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Flambae shuffled through the busy bar, careful not to spill either drink in his hands. His eyes found the table against the back wall, Prism glancing up expectantly. Robert was sitting next to her, nursing his drink quietly.
"Ugh, can you believe the karaoke machine doesn't have a single Whitney Houston song?" He handed Prism her drink, moving to sit down beside her, "How crazy is that??"
"Almost as crazy as you for thinking you could do Whitney justice," Prism smirked, inspecting her nails with feined boredom.
She downed her drink, sliding past Flambae almost as soon as he had sat down.
"I think it's your turn to babysit. Roberto here, can't handle his liquor for shit,"
"Tch, he looks fine to me. But I guess normie bitches like Bob Bob do have low tolerance. Riiight, Bitch Bob?"
Flambae turned around with a smug grin. Robert blinked in his direction, a slow, single blink. No other response.
Ah shit, Flambae grimaced, eyes darting around the bar in a panic, Prism nowhere to be found. He didn't know how to deal with a normal Robert, much less a dumb, drunk, Robert. He took a sip of his drink, comforted by the familiar burn coating his throat.
It would be fine, he thought, he just needed to watch Robert, make sure the dispatcher doesn't choke on his own vomit or pick anymore fights. Easy enough.
He got through most of his drink before Robert spoke.
"Y'know, you're...," he started, going to take another sip of his now empty glass. Realizing this, Robert opted to holding it in both hands, thumbs circling the rim. Flambae stopped scrolling to look up.
"I'm...what?" His eyebrow arched slightly.
Robert leaned in slightly, face flushed.
"You're...," He paused to think, before giggling. Flambae was astonished, The Robert Robertson the third was...giggling? Practically kicking his feet and twirling his hair. Sober Robert could never.
"I'm...?" Flambae asked, amusement in his voice as he leaned in. This was already funny as shit.
At this, Robert gulped. Audibly.
Interesting. Flambae's grin widened.
"You're uh," he started smiling, floaty from the buzz of alcohol, "you're... literally... hot!"
Robert laughed at this revelation, like it was the funniest thing he'd ever realized. Flambae tensed, wondering how this...idiot comment could leave him feeling so...distressed?
It was probably the alcohol. Enough shitty whiskeys and even a great hero like Flambae would start to falter. He glanced to the side, I'm definitely drunk too.
"Hot, you say?" Flambae grinned, wanting to see what else he could pry out of Robert in this state, "In what way specifically? I mean, I basically apply for all of them but eh, what did you mean?"
Robert took the bait, eyes darting down to the man's lips before responding.
"Um," he started, a chuckle already forming around his words, "you're really...pretty" His eyes in a daze as he leaned in closer, drunken confidence muddling all cognitive functions. Obviously it's just because he's drunk and a little pathetic bitch, Flambae reasoned, Bitch Bob just can't help but state the obvious. But again, Flambae couldn't help but feel his face heat up. Clearly he was more drunk than he had assumed. But still, not nearly as drunk as poor Robert, seeing as Flambae had the advantage of remembering this moment tomorrow.
"You think so Bitch Bob?"
Robert nodded, smile subdued. Suddenly he looked serious. He gripped the glass, looking down.
"I've always thought so," he said, his low voice nearly a whisper in the din. "Always thought so," he looked up again at Flambae, like he was expecting something. Some sort of response.
Flambae flushed, trying not to burst into flames then and there. Why was Robert so good at getting a reaction out of him? He looked down, staring at his half empty glass for a moment.
He looked up again, Robert was swaying a little, their faces way closer than they were at the start. Had Flambae instinctively leaned in further?
He downed the rest of his drink, head steaming.
"Robert," Flambae said when he finished, gripping his shoulders intensely.
Robert hummed expectantly, looking into his eyes with a half-lidded stare.
"I'm drunk," Flambae announced.
"Me t-" Robert's reply was cut short by lips meeting his. Flambae kissed him, hungrily, searching for the reason his heart won't stop drumming against his chest. Robert's hands shot up to grab the back of his head, leaning into the kiss, as if this was the response he had been waiting for.
They were both drunk.
Flambae could deal with this later.