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It was supposed to be funny.
A bribe to get Prism to go on a call she would rather die than do. It was barely memorable, but whatever it was had been enough to earn her stubborn refutes.
A joking, “I'll let you do my makeup after shift if you do this without insulting anyone there.” Like a peace offering, only coated in sarcasm. An olive branch promising his own humiliation.
Everyone had laughed, it got Prism to concede.
It had still been funny when Prism had the others over, had pulled out her entire makeup collection. Flambae had laughed, knowing for sure that Robert - normal, boring, probably straight Robert wouldn't be caught dead actually letting this happen.
Funnier still when Robert actually showed up himself, immediately being pulled into a circle consisting of only Prism and Malevola as Coupè had sequestered herself onto one of Prism's many plush couches to read more of her book.
It had stopped being funny after that.
The Z-team, with the exception of Phenomaman, Golem and Invisigal, all mingled about normally enough like this wasn't the most world-tilting-on-its-axis moment ever. Punch-Up was snuggled beside Coupè, Waterboy had been given a spot somewhere without a rug but Prism had been willing to part with a stack of towels for his sake, and Sonar was sitting off to the side, contemplating stocks. Or maybe he was just staring at a graph; either way,
Flambae, for his part, was also on a couch. Only, he could barely feel the comfort of the material he had grown used to in his many visits to Prism's home, attention focused solely on what his best friend and other teammate were doing to their Dispatcher.
“Please say you're not going to put that on me.”
Robert's voice cut in through the sudden white noise invading Flambae's mind - like a fog machine was running up in there, or something- whatever, the analogy didn't matter. Unimportant. The Dispatcher was pointing at Prism's collection of foundation and concealer; it obviously wasn't a match.
Prism clicked her tongue at the man, like the answer was obvious. “No, dumbass-” She pushed that particular type of makeup off to the side, instead grabbing tubes of mascara, eyeliner brushes, and palette after palette of eyeshadow. “This is what I'm gonna put on you.”
“And just when I thought my day couldn't get any more wonderful.” Robert deadpanned.
“Hey, you promised.”
“Technically, I never said the word ‘promise’, but sure; I'll humor you.”
Flambae could only watch on with what he could only imagine to describe as bone-deep horror as the women got to work. The two of them crowded around the man like circling vultures, cackling to themselves like hyenas while Robert gave the occasional feedback.
“Pretty sure the brush isn't supposed to go into my eyes-”
“Stop opening them, then, motherfuck-”
“All I can see is orange. I'm blind forever now.”
“Shut up, you big baby.”
It was clear that the three of them were having a good time, all insults and complaints lighthearted and taken humorously. Occasionally, one of the other team members in the room would circle around and either make a passing comment on how Robert was looking so far, or to compliment Malevola and Prism's craftsmanship- mainly Prism's honestly, but Malevola was happy to take part.
“Baby,” Prism called over to Flambae, trying to get his attention away from the spot on the floor he was attempting to glare a hole into. So far, it wasn't working. “What do you think so far? You always know what one of my looks might need.” Her voice was innocent enough, but Flambae knew his friend too well not to suspect her of some sort of mutiny. A mutiny, a betrayal; whatever you may call it.
Instead of looking up, he merely shrugged. “I doubt even your superior makeup skills could cover the fugliness of Bob Bobertson,” He scoffed, rolling his eyes heavenward as another excuse not to glance over at what was happening. There wasn’t any reason he was avoiding it, he just.. Didn’t feel like looking. That’s it. But.. He didn’t want to seem unsupportive of his best friend’s work. That was a level of villainy he would never stoop to. “Ugh, fine.”
He looked over.
Robert was sitting cross-legged on the floor, chin gripped tight in one of Malevola’s hands as she methodically applied the second layer of a lipstick that was a deep reddish color with a near-orange tint to it. The rest of the look wasn’t as extravagant as Prism had threatened Robert with earlier that day; his eyelashes were long enough not to need fake ones put on, especially darkened further with a healthy coating of mascara, while the lids themselves were decorated with a dusting of a burnt orange blended out with a red that was nearly black it was so dark in the outer corners of his eyes. Highlighting it all, and what really caused the breath in his lungs to stutter, was the dark eyeliner; it wasn’t excessively heavy-handed. but it emphasized the already deep hood to Robert’s dark brown eyes, with the winged edges tapering off into flame-like patterns.
The color scheme and motif was eerily familiar to him; he had slaved for hours sewing meticulously into the late hours of many nights trying to perfect the pattern for his own suits, after all.
