Chapter Text
“...kept talking about model trains. Seriously? You score a date with me and all you do is sit there and talk about your little nerd shit?”
“Could’ve given him a chance, Bae. Tall nerds are certified fuh-reaks. Didn’t you say he was hung?”
“Pssh. You’ve seen the guy, Alice. He could have a saddle with my name on it and I wouldn’t ride.”
“Uh-huh.”
“...Fine, okay, I would. But this isn’t about looks, alright? I don’t need a saddle right now, I need a whip.”
…It’s been two weeks of this already and Robert’s at his fucking limit.
He’s been working with the team long enough to notice when something’s off with one of them. He’s been working with Flambae long enough to know his temperament runs hotter than his flames, and his moods are as fickle as the power he yields. Robert also knows, and has done everything he can to make sure the ex villain knows as well, that it doesn’t have to be this way.
Chad has issues with control, which Robert can sympathize with, and probably helped fuel at some point as Mecha Man. Forced proximity and mutual respect did wonders to alleviate the problems the latter caused.
(And whiskey. If Robert had to go through the heart-to-heart that led them to this point sober, he’d have lost all his hair and his will to live.)
Robert trusts Chad to work through his shit on his own and is more than willing to grit his teeth through the rougher patches. He can’t afford to extend the same courtesy to Flambae.
The first week of bullshit was easier to manage. A drop in performance meant a drop in leaderboard rankings, which Flambae quickly amended when Robert pointed it out to him in their emergency meeting. They went through the HR paperwork required to clear his record together and Flambae only called him an annoying bitch twice.
(Yes, Flambae, going off route to start fires and scaring the piss out of a bunch of twelve year-olds counts as misconduct. No, Flambae, it doesn’t matter that you put the fires out later, or that the kids were nasty bullies. Management won’t accept ‘I’m going through a dry spell because none of my usual hook-ups are satisfying me’ as a valid excuse. Yes, I’ll allow you to lie and put down ‘mental health concerns’ for a get out of jail card, but only if you promise you’ll stop broadcasting your sexploits over comms.)
Flambae switched tactics in the second week. Instead of failing to do his job, he was half-assing it. Nothing he did or didn’t do would completely tank his ranking or get him fired, but his work was sloppy. Out of character. Infuriating. He got shit done but refused to comply with orders, undeterred by the stern warnings Robert threw his way.All because he couldn’t survive two months without getting his dick wet.
So yeah, Robert is pretty fucking pissed. And he doesn’t trust management to handle a Flambae hissy fit without getting the man thrown back in jail. This is his circus, these are his monkeys, and he’s putting an end to the show before things go further south.
The conversation comes to a halt when Robert enters the break room. He gives a curt nod to Prism in greeting and turns to Flambae.
“Wait for me in the conference room after your shift.”
Flambae’s brows shoot up to his hairline. He opens his mouth to retort, which Robert promptly shuts down. “If you don’t show up, I’ll report it on grounds of disobeying a direct order from your dispatcher.”
“Fucking hell Robbo, are you gonna explain anything, or–”
He turns to leave without another word. Flambae keeps yapping after him, but Robert doesn’t listen. Whatever grievances the man has, he can air it all out later that evening.
—
He barely contains a sigh of relief when he sees Flambae waiting for him in the allocated conference room. The threat of a report was kind of bullshit. Again, he doesn’t trust anyone but himself to handle his team; call it arrogance, call it a savior complex, it doesn’t matter. He gets results. He has to.
“Feet off the table. Sit properly.”
Flambae scowls, and doesn’t make any move to comply. Robert is unfortunately not in the mood for a staring contest.
He gives a swift kick to the dingy chair and sends Flambae tumbling down with a yelp.
“Do you need hearing aids before we start? Galen knows someone, we can pop by.”
Flambae recovers fairly quickly. He plants a hand over the table as he rises, eyes blazing with rage, using the surface as leverage to catapult him forward and into a swinging punch. Robert catches his fist with the flat of his palm and twists, speaking up before Flambae can recover from the sprain.
“Cameras, jackass.” He lets go with a wince when Flambae scalds him. “Stop before you get assault charges too.”
Flambae’s eyes flick towards the camera, then to the reddened skin of Robert’s palm. His scowl deepens.
