Chapter Text
Intel missions were not Flambae’s thing. Hell, most missions requiring any sort of finesse and subtly were not something Robert let Agent Flambae near at all. He was a decent asset for the Phoenix Program- a good enough double agent when need be and a great blunt instrument, but he wasn’t a fucking spy. That was Agent Coupe and Agent Visi’s field.
Unfortunately for them, Visi was in intensive care with a bullet wound through the abdomen, and Coupe was so deep undercover they hadn’t had contact in two weeks. Amazingly, the remainder of available agents were even worse fits for the job; Sonar had been made as an agent, Prism and Punch up were both on the Russian’s shit list, and Malevola was running a rescue. That led them here: Robert Robertson briefing Agent Flambae, the superhuman fireball, ex-felon and play-acting villain for the undercover hero program on how to gain favorable intel from the Russian crime syndicate.
Robert was almost completely certain this was going to go up like a mushroom cloud.
“Relax boss bitch,” Flambae drawled, sprawling his too-large frame in the plastic office chair at headquarters, “I know Alexei Abashev, and better yet— he knows me. Especially the me you knew when you busted me.” His smile lacked the gap where Robert took his tooth just before they met at the agency, filled now with a fancy new implant. Robert missed the whistle when he talked. “Alexei will chat with me, and he’ll certainly jump on me to make a deal.”
“It’s been over two years since you’ve spoken to him,” Robert said, glaring down at the reports. Abashev had access to chemists who were making truly horrendous bombs, ‘Void-makers’. From what R&D gathered, they were so caustic and violent they could eat holes through titanium, and were barely bigger than a marble. A handful had crippled some agents in L.A.. The Torrence team was asked to search for dealers. Abashev was the fastest direct contact. “Won’t he be suspicious?”
”Everyone thinks I was in prison.” That wasn’t entirely wrong- he was, followed by agent training and then a splashy, fake villainous debut. “He has to have seen me around since then: you don’t have me on subtle missions. I made big news by blowing that weapon’s cache a few months ago. I was trending for days.”
Flambae’s powers were exceptionally helpful at disposing of contraband and making it look like an ‘act of villainy’. The whole team enjoyed planning that one. They’d also taken out a lesser player in the weapons trade and fluffed it up to Flambae having a ‘personal vendetta’, instead of a weapon’s bust. The added explosions were good for morale. Unfortunately, they also fucked up part of the shipyard on accident.
“There’s no backup, Flambae,” Robert said, massaging his temple. He didn’t like it, no matter how confident his agent was. Flambae was known for getting in over his head. Amazingly, he was also known for getting out of those same problems through some absolutely idiotic, but weirdly successful, maneuvers. “I’ll be six miles away at the safe house, and I’m not brute reinforcement.”
There was no nice way to say it; nowadays Robert Robertsonwas just a handler. The retired hero was so beaten to high hell from getting repeatedly crushed and detonated that he was not prime help for physical backup. As a non-supe, barely able-bodied man in his early 30s, Robert was on enough pain meds to run a pharmacy. He was still a great shot and an exceptional technician, but when it came to brawling, suitless Robert was just… a very mean and enthusiastic fighter. Robert could fight, but he also ended up in the infirmary more than the actual field agents.
And now here he was, mother-henning a 38 year-old superhuman thermal generator who looked like a wrinkle never considered touching him.
Still, his agents were his responsibility. So mother-henning was in the job description.
“Eh, bossman…” Flambae flicked a spark at him that popped in front of his nose. Somewhere in the last year, the term had lost its condescending tone. Robert didn’t think about it too hard, or he risked Flambae getting a smile out of him. “Why are you freaking out? You’ll be in my ear, right?”
”Yeah, always,” he said. The earcoms were implanted inside the mastoid bone under the ear canal. Hell, there was no way to really get Robert out of Flambae’s ear; Robert was in his skull.
His agent shrugged, flippant and unbothered. “Then you’re backup, bitch. Have some confidence. Alexei is a dirty old fuckwad, and he likes me. I’ve seen him check out my ass on multiple occasions. I offer him a feel, I get intel.”
Robert grimaced. “That’s not what I’m asking you to do.”
“That’s my… what did you say… modi oper… fucking latin shit?”
“Modus operandi. Your way of operating,” Robert muttered, shuffling through his notes again to make sure he had everything covered.
“Exactly. It’s how I work. He’s a gross man, I have a… well-advertised reputation. If you get embarrassed, turn down the volume and do a crossword.”
Robert rolled his eyes. Despite working together over a year and knowing Robert’s awful (stupid, cock-driven, moronic) dating catastrophes within the agency, Flambae still liked to imply Robert was something of a prude. Lots of conveniently deleted locker room footage said otherwise.
A high stress job with an ample amount of attractive anonymous agents moving through it was a depressed bisexual’s bad decision buffet. Flambae would have probably been on the menu if he hadn’t been trying to kill Robert for the first three months of their pairing. Now that they’d settled into a friendly not-friendship, Robert indulged in his long looks from behind the screen.
Still, not liking the idea he was having Flambae run a honeypot mission was not a prude thing, it was watching out for his agent’s wellbeing thing.
“You get uncomfortable, you get out of there. I’m not below cutting a square on a power grid.”
“I’ll be fine, Bob-bob.” That stupid nickname had, as well, lost its mean edge. It was nearly affectionate if you looked past the little sneer that accompanied it. “And if not? He and his crew are flammable.”
