Chapter Text
December 27th, an informal holiday party with the team. Only a minority of them celebrated Christmas, largely in part to most of the team not being Christian. Atheist, Agnostic, Jewish, Muslim, a literal demoness, or they generally viewed Christmas as a consumerist holiday. Those who did partake were given the decency of postponing their celebration to spend the time with family. They had elected to go for a secret santa gift approach, and Robert was the only fool to have taken it seriously.
They had gone to Invisigal’s apartment this time. She hated hosting but had agreed to do it if they helped her clean up, which included coming over beforehand to rearrange some things. Along with their own gifts, everyone had provided their own contribution to the party - snacks, drinks, weed, and dozen boxes of pizza as their main dish. Robert still wasn’t quite used to a meta’s appetite, especially when stoned, but it was nice and casual and he wouldn’t feel like a pig for how much he took.
Drinks were flowing when someone suggested they begin the exchange before anyone got too drunk, a good buzz already circulating the group. After some brief arguing about who goes first, Coupé insisted Flambae went first, as she was his secret santa. Beneath the plain cardboard box it was in, there was a small, insulated cooler that could hold three beer bottles at best.
“Open it,” Malevola elbowed him, trying to get a look. The lid popped open and Flambae tried to gingerly remove it.
“I carved it myself,” Coupé fidgeted with one of her knives, bashful, and a round of gentle oooo's went around the table as they waited for Flambae to show it off: in his hand, a puddle of water, spilling out his palm and down his forearm.
“Bitch!” Prism gasped, “you did not just melt her fucking ice sculpture.”
“What did you think would happen!” Flambae floundered, shaking his hand off and sending droplets to those around him. “Coop—”
Her teeth were visible with how big her smirk was, golden eyes shining with clear amusement. Of course it was intentional.
“Great start,” clapped Malevola, who then gestured to Punch Up. “I got you, it’s the box over there.” After tearing the wrapper, the man laughed loudly, picking the box up to present it. A booster seat. “So now you can sit with us at the big kid’s table.”
“Aye, you joke, but it comes in handy.”
“You get to keep the box, too. Maybe you could find a use for that.”
“Mal, catch.” Invisigal tossed a small gift, which was quickly ripped open.
“Contacts?”
“Yeah. Freaks me out that I can’t see your fuckin’ eyes.”
“Why, nervous I’m lookin’ at you?” She purred, her tail beginning to climb up Invisigal’s shirt before she pushed it away. “Thanks, babe, I’ll consider it.”
“Before Waterboy starts flooding the place, open mine.” Sonar leaned across the table to hand the man a box.
“Oh, okay, thanks?”
“Haven’t opened it yet, bud.”
“Right.” Short nails clawed at the ribbon for a second before Prism leaned over and pulled the bow for him. The otherwise undecorated cardboard box was tucked into itself, easier to open than if it were taped.
“Damn,” Prism cackled, still leaning over Waterboy’s shoulder. “How many is that?”
The box contained a plethora of rubber ducks. Classic yellow, different colors and patterns, designed after popular characters, local and chain business logos, ones with ‘clothes’ that represented doctors, cowboys, commercialized heroes, firefighters — Waterboy gave up at some point of rattling them off.
“A lot.”
Robert fixed Sonar with a sideways look. “Did you take those from people’s Jeeps?”
“They’ll get more.”
“Since Rob’s got something to say, why doesn’t he go next.”
“Oh, fuck yeah, that’s me!” The color drained from Robert’s face as he watched Flambae reach for a gift. They had been on better terms, certainly, but seeing how everyone else’s gifts were, it was likely going to be something at his expense. Everyone around the room seemed to think so, too, as they watched in anticipation - more than they had for anyone else.
To his surprise, the box was very pretty, with thick wrapping paper that made Robert feel a little guilty to tear. It revealed a plain white shirtbox, and while he wasn’t looking at anyone, he could hear the giggles.
“What the fuck?” He blurted after he peeled back the tissue paper.
“Oh my God!”
“Maybe he’s never seen anyone in it.”
“No I – I know what it is. Why—”
Someone snatched the box from his lap, tossed it on the floor and presented the gift.
Lingerie.
