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Robert drags his feet toward the door, already done with whatever bullshit the person insistently knocking against its surface is about to throw his way. He just got back from the wreckage at SDN, ready to fall into his bed and sleep for a week straight. Suspended at work as a formality or not.
He grits his teeth as the loud knocking starts reverberating in his head, the migraine he thought he managed to stave off taking root after all.
"What—" he begins tiredly, yanking the door open.
Only to have someone shoulder past him within a second, jostling the multiple wounds that Robert didn't allow anyone to take a look at. He bites on the inside of his cheek to cover up a wince, the idea of showing any weakness to the Flamey Prick not very appealing.
"Hi, Bob," the man drawls, stepping backward into the room as Robert turns around to face him. A duffel bag is thrown carelessly over his shoulder, the ugly superhero suit still on and revealing much more than necessary. At least the glasses are gone. Robert will cheer if it turns out they got broken in the fight.
"What do you want?" Robert asks, closing the door. Not that he particularly wants to know, but he's too exhausted—and injured—to actively throw the man out of his house. The sooner he finds out and Flambae leaves, the better.
"My apartment complex was fucked up during this shitshow," Flambae tells him, looking around the empty space of Robert's own apartment with critical eyes. He's the only one who didn't get a proper go around it, having arrived at the housewarming party right as the mood had been ruined. "Sonar left to live with the demon lady, so like, you're my only option. I guess."
"Uh-huh," Robert says dumbly, watching as Beef struts over and sniffs at Flambae's feet. The man glances down at the dog, gently nudging him with one foot. "No."
"No?" Flambae repeats after him, already scowling.
"No," Robert also repeats, hoping it drives the point home. "Absolutely not."
"What fucking hero are you?" Flambae asks, brows knitted together. "Won't even offer someone who lost his home a shelter?"
"A shelter is exactly where you should be going," Robert tells him and crosses his arms. He's not going to budge on this.
"I'm not gonna take space away from people who actually need that," Flambae protests incredulously, as if Robert is being incredibly selfish for even thinking that.
Robert needs to take some pills for that headache. Or a shot of whiskey. Maybe a whole bottle. He uncrosses his arms and rubs his forehead. "Waterboy? Prism?"
"Sure, yeah, I can go to Waterboy," Flamebae nods his head mockingly. "If you want him to be burned to a crisp in the very moment he opens his mouth." Robert thinks he would throw up with water all over Flambae first, but that's neither here nor there. "Prism lives with her girlfriend. I don't wanna be witnessing any of that sappy shit."
"Can't you just sleep in the rec room at SDN?" Robert asks desperately. Literally anywhere else than here.
"Great idea, Boberto, but the whole building is locked down. You should know, you were there."
And he does know, except he's ready to crash and his brain isn't computing very well anymore. There's some temporary set-up somewhere for the dispatchers, now that he thinks about it, but he doesn't even recall where.
"Even if," he eventually says, halfway ready to give up, "If you were to stay. Where do you imagine you'd sleep? I've got a single mattress on the floor in the bedroom, and an even smaller couch right there, which neither of us would fit on."
He points to the furniture in question, and Flambae's eyes follow in that direction, wrinkling his nose at the sight. "Yeah, no. I'm not even gonna try that thing."
A miracle. Some brain cells appear to be knocking around in that overheated skull of his. "Glad you see the issue, now if you'd just lea—"
"I'm taking the bedroom then," Flambae interrupts him and proceeds to strut over to the short corridor on the side with two doors on each side, one to the bedroom and one to the bathroom. "Good luck on the lumpy couch."
"No way in hell you're taking my mattress from me after this shitty fight," he argues, because that's an absurd notion. Who does he imagine he is, barging in and thinking he can call shots? "I haven't slept in over forty hours, and you're not kicking me out of my own damn bed."
"Where's your hospitality, Bob Bob?" Flambae asks with a groan. "You should treat your guests right."
"Guests, sure," Robert agrees easily, waving his hand in dismissal. "Not freeloaders with anger management issues."
"Anger manag— Fuck you," Flambae seethes, and some steam rises from the finger he points in Robert's direction.
Robert glances at it for exactly two seconds and then raises an eyebrow at the other man. Case in point.
"Fuck you," Flambae repeats in a milder tone, flicking his hand in the air to dispel the almost-there flames. "I've got nowhere to go, and you're just gonna turn me away? So much for caring about the Z-Team after everything we've—"
"Okay, you know what? I don't give a shit," he interrupts loudly, drowning out the rambling spiel. "Do whatever the fuck you like, I am going to sleep in my bed. Mattress. Whatever," he says, shoving Flambae away from the door with as much force as he can muster, which isn't a lot at the moment. The man doesn't even take a step back, but Robert ignores that in favor of walking into his bedroom. "Stay, leave, sleep on the couch, the floor, the balcony. Take your fucking pick."
He doesn't look back as he closes the door behind himself, sighing heavily as he leans against it. Well, that's just great.
He doubts there's much chance he will wake up to an empty apartment, only Beef for company. His dog that stayed out of the bedroom. Normally, Robert takes him along in the night, but he's honestly so fucking exhausted. He's got water and plenty of comfortable spaces to sleep in out in the living room. He will forgive Robert for not being able to sleep on his legs this one night.
Robert staggers toward the mattress, getting more and more sluggish as he lies down and drags the covers up to get warm. He doesn't even notice when he falls asleep, presumably as soon as his head hits the pillow.
Robert squirms in place, sighing heavily as the door creaks open and the patter of claws against the floor echoes through the room until Beef nudges his hand with a wet nose. His fingers twitch against it, and he falls back asleep immediately. Only to be roused right back from it when another body seems to crawl in right next to him. There's enough space that they don't touch, so Robert doesn't care one bit about whatever the hell is going on. He only wants to sleep.
"You breathe one word about this to someone, and I will personally disassemble that tiny Mecha Dick of yours," Flambae mutters mutinously, fighting with the covers to get enough of them on himself.
Robert decides the right course of action is to kick him so that he will quiet down, but with his current state, all he manages is the sad little tap with his foot against Flambae's shin. "Sh't up," he slurs out, and then he's out again.
At least nothing seems to interrupt his sleep after that. And when he wakes up, however many hours later, Flambae has already left. He almost assumes it had all been a particularly detailed nightmare until he notices the duffel bag resting innocently in the corner and mocking him silently.
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
Mandy sits on the countertop two days after the invasion of Robert's home, her legs swinging back and forth as she recalls the entire shift to him in great detail. She's taken over as the Z-Team dispatcher during his supposedly pending investigation, but what he thinks is simply a forced time off to recover from his injuries.
He entertains her desire to rant, throwing in various hums, nods, and tips on how to handle each of the troublesome members of his team, swallowing the beer as if it were water. She doesn't drink as much, getting drunk off a few sips without the enhancement of the crystal. She didn't explain its origin yet. Robert isn't sure he wants to know. At this point, he's not sure he would have cared even if it had come from Shroud. After so many second chances given to Visi, it'd only be hypocritical to judge anyone. That one does spark some slight bitterness in him; the constant distrust until the very end, when he did nothing but be honest with her since the beginning. Perhaps they could have made whatever crumbling foundation of a relationship they grew into something more secure. But now? Now, Robert can only think of all the conflicting feelings, issues within both him and Visi, and the unpleasant back-and-forth.
It's not for him. She will find someone better who will help her heal, not a dry asshole like Robert.
"Are you listening to me?" Mandy asks, traces of amusement twinkling in her eyes as she bites on the tip of the glass bottle. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."
"Ugh," Robert groans, downing the rest of his drink and reaching for another. "Sorry. I really didn't mean to zone out. Too many things on my mind."
"That's understandable," Mandy shrugs, taking a very small sip herself. "Anyone would space out with the things you've been through."
It's not that big of a deal, but he isn't about to correct her. It's been some of the most stressful months of his life.
They sit in silence for a moment as Mandy also seems to be overtaken by her own thoughts, but then an idea strikes Robert. If anyone would be able to give an estimate on the amount of time required for this stuff, it would be her.
