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Robert clocks in at 9 AM sharp, managing to make it to work on time despite his morning routine being interrupted by Beef puking. He had licked something dirty on the ground, no surprise there, and made quick work of his kitchen tiles. Beef seems completely fine after ruining his floor, so he lets it slide. Not like grounding a clingy, boundary-challenged dog would even work.
He scrounges together a last-minute breakfast with instant coffee and Twinkies from the vending machine, before settling into his cubicle. Beef circles his legs affectionately and trots away—off to find Chase, no doubt. He's been clinging to him like he's the one paying his vet bills.
"Hey, Robert. Feeling alright? You look..." Blazer asks, walking over to his cubicle. She leans on the cubicle's wall, expectant. Robert stares back, confused, before realizing he probably looks like shit.
"Like shit? I know. I'm fine—don't worry." Robert adds awkwardly, mustering a smile. Blazer smiles and leans back, arms crossed over her chest.
"I'll take your word for it... also, really looking forward to tonight. Perfect timing." Blazer says, about to walk away.
"Wait, what thing tonight?" Robert asks before she can get out of earshot. She glances back.
"Your... house-warming party? Everyone's invited last time I checked. By everyone I mean the Z-Team, Royd, Chase, and me, of course. You're not aware of this?"
"...No, I wasn't until now." Robert says slowly. "You know what—why the hell not. See you tonight."
"Yeah, see you." She smiles and walks off, and Robert spins in his chair back to his computer. He'll mull over what that was about later.
"Alright, hope you all aren't as hungover as I am." Robert says into his headset mic, logging into his account. The computer, old as it is, loads the SDN dispatcher's interface after a few short seconds, and he scrolls through his team's profiles. Everyone's here, thankfully. Except Flambae, who suffered a due mental break after the Mecha Man news dropped. Robert's lingering migraine doubles at the memory.
Robert looks around his team, the people he's been spending almost all his time with since joining SDN. The people he, unfortunately, would trust his life with, though lately he hasn't attached much value to living. They deserve the truth - the answer is clear to him. Delaying the inevitable would only invite more anger, and he was sure some of them would be angry. Maybe all of them.
"So you should get to know the real me. Um." Robert glances down at his lap, his hands balled into nervous fists. He has to say it- he steels himself, looking back up. "I'm Mecha Man."
He takes in all of their expressions, holding his breath. It feels like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders when he's not immediately jumped.
That weight is immediately returned and doubled when he makes eye contact with Flambae, his scandalized, shocked face. He wonders what's going on in his mind. He'd be pretty fucked up in the head if he blowed some guy just to find out it was actually Shroud—though that's an extreme comparison. He didn't kill Flambae's dad.
A series of emotions flicker across Flambae's face before he stands, stalking towards him. "It is you, you little shit."
"You'll be disappointed. I still can't see straight." Sonar says, his voice crackling in Robert's ear. He's gotta talk to Blazer about the sound quality one of these days.
"Well in your case I'm not surprised, combining alcohol and drugs tends to have that effect on people." Robert sighs. He multitasks in the meanwhile, sending Malevola on a mission. For being a demon presumably from Christian Hell she was by far the most responsible with her drinks. Could she even get drunk? "I thought you agreed to limit the stuff? Or, better yet, quitting substances altogether?"
"Yeah, rehab just isn't cutting it." Sonar says, and Robert can physically feel the half-hearted shrug. "And if you think about it, rehabilitation centers are just one big government-funded scam- clinics with a prison paint job. Therapy has more benefits, for less."
"Uh-huh. And you're... going to therapy?"
"No?"
"...Got it."
With Flambae gone, hopefully not for forever, he's down one hero specializing in combat. He'll just have to improvise for the time being.
"My car broke down in the middle of the freeway—oh my god, I don't want to die!"
Move the car off the road and reassure the civilian
"This seems like a job for the police." Robert mumbles under his breath, but he sends Golem and Prism out anyway. A freeway car crash would be a grizzly scene, and the Z-team could use some adrenaline to combat the hangovers.
