Work Text:
Flambae was leaning against the grimy, brick interior of the Sardine, just out of sight of everyone by the restroom. The heavy bass was pounding through his chest like it was trying to inject techno straight into his veins. Streaks of neon lights sliced across Chad’s skin in hot violet and blue streaks, making the sweat on his exposed collarbones almost glow in the dark. The guy grinding against his thigh wasn’t bad—sharp jawline, firm ass, a tongue piercing flirting with Flambae’s throat as he licked a stripe up before settling on sucking hickeys on his overheated neck.
He felt soft hands slip under his cropped black top, sliding over warm skin and grabbing at his chest with all the greed in the world.
The fucker knew how lucky he was.
Flambae let it happen. One of his hands held the guy loosely by the hip, the other cradling a drink he hadn’t taken a sip from in the last ten minutes. Easy. Should’ve been easy.
Except it wasn’t.
Because it had been six fucking weeks—well, forty four days, to be exact—since Chad had stood in his friends’ bathroom with his shorts down to his thighs, bucking into his fist like a desperate moron because of little ol’ washed-up Robert goddamn Robertson.
And then, radio silence.
Like nothing happened, life went on the same way as before. Work didn't become any less chaotic with the Z-Team, acting like horny idiots all day and butting heads over dumb shit. Robert kept pretending they could become responsible heroes eventually.
And that was the boring part.
The thing was that Flambae's—irritation-laced weird attraction towards Robert had just grown. If Robert was his type, even a tiny bit, then maybe Flambae would have called it something else. But never a crush. No, no.
He wasn’t a fucking twelve year old.
Regardless, Flambae couldn't change the fact that he’d needed a time-out more often than he was willing to admit over the last month.
He fought some… unforeseen issues that he hadn't been prepared for. While he did include extra materials in his suit to prevent public indecency, he hadn't designed it to conceal a full-on boner.
Even less a boner of his size.
And now, every workday was like a game of a very angry russian roulette.
Robert's deep, gravely voice made Flambae’s pulse race. Whenever the dispatcher broke up a fight between two team members, or gave Flambae an insistent command, he felt seconds away from combusting. Robert had been trying to keep him in line, but..
..emphasis on trying.
Just because they had a good run-in it didn’t mean Flambae would roll over like a bitch in heat for him. Oh, no fucking way.
He wasn’t the kind of guy to lose any battles and he certainly wouldn’t get his ass handed to him by a sorry ass loser like Robertson.
What kinda fucking name is Robert Robertson anyway?! The third one, at that.
So stupid.
„Flambae, you see that rooftop with the clusterfuck of Red Ring goons?”
Robert's voice came through the comms smooth and bored to death. Like he was asking about the weather instead of a rooftop of twitchy mercenaries with rifles and a large briefcase.
Flambae was crouched low behind a rusted vent, eyes locked on the scene below. Four idiots. Two with scopes they clearly didn’t know how to use, one pacing like he desperately needed to piss, and the last one cradling the case between arms the size of toothpicks.
„Easy. Shortie’s gonna piss himself, just watch,” Flambae replied, voice low and overconfident.
Courtney jumped in first, bright and feral. „Oooh, I know a guy who pays serious money for that kind of stuff.“
“Piss kink?” Victor cut in, mouth full of something crunchy. “That’s a real gold mine, bro—pun fully intended.”
Visi’s tone turned mischievous.
“Robert, if you can get even a few seconds of footage from that camera, I can make us a fortune. Pinky promise. You could finally move into a less shitty apartment with that kinda cash.”
Golem rumbled in agreement. “Doesn’t sound like a bad deal.”
Flambae was still scoping out the perimeter, adjusting his colorful sunglasses as he heard Robert take a deep breath.
“For your job’s sake, let’s pretend I didn’t hear any of that.”
Prism chimed in, amused, “Why, got a thing for a lil bit of piss, Roberto?”
“Yeah, you can share with the class—we’re not here to judge,” added Malevola with a teasing lilt, her voice betraying the exact opposite of what she was saying.
Punch Up noted with amusement, “Can confirm. One time I accidentally caught a peek at Sonar’s search history—”
Sonar’s loud cough cut him off.
“That was ONE TIME!” he interrupted hastily, voice laced with genuine hurt. “A guy can get curious—and I was coked up, bro! Thought we agreed to move on.”
“I remember that,” Malevola’s voice came in soothingly. “That’s.. actually still slightly better than Robert’s watersports kink apparently.”
