Chapter Text
Robert braces himself against the shower tiles, breath coming fast in the humid air as he works his hand over himself. He really shouldn’t be doing this. Jerking off to thoughts of your subordinate isn’t something that’s considered by the general population to be good or normal behaviour. Still, here he is, one hand on the shower wall, the other around his cock, thinking about Waterboy.
There’s something about the hero that has wormed its way into his brain, erasing all of his common sense and replacing it with lust. He thinks about the way Waterboy stammers as he calls him ‘sir’, those big grey eyes, all wet and hopeful behind his goggles. He would probably look even better with them glassy, gazing down at Robert while he sucked the younger man’s dick. And what a dick. Robert had never seen it, not exposed, but the bulge it made under that eye smarting yellow latex had kept him up at night more than once.
It would probably be pink, flushed the same shade as his cheeks when he’s embarrassed. Robert’s hand speeds up. He tries to picture it: big, certainly, probably wet, dripping just like the rest of him. Would Robert be able to fit it all in his mouth? Or would he choke as it pushed against the back of his throat, the heavy weight filling his mouth, pulsing hotly against his tongue?
He’s getting close, bitten off grunts and the wet sound of his hand pumping himself bouncing off the bathroom walls. How would Herm sound if Robert sucked his dick? Would he be quiet? Fighting to keep his noises of pleasure in? Covering his mouth to keep sounds from spilling out? Or would he make breathy little gasps and moans, like he does when he’s hurt in the field? Like Robert had heard just earlier that day?
The memory of that sound pushes him over the edge and Robert groans as the pressure that had been building low in his stomach releases, painting the shower wall. He stands there, panting, the water running over him, washing away the evidence of his depravity. Straightening, he tips his head back. Fuck. He should not have done that. He shouldn’t have done it this time, and not the dozen times he had before. He was basically Waterboy’s boss, the man was six years his junior, and clearly idolized him as a hero. It was wrong of Robert to harbor this attraction, and yet he couldn’t seem to make himself stop.
He lets himself stand in the shower for a few more minutes, letting the water flow over him, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t want the lanky hero. It doesn’t work, it never does. Finally, when he’s sure the water won’t do anything to wash away his infatuation, he gets out, hurriedly drying himself off and picking up his hoodie and a crumpled pair of slacks from the floor. He gives the items a cursory sniff, deems them acceptable, and pulls them on.
…
Robert had agreed to go out for drinks with the team after they’d badgered him about it all day. He is now regretting the decision, memories of his earlier fantasy flashing through his mind. The last thing he and his fraying self control needs is a mixture of Waterboy and alcohol. Still, he could hold his liquor, so it probably wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Totally. At least, he hopes so.
The walk to Crypto Nights from his apartment is mercifully short. He’d dropped Beef off at home. Chase was busy, and he would probably only be out for an hour or two, so Beef would be fine. If anything, it would give Robert a good excuse to head out early. The pit stop at his apartment means that he is the last to arrive at the bar, the Z team having laid claim to a booth in the back corner, their raucous conversation filling the space. Taking in the general volume and enthusiasm, he decides to head to the bar first. He orders a shot and a glass of whiskey. He knocks the shot back, feeling the familiar warmth slide down his throat to gather in his stomach, and carries his glass of whiskey over to the table.
“Aaaaay, Boberto’s here!”
“Bob bitch!”
“Rober- hi- good- sir”
“The fuck took you so long, man?”
“Eh, bet he was jerkin’ off.”
“Ooooh, self care time mmmm?”
“Without me? I’m hurt!”
Robert winces, but it’s not like he hadn’t expected it. “I told you guys I had to drop Beef off at home, Chase couldn’t watch him tonight.”
Sonar manages to convey deep scepticism in the way his ears twitch. “Suuuure man, whatever you say.”
“How’s the night going so far?” This inquiry is enough to redirect them, much to Robert’s relief, and he's given a play by play of Prism brutally rejecting a guy who tried to shoot his shot. He finds himself laughing hard enough that his drink jostles, and he sets it down on the table. Just as she’s getting to the part where Robert assumes the guy will scurry off, tail between his legs, Flambae interrupts.
