Chapter Text
Robert sat on the cold curb outside the diner, pressing a cool disposable cup courtesy of Malevola against the bruised side of his face. The bruise was probably blooming into more vivid colors with each passing minute, just like the other aches all over his battered body. The fight at Sardine had been the 'perfect' finale to the evening. The unpleasant metallic taste of that thug's blood still lingered in his mouth the one whose finger Robert had bitten off. He involuntarily glanced at Flambae's right hand with its missing digits. Damn, he'd just added another point to his personal stats for villain-finger-removal... Although, since Flambae was now considered a hero thanks to the SDN program, he should probably be crossed off that damn list. Robert wrinkled his nose at the unpleasant memories that periodically surfaced. He'd even occasionally wasted time on empty fantasies about how he might one day apologize to Flambae before being turned into a well-done steak, once the truth about his real identity as Mecha Man and the whole Z-Team found out.
Robert's gaze drifted upward, noting the lazy movement of Flambae's tongue behind his lips.
His lips were slightly parted, and he could see the wet tongue sliding over his teeth, pausing for a second at the gap. Fuck. Robert realized he was openly staring at Flambae. But the train had already derailed, and there was no stopping its momentum. It had started in the gym and continued in that damned villain bar, when Flambae had honored him with an altered verse from a Meredith Brooks song. Robert couldn't shake the thought that he'd developed a crush on Flambae. That provocative V-neck on his costume fed the most indecent fantasies every time they crossed paths in the cramped break room.
The last thing Robert saw before locking eyes with a pair of blazing amber orbs was Flambae's widely planted legs and his suit-clad crotch. Just what the fuck had he done in a past life for karma to fuck him over so relentlessly in this one? Maybe he should build a fucking cairn out of the nearest flat trash scattered on the ground, just to climb the eco-activist rankings a bit.
"The fuck you starin' at, bitch?" Flambae asked irritably through gritted teeth, propping his chin on his hand. "Jealous of my huge dick?"
"Nice co-" Robert's jaw clenched, preventing him from finishing the word 'costume'. Answering the question was a terrible idea. His mouth was working faster than his brain, leaving no time to come up with a sufficiently sarcastic retort.
"Did you just say Flambae has a nice cock?" Prism asked mockingly. The Z-Team smirks. Someone whistled. Now they were all staring at their dispatcher. Robert grabbed his chin with his hand and yanked it to the side. A loud crack echoed, followed by a short, relieved sigh from his throat. He really should take care of his wounds before bed to avoid an infection.
“Ahem... Costume... I meant a killer costume..." Well, this evening couldn't possibly get any worse. Flambae's lips slowly spread into a wide, smug grin.
"Look all you want, small-dick bitch. It's the best sight that'll ever be burned into your retinas, so you can jerk off to my dick at night," Robert rolled his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, moving the disposable cup away from his face.
"Is that seriously the best you could come up with?" Invisigal asked, pushing herself up on her elbows from her spot. "Are you drunk or concussed?"
"I’d go with both. Heard he took some friendly fire," Robert clicked his fingers in Golem's direction, confirming his words.
"Whoops, ha-ha, guess 'Robert Robertson the Second' might not be born after all," Robert didn't mention he was the third, to avoid another wave of mockery about his name.
"Did you hit him in the balls, Punch Up?!"
"Holy shit, you're good!"
"Sorry, buddy, again, for making scrambled eggs out of your…"
"Topic's closed," Robert cut everyone off.
Robert sighed wearily, listening to the Z-Team's loud, booming laughter. He was incredibly glad to see Waterboy emerge from the diner's glass doors with two huge trays loaded with their orders. Everyone's attention instantly switched from the recent topic of discussion to the long-awaited food. The guy’s greedily devoured tacos and burritos, generously drenched in spicy red sauce, washing it down with ice-cold Coke. Flambae tossed three triple crunch tacos his way. Robert barely caught them, saving them from falling onto the dirty asphalt. A second later, a packet of hot sauce flew right at his face, bouncing off to the side. He shot an irritated glance at Flambae, who responded by flipping him the middle finger while taking a big bite of his own taco.
