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The Z-Team has had Robert for six months. That’s a record.
The last dispatcher quit halfway through her first shift. The one before that tried to file HR complaints against all of them at once. There is essentially no HR.
So this? This is historic.
Which is why they’re at Sonar and Malevola’s apartment getting drunk about it.
The place looks like two aesthetics got into a custody battle and refused to compromise. Malevola’s side is all dark wood, heavy curtains, dramatic lighting. Sonar has neon strips running under the cabinets and a speaker system. And that’s it. Minimalism, he calls it.
The bass is loud enough that the kitchen island vibrates. Robert leans against it anyway. He’s been holding the same drink for twenty minutes. He’s pacing himself. Someone here has to remain employable.
Across the room, Coupé and Punch Up are arguing about something while dancing aggressively with each other.
Golem is on the couch, unmoving.
Waterboy is attempting to match Sonar’s rhythm and failing earnestly.
Prism and Flambae are absolutely in their own world near the speaker, yelling the lyrics to a song neither of them fully knows.
“YOU’RE FLAT,” Prism shouts at Flambae.
“FUCK YOU,” Flambae shoots back.
Malevola lowers the bass. Sonar immediately turns it back up. She glares at him and he pretends not to see.
Invisigal is draped over the arm of a chair, looking bored in a way that suggests she’s about to cause a problem.
She drains her beer, drops into the middle of the living room floor, and claps once.
“Game.”
Sonar turns the music down just enough to be heard.
There’s a collective shift. They’re all a little drunk. That’s dangerous.
“What game?” Coupé asks, already sitting.
Punch Up flops down beside her. “If it’s charades I’m fucking out.”
Golem adjusts slightly but stays leaning against the couch. Waterboy hurries over like he doesn’t want to miss instructions.
Robert stays where he is. “What the fuck are we, twelve?” he calls from the kitchen.
Flambae turns immediately. “Oh my god, listen to him,” he says to Prism. “Six months in and he still thinks he’s above us.”
“I am above you,” Robert replies calmly. “I’m technically your boss.”
The room erupts in groans.
“Don’t start that,” Coupé warns.
“You dispatch our calls,” Punch Up says. “Don’t get ahead of yourself lad.”
Prism points at Robert. “Yeah, dispatcher. You’re like… dispatch Siri.”
Robert stares at her. “If you call me that again, Im never sending you out with Flambae again.”
Flambae grins. “See? Petty. That’s why you’re here.”
“C’mon, Boberto,” Sonar says, stretching out on the floor. “You’re hovering.”
“I’m supervising,” Robert corrects.
“You’re sulking,” Prism says.
“T-team bon… bonding?” Waterboy offers, raising his hand like he’s asking permission.
Everyone looks at him.
Flambae immediately leans over, “Yes. Thank you Wetfartboy. Finally someone with fucking initiative.”
Waterboy lights up like he just got knighted.
Robert sighs, sets his drink down, and walks over. They cheer obnoxiously when he sits.
“I feel like I’ve bonded with you fuckers enough,” he mutters, crossing his legs.
“No such thing,” Prism says sweetly.
Invisigal grins. “Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
There’s a beat.
“Oh, hell no,” Punch Up says.
“Disgusting,” Coupé adds.
Prism gasps dramatically, putting down her vape to pull out her phone, “Wait. Yes. Oh my god, yes.”
Flambae points at her. “See? Visionary.”
Malevola arches a brow. “You’re both insufferable.”
Waterboy nods thoughtfully. “I think it’s a nice… good.. great idea. Visi, Courtney.”
“Of course you do,” Coupé says.
“If you’re scared, you can sit out like a pussy,” Invisigal says. “Or you can go in there and talk about your feelings or some shit.”
The entire group boos immediately.
“Hard pass.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Keep your feelings out of this.”
Robert leans back on his hands. “This is stupid.”
“You’re stupid,” Flambae fires back automatically.
“Creative.”
Prism looks between them like she’s watching tennis. “Oh I want this round. I want this round bad.”
“You don’t even know who’s going yet,” Sonar says.
“I don’t care.”
Invisigal grabs the bottle and sets it in the middle. “We’re playing.”
She spins.
It lands on Coupé.
Coupé grins slowly. “Well. That’s convenient.”
“Oh shit,” Prism says.
“Make it interesting,” Punch Up calls as they stand.
Coupé offers Invisigal her hand with exaggerated politeness. “After you.”
They disappear down the hallway toward the bathroom. Prism immediately starts a timer on her phone.
The room fills with commentary.
“They’re just gonna compare kill counts.”
“No, Coop’s gonna try to win.”
“It’s not a-a competition,” Waterboy says.
