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There were more eyes on Robert than there had been in some time; the sort of looks he used to chalk up to anxiety, the ever-present fear that someone could identify him as Mecha Man. Stares similar to what he saw in his dreams, as if he was some never before seen creature, three heads and ten arms or something and not an incredibly generic looking human guy. He’d been mistaken by other SDN employees as two separate dispatchers, two other men who were unremarkable with brown hair and dead eyes. The notch in his ear usually gave him away, though. Maybe the staring was because of his weird ear, or the visible scarring, or fuck maybe he had something on his face?
What was different this time was the pointing. Fingers directed at him, whispers hidden behind hands, narrowed eyes that gave him a full-body study, cataloging him. What the fuck was going on? Robert almost wanted to bark at everyone present, tell them to say what they wanted to say or to fuck off. He didn’t try to hide the glare he returned to those watching, staring, dissecting, and it was only after someone had nodded and muttered yeah, that makes sense, as if confirming their own theory - which Robert was not a fan of - that he spoke up.
“Got a fucking problem?” He snapped, and several people jumped, like they had forgotten he was a living creature, not a taxidermy display.
“Nothing… Robert,” someone snorted, followed by a couple snickers. The emphasis on his name made his eye twitch, something particularly vile about how it was said plus the laughter. Sure, he’d been made fun of for his name before, that wasn’t new, but never had he heard it with that tone.
Before he could respond, though, the loud BAM! of a door being thrown open had everyone whipping their heads toward the noise. To Robert’s surprise, Chase came storming in, expression unreadable as marched up to Robert, grabbed his wrist, and led him back out, despite his protests.
“It’s your day off—” he tried to argue, focusing instead on the fact Chase should be at his own apartment, not dragging Robert around.
“Robert.” Chase hadn’t looked this serious since Robbie’s funeral, made worse by the advanced aging. Quickly, Robert was pulled into a hug, arms stuck to his sides as Chase practically tried to squeeze the life out of him. “You know I’m not good with this shit.”
“Huh?”
“But I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Chase, what—”
“I don’t know how—”
“Is Beef okay?”
The tension of the hug lightened when Chase pulled back enough to give Robert an incredulous look. “Beef? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You—” he paused, his confusion shifting to understanding to pity to disdain, but not directed at Robert; disgusted by something he apparently wasn’t privy to. “You haven’t seen?”
“My charger broke so I borrowed yours, it’s upstairs.” An uneasy, nauseous feeling began to form, like something wanting to rip its way out of his guts. “Did I miss something?”
“Damnit, Robert,” a new burden seemed to weigh Chase’s shoulders with the realization he’d have to be the one to break the news.
“There you are,” another voice cut in, both men turned to see Flambae headed right to them.
“Fuck, is it that time of the month already?” Robert groaned, automatically raising a hand to rub at his jaw. It felt like it was only a week ago Flambae had delivered his monthly punch, but maybe the days were blending together.
Flambae cringed a little at Robert’s question, his eyes quickly flicked over to Chase, who shook his head slightly in response.
“Alright, does someone wanna tell me what the fuck is going on? Is this a fucking intervention?”
“You relapsed?” Chase asked, looking more surprised than disappointed or angry, but that line of thought was halted when Flambae kicked in an office door, then motioned them inside for some semblance of privacy. He then assigned himself to protect them, his 6’4” frame with flames on his shoulders casting an unsettling shadow into the office.
“Okay, wha—”
“You’ve been outed.”
Eyebrows furrowed, Robert frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know that fuckin’ Bone Zone guy?”
“Ugh, that shitty radio host?”
“I don’t know how he got the information, but he’s been circulatin’ a baby photo of you.”
Color began to drain from his face. “You mean—”
“Yeah.”
“With the—”
“That one.”
Robert began to pace. “That could be anyone’s baby. There were other kids in that photo, that doesn’t—” and everything began to make sense. The stares, the whispers, the sneer of his name. Not mocking him for his name, but the insinuation it wasn’t his name.
“Breathe, Robert, ‘cause my old ass—”
“How long has this been out?”
“Went up late last night, ‘round 2am, maybe. As soon as I fuckin’ saw it this morning, I called and tried to track you down but couldn’t get a hold’a you. Hotshit told me to try the gym.” From the doorway, the shadow shifted slightly; Flambae was likely trying to listen in more.
“Show me.” At Chase’s hesitance, Robert pressed. “It’s not gonna get any better putting it off.”
Chase was quick to pull up the post, giving his elbow a squeeze as Robert took the phone. “Sorry, kid.”
“Mecha… Man?”
A shitty video, voiced over by Bone Zone, only showing a photo that slowly zoomed forward, like it was found footage to encourage the viewer’s pareidolia and not a picture taken in natural daylight. Though Robert didn’t have any actual memories from this day, he’d been told about it numerous times. It was framed in their house for the longest time, a moment stuck in time.
“We uncovered a new photo of Mecha Man Astral, circa 1994.”
A farewell for Robbie, leaving Tinley Park for Torrance, returning Mecha Man to his home turf. He had a little team he worked with, sure, but none of them were worth keeping up with after the move. Many of them were other parents, whose children were metas and/or slightly older than Robert, which meant they didn’t want to be around him for one reason or another. Always at a disadvantage for things out of his control, even as a child.
“See that baby in his arms?”
At the center of the photo and slowly increasing in size was Robbie, Mecha Man Astral (prior to actually getting the namesake), all suited up, holding his child incorrectly - he never really took care of Robert, after all, how was he to know where to put his hands? Beside them, other heroes, some of them with their own brats, and further were spouses, the others of the party, like they weren’t allowed in the photo because they weren’t part of the team, yet the children were.
“That’s Mecha Man Blue.”
