Chapter Text
Revelations tend to hit Flambae like a bus: hard, and usually not on time. Recent examples include: recognizing that Mecha Dick might be the only reason he got a second chance a few hours after he tried char his ass into a ke-Bob for the second time, and realizing that he actually for real took SDN's poster boy's virginity almost a week after the fact.
Which is wild to think about. Before Phenomaman, his most famous hookup was one of Prism's industry friends (some C-list rapper who ended up quitting music to get married). Now, he can brag about being the first to fuck LA's number one hero (not that he's going to).
Or former number one. For now, anyway. Won't be long before he rises in the ranks to his former placement. Based on what Flambae's heard, he's back with his old team over at the DTLA Branch and steadily climbing the leaderboard. Sonar's been using a selfie with Phenomaman on his dating profile to lure in interest.
Unfortunately, his return to fame comes with some crazy shit attached to it.
PHENOMAMAN SENT ON A MISSION TO DESTROY US?, reads the headline on the news as they play a supposed encrypted message that contains instructions from his "parents", telling Phenomaman to "take over the planet and destroy all who oppose him."
«Take on as many wives as you can,» his alleged mother says, «so that your genes and Urgot's might and legacy can live on in this new frontier.»
"Bullshit." Flambae scoffs, rolling his eyes as he looks away from the TV (one of the few perks of the office building getting fucked up by Shroud: a bigger and better breakroom) and down at his phone, scrolling through the comments on Prism's latest post.
"You think so?" Malevola says, sitting on the couch beside him.
"If they wanted to spread their fucking alien genes, why the fuck would they send someone 'horrendously deformed?'"
Malevola, missing the quotations in his words, looks up, startled. "Dude."
"I meant according to them!" Flambae waves a hand towards the TV. "And by them, I mean actual Urgotians or whatever the fuck. Their ideal beauty standard is like, Visi. Short, slender and hairless. Real assholes about it too. Like South Korea, but ten times worse."
"Huh…" She stares at him with those unnerving yellow eyes. "Didn't realize you knew so much about Urgotian culture."
Flambae freezes, mind stuttering to find an explanation that does not involve him learning Phenomaman's reasons for leaving his home planet over breakfast the morning after a full night of hot alien sex.
Rescue comes in the form of Galen, who knocks on the open door to catch their attention.
"Hey, Flambae," the dispatcher says, "I know it's your break but Blazer's asking for you in her office."
"Well," Flambae gets up, just a touch too hasty. "Duty calls. See you later, bitch."
Flambae walks into Blonde Blazer's office to see her and Robert already talking.
"—transfer the problem to another branch?"
"Well, with that video going around—oh, Flambae. You're here," Blazer smiles at him. "Take a seat."
He looks at them both, noting the tired set of her mouth and the annoyed tic in Robert's jaw, before stepping forward and plopping down on the empty seat.
"Thanks for coming in during your break, but this is a bit urgent," she says, hands clenched together and resting on her desk. "It's about Phenomaman."
For the second time that hour, Flambae's brain stumbles on itself, anxiety spiking.
She knows. She knows and Robert knows too. Fuck, what was it he said? Something about transferring the problem to another branch? Is he getting kicked off the team for sleeping with his boss's ex?!
"I'm sure you've seen the video going around—"
A video?! Oh, fuck, he's so fired. He's suuper fired, but he's not going down without first wringing Phenomaman's neck.
"—claiming to be leaked from Phenomaman's parents."
Fucking asshole, taking sex tapes without permission—wait… "What?"
"The one where they 'sent here to conquer the world and spread his genes'?" Blazer clarifies, before giving him a look. "You really haven't seen it? It's been all over the news lately."
Oh. Ohhhhh. That video.
Holding back a sigh of relief, Flambae shrugs, "I don't fucking know, man—I've been trying to disconnect. Staying off the apps or whatever the fuck."
Robert lifts a brow. "You and Prism were flooding the group chat this morning, ranting about the latest Drag Race episode."
"Didn't say it was working."
"I—okay," Blazer waves a hand, cutting them off. "We're getting off topic. If you haven't seen it, that was basically the gist of it. The video's fake, of course, and we've identified the culprit. Problem is, well, he's been attempting to… prove his claim."
"How? And what's this shit got to do with me anyway?"
She reaches under her desk and pulls out what looks to be an upright bluebell with a yellow stem, and pooling in the middle of all its petals is some kind of thick golden nectar that smells faintly of candy.
"This is a flower native to Urgot-52dc. The name roughly translates to 'bloom of virility', and the pollen is supposed to induce a…" she pauses, searching.
