Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Happy housewarming, bitch. Your place fucking sucks."

Robert barely heard Flambae's voice, head buzzing from the impact of his fist on top of the effects of alcohol. A pair of hands pulled him upright: Malevola's.

"Oh shit," she said after crouching down to pick up the lamp Flambae had thrown on the ground. "Uhh, you're bleedin'. A little." She gestured at Robert's face vaguely. He wiped his nose; his fingers came back bloody.

Flambae was already pushing further into the apartment, oblivious to what he'd just walked in on. "Oh, who cares? Let's get this party started!"

"Party's over," Blonde Blazer said, and her tone of voice was the most serious Robert had ever heard it be. She gave everybody a universal glare before starting to usher them out the door. Robert moved aside, a little wobbly and more than a little unsure of what to say.

Flambae was in the same boat. "Wha– But I– I just got here!"

"Yeah, baby, you were like three hours late," Prism snorted and rubbed his bicep on her way out. "I'll send you all the good shit. Trust me, I got it all right here." She shook her phone in her hand as she walked off.

The apartment fell into silence after the gaggle of ex-villains had exited. Robert's eyes flicked between Flambae, casually standing in the hallway, and Beef, eagerly eyeing the ajar door. He felt lightheaded.

"So are you gonna…" He trailed off and glanced at the door.

"You know how much planning it took to get here? Navigate that traffic with the shitty rental car? And get this?" Flambae grabbed the green lamp Malevola had placed on the bar counter and almost looked ready to throw it on the ground, or at Robert, again. "You're stuck with me."

With that, he turned and marched deeper into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and began judging the contents with a quizzical look.

"Oh. Um," Robert paused, pinched his eyes shut for a moment when vertigo flashed through him. "Make yourself… at home?"

"Not even a cockroach could make itself at home in this shithole," Flambae said, checking the expiry date of a jar of marinara sauce. "God, this fridge should constitute as a fucking crime."

Robert didn't know what else to do, so after closing the door he walked off, too, still pinching his nose to help with the bleeding. He crashed onto his new couch and stared at the apartment. Still barren, except for the dozen lamps. If he had to pick, he would say Waterboy's lava lamp was his personal favorite. Maybe he should bring it to work, have it at his desk for evening shifts. Would Waterboy take it as a compliment or think he wanted to get rid of it?

His pondering was interrupted with a roll of paper towels being hurled at him. It just missed his head and landed on the couch next to his thigh with a soft thud, startling him. He looked up, too fast in his injured and inebriated state, and greyed out for a second. Once he came back to, he found Flambae leaning on the bar watching him. His expression was unreadable.

"You're gushing," he stated.

Robert realized he'd let go of his nose at some point and was now leaking blood all the way to the collar of his shirt. "Shit…" He grabbed the roll of paper towels and started wiping himself down.

"I fuck you up that bad with just one punch?" Flambae asked.

"I think the alcohol played a part, too," Robert muttered and dabbed his nose. "The punch was good too, though."

"You should lay down," Flambae offered. "Helps with the bleeding."

He turned back to the stove, which Robert now came to realize was making some noise. Water was boiling in a pot, and Flambae started stuffing it with raw pasta noodles.

"You're cooking for me?" Robert asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, bitch, the fuck you think I'm doing?" Flambae tossed over his shoulder, but there was surprisingly little malice in his tone. He seemed almost amused. "Judging by the state of this stove it doesn't look like you've ever used it. I feel bad." Pause. "For the stove, not you." There it was.

Robert had no ground to argue — especially since his stomach was indeed starting to growl a little — and instead took Flambae's advice of lying down. The couch still wasn't a bed, but it was a hell of a lot closer to one than the lawn chair he'd been dealing with for ages. He pulled out his phone and clumsily wrote a typo-filled text message to thank Blonde Blazer for bringing the couch and to apologize for the argument, even if he knew he wasn't the one who should say sorry. His thumb hovered above Chase's name in the messages app for a moment, but he ultimately chose to not even attempt a conversation. He could deal with that… some other time.

They fell into a strange silence. Beef had made himself comfortable on top of Robert's chest and he lazily scratched the dog while watching Flambae move around the kitchen like he owned the place. If the man could sense being watched, it wasn't affecting his culinary performance. Robert couldn't properly see what he was up to, but the smell of onion and seasoned ground meat wafted through the small apartment in waves. Robert hadn't even known he had onions in his apartment.

He might've dozed off for a while, because by the time he opened his eyes again his nose had finally stopped bleeding and he found Flambae not at the stove but at the bar, trying to connect his phone to the Bluetooth speaker Prism had left behind.

He looked up when Robert stirred on the couch. "Oh, good, you're alive," he said. "I would not have minded dealing with your corpse, but this definitely makes it easier. You know the password to this piece of shit?"

"I didn't know speakers… came with passwords," Robert said, yawning in-between the sentence.

"She encrypts all her stuff. I already tried all her arch nemesises' names and every curse word I could think of, but no dice."

Memories of the evening were slowly starting to resurface in Robert's brain, still groggy but sitting up. "I think she mentioned that… It was like numbers? I forgot which ones."

Flambae looked down to type something into his phone. The speaker's built-in light shifted from pink to teal. He grinned. "It was sixty-nine four twenty. Shoulda known."

Whitney Houston's warm voice soon filled the apartment. Satisfied, Flambae started raiding the cabinets for tableware.

"I should go change," Robert muttered and got up. Wobbly, but less so. He took it as a win and slipped into the bathroom to browse through his selection of half-dirty shirts in the laundry basket.

He emerged with a white t-shirt with only one noticeable stain and no blood on his face, and found two steaming plates of spaghetti on the bar counter next to the five table lamps and the speaker. Flambae was cleaning up the pots and pans, humming along to the music.