One of his eyes twitched as he suppressed his reaction to what he was seeing. Luckily, Robert and Malevola were attempting to have a conversation while the demon tried to apply lipstick onto the moving target of Robert’s mouth as he responded. Unluckily, Prism was staring at him, still.
“Everything alright, baby?” She prompted, smiling at him as she readied her phone camera to snap pictures of the finished look so Robert could be shown. If she wasn’t Chad’s best friend, he think he might be tempted to set her expensive rugs on fire just because he knew this particular line had been discontinued and Alice would have a bitch of a time finding a replacement that fit her living room theme. But he couldn’t do that, even if his eye was starting to develop an irritated spasm, he loved her too much to ruin the furnishing she was so proud of.
“Peachy.” Flambae shot back, gaze traveling back to Robert just in time for the Dispatcher to glance his way.
“How’s it looking?” Robert’s grin was a tired thing, understandable after the shift they all had, but even that small expression aimed Chad’s way was enough to have him feeling off-kilter, wrong-footed. Heat prickled at his skin on the back of his neck, his eye twitched again.
Crossing his muscular arms over his even more muscular chest- yes, focusing on those details about himself made it easier-Flambae made some sort of disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. “You look like a car crash with legs, bitch,” His tongue pressed hard into the missing gap between his teeth, a nervous action he was thankfully able to hide as nonchalant. “God, even Prism’s supreme talent can’t save you.”
The auburn-haired man raised a singular eyebrow, his typical blank expression sliding back into place- albeit in a more unfamiliar way, as his facial features were currently decorated with more makeup than the former hero had even looked at before, much less worn.
“Uh huh.”
Malevola snickered, giving Robert’s cheek a little pat as she stood up to her full height and tottered on over to Sonar, who was still heavily contemplating his.. Graphs of whatever.. And had barely spared the makeup artists’ and victim of said makeup artists’ a glance the entire time. He looked up as she came over, though, ears perked and gaze attentive as she motioned with a thumb towards the spot she left.
“Wow, Robbie. Looking….. Hot.” The hybrid nodded, tone suggesting he was very proud of himself for that comment regardless of how empty-headed his stare was. “Get it?”
“No, actually,” Robert said, not looking at Sonar as he had been faced towards Prism forcefully by one of her illusions who was helping her pose him properly for the picture she wanted to take of the look. “I haven’t seen it yet. So far, the only other review I’ve gotten was a negative one so,” Brown eyes darted, just briefly, to where Flambae was still sitting frozen on the couch. “It’s half and half right now.”
“I-I think it looks greah-goot. Good! Too!” Waterboy piped up from his stack of towels. Right. Flambae had forgotten the younger man was even here, the socially awkward hero-in-training still learning how to speak up for himself when hanging out with the Z-team. A wet towel of a man himself, really, but Flambae was learning to be nicer, so he didn’t even glare at the younger hero as much as he used to.
“Here. I think you look flaming.” Prism grinned, shoving her phone in Robert’s face once she had finished putting the finishing touches on the photo.
“As in homosexual, or…” Robert said, mostly joking even as he took the phone from Alice’s waving hand and squinted at the screen to get a proper look. “Oh, wow.”
Flambae expected the other man to laugh, to pull something so stereotypically straight that he’d be able to rid himself of the unexplainable feeling in his gut, or that he’d be able to dismiss it in favor of making fun of the Dispatcher.
Robert didn’t do anything that Chad had been expecting him to. Instead, careful hands scrolled through the different angles Alice had taken photos of, a considerate line between his eyebrows as he passed the phone back. “Wow.” He said again, sounding.. Impressed. “I wasn’t expecting to look like that. You’re really talented, Alice.” The smile aimed at the woman softened by lipstick and so achingly sincere about something as silly as getting a makeover that Flambae had to look away again.
“Don’t I know it! But thanks, Roberto.”
He always appreciated it when people gave Prism the credit and praise that she deserved; she was his best friend and they had both been through so much, so any kind of genuine compliment that he knew his best friend would like, Flambae also appreciated. It wasn’t lost on him that the fact it was Robert showing so much consideration towards something Prism mostly as a joke but clearly put effort in that did something to him.
Don’t look over again. Don’t look over again.
Robert was staring at him again once Chad gave in and looked over, despite his internal monologue screaming expletives at him in both Dari and English, and he couldn’t help but snap at the other man, feeling churlish and trapped in ways he couldn’t explain.
“What are you looking at, bitch?”