“Wait! That bitch still hasn’t caught up. Lagging behind all of us like a fucking loser.”
“I was gonna be mad you interrupted, but damn, you’re right, Bae.” Prism turns to look at Robert.
Malevola leans across the table, pushing Robert’s drink back at him. “C’mon babes, drink up! We’re here to have fun!”
The rest of the Z team joins in, shouting out encouragement and insults in equal measure. He picks up the glass, knocking back the contents before they can get well and truly established in their chant of “Chug, chug, chug, chug.” He coughs a bit as the liquor goes down. The taste is slightly different than he expected, and something gritty crunches between his teeth as he closes his mouth.
“The fuck is that?” He sputters out, trying to get his throat under control.
Punch Up looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Whaddaya mean, lad, it’s fokin’ whiskey.”
Robert grimaces. “I’ve never had whisky that was gritty before.”
Sonar’s head snaps over to look at the empty glass in Robert’s hands. “Oooohhh, shit. Mal, which glass did you give him?”
“I dunno, mate, the one that was in front of him?”
Sonar looks at the table, cocking his head. He taps a finger on the wood. “The one that was right here?”
“Yeah, it was his, right?”
“Uh, nah, Mal, that one was mine.”
Malevola winces. “Oooohhh, that one was yours?” She looks over at Robert. “Sorry babes, you’ll probably be fine. Right, Sonar? You didn’t have anything too bad in there.”
The hybrid shrugs. “I mean, probably.”
Robert gives the pair a withering glare. “Great. I love taking mystery drugs. It’s my favorite thing to do on a Thursday night. Thanks.”
Sonar slaps a hand on his back, grinning. “Aaaaaayyy, Bobby boy! Man after my own heart. I knew we’d find something to bond over one day!”
…
It had been… How long had it been? He isn’t exactly sure. Time is soupy around him, and the neon lights that break up the dimness of Crypto Nights are entrancing. He’s sitting in the booth, eyes fixed on the open sign, watching the letters blink on and off. The conversation around him passes through his brain like sand through a sieve. He catches a word or phrase here and there, but nothing stays for long, until Flambae’s mocking voice cuts through the haze.
“Wetfartboy probably gets, like, no fucking action.”
Robert shifts his gaze with great difficulty, lights sparking and swirling in his vision, to fix his gaze on Flambae. He’s gesturing at Waterboy, an up and down kind of thing, that has Robert’s eyes traveling the length of the lanky hero’s body. Robert leans forward, letting out a sigh and resting his chin on his hands.
Waterboy really is so pretty. That fair skin, always a little flushed, that wet auburn hair, that strong nose and sharp jaw. And his body. He wants to see what those long limbs and slender torso look like under that suit so badly he might lose his mind. Robert knows his body would be pretty, it has to be, it’s Waterboy, after all.
He’s pulled from his reverie by Flambae’s voice. “I mean really, you’ve probably never gotten any. No game at all. You’re way too nervous, not to mention you can barely get two fucking words out without choking on them.”
Robert’s not sure that’s as much of a disadvantage as Flambae seems to think. The stuttering is kinda hot.
Suddenly, the table is silent, and Robert realizes that everyone is looking at him. He blinks, trying to get his mouth and brain to cooperate. “S ‘th matter guys? Did I do somethin’?”
Suddenly Sonar’s face fills his vision, one clawed finger moving back and forth in front of his eyes before pulling his lids back, inspecting his pupils closely. “Damn, dude. You’re fucking gone.”
“Fuckin’ your fault. Stupid s’prise drugs,” Robert mumbles, trying to move away from the hybrid only to be stopped by the table he’d forgotten was there.
“Yeah, surprise drugs that seem like they’re making all your inside thoughts outside thoughts. Never woulda guessed soggy was your type,” Visi chuckles breathlessly. “Makes me feel a little bit better about being rejected though.”
“He’s not soggy, no, ‘s not true. He’s is soggy, but ‘s sooooo cute. Lookit that face.” Robert turns, distantly feeling his elbow crash into the side of the booth. He shakes it off to gesture at Waterboy’s face, which is red enough to be mistaken for a fruit. Maybe a cherry, or a strawberry. “Look like you’d be sooo tasty. All red ‘n stuff.”
