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Flambae would've set Golem on fire already if he could. It just never fucking sticks with the globs of mud he’s made out of. Maybe he could if he got Golem to drink enough oil.
Drowning is not the way he wants to go. Espeically not in a fucking sensory deprivation tank. Water just… slowly rising and he can’t do anything about it. Going over his head in total darkness, can’t hear or feel anything except the growing suffocation…
Flambae shakes his head, shooing away the thoughts. He wasn’t fucking scared! Of course he wasn’t! It was just… adrenaline!— or something like that. He didn’t drown anyway, Bob-Bob managed to unlock the fucking thing.
It shouldn’t be bothering him still, it’s been a couple fucking days. It’s stupid! And now he’s slipping on puddles that that the burst fucking pipe is leaving around. He’s had enough of it.
It’s late at the office, Robert is still at his desk. Flambae glances around once from a nearby hall, they’re alone. He turns the corner and swiftly approaches Bob, he turns around just in time for Flambae to cage him against his own fucking desk. Flambae towers over the fucker easily, he’s bulkier than him too.
He doesn’t seem scared of Flambae, though. It’s annoying. He glares at Robert, lifting his chin to look down on him more. “Why are you keeping piss boy around? Huh?”
Rob glares right back at Flambae, having to lean back against the desk more to be able to meet Flambae’s eyes. “What did we say about the name calling? And would you rather you be a member down?”
Flambae just brings his face closer to Robert’s, it’s not anything, he’s just getting in Robert’s face. It’s supposed to be intimidating. “He’s not even fucking worth half of one of us. It’s harder to have him around.”
Robert just straightens his posture and moves his own face closer to Flambae’s. “Well too bad. He’s a better person than all of you combined and he actually listens. Waterboy isn’t going anywhere.”
Flambae keeps Robert stuck to the desk. They’re just glaring at each other. Flambae grits his teeth. “I could beat the shit out of you.” He’d probably get fired if he did, but he doesn’t really care right now.
Robert just sneers up at him. “I’d like to see you try.”
It’s probably bait, but Flambae doesn't give a shit.
Flambae’s hands come up, erupting with flame. They’re aiming for Robert’s neck, but a hand grabs at Flambae’s wrist and another socks him in the jaw. It makes him stumble back, but Robert isn’t giving him a break.
Robert kicks at Flamabe’s knee, and Flambae moves back more to avoid it. He steps on Robert’s foot and manages a punch of his own, hitting Robert in the side of the nose. Flambae’s fist is engulfed with fire as he tries another punch, but Robert ducks under it. Robert throws a punch right after, hitting Flambae in the cheekbone.
Flambae lunges, using his height and strength to his advantage to tackle Robert to the ground. From the wheeze that Bob-Bob makes, the breath has been knocked out of him. Flambae uses the chance to punch Robert’s face on the ground again, who’s just trying to block it with his arms.
At least until Robert’s knee comes up and hits Flambae in the crotch. Even if what Robert hoped would be there isn’t, it still fucking hurts! Flambae hisses in pain, which gives Robert the opportunity to push Flambae to the side of him. Flambae’s head hits the side of the cubicle, and as his ears ring and vision blurs, something heavy settles on his chest.
When his eyes clear, he can see Bob-Bob sitting on top of him. Then Flambae’s wrists are swiftly grabbed and pinned down to the floor. His head is spinning, but still, Flambae is trying to pull his wrists free. At least until Robert’s hand adjusts and a searing pain shoots through them as the fucker presses down with his fingers.
So Flambae just has to lay there, panting. Robert sitting on his chest and holding him down. He’s not a half bad looking like this, though. Seems Flambae’s first punch had knocked something loose, Bob-Bob’s nose has a trail of blood slowly dripping down it. Flambae can’t help the wolfish smile when he sees it. Even as his own face aches from the movement.
Flambae presses his legs together involuntarily. It’s a normal reaction to get turned on when there's an almost-hot guy sitting on your chest. Flambae’s thighs twitch, both he and Robert are catching their breaths. It’s not helping Flambae’s situation.