"A rut," Robert grimaces, almost spitting out the word. "The flowers produce sex pollen for his species, and they sent the DTLA office a fucking truckload as a 'gift' for Phenomaman. The plan was for him to go on a sex rampage, which would supposedly prove that he's just here to use humanity as breeders."
Flambae's jaw clenches, a strange protective anger rising in his chest. "Are you saying he—"
"Oh! No, no," Blazer waves her hand. "It didn't work. In fact, Phenomaman seemed more confused about the presence of the flowers than anything. Apparently, they do cause a rut-like state in Urgotians, but only under a specific set of conditions."
Flambae nods slowly, untensing, not noticing the strange look Robert sends his way. "Okay. Still don't know what the fuck this has to do with me though."
"Well, after finding out the real intention behind the bouquets, DTLA sent over the flowers and wants us to get rid of them." Blonde Blazer smile turns pained. "And Phenomaman has been temporarily reassigned to our branch. At least until the whole thing with the video blows over."
Ah. Flambae glances at Robert and that annoyed tic in his jaw. That's what he meant.
He turns back to Blazer. "Am I supposed to help with the first part or the second?"
"The first," Robert says. " We need those flowers gone as soon as possible and unfortunately, you're the most efficient option. Truck should still be at the unloading bay."
Flambae perks up with a grin. "Aw, Bob Bob. All those flowers for me? You shouldn't have." He pats him on the head, snickering when he bats it away like an annoyed cat.
Blazer clears her throat.
Oops.
"Anyway, that was all, Flambae. If you could get started on it…?"
"Don't worry, boss." He stands and gives her a two-fingered salute—the only kind he can give with his right hand, really. "Consider those flowers ash."
Flambae hums as he makes his way to the unloading bay, which is really just a fancy word for the indoor garage behind the building.
He finds the truck easily enough, four large crates in the back full of that same flower.
What he doesn't expect is Sonar, rifling through them.
"Hey, Bat Bitch!" Huge gray ears perk and swivel around, and when he turns, Flambae raises a brow at the golden syrup staining his snout. "The fuck is that?"
"Flambae! My man!" Sonar crows, mouth split into a huge grin. He grabs a bloom from one of the open crates and thrusts it in Flambae's face, other hand gesticulating wildly as he says, "Dude, you've got to check this shit out. You ever tried mad honey? Expensive stuff, have to import it all the way from Nepal and Turkey, but even then, you can't guarantee the quality. But this though?"
He shakes the flower around so much that Flambae has to take a step back, though thankfully the thick liquid is viscous enough that it doesn't spill past the petals.
"Liquid gold. It's exactly like mad honey, except without the poisoning and the hallucinations. Here, try!"
Flambae looks at Sonar, then at the flower, then back at Sonar, practically vibrating out of his skin. "You know this shit's from outer space, right?"
"Yeah, and? Gold exists in space too. What do you think Vanderstank's funding all those rockets for?"
Flambae rolls his eyes, hands on hips. "Whatever. Don't say I didn't warn you when you end up puking your guts out and shit. I'm just here to incinerate the flowers and get back to my break."
He takes a step towards one of the open crates, only for Sonar to slide in front of him, arms out like a goalie as he shouts, "Whoa, wait a sec! Hold on! What do you mean incinerate? Don't you see that this is a golden business opportunity?!"
Flambae huffs through his nose. "Sonar, I don't have time for your bullshit—"
"Try it. Just one," he insists, once again holding out the flower for Flambae to take. "I'm serious, man. If you don't like it, then I'll step aside. Hell, I'll even help you arrange them into a bonfire."
Flambae lifts a brow at the decisive verbiage. Sonar's always leaving enough wiggle room for further negotiation or creative interpretation, and the fact that he didn't here means he's more than certain he's winning this deal.
Flambae looks at the flower, nose twitching as that sweet candied scent tickles his nose, enticingly so.
He groans, swiping the cup from the other's hands. "Fucking fine. But if this tastes like shit, I'm burning your fur off."
He ignores Sonar's whoops and enthusiastic backslap, peering into the cup-shaped bloom and swirling it to see if there's any dirt or debris caught inside the syrup. He finds none. He brings the flower cup to his lips and tilts his head back, having to wait a few moments for the viscous liquid to slide down to his tongue—
His eyes snap open at the first taste. He's only tried mad honey once before, back when he had a Turkish bougie sugar daddy in his twenties, and Sonar's dead right about the flavor: sweetness undercut by a faint smoky flavor, leaving a pleasant burn on its way down his throat, and by the time he finishes the cup, he's left with a light tingling buzz.