For some reason that always pissed Robert off, his mother was the one taking the picture. He understood, to an extent, that the intention was to capture the day of Mecha Man's farewell to his team and not a family photo, but none of the other wives could’ve done it? There was no reason for a hero’s son’s girlfriend to be in the shot and not Mecha Man’s fucking wife. It only further felt like she was an idea instead of a person, someone who only existed in vague memories or in short, clipped conversation enders when he asked.
“Or should I say Mecha Man Pink?”
Rosy cheeks. Freckles. Pigtails with white ribbon. A sundress, made from a print with the Mecha Man logo on it. Pink socks with ruffles. And sucking his thumb, for God’s sake. There probably wasn’t a more embarrassing picture of Robert out there. Trying to pass it off as someone other than Robbie’s child was futile, the two of them looked too similar to believe otherwise.
Every hero feared their identity being compromised. Robert had a plan in place, though he had been successful in keeping Robert Robertson III and Mecha Man out of the same sentence for years. The idea of anything from before Robert and skipping straight to Mecha Man hadn’t occurred, and it was evident on Robert’s face that he did not, in fact, have damage control prepared for this.
In his hand, the video looped and Chase snatched it from his hand to turn it off, in the process of returning it to his pocket when it lit up again - a call from Blonde Blazer. Chase rejected the call and the silence hung between them, thick, before Flambae’s phone rang from the door.
“Fuck, who—? Hello?”
“Have you talked to Robert?” Her voice was audible, because of course Flambae was the kind of guy to have the volume all the fucking way up, and Robert dug his nails into his palm.
“No.” Flambae answered simply and ended the call, then continued to stand guard, shoulders slightly stiffer. Blazer was smart enough to know when not to push, but there was no doubt she’d be having a word with Flambae about hanging up on her, even with given the circumstances.
“What do you want to do?” Chase asked, redirecting Robert’s attention.
With his palms rubbing his face red, Robert groaned. “What’s there to do? It can’t be undone, there’s no way to try and debunk it without giving away more information.”
“There’s the usual protocol.”
“Still, what good would that be? Thank fuck there don’t seem to be any names involved.”
“Dunno how,” Chase muttered.
“Someone probably found the photo and put it together.”
“We’ll figure out where it came from.”
“No need,” he sniffed. Flambae’s shadow shifted again. “Maybe it’s time to—”
“Don’t let that piece of shit motherfucker make you—”
“Chase. Look at me.” In a joking, asshole move, Robert sat on his ankles to be at a better eye-level and the other man playfully shoved at his shoulder. “I’m okay. Let me just… think about it.”
“Okay,” with an exhale, Chase scratched absentmindedly at his jaw. “I was too worried about your ass that I didn’t take my morning shit.” In response, Robert laughed, louder and heartier than he expected, given everything.
“Guess I’m not goin’ back to the gym,” he groaned and stood from his squat. “You need help getting to the bathroom, old man?”
“Shut the fuck up,” but Chase laughed this time as well. “Lemme know if you need anything, and if anyone starts shit, I swear—”
“I can take care of myself. ‘Sides, I think I got a guard dog ready to maim.”
As they approached the door, Flambae stepped aside and kept his eyes averted, only tracking Chase’s shadow as he walked past.
“Hey, dipshit,” Chase hollered at Robert, who had been hunched over a plastic tub for a long time. “Didja fall asleep?”
“No,” Robert replied, voice scratchy. “Just packin’ shit.” When he turned, his eyes were red and Chase elected not to acknowledge it. “What’s up?”
“What did you wanna do with these?” At their feet sat a battered cardboard box of assorted framed pictures, recklessly strewn together, and Robert only took a couple seconds before deciding.
“Pitch ‘em.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Everything’s digital now,” he tried to joke, and when it landed flatly he picked it up to take care of himself. Spun on his heel fast enough the glass in the box rattled, Robert walked off. Chase wasn’t good at consolation, he was still coming to terms with Robbie’s death himself, and he had no place to judge how Robert coped. He just hoped he wouldn’t regret throwing memories away.
Flambae startled when Robert cleared his throat.
“What are you doing here?” He asked plainly.
“Ch—”
“Chase is family.”
“What, I can’t be fucking concerned? You think I’m out to expose you or some shit?”
With a slight tilt of his head, Robert considered Flambae. The man was emotionally constipated, much like Robert, but he had seen that Flambae protected those he cared about, given the way he treated the Z Team like they were family. Robert hadn’t considered himself to be on that same level and Flambae took his silence with offense.
“Really? Fuck, I’m not some sicko like that shitty Bo—”
“No, just… didn’t expect you to care this much.”
“Fuck you. I wasn’t gonna let you get thrown to the wolves like that.”
Before Robert could respond, Flambae’s phone rang again. Prism. He declined and she immediately called him back. After giving Robert a quick, almost apologetic look, he stepped aside and answered.
“I can’t—”
“Bitch, don’t you fucking reject my calls. Where the hell are you?”
“I’m busy,” a tense edge in his voice, words clipped, and Prism immediately picked up on it. “Later,” and he hung up.
“Hm.” Hands stuffed in his pocket, Robert rocked in his heels. “Well. The world didn’t end, so guess we gotta go to work.”
“Rob—”
“I’m sure you mean well, but I’m a big boy.” An attempt to keep things light only worried Flambae more. “I’d rather drop the whole thing entirely.”
Clearly, Flambae was not convinced that Robert was just going to let this go, but he’d only make an ass of himself if he continued to push it. Instead, he rolled his shoulders. “Fine.”
“Actually,” Robert shifted his attention, “if you wanna do something, go get bagels.”
Pause. “What?”
“From Panera or something. Get a dozen.”
Flambae opened his mouth to speak but something about Robert’s body language stopped him. It wasn’t a command, but it wasn’t a suggestion; it was something akin to ‘I’m relying on you for this,’ asking for help without actually verbalizing it. So Flambae just nodded, turned on his heels and left.
