Chapter Text
This tub is not an ordinary tub. It is not a basic, cheap, flimsy plastic rectangle with a lid that never fits right after you’ve microwaved it the first time. No, this tub is made of glass, with a lid that fits snugly, sealed with a ring of silicone to prevent any leakages.
It also sports a useful little tab on the lid to let steam out. Which it is currently doing, as well as the scent of something that makes saliva begin to pool on Robert’s tongue.
He glances up at the scowling man standing over. The man who had shoved his twinkie out of the way to deposit this delicious-smelling tub of food Robert wouldn’t have a hope in hell of cooking himself.
If this is some fucked up kind of showing off, it’s the cruelest thing that’s ever been done to him.
“What is this?” he asks, managing to throttle down the vague sense of hope that’s riding on the sudden rumble of hunger in his belly.
“What’s it look like, Mechadick?” Flambae quips, crossing thick biceps over his chest in a way that feels oddly obscene. “I refuse to let you eat another fucking Twinkie in my sight.”
The hopeful feeling swells into something that feels an awful lot like ecstasy. He glances at the tub, then, suspecting some kind of catch, frowns up at the man looming over him; the man who has barely had a civil, nevermind kind, word to say about Robert since they met.
“This is for me?” he asks, more hesitantly than he’d like to admit.
“You need your ears cleaning out?” Flambae snarls, then rolls his eyes as he finally, finally uncrosses his arms, letting the span of pecs ease back into lewdly distracting. “Fucking eat it Mechadick, before I take it back.”
Robert’s stomach takes control of his body then, lurching him forwards to snatch the tub closer, like Flambae might actually retrieve his generous gift. “I uh… Thank you,” he remembers his manners, then begins to unclip the lid, breathing deep as yet more of that intoxicating aroma is released into the air.
Flambae lingers, and Robert suddenly realises he probably wants to make sure Robert is actually going to eat the food he’d prepared. The dispatcher picks up the spoon Flambae had deposited along with the tub and carefully scoops up a portion of the delicious smelling concoction in front of him.
He can’t help a cursory sniff before he brings the spoon to his lips; the habit’s too ingrained from years of stretching his food to the edge of spoiling. It smells even more incredible up close; a mix of spices and tomato and garlic that makes him want to shovel the entire tub down his throat.
Instead, he delicately takes the spoonful of food into his mouth.
Then proceeds to make a noise that should probably be reported to HR.
The flavours explode on his tongue. The sauce is rich and full-flavoured, in a way Robert’s traditional lunch of whatever he can scrounge out of the vending machine could never even dream of matching. There’s potatoes and some kind of meat that he doesn’t recognise, and a lingering kick that he suspects will build pleasantly as he consumes the rest of the meal.
Which he does. With absolute aplomb. He eats with such utter gusto in fact, that when he finally resorts to sliding a finger around the rim of the tub, collecting every last trace of that sauce, and slides it into his mouth with a delighted, content moan, he barely notices the squeak the creator of such genius lets out.
But he does notice. The heat rushes to his ears in a way he knows means the tips will be bright red. He turns to apologise, but ends up with his mouth hanging open in confusion.
The only hint of Flambae is the slowly closing door he exited through.
—
“So? Did he accept?”
“... I dunno.”
“What!? Did that bitch leave my Bae hanging? I’ll kill him!”
“No! No. I uh… I left before he could say anything.”
“What, why?”
There’s the sound of a groan. Then muffled sounds that might be words.
“What, Bae, I can’t hear you. Take your fucking hands off your face!”
“He fucking licked up every last drop okay! Stuck his finger in his mouth and made a noise like he was sucking the best dick of his goddamned life!”
Silence.
Then cackling laughter.
—
Robert doesn’t see Flambae for the rest of the shift. That’s not unusual, to be fair. But he feels bad about eating the man’s food and not getting the chance to express how much he enjoyed it. The man doesn’t sound any different over the comms, and Robert doesn’t bring it up in case the other doesn’t want his moment of kindness to their erstwhile dispatcher going noticed.
Instead, he takes the tub home. Washes it carefully, making sure to take the seal off and scrubbing any last trace of food off. He dries it with a few paper towels, then gently reassembles it, putting it in the middle of his breakfast bar so that he can’t forget it on his way out in the morning, but is also unlikely to accidentally knock it onto the floor and break it.
He stands staring at it for far too long, until a curious Beef yips up at him.
“Sorry, sorry,” he tells the happily panting dog, smiling softly as bends to pick him up.