He pulls the chair up and flops down on it, arms crossed over his chest, feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Good,” Robert says, and gets a bitter scoff in reply. He isn’t phased by Flambae’s reaction. If anything, he’s surprised at how fast the man complied.
“Go ahead, bitch. I haven’t got all night.”
“Me neither.” He leans on the table but doesn’t sit, forcing the taller man to look up at him for once. “So you better listen carefully, Flambae, because I’ll only say this once. Don’t speak unless prompted.”
Flambae barks out a mirthless laugh. “Damn, want me to call you sir too, Bob-Bob?”
“If it’ll help you take me seriously.”
The way Flambae’s smirk falters gives him all the momentum he needs. He can’t let the rare moment of authority he’s been allowed go to waste.
“You guys were a fucking mess when we first started. No one expected you to succeed as much as you did, and I’ll admit I had my own doubts as well. But I promised you a future, and worked my fucking ass off for you to finally see what I saw in you.”
Flambae’s expression spells displeasure still, shoulders tense with indignation, but there’s a hint of apprehension there that Robert catches. “Get to the point–”
SLAM.
His hand, still tender from the burn, stings where it meets the hard wooden surface. If all his attention wasn’t zeroed onto Flambae then, he would’ve missed the flinch that made another brick slip from that paper-thin wall of indifference.
“What matters more is that you worked your fucking ass off to get here. Thing is, though, you aren’t immune to falling now that you’ve gotten a taste of greatness. I don’t know how to get this through to you– fuck, I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to– but I sure as hell am not gonna sit back and watch you undo all the progress you’ve made.”
Robert can almost see the gears turning in Flambae’s head, like he’s trying to decide if he wants to listen or act out again. He couldn’t predict the effect his speech would have on Flambae beforehand but it seems to be working. Robert’s actually getting through to him.
“I will not let you land yourself back in jail after you spent years hating some normie in a big fuck-off Mech for it, hating yourself for not being able to do anything but stew in your shame like some misbehaving dog with that steel collar around your neck. Do you deserve to be treated like that? After you’ve shown everyone how strong you are, how good you can be?”
Flambae’s eyes go as wide as saucers and Robert braces for a scathing retort. Something along the lines of you don’t know shit about me or how dare you talk to me like that. He drops his gaze for a moment, just long enough to see the way Flambae’s throat bobs as he swallows.
What he doesn’t expect to see is amber eyes still fixed on him, like he couldn’t look away if he tried; and a small, tentative shake of his head.
He blinks away the unease that settles in his stomach and marches on.
“Exactly. You know you’re better than that, I know you’re better than that. So get your shit together before you spiral back down that pit of misery or I swear to god, Flambae, I’ll beat the motivation back into you if I have to. I’ll go back to being the villain in your head if that’s what it fucking takes, make you hate my guts again so you’ll want nothing more than to see me eat my words, ‘cause I’d rather suffer a few burns than watch you debase yourself over inconsequential bullshit. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes s– uh.” Flambae clears his throat, looking away. “Yes.”
…What.
Robert isn’t deaf, nor is he stupid. There was a sir standing ready at the tip of Flambae’s tongue before he swallowed it back. It could’ve been a joke, could’ve been sarcastic–
Is he blushing?!
That feeling of unease hits him with full force this time and he has to take a step back to jumpstart his buffering brain.
“You’re free to go. Just… Please never make me talk to you like that again.”
Flambae doesn’t respond, and Robert takes that as his cue to leave. He achieved his goal. Flambae seemed ready to comply for once. There’s no reason for him to linger.
His hand hovers over the door’s handle, strangely hesitant.
When he sneaks a look back, Flambae has his head hung low and legs crossed, staring at some insignificant point on the floor.
“...Flambae?”
The only response he gets is a choked off whine. Alarm bells start ringing in Robert’s ears as he makes his way back to Flambae’s side, feet dragging on autopilot.
“What’s wrong?”
His eyes squeeze shut with a deep breath. When he exhales, Robert can faintly see puffs of smoke come out of his nostrils.
“Was I… too harsh?” He prompts again, scanning Flambae’s pained expression for something, anything. “I needed you to understand the gravity of the situation–”
“Shut– just shut the fuck up for a sec.”
He squirms a little in his seat. Robert’s gaze follows the motion on instinct, drawn by some inexplicable force.
“...Oh.”
The cause of Flambae’s turmoil is a raging hard-on.
