn’t point it out. Yet.
His head felt heavy in the best of ways, he didn’t react when Flambae pushed himself further onto the couch so that he was straddling Robert, thick thighs on either side of the scrawnier man’s hips. He took the weight with a noise of satisfaction, the feeling of being pressed even further into the couch with nowhere to go except chase the sensation of heat roasting the skin stretched taunt over the stiff knobs of his spine a balm to his soul as well as to his body.
“You’re-” Robert slurred, trying to rotate his head enough so he could get the words out coherently and catch a glimpse of his coworker behind him. “- good.” He finished, lamely, breath catching in his throat both from the weight of the man on top of him and from the sight of said man.
Flambae’s hair was still pulled up into the loose ponytail he typically wore, but some strands had escaped the confines of the hair tie, curling loosely across his temple and hanging just-so in front of those amber eyes of his. His wide, ample chest was heaving with the exertion of working out all-probably thousands of- knots in Robert’s back, and was that steam rising from the exposed skin? Huh.
Fiery eyes whipped upwards to connect with Robert’s heavy-lidded ones, hands kneading even more firmly into a particularly tough spot near the curve of Robert’s hips. The heat increased, near scalding and undoubtedly pinking his skin everywhere the other man was touching as the encouragement reached his ears. Maybe he’d burn his handprint onto Robert. Maybe he wouldn’t.
“Of course I am,” Flambae scoffed, but his voice sounded just a bit off. Labored. Maybe giving someone a massage was harder than the Dispatcher thought. Maybe he’d have to return the favor to make up for this struggle, wouldn’t that be such a hardship- an ordeal, even. Completely. “I’m the best.”
By the time the flame-powered hero was finished with the Dispatcher’s back, Robert felt more worked over than a well-kneaded dough. For the first time in.. forever.. He felt completely relaxed in that area of his body. His spine wasn’t offering up any complaints, the muscles intertwining with tendons and nerves finally at ease under the skillful application of Flambae’s powers. His skin was pink, hot to the touch and burning with a relief he felt down to the core of him, enough that he could ignore the twinge in his knees and the creak of protest his fingers gave as he lessened his grip on the cushion beneath him.
Except, apparently, Flambae wasn’t finished with him.
“Whuh-” Robert’s noise of confusion was quickly muffled as the heat continued to spread, following Flambae’s palms as he gripped his thighs - not dissimilar to the way he had grabbed them back at the gym the other day. Except this time, he lingered far longer. “Shit.”
A low laugh escaped the other man, hands respectfully skirting past his ass and honing in on the tension they sought until it had been thoroughly massaged out. It was starting to get more difficult to swallow the noises expanding in his lungs with each breath, made worse by the intensifying firmness of Flambae’s touch.
When fingers wrapped a tight, sweltering brand around his bad knee, Robert couldn’t help the keen of release that practically ripped itself past his throat as the joint was smoothly encouraged back into place with a singular grip. His eyebrows furrowed and he bit down hard on his tongue until he could taste copper to stop the noise.
Robert’s calves were less of a struggle, Flambae easily moving down to, shockingly, rub a thumb along the arc of the Dispatcher’s sock-adorned feet. Some damage to the nerves there had left his toes perpetually riddled with pins and needles, but even those were soothed away without a word of derision from the other man. If Robert was a religious person, he might consider shooting a prayer to God-or whoever was up there-but since he wasn’t, he simply accepted the touch from the other man like it was the next best thing.
Unbidden, Robert felt his throat tighten up, moisture pooling in the corners of his eyes as Flambae made one final pass around both of his ankles before moving upwards again. Tenderness wasn’t something that he had expected from the other man, not something he had physically felt on this scale from another person- ever, really. Even the physical therapy sessions were more physically taxing than relieving like this, and he certainly wasn’t one to encourage some stranger at a massage parlor to lay hands on him. Maybe that said something about him, then, that he was allowing this. That he was this affected by the fact that it was Flambae, a man who arguably had every reason to hate him, tending to him with such care.
He didn’t even realize how tightly he was holding onto the material of the futon below him until warm hands gripped both of his wrists, fingers circling and connecting with an ease that had a hot flash of interest race down his lax spine; something he’d be more aware of if he wasn’t also fighting to stay conscious against the intense wave of relaxation swarming over him.
Flambae’s hands gingerly stroked each jut of a bone in Robert’s, easing away the prickle of carpal tunnel and smoothing his grip until his hands were open, one palm limply laying just off to the side of his head and the other loosely grasped in Flambae’s own. His knuckles brushed against the curve where Flamabae’s missing fingers should have been, Robert twisting his wrist around until he could return the hold a little more mutually.
Every part of him felt boneless, flush with a deep sense of utter peace. His mind took some time to catch up with the fact that Flambae had been finished for several minutes now, but still hadn’t taken his hand away from Robert’s weak grip. Dopamine coursed through his system, nerve-endings ablaze with decrease of affliction all resulting in his frame going limp, like a puppet whose strings just got cut.
Exhaustion that Robert had been running from his entire life was finally catching up to him, his eyelids feeling heavier than lead- he didn’t fight them covering his gaze, didn’t struggle against the thick blanket of darkness pooling in the back of his mind and overtaking his consciousness.
The last thing he remembered was tugging Flambae’s hand, still in his grip, closer to his face and pressing a singular, faint kiss to the mangled knuckles.
“Thank you.” He tried to say, but it might have come out as more of a, “Tnk yu.” Either way, he was completely out before he could even hear Flambae’s response.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the morning, Robert stirred awake to the feeling of sunlight streaming through his windows and directly across his face- but more importantly, to the lack of pain he had grown so familiar with. It was inevitably going to rear it’s ugly head again, and sooner rather than later, but for the first time in years he woke up feeling.. okay.
Looking down, he noticed a blanket had been tucked around him and the futon had been-somehow without him waking- turned into it’s bed form, presumably for his extended comfort.
There was no sight of Flambae, the only evidence that the man had even been there to begin with the bone-deep heat just now starting to ease it’s way out of Robert’s muscles and the barest, fading hint of his smokey, rich scent.
And maybe, just maybe, the last signifier of Flambae’s presence was the rapid beating of Robert’s heart as he began to wake up further, mind racing with all the images and sensations from last night.
He was well and truly fucked. Thank God he had until Monday to pull himself together and be completely, utterly normal.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Chad.”
Flambae groaned against the sudden press of lips to his own, feeling hands grasp enthusiastically at his shoulders and pull him down onto a willing, eager body. His hips ground downwards, feeling sparks erupt behind his tightly squeezed-shut eyelids as the frame beneath his bucked upwards with a soundless cry swallowed by his own mouth.
“Chad.”
His back slammed into his mattress, that same body pinning him to his own bed with their weight as hands grasped either side of his face, pulling him into a relentless string of needy, hungry kisses. A tongue shoved into his mouth, playing with the gap where a tooth should be.
“Shit,” Flambae gasped out as that mouth left his and dipped down to lave a wet stripe down his neck to his clavicle, the moisture sizzling from the heat wafting off of his skin. “Oh, fuck.”
Teeth nibbled delicately at one of his nipples, the figure above him then took a second to nose between his ample pectorals and nestled, somewhat endearingly, into the thick, curly hair coating his chest.
“You took such good care of me,” The voice said, deep and rough around the edges from echoing his name all night. “You did so well. Let me reward you, yeah?”
Flambae’s head flopped down, jaw dropping in a low, wanton moan as his amber eyes took in the sight before him.
Robert lay between his thighs, looking almost dwarfed by the musculature on either side of his head as he rested his cheek low on Flambae’s pelvis. The man’s brown eyes were attuned only to him, pupils blown wide as one of his hands slowly dragged down the length of his body and landed, warm and steady, on the waistband of his boxers. His clothed dick twitched, hot and heavy, against Robert’s smiling lips where he had pressed them to the steadily growing bulge there.
“Chad.”
The blaring, obnoxious, rage-inducing, incessant beeping of Chad’s alarm ripped him, cruelly and unjustly, from the dream. Panting, he shot upright and slammed his fist down as hard as he could onto the desk beside his bed, where his alarm clock should have been. When the beeping continued, he squinted blearily around his room before shuffling to the edge of his bed and peering over the side to look down at where it had fallen, somehow, onto the ground during the night.
Flinging his legs out from under his silken sheets, Chad let out a long, hissing stream of expletives directed entirely at his stupid fucking alarm clock before finally reaching it and smashing the snooze button.
For a second, there was blissful, peaceful quiet. Then, the echoing remainder of his dream crawled out from his sleep-addled brain and hovered right next to his ear to scream in his mind.
I just had a wet dream about Mechabitch.
Chad stared, unblinking, down at his crotch, not wanting to address the tent that was all-too damning evidence beginning to flag from shock.
I had a wet dream about Robert.
Images flashed behind his eyes, the ghost sensation of a mouth hovering inches from his dick startling a rush of hot air from his lungs.
Robert.
The way the Dispatcher had sounded in his dream, praising him for taking such good care of him.