Robert’s brown eyes-those fucking brown eyes- were intensely locked on him for a moment, like he was thinking about something, but inevitably-regrettably- they moved away as Janelle and Colm approached from the other side of the room.
Wait. Regrettably?
“Woah, lad! You look great!” Punch-Up propped his large hands on his hips, staring at the Dispatcher with a look of amazement. “The colors really bring out your.. Er..” His mustache twitched. “Face?”
Janelle had her book tucked into the curve of her arm. “Yes, Robert.” She agreed with her companion, voice monotone as ever. “This look does highlight some of your best features. Though the outfit is somewhat.. Lacking.”
The Dispatcher wasn’t in his uniform, having followed everyone else in changing to more casual clothing before meeting up at Prism’s place; instead he wore a simple, off-white shirt that hung loosely from his skinny frame and boring, black joggers. It definitely didn’t match the makeup look.
Malevola gasped, sharing a look with Prism. “We could do a fashion show!”
Robert held up a hand, laugh lines around his eyes deepening with amusement at the suggestion but his response was definitely firm, he would not be doing that. “No thank you, this-” He touched his eyelid subconsciously, accidentally muddying some of the red and orange eyeshadow together. “- this is enough for me.”
Flambae was silent, decidedly not looking at the smear of orange on Robert’s upper cheek.
Sonar lifted a finger. “Me next.”
“....How would we even get any makeup on you is the question.”
“Please give it a try. I need to look like Hatsune Miku, you don’t understand.”
Robert was practically forgotten after that, pushed to the side as Janelle, Alice, Malevola and even Colm stood around Victor and attempted to figure out how to get eyeshadow to stick to the fur on his face, and how best to apply lipstick to his-for lack of a better term- snout.
Flambae was starting to find this evening funny again, watching as Sonar stared curiously at one of Prism’s lipglosses before taking a tentative lick of the sparkly goop, causing an eruption of shouting to burst forth as Prism berated him for spreading his rabies and Malevola attempted to get him to rinse his mouth out with water that Herman was providing just by sitting there.
The couch where Flambae was sitting dipped just slightly, but he refused to glance over.
“He’s probably gonna look better than me, huh.” Robert’s voice held a lilting dryness to it that suggested he was joking. “Better bone structure. Some people have all the luck.”
Okay, so, definitely joking then.
Chad couldn’t help himself; he was a strong man, as evidenced by what he could lift on an easy day at the gym, but he wasn’t strong enough to resist the spell of Robert in a full face of makeup that kept him captive. He spared the Dispatcher a glance.
“You’re fugly at best,” Flambae lied between clenched teeth, swallowing back a rush of steam as his words caused the Dispatcher’s attention to latch onto him fully. Curse those big, brown eyes. What was he, auditioning for the part of Bambi? He was parentless enough for it to work, he supposed. “Even Sonar is fucking hotter than you.” Another lie, this one even less smooth because Flambae’s words were stammering out in quick, short bursts.
Robert hummed, seemingly not offended. “You think Sonar’s hot?”
“No, you little bitch. That’s the point.”
Robert nodded, pretending to be appeased for the moment. One of his hands lifted again to rub at his eyes, like he forgot the makeup was there.
Before he could stop himself, Flambae’s mangled hand shot out and he intercepted the Dispatcher from messing up the makeup further. “Are you trying to make yourself look like a fucking raccoon? Leave it.” He said, sharply. Too defensive. Almost too revealing.
Obeying, the other man lowered his hand. He looked down at where their skin still touched, the hot brand of Flambae’s grip on his wrist, and then raised an eyebrow up at Chad. A small, knowing sort of smile stained with that fucking lipstick was cursedly pointed his way.
Flambae ripped his hand away, feeling suspiciously like he just lost a game he wasn’t aware he had been playing to begin with.
“Prism,” Robert spoke suddenly, jolting Chad from the little bubble they had-somehow-sequestered themselves in. “Do you have any makeup remover? I think this stuff is starting to itch.”
Alice, currently in a fight to the death to wrestle her favorite lip gross away from Sonar before he could lick it (again) barely glanced his way. “Oh, hell no.” She grunted, one of her heeled boots smashing into Sonar’s face as she shoved him and successfully pulled the gloss out of the hybrid’s hold. “I don’t want you wasting that - eyeshadow is one thing, but skincare? Just try washing it off in the sink. The kitchen sink; stay outta my bathroom.”
Robert lifted his hands in an aborted, helpless sort of motion, not wanting to involve himself in the fight to the death over lipgloss currently happening on the living room floor. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
Flambae watched out of the corner of his eye as the Dispatcher slowly made his way towards the kitchen, but was interrupted by Waterboy coming up alongside him to offer some help.