Robert showered. It was just another morning. Because his workout had ended early, the showers were less populated than they usually were, but that didn’t mean there weren’t people who looked at him, other people who came to the gym early to get a workout in. Generally, in a communal shower, people politely averted their gaze but Robert was positive he was being gawked at, and not in a good way.
Whatever. It wasn’t going to bother him. It was a fucking Thursday, almost the end of the week, he wasn’t going to let this ruin his day. He dressed, still a little damp, and moseyed to the bullpen. As he approached his cubicle, he could see how his phone continued to light up with messages, and instead went to the break room.
Though the man himself wasn’t present, Flambae had delivered; there were two paper sacks of bagels, haphazardly tossed in together, with a handful of single-serve tins of cream cheese. Picking out his, Robert poured the last of the coffee into his mug - it was yesterday’s, stale and burnt - and began to brew a new pot. Commotion beyond the door and a glance at his watch informed Robert he couldn’t continue to stall. He had a job and someone had to watch over his idiots.
When he returned to his desk, he was a little surprised to see Chase in his seat.
“It’s your day off,” he reminded the man. “Get outta my chair.”
“I’m here for Beef,” Chase had grunted, spinning slowly to face Robert and show the dog in his lap.
“You could’ve at least used a different chair.”
“I’m busy,” he gestured, again, to Beef.
“Showing your favoritism,” Robert huffed and set down his coffee and bagel, walking off to find a different chair to pull up. At the smell of food, Beef began to wiggle in Chase’s hold, who had to put him on the floor before Robert had the chance to eat.
“Now gimme back my chair.”
“Boy, that’s the exact same shitty bulk-purchase office chair as any other one here.”
“That one has been perfectly molded to my ass.”
“What ass? Beef’s got more than you.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a fat chihuahua, and my shift’s about to start. Move.”
Chase only pushed against the floor to give Robert some space, intentionally still crowding him. It’s an obnoxious older brother sort of gimmick but kept Robert’s mind off of everything. As he booted up the computer, they both looked at his phone, buzzing with another notification.
“I’ll take care of this,” Chase said, picking it up.
“Thanks.” If he didn’t look at the messages, didn’t know what people were saying, the better off he’d be. Even if he was an adult who could handle his share of shit, he was grateful to have someone like Chase who was willing to screen his messages for him - someone he could trust who wouldn’t let him fall into a self destructive spiral.
“Good morning!” Piped up a voice to their right, both men returning the sentiment. They had a rotating dispatcher between the two of them; when Chase was off, she covered for his team, and when Mecha Man was on shift, she sat in for Robert. Truly, Mecha Man still guided the team from the field, but at least he didn’t have to screen calls. If she knew, she made no indication - she either didn’t care or, if she had something to say, the threat of still being on new employee probation was too real for her to get involved in anything.
It wasn’t a surprise to see the team was already logged in for their shift, icons flashing as they talked over each other. They could’ve at least kept it to texts or water cooler gossip and not over a recorded line, but it was nothing new and he was thankful it was only in their group, not branch-wide - he’d finally gotten the hang of using the right buttons.
“Morning, team.” Everyone immediately went quiet; obviously the devil they had been speaking about had appeared. “Galen’s birthday is tomorrow, so be sure to sign the card in Blazer’s office before the end of the day. Yes, that photo is real and that’s all that’s gonna be said about it. There are also bagels in the break room.” A couple icons flickered, as if starting to speak, voices only overlapped for a second before they changed their mind. Just to be sure no one would, Robert tore a chunk of his bagel and chewed loudly into his microphone, catching a couple of groans at the unpleasant sound. “I got da last asiago, so if dat’s what you wanted, ead shid.” Robert swallowed a mouthful of partially chewed bread, coughing as he tried to get it down dry and Chase, beside him, snorted. “Now, there’s a B&E at B&N. Who’s got it?”
“R—”
To wash down the bagel, Robert proceeded to take an obnoxiously slow, loud sip of his coffee, which prompted more disgusted responses. “I also put on a new pot.” Another sip, not as loud, but with intentional noise. “So you guys better behave because there’s breakfast and fresh coffee, it’s almost the weekend, and if I catch any of you even fucking thinking about it, you’re spending the rest of the day in mandatory discrimination training. Unpaid. Capiche?”
Several grumbled responses in acknowledgement and a glance from Chase put Robert back to his role. “Good. Malevola, you’re up.”
Given everything that happened, the morning was suspiciously calm. Perhaps Robert was finally able to get his team to listen to him. Any looks his way were shot down by Chase who, despite his size and appearance, had a mean scowl. The morning shift was nearly over when Blonde Blazer had finally approached.
“Hi, Robert,” she smiled, then greeted the rest of his cubicle occupants. “During lunch, could we talk?”
“I’m actually booked, soooo…”
Immediately, she saw through his bullshit. “I’m sure you could reschedule.”
“If this is about that, there’s nothing to discuss.”
“I’d still like to talk.”
Prism and Sonar were on their way back to campus, so Robert sighed. “Guys, take an early lunch. See you in an hour.”
Blazer’s office was never really inviting, per se, because meeting with her always felt like it accompanied bad news of some sort; her no-bullshit corporate persona came out strong, despite the safety of a closed door, where she could - and should - drop the act for a second. He’d barely sat his ass down when she began to speak.
“I’m not going to ask questions – besides, I’ve read your medical file, so I kinda already knew – but I wanted to discuss going forward.”
Arms crossed, Robert leaned back. “Okay.”
“What do you want to do?”
“It’s not like it’s something I try to hide - unlike Mecha Man - but it wasn’t something I wanted to wake up to. People’re always gonna treat me differently, it sorta comes with the territory.” Her frown deepened, more concerned. “Usually it’s either Robert Robertson is trans or he’s Mecha Man, not that Mecha Man is trans. Kinda threw me off my script, yanno.”
“No one’s been giving you shit, right?”
“No more than usual.”
“Robert.”
