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“Bae, it’s not rocket science,” Alice drawled, slumping deeper into the couch. Her mostly-empty wine glass dangled loosely between two fingers as she jerked her chin toward the bottle Courtney spun just then. It sat there smugly, neck aimed straight at him like a loaded gun. “You ain’t no fucking prude, boy. I’ve seen you pull riskier shit when you were stone-cold sober.”
Flambae had already knocked back enough alcohol that night. So really, “dare” felt like the only good option when the bottle stopped on him. He wasn’t ashamed of shit. He could do anything.
Except… maybe this one.
“Yeah, Mr. Supernova,” Courtney piped up from his left, voice thick around a mouthful of popcorn. She crammed another fistful in, kernels falling on the floor as she talked. “The fuck you hesitating for? You strut around in less fabric than that all day. Your tits are always out, dude. Shit, even the veins on your dick show through that slutty little catsuit you wear.”
Flambae rolled his eyes so hard it should have hurt, then chased the movement with a deep pull straight from the wine bottle. This was what he got for saying yes to drinking with these goddamn lunatics.
He was no fucking coward. He could send a thirst trap to Robertson. It’s not like their pathetic dispatcher had ever seen better than what Flambae would show him.
“First of all, fuck off,” he snapped, the words coming out mean, jabbing a finger at Courtney. She just stuck her tongue out like a bratty twelve-year-old.
His gaze swept the circle – every pair of eyes were locked on him, hungry for the show promised by the dare. Even Victor, usually too stoned to care about anything that didn’t involve crypto, cocaine or boobs, had his giant ears perked, head tilted like he was actually invested for once.
No escape. Not if he wanted to keep any scrap of his reputation intact.
Chad swung his legs off the coffee table, accidentally punting an empty cigarette pack across the floor. Whatever. Invisibitch could clean her own mess for once.
“I better not lose my fucking job over this, you asshole,” he muttered, fishing his phone out of the tiny pocket of his shorts as he stood with a defeated sigh.
“Wait– ” Malevola’s voice cut through, dripping with amusement. “So we’re seeing his reply too, right?”
„I mean,” Courtney grinned, making an obscene show of licking butter and salt off her fingers one by one. „Obviously.”
“No. No. No.” Flambae shook his head dismissively, thumb already swiping the lockscreen open, camera app firing up. “Don’t get greedy, bitch. You get proof it’s sent. That’s it. Nothing more.”
“Awww, but I wanna see Robert get all flustered…” Malevola propped her chin on her fist, tail thumping lazily against the couch. “Is that so bad?”
The rest of them murmured in agreement, a low ripple of mischief among the team. Only Alice backed him up.
“Hold up, bitches,” she said, raising a lazy, manicured hand. “The dare was ’send Robbo a shirtless pic’. Whatever happens after that is not any of your goddamn fucking business.”
Courtney snorted so hard she almost choked on the popcorn. “Why, you think Robert’s gonna text Chad back like ‘hey bro, thx your pic made me nut’?”
Flambae snorted out loud just as Punch up’s laughter roared up from his left.
“The lad could use a good one.”
Visi continued with a very slight, barely noticeable shift in her tone, „Please. He’s way too high-and-mighty for that.”
Is that… jealousy?
Hm, game's on, Invisibitch.
Flambae didn’t answer. He was already making a beeline toward the bathroom, bypassing Coupé who was nursing her own bottle of wine, and kicking the door close behind himself.
The Z-team’s laughter cut off. It was just Chad, the tall mirror and the faint metallic tang of water in the pipes.
He stared at his reflection for half a minute, then muttered under his breath, “Alright. Let’s give that bitch something he’ll be jerking off to for months.”
The little flutter in Flambae’s gut wasn’t really fear, but drunken excitement and spite. The primal need to prove those fuckers wrong, because he’s not scared of shit.
He’d never been ashamed of his body his entire life, he wasn't gonna start now.
So if he was about to do this stupid dare, it would be in a way so that Robert would choke on his own spit the second he opened their chat.
Chad deliberately ignored the fact that this part was not actually relevant to the dare per se.
He pulled the black tank top up over his head in one rough yank and it hit the floor unceremoniously.