For once, the smile isn’t just for his loyal companion.
—
The next day he gets to the office early, hoping to catch Flambae in the gym to return his tub to him. Unfortunately, the man’s schedule is apparently more synced to his own than he realised; the pyrokinetic doesn’t show, and Robert ends up convincing himself it’s an opportunity to get in some work on his Mech before shift instead.
He whiles his way through an agonisingly long morning shift impatiently, a little sprig of hope curling in his belly that Flambae might have decided to bring him food again. There’s no mention of yesterday’s gift, but that doesn’t surprise him.
What does surprise him, is when Flambae actually does enter the break room, making his way to the fridge and grabbing out two tubs filled to the brim with something else that promises to be just as delicious as what he fed Robert the day beforehand.
Only, Prism’s with him this time.
She curls herself into one of the comfy chairs at the other end of the room, gaze inscrutable behind her mirrored shades. He goes to speak to her, but startles instead when a flask gets placed on the table in front of him.
There’s an arm attached to it, and Robert follows the long line of black up to the strangely determined face of Flambae.
“What’s this?” He wants to slap himself the moment it comes out of his mouth. He’d had a whole speech planned out - probably far too waffling and adjective-heavy, but he needed Flambae to know just how much he’d enjoyed the food yesterday. Instead, he’d blurted out yet another accusing sounding question.
“Coffee,” the stone-faced man next to him said, moving away to stand before the microwave.
That, unfortunately, just confused Robert, leading him to forget he had an objective in favour of figuring out the sudden mystery presented to him. “We have coffee in the office?” he asked, glancing between Flambae and the watching Prism with a frown, wondering if this is actually just the start of a prank he can’t quite grasp.
“This is better, drink it bitch,” Flambae snaps, darting an angry glare over at him.
There’s a soft hiss from Prism, startling Robert, but it must mean something to Flambae, because he rumbles slightly, before opening the microwave door to check on the progress of the food inside. “It’s Blue Mountain blend, I chose it for you.”
Robert blinks. He could swear he sees a hint of flickering flames over Flambae’s cheekbones. Clearly he’s embarrassed by someone else witnessing him being generous to the dispatcher he’s made it very apparent he resents. The joyful smile that had sprung up at Flambae’s sentence falters, then falls away.
He can’t help but open the flask though.
Coffee for him is just a quick fix - instant granules drowned in boiling water with two spoonfuls of sugar to cover the burnt taste. He doesn’t really enjoy it as much as requires it to make survive the next couple of hours, before he grabs the next mugful.
The difference is obvious the moment he unscrews the lid.
The scent hits him full in the face. This is coffee like he’s never smelled it before. There’s notes and fragrancies and tones and all that fancy shit people far more culinarily educated than him would be able to identify and spout off. Instead, he simply knows that this is nothing like his normal quick brew, and he carefully begins to pour some into the SDN mug that seems to magically appear at his elbow.
He doesn’t ask for sugar; suspects that would be met with a sneer and rolled eyes. Instead he brings the gently steaming mug to his nose, taking a deep draught of that scent into his chest, before gently easing a sip between his lips.
It’s nothing like the coffee he’s drunk up until now. There’s not even a hint of that bitter burned tang. Instead, this is smooth, rich, vaguely chocolatey in a way he very quickly decides he fucking loves.
There’s a snicker, and he glances up from his coffee to find Flambae standing over him, face looking strangely pole-axed, with a tub of food and a spoon gripped in white-knuckled hands.
Prism snorts, covering her grinning lips with a hand when both Flambae and Robert turn to look at her, one with a practically burning glare, the other in complete confusion.
Flambae shoves the tub and spoon in front of Robert, then steps back to cross those goddamn arms over that goddamn chest in the way Robert struggles not to stare at. “Pulao,” he growls, glaring down at Robert like he’s the one who’s offended him.
Robert turns to the tub sat enticingly in front of him. He’s loathe to put down the mug he’s currently cradling in his hands like a precious thing, but the smell of meat and spices manages to convince him that his sacrifice will be worth it.
He unclips the lid, picks up the spoon and doesn’t even notice when he skips his habit of smelling his food before he spoons some into his mouth.
HR really will be on his case at this rate. He swears this moan is even louder and more sexual than the one from the day before. His eyes practically roll back into his head at the absolute heaven that greets his taste buds, and he can’t help the absolutely delighted grin that spreads over his face.
There’s a groan, then the sound of someone leaving swiftly. He glances up to see Prism rubbing her forehead with a hand, and the swiftly retreating curve of Flambae’s sculpted buttocks.