“Yes it is,” Flambae and Prism say in unison.
Robert watches the hallway without meaning to.
Flambae notices. He smirks.
Seven minutes later, Prism goes to retrieve them.
They come back looking smug and fully dressed.
“Boring,” Punch Up says.
Coupé tosses the bottle toward Flambae. “You’re up.”
Flambae catches it one-handed without looking away from Robert.
Prism scoots closer immediately. “Oh this is about to be toxic.”
“Shut up,” he says, but he’s grinning.
He spins the bottle hard.
It rattles against the floor, wobbles, slows… and lands directly on Robert.
There’s half a second of silence.
Then the room explodes.
“NO WAY.”
“YESS.”
“ABSOLUTE CINEMA.”
Robert exhales slowly. “I hate all of you.”
Flambae stands immediately. Confident with no hesitation.
He cracks his knuckles like this is a scheduled event.
“What?” he says, looking down at Robert. “You nervous?”
Robert smirks up at him. “About you? Please.”
Flambae leans slightly closer. “Good. Wouldn’t want you thinking you’re special.”
There’s that edge. Sharp and familiar.
Prism whispers loudly to Sonar, “They’re gonna either fuck or fistfight.”
“Five bucks on both,” Sonar says.
Flambae grabs Robert’s wrist.
“C’mon, Bob-bob,” he says. “Let me show you how we actually play.”
Robert stands on his own, refusing to be dragged, but Flambae keeps hold anyway.
As they head down the hallway,
“NO FIRE,” Malevola calls.
“USE PROTECTION,” Punch Up adds.
“Be safe!” Waterboy shouts.
Robert doesn’t look back. Flambae doesn’t let go.
The bathroom door shuts hard and Flambae locks it immediately.
Robert leans back against the sink like he’s got all night, even though his balance is just slightly off. The alcohol isn’t much, but it’s enough. Enough to make him looser.
He leans back against the door, arms crossed, chin tipped down slightly like he’s already winning.
“Don’t start,” he says.
“Start what?” Robert asks.
“With that fucking face.”
Robert lifts a brow. “My face.”
“Yes. That one. Like you’re already fucking judging me. Like you think I’m predictable.”
“I do think you’re predictable.”
Flambae exhales through his nose, slow, irritated.
“You think I wanted this?” he says. “You think I need some stupid game to get attention?”
“You seemed pretty confident when you dragged me in here,” Robert replies lightly. “Prism nearly applauded.”
“So I wouldn’t look like a bitch.”
“That’s fair.”
Flambae pushes off the door.
He doesn’t storm forward. He prowls forward.
“You think I can’t get anyone I want?” he says.
Robert’s stomach tightens at the shift in tone.
“I’m sure you can,” he says evenly.
“I don’t chase,” Flambae continues, accent heavier now. “I don’t beg. I don’t get nervous. People line up.”
Robert swallows. Fuck this prick.
“I’m sure they do.”
Flambae steps closer. Close enough now that Robert has to tilt his head slightly to keep eye contact.
“You’re lucky it landed on you,” Flambae says bluntly. “You know that?”
That shouldn’t do anything. It does. Robert feels heat pooling low in his stomach.
He keeps his expression flat. “Lucky.”
“Yes. I could’ve had anyone out there.” He gestures vaguely toward the living room. “Instead I get you. Acting like you’re doing me a favor.”
“I didn’t realize you were disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” Flambae snaps. “I’m saying you should be grateful.”
Robert laughs softly. It comes out lower than he means it to. “Grateful for what?”
Flambae steps in again. Now there’s barely space between them.
“For me,” he says simply. There’s no joke in it. Just confidence. Infuriating, unshakable confidence.
“I’m hot,” Flambae continues. “I’m charming. I’m fucking talented. I look good in anything. You think this is some kind of punishment?”
Robert’s mouth goes dry. He doesn’t look away. He doesn’t let himself. He’s being such an asshole, blowing smoke up his own ass. But hearing him so confident…
“You’re very humble,” he says.
“I don’t have to be humble,” Flambae replies. “I’m right.”
The sink presses into Robert’s lower back as Flambae closes the last inch. Robert feels heat everywhere they’re almost touching.
He’s hyperaware of his body in a way he hates, the tightness in his chest, the way his skin feels electric. He’s spent years making sure no one gets too close. Physically. Emotionally. Any of it. Control is safety. Flambae crowds it like he owns the space around him.
“You act like you’re untouchable,” Flambae says, voice lower now. “Like I wouldn’t want you.”
Robert’s stomach flips.
He keeps his tone dry. “You just said I should be grateful.”
“You should.”