Robert is glaring down at him, and it shouldn’t be so attractive. But it is. Fuck. It is. Especially when the blood begins to pool between Robert’s lips and he flicks his tongue out to lick it up. Flambae’s eyes have gone half lidded, watching Robert’s mouth move. He’s probably saying something, Flambae isn’t listening. Could Bob-Bob be good with his tongue? He might be.
Flambae makes a soft sound as he thinks of it. Robert between his legs and putting that stupidly hot mouth to use. Fucking trap his face between Flambae’s thighs. He bets Bob-Bob couldn’t handle him. He’s probably a fucking virgin. Who would want to sleep with Robert anyway?
He’s snapped out of his musings as Robert’s face twists into disgust. Flambae tries burying and smothering any feeling that roars down and makes him throb even more at that look. Fucked. He’s so fucked. Not in the sexy way either. But his body doesn’t seem to know the difference.
Robert’s voice doesn’t help. The disgust and annoyance should snap him out of it. It doesn’t. “Are you getting off on this?”
Flambae has to swallow first to make sure his voice doesn’t crack. “The… the fuck are you talking about Bob-Bob? You some kind of pervert? Why are you thinking about me getting turned on?”
Robert looks unimpressed. “You’ve been eye-fucking me this entire time. And just so you know, I can feel your legs moving back there. You’re not being as subtle as you think you are.”
Fuck. That's not good. “I’m just—“ What is he supposed to say? Robert is probably going to tell everyone. Flambae is done for. At this point— fuck it. He might as well try to get something out of this. Flambae tilts his head forward, trying to bat his eyes. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
That seems to have thrown Robert into a loop. His eyes are wide and he’s staring down at Flambae. Rob’s grip on Flambae’s wrists has loosened, but he doesn’t bother to move. But he’s seeming to consider it, Flambae just has to hold his breath and hope.
Robert finally sighs, letting Flambae’s wrists go completely. Flambae stays where he is, putting on a winning smile. Doesn’t matter that his tooth is missing, he’s still charming enough.
Robert pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “One condition.”
Flambae perks up. Palms on the floor now, ready to push up once he was allowed to. He nods quickly in response.
Rob just looks tired with him. “You stop your bitching about Waterboy.”
Flambae grimaces. His face scrunches up as he considers it. Ugh. “Fine. Whatever. And you don’t tell anyone about this.”
“I’m not one to talk about my sex life, especially at work.”
“Good, Bob-Bob. Keep it that way.”
Robert rolls his eyes, but he does move back to settle on Flambae’s stomach instead. Robert’s hands drift across Flambae’s chest, pulling his suit a little and revealing more of his chest. His fingers softly rubbed over Flambae’s top surgery scars, just the tips had poked out in his suit, now they were on full display.
Robert just traces over them a last time before dipping lower. Flambae has already peeled his suit down his shoulders and back, just enough so it could be pulled down to reveal his crotch. Flambae raises on his elbows, watching Robert work his way down. Eventually Robert is settled back on the floor between Flambae’s legs.
Fucker probably has no idea what to do, Flambae could take over once that shows. Fuck, he’s soaked. He just fucking needs something. Flambae’s suit is tugged away, and he hisses once a finger settles right above his clit. It presses down slightly, then dips in. Flambae lays his head back down and presses it to the floor. Fuck. He’s acting like some desperate fucking— whatever!
Robert’s eyes widen as he easily slips another finger into Flambae. Then he pulls them out and looks at the precum webbing between his fingers. “Is this why you pick so many fights? You get off on it?”
Flambae lifts a hand and throws Rob a middle finger. “Shut the fuck up. Come on. Are we gonna do this or what?”
Robert snorts, but begins bringing his face down. “I’m going to have to delete this camera footage.”
Flambae was about ready to yell at him to hurry the fuck up, but the first word instead turned into a garbled mess of sounds. Fuck! Robert was not supposed to just dig in like that! He was supposed to be fucking— shy or something! Be all cute and let Flambae swoop in to show him how it’s done!