Robert hated how used to this kind of mess he was. “Fuck it, alright.” Let Flambae do what he did best, and maybe things would work. Robert closed the files on the desk and shoved them in his bag. “You and me, agent. Tomorrow night.”
The salute he got as Flambae sauntered out of the office included an iconic middle finger.
The Phoenix Program, in dealing with villains-turned-agents, thankfully did not care about best practices; they cared about results. That was the only reason Robert was still in a job. Even though he had previously been an accomplished hero, his absolute shit show of a life since then didn’t seem to matter when he produced successes. And his agents were (mostly) successes.
Flambae was nearly the poster child for that type of Phoenix success. He produced consistent results, and if one didn’t read the reports too closely, he barely needed reprimand. This was because Robert did not bother to report any of the over-the-line bitching and scolding he had to do to keep Flambae in line, or the constant near-harassment responses he got in return. And no one needed to know if they came to blows about it sometimes, and that just last month Robert knocked Flambae flat on his ass after the fiery idiot took off half of Robert’s eyebrow as a joke. It wasn’t important to the program, and it was too much fucking paperwork. Flambae didn’t work with any other handler but Robert. While the rest of his agents would also pair with Chase or Royd, Flambae flat out refused anyone but him.
”You’re cursed with me forever, Mecha Man,” he proclaimed after they’d had another over-comms argument that turned into a weirdly tense shoving match at a safe house. Flambae had stuck the two missing fingers into Robert’s face so aggressively they were nearly up his nose. “You maimed me, now I’m your fuckin problem.”
It should have been disturbing that Robert found that reassuring, and even more disturbing that he liked knowing he left a permanent mark. Those two amputations caused Flambae to turn his life around. He couldn’t regret that.
“Alright, I’m here. They’ll have me drop my phone in the box up front, but I doubt they’ll do more than that.” Flambae had taken his ridiculously painted trans am to the bar Alexei and his boys haunted. “How’s Visi?” he asked, checking his hair in the review mirror “Girlie got a gutshot, yeah?”
Robert felt a little smile tick the corner of his lips. Flambae was not exactly friendly to his fellow agent, but the man was anything but cold. —She tried to escape the hospital today, so I’m going to say she’s doing good.— Robert said, his voice going directly to the comm piece set inside of Flambae’s right mastoid bone. Flambae set his fingers to the skin behind his earlobe, sliding it to adjust volume.
“Fuck right, liberate yourself from medical, fucking annoying.”
— Don’t go ending up there yourself, agent.—
“Yeah, yeah.” He winked into the closest eye in his car, a direct camera to Robert’s desk. “I’ve had Grindr dates more risky. Cheer up Bob.”
—I’m exceptionally cheerful, agent.— Robert droned, studiously ignoring the Grindr comment and checking connections.
“Hey.”
Robert looked up to see Flambae looking at the camera, lip pulled in a strange expression.
—Is everything good? What’s not working?— Robert checked the running devices, but all systems were green. On the screen Flambae sighed and scrunched up his face like he was fighting a thought. —What is it? Want me to rehash anything?—
“Robert...”
Full first name, no snotty inflection. Robertson straightened up even though he could not physically be seen. The only way it was more grave would be if Flambae called him ‘sir’, which he only did when he was catastrophically pissed. —What is it?—
“I told you how this guy is. He’s a pervert.”
—Yeah, you mentioned that.—
“I’ll be fine if you…” Flambae gestured vaguely, and Robert realized he was trying to be delicate with his language. A man who used the word bitch as a noun, adjective and verb, trying to be delicate. “If you go stats-only while I work out any favors.”
—We aren’t asking you to do that.— Robert said. His jaw hurt. —We just want to see what the price is and anything about suppliers. Abeshev can be paid in other ways.—
Flambae shook his head. “You hero-types, such optimism.” He unlocked the car door. “I know what to expect. He’s not going to give me anything without getting something first. Don’t freak out, alright?” He gave the camera one last glance. “Going quiet, now. Everything will be fine, bossman.”
Robert really wished he had taken a cigarette break before they started. He hadn’t been on edge, at least no more than usual, but now he was. Flambae’s sincere tone and real implication he was about to go trade sex for intel on the program’s behalf made Robert want to smash a fist on the keyboard.
Instead, he got to work, adjusting his network to get as many cameras on his side as he could. His main eyes were through Flambae’s ostentatious sunglasses, a Prism original he was rarely seen without, and they gave Robert exceptional detail and hearing. Still, it didn’t hurt to access cameras inside the building.
The bouncer took Flambae’s phone once he was inside, as predicted, but Robert got a pulse out to hack the cameras before it went dark in a lead box. Flambae sighed, acting annoyed as the bouncer patted him down and made him empty his pockets. Robert felt his teeth ache when he saw condoms, poppers and a lube packet laid out next to Flambae’s wallet. The bouncer gave Flambae a slow once over as he took his item’s back.
“Want it? Get in line,” he snapped, resituating himself in a mirror by the door. His outfit also clearly broadcasted the night’s intent. Robert knew Flambae was in his typical crop leather jacket, but the burnt orange shirt under it was almost as low cut as his villain getup, and the tight black jeans and leather boots only highlighted his hip to shoulder ratio and long legs even more.