“Fuck!”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“You don’t look so good, baby.” Prism noted, taking in the way Flambae dragged himself into work just a couple minutes behind his typical early arrival. Her words were flippant, but her expression was concerned. “Did Saturday night..” Voice dropping to a whisper, she looked around the lobby to make sure no one was listening. “.. Go okay?”
The two of them continued to walk further into the SDN headquarters, heading towards the area where they would be able to clock into their shift and grab the earpieces they’d need to use.
Great. A whole day of hearing that fucking voice directly in his fucking ear.
“It.. went fine.” Chad muttered, rubbing a hand down his face with a morose twist to his lips. Admittedly, Saturday night had gone remarkably better than he could have ever predicted; Alice had been the one to encourage him to follow through on his theories of Robert hiding more of his pain than he let on, on his own powers being something that could provide a temporary fix, and that final push had led to some of Robert’s walls crumbling down around Flambae of all people - he had trusted the flame-wielder with his body, in the vulnerability sense, and had even felt comfortable enough to pass out by the time they were through.
For all intents and purposes, Flambae was over the fucking moon. And it was pathetic. Ever since being crudely awoken from his dream this morning (fuck that alarm clock), his mind had been obsessing over Friday night and every other meaningful interaction he’s had with the other man like a rabid wolf given the opportunity to run after a rabbit. The fact that plain, bitch-boy Robert who was actually Mecha Man, finger chopper-er had captured his focus enough to influence his actions and invade his dreams of all things was heavily contributing to his inner conflict.
For all Robert’s competence and independence, his stern attitude and do-gooder personality, his durability and continuous ability to keep on getting up despite getting blown up more than once and getting the shit beaten out of him on the regular - despite all of that, the man had not only not laughed in Flambae’s face when he expressed some semblance of concern, hadn’t brushed him off, but had listened and had let Flambae help him with an easy, astounding sort of trust. It made his thoughts go fuzzy at the edges, a strange sort of eager calm simmering beneath his skin in a way he’d never felt before. It was an addicting feeling, like the first time he had realized he could use his powers to soar in the sky, higher than all those people and teenage problems he wanted to avoid.
“You tell no one this,” He whipped around to point a finger at his best friend, eyes wild. “Please, Alice.”
Prism held up her hands, surprised expression shifting into something somewhat reassuring. “Okay! Okay. Not a word, I swear.” She gave her friend a pat on the shoulder, a little amused but also a little confused. She only knew that Flambae had “theories” about Robert, and that the man was not-so secretly pining hard for that basic white boy, but she didn’t know the specifics. Chad had been strangely tight-lipped about that, though it seemed he was a dam about to burst from the looks of things.
“I gave him a back massage. Well- I guess, like, a whole body one.”
Alice paused. “Like… in a sex way?”
“No. Just.. a normal massage.”
Well. Okay.
“And…?”
Flambae let out a miserable sort of sound, almost like a dog who had been ruthlessly denied scraps from the dinner table, and he cradled his head in his hands.
“AndIhadawetdreamandI’mprettysureIneedhiminawaythatisdoinghorriblethingstomysenseofself.” It all came out in a rush, the words whistling from the missing gap in his teeth. Maybe today, during his shift, a runaway train would come out of nowhere so he wouldn’t have to think about this anymore.
“Oh fuck, nobody’s winning this betting pool.” Prism sighed, loud and all-suffering, before curling her arms around her much taller and more muscular best friend as much as she could. He may be older than her, but he was her sad, pathetic little guy in this moment and she was nothing if not a ride or die. Maybe there was still time to salvage the pool and get some money out of it.
“Chad, baby, listen to me.” She waited until she was sure the man was actually listening to her and not his own internal screaming undoubtedly ringing in his ears. “You are going to win. that. bitch. You got me? Say it with me, now. You are a fine piece of ass.”
“... I am a fine piece of ass.”
“And you are a catch and a half.”
“I am a catch and a half.”
“And he will be lucky to have you.”
“He’s going to be so lucky. Really, that’s true.”
“Exactly. And you are going to do all sorts of evil, non-wholesome things to him.”
“Oh, I so am.”
“Okay. Enough.” Prism held up a hand. She loved her best friend, she was going to encourage him until the day she died and she would never mock his taste in men even if it was Robert Robertson - but if she kept this line of encouragement going she was inevitably going to imagine the two of them having sex and.. No. Just, no. “Feel better?”
Chad’s posture was straightened to his full height, a determined glint in those amber eyes of him that spoke only of trouble. “Enormously.”
Alice grinned. It was going to be a fucking hilarious shift.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was, in fact, a hilarious shift.
For everyone except Robert. The Dispatcher was in a perpetual state of confusion, still reeling from his house-warming party a couple nights ago and what had followed afterwards, only to be thrown into the chaos that was the entire Z-team having a sense of something he didn’t. Which could either mean something that resulted in something dangerous, or it was just a normal Monday.
“I’ve got this.” Flambae, for the third time that morning, intercepted a call that Robert was going to assign to someone else. Not that the flame-wielder wasn’t capable of completing the job just as competently, but it was starting to be.. suspicious.
“Flambae. You just got back to headquarters; let Invisigal handle this.” Robert’s voice was a sigh in Flambae’s ear, but not the kind the former villain was hoping to hear.
“I can still go out, bi-” Flambae cut himself off. Right. In order to catch a man, one must.. Behave. He could behave. “-Robert.” He finished, somewhat lamely even to his own ears.
The only thing he could hear was a couple of clicks, Robert obviously ignoring him for the moment in favor of actually doing his job and dispatching more of the team somewhere else.
“Yeah, you can,” The Dispatcher sighed again. Maybe the “impress him and wow his socks off” route wasn’t going as well as Flambae hoped. “But resting after a mission is also a very important part of hero work. Just..” More hurried clicking- ah, he was probably hacking into something and was still taking the time to respond to Flambae’s stubbornness? Maybe he did care. “Come back, please?”
Please, Chad? Be good for me?
Needless to say, Flambae returned to the base after that and waited-patiently, might he add- until the next time Robert assigned him a mission.
“You’re being weird today.” Sonar observed, white eyes staring blankly at Flambae as the flame-wielder sat at one of the breakroom tables, glaring at the clock that was about to signify the start of a certain someone’s lunch break in roughly five minutes.
“And you’re weird every day, yeah? I don’t tell you that, ‘cause I’m so fucking nice. What’s it to you if I want to be weird one day, hm?” Flambae shot back, but it lacked heat. He was too focused staring at that damned clock.
“Right, right.” Was Victor’s response, before he let out a curse. “Ah-fuck! The microwave exploded my rat.” He sounded dejected, and then turned hopeful eyes towards Flambae. “Do you think-”
“If you ask me to heat up your rat guts I will toss you out this window.”
“Okay, touch-y, jeez.”
The door to the breakroom opened, Robert taking two steps in before pausing and staring at the microwave with what could only be described as resigned horror.
“Rat?”
“Yup.”
“Exploded?”
“Yup.”
“Great. Thanks, Sonar.” Robert grunted, obviously trying not to seem too irritated with the hybrid. Everyone needed to eat, after all, it just would be nice to not have to deal with rat guts in the only microwave the building had.
“This tastes like shit,” Flambae spoke just loud enough to interrupt the conversation the other two men in the room were having, looking down at a tupperware he had brought from home. It didn’t taste like shit, it was an obvious lie, because Flambae had cooked it himself the night before as his own dinner, and just so happened to have leftovers. It was Mantu, every aspect of the dish expertly crafted by his own hands with the mutton seasoned to absolute perfection; there were several dumplings left, and they were delicious. But, conveniently, Sonar had made the next part of his plan go swimmingly easy - Robert couldn’t heat up those cheap, convenience store-bought noodles in the microwave if it was coated in rat guts, and Flambae couldn’t possibly finish his “disgusting” lunch. It was perfect. “Robert.”
The Dispatcher turned towards him, eyebrows raising as he took in what was obviously not a disgusting looking meal. It even smelled amazing, and he was a couple feet away and closer to the microwave of death, patron saint of exploded rats. “Sorry? For your.. Dumpling loss?”
Flambae pretended to growl in irritation, but really he was preening; this was going to work out so well for him. And Robert, too, because like Prism had said earlier this basic bitch was lucky.
“It’s a waste to throw it out. Eat it, you need more meat on your bones anyway.” He pushed the tupperware closer to Robert, who was creeping closer and closer to the table Chad was sitting at.
Cautiously, like the other man was going to reach out and slap him, Robert sat down. Even more so hesitantly, because he knew how protective Flambae got about his food, he reached for the Mantu.
Brown eyes peeked up, watching for a reaction from the flaming hero. None so far, aside from his amber eyes not once leaving his hands. Sort of normal so far. Safe enough to proceed, he apparently reasoned to himself, as the next thing he did was shove one of the dumplings into his mouth.