Flambae flexed his shoulders once, twice, watching the way the overhead lightbulb carved shadows under his collarbones, along the cut of his pecs.
Hot, but not good enough yet.
The man dropped to the tile and hammered out push-ups like he was trying to punish the floor. Only twenty this time. Fast and mean, no pause at the top.
By the end, his arms were singing; chest pumped full, veins standing out along his biceps and forearms. Sweat bloomed across his skin in a thin, glossy sheen.
He rose from the ground, drinking in his slightly tipsy reflection, hair fucked-up, eyes burning with that particular brand of “fuck you” energy he wore like cologne.
Look at that, he thought, the corners of his lips curling upwards. Not bad.
With a flick of his thumb, he popped the button on his denim shorts. The zipper stayed up – just barely – but the waistband sagged open just enough to flash the top of his pubes.
Flames.
Sharp, stylized little licks of black hair curling upward in perfect symmetry. The V of his hips accentuated it perfectly. If Robert was even a tiny bit interested in men, he would fold.
Robert.
The name alone sent a hot spike of electricity straight to Flambae’s dick. Maybe he shouldn't have drunk this much.
He hated how much he liked picturing the brunet’s serious expression drop in surprise – eyes widening, jaw going slack, his stupid, pathetic dick probably making an attempt to get hard in his breeches.
Flambae hissed through his teeth. “You’re so fucked, bitch.”
He turned on the warm tap, scooped up some water in both palms, and slapped it across his naked chest with intent. The droplets immediately started racing south; over the ridges of his abs, pooling in the deep V that disappeared into his shorts, soaking the denim dark at the edges.
Yeah, that’s it.
Chad tilted his phone’s camera so his body was visible from a low angle. Just enough to stretch his torso longer. He wasn’t blind, Chad knew his abs looked like they were carved from stone.
His elbows were tucked tight to his side so his bicep flexed without even trying. A slow, filthy smirk spread across his face, because Flambae knew this shit would work on anyone.
Finally, his thumb hooked into the left side of the lowered waistband, dragging the denim down another deliberate half-inch. Flame trim fully visible now, the suggestion of more dancing just out of sight.
Flambae took a few shots so he can choose from more after. He checked the preview of the first one and let out a low, pleased sound at what he saw.
Maybe it was also liquid courage, but he didn’t hesitate at all before hitting „send”.
“Brace yourself. Mechabitch.”
His heart was repeatedly slamming against his ribcage like it wanted out. Because yeah, he was doing it as a dare. But maybe he also kind of wanted to test Robert.
And to be fair, now that there was no turning back, some sort of… uncertainty arose in him as well.
What’s the worst that could happen? He might lose his job– which actually, fuck, why hadn’t he thought of that before?!
That’d be pretty fucking bad for many reasons.
Flambae stayed there, leaning with his hip against the sink for another beat, staring at the side at his own reflection like it might give him either a high-five back or a bitch slap across the face for being so cockdrunk and impulsive.
First thing’s first; evidence. Can’t have the Z-team accusing him of chickening out after all this.
Chad flicked to the sent photo in his chat with Robert. With trembling fingers, he snagged a screenshot – the timestamp, the delivery checkmark, and the raunchy photo all on display. No cropping, nothing to hide. Let them see exactly how committed he was to the task at hand.
Heh.
He flipped through the chats to the Z-Team group chat and sent the evidence, his skin burning like he was a few seconds away from setting aflame.
Not even ten seconds later the living room erupted; hoots, wolf whistles, and Alice hollering “Get it, bitch!” through the door like they were at a strip club or something. Malevola’s otherworldly laugh cut through sharp and delighted as Victor let out a low “Daaaaamn,” that carried all the way down the hall. He also heard Golem’s voice, but it wasn't clear what he was saying.
Flambae didn’t even have the chance to react to these idiots.
Because when he glanced back at Robert’s chat–
The little „seen” icon was there already.
Two tiny blue ticks staring back at him, taunting.
His stomach did a lazy, nauseating flip. Not out of fear but from the sudden, electric awareness that Robert had already opened it and seen him; wet, bare chest out, shorts unbuttoned. Just a hairwidth between an HR violation and a restraining order.