Instead, Flambae can only wrap his legs around Robert’s shoulders and hiss. His tongue is just so— warm. Flambae runs hot, but it’s a little fucking different when it’s someone inside of him!
The only thing that Flambae can manage are strings of curses and shouts. He digs his hands into the carpet, gritting his teeth. Fuck, Robby is too good at this. Flambae’s eyes roll back and his hips push up. Flambae doesn’t even give a shit at how his fresh bruises are starting to throb, all he can feel is Robert between his legs and the blood pounding in his ears.
He forces his arms and head to work, adjusting to lean upwards and peer over his chest at Rob. He can still see the blood dripping down Robert’s nose, just barely. His hands only grip Flambae’s thighs tighter, arms curling around under them to pull Flambae up and closer. Robert’s fucking— feasting on him. Devouring him.
Robert shifts his chin up, just barely, but Flambae's moans turn loud until he bites his lip to muffle it. Robert shouldn’t be able to make him feel like this. Flambae would’ve riled Rob up sooner if he knew he could get this. Fuck, he might be able to get Rob like this another time. Wouldn’t that be great? Get him eating Flambae out on his break. Some ‘team bonding’ or whatever they would call it.
A sudden hard press of the tip of Rob’s tongue has Flambae keening again. He curls, pressing Rob’s head between his thighs. He’s grinding up into Robert’s mouth, who’s taking it in stride. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
Hisses of steam rise from Flambae’s body as he digs his hands into Rob’s hair. Then he goes limp, body unlocking as he lays against the floor. He’s panting and shaking, Rob is still softly suckling at him before he raises his head from his meal.
The blood on Robert’s nose has dried, but the cum on his face seems to be rehydrating it. Coming off in flakes and sticking as he licks his lips clean. He’s pretty like this— almost.
Flambae watches as Robert wipes his mouth with his arm, trying to stand up. Flambae can’t have that, not yet. What if Rob tells someone that Flambae didn’t get him off too? Flambae sits up, tugging on one of Robert’s arms and pulling him into Flambae’s lap.
Flambae pushes his bare thigh between Robert’s legs, a smug grin on his face. He adjusts his grip so he can hold onto Robert’s hips, grinding him down a little. At least until Robert grabs his chin, hard, and makes Flambae look him in the eyes. Fuck, that hurts, he’s right on a bruise. Flambae can deal with it though.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Robert is just a bit too choked to sound actually threatening.
“What? I’m just being nice. Returning the favor.” Flambae’s grin only grows wider.
“If you want this, you’re going to stay still and let me work, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.”
Flambae isn’t paying much attention, just squeezing Rob’s hips. At least until his wrists are grabbed again and pulled away. Robert is finally grinding on him. It’s good, even if Flambae’s wrists are held together and he isn’t allowed to touch Rob. But Flambae can push his leg up every time Rob grinds down.
It’s making Rob grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut. So Flambae doesn’t mind the grip on his wrists that much. Flambae is getting riled up again, but he probably can’t convince Robby to go another round. Not yet, anyway.
Flambae just barks on a laugh once Rob groans and grinds down onto his leg for a final time. Panting, slowly opening his eyes. He’s giving Flambae a soft look, just for a second, and it doesn’t make Flambae’s heart skip a beat at all. He’s won. He’s made Rob cum just from grinding.
Flambae watches Rob’s chest heave before he stands up. Flambae lets him, this time. Rob uses his desk for support before doing something on the computer. Flambae slowly sits up and looks at the screen. A high pitched moan hits his ears after a moment. He looks up at the old-as-shit computer and glares at the video on screen.
He can make out his and Robert’s legs on the video, sticking into view from around the cubicle. The moan comes again, more like a whimper. Flambae grits his teeth.
“I do not sound like that!” He hisses, pushing his body to stand up right next to Robert’s to look at the camera footage.
Robert snorts, but tries to hide it in his hand. “Sure. Whatever you say.”
What’s with the fucking sarcasm?