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Robert likes to think he’s half decent at reading people. Maybe not amazing, he can admit, but he knows when somebody doesn’t like him. See; Flambae. Even after months at this job, it’s as if Flambae is making it his goal to be as annoying and hateful as possible. And yeah, okay, the guy’s made progress. Somewhat. He isn’t punching Robert in the face every time they see each other, which is a vast improvement and more than appreciated by Robert’s jaw. Robert is pretty sure the asshole had been slowly pushing his jaw out of place with how much he was getting socked in the goddamn face. But that’s long and done with. Robert thinks. He hopes. God, he hopes, because there’s only so many hits he can take before he considers jumping in the Mecha Man suit and throwing Flambae halfway across the city. Which is something he would do without hesitation if it meant sticking one to him. Again. For what, the third time? Jesus. Maybe he has been the source of a lot of Flambae’s grievances. In Robert’s defense, the man was still a villain at the time. And when he wasn’t that, he was an asshole. Robert was definitely justified for the removal of a few fingers back then.
But Flambae seems to slowly be coming around to forgiving him. If not forgiving, at least not trying to assault him every two seconds. Even if he’s still a snippy fucking asshole and the source of many headaches. That isn’t Robert’s largest concern though. No, his concern is the blatant eyeballing from Flambae. The teasing, the weird flirting, the-- Robert doesn’t know what the fuck this is, actually. It isn’t enough to be overt, but Robert knows what Flambae is doing. Or he thinks he does. He’s trying to find out, even if all the conclusions Robert has come to thus far are vague guesses that would make him sound insane if he tried to explain them to anybody else.
Robert can easily recount all of the odd shit Flambae has done thus far, because yeah, he may have committed each interaction to memory. Not because he’s taken any pleasure in doing so, but because Robert needs to make sure he isn’t going fucking insane and imagining all of this in his head. Though he’s pretty sure he isn’t doing anything of the sort when each encounter is seared into the back of his eyes like Flambae is trying to burn his retinas himself. All of this bullshit seems to have started a month ago. Robert isn’t sure what changed in the air, but Flambae damn sure seems to be affected by it. It was all kicked off by Robert doing the one thing that never seems to grant him any peace: Minding his own business.
“Yo, Bob Bob!”
Robert closes his eyes. His sandwich isn’t even in his mouth, just hovering in front of his lips. What has he done for the world to find this much joy in his suffrage. He sighs, setting his sandwich down.
“If this is about that terrible fucking missio--”
“It is, actually.
The sincerity in Flambae’s voice gives Robert pause. He opens his eyes, looking up at the man standing in the door of the break room. Robert’s eyebrows furrow together, hesitance evident in his expression as he leans back in his seat.
“Well? What’s your excuse this time? Not enough caffeine to get your reflexes in gear?”
Flambae rolls his eyes. “No, there’s no excuse.”
“... What?”
“Don’t sound so damn shocked.” Flambae snorts. “I fucked up. I .. I was distracted, okay? Real life shit, fucking-- Family stuff. But I shouldn’t let that shit distract me, right? So I’m sorry. Didn’t mean it.”
Robert gapes at him for what must be a full minute. Flamabe actually apologizing? To Robert? In broad daylight? Where the hell are the cameras, because there’s no way this is real. But staring at his face, Flambae looks entirely serious. Not a flicker of amusement shining in his eyes, or a smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. What the fuck. The bastard’s actually being genuine. Someone could tell Robert a portal to hell was split open in the ground, and he’d believe that faster than the concept of Flambae apologizing. And actually meaning it.
“Hellooo? Robert? Don’t tell me I broke you.”
Flambae is up close now, leaning down to peer at Robert. Way too fucking close, shit, Robert nearly jolts back when he focuses back on the man. Instead, he huffs softly, smothering his shock and leveling Flambae with an unimpressed expression.
“I was just shocked you had it in you to swallow your pride and apologize. Not that it changes how bad you fucked up,” Robert shrugs. “But hey. Baby steps.”
