Archive of Our Own

Water hits the floor in unsteady pitter patters when Flambae steps under the spray of the shower in the empty locker room. It's the only sound around him other than his faint humming to a random melody, and it echoes across the tiles.

He's not surprised he's alone; it's stupidly late, and most sane people are probably at home watching late night tv or sleeping. Normally, he'd be doing the same, but there's been a tickle under his skin recently. It's been making him antsy, unable to focus, and his place on the leaderboard has suffered because of it. It's not enough for him to get cut, but it's still enough to have him annoyed. It's definitely not made any better by what happened a few nights ago at the Sardine.

He's not talking about the fight of course, he held his own well enough, but rather Robert's - Mecha Man's - confession afterwards. Just thinking about it makes anger rise within him, enough for his skin to heat up and flames to dance behind his eyes. Yeah, Flambae can admit that trying to kill Robert was probably a step too far, but in his opinion...it's kind of deserved.

He actually had to skip his shift the next day for an emergency visit with his therapist, his emotions running so high that the flames wouldn't stop licking at his skin, and if he seen Robert again so soon he was likely to finish the job. It was no way to live, and thankfully talking about it helped somewhat; the flames disappeared, but the anger, hurt, and shame did not.

Everyone else in the group obviously sees it differently, and he's gotten countless texts about "growing up" and "getting over it". "He was just doing his job," they say, but none of them have the kind of history with Robert that he does. Fucker took his fingers, he's got a right to be mad. Prism keeps spamming their chat with the baby emoji, but it's been long enough now that he's simply silenced any of her messages.

Still, talking it out helped enough for him to come to the conclusion that his standoff with Mecha Man back then was a (somewhat) net positive that lead to his heroism, rather than more villainy. It was enough for him to show up at Robert's housewarming party, even if he got there when it was ending. It was enough for him to find a lamp at the thrift store, enough for him to make the effort of flying over, and enough for him to begin attempting forgiveness. Obviously they still have a ways to go, but he's willing to at least tolerate Robert for now. Punching him certainly helped.

Thus, he finds himself at SDN. Before, when he was a villain, this kind of thing probably would've set him on a crime spree with burning buildings in his wake. However, he's different now, rehabilitated as Blonde Blazer would say, so unfortunately arson is out of the question. Instead, he's here, working his anger out in the gym by hitting the punching bag and pretending it's Robert's face. It works, somewhat, at least enough for him to avoid singeing his bed sheets at night (what can he say, they were expensive).

It's embarrassing, honestly; how much he thinks about Robert. It began when Robert started, it's hard not be suspicious of someone that ripped, and it wasn't helped by the glances Robert always gives him; around the office, in meetings, at the bar, always burning holes in his back. It was inevitable that things would only escalate given how much time they are forced to spend around each other, and it only serves to annoy Flambae more. Spending every day around Robert has made him irritatingly aware of all his mannerisms and ticks; how Robert's voice gets deeper when he's annoyed, or louder when he's trying to be "inspirational", or how Flambae can tell when Robert has slept shitty because of the raspy edge to his tone and the way he'll drag his syllables as if he's struggling to keep up with them. He hates that he's so familiar with it, but he's forced to spend all day listening, so is it really his fault if he pays close attention sometimes?

Most of all, Flambae can't stand the fact that sometimes Robert's words actually mean something. He remembers more of Robert's speeches than he wants to; Robert's breath grazing his ear as he talked about potential. More than ever, Flambae wonders if those words still ring true.

As he works conditioner into the ends of his hair, he hears the thud of the locker room door swinging shut. Normally, the sound would mean nothing to him, but with it being so late at night he automatically turns towards it...and promptly regrets doing so.

Because who other than Robert himself walks in, his footsteps briefly pausing when he catches sight of Flambae, and there he goes staring again, but ultimately deciding to step further into the room. He stops at his locker, undresses down to a towel and pulls out a bottle of 3-in-1 that probably came from the dollar store (of course he uses 3-in-1). His bare feet pad against the tiles as he enters the showers, turning one on two spots down. It's respectable, a curtesy to not get into Flambae's space, which he appreciates. Either that, or Robert's afraid of being incinerated. Two things can be true at once.

Robert only showers for barely five minutes, cutting the water off while Flambae begins to lather body wash into his loofa. Despite that, Flambae swears he can feel eyes on him for three out of those five, but keeps his own to himself. Flambae doesn't watch Robert go, and absolutely doesn't listen carefully over the sound of running water for Robert's movements. He simply continues his routine until eventually he's squeaky clean, and the locker room is plunged into silence as he turns the water off.

