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Flambae didn't bottom often. The reason for this was simple, really; people just lacked the energy that matched his.
Sometimes he gave it a go when he had faith that it might not be lackluster. Even supers who were almost all gifted with endless stamina had trouble scratching that itch. It was more about chemistry, after all.
It wasn't in his DNA to submit anyway, but it didn't help that people usually did end up disappointing him and couldn't fuck him the exact way he needed them to.
So if Flambae was honest with himself, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been fucked just right.
Which sounded pretty fucking pathetic, so he’d usually opted not to be honest instead.
However, for the sake of the whole “Robert Robertson case,” he had to admit to some truth. Robert, somehow, had this unexplainable charisma despite being a pathetic man. It screamed that he fucked as well as he fought—dirty and unforgiving, with clear purpose.
So really, he couldn’t not attribute his attraction to that rizz. Otherwise, how could he explain this thing with Robert?
Alice told him too, that he acted like he’d been missing a good dicking. Yeah, it sort of hurt to hear and he rolled his eyes but.. she had a point. She was way too good at noticing these things about him.
That's also why she pinched his thigh under the table to snap him out of whatever fucking daze he was in.
“Bae, you're staring,” she murmured into his ear, leaning as close as possible to avoid drawing anyone else’s attention. Thankfully, the kitchen had enough conversation going on from the rest of the Z-Team so no one else seemed to have noticed.
Flambae gathered what was left of his dignity and tore his eyes away from Robert. Their dispatcher was sitting at another table, chewing on a twinkie with some of the cream stuck in the corner of his mouth.
Messy fucking idiot.
Flambae clenched his jaw to stop himself from saying that out loud.
Instead, he glanced at his best friend, carefully keeping his expression schooled. Prism arched her eyebrow in a silent question and Flambae just shook his head discreetly. Annoyed, he closed his take-out box with such haste he nearly knocked a bottle of coke off the table in the process.
Malevola’s attention shifted to Flambae as he went to put away his leftovers in the fridge. “Feelin’ alright, babes?” she asked conversationally. “You look.. off.”
“Yes. Gonna hit the gym,” he lied through his teeth, although that might actually be a good way to let off some steam.
“In-between shifts, after lunch? Are you serious?” Invisigal snorted, poking around in her own pasta-box with a fork. “Are you trying to instantly puke it back up or something?”
“Girl, keep your gross ideas away from my fuckin’ lunch, thank you," God bless Alice for interrupting.
“Yeah, yeah,” Visi smirked, her mouth now full with a large bite of spaghetti.
Flambae was just passing Robert’s table on the way out when suddenly, he was stopped by fingers closing around his wrist. Anchoring him.
“Hey,” Robert's soft voice interrupted his frustrated thoughts. His grip gradually loosened but that did not make the contact burn any less. “Good job out there, diffusing that bomb so quickly. You saved at least 13 civilians from a disaster, so.. feel free to take a few extra minutes.”
Flambae couldn't help staring then, because what the hell?
Robert's gaze shouldn't have been so warm, almost full of pride. And those pink lips definitely should not have been as alluring as they looked.
The cream from his “lunch” still smeared on the corner of his stupid lips.
“‘Course I did a good job, yeah?” he muttered with arrogance in his words, tearing his hand away. “I'm fucking amazing.”
With an exasperated sigh, Flambae lifted the napkin from the table and crammed it into Robert's palm, pushing his hand towards the mess. If his fingers lingered a second too long maybe it was because—
He wanted to lean down, lick it straight off his lips. Or maybe feed the filling to Robert with his thumb and have him suck the tip into his wet mouth, like—
“Wipe your face, bitch. You look like a fucking slut.”
Huffing, Flambae slammed the door shut behind himself. His pulse was still thumping in his ears as he felt Robert's gaze burn a hole into the back of his head.
“Welp, guess I'm soaked,” he heard Invisigal’s declaration followed by a collective groan of disgust from the team, as well as Prism’s “The fuck did I just tell you?!” before Flambae disappeared down the hall, blissfully out of earshot.
He really fucking needed to punch something.
----
Robert: so, Wednesday?
Chad: nah, gonna have my niece over
Robert: that's cute
Chad: oh fuck off
Robert: i wasn’t being sarcastic
Chad: thursday?
Robert: can’t, promised to help Royd with the suit and it’s probably gonna be an all-nighter
Robert: Friday? are you guys going out?