“I-I-.. Could.. Try? Give it a shot?” The hero-in-training peered down at Robert with wide, too-blue eyes. He was clearly nervous, but bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he was looking forward to being helpful. “S-Save you.. The. Save you the trouble.”
Something in Flambae’s stomach lurched up and stuck somewhere behind his tonsils.
Fuck that nonsense.
“There’s a gas station right down the road from here,” Chad interrupted, one hand coming up to shove between Robert’s shoulder blades to push him towards the door and away from Waterbitch. “They’ll have like, remover or some shit. Get you back to your normal, uglier self.” He said, not giving the smaller man or the hero they were leaving behind any room to argue before he was shutting the door to Prism’s apartment behind him and Robert.
The walk to the elevators was silent, and it stayed horrifically, awkwardly quiet until they got to the lobby of Prism’s sizable, unsurprisingly fancy condominium.
“So,” Of course, Robert was the first one to break said silence as soon as the balmy night air outside was hitting their faces. It wasn’t particularly hot outside, but Flambae could still feel that insistent prickle at the back of his neck, chest containing a swirling, knotting feeling in a fashion similar to heartburn. “That was a really normal thing to do.”
Flambae grit his teeth, picking a direction he offhandedly remembered the gas station being and striding away, not bothering to look if Robert was going to follow him. He was, he didn’t have to check to know that.
“You going to say anything? I’m a little worried, it kinda feels like you’re leading me someplace suspicious.” The Dispatcher sassed to his back, sounding casual and unbothered- the complete opposite to how the former villain was feeling.
For a moment, the only sound was their feet striking the pavement of the sidewalk beneath them, the occasional car driving by on the road to their right. There were barely any people populating the streets, it being a weeknight and all, but every-so often they’d pass a couple or a person walking their dog.
“Just shut up.” Flambae snapped back at Robert despite the pause indicating his wish had already been granted, not wanting his eyes to make any contact with the other man. With the streetlights and the infrequent car headlights being the only source of lighting, he was worried it’d cast across the Dispatcher’s features in a more appealing way than the bright, neon lighting in Prism’s condo did. He didn’t want that, he wanted Robert to clean his fucking face.
Without warning, the smaller man yanked on Chad’s elbow and pulled them both into an alleyway the flame-wielder hadn’t even noticed they were about to pass. With a grunt, his back was slamming into the brick wall behind him and he was staring down the line of his own nose, directly into the face he was very specifically trying to avoid.
Robert didn’t look angry, but his eyes-still covered in those infuriating, pigmented shadows, his colors- were squinted in mildly frustrated consideration, scanning the reformed villain’s expression with a long, searching focus.
Flambae could only glower in return, not wanting to back down now that he knew he was being faced with some sort of challenge- even if he didn’t know what it was, yet. “What the fuck, bitch?” It was a little delayed, but better a late complaint than never doing so in the first place. Complaining was one of his many, many talents, after all. Complaining loudly, and frequently, had helped him avoid thinking about many of his actual, real problems in the past - like this one happening right now.
"You keep staring at me all aggressively like that, and I'm gonna start thinking this," Robert motions to the makeup adorning his features, some of it already smudged from his own careless hands. He’s saying this like he’s testing a theory of some kind, prodding in a way that’s starting to feel just a little malicious. It forced a shiver down Flambae’s spine. "Is secretly turning you on."
Flambae is silent. He can't breathe, he can only stare.
Robert blinks.
"Oh." He says; slow, with creeping realization. Like the sunrise creeping over the horizon, bathing the world in light and warmth.
"No-" Flambae juts in, crams into his space and fists the stupid plain shirt the stupid Dispatcher is wearing with his scarred hand. "No "oh", you little bitch. There is no "oh" here, because you're fucking wrong- whatever it is you're cooking up in that empty head of yours."
Flambae's panting, chest heaving with the exertion of spewing out all those words in one big gust of hot air. He's staring down at Robert with something akin to desperation, like a dog about to chew off it's own foot to escape a bear trap. It’s almost pathetic, helplessly covering up something he isn’t even sure he wants hidden, but doesn’t know what to do about it once it’s revealed.
A hand is on the wrist of his scarred fist then, a gentle disentangle from the white-knuckled grip he has on the other.
The air between them is charged with something Chad is both desperate to label for his own sanity and just as desperate to squash down and ignore forever.
What the fuck?