It's kind of eerie, actually, the way his bare feet echo as he walks to his locker. There's no other sound aside from the occasional dripping of water, and Flambae thinks he's probably been left alone again, only to be quickly proven wrong when he turns the corner to his locker.

Robert sits on the bench, his towel slung low around his waist and his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. He's silent other than an occasional long suffering sigh, and Flambae honestly finds it all a little pathetic, even if it mirrors what he's feeling on the inside.

He stands beside Robert, hands on his hips, waiting. For what, he's not really sure, maybe just some kind of acknowledgment, but it seems that Robert is intent on ignoring him. Completely unfair, in his opinion, with how much of Robert's yapping he's forced to listen to on a daily basis. Ignoring that, Flambae decides to break the silence. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Robert says dryly, his reply aimed at the floor.

Flambae turns and opens his locker, the door squeaking loudly on its hinges. "Like someone took a shit and then that shit rolled in more shit before being shit on again."

"Okay, I get it. No need for a visual." Robert finally straightens up in his seat, getting to his feet to begin rooting through his own locker.

Flambae casts a glance to the side at the other man, eyes roving over large scars and surprisingly defined muscle, given Robert's compact frame. The muscles shift and flex when he moves, and Flambae definitely, in no way, shape, or form, pays attention to it. Even though he can only see Robert's profile, he can still see stubble growing on his chin and dark bags beginning to form under his eyes, but maybe that was from the other night at the party when he punched him. "Have you slept?"

"Wasn't necessarily planning on it."

"What, you have like nocturnal powers now or some shit?"

Robert sighs. "Listen Flambae, I know you enjoy seeing me suffer, but just this once I would appreciate if you would leave me alone."

"Pfft, how do you think I feel?" Flambae says.

"Yes, you don't like me, what else is new," Robert mutters, halfheartedly running his hands through his wet hair in an effort to tame it.

Flambae sputters for a moment at how moody Robert seems to be, and despite every other instinct in his body telling him otherwise, he decides to back down. "How's Chase?"

Robert shrugs, and it looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. "Stable."

Flambae watches him closely, squinting his eyes, and it's obvious that Robert is doing everything in his power not to give anything away. He's doing a decent job of it, all things considered, but there's a shine to his eyes that tells of barely restrained emotion. "And?"

Robert stares blankly for a moment. "And what?"

"You wouldn't be here if that was it."

Robert sighs, and for a moment it actually seems like they might be having a genuine conversation, but Robert's eyes squint, looking at Flambae like he's grown three heads. "Why do you even care?"

Flambae throws his hands up, confused at Robert's seemingly random hostility. "What, I can't have emotions? I might not like you, but I have nothing against Chase."

Robert's eyes roll, and it sparks a flame of annoyance in Flambae's chest. "Yeah, cause you guys are so buddy-buddy."

A sudden flame engulfs his fists, its warmth licking up his arms, and when he slams his locker shut he leaves a scorch mark behind. "Hey, fuck you, man. I thought we were having a moment or something!"

Robert scoffs, and they stand there frozen: Flambae with his chest puffed out looking down his nose at Robert, heat and flame steadily rising over him, while Robert watches on, seemingly unimpressed. Flambae can tell it's different than usual, though, with the way Robert's eyes dart over the loose waves of hair cascading down Flambae's shoulders and the trail that leads down his chest into his towel before they quickly refocus. Odd, Flambae thinks, Robert may look, but he's never been one to linger. It's a standoff like something you'd see in an old western movie, but neither seems intent on pulling the trigger.

"Isn't this the part where you try to punch me now?"

Flambae smirks, goading. "I thought you would've had enough of that after yesterday."

Robert's brows furrow, his jaw clenching. There's a sharpness in his gaze, something close to hatred, and it sparks heat in Flambae's core. He should walk away and be the bigger man, it's certainly what his therapist would encourage, but there's something about Robert that just...gets to him. Whenever Flambae sees his stupid face, a spark flares up in his belly and his chest gets light. Whether it's their shared past, or the fact he's just so goddamn heroic; Flambae isn't sure. He just knows he doesn't like it. It gets under his skin, festering until he wants to pick at it like a scab, the heat slowly rising to the surface until he finds himself out of control.

All at once, the tension in Robert's muscles seems to zap away, and his shoulders sag, his gaze falling to the tiled floor. "I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole," Robert says, rubbing at his eyes and pinching the bridge of nose. He looks forlornly into his locker, still not moving to get dressed, simply...frozen.