Flambae scowls. “If you’re gonna be an ass about it, nevermind.”
“What, did you want me to praise you for the bare minimum?”
“Wouldn’t kill you. Aren’t you supposed to be supporting our reformations?”
Robert frowns, and then leans in close. “You want support? Fine.” In a mocking manner, Robert raises his hand to pet the taller man on the head. Then, he drawls in a sarcastic tone, “What a good boy. Using your adult voice to apologize.”
Suddenly, something shifts. Flambae freezes up, lips parting just enough that Robert’s gaze drops to follow the movement. “I--..” Whatever Flambae wants to say dies on his tongue, and Robert idly thinks finally.
But Robert’s silent victory is short lived when he meets Flambae’s gaze again. His hand stills overtop Flamebae’s head, and Robert idly thinks that the strands of hair feel soft. He could run his hand through Flambae’s hair without much trouble, he thinks. Flambae seems like a guy who takes good care of hair, the type who refuses to leave the house until every tangle is undone and sufficiently tamed. Robert doesn’t have much time to dwell on that thought, not when Flambae is abruptly pulling back, leaving a lingering warmth in his wake.
“Fuck you,” Flambae says hurridly, but it lacks the usual bite as he turns around in haste.
Robert blinks, his hand dropping as Flambae quickly walks towards the break room door and rushes out of the room entirely. Robert stares where Flambae had just been, a slow frown pulling at his lips as confusion etches itself onto his facial expression. Now left in the break room alone, Robert has ample time to gather his thoughts. What the fuck was that?
Now, looking back, Robert is starting to realize that most of this weird tension might be his fault. But can he really be blamed? How the hell was he supposed to know Flambae has some weird praise kink? And how was he supposed to know that, apparently, Flambae has a thing for Robert’s backhanded way of giving it? Admittedly, Robert had realized both facts after a few more strange reactions from Flambae. Choking up when Robert goaded him through mean-spirited compliments, trying to excuse the flush across his face on alcohol when Robert told him how good he was doing with the rest of the team.
Robert isn’t that stupid, he knows signs when he sees them. Maybe if he were a better man, he would stop subtly teasing the literal man of fire before Flambae decides that Robert looks better bald. But ... Shit, Robert is enjoying it. God forbid. His dry spell has lasted longer than his time working at this godforsaken job, and Robert has eyes. Flambae, despite the path of villainy, the arson, and the barrage of insults he seems to have locked and loaded, has a handsome face. Pretty, Robert could argue. He’s real easy on the eyes, and even easier now that Robert knows just how to push his buttons. Especially in front of everyone else. That’s when Robert finds Flambae’s reactions the most rewarding.
... Yeah. The tension is definitely Robert’s fault. Whoops. He knows he should probably stop. He should absolutely stop. Indulging in whatever unresolved self-image issues Flambae has is definitely not going to do either of them any favors in the long run. Especially not Robert. He’s the guy’s boss, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t be praising Flambae with thinly veiled dirty talk that will definitely get him fucking fired if he slips up. But it isn’t as if the results in Flambae have been entirely negative. Flambae is actually getting better since that dumpsterfire of a mission that started this whole mess. A whole lot better, actually. It’s impressive, especially from the outside looking in. A perceived wildcard improving without any known prompting. Just a damn good dispatcher and an even better team. It almost feels like an unspoken secret, and unspoken is the operative word here. The two haven’t had a single conversation about ... Well, whatever the hell this is. Fuck, and Robert doesn’t even know if they should. Pretending nothing is happening between them is easy. It lets Robert pretend he isn’t causing the awakening to some kind of weird dynamic that they can’t just bounce back from. Flambae likes getting praised. Gets off on it, probably, and Robert is egging him on, feeding into it because yeah, he does like seeing Flambae squirm. Half because he likes watching the outspoken hot head try to keep his mouth shut for once and half because maybe, just maybe, Robert gets off on it too.