"I was just joking. Hey-"
Robert pulled gently on the wrist in his grip until Flambae's mangled hand was resting just over his mouth. His lips parted and he pressed a kiss, then another, to the place where the knuckles ended. An apology, forgiveness and a plea for more all wrapped up in one, tender action. Encouraged by Flambae’s lack of disapproval, emboldened by the way the other man’s hand was shaking with barely-there inhibition.
"I'm sorry, okay?"
Stretching his lips further apart, Robert laved his tongue over the flesh of Flambae's hand, the moisture sizzling on the surface of the man's skin as he sucked one of the fingers into the wet heat of his mouth. The lipstick smeared messily somewhere along his other knuckles and up Robert's cheek.
Deep, heavily lidded eyes decorated with dark liner gazed up at Flambae; brown pools of open, easy submission that Flambae could feel himself drowning in - and they hadn't even done anything, yet.
The shorter man blinked, slow and relaxed, the shimmer of the eyeshadow expertly applied to his eyelids sending a jolt down the flame-wielder's spine. He looked fucking gorgeous- this was so, so unfair.
"Chad." Robert sighed, simply, and that was enough to break the other man's thin restraint.
With a low growl, Flambae grabbed either side of Robert’s face and spun them around so the smaller man was the one shoved against the brick wall instead. Restraining the inferno inside of himself just enough not to scald the other’s skin, he smashed his lips to the other man’s and swallowed whatever noise Robert was going to make before it could escape.
“So it does turn you on, huh.” The auburn-haired man pulled away, a hand to Chad’s chest to keep him from swooping back in and to let air return to his lungs. His expression was mischievous, lipstick messily being smeared across his face by Flambae’s thumbs as they dug into his skin at his cheeky comment. “I knew it.”
Flambae’s eyes flashed dangerously, sparks singing the other man’s flesh but leaving no pain behind as he shifted his grip to tighten in his Dispatcher’s shockingly soft hair.
“Put that insufferable mouth to good use, bitch.” He hissed out. Despite the demand, he didn’t shove Robert down, instead letting the man make the executive decision himself to get to his-albeit a little creaky-knees in the dingy, not-at-all romantic alleyway. This situation was leaving him reeling, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of it if he ended up reading something wrong.
God, did he hope he wasn’t reading anything wrong. He was so hard it was starting to hurt, all the blood rushing down south and clearing out his brain of all higher function.
“Sure,” Robert murmured softly, peering up at Chad with that unbearable smile still stuck to his ridiculously stupid- okay, fuck. His ridiculously attractive face, the makeup only making that more pronounced, not doing anything to soften the masculine features he had but somehow accentuating it. Prism had even snuck some highlighter on his cheekbones, the pigment glinting with each flash of Flambae’s powers. “Gonna say please?” He had the audacity to tease, prodding at the taller man’s thin patience with a gleeful twinkle in those Bambi eyes of his.
Fuuuuuuuuuck.
Flambae was so fucking hard, his cock pulsing impatiently within the confines of his tight, flame-printed pants, aching for one of those calloused hands slowly traversing from his thighs to his hips to the inner corner of his pelvis to touch him, damn it.
Robert’s fingers played with the buckle of Chad’s belt until it fell open with a metallic clink, but made no motion of going anywhere else, subjecting him to the torture of waiting further. A soft breath puffed across the expanse of his neck before Robert was placing soft, barely-there kisses to his throat and the bits of his chest that were exposed by the dip of his v-neck- the lipstick was tacky, a quiet click noise each time his lips separated from Flambae’s heated flesh, each gentle press driving the flame-wielder further up the metaphorical wall. They kept lowering, until eventually Robert was finally-finally-positioned on his knees before him.
And then he paused, waiting. Taking too damn long.
Wrenching his hand away from Robert’s hair, Flambae clumsily pawed at the waistband of his own pants until his fingers gripped the zipper and he yanked down hard, uncaring if he broke anything in his haste to get his cock shoved into those lipstick stained lips stifling Robert’s amused laughter currently.
“You think this is funny?” One of Chad’s hands, the mangled one, returned to the Dispatcher’s hair and gripped as tightly as he could, yanking on the man’s scalp. The other hand lifted to prop himself up on the adjacent brick wall; he didn’t want to give the other the satisfaction of knowing his knees were about to buckle just from the way Robert looked down there on the cold, hard ground of the alleyway.
A laugh, but a breathless one, finally escaped the other man. In any other moment, the sound being because of him would have Flambae practically gleeful at succeeding to amuse the other, but right now it was just another obstacle to getting what they both really wanted.