Chad: probably
Chad: u thinking of being fun for once?
Flambae picked up the barbell again and did a few rounds at the bench press, enjoying the familiar, pleasant burn in his pectorals.
Images from earlier were still haunting his mind. Robert's dark, chocolate brown eyes boring into his and fuck, because Flambae swore Robert's pupils had been blown, almost as if he was enjoying it just as much—
Not that being in front of their idiot coworkers was the optimal setting for whatever that was. While Flambae liked a bit of risk on occasion, he also wanted Robert solely for himself.
And when exactly did that desire become a constant thing, really?
He pushed the barbell high, setting it back in its place before sitting up on the bench, immediately going for his phone. Maybe this was an addiction. Maybe Chad just had to fight Robert to set something right deep down.This feeling could still go away if he punched him in the face once or twice.
But would that sate the raw desire to pound his skinny ass into oblivion? Or have him do the same to Flambae? They could try both then call it a day—after all, Alice is probably right. He just needed to get laid.
Robert: i’m plenty fun
Flambae rolled his eyes but there was a hint of a smirk as he texted back.
Chad: yea right and im fucking taylor swift
Robert: yknow, that could mean two things yet neither option seems true to me
Chad: the fuck are u talking about bitch
Chad: u think i couldnt pull taylor?
Robert: no, i don't doubt that
Robert: just something tells me she's not your type
Chad: yeah and that makes u one lucky son of a bitch
Robert: how so?
Chad: u can find out on friday
Flambae stood, leaving his phone face-up on the bench. He rolled his shoulders while sauntering over to the squatting rack. It ended up being convenient timing for his workout, SDN’s gym was usually empty at lunch. This way, he didn't have to worry about anyone interfering with his routine at least.
Without further thought, he lifted the barbell onto his shoulders and slowly lowered himself to the ground into a squat.
His form was impeccable, as always. The suit felt tight on his body, almost like a second layer of skin—pulling pleasantly taut on his carefully sculpted curves.
Wherever he went, Flambae was well-aware of all the admiring eyes that followed him. He reveled in the spotlight, soaking up recognition his hard work had earned him. He'd gotten used to being wanted and chased.
So why was being wanted by Robert any different?
As if on cue, his phone lit up and kept dinging in quick success, one incoming message after another.
He waited a few minutes out of principle before checking it.
Robert: that's still four days away to be fair
Robert: you kinda make it hard to wait
Robert: literally, that was a.. low blow earlier
Chad: not my fault u eat like a starved fckin animal
Chad: messy bitch
Robert: call me crazy but i don't think that's a turn off for you
Robert: you seemed to really like the idea last week
Flambae felt his own cock stir with interest at the reminder.
Chad: yeah, shut up
Robert: or what?
Chad: join me in the gym and ill show u
Robert: yeah, surely Blazer wouldn't fire us both the second she found out
Chad: nah not u shes into u
Chad: u r blind if u dont see the eyes shes giving u all the time
Robert: pretty sure they're the eyes of someone who's grateful she doesn't have to deal with you assholes on a daily basis
Chad: sure.. idiot
Chad: gym is empty now btw
Robert was typing. Then deleting. Typing again.
Robert: and?
Chad: id let u suck me off in the showers
Flambae waited for a reply with bated breath. His unhelpful mind was already supplying him with fantasies of pushing Robert down on the cheap, wet tiles. First, he'd want to trace his lips with his fingers. He would open up all eagerly so Flambae could feed him his throbbing co—
Robert: fuck, don't tempt me
Chad: scared?
Robert: see you on 2nd shift
And if Flambae did take those extra five minutes alone in the shower that his dispatcher granted him—
Well, that was no one's fucking business but his own.
----
Okay, so everyone knew Flambae wasn’t a lazy bitch.
He hardly ever used the elevator. Sure, some people had a legitimate reason to avoid the stairs, but other than a medical or physical circumstance, anything else would just be a sorry ass excuse to slack off and skip a free chance at exercise in his opinion.
And for real; why would anyone like elevators?
All of them are just small, closed spaces that made his skin crawl—there's no appeal in being trapped in a metal coffin with shitty music and the smell of someone's sweaty armpit in your face.
So on the rare occasion Flambae did get around to using one, he needed a damn good enough reason to do so.