"When are you not?"

Robert snorts. "Says you."

Flambae turns to him, ready to go on the offensive again, but before he can get mad he catches a teasing smile on Robert's lips.

Robert reaches into his locker, putting away his soap and pulling out his uniform (the same one he wore walking in, disgustingly enough), sighing. "I worry. Ma-...Blazer seems hopeful, but I can't help but feel she's only acting that way for my benefit."

Flambae realizes abruptly that this is probably the longest civil conversation they've ever had. His therapists words linger in his mind, forgiveness. Seeing as Chase is somewhat of a sore subject, he takes the opportunity to pivot the conversation. "You two are getting close...you gonna hit that?"

Robert's face scrunches up, disgusted, before he shakes his head. "No, I'm not hitting anything. I'm perfectly fine on my own." Flambae catches the way Robert's tone surges upwards at the end; anxious, defensive.

He reopens his locker, using a spare facecloth to dry off his shampoo and conditioner bottles before pulling out his hairbrush. "You should, cause like...you've kinda got a stick up your ass all the time. And I've got a lot of money riding on it."

"What?"

Pulling his hair over one shoulder, Flambae starts brushing the knots out at the ends and slowly works his way up to the roots. "There's a bet going. Don't tell Z-Team I told you, it would ruin it."

Robert's eyes follow the movements, fixated on the way Flambae's fingers tease and pick at a stubborn knot, forearms flexing. His eyes roll and his head falls back on his shoulders, directing his reply at the ceiling. "God, you're so...infuriating."

Flambae smirks, happy to be giving Robert grief, before he tosses his brush back in his locker and closes it, leaning back against the metal surface with his arms crossed, thinking. He imagines Blazer, with her golden blonde hair and blue eyes, the poster child of SDN. She's conventionally attractive, sure, with her ample curves and charming personality, but Flambae isn't stirred by any of it. Everyone else in the office is the exact opposite, it seems, which doesn't surprise him in the slightest. "She's...pretty, I guess."

Robert huffs, amused. "I think that's the least convincing I've ever heard you sound."

Flambae shrugs, scratching at the stubble on his face. "I don't really swing that way, so...I wouldn't know."

Robert stops himself in the middle of unfolding his button up, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Really?"

Flambae glares at him. "Is that surprising to you? Were you born without a gaydar or something?"

Robert shrugs, but doesn't elaborate. He starts unbuttoning his shirt slowly, which Flambae immediately clocks as strange; it's big enough that Robert could simply pull it on over his head, but he doesn't bother to comment about it. Instead, he examines his nails, bored. He should really be getting dressed, all the emotion of the day is finally starting to catch up with him and make his eyes feel droopy, and he has to get up early to drive his niece to school-

"So if roles were reversed, who should I bet on?"

Flambae startles, a part of him forgetting that Robert was even there given how in his head he was, and the other part shocked at what Robert is even daring to ask. "Excuse me?"

"If I was betting; who would you end up with?"

Flambae scoffs. "No one."

Robert nods, picking at the buttons on his shirt but not actually doing anything with them. Flambae watches on, as confused as he is appalled. Robert seems to be thinking about something if the deep furrow in his brow is anything to go by, but Flambae cannot even begin to guess at what it might be. Robert's tone gives little away; he's exhausted, that's for sure, but Flambae can't pick up any details beyond that. Eventually, Robert's head raises, and their eyes meet. "Not even me?"

Robert's voice is carefully neutral, but a spark flares to life in Flambae's chest nonetheless, and he can feel his body temperature rising as he stands up straighter, opening his locker again to have something other than Robert himself to look at. He can still see him out of his periphery though, and it takes every ounce of strength he has to keep his eyes straight. He shakes his head. "You're...not really my type."

"And what is?"

"Twinks."

"Figures," Robert says, finally throwing his button up on over his shoulders. "What about Waterboy?"

Flambae blanches, whipping his head in Robert's direction. "Do you want to be incinerated for real, this time?"

"Just joking," Robert says, an admittedly handsome smile on his face.

"You better be. Besides, he's too tall," Flambae says, reaching into his bag to gather up his change of clothes. "So what's your type, Bob-Bob? Conventionally attractive blondes?"

"Y'know...I think I prefer fiery brunettes."

Flambae's hand slips, and one of his shoes comes tumbling out of his locker, banging and clanking on the way down until it hits the floor. It's obnoxiously loud given how quiet everything else has been, and he winces against the onslaught of sound. He quickly bends down and throws it haphazardly back in, creating even more of a racket.