Robert squinted at the domestic scene. What the hell was going on? "I feel like I hit my head and this is what I'm seeing in a coma on my deathbed. Why does this look like a date?"

"Stop thinking and eat," Flambae ordered, scrubbing the frying pan with water that must've been scalding if the steam rising from the sink was anything to go by. He grinned. "Also, wow. You would think about me on your deathbed?"

"Shut up," Robert muttered, hating that he wanted to smile, and sat on one of the barstools. He instinctively reached for one of the many leftover bottles of beer, but jerked his hand away and grimaced. "You can have a beer if you'd like. I… don't think I want anything to do with it for the next three months."

"Alcohol and I don't really mix well," Flambae said and left the pan to soak in the sink.

"Didn't seem like you and water mixed all that well, either, if my memory serves," Robert grinned, reminiscing of their interaction at Crypto Night, and took a bite of his food. It was fucking phenomenal. He was about to say as much, but the expression on Flambae's face when he looked up stopped him in his tracks.

"Shit. I thought we were like… at that stage. It was a joke, I–" He stumbled on his words and cleared his throat. "Sorry."

Flambae glared at him for a second longer, but his expression eased into a mildly annoyed grin soon enough. He leaned on the counter from the kitchen side and started looking through the bottles and cans in hopes of finding an alcohol free one. Robert stuffed his food with more spaghetti and contemplated if he could squeeze past Flambae to get a cup of water without brushing his ass on the way.

He kept eyeing the other man while chewing. The sultry love song playing from the speakers was not easing his confusion at all. Flambae looked completely unphased, lightly swaying with the tune while eating. His music taste seemed completely contrary to what one might think when looking at him. It was almost cute, which was an observation Robert would surely take to his grave.

"I honestly thought you were gonna kill me when I opened the door," Robert finally said.

The words hung in the air for a bit. "I was contemplating it on the way here," Flambae admitted. Robert couldn't tell if he was kidding.

"What made you change your mind?"

He shrugged. "Didn't feel productive. My therapist said I should channel those emotions some other way."

"You have a therapist?" Robert asked, eyebrows raised.

"State-mandated."

"Oh. For the arson, I assume."

"She's been poking in there for a couple years." Flambae pointed the fork at his head. "Fool's errand if you ask me but, hey, I'm not the one paying for it."

He turned around to grab them both a glass. He filled Robert's with water, like he'd suddenly been blessed with the power of telepathy, and his own with something from one of the numerous cans on the counter.

"Thanks," Robert said when his glass was handed to him. He still felt like he was the guest at Flambae's and not the other way around. "How'd you channel it, then?"

"By torturing myself at the furniture store trying to pick a lamp you'd like."

"I feel like all of you took that suggestion way too seriously."

They looked around the counter. Flambae frowned. "Fuck, yeah, maybe."

"It didn't look like you were listening to your therapist at The Sardine." He quickly added, "Which, valid. It was sudden."

"You got me fucked up back there, man," Flambae snorted. "You would actually be a pile of ash if Golem hadn't stepped in the way."

Robert paused his fork halfway towards his mouth. He hesitated and put the bite down. "Listen. Stop me if this sounds, I don't know, too emo for you, " he sighed, "But if Golem and Waterboy and all the others hadn't been there… I think I would have let you."

If the topic hadn't been so serious Robert might've laughed at how ridiculous Flambae looked with his respective fork in the air, spaghetti slowly falling back to the plate while he stared at him.

"What?" he finally asked.

"I would not have stopped you if you wanted to kill me."

Flambae slowly abandoned his fork. "Are you, what's the word… suicidal?"

"What? No!" Robert refuted. "I just… Well, sometimes I don't wanna be alive, but just the normal amount."

"Dude, there is no normal amount. I think you need a therapist, and I'm definitely not qualified."

"Oh, don't start. I had one when my dad died." Robert crossed his arms and sighed. "Talking about that shit just made me feel worse."

He tried to ignore Flambae's sharp gaze. He didn't want to be psychoanalyzed by an ex-lunatic, even if that came with a unique angle. He still wasn't entirely convinced this whole thing wasn't a huge mission to get blackmail from him, or maybe a hidden camera prank the Z-team had planned out. A therapist would probably call him paranoid.

"I don't even know where my dad is," Flambae said, voice indifferent. "They split up, my parents I mean, before mom got out of that whole fucking Taliban mess. He could've died in the war or left the country, too. He was a dickhead from what I remember, so, like, fuck him."

Robert listened, and was slowly filled with guilt. At least he'd had a relationship with his father. Maybe a little strained, but he'd felt loved and safe enough. Growing up in a war-torn country with parental issues would have turned him into a supervillain for sure.

Flambae interrupted his thought spiral with a grin.  "You think we're so fucked up because of all the daddy issues?"

The tension broke, and Robert let out an involuntary laugh, shoulders relaxing. "Probably," he chuckled.

"You looked like you were about to start crying, which sounded like a disgusting concept that I wouldn't know what to do with," Flambae mused and got back to his meal.

Robert mirrored his motion. "Yeah, seriously just gut-punch me if I ever start sobbing in front of you."

"Mmm, what a healthy way to deal with emotions," Flambae mused, smiling around his fork. "But yeah, I don't even need permission to gut-punch you."

"Great."

They continued to eat in silence, one that was less charged with something than the earlier. Robert itched to ask about Flambae's playlist when a sad Adele ballad faded into something filthy he suspected to be Sir Mix-A-Lot and then to two ABBA songs back to back. He didn't get the opportunity, because Flambae broke the silence halfway through Mamma Mia. 

"You know how sometimes you just get mad at something, but can't figure out what, and that ends up making you even more mad?" he asked, and his tone was far more serious than Robert had been expecting.

He nodded, a bit confused. "I've been there."

