The Dispatcher & His Flame
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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.
He was no fucking coward. He could send a thirst trap to Robertson.
What's the worst that could happen, anyway?
Series
- Part 1 of The Dispatcher & His Flame
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“So Robert,” Coupé said, dripping fake innocence. “Tell us about that shirtless pic Flambae sent you.”
Flambae froze mid-step outside the office door. The memory hit like a slap; the fogged up bathroom mirror, Robert's video looping on screen while Flambae fucked his fist over the cold sink. Grunts and moans from the speaker mixing with his own ragged breaths—
“What about it?” came Robert’s voice, unbothered.
Hah. As if.
Series
- Part 2 of The Dispatcher & His Flame
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“Are you gonna keep insulting me or is this—” Robert gestured nonchalantly between them, “Finally getting somewhere?”
A low, answering growl rumbled in Flambae’s throat as he closed the gap, licking into Robert's mouth with renewed vigor. He couldn’t get enough; not that first time when he was tipsy in the bathroom, not through the phone while still drunk from the bar, and definitely not now.
This time, Flambae was stone-cold sober and yet rock-hard at the same time.
All because of Robert.
Series
- Part 3 of The Dispatcher & His Flame
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“Robert, truth or dare?”
“C’mon... Robert!”
“Christ, such a feckin’ lightweight.”
He blinked up at them, slower than usual.
“Pass,” he said after a beat, voice floaty. “Y’all go ahead.”
Series
- Part 4 of The Dispatcher & His Flame