A lacy brassiere and corset piece, with matching underwear attached with clasps. Like the box, Robert had to admit it was a gorgeous piece - likely too much money for a laugh - and was a soft tulip pink, likely similar to the color of his face. Wolf whistles startled Robert back into the present moment, the reality that Invisigal was wiping tears off her cheeks, Sonar was holding it up to himself, and Golem was complimenting Flambae’s taste.
“Flambae. What the fuck?”
“What?” He grinned. “You don’t like?”
“I get the– the ice sculpture for you, the ducks, whatever, that all made sense. Make this make sense.”
Instead of answering, Flambae glanced to Prism, because of course she was also involved.
“I think it’d look cute,” she shrugged. “Next—”
“No! No, I’m not—”
“God, quit being such a fucking buzzkill!” Invisigal groaned loudly, cutting Robert off.
“Fucking relax, it’s just a joke,” and Flambae had the gall to roll his eyes. “Who’s next? Golem?”
Robert could tolerate a lot. As Mecha Man, as Robert Robertson III, as this team’s dispatcher and as their friend. Figuratively and literally, he had thick skin and could roll with punches. This group had seen him at some lows, from frustrating shifts to self destructive behaviors to almost beating a man to death with his bare hands. He was still human, he had a temper, he had a limit, and he was nearing it. Losing his shit at a casual, friendly get together at one of their apartments over some shitty gift that only he was offended by was not cool. They deserved more respect than that, but they should also respect him more than gifting him fucking lingerie.
Since the party began, Robert had resigned himself to sit away from everyone; even Waterboy was in closer physical proximity to everyone else. As everyone continued with their gifts, he sat alone, seething.
Golem gave Coupé a cuckoo clock, which Invisigal had fixed the bird to have a little knife. Waterboy got Prism earrings and she had to break the news that she already had that specific pair, but they’d look good on him, to then insist she dress him up sometime. Prism got Golem a baby bjorn for his kaiju, griping about getting one big enough for his size, nevermind the kaiju’s. Sonar’s gift was a pair of cufflinks and a tie pin from Robert, because he cared about his friends and wanted him to have a nice present. The hybrid looked a little awkward when he thanked Robert, one of his ears flattened back in guilt, likely because he was finally addressing the man who was still pouting in the corner that everyone else was ignoring. Punch Up got Invisigal a gift card to Hot Topic, only to then tell her he and Coop spent most of it, but it was probably refillable.
“Oh, Rob, you leaving?”
Fuck him and his Irish goodbye. With one shoe halfway on, Robert looked back over his shoulder at Malevola, a few other heads now turned toward him. He liked Malevola, didn’t think she carried any particular animosity toward him, but he had just barely managed to reel back in his emotions from earlier and her calling attention to him only relit the fire under the pot.
“Yeah, gotta go check on Beef.”
“Oh! We got Beef a gift, too!” Invisigal lunged for a large gift bag, fluffing some of the tissue paper that stuck out from the top.
“You should totally have him wear it to the office.”
“You got him clothes?” Robert sighed. The dog had a larger wardrobe than he.
“Speaking of clothes, where’d that minxy little piece go?”
“I think Waterboy had it last.”
“I was just ma-aking sure it didn’t have any, um, wrinkles.”
Before the bag made its way to Robert’s hand, the lingerie was stuffed in, effectively ruining Visi’s preening. After a moment of consideration, a pizza box was also passed over, which he could ‘ration out for the month.’ He was, again, finding himself close to losing his temper but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was better than that. Instead, he thanked everyone through grit teeth and left the apartment.
Walking home with a ridiculously large, sparkly gift bag on top of a pizza box made him feel like a chump. Whatever. The sooner he could get home, hang out with his dog, drink and pass out in his underwear, the better. Robert hated the holidays.
Home, buzzed, and in his underwear, Beef was still dressed in a little suit Chase had gifted, because he was a proper young man who should look the part. It even came with a pocket square. As they laid on the floor together, Robert venting and Beef snoring, he could still see the gift bag from the corner of his eye. He had managed to pull out the outfits the team had gifted Beef without addressing the lingerie, but now the bag was on its side with its contents spilled out. The slightest peek of pink lace was visible, some of the only color in the whole goddamn room.
Did it come with a receipt? Maybe he could return it and keep the money. It probably would go back on Flambae’s credit card or the receipt was in the packaging it came in, because why would anything work out for Robert. He still checked and found a scrap of paper tucked into the gusset, definitely intentional; he’s surprised it hadn’t fallen out when it was being passed around, but that was the safest place to keep it. Flambae’s handwriting was unmistakeable, though.