"Yeah, that's where I was too that day." Flambae looked at his hands. Right hand, especially. Robert understood immediately. "A lot of shit just piling up for days or weeks or months or, I don't fucking know, decades? And I know it wasn't my first offense but that time I just snapped."

"And it's a lot more dangerous if someone with powers snaps than if I did."

"It felt like… like I was literally gonna explode if I didn't take it out on something. It was the first time I didn't give a fuck if I'd end up hurting somebody in the process. And, honestly, that thought fucking terrified me so it just made everything worse. So I went out and looked for a building that looked extra flammable. The one you found me in was the third."

"My, my, how can I resist you?" the speaker sang, and Robert wanted to turn it off. It felt inappropriate. He tried to ignore it.

"I seriously am sorry about what happened back there," he said, fork twirling around the last stray noodles on the plate. "I never wanted to hurt you, or anyone. That has never been what Mecha Man was meant to be."

Flambae was quiet for a while. Maybe subconsciously, his mutilated hand twitched on the counter. "Neither of us would be here if you hadn't done what you did," he replied quietly.

"How do you mean?"

"I… I would not have stopped. I would have fucking killed you, man." When Flambae looked up, his eyes looked like they were engulfed in flames. So intense even in the low light. He gripped the bar with his right hand. 

"It was only when I saw the blood, saw my… my fingers fall to the ground and melt, that I snapped out of it. I freaked the fuck out. That saved your ass. And probably my ass too. I would've probably found some way to off myself that night too."

"Which one of us was suicidal again?"

"You led me to the Phoenix Program. I would've met none of these fucking idiots otherwise." He gestured at the array of lamps. "Guess you, kinda, changed my life. Or whatever. And I'm sorry for the mess too." The latter half of his sentence devolved into inaudible muttering like a fire had been put out.

"Well then," Robert rubbed his neck, "I'm… glad I chopped your fingers off? That doesn't sound right. I'm glad I put some sense into you."

"That's worse. There's no putting anything in me." He paused, thinking, then smirked. "I was gonna say 'until we've been on a date', but… What did you call this?" 

They looked down at their empty plates and cups. "Fuuuck, we totally were on a date, weren't we? Talked work and personal life, too?" Robert groaned.

Flambae reached over to grab Robert's dirty dishes. He said nothing, but there was a glint in his eyes. Robert wasn't sure if he was reading too much into it. I'm down if you are, he imagined it signaling. He glanced over his shoulder at the couch. It had been a wonderful place for a nap. Probably not a wonderful place for a fuck.

"Hey, by the way," Robert said and hoped he wasn't blushing as a result of his thoughts, "After you… left, all of the Z-Team shared their real names. You know them yet?"

"What the fuck?" Flambae dropped the dishes in the sink and looked over his shoulder. "Next you're gonna tell me I missed a whole fight in another bar."

"No, we went home after that, I swear."

Flambae leaned on the kitchen counter and crossed his arms. "Well, go on. Spill. I only know about Alice, cus, I mean. Duh. She's my girl."

Robert listed off the names of their comrades in the order they'd introduced themselves. Flambae looked like he was doing a lot of mental compartmentalizing in order to save the names into the depths of his mind.

"Of course Wetwipeboy's got a dumbass name like that," he snorted after Robert had run out of breath. "Honestly, they all kinda suit them, though."

He went to dry his hands with a towel and turned back to see Robert staring at him intently. "What?"

"I just sorta assumed you'd be revealing your name now," Robert shrugged. "'Cus I'm not calling you by your goofy ass nickname if we end up fucking at some point."

"Oh?" Flambae stepped back over to the bar and bent over it, making their height difference very obvious. Robert could only imagine the arch his back was making at the moment. "Is that where this is leading?"

"Just an assumption."

"You're assuming a lot."

"Come on. Name?" Robert leaned on his elbows, ass off the bar seat. "Don't make me beg."

Flambae's heavy breath ghosted on Robert's face until he pulled back. "Chad."

Robert blinked, having gotten a bit distracted. "What?"

"My name is Chad."

"No the fuck it's not."

"How are you gonna sit here and tell me what my name is or isn't?" Flambae snapped and threw his hands in the air, little embers floating into the air like fireflies.

"Sorry! I just–" Robert couldn't help a laugh from escaping his lips no matter how hard he'd tried holding back. Flambae looked ready to jump over the counter and strangle him, and Robert almost wished he'd give it a shot. "You've gotta be joking, surely. Chad? Like the meme?"

"No, like the country in Central Africa!"

"You're not even African," Robert pointed out.

Flambae groaned. "You really want me to fucking doxx myself?"

"Yes! You know my name."

"Yeah, and it's the worst name ever invented." Flambae rubbed his temples and sighed. "If you must know, then my real, god-and-deadbeat-father-given name is Zahir. But that shit stays between us. At work: Flambae. At… whatever this is, house party? Chad. And if you ever slither emotionally closer to me, Zahir."

Robert got past the worst of his giggles and slumped back onto his seat. "See, that's nice. Really nice name."

"Yeah? Moanable?" Flambae rolled his eyes, though a smirk was tugging the corner of his mouth, too.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Robert said with a fake thoughtful pout. "Would probably have to try it out first to come to that conclusion."

Flambae grimaced a bit, clasping the still-warm stone behind his back. "Respectfully, you're drunk as fuck, and I'm too tired to figure out if you're being serious."

Robert straightened up, and gave his best sober impression. "I've never been more serious."

They eyed each other. Flambae's gaze moved over to the couch past Robert's shoulder. Back to Robert again.

"I mean, what the hell. Hardly the worst place I've fucked."

Robert blinked. "Oh. Fuck. Uhh, okay. Didn't think we'd get this far so I honestly don't have a clue what's about to happen next."

"Do you have condoms?"

"...No."

"Lube?"

