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The day had been long. Not the dramatic kind. Just the slow, agonizing kind.
Robert’s back had been screaming since eleven. Just that deep, grinding ache that never went away. Like someone had replaced his spine with rusted metal. Sitting made it worse. Standing made it worse. Breathing made it worse.
And Flambae would not shut the fuck up.
Ever since the bathroom, it had been constant. Every redirect got a snide comment. Every instruction turned into a joke at Robert’s expense.
It was almost impressive how committed he was.
The team noticed. Of course they noticed. No one wanted to poke it.
Except Sonar.
“You two fucking?”
Robert nearly dropped his coffee, looking around the break room to make sure no one was there.
“What?”
Sonar didn’t even look up from grinding his beans. “I heard you. Bathroom. Super-hearing,” A pause. “Sounded gnarly.”
Robert stared at him. The fluorescent lights suddenly felt too bright, “You’re not going to-”
“Relax.” Sonar finally looked up. “I don’t care.” A small shrug. “Just curious.”
Robert scrubbed his hands over his face. God. Of course he heard. Of course he did, “No,” Robert said flatly. “We’re not.”
Sonar hummed, “Right.”
Robert grabbed the pack of Twinkies he didn’t even want and left before he could be analyzed further.
He didn’t eat them. They just sat on his desk for three hours.
The rest of the shift went fine. Objectively.
But every time Robert opened his mouth, Flambae found a way to slide in after him.
“Can I get a tap in?” Malevola asked, voice cool but strained. “He’s not where he was.”
“One sec,” Robert replied, fingers already tapping on the keyboard.
“What, Bob-bob?” Flambae cut in, voice mocking. “You too busy jerking off there to actually do your job?”
Laughter crackled over comms.
Robert muted his mic for half a second and closed his eyes. Count to three. Unmute.
“He’s at your 6 o’clock,” he said evenly. “And if you focused less on my hands and more on your perimeter, you wouldn’t be bleeding response time.”
“Oooh,” Prism chimed in. “He’s feisty today.”
Flambae didn’t laugh.
“You calling me sloppy?” he demanded.
“I’m calling you distracted.”Robert could feel his pulse in his temples.
His back spasmed sharply and he had to brace his hand against the desk like he was just stretching.
He hated that it hurt more on bad days. He hated that Flambae had chosen today to pick a fight.
By the time Malevola suggested drinks, Robert felt hollowed out.
They ended up at a shitty bar. They’d already been banned from Sardine’s and Crypto Night.
Robert sat at the bar. He downed half his beer too fast, but he didn’t really care.
Across the room, Flambae was performing, “…I’m telling you, he didn’t stand a fucking chance,” he was saying, wide gestures. “Dropped him in under three minutes.”
Robert stared at the condensation on his glass.
Yeah.
After setting half a park on fire and forcing Waterboy to flood the east side of it to contain it.
Hero.
Flambae laughed again.
Something in Robert snapped.
He didn’t even plan to speak.
“Was that before or after you torched the park?”
His voice carried.
Too calm.
Flambae’s head turned slowly. The smile stayed, but it shifted.
“’S that, Mechadick?” he called, stepping away from the group. “You wanna say that again?”
Robert swiveled slightly on his stool, “You heard me.”
Flambae came closer, tongue running over the empty socket Robert had gave him.
“Careful,” he said, accent thickening, anger sharpening it. “I’m the only one who actually did my job right today.”
Robert laughed under his breath.
“If I didn’t have to send Waterboy to mop up your ego, maybe I’d have time for the real heroes.”
There it was.
“The fuck you mean real heroes?” he snapped. “I am a real hero, asshole.”
Robert tilted his head slightly.
“Real heroes don’t need applause every time they do their job.”
The air around them shifted. Flambae stepped in close enough that Robert could feel heat rolling off him.
“You sit in a chair,” Flambae growled. “You don’t get to fucking question what I do out there.”
“I question it because I’m the one who has to fix it.”