‘No stairs or flying for at least 24 hours, you can easily make it worse,’ the doctor's words rang in his ears as he was staring at the elevator buttons from the outside. The constant, simmering pain was his only company in the hallway.
She said that because there was a muscle pulled in the back of his thighs that might have caused some micro-tears—and yeah, no shit, he felt it if he bent his legs a certain way. Still, he was a super; he would regenerate way quicker than a normie. If they really were only “micro” or whatever, then surely they wouldn't get too bad if he pushed himself a little.
So Flambae turned towards the staircase, doctor's orders be damned. He still had to write those fucking end-of-day reports somehow and he really needed this job at SDN. As much as he liked doing things his own way, skipping this wasn’t an option.
As he took the first step up, searing pain shot through his hamstrings and even in his glutes—“Motherfucker!” he hissed, the unexpected discomfort making him grab onto the railing and lower himself back down with the support of his arms.
Flambae swore to kill that dickhead who screwed up his landing. Who puts a fucking invisible trap on a roof?! He felt the sudden urge to kick something full-force, but ultimately knew that'd only backfire.
Spewing out a few more colorful insults under his breath, he turned back to his least favorable option of getting to the third floor and—with a slight limp in his steps—walked back over to call the elevator.
The elevator, which was infamous for being a slow, old piece of crap.
“Let's see what you got, you fucking death-trap.” Flambae controlled the fire and flame for fuck’s sake. How bad could it be? He's endured way worse in his life. He could do this.. and it was not the right time to think about how he’d get down.
After the elevator door opened with a ‘ding’, he entered. Having pressed the button towards his destination, his hand tightened into a fist by his side immediately, jaw clenched.
“Stop being such a pussy,” he told his mirror image, hardly recognizing himself with fear emanating from his eyes. He took a deep breath in through his nose, then let it all out before repeating the notion a few more times. Good thing he had a court-ordered therapist to prepare him for shit like this.
Because really, he could seriously damage this thing. One wrong breath and the panels would blister, the lights would pop and the whole shaft would start smelling like charred metal.
He'd been obsessively staring at the number display counting when, to his horror, it stopped on the second floor. With that familiar chime, the doors opened and—
“Oh, hey,” Robert halted for a second in surprise before stepping into the elevator. “Glad to see they didn't get you too bad” There was an easygoing smile on his face. He leaned back against the wall with casual ease; arms crossed over his chest as he studied Flambae from head-to-toe, not even bothering to hide it..
Meanwhile, Flambae was only a second away from hissing at Robert like a feral cat that's backed into a corner. His hamstrings pulled uncomfortably with every tiny shift of weight, but that pain was distant compared to the real threat clawing up his throat, threatening to explode.
The dispatcher’s smile dropped when he realized something was off. “Wait, are you.. actually okay?”
Flambae opened his mouth to snap at him, blood positively boiling—something about minding his own fucking business, about not needing a babysitter—but the elevator chose that exact moment to lurch.
In the meantime, the lights snapped off. Darkness swallowed them whole in the blink of an eye.
The shaking was followed by a faint metallic groan due to a hard, sudden stop that shook Flambae to his core.
No, no, no—nononono—fuck—
For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing. He could hear nothing else but the blood pounding in his ears and the faint hum of the emergency lighting trying (and failing) to kick in.
Can’t be real. Useless fucking company with its antique shitty damn tech—
Flambae’s heart was kicking repeatedly against his ribcage in desperation, like it was trying to escape his own body as well.
He hated this.
Hated the way the walls only seemed to lean closer, hated the faint metallic tang of the ventilation, hated the way the air felt too stale and like it was fucking running out as—
He was only seconds from losing it completely.
“...Can you hear me? Shit, you're burning up—Chad, listen to me,” Robert’s frantic voice cut through the fog. Flambae’s chest heaved and he realized he could actually see Robert’s frantic expression, which shouldn't be physically possible in the dark—
When he looked down, he noticed the flames flaring bright along his arms, a powerful orange glow licking between his fingers and granting them light in the small space.
It would have been nice, comforting even—if not for the fact that both Robert and the construction were clearly struggling under the heightened temperature.
“You need to focus. You're burning up our oxygen,” he reasoned with a surprisingly steady presence.
Flambae’s nostrils flared. He wanted to snap, to shove Robert back, to burn the whole fucking elevator down—maybe then, somehow, he could escape.
But Robert’s eyes held his. Unyielding.
“I know this looks bad but we are getting out of here. I promise.”