Flambae’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. His heart kicked up again, a mean staccato indicating his mixed feelings.
But yeah.. if he hadn't been drunk, he wouldn’t have accepted this stupid fucking dare. He would go back to hating the dispatcher with all his might and taunting him at the gym.
Flambae also realized he hadn’t planned past the send button.
So he started typing… something. Anything.
Chad: cat got ur tongue Robbo?–
Delete. That’d make it too obvious he’d been waiting.
Chad: gonna pretend you didnt like that?–
Sounded like fishing. He wasn’t going to fucking beg for that bitch.
Chad: wrong number–
Not. A coward.
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Each backspace felt like peeling off a layer of his own skin. Everything sounded desperate and Flambae didn’t do desperate. He wouldn’t be dismissive either, nothing he sent he was ashamed of – he worked hard for his body to look like that.
Chad stared at the blank textbox. No typing bubbles. No reply. Just silence on the other end, thick and loaded.
He could send something now. Something mean, something safe. A follow-up that ensured he’d keep the upper hand.
But every line that came to his mind felt off.
Flambae moved one hand to the doorknob to just go back out, the other clutching his phone like it owed him money. He was about to rejoin the chaos outside when his screen finally lit up–
A new message from Robert.
He stopped cold and scrambled away from the door in panic, turning the key to lock it without thinking. His thumb swiped open the notification faster than he’d meant to.
Robert: well shit
Robert: I guess this is not the worst thing to wake up to in the middle of the night
No emojis, no caps. Just that signature sarcastic edge – flat, understated, like he was complaining about bad coffee instead of admitting the photo hit him square in the dick.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking from Chad’s tipsy mind.
Flambae stared at the words in stunned silence. He needed to find purchase somewhere – the back of his thighs thudded against the sink counter as his foggy brain was trying to come up with a response that didn’t give away too much.
At the same time, he was fighting with the heat crawling south at the thought of Robert waking up to the buzzing of his phone, seeing Flambae’s body in all its glory and then maybe – just maybe – having his cock stir in his pants.
Because, yeah, Robert had checked him out before. Chad was not blind.
Fuck. Gotta text back.
Chad: bitch dont act like u r not hard rn
Might as well go all the way.
Flambae’s pulse hammered, hand drifting down mindlessly to palm himself through the shorts, just to take the edge off a bit. Maybe it was wrong to do so but fuck, he was half-hard. The slow press provided some reprieve.
In the meantime, the typing bubble popped up almost instantly.
Robert: I mean, sure, no kidding, it’s hot
The follow-up landed like the first spark of flame on freshly lit gasoline.
Robert: youre hot
Robert: but i guess you know already which is why you sent it
Robert: wait… is this a prank or some bullshit attempt at revenge?
Flambae barked a real laugh this time. Sharp, triumphant.. also kind of giddy. Is this fucker for real?
Chad: its 2 am bitch
Chad: do u fucking think id stay up to fuck u over when i need my beauty sleep every night?
Robert: but you would stay up to sext? with me of all people?
Robert: thought you hated me Flambae, cant blame a man for asking
Chad: jfc shut up
Robert: me? youre the asshole
Flambae stayed pressed against the sink, the edge biting into his thighs. The bathroom air started to feel thicker by the second.
Robert’s words were still glowing on the screen as he typed out in quick success, the retort coming to him like it was second nature.
Chad: at least im not a fucking bitch
He hit send, then without thinking, palmed a bit harder at the persistent ache between his thighs. The bathroom felt smaller, hotter, the muffled voices from outside seemingly a whole other world away.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately. Flambae’s stomach flipped.
Robert: said who? im starting to think u want to be
Robert: maybe youre just waiting for someone to make you his bitch
„Fuuuuck,” Flambae’s breath caught as the words went straight to his dick. The hand which had been resting over the bulge in his shorts twitched. He stared at the messages, heat crawling up his neck so fast it threatened to flare up.
He swallowed once, twice, trying to regain some semblance of control.
Chad: and what, u think that could be u?