“Wha-” he begins to ask, after swallowing down his mouthful of food, but Prism interrupts him.
“Don’t you worry your pretty Beta head about it,” Prism sighs, then stands and slinks off after her friend.
Robert would stare after them in confusion, but there’s a tub of gourmet food and a flask full of nectar calling his name.
—
“Bitch I know your mother didn’t raise you to be so pathetic!”
“This suit hides nothing bitch.”
…
“Wait… You’re getting sprung everytime he moans!?”
There’s a groan, then -
“Double wait, you’re going commando under there!?”
“Pantylines ruin the aesthetic.”
“Okay… Fair. But you gotta figure it out Bae. Sit in a chair, hide it under the table, use a cushion, I dunno. What shit did you do when you were a teen?”
…
“Bae, I say this with fucking love, but you are such a slut.”
—
The thing is, Robert’s never bothered dating outside of his dynamic. Hasn’t bothered dating at all really. There’s been a few rushed blow jobs or fumbling hands in between missions, but he’s been Mecha Man since he was fourteen; sex and relationships haven’t really been something he’s been able to spare the time for.
This means he has absolutely no idea that Flambae is trying to court him.
He’s vaguely aware that Alphas and Omegas tend to enter relationships with more care than he’s attributed to those hasty sexual encounters he’s experienced before. But it never seemed like something he’d need to have any actual knowledge of. He had no intention of carrying on the Legacy and putting some poor kid in the same position he’d been, and he was well aware of his duty to give everything, including his life to the pursuit of saving others.
So. Mating and courtship were not exactly topics he’d spent more than a few wistful minutes thinking about.
Even if he had been educated in the mating rituals of those intending a proper courtship, he’d be forgiven for not recognising Flambae’s actions as such. There were words, and an expectation that one would present the courtee with the fruits of their labour with a smile and warmth. Not whatever the fuck Flambae was doing.
Robert was just confused. And far better fed than he’d been in about two decades. But mostly just confused.
It might have helped if he’d had the enhanced ability to smell that came with being an Omega or Alpha. The soft, fond edge of Flambae’s scent whenever he spotted the Beta was obvious to anyone who could pick up on it. But Robert’s sense of smell, further dampened by years of neglect and injuries, only told him that he actually quite liked the wood-fire warmth of the pyrokinetic Alpha. It wasn’t powerful enough to detect the subtle play of hormones and pheromones lacing through the main identifying structure of Flambae’s scent.
The same was not true in return.
A Beta’s scent glands were stunted in comparison to the other two dynamics, but Flambae’s sensitive nose picked up the happy caramel of Robert’s pleasure every time the Alpha presented him with another meal. It was intoxicating. He wanted desperately to bury his face in the Beta’s throat, heat those small glands until his scent became pungent and thick, then lap every last molecule up and let them curl, warm and rich in his chest.
The fucker wouldn’t respond to his courting gifts though.
He snarled down at the perfectly clean tub in his hand, flinging it roughly onto his countertop in a fit of pique. Briefly he wondered, miserably, if Robert was just being gentle in his refusal - the Beta was a kinder man than Flambae had expected when his only real knowledge of him was the sharp pain in his fingers, and the horror of realising he was suddenly two less than before.
But Robert ate the food. Ate it like a man starving. Which, let’s be honest, with his diet of highly processed sugary treats his body probably actually was starving for the simple nutrients in Flambae’s cooking. But beyond the ravenous wolfing down of each meal;, there was an obvious, pleased, touched curl of caramel that reached the Alpha.
He huffed, then reached over and tugged the tub back to the forefront of the countertop.
Perhaps Robert just wasn’t sure. Their relationship had been… less than harmonious, to cut a very long and difficult story short. But after Robert had revealed himself as MechaMan, after the battle with Shroud, after the weeks and months following, they’d fallen into an easy, banter-filled camaraderie Flambae had enjoyed immensely.
It had been when Robert laughed whole-heartedly, cheeks balled up and glowing, eyes crinkled short in mirth, at something Flambae had said, that he’d realised he was utterly and completely head over heels for the idiot.
They’d been grabbing a drink after an evening gym session. He didn’t know exactly when, but they’d fallen into going to the gym at the same time some time after the whole Shroud incident. Perhaps it was a little less accidental than purposeful in Flambae’s case, but someone had to make sure the Beta normie didn’t kill himself trying to keep up, and who better than the strongest member of the Z-Team? Flambae didn’t even remember what he’d said, but he regretfully wished he did, if only so he could put that look back on Robert’s face.