Robert stepped closer in spite of the risk of being burnt—close enough that Flambae could smell coffee and something akin to motor oil. Close enough that his sheer assertive presence cut through the panic.
“Listen to me. I’ve got you.”
His flames flickered for a bit—
Then, they snuffed out, leaving them in pitch black darkness once again.
“That's it—” Robert’s words cut through the empty space and suddenly, there was a moist, calloused palm on the center of his bare chest, grounding him. “Breathe. In through your nose. Slow.”
“In. One, two, three..”
”Out, through your mouth. One, two, three..”
He could hear Robert’s voice change as he was in the midst of taking a breath himself. Felt the faint exhale tickle his own cheek.
Flambae inhaled and exhaled; shaky, ragged, like it physically hurt him at first. In spite of every fiber of his being telling him otherwise, he followed through, focusing on his senses and gradually matching up to the rhythm set by Robert.
“Good, stay with me. You’ve got this.”
Flambae was unsure just how much time had passed by the time he fully came back to his body.
The panic subsided like a tide pulling back from shore, leaving Flambae unsteady on his feet. As he turned his head, his nose bumped into Robert's lower arm; it was braced against the wall by his head. Not sure when, but his other hand had found his way onto his hips—effectively blanketing Flambae with his body. Probably a conscious choice so he could follow Robert's controlled breathing more easily.
Only then did he realize he’d been standing there with his eyes screwed shut ever since Robert’s intervention with the relaxation technique.
So, he opened them.
Even in the darkness of the stalled elevator, he could make out Robert’s silhouette. Now within his right mind, Flambae noticed something else—the faint emergency strip along the floor. It cast a weak red glow upward, just enough to outline the sharp line of Robert’s jaw, the faint sheen of sweat on his throat and the slow rise and fall of his chest.
What greeted him were a pair of dark eyes staring back, unblinking—locked on his own like they were searching his soul.
Robert gulped and Flambae’s eyes followed the movement of his adam's apple.
They were really close.
Robert’s steady breath ghosted across the overheated skin around Flambae’s lips—warm and even, barely an inch away. They were close enough that Flambae could feel the faint tremor in it. That was the only indication in Robert’s body language revealing that he was affected.
Maybe it was the adrenaline or the thirst for comfort in a stressful situation, but Flambae felt the same heat from before start to travel south and pool low in his core.
The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire pulled to breaking.
Then, Robert spoke—low, rough, almost conversational, like they weren’t standing in a dead metal box with no light and absolutely no fucking way out.
“Back-up generator should kick in soon.”
Flambae swallowed, his throat clicking audibly. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Whatever—‘s not like we can do anything.”
Robert’s gaze didn’t move from his. Not for a second.
“You're still shaking,” he said as an observation to fill the silence with.
Neither of them moved. Flambae’s laugh was humorless. Short and jagged.
“No shit. Elevators fucking suck.”
“Won't argue with you on that,” Robert breathed—and Flambae wasn’t hallucinating—his gaze did flicker down to Flambae’s mouth. Just for a heartbeat, then back up.
The air between them thickened. It was suddenly way too heavy with the scent of sweat, burnt metal and something even sharper; want. Raw and unfiltered.
This is all just plain fucked up, Flambae thought, his resolve weakening by the minute.
“If you tell anyone about this I swear—”
“I won't. Promise.” came Robert's reply without hesitation. Sometimes, it was way too obvious just how much of a hero he was.
Neither of them broke the proximity despite the elevator allowing for considerably more movement. After all, it had been designed to carry supers of all sizes.
Flambae wanted to get out of that elevator more than anything. At the same time, he was aware of how powerless they were at that moment. If he’d thought any further and tried to come up with a plan, he couldn’t stay calm. That didn’t leave him with many choices on what else to do.
So he took in the sight of Robert.
The faint light cast long shadows across Robert’s face, making his eyes look even darker, more intense. Flambae could feel the heat radiating from his body, mingling with his own. His heart hadn’t slowed down yet—the panic had receded, but the adrenaline lingered, morphing into something sharper, hotter, coiling low in his gut like a live wire ready to spark.
Robert’s voice came out rougher than he probably intended it to.
“Flambae, I..”
The dispatcher’s breath hitched—just once, barely audible. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. His lips parted and they looked obscene—inviting, like they were begging to be bruised. Flambae’s skin was burning for a whole different reason now, the heat spreading from his chest downward, making his suit feel too tight, his thighs ache with more than just the injury.
