Work Text:
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“Robert has the sluttiest waist I’ve ever seen in a guy.” Prism states as Flambae enters the locker room that morning to clock in for his shift. He hadn’t been in the building five minutes, and this is the shit he hears?
“What happened to “Good Morning, Flambae, how are you? Robert ate shit in the parking lot today; I got it on video for you.”?” He asks, opening up his locker and grabbing one of the hair ties from the top shelf. Carding his fingers through his hair, he pulls it back into its usual ponytail, one strand left loose in front of his face.
“Oh, don’t act like you’ve never stared at him before. I bet if you put your hands on his waist your fingers would touch.” Prism replies, pulling her gloves up her arms.
Flambae was just glad it was the two of them in the locker room that morning. He’d hate to have to burn the place down to keep his secret safe.
“How much?” he asks suddenly, he could use the money honestly and he loved annoying Robert like a favourite pass time.
“Nine hundred—”
“Done.”
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Usually finding Robert was a cinch, the workaholic was either at his desk or eating in the breakroom, but when Flambae searched both and came up empty handed, he grew annoyed.
He found Blonde Blazer in the hallway, one of the only SDN Heroes he respected, and questioned her about it.
“Blazer, have you seen Bobbert around?” He asks, leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed.
“Flambae, hello,” Blazer smiles, it was warm and genuine – one of the reasons he respected her more than most. She wasn’t hung up on his former villain lifestyle and treated him more as a friend. “He had a meeting just before lunch, he may still be in there. Is there anything I can help with?”
“It’s fine, I’ll bug Robert with it later. Thanks though.” He replies, waving it off as he continues walking down the hallway.
Climbing the stairs to the third-floor meeting rooms, Flambae grumbles to himself, of course the one day an exciting bet arises that he can win easily is the one-day Robert is in a fucking meeting. Typical.
He glances through the windows subtly as he walks past, the first three rooms were empty with no lights on but the fourth held more fruitful. Peeking through the door’s window, Flambae spots Chase, Royd, and some other higher ups that he has no care for. If Chase was there then surely…
And there he was, Robert Robertson in all his stupidly attractive glory, sat across the table in a dark navy-blue suit, his white shirt tucked in, the sleeves cuffed around his wrists and the first few buttons undone. His black tie was lightly loose around his collar yet still somehow presentable. He had trimmed his stubble to give himself a neater appearance, but his hair was still the same unkept mess. He was slouched in his seat, arms crossed over his chest and ankles crossed under the table, eyes fixed on the projection on the wall.
Fuck. Fuck, this was bad. Since when was Robert so fucking hot?
Picking his jaw up off the floor, Flambae scrambled away from the door, leaning against an empty wall around the corner. His hand clutches his chest tightly, trying to level his breathing. His face burned with no help from his power. “Fuck you, Bobert, you’re a dead man once you’re done in that meeting.” He grumbles, glaring at a spot on the floor with an intensity to combust.
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It was another hour before the meeting finally adjourned. Flambae heard them file out of the room, Chase and Royd teasing Robert for how bored he looked during the entire thing. He watched as the higher ups walked down the hall, waiting for his dispatcher to show up.
After Chase and Royd was Robert – stupid, attractive Robert – he waits until Chase and Royd were slightly ahead before reaching out and grabbing Robert’s tie, tugging him into the adjacent hallway and slamming him against the wall.
Once the shock wore off, Robert relaxed seeing it was Flambae and not some other villain infiltrating SDN. He snorts, features relaxing into bored amusement. “Couldn’t keep your hands off me, huh? I know I’m irresistible, Flames, but at work? Scandalous.”
“Shut up,” he scoffs, scowl gracing his lips as he glares at Robert. “Since when do you wear a fucking suit?”
Robert shrugs lazily; thumbs hooked in the pockets of his trousers. “Since the meeting called for it. Why, jealous I wear it better than you?”
“You’re such a bitch, Bobert,” Flambae retorts. “No one other than the higher ups wore suits, why are you so special, huh?”
“Fine, you caught me,” Robert sighs. “They needed a cover for the SDN promotion material, they chose me so now I have to wear this all day.”
“You? They chose you for the promotion material?” Flambae snorts. “God, I feel bad for everything looking at that cover.”
Robert raises an amused eyebrow, a smirk curving his lips. “With the way you’re holding me here, I’m starting to think you’re lying, Flames.”
Flambae scoffs, glancing at his hand still wrapped tightly around Robert’s tie, holding him firmly against the wall. “Fuck you, Bobert.”
“When and where?”
“Bastard.” He snaps before slamming his lips against Robert’s.
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“Did you do it yet?” Prism asks as Flambae enters the breakroom almost two hours later. She was sat by the window, her feet on the table as she digs into a box of leftover Chinese takeout.
“You were gone a while.” Malevola quips from against the wall, also eating the leftover Chinese takeout. Did they get some without him? Assholes.
“No, couldn’t find that asshole anywhere.” He replies, swinging the fridge door open to grab whatever had been left behind. He found a similar box of takeout and nabbed it.