“You think I need you fixing shit?”
“I think,” Robert said quietly, “you couldn’t do your job half as good if I wasn’t there.”
That did it. Flambae’s jaw clenched so hard Robert thought he might crack another tooth.
“Say that again.”
“I think you get reckless when you feel ignored,” Robert said. “And I think you’d rather blow something up than admit you’re insecure.”
Flambae’s voice dropped, “You don’t know shit about me.”
Robert should have stopped, “I know you’ve dropped on the leaderboard.”
Flambae grabbed the front of Robert’s shirt.
Chairs scraped. Someone muttered, “Oh fuck.”
Robert’s back screamed as he was yanked forward. Pain flared white-hot up his spine and he hissed before he could stop himself.
Flambae noticed. His grip tightened anyway.
“You think I’m nervous?” he snarled. “You think I’m fucking scared of you?”
Robert’s heart was racing. Not from fear. From adrenaline. From the way being grabbed like that made something ugly and electric spark in his gut.
“You’re not scared of me,” Robert said, breath uneven but smirk intact. “You’re scared I don’t need you.”
Flambae’s nostrils flared, he pulled back his fist, ready to connect, but the bartender eyed them, his arms crossed.
“Step outside,” he said. “Right now.”
He could walk away, but he didn’t. He slid off the stool slowly, back straight.
“After you,” he said softly. “Hero.”
And when Flambae’s hand pressed against the small of his back to steer him toward the door it was too firm. Robert hated that it made his stomach drop.
The alley smells like piss and stale beer. Perfect.
Flambae shoves the back door open so hard it slams against brick. The bass from inside dulls into a distant thud. He rolls his shoulders like he’s about to step into a ring.
Robert leans back against the brick wall like he owns it, arms folded. Like he didn’t just provoke him on purpose.
Flambae stalks closer.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” he spits, accent thicker now, words sharpened by alcohol. “You think you can run your mouth in there and I’m just gonna laugh it off?”
Robert shrugs.
“I mean, you did set a park on fire.”
“I had it under control.”
“It was you being an arsonist and trying to piss me off.”
Flambae steps right into his space. Close enough that Robert has to tilt his chin up slightly.
“You don’t talk to me like that.”
“Oh? I missed the memo. Did you get promoted to God of Everything?” Robert drawls. “Should I kneel? Clap when you manage not to burn down city property?”
Flambae laughs once , sharp and humorless.
“You’re jealous.”
Robert actually snorts.
“Of what? Your kill count? Your ego? Your tragic need to be the loudest person in every room?”
“Of me being good,” Flambae snaps. “Of me not hiding behind comms like some bitter old man.”
“Oh yeah,” he says lightly. “You’re incredible. Truly. The people’s champion. The pride of SDN. We should build you a statue. Maybe one with flames shooting out of your ass.”
“Fuck you.”
“No no, I’m serious. You’re so brave. So strong. So-”
Flambae grabs the front of his jacket. Not violently. Just enough.
“Say it again.”
Robert doesn’t flinch.
“Say what?”
“That you think I’m below you.”
“Oh,” Robert says softly. “No. You’re so much better than me.”
Flambae’s grip tightens. Robert’s grin widens.
“You’re the best on the team. The brightest star. The only one who didn’t fuck me over today, right?”
There’s a flicker in Flambae’s expression. Something territorial. Something possessive.
“Yeah,” Flambae says. “I didn’t.”
Robert tilts his head.
“Oh, you want a medal?”
He shifts suddenly. Flambae doesn’t expect it. Robert’s foot hooks behind Flambae’s ankle and yanks.
Flambae stumbles forward with a curse, balance gone for half a second and Robert uses that second.
He grabs the front of Flambae’s shirt and pulls him down.
Their mouths collide.
It’s not gentle.
It’s teeth, breath, lips pressing hard against each other.
Flambae makes a startled sound against his mouth, more anger than surprise, and then he’s kissing back like it’s a fight he refuses to lose. Hands fist into fabric.