And then, Robert closed that last inch between them.
Without hesitation, Flambae met him in the middle. Their mouths crashed together—hard, desperate, nothing gentle about it. Teeth clacked in that first frantic collision, tongues shoving past lips like both of them were trying to claim their territory. Flambae tasted coffee, salt and a faint sugary sweetness on Robert’s tongue.
He groaned into it, hips jerking forward on instinct, seeking his warmth.
Robert answered with equal velocity; one hand grabbing onto the back of Flambae’s neck, fingers threading into damp hair and yanking his head back just enough to change the angle. He dove in deeper, tongue rolling against Flambae’s in sensual, deliberate strokes that made his knees buckle.
Flambae retaliated by sucking hard on Robert’s bottom lip—pulling a low, guttural sound from his throat. His hands flew to Robert’s shirt, fisting the blue fabric to yank him even closer. Robert’s fingers dug into Flambae’s hips, bruising and possessive at its core.
Flambae's earlier fear melted into excitement and sheer desire for Robert.
Robert, who just talked him out of a panic attack from his worst nightmare and helped him breathe again.
Not for the lack of trying, but Flambae couldn't deny his attraction for him any longer. He really, really fucking wanted this pathetic, washed-up guy. He wanted to ruin him, to be ruined by him in the most carnal way imaginable.
And that revelation just felt like a dam finally breaking.
While Robert’s lips were on his, nothing else mattered—not the pain in his legs, not the terrifying situation they found themselves in.
Breathlessly, Flambae walked Robert to the opposite wall of the elevator, pushing his body against the metal plate with a loud thump.
“Fuck—” Robert gasped at the contact and delved right back in, biting down on Flambae's lower lip hard enough to sting. Flambae growled and tugged at the fabric in his hand so hard it was threatening to tear. Meanwhile, Robert’s hand yanked out his hairband, fingers tangling in the long strands.
“Don’t lose my hair tie, asshole,” Flambae panted against Robert’s lips, before Robert ducked to the side. Flambae heard an unmistakable laugh against his chin as the dispatcher pressed open-mouthed kisses up along his jawline.
“Yeah, yeah. I will get you new ones,” Robert’s stubble was rubbing against his skin, making him shiver. All of a sudden, the hand in Flambae's hair tugged.
“Shit—” Flambae’s eyes closed in pleasure deriving from that sweet sting. A moan left him when Robert began sucking a hickey on one of his sweet spots, right underneath his ear. “You’d better or—I’ll kick your flat fucking ass.”
“Sounds like a date,” and fuck, that voice should be illegal.
Impatiently, Flambae tore through the gaps of Robert's shirt. Some of the buttons ripped off in the process, a clinking sound echoing in the small space. He opened it, grinning in triumph as his palm met pleasantly warm, lean muscle. “You’ve been secretly living in the gym or what?”
“Not a bad idea,” Robert chuckled, eyes half-lidded. At this point, his body was being held up by the elevator door and Flambae. In the red light, he looked absolutely debauched with his work shirt hanging open, studying Flambae with those fucked out eyes, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Shower’s free, it’s close to work..”
“And it’s still cozier than your ugly ass apartment.”
“Are you gonna keep insulting me or is this—” Robert gestured nonchalantly between them, “Finally getting somewhere?”
Flambae huffed in annoyance and he began palming Robert’s bulge through his slacks. A punched-out moan escaped the other man. “Already worked up, huh? Pathetic.”
Robert didn’t take his burning gaze off of Flambae as he hooked two fingers in his suit, flirting with the hot skin underneath the hem. “You’re one to talk, asshole.”
A low, answering growl rumbled in Flambae’s throat as he closed the gap, licking into Robert's mouth with renewed vigor.
He couldn’t get enough; not that first time when he was tipsy in the bathroom, not through the phone while still drunk from the bar, and definitely not now.
Flambae was stone-cold sober and yet, rock-hard at the same time.
All because of Robert.
Their hips rocked together instinctively—uncoordinated and desperate for more. The friction made Flambae’s cock throb painfully against the tight suit and Robert’s own hardness ground against his thigh in short, needy thrusts.
Underneath Robert's shirt, the nails of Flambae's free hand clawed down his naked back. He wished he could see the red lines it must have left in their wake.