"Hey, how long do you suppose the reconstruction of the city could take?" He asks, aiming for as casual as it gets.
"That's a year-long project," she hums and starts scratching off the label on the beer, brows furrowed in thought. "Well, it could be slightly faster with the heroes on it, but we expect Shroud copycats to begin surfacing anytime now, making them busy."
"Figures," Robert sighs.
"Why?" She asks, because of course she does. "Any place in particular you're interested in seeing restored quickly?"
A no doubt shitty apartment complex for no reason at all.
"Nope."
And in the perfectly ironic timing, because the universe hates him, the front door opens loudly. He watches passively as his current headache marches in, humming to himself some shitty song. Mandy leans forward on the counter to catch a glimpse of the person invading Robert's space so casually. Anyone on the Z-Team would be casual about it, to be fair. Maybe not Golem. He's too big.
"No-Longer-Blonde Bitch," Flambae acknowledges on his way through before disappearing into the bathroom, uncharacteristically calm.
"Um?" Mandy lets out, eyes snapping between the bathroom door and Robert repeatedly.
Robert is inclined to brush the whole interaction off and pretend the shower isn't running. But that's not a viable option when he knows he will be needled until he gives in. At least, out of all people, this is the one person who won't spread rumors or make bets about this.
"He's crashing here for the time being," he simply announces.
"And it's… going well?" She asks, gaze settling on the bathroom and not living. If by 'well' she means that no arson has been committed on his property just yet.
"I'm feeling hungry," Robert announces as a change of subject, getting up from his seat with a grunt. "There's nothing in the fridge." There never is; he can barely cook. "How about we grab something to eat real quick?"
He grabs Mandy's wrist and tugs her out of the door before she can either protest or agree. She's courteous enough to let the subject rest for the time being.
"Holy shit," Flambae whispers to himself later in the day, dressed in sweats and nothing else as he sits on the mattress and waits for Robert to get his routine over with.
Robert stops in his tracks, right in the middle of putting on a shirt. Does every member of his team have to see him more or less naked at least once? He's not sure he's enjoying this pattern. "What," he asks flatly.
"Shouldn't you have gone to the hospital?" He gestures vaguely to Robert's chest, painted in various shades of red, purple, and yellow. One of the cuts lovingly carved into him during the torture keeps opening up, which is certainly not helping. "You're, like, fragile."
"Clearly not that fragile," Robert replies with a sigh and finishes dressing. "It's just some bruised ribs, who cares?"
"Shouldn't you care?"
Robert blinks at him tiredly. "You saw the bruises, have you not noticed all the scars? I'm not exactly new to the painful side of this heroing business."
"And here I thought you were a weak pussy," Flambae muses with a grin. Somewhat appreciatively, even, which makes Robert squint at him in suspicion. He doesn't dig, because there's a rather high chance he's seeing things that aren't there. "Still a fragile normie, though."
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"Stop hogging the damn blanket," Robert grunts, yanking the article back to his side.
"Now you're hogging it," Flambae responds, clearly annoyed over having it slipped away from him.
"You don't even need it," Robert points out tiredly. He's an ordinary human. He gets cold. The walking matchstick, not so much.
Flambae huffs, clicking his tongue at Robert like he's being stupid. "Maybe I just like it, have you thought about it?"
"Then get your own, goddamnit!"
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"Get off your fucking high horse, you stupid bitch," Flambae hisses, and Robert rolls his eyes, rinsing off a bowl before putting it on the drying rack and grabbing the next dish.
"Are you giving yourself a pep-talk?" He asks without much interest. He isn't sure what this is about. He was zoned out and didn't hear the beginning of the one-sided conversation Flambae struck up and got fired up about.
"You— You should be careful with your words, Bobert," Flambae tells him, barely restrained anger lacing the words. "There is no Blonde Blazer to save you here, or the other senior citizen one that got the fancy necklace thing now. Shit, do you have a thing for blondes?"
What? Where's that line of questioning even going?
"Is that what you're getting so worked up over?" Robert asks drily. He raises an eyebrow over his shoulder to see Flambae spluttering in real time and blindly soaps up the plate. "My type?"
"Not a single person in this world would care about that," Flambae scoffs loudly. "Outside of this world too, actually. Like, Phenomaman and all. He wouldn't care either, you know. Or his alien friends."
Robert ignores the rambling as he usually does. "I'm into brunettes, as a matter of fact," he says, running the water to get the suds off the plate. He puts it away, then takes a glass. "Pretty ones, though. Wet ponytails don't get me going. Sorry."
Robert feels the heat rise dramatically right behind him, the flames dancing and outlining his shadows on the wall in front of him. He stares at it blankly as Flambae continues raving in the background, empty threats thrown at Robert's back. Robert distantly wonders if he's ever gonna follow up on them. Flambae is volatile when mood strikes, but he's yet to allow the flames to reach anywhere near Robert's skin.
Still, it's annoying.
Robert fills up the glass he's been trying to remove a questionable stain from and empties it in a fluid movement over his shoulder, enjoying the indignant squawk it produces before all noise ceases. Blessed silence.
"You gotta stop doing this near the sources of water," Robert comments lazily, turning around to lean back against the sink. He smirks at the sight of Flambae. Dripping wet, and eyes wild. Pathetic.
"Just you wait until I set you on fire in your sleep," Flambae says through gritted teeth, fingers twitching as if he's trying to summon his fire despite the water impairing him.
"Bringing kinky shit into the bedroom already?" Robert quips. He crosses his arms, not cowed in the slightest by the other's larger frame. "No water there, I would have to spit on you. But the thought alone that you might like that is appalling."
Flambae freezes entirely, blinking stupidly at Robert. Flustered? Disgusted? Fuck only knows.
Robert shakes his head and turns back to the sink to resume his chores. "Get going already, you'll be late to work. If you grow lazy now, I will be the one who has to beat you into shape again once I'm back, and I've already had enough of that the first time around."
Flambae chokes on something, perhaps his own spit, but when Robert turns around to check on him, he's met with empty air, the front door slamming shut.
Weirdo.
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
A cheap, colorful party hat rests on top of Robert's monitor. As it turns out, his suspension ended at the same time as the renovation of SDN finished, with everyone's efforts combined, in just over a week. A coincidence like no other, truly.
He arrived along with Flambae, silently praying to the god he doesn't believe in that no one will notice or care. He got his wish, and he breathed out a sigh of relief when the other man disappeared from his side quickly, as if afraid of the same thing. Except when Robert showed up at his cubicle, only to find it a more secluded and fancy area, there Flambae was with the rest of the Z-Team, welcoming him back in with useless gifts and friendly jeering. He won't ever admit it, but they do feel like a family of sorts. A heavily dysfunctional one, but he thinks that otherwise, it would be boring.
And so now he sits in his uncomfortable chair, directing the calls and tracking the blinking icons of his team moving around. It's busier than ever, with the exception of Coupe's attack. If people were calling about useless shit before, now it's comparable to citizens wanting to have their asses wiped. Someone did call in about assisting them in putting together a dresser of all things, since the last one was a victim of the attack. Even still, everything goes swimmingly at first. His team listens to him; perhaps the lack of bitching is the true welcome gift.
But since this is Robert's life—and in Robert's life, things cannot go well for long—he is strongly considering the option of banging his head on the desk until his brain leaks through the ears as Z-Team somehow derails the conversation even while attending to the difficult calls.
"I can see him in that fancy ass sleepwear," Prism comments, followed by an insult to the low-grade villain she is currently fighting. "You know, those frilly bitchy nightgowns?"
"Wouldn't it be more accurate with the plain pajamas and a nightcap?" Malevola asks as if she's seriously considering this subject.
Robert's mind flashes to the old memes with precisely those two sets of clothes. He doesn't remember anymore what the most popular captions were, but he knows exactly what they're talking about, and he wouldn't ever in his life wear either of those. Well, unless it was for the money.
"Nah, but for real," Visi chimes in, the shit eating smirk transferring through easily. "I bet he sleeps naked, dick hanging out."