There was that faint ping again. To Chad’s shock, it wasn’t a text.
It was a photo.
Flambae clicked on it with such speed, the phone almost slipped from his hand to the floor. Thank fuck for his quick reflexes.
The photo was taken in low light, but everything was clear. It began just below Robert’s navel, showing off some of that lean muscle, a faint dusting of hair and some battle scars. He had grey sweatpants on, thighs spread wide in a lazy, almost arrogant manspread.
And that wasn’t even the most interesting part.
Right there in the center, the unmistakable thick, heavy outline of a hard cock pressed insistently against the fabric, leaning to the left.
Long. Girthy. No angle tricks, no way it was edited. Just blatant proof that Robert was at least above average and hard as fuck.
Because of Chad.
Flambae’s knees almost buckled. A low, involuntary whine tried to escape but he clamped his jaw shut.
His own dick throbbed painfully now, wanting to break free of the remaining fabric. Because, shit, for one, Robert was bigger than he’d imagined – thicker, longer, the kind of size he knows would feel like heaven to pound into him. His hole clenched around nothing and yeah, that was totally unaccounted for.
Fucking bitch.
Chad stared at the photo, pulse roaring in his ears, mind racing through every filthy possibility; Robert laid out on the bed, thin arms resting lazily behind his head as Flambae rode him seven ways to Saturday.
Flambae exhaled raggedly through his nose. He wasn’t sure when, but the grinding motions of his palm had picked up again, now way more confident and hungry than before. He rocked into it once, twice, hips grinding forward to meet the movement, eyes still glued to the screen like he was hyperfixated.
The chat stayed silent for god knows how long. Chad was busy trying not to cum in his shorts.
He dragged his tongue over his lower lip, tasting salt from the bead of sweat that rolled down his forehead. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, wanting to fire back something mean. something to flip this around, to regain control.
Every line felt hollow, so instead, Flambae stared at Robert’s dick some more.
He zoomed in on the photo – just a little – watching the way the soft fabric stretched so even the head of Robert’s cock was prominent.
“Fuck you, asshole,” Chad muttered under his breath, followed by an involuntary half groan.
Robert: im so fucking hard
At that, Flambae started to press the heel of his palm more insistently against his shaft, hips rolling shamelessly now.
The restraint he’d been clinging to snapped like cheap thread.
Chad: i can tell, its filthy bitch
Robert: you started it
Chad: i wanna climb u like a fucking tree
Chad: where were u hiding that thing?? jfc robert
When was the last time he called him Robert?
Flambae shoved his shorts and boxers down just enough, – waistband catching under his balls – and wrapped a hand around his aching cock. It was already somewhat slick from the steady drip of precum, so he used the lubrication to spread it around the whole length, almost letting out a whine at the sensation.
He went to grip firmly at the base for a while, trying to prevent something embarrassing happening. Then when it was safe, he gave himself one slow, deliberate stroke from root to tip, thumb smearing the bead of fluid over the head.
Robert: so it is safe to assume youre touching yourself too
A low hiss slipped out from between Flambae’s teeth.
Burning gaze straying back to Robert’s photo, he let the mental image manifest before his very eyes; Robert’s hand, wrapped around himself, stripping his cock like he was starving. Fantasizing about Flambae doing the same thing.
Chad didn’t know how long he stood there – seconds, maybe minutes. He was lost in the steady drag of his fist, the wet sounds echoing softly in the tiled room. His breathing turned ragged, shallow, abs flexed with every upstroke. Felt his nipples tighten from how much hotter he was burning compared to the now relatively chilly environment.
The phone buzzed in his other hand.
Robert: answer me asshole
Flambae’s incredulous laugh came out choked, turning into a moan.
Chad: wanna see?
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Phone angled halfway down, Chad’s heavy, engorged cock filled the frame; flushed dark, veins standing out, tip glossy and swollen, precum beading fresh at the slit. His fingers were wrapped tight around the shaft. Denim shorts now shoved fully open, the background blurry but the sight in it unmistakable – the bottom of the bathroom mirror displayed him up until the bottom of his flushed chest, a layer of sweat clinging stubbornly.
Click. Send. He kept stroking himself lazily as he waited.