Running out of patience, Flambae pulled back just enough to wrestle Robert’s belt and free his dick from his slacks. The dispatcher went with the program and reciprocated eagerly. With some leftover patience, he managed to stretch the fabric of his hero suit low enough to have Flambe’s member pop out.
“Jeez—All this time, you’ve been coming into work fucking commando?”
“Save the lecture, Mecha-Di—”
“No. This—is fucking hot,” Robert rasped, licking his lips in anticipation as he adjusted his grip, almost as if testing how it feels in his palm. Flambae wasn’t complaining. Especially not when Robert finally set up a nice, steady pace. “Feels as thick as I thought.”
His raw display of desire wasn’t making it easier on Flambae to keep his moans at bay.
As much as it pained him to admit; Robert had a pretty decent cock too. Now Flambae knew for sure that it wasn’t the good camera angle in the videos hyping him up. It felt nice and heavy in his grip and had they been anywhere else, he’d have loved to get a proper taste and see Robert stutter with his mind empty.
“Yeah? Been thinking about it a lot, Bob Bob?”
Robert’s free hand sneaked around to palm Flambae’s ass, testing the waters. His fingers squeezed, dragging him forward and keeping him there with a possessive grip. Their cocks were aligned and the friction was downright electric.
“Sure. But I bet it feels even better inside me,” Robert downright purred and yeah, Flambae couldn’t exactly argue with that.
Flambe carefully adjusted his weight, enjoying the way it made Robert chase him, his heavy cock steadily leaking under Flambae’s ministrations.
Unceremoniously, Robert spat in his hand. It made Flambae snort. “Classy.”
“Got a better idea?” he arched an eyebrow, gaze uninterrupted as he resumed stroking Flambae’s cock. He felt like he was burning up from the inside, yearning for more even as Robert’s slippery hand twisted at the tip, making his knees buckle slightly.
He blamed that on the injury.
“No, not here,” Flambae muttered and—making sure that Robert was watching—he licked up his own palm with the flat of his tongue before grasping his length again.
“We don't know how long we have..” Robert was panting through a cheeky grin, eyes glinting with amusement even in the dim light. “If the power comes back, so do the cameras.. then we’re kind of fucked.”
Flambae grunted into Robert's hair, burying his face in it as he felt his balls tightening at the imagery. “Fuckin’ SDN pervs, let ’em watch.”
“You’d want them to, huh?” Robert’s question hung between them as he sucked the skin on Flambae's throat into his mouth, leaving a hickey right there. That one will be difficult to conceal but he didn’t give a shit, just arched into it. “I'm not even—mhm, surprised that you’re into that.”
“What if I am, bitch?”
“Gives me ideas, that’s all,” Robert murmured and dug his fingers into the meat of Flambae’s ass, nails biting through the layer. His middle finger teased between his cheeks as much as the suit allowed and fuck, that was torture at its finest. Flambae didn’t think he'd ever say the fabric was too thick, yet there he was. He wanted those long, nimble fingers in him.
The motion of their hips didn't stop for a second. If they’d kept it up, Flambae knew it wouldn’t take long for him to come like this.
Robert sighed in pleasure and the sensation made Flambae shiver, “Fuck, the things I could do to you right now.”
“Kinky little shit.” He smeared Robert's precum over the head of his dick, prompting him to outright whine. Flambae would do anything to hear that sound again. “Go on, bitch. Don’t stop now.”
“I’d have you on all fours. Spread your ass and spit right on your hole,” Robert’s deep, filthy voice reverberated against Flambae’s jugular and shit, that was unexpectedly blunt. His dick throbbed insistently in the other man’s hand, the filthy words adding fuel to the spreading fire inside. “Then I’d—fuck—I’d push my tip in, watch your ass swallow it up like the good boy you are. Bet if I edged you long enough you’d just beg so pretty for the whole thing, wouldn't you?”
“Please,” Flambae bucked into the tight circle of Robert’s fist, now chasing his high desperately. “Keep going, fuck!”
The red glow of the elevator painted their skin in sinful shades. Flambae's hand subconsciously sped up with his hips’ movements as Robert talked—at this rate it was slick as it twisted on every upstroke. Robert tilted his head up, foreheads now pressed together, breaths mingling in short, ragged pants.