"Definitely not."

"Are you clean?"

"Yes! Listen–" Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and stood up properly. "I haven't done anything more than a quick jerk since my last girlfriend, so if we do the tango you will have to lead, man."

"No problem. I'm a very good dancer." Flambae looked like he was trying not to laugh in Robert's face as he walked around the counter. "And by the sound of it, you are pent up. So how about we hurry up before either of us can realize this is a terrible idea?"

"Yeah. Great." Robert sidestepped him and slid into the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of coconut oil. "This an alright lube substitute?"

Flambae stared at him. "Dude."

"What? I– I've seen it in porn."

"You do know cooking oils are highly flammable, yes?"

Robert paused and looked at the bottle. "Oh. Well… You don't cum flames, do you?"

"No, but it can get pretty hot in there," Flambae said, popping a hand on his hip.

"What the fuck did I just agree to do…?" Robert muttered before delving back into his cupboards.

"I'm not using egg whites or anything else you could be looking for right now," Flambae called for him. "Fucking hell, I'll just spit you up."

Robert nearly hit his head on the counter in the process of getting up from the floor. "Well, consider my loins on fire after that rousing speech. You always so sweet to your hookups?"

Flambae stifled a laugh. "Just so you know, that wasn't funny in the slightest. Come on." He nodded towards the couch. "Stop stalling."

Robert felt awkward in his own home again as he walked over to the couch. Self-conscious, too, when he felt the pair of orange eyes burning into him. He tried to recall if Flambae had ever seen him shirtless. Maybe briefly in the changing rooms? Or maybe that was just one of the fantasies he'd had.

"I feel like I'm about to do one of those porn couch interviews," he said, back to the other man, and pulled his shirt over his head.

He felt the heat radiating off Flambae's body before even turning, but still got startled when he looked over his shoulder and found him right there. Not touching but very close. His expression was intense, and, funnily enough, not far from his fighting one.

"Are you waiting for permission?" Robert asked and managed a smile despite his heart beating out of his chest. Flambae was so fucking tall, too fall for his own good, and the fact he had to look up to even meet his eyes was getting to Robert's dick fast.

"Obviously, I'm not a brute," Flambae said, hands clenching on his sides from restraint. "Consent all day, every day."

"Well, you have it," Robert assured and grazed Flambae's forearm with his fingers.

That was all he needed. Before Robert could even register what was happening, he was already back on the couch with 250 pounds of heaving, sweltering muscle on top of him. It was almost too much, Flambae's hands on his bare chest and throat and hair and down at his hips tugging on his jeans all at the same time, somehow.

"Fuck," Robert whined, baring his neck further while fumbling with the button of his pants. With teamwork, they got the jeans open and Flambae pulled them off with the same aggression he'd been nibbling at Robert's throat with.

"Oh, fuck." It was apparently all he knew how to say anymore, and he couldn't even blame himself when Flambae slid the top part of his suit off and fully exposed his muscular torso. Robert had thought the suit didn't leave anything to the imagination, but he was happy to be proven wrong when he spotted a pair of nipple piercings on the man. The sight made him downright woozy.

Flambae dove in for their first proper kiss, and Robert couldn't be bothered to worry about the implications of it all in the midst of the tonguing. He wrapped his arms around Flambae's shoulders and grabbed the man's hair tie, tugging until it came loose and the long locks cascaded down. Robert was amazed at how soft it was as he sunk his fingers into the hair and tugged playfully. Judging by the sound Flambae made against his mouth, he was into it.

"Talk to me, Bobby," Flambae said when he pulled away, popping a thigh between Robert's. His singular leg was meatier than both of Robert's. "What do you want?"

"Fuck, fuck– Okay," Robert managed to break the loop he'd gotten stuck in and shook his head. "Just get in me already, man."

Flambae tilted his head and Robert could've died. He was so pretty with his hair down. They would have to have a serious conversation about his sense of style later. "No foreplay, no nothing?"

Robert chuckled weakly and leaned back on the armrest. He squirmed at Flambae's hands trailing across his navel. "This whole night has felt like foreplay."

Flambae hummed, affirmative. "You want me to suck you? I'm so good at blowjobs I could make a career out of it."

A proper laugh escaped Robert's lips. "Maybe some other time?"

"I'll hold you to that."

Flambae focused on Robert's underwear. His cock was already straining against the fabric and leaving behind a little wet spot. "I didn't know my pasta was an aphrodisiac," he said, grin audible to Robert who wasn't even looking at his face.

"Hurry," he whined and bucked his hips against Flambae's hand ghosting on his waistband.

"Fuck, alright."

Robert nearly moaned when Flambae finally pulled his cock free. He didn't have time to recover from that when Flambae already spat on his hand and grabbed the dick. He stroked Robert with practiced ease and a bang of jealousy hit him out of nowhere at the thought of other men getting this kind of treatment from Flambae.

"Shit…" he moaned, fucking himself against the palm. "You're so goddamn good at this."

"I know," Flambae said with a smug smile.

Robert dared to move his gaze from the ceiling to the man between his legs and squinted at Flambae's pelvic area. He couldn't see the fabric tenting. "Are you not hard?"

"Oh, I am. You just can't see it." Flambae knocked the knuckles of his free hand against his suit; it let out a hollow sound. "Jock."

"Oh, that makes a lot of sense."

"Yeah, when I started I used to free bird it, and my dick almost fell out the neckline so that wasn't great."

"How fucking big is your dick?" Robert laughed, which turned into a moan when Flambae flicked his wrist just right. "Oh god, wait. I don't wanna cum like this."

Flambae pulled his hand off and properly removed Robert's underwear. "You wanna prep yourself or shall I?"

"Uhh, let me," Robert said and groggily got up with the help of his elbows. "Unpack yourself."