Robert’s reply came fast.
Robert: not fair, youre big
Robert: bet i could still swallow the whole thing
Flambae’s head dropped back in a barely suppressed moan, a full-body shiver rippling through him. Robert was better at sexting than he would have thought.
Not that he’d.. ever thought of that before.
His hand sped up without conscious permission – fist sliding slick and fast now, thumb circling the head on every upstroke, chasing the building heat. His thighs trembled, breath coming in short, sharp pants.
Chad: yeah think u can take it bitch?
Robert: hell yeah
Robert: I want to choke on it actually
And there’s no hesitation from Robert, what the fuck, why is that so fucking hot–
Robert: shit gonna cum soon
Flambae groaned – low, wrecked, the sound bouncing off the walls, completely forgetting where he was. His hips jerked forward into his grip like he was a man possessed. The idea of Robert already teetering, already losing it just from some photos of him and a few raunchy texts, that started up a storm inside him.
Chad was close himself, dangerously close. Balls tight, spine tingling, every nerve of his ignited. But he wasn’t ready to finish yet. Not without dragging Robert down with him.
Chad: not yet bitch
Chad: wanna see you lose it
In half a minute that felt like eternity, Robert sent a video. Flambae’s breath caught hard in his throat.
He’d never tapped “play” faster in his life before.
The screen showed Robert lying flat on his back, probably on the new mattress the Z-team got him for his housewarming party. It was from his pov, t-shirt rumpled up to his chest, exposing the tight planes of his stomach and the faint trail of hair leading down. His cock was out, thick and flushed dark, bruised fist wrapped tight around it.
Nothing prepared Flambae for seeing Robert like this; wrecked, desperate and jacking himself rough. His knuckles were blurring on every upstroke, hips lifting off the mattress in short, desperate jerks as he was nearing the precipice.
And that voice.
Deep, guttural grunts punched out of Robert simultaneously with every pump. Heavy panting layered over it, ragged and uneven, like he’d been holding back for too long and was about to finally snap. The wet, slick sounds of his fist on skin filled the tiny speaker, obscenely echoing in the quiet bathroom.
Flambae’s heart was hammering against his ribs so fast, he felt dizzy with it. His eyes locked on the screen – unblinking, transfixed on the way Robert’s abs flexed, the way his thighs tensed and spread wider as the head of his cock kept disappearing into his fist over and over.
Chad’s own hand moved without permission to match Robert’s frantic rhythm on screen. Slick precum coated his palm, making the glide silky-smooth. He bit his lower lip until it hurt, trying to keep quiet, but a low whine still escaped when Robert’s grunts turned progressively more and more broken by the second.
The camera started shaking slightly as Robert held it one-handed. A punched-out, dirty moan ripped from the dispatcher – a deep, guttural sound edged with a sharp “fuck”, and his center arched up with it.
Thick ropes of cum shot over his fist, splattering across his abs, almost catching the camera, dripping down the sides of his knuckles. His hand kept moving, helping himself through it, milking every last drop.
A final, heavy exhale escaped Robert as the video ended abruptly. On Flambae’s phone, it was frozen on the last frame: Robert’s cum-streaked fist still loosely wrapped around his softening cock.
Flambae stared at it for a few seconds, mouth dry, pulse roaring in his ears.
Holy shit.
He’d just watched Robert Robertson, his dispatcher, come undone because of him. Because Flambae had pushed, and Robert pushed back even harder.
Unceremoniously, Flambae set the phone down on the sink’s ledge, propped it against the faucet so the screen was in his vision. Flambae hit play again on the video, volume low but clear enough that every grunt, every wet slide of skin filled the small space like smoke.
The denim of his shorts were pooling around his thighs as Flambae braced himself – one palm flat against the cool surface for balance, the other already wrapped tight around his aching cock. He lined himself up, hips forward and he didn’t waste any time before he started moving in a frenzy.
The cold ceramic occasionally touched him, which came as a shock against his overheated skin. However, Chad didn’t give a single fuck as his eyes were glued to the phone’s screen where Robert was coming apart.