Silence descends on them again, and Flambae sighs. Then, he freezes.

"Wait-" he starts, cutting himself off, brain running at a mile a minute to digest Robert's words and then decode them, but there's no teasing edge to Robert's voice, just that quiet steady tone of seriousness that he uses when he means something.

Flambae can feel his body heating from deep in his core, and when he looks at Robert, he really shouldn't be surprised that Robert is looking back at him.

Robert stares, eyes blazing. His gaze is intense, burning as it tracks a path across his body, and Flambae is honestly surprised that it doesn't leave scorch marks in its wake. Robert's eyes linger on his lips the longest before they shift upwards enough for their gazes to meet again, and Flambae gulps, catching Robert watching the way his Adam's apple bobs with the movement.

They stand, frozen in front of each other, waiting. Flambae isn't sure what for, exactly, too stunned by the heat in Robert's eyes to comprehend anything else. He feels...vulnerable. Picked apart layer by layer until Robert stares at his very core, but most of all, he's shocked to see that same feeling reflected in Robert's eyes. His eyes are round and doe-like, and if Flambae were feeling particularly cruel he'd liken Robert's appearance to a kicked puppy, but then Robert moves, closing the short distance between them, and as if that wasn't enough, Robert kisses him.

Flambae's body tenses, so much so that he even stops breathing, as Robert shoves him back into the lockers with a bang, and his lips press against his. From this close up, he can see every detail of Robert's face, every eyebrow hair and minute scar, every freckle, the furrow between his brows and the way his eyelashes flutter and fan across his flushed cheeks.

Then all at once, it's over. Robert's warmth disappears, his lips retreating, until there's space between them again. Robert stares, and Flambae's mouth gapes open like a fish out of water, trying to come up with something to say, but his brain isn't exactly functional anymore. He watches Robert's face flit between emotions: shock, embarrassment, uncertainty, shame, before his lips form a tense line and his face goes carefully blank.

"Sorry," Robert mumbles, voice thick, before he turns on his heel, retreating.

Flambae's temperature spikes, and a brief spark flares over his body before he's shocked back into himself. He watches Robert turn away from him, and his brain finally kicks back on, screaming at him, to move, to do something, and his hand shoots out before he can even realize he's moving it, clamping around Robert's wrist.

Robert's head whips back at him, disbelief on his face, and Flambae holds him there. He's not even sure why, he hates Robert. Twenty-four hours ago something like would've been unspeakable, but now his mind is overrun with the fact that he knows what Robert's lips feel like.

Robert's feet pad against the tile floor as he closes the short distance between them again, lips meeting Flambae's hard enough for their teeth to clack together. Flambae winces, but the pain quickly sparks inside him, heating embers in his belly. Robert's hands immediately burry themselves in his hair and grab, and Flambae blindly reaches until he wraps his hands around Robert's waist and holy fuck he's ripped-

One of his hands skirts its way across Robert's abs, feeling up the defined muscles and scar tissue, before tweaking at one of his nipples while the other hand palms at Robert's (irritating pert) ass. Robert gasps, their frantic kissing finally broken apart. His breath fans hot against Flambae's face, and when he catches Robert's eyes he sees his pupils blown wide and shining, and he wonders if his look the same.

"You're kind of a shitty kisser," he says, and Robert huffs.

"God, I hate you."

Their lips meet again, and Flambae shoves Robert's button down off his shoulders before his fingers tease at the towel around Robert's waist, finally grabbing it and tossing it to the side. Robert groans when Flambae's hands touch his hips and ass without anything in their way, and the sound sends a jolt down Flambae's spine. Robert's hands migrate from his hair to his shoulders, gripping at his arms clumsily before settling on his stomach, nails digging into skin as Flambae directs Robert until his back leans against the lockers, finally wrapping a hand around Robert's cock.

Their lips part again, and Robert's head falls forward onto Flambae's shoulder, his panting loud and harsh. Sweat is beginning to bead across the planes of his body, making his skin glisten, and Flambae knows exactly why; he always heats up when he's horny. And, freak that he is, it only makes him want Robert more.

Letting his intrusive thoughts win, Flambae leans down, running his tongue in a long stripe from Robert's shoulder up his neck until he sucks at the skin just below Robert's jaw, savouring the taste of sweat on his tongue.

One of Robert's hands ends up back in his hair, grabbing and directing him to keep licking and sucking at his neck. Robert's cock is hot and slick in his hand, the precum beading at the tip aiding Flambae as he strokes him off.

"Holy shit," Robert breathes, eyes directed downwards, watching it all with rapt attention.