"Shit, if Flambae was here he could fly us into the road. How the hell do we get in the middle of the freeway? It's rush hour!" Prism protests. To follow her point, the sound of rushing cars clips in and out of her feed.
"Yup, super busy." Golem agrees.
"I regret not being there in due time," Phenomaman says unprompted, despite being in the middle of his own call across the city. "I would be happy to carry the team to their desired locations."
"Good to know Big P, but shit's going down and you ain't here." Prism says with a clear eye-rolling intonation.
"Okay, hold on. Maybe I can contact the local—" Robert's interrupted by the sound of crackling in his ear, loud enough to break the headset's sound barrier and clip out. "What's going on? Prism? Golem?"
The sound of Prism's delighted laughter registers, which eases his alarm. Something good must have happened, not the contrary where everyone abruptly died. "Look who's back!" Prism exclaims, clearly not talking to Robert.
An unmistakably conceited voice replies. "I thought that busted up car was mine, it's like the exact same model. Almost the exact same stripes too—I thought some dickhead stole my car and had the nerve to crash it."
Flambae. Robert's relieved, just for a moment, before his high crashes. The bar's bathroom. Flambae's knees on the cold ceramic tiles. His insults with Robert's dick centimeters away from his face, close enough to feel his breath on his skin as he snarls.
"Good to have you back, Flambae." Robert manages after forcing his throat to work. Flambae's icon appears back on his interface, his tracker overlapping with Prism and Golem's. That was a poor choice of words, now all he can think about is Flambae's sinfully warm mouth. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"
"Like fuck you are. You're barely even a work in progress." Flambae retorts immediately—too quickly to be natural. He's defensive. Mortified, probably. Giving drunk blowjobs and learning the guy he sucked off is the same guy who beat his ass had to be some sort of double whammy. The distant sound of creaking metal, rubber tires, and Prism's customer service voice tells him the call is resuming smoothly, so he focuses elsewhere, the other missions.
"Hoping that's subject to change." Robert says. "Would anything change if I said I was sorry?"
"No." Also too quick. His uncharacteristic embarrassment (the flustered kind, specifically. His usual embarrassment is the indignation and aggression branch, unsurprisingly) is strangely entertaining, even though Robert's almost equally as thrown off.
"Alright, this aside, Punch Up, I'll have you go with—"
Invisigal's icon suddenly lights up as she joins the conversation. "Flambae's back already? Damn, I thought he'd take at least like, a week."
Flambae's line goes suspiciously quiet. Probably because he's remembering how Invisigal watched the entire bathroom interaction.
"...I'm hoping the silence doesn't mean you're flying to my location at break-neck speed." Invisigal continues wryly, the faintest hint of concern in her voice.
"Why would he be on your ass? You didn't trash his not-car." Prism asks. "Also, heading back. That Pontiac Firebird is definitely not salvageable."
Invisigal snorts. "Okay, so you won't believe this—"
Robert doubts Invisigal would actually air out him and Flambae's business to the entire Z-Team, she's just counting on her wording to make him panic. But he won't take any chances, so he promptly mutes her. Unmutes. Mutes. Unmutes. Invisigal's chopped up voice goes from sly to indignant in seconds.
"Sorry. Mis-clicked." He says unapologetically when she curses him out.
"Ya'll be acting mad suspicious. Keeping secrets?" Prism huffs, but she's not being serious as she drops the topic. Close call; Robert smooths his hand over the back of his neck- force of habit.
The rest of the shift proceeds relatively peacefully. Invisigal ended up losing her inhaler ("I swear it was in my pocket a second ago. Gotta love those women's 'pockets', amiright?") and Sonar cited his lacking performance as cocaine withdrawal, but overall it was a success. Considering everyone's either hungover, beat up from the bar fight, or both, he's satisfied.