"I'm with Malevola," Sonar says, speaking up for the first time in half an hour after having dealt with some children yanking him around in an event.
Is this Robert's life now? People discussing his sleeping habits? He left to take a piss for all of two minutes, only to come back to this mess of a conversation.
"Flambae? You're awfully quiet, lad," Punch Up observes, currently resting at some sidewalk as the blinking dot on the screen tells Robert.
And it just might be his cue to intervene before this really gets out of his hands. "Alright, how about we focus up and—"
"That's because you're all wrong," Flambae cuts him off loudly, never one to pass up the chance of being an annoying bastard. "He sleeps in just a shirt and underwear with holes."
He's got one pair with a small hole underneath the waistband. Robert regrets each one of his life choices that led to this.
"Oh. You're right," Malevola replies immediately, and Robert is this close to cutting all channels. "When I opened a portal to his apartment for the party, he was literally in nothing but boxer briefs and his work shirt."
"He evolved by now," Flambae laughs, and Robert gets an urge to dose him in water. "The work shirts are safe."
Everyone falls quiet, and Robert does rest his forehead against the desk. This idiot—
"Uh," Malevola makes a considering noise, and Robert already knows what she's gonna ask. "How do you know that?"
There is no response for an entire minute, and Robert can very easily imagine Flambae physically lighting up in shame or anger at himself for fucking up.
Sure enough, there's a pop-up within half a minute.
"A call about a fire quite close to your location, Flambae. I'm sure you can see it from where you are," Robert finally cuts in, diverting everyone's attention. And, for good measure, since he's feeling a tiny bit vindictive, he adds, "Waterboy. Please, go provide aid to your colleague."
"Eh? Me? B-But I am not, not really— I don't—"
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
When Robert wakes up at night covered in sweat, it's usually a byproduct of a particularly violent nightmare. He's largely used to them, no longer jolting upright with a yell escaping past his lips. He doesn't need to get up and pace until the sun graces the world with its irritating, overly bright light to make the impending migraine even worse. Nowadays, he takes a minute to push the leading subject of his nightmares out of his mind with any other distracting thought. Takes care to calm his heart, pet Beef, and drink some water. Change out of the soaked shirt if it got that bad, and then attempt to fall back asleep.
So he's a little confused when he wakes up feeling sticky without any other usual symptoms of a night terror. He blinks at his bland ceiling, feeling vaguely uncomfortable and wondering whether he might be coming down with something. But then he shifts just slightly and is made aware of all the heat radiating from the man beside him, trapped by the heavy blanket wrapped around them both. So much for them fighting over it. Robert is surprised it took this long for him to sweat his ass off because of this.
Not giving much thought to it with his sleep-addled brain, he simply shoves the blanket away from himself, leaving it halfway off Flambae in the process. Serves him right. Not like he can get cold anyway.
Robert sighs, hand rising to scratch his ear. This roommates thing isn't the worst. It's not very enjoyable either, but he supposes it's better than the isolation he's so prone to locking himself into. He finds the much-needed calmness in the solitude. But that has its own drawbacks, the slightly stunted social skills and crippling loneliness that he learned to pretend doesn't exist.
Flambae turns in his sleep, a scalding forearm appearing across Robert's so quickly he cannot even dodge its trajectory. Figures he would toss around in the bed. Robert did wake up once or twice to being shoved around on the mattress, but it was just a quick, disorienting motion rather than prolonged skin contact. Cold air blows past his naked legs. It's actually a bit chilly without that blanket. Robert wants to strangle Flambae and then himself for this situation he landed in. With their current position, he cannot even take back the damn blanket.
Ugh. Whatever.
He closes his eyes and, incredibly slowly, turns onto his side so as to not wake up his bedmate. It's a surprisingly easy endeavor. He would have figured former villains sleep much lighter, but it apparently doesn't apply to this one. Or maybe Robert has got the wrong idea about the criminals.
In the new position, the pleasantly warm arm slips around Robert's waist, unconsciously pulling him closer. He manages to avoid a dramatic reaction of flinching away from the unexpected motion, but just barely. Flambae's knees slot behind Robert's, face buried against the back of Robert's head.
Well. This isn't exactly what Robert envisioned.
But he supposes it works just right to fix his issues with the temperature, the human furnace warming his back as the colder air provides contrast to his front. He could fall asleep like that. Robert's ears burn with heat, and he pretends it's because of their close proximity to Flambae's face, the air leaving through the other man's nose hot against the skin. It's just sleeping. And if he gets overly warm again, he can just kick Flambae in the nuts and claim he's the one who wrapped himself around Robert in sleep.
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"Give me the keys," Flambae says impatiently, and from the corner of his eye, Robert sees the crossed arms. "My shift ended half an hour ago already."
"So you can do fuck knows what at my apartment on your own? No." Robert doesn't even look his way when replying, busy scowling at his screen and trying to figure out which of these questionable heroes can be sent to deal with an elderly woman committing public indecency.
"How about I just burn your door down to let myself in, then?" Flambae asks insufferably, foot tapping against the floor.
"Don't be dramatic," Robert tells him halfheartedly. Prism is too vulgar and impatient for a mission like that.
"Dramatic? I'm not gonna wait around on you like a fucking dog."
"You'd make for a shit dog. A yappy chihuahua, probably." Robert says, but then he glances down at Beef and reconsiders. "A very different kind of chihuahua than this one." He shakes his head to refocus and gets back to the monitor. "Malevola… No, Phenomaman, go handle this one. Please don't get dragged into weird shit this time around."
"I shall do my utmost best to resolve the conflict peacefully," Phenomaman responds dutifully, and his icon shoots off.
And at the same time, Flambae seethes. "A chihuahua?" He repeats with a loud scoff. "You couldn't ever handle me as a dog."
What?
"What even," someone in his headphones mutters very quietly, sounding quite a lot like Sonar.
"I'd just muzzle you up and call it a day," Robert cannot help but retort, finally glancing over, gaze briefly pausing at the way his muscles flex and pecs bulge when his arms are crossed.
He forcibly moves them up to meet Flambae's eyes. He angrily opens his mouth, but whatever he spews next is drowned out by the loud voice in Robert's headphones.
"Hey, maybe mute if you wanna flirt during work hours?" Invisigal comments drily. Robert winces. "Not that I care, it's pathetic and hilarious. But some of us might die of cringe."
Robert doesn't dignify that with a response, but he does mute his mic before speaking again.
"Just leave already," he easily cuts through the angry tirade. "I'll talk to Mandy if we can match our schedules more, yeah?"
He turns back to the screen, waving at Flambae in clear dismissal before turning his mic on.
"Why do I have a call about a traffic jam because people cannot stop staring at Phenomaman's muscles?"
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
Robert overpours his coffee.
He's too busy having his eyes glued to the figure sitting on the couch with his knees up, scrolling idly through the phone. With the long brown hair flowing freely down his shoulders, parted on the side, and creating more volume on the fringe or whatever the fuck. The fact that it looks good is what makes Robert miserable.
It looks too good.
Which is why Robert prepared the coffee entirely on the autopilot, only to then spill the rest of the pot on the countertop, the liquid slowly dripping down to the floor. He can feel some of it seeping into his socks.
And Flambae is shirtless, wearing only some worn sweatpants. Which shouldn't have much of an effect, considering that his hideous hero suit leaves nothing to the imagination. Except, apparently, the casual setting and well-developed muscles put on clear display do something to Robert. It's Flambae's first day off since he forced himself into Robert's living space. Robert, meanwhile, has to leave in about three minutes, but he's a bit stuck here.
Flambae is attractive. He is stupid, an asshole, and he is hilarious to rile up, his muscles apparently sculpted, and his hair that comes straight from a commercial. The muscles, though. Flambae shifts, his arm flexing somewhat with the movement, and Robert has a deranged thought about being picked up with just one arm. There's no doubt Flambae would be capable of it if the little power display at the gym is anything to go by.