Flambae is fucked. God, he’s fucked. He’s fucked in so many ways that it would take him fifteen minutes just to list them all out-- and none of them are in ways he enjoys. At first, Flambae thought it was just a fluke. An awkward moment that Mechabi-- that Robert would just brush it off and forget it ever happened. But no, Robert did nothing of the sort. Instead, he’s decided to play some fucked up game where everybody is having fun but Flambae. Well, if ‘everyone’ meant Robert and that evil, conniving, knowing look of of his that makes Flambae want to drop down to his knees and--
Okay, He’s getting off track. His thought process is already fucked beccause of this little fucker. He could punch Robert in the nose. But then there’s a small voice in the back of Flambae’s mind, an annoying, nagging thing that’s been holding Flambae back from setting Robert on fire every time he murmurs something aggravatingly smug through the comms. But then who’ll give you want you want? And Flambae has to take to screaming into a pillow or kicking over a trashcan after a long shift being tortured by Robert’s stupid voice, and his stupid praise, and his stupid fucking face. He hates Robert. No he doesn’t. But he does. But he doesn’t-- Fuck! Flambae lets out an incoherent shout of frustration, crushing his thankfully empty cup in his head as he tips his head forward, ducking down to glare at the sidewalk like it owes him money.
“Jesus, the hell’s wrong with you?”
Next to him, Prism is idly eating fries, plucking them out one by one from the container in her hand. Fuck, Flambae is an ass. He’s supposed to be focused on this-- hanging out with his friend, and he’s here thinking about fucking Robert because apparently Flambae has a newly found type for self-depricating, sarcastic men with no sense of self preservation. He feels it bears repeating; Flambae is fucked.
“Shit.. Fuck, sorry, It’s just--”
“Robert?”
Flambae blinks. “What?”
“What?” Prism echoes, raising a brow. “You think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been eye fucking that white boy for the past few weeks?”
“Wh-- I have not been eye fucking him!”
“Oh, sure, and the sky ain’t blue.”
Flambae scowls. Well, being discreet has never been his thing. “It’s humiliating.”
“What? The fact that you want to fuck Robert?”
“Yes! The fact that I want to fuck Robert! Do you know what that’ll do to me? My reputation?”
“Bitch, what reputation?” Prism leans forward, pointing a half eaten fry at him. “You’re obviously going through a sexual crisis, even if nobody knows what it’s about, everyone knows you’re havin’ one.”
Flambae groans at that. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. You gotta find a way to get this under wraps, and quick. You know how the rumor mill works. People bitches ‘round there will have so much shit on you that you’ll be the talk of the office for two weeks.”
“Fuck ... Like Joanna.”
“Yup.” They both shiver. It’s best not to talk about the horrors of what happened to that poor woman.
Flambae sighs, crossing his arms as he sits back. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? It’s not like-- I can’t just--”
“Fuck him?”
“Yeah.”
“Why the hell not? It’s not like fucking Robert Robertson is some hot piece of meat on the market.”
“You sure? I’ve seen people ogle at the bitch.”
“Because you’re ogling too, bitch!”
Flambae frowns. As much as he would love to, he can’t argue with that. He’s been staring far too much at that man, lately. God. Maybe he has been eye fucking Robert. Has Robert noticed? Does Robert know? Is he doing all of this on purpose? Oh, that asshole would. He absolutely fucking would, because in what would would Robert not enjoy fraying Flambae’s last nerves with a stupidly neutral look on his stupid face. He can feel himself gritting his teeth, the thought of even a hypothetical Robert taking any amount of joy in his humiliation making him want to set something on fire. Or someone. Robert, specifically-- But who’s shocked at that? Instead of doing either of those, Flambae runs a hand over his face, groaning.
“... Shit. I’m going to fuck Robert Robertson.”
“Boy, you’re gonna fuck Mecha Man!”
“God. Even worse.”