— Is that a flaming belt buckle?— Robert said, distracted by the loud gold accoutrement against all that darkness. —You gotta get yourself a cowboy hat and chaps. Go full Fulsom.—
It wasn’t fair to be catty over comms when his agent couldn’t speak, but Flambae often got him back after the mission, saving up and polishing his insults, or just literally starting a physical fight. Robert had to move a rug to hide a scorch mark in a safe house after a heated debriefing before. Still, it was enjoyable, and there were non-verbal ways the agent could send messages back: Robert could swear he saw Flambae smirk and flip off his own reflection as he tousled his hair. Wearing that mane loose was an obscenity crime. Robertson rubbed his hands over his face; he was not the fucking mark, and this look was working on him. Thank fuck he was in the safe house, miles away.
The bar itself was dark and moody, with obnoxious Russian techno playing. Nearly everyone, patron and staff alike, looked like a smile was a foreign concept to them. Flambae ordered from a grim-faced bartender and barely had his drink in hand before a voice piped up directly behind him.
“My boys said it was you and I barely believed them.”
Flambae turned about to face one of the most violent smugglers in the Pacific southwest. A nasty Russian with an intimate relationship with the cartel and close friends with every dock skimmer in the port of Los Angeles. He also happened to really like collecting favors from supers.
“Alexei,” Flambae said, dragging his name out and giving the Russian a slow once over. He was a normie, but still built like a Soviet era apartment block. “You’re quick. Must be a slow night.”
“I know not to leave you unattended,” the man said, moving in a bit closer than was necessary to talk over the din. “I do not need the property damage.” He was the same height as the agent, but had to have some eighty pounds of bulk on him. He reminded Robert vaguely of a cave bear. “I haven’t seen you in here in a while, Flambae.” Alexei had a hand around Flambae’s elbow, guiding him from the bar. The familiar touch rankled Robert, and he was impressed that his agent didn’t even flinch at it. “I thought you were on the straight and narrow since your mistrial?”
Flambae’s laugh was loud and playful, and from what Robert could see on the cameras, his grin was barely a snarl. “Straight? You know better.” Robert muted himself to muffle his snort. Flambae didn’t need the encouragement. “No, you lost your bartender…” the agent motioned vaguely to the bar, “what was his name… Mikael? Pretty boy, heavy pour, pouting lips. Why would I come back for this ugly bitch?”
Alexei snickered, guiding the pair of them further back into the bar. Robert toggled cameras to keep up, and noticed several well-armed men in a vague formation around their boss. “Oh, you’re so cruel!” Alexei said, faking hurt. “Ben is perfectly charming. And he does not speak too much. Important in bartenders and patrons, yes?”
“You like that in patrons,” Flambae said, playful and light. He really did have the charisma to make most nefarious players feel like he was nothing but a dumb jock with a violent streak. It did help that he was mostly that. “Drunks who run their mouths— that’s a favorite of yours, Alexei.”
The Russian nodded. “That is why the pours are still heavy, my fiery friend. Come, sit with me.”
They reached the back of the bar and the VIP area, where camera angles were limited but the music was lower. There were still people about and within earshot, and Alexei’s men were only twelve feet away, feigning indifference. It was as private as an initial chat was going to be. Alexei sat in a booth, and patted the spot next to him. Flambae slouched in, all long legs and low neckline.
— Good, running ears— Robert sent a quick signal from Flambae’s glasses and got little back. — He has one listening on his phone but it hasn't sensed your implant, go on. — That wasn’t uncommon; tech like that was too expensive for someone like Flambae, the C-rank villain. No one would think to check for it.
Alexei fished a cigar case out of his pocket. It was an ostentatious gold clamshell, probably worth more than Robert’s entire retirement fund. His ring-laden fingers matched perfectly. Some men loved embracing their stereotype. “You don’t come here to drink,” he said, matter of fact. “You do that at that horrible Sardine, or that fag club down off of King Street.”
— How charming.— Robert grimaced. Apparently Flambae couldn’t keep his expression clean, either.
“Come now, don’t be angry,” Alexei said, voice slick as spilled crude. “I’m not one to judge such things.” The older man dragged his eyes up and down Flambae’s form next to him. “I’m just stating that you are here for me.”
Flambae took a drink and peered over his glasses at the Russian. “You watching me, Alexei? Did you miss me so much?”
Robert only saw the movement out of the bottom corner of the camera lens, but Alexei’s hand moved down and in, and Flambae jumped. On his monitor, his heart rate picked up. The glasses angled down enough to take in the large, heavy hand lying on Flambae’s mid-thigh.
— Well, fuck. You were dead on with that one.— Robert supplied, utterly unhelpful.
In Alexei’s other hand was an expectant unlit cigar. Flambae cocked a finger in front of his lips and blew a steady, thin stream of fire to the tip. Robert had shamelessly used the man as a lighter for months, but Flambae normally flicked a flame to life on his finger and leaned in, not shot him like a mini flamethrower. Regardless, it worked and the end of the cigar flared to life, and Alexei’s wandering hand returned from Flambae’s lap. The Russian scowled at his palm, and Robert noticed it was an angry red, like a sunburn. Alexei grabbed Flambae’s cold drink to soothe it.
— You just burn the hand he had on your thigh? Nice.—
Alexei shook his head and chuckled. A man came from nowhere with two refreshed drinks. “Mmm, I like that in you, goluboy. Always so fierce.” The Russian sighed out a cloud of cigar smoke. Robert muttered the translation in Flambae’s ear, and bit the inside of his cheek in annoyance. He hoped that hand hurt.