There was the unmistakable slap of someone facepalming over the line.
„I don’t—Nevermind. Now, can we get back to Flambae?“
The channel went dead quiet for half a second—a rare miracle.
“Flambae?” this time, more insistent. Irritated.
Flambae snorted.
„Yeah, no. Gonna have to work harder than that to find out what I'm into, Bob-Bob.“
“Wasn’t talking about that but—to be fair, you’re not very subtle,” came Robert’s deadpan retort almost instantly.
Flambae’s cheeks darkened despite himself as he spluttered. “Wh—The fuck you mean by that?”
“Guys, mom and dad are at it again,” Visi sounded triumphant about that observation.
Prism snickered. “Stop flirting on comms, isn’t that a—what, HR violation?”
Robert’s tense voice cut through the banter with finality in his voice.
“Flambae, get the pendrive. Now. No bullshit stunts, no arson, no casualties.” Flambae noticed the nearby surveillance camera was now pointing at him.
“Look, I don’t give a shit about anyone’s sex life. What I do care about is the hero work you do, so.. fucking get to it. Or I start assigning you fuckers to reporting duty for the whole team.”
The corners of Flambae’s lips quirked up in victory. He made sure to casually flex the back of his legs as he straightened up.
“Fine. Whatever, freak.”
----
Later that afternoon, Flambae landed in the parking lot with a casual flourish. Striding toward the debrief room, the retrieved briefcase dangled from one of his hands. He keyed his comm one last time before stepping inside.
“Pendrive’s about to be delivered, Robbo. Give me a harder mission next time.”
He zoned out after that, passing the briefcase off to the tech team while mentally preparing a complaint about the paperwork he had yet to fill out. He was a real superhero, yet he was still writing reports after every stupid little thing? What if there was a bus full of orphans dangling off a bridge somewhere in the meantime, or—
Coupé’s words snapped him back to the conversation.
“So Robert,” she said, dripping fake innocence. “Tell us about that shirtless pic Flambae sent you.”
Flambae froze mid-step outside the office door. The memory hit like a slap; the fogged up bathroom mirror, Robert's video looping on screen while Flambae fucked his fist over the cold sink. Grunts and moans from the speaker mixing with his own ragged breaths—
“What about it?” came Robert’s voice, unbothered.
Hah. As if.
“I mean, it was a thirst trap of biblical proportions. You can’t just ignore that, babes,” replied Malevola, just short of purring.
“Besides, Flambaé was gone for a long time,” supplied Coupé very unhelpfully. Although the bathroom was quite a few steps down the hall in Sonar and Malevola’s apartment, Flambae had a suspicion she’d actually heard everything—or maybe it’s just her general mysterious aura that made him think that.
Victor snorted. “Tell us you at least saved it? For science?”
Flambae sauntered into the office area, Robert’s back to him. Still slouched over the desk.
“Science my ass. I bet Robert’s been using that pic as lube. His pillow’s probably all crusty as fuck by now—”
“That’s enough, Invisigal,” interrupted Robert, clearly annoyed. Flambae saw him pinch the bridge of his nose, his shirt pulling taut on his shoulders as he buried his face in his hands over the desk. It used to be baggy but recently, he’d filled it out nicely, Flambae had to admit.
Flambae leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“No shame in it, yeah?” he took one lazy look at his nails, unable to hold back a smirk. “Happens more than you’d think, Bob-Bob.”
Robert must have heard his voice in the room because soon after that, he turned around.
Their eyes instantly locked across the half-empty office and Flambae swore that time slowed down.
Robert’s heated gaze dragged down Flambae’s body. Slow, deliberate. No shame at all, which, fuck. Just that quiet, assessing look that ignited a fire in his lower belly—the same thing he’d felt when Robert’s fucked out voice rasped out “fuck” in the video.
Flambae’s cocky smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. It was enough for Robert to notice.
“You know what,” Robert started, voice low and even. “That’s the first truth I’ve heard from you in a while.”
Flambae’s neck felt hot suddenly, like molten lava dripping down from his shoulders to his lower back. A different kind of burning sensation to what he was used to.
With an annoyed kick, he pushed off the wall, sauntering through the doorway, chin held high.
“Yea.. don’t get any ideas, bitch.”