And the hair—
"Robert?" Flambae asks, and Robert snaps back to reality, noting the puzzled expression on his face. "You gonna be drinking from the floor like a dog?"
Robert glances down.
He curses and grabs a handful of paper towels, dabbing the mess away with them. Stupid fucking brain, that stupid type of his, and his cock that he seems to be thinking with. It's been a while since he last got laid, he defends himself against his own thoughts. Then again, he didn't react this way to Visi even when they were going steady on the path toward a proper relationship.
Putting aside the multitude of issues, she's an incredibly attractive woman. The banter between them was almost exactly what he looks for in people. And yet.
And yet something was missing. Maybe it's the trust, the ability to show one's true colors with no regard for propriety.
"Exactly like a dog, actually," Flambae continues distractedly, no doubt focused on some short video. "Since you're such a bitch and all."
Robert sighs, dumping the towels into the trash and swiping a few more of the clean ones across the floor to ensure he got everything off.
This is the person Robert has apparently decided he would be halfway to a boner for. At a sight of untied hair. God, he's getting old. As if his soul wasn't withering away already, that's how low his standards have dropped. Except then he pops back up from behind the counter, only to see Flambae is back on his feet, stretching out lazily. He stands on his tiptoes, hands high above his head, and sweatpants dripping so low that the sharp V line mocks Robert silently, the happy trail on full display.
Okay. Yeah. Nice.
Robert forcibly closes his mouth from the way it dropped open without his conscious input, snapping his eyes back up to the long brown hair. Fuck, he really is into brunettes.
"Right," he eventually gets out, clearing his throat when it comes out a bit hoarse. "I'm off. Don't burn my house down or anything."
And with that, he scoops Beef up into his arms and sets to leave. At least Flambae isn't on his shift today, so he will get some rest from this bullshit. He shouldn't have ever agreed to this nonsense. Robert would have much preferred living in the blissful ignorance of maybe being appreciative of Flambae's physical qualities after catching an eyeful and nothing much else.
No, instead he had to go and see him laugh at the videos of kittens, and cook in the morning, and warm the space up with his ridiculous heat just right, and—
"Take a picture next time," Flambae makes an amused comment just as Robert closes the door behind himself.
He stands there for a good two minutes, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. This feels like divine punishment of sorts.
And he didn't even drink that damn coffee.
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"It's decent," Robert comments, shoving the fork into his mouth and trying not to chew too eagerly. Robert had no idea scrambled eggs could even taste this good.
"Decent," Flambae repeats after him mockingly, making a face. "I could feed you dog food next time and you wouldn't even notice."
"Didn't expect you to feed me at all," Robert points out, scooping more onto his fork. He wonders if he could distract Flambae somehow and grab some of his portion as well.
"I simply made too much," Flambae says defensively.
It's good. Maybe if this heroing business doesn't work out, Flambae could go into the cooking field. He would probably cause a grease fire, though.
Robert doesn't really… have functional skills in that area. He usually doesn't even bother with seasoning scrambled eggs. He did eventually learn to put in a pinch of salt, though. He might have burned it once or twice, too. Food is nothing much else than fuel to him. Just chew and swallow. Eat a Twinkie if he needs to get rid of the disgusting aftertaste of what he tried to put together. Now that he's got a stable job and income, at least he can afford to order junk food again. He missed it dearly after sinking all his budget into fixing the suit.
"Beef has no clue what he's eating, and he'd still be more appreciative of my food than you," Flambae still grumbles, pushing his scrambled eggs around the plate.
With deep regret, Robert grabs one of the last pieces of egg he's got and throws it to the floor, whistling for his dog. Beef comes running, sniffing the food eagerly before lapping it up with the desperation of an animal starved for a week. As if he wasn't a fat fuck already.
He wags his tail so fast in so much happiness that Robery is mildly concerned he might hurt himself. "You're right," Robert says, leaning down to scratch behind the dog's ear. "He does like it. Don't you, Beef? You would want him to cook more for you, right?"
Flambae says something under his breath as Robert straightens back up, nudging Beef with his foot to signal he should stop begging for more already. He quickly finishes his meal, not leaving a trace of food behind. He gets up and takes Flambae's empty plate on the way, intending to wash at least wash up.
"It tasted great, thank you," Robert tells him with a genuine smile. "I appreciate it."
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
Robert ducks as Flambae throws a punch at him after a particularly insensitive remark. He might deserve this one, but in his defense, his tongue sometimes shapes the words before he can give it the authorization to do so. There are way too many bar fights he got into to show for it, small scars from shattered glass littering his body like the freckles on his cheeks.
He tries to punch the other man in the kidney, but is only met with solid muscle that rolls back with the strike, Flambae grabbing Robert's bare forearm and heating it up by a few degrees, just enough to smart. He's not in his hero suit, which means he has to be careful not to set his own clothes on fire. This does wonders to give Robert some advantage. But even then, Flambae is a larger man with much more muscle mass to throw around. It's easy for him to crowd Robert, planting bruises with his ridiculously extensive reach.
Robert curses quietly as his ribs twinge painfully at one such lucky shot and decides to get close and personal. He allows for the large hand to wrap around his neck, so that he can place his leg between Flambae's, ankle positioned just behind the other's, so that when he forces him to take a step back, they both end up on the floor. Flambae hisses as his head hits the ground, and Robert puts all of his weight on his thighs, preventing him from lashing out further. Flambae's hands make an effort to push him off, but Robert wrenches his arm to the side, locking it securely, and jamming his elbow into the spot on Flambae's sternum. The one where you're supposed to check for the patient's consciousness, eliciting a choked-off groan from the man as he settles down.
Yeah, that's right.
"I killed Shroud, Chad," Robert says lowly, leaning down until just a few inches separate their faces. "I didn't even fucking hesitate."
Flambae swallows, all muscles tensed even as he remains unmoving. Robert leans back, enjoying the view of the other man sprawled out below him, hair in a disarray of messy strands that slipped out of that horrendous ponytail.
"I've never been a perfect hero even as a Mecha Man," he continues, lifting his elbow and instead letting his hand travel further up. He sticks his fingers into Flambae's mouth, prying his lips open to trace the gap in his teeth. "If you think I'm some goody-two-shoes poster boy, you're gonna find out the hard way just how far off you are."
Robert has always had a shorter fuse than his dad and granddad, whom he never met. Never one for good PR or caring what shit people might think of him. All he ever wanted was to save people and antagonize stupid bastards into getting their asses handed to them. Perhaps that's what Blonde Blazer saw in him and deemed him suitable enough to manage a mismatched group of wild temperaments.
Wet velvet swipes over Robert's fingertips, teeth nipping at the skin until he pulls his hand back. It hovers in the air, slick with spit, and Robert has half a mind to wipe it off on Flambae's face.
"You're kinda feral, you know that?" Flambae says, licking his lips. It might be to get rid of the saliva that got on them. It looks more like he's tasting Robert, and Robert wants to get back to it right away.
"What gave you the idea?" He asks in the end, and does run his fingers across Flambae's cheek. The other man doesn't even flinch, amber eyes almost glowing in the low lighting. Robert's already half-hard cock twitches in way too much interest.
"You've got a death wish," Flambae responds simply, free hand snaking up to rest on Robert's hip. "The bar fight. Shroud. Right now."
Which bar fight? Robert wants to ask. But there's just one that Flambae witnessed and, yeah, that one was messy. And fun. Robert did bite someone's finger clean off.
"I don't feel particularly threatened right now," Robert tells him, head tilted and a smirk on his face. He pointedly grinds his hips forward against Flambae's thighs, catching an inch of Flambae's erection with his own.
Flambae flinches, but his eyes sharpen into a glare and his hand heats up dangerously through Robert's clothes.
Robert leans down, face inches away from their noses brushing together. "Do it," he dares. He's fine with a burn on his hip; he thinks the mark of fingers splayed out across his skin would actually be pretty funny. What's one more scar? Maybe he will even like the look of it.