Flambae leans down, his nose grazing Robert's temple as he whispers in his ear. "I'm gonna fuck you, yeah?"

"Yes, fuck-" Robert starts, before Flambae grabs his hips and spins him. Robert's hands scrabble at the metal lockers, and Flambae pulls his ass back to grind against it, cock twitching when Robert groans loudly.

Flambae finally tosses his towel aside, giving himself a few quick strokes to settle the flame inside him, before he spits into his palm. He's knows for a fact that Robert is far too much of a prude to have lube in his locker, so spit it is.

He brings his hand downward, fingers teasing down Robert's crack until the finds what he's looking for, taking a moment to spread the spit around before he carefully starts inching a finger in. It becomes immediately apparent to him that Robert is incredibly tight, and while part of him is overwhelmed by the thought of what that's going to feel like, the other part doesn't even think he'll be able to make it in.

"Relax," Flambae says, using his free hand to spread one of Robert's cheeks to the side.

Robert's head falls forward, forehead banging into the metal lockers. "I'm trying," he grits out, fists clenching.

"Well try harder, or something," Flambae replies, barely past the first knuckle. He pulls his finger out slightly before pushing it back in a little further, and even that is enough to have Robert gasping.

He spits again, aiming downwards, and it lands near enough where he needs it, slowly dripping to where his finger is barely thrusting in and out. It helps, though; enough for the glide to be smoother, enough for him to push a little deeper, and eventually he manages to get his entire finger in. It's still barely anything, but with the way Robert is gasping and moaning, you'd think he's taking a whole fist.

Flambae lines his next finger up, slowly easing it in next to the first. Robert flinches slightly as Flambae works it in to the first knuckle, and Flambae uses his free hand to grab Robert's hip to steady him as he pushes forward. It's slow going, a lot slower than he'd like, but Robert's sounds are enough to keep him hard, especially when he nails his prostate.

"Fuck," Robert hisses, knees briefly buckling, and if it weren't for Flambae's grip on him he'd be on the floor. It only intensifies when Flambae does it again, and again, and again, to the point where he's almost holding up Robert's entire weight. He can feel Robert's thighs quivering, and he quickly pivots to a new strategy.

"Shit, here," Flambae says, grabbing Robert's shoulder and spinning him around, manhandling him towards the bench behind them. He kicks one of the towels on the floor towards him and forces Robert onto the floor, positioning his knees on the towel and bending his upper half over the bench. Flambae follows after him, kneeling behind him and spitting on Robert's hole again before quickly plunging two fingers back in and curling them upwards.

Robert whimpers, ass pushing back against Flambae's fingers, and Flambae can feel his body heat spike. It takes everything in him to keep himself under control, but there's a fire blazing deep in his belly, roaring for attention, begging to be let out. The new position allows him a better view of his fingers thrusting in and out, the way Robert's hole drags them in every time, hungry for more. He lines a third one up, delights in watching it slip in with the others, ears perked to the moans and gasps coming from Robert's mouth.

"Flambae."

When Flambae finally takes his eyes off the delicious sight in front of him, it's to meet Robert's eyes as the other man looks back at him over his shoulder. Robert's forehead shines with a sheen of sweat, the hair at his temples beginning to stick to his face. He's panting already even though they've barely gotten past the foreplay, and Flambae is about to tease him for it before Robert beats him to it.

"Please."

Oh.

The flames surge within him, desire blazing enough to make him dizzy. Not wasting another second, Flambae spits into his palm, lubing himself up as best he can, rubbing the rest on Robert's ass as he lines himself up. He braces his other hand on the small of Robert's back, pressing down slightly to get more of an arch into it as he slowly inches forward.

Robert gasps when the head slips in, flinching slightly. Flambae pauses, the hand on Robert's back rubbing slow, soothing circles until Robert finally somewhat relaxes again. He continues slowly pushing forward, his eyes glued downward as he watches himself disappear inside Robert. He's astonished that it's actually happening, even though he's actively watching it happen, and part of Flambae knows that once this is over he's immediately opening his chat with Prism to tell her how much of a bottom bitch Robert is. However, a smaller yet somehow louder part of himself can't help but feel that this is somewhat special, like he's part of a select few that have actually gotten to see Robert this way. He can't ever recall hearing about Mecha Man in a relationship, and even imagining the man under the mask in one seems like somewhat of a stretch. Robert seems like the perpetually lonesome type, his apartment alone is evidence enough (no respectable woman would ever let him get away with that disaster).