This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. It’s so bad that even Flambae, a man who would loathe to ever admit he’s wrong, is thinking yeah, this is a bad idea. He shouldn’t be doing this. Fuck, he can’t do this. Trying to seduce Robert? What is he thinking? If a past Flambae saw him now, the reaction would be explosive. Hooking up with Robert. Mecha Man. The worst dispatcher Flambae knows. And not even that, because he’s annoyingly great at his fucking job and motivates the entire Z-Team to be better, or whatever. Flambae groans as he leans against the bar counter. He could bow out. Quit this entire plan right now and go home to wallow in his upset. But no, what the fuck? Flambae isn’t a quitter! He hasn’t quit anything since his elementary school soccer team, and that was only because he was clearly above all of those losers. (Of course, they were all losers. They were all eleven. But that’s besides the point.)
Flambae steels himself, scanning the room with furrowed brows. Almost the entire team is here, of course, another celebratory night that Robert offered to pay for, but Flambae has a sneaking suspicion he’s putting all the drinks on some kind of company card. Would that be a thing for heroes? Food for thought, but not right now. Flambae is on a goddamn mission. He glances at the bar, not particularly shocked to see Robert sitting alone at the edge of the bar. Ever since the fight with Shroud, Robert has been especially broody on their nights out. Some trauma shit, Flambae assumes. Taking in a breath, Flambae scans the bar area one more time before he’s striding over to Robert. Before he can even open his mouth to speak, Robert beats him to the punch.
“I was wondering when you were gonna stop gawking and come over here.”
Fuck. Fuck, Flambae can’t do this. Seriously. Are you kidding? One sentence in and Flambae can feel something stuttering in his chest. Like he’s a damn teenager! Fuck him, fuck him and fuck Robert. That’s supposed to be the plan, isn’t it? Shit, and now Robert is turning to look at him, arching a brow just enough that Flambae is half tempted to punch him out of panic and run off. He doesn’t do that, thank god, but instead feigns disinterest like Robert doesn’t have an insane effect on him.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Bob Bob, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in one of your moods.”
“My moods.” Robert echoes.
“Yeah, that weird, sad mood you get in after a shift. Like you’re contemplating life, or whatever.”
Robert snorts, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. “I’m always contemplating life.” He sets the cup down on the bar’s surface, turning around to fully face Flambae. “Look man, if you’re trying to start something--”
“No! Well, yes, I am, but not like-- I’m not trying to fucking-- Fight you, Robert. Have you so little faith? I’ve been on my best behavior lately, haven’t I?”
“Yes, Flambae.” Robert muses. “You’ve been such a good boy.”
And there it goes. Robert has to be doing this on purpose. He has to know, right? His question is damn near answered from the way Robert’s lips subtly curl up, watching as Flambae chokes on whatever smart insult he had been preparing. From that smirk, that blatant way Robert watches Flambae fumble over his words, yeah. Robert knows exactly what the fuck he’s doing. Oh, this fucking bitch.
“You fucking--” Flambae inhales sharply. “You smug little asshole, you’re doing it on purpose.”
Robert tilts his head, feigning innocence. “Hmm..?”
“You-- This!” Flambae gestures between them. “The praise, the compliments, you’re doing it to- to--”
“To what?” Robert leans in slowly. “I just wanted to encourage you, Flambae. Is that not what I’ve been doing?”
“I--”
“Unless, you’ve been feeling more than just encouraged? Is that it?”
Yeah. Flambae is going to die here. He’s gonna overheat and die in an inferno that’ll hopefully take Robert with him. It’s the least the asshole could do.
“You know exactly what I’ve been feeling.”
Robert’s smile twitches into a full on grin. “Do I? Shit .. Gonna have to be more clear with me. M’not a mind reader.”
Whatever self proclaimed self control Flambae has vanishes. Without burning his skin-- You’re welcome, Robert-- Flambae grabs ahold of Robert’s wrist and drags him towards the exit. Behind them, he hears a whistle, and a few jeers he can tell are from Prism and Punch up. He only flips them off behind his back before he’s pushing out through the door, dragging Robert behind him.
Robert nearly stumbles. “Shit, you could have bought me an extra drink if you wanted to take me home-”
Fuck, it’s now or never. “I do want to.”
Robert blinks at the blunt admission. “What?”