Robert groaned out in surprise as the flavors burst across his tongue, the juice of the mutton exploding between his teeth and washing over his tastebuds in a perfect harmony with the spices Flambae had mixed in. “If this is your definition of shit, I’d love to see what your definition of not-shit is; this is amazing, Flambae.”
Chad felt his face explode in warmth, not only from the noises Robert had produced upon eating something he had made, but also due to the praise.
“Tch. It’s whatever. I could do so much better,” His eyes lingered on a bit of mutton juice wetting Robert’s mouth, before the Dispatcher seemed to notice it as well and wiped it off with the back of a hand. “Like, so much better, actually.”
Robert nodded, seemingly absentmindedly as he was absorbed in an actual, real lunch for once. His eyes had a far-off look to them, like a good meal was all it took to get to his head, but they sharpened as Flambae leaned an arm on the tabletop and tilted a little closer in.
“Your pain.” Chad said, suddenly, aware of Sonar pretending not to eavesdrop on them but honestly not caring much. He could threaten him later. “How is it?”
Swallowing whatever was left in his mouth, the Dispatcher eyed him for a beat too long for Flambae’s liking, but he still waited patiently for an answer to his genuine-yes, genuine- question. Convinced that he was actually asking and wasn’t about to just randomly insult him- which Flambae would do if it wasn’t about an actual sensitive subject, he’s not evil- Robert lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal sort of shrug.
“It was.. Better.. This weekend.” Robert’s voice is a quiet murmur as he eyes the last two dumplings with longing. “You keep practicing that skill, you could make a lot of money from people like me.” He teased, looking up at the other man while popping another dumpling in his mouth.
Flambae, maintaining eye contact, decided he was going to go for it and ask his Dispatcher to come back to his place after shift so he could “practice” that skill of his even further. But, just as he opened his mouth to start the sentence, the door to the breakroom burst open and in poured the rest of the Z-team.
“Flambae, my lad! There ya are!”
Robert finished the last dumpling and then quietly excused himself to the bathroom, shooting a ‘good job out there’ and ‘have a good break’ to the others as he hurried out.
Flambae’s forehead fell to the table with a loud thunk and he stamped down the disappointment clawing at the center of his chest like a spurned.. A spurned.. Whatever got spurned, he supposed. How would he fucking know.
“Aw, sorry, baby,” There was Prism, patting his shoulder with pity. “You’ll get him next time.”
All of Z-team stared at Flambae, then at the door that had shut behind Robert’s retreating self. Then all eyes went back to Flambae, then back to the door.
“.. Called it.” Bruno was the first to break, immediately losing interest and flopping down into a seated position by the vending machine.
The breakroom erupted into chaos after that. This shift was absolutely as hilarious as Prism had predicted it was going to be.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Alright, team, good work today,” Robert’s voice was tired but sincere, a smile coating his words and warming the Z-team’s hearts, though they’d never admit it. “See you all tomorrow.”
A chorus of goodnights and affectionate ‘fuck you’s’ rang out across the line before it went silent as everyone took out their respective earpieces and began to get ready to leave the building and go home for the night.
Flambae was ahead of them all. His tall, muscular frame leaned against the wall of the hallway that Robert was, inevitably, going to leave through. The flame-wielder had kept a careful eye out and, upon noticing that Chase had stolen Beef for the night (claiming “babysitting rights” or whatever) that it was perfect timing. Practically written in the stars, or some other shit.
“You stalking me?”
Amber eyes shot over to the entryway of the hallway, some tension seeping from his broad shoulders as he took in the fact that Robert was alone. He looked tired, a slump to his posture that could only mean that incessant pain of his was coming back to roundhouse his ass, but despite the accusation he threw at the other man his words sounded almost.. Fond. Gentle.
“No,” Flambae snorted, genuinely amused. If he wanted to stalk Robert, he’d be hiding; there wasn’t a single thing he wanted to keep hidden from the other man regarding his plans for him. “You look like shit.”
“Ah, yes,” Robert nodded, brown eyes crinkling up at the corners and the vague impression of a dimple flashing in his smile. “The insults. You’re not very original with those, you know, you gotta get some better material.” His voice, rough with fatigue, was still achingly soft as he stepped closer to Flambae. “I’m starting to think you don’t really mean them.”
Chad gazed down at the other man, air catching in his lungs. He was so close, he could count the number of eyelashes the Dispatcher had if he had the mind to - he might, later, but right now he needed to take the jump.
“I don’t.” He agreed, easily moving past the subject by getting even closer to the auburn-haired man. “You should come to my place,” Flambae breathed out, fingers clenching at his sides in a way he hoped wasn’t reading as nervous. But fuck, was he nervous. “I do mean that, before you start.”
Robert blinked in surprise at the sudden offer, before his eyes narrowed in wary confusion. “.. Why.” It was barely a question, uttered blandly and not in a way that stirred much confidence up in the other man, but Flambae wasn’t about to give up just from a little tone. Or lack of one, in Robert's case.
“Think of it as pain control.” Chad shrugged, trying to appear as casual as he could. When he saw that it still wasn’t going to make Robert budge, though there was some interest in the other’s eyes, he decided to push himself out of his comfort zone a little.
Fuck it.
“Your issues, you especially- I can’t,” Flambae wasn’t stringing together a coherent sentence so he stopped himself with a frustrated huff. “I can’t stop thinking of you. Taking care of you, mostly, but in other ways too.”
“I thought I wasn’t your type.” Robert drawled, eyeing him with an unreadable expression.
Chad lifted a hand, and when there wasn’t any fight from the other man in front of him, smoothed it upwards from Robert’s arm to cup the side of his neck with the warm flesh of his palm. “I’m a fucking liar,” He concedes, finally, earning a laugh that sends a tremble throughout his whole entire body. Shit, I’m so fucking whipped. This is embarassing as fuck. But, despite his thoughts, he didn’t actually feel any embarrassment; it was impossible to, with Robert’s eyes gazing up at him with a mixture of awe and want. “You like, kind of totally are, to be entirely fair.”
The man leaned into his touch, almost resembling a kitten nestling into a toasty blanket, eyes still attentively honed in on his every word. God, the power rush from that was insane - if Flambae had a large ego before, it was massive now. Heh, like his-
“Ditto.”
Oh?
Oh.
“Of course I’m your fucking type,” Chad guffed, thumb rubbing a tender pattern into Robert’s cheek despite the roughness to his tone. “I’m everyone’s type.”
“Mm, sure.” Robert didn’t seem to have much of an argument for that.
“So. What do you say,” Flambae leaned in close, watching the way those thick eyelashes fluttered as Robert’s gaze adjusted to the angle change. “Come home with me?”
Please say yes. He decidedly didn’t beg out loud, but he did think very, very intently and could only hope that the Dispatcher suddenly gained the power of mindreading in the last five seconds.
“What the hell, sure.” Robert’s hand lifted to grasp Chad’s wrist, and he tilted his face so that his lips pressed with intent into the heel of the taller man’s palm. “Take me home.”
Flambae could explode the sun. Or himself. Or everyone else except Robert because Robert needed to stay whole and intact so Flambae could take him home.
Fuck yes.
Chapter 5
Summary:
Fuck it, if he got burnt it would be worth it.
Still, he had to get a jab in. Who would he be if he lost his sarcastic, bastard character? If he couldn’t be Mecha Man, this was it for him. “You sure you can control yourself, hot stuff?” He tensed his thighs, near-imperceptibly, just to feel Flambae’s hips between them.
Brown eyes, lidded low, watched Chad’s adams apple bob as he swallowed, slowly drifting down the muscled planes of the other man’s body before settling very notably on his crotch. The former hero was still clothed, but maybe he always intended to be if this turned out to be a power trip he had- getting Robert in his bed, getting him desperate, but staying clothed and collected the entire time.
It was working. Fuck, was it working.
Or:
Gay sex. Gex, even.
Notes:
And here's the final chapter!! This is SO late I deeply apologize to everyone who had to wait, but I appreciate all of the nice notes and patience! I've been in a really severe flareup and it's been hard to move around and breathe, let alone think enough to write something. Curse this form of mine. Oh well.
Okay, so, housekeeping notes:
- The timeline is fuck-y since I started this before most of the newer episodes; just roll with it, most of the heavy duty angst stuff (i.e: Chase almost dying and everything after that point) isn't something that's happened yet.
- I have never written porn before, in my life, and while I have my own personal experiences to draw from I'm essentially flying into this blind with NO idea how balls work, okay? I'm so scared. /j
- The POV gets a little mixed at some parts, but I tried to make it as clear and consistent as I could.I have another Flambert fic currently in the works, it's a smutty oneshot that probably shouldn't take me too much longer to finish so keep your eyes peeled for that one! I have some other Flambert projects I'd like to work on as well, but who knows if I'll get that far, I still have so many fics to catch up on READING let alone WRITE some I am WHELMED.
Enjoy!! I hope it's worth it!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Thank God for flight licenses, really. Going through the relatively easy process of acquiring one enabled the smooth transition from SDN’s parking lot to directly outside Flambae’s condominium in almost half the time it would have taken to drive. Besides, his car was still in the fucking shop.