"Worst sentence I've ever heard." Flambae leaned against the backrest after manoeuvring around Robert and shuffled his suit down enough to undo the jockstrap. "Oh, fuck…" His head fell back with a satisfied groan. The straps had been cutting into his thighs for hours.

Robert glanced over from where he was kneeling and coating his fingers in spit. He stopped in his tracks. "Jesus fucking Christ. Is that a Prince Albert?"

"Hm? Oh yeah." Flambae gave him a self-satisfied smile after seeing Robert's expression filled with equal parts fright and lust.

"Even ignoring that, you're hung like a horse. I don't know if that'll fit in me."

"Apparently a human asshole can fit two whole raccoons in it, so you should be fine," Flambae said and lazily stroked himself.

"Ew, what the fuck…? Can you talk about something sexier?" Robert whined, starting to work himself open. Like he'd eluded, it had been a while. He gripped the couch tight and pinched his eyes shut.

"You're doing good," he heard Flambae say. He inched closer and slipped a warm hand on Robert's inner thigh. Robert's breath hitched at the contact and he shuddered at the temperature. "Do you have any toys?"

"Sex toys?" Robert muttered and dropped his head against his arm when he shoved a third finger inside.

"No, Legos," Flambae rolled his eyes, "Yes, obviously sex toys."

"Not really. Just, hah, one plug. In the bathroom."

"Is it big?"

"Not too big. Enough to feel. I think… it's supposed to vibrate but I haven't changed the batteries in forever."

Flambae stroked his sensitive thigh and sent goosebumps all over Robert's leg. "Ever use it at work?"

"No." Robert's ears were burning. "What, you… want me to?"

"Fuck yes," Flambae purred. His stubble prickled Robert's thigh when he gave it a little nibble. "Can you imagine? Normal, boring shitty day at work. The team clowning around as usual. But what they don't know is that you're sitting there with the cum I pumped into you that morning plugged up beneath your pants."

"Oh fuck," Robert gasped and bit into his wrist. He lifted his head and looked feverishly at the other man. "Fuck. I'm ready."

"Yeah, let me just…" Flambae spat in his own wrist and coated his cock with saliva. He nodded towards his lap and Robert got the hint.

He was getting impatient now that his fingers had left him with a feeling of emptiness. He grabbed Flambae's cock, thick and veiny. "I've never fucked a pierced dick," he said, voice shaky.

"Go at your own pace," he told Robert and brushed a strand of hair off the man's forehead.

Robert did as he was told and lined up the cock with his hole before the spit could dry. The cool metal contrasted Flambae's hot skin in a way that made him feel delirious, and he ended up pushing down a bit too fast. He cried out when the tip alongside the piercing dipped inside of him and grabbed Flambae's broad shoulder.

Flambae's hands found their way onto Robert's thin waist. "Slow down, I got you," he spoke in a low tone, almost a whisper, and Robert moaned at the reverberation of his voice.

With his help, Robert managed to get Flambae halfway inside of him. "Fuck. Fuck… can't," he hissed when pain flashed up his tailbone.

Flambae watched his face with sincere concern. "We can stop. Say the word."

"No!" Robert exclaimed a little louder than he'd intended. His head was spinning as was his vision. "If I die like this then so be it."

Flambae laughed and Robert felt every bit of the movement. "You're not dying on my dick," he muttered and moved one of his hands from Robert's waist to the base of his neck.

"Take over," Robert said, eyes glossed over. "I can't… You do it."

"Okay. Uh, punch me if you need a break."

That was the only warning Robert got before being tossed on his back again. Flambae just barely slipped out of him but was back in the second Robert was underneath him with one of his legs over his shoulder. He thrust in hard and fast, and Robert screamed.

Robert was happy to be lying down when Flambae picked up a breakneck pace of fucking him. It was too much, and not enough, and just perfect all at once, and his body had no clue what to do with all the mixed signals so he ended up settling for making a lot of noise and thrashing underneath the bigger man. 

Flambae's hand found his neck again, and pressed against his throat in the exact way Robert had dreamed of earlier. He mewled and gripped Flambae's nape in return. "Fuu–uuck, Flam– Ah, Zahir!"

Robert could've sworn Flambae's eyes flashed red for a second at the sound of his name, but he got buried in a feverish kiss right after. It was more biting than kissing, both of Robert's hands tangled in the long hair again and Flambae sneaking one of his own to grip Robert's dick.

"Fuck, c'mon," Flambae growled and jerked Robert off in tandem with his own movements, which were growing more discoordinated by the second. "Come on, shit."

"Zahir, fuck, oh god, yes." Robert's hands fell to the sides of his head and he gripped the armrest in desperation. "Shit shit shit, so– so hot, it's so hot…"

"I know, baby, I know." Flambae, panting, switched to slower, heavier thrusts that shook Robert to his core. He couldn't tell if the moisture on his face was drool or tears or, hell, maybe blood, but he didn't give a shit.

Robert orgasmed sooner than he'd hoped, screaming Flambae's real government name loud enough that his neighbors would surely hear. No matter — he wanted the whole world to hear. Flambae didn't last much longer with Robert's hole clenching around him and came with a grunt and a shout, face buried in Robert's shoulder.

For the next minute, the apartment was only filled with heavy breathing on top of a song from the speaker that Robert's mind was too tired to decode. He couldn't tell if the heartbeat in his ears was his own or Flambae's.

Slowly, in tandem with slipping out of Robert, Flambae loosened his grip on the man's throat, too. He was about to huff out a quiet laugh, but the state of Robert's neck startled him.

"Oh, shit." he said, voice rough. He grabbed Robert's chin and pushed his head back a little to expose his neck. "I burned you."

"Huh?" Still a bit out of it, Robert touched around his throat. "Oh."

"It's not severe. Just put cold water on it," Flambae said, embarrassed.