Alexei seemed unbothered by it all, and lazily gave Flambae a once over. “I like you so much, I almost want to forgive you for blowing up that warehouse of mine back in July.”
Robert and Flambae both froze.
— Fuck.— Robert hissed, pulling the files from the contraband demolition in July. —Uh, that was the raid where we got Smilemore and blew her cache. The warehouse next to it caved and some crates went up pretty fast.— Robert pulled photos to inspect the damage. They thought it was just a regular unit. — It lost the roof, some damage reported but no claims made.—
Flambae raised his hands in a mock surrender. “Aw, was that yours, Alexei? How was I to know?” He pouted spectacularly. Robert would have thought he was calm if he didn’t have the man’s quickened pulse on his screen. Therapy and acting courses being a mandatory requirements for all field agents was a fucking godsend. “Now why did you have something so flammable next to an arms dealer I was beefing with? I put most of it out, as I remember.”
— We ignored the illegal imports in there due to the damages.— Thank fuck for slightly shady bureaucracy. —He didn’t lose much and he wasn’t caught. He’s trying to corner you.—
Flambae finished his drink, happily accepting the fresh replacement, and didn’t flinch when Alexei blew smoke in his face. “And tell me you aren’t happy I disposed of Smilemore. She was always so annoying, that chipper little psycho.” Flambae shrugged. “Now there’s more room in the business for you.”
“We both know you didn’t know that was mine,” Alexei said, moving in closer. Miles away, Robert leaned back from his screen, as if he could escape. “You have awful tells,” the Russian muttered. “But, as I said, I am a forgiving man.”
Flambae jumped, just marginally. Robert couldn’t see from the glasses angle, but he did have a grainy camera feed on them. Alexei’s hand was back in Flambae’s lap.
“Now,” the Russian said, slow and measured, “why pay me a visit?”
Robert heard the metal clink of Alexei’s rings against Flambae’s ridiculous belt buckle.
— Jesus, does he have his hand on your dick?—
Alexei smiled, all threat and no kindness. “Don’t try that heat trick again, goluboy. You came to me. Now ask for what you want, or I simply take what I want from you.”
He knew that Flambae said to be ready for this, but that didn’t mean Robert wasn’t going to get pissed. Looking at his agent’s suddenly agitated heart rate, he wasn’t the only one that didn’t like that comment. Alexei was very close to dying painfully. Robert considered turning on every sprinkler system in the building. It was just a line of code. —Easy, Flambae. There’s civilians in blast range. I have you. I can get you out in 30 seconds. You want to abort just say the word, but I’m right here.—
Robert should be used to being surprised by his agent by now, but Flambae hid a deep breath in a lazy sigh and, and instead of saying his abort code, he leaned back in the booth and relaxed. The glasses showed the angle change, sliding down on his nose. Flambae was slouching and open, legs wide and inviting. Robert suffered whiplash from seeing down the low vee of Flambae’s top, and the very large hand groping him through his jeans.
—That angle is… a lot.— Robert muttered. He needed to shut up. The mission was at his pivot point, and he needed to get with the program. Flambae was always an improviser— mainly because he couldn’t stick to a plan for shit. Robert knew the dance well by now, this was just a different iteration.
“So much for playing hard to get, damn,” Flambae said, grinning at the Russian leering at him. His heart rate was returning to resting, meltdown averted. “You have me. I have something I am looking for, and I think you’re the man to find it.”
Alexei gave Flambae’s cock a parting squeeze. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“I want some of that void-maker.”
Alexei hummed and took a long pull of his cigar, staring Flambae down. “Now why would you, a walking bomb, want something like that?”
Thankfully, this little yarn was written in half-truths that were fairly easy to confirm.
“I’m not so great at melting metal in a hurry, takes time— but that shit is. I saw it put holes in a super’s armor in seconds.” Flambae grinned wide, playing up the over-excited maniac part of his profile. It was only a little bit of an act. “And you know I was put away by that little fuckwad Mecha Man.”
Alexei looked puzzled. “Mecha Man is dead, ya? That suit exploded.” Yeah, that was what the media blitz said. The pilot died with the collapsed suit. Going by the way the suit looked like afterwards, it wasn’t a hard sell.
Flambae waved his mutilated hand around, annoyed. “I heard some rumors the little fucker lived.” He said it so scathingly it almost made Robert wince. “Void-maker is nasty shit. I have some with me and if he shows in that suit again— I can make a hole and cook him alive.” He snapped his fingers, making a hot white little burst. “Roast that little blue bastard in his own shell.”
—Good sell. Sure you still don’t want to kill me?— It wasn’t really fair to ask questions when your agent couldn’t respond.
Alexei tipped his head, considering. “Mecha Man, alive? Now that would be interesting. Where did you hear that?”
It was a good info drop, but that was simply because it was inevitable. Unfortunately, another agent spilled the information that Mecha Man was still kicking. Thankfully, he hadn’t dropped names or status. Robert was nowhere near coming out of retirement, not if his fucked up back and weird hip issue had anything to say about it. Getting blown up really did put a dampener on career prospects.