Robert doesn’t know how to react, what to say, because what the fuck do you even say in this situation, but his lack of reaction just leads to the man curl in on himself further.
The air around them grows unbearably hot in an instant, enough to snap Robert out of his haze.
“I’m, uh, not judging or anything. It’s fine. It… happens.”
Does it happen? No, not really. God, he sounds so lame. His confidence is crumbling with each second that passes in tense silence.
It’s an extremely weird situation, yes, but truly not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. Which makes it all the more jarring that Flambae looks like he’s about to throw up over something as trivial as an awkward boner. Yes, Robert’s seen him in distress a handful of times, but subdued? That’s new. Guy’s not one to let his shame simmer in the air like this. It kicks Robert’s instincts into overdrive, an uncanny valley effect urging him to just do something; and before he can even process it, he’s reaching out.
A gentle pat on the head. Flambae’s following whine is straight up wounded.
Thoroughly freaked out and afraid to say the wrong thing, Robert lets his hand stay there. Flambae did tell him to shut up before, he’ll speak up eventually. Something aching and primal compels him to start petting the gel-slick strands under his palm in the meantime.
With a heavy (and remarkably steady) exhale, Flambae opens his eyes again. Robert retracts his hand immediately. He’s still unsure of what to do with it– with himself, really– but eventually settles on folding his arms over his chest. If Flambae notices how jerky his movements are, he doesn’t comment on it.
“I’m only telling you this so you don’t get the wrong idea, and I know you’ll be on my ass about it,” Flambae starts, mirroring the way Robert holds himself and looking every bit as uncomfortable. “Do you know anything about BDSM?”
That–
Isn’t at all what Robert was expecting. He briefly considers the possibility of Flambae fucking with him just to divert attention away from himself, but his tone is even, and his gaze is undeniably expectant.
“I know enough.”
It’s a cop-out, which is exactly what that weirdly personal and deeply inappropriate question deserves. Flambae, albeit a little intrigued, seems satisfied for now.
“Great, you’re not a total virgin then. I’m a sub. Well, technically a switch, but– don’t look at me like that, I have a point!”
“Get to it before I call HR.”
Flambae grumbles a few words under his breath that may or may not have been English, but carry enough bite for Robert to know they're aimed at him. “There’s this headspace people get pushed into during scenes, right? It feels a bit like getting high. I don’t– it’s never been this easy for me before, this random– actually, it’s never happened outside of sex–”
He’s rambling again and Robert’s losing the plot at this point. The exasperation must have bled into his expression too, as Flambae cuts himself off with an equally frustrated sigh.
“Your stupid little speech put me into that headspace. The whole–” He snaps his fingers, trying to find the right words, “–authority act. You were two seconds away from calling me a good boy or some shit, man. I almost thought you were doing it on purpose.”
With that, realization hits Robert like a double decker bus.
While he was trying to avoid a direct answer, he’s far from a prude and truly does know enough about kink. His ex girlfriend– the only long term relationship he’s had to this day– was really into the idea of getting dominated by a superhero. Lovesick and all too eager to please, he indulged her every whim, which led to the discovery that he’s not entirely vanilla himself. Some of the things she made him do were… questionable, and had him plummeting into a lethargic slump akin to the aftermath of a panic attack, but most of it he was okay with, and some was as pleasurable for him as it was for her.
So, yeah. He knows some things.
And he really didn’t mean for it to come off that way, but replaying some of the words in his head… He may as well have gone full Christian Gray on the man. Dubious ethics included, lack of sexual intent notwithstanding. He feels his cheeks heat up.
Something’s still bugging him about Flambae’s explanation, though.
“Definitely not on purpose. You said you’ve never dropped this quickly?”
“Yeah.”
“So… there’s a chance of it happening again–”
“Fuuuuck no. Nope. Absolutely not. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I only want to make sure this won’t happen during work hours, Flambae.”
“And I’m telling you it won’t, bitch.”
He stands up, tall and proud, glaring down at Robert like this is all his fault somehow. The insufferable jerk switch has been flipped back on, it seems.
“If you tell anyone about this–”
“I won’t.” Robert sighs as Flambae shoulder-checks him on his way out. He can’t help but add a quiet, “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Sparks fly up over Flambae’s shoulders. He doesn’t look back, but slams the door extra hard on his way out.
—
It’s been two days since the meeting and Flambae’s performance has barely improved.