–---
Hands were roaming lower on Chad’s exposed stomach, fingers hooking into his belt loops and pulling their hips flush. The guy was kissing him like he wanted to crawl inside him—open-mouthed, messy, a little desperate. Chad was breathing heavier as a set of teeth carefully grazed his pulse point, just enough to tease.
But his mind was elsewhere.
It was in a locked bathroom, phone propped on porcelain, Robert’s voice rasping his name through the speaker while he fucked his fist and came so hard his vision turned white.
It was on comms, replaying every stern “Flambae” that gripped him by the throat and growled in his face.
It was in the office earlier that day; dark brown eyes dragging down his body, eating him up alive with just a look—
A distracting bite to his earlobe brought Chad back to the present. A murmur followed, something of a suggestion about moving this to the restroom.
Flambae’s grip tightened on the glass of vodka, threatening to shatter. Anger flared low in his gut—this felt wrong.
Screw all of it, Chad wanted Robert’s rabid fucking mouth mouth all over him instead.
He wanted Robert’s calloused hands, Robert’s sharp teeth, Robert’s stupid fucking smart tongue down his throat as he growled into his mouth and—
Flambae downed the rest of his drink in one go. The burn of cheap vodka did nothing to dull the heat crawling up his spine.
He pushed the empty glass into the guy’s chest, firm enough to make him stumble back half a step.
“Go get yourself another,” Chad spat the words like venom. Not a request. “We’re done.”
The guy blinked up at him in genuine confusion, lips still shiny, hurt flickering across his face.
“Uh.. sure. You okay?—”
Flambae didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence.
He turned his head away, gaze sliding over the crowd like the guy had already ceased to exist. Anger coiled tighter; irrational, petty, aimed at nothing and everything. He didn’t give a fucking damn about all that.
The guy hesitated, lips ajar like he was about to add something. Then, he disappeared, retreating to the crowd in defeat.
Chad’s pulse hammered in his throat, flames were licking under his skin. Heat was pooling low in his stomach all from a fucking fantasy when he could have had something real.
“Pathetic, little fucking—” he growled, muscles tensing.
He so badly wanted to burn down something. Maybe a trashcan, a car, or even this place. Just to watch the flames slowly consume it all.
But he was a hero now. And heroes don’t do that.
“Heroes don’t start fights… they finish them,” his mind unhelpfully replayed Robert’s voice.
Then, as if the universe was mocking him, his phone buzzed.
Robert: hey
Three letters. Nothing else.
The heat under Flambae’s skin stuttered, snuffed out like someone pinched a match’s flame.
He stared at the message until the screen dimmed, then shoved the phone back in his pocket. Impulsively, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bar.
Alice was there, elbow propped on the sticky wood of the countertop. She was laughing at something the tall dude next to her was saying. He had a long scar on his face with some tattoos crawling up his neck. Also there was that easy, cocky grin guys get when they think they’re about to get lucky.
Chad tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned, eyebrows lifting. “Everythin’ alright, boo?”
“I’m out,” he said, voice clipped. “These guys fucking suck.”
Alice blinked once. “Like, that wasn’t the point?” Her gaze flicked past him, searching for the twink who’d been glued to his neck just twenty minutes ago.
She didn’t ask more, just gave him that knowing, half-amused look she always did when she could smell bullshit from a mile away.
“O—okay,” she said slowly. “Love ya, bitch.”
“Have fun,” he nodded once, gave the tattooed guy a side-eye in warning, then walked out.
Although Flambae’s never cold, goosebumps erupted all over the expanse of his skin from the sudden breeze that hit him outside. His phone was already in his hand, thumbs fueled with spite.
Chad: what do u want?
The reply came fast.
Robert: whoa, not a good time?
Flambae stopped dead at the edge of the pavement, boots kicking up trash on the ground. He was staring at the screen like his phone might explode in his hands.
Chad: cut the bullshit bob-bob
He hit send and immediately regretted it. Hated that deep down, if anyone thought about it longer, how needy it sounded. Robert wasn’t stupid either; a lot could be said about him, but the guy was smart.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Flambae’s pulse hammered in his ears. The anger hadn’t gone anywhere. He waited, staring at the screen, standing frozen at the edge of the pavement.
Robert: are you alright?
Robert: maybe i can help
Chad: shut up dude
Chad: did u just text me to be a whiny lil bitch?
Robert: actually i wanted to talk
Flambae’s brows furrowed so hard he felt the pull in his forehead.
Chad: yea fuckin right
Robert: what's your fucking problem, Chad?
There it was. Calling him Chad.