“You ever meet that bat guy? Sonar?” Flambae gestured to his head like he was forming ears. “The one that was made as working with the feds?” That, unfortunately, was true. Sonar was outed as an asset. “He was drunk off his ass in the Sardine, lost like, half a bitcoin or whatever the fuck in darts. He was trying to get his bill down with information.” Also, unfortunately true. Sonar was basically on house arrest until they could figure out what to do about his bad life choices.
“So a drunk bat? That is your source?”
Flambae snickered, looking to all the world like a complete idiot. “A drunk bat who is also a fed rat.”
— Beautiful.— Robert said. —Let’s hope he likes the info.—
The Russian seemed to be considering his cigar, then shrugged. “You with void-maker sounds like a disaster, but I have some people I can ask.”
—Alright, good.—
“But asking costs, Flambae,” the Russian added. “It’s not cheap.”
Six miles away, Robert muted himself so he could cuss loudly. Flambae was unbothered, and leaned in on the table, propping his cheek on a fist, the perfect, dumb flirt. “What do you want, Alexei?”
The Russian didn’t even look his way, just turned his cigar about in his fingers. The ash was growing long. “Right now? An ashtray.”
Flambae rolled his eyes and put out his hand, palm up. He’d gotten the implication well enough, but Alexei didn’t take the bait. “No,” the Russian drawled, finally turning towards Flambae. The hand he’d let roam Flambae’s lap now came up to tap a finger against his chin.
”Open your mouth.”
Robert sputtered, and could tell by the way Flambae’s stats jumped, he barely contained his reaction. —You can’t be serious…—
The hand Flambae was using to lean on conveniently tucked his hair behind his ear, landing two quick taps against the skin there. Robert honed in; that meant a direct communication to the handler from the agent.
“Come on, Alexei,” Flambae groaned, feigning embarrassment. He glanced at the security around them. “I have a reputation to maintain. You want to have a trade like that, let’s talk more in private.”
Immediately, Robert worked to disable all cameras in the back end of the bar and locked down all feed from Flambae’s feedback and devices to his eyes only. He even jammed Alexei’s own listening device enough to give the audio a bad warp. There was no possibility of other eyes. His agent wanted privacy? Privacy, he could do.
The Russian considered it, and then let the ash fall into Flambae’s open hand. “Fine,” he said, standing. “Follow.”
Disabling the back cameras meant Robert himself didn’t get access, but Flambae’s glasses kept him front and center. The super kept a bored saunter as they walked past the restrooms and kitchen, catching his own reflection in a mirror by the ladies room long enough to send Robert a casual shrug.
Everything was going as expected by his agent. That didn’t mean Robert liked it.
—Flambae, you don’t have to do this. We aren’t running a prostitution ring.—
Flambae clicked his tongue, dismissive. “So, how expensive is asking, Alexei?” They were reaching the end of the hall, and the Russian stopped by a small door.
“From what I’ve heard of you, I think you can afford it,” he commented. “In here. We’ll chat.”
The private room, it seemed, was an unstocked pantry. Flambae sighed and turned around in it. It was barely four feet across. “Classy.”
The Russian clapped the door shut behind them, his cigar lighting up the space. “It suits the occasion,” Alexei said, setting what was left of his drink on an empty shelf. He gestured to the space in front of him. “Get down.”
Robert felt his computer mouse crack under his hand. He’d already offered the out, and it had been rejected. This was happening, and Flambae’s biofeedback wasn't even in the orange about it.
The handler was jolted by the camera angle changing. Flambae removed his glasses, and from the sound of sliding leather and shuffling, his jacket as well. Robert’s view came back into focus in a new and more horrifying way: Flambae had set his glasses on one of the low shelves next to where he was kneeling at Alexei’s feet. The eye of the camera was pointed near perfectly to keep him entirely in the shot.
Robert was set up to see everything in ultimate clarity.
“Alright,” Alexei muttered, only his lower body and hand in shot, the near-spent cigar pinched between ringed fingers, “open your mouth, goluboy.”
Flambae flashed a wild grin and did so, opening wide and lolling his tongue out obscenely. He didn’t even flinch as the cigar was snuffed on his tongue, the ashes and embers ground in. Alexei’s laugh was anything but kind.
“That answers that question— fire resistant inside too, then.” He flicked the last of the cigar away and brought the drink down to offer. “Swallow it.”
There was no way it tasted like anything good, but Flambae powered through with little more than a sneer, handing the drink back. Without the cherry of the cigar, his eyes were now the only point of light, and the way they cast a low amber glow over his face was truly inhuman. Robert could toggle easily into night vision, get a higher definition shot. He didn’t.
It was a strange standoff, a super kneeling at a normal man’s feet, used like an ashtray and not even flinching. It was broken by the simplest tilt of Flambae’s head, and the quick flicker of his gaze down to below Alexei’s belt.
Flambae was ready. Robert wasn’t.
It seemed unfair that the massive Russian had a cock to match. Certainly, it fit— but it wasn’t helpful in this situation. Robert had done a great job keeping himself a silent observer until the monster of a thing rudely smacked Flambae in the cheek.
— Ho-ly shit.—
That did get a laugh out of Flambae, but he rolled it into playful banter as he took said cock in hand, giving it a once over. “Guess the rumors about you weren’t all talk, eh Alexei?” Flambae had sizable hands, and his fingers barely overlapped around the girth.