“Keep laughing, then, Robert.” He tugged his pants down until they cascaded down his thick, muscular thighs. The next thing to go was his jockstrap (contrary to popular opinion, he did wear something underneath his clothing), releasing the pressure from his cock and allowing it to slap, thick and heavy, against Robert’s waiting cheek.
“Oh, shit.”
Flambae grinned, chest heaving from the effort of holding himself back. With an evil sort of cackle, he dragged the tip of his weeping cock down from Robert’s cheek to his waiting, lipstick-smeared mouth where he tapped, just once, mussing up the makeup further with the searing heat of his precum.
“Kiss it.”
Robert’s brown eyes connected with Flambae’s amber ones. Slowly, he ducked his head down and pressed a singular kiss to the side of the other man’s dick. Meek, almost shy.
Chad gripped his Dispatcher’s hair tighter, pulling his head closer to his crotch. He was so hard it was beginning to pulse throughout his entire nervous system, skin thrumming with pent-up energy and the desire to sink into the other man and mar him with some kind of permanent brand, his head swimming with pure want. “Not good enough,” He snarled, dick pulsing against the side of Robert’s face. “Keep going.”
A deep, bright flush had hidden the freckles decorating Robert’s cheeks as he gazed up at Flambae, eyes wide enough for the other man to see how blown his pupils had gotten. It was an insane ego boost, finally getting the unflappable Dispatcher who bossed him around all day to finally look how he made Flambae feel: wrecked.
Hands gripping tightly onto Flambae’s thighs, fingers scrabbling for purchase, Robert began to press multiple sloppy kisses all around the taller man’s cock, smudging the heated flesh with lipstick stains in the shape of his mouth. Drool was beginning to pool in Robert’s mouth, his head spinning with sheer, unadulterated desire that only grew with each hurried peck.
“C’mon, hurry up-”
Flambae didn’t get to finish his demand, because in one split second Robert went from laving his tongue against the vein pulsing on the side of the flame-wielder’s dick to swallowing it down in one fell swoop.
“Fuck!”
In comparison to Flambae’s natural level of heat, the temperature of Robert’s mouth was practically tepid, but the compensation came with how tight and wet his throat was, all the remaining blood in his body rushing to his dick causing the fire-powered hero’s head to swim with dizzying arousal.
A lewd, sloppy slurp echoed against the brick walls of the alleyway as Robert pulled his head back, mouth smearing a messy line of lipstick up the side of his dick before releasing it, puffing out soft, quick breaths in an attempt to get oxygen back into his lungs.
“Did I say you could fucking stop?” Flambae dug his fingernails into the other man’s scalp, hoping it stung, hoping it hurt. Payback for Mecha Man looking as good as he did wearing Flambae’s colors so shamelessly.
A shuddering noise escaped the auburn-haired man, but he seemed completely unbothered by the aggression he was being treated with - if the bulge tenting those stupid fucking joggers was anything to go by, the bitch was loving it.
“You nasty little freak,” Flambae growled down at him, shifting the tip of his shoe forward until it nudged against the length of Robert’s dick and his heel was nestled securely on top of the man’s balls. “You like this.”
Robert’s forehead fell onto the vee of Chad’s hips as he moaned, hips shifting up to meet the heel of Flambae’s shoe as he gave a harsh press downwards. Precociously, the Dispatcher rubbed his cheek along the thick, spit-slicked dick resting against the side of his face, peering up at the other man.
“So do you,” His voice was rough from the treatment his throat was receiving, and Flambae internally reveled in that. “You love that I’m letting you do this while wearing all this makeup, I bet,” Robert taunted, mouthing at the heavy balls hanging so tantalizingly close, sucking one into his mouth with a heady whine of need, tongue encircling it with infuriating, unpredictable patterns. “Admit it; it’s doing something for you.” He finished after parting from Flambae’s balls with a loud pop, reluctant to pull away from the task.
Oh, he was fucking asking for it.
Flambae yanked Robert’s face to the side with his grip on the other man’s hair, sheathing himself in the tight, wet suction of his throat with one smooth thrust. Setting a relentless, unforgiving pace, the former villain pummeled into the tepid chamber eagerly awaiting each jerk of his hips.
Spit seeped out from the corners of Robert’s mouth, stretched wide around Flambae’s length, the moisture in the tight vacuum of his throat and the head of Flambae’s cock bullying past his tonsils and into the depth of his throat causing an assorted cacophony of lewd squelching and understandable gagging that sounded like music to Flambae’s ears.