Chad: busy, unlike u i have a life
Robert: right
Robert: why do you keep texting back then?
Flambae let out a short, bitter laugh that came out more like a snarl. His thumb stabbed at the screen.
Chad: cuz u r pathetic
Chad: probably all alone at home in that depressing shithole instead of going out on a friday night like a normal person
Chad: i feel sorry for ur ass
Robert: Visi invited me to the bar with you guys
Robert: but i cant always leave Beef with Chase
He snorted in disbelief. The mental image of Robert sitting alone on a mattress, that overfed Chihuahua sprawled across his lap, doing nothing in that empty dump.. it should have been funny. But all Flambae felt was pity.
And what if Robert actually came? How would he have reacted to Flambae’s near-conquest; with jealousy, indifference, or—
Or would it have been him in the guy's place?
If Chad was honest with himself, the night could have gone in an entirely different direction if Robert had actually shown up.
Chad: right ur fat fucking dog would miss u
Robert: hey, he's got feelings too you know
Chad: relax
Chad looked up and came to the conclusion that if he was gonna text Robert, he might as well do it from home.
He spared a careful glance around himself before ducking into an alley. Then, he rocketed upward into the sky, the wind tearing at his face as he sliced through the air at high speed.
Good thing the clothes he chose to wear that night had been designed by him. If they hadn’t been fireproof, he might as well have just flashed Torrance.
The city blurred below in streaks of neon and sodium yellow. He flew quickly, heading straight toward his apartment. By the time he landed on his fire escape, Chad felt a bit calmer. Shoving his window open, he climbed inside and slammed it shut behind himself.
His phone had been buzzing nonstop the whole flight; little vibrations against his thigh like Robert was trying to claw through denim to get to him. He pulled it out and the screen lit up his face in cold blue.
Robert: anyway, i think we should talk about that night
Robert: i feel like you've been avoiding me
Robert: and dunno maybe i’m doing the same
Robert: nevermind it’s all stupid
Then a few minutes later…
Robert: fuck, forget i texted
Robert: im drunker than i thought
Chad’s thumb hovered over the keyboard as heat began licking under his skin—not the same, explosive kind as before, but the slow, boiling one that settled low in his gut and made his jeans feel way too tight. He could picture it clearly; Robert on his back, drunk out of his ass, typing out shit to Flambae as he’s pretending to not be affected by whatever the fuck went down between them.
Flambae dragged his tongue over his lips, tasting the lingering club sweat and cheap vodka. He exhaled hard through his nose, then set the phone face-up on the mattress.
His fingers went to the button of his tight jeans, pushing the denim over his ass and peeling it off in several rough movements. The fabric kept catching on the sweat-damp skin of his thighs but in the end, he triumphantly pulled it off.
Anticipation was pumping in Chad’s veins. For what he was hoping for exactly, he didn’t know—or at least, refused to acknowledge. Deep down, he’d been waiting for Robert to reach out, to have a chance alone, even if they’d been dancing around each other like stubborn teenagers.
Reaching up, he tugged the tie out of his hair and threw it on the nightstand. It always felt satisfying to let the long strands fall loose around his shoulders.
Chad: no u already cockblocked me bitch
Technically, true. Robert didn’t need to know the exact order of things.
Robert: guess i should make it up to you huh?
Chad’s traitorous cock was already half-hard at this stage, pressing against the thin fabric of his bright orange boxers with undeniable interest. He desperately tried to blame it on his unfinished business from earlier, but—
Maybe, it was time he admitted to himself that Robert—for whatever unknown, fucked-up reason—was simply doing it for him.
He’d always had a thing for depressed losers with an attitude and a nice cock. So yeah, nothing new.
Chad: u can try
Robert was fucking calling him. Shit.
“Fuck me,” Chad muttered under his breath. He was already climbing into bed with haste.
The line rang once. Twice. Then, Flambae picked up.
No greeting from Robert. Just a low, rough exhale, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.
“What, did you call to breathe in my ear like a fucking creep, eh?” Flambae snapped into the phone, placing it on the pillow by his head.
“Asshole,” and shit, Robert’s voice was already messed up and they hadn’t even done anything. Flambae’s free hand slid down his stomach mindlessly as he listened, fingers brushing the waistband of his boxers, tracing the line of his happy trail and stopping just short of palming himself. “How’s you snapping at me like that making me harder? Shit.”