"Don't uh, forget to pick up a new inhaler, Visi. Can't have you on the field without one." Robert says as he closes the interface, watching his rank creep up with the successes. "Good work, everyone. See you tomorrow."
The computer shuts down, the screen flashing erratically, then going black. Robert pats the side of the monitor with moderate force, as if that would make it perform faster.
Now that he's not in the zone anymore, his mind takes that as permission to spiral. He agrees with Invisigal—he was sure Flambae's sudden hiatus would last longer than maybe half a day. Then again, it seemed completely unplanned. A familiar-looking vehicle, his pride, his teammates happening to be at the scene, his beloved car, yeah. It was fate.
He groans, kicking himself back and letting himself spin in his chair, staring at the ceiling. How is he going to face Flambae now? Or is it the other way around? They were both tipsy, sure, and tensions were high. Maybe he can just pretend like nothing ever happened. He would be lying if he said he didn't think any of the Z-Teamers were sleeping with each other. Maybe this is just... future Robert's problem.
"Fuck," Robert groans under his breath, dragging his hands down his face. "great going, Robert."
Beef shakes his head blearily, having been asleep for the past few hours. He hops off his dog bed and trots around to Robert's cubicle, rubbing against his leg. Without looking, Robert reaches down to scratch behind his ears.
Right. His house-warming party. Invisigal probably made some convenient excuse to throw a party in his apartment; maybe to celebrate his coming-out as Mecha Man, maybe to use the buzzed energy as a backdrop to introduce a wild idea that would get immediately rejected otherwise. It was a coin toss at best.
"Can't let them beat me to my own apartment, can I?" Robert says to Beef, picking him up. "Home-time, buddy." Beef licks his hand, and he clocks out for the day, packing his bag and cleaning up his desk.
He manages to get home before anyone from the Z-Team arrives, his apartment as depressingly empty as always. He should really get his bed situation sorted out. The lack thereof, really. He shuts the door behind him, setting Beef down. Instead of getting comfortable and immediately flopping onto his back, Beef barks. Once, then twice, in no particular direction.
"Hey, what's the matter?" Robert frowns, suddenly wary.
A fist flies out of his kitchen and hits Robert square in the jaw, sending him toppling back. He hits the floor with a grunt, head reeling. He rubs his jaw after the shock wears off. "What the fuck?"
Flambae walks out of the shadows, one hand still clenched into a fist, the other holding a... green desk lamp? Robert couldn't even tell he was in his apartment with the way the shadows swallow that corner of the apartment this time of day—that's probably a hazard, considering his occupation.
"I might have to do that every so often. For the whole... Mechabitch reveal." Flambae says stiffly, setting the lamp down on the kitchen island. "Why is everybody late?"
"Maybe you're just early. You got here before me, and I live here." Robert says, standing. "...Why the lamp?"
"Invisigal suggested it." Flambae shrugs. Silence falls over the room, tense and uncomfortable.
"Thanks for coming to my 'housewarming' party, then—"
Flambae rushes forward, hoisting Robert by his collar and pushing him against the wall. The one painting (sad, small) in the whole apartment he has hung up on the wall clatters and falls to the floor, glass case shattering. Beef defends his owner righteously by yelping and retreating to the balcony.
"What the fuck was that, Robert? Yesterday, in the bar." Flambae demands, a little irrationally in Robert's opinion.
"What the fuck was what? You're the one that sucked my dick, and you could've left if you didn't want—"
"You know what I mean—don't act like," Flambae stammers, slamming Robert against the wall again to fill the empty silence. "Ugh! You're fucking with me, huh? That's what it is?"
"No, it's not. I'm not messing with you, I swear. I was just—a little out of it. And horny." Robert says, strained. He raises his hands reluctantly, if only to appease him. "We both were."
"Fuck." Is all Flambae says (and Robert agrees) as he crashes their lips together, abandoning choking his collar in favor of cupping the sides of his face. Robert carefully sidesteps the broken glass on the floor before he reciprocates, parting his lips. Flambae still tastes like alcohol, which is mildly alarming. Did sucking his dick turn him into an alcoholic?