Robert did not plan this far ahead. He meant it as a power move.
Flambae’s palm slams against the brick beside his head.
He doesn’t hesitate. He never does. He kisses like he fights. Rough, consuming, teeth first. Heat floods forward with him, all ego and impulse. His mouth demands, takes, pushes.
Robert wasn’t ready for how much he would like that.
Heat crawls slowly up his spine, deliberate and unwelcome. His fingers tighten in Flambae’s shirt.
Flambae pulls back just enough to breathe.
“For someone who talks big,” Robert says, slightly breathless despite himself, “you fall pretty easy.”
Flambae stares at him, something flashing in his eyes. Pride. Challenge.
Then he kisses him again. Harder.
This time Robert makes a noise he absolutely did not mean to make.
He presses closer, crowding him into the brick, thigh forcing between Robert’s legs. His hand slides up and grips Robert’s jaw, thumb pressing into his cheek like he’s testing ownership.
He grabs Flambae’s wrist.
He feels the weight of it. The heat. The strength. Then he tightens his grip just enough to remind him that this is still his game.
He pulls Flambae’s hand off his jaw and drags it down, planting it firmly on his own hip.
“If you’re going to touch me,” he murmurs, “do it right.”
Flambae doesn’t object.
He grabs Robert harder, pulling him closer so their bodies press flush together, friction deliberate. His confidence radiates off him like it always does, like he thinks he’s the one in charge.
Robert furrows his brows and bites down on Flambae’s lower lip.
“Ow! What the fuck!” Flambae pulled back, licking his lip instinctively.
Robert smirked, “What? Can’t handle it?”
Flambae frowned, ego overpowering him. “I’ll show you what I can fucking handle-“ He muttered before going back in, kissing him harder, more ferocity.
Their mouths clash, tongues pushing, teeth nipping. It feels less like kissing and more like sparring. When Robert finally shifts the angle, when he takes control of Flambae’s tongue and sucks it slow and deliberate, he feels the reaction ripple through him.
A hitch.
Flambae is hot to the touch, almost burning. He shoves Robert fully back against the wall and grinds closer, needing friction, needing response.
He thinks he’s escalating. Robert lets him.
His hands trail over Flambae’s chest, slow, unhurried. Cold fingers under overheated skin.
It isn’t until Robert lightly pinches his nipple that Flambae lets out a low moan he clearly didn’t mean to release.
Robert pulls back just enough to see his face. “Wow, you like that huh?”
“Fuck off.” Flambae groans, but he leans forward again immediately, mouth dragging down Robert’s jaw like he needs something to reclaim.
Robert tilts his head back against the wall, exposing his throat on purpose.
Teeth graze skin. Breath warms his neck. Light bruises bloom. His free hand trailed down, cupping Flambaes hard on. Flambae reacts instantly. A sharp thrust forward. No control.
Robert tightens his grip and then grabs his chin, pushing him back.
“You want me?”
Flambae furrows his brows. “I’m not gonna beg like a bitch.”
“Do it.”
“Fuck off Bob-bob, I don’t need this.”
A slow smile curves across Robert’s mouth.
He slides his hand from chin to hair, tangling his fingers in it, tugging just enough to tilt his head forward.
“Tell me you want me, or I’ll walk away right now.”
The shift is immediate. Flambae’s breathing changes. His jaw tightens.
“… I want you.” He mumbles it.
Robert pulls harder.
“Fuck, yes, I want you Robert, jesus.” He says louder, eyes clenched shut.
“There’s a good boy, say please.”
“I’m not going to fucking-”
The slap is quick. Controlled. Not wild, precise.
Flambae exhales sharply, stunned more than hurt. His eyes flash, furious, humiliated, burning.
If his dick wasn’t painfully hard he would’ve killed him, “…Please.”
And there it is.
Submission.
Robert smiles like he’s been waiting for that exact moment.