“Fuck, I had an entire plan, ya’know.” Flambae pulls him further down the sidewalk, away from prying ears. “I was going to seduce you, old fashioned way, a few drinks, flirting, whatever the fuck. Obviously it would have worked, I’m irresistible, but no, you just have to be-- You!”
“Is that .. a bad thing?”
Flambae whips around, glowering. “It’s the worst thing ever. Your stupid voice, your face, your dumb secret identity! Everything about you makes me so fucking mad and I still--” He cuts himself, swallowing thickly.
At the pause, Robert tilts his head. Dropping his wrist from Flambae’s grip, he steps forward, so close that Flambae can smell him. Sweat, sadness, and a hint of alcohol. Of course. Robert’s voice drops to a whisper. “You still what? Be a good boy for me and use your words.”
Flambae lets out a strained noise, a small whine that he can hardly believe is coming out of his own mouth. “I still want you.”
And that’s when the dam breaks.
Robert is going to hell for this, probably. Not for the way he’s definitely going to pound Flambae through the mattress, but mainly for the way he went about it. He can definitely admit to himself now that he’s taken great enjoyment in teasing Flambae whenever the opportunity arises, and on top of that he can definitely say that he’s just been waiting for Flambae to dampen his pride and just admit he likes it when Robert calls him a good boy. Of course, he assumed that would never happen, and he would probably just keep fucking with Flambae until the guy blew up and blasted Robert through a window for her troubles. But oh, this is much better.
‘I still want you.’ That alone went straight to Robert’s dick, the blood traveling so fast that Robert damn near tipped over from it. He’s never heard Flambae sound so wrecked, and just from a few words? Yeah, Robert is ruining this man the second they get inside of Flambae’s house. Which might be a challenge of Robert’s own doing, because Robert is currently pressing Flambae back against his own front door, hands sliding over his waist and sides and he kisses Flambae like his life depends on it. And god, it feels like it. Flambae’s lips are so warm against his own, of course they are, tingling against Robert’s skin as he presses his tongue inside of Flambae’s mouth.
The groan Flambae lets out is muffled through the kiss, which only serves to bolster Robert on as he traces his fingers along the exposed area of Flambae’s chest. Just as Robert presses a thigh against Flambae’s crotch-- Goddamn, he’s hard as hell-- Flambae huffs and pushes Robert back by the shoulder, face flushed as he glares. Robert is sure it would look much more intimidating if there wasn’t a string of spit against his bottom lip.
“At least wait until we get inside, dipshit. We’re not fucking against my front door.”
Robert hums. “I wouldn’t mind showing you off.”
Flambae sputters, pulling out his keys from-- ... Where did he pull those out from? Does Flambae’s suit have pockets? “Yeah, right, you have a long way to go before that ever happens.” He says, turning around to hastily shove his key into the keyhole.
Robert watches him for a moment, and then steps in close to wrap his arms around Flambae from behind. “So this is gonna be a regular thing?” He murmurs against Flambae’s neck.
Flambae clicks his tongue. “If you fuck as good as you talk, I’ll consider it.”
“Hmm. Thank God.” Robert deadpans.
The journey from the front door to Flambae's bedroom is a blur, mainly because Robert is trying to mark up as much exposed skin as possible before they hit the mattress. Not that it’s hard for Robert to do so— He makes a mental note to thank whatever convinced Flambae to have such a deep v cut in his leotard, because Robert is more than enjoying it. Most of his own clothes are gone, scattered on their path to the bedroom by the time Robert is pushing Flambae back onto the bed. It takes a bit of maneuvering, some cursing from Flambae’s end and a soft chuckle from Robert at his expense. Now the two men are in their boxers, and Robert has to physically stop himself from ravaging Flambae on the spot. He needs to be patient about this, considerate. He has no idea what Flambae is into, besides all the praise shit, the guy could be vanilla beyond that. Though for some unfathomable reason, Robert doubts that. Instead of jumping right in, though, Robert leans over Flambae, caressing his cheek before Rober is slowly slipping a thumb into his mouth.
“What do you want out of this, Flambae?”