“Da, the soviets made them big, back in the day.” The bejeweled paw of Alexei’s hand batted Flambae’s away, taking control. “Now, you want me to ask around for you, my little flaming faggot,” he emphasized the slur with a rude smack of his cockhead against Flambae’s no-longer-smiling mouth, “you make it worth my time. I want those cussing lips all the way down,” he said, sliding his grip to the base of graying pubic hair. “And, if you’re any good, I’ll only ask ten thousand and your ass when I have your product. Sound nice?”
Robert’s jaw hurt from clenching it. —I know I gave you an out, but it's still there. I think I can find a way to kill him in maybe two minutes and make it look like an accident.—
Through the glasses, he could see the slightest tic of a smile. “A deal is a deal— I’m here because I want to be”, Flambae said. Robert knew it was towards the both of them.
No out. Going forward with this mark. Flambae was fully planning on sucking off a Russian mob boss. He leaned in and laved his tongue down the side of the cock in his face, turning his head towards the shelf. Amber eyes connected with the camera and flicked towards the door. Robert could hear the nonverbal statement.
It’s okay, bossman; I got it. You can leave.
There was Robert’s out. He could take it. Turn off video and audio, keep eyes on biofeedback and stats like he did on restroom breaks and the like. He knew he wasn't going to be unaffected by sitting there, watching his stupidly attractive, very mean and funny, secretly kind and not entirely dumb-as-he-looked agent suck some guy off. Even if he hated the scenario, he was probably going to be haunted by the visuals he had already seen, because Flambae just mouthing at a dick the girth of a coke can was already burned into his hindbrain.
He could just turn away and have a smoke break. He should do that… save what little professionalism was left, here.
He wouldn’t.
—I’m here.— Robert said into the mic, low and barely audible, as if Alexei could hear something played directly into Flambae’s skull. —I’m staying with you.—
The heart monitor on the screen jumped, and Robert did not have time to think about it before Flambae put Alexei’s cock in his mouth and went to work.
Off camera, the Russian growled in approval. “Come on then, show me how badly you want that revenge of yours.”
Flambae’s hair was a mane of black, falling into his face and over his shoulders, getting in the way. He gathered it up, brushing it out of his face and tucking it behind his ears. The casual motion left him a second to run his thumb up the volume control for his comms, turning Robert’s voice up to near maximum. When he popped off Alexei’s cock long enough to say something, it wasn't directed to anyone but Robert.
“Keep talking to me.”
Alexei, of course, believed it was towards him, and said something filthy in Russian before shoving Flambae down on his cock. He was prepared for it, and took it in with a practiced ease, relaxing his jaw enough to get half of the monstrous length in. Robert felt like he’d been hit in the head, and it took an annoyed, muffled groan from his agent to realize he was supposed to be doing something other than staring at his screen in complete wonder.
His agent had made a direct request.
— Fuck,— Robert muttered, struggling to pull himself together. —You’re really going for it.— Flambae hummed in agreement, spurred on by the attention, and began to bob up and down on the length in his mouth. Somewhere above him, Alexei had been tuned out completely.
Whatever little ‘we’re not going there’ wall he and Flambae had put up in their relationship, whatever unwritten rules they’d been following regarding the play-flirting and the pigtail-pulling and the comments on Robert’s dick that stopped it from going into this territory were completely nuked, and he was just willingly standing in the blast zone.
—This is a really good angle.— Robert remarked, upping the contrast just enough so he could see the wet shine of spit on Flambae’s lips, the peek of his tongue as he dragged it along the bottom of the shaft as it slid out of his mouth. —But you knew that, huh? You knew you’d look great from here.—
Of course he knew. Flambae had his hands on his thighs, biceps pushing his chest in enough to make the deep vee of his shirt show cleavage, for fuck’s sake. And he was doing it for Robert to see. Only for Robert to see.
Well, damn. Alright then.
Robert leaned back in his chair, suddenly a bit too aware of the tightness of his own jeans. —You’re taking that well, agent,— he said, watching the way Flambae’s stats sped up. An answering thrill ran up his own spine. —It looks effortless for you. Can you take him a little deeper?—
Never one to miss an opportunity to show off, Flambae did just that, pushing down further. There was only some inch and a half left to the root, and Flambae worked himself down with steady dedication.
Across town, his handler admired the work. —Damn,— Robert said, his own voice pitching low into the mic. —I can see your throat bulge with it. —
The noise Flambae made in response sounded like he’d been gut punched.
Alexei, of course, decided to comment. “Oh, you like it, whore?” His chuckle was mean, but Robert talked over him.
—Is that one of the biggest cocks you’ve had in your mouth?— He was losing his fucking mind, but now he couldn’t shut up.
Flambae’s eyes were barely open, his eyelashes hiding most of the glow of his irises. He looked drugged. “Mm hmmm,” Flambae moaned a long affirmative. His chin was wet from saliva, and his body temperature was feverish. His mouth was probably sweltering inside. Robert unbuttoned the top of his own shirt without thinking about it.
Alexei’s hand interrupted their moment by grabbing a fistful of Flambae’s hair and hauling him forward that last little bit. “Have some more, yeah?” The rest of the Russian’s cock bullied its way into Flambae’s throat, making the agent gag loudly.
—Eaaasy.— Robert soothed, watching Flambae struggle for a moment to keep from retching at the sudden push. —He’s a greedy one. Look at me. He’s thick, but not long enough to choke you. Breathe through your nose.— Robert was nearly surprised to see Flambae comply, pulling deep breaths and fighting the tiny rebellious gags as he adjusted. Pushed so close to Alexei, Flambae could make blatant eye contact with the lenses without the Russian noticing.