“I shut it down with the Z Team before they could get started. I noticed more stares in the gym this morning, but s’not like anyone actually came up and said anything.”
“If they do—”
“With all due respect, I don’t think the threat of HR even registers anymore. I also don’t want to be a narc.”
“But don’t let anyone treat you any differently,” she encouraged, and Robert could feel his skin start to crawl. He needed out.
“Thanks, Mandy, but I can handle my own. Really. And I’ve got Chase.”
“I was gonna ask about that. Isn’t it his day off?”
“Mhm. And if I’m gone too long, someone’s gonna eat my lunch - either Chase or Beef.”
“Likely both,” she smiled. “Just… I’m here for you.”
Departing with a nod, Robert tried not to notice the eyes on him as he crossed the bullpen and stopped at his desk. The remaining half of his bagel was gone.
“The fuck you looking at?” Chase asked, licking the cream cheese off his thumb.
“You couldn’t have gotten your own?”
“This was the last asiago,” he reminded Robert. Rolling his eyes, Robert picked up his coffee mug and braved the walk to the break room, silently hoping there was something left.
“Who the fuck likes blueberry bagels?”
“I-I enj… I like them, uh, sometimes.”
“I can’t taste anything, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Can you eat spicy things?”
“Sure.”
“How do you…”
“I don’t think Golem shits, his form gets bigger. He’s a big construct of a turd,” was how Robert decided to announce his arrival. Just another day, another dumb and crude conversation they had with no regard to anyone else in the vicinity.
It was strange enough to find the whole team together and not at each other’s throats or forced together in a meeting or seeing who could drink the others under the table, but the sudden silence and blatant stares he received in lieu of a response almost made Robert want to turn around and leave. But he was an adult who had to face this at some point, and fleeing with his tail between his legs was not it. Having the closest thing to friends that he’d probably ever had mentally undressing him to try and identify any female attributes that they might’ve previously missed still really fucking sucked, though.
“What bagels are left?” He asked as he shuffled to the carafe, refilling his mug.
“There’s, uh…” Malevola hooked a nail into the bag and peered inside. “Plain, blueberry, cinnamon, plain, plain…”
“Toss me the blueberry.” He caught it easily, bit into the bagel to hold between his teeth, picked up his mug and a second one for Chase, then nodded to the team before he returned to his desk.
“Blueberry?” Chase scoffed. “The fuck?”
“At least I’m eating,” was his bitter retort and Chase dropped it. “What about you? Wanna grab lunch?”
“I’ll just have the other half,” he gestured towards Robert’s bagel.
“Beef needs to go out. C’mon.”
They got looks. Of course they did. Only on their way out the building, which Robert wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than getting gawked at on the street. Sure, it wasn’t as if every person he passed in his day-to-day life knew, but the people in his office provided a new nightmare. Those were the people he had to engage with. Even on the other floors, they still shared a parking lot and elevators and a gym and locker rooms and
“Fuuuuuck,” a loud groan finally escaped him, stopping suddenly on the sidewalk. “This fucking blows.”
“Told you the blueberry one sucked,” and Chase held out his hand. Appetite lost, Robert handed it over and continued walking, Beef trudging along with his tongue out.
“What do you think, Chase? About everything.”
Fingers pressed firmly to his forehead, Chase tried to smooth out what he knew was a deep crease between his eyebrows. “I don’t think there’s a way to take it back. Call it fake or whatever but it’s out there.”
“Mm.”
“You could address it. Instead of letting it hang around like a rumor.”
“It’s just…” a frustrated groan rumbled out of his chest. “I don’t need more shit. Dead dad, fucked up mech, washed up hero, and trans? Not including the whole ‘mentally unwell’ bullshit, fucking… Mecha Man Pink? Come on.”
“Well, for the most part, people are in support of you. The video was taken off that dipshit’s page and he keeps getting calls cussin’ his bitch ass out.”
“But you’ve been seeing the stares. People are probably trying to figure out if I’ve got a dick or not.”
“Shit, that reminds me.” Robert frowned at the segue but watched as Chase fumbled for his – no, Robert’s phone.
“Anything good?” It wouldn’t surprise him that Chase saved some of the funnier parts of this fiasco to cheer Robert up. Instead of answering, Chase handed over the phone and Robert barked out a laugh, enough it startled Beef and a few people walking near them. “No fucking way.”
“Mmmhm. Keep scrolling.”
A thread of Mecha Man’s bulge. Namely from PR stuff he had done, as there wasn’t often a need for him to be out of the mech and in his flight suit. Screenshots of videos that had been zoomed in to show the crotch of his suit, evidence he had something there. Even a couple of his profile, to show it wasn’t completely flat. Some of them were frame by frame to indicate where his dick laid against his thigh, the outline of his balls. There were even claims he was erect in some of them.
Robert had to stop to double over, his laughter consuming him.
“My fffffffffucking sides hurt,” he wheezed. “Oh my god.”
“I didn’t look at all of ‘em ‘cause I was sick of looking at your junk but figured you’d find it funny.”
“Holy shit.” Before he could scroll to look at other posts, Chase snatched the phone away.
“It’s best to wait ‘til it blows over.” It wasn’t like Chase having his phone was a real invasion of privacy, as the only messages he received nowadays were from the team group chat.
Which was surprisingly quiet today. Likely they were blowing up the one that didn’t have Robert in it. Better for him to stay out of it.
Beef finished his business, Chase finished the bagel, Robert finished getting his laughs out and led them back inside. When he returned from the bathroom, Chase was still in his seat, Beef circling his dog bed to get comfortable. It made Robert a little envious but he unlocked his computer and took a seat.
A lot of their inner-office communication was verbal or through chats, emails usually reserved for spam or big updates. A new email, from Human Resources.
“We have an HR?” He asked aloud, bewildered. At his side, Chase was also surprised, leaning forward to read it better after he put on his glasses. The subject line read ‘Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion policy’ and Robert cursed beneath his breath.