The worst part is, Robert knows for sure now that he’s not doing it on purpose. Every time he fucks up a simple mission, the man comes back to base seething with rage– mostly aimed at himself, despite some collateral damage. He’s clearly trying to reign it in. Robert’s previous frustration has fully transitioned into concern.
Far be it from him to judge anyone else’s libido. Robert’s own dry streak, while mostly voluntary, has started getting to his head– and his sex drive has never been the most active even before the coma. For someone as… sexually active… as Flambae, two months of abstinence may as well be two years.
Still. This much of a performance drop is extremely unusual for a hero of his caliber, and Robert refuses to accept the dry streak as the sole explanation. There must be something else there. Something Flambae isn’t telling him, or perhaps something Robert failed to pay attention to.
His colleagues’ sex lives is decidedly none of his fucking business. Flambae’s mostly friendly with him now, but they’re not exactly friends, and definitely not close enough for Robert to ask him about it outright. Keeping his subordinates in line and in peak form, however, is his fucking business. Quite literally. It’s his responsibility as Flambae’s dispatcher.
(That’s what he tells himself, anyway. He’s not coming up with a plan to help Flambae without triggering his avoidant tendencies because he cares about the bastard. Definitely not.)
From what he’s learned through Flambae’s usual oversharing over comms and some light eavesdropping over lunch, villains don’t like traitors; and Flambae’s hook-up roster was entirely made up of old connections. An off-hand comment about his temper from Coop suggests he still goes to therapy, and Flambae’s retort reveals that he hasn’t been able to attend his weekly sessions for the past month or so. The reason for that, Robert is not privy to, but it gives him just enough information to piece a few things together in his head.
Late night deep-dives on old forums about BDSM as a form of psychotherapy help put everything together.
The plan he formulates is, if he were honest with himself, batshit insane. Not to mention wildly inappropriate. His current calculations on the effectiveness of it are as follows:
Possibility of backfire: fifty percent. Possibility of being fired: thirty percent. Possibility of actual, literal fire: twenty percent.
But fuck, he’s out of options. Flambae has evaded every conversation attempt Robert has made during breaks and he wasn’t lying when he said he would not let the super be his own downfall again.
On Thursday, he gets his first opportunity to put this little plan of his into motion.
The mission he sends Flambae on is basically guaranteed to be a success. The guy’s exceptional with kids, probably owing to how much he loves his niece, so helping a poor little girl find her mom at the bus stop is right up his alley. As soon as the word SUCCESS appears on his screen, Robert switches his mic on over comms.
“Great work, Flambae. I knew you could do it.”
He adjusts his tone to be peppier than his usual monotone, in case the statement reads as condescending instead of encouraging to the hothead. Flambae scoffs.
“Send me on another balloon rescue while you’re at it. You gonna bench me soon or some shit?”
“It was a simple mission, yes, but dealing with kids can go south real fast. You did a very good job. You deserve the praise.”
Flambae makes a sound like he’s choking. Someone giggles over the line– probably Visi. For a split, horrifying second, Robert thinks he went overboard for his first attempt.
“...Thanks. Bitch.”
He manages to mute himself before anyone can hear his sigh of relief. All that is left for him to do is wait for another mission fit for Flambae and see if it helped, even a tiny bit.
—
“Suck it, Batboy!”
“Fuck you, man! You only got this one ‘cause Vanderstank’s wife likes her men a little fruity!”
“...You know you just called your idol a sissy, right?”
“I did not!”
“No slurs over comms guys, we talked about this,” Robert sighs. “But I’ll admit, I’m impressed. The impromptu shopping spree was a brilliant idea. You did such a good job, Flambae.”
“Heh. I know.”
“I can see you twirling your hair and kicking your feet up in the air–”
“Shut the fuck up, Visi.”
—
“Fucking Bone Zone and his stupid fucking questions–”
“Flambae. Listen to me.” An audible gulp. Then, blissful silence. “You messed up this time, sure, but I know you can do better. You will do better on the next mission. Right?”
“...Right.”
“Attaboy. Oh, this one’s interesting– you get to be a stunt double.”
—
“Excellent work once again. Keep it up, I know you can.”
—
“That was close. Way too close, Flambae.”
“...I know.”
“Good. You’ve been doing so well, but I need you to do even better, alright?”
“Is this some kind of roleplay?” Malevola’s voice crackles over comms. “Not that I mind.”