—Perfect. My gag reflex is way worse than that.— He shouldn’t try to make Flambae laugh with a cock down his throat, but it was tempting. —Hold him there. Try to swallow.—
Flambae attempted it, his mouth already filled with saliva. Some spilled down his chin, and Robert licked his own lips at the sight. He must have made a noise into the mic, because his agent whined in response, muffled by the cock in his mouth.
“Poor dog,” Alexei simpered, all fake concern. He had both hands in Flambae’s hair, getting a grip on him.
— Steady, he’s going to fuck your face, now,— Robert warned, just as Alexie began to use Flambae’s hair like a handle to move him. —You can take it for me, can’t you?—
Normally, getting manhandled by some over-familiar asshole would have Flambae spitting literal fire, but he was completely relaxed, focused, just like Robert asked him to be. Alexei wasn’t kind about it, either— the motions turned aggressive as he began to fuck in earnest, but Flambae adjusted and countered the movements to ease the strain.
—Good boy,— Robert groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his own cock as Flambae moaned at the praise. Fuck, he knew the agent loved positive reinforcement, but not to this extent. The little room was filled with obscene noises, Alexei babbling in Russian, Flambae’s wet mouth and low groans, the labored breathing between them, but Robert kept talking.
— Look up at him.— He said, waiting for Flambae to comply. —Your eyes are stunning, he’s not going to last.— Alexei agreed, apparently, and cursed colorfully when he noticed the simmering gaze focused up on him. His hips stuttered, and Flambae gagged around him. Robert tried to keep his reaction to that subdued. Something about that little sign of Flambae being overwhelmed went straight to his own dick.
—Too bad I can’t record this, just for me. You look so good like that, you’re taking it so well, and these noises…— He said, running his mouth and too aroused to shut up. Flambae squirmed and closed his eyes tight, and Robert stared blatantly into the dark space between his spread thighs. He switched to thermal. Flambae was a bright hot figure in his vision, but Robert could see more detail of where the heat was pooling.
—Agent,— he said, command in his voice, —spread your knees for me. Keep your hands on your thighs.— Flambae did it, happy to show off, angling his body more towards the lenses so Robert could see the glaring pure white heat signature between his legs. His cock was trapped in those viciously tight jeans, but the visual was enough to make Robert grunt and stroke at himself in sympathy.
—I’m surprised you haven’t burned through your jeans. You look so good.— Robert let the sound of his breath hitching play clearly over the line as he touched himself over his clothing. He toggled back to the visible spectrum just to see a line of drool hang from Flambae’s chin. —You look so pretty when you’re all fucked up,— Robert said, amazed at how well he was just kneeling there and taking it it. Flambae had his eyes squeezed shut and his hands in fists against his thighs. His internal temperature was high, but there weren’t any physical flames on him. His heart rate, however, was rabbit-quick. Robert felt like he was watching a man do tightrope walking.
Thankfully, the mark seemed to be losing steam. Alexei’s hips were stuttering and his chest heaving. The ambient temperature in the room had risen ten degrees.
—Almost there,— Robert encouraged, —you’ve done so good, almost done.—
Finally, Flambae got a full breath as Alexei Alexi pulled him off of his cock, and began to jerk himself with one hand while holding Flambae in place with the other. His intention was fairly obvious.
—Open your mouth,— Robert ordered, — tongue out.— Flambae complied, eyes lidded, mouth open and expectant. Robert zoomed in just a little. —That’s it, good boy. —
The Russian made an absolute mess of him, his come splattering in thick ropes over Flambae’s face and into his mouth. With the combination of drool and come and messy, fucked out hair, he looked disastrously good.
Alexei seemed to agree. “You ever fall on hard times, I can get you good money with a look like this,” he commented, rubbing his spent cock across Flambae’s lower lip. Robert hated the man, but he was not wrong.
Flambae was uncharacteristically quiet; he had no snappy comebacks or sharp complaints at the ready, and instead just sat there open-mouthed panting. Robert checked his stats to be sure he wasn’t loopy from low O2. He was absolutely fine; apparently the man was just cock drunk. The things Robert was learning today…
—Flambae, spice up, you’re looking a little too sweet,— Robert teased over the line, —don’t want old boy to fall in love and try to keep you as a pet.—
That got the man moving. The agent chuckled and shook his head free from Alexei’s grasp, leaning back from him. “Come on, man- you had to come over my face like that?” His voice was raspy from abuse, and Robert bit his own lip hard to get himself under control. Time to move.
There was a flash of fire and puff of steam, as Flambae literally superheated the skin on his face so quickly it burned the come and drool right off of him. He gave his face a cursory rub to get any ash off and popped to his feet, grabbing what was left of the now watery drink to rinse his mouth clean.
Alexei shrugged and went about tucking himself back into his clothes. “I could not resist it.”
“Nice chat, Alexei.” Flambae rolled his eyes and Robert suffered momentary motion sickness as the glasses were flipped back on to his face. He could hear Flambae shake out his leather jacket. They both caught the Russian staring blatantly at what must be a very painful looking bulge in Flambae’s jeans. He cut that line of thought off before it went anywhere.