“Wow,” Robert’s grip, which had tightened considerably during their flight, lessened as he kept one hand on Flambae’s chest and used the other to point-rather rudely- up at the large complex. “You live here?” Whether he actually cared about how his coworker’s place of residence looked or he just wanted to divert attention away from how his knees shook just slightly after being set down on solid ground wasn’t evident or important.
Chad, for his part, kept his hands fastidiously locked onto the other man’s hips. Despite his skinny frame, the ability to feel the bone of his hip jut out due to poor diet upkeep and being in a coma months ago, the appeal to keep his thumbs rubbing circles into the area was too appealing to pass up. There was distraction to be found in the way his hands could nearly span the width of Robert’s waist entirely.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” He rolled his eyes, unamused by Robert’s attempt at getting a reaction out of him. He was too enraptured by the fact that he had gotten this far without a hitch. “I do get paid, y’know.”
The Dispatcher nodded, side-eyeing the taller man with a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. “That makes one of us.” It sounded like a joke, a smile shaping around the words, but Flambae wasn’t sure if he should clarify that yes, the man who had to suffer and deal with the Z-team on a constant basis all week was actually getting paid for that work. He probably was.
Peeling away from Flambae, Robert started towards the stairs in a slow, backwards movement in order to keep his eyes on the former villain.
“Coming?” Robert tilted his head, smirking in an unspoken challenge.
The two men were able to keep their hands off each other easily enough in the time it took for them to actually get inside of the apartment, mostly due to Flambae hissing something about not wanting his bitchy neighbors to get involved in his personal affairs - apparently there was a group of gossipy older women on level two, and they had “eyes everywhere” according to Chad.
“You being afraid of little old ladies is.. Pretty fitting, I think.” Robert’s hands were in his pockets as he crossed the threshold of Flambae’s apartment, his back to the other man as he had been ever-so gentlemanly allowed to go in first.
Spluttering, Chad brushed past him and jabbed an offended finger downwards. “Take off your fucking shoes,” The order lacked heat, but somehow still sent a trickle of warmth to Robert’s gut anyway. “And I’m not fucking scared, Bobert. I just like my privacy.”
The Dispatcher eyed the space around him. It wasn’t overly furnished, but the furniture and decorations sprawling from the kitchen, which was closest to the door, and the living room just beyond it conveyed a story of strong family connection with all the photos of various folk who looked enough like Chad for him to put the pieces together.
The kitchen was kept neat, but had an assorted amount of tools and utensils he couldn’t even begin to try and reason out what they could be for - there was a reason he lived mostly off of microwave meals and didn’t want to touch his oven for more than just because he would have to pay the gas bill.
Toeing off his shoes, Robert left them by the door and began to pad further into the apartment. Flambae was opening various cabinets in the kitchen and muttering to himself, so the auburn-haired man took the liberty of exploring the open space he assumed was free game. Brown eyes scanned the amount of framed photos, smiling softly as he saw a good portion of them were art pieces very clearly drawn by a child who enjoyed portraying themselves and Flambae in superhero poses with flames in the background.
“My niece.” Came Flambae’s voice from behind him. WIth a turn, he saw the man was hovering just a few inches away and held something- a small jar?- loosely in one of his hands.
Robert tried to squint down at whatever his coworker was holding, but the other man shifted his fingers to cover the jar a little more. Raising an eyebrow, he decided to give him the out for now; he’d find out eventually, wouldn’t he? “She’s pretty good. How old is she?”
Chad’s eyes weren’t on him, but rather on one of the closest frames. His amber eyes were soft, expression smoothed out in a way the other man hadn’t ever seen. “She’s eight. Real fiery, just like me,” He grinned, looking back down at Robert. “Talented as fuck, too. Obviously.”
The Dispatcher couldn’t help the fondness that bubbled up from the base of his ribcage to somewhere nearer to his throat, trying to swallow it down. “Did she get your humble nature as well? Or just your temper tantrums.” He teased, the words light.
Flambae frowned, eyebrows twitching. “Fuck off.” But it wasn’t genuine, because a second later his free hand was trailing up to rest against Robert’s chest, feeling the sudden uptick to the other man’s heartrate. His expression shifted into something darker, practically gleeful.
Leaning closer so that their lips were just barely separated, Chad stared into those doe eyes he’d fought so hard to have the sole focus of, grinning like a madman. “Nervous, Bobert?” It was his turn to tease, his palm sliding off to the side so he could run a thumb over the man’s nipple, his thumbnail digging into the edge of it through the stupid blue fabric all the Dispatcher’s at SDN had to wear.
Air catching in his throat, Robert’s head was spinning from the rapid switch of endearment to oh, shit, he was in Flambae’s home and the man very clearly didn’t bring him here just to admire the interior design.
“Not a chance,” He affirmed, instead, meeting the other’s gaze head-on without a flinch. He could feel hot breath against his lips, but he wasn’t going to be the first one to break in this weird game of chicken going on. “What did you say before, again?” Robert prompted, tone lilting. “Think of this as pain control, right? Well,” He reached out one of his hands to trail down the deep line in Flambae’s costume that showcased his assets so.. Fittingly. “I’m still waiting on you to get started on that.”
Robert winced internally, watching the way his own fingers played with the hem of Flambae’s suit rather than stare up at the other man. It had been, admittedly, pretty much forever since he had so much as thought of being with another person - much less a man. Not that he hadn’t noticed both men and women in the past, but being Mecha Man had taken up his entire life; he hadn’t had the time, or the will, or the physical ability to risk being vulnerable with another person enough for this sort of thing. Hook-ups weren’t his preference, his mind had been too paranoid after the cold-blooded murder of his father to trust anyone, much less a stranger.
Flirting wasn’t the hard part, acting on the genuine feelings this flirting was apparently bringing out of him was.
He could only hope that he- in all his fucked-up glory- was enough.
Too lost in thought, Robert completely missed the way Flambae’s eyes were caught on the movement on his hand like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse from yards above the poor, unsuspecting creature. Amber gaze flashing, the taller man grabbed onto the Dispatcher’s wrist and began to tug him in the direction of a darkened hallway.
“Bed, now.”
Oh, shit. This is fast.
Robert let himself be tugged into Flambae’s bedroom, barely having enough time to look around in wonder at how cozy it all looked before he was being pushed, shockingly gingerly, to the-frankly enormous- bed in the center of the room.
“Take your shirt off,” Flambae was standing on the edge of the bed, peering down at him with his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Pants too, bitch.”
“Pretty demanding,” Robert shot back, technically listening to the order but doing so slowly, purposefully antagonizing the host of this HR violation scenario. “Isn’t this about me? Shouldn't you be, I dunno, helping me out a little more, here?” He was entirely joking, about to start unbuttoning his shirt after popping the one on his SDN-provided pants until hands on top of his stopped him in his tracks.
“Fine,” Flambae snapped, but seemed pleased with the fact that he was expected to do more work in this situation. Missing two fingers on his right hand did nothing to deter him from undoing all of the buttons on Robert’s uniform and practically ripping the shirt off of him. “Since you’re so fucking incapable of taking care of yourself, I’ll do it for you.” He growled, ignoring protests of stretched-out seams in favor of yanking the man’s pants down his thighs, pulling Robert’s limbs out of each pant leg and armhole before throwing the articles of clothing over his shoulder, uncaring of where they landed.
Thoroughly stripped, minus a pair of black boxers and his socks, Robert found himself panting, leaning slightly backwards onto the bed and gazing up at the other man. “I’ll do it for you.” Kept echoing over and over in his mind, and he found himself relaxing in further increments with each pass of the phrase through his thoughts. It was insistent, said with the bite and sting of an insult but soothed over by Chad’s capability, and most importantly willingness, about the whole thing.
Robert could feel arousal start to build in the pit of his stomach; with everything going on with hunting down Shroud, being exploded (the first time), waking up from a coma, getting the shit beaten out of him (a couple times), babysitting a team of insane people Monday through Friday, getting blown up (a second time), and barely getting enough sleep or proper nutrition, his already low sexual needs had decreased into non-existence. Aside from the infrequent jerk-off session to try and push him from exhaustion into sleep, he just.. Forgot, he supposed, that this was something he was capable of.
Now, with an attractive man who smelled like smoke, spices and something masculine that underlined all of those scents was stripping him bare and hovering over him with intent. It was perfectly natural for his body to be responding the way it was, but it still left him feeling off-kilter, shocked by how readily it did to Flambae of all people.
“You should lie back on the pillows, it’s going to be more comfortable for you.” After staring him down in silence for several moments, the former villain finally piped up. He was adjusting his grip on that small jar, looking off to the side almost like he was..
“Are you nervous?” Robert asked, a teasing roll to the question that tumbled into sincerity. He did as he was told, shuffling back until he could lean into the wall of pillows against the headboard.