He licks his lips clean, turning to Sonar. "You sure about there being no negative side-effects?"
Sonar grins, smug. "I know my drugs, man. Buuut," he swings an arm around Flambae's shoulders, "if you look the other way, I can bottle up this liquid gold and have it tested in a lab. If it's safe, I can give you a few samples."
Flambae snorts. "Ten jars at least and a fifty percent cut of whatever you make when you sell."
"Fifty?!" Sonar hisses, backing away dramatically. "When I'm the one who has to find a way to haul this shit out of here undetected and get it tested and find the people and infrastructure for bottling? And that's before I even start selling! So, yikes. Sorry, buddy but that's a no can do from me."
Flambae narrows his eyes, before stepping into the other's space, poking him in the sternum as he says, "You do all the legwork, but it's my ass on the line if we get found out. And don't pretend you don't already have contacts for most of that shit."
"Fifteen jars and twenty percent."
"Fifteen jars and forty percent, or I burn the fucking flowers and leave you with nothing."
Milky white eyes meet heated amber, neither backing down until—
Sonar sighs, ears drooping.
"Fiiine. It's a deal."
Ha! Harvard zero, Flambae one. He'll have to send his dad a postcard later; man's haggling lessons paid off.
Sonar holds out a hand, but Flambae shakes his head and grabs two of the flowers, handing one over to his new business partner.
"More fitting than a fucking handshake." He raises his flower cup. "Let's drink on it, Bat Bitch."
Sonar grumbles, but his ears betray his amusement. "You ever consider getting a business degree?"
"Fuck no. Cheers, bitch."
"Cheers."
They 'clink their glasses' together, and Flambae once again partakes in that sweet burning nectar.
Flambae leaves the garage with a pleasant buzz and a pep in his step. So what if his impromptu meeting with Sonar ate up half his lunch hour? Being able to do arson as part of his job is great, but now he gets that (he's still gonna burn the flowers after, can't leave behind evidence) and enough extra cash to afford those concert tickets his niece has been eyeing, given that Sonar's estimates are on the money.
He heads back to Blazer's office to report the fact that he definitely totally finished burning all those flowers to ash, and is about to knock when he hears a familiar voice inside.
"—opportunity to work with you and the Z-Team once more, Third Robert Robertson."
Oh, fuck. Right. They mentioned him transferring. Flambae forgot about that.
It's cool. It's fine. He can totally act normal around the guy who fucked him six ways to Sunday last weekend. He can keep things profesh, as Mecha Dick likes to say. Still, he doesn't enter just yet, pressing his ear to the door to see if Phenomaman mentions anything.
"Again, buddy, no need for the full name. Just Robert's enough. You sure you're good to work though? I know things have been crazy for you lately."
"Your concern is appreciated but unwarranted, Robert. Inhalation of the divarg pollen is only one of three conditions that need to be met in order to pull an Urgotian into a mating cycle, so I remain unaffected. Oh! Before I forget, I heard about your new relationship, Blazer, and wish to offer my congratulations. I hope your genitals are more compatible with the Invisible Girl's than they were with mine?"
Someone chokes on their spit. It might be Flambae, but it could just as easily be Robert.
"… thank you, Phenomaman," Blazer says, smile so strained Flambae could hear it in her voice. "And—you're not… you're okay?"
"I briefly fell into a depressive state in which I once again contemplated absorbing the sun's energy so that the universe matched the darkness I was feeling, but I have gotten over it. Through the power of fucking!"
This time, both Flambae and Robert choke on their spit. Somewhere in the bullpen, Galen does the same.
"I—I'm sorry, did you just say—?"
"Indeed. I ran into Flambae last Saturday outside Crypto Night. He's the one who suggested casual sex as a means of moving on. Naturally, as he is an expert on the subject, I asked him to teach —"
Flambae shoves the door open with more force than necessary.
"Heeey, Boss Blazer! Those fucking flowers? Up in smoke, just like you told me to. Anything else I can burn while I'm here? Y'know, for work. Like legally." he says, words just a touch too hurried, pointedly not looking at Phenomaman.
"Flambae! I was just—"
"Heey, Roberto!" He turns to the dispatcher, who's been glancing between him and the big guy with narrowed eyes. "Damn, you're still here, Bob Bob? Shift's about to start in like, ten minutes. Did you even eat lunch? Skinny bitch normie like you needs all the help you can get—"
"Flambae," Robert's face hardens with suspicion. "What did you teach him?"