Tearing open the packet and squeezing some out, Robert bit down. The crunchy shell loudly crunched in his mouth along with the fresh lettuce. He was finally eating a proper, hot meal, not just snacks from a vending machine if you could consider the five main ingredients in every dish at this place a balanced diet. The spicy sauce smeared on his chin, leaving a sticky, wet sensation. Robert ran the pad of his thumb over his skin and licked off the red spot, feeling a pleasant heat on the tip of his tongue. He suddenly felt a heavy, intense gaze on him. Jerking his head up, Robert saw Flambae's stare fixed on his lips wrapped around his finger. With a soft, wet sound, he pulled his finger out of his mouth and raised a questioning eyebrow. They stared at each other for a moment with frozen, expressionless faces. Robert felt like a deer caught in headlights, unable to even blink. Fortunately, someone mentioned him in the conversation, freeing him from the awkward staring contest and giving him a chance to break the prolonged silence.
"Hey, Bobert, turns out you're not as weak as you look for a guy who's always parked his ass in a chair. I was honestly surprised by how brutally you handled those Red Ring guys. Especially the way you and Invisigal broke that one guy's arms!" Punch Up had witnessed the spectacle, having previously punched that villain in the balls, using his height for such cheap shots in a fight.
"Two arms? Y'all are fucked up," Prism snorted in surprise.
"Weird thing is how it easy. Thise churro isn’t as soft as his noodle arms."
"Maybe give us a heads-up next time you want to start a fight. I wanted another drink."
"You are heroes now. Heroes don't start fights. You finish them."
A chorus of drawn-out groans and suppressed snickers immediately followed his words.
"Well, not many finish fights against the Red Ring," Malevola said as she stirred the ice and took a sip from her straw.
"Yeah, how do you have beef with them, Mister Dispatcher? It all started when the guy with the frail hands threw something at you across the bar, didn't it?”
"Yeah, we know this Robert guy is a front. Who are you? Really.”
The question felt like a punch to the gut. A wave of anxiety washed over him, causing a strange sensation in his stomach. His fate could be decided right now, depending on his next move. Robert wasn't so much afraid of Flambae's reaction to the truth about him being Mecha Man, but rather of his subsequent attitude towards him, if he managed to survive the ensuing stream of fire. The fact that they'd try to incinerate him on the spot the second he uttered his hero title was undeniable. He glanced at Invisigal, remembering her words about paying his dues faster and starting a new life. Robert closed his eyes for a second, making a decision, and took a deep breath to answer. The words came to him naturally, leading his speech towards the coveted answer.
"...I'm Robert."
He wasn't ready to tell the truth yet, afraid of destroying the fragile, barely established relationships that were just beginning to strengthen between him and the Z-Team. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest from the tension. Robert noticed Invisigal roll her eyes, but she smiled, accepting his decision to keep the truth to himself. What followed was a touching moment of sharing names, leaving behind a warm, almost familial feeling. It seemed their bond had grown a tiny bit stronger after this evening. There was no better bonding activity than food and a good fighting back to back
Flambae slammed the heavy front door shut behind them and immediately pinned Robert against the cool wall, devouring his lips with greedy, demanding kisses. Long fingers nimbly unbuttoned the SDN dispatcher's blue, wrinkled shirt. A convulsive, ragged sigh escaped Robert's lips as he felt the heat of Chad's large palms through his trousers, roughly grabbing his ass. He hadn't expected the rest of the night to smoothly transition into a frantic exchange of kisses between them. Flambae's invitation to come to his place was straight out of a fantasy, an impossible daydream. Tomorrow he'd face endless teasing from the Z-Team, as they'd all seen Flambae throw the dispatcher over his shoulder, spank his ass, and then take off into the sky.
"Damn, you really do have a flat ass. I can't even get a good grip," Flambae muttered, pressing his knee between Robert's legs and grinding against his hard-on. "You should eat real food, not just Twinkies every workday, to build some muscle mass."
"They have enough nutritional value for my brain to power through a shift as your dispatcher," Robert retorted defensively, locking his hands behind Chad's neck and looking into his amber eyes. "Since when do you care about my diet?"
"The Z-Team needs you alive and healthy enough to put up with all our shit. If you go down with a stomach ulcer, Los Angeles won't last long. We'll tear it to pieces, bitch," Robert's feet left the floor, and he let out a surprised, short sound. Flambae easily picked him up and carried him deeper into the dark house towards the bedroom. "You weigh nothing, no wonder you get thrown around so easily."
Robert wanted to protest and come up with a worthy retort, but didn't get the chance. He was thrown roughly onto the wide bed. His back collided with the springy, soft surface. He'd already forgotten what a real mattress felt like. Flambae climbed on top of him and pulled off the unbuttoned shirt, tossing it into a dark corner. With a firm palm, he pressed down on the center of Robert's chest, forcing him to lie back.