Except the heat doesn't increase, staying at that point of vaguely too warm to be comfortable, but not enough to affect the fabric. Instead, Flambae surges up, their teeth clanking together painfully when their lips meet. If he were in his right mind, Robert would've pulled back and made a quip about losing more teeth.
But in his shock, Robert releases his hold on Flambae's arm, and the now freed hand instantly finds itself clutching against the short brown strands of his hair. They are tugged up while his face is shoved down, and Robert gasps at the sharp sting. That same velvety tongue slips past his lips, swiping across his own teeth teasingly before pushing further.
And, oh.
It feels even hotter than usual. The temperature, Robert means. But he cannot focus on that, not when his head is forcefully angled to suit Flambae's own idea of what their kiss should look like, his knees rising to have Robert slip more firmly into his crotch, and that kind of friction just about makes Robert lose it.
They are too old to rut against each other on the hard floor, so he very reluctantly pulls back from the kiss, biting viciously on Flambae's bottom lip as he goes.
He opens his eyes, not fully aware when exactly they slipped shut, and glances up at the man below him. Amber half-lidded eyes stare down at Robert's lips, no doubt puffy and slick with spit from the messy kiss.
"Shit," Flambae suddenly hisses with feeling, head banging loudly against the floor as he throws it back.
That must have hurt. Robert blinks down at him, stilling entirely. Not exactly a reaction he expected. "All good?" He asks to make sure.
"We— This isn't really," Flambae makes a frustrated noise as he abandons the sentence, brows furrowed. "Not a good idea."
Not waiting for Robert's brain to catch up and react properly, he roughly shoves him away and gets up to his feet. He leaves without another word or glance back, the front door slamming shut.
Beef only yips as if in question, more than used to the displays of violence. Robert stays on the floor, arms spread out to the sides.
What the fuck is he doing with his life?
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
Flambae doesn't return on that night. Robert has no clue where he could have even gone to sleep the night away if he was so insistent on having nowhere else to stay to begin with. Maybe he went to a bar.
He's at SDN the next day, and only communicates with Robert through grunts or remarks more scathing than usual. Well, two can play that game of avoidance. If only the tension ready to snap between the two of them didn't bring down the team's morale, and everyone wasn't getting annoyed more easily than usual at the smallest of things.
Mandy passes by his desk with a worried look that Robert stubbornly ignores, and he only gives Visi a very unimpressed stare when she tries to corner him about it in the rec room. He gets his Twinkies from the brand-new vending machine and evades her well enough that she cannot catch him off guard with the invisibility. Her lungs still aren't all the way back to normal after Shroud's enhancements got taken out.
Well into the night, when Robert has already settled in for the night and scrolls through his phone under the blankets, he hears Flambae shuffle into the apartment. Robert left the door unlocked just in case. It's not like there's anything to steal anyway. And who would even want to murder him? Well…
Anyway.
Flambae doesn't come into the room. He doesn't crawl under the blankets, doesn't revert to the very first day of insults, anger, and sleeping with their backs turned to each other, paranoid of accidentally touching each other.
Robert falls asleep at around four in the morning. When he gets up at seven, Beef pattering after him into the kitchen, there is no sign of Flambae. No clue of whether he slept on the couch, on the floor, or at all. The duffel bag still remains in its sad little corner, and Robert exhales in relief before he can stop himself.
Why should he care at all?
This is what he wanted. He wanted Flambae to get out of his living space entirely, but having barely any signs of his presence is as close as it can get.
And so it continues. Day after day, Robert doesn't get so much as a glimpse of his reluctant roommate. Sometimes he doesn't come back at night at all, and sometimes he's in for a few hours when Robert is already deep asleep. And, like a very responsible adult, Robert starts leaving his apartment entirely unlocked. He probably should have just given him the keys at this point, left them with a note if they're not speaking, but that feels like too much of a statement in this situation when he's not entirely sure where they are standing.
The only reason Robert knows Flambae uses the apartment at all when Robert is still out, working overnight, or their schedules mismatched, is that he finds plates on the dish rack when he never cooked. The mirror is still covered in steam when he enters the bathroom. The balcony door left open after a hastily performed escape.
It's ridiculous. And exhausting.
A week after the incident, Robert lies on the couch with Beef resting between his legs, staring blankly at the wall. The marker lines are still there. He thinks they will stay there forever, unless he ever gets a random urge to get a painting or poster to cover it up with. Unlikely.
It's way too quiet in the apartment. He's used to solitude, locking himself up with the tools and avoiding worried eyes, cutting himself off from the public. He hasn't lived with anyone since… ever. Dad was always away, Chase only visiting to hang out and fulfill his babysitting duties.
After being alone his entire life, the easy companionship is a bit addicting. Maybe Robert should get some therapy, like some people keep not-so-subtly suggesting. The one thing Flambae is ahead of him in.
A knock on the glass rips him out of his musings, and he lazily glances over to the balcony to see Chase standing there with his hands resting on his hips. He's got the hero suit in, still the Blonde Blazer edition with the red crystal at the center. Robert raises an eyebrow at him, not moving an inch.
"Get a move on, motherfucker," Chase calls loudly, voice muffled through the glass. He throws in the disapproving parental stare for good measure when it doesn't get Robert to hurry up.
With a deep sigh, he slowly raises his legs so as to not disturb his dog and stands up. He unlocks the door and doesn't wait for his friend to get in before he heads back to his spot.
"Couldn't have moved your ass any faster, could you?" Chase gripes, closing the balcony behind himself.
Robert rolls his eyes and doesn't respond, falling back onto the couch with a huff. Beef jumps up with the force of it, startling slightly.
Chase coos at the dog, readily picking Beef up to cradle him against his chest. It's a bit sweet how much he loves that dog. More than he does Robert, that's for sure.
"What are you moping here for, you little shit?" He bluntly addresses Robert.
Robert stares back blankly, resisting the urge to cross his arms so that he doesn't look like a sulking teenager. "What do you want?"
"Oh, I see how it is. I come to check on you, and this is the attitude that I get?" Chase complains in his usual manner just for the sake of complaining. "Just wait, see if I ever care again about your stupid fucking brain."
"My brain?" Robert repeats blandly. That's a new one.
"Well, it's clearly not in a well enough damn condition, is it?" Chase gives him a pointed look, adjusting his hold on Beef. "How the fuck do you keep falling for these stupid assholes with no brain cells to their name?"
Alright, maybe Robert is a bit slower on the uptake because he should've immediately figured that's what his visit is about. He wouldn't have let him in if he knew.
"Now, hold on—"
"Seriously, Robert?" Chase interrupts him harshly, annoyance palpable. "First Invisigal, and you don't need me to recount how well that shitshow ended. Now him? Why?"
Damn if Robert knows. He might have an inkling as to why his lizard brain decided to settle on that, but there's no way in hell he's telling any of it to Chase.
"…He's hot?" Robert almost laughs at the disgusted look on Chase's face at that information.
"He's got fire powers, for fuck's sake," he recovers rather quickly, choosing to play dumb. "It would be concerning if he wasn't running hot."
"You know what I mean," Robert digs deeper. If Chase decided to start this stupid subject, then he might as well suffer the consequences of knowing Robert finds Flambae attractive.
Chase lets out a long-suffering sigh, the one reserved for Robert specifically. "You can take five cocks up your ass at once for all I give a shit, Robert," he eventually says, the gentle tone a stark contrast to the crude words. "But that's an explosive asshole you're getting tangled with."
"Okay, and how about you get out of my currently nonexistent love life and go fuck it out of your system?" Robert asks with exasperation. "You can do it now with that crystal on you, can't you?"
"Oh, you know it," Chase reacts and makes a very suggestive movement with his hips that has Robert groaning loudly. "But you know damn well my choice in partners isn't as controversial cause I'm not fucking stupid."
"Chase," Robert calls, leaning forward to rest his elbows against his knees, dropping his face in his hands. "It's not that serious."
"Isn't it?" Chase asks with an incredible amount of doubt. "Because you're making everyone around you fucking miserable with your bitchass game of hide and seek. You are moping like a pathetic puppy. He's got his head shoved so far up his ass he's seeing sunshine through his fucking mouth, not even interacting with the team."