One thing Robert does resent is Flambae's height; he'll develop a crick in his neck at this rate. Robert drags Flambae down by the nape like he did in the bar, recklessly digging his nails into his hair. Flambae makes a pained sound at the tug, but doesn't swat his hand away. He'll take what he can get.
His hands slide down greedily, squeezing the absurd taper of his waist, then his hips. Flambae breaks the kiss at the feeling, as if surprised. Robert smirks.
"What? Just a little feeling-up." He says, squeezing his waist again for emphasis. Flambae flinches involuntarily, cheeks red.
"Shut up, I'm not a fucking virgin. I just do more of the touching than the touched, n'okay? I get more action in a month than you've gotten in your whole miserable fucking life," Flambae hisses, empty insults. Though he's right, no contest there.
"You keep jumping to conclusions, I never said you're a virgin." Robert chuckles.
Taking advantage of Flambae's momentary confusion, Robert leans up and presses a kiss to his neck, then another, slowly trailing down his skin. Flambae shivers at the sensation, hands twitching in the air as if unsure where to go. Eventually they settle gently on Robert's shoulder. Then immediately dig painfully into his skin when Robert's teeth graze his skin. He gets tired of the sweet kisses fast and sinks his teeth in, just enough to bruise, and maybe bead some blood if he's careless about it. Flambae curses and jerks like he's been shocked, grip tightening to the point of pain. Mutual pain, then.
"You're awfully jumpy," Robert mumbles into his collar, a smile tugging at his lips. Listening to his restrained grunts and gasps, escaping through gritted teeth, are doing wonders for his mood.
This time it's his turn to walk Flambae back, until he bumps into the kitchen island. Robert loops his hands under Flambae's thighs, before pausing. As if he could haul all 6'4 of him onto the counter. He's getting carried away.
Flambae snickers, catching on, placing his palms on the counter and hauling himself onto it. "Recognizing your weakness, Bob-bob?"
"You have no idea." Robert agrees flatly, lifting a knee onto the counter between Flambae's spread legs for leverage. "But I don't need to pick you up when you so helpfully volunteered yourself, hm? Thanks."
Flambae's indignant protest is swallowed as Robert pulls him into another kiss, pushing his knee between his legs and pulling him down onto it by the hip. Flambae's hips jerk at the sensation, the heels of his boots digging into the sides of the counter top to stay upright.
Robert digs his fingers into his hip by force of habit, feeling only the impossible fabric of his bodysuit, not the easily removable hem of pants. Why couldn't Flambae show up in civilian clothing?
"How do you even take this off?" Robert grumbles between kisses, "Or put it on? It's like fused to your skin or something."
Flambae pauses, considering the question, before grinning. A dangerous thing, Robert's learned. "I use lube."
He can't tell if he's joking or not. Regardless, the mental image drives him crazy enough to tackle him onto the countertop, somehow managing to clamber on without falling or digging into Flambae's body. Flambae cackles at Robert's reaction, eagerly dragging him down on top of him, thighs closing around his knee.
Robert presses his fingers into the seam of Flambae's V-neck, digging into skin to peel the fabric off like a sticker, and miraculously shimmies his hand under his bodysuit, squeezing a pec. Flambae groans, blindly reaching down to pull Robert's pants down, fumbling with his belt before impatiently ripping it out altogether. His belt-loops are probably shredded as his belt is thrown to the floor with a clack.
In retaliation, Robert finally, successfully, pulls his bodysuit down one shoulder, low enough for Flambae to bend his elbow and free his arm. Said arm comfortably wraps around Robert's neck, bringing him in closer—
A jagged, crystal-like portal opens in front of Robert's door, and out steps Malevola, who immediately shouts and backtracks.