“Shut up,” Was the very original rebuttal, but then Flambae was crawling onto the bed and worming his way between Robert’s legs so, really, the Dispatcher wasn’t able to make fun of him for it, too distracted by the thick, hairy thighs wrenching his skinnier ones apart. “You’re mouthy.”
The auburn-haired man’s chuckle died in his throat when, instead of reaching for his boxers, Chad simply opened the jar up and held it, suspended, over Robert’s stomach.
Raising an eyebrow, Flambae looked up to scan Robert’s unreadable expression. He frowned, hesitating. “Is this okay?”
Robert glanced from the jar, partially turned but not enough for whatever was inside of it to come out, then to the man between his thighs who had somehow managed to not touch any part of his bare skin yet. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m down for.. Whatever this is,” He drawled. “But considering I have no idea what’s going on.. Maybe tell me what’s in there? It’s not bugs, right? Not into those, sorry.”
Flambae looked disgruntled, but not put-out, still holding the jar and jostling it slightly like that would tell Robert anything. “Massage oil, idiot.” He explained, when the shaking of the jar around didn’t miraculously answer the Dispatcher’s question.
“.. You have fire powers.”
“Yes.”
“Is that-”
“It’s safe.” Flambae hissed, hand a hot brand on Robert’s hip as he finally grasped at him and the shorter man had to stifle the eager noise that such a basic, simple action caused. “I’m not cruel or stupid; this is wheat germ oil,” Despite the irritation flashing in his gaze, his hold on Robert’s hip was gentle as he continued to expound on the point. “It’s like, less flammable and shit if I control myself.”
Robert eyed the jar with consideration. Historically, Flambae’s spectrum of control over his powers had been both a not-so great experience, what with the man trying to roast him alive two separate times, but had also been a God-send with how much relief it had brought the last time they were in a position not-so dissimilar to this. Fuck it, if he got burnt it would be worth it.
Still, he had to get a jab in. Who would he be if he lost his sarcastic, bastard character? If he couldn’t be Mecha Man, this was it for him. “You sure you can control yourself, hot stuff?” He tensed his thighs, near-imperceptibly, just to feel Flambae’s hips between them.
Brown eyes, lidded low, watched Chad’s adams apple bob as he swallowed, slowly drifting down the muscled planes of the other man’s body before settling very notably on his crotch. The former hero was still clothed, but maybe he always intended to be if this turned out to be a power trip he had- getting Robert in his bed, getting him desperate, but staying clothed and collected the entire time.
It was working. Fuck, was it working.
Flambae’s hold on the jar throughout the entire conversation in the living room to the continued part in the bedroom had gotten the substance inside warmed up just a little over room temperature, meaning when it hit the skin of Robert’s chest, started to pool down to his stomach, it wasn’t a shock.
He hissed through his teeth anyway, resisting the urge to curve into the sudden presence of Flambae’s hands as the other man set aside the jar and gave into temptation, smoothing the pool of oil all over the scarred torso before him. He got to work immediately, knuckles trailing over Robert’s nipples before his hands kneaded up into his collarbone, oil making the process one long, effortless glide.
This felt- different, somehow, from the other night. The first instance had just been pure relief on Robert’s part, too exhausted for his brain to process all the other sensations and emotions he could have been feeling - there was none of that, now, the combination of the masculine, muscled figure wedged between his thighs and a searing pair of hands moving from his shoulders to his arms to massage the tension out of the limbs causing the room to spin to the staccato tempo of his heartbeat.
Oh. He was hard.
Robert’s head, beyond his control, fell back on one of the many pillows propping him up as Flambae ran his hands down both of his arms before lifting them and placing them above his head. He didn’t move them, keeping them where they were placed without any complaint.
“There we go,” Chad’s voice was a low rumble in his wide chest that was rising and falling with more intensity than before, the hair curling and sprawling over his pecs not hiding the way a sheen of sweat decorated his skin. The room itself was heating up, but true to his word the former villain was doing well controlling his flames; the oil being massaged into Robert’s flesh was hot, but not unbearably so. “Let me-” Flambae’s voice caught in his throat as Robert’s gaze met his again, all doe-eyed and soft with relaxation. “Fuck. Let me take care of you.”
While the first massage had been gentle, caring, this one was tender with an underlying need thrumming deeply between the two men. Robert rolled his neck so the side of his head rested in the curve of his raised elbow, not breaking eye contact.
God. He looks hot when he begs.
And he was right. Flambae’s gaze was intense, amber flashing with desperation as he moved his grip down to set his hands on either side of Robert’s ribcage, heat seeping deep into the other’s bones from just placing them down. He was panting, steam rising off of his own skin as Flambae overheated his own self to the point that his sweat sizzled on the surface of any bit of exposed skin.
Speaking of exposed skin, there wasn’t nearly enough for the Dispatcher’s taste.
“Take it off,” Robert was going to motion to Flambae’s suit with one of his hands, but decided against it, too content to sink into the comfort of Flambae’s large, plush bed. “Please.”
With zero hesitation, Flambae’s touch was ripped away as he hurriedly began to pull at the zipper on the back of his suit, fumbling as his oily grip scrambled for purchase before, with a triumphant sound, he gripped the zipper tightly and pulled the flame-resistant costume off of his frame.
Barely a few seconds had passed, but it was enough for Robert to let out a sigh of relief when Flambae wrestled himself out of his suit and got his hands back on the shorter man. So much for a massage, but this was better.
“Yeah?” Chad groaned, shaking his hair loose from the ponytail he typically wore it in and letting thick waves of dark strands fall over his shoulders. “Need to see me that badly, huh, bitch?” He smirked, showing off the gap in his teeth as he gazed down at Robert, hands creeping down to the hem of the other man’s boxers.
Robert did move, then, snapping out an arm to grip the taller man’s hair tightly, pressure tight against his scalp. “Call me that again,” He murmured, calm tone leaving no room for bullshit as he yanked Flambae’s head down to be more level with his own. “And I’ll leave.” He didn’t want to, wasn’t actually offended by the word directed at him because he had heard way worse, but he was interested to see how much control over Flambae’s nature he had.
“Fine,” Chad sounded strangled, eyes rounded out in a startled sort of way, hips jutting forward just enough for his pelvis to grind against Robert’s. They were both hard now, the Dispatcher’s still-clothed crotch bumping into Flambae’s bare cock as it slid between the jut of space between Robert’s lap and the inner corner of his thigh. “Fuck. Okay, okay.” He agreed, already pulling down those infuriating black boxers in the way of his goal, heedlessly moving past the reprimand.
Robert’s hand gentled on the other man’s scalp, scratching a soothing line from the back of his skull to his neck before settling on the curve where throat met collarbone. “Good boy.” He sighed as the cloth of his boxers brushed against the sensitive flesh of his thighs before being yanked off of his legs entirely.
Flambae’s face was flushed an attractive shade of red, jaw shifting as he grinded down whatever response he was about to give between his molars. His eyes were focused on Robert’s crotch, clouding over a bit with heady arousal as he took in just how affected Robert was.
“Look at you.” Robert crooned directionlessly, letting his hands roam Flambae’s wide shoulders, sliding down to cup his biceps and give them an appraising squeeze. Fuck, he’s jacked. Sure, Robert had looked at men before, sometimes getting a spark of interest here or there, but the way saliva pooled underneath his tongue just from getting his hands on the other man was still a shocking discovery for him. This was more intense than anything he’d experienced before, heightened further by the oil practically scalding his skin as his tone of voice alone caused Flambae’s tightly-held control to slip just momentarily. It sent a rush of hunger to his head, a drop of pre-cum pooling from the slit in his cock down the length of it.
A boiling grip shifted from Robert’s side to grasp both of their cocks together, the wet combination of oil, sweat and pre-cum adding to the pleasurable glide as Flambae gave a few, experimental pumps of his wrist.
“Fuck-” Robert dug his teeth into his lip to muffle the sounds aching to be released from deep within his chest, unable to look away from the picture their two cocks made, the obscene squelch causing his ears to flush. “- Keep doing that. Shit.”
Flambae’s free hand lifted to cup the side of Robert’s face in a warm, careful palm. “Can I kiss you?” He blurted, words slurried together from pleasure he’d happily admit to and nerves that he would deny having.
Desire sung through the Dispatcher’s entire body, nervous system lighting up like a wildfire, skin tingling from the heat of the oil and proximity to the former villain. “Please,” He gasped out on a particularly clever twist from Flambae’s grip around their cocks. “Kiss me, please.”
The first kiss was slow, a delicate press of closed, dry lips to each other before they steadily ramped up to passionate, open-mouthed kisses. A hot tongue was plunged past Robert’s lips, Flambae practically devouring the moan that managed to escape Robert’s focus and slip out and into the other man’s eager, waiting mouth.
It was addicting, the taste of Flambae causing a cloud of lust to encompass Robert’s entire mind, every part of him craving more- whatever the other man was willing to give him, he’d take it hungrily, willingly, needily. He had proven himself well and able to take all the broken bits of Robert, unblinking at the scars and snark alike, matching him bite for bite, and he had pleaded to Robert, so appealingly, to let him take care of him. Who was he to deny that?