He doesn’t rush after that. His hands went straight for his belt buckle, taking it off slowly. Flambae reached as well, going to help him, but Robert hit his hands away. “No touching.”
Flambae groaned, annoyed, but listened. His hands going up on the wall behind them. His dick sprung out as Robert pushed his pants and boxers down far enough. Far too hard for it to not be embarrassing.
A hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly. Flambaes head fell back, thrusting into the feeling. He let out small huffs as Robert moved from the base to tip.
Robert continued to jerk him off as Flambae only got more needy. His hands ached to grab, to touch, but he didn’t want him to stop. Every movement is deliberate. Every touch earned. He keeps Flambae exactly where he wants him, hands against the wall, breathing uneven.
When Flambae leans forward, testing, trying to reclaim ground, Robert meets him halfway, but he controls the depth of it. The angle. The pace.
Their kiss turns messy. Heated. Desperate.
But Robert stays steady.
Even when he moans, even when his control slips at the edges, his hand at the back of Flambae’s neck keeps him there. Anchored.
They move together in the alley like it’s still a fight.
Every time Flambae pushes too far, Robert redirects him.
Every time Flambae tries to take, Robert makes him ask.
With his free hand , Robert reaches down, unbuckling his own pants and ripping open the zipper. He grabs one of Flambaes, without breaking the kiss, and guides his hand under.
Flambae immediately takes the bait, fingers finding his swollen dick and rubbing against it.
Robert moans, one hand on Flambaes cock, the other on the back of his neck, pulling him deeper into the kiss.
They stood in the alley, desperately jerking each other off as their mouths fought like their life was on the line.
They thrusted against each others hands, moaning into each others mouths.
Flambae pulled away from the kiss first, leaning his head against Robert’s, “Slow d-down.” He gritted out.
Robert stopped completely, Flambae curses under his breath, frustrated at how quickly he obeyed. Robert started pushing his own pants and boxers all the way down to his ankles.
“You’re seriously making me fuck you in the middle of an alley?”
“I’m letting you fuck me.” Robert says, calm. Certain. “This is a privilege.”
Flambae doesn’t argue.
That’s the thing.
For all his ego, for all his noise, when Robert takes control like this, he listens.
Even when he pretends he doesn’t. Even when he wants to fight it.
Flambae grabbed one of his legs and held it up as he got closer. He grabbed his own dick, lining it up with Robert’s hole.
“Wait, should I wear a condom?” He asked hesitantly.
“Okay fuck you.” Robert replied, “I’m clean and I got my uterus removed so, I’m good, are you?”
“You think I go around fucking prostitutes? I’m clean Mechadick.” Flambae said, his brow furrowed.
“Then shut up and fuck me.” He pushed down on his cock without warning, the tip entering.
It was warm, they both let out a slow moan. Flambae was going to wait for him to adjust, but Robert didn’t let him. He grinded down more, pushing in half of his length.
Flambae muffled his moan, his eyes closing.
They found their rhythm, Flambaes hips started to move. The feeling was absolutely delicious.
As they move together, it isn’t just heat anymore, it’s command and response. Instruction and obedience. Every shift of Robert’s hips is intentional. Every praise-laced insult calculated.
Robert groaned, then reached up tangling a hand in his hair, “That’s it, don’t stop.”
Flambae presses his face into Robert’s shoulder, muffling the sounds he doesn’t want anyone to hear.
He wants to put him in his place.
But he doesn’t.
He lets Robert guide him.
He lets Robert set the pace.
“You like that? Like how good I feel?” He smiled, a short laugh escaping him, “You are so fucking, ha.., lucky.”
Robert gripped his hair harder as Flambae thrusted faster.
“Tell me you love how I feel.”
There was no fight this time, “Fuck, I do, I do..” He groaned, his dick twitching as he thrusted deep inside of him.
“Doing.. so good for… me…” Robert muttered between huffs.
The praise wrecks him more than the orders.