He chuckled lowly in triumph, closing his eyes and holding back a moan as he finally grabbed his aching member through the fabric of his boxers. “Cuz you’re pathetic Bob-Bob. Pathetic bitches usually get off on being reminded of how needy they are.”
Flambae wasn’t ready for Robert’s unashamed moan that followed. “Yeah, fuck—Mhm, guess I should unpack that with a therapist or something.”
As if Robert just realized something, he followed up with, “Wait, where are you?”
“Flew home, idiot. Got mad after your desperate little episode of pick-me-texts.”
“Why didn’t you just mute your phone? If there was a guy—”
“What the fuck about him?”
“Cut the bullshit, Flambae,” there, now Robert was getting pissed. “I know you. You never give a fuck about anything people tell you, unless you actually want to listen.”
“Right now, I just want to shut you the fuck up,” he grumbled back, his hold tightening on himself with a hiss.
“And how will you do that, asshole?”
“I’ll grab your hair and make you take my fucking dick,” the words left his mouth without any filter. “Bet you’d love that, desperate slut you are.”
Robert outright moaned, low and filthy in his ear. “Sounds nice—but I was actually thinking of something else.”
“What..?”
“First, I’d get you on the bed, nice and easy,” Robert was getting comfortable—Flambae could hear the shuffling of sheets. “Mark you up from your chest all the way down to your hips.. if you ask nicely, I’ll even play with your nipples a bit. They look sensitive.”
Flambae hung off of every word. Brain short-circuiting, his breath held back as he kept listening intently.
Yet Robert chose this moment to stop talking.
“You fucking—you’re doing this on purpose,” his whole body was aching with want and sudden anger, chest rising and falling in an erratic rhythm.
A low, mean chuckle filled his ears: “Want something? Beg.”
“No way.”
Robert faked a yawn. “Alright. Nice as it’s been, it’s getting late—”
“Motherfucker—Ugh, fine,” Flambae exhaled, closing his eyes as he added quietly. “Please.”
“C’mon, we both know you can do better than that.”
“Please, fuck, Robert.”
“There, good boy.” And holy shit, Flambae wasn’t prepared for the searing flame of pure want those two words ignited in him. “Now, I want you to spread your legs for me, just enough so I can fit between them if I want to.”
Without any hesitation whatsoever, Flambae opened his thighs, heart racing. This was unfamiliar territory. “Now what?”
“Since you asked so nicely,” Robert began, voice hoarse. “Go ahead, touch yourself.”
Flambae’s fist was already moving—slow, deliberate—matching the rhythm Robert was painting with words. Without letting go, he shimmied out of his boxers and kicked them off; his engorged cock sprang free. It was flushed dark, head already shiny with pre-cum. As he swiped his thumb over the slit, an involuntary, embarrassing whine slipped out.
“Yeah, just like that,” Robert’s voice dropped down an octave, sending a jolt of electricity down Flambae’s spine. He could hear rustling on the other end, soon followed by a relieved, breathy moan. “The thing is, if you haven’t noticed already—I’m actually pretty decent with my mouth,” Robert added cockily. “I’d settle between those thick thighs and push them up on my shoulders. Then—I’d lick you from your balls, to the tip of your dick.”
And if that wasn’t enough for him to burn up from the inside, Robert added:
“Then I want to bury my face in your ass and eat you like I’ve been starved for it—because it’s fucking unfair how it looks, by the way.”
Flambae let out a lengthy groan that sounded way too wrecked to his own ears. His free hand slid lower, cupping his balls and rolling them gently while his other hand tightened around his throbbing cock, picking up pace.
“You’re—so fucking filthy, Jesus,” he panted, slightly impressed. “Don’t stop.”
Robert grunted in response, and Flambae felt all the more turned on by that. “Now who’s all desperate?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Thought you wanted the opposite.”
“My dick is throbbing, Robbo, if you stop now I’ll find you and fucking strangle you.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Robert was chuckling lowly, like it was entirely fucking normal to joke with Flambae about being choked and enjoying it. He licked his lips at the mental image. “You’d look so good spread out, I can imagine,” Robert continued, voice coming out rasped. “I’d fuck you with my tongue—bet you’d like that. Wanna have you fuck your fist as you’re riding my face.”
“Yeah, Jesus—” Flambae’s his hips jerked up, images of Robert’s dark, fucked-out eyes staring up at him from between his legs taunted him in his mind. “Please.”