"Fuck, I didn't see that! Not even a little!" She yelps, and there's a sound of collision as she bumps into apparently Invisigal, who loudly complains "Your tail almost stabbed me, curl it up like a whip or something! Wait, what did you see?" Invisigal pokes her head out of the portal, ducking under Malevola's arm.
Flambae throws Robert off him, sending him back-first into the fridge, crumpling into a coughing fit on the cold kitchen floor. He hastily tugs his bodysuit back into place, breathing harshly. Robert groans, clutching his head and pushing himself into a sitting position, leaning against the cupboards. The kitchen spins, white spots dancing.
Malevola glances rapidly between Robert and Flambae. "Don't tell me you two were—"
"We were- fighting—he started it, the crazy bitch." Flambae says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robert.
"How can you say that?" Robert demands incredulously, glancing back at him. "You just threw me at my own refrigerator. If anything you started it." When did he hop on Flambae's bluff? Then again he wasn't about to admit to making out with him in front of his colleagues. Things were already messier than they should be.
"Yeah right, something a crazy bitch would say." Flambae retorts.
"Fighting, mhm." Invisigal hums, stepping through the portal and glancing around the apartment, before zeroing in on the floor. "And that's why... Robert's belt is on the floor?" Her eyes then flick down to their respective hard-ons.
"Gross, didn't even notice that." Malevola adds on, vaguely disgusted.
"Fuck—" Robert snatches it off the floor and stands, pulling it through his belt loops (2 out of 4 ripped in half) in record time. "That was—"
"Like catfighting." Flambae says hurriedly, sliding off the counter. "You know, like when girls rip out each-other's earrings and shit. It barely even fits his scrawny ass hips anyway." Wrong thing to say to prove they weren't making out. Robert winces.
"And now talking about his hips," Invisigal continues, thoroughly amused. "Real vicious."
"Mind your fucking business, okay? Fuck. Why are you even here?" Flambae snaps, always so easy to rile.
"For the housewarming party? What, forget why you're even here in the first place with your tongue down Robert's-"
"Ay bruddah, I just get sadder and sadder every time I see the place." Royd says, stepping through the still-open portal. He glances around the room, taking in everyone's faces. "Something happen?"
"Nope, uh, just discussing the party." Robert interrupts before Invisigal can run her mouth. "Kind of sudden, but I appreciate it." He's being honest, even if he's forcing all these words out to block out any attempts of blabbering.
Malevola rolls her eyes and goes with Invisigal to find somewhere to hang the lamp dangling off her tail (It was now dawning on him that he was about to receive a lot of lamps tonight), and Robert takes a deep breath. That was a close one - no, it's a total bust. Malevola's just being distant and courteous about it, and Invisigal... she already knows. The shame isn't quite hitting just yet, he expects to feel like horseshit in a day or so.
As Royd goes into the kitchen to plug in the monitor he brought in, Robert approaches Flambae hesitantly. "That was quick. With the bodysuit, I mean—woah." His neck is a mess of purple bruises and teeth marks. His doing.
"My suit just has to show off my impressive and unattainable-for-you body," Flambae says sarcastically, "You're still teething at your grown age, huh?"
Robert lets the taunt breeze over him. "You liked it. Loved it, even." He points out, amused. "Consider yourself the chew-toy."
"You—don't get cocky you- erectile dysfunctioner motherfucker." Flambae hisses, jabbing a finger into Robert's chest. "I should—"
"Hey, you two done sexting in person?" Invisigal says from across the room. "We got something to show you, think you'll be interested." The projector Royd brought projects a map onto the blank wall, adjusted once or twice until it all fits in frame. Robert glances at Flambae, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He'll deal with... whatever they are later. Just to provoke him, he squeezes Flambae's arm, mirroring how Blazer used to treat him, before walking off, ignoring his immediate flinch and profanities.
Sonar points at Flambae's collar, a plastic red cup in his other hand. "Not even a warning? Dude, you could've invited me."
Flambae slaps Sonar's hand away. "Fuck off."