Robert feels his face heat up at how right she is, in a way. “It’s positive reinforcement.”
“I’d like some of that.” She purrs. Visi chuckles obnoxiously.
“Ooh, yes, sir! Fill me up with your positive reinforcement!”
“But you’ve been a very bad hero,” Prism says in an awkward baritone. “You know what happens to bad heroes, right, babygirl?”
“That’s enough–”
“They get benched?” Malevola joins in again.
“No! Please, don’t bench me, I’ll be good!”
“I didn’t consent to this,” Golem drawls at the same time Sonar unmutes himself.
“Pssht, no way Flambae’s a bottom. He’s so up his own ass, there’s not enough space left for a dick.”
“Whatchu say about my boy?!”
“Sounds like you gotta share ‘im with Robert now, lass.”
“Hate sex is soooo hot. Can I watch next time? Please? Pretty please?”
“He’s gonna call Miss Blazer on your ass.”
“Just gimme the cuck chair, I’ll turn that shit into a slip-n-slide!”
“Actually, it’s called ‘cuckqueen’ if you’re a girl–”
“Waterboy, grab the mop! Clean-up on Aisle Invisi-cuck!”
“That’s– you– do you want me to–”
“Enough!”
Waterboy squeaks. The order isn’t directed at him at all, but anger and panic are bubbling up in Robert’s chest in equal measure and he needs to get a handle on the team’s chatter fast.
“I know this is a difficult concept to grasp for you guys– and it really shouldn’t be at your age– but fantasizing about your colleagues’ sex lives won’t make up for your own glaring lack of one.”
“Uh oh, daddy’s mad.”
“Flambae should go cheer him up under the desk–”
“And as your superior,” Robert cuts them off again, injecting as much authority into his voice as possible, “I hold the right to punish you for any and all inappropriate remarks directed towards me during work hours. I have been exceptionally lenient in this regard so far, but my patience has its limits, and I would not recommend testing it further. Do I make myself clear?”
He doesn’t enjoy giving these warnings. Some of the team members would probably call bullshit on that, but they’re still his… friends, at the end of the day, and they know Robert shares their disdain for workplace formalities. The silence that follows is less blissful than he anticipates.
Especially the silence on Flambae’s end, who Robert can’t help but notice disconnects entirely at some point during his speech.
He ignores the dread that settles in his stomach at that.
—
The droning buzz of fluorescent lights, while faint enough to ignore during the day, are gratingly loud in the absence of idle chatter. Robert grits his teeth through the last stretch of his report.
Just a few minutes more and he’ll be reunited with his beloved pullout couch– a new addition to the barren wasteland he calls his apartment. It has loose springs that dig into his back and mystery stains in various colors, but it’s still a massive improvement over what he’d been subjecting himself to before.
He leans further into the computer screen, so absorbed in his work that he doesn’t hear the footsteps echoing in the empty office.
A hand slams down on his desk and he nearly jumps out of his skin. Flambae is looming over him, supporting that scowl Robert is oh so used to, and he tries not to let it show how unnerving it is to see it directed at him after the earlier incident over comms.
“You almost gave me a heart attack. What–”
The rest of the sentence dies in his throat as Flambae clutches his shirt with both hands and hauls him up, shoving him against the cubicle wall. Robert grabs onto his wrists in a futile attempt to pull him off. His legs are immobilized by Flambae’s full weight pinning them in place.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
A drop of spit lands on Robert’s cheek as Flambae snarls at him. He flinches and digs his nails harder into the heated flesh.
It’s useless. The man won’t budge.
“You think this is funny? Think I’m some kind of fucking joke? Huh?!”
“Let me go–”
“I don’t know what the fuck you gain from doing this shit, but I’m not gonna let a pathetic, sniveling little bitch like you fuck with my head!”
Robert stops struggling and glares at him. It stings to admit, but there is no way he can push a man like Flambae off with pure strength. “What are you talking about? Fucking with your head?”
“Don’t play dumb now–”
“I’m not playing dumb, asshole, I have no idea what you’re accusing me of!”
He expects the fierceness, the burning rage, the all-consuming fire that swallows up every ounce of softness he’s only caught glimpses of in Flambae’s eyes. And there’s plenty of that. But beneath it all, there’s something else that turns his scowl blade-sharp; colors his cheeks in splotches of pink, furious even with the lack of proper lighting.