“for ur tiny peen”
Ah. That was the joke. Robert Robertson III, known for his comically small penis. Was the implication supposed to be that he was a woman? That there was nothing there whatsoever? Or maybe he didn’t have enough for his big boy pants and needed panties instead?
What pissed Robert off the most was how nice the set was. For an elaborate tiny dick joke, Flambae went all out. It was almost a shame to waste it.
No. Regardless of any of that, he was being mocked. The fucker put a little note in there just to be sure Robert knew what it meant. Lingerie wasn’t something you could regift, even if unworn, and he didn’t have anyone special for that, anyway. In a passing thought, it occurred to Robert that Prism would probably look good in it, but he wasn’t going to give one of his subordinates a goddamn lingerie set and it reminded him of her because she likely picked it out.
As inane as the thought was, there had definitely been time and consideration put into buying this specific piece. When Robert looked at the tag, it seemed… his size. He wasn’t sure what his measurements were for women’s underwear, but it didn’t seem like it would fit Prism. Or Visi or Malevola or Coop — he didn’t want to keep thinking about his coworker’s bodies, but their suits were rather form-fitting and he’d seen Visi undressed before. All in all, Robert was reasonably confident enough to say it was, in fact, picked for his body.
Only one way to find out.
Robert quickly learned that the corset was a pain in his ass. It strained his shoulder when he attempted to tie it behind his back and lacing it in the front only frustrated him more. Why couldn’t it have been a zipper or something? He tired of wrestling with it and abandoned it to the floor, then kicked aside for good measure, a heap of fabric beside the tub.
Briefly, Robert wondered if the panties came with the top or if they were bought together to make it less strange. If he had opened a gift and saw just a pair of lace underwear, he’d still be pissed off, but it’d be less creepy if it was a set and not Flambae gifting him a pair of fucking panties. Unreal. He hoped Flambae was mistaken as straight when he bought it.
It was going to be tight over his boxers, and as the fabric cuffed around his knees, he considered how far he was willing to entertain this. He was home alone, in his bathroom, a little flushed from all the whiskey he’d drank earlier. If it was going to be anything like the top piece had been, it was going to be awkward and make him feel like an idiot with asshole friends.
But it didn’t.
Down to just his socks, Robert stepped into the panties and pulled them up. There was some adjustment to get his balls in, finding that women’s underwear really did not offer a lot of space and promptly gave himself a wedgie, but once he was settled, he looked at his reflection.
“Oh, wow.”
He wasn’t the handsomest, wasn’t the manliest; he was average sized and happened to work with a lot of supers, who made him seem smaller and frailer than he was. Piloting a giant metal suit of armor, no matter how powerful, did not escape the accusations of overcompensating for his shortcomings.
But in the mirror, he felt…
Pretty wasn’t the right word. Pretty was not a word used for him. Riddled with scars like he lost a fight with a wood chipper was not pretty. Patches of hair on his jaw, chest, stomach and groin were not pretty. He wouldn’t even say he had a particularly nice dick, it was as average as the rest of him, but when cradled in a soft pink lace, he felt pretty.
The longer he stared, the more snug the fit, and by the time he peeled his eyes off of the mirror and looked down at himself, he was hard enough the tip strained against the elastic band around his thigh. With a sharp breath through his teeth, he gripped the edge of the sink to keep his buckling knees from giving out on him while he watched, transfixed, as cum dribbled down his leg. Untouched. No stimulation. Just from wearing a pair of panties.
After his tremors had mostly passed, he adjusted his cock to fit proper before palming himself. Sensitive from an orgasm and with the unfamiliar texture, coupled with the deep arousal that pierced through his drunken haze to inform him he liked this, Robert watched his reflection work himself to another orgasm, cum seeping obscenely through the lace.
Post nut clarity hit him before he could even bask in the pleasure of two orgasms - a rarity for him. Ripping the underwear off his legs, he stumbled against the wall, dropped them in the sink basin and began to run the tap. With toilet paper, he wiped himself off, pulled his boxers back on, turned off the water and shuffled out of the bathroom to find that Beef had torn up the tissue paper left behind.
In his home, with his dog, and in his - his! - boxers, Robert laid on the floor and closed his eyes.