He watches as Waterboy makes a set of adorable choking noises, flailing his arms around like he’s pantomiming putting on a wet morph suit. Man, he’s just so adorable. And cute. And hot. Robert runs his eyes up and down the hero. Also hot, has he mentioned hot?
…
This can not be happening. This isn’t happening. He must be dreaming, or hallucinating. Maybe he’s dead, or in a coma or something. Robert, his boss, Mecha Man, is sitting there, chin in his hands, blatantly eye fucking him.
“Tasty 'cause you’re red like a fruit. Strawberry or somenthin’. If you let me, I’d lick you alllll over.”
Herm squeaks. What is he supposed to say to that? Of course, in any other situation, he would be elated. He’s had a crush on Robert since he helped him with his tie, on their first day at SDN, and he’d liked Mecha Man for even longer.
When he was younger, in the clutches of puberty, and all of the hormone induced indignities that came with it, he’d had his fair share of… detailed dreams about Mecha Man. That attraction never really left him. The fact that Robert and Mecha Man were one and the same had been hard to deal with, but he’d managed, or, at least, managed until tonight. With Robert looking at him like that, pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips, eyes half lidded as they slide down Herman’s body, face to chest, down to torso, down to-
Punch Up slaps his hip, hard enough to make him stumble. “Good goin’ lad, caught the eye of the boss!”
He almost falls, but rights himself and turns to look at the short man.“I didn’t- wouldn’t- he’s not- he took- he’s high!”
The movement has placed him closer to the table, and he feels a strong hand clasp his wrist. He looks down his arm to see Robert’s hand holding the cuff of his suit, fingers stroking across the damp latex.
“And you’re pretty,” Robert hums, slipping a calloused finger under the latex cuff of his suit, stroking across the sensitive inside of his wrist. Herman can feel water all but flooding off of him. Enough that there’s probably a puddle forming beneath his feet. He needs to get control of the situation.
Pivoting, he grabs Robert’s wrist with his free hand, and gently pries the dispatcher’s fingers off of him.
“Sir- Robert, you’re not- I don’t think you’re- you’re not thinking clearly. You should- I think you should keep your hands- not- hands to yourself.”
Robert pouts, big brown eyes all shimmery and pleading, looking up at Waterboy, lower lip sticking out just a bit. “You’re no fun. You’re nice to touch. I’d do sooo good at touching you. I’d do a good job f’r you. Promise.”
Herm has to bite back a whimper. He wonders, frantically, if the rest of the team realizes how much this is affecting him, but no, they’re too busy howling with laughter at the situation.
“Oh shit, he is down bad for Wetboy!” Prism hollers, holding her phone up to get the best angle.
“Fuck, honestly I’d watch that.”
Flambae wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, what the fuck Visi. That mental image is gonna give me nightmares.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, babes.”
Sonar nods, slinging his arm over Malevola’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’d watch. Bet it’d be real messy. In, like, a hot way.”
Herm raises his voice over the ruckus. “He should- I don’t think- I think he wouldn’t want to be out- in pub- here while he’s like this.”
Robert sighs happily, resting his face against Herm’s arm. He suppresses a jolt, not wanting to jostle the intoxicated man.
“You’re so nice. I like that ‘bout you. I like a lotta things ‘bout you.”
“That is actually very sweet,” Coupe says, her normally stoic expression replaced by a little satisfied smile. “Like something from a romance novel.”
“I’d do romance novel things to you.” Robert looks up at Waterboy with lust fogged eyes, pupils so blown the warm brown of his irises is barely visible. “Allll kinds of ‘em. Like, the good ones. The ones with the-”
“Okay Ro- I’m gonna- you’re going home.”
Herm puts some cash on the table before he bends down, looping Robert’s arm over his shoulders. The shorter man melts into the touch, seemingly heedless of the water soaking his clothes.
The sound of the Z team’s teasing follows them out of the bar and into the glow of the street lights.