“Really? Cause Blazer said he was in a meeting that ended two hours ago. Chase and Royd are back at their desks which leaves you and Robert unaccounted for.” Prism replies, completely unconvinced. Curse her fucking observant nature.
“You lot gossiping?”
Speak of the fucking devil. Robert saunters into the breakroom, brushing past Flambae to get to the fridge. He was still in that fucking suit, but it was dishevelled in places from their encounter which looked more natural on him, in Flambae’s expert opinion. He had made sure all marks were hidden under Robert’s shirt for his eyes only.
“Look who it is, the man of the hour!” Prism smirks, pointing her fork at him.
Robert stands, coming out empty handed from his fridge raid. He gives Prism a confused look before moving to the vending machine.
“Are you getting another fucking Twinkie, Bobert?” Flambae asks, judging him openly.
“Don’t diss Twinkies, they’re good. Besides, you lot have snagged all the edible food in this place.” He replies, slipping a dollar into the machine and punching the number into the keypad.
Prism shoots Flambae a look behind Robert’s back. “Do it, coward.”
Flambae rolls his eyes before setting his takeout on the counter. He walks up behind Robert, almost close enough to press against him if they were alone. He reaches out and places both hands on either side of Robert’s waist, as Prism had predicted, his middle fingers and thumbs were touching.
He felt Robert tense under his hands, clearly trying to figure out what his game was, but ignored it in favour of sending Prism a smug look.
“Pay up, bitch.”
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“You have the sluttiest waist I’ve ever seen.” Flambae comments, watching Robert squat with the barbell resting securely over his shoulders.
He was supposed to be spotting Robert as he worked out but checking him out was so much easier when he had front row seats to Robert’s ass. Especially in those damn grey sweats.
His hands hover under the bar as Robert’s lift stutters. He takes the barbell when Robert signals and carries it back to the rack.
“Why would you say that?” Robert asks, sitting on bench and watching him curiously. He wasn’t annoyed by the comment, just amused and slightly concerned for Flambae’s mental sake.
“Don’t act confused, Bobert. My fingers literally touch when I hold your waist, it’s tiny.” He replies, walking to stand in front of him, hands on his hips.
Robert tilts his head up to look at him, smirking coyly. “Is that what you were testing in the breakroom? You could have just asked.”
“Don’t piss me off, that was a bet that I won.” Flambae argues.
“How much?”
“Nine hundred bucks, Bobert. It was a no-brainer.”
“I should get half then for my involvement.” Robert teases.
“Fuck right off, you’re not getting a cent from me.” Flambae refuses, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Fine, then I want something else.” Robert says, reaching up to grab Flambae’s hips, tugging him closer. He felt Flambae’s hand settle in his hair, stroking it reluctantly.
“What? Who said you could start calling shots?” Flambae smirks, tilting Rober’s head up to star into his eyes.
“I did, and I want you.” Robert replies cockily, pulling Flambae to straddle his lap. Flambae would deny going willingly.
He rolls his eyes and pushes Robert to lay down on the bench, bodies pressed together as if they would merge eventually. “Fine, only because I want you too.”
This kiss was very different to the one in the hallway. It was soft with lingering desperation, lips pressing together as if trying to savour the other’s taste. One of Flambae’s hands rested lazily beside Robert’s waist, the other twisting Robert’s hair around his fingers gently.
Robert’s own hands were more adventurous, trailing up and down Flambae’s sides, up his back, over his thighs and carding through his ponytail. He smirks into the kiss before pulling the hair tie out of Flambae’s hair, tossing it aside and burying his fingers in the silky strands.
“You have a strange obsession.” Flambae mutters against Robert’s lips, knee finding it’s way between the other’s thighs and pressing firmly against his growing bulge. The needy sounds that escape Robert’s lips set Flambae’s nerves aflame. “Fuck, you’re really testing me, Bobert.”
“You’re one to talk.” Robert replies breathlessly, heartrate thumping in his ears. God he needed Flambae so badly it wasn’t even funny.
“Beg for me, Bobert.” Flambae smirks, tilting his head to nip at the junction between Robert’s neck and shoulder. He sucked dark marks into his skin, drifting no lower than his collarbone.
Robert groan, this low mix of annoyance and overwhelming desire. “Chad, please, I need you.”
Stifling a moan, Flambae buries his face in Robert’s neck, his hand gliding down to wrap Robert’s thighs around his waist. “You sound fucking delicious, babe.”
Let’s just say, Robert was grateful the gym was soundproof.
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Walking into the locker room a week later, Flambae opens his locker only to be greeted by a magazine sitting on the middle shelf. Picking it up, he stares at the cover where Robert sits on an office chair in that goddamn suit, legs spread, arms crossed and looking down at the camera in a way that should absolutely be illegal. Behind him, if Flambae could drag his eyes away long enough to look, was his Mecha Man suit in all its glory, looking as powerful as Robert felt. Royd had done a great job hammering out the dents and fixing the broken pieces. If you hadn’t known it was broken prior, you certainly wouldn’t be able to tell from this picture.
How Flambae was expected to go out on missions after seeing this was beyond him, but he knew one thing. Robert was not leaving their bed anytime tonight.
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