"So, who are you really?" Flambae asked, leaning down. Hot breath ghosted over Robert's ear, sending shivers down his spine. He placed a hand on the back of Chad's head and hooked a finger under the hair tie, pulling it down. His hair was no longer in a ponytail. Dark strands slid down under their own weight, framing Flambae's cheekbones. Robert buried his fingers in the black hair and tightened his grip slightly. "You clearly didn't want to tell everyone the truth, and your answer was complete bullshit."
"So, all this was just to see how close you are to earning $936?" Robert teased, smiling slyly and squinting his eyes. "You look even hotter with your hair down."
"I already know I'm fucking hot," Chad snorted at the statement, but a rare, embarrassed smile could still be seen on his face. The palm cupping Robert's cheekbone began to slowly slide down his neck, leaving a trail of heat. The sensation of rough, calloused skin caused a fine tremor. Amber eyes carefully studied every pale scar and fresh bruise. "Don't change the subject... Fuck, you've really seen some shit. Your skin's like a goddamn bingo card of injuries. You were such a shitty hero that everyone wiped the floor with you like a doormat, and that's why you don't want to admit it?"
"At least I never got a tooth knocked out," Robert shot back sharply, and sucked in a breath through his nose as Flambae's fingers brushed his nipple.
"I can help you mark off that bingo square right now," Flambae smirked mockingly. His hot palm stopped in the center of Robert's chest, as if burning a hole right through to his heart, which was beating a frantic rhythm at the moment. Nerves and adrenaline circulated in his blood, creating a deadly cocktail. Arousal was the cherry on top. "Like I said, I don't like people keeping secrets from me."
Robert looked away. His attention focused on that very maimed, fingerless hand of Chad's that he was leaning on, looming over him. His face immediately took on a guilty, almost pained expression. His eyebrows drew together, and his breathing quickened. The memory of the moment he'd chopped off Flambae's fingers, out of sheer desperation, flashed clearly in his mind.
"God, you look like you accidentally kicked a puppy and can't forgive yourself... You're not gonna have a panic attack right now, are you? I don't feel like turning this night into a therapy session, Robbo," Flambae muttered irritably.
"I'm not ready to tell you who I really was yet..." Robert met the gaze of the amber eyes and pulled Flambae closer, feeling his weight and warmth. "But I'd like to share it with the whole Z-Team one day."
"Let me guess, we'll only find out from Robert Robertson's last will and testament? It's like finding out about the death of your millionaire great-uncle and the inheritance he left you," Robert rolled his eyes and crushed Chad's lips with his own to stop the flow of words. "Mph-!"
A hot, insistent tongue slid into his parted mouth, muffling a moan. Robert wrapped his arms around Flambae's muscular neck. The discomfort from his bruises faded into the background. Their tongues tangled in a harsh, demanding rhythm. It was wet, sweet, and dirty. Breaking the kiss, Chad bit Robert's lower lip, pulling a short gasp from his chest. He moved lower, bathing the man's neck in hot breath and leaving a trail of quick, wet kisses. The stubble scratched his sensitive skin. Ragged breathing and quiet moans filled the dark room. The dim light of streetlights filtered through the cracks in the curtained windows. A thin layer of sweat gleamed on Robert's forehead.
"Pretty cheap trick," Flambae remarked, running his hands along the sides of the body beneath him, which twitched slightly. He tried not to press too hard, to avoid aggravating the fresh wounds. "It just hit me, Invisibitch wasn't kidding about seeing you in your underwear and all those scars on your first day as a dispatcher... What the fuck, Bobert?"
"If you haven't noticed, she loves using her ability to eavesdrop on all sorts of things. I suggest you get your eyes checked, though it might be hard even for you to see the invisible," Robert received a quick jab to his sore side. He winced in pain. Flambae's palms continued their journey. Unbuckling the belt and button on the trousers, he leaned down, hooked the zipper pull with his teeth, and yanked it down. Robert greedily absorbed every moment of the sight. "Gosh..."
"I'd prefer you moaning my name. But that'll do," Chad hooked his fingers under the waistband of the boxers, pulling them down along with the trousers and freeing the man's erect cock. He grasped its length and used his thumb to spread the clear pre-cum, rubbing the tip. A long, deep moan escaped Robert's throat. He gripped the sheets with one hand, clenching them into a fist. The sensation was simply amazing. A bright blush crept up his neck to his cheeks.