As they skimmed it over, the more frustrated he became. The Superhero Dispatch Network was supportive of the LGBTQIANO2*+ community (“I don’t even know what half that shit means”); SDN was a safe space with trained staff (“trained for what?”); they would provide modules to teach about DEI in the workplace (“yeah, no one’s gonna do that”); and to be more inclusive, HR suggested that employees began listing their preferred pronouns and names, if applicable.
“That’s bullshit.” Robert threw his mouse against the partition, clattering when it landed. “Because Mecha Man was outed, everyone has to hold his hand to make sure he’s comfortable. It’s in the name - Mecha Man.”
There was nothing to do in the email, just a friendly reminder and resources but nothing mandatory. It was swiftly deleted and Robert noticed movement from the corner of his eye. Flambae was approaching him, hand outstretched with a slip of paper.
“What’s this?”
“The Panera receipt.”
Robert snorted. “You couldn’t find it in your heart to do a good deed?”
“You know how expensive that shit is? Put this on the company expense card or whatever.”
Under his breath, Robert mumbled something about how that’s not how it worked, but paused when he actually read the line items. Besides the bagels and cream cheese, Flambae had also gotten paninis, drinks and pastries. The sandwiches were circled, with his blocky handwriting adding a note to meet him on the roof. By the time Robert looked back up, Flambae was gone.
“Chase, could you cover for me?”
“It’s my day off.”
“I can cover for you next time. Or ask Blazer to pay you overtime.”
“Just fuckin’ with you, kid.”
For a moment, Robert was jealous of Flambae’s powers. Of any powers in general, really, because if he could fly and avoid people he’d do that shit all the time.
But he didn’t, so he took the back stairwell and shoved the door to the roof open, coming out to find Flambae wiping pastry crumbs off his lip.
“Fuck, finally. I was gonna eat your lunch if you took any longer.”
“What’d you get?” Robert asked as he approached and sat, cross-legged, besides the other.
“Whatever their daily special was. You can’t afford to be a picky eater, so, here.”
“I’ve been gaining weight,” he argued, but a knowing side eye made him give up that argument. As he unwrapped the sandwich, he could feel his stomach rumble. “Thanks.”
“Mhm.” For a moment, they ate in silence and stared at the skyline, Flambae occasionally texting someone on his phone. While the quiet was nice, it wasn’t usual and Robert felt the need to fill it.
“‘ase said sumfink to m—”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Christ, that’s disgusting.”
Robert leveled Flambae with a glare but finished chewing before he spoke again. “Chase told me you were the one who advised him to check in the gym.”
“Yeah?” Dark eyebrows furrowed. “That’s where you were.”
“I guess…” while he thought, Robert took another bite, clearing his mouth before he continued. “Why you?”
“We already—”
“But why?”
Facial features molded into a scowl, Flambae turned to Robert and locked eyes.
“Because I know what it’s like to be outed when you aren’t ready.”
“Oh,” Robert shrank in on himself a bit, but Flambae didn’t break stride.
“When I saw the video, I tried to call, and when it went right to voicemail, I called Chase. ‘Cause I give a shit. He was the only person I could think of that would know, but he couldn’t get hold of you either. I figured your dumb ass was probably at the gym.”
“Mm.” Though he wanted to avert his gaze, Robert found himself transfixed.
“I didn’t have anyone to walk me through it, you know? One day I realized I was the butt of a joke. No one was there to hold my hand and say it’ll be alright.”
Vulnerability was not a good look for Flambae. He looked as if his skin was too small for his body, taut and ripping at the seams, but he’d be damned to let any more of his soft insides show. He broke their stare and waved his hand, as if fanning everything away; dust in the wind. “But that was fucking forever ago, who gives a shit. You’re an adult, not like you’re facing playground bullies.”
“Bone Zone acts like a bully.”
“’Cause he’s immature as shit. ‘Ohh, you’re gay? You like dick or something?’ That’s the whole fucking point, moron.” With a huff, Flambae stretched and sprawled out on his back, his head pillowed beneath his arm while the other still held on his sandwich, now down to the crust.
“For what it’s worth,” the gentle tone Robert used made Flambae instinctively grimace. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“It just—” an uncomfortable knot began to twist in his chest. “It was hard to figure myself out when everyone had already formed an opinion about me. Just a glance and they knew everything they needed to know before I had even thought about it.”
Robert nodded and let him continue. Fucker. Flambae was already – figuratively and literally – showing his belly, reclined comfortably with his guard down, and yet Robert was trying to dig deeper.
“Being a pyrokinetic Afghani immigrant—"
At his side, Robert breathed out a sharp fuck, his expression both saddened and pained. The kind of reaction Flambae was angling for, one that would shut Robert up and make him feel shitty for asking, a guilty knife beneath his ribs. There was no need to follow up and the words sat heavy in the air.
“I kinda get that,” Robert said after the silence got too heavy, scratching his beard. Automatically, Flambae scoffed.
“White guys alway gotta make it about himself.”
“I’m trying to be sympathetic, asshole,” he shot a glare over his shoulder, but there wasn’t much bite to it. He, too, looked uncomfortable about the situation, about being open. The two of them could just as easily drop it, call each other names, even throw hands if they really wanted to shut this down, but there was this whole moment about it that they’d probably never get again. Having his nails pulled would be easier than this whole feeling shit.
“I meant the part about others already deciding who and what you are before you get the chance. It was like there was this mold I was supposed to fit into. From the moment of conception, this baby was going to be Mecha Man. Destiny and fate and tradition or whatever wouldn’t stop, regardless of what I came out as.”