“For what?”
“For me choosing you.”
Flambae’s hand comes up, not grabbing yet, just hovering near Robert’s collar like he’s debating.
“You think I haven’t noticed?” he mutters.
“Noticed what?”
“The way you look at me.”
Robert’s breath stutters, barely.
“I don’t-”
“Don’t fucking lie,” Flambae cuts in. “You stare when you think I’m not looking. You get extra chatty when I’m near.”
Robert’s head spins slightly. The alcohol makes it harder to retreat behind sarcasm.
“That’s ego,” he says, but it comes out softer than he intends. Flambae smiles, slow and predatory.
“It’s my observation.”
His fingers finally curl into the front of Robert’s shirt. As if he’s claiming him.
Robert’s heart slams hard enough he’s sure Flambae can feel it.
“You’re shaking,” Flambae says quietly.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Robert hates that he is.
Hates that the proximity, the confidence, the sheer audacity of this man standing this close and acting like Robert is the lucky one… it turns him on.
“You’re so fucking smug,” Flambae murmurs, thumb pressing lightly into the fabric at Robert’s chest. “Like you’re immune.”
“I’m not immune,” Robert says before he can stop himself.
Flambae stills. The air shifts.
“Oh?” he says softly.
Robert’s brain tells him to backpedal.
Instead he says, “You’re very loud, hard to ignore.”
Flambae huffs a laugh. “You don’t hate it.”
Robert doesn’t answer. That’s answer enough.
Flambae’s eyes drop to his mouth. Slowly. Then back up.
“You think I won’t?” he asks.
Robert’s voice is rougher now. “Won’t what?”
Flambae steps in fully, backing him into the sink. The impact is gentle but decisive.
“You act like I wouldn’t touch you,” Flambae says. “Like I wouldn’t strip you right now, make you beg for my cock.”
Roberts neck begins to flush, creeping up his cheeks at the words. And fuck, if that wasn’t a delicious thought.
He should move, but he doesn’t.
“Then do it,” he says quietly.
That’s all Flambae needs.
“Fuck you,” he breathes.
And then he kisses him.
It’s not soft or testing, it’s immediate, heated, almost angry. Like he’s proving something. Like he’s been holding it back and finally got permission to stop.
Robert’s breath catches sharply.
For a split second he almost pulls away, out of instinct, control, years of guarding himself screaming at him to stop. But he doesn’t.
He grabs the front of Flambae’s shirt instead. Kisses back. Just as rough.
Their mouths clash, teeth barely knocking, breath hot and uneven.
Flambae’s hand slides from Robert’s collar to his waist, grip firm, possessive. Robert feels the heat everywhere they touch.
His head spins, but not just from the alcohol. From this. From being wanted like this. From the way Flambae kisses like he’s claiming a victory.
Robert’s hands comb over Flambae’s back, pulling him closer. Their tongues press against each other, fighting for who takes the lead. Flambae is hot, burning almost at the touch. Robert drowns in the feeling.
Flambae reaches down, going to palm him through his pants, Robert catches his arm quick, brain finally catching up.
“Wait, shit.” He groans, pulling away a fraction.
“What, you got a small dick Bobert?” Flambae furrows his brow, dipping his head lower to meet his eyes.
“Fuck off.” He sighs, turning his head away slightly. “I don’t, have a dick.” He says plainly.
Flambae stares at him, trying to put the pieces together, “You lose it in battle? That’s fucking sad man-“
“No fucker, I wasn’t born with one.” Robert gritted out, “Surprised you hadn’t noticed the scars on my chest with how often I’m shirtless at work.”
The cogs started turning, Flambae trying to piece together what he meant. Finally, he got it. “Ohhh.” He nodded, “‘s fine, Mechadick.” He smiled, his brows furrowing again, “You still a man?”
Robert lowered his brows, annoyed almost, “Obviously.”
“Then we work with what we got.” He smirked, “We fit like a jigsaw puzzle then.”
“There is no way you just said-“ Robert was quickly silenced with Flambaes mouth on his again.
This didn’t slow anything down, Flambae reached again to palm him and this time he was allowed. His fingers curled, rubbing against the thick denim.
Robert was surprised how turned on he already was. He hadn’t felt this way in… fuck, probably years.
“Holy… shit..” He murmured out as Flambae moved to kissing his jaw, Roberts head leaning back instinctively.
“That good?”
He wanted to say something sarcastic, something to be a dick again. But truth be told he hadn’t made out with someone in far too long and he was getting too hard to care. Antidepressants be damned, this man can still fuck.
Robert rutted desperately against his hand, needing more friction, “Fuck, please..” He whispered.