Robert doesn't have a response to that.
It's all true, and he is painfully aware of it. It cannot go on like this either way. He knows that if he fucks up the team's dynamic to such an extent, he will have to transfer over to another one. And, even if he's never going to admit it, he got used to those bastards.
He glances up at Chase when he isn't treated to another impatient quip or a string of curses to find him staring him down with exasperation.
Chase exhales loudly through his nose, not looking away as he says, "Can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should take your own advice and just fuck him already."
Robert blinks at him. "What? You approve?" Did he hear that right?
"Do I look like I fucking approve?" Chase deadpans, petting Beef between his ears absentmindedly. "But I already tried standing in your way once, and that was out of place. Now, I want you to do whatever the fuck you think is best, but do it quick before your whole damn team has to bear the consequences of your stupidity."
Robert feels almost touched by the encouragement coming from Chase, of all people. Even if he did come around accepting the prospect of something developing between Robert and Invisigal, Robert never would have guessed he'd accept someone like Flambae so easily. Chase has strong principles, always wanting the best for people, even if he's got a very bullheaded way of showing it.
And he is Robert's oldest friend.
"You're sure this is fine?" Robert still asks, eyes a little narrowed in suspicion. Maybe this is reverse psychology?
Chase steps closer and takes a seat to Robert's right, releasing Beef from his hold. The dog stumbles forward, clumsily making his way over to Robert's thigh and panting happily when Robert helps him settle.
"Robert, I just want you to finally be happy," he says quietly, a little bittersweet. "I've known you basically your whole life, and I can count on one hand the times you seemed genuinely happy, not just content. And if it's that flaming asshole, then I guess that's fine."
That's—
Okay. Robert doesn't feel emotional; it's only that it's suddenly like a massive weight has been taken off his shoulders. Maybe Robert can do this without breaking everything in the process.
Chase sighs, stretching his arms high above his head. "I would ask if you've got any beer, but I don't think I can actually get drunk with this fuckass crystal on me."
"Alcoholic," Robert says jokingly.
"Anyone would become an alcoholic after having to deal with the sad excuse of your love life, you depressing bastard."
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
Robert whistles to himself as he goes about preparing for work, Beef watching him from his pillow.
If things go well, he might resolve this whole issue in the next two hours, shaping it into something that will have actual potential and a future. If not, he will annoy the living fuck out of Flambae until something snaps and they go back to how they used to be before the whole war broke out.
Anything will be better than this. And now that he knows Flambae is interested, they can start over on not-so-friendly terms and gradually work back to the tentative truce. And more.
He'd prefer to skip that and go straight to the good aspects of this thing.
Robert takes the last sip of his coffee and places the mug in the sink. He attaches the leash to Beef's collar and gently tugs him along to the door, leaving for SDN. The walk isn't that lengthy, just fifteen minutes or so, enough time for a certain someone to return to the apartment that's supposed to be left empty on his day off. Robert climbs up the stairs and greets Mandy at her office, watching as she leans down to pet Beef with a grin, letting him slobber over her hand. And then he tells her he's going back home for the day.
To give her credit, she only sighs tiredly before waving him off, picking up Beef to place him on her lap. "Good luck," she tells him sincerely, and he nearly misses a step on his way out.
He gives her a nod over his shoulder, increasing his pace before someone from the Z-Team catches sight of him and decides it's a perfect moment to strike up a conversation. Golem is the only one he somehow stumbles onto, but it's possibly the best one he could have hoped for. He waves at him in a greeting, and Golem waves back, even if he must be a bit confused why Robert is heading away from his desk when his shift is about to start. He didn't want anyone to know about him taking a day off. Otherwise, Flambae would have been alerted, and his running away with tail between his legs is the last thing he wants.
It's a quick walk back, and he doesn't even notice when he's already walking up the stairs to his apartment, thoughts circling in an attempt to choose the best approach.
He lets himself in quietly, peering around the apartment for any signs of his freeloader having made an appearance. He grins when he notices Flambae's casual clothes strewn across the floor. He isn't in the living room or the kitchen. No sound coming from the bathroom. Robert nudges the black tank top with his foot.
Must be in the bedroom, sleeping off the ridiculous all-nighters.
Robert was going to confront him directly about what the fuck went wrong, but now another brighter idea took root in his brain. He quickly strips off all his clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor with no regard for folding them, not to mention putting them away properly. Maybe they are made for each other. If he ever returned Mandy's advances, he's sure she would have grown sick of him in a month at best. Two weeks if he's being realistic.
He picks up the sweatpants and drags them up his legs. And then he's left standing, holding up the damn material that threatens to fall as soon as he drops it. This is a bit insane. He was not aware that their size difference was this big, even with all the close proximity. He cannot say he minds.
Robert ties the string threaded through the waistband, satisfied when the fabric only slips down his hips dangerously but not entirely. The pant legs drag along with his feet as he walks, which makes him feel silly, but he opts to ignore that. Fuck folding them up. If it goes well, he will be taking these off soon enough anyway.
The floorboards don't creak as he carefully steps forward, opening the door as slowly as he can to avoid the door making noise as it's prone to do. For once, things go smoothly, and he gets into the bedroom without a hitch. Robert shoves his hands into the large pockets and stares down at Flambae, sprawled out on the mattress and fast asleep. The blanket has been completely kicked off, revealing his toned stomach, dark body hair, and the fact that he's only in his underwear. Black. With red flames printed on the bottom. So cliche.
The skin beneath his eyelids is darkened just slightly, brows furrowed as he sleeps restlessly. And his hair is out of that stupid ponytail, framing his head artfully. If Robert didn't already come up with this, he would've probably changed his course of action to a more questionable approach in this very moment.
Well. Time to shine.
He raises his leg and jams it mercilessly into Flambae's shoulder, pressing down with all his weight to keep him down when he startles awake and flames lick up his hands, snarl already forming on his face as his eyes snap open, searching for the assailant. They only find Robert, who smirks down at him in greeting. The flames disappear into a small string of smoke, not having even come close to Robert. The scowl drops, expression closing off into pointed annoyance and resignation.
"Sleeping well, princess?" Robert asks, digging his bare heel into the warm skin to see Flambae wince.
"What the fuck, Robert?" Flambae asks, voice slightly hoarse. His hand wraps around Robert's ankle, squeezing through the sweatpants, ready to throw him off. "I could've killed you."
Sure. He can keep telling himself that.
"Clearly something must be wrong with this royal bed since you have been so avoidant of it," Robert muses, completely ignoring Flambae. He does take his foot off, and the hold on his ankle is released quickly. "A pea beneath the mattress, perhaps?"
"Your cock is a fucking pea," Flambae mutters, sitting up groggily. He runs his hand through the dark, wavy strands, and Robert's eyes follow the motion before refocusing on the harsh glare directed at him. Flambae's stupidly handsome with his hair down, sue him.
But he's not the only one affected by the tempting appearance of someone he's supposed to be arguing with. Or something. He sure is glad for changing the strategy when Flambae's gaze travels much lower. The reaction is almost comical as he freezes entirely, eyes widening and jaw dropping open. He fixates on Robert's crotch, where just the slightest outline of his cock is visible. The sweats are too big on him to show it off properly, not like his own would have without any underwear beneath.
It still does its job well enough.
"Is it?" Robert hums, hands subtly gripping the fabric of the pockets to pull the waistline just a little lower.
"Fuck," Flambae curses, looking away hastily. His face gets red so easily. "Fuck."
"Yeah, we could," Robert agrees, tilting his head as if he's considering it. "Or are you gonna run on me again?"
Flambae refuses to face him again, hands fisted in the blanket, and seemingly ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Not ideal. Robert has to hurry up and handle it well, or they're not gonna solve shit.
"Work with me here, Flambae," Robert says, purposely keeping his tone light to keep the other man calm. "What's the issue? We were doing fine." Except then he squints a little, remembering how exactly so many of their interactions go. "Well, if you exclude all the fighting. But that's still fine."