“Ah, no, that would be for later, when you hear back from friends,” Flambae said, adjusting himself with a grunt. Fuck, Robert’s dick hurt from how he’d ignored it, he can’t imagine how Flambae feels. Alexei was between Flambae and the door, and he stepped into the Russian’s space, voice still pitched in a friendly flirt. “You know how to leave a message at Sardine, yeah?”
“10K if I find it.” Alexei agreed. “And your ass. Prep before you come, eh. I don’t waste time.”
Robert could not fucking believe this man’s audacity. —Fucking hell this guy doesn’t quit.— He commented. — Ask where would he expect you for pickup, not here… —
Robert couldn’t see Flambae’s face, but he knew his mannerisms enough to know he pulled a comical look of exasperation. “I’m not letting you fuck my ass in here, Alexi,” he said, gesturing to the room. “I do have some standards… and I don’t know if you gathered, but even gagged, I’m not quiet.” Like an idiot, Flambae was literally playing with his hair. Robert could see out of the corner of the camera. “You have to have a place near here you take your dolls, yeah?”
Alexei rolled his eyes, but nodded.
—Get that princess treatment,— Robert said, dryly. He hoped they busted the whole trade ring before it came to that, but still.
“Fine,” Alexei agreed. “We will meet at my apartments if you want to be a fancy slut.” The Russian reached for the door handle behind him, cracked it just a bit. “But I am getting your ass,” he went on, crudely. “Seemed like everyone else in town got that hole before you went off limits except me. It's my turn now. No games.”
Robert had been amazed by Flambae’s patience with this man, but it seemed that was just about up. His temp and heart rate slowly started to climb as he leaned in and placed his hand on the door above Alexei’s shoulder, forcing the door shut once more. They were back in complete darkness, and Flambae’s nose was nearly touching the Russian’s.
”Did I play games with you just now, Alexei?” He said, soft and crisp. “Or did I let you feel me up in a room full of people, when I could have taken your hand down to the bone?”
Robert saw the ambient temperature climbing. —Easy,— he soothed, unsure if this was a ruse or real. With Flambae, it was hard to tell when he was attempting to act crazy or just about to lose his shit.
“Did I play games,” Flambae tipped his head as he spoke, and Alexei’s eyes had widened marginally, “or did I not just let you fuck my throat without complaint and cum on my face, instead of incinerating your cock?”
Okay, now the temperature was borderline dangerous. — Flambae, calm down.—
Alexei had the same thought, apparently, and raised both hands in symbolic surrender. “That you didn’t,” his voice was much more sincere. “You were real good for me, Flambae.”
That was enough of a give for the agent. Flambae stepped back, letting the temperature drop and releasing his hold on the door. Alexei cracked it immediately to get cooler air inside. The Russian was sweating profusely.
“Good. So you know, then, how serious I am about getting what I need.” His tone was back to being playful and flirtatious, a quick flip from the angry growl it had been only moments before. “You collect for me, and I’ll let you bitch me like a dog in heat and pay you for it the honor of it. Aren’t I nice?”
Robert was suddenly very thankful Flambae hadn’t been able to talk the last few minutes, because what the fuck? He thought Flambae talked filthy to him over comms. Apparently he was being reserved.
Alexei opened the door fully, ushering Flambae out. ”I’ll go asking for you.” As Flambae passed he spoke a little lower. “Make sure to get another drink from Ben on the way out,” he commented, a leer accompanying the statement. “Your breath smells like cock.”
There’s a loud crack of sound that Robert realizes was Alexei slapping Flambae’s ass as he left.
“I’m not paying for it!” Flambae snapped, stomping down the hall and back to the main bar, away from the crime boss.
—What a piece of shit.— Robert grumbled, already pulling arrest warrants and police files on Abeshev. He just wanted a contingency plan at the ready.
“He’s lucky he’s a useful fucker,” Flambae said. There was no one to hear him, and the music was loud again as he got to the bar. A quick motion to Ben, who really did look like he should have been a funeral home director instead of a bartender, ended up with a shot of vodka in Flambae’s hand. He gargled it before swallowing.
Getting out of the establishment was faster than getting in, and Flambae was in his car within minutes. He removed his glasses and tapped his ear twice.
Robert was already on it. —Just finished the scan. No bugs, no ears, you're clean.—
Flambae gave a long, winded sigh and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Robert felt like he was waiting to be punched in the face. “Okay,” the agent said, not looking at any cameras in the car while igniting the engine. “Running quiet back to the hide.” That was standard. No comms while driving made tracking harder— same reason Flambae wasn’t flying about to rendezvous spots. “Going to do the long route in case I’m followed. I’ll be at Morris street, 15 minutes.”
Morris street hide, where Robert was currently sitting.
—Alright. Debrief in 15,— he said, shutting everything except the emergency channel. He sent a quick “mission success” notification to headquarters, and then jumped up to grab his cigarettes. He could maybe get three in before Flambae made it to Morris house.
Fifteen minutes and three cigarettes to pull himself together. Robert took a long drag as he cracked the window in the kitchenette, shifting uncomfortably. His fucking boxers were sticking to him. He blew the smoke out through his nose and tried to unclench his jaw.
Thirteen minutes.
Well what the fuck were they going to do about this? They were about to be alone in the night at a mission safehouse after Robert had essentially verbally encouraged his own agent to blow a crime boss. And they’d both gotten hard about it.
Twelve minutes.
They were about to either start groping each other or have a fight so volatile it exposed the entire agency. Honestly, it as a bit overdue.
Eleven minutes…