“What,” Flambae snorted, “your daddy only had Mecha Man sperm or something?” Mouth pulled into a thin frown, Robert tried not to laugh, so Flambae continued. “Oh man, every single one’a these is gonna be such a normie hero bitch, balls filled wi—”
“Dude,” he finally laughed, “fuck off.” On a roll, Flambae began to jerk his fist, finishing with a splooge noise to complete the visual. “That was disgusting.”
“Not my jizz.”
It was easier to breathe after the mood had lightened, but it also gave Flambae time to fully digest their conversation before he had interjected, and he sat up with a poorly concealed look of concern. “Wait, were you forced to transition?”
With a thoughtful hum, Robert reclined on his palms. “Not really? The whole legacy thing influenced it, sure, but that couldn’t make me feel the way I did inside. It wasn’t like, uh, ‘I was born in the wrong body to be Mecha Man’ or anything.” Awkwardly, Robert cleared his throat. “My dad might’ve said something like that to me before, uhm, but that’s not the point.” Involuntarily, a spike in temperature flared beside Robert, Flambae quick to tame it. Neither of them acknowledged it. “As soon as I realized I could, I stopped with the dresses and the pigtails and shit. My mom had short hair and wore pants, why couldn’t I?”
His mouth opened to start a question before Flambae thought better of it. That was the first he’d ever heard Robert mention his mother, but it didn’t seem like the time.
“So you were a fuckin’, uh…” a frustrated knit formed in his brow, drawing a blank.
“A tomboy?” Flambae nodded. “I guess. I think people thought I was just a late bloomer, some scrappy teen.”
“We didn’t call it that back then, but I know what you mean. It used to drive my parents crazy when people asked about their son.”
Face turned to the skyline, Flambae studied Robert’s profile, watching as the dots connected and he went from a confused frown to a thoughtful squint to eyebrows-to-the-hairline surprise. When he looked back at Flambae, he looked more nervous than Robert had ever seen him, as if seconds away from combusting.
“Oh!”
“Yeah,” and he deflated, just slightly.
“Huh.”
“Mhm.”
Another lull of silence, both of them slowly eased into it before they found themselves on their backs.
“Hey.” Flambae turned his head to find Robert smiling at him with a sincere, almost timid grin that he needed to get the fuck off his face immediately. “Thanks.”
“Ugh, gross. Making me nauseous.” Flambae propped himself on an elbow and pretended to gag until Robert sat up to shove his shoulder.
“Fuck me for being real, asshole,” but his eyes still crinkled in the corners. Robert remained upright, studying Flambae for a long enough time the man grunted out a rough ‘what?’ “Does the team know?”
“Prism knows, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“She’s the only one I’ve told. Punch Up punched me in the nuts once and I didn’t react how he wanted, I think, but he never mentioned it. Maybe he thinks I don’t have balls and didn’t want to make it awkward.”
“Or your suit is so tight they’re tucked away.”
“I couldn’t imagine wearing this and not tucking. I get a fucking camel toe.”
“Don’t wear a slutty costume.”
“It’s homemade, bitch, and it’s tasteful, not slutty. And c’mon.” Sitting up to meet Robert, Flambae gestured to his torso, chest puffed out. “How could I not put this on display?” He boasted, and Robert allowed himself the opportunity to really look. Not through quick glances when he didn’t think anyone would notice, not with the reflexive explanation about indecency when he did get caught, certainly not with the details his imagination supplied at what was covered.
“You’ve got some crazy genetics. I’ve got, like, pervert chest hair.”
A bark of a laugh escaped Flambae, surprising himself with the sound. “What?”
“You know those shitty little mustaches pedos have? Like that.”
“It was funny before surgery,” he mused. “Fucking hairy ass tits. I wore shit like this with ‘em, too, ‘cause fuck anyone who had something to say.”
“All I got was the hairy ass. And the tits.”
A dark eyebrow quirked up. “You didn’t do top?”
“No. They were small enough and I worked out, so they just looked soft. Til, y’know, the whole coma thing. All the weight loss and muscle deterioration made everything smaller. I’ve gotten some of it back, I don’t think they look like tits, but now that people are gonna be looking more—”
“Fuck them. Hell, I think I’ve got bigger tits than I did before surgery. Getting mistaken for a woman now is kinda funny – not because I don’t pass, sometimes people just see the hair and the ass and the tits, then I hit ‘em with my sexy as fuck voice and jawline and musk—”
“That doesn’t bother you?” Brown eyes darted over Flambae’s face, searching for something.
“Not so much anymore. It’s not like people know – or they think they know. Having someone call me ma’am or whatever the fuck and then correct themselves without me having to do it feels good.”
“It’s been a hot minute since that happened. I used to get mistaken for this lesbian in my neighborhood a lot.”
“You look like a third of the lesbian population of LA. Don’t wear flannel. And quit looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like—” like you know me. Though he doesn’t say it, based on the subtle change in Robert’s expression, he still understood. Instead, Flambae huffed and stood up to gather their trash, the other following suit.
“Thanks for lunch.”
“Uh, no, I’m still getting reimbursed for that. Don’t fucking forget it.”
“For the bagels, maybe. Take it up with AP.”
“What the fuck is AP?”
Robert, with a shit eating grin, only patted his ass down and began to walk toward the stairwell.
Chase removed his headset when he saw Robert and motioned him over.
“Calls kept comin’ in even though everyone was at lunch. Diaz wants to know if Mecha Man is willing to do an interview.”
The food in his stomach felt like lead. “What?”
“You don’t have to. Tell that creep to fuck off. But he won’t stop calling in until he gets an answer.” On the screen, an icon lit up and Chase cocked his head towards it. “Won’t shut the fuck up.”
The chair protested when Robert dropped himself in it and groaned. “Need some fucking PR.”
“He already accused you of using Blazer, fuckin’ hiding in mommy’s skirt or some shit.”
“Ew.”
As they talked, another call from Bone Zone came in and Chase answered.
“Look, asshole, if it’s not an emergency, quit calling. We have oth—”
“SDN has, what, hundreds of heroes? You could spare one teeny tiny washed up—”
Chase hung up.