For a long minute, it doesn't seem like the words are getting through to him. Robert gives him some time, in his mind already running through the other plan, thinking how to rile him up and instigate an aforementioned fight.
"Listen. You're, like, a good guy," Flambae eventually pulls himself together enough to say, still not looking at Robert. He continues before Robert can protest to that description, "I'm not really that. And I don't know how to be good to someone. I can't fuck something like this up, and that's basically what I always do. Good things don't really happen in the lives of people like me."
Robert exhales quietly. He's got his work cut out for him, doesn't he?
"And who cares about that?" He asks, almost dismissively, and watches as Flambae's brows pinch together, clearly hurt. Robert finally takes his hands out of his pockets and leans down to reach with one of them for Flambae's chin, yanking it to the side so their eyes can meet. Angry amber meets calm brown. "Fight for those good things with all you've got. That's what you are good at. Don't run away like some spooked cat, that's not your style."
"How do you even imagine this going?" Flambae asks, brows still furrowed but significantly calmer.
Robert shrugs. "Just figure it out along the way. I'm not exactly great at this whole relationships business either."
Flambae watches him carefully for a long moment, as if searching his face for any sign of ingenuity. When he finds none, a warm hand settles against Robert's forearm, fingers pressing firmly on the pale skin. He smirks, cocky as ever, the inner turmoil suddenly forgotten. "How about starting where we left off, then?"
Flambae yanks him down by the forearm, directing Robert's fall so that he lands in the same position as they were when this whole thing went to shit. He doesn't waste any time surging forward to press their lips together, slipping his tongue past Robert's lips immediately. Robert lets him easily, but he makes sure to press his teeth warningly on Flambae's tongue as he shoves him back, Flambae's back hitting the mattress heavily.
Robert sure is glad he took a very thorough shower in the morning. He may have been hoping for this outcome, so what? Chase did tell him to fuck already.
He pulls away just slightly, immediately finding his way a bit lower, pressing kisses along Flambae's jaw and then neck. The stubble is harsh against Robert's lips, but he doesn't care, welcoming the sensation.
"I hate you," Flambae says through a gasp, and Robert sinks his teeth deeper into the delicate skin at the base of his neck.
"The feeling's mutual," Robert mutters into the open-mouthed kiss, licking over the hickey he's just left there. Flambae is going to be so pissed off once he realizes just how much those markings are gonna stand out in his suit.
"But you're hot," Flambae continues through gritted teeth. "And kinda fun, when there isn't a stick up your ass."
There is more he isn't saying. There's something more to his feelings, the softer, sappy shit he probably won't admit for some weeks still. It was so obvious in his reaction to Robert, even wishing to make things work between them.
"Could think of something other than a stick to shove up my ass," Robert smiles against the warm skin of Flambae's jaw, working another hickey so high up that no collar could ever hope to cover it up. Marked up outside of the suit as well.
Robert feels the string that's keeping Flambae's sweatpants securely on his lithe body being untied, the fabric dropping and letting cold air inside. The pants don't immediately fall since he's currently in a horizontal position, but Flambae decides to graciously help them along. Two large hands brush the gray fabric along as they settle on Robert's ass, squeezing with a too-warm grip. Sweatpants falling to his knees and exposing him entirely, Robert shudders, faltering just slightly in his quest to thoroughly mark Flambae's neck. It's a shame; he wanted him to go through hell tomorrow with the Z-Team because of these.
"We're gonna get there," Flambae says with a smirk, and somehow even the missing tooth is attractive.
Robert's priorities shift rather quickly.
"Get them warmer," he requests, pushing back into the grip.
"What, my hands?"
He's so stupid sometimes.
"Mhm," Robert hums, hands slipping lower to grip Flambae's well-defined pecs. He feels the heat on his ass increase just slightly, and his cock twitches in interest, already painfully hard. "More."
Flambae frowns like he wants to protest, and Robert doesn't really like that. "You're gonna—"
"Won't break," Robert interrupts him, squeezing the flesh beneath his fingertips, making a very appreciative noise when Flambae squeezes his ass even tighter. "Come on, more."
Flambae doesn't look very happy about it, but he complies with Robert's request, turning up the heat more than he did previously, and Robert's ass feels too warm for comfort. Not enough to even worry about burning, no flames in sight. Kinda like wax, but still not enough.
Robert breathes in deeply. "Just a little mo—"
A loud moan slips out of his throat and cuts him off when Flambae doesn't even let him finish speaking, hands burning against Robert's ass. Shit. Fuck. Okay, yeah. He knows he is leaking steadily, precome dripping down to Flambae's stomach or onto his underwear, but he doesn't know. Doesn't care. This is precisely what he wants. He pushes into it, not caring one bit about what kind of marks it will leave. Shouldn't be scars. Probably.
"Pain slut," Flambae comments with amusement.
Robert scoffs. Pot, kettle.
"Degradation whore."
"What?" Flambae's lip raises in disgust. "No fucking way am I—"
Robert doesn't listen to his denials. He sits back up and smirks sharply as he spits down at Flambae's jaw, and Flambae's mouth clicks shut faster than ever. "An insecure show-off with anger management issues, desperate to be put in his place," he says with a sharp smirk.
He laughs breathlessly, back arching as the heat turns up again. He might get those handprints for a longer-term period after all. He still manages to reach forward with his hand, smearing the spit into Flambae's skin. So pliant.
"You're always barking so loudly, just hoping someone will shove you around instead. Dignity found in a ditch, right?" He says, taking great satisfaction in the furious blush that rapidly spreads across Flambae's cheekbones. "How pathetic is that?"
Robert could get used to it. It's a bit addictive. Flambae, always so cocky and with an overblown ego, unraveling because of words alone. He leans back in, biting on the earlobe before speaking directly into his ear.
"Or would you rather be told how well you're doing?"
The heat goes from uncomfortably hot to scorching, and Robert gasps, keening. Holy shit. He knew he liked pain, but not to this extent. He is way too close to coming for comfort.
"Alright, stop," he requests breathlessly and rests his forehead against Flambae's shoulder, hard muscle providing purchase. Fuck.
The pressure disappears immediately. Robert feels a rush of air as Flambae tries to shake the heat off them. "Too much?" Concern underlines his voice, as if he's stressed he had gone too far.
Robert taps against Flambae's chest in reassurance. "Nah, too good. Don't wanna come yet." And he would have never lived it down if he came untouched. "Want you to fuck me instead."
"Do you?" Flambae hums, and significantly colder hands return to hold Robert's ass. They are probably just normal temperature, but the sensation still makes Robert flinch.
"Yeah," he confirms. "I cleaned myself. Just need stretching."
Without having to be told, one finger presses against Robert's hole. A warm pressure that rubs in a circle before pressing inside. Even dry, he doesn't feel the stretch just yet, and so he eagerly moves his hips along with it, showing it's fine. Flambae gets on with the program and tries to add a second one.
Flambae's hands are large, fingers much thicker than Robert's own. He's not used to that anymore; it's been years since he's been with a man. It burns just a little bit, but Robert knows how to keep himself relaxed, letting Flambae slowly work his middle finger in. He likes it, having someone else do it for him. Flambae gently moves his fingers back and forth, eyes intently watching Robert's face for any sign of actual discomfort.
The small stumps, cut off at the knuckle, bump into Robert. Which is a good enough reminder that he won't be able to take much else without lube anyway.
"What, ran out of fingers?" He laughs, and Flambae's eyes darken at the reminder.
"Watch your mouth or I'll put my whole fist up there," he threatens pointlessly.
"Not a big fan of that, but who knows?" Robert quips and slips off Flambae's hand, getting up on shaky legs to finally step out of the too-large sweatpants and shuffle through some drawers. He glances over his shoulder as he does so, unsurprised to find eyes glued to his ass, almost glazed over. So predictable. "Take a picture."
"Don't tempt me."
Robert makes a satisfied noise when he finds what he was searching for. "You good with your other hand, or should I finish the job?"