“Take it, like the whore you are,” Chad grit his teeth, molars grinding painfully against each other as he restrained himself, not wanting his flames to get out of control with how his eyes were blurring from pleasure, trying to keep the vision that Robert painted beneath him entirely in his focus. Fuck. He’s hot, he’s so fucking hot. “My little bitch.”
Robert moaned, petting the hairs on Flambae’s thighs in clear agreement as he took the assault on his throat without complaint, not fighting against the abuse of his tonsils and pharynx and taking it all like a proper, dick-sucking champ. Tears budded in those deep, dark brown eyes of his, drip-dropping down his freckled face with each thrust, causing his eyeliner and mascara to streak downwards.
Jealousy reared its ugly head deep within Flambae’s chest cavity, sudden and fiery like a grease fire exploding across a stovetop. Smoke roiled off of his exposed skin in waves, an irritated twist to his lips despite the pleasure of indulging in hedonism.
“You do this often, huh, bitch? Get on your knees for any fucking guy?” He snarled, not giving Robert the ability to respond to his accusation as he yanked him down until the other man’s nose was buried in his dark pubes, holding him down for several seconds until one of Robert’s fingers tapped, twice, on his left knee. A polite request for reprieve.
He allowed Robert to peel his lips off of his dick, sputtering and gasping for air. Spit and pre-cum were smeared attractively across the lower half of his scruffed face, mixing with the attractive shade of lipstick and muddying its color. The tears had ruined Robert’s makeup, an appealing, perfect picture of lewd and sloppy with his eyeliner running in grubby streaks down freckled cheeks.
Robert smirked up at him, like he was the one with the advantage here. The cocky bitch. “Jealous?” He squeezed his grip on Flambae’s thighs, testing the give of muscle there and appreciating the firmness he found. “If you wanted me all to yourself, all you had to do was ask.” He murmured teasingly, enjoying riling the other man up.
Did Robert have experience sucking dick? No, actually - it hadn’t come up, not-so shockingly considering he had been busy being a superhero since the age of fifteen and getting busy in the other sense wasn’t something he had even been all that interested in before now; Flambae didn’t need to know that right now, though, didn’t need to know Robert’s only boast was that he had zero gag reflex and was a quick learner. It was more fun that way.
“Ah, fuck.” Flambae groaned, folding over Robert more completely and guiding the auburn-haired man back onto his cock, using the new angle to press his foot down more firmly on Robert’s neglected crotch. “That’s it- fuck, Robert, c’mon.”
Moaning, grinding his hips against the heel of Flambae’s shoe, Robert spared no mind for the health of his throat and sucked the thick length fully back into his mouth with an eager sort of hum. Swallowing around the twitching cock, he maintained eye contact with Flambae until his vision began to swim with the combination of tears and sweat that was dripping into his eyes.
Each press of Flambae’s shoe had Robert hurtling closer to the edge of his orgasm, the pleasure increasing with a frenzied intensity but never quite pushing over, desperation leaking into each hump of his hips.
“C’mon, bitch,” Flambae twisted his heel with a mean sneer, basking in the wet gag of a whimper he got in return for the action. “Cum in your stupid fucking pants like the slut you are.”
Shuddering, Robert’s hands slid down to tightly grip Flambae’s knees, thumbs digging into the spot right beside his kneecaps for stability as his climax hit him with the force of a semi-truck speeding down the highway. Spurts of cum leaked from his twitching dick with each steady, overstimulating compress of Flambae’s heel, staining his boxers with a mess he’d come to mind later but couldn’t think beyond the cock currently invading his mouth.
Flambae’s balls slapped against Robert’s chin with an increasing loss of rhythm, stuttering out some kind of pattern as the former villain caught up to the fact that the other man had practically orgasmed untouched, head swimming and eyes attentively fixated on the makeup running down Robert’s cheeks.
“Take it all, c’mon, swallow it.” With a low keen, Flambae’s orgasm came quickly after Robert’s, hurtling after him with an intense shake throughout his entire frame, hand tight on the back of the other man’s head and keeping him sucked down to the root of his cock.
Pulse after pulse of boiling cum emptied down Robert’s throat, which he dutifully swallowed until the sheer amount of it was too overwhelming and he wrenched himself out of Flambae’s grasp, drooling out a pool of saliva and cum onto the concrete between his spread knees. Coughing, the Dispatcher swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, makeup a lost cause streaked with cum and spit at this point, blinking away tears to bring the taller man back into focus.
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” Robert drawled, sarcastic effect successfully muted due to how his voice croaked, fully shot after this experience. He batted his wet eyelashes up at his coworker, damp mascara forming a sticky glue that threatened to seal his eyes shut if he kept them closed for too long. He really needed to wash this shit off.