"Ch-a-a-ad," he whined pitifully as the hand slowly and confidently stroked his length.
"That's better, bitch. Well, your dick isn't tiny little, but it's still small. It almost fits entirely in my palm. Maybe it shrank even more from Punch Up's hit," Chad taunted in a mocking, cooing voice, amusing himself with Robert's reaction. Teasing him was a pleasure. Flambae didn't often stand face to face with him like this. Robert was a full head shorter and seemed tiny in comparison. Though his body was lean, it more closely resembled a thin, flexible twig. "There should be lube under one of the pillows, find it. Dry hand-jobs are fucking lame."
Robert reached under the cool pillow, trying to feel for the smooth bottle. Meanwhile, Flambae was stripping off his tight suit and underwear, casting greedy looks at the man on the bed, who was trying to find the lube while lying on his back. He caught himself liking this helpless look. Tossing his own clothes roughly in the same direction as the dispatcher's shirt, he yanked Robert's trousers and boxers down in one sharp motion. The belt buckle hit the floor with a loud clang. Chad ran his hands over the man's thighs, noting the subtle muscle definition. Thanks to his reflexes, he managed to catch the tube of lube flying at his chest.
Flambae squeezed the viscous, cool liquid onto his palm.
Leaning on one elbow and bending down, he enveloped their erect, warm cocks, starting a slow, almost lazy up-and-down motion with his hand. Robert gasped, arching his back and throwing his head back on the pillow. Chad's lips were immediately on his neck, sucking and biting the tender skin, eliciting ragged moans from him. The friction sent electric jolts from his groin throughout his body. The hot, lubricated palm perfectly enveloped their members. The heat from Flambae's body enveloped him completely. Robert buried his fingers in the black hair and pulled the man closer for a deep, wet kiss. Chad didn't stop, continuing to jerk them off, gradually speeding up the pace. They tangled their tongues together. Their joint, ragged moans were lost among the wet, squelching sounds.
They didn't utter a single word during the whole process. Robert couldn't think of anything else but Flambae's hand on his crotch and his lips pressing against the scars on his chest. He felt the approaching, inevitable climax. His toes curled from the intense arousal. His nails dug into the skin of Flambae's scalp, gripping his hair in a steel hold.
"Flambae, I'm gonna come... Ah-!" Robert managed to gasp out, breathless.
His tongue felt numb, as if from anesthesia, making it hard to form words clearly. Flambae's teeth worked at the junction of his shoulder and neck, leaving red marks. Arching his back towards the long-awaited release, Robert let out a long, breaking moan of pleasure. Warm cum shot onto his stomach. A moment later, Flambae came too, emitting a low, guttural groan. He collapsed on top of the dispatcher with his full weight, pinning him to the mattress. A sharp, painful jab pierced Robert's back. A pained gasp escaped him.
"Fuck..." he hissed through clenched teeth.
"What's wrong, bitch?" Flambae asked, puzzled, looking at the man's furrowed brows beneath him.
"I've got shards in my back from the bar fight," Robert admitted honestly.
"Are you seriously telling me you've been ignoring fucking shards in your back for half the night?" Flambae looked stunned by this revelation. He carefully slid off Robert and swung his legs off the edge of the bed. "Turn over, I'll get them out. I don't want you bleeding like a virgin on your first night in my bed."
Flambae headed to the bathroom for the first aid kit.
Pushing himself up on his elbows, Robert groaned in pain. The euphoria had passed, and now the dull ache and heaviness of his whole body were distinctly felt. Rolling onto his stomach, he sighed in relief.
The sticky, fresh cum on his stomach had definitely soiled the sheets, but Robert didn't dwell on it. He buried his nose in the pillow and took a deep breath. The pillowcase smelled of smoke, expensive shower gel, and the simple, masculine scent of Flambae himself. The last time Robert had lain like this was on a hospital gurney, in a coma. The sharp smell of hospital and disinfectants had irritated his nose and brought back bad associations. The fleeting thought of buying at least an inflatable mattress for his apartment instead of the plastic chair was interrupted by quick footsteps.
Bare feet slapped against the wooden parquet, approaching the bedroom.