Flambae groans around Robert’s thumb. “Mgh ... Chad.” He mumbles.
“Hmm?”
“We're fucking, aren't we?” Flambae licks a deliberate tongue along Robert’s tongue. “Call me by my actual name for once.”
A small smile pulls at the edge of Robert’s lips. “Alright, Chad. Question still stands. What do you want out of this?”
Flambae’s— Chad's face flushes an even deeper crimson than before, and that alone could make Robert’s breath hitch. Christ, has Chad always had this effect on him?
“I want,” Chad starts, breath heavy. “I want you to use me, fuck me up, that type of shit.” He pauses, and then meets Robert’s eyes with his own heated gaze. “And call me good for taking it all.”
Fuck. Robert might stop breathing at this rate. “Okay,” Robert mumbles. “Yeah, we can do that.”
Robert pulls their lips together for another kiss, wasting no time to deepen it as he pushes Chad down to lay back on the bed. Robert could get used to this— Kissing Chad until he's breathless and whining, making him keen and beg for more until he cries. God, could Robert make Chad cry? Is that a fucked up thing to think? Probably, but he couldn't care less. He can unpack all of that another day. Instead, he opts to pull away from the kiss, burying his face in the crook of Chad's neck and biting down. The reaction is immediate, a full body jolt and a surprised moan as Chad arches into the sensation. Of course he likes being bitten, Robert could smell that from a mile away.
“Fucking— Dick. I can't hide that shit, you know?”
“Yeah, I do know. That's why I did it.” Robert muses as he pulls back, pressing his palm against Chad's hard on. “You said you wanted me to use you. Are you taking it back?”
Chad growls. “Like hell I am. How about you get on with it, or I can just go out and find another guy that'll hurry the fuck—”
Robert doesn’t let him finish, only rolls his eyes as he swiftly tugs off Chad's boxers and makes the other man let out a surprised exhale at the movement. Robert spits into his hand and grabs ahold of Chad's dick, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Please. You couldn't bring yourself to find another guy if you tried. You're obsessed with me.” He says as he begins to pump his hand rhythmically. “You want me to praise you, use you, break you down and build you back up again because of how bad you want me. Kinda pathetic— But it's okay. You're still so good for me.”
Robert practically watches Chad's mind begin to melt in real time. He lets out a string of soft moans, lightly thrusting up into Robert’s hand as pre-cum dribbles out from the tip of his dick. It makes the entire shaft of Chad's cock messy, especially when Robert presses his thumb against the leaking head, smearing pre-cum along the length of it. It’s a decent size, Robert notes in his head. Hell, big, by most standards, but judging by the way Chad is whining and rutting into Robert’s hand, he's guessing Chad doesn't use it much when it comes to actually fucking other guys. Shame, but fitting, honestly. Chad would be the type to brag about his huge dick and turn into a whining bitch the second somebody touches it. Robert chuckles to himself, low and under his breath before he raises a brow at Chad.
“You got lube?”
Chad swallows, blinking rapidly. “Uh. Yeah, shit. Bedside, top drawer.”
Robert nods, standing up and finding his way to the mentioned drawer. He pulls it open and immediately finds the half empty bottle of lube. Probably a little more than half, Robert notes as he picks it up. He snorts softly, glancing at Chad.
“You have a lot of dudes over?”
Chad frowns at him, eyes flicking towards the bottle. “...Nah. Just a lot of time to myself.”
“Really? You ever think about me while you're fucking yourself?”
“Shut the fuck up and get over here before you kill my boner, Robert.”
Robert chuckles, easily finding a place back between Chad's legs. Robert puts his free hand against Chad's knee, pushing at it expectantly.
“Keep your legs spread.” He says, popping the bottle open with his thumb. “And don't fucking kick me.”
Chad scoffs. “Who do you take me for?” Robert gives him a look, and Chad huffs. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”
Robert hums in response, pouring lube onto three of his fingers before he closes the bottle and tosses it somewhere on the bed. He uses his dry hand to hook it under Chad's knee, pushing his leg back and stretching the man enough to get a clear view of Chad's hole. Robert raises a brow, pressing a curious finger against the rim, making Chad shudder. “Mmm. Swollen. You been holding out on me, Chad? How hard are you fucking yourself?”