A fist knotted itself in the sweat-soaked collar of his shirt, hauling him up and against the brick wall once more before hot, hungry lips found his again and licked away all traces of the other man’s cum from his mouth, laving up the side of his face to suck off remaining droplets of tears that had mixed with a splatter of Flambae’s explosive orgasm.
“Good?”
Flambae’s amber gaze took in the mild surprise on Robert’s expression at his check-in, before the Dispatcher was quick to smirk and ease himself back into the former criminal’s space, undeterred by the man hurriedly pulling his pants up and fastening his belt- not eager to get caught with his ass out in public, shameless personality or not.
“Good.” Robert affirmed, then winced and began to rub at his eyes with clear discomfort. “Actually, fuck, I really need to get this stuff off my face-” He ended up scrubbing some of the mascara further into his eyes, cursing at the sting. “Ow.”
“The fact that you can handle being exploded just fine, but not a little bit of makeup in your fucking eyes is so, so sad, Mecha-Bitch.”
Robert tugged him closer by the loops in his pants, nipping harshly at Flambae’s jawline. “I don’t want to hear it,” He kissed the spot in a half-hearted apology, then bit at it again like he couldn’t help himself. His voice was made hoarse by their previous activities, the low rumble of it making Flambae’s cock twitch where it was tucked back into the confines of his pants. “Keep insulting me, and I’m not gonna suck your dick again.”
Pushing away from the other man, Robert adjusted his clothes with a grimace at the feeling of cooling cum on the inside of his underwear, distracting himself with the futile attempt at making himself look a little more presentable and less like he just got face-fucked by a former villain.
Flambae flapped his lips soundlessly for a moment, eyes wide and staring down intently at the Dispatcher. “If I stop fucking insulting your little bitch ass all the time, this-” He motioned aggressively between them, not continuing to speak for a moment like a game of charades would fill in the blanks of his sentence. “.. Like, y’know. Continues?” He finished, somewhat lamely, too stunned by the way his heart lurched forward and every nerve in his body started screaming at him to pin the man to the wall and do just that; continue.
Robert shot him a look, whatever expression he was aiming for falling short due to the mess on his face. “Mm.” He hummed, not giving any sort of indication what his actual answer to that was going to be. He took a step towards the entrance to the alleyway, unimpressed. “That sounded a little insulting in the beginning, there.” He teased, but his voice held a threat to pull through, despite it cracking near the middle of his sentence because his vocal folds were battered and bruised from before.
Chad growled, reaching out and grabbing for one of Robert’s arms, pulling him to a stop even though the other man hadn’t really been making that much of an effort to leave. “Wait.”
Robert waited, tilting his head to the side as if that would help him hear whatever sorry excuse or apology Flambae had to offer. Maybe he just wanted to hear him grovel - well, he wouldn’t. Flambae didn’t grovel, he was the one groveled to, for fuck’s sake. Never, ever, ever would he be the groveler in any sort of scenario- much less one involving Robert, of all fucking people. No matter how good at sucking dick the bitch-boy was.
“I will.. Be nicer.”
“Uh huh.” Robert turned slightly towards him, not pulling away from the hold Flambae had on his arm, but still not looking very convinced at all.
Fuck it, he was groveling.
“I will be much, much nicer.” Chad grunted, feeling like the words were being yanked out of him against his own volition, attempting to shift tactics to give himself more power, here. “If you let me, I’ll show you how nice I can be,” He purred, stalking further into Robert’s space and invading it with a greedy sense of need to be closer to the man. “To make up for ruining that pretty look of yours.”
Flambae dipped his head to hiss that last part of his sentence into the skin of Robert’s neck, nipping at any exposed bit he could reach from this angle. Now that he had gotten all of that tension out of his system, and he had successfully and thoroughly ruined the man’s makeup, the desire that pooled in his gut was an unhurried, less desperate one. Funnily enough, how he still wanted this twig of a man despite already getting what he had wanted originally.
Robert’s hands came up to twist in Flambae’s hair, fingers digging into his scalp in a tempting sort of way. “Alright then, hot stuff,” He acquiesced, made more agreeable by the feeling of his words quite-literally heating up Flambae from the inside-out, tucking himself further against the other man to absorb more of that appealing warmth. “Go on and show me.”
They needed to go to the gas station anyway, might as well pick up some other necessities while they were at it.
Who knew all it took was a little dolling up to get dicked down by a raging, flaming asshole.
Worth it.