"Nothing!" he says, crossing his arms and avoiding that stern gaze. "I have no fucking idea what Phenomabitch is talking about—"
Something heavy hits the floor.
"Phenomaman?!"
Flambae and Robert turn and see the alien hero on his knees, head bowed as he clutches his stomach. Blazer's hovering beside him, hand on his shoulder. Robert approaches, kneeling in front of him and tilting his head up—
Phenomaman lets out a low groan, flushed and panting. Eyes glazed.
The scent of ozone fills the room, underlined by a cloying sweetness that makes Flambae's cock twitch and his heart rate spike.
"That… that scent—flowers—" Phenomaman mutters, before breaking off into another groan.
Robert's head snaps up, towards the fire hero. "Flambae, get out of here and call for medical."
Flambae nods, but he's barely at the door when Phenomaman snarls— "Chad."
He freezes instinctively at the sound of that subvocal rumble. Slowly, he turns, heart leaping to his throat when his eyes meet ravenous blue.
Run, screams his brain, even when his dick starts hardening uncomfortably in his jockstrap.
"Phen?" Blazer says. Robert's gaze darts between the two of them, trying to analyze the threat as Phenomaman slowly rises to his feet, muscles coiled.
Flambae's skin prickles as that clean metallic scent thickens, hairs standing on end.
Run.
"Chad," Phenomaman repeats. Softer, crooning almost. But that predatory glint in his eye remains.
Someone says something else, but the words get lost under the blood rushing past his ears, thoughts going out of focus as each quickened breath has him inhaling more of that honeyed ozone scent, and then suddenly he's looking at the back of Robert's head, the dispatcher standing between him and—
Phenomaman lunges, but Blazer and Robert react quicker, grappling him to the ground, and he lets out an earth-shaking roar.
Flambae runs.
He speeds down the hall, thoughts void of everything except for the smell of Phenomaman's pheromones and that screeching animal impulse to run away, get away now, quickly, make him earn it—
His feet lift off the ground, and he hears someone yelling—
He crashes to the ground with a yelp, soaked as the indoor sprinklers activate. Above him, smoke alarms ring like a warning and somewhere behind him, something causes a loud series of crashes. Getting closer and closer.
Suddenly, the hallway feels too open, too exposed.
Flambae scrambles to his feet and bursts through the closest room—
He finds Golem, Punch Up and Coupé, eyes widening at his appearance.
"You okay, man?" Golem asks.
"Need—hide—" Flambae manages to choke out.
Whatever it is they see on his face, it's enough to sharpen their concern into action.
Coupé leaps over the table and kicks the door shut in one motion, before pushing Flambae towards Golem, while Punch Up tips over furniture to build a barricade. Golem catches Flambae, guiding him to crouch behind his bulk, mud creeping up to form a shell.
Flambae sees the door trying to push open against the mess of furniture in front of it, before darkness and the smell of clay take over, Golem's mud fully encasing him in a hollow ball.
Another shove, then a loud crash of splintering wood and plastic. His pulse jumps.
"Jesus! What the fuck, lad?!"
"Phenomaman," Coupé greets, and Flambae stills, holding his breath. "What brings you here?"
He hears the crunch of debris beneath heavy footfalls as both Coupé and Punch Up go ignored. Flambae's heart climbs to his throat. Fuck, it's so dark in here.
The familiar rumble of rock. "Dude. Back off."
"You looking for someone, big guy? No one's been here but us."
Once again, they're ignored. The footsteps get closer.
"Where are you?" Phenomaman rasps, so deep and menacing that it has Flambae biting down on his lip, squeezing his eyes and thighs shut.
"He's compromised," Coupé says, voice sharp with realization. "We need to tell Robert—"
"Where are you, my little jendeh?"
A whimper falls from his lips, and he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, stomach clenching as the outside world goes deathly quiet—
"There you are."
"Fuck—!"
A fist crashes through reinforced mud, and Flambae's scream gets lost as he bursts into panicked flames, sending pieces of his shelter flying outwards. In that split second the shell breaks, time slows.
He sees his friends, trying to help. Punch Up aims low while Coupé goes high, Golem shifting to support both. Yet despite the chaos, Phenomaman's midnight blue focus never leaves Flambae, body coiled and ready to lunge—
Deceptively strong arms wind around Phenomaman's neck, and Coupé jerks. The motion forces him to break eye contact, and time comes rushing back in.
Phenomaman struggles against the combined might of Punch Up and Golem, the strongman looking over his shoulder and yelling, "Run!"
Flambae breaks out of his stupor and turns to the far wall, hands shaking as he forces a window open before leaping out, flying without any destination other than away.