“Good boy,” the other man’s breath hitched, and Flambae could hear the obscene wet sounds of Robert stripping his cock fast. The sound drove Flambae crazy. “I’d push two fingers in, fuck you nice and quick—bet you’d be loose enough from my tongue already.”
“Mhm, I could take you in my sleep, bitch.”
“That’s—not as threatening as you think it is,” Robert’s voice came out raw and needy, like he was losing his edge himself.
Flambae felt close too—dangerously close. He hadn’t been this wound up in ages. Balls tight, muscles taut, every nerve in him screaming for release. His movements sped up, pre-cum slicking his palm and making every slide wet and absolutely filthy.
“Just like that, Flambae. Imagine it’s my mouth sucking you down until you hit the back of my throat.”
Flambae’s fist blurred—wet, filthy sounds filled the room, his own moans echoing off the walls. His hips rocked up hard, chasing the friction, pre-cum dripping steadily over his knuckles as he spread it all over. “Fuuuck.”
“That’s it,” Robert growled, voice cracking with need. “Shit! I’m so close—”
“I’d flip you over,” Flambae snarled suddenly, voice wrecked. “Push you into the mattress and slide down right on your stupid fucking dick. I’d ride you hard—make you see fucking stars. You’d be moaning my name like a little bitch—”
“Fuck, Chad—” Robert broke, his voice splintering into a long, wrecked moan as his orgasm took over him.
Flambae followed a heartbeat later—his back bowed off the mattress suddenly, a choked whine ripping out of him. He spilled all over his knuckles, his abs and even his chest. Hot, sticky ropes painted his severely overheated skin.
They stayed on the line after. Breathing hard. Silent, except for the occasional shaky exhale.
Robert spoke first. Voice soft and sated.
“So… good talk.”
Flambae snorted, the sound coming out rougher than he meant it to. He was staring down at the mess on his torso in mild disgust. With his clean hand, he reached for a handful of tissues from the nightstand.
“Flambae?”
Flambae swallowed, throat dry. “That wasn’t how I planned my Friday night.”
Robert laughed at the surprising honesty. Something jumped in Flambae’s chest at the sound. “Yeah, but I’m not complaining.”
And then Robert’s voice dropped, quieter again. Flambae’d never heard it so soft.
“I meant what I said earlier. We really should talk.”
Flambae closed his eyes. Let the words settle in his chest as silence stretched again—not necessarily awkward, but it felt heavy. All too real compared to what they’d just experienced.
“You’re gonna get all crusty over there—clean up. Bitch,” Flambae replied, no trace of the usual heat behind his words. He didn’t know what to say, so he resorted to the only thing he was familiar with.
“Yeah—it’s kinda disgusting, actually.”
“Gross.”
As Flambae waited, he was tapping a random rhythm on his naked stomach. The room was suddenly too empty, too quiet. He figured Robert was cleaning up and maybe—maybe he should have hung up in the meantime, like his instincts were telling him to.
That’s what Flambae would have done were it anyone else on the line. But for some reason, he waited for Robert to come back.
When it was obvious by the sounds that he did, Flambae began talking as exhaustion took over him.
“Not sure what you wanna hear, Bob-Bob,” he muttered, kicking his boxers all the way from the bed as he reached for the blanket to cover himself out of habit. “Fuck, talking is hard.”
“Tell me about it,” he heard Robert mumble, equally lost. “Look, maybe this was a mistake.”
Flambae’s stomach sank and—shit, why did the words feel like a punch to his chest? He was already feeling the hurt bubble up in his throat like bile, threatening to escape and have him spit venom at Robert.
But then, the other man added:
“Wanna come over to mine next week? Then we can actually talk face-to-face without distractions, unlike at work.”
Flambae smirked, running a hand through silky strands of his hair. “Talk like we did just now, yeah? Are you stupid?”
“To be fair, I wouldn’t mind doing more of that either,” he had the audacity to fucking purr. “Would you?”
He swallowed and let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh at how easy this felt suddenly again. “Nah, but we’re not fucking meeting at your shithole of an apartment. You’re coming to mine.”
“Can I bring Beef?”
“What?—No, leave him with his damn grandpa or something, I don’t care.”
“Do you hate dogs? Because I’ll be honest, that’s kind of a dealbreaker for me..”
“I don’t have any problems with that fat dog, Robert,” Flambae rolled his eyes even though Robert couldn’t see him. “I just don’t want him to pee all over my home while I fucking rail you.”
“Noted.”