“Come on,” He grunted, returning each kiss Flambae pressed to his mouth while still trying to get his words out. He twisted his hips, pleasure zipping down his spine as Flambae’s grip on the side of his face shifted to hold onto his chin tightly. “Come on. You wanna take care of me, yeah?” Panting, Robert wrenched their mouths apart for much-needed air, dipping down to press an apologetic, substitute kiss to the thumb pressing into the divot between his lower lip and jaw.
Nodding, Chad gazed down at his mouth with a dumbfounded expression on his face, apparently reduced to a mute state from just making out with his Dispatcher; even the hand pumping away at their pressed-together lengths had slowed during that point.
Robert sucked Flambae’s thumb into his mouth, tongue laving over the pad of the digit with intent. “Fuck me, then.” He released the thumb to press several wet, eager kisses into Flambae’s hand. “Come on, hot stuff; I can take you.”
Sparks ricocheted from the tips of Flambae’s long, dark hair, dancing and rolling down his sweat-sheened skin before flickering to their end once they reached Robert’s oil-slicked form. Thankfully, nothing caught fire, but the display still stole the air out of the Dispatcher’s lungs.
Flambae let out a long, low groan as he dragged both of his hands to grasp, hard enough to bruise, back at Robert’s hips. Maybe he really, really had a thing for his hips, maybe he was just trying to reel his control back in; maybe both, considering the slight shake to his shoulders and the way his amber eyes were squeezed tightly shut.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.” The taller man finally ground out, eyes fluttering open and fixating on Robert’s with sweltering intent.
Tantalizingly warm hands were smoothing to cup the underside of the Dispatcher’s thighs, scooping the lower half of Robert’s body up and off the bed as his legs were pressed up close to his chest- achingly similar to the day Flambae helped him stretch in the gym. Holding the shorter man’s legs up with his left hand, Flambae reached over to the bedside table, jerking open a drawer and rustling around before, apparently, finding what he was looking for and settling, hot and impatient, back into Robert’s space.
There was the click of a lube bottle, the crinkle of a condom wrapper being set aside, and then a singular finger was swirling around the tight furl of his entrance- not pressing inside, just a whisper of touch.
Still, Robert tensed. It was an unfamiliar sensation, someone else’s touch in such a private area, but Robert wasn’t some blushing, unknowing virgin. Well- he was blushing, but only because Flambae was resting his cheek on Robert’s raised shin and peering down at him with blown-out pupils, like Robert was some kind of sight to behold and not a skinny, scar-riddled man with dark, tired bags under his eyes. Like everything hinged on how Robert was feeling about all of this, and that in of itself was highly unusual for him.
Realistically, the fact that the person he was about to have sex with was someone who he had maimed, someone who had tried to kill him more than once, and someone who had the ability to try it again - it should set him on edge even further, but despite all of that, his mind was blissfully abuzz with thoughts honed in entirely on the man, solid and warm, pressing close to him. All tension seeped out of him on his next breath, replaced by a deep-seated feeling of acceptance and comfort. He hadn’t been killed so far, might as well take the jump and hope Flambae was willing to catch him.
“This okay?” Was asked, a soft question pressed into the side of his knee followed by a kiss, non-hurried and so unlike the other man’s typical personality that he was having a difficult time wrapping his head around it.
Robert let his hands fall down to the tops of Flambae’s thighs with a quiet thwap, digging his fingers in hard, hoping he bruised him- marked the other man. “If you don’t fuck me in the next five minutes, I’m going to push you off this stupidly big bed and ride you through the floor.” He hissed, scratching his blunt nails from Flambae’s thighs to his knees for good measure, leaving a red line in their wake.
“Fuuuuck,” Flambae groaned out, a flash of heat bursting across Robert’s skin as the temperature in the room ticked up a notch. “Next time. Do that.”
Next time. Next time. Next time.
Without further preamble, Chad’s finger was pushing past the tight ring of muscle, wiggling ever-so slightly the further it went in, searching something out.
It didn’t feel like much, at first, maybe a bit uncomfortable as his body got accustomed to the intrusion - but then Flambae added another, the fact that he was using his mangled hand hitting Robert and sending a spark of heat down his spine as the ruined digits bumped against the seam of his taint when Flambae twisted his hand, scissoring his index and pointer in order to stretch Robert more efficiently.
“Fuck, Flambae.” Robert’s eyes flew open- when the fuck had he closed them?- and he rocked his hips down to meet each thrust of Flambae’s fingers. “Keep doing- yeah, right there, shit.”
The other man’s hand ceased its movements just as Robert was getting into a rhythm, causing him to release a choked off moan as all pleasure halted.
“My name.”
“Wh-”
“Say my name.”
“Fuck, Chad- Please.”
With an expert twist to his wrist, Flambae’s fingers began to pummel directly into Robert’s prostate, finally breaking the dam holding all of the Dispatcher’s sounds back as he threw his head back and whined.
“Right there- oh fuck, good boy.” Robert couldn’t catch his breath, the heat from Flambae’s fingers increasing steadily until the cruel press of his fingers bullying their way onto his prostate felt like they were boiling his insides. “Good fucking boy, Chad.”
Flambae’s amber gaze was stuck to the sight of his fingers thrusting in and out of Robert’s hole, the wet, sloppy noise of lube and friction causing his cock to twitch in jealousy for what his fingers were experiencing. The tight suction kept pulling him back in, making it difficult to slide his fingers out and circle the Dispatcher’s rim with a cautious thumb, testing the give until that too got sucked in with a pop.
“You’re so fucking tight,” Chad gnawed on his bottom lip, trying not to sound as pathetically into this as he was, but failing miserably when his words trailed off with a high note as his fingering skills knocked Robert’s socks off- metaphorically, of course, the man still had his on because Flambae had gotten sidetracked when unclothing him earlier, sue him. “Gonna cum from this? Can’t even hold out for my cock, huh?” He asked, the taunt subdued due to the way his voice was shaking with want and need for the other man.
Robert couldn’t even nod, his head barely feeling screwed on as that spot inside of him was assaulted with scalding heat and talented fingers, dick weeping against his stomach where it lay, completely untouched since Flambae had stopped jacking them off in favor of getting him prepared for what was to come. “So close,” He slurred, swallowing past a sea of drool pooling in his mouth so that he didn’t embarrass himself further, blown-out pupils locked onto the way Flambae’s hairy chest rose and fell with each strained breath, dusky nipples perked and inviting even from his position below the man. “So, so close.” Fuck, he could just lean forward a bit to have one of them in his mouth, to bite down and see what kind of reaction he got.
Steam billowed off of the two men on the bed as Flambae’s powers continued to heat the room further, the combined sweat from their bodies and the spit exchanged with each lick into the other’s mouth practically sizzling with each brush against the walking firestarter’s skin.
Robert wasn’t loud by any means, even his slurred words fairly subdued in volume, but Flambae drank up each noise that escaped his Dispatcher with intense passion, sucking on the other man’s tongue and reveling in the taste of Robert’s pleasure. Those doe eyes of his were heavily lidded, but hyperfocused on every motion he made or breath that he took, and he took pride in the fact that he had reduced that cocksure attitude into pure need.
“C’mon,” Chad increased the speed of his fingers, attacking Robert’s prostate with renewed vigor just to get more of those noises to flood out. They were low, roughened with masculinity and something so Robert that Flambae had to dig the fingers of his free hand even further into the flesh of Robert’s leg to stop himself from flipping the smaller man over and fucking him so hard he lost the ability to walk for reasons other than his fuckass chronic pain. “Take what you need,” He purred, breathlessly. His own dick lay heavy with neglect and arousal, but he had finally gotten this mouthy, sarcastic little bitch of a former hero in his bed - he was going to savor this. “Robert.”
The orgasm that Robert had been fighting to move towards with each roll of his hips and flick of Flambae’s wrist suddenly crashed over him with an unexpected wave of incoherency, his ears ringing as he let out a string of curses and let his head fall back on the pillows behind him. Robert could feel the warm, wet impact of his cum splatter against his stomach, reaching up to the spot between his pecs and oozing down to trickle towards his belly button. At some point, his hands had come up to grasp at any part of the other man he could reach, one landing on Flambae’s shoulder and the other easing its way upwards to tangle in the dark mess of the former villain’s hair.
“Oh, fuck.” Robert choked out, trying to catch his breath as the room spun around him, searing heat singing across his skin as the force of Flambae’s arousal at dragging his orgasm out of him resulted in the oil still coating his skin to warm up even further. Sparks were popping off of Flambae’s frame, his jaw hinged open as he watched Robert come down with open, unfettered desire. “Jesus, man.”
“I know, I’m fucking amazing.” Flambae sneered down at him, doing a very poor job at trying to mask his own obvious interest in the proceedings, clearly hoping that making Robert cum was enough to make him too delirious to notice.
Robert noticed.