"Fuck," Robert whispers, the muscles in his back quivering. He buries his face in his arm while his other hand grips the edge of the bench hard enough for his knuckles to go white. His cheeks are flushed, and Flambae is delighted to notice that it spreads over his shoulders and down his back, making his scars stand out even more from the rest of him. He lets his fingers trace the edge of one, feeling Robert's muscles twitch and spasm from the touch.

"Almost there," Flambae soothes, pushing himself just that little bit further until finally his hips meet flush with Robert's ass. He sighs at the feeling, at just how tight Robert is, taking a moment to let him adjust. Robert's eyes are squeezed shut, his face scrunched rather adorably, but obviously struggling to stay relaxed.

Throwing him a lifeline, Flambae bends to drape himself across Robert's back, letting his body heat warm the other man as he kisses across his shoulders and sucks at his neck. One hand wraps around to tweak at Robert's nipples, the other migrating further down to wrap around his cock, stroking slowly but firmly. He's ridiculously hard, and Flambae wouldn't be surprised if Robert's dick was turning purple at this point. He gathers the precum he finds at the tip and rubs it down the length, and Robert's mouth drops open. Flambae can't help but lean forward to lick into it, and Robert reciprocates immediately. The loud groan he lets out bounces across the tiles around them, echoing through the otherwise quiet room.

"So good for me," Flambae whispers against Robert's lips, finally rolling his hips forward. He doesn't pull out yet, still intent on teasing Robert, but before he can even think of his next move Robert tenses below him, his breath stuttering for a moment before he moans, long and low. To many things happen at once for Flambae to keep track of them all, but Robert tightens around him, almost to the point of pain, and his cock pulses in Flambae's palm, and it's at that moment he realizes that holy shit, Robert's coming.

Robert squirms, his muscles flexing and shifting as he rides out of the waves of his orgasm, muffling his sounds into the fist he's biting down on. After a few seconds, Robert's entire body freezes before going completely boneless, and Flambae's pretty sure if he wasn't braced against the bench Robert would be a puddle on the floor right about now.

"Holy shit," Flambae breathes, pulling out. His dick weeps precum, still rock hard, and he thinks he himself will be weeping soon if it doesn't get dealt with.

"Fuck, I...fuck," Robert pants, beet red as he buries his face into his arms.

"Damn, are you really that pent up?" Flambae says, pulling himself up off the floor.

Robert's legs give out, and he plops sideways onto the tile, arms still splayed across the bench. "No, just...you went too fast."

"I couldn't have possibly gone any slower," Flambae defends, which isn't entirely true, but all of his other hookups probably would've been over ten minutes ago by now. He's not the type to linger; you get in, you fuck, you get out.

This time, however, he holds his hand out to Robert.

Robert stares for a moment, dumbfounded, before he shakes his head. Instead, he hauls himself onto the bench, wincing slightly when his ass meets the hard wooden surface. Come streaks up in white trails over his stomach, a few matching splatters on the floor, and Flambae would never admit to how much he likes the sight of it.

"You want help with that?" Robert says, pulling Flambae's focus away from his glistening abs and up towards his face, whose own eyes are glued to Flambae's still-hard dick. He's flagged a little in the time since he pulled out, but Robert's words have him twitching.

Flambae shrugs. "I won't say no," he says, nonchalant, but a strong pang of lust zaps through his belly.

"Real encouraging," Robert grumbles, eyes transfixed on Flambae's cock as he steps forward. It bobs in front of him, and Robert tentatively reaches out and loosely wraps his fist around it, slowly stroking from base to tip. Even that is enough to have Flambae's breath hitching, and he raises a hand up to burry it in Robert's sweat-damp hair.

Robert looks up at him through his lashes, the sight almost enough to send Flambae to his knees, and he watches as Robert's tongue peeks out past his lips and licks over his slit before bringing the tip of his cock into his mouth.

Flambae groans at the feeling of Robert's wet tongue and hot mouth, his free hand clenching into a fist at his side. Robert sucks gently, dipping a little further down before he gags, quickly pulling off to catch his breath and wipe a bit of drool off his lips.

His technique could use some work, and it becomes immediately apparent to Flambae that Robert has definitely never done this before. It's kind of a turn on, if he's being honest, and Flambae absolutely doesn't want to get into that; the fact that reducing Robert to such a slutty, drooling mess makes him feel so goddamn out of control. It's probably something he should unpack, but even having one session a week with his therapist wouldn't get him comfortable enough to admit it.