He gazed thoughtfully into the fridge, idly recalling the way Robert’s shoulders had slipped low, more relaxed and at ease than he’d seen the man outside of being half-cut. The faint scent-memory of caramel unfurled at the thought and he reached for the eggs.
Maybe he should try something sweet this time.
—
When Robert enters the break room this time, he’s surprised to find Flambae sat at the central table waiting for him. He’s more surprised, and definitely rather confused, to realise he’s got a cushion from one of the breakroom sofas tucked into his lap under the table. He quickly files it under his “weird shit the Z-Team do that I don’t ask about” mental folder and just walks over to greet the fire hero instead.
As he approaches Flambae doesn’t stand up, but from the way his upper body turns and his body language goes open and friendly, it’s clear he’s been waiting for Robert. Which… Is a rather nice feeling, in all honesty. It’s not often someone reacts to Robert’s entrance like they’ve been waiting specifically for him. He swiftly tamps down on the thought that he could get used to this.
There’s a few different tubs on the table in front of Flambae today, and Robert focuses on those instead.
“Hey, what’s all this?” he asks, sitting in the chair Flambae had nudged out with a foot for him. “Is this all for me?”
Flambae snorts. “With the amount of food you normally eat?” He clears his throat, and Robert could swear the noise is a nervous one. “I thought we could eat together, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course I don’t!” Robert blurts, surprised. “It’ll be nice. You can explain to me exactly what I’m eating.”
Robert hadn’t realised how stiffly Flambae had been holding himself until he relaxed at Robert’s assertion. He blinks, feeling oddly unbalanced by how strangely this whole lunch break has been going so far, but shakes it off as Flambae starts peeling off lids and placing tubs in front of them both.
“On the menu today,” he announces, flourishing his hands at the dishes as he names them. “Your main is Narenj Palao with a side of Badenjan. Then I figured I’d save you from your impending scurvy with a fruit salad for dessert.” The first two are steaming slightly, and Flambae quickly grabs a small round container, then dishes out some form of sauce that looks vaguely like it could be yoghurt over the tub he’d called Badenjan. That one was shared between the two of them, sitting neatly in between them both.
“Okay,” Robert breathes, staring wide-eyed at the selection of foods displayed before him. “So I definitely know what the fruit salad is…”
Flambae laughed, and Robert jerked to watch him. The laughs Robert typically gleaned from the other man were usually sarcastic, with an edge of meanness that had gentled into teasing as they’d spent more time together. This laugh was different. This was full and rich, a little surprised like Flambae hadn’t expected it, but wonderfully honest for it. He almost missed when Flambae began to explain the dishes to him, too busy watching the way the older man’s eyes crinkled at the edges in his mirth.
“So, I made you Pulao yesterday - that was a bit more basic. Narenj pulao is sweeter.” Flambae glances at him sharply, and Robert just about manages to force his own expression into something neutral in time. “Fuck, you’re not allergic to nuts or anything are you?”
Robert chuckles, “probably a bit late to be asking that now, but no.” He picks up the spoon and digs himself out a mouthful. “There’s nuts in this?”
“Yeah, almonds. And pistachios. It should be kinda sweet. Fuck knows your taste buds are probably ruined from all those twinkies…” he grumbles, but watches out of the corner of his eye as Robert seals his lips around the laden spoon.
There’s silence for a moment, as Robert chews, then swallows. For a heartbreaking second, Flambae thinks he’s messed this up. There’s no moan or debauched sound of utter pleasure, only a blank, odd expression on the Beta’s face.
Then Robert turns to him, and it’s like sunlight breaking through the clouds after a week long storm.
“Flambae,” he whispers, and the sound of his callsign in Robert’s mouth at that moment is practically sinful. His eyes are wide, and he licks his lips like he can’t bear to lose even a drop of the taste. “This… This is incredible…” He doesn’t say anymore, just turns back to his feast and begins to slowly work his way through it, savouring every single mouthful for long, blissful moments, eyes closing in sheer ecstasy.
He doesn’t notice the way Flambae shifts uncomfortably in his chair, pressing the cushion down more firmly over his lap. Nor does he notice the way Flambae doesn’t start on his own food, too busy watching avariciously as Robert delights in his own meal. And finally, he doesn’t notice the way his own scent goes thick and syrupy, delight announcing itself in notes of sweet chocolate - the Alpha’s orange eyes turn molten gold as he tries not to drag in great heaving gulps of the scent.