"You still alive in there?" Chad inquired, receiving a negative mumble in response. The click of the bedside lamp switch sounded, and the room was bathed in a muted yellow light. Robert squinted and looked at Flambae with an unfocused gaze. The latter wasn't bothered by his nudity, holding a hefty first-aid kit in his hands. He dropped it next to the man's body and climbed onto the bed. The mattress sagged under his weight. "Looks nasty. Did they break a bottle on your back or something?"
"Got thrown into a mirror in the restroom," Robert replied dryly.
"Damn, that sucks," Flambae opened the kit and pulled out tweezers and a piece of gauze. He climbed onto Robert, positioning his knees on either side of his waist. "Did you pinch a nerve or something? It's not normal to ignore that shit."
"I'm fine. Not too long ago, I got glass shards in my chest when Phenomaman crushed someone's car in the SDN parking lot," Robert heard a vicious growl and an indignant inhale. Chad took a deep breath through his nose, trying not to lose his composure.
"That was my fucking car!" Flambae exclaimed indignantly. "The only thing that saved that bastard from being turned to charcoal was Blonde Blazer!"
"Wait, really?" The man couldn't suppress a chuckle that escaped his chest. "Why do you even need a car with L.A. traffic if you can just fly to work?"
"Maybe because I didn't have a fucking flight license back then, bitch?" Flambae grumbled discontentedly, pulling out the first, fairly large shard. Robert didn't react at all to the decent-sized piece of glass just being extracted from his back. "You have a freakishly high pain tolerance."
"Thanks for the insight, Captain Obvious. I had no idea," Robert sneered, feeling the cold metal against his skin. Flambé methodically pulled out the bloody shards and laid them on a piece of gauze. "Well, this is definitely not a psychotherapy session, more like a hospital roleplay."
"Want me to put on a nurse's outfit, bitch?" Chad whispered in his ear, leaning on his left arm and bending low. Robert felt the loose long hair tickling his shoulders.
"You have one?" the man murmured playfully, turning his head back.
"Oh yeah, I always keep a couple of those in the closet for assholes like you, who I have to pick shards out of after a handjob," Flambae replied sarcastically, continuing to work with the tweezers. "Well, at least I came with you. This isn't the shittiest night of my life."
"Was that a compliment?" Robert asked.
"Think whatever you want," Flambae set the tweezers aside and poured disinfectant onto a cotton ball. The sharp, chemical smell hit his nose. He applied the cotton to each wound on Robert's back, listening to his breathing, which hitched every time the cut skin made contact with the soaked cotton.
"Thanks, Flambae," Robert met the other's puzzled gaze. "Seriously, thanks for helping with the shards. It would've been a problem to get them out alone."
"For things like this, there are hospitals, you know," Robert let out a quiet, hoarse laugh that was muffled by the pillow.
A comfortable silence fell in the bedroom.
Robert took a deep breath and made one risky decision that could cost him everything with Flambae in the future. He hadn't expected the rest of the night to take such an unexpectedly pleasant turn. Lying in Flambae's bed while he picked glass shards out of his back, feeling his cock pressed against the small of his back it felt like a strange but pleasant dream after a few drinks. In a way, it felt domestic and soothing. Robert chalked these feelings up to his brain short-circuiting from receiving care after so many long years of its absence.
"I'm ready to confess who I really am..." Robert paused for a moment. "But after the third date with you."
"You're so full of yourself, you think I'll want to go on a date with your flat ass?" Flambae asked skeptically, wrapping up the shards and placing them on the nightstand to avoid scattering them all over the bed. He glanced at Robert's lying form and his disappointed eyes. "Well, my answer is hell fucking yes."
"Really?" Robert asked disbelievingly, with hope.
"No, I'm kidding... Of course, really, bitch," Flambae quickly closed the distance to Robert's face, grabbing his chin and pressing a short but passionate kiss to his lips. A surprised moan escaped the man. Chad pulled back and climbed off the bed, slapping Robert on the ass. "I'm agreeing to it even without knowing your real identity, though that'll be a nice bonus. Now get your ass in the shower, bitch. I'm not sleeping in this mess."
"Probably should've started with that. I still have remnants of the Red Ring guys on my skin," Robert groaned painfully, sliding off the bed. A soft towel and a pair of clean sweatpants landed on his head.
"Down the hall, first door on the right," Flambae gave short instructions, rummaging through drawers for a change of bedsheets.
Robert slung the things over his shoulder and headed for the shower to wash off the remnants of the evening.