"How about you come back here and we find out?" Flambae says, cheeky as ever, and Robert huffs at the audacity. He closes the drawer and looks over, taking in the disheveled hair, flushed skin, catching on the ridiculously large bulge in his underwear, and the very obvious wet spot on it.
Fuck, okay. Robert might like pain, but he will need some thorough prep for that.
"Condoms?" Flambae asks with a pointed look at Robert's hands, clutching only the lube.
"I've got some if you want," Robert points back to the drawer with his thumb. "But we've both been tested for SDN and we are clean. And I'm kinda curious how hot your cum gets."
Robert grins as Flambae's face goes a little slack. No condoms, then. He throws the bottle of lube at Flambae, laughing as the man fumbles to catch it.
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"Your chair comfortable, Mister Dispatcher?" Is what Prism greets him with as he comes online, ready to dispatch his teams to any emergencies.
Which is odd, but he doesn't pay much attention to it. He's logged in while much stranger conversations were at their peak.
"The quality of it remains as shitty as ever," he replies without missing a beat. His ass aches to a slightly concerning degree, but after a full morning of trying to find the right position to sit on his hard couch in preparation for the work day, he thinks he's got it. Not that he minds the sensation. Quite the opposite, but no one needs to know that.
Prism cackles loudly, as if that's the funniest joke she's heard all week. "Maybe you should talk to Blonde Blazer about upgrading your chair if that's the treatment your ass is about to be put through each day."
There's a confused silence across the comms from the lack of context. Robert stares at his monitor, entirely bewildered. There's no way she knows. How would she know?
"Prism," Flambae hisses furiously, the sound amplified by everyone else being utterly silent. "Cut this shit out."
There it is. The culprit.
"Holy shit," Malevola says quietly as she no doubt figures it out to some extent ahead of the rest.
"What, that pic you sent me was nothing short of artistic, Flambae," Prism continues shamelessly, and Robert feels a bit lightheaded. "The handprints? The bruises? The sheets? Crazy stuff, I bet y'all would make a bank if you made an OnlyFans for your kinky shit."
"A pic. A pic?" Robert repeats incredulously, feeling heat creep up from his neck to his face at an alarming rate. "What the ever-loving fuck, Flambae?"
Flambae sputters at being called out, fumbling to take control of the situation and falling short as usual. "I didn't think she was gonna say shit about it!"
Robert will kill him, there's no doubt about it. He will deal with an empty and quiet apartment. Maybe he will get another dog. "Why did you even send it to her?" He questions, gesturing in the air as if anyone on the call could even see him.
"What's this about?" Sonar finally asks, drowning out Flambae's attempts at coming up with a convincing enough excuse for his idiocy.
"Our dispatcher has some nicely toasted cake on him," Prism replies without missing a beat. A significant part of Robert's soul dies on the spot as soon as that sentence comes through. "Courtesy of the fire boy."
It's quiet for exactly five seconds before everyone decides to speak all at once, a clear ploy to raise Robert's blood pressure.
"You two finally fucked?"
"Congratulations are in order."
"This is the end, right? No more of the weird ass sexual tension?"
"Should we celebrate in the bar?"
"Aren't we banned from most bars?"
"Isn't this an HR violation?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Flambae yells into the mic angrily, as if that's gonna help anything. "Just leave that shit be, okay? Okay."
"Wait, there's a pic of Robert's ass wrecked?" Visi laughs in delight just as he finishes speaking. "Send that to the group chat, please."
Robert's phone dings a few seconds later. He wants to throw it out of the window. Even more so, he wants to strangle his entire team. One individual in particular.
"Oh my god," someone mutters into the mic in the otherwise stunned silence, and Robert makes the administrative decision of muting the entire call except for himself.
"I'm leaving for half an hour. If I hear one fucking mention of this situation at all once I come back, I will personally ensure all of your paychecks are reduced by twenty percent for the next four months. Don't fucking test me," he keeps his tone as even as he can, aware his anger is slipping through whether he wants it to or not. He doesn't particularly care. "Flambae. Think carefully about whether you might want to sleep somewhere else tonight."
He gets up from his chair, biting on his lip viciously to keep the wince at bay. Stupid fucking firepower and stupid fucking Flambae with his big fucking mouth. Robert doesn't unmute the call, so they cannot gossip with each other during work hours. Except his phone is blowing up, which means they're making do with the group chat regardless. He leaves it behind as he heads to the rec room, telling himself that he cannot break the brand-new vending machine.
When Flambae shows up at Robert's apartment in the evening, he seems genuinely regretful of his choices. Hardly looks at Robert, face angled away and lip bitten raw. Robert lets him with a sigh, first getting into an argument, and then making a drooling mess out of Flambae so that he can send a picture of his own to the Z-Team group chat.
It's a good picture. He somewhat understands why Flambae could want to share one with someone, even if he still refuses to see just how revealing the one of him was.
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"You gotta stop eating this shit all the time, Robbo," Flambae says as he takes a very generous bite out of a pizza slice. "You need a more balanced diet. No wonder you're so skinny."
"Doesn't junk food lead to gaining weight more easily already?" Not that Robert is an expert, but he's heard that one enough times in his life. "Maybe I'm immune. Or maybe that's my superpower. Thin Man."
Flambae cracks a smile at the stupid joke and points with his slice at Robert. "That's only because you eat one meal and call it a day."
"Guilty," Robert shrugs, entirely unconcerned. His medicals come back healthy each time. That's all that matters. "Isn't it easier to throw me around like this, though?"
Now, Flambae just looks unimpressed with him. "There is no world where your weight is within a healthy standard, and I'm not able to lift you up with one hand."
That's a nice mental image, throwing Robert back to that day he first stumbled on Flambae with his hair let down. He remembers having a similar thought.
Since then, Flambae carried him into the shower once or twice over the last few days, but never really with one hand. Probably to prevent Robert from losing his balance or something. And he does act like Robert weighs nothing at all to him. They need to test that theory one of these days.
Flambae takes the bottle from him and sips on what's originally his beer, muttering something into the tip of the bottle.
Robert kicks him lightly. "What?"
"Your freckles are stupid," Flambae repeats himself, louder this time. He wrinkles his nose as he says it, but the look in his eyes doesn't exactly match the words as he keeps staring at Robert's cheeks.
"Yeah?" Robert is amused by this. "Don't like them?"
"Can't look away from them," Flambae grumbles in a barely audible tone.
"Well," Robert shrugs, biting into the pizza and continuing after he swallows. "I think your hair is incredibly stupid when it's down."
Flambae rolls his eyes, tucking the long brown strands behind his ear angrily. The true meaning must not have registered in his brain just yet. Robert waits. "You've simply got no taste, Bob Bob. There are some occasions which call for a more—" He cuts himself off as his eyes settle on Robert's freckles again, and Robert can see in real time as the brain cells fight for their lives and connect the dots together. "Oh. Maybe I should, uh, leave it untied more often. Or something."
Robert chuckles openly, taking a drink from Flambae's bottle after raising his own, only to realize it's empty. "You won't see me complaining if you do. Or something."
˗ˏˋ ✸ˎˊ˗
"Hey, Flaming Dick!" Robert calls across the floor of dispatchers when he catches a few of his team members walking by the opposite wall. "Catch!"
Robert mentally pats himself on the back for keeping up with his training. Otherwise, the throw may not have landed, and it'd have just been embarrassing. He's already had enough humiliation to suffer in his workplace to last him a lifetime.
Flambae easily catches the object from the air, opening his fingers with furrowed brows to see what exactly it is. And then they rise up into his hairline in shock.
Prism hollers from Flambae's other side, slapping him on the back so hard that he stumbles forward, eyes glued in bafflement to the small key clutched in his hand. Sonar says something quietly, shaking his head. He probably doesn't mind losing his roommate to Robert; he probably would've stayed with Malevola even after their apartment complex got fixed.
He watches as Flambae's hand carefully closes around the key again, and he looks up to meet Robert's eyes with a sharp grin.
Robert smiles back.