Chad lets out a strained noise, something between a whine and a groan as he shifts his head to press half of his face into the sheets. “None of your damn business.”
“Uh-huh.” Robert circles Chad’s rim thoughtfully. “You’ll just have to show me one of these days.” Without leaving any time for Chad to respond, Robert slowly presses a finger into Chad’s entrance, carefully watching the other man’s reaction as he pushes in.
Chad huffs out something incoherent, Robert vaguely makes out the half muffled; “MghhFuck--” As he pumps the lone digit in a rhythmic movement.
“You ready for a second finger?” Robert asks.
“What kind of a bitch do you take me for? I’ve been ready- Shit--” Chad chokes on his own words as Robert shoves in a second digit with the first.
“Still so mouthy, what a shame.” Robert comments idly, speeding up the pace as he thrusts his fingers in as deep as Chad can take them. Chad’s dick twitches, spurts a bit more pre-cum as he presses his face impossibly further into the mattress. Yeah, Robert could get used to this side of the man. Without any warning, Robert shoves a third lubed finger into Chad’s hole, which pulls the most pathetic sounds from Chad’s lips.
“Ughn-- Shit, fuckfuckfuck--” Chad moans as Robert continues thrusting his fingers at a quick pace, changing angles every now and then until-- “Shit-!” Chad’s entire body jolts as Robert finally finds that sweet spot,smiling softly before he starts badgering that same spot over and over again.
“There we go,” He murmurs under the sound of Chad trying to muffle his own moans. “What’s wrong, Chad? You’d have a list of insults for me by now.”
“Fu-- Fuuck .. you-- Mgh..” Is all Chad is able to get out before he’s falling back into a string of moans decorated by high pitched curses. Shit, Robert didn’t even know his voice could get that high. Knowing Chad, he’ll probably make some attempt to convince Robert he was just imagining the sounds. But no, Robert is committing all of this to memory and then some. Abruptly, Robert pulls his fingers out, leaving Chad to whine. “What the fuck, man?”
Robert leans back to pull his own boxers off, and shit, he’s fucking hard. He’s practically been leaking through the fabric of his boxers the whole time, Chad is a goddamn wet dream. Robert lets out a slow breath, trying to calm himself as he searches for the bottle he tossed on the bed. Picking it up again, he opens the bottle and pours a generous amount on his palm.
Chad glowers. “Try not to use all my damn lube, yeah?”
“I’ll buy you more.” Robert mumbles, dropping the bottle carelessly.
“Yeah, right. Your broke ass? I might as well ask a homeless guy on the street for the money to get it instead.”
Robert wraps a hand around his own shaft. “You really should be nicer to the guy who’s about to fuck the thoughts out of you.”
Chad’s words die in his throat as his gaze drops to Robert’s dick, trying to play off his arousal by huffing in disbelief. “Guess you’re packing afterall.”
Again, Robert smiles. “Yeah. Now get comfortable.” He says, moving close to properly settle in between Chad’s legs. Giving himself a few pumps, Robert gently presses the head of his cock against the rim of Chad’s whole. “Ready?”
Chad inhales shakily before nodding. “C’mon, Robert.” He leans back, spreading his legs with an expectant glare. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
Robert doesn’t need to be told twice. Cursing under his breath, he starts slowly pushing in, grunting as his cock is enveloped in an impossible heat. Of course, it’s the walking firepit he’s currently sticking his dick in, but Robert still feels himself reeling as he pushes forward inch by inch, bolstered by Chad’s whines and hiccuped moans. God, he sounds slutty. If Robert wasn’t so focused on not blowing his load before he can even get in fully, he would say as much. Shit, Chad feels good against his skin. Robert grunts, suddenly freezing when a realization strikes him in his lust clouded head.
“.. Shit. I didn’t-- No condom.” Robert grunts out.