It's definitely not the best blowjob he's gotten, it doesn't even come anywhere close, but the fact it's Robert certainly changes things. Robert isn't terrible by any means, but the hand he has wrapped around Flambae stays stationary, too focused on his mouth to remember to stroke at the same time. There's a little too much teeth and not enough tongue, and he keeps going down too fast, taking too much at once, and while the sound of him choking is ridiculously hotter than it should be, Flambae doesn't want to torture him too much.

Making up his mind, Flambae grips Robert's hair gently, easing him off and letting him catch his breath. He shoos Robert's hand off his cock and replaces it with his own, spreading Robert's spit to slick himself up. Robert looks up at him, his eyes shining and a bit of drool hanging in a trail from the corner of his mouth. His hair is a disaster, and a bead of sweat drips from his hairline, down his face and jaw before it drops to the floor. He looks utterly debauched, and Flambae's cock twitches because of it.

He guides himself forward until the tip of his cock rests on Robert's lips, waiting. He raises an eyebrows in silent question, and they lock eyes for a moment, gazes smouldering, before Robert nods.

Robert opens his mouth and Flambae eases himself into it, until he can feel his cock head tease at the back of Robert's throat. He doesn't push any further, gagging him would be a step too far for a first time, and instead slowly pulls back out. He does it a few more times, slowly back and forth, using the grip in Robert's hair to guide him into a steady pace. The wet sounds Robert's mouth makes on him sends a shiver racing down Flambae's spine, and he pulls out completely again for a moment, wanting to savour the sight of Robert below him. Robert's eyes have a glazed look to them, his mouth open as he pants heavily.

"Breathe," Flambae says, voice low and husky, and Robert nods, at least as much as Flambae's grip on his hair allows him to. He already misses the heat of Robert's mouth, and he carefully pushes forward again as a groan slips past his lips.

His free hand leaves his cock, instead migrating to Robert's jaw, holding him steady as he slowly fucks into his mouth. Robert moans, eyes squeezing shut as his hands come up to grip Flambae's thighs. He doesn't push him away, simply holds on like it's a lifeline, nails digging in to skin.

Flambae can feel himself heating up as his thrusts get a bit faster, and the spit spilling from the sides of Robert's mouth has him swearing under his breath, completely absorbed in the sounds Robert's mouth makes around his cock. It isn't helped any when Robert opens his eyes, looking up at him through his wet lashes, eyes teary, and it's the final nail in Flambae's coffin.

He groans, pulling out quickly as his hand leaves Robert's jaw to pump himself through his release, holding Robert's face steady by his hair as his come streaks across Robert's cheeks and jaw, one strand even shooting over his eye onto his forehead.

High fading, Flambae lets go, slowly walking backward until his back meets the lockers, panting. His cock gives a final halfhearted twitch as he looks at his come streaked across Robert's face, the blaze in his belly finally beginning to cool, satisfied.

Robert stares back at him, panting heavily as he wipes Flambae's come off his eye enough that he can get it open without any getting in, looking down at his dirty hand and grimacing.

Flambae reaches blindly into his locker until his fingers meet cotton, pulling out a facecloth.

"Where are you going?" Robert asks, voice a little hoarse, as if Flambae would walk out of the locker room butt-naked. Flambae rolls his eyes, making his way to the sink to wet the facecloth before he returns, holding it out to Robert.

"Thanks," Robert says, and their fingers brush as he takes it. "Jeez, even your come is hot; feels disgusting."

"Don't lie, you like it." Flambae grabs his towel from its place on the ground, giving himself a brief wipe down before he finally starts getting dressed. He'll probably have to have another shower tomorrow morning before work or else Prism is liable to smell the sex on him, but he's spent enough of his day in this godforsaken building to bother doing it here.

"I'm gonna have to shower again, aren't I?"

Flambae turns around as he threads his legs into his sweats, giving Robert an updown, and...yeah. If he hadn't just come less than five minutes ago, his cock would certainly be hardening at how debauched Robert looks: cheeks flushed, hair matted to his scalp with sweat, and red tracks on his face from where Flambae's come sat; not enough to burn, but enough to irritate.

"Yeah, probably," Flambae says, pulling out a tight V-neck t-shirt. "Unless you want Blazer to catch you on the cameras walking out of here looking fucked out."

Robert winces. "Can we not mention her right now, please?"

"Why? It's not like you're dating, right?" Flambae says, chest oddly tight as he pulls the shirt on over his head.

"We are not, no."

"So then there's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, sure..." Robert mumbles, moving on to wiping off his stomach. They go quiet for a moment aside from the sound of cloth against skin and steady breathing, until Robert sighs. "You're not going to tell anyone about this, are you?"