“Give me my phone,” Robert motioned with his open palm. “I’m gonna pull up his show and see what he’s saying.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. So I know what I’ll be going into.”
“You’re gonna take it? You don’t have to fall into every scandal.”
“The longer I don’t, the more the rumors will grow.”
With the headset around his neck, Chase gave Robert another awkward hug.
“You’ve grown a lot, kid,” he mumbled. “I think 10 years ago you’d be spiraling.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m a whole fucking mess inside, just better at repressing emotions.”
Through the headphones, they both could hear voices but couldn’t make them out, Chase took the initiative to get back to work while Robert sat beside him and pulled up Bone Zone’s show, old and tangled wired earbuds in his ears. He only got about two minutes in before he turned it off.
“That bad?”
“It was just him talking shit about SDN for shielding the truth or whatever.” A heavy sigh worked its way through Robert’s body before he decided to get up. “I’m gonna go see Blazer. When that dipshit calls again, tell him you’re working on it.”
Blonde Blazer stepped out of her office while Robert was only a few feet away, both of them looking up in surprise.
“I was just coming to talk to you,” they said at the same time, then chuckled. She held the door open and motioned Robert inside.
“I think you should do the interview,” she told him, her hip against the edge of her desk with her arms crossed over her chest. “I say that on behalf of SDN. While we can’t stop every piece of gossip, it can lead to losing subscribers who don’t want to be associated with whatever rumor is going around.”
That wasn’t something Robert had considered, but it made sense. Capitalism bullshit.
“But, as your friend, I say fuck ‘im.”
Scandalized, Robert gasped and put his hand over his clavicle to clutch at his non-existent pearls. “Did the Blonde Blazer just—”
“Shut up,” she lightly kicked at his shin with a smile before resuming her somber tone. “Really, though, it’s your decision. I’ll support you with whatever you decide to do.”
“I’m gonna do it.”
“Oh,” her posture straightened out in surprise. “Really?”
“Did you expect me to say no?”
“No, no, I guess I was expecting more hesitancy.”
From his chair, Robert smirked. “Did you have a speech prepared? A Robert Robertson pep talk, maybe?”
“No,” Blazer rolled her eyes. “I do have more PR experience, if you want some pointers.”
“I’ll try not to beat Bone Zone up.”
“If you do,” she lowered her voice, conspiratorially, “get it on camera. I’d like to see.”
With a finger gun snap, Robert stood and left her office, headed straight for the lockers.
The Mecha Man flight suit was, in itself, unremarkable. It had the general protections - fire retardant, sweat wicking, padded, tear resistant (something they had to change after the explosion so they could cut him out of his suit easier in case of any future emergencies.) He didn’t suddenly gain powers when he put it on or transformed in any way, there was nothing special about it, but Robert felt like a different person when he put it on.
That was the thing about being a hero, the safety of the mask. It was less about wearing a costume and more about feeling at home in his own skin. The fit of it was familiar, tailored just for him; he knew where every zipper was and what every pouch contained; regardless of what he was wearing, Robert tended to feel naked when without it, something deeper than just fabric covering his body.
It wasn’t uncommon that he slept in it, be it from long nights he was too exhausted to change out of it or times where he barely had the time to change, needing to be back out in the field when called and it was easier to remain suited up. More than a few times, after the coma, he would put it on because it felt safe; one of the few constants, even if it was a little loose in some areas and haphazardly sewn back together. Regardless of the reason, more often than not, he felt gross about it the next day and washed the suit before another wear.
Over time, he’d begun to fill it out again. He would likely never regain the muscle mass he had and there would forever be complications, but for the time being some of the seams had been taken in and he could suspend his disbelief enough to feel as if he’s grown back into it, not that it shrunk for his sake.
Eyes were on him in the bullpen. Fine. Chase was arguing with (“you giant muddy fucker, quit with the fucking snail trail in the street”) Golem, his bickering tapering down as Robert approached.
“Lookin’ good, kid.”
“You see this every other day.”
“Fine. You look like a flaming bag of dog shit fucked a prom night dumpster abortion.”
From the headphones around his neck, someone groaned out a loud jeeeeezuz and Robert grinned.
“Much better.”
April 16, 2024 15:27:41
SDN DISPATCHER 14: SDN, what’s your emergency?
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): Hey, man, this is like the 20th -
SDN DISPATCHER 14: Eighth.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): - Eighth time I’ve - wait, are you keeping track?
SDN DISPATCHER 14: Yep.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): And you’re still withholding information from my listeners?
SDN DISPATCHER 14: SDN services are for emergencies -
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): That’s not true, I know you guys have -
SDN DISPATCHER 14: SDN services are for emergencies, and the more you call in to harass, the more emergencies go unanswered. If there is nothing else I can help you with, thank you for calling the Superhero Dispatch Network.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): Yo, wait -
April 16, 2024 15:35:01
SDN DISPATCHER 11: SDN, what’s your emergency?
SUBSCRIBER (@LINDSEYBZ): Um, hi… so, I’m calling for Bone Zone (indiscernible).
SDN DISPATCHER 11: SDN services are for emer -
SUBSCRIBER (@LINDSEYBZ): Wait sorry that’s um not what I meant. I was calling um to see if you could send a hero to um (indiscernible).
SDN DISPATCHER 11: Miss, if this isn’t an emergency, I’m going to have to terminate the call.
SUBSCRIBER (@LINDSEYBZ): No no sorry I (indiscernible). Is Mecha Man available?
SDN DISPATCHER 11: We do not send out heroes by request, as we cannot ensure said hero is available at the time of request. If you have an emergency, we will send the appropriate responder to the scene. Do you have an emergency?
SUBSCRIBER (@LINDSEYBZ): (Indiscernible).
April 16, 2024 15:37:56
SDN DISPATCHER 22: SDN, what’s your emergency?