"Hey, at least you didn't torch my ass."

Flambae smacked him and got off the couch with a loud groan, chuckling as he tucked his manhood back where it belonged. He retrieved the roll of paper towels they'd unceremoniously tossed off the couch in their haste and chucked it at Robert again. It landed on his stomach and they both grimaced at the wet sound it made. Robert grabbed a few sheets and started wiping himself down. He felt like he was moving in slow motion, like the moment he was experiencing wasn't quite real yet… and also kind of like he needed to puke.

"You know, I'm usually an aftercare king, but something tells me you're not into that," Flambae said as he took off to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He pulled his suit over his upper body on the way.

"And I'd offer for you to stay the night, but…" He trailed off, the predicament obvious. His voice was even more hoarse than Flambae's.

"Yeah, not sleeping on Beef's pillow."

He sat on the edge of the couch with the water and pushed it into Robert's hand. Robert drank in slow, heavy gulps while Flambae tried not to watch. He could not get hard again right now. Literally, it'd hurt too bad.

"Those towels aren't doing anything for you, you little dirty bitch," he said, smiling, when Robert returned to getting rid of the spunk on himself and the couch. It would be difficult to explain why his brand new furniture was cum-stained after one night.

"Yyyeah, should probably just take a shower," Robert sighed, "And hose down the couch while I'm at it."

"Whatever you do, at least pull your boxers up for now. You're lookin' like that motherfucker Toxic."

"Oh god!" Robert gasped and rushed to grab his underwear, almost kicking Flambae in the gut in the process. "How'd you know about that piece of shit?"

Flambae hissed, scratching his stubble. "Hooked up with him like five years ago at a gay bar. Literally at the bar, in the toilets. Worst fuck ever."

"That's disgusting."

"It really was. I don't know what I was thinking. Can't know what germs that dick's got from the Torrance air. Honestly surprised I didn't end up with an STD."

"Yup, yeah." Robert jumped upright and had to clutch Flambae's shoulder immediately. Right, he was drunk. He'd nearly forgotten about his vertigo while horizontal and full of cock. "Shower."

Flambae stood, too, and helpfully dragged him into the bathroom. He deposited Robert on top of the toilet seat and patted his head much like back at the gym before leaving. He waited by the door for signs of Robert passing out, but left when the sound of running water came through.

Beef had made himself comfortable in the corner of the couch that wasn't filthy, and Flambae gave the dog a little head scratch as he sat down. Beef's eyes opened, and Flambae lifted the little guy onto his lap after it was clear he wasn't doing it himself with those stubby legs.

"Fuck, you're heavy, huh?" he muttered. "What's that bitch feedin' you?"

He'd always been indifferent to dogs but one would have had to be a complete moron to not find Beef cute. The dog licked the palm of his right hand before settling down.

He spent a little while going through the litany of messages from Prism while petting Beef. She'd sent dozens of images and videos, and he diligently looked through each one even if he had to watch the clips at three times the speed. A vague picture of the evening was forming in his head already, and by the time he got to the argument between Visi and Chase — which Prism had, obviously, recorded in full — he was gritting his teeth. Things had really gotten out of control while he'd been gone.

The shower was still running by the time he got up. He carefully moved the now-sleeping Beef off his lap and tiptoed to the balcony door. 

The air had cooled down significantly after the sun had gone down, and he welcomed the chilly breeze as he stepped onto Robert's balcony. He pulled his phone back out and FaceTimed Prism. While waiting for her, he ran a hand through his hair and tried to make it look like Robert hadn't almost pulled it off his scalp a moment earlier.

The call was answered by an out-of-costume Prism — or, well, Alice —, in the middle of her skincare routine. Her phone was balanced against the mirror of her vanity, the view slightly obscured by various bottles and jars of serums and lotions.

"Hey, hottie," she greeted him with a grin.

"Hey. Cute bonnet."

"You just call to compliment me? 'Cus I can work with that."

"Nah, I caught up on those videos," he said, rolling his eyes benevolently. "Thought you might want to talk shit."

"Of course I wanna talk shit."

She exaggeratedly recapped everything that had happened, even the parts she had video footage of, while he half-listened. Prism didn't notice his eyes wandering to the world beyond the balcony.

"I'm so fucking mad I wasn't here for all that," Flambae groaned.

"Was it at least worth it? C'mon, gimme a smile," Prism ordered. Flambae gave her a snarl to show off the new denture. "Oh yeah, that looks nice."

"Now it feels weird after I got used to the gap. Do I have a lisp?"

"Yeah, but it's also like… not the same whistly lisp that you had before? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?"

"Actually, I've gotten a lot of compliments for it, so fuck you."

She grimaced. "I don't need to know about allat."

"That reminds me. I actually kinda wanted to… talk about something else."

"Why did cunnilingus remind you of that? You get laid?" She continued before he could open his mouth, "Where the hell even are you? Looks like you're callin' from a void."

Flambae adjusted the camera to expose some more of the balcony around him. She squinted at the screen. Then gasped. Then screeched.

"Shut the fuck up!"

He huffed a laugh and lowered the volume of the call to not wake up the entire neighborhood. "Didn't even say anything."

"Shut. The fuck. Up!" She knocked over a spray bottle on the table in her haste to grab the phone, as if it would somehow teleport her to his location. "You hooked up with Robert fucking Robertson?"

"...Maybe."

"Didn't you want to kill him a few days ago?"

"We settled our differences like a couple of alphas should."

"Girl, you don't wanna go there. One of you would have to be an omega."

Flambae sighed. "I honestly don't even want to know what that means."

Prism's shock was quickly dissolving into deviousness. She held the phone with both hands now, only a few inches away from her face. "Well, now you know the answer to that burning question from day one. He packin' much?"

He paused, contemplating. "He was… respectable. Average."