Flambae huffs, pulling his socks on. "Absolutely. I'm going to be fucking insufferable."

"Flambae."

"What?" He says, annoyed, only to find Robert's eyes staring holes into him as he straightens up and meets his gaze.

"Please." And there it is again, that word. He hates how it sounds when Robert says it, quiet and steady like he's absolutely certain that Flambae will listen, and most of all he hates how Robert's right.

"Ugh fine, my lips are sealed," he says, and it is probably the truth. As much as he wants to go around bragging about how he got Robert on his knees, he doesn't want to make himself look like a hypocrite. After all the fuss he made about Robert being Mecha Man, telling Prism about something like this would probably just make her laugh in his face. He casts a glance over his shoulder at Robert, who's still wiping come off his stomach. He sighs, reaching for a hair tie. The air in the room is hot and muggy from the shower steam and sex, but there's a lingering tension underneath it all. They clean in silence, but it's less comfortable and more complicated, neither sure what to say after what they've just done.

"It's Zahir, by the way." It's out of his mouth before he can change his mind. He's not sure why he says it; maybe as some half-assed peace offering, maybe to fill the silence, or maybe because he's exhausted enough for his usual hatred toward Robert to fizzle out like a dying flame.

"What?"

"It's Zahir. I kinda missed out on the whole, name-reveal-bonding-moment sappy shit, so. My name is Zahir."

Robert tosses the cloth onto the bench beside him with a wet slap, as clean as he's going to get. "I thought your name was Chad?"

"Who told you that?"

"Prism."

Flambae sighs, irritation tickling at his nerves over the fact that Prism gave away information that wasn't hers to give, but at least she didn't tell the whole truth. "That's my American name. I changed it when I immigrated, easier for stupid Americans like you."

"And out of all the options, you chose Chad?"

"Fuck you, bitch, I'm trying to be nice to you!" Flambae says, immediately on the defensive.

"Sorry," Robert says quickly. He holds his hand out, waiting. "It's nice to meet you, Zahir."

Zahir looks down at Robert's open palm, genuinely considering letting the moment pass, but he didn't bring up his name for nothing. He thinks again, about forgiveness, and figures he's already a decent amount of the way there given his cock was up Robert's ass less than twenty minutes ago. Relenting, he reaches out and grabs Robert's hand, giving it shake, mind pinpointing how soft Robert's palm is.

He's subconsciously brushes his hand off on his sweatpants, carefully ignoring how Robert's gaze flits to the movement. He scratches at the back of his neck, feeling himself heat up. "Damn, that was like, gay as fuck. Like gayer than the sex we just had."

"...and, you ruined it," Robert mumbles, picking up the towel off the floor at his feet and draping it over his lap for some kind of half-assed modesty. Zahir isn't sure why it matters now, they've seen every single inch of each other, but he lets him have it.

He pulls his hair back into his signature ponytail, aware of the way Robert's eyes glance over his biceps.

"I think I like you better with your hair down," Robert says, head tilted to the side.

"Then how am I supposed to be Mr. Wet Ponytail?"

Robert finally averts his gaze, head ducked down toward the floor. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your eyebrows."

"Eh, they grew back," he says, pulling on his shoes, which is completely unlike him. The Zahir of a few months ago would probably be beating the shit out of Robert right now for even bringing it up, but blah blah rehabilitation or whatever the fuck they preach in this godforsaken building. To be honest, he still wants to, but the heat isn't building in him as much as it used to. It could also be the sex, but...he'll unpack that later.

He reaches into his locker, finally zipping up his bag and throwing the strap over his shoulder. He lingers for a second awkwardly, and for once Robert's eyes are trained on the tiled floor, tracing the lines in the grout. He struggles for something to say, eyes moving up and down Robert's body, briefly noticing a hickey beginning to form near his jaw, and the jolt it sends through him is enough to force him into action.

"See you tomorrow, bitch," he says, closing his locker as he begins walking towards the door.

"See you," Robert says quietly, voice barely audible over the sound of Zahir's footsteps on the tile.

Despite every fiber of his being telling him otherwise, Zahir casts one last glance over his shoulder as he swings the door open, stepping over the threshold. He's not sure what he expects when doing so; maybe to see Robert sauntering back towards the showers, or wiping his come off the floor, or maybe some small, not-insignificant part of him expects Robert to be looking back, but instead Robert sits on the bench, his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. He's silent other than a long suffering sigh, and it's the last thing Zahir hears as the door swings shut.