Flambae perked up immediately, “Go on,” His smile only spreading further, “Beg for it.”
Robert grunted, annoyance chipping away, “Don’t make me.”
Flambae stopped suddenly, almost pulling away.
“Fuck! Fine, please. Please just, touch me. More.” He groaned, the lack of friction driving him insane.
Flambae smiled, reaching for his belt and undoing it with ease, slipping his pants and boxers down his legs.
Robert suddenly felt, exposed, vulnerable?
He turned his face away, embarrassed.
Flambae grabbed his chin, making him look at him, “Uh uh, you don’t get to look away. I don’t want you fucking thinking about someone else while I suck you off.”
Robert whined in protest, Flambae gripped his chin harder as he looked anywhere but at him, “Jesus fucking christ- do I need to fucking hit you to get you to do what I want?”
Robert seemed to… smile at that idea. “I mean, if that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes…” He shrugged.
Flambae raised an eyebrow, “Ah, you fucking freak.” He raised his hand, then smacked him across the face, not full force, but enough to sting.
“Oh fuck!” Robert grimaced, then shook his head, his cock throbbing, “Yeah, that did it.” He looked at him now, “You need to suck my dick before I start humping your leg.”
A full blown grin spread across Flambaes face.
“No, I’m not doing that, just-“ He placed his hands on the sink, hoisting himself up and spreading his legs, “Please.”
Almost immediately Flambae dropped to his knees, his arms coming to wrap around his thighs. He trailed hot open mouth kisses up his inner thigh.
“Okay, cute, but we don’t have much time so if you could-“ Robert was cut off by a bite, he moaned in response. His hand flying up to cover his mouth.
“Shut the fuck up and let me.” Flambae stared up at him, “And keep your eyes on me.”
Robert nodded. He grabbed Flambaes hair, gripping it tightly as he leaned forward, licking a stripe up him.
His tongue worked almost expertly, better than Robert assumed. He licked his folds, teasing him. When Robert tugged for more, he wrapped his lips around his swollen cock and started to suck, teeth lightly grazing like he meant to.
It was heavenly.
His lips pushed past the auburn hair and sucked and prodded his t-dick that was now throbbing.
Robert kept his eyes on him, brows furrowed and mouth covered as he grunted and moaned.
Flambae looked up at him, Robert could see the smirk in his eyes. God he hated it.
He grinded down against his lips and nose, chasing the feeling of pleasure. He pulled him closer by his hair, almost there.
Flambae released one of his thighs, his hand pushing between his legs and starting to tease his hole. He silently asked for permission, Robert nodded.
He pushed a finger in, curling upwards as he kept sucking him off. Robert’s eyes rolled back, a moaning mess.
A hard suck reminded him of his job, his eyes went back to him.
A second finger was added, going deeper, stretching him wider. Robert couldn’t help it, he grinded down against them, tensing around them. He felt Flambae curl upwards, his g-spot touched.
His entire body shook, “Oh fuck!” He bit his hand to drown out the noise.
A huff, then more movement. Flambae went faster, barely keeping a rhythm as Robert essentially rode his face.
“Don’t fucking stop.” He whined, his eyes glued to his, “So, c-close.”
Flambae hit his spot again, and again. Brutalizing it as he felt Robert clenched around him.
He kept the eye contact as long as he could before his eyes rolled back and his back arched off the counter. His orgasm bubbled over, his hole clenching hard as he came over Flambaes face.
He rode that wave for a moment, Flambae continuing to thrust into him as he trembled each time.
Finally, his body went lax, huffing heavily as sweat dripped down his arms and legs.
“Oh fuck…”. He mumbled.
Flambae finally pulled back, “I fucking called it.”
“What?”
“That you’d be a squirter.”
“Dude, you didn’t know I was trans until three seconds before we fucked.”
“Still knew.”
Robert rolled his eyes, grimacing as Flambae pulled his fingers out of him. He slipped off the counter, pulling his boxers and jeans back on.
He was about to say some sarcastic quip when he was pulled by his waist, their lips clashing together again. Flambae pushed his tongue into his mouth, wet and hot.
Robert stumbled, but kissed back, his hands gripping the front of Flambaes shirt.
“Don’t let this go to your head,” He pulled back, looking away from him, “But I don’t usually cum that fast, if at all.”
The taller pulled back, a wicked smile on his face, “You owe me then Bobert.” He looked at him, almost completely serious, “I expect my dick fucking sucked soon.”
Heat was already pooling again, his dick twitching even though he had already came, “Fine.”
Flambae opened his mouth to say something, then-
KNOCK. KNOCK.
“Yo! Seven minutes is up freaks!”