When Robert clenches around him, when he pulls his hair harder, when he says“Fuck… I need you to fill me…”
“Shut up.” Flambae groaned.
“Come on, you’ve been… doing so well.”
“S-stop.”
“You’re cute when… you’re not being a total dick.”
Flambae moans, going faster, relishing in the praise.
Robert clenches around him, his hips rolling with Flambae’s. He grabs his free hand, quickly guiding it to his t-dick.
“Jerk me off.” Flambae obeys instantly.
There’s no hesitation anymore.
No fight.
Just need.
Flambae immediately starts moving his hand, fingers rubbing circles quickly. He feels a hand slide under his shirt again, gripping his nipple.
“Robert…” He pants, “Im gonna…” He bites his shoulder, muffling a loud moan, “Where do you want it…?”
Robert grabs his hair again, firm, grounding, “Not yet.”
Flambae groans, “Fuck come on..”
Robert smiles to himself, his own orgasm close, “Beg for it…”
Flambae mumbles curses into his collar bone, “Please….” He winces, “Please, please, I… need to.”
Robert hums, the words going straight to his dick, “Fuck, in me… I don’t care, fill me.”
It doesn’t take long after the words left his lips for Flambae to finish. He thrusts once, twice, three times before pushing fully in, his cum leaking out of him as he moans.
The felt of being filled pushes him over the edge. Robert curses and tightens his grip on Flambae as he cums over his dick.
They stay like that for a moment.
Breathing heavy. Skin slick with sweat. The alley suddenly too quiet after everything that just happened.
Flambae is still close, chest rising against Robert’s, forehead almost brushing his. The heat rolling off him hasn’t faded yet. It lingers between them, thick and humid, like the air itself hasn’t caught up.
Robert’s pulse is still racing, but he keeps his face composed. Controlled. Even now.
Slowly, he loosens his leg from where Flambae had been holding it. His muscles protest the second his foot touches the ground, a dull ache settling into his lower back and thighs. He exhales through his nose, steadying himself, refusing to show it.
Flambae pulls out carefully, the movement drawing a quiet grimace from both of them. Not dramatic, just the kind that comes from reality settling in after adrenaline burns off.
They separate by inches at first.
Then a foot.
Then enough space for cool air to slip between them.
Flambae runs a hand through his hair before pulling away completely, adjusting his clothes with quick, irritated movements like he’s annoyed at himself for how undone he looks. Robert takes his time instead, pulling his boxers back into place, smoothing his shirt down, refastening his belt with deliberate precision.
The contrast is almost funny.
“We gotta stop meeting like this.” Robert smiles faintly as he tightens the last notch of his belt.
Flambae snorts, retying his ponytail with a sharp tug. “Fuck does that mean?”
“It’s a joke.” Robert says flatly. He shifts his shoulders, and immediately winces. “Oh fuck, my back.”
Flambae doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, being fucked like a bitch against an alley wall will do that.”
Robert flips him off without looking at him, already fishing a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He taps one loose and slides it between his lips.
“Got a light?”
Flambae rolls his eyes. “Motherfucker, I am a light.”
He lifts a hand lazily, and a small controlled flame flickers to life at his fingertip. He leans in just enough to touch it to the cigarette. The tip glows orange.
Robert inhales, then exhales slowly, smoke curling up between them.
“Thanks.”
For a second, they just look at each other.
Not arguing.
Not posturing.
Just… looking.
Flambae’s ears are still a little red. Robert’s lips are still swollen. The bruises are starting to darken on his neck. There’s something unspoken hovering there, something neither of them wants to talk about.
The back door to the bar swings open.
They both turn.
Sonar stands there.
He blinks once. Then twice.
“Oh my god.”
Flambae goes fully red this time, literal heat flaring at his shoulders as small flames lick up his collar before he forcibly smothers them.
“If you tell a fucking soul-”
“Malevola owes me so much money,” Sonar says calmly, already backing toward the door.
“Don’t you fucking dare-”
The door slams shut.