“You are,” Robert felt weightless after the orgasm, serotonin and dopamine rushing through his nervous system and cooling down the haywire of urgency he had been in chasing after his climax. All he felt was pleased, warm, and a continuous hum of arousal gradually increasing the more he stared at Flambae, and it was hard to take his eyes off of the other man; he didn’t bother to deflect or play into the petty verbal squabbles he’d normally pursue just for amusement, wanting to put all his cards on the table so whatever this was could continue. “You’re so fucking hot,” He kept going, aware of Flambae’s fingers still inside of his ass as the other man flinched in surprise at the praise he didn’t bother to control, causing a hiss of overstimulation to lace the words. “So talented, so good at giving me what I need, yeah?”
Flambae gave a vigorous nod, tentatively scissoring his fingers apart to stretch out the puffy rim threatening to cut off circulation from his fingers with how tight it was. Despite him singing his own praise a moment ago, he was surprisingly, agreeably quiet when it was Robert’s turn to have a say in things.
Robert gave a thoughtful sort of hum, fingers tightening their hold on Flambae’s hair, just for the fun of it; the dark locks were soft, well-maintained, and he found himself wondering how it would feel to have Flambae’s head in his lap during a movie night of some sort, where he could sift his fingers through the sea of black hair and enjoy it in a different context to this one.
A jolt shot through him as the other man’s ginger petting ceased, and Flambae began to slide his fingers out, interrupting the derailed thought process his mind was taking.
“Some other time,” Flambae started, accented tone reverberating from his chest to Robert’s as he hefted himself further into the other man’s space, chest to chest with his lips hovering just an inch away from the auburn-haired man’s. “I am going to fuck your throat raw, and then the only thing in that wordy mouth of yours is going to be my cum that you’ll swallow.”
Maybe if I piss him off enough he’ll be willing to try that tonight. Robert watched as Flambae pulled back to open the condom wrapper and-with an attractive shudder-slid it on, eyeing the other man’s impressive length while running his tongue over his own bottom lip.
Sitting down for a whole shift was going to be hell, but he couldn’t give one less of a flying fuck right now.
Belying the somewhat aggressive turn his prior threat had taken, Flambae’s hands were nothing but gentle as they shifted Robert’s hips upwards so he could place a pillow beneath the Dispatcher’s skinny frame, propping him up into a more suitable position and cushioning him properly to avoid any straining or aches. His left thumb ran soothing circles into the crevice between his hip and upper thigh, amber eyes boring into Robert’s with intense, unblinking attentiveness.
“Ready?” The head of the taller man’s cock nudged appraisingly at Robert’s entrance, but didn’t push forward before hearing an assent from the other.
Robert used the hand still knotted in his teammate’s hair to pull their faces even closer, licking into his blistering mouth with an agreeable moan. “Go ahead.” He consented, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses onto the broiling flesh of Flambae’s neck.
Sinking into the welcoming, soft embrace of Robert’s ass as slow as he could tolerate, Flambae let his throat be mauled by the man below him, allowing the grip in his hair to move his head wherever the other wanted it to be in order to mark up more of his skin. The irony of him being the bitch in this situation, of letting the smaller man do and say whatever he pleased because he was following along willingly and wantingly wasn’t lost on him, but he wasn’t ever going to verbally admit to needing this just as badly as he wanted Robert to need him.
“Holy shit, your bratty attitude makes so much sense, now,” Robert panted into the curve where his neck and shoulder met, eyes screwed shut as his body adjusted to the slow intrusion. Both of them shook once he was fully sheathed inside of the smaller man. “You’re big.”
Bolstered by the comment, Flambae gave an experimental thrust of his hips and was immediately rewarded by teeth digging into the trapezius muscle, whimpering to match the muffled moan coming from the other man. Little nibbles followed by teasing pecks and kitten-licks followed the harsh bite, dipping into the indent left as if in an apology.
“Jesus, you’re like-” Another bite, Flambae couldn’t hide the way he shuddered at that paired with the easy glide of his cock slowly easing back out of Robert. “- some kind of. Blood-thirsty creature. Or something.” He panted, easing his hips back so only the tip of his cock remained inside of the other man before giving a brutal thrust forward.
Robert’s following laugh was knocked out of him by the force of Flambae’s hips, strangling off into some sort of keening noise he tried to hide into the muscled deltoid littered with hickies and bite marks alike. “You-” He moaned, blood rushing down to pump his dick into fullness once more as it slapped against his stomach from the rhythm that Flambae was building. “You mean a vampire?”
Flambae hissed as the Dispatcher enunciated his point with a fierce nip to the spot just beneath his jaw, goading him into tilting his head so he could return the favor by laving his tongue across the shell of Robert’s ear, trailing the crescent-shaped chunk that had been taken out of it. “Whatever.” He growled, peeling away from the other man’s bum ear with a parting bite, reveling in the way Robert clenched tightly around his cock.
Chad’s hands fumbled with their grip on Robert’s hips, trying to keep the wriggling man steady as the fixed, slow drive of his cock nailed his prostate head-on with each push. It was easy to lose himself in the tight squeeze of Robert’s body, each punched-out whimper and hushed praise to encourage him to keep going, but he was determined, borderline desperate, to make the smaller man cum again before allowing himself to fall over the edge.
With one hand tightly clamped to Robert’s hip, a boiling pressure that he hoped marked the other permanently, Flambae shifted the grip of his other hand to curl searingly around the Dispatcher’s weeping cock and stroked it in time with each slap of his pelvis to the back of Robert’s thighs and ass.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Flambae grinned, amber eyes flashing in the low lighting of the bedroom, thumb pressing into the dripping slit on a particularly mean twist upwards, just to hear the low cry resounding from the man below him as the sensitive glans were exposed to the searing temperature of Flambae’s hands. Each piston of his thighs was accompanied by a lewd, wet sound of the lube and sweat sticking to their skin, and he basked in it. “Just lie there and take it.”
Denying himself the satisfaction of making the Mecha-Bitch cry on his cock, he was keeping each thrust and stroke relatively moderate, maintaining a deep, slow cadence on the basis of driving the other man crazy with a mix of artful talent from his hands and rhythm-upkeep alone - but, in reality, a part of him wanted to keep the energy from the other night as a part of this, where he was allowed to witness Robert’s vulnerability and given the opportunity to do something that helped him. Wringing a therapeutic orgasm out of the other man through the tasteful application of gay sex was a far cry from a soothing massage after a heart-to-heart, but there would be a time for hard and fast at a later date, if Robert still wanted him after this, and this was a good middle-ground. For now, Chad would focus on making sure that every single time the Dispatcher felt pleasure, all he could associate it with was Flambae himself. He was the one who could do both for Robert.
At some point, Robert’s arms had wound themselves beneath Flambae’s armpits to cling to his shoulders, blunt fingernails dragging welts up the muscled back, another mark of many that the Dispatcher had left on the former villain. Chad found that he didn’t mind that thought as much as he probably should’ve, some preening, gleeful creature nestled deep in his chest purring and content at the idea that this bound them together somehow, if even just for tonight.
“Chad,” Robert gasped, breaking the man out of the sobering thought that was this whole thing disappearing entirely after tonight and back into the reality of right now, where he had a man moaning on his cock. “C’mere.” And then there was lips on his own, effectively chasing away that train of thought he didn’t want to pursue.
Everything slowed, then, the kisses between the two men turning into deep, lingering ones that had them reluctant to part- so they kept dipping back in for more, soft noises of pleasure and longing finding solace in each other’s mouths. Flambae’s had decelerated the powerful motion of his hips into smaller, grinding rotations to continuously hit that sweet spot deep inside of Robert without having to part from him for a second.
“God, you-” Chad interrupted whatever Robert was going to say by giving him another kiss, swallowing the words and tucking them beneath his molars with a thrum of contentment. “You’re so good at this.” It came out again anyway, like Robert was determined to assure him on how good he was doing - just like he was determined to do well for the other man.
Chest expanding with gratification, Flambae gave Robert’s cock a light flick just to watch it jump and to hear the sharp intake of a surprised breath the other man took at the action. Shuffling that observation for some other time, he nibbled at Robert’s jaw to distract himself from the way his balls ached for release, pressed tight against Robert’s rather flat ass; he didn’t mind, it was a nice ass regardless. “Yeah?” He muttered, rubbing his cheek against the other man’s like a territorial cat, hips losing some rhythm as his orgasm began to build, threatening to spill over the unstable control he had over himself at the moment.
“Yeah.” Robert’s hands came up, suddenly, to thumb precociously at Flambae’s nipples, brown eyes stuck on their dusky, appealing shade. “You’re perfect for me.”