"And you would know."

"Yeah. I have a big sample size of cocks in my photographic memory."

They shared a laugh, and it felt good. It was nice to have someone so interested in his personal affairs. What a weird thought.

"So, you fuck him or he fuck you?" Prism asked and set her phone back down.

"What do you fucking think?"

She shrugged, grabbing a plastic jar of something. "I don't know your preferences.  Well, that was a lie.  I do know. But didn't wanna assume."

"Thanks for the wokeness, but I topped," he said, deadpan. He watched her spread the product on her face. It felt like a get-ready-with-me-video, which he had seen a dozen of from her Instagram.

"Was it good?"

"I don't think I'd be telling you if it wasn't. Why the fuck would I slander myself like that?" 

Their giggles faded into the night. He shifted on his feet, a small smile still dancing on his lips. "We didn't just fuck, though. We talked, too."

"Well I'd hope so. Before, during or after?"

"Mostly before, but he was pretty vocal during, too."

Prism pulled a face. "TMI. You make up 'n shit then?"

"Yeah. I guess so. We trauma dumped. We figured shit out and apologized. And then we fucked. And now we're good."

"Apart from that one time you broke my Urban Decay Electric Palette and I almost whooped your ass, I've never heard you apologize for shit. What sorta spell has he got you under? You a skinwalker?"

"Yeah, totally. The dentist actually has the real me locked in a closet and I'm a puppet."

"Fuckin' knew it." She smirked, but her expression softened a little. "Glad you got it all figured out. Now you can get back to work."

"Aww, you missed me, huh? Tired of taking Wetfartboy on missions?"

"He's actually not doin' so bad lately. Maybe Robert fucked some sense into him, too."

Flambae recoiled. "I don't wanna fucking think about that, ew."

"Are you two gonna keep that shit up? Friends with benefits that shit?" she asked. "You know workplace romances are a baaaad idea."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said, waving her off. "I got no clue what's gonna happen. We didn't get that far in our discussion."

"Great. Two cock-hungry bitches acting off impulse and ignoring any and all consequences. What if he's playin' you?"

"Hey, if anything happens, I will burn down his house. His mistake for letting me know where he lives."

"What did I just walk in on?" Robert asked from the doorway.

Flambae jumped and almost dropped his phone off the balcony. "Gotta go," he spoke over Prism who'd gone on a tirade about something, and left the call.

He turned to Robert, who had an eclectic mix of boxer briefs and his brown jacket on, no shirt underneath, as well as a towel still around his neck. He had an unlit cigarette between his fingers, and there was still a red handprint on his neck, but it didn't look like something that would be permanent. Probably difficult to explain at the office tomorrow, though.

"Well, whatever that was… You got a light?" Robert asked with a little grin and lifted the cigarette up expectantly.

Flambae rolled his eyes and lifted his hand. "Watch your eyebrows."

"Sure– Woah!" Robert pulled away a little when a surge of fire shot out from Flambae's fingertip. It died down to a tiny candle flame just as quickly, and Robert dared to lean in and inhale through the filter. He got it going and stepped further out to lean on the railing.

He watched Flambae typing on his phone. He chose not to pry and focused on the soft breeze. "Nice night." He offered the other man the cigarette. Flambae dismissed it with a wave.

"Didn't know you smoked," he said and shoved his phone into the built-in thigh pocket on his suit.

"Not often. Usually if I'm in a really shitty mood…" He took a drag and exhaled the smoke through his nose with a little smile, "...Or if I'm in a really good mood."

"Hm," Flambae hummed, and it sounded almost like a laugh. "Kinda sounds like you're saying you're smoking regularly, then, considering your life."

"Okay, wow!" Robert laughed and shoved him playfully. The man didn't even pretend to budge. "You're kinda right though."

He smoked, both of them quiet. Flambae's phone vibrated against his thigh, and Robert could hear it, but neither of them paid attention to it.

"So are we like… actually all good now?" Robert broke the silence and puffed out smoke away from Flambae's face. "Water under the bridge? Hakuna matata?"

"Did you just quote Lion King at me?" Flambae managed to sound genuinely offended by the prospect.

"And what if I did?" Robert challenged him.

Flambae stared at him. "I can respect that, to be honest. And to answer your question, yes. I think. I'm good. If you're good."

"I'm good. Better than good. Uh, great." Robert said with an awkward grin. "I love not having to fear for my life. Well. I still do that but now it's not because of you."

"Great," Flambae snorted. His joy was short-lived. "I still keep thinking about… everything, though. From a new lense."

"Poetic. How so?"

"Fuck, I don't know. Just that when you told us, I felt like a carpet was swept from under my feet. It hit so suddenly, like, it all just made sense in an instant and I recognized your stupid jaw. It felt… humiliating. Like, how could I be blind to it for so long?"

Robert took a drag and tilted his head. "You didn't even have an inkling?"

"I never had a reason to distrust you," Flambae said, and his eyes and his tone were so sincere it took Robert aback for a second. "And, then, all them bitches laughing made it worse. It's not like they knew about my super specific Mecha Man related PTSD or whatever but I still wanted the ground to swallow me."

Silence. Then,

"It was worse, though, 'cus… I had sort of started to…" He hesitated, "Think you weren't such a bad guy."

"You were gonna say you'd started to like me."

"Fine, fuck off. I had started to like you." He sighed and played with a strand of hair. "And now I had these two versions of you in my head. One that I wanted to see dead, and one…" He struggled to find words.

Robert leaned in with a cheeky grin. "One you wanted to see in your bed?"

Flambae pushed him away with a strained laugh and flipped him off. "Can you not? I'm trying to make a point."

"Sorry, sorry," Robert chuckled, cheeks burning, and ruffled his towel-dry hair. "The shower did nothing. I'm still drunk. Sorry. Continue."