Chad whines. “Who gives a shit? I’m clean-- and, ngh, I know you don’t get enough action to catch an STD.”
Robert’s eyebrows knit together. “Yeah. Okay. If you wanna be like that.”
Robert pulls out all the way to the tip, and before Chad can complain-- which Robert knows he’ll do-- Robert slams his entire length back inside, hitting that particular spot that makes Chad’s back arch off of the bed. Robert doesn’t allow a moment of reprieve, no, he simply pulls out and shoves his dick back in a rhythmic pattern, taking in the way Chad is trying his best not to scream on Robert’s cock. And failing miserably, Robert might add, because the room is filled with the whiny and punched out sounds of Chad moaning obscenities that Robert can’t even make out. Not that he’s exactly focused on trying to interpret whatever Chad is trying to say.
No, he’s more concerned about how goddamn tight Chad feels around him, fuck. With every thrust Robert can feel the other man trying to squeeze down on his dick, like Chad doesn’t know whether he wants to pull Robert in for more or keep Robert from badgering against his sweet spot over and over and over again. Robert thinks it’s the former from the way Chad is hastily reaching to dig his nails into Robert’s shoulders. Robert grits his teeth. That’s probably gonna leave a mark. He hopes it does.
“Robert-- Robert, waitwaitwait-- I’m gonna-- c-cum-”
“If you wanna cum, then cum. Just don’t expect me to stop if you do.” Robert mutters, leaning in and grabbing a tight hold against Chad’s hips. At this angle, Robert can pull Chad’s hips against his own, pressing Chad’s hips back even as he’s pulling out. No matter whee he moves, he’s surrounded by Chad’s warmth, and lets out a low grunt of his own as Chad moans into the back of his own hand. Suddenly, Chad is tighter than ever around him, and Robert has to briefly consider thanking whatever god above that he gets to experience the sensation of Chad cumming on his cock-- Cum splatters across Chad’s torso and chest, and Robert vaguely notices whisps of smoke coming from Chad’s skin. Shit, hopefully he doesn’t set anything on fire. Robert has half a mind to say as much, but he’s sure Chad has enough self control not to burn his own room to hell. Instead, Robert moves his hands to push Chad’s legs to his cum splattered chest and practically bends the other man in half. Shit, the guy’s flexible. Who would’ve thought.
Robert can tell the stimulation is starting to get to Chad, his body is shaking and Robert thinks he probably has a good three minutes before Chad is going to punch him square in the face for the overload of pleasure. So Robert zeroes in on the goal of finally cumming, and had the distant thought that he should probably pull out.
“Fuck,” He grunts. “Gonna-- gonna cum, man,”
“Mgh--Mmm- Hurry the fuck- up!”
“Want, shit, want me to pull out?”
Chad growls. “You better not.”
Okay, fuck whatever he was thinking before, he can regret the mess he’s about to make later. Instead, he thrusts deep a few more times; Once, twice, a third time and he’s cumming. Robert had forgotten how pent up he is, because the amount of cum that he spills inside of Chad is shocking, even to himself. Robert groans as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against Chad’s chest as cum slowly begins leaking out around his dick. For a moment, both of the men are silent, the only sound being their labored breaths.
“... You’re cleaning me up, asshole.”
Robert snorts. “You’re the one who said ‘I better not’ about a minute ago.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
A beat of silence.
Robert sits up. “... Let me clean you up.” He mumbles. “Stay here.”
Chad rolls his eyes. “Don’t have anywhere else to be.”
“I liked you better when you were too busy moaning to speak.” Robert says, standing up.
“Fuck off.” Chad grabs a pillow and throws it at him. Robert laughs, catching it and tossing the pillow back on the bed. Chad huffs, giving Robert a sidelong glance before he speaks again. “.. Thanks, Robert.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Yeah, I won’t. Now hurry up, I can feel this shit drying on me.”
Robert snorts as he turns to leave the room in search of the bathroom, only one thought festering in his head; Work is gonna be so fucking awkward tomorrow.