Chad shook from the sudden, jarring impact of his orgasm, a flash of flames shooting out from the ends of his hair and the tops of his shoulders with a wave of heat that shifted the temperature in the room from hot to the more sweltering side, releasing a low groan as his balls twitched, cock emptying out into the rubber encasing it. He had the passing thought of him deciding to forego the condom earlier, of getting to watch his cum dribble out from Robert’s ass to the sheets below, and that imagery was enough to have him wheezing as the last dredges of his climax washed over him, left him shaking and gasping for oxygen. Sparks continued to dance down his forearms, dissipating and dying out once they reached Robert’s skin, the oil from earlier having been absorbed or melted off from the sheer amount of sweat dripping from the other man and thankfully keeping him from becoming a Dispatcher-shaped matchstick.
“Good boy,” Robert had apparently been murmuring the entire time but it finally cut through the fog of pleasure after the first few times, hands smoothing down his back in placid, reassuring patterns as Chad recovered. “You did so well,” Hard cock still trapped between them both, he seemed content to ignore it in favor of helping Flambae recuperate from his mind-altering orgasm. “My good boy.” Was whispered into the side of his head, a gentle kiss to his temple trailing after the words.
Flambae reared up, caught Robert’s lips with his, biting and sucking his way into the other man’s mouth so he could lick behind his teeth and suck on his tongue, his right hand returning to Robert’s cock and pumping with a furious, eager pace. “Cum for me,” He growled into Robert’s mouth, teeth clacking together as the other man moaned, lips lax with pleasure. “Please, Robert.”
Robert’s second climax of the night was louder, but less coherent than the first. A series of noises, incomprehensible but containing some combination of Chad’s name and ‘good’ somewhere in there, escaped the Dispatcher without his ability to control them. Cum ran down over Flambae’s knuckles as he slowed the slide of his hand, covering the stunted fingers completely and he watched with avid fascination.
“Messy thing.” Chad crooned, leaning back in preparation of getting up and grabbing a tissue or a towel or something to wipe the mess up before a hand grasping the upper half of his arm made him pause.
“Where you goin’?” Robert squinted up at him, voice a slurred mess of tangled vocabulary that he just managed to turn into a proper sentence, the hand grasping Flambae’s arm gentling into an odd sort of petting motion, like Flambae was actually a cat. He half-wished he was, if only so the petting could continue.
He didn’t pull away from the action, leaning into it slightly so he could dip down and press a smiling kiss to the confused, tilted line of Robert’s mouth.
“You’re sweaty, lube-y, and you will probably start to smell gross to me in about five fucking seconds,” Flambae ran a hand through Robert’s sweat-slicked hair, causing it to stick up in all sorts of funny directions and pulling an amused snort from his own nose. “I need to wash you off so you don’t stain my sheets further, you fucker.”
Robert hummed in acknowledgement, stretching out his lean frame with a soft noise. “Pretty sure that’s you, last I checked,” His eyes fell closed, expression blissful. “Y’know. Since your cock was in my-”
“I do know how sex works, you little freak, yes.” Chad snapped, zero heat to his words because now that Robert’s eyes were closed, he was free to gaze down at him and smile with zero repercussions.
“Freak? Ow, my feelings.” Robert droned on, sounding sleepier by the second but still wanting to keep the conversation going. “I’m wounded. The guy who named himself “Flambae” thinks I’m a freak. I don’t think I can keep going after this, you’re going to have to put me down.” The sarcasm was softened by something fond, something Flambae didn’t think he was allowed to linger on, so he sat up and gave the outside of Robert’s thigh a mild slap.
“Shut up,” Flambae grunted, a good orgasm doing wonders for his tolerance levels to normie bullshit. “Stay there, I’ll be right back.” He assured, getting up to dispose of the condom he had tied off and to get a washcloth from the bathroom.
In the meantime, Robert starfished on the giant bed that seemed even bigger now that the other man wasn’t occupying it with him- and, really, just how big of a bed did one man need? Maybe Robert was doing him a favor, taking up as much space as he could right now, making it more economical.
Maybe what they just did would hit him later on, but for now he felt at ease in his own skin, perfectly sated with a blissful, noticeable lack of pain keeping him tense- with one exception; he could feel Flambae’s handprints, raw and fresh, and knew they would keep stinging for days to come. Good.
“You look like a dead fish. Open your eyes, bitch.”
A wet plop on his chest startled him out of his half-asleep state, peeling open his eyes to watch as Flambae, now clothed in skin-tight boxers, took the washcloth he had just thrown at him, not giving him the chance to grab it himself. The man started with Robert’s face, gently dabbing at the sweat that pooled at his temples and had been dripping over his eyebrows and onto his eyelashes, smoothing the cool, damp cloth against his jawline before dipping it down and taking cursory, ginger swipes at his body so he didn’t irritate the slightly singed skin where Flambae’s hands had been particularly eager to brand. After a tender pass at his ass, wiping away the excess lube, the washcloth was thrown somewhere off to the side and Chad was crawling over him to fall, unceremoniously, on the bed beside him.
Silence lingered between the two, filling the foot of space between them like an active presence they weren’t sure how to disturb. The moment felt raw, tenderized by their combined past and heightened further by the present, but not uncomfortable. A shift in their dynamic, a door somewhere down the metaphorical hall being opened - it felt like opening a window to a stuffy room, letting the fresh air blow away dust and the scent of cobwebs and mothballs; or, in their case, blood and smoke.
Robert rolled over so that he could sprawl half of his body over Flambae’s, reveling in the warmth that immediately started to seep into skin where it had started to chill from the room cooling down after their passionate actions had dwindled to a stop. He tucked his head beneath Flambae’s chin, hand settling purposefully over a spot on the other man’s chest just so he could feel his heartbeat, which was racing, start to calm at the contact.
“Thank you,” It wasn’t the first time he had said it, and he knew it wasn’t going to be the last. “I think I needed…” This? You? He wasn’t sure which he meant to say, trailing off as he watched his fingers play with some of the hair on Flambae’s chest. “I can leave, whenever you want me to.”
There was a pause, a moment where neither of them seemed to breathe and the statement hung over both of their heads, waiting to drop.
Flambae’s right arm dropped down to tuck Robert closer into his side, a lazy kiss pressed into the top of his head, barely noticeable from how soft the pressure was.
“You could stay, if you want.” His hand cupped Robert’s shoulder loosely before easing down to cradle his elbow, an up-down pattern he repeated a couple times, causing the other man to relax further into the embrace.
That wasn’t the answer he needed, but they were headed in the right direction. “Do you want me to stay?” He prompted, for further clarification. Yes, he knew his own answer to that, but he needed Flambae to want him here, too. This wasn’t some favor, or some power trip - whatever it was, was something real. Something they both had to bear witness to and address.
Flambae was quiet, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared off at some random corner of the room.
Robert could feel his pulse thudding in his ears, could feel the matching pace of Chad’s heartbeat underneath his palm where it had stayed on the other man’s chest, but he didn’t make any effort to speed him along. There had been a time where neither of them could properly hear each other, both of them not willing to take the time needed to properly see into each other’s world and figure out the differences- but most importantly the similarities- between them. Robert wanted to make that time now, knew that the other man deserved that consideration. So, he waited.
The arm curled around him shifted, just slightly, enough that the hand petting his upper arm could trace the reddened outline of not-quite burns but definitely raw marks he had left on Robert’s skin. It wasn’t a hand free from all sin; obviously, this man was a former criminal and was far from innocent. But it was a hand that had treated him with care, had massaged his aches and pains away and had brought him over the cusp of pleasure twice already- even after, that hand had been tender as it cleaned him up from their activities, ensuring he was comfortable before encouraging him to find further repose at his side.
Robert stared at his own hand on Flambae’s chest, knowing he was the last person who should cast any judgement on past sins. He had been a hero, sure, but just because the people he had inflicted damage on for the sake of public safety and due order were villains and criminals did nothing to discount the blood that had been shed, or body parts permanently severed.
“Stay.” Chad’s voice was quiet, almost imperceptibly so, but Robert heard him. “Sleep, eat some breakfast, and..” He sucked in a shaky breath, amber eyes finally peeling away from that ever-interesting corner to gaze down at Robert with something like fragility, something like hope, something like forgiveness. “After that, I’ll take you home.”
Melting further into Chad’s embrace, nerves easing, Robert returned the other man’s gaze with his own, hoping his eyes conveyed the same sort of sentiment. They seemed to, if the way Flambae visibly loosened, sagging back into the bed with an air of easy, pleasant finality about him.
“Okay,” Robert agreed, gladly, voice rough. Aching, creaky joints a mere thought in the back of his mind, limbs sore only from the aftermath of the evening itself, and muscles well and thoroughly eased, Robert pressed one last kiss to the corner of Chad’s mouth while tucking a stray strand of long, dark hair behind the taller man’s ear before settling.
Oh, yeah. This was a major upgrade from that lousy plastic chair.
Notes:
*crying, rocking back and forth* please was the gay sex okay I have no idea what I'm doing
Anyway.
Thank you all so, so much for all of the positivity and support this fic has gotten! For my first fic-writing experience, this has been an absolute blast and I've loved being able to convert people to Flambert and emblaze (get it) others' love for it. You all have been such darlings and I hope any further projects I put out continues to entertain you all.
Best of wishes!! xoxo
- Kennel
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