The spoon hovers over the dish between them, and it takes Flambae far too long to realise Robert’s waiting patiently for him to explain what it’s made of. He has to clear his throat before he can speak, mouth gone strangely dry. His voice still comes out husky and strangely low as he glances between the tub and the faint stain of saffron on Robert’s lips. “Badenjan-burani. Fried eggplant. I made a garlic sour cream to go with it. Try them together.”
Robert nods, barely noticing the way Flambae stares in his need to taste more of the incredible food that’s been made for him. This dish is less sweet, but the meatiness of the eggplant with the tang of the sauce is just as delicious as he’s come to expect from the Alpha’s cooking, and he eats half the tub before realising that they’re meant to be sharing this.
He looks up, grin sheepish, then realises Flambae hasn’t started in on his own food yet. “Oh,” he awkwardly places his spoon back in the tub of Pulao, then scratches uncomfortable at the back of his head. “I’m sorry, I’m acting like a complete pig. Should I have waited?”
Flambae frowns, confused, then a faint lick of a flame sparks over the arch of his cheekbone as he realises why Robert’s worried. “No no,” he rushes to reassure, grabbing his own spoon and determinedly turning away from the delectable sight before him to dig into his own tub. “I just -” honesty, he thinks, be honest. “I like seeing when people enjoy my food.” It’s a half-truth, he consoles himself. He does like to see people enjoying his food, but this pleasure is far more specific and focused on one Beta in particular.
Robert hums, obviously not quite believing him, but is reassured enough to turn back to his own food. “Your cooking is incredible, Flambae,” he asserts, leaning towards the other, trying to make it clear he really means what he’s saying. It’s wonderfully endearing. “I’ve never eaten anything like this.”
“That isn’t quite the compliment you think it is, Rob-Bob,” the Alpha points out, but there’s a smile on his lips and the quirk of his eyebrow is teasing rather than judging.
Robert laughs. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, “there isn’t much scope for learning how to cook when you’re too busy training to pilot a Mech for pretty much all of your teenage years.” He stills, startled by his own bitter honesty, then rushes to divert. “Where did you learn to cook?”
Flambae watches him in a way that Robert can tell means he didn’t miss the slip, but gracefully allows Robert to direct the conversation away. “My mother taught me,” his expression goes softly fond as his eyes fall absent, lost in memories. “She taught both me and my sister, insisted it would win us good mates some day.” He rolls his eyes, but the gentle smile belies his display of exasperation. “When I told her I was gay she just told me that it was a good thing the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach then.”
Robert bursts into laughter. “She sounds like a pretty amazing woman.”
“She is,” Flambae agrees, then points at Robert. “If she saw how skinny you are she’d be telling me off for not feeding you up.”
“Oh?” Robert smirks, raising a brow at the other. “That’s your job is it then?”
Flambae leans forward, eyes sparkling at the challenge. “I’m certainly auditioning for the role,” his voice drops to a lower register, tingling through Robert’s nerves like the edge of an Alpha’s purr. “How am I doing, Robert?”
It’s the lack of nickname that shakes him out of the weird mood. Flambae never uses his actual name, and it startles him enough to remind him that this is not his place. That he is a Beta, a damaged, undesirable one at that, and Flambae is, admittedly, an impressive specimen of an Alpha. Whatever misguided hope he’s fallen into - however he could read Flambae’s words, he clearly needs to pull his head out of his ass and stop dreaming.
“Well,” he demures, turning away and pulling the tub of fruit salad closer to him. “I’d say your cooking would make your mother proud.”
There’s a beat of silence, before Flambae leans back. Robert doesn’t turn to look at him, spooning up a plump chunk of bright red strawberry instead.
“Thanks Rob-Bob”, the Alpha sighs, dragging his spoon through his own food.
If Robert wistfully wishes he’d call him Robert in that Alpha rumble again? Well, Robert’s wished for a lot of things during his life. He’s good at ignoring the ache when those wishes don’t come true.
—
“That wasn’t a rejection Bae.”
“It wasn’t acceptance either.”
A sigh. “It ain’t over ‘til it’s over. He flirted with you first. Bitch’s got the self-esteem of a gnat; maybe he doesn’t think you mean it?”
“How can he not know!? I sat down and shared a meal with him that I cooked from scratch! I didn’t share it with nobody else. I told him I was auditioning for the part of cooking for him! How much more obvious do I have to get!?”
“... You’ve met Robert right?”