“The– comments. The way you talk over comms,” Flambae grits out, confirming Robert’s suspicions. “The praises, the– ugh! You’re doing it on purpose!”
His hands are burning holes into the fabric bunched under them, grip loosening with sweat that won’t dry quick enough, and Robert realizes he could push the man away now. He should. He should deny everything, tell Flambae to fuck off, and leave him to deal with his feelings on his own with a broken nose. This whole week has been a series of mistakes and he can’t afford to add another one to the shitpile.
“I mean them.”
Flambae tenses in his hold. Robert doesn’t dare make a move, doesn’t even breathe.
“I know you don’t… like me all that much, but you love what you do, and I don’t want that taken away from you. I thought playing a role would help you deal with whatever it is you’re going through right now. Sure, I got a little too into it at times, maybe laid it on too thick, but I meant every word.”
He wonders briefly if he should brace for a punch, but the way Flambae’s scowl softens makes him hesitate.
Robert knows that look intimately. Half-lidded but shining with determination. The crease of his brows spelling nerves instead of anger, the hesitation he’s so clearly trying to fight off, the barely-there part of his lips… It’s the same look Mandy gave him on that billboard that broke down Robert’s defenses in an instant, magnetic in a way that felt inevitable.
But with Mandy, there was at least a sense of security. A strong foundation he could stand on without fearing the fall. The crumbling building that started his relationship with Flambae– the uneven brickwork they laid on top of it– has him anticipating it. Growing bold despite the threat of it.
Maybe some wires crossed in his brain and turned distaste into attraction. Maybe he Pavlov’d himself with the praises and gentle scolding he’d been dishing out all too easily. Maybe it’s been too long since he felt a warm body pushing against him, since he had such a handsome face so close to his own; whatever excuses he can come up with, they aren’t enough to hold his inhibitions together. Flambae’s gaze flits to his mouth for the briefest of moments and it’s all Robert needs to crush their lips together.
There isn’t an ounce of hesitation in the way Flambae kisses him. The hands clutching his shirt shoot up to cup his face, to angle Robert’s face and pace them both. His lips are as soft as Robert imagined them to be– it is a revelation that he imagined it at all, but not surprising enough to pull him out of the moment, distract him from the silk-smooth glide of their mouths. The undercurrent of desperation sparks up where calloused fingers spread over his nape. The stubble rubbing on his skin like carpet burns only makes him press harder.
It was easy to ignore the tension between them when he believed it would never snap. He feels the ghost of it in the little noises Flambae lets slip out and Robert swallows them all eagerly. The hunger he kept locked away in his chest roars, aching to explore every inch of heated flesh and firm muscle it’s allowed to dig its claws into. Flambae’s body responds in earnest. He groans into the kiss, walking them back until Robert’s back hits the edge of the desk. A jolt of pain startles him enough to pull back.
Flambae doesn’t seem privy to his pain, but he relents. He’s laser focused on Robert’s lips, licking over his own in a shameless display of hunger that makes Robert’s cheeks burn.
“I thought you were straight,” He eventually says, and Robert pushes down the urge to roll his eyes. He angles his hips and gives a lazy thrust in lieu of a response, grinding the evidence of his arousal against Flambae’s thigh.
“Does it feel like I am?”
Flambae groans low in his throat and dives back in to devour Robert’s mouth. The press of slick muscle urges him to part his lips, licking into him with newfound urgency. Flambae’s mouth is hot, even hotter than the rest of him, and it makes every coherent thought in Robert’s brain fly out the window. The wet slide of their tongues is sinful, the taste of vanilla chapstick and smoke heavenly. Something hard and hot presses over his groin and his cock gives a dangerous little twitch.
Office. Cameras.
“Wait, hold on.”
He manages to pry his face away enough to mutter the words against Flambae’s mouth. A drawn-out, agonized groan escapes the super.
“There’s no fucking way you’re blueballing me right now.”
“Didn’t say that.”
He doesn’t know what he’s thinking, just what he’s thinking with. Flambae arches a curious brow.
“You propositioning me, Bob-Bob?”
“I think we’re past that point.” Robert frees himself from Flambae’s hold, smoothing his shirt over. “Though if you keep calling me shit like that I might change my mind.”
Flambae grins, wide and confident, like a panther ready to pounce.
“Fine, Robert. Your place or mine?”