He imagined it was Robert under him instead of the sink; spread out, thighs hooked over his hips, that thick cock leaking against his stomach while Flambae drove in deep, relentless, making him gasp and curse and beg in that low, broken voice from the video.
“Fuck– yeah, take it, bitch,” he hissed under his breath, barely audible over the wet slap of his fist and the faint tiny grunts from the speaker.
His balls drew tight. Every drag of his cockhead along the slick of his palm sent sparks up his spine. He pictured Robert’s lips against his, on his cock – hot, wet, taking him to the root like he promised while those dark, doe eyes stared up at him brokenly, dark and wrecked and his.
When the video reached Robert’s peak for the second time, that did it for him.
A choked, guttural sound ripped out of Flambae – half growl, half moan – as he came. Thick, heavy pulses shot straight into the sink, splattering the ceramic surface in messy streaks. His thighs shook as his fist kept moving through it, milking every last drop until he was oversensitive and twitching in his tight grip.
As he slumped forward, breath fogging the glass in a patch, Chad was now staring at his own wrecked reflection: some hair plastered to his forehead, some falling into his eyes, chest heaving.
He let out a low, shaky laugh that sounded crazy even to his own ears.
“Fucking hell.”
He reached over with his clean hand, saved the video with a quick tap – sue him – and went right back to their chat.
Flambae licked his dry lips, tasting salt and a little bit of wine.
Robert: holy shit
Flambae let out a low, disbelieving huff of a laugh as post-nut clarity hit him. What the actual fuck had just happened?
He shook his head once before he turned on the faucet. First, he rinsed himself clean, then the sink, watching the evidence of what he did swirl down the drain. He dried his hand roughly on a towel that smelled faintly of someone else’s shampoo, then finally tucked himself away, zipping his shorts back up.
Another buzz from his phone.
Robert: you alive there or should I start worrying?
Flambae’s lips twitched despite himself.
Chad: all good, not a normie like u bitch
Chad: could take two more rounds at least
The typing bubble popped up almost instantly.
Robert: is that supposed to be threatening? cuz that just sounds intriguing
Robert: im beat, maybe next time
Flambae’s chest did a stupid, fluttering thing.
Next time.
He stared at the screen longer than he meant to, thumb hovering, heart kicking up again like it hadn’t just ran a half marathon a few minutes ago.
Chad: figures u cant keep up bitch
Robert: yeah, well, maybe if i slept more than 2 hours last night, id be down for more
Interesting.
Robert: anyway, that was fun
Robert: why did you do this? not that im complaining
Flambae snorted softly.
Chad: it was a dare, had to win.. im no pussy
The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Appeared again.
Robert: i see.
Flambae’s stomach twisted – now sharp, nervous, sobered up by now. Shit. Had he just ruined it?
He stared at the chat like it might bite him, thumb tapping the side of the phone repeatedly in anxiety.
Chad: but ive been thinking about ur voice so..
Chad: gets me going when u try to be all bossy and shit
That’s actually more honest than Flambae wanted to be. Yet, somehow, he didn’t mind.
Robert: bring some of that competitive streak to the leaderboard at work Chad
Flambae barked a laugh – relief and heat flooding back in equal measure. He could practically hear Robert’s dry tone through the text.
Chad: will keep that in mind
Flambae’s cheeks flared hotter. Stupid. So fucking stupid.
He scowled at his reflection like it had personally betrayed him.
Chad: didnt think u would actually have it in u Robbo
He watched the typing bubble appear almost right away. His stomach did that annoying flutter again.
Robert: guess i was pent up
Flambae snorted–
Chad: pathetic
He hit send, then before his brain could catch up and slam on the brakes, his thumbs kept moving.
Chad: u should text me before that happens again
The second it was sent, Flambae wanted to take it back. He stared at the chat, licking his lips, half expecting Robert to ghost him or send a laughing emoji or something that’d make him feel like an idiot.
Then:
Robert: maybe I will
Flambae exhaled hard through his nose. The words were simple, so perfectly Robert, and still managed to land like a hand around his throat.
He pocketed his phone before he could reply with something dumb. Took one last look in the mirror, adjusted the hem of his tank, then went back out into the lion’s den.