There was a beat of silence as if Robert hesitated. Then, in a hushed whisper:
“I’d fill you up—fuck you so good you’d cry. I wanna see you cock drunk—wanna watch my come drip out of your ass, down those thick thighs. Hell, I’d even push some of it back into you, make you hump a pillow until you fucking make a mess of that too—”
“Yes,” Flambae panted, eyes glazed over at the mere idea Robert painted in their minds, his hips bucking into the other man’s fist ferociously.
“You’d like that? Always mouthing off, acting all tough and shit. Now I know you're doing it just to get under my skin so I will fuck you stupid—”
“Gonna come—”
Robert's moan was similarly broken as he neared his orgasm. “Holy shit!”
They shattered together—Flambae’s low snarl mixing with Robert’s own wrecked groan. He spilled hot and thick over Flambae’s fingers, pulse after pulse, coating both their hands. In those moments, nothing else existed outside of their risqué affair and their collective ecstasy. It left their bodies shuddering in the cramped space.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Just breathing as they tried to come back to reality.
When Flambae opened his eyes, he was met with Robert looking right back at him.
“What?” maybe Flambae was just feeling a bit out of his element here, with the other man looking at him like that.
Robert started laughing in disbelief, slightly out of breath. “Nothing, just.. thinking of how fucking absurd this whole thing is.” He took a tissue out of his pocket and cleaned his fingers, one by one.
Flambae rolled his eyes, slightly insulted. “Which part? The one where a washed up ex-hero had his world rocked in a public elevator? Cuz yeah, I fucking agree.”
Robert shook his head and framed Flambae’s face with a strange gentle touch. It caught him off-guard and was enough to make Flambae listen. “Stop that. Stop deflecting.”
“Eh, who's deflecting, bitch, you're saying all that shit about—”
Robert's lips interrupted whatever Flambae was about to say, covering his ones and giving him their most intimate kiss by far.
Despite all the underlying anger and mixed feelings, he couldn't help but sigh into it, eyes falling shut in bliss.
Robert was a good kisser. Straightforward with clear intentions, showing vulnerability with no hesitation. That was.. unfamiliar to Flambae.
“Listen, Flambae. I'm not really good with rules—and I know for a fact that neither are you,” his tone resembled more like what Flambae was used to during working hours, when a team member needed a boost of inspiration. Confident, earnest. “I have no idea what this is or how the hell we got here from you wanting to incinerate me but.. I know I like this. I want this.”
Flambae searched for any sign of dishonesty in Robert's gaze. He found none.
“Do you?” Robert’s question hung in the air, with a hint of anxiety this time.
“Yes,” it took Flambae a second to recognize the voice as coming from him. But he realized that saying this simple three-letter word lifted a sizable weight off his shoulders, something he didn't even know was there. “I guess.”
Robert arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You.. guess?”
“Wh—fine, fuck. Sure, yeah, I do. I want it, fucking happy?”
Robert snorted but he was clearly amused.“Very,” he drawled sarcastically. But there was also a hint of concern in his eyes. “Are you.. feeling alright? Maybe it wasn’t the right time to do this.”
Without thinking, Flambae wiped his cum-streaked fingers across the front of Robert’s work shirt, earning an irritated “Hey!” from the other man.
That was more like it.
“Don’t fucking pity me, I’m not made of glass, Robbo. Of course I wanted it,” a deep satisfaction settled over him at witnessing Robert's restrained outrage regarding his work attire.“I’ll be fine. Once we are out of this—damn box.”
“Jeez. Look, I’m not—I was just trying to be decent,” Robert was looking down at his ruined shirt, dabbing at the fabric with the tissue in an attempt to salvage it. “You know, that was totally unnecessary.”
“Nah. You're into it,” he followed that up with a self-satisfied smirk as he helped Robert button up his shirt.
“Fuck you,” Robert huffed, with a hint of a smile on his face.
“You gotta earn that first, bitch.”
Fixing up their clothes felt strangely intimate, even after all that just happened. The banter between them helped Flambae stay sane in the situation. Which was a good thing, because it did take SDN another 10 or so minutes to get the power back on—something about the back-up generators having limited juice and mainly being prioritized for work functions along with the hospital wing.
But, in the end, they were eventually rescued by the facility team. And Flambae couldn’t be more relieved.
In the meantime, they’d found his hair tie too. Though it was no easy feat under the dim lights.
And if Robert was a little too quick to escape to the restroom while Flambae took center stage with his criticism about SDN’s emergency rescue time, then no one could blame him for it.