"Yeah. I don't know. Just, because you already knew who I was but I didn't have a clue, it… Fuck, this sounds so dumb. I felt lied to."

"It's not dumb." Robert shook his head slowly. "I… I did lie. In a way. By emitting the truth. You had the right to feel betrayed."

They stared out into the neighborhood for a bit, the silence allowing them to take in everything that had just been said. Robert bit his lip and threw his cigarette butt over the railing.

"It's funny. Like I said at the taco place, what you said is basically why I didn't want anybody to know about the Mecha Man stuff," he said, watching a helicopter flying in the distance. "Because…"

It was his turn to hesitate. He wasn't sure why, but his eyes were getting a bit glossy, his throat a bit strained. He laughed, and it was a wet sound.

"I've never really had a lot of friends. Back when dad was, you know, around? Nobody wanted to get too close because they were… scared of getting hurt, I guess? Being collateral? And then, after he died, I sort of pushed everyone away. And I told myself it was better that way, that this way no one would get in the way and I wouldn't have to worry about anyone knowing too much and ending up getting tortured for my sake or whatever the fuck."

Robert paused and sniffed. He wasn't a crier, not anymore, not in front of people like the man now looking at him with such a complicated expression. Flambae was quiet while Robert wiped the corners of his eyes and hugged his own arms.

"But, and I never expected it to happen, I really did start to like you, too. All of you. And now you know everything. And that means you can get hurt, that Shroud or some other asshole with a grudge could come after you, and if that happens I'll blame myself. And I know all of you are so capable of taking care of yourselves and fighting back and making your own choices, but I can't help but be terrified." 

He let out a shaky breath and wished he'd brought more than one cigarette with him. He chuckled, because otherwise he would've sobbed. "So, that's about it. Sorry. I didn't mean to… get like this, to talk so much."

"Are you fucking serious?" Flambae asked, and his tone was mean but not at Robert. More-so the part of him that was doubting himself, trying to shut the more emotional side off. "That was barely a minute."

"Oh. It… felt longer. And you said you don't like people crying in front of you."

Flambae sighed. "I'm not a heartless bitch, Robert."

He lifted his arm and wrapped it around Robert's shoulder. It wasn't really a hug, but after avoiding any intimacy for ages, Robert's mind automatically read it as one. His lip twitched and he buried his face into Flambae's bicep.

"Okay. We're hugging now?" Flambae asked, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

"You were inside me half an hour ago and now you're getting bashful over hugging?" Robert asked, voice muffled by the other man's arm. He managed to sound a little bitchy even if he was on the verge of a breakdown.

"Shut up," Flambae groaned and pulled him closer, properly encompassing Robert's much smaller body.

Robert wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but he could admit Flambae was the best hugger in the world. His body temperature turned him into a human-size hot water bottle, and Robert hadn't felt as safe in a hot minute as when he slotted his face against Flambae's neck and felt the pulse hammering against him.

He only pulled away when a yawn escaped him. He flushed red when he realized his cheeks were wet with tears. To his surprise, Flambae didn't tease him about it. "Feel any better?" he asked.

"Actually, yes," Robert said and straightened up. "Could I perhaps hire you as a personal heater for the winter?"

The tension broke and Flambae laughed. He was pretty when he wasn't laughing at somebody's misery but over something funny Robert had said. "You could not afford my rates, Bobby."

Robert chuckled and leaned back on the railing with a sigh. "Tonight has been a rollercoaster of emotions."

"I never liked rollercoasters," Flambae admitted and mirrored his pose.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I prefer just flying around myself."

"Well, fuck, now we gotta go on a road trip to Six Flags or something."

"If you're paying, I'm down." His grin faded when he spotted something below them. "What the fuck?"

"What?" Robert asked and leaned over the railing.

Flambae pointed at a street corner. "Am I tweaking or is that Chase?"

Robert squinted. "It is. Did he get lost or somethin'...?"

"Well, elders tend to do that, no?"

"Fuck off, man, he's only a couple years your senior. He was pretty drunk."

"You're telling me I'm about to look like that in a couple years?"

"Do not take your fleeting beauty for granted," Robert snickered and turned away, heading back inside. "I should go see what he's up to."

"And I should be getting home. It's what, three am?" Flambae looked around before realizing the apartment didn't have a wall clock. He pulled out his phone, instead, and grimaced. "Just about."

"It's gonna be a fun shift tomorrow," Robert said, words dripping with sarcasm, and took his jacket off to put a shirt on underneath. It was followed by his pants.

Flambae marched over to the corner of the room and picked up a big trash bag that had gotten filled throughout the night. Recycling was clearly an afterthought to everybody, the bag having everything from cans to cardboard to gum. "I can only imagine the level of hangover all of you are about to experience. And I'll sleep like a baby knowing I will not be dealing with that."

After Robert got some shoes on, they left the apartment and went downstairs. Robert wobbled a bit, which resulted in Flambae's hand on the small of his back, which only made him more wobbly for an entirely different reason.

"Alright. I'm off," Flambae announced after tossing the trash bag into the dumpster.

"Right," Robert said and patted his thighs. "Um. Yeah. Right. I'm assuming we're not gonna mention… whatever happened tonight, ever again? I don't even know if I'll remember it in the morning, to be honest."

Flambae gave him a fake pout. "Am I that forgettable?" he dodged the question.

Robert smiled. "I wish."

They parted ways, but Robert stopped on his tracks. He looked over his shoulder, and found Flambae doing the exact same thing.

"Fuck off!" the man yelled from the other end of the street.

Robert cracked up and waved at him. "G'night!"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, baby."

Flambae gave him a lazy salute before disappearing behind the corner. Robert tried to pretend he hadn't gotten butterflies in his stomach from the final word as he walked off to Chase.