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): Yo, what is going on over there? It’s like you guys don’t want to help.
SDN DISPATCHER 22: Sir, if you continue to harass our call center, SDN may need to re-evaluate your subscription -
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): What?
SDN DISPATCHER 22: - due to violating the Terms and Conditions, agreed upon when registering.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): Bullshit (indiscernible).
April 16, 2024 15:42:13
SDN DISPATCHER 07: SDN, what’s your emergency?
SUBSCRIBER (@LINDSEYBZ): Wait, sorry, got another call. I’ll call you back.
SDN DISPATCHER 07: Ma’am -
As Robert talked with Chase, a few heads popped up from cubicles around them in random intervals, headsets around their necks, and gave him dirty looks - different from the other glares he’d been receiving. Like a pissed off Whack-A-Mole game.
“Oh, shit, hold on, Blazer’s calling.” Shortly after Chase picked up his own headset, he passed it over. “For you.”
“Robert,” she snipped before Robert even had the headset on fully. "I don’t mean to rush you, but if you’re going to do the interview you should do it now. He won’t stop calling and disrupting our services.”
“Oooh, okay, that makes sense. I’ll take the next call. Sorry ‘bout that.” Her icon disappeared and Robert motioned for Chase to move over so he could take a seat. It was a little strange to see his face among the lineup, though he looked a little healthier than he had for his SDN badge, now with more color and fat in his face.
April 16, 2024 14:59:33
SDN DISPATCHER 29: Afternoon, Diaz.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): I want - hold up (indiscernible). This is SDN right? I haven’t been blocked or -
SDN DISPATCHER 29: If Mecha Man accepts the interview will you quit harassing the call center? I’m sure you didn’t actually read the T&C but this insistent interruption can and will get your subscription terminated.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): Now you’re gonna threaten me?
SDN DISPATCHER 29: I’m not gonna threaten you, I am threatening you. Have we reached an agreement?
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): 60 minute interview and I won’t call for interviews for the rest of the week.
SDN DISPATCHER 29: 45 minutes.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): 45 minutes plus listener questions.
SDN DISPATCHER 29: 45 minutes with questions, not in addition.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): (Indiscernible).
SDN DISPATCHER 29: Do we have a deal?
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): Fine. In person.
SDN DISPATCHER 29: In person. See you in 15.
SUBSCRIBER (@BONEZONE): 15? That’s when I’ve got -
Robert assigned Mecha Man to the call, then kicked away from the desk.
“You should ask Blazer if you can play it over the PA,” he joked, double checking his suit and earpiece.
“I think someone’ll go postal if they have to hear his annoying ass again and it might be me.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Blazer commented as she approached, a crease between her eyebrows as she frowned down at Chase. In response, the man shrugged one shoulder in an apology but returned to his work. “I just wanted to wish you good luck, Mecha Man.” A squeeze to his upper arm gave her pause for a second. “You’ve gotten strong!”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” playfully, he flexed his arms and Blazer laughed, only for a litany of complaints to come through his earpiece. “Alright, alright, but ‘fore I go, I want a good luck kiss.” More grumbling from his colleagues, a surprised eyebrow raise from Blazer and a sideways glance from Chase. “From Beef,” he clarified, rounding the chair to pick his dog up. “Buh-bye, Beef.”
“Bye, daddy,” he responded on behalf of the animal, his impression of a fucked up muppet getting better (see: more fucked up.) Everyone seemed to agree. Once Robert felt thoroughly slobbered upon, he returned Beef to his dog bed, gave a two-finger salute, and headed out of the building.
Robert always felt he walked a little taller as Mecha Man. More confident, more secure. Mecha Man didn’t slouch in a chair for hours and the pilot seat had lumbar support — he should look into getting a pillow for work. The boots and armor helped him feel bigger as well. Despite his - statistically average - stature, Mecha Man had a larger presence than Robert, even without the mech. It didn’t stop people from being visibly and audibly disappointed that the pilot was, indeed, just a guy.
Nevertheless, on the walk, he stopped for selfies and waved to babies and dapped up a couple teenagers, who were very surprised, considering he was, quote, ‘an old white guy.’ No one sneered at him or called him a woman or treated him with anything other than indifference or support. Not everyone knew, not everyone was out to get him. He was Mecha Man, the friendly neighborhood hero, and he was alright.
Despite having sent his team here before, Robert had never considered what Bone Zone’s studio looked like. It wasn’t anything professional but not amateur - the child support kept him strapped to a modestly sized workspace. Inside a small waiting room, Robert was meanmugged by a man, the woman at his side giving him a very critical up-down.
“That was the next guest,” a voice behind him said, followed by, “I’ll let him know you’re here.” When Mecha man turned around, Lindsey - he recognized her from the calls - was up and knocking on a door, despite the lit up ON AIR sign above it.
“— the man of the hour,” Danny’s voice filtered through, the emphasis making Mecha Man scowl instinctively, but he schooled his expression by the time Lindsey ushered him forward, then closed the door.
A round table. Danny ‘Bone Zone’ Diaz sat in a rather comfortable looking gamer chair with a microphone positioned in front of him. Another seat, closest to Robert, was of shittier quality in both the chair and mic, but he took his cue and sat. A third chair was occupied by someone he did not know, nor did he care to know; neither did they, not even glancing up once from their phone. There was not a third microphone.
“What is up Mecha Ma’am!” Fingers steepled together, Bone Zone rocked back in his chair, shit-eating grin stapled to his face.
“Ohhh,” Mecha Man nodded slowly. “I get it. Funny.”
“Are you here to tell us the truth?”
“I’m here to address some allegations, yes.”
“Well, ladies first.”
He understood why some of his teammates risked penalties instead of working with the douchebag. “The photo you posted — which, where did you find it?”
“I have my sources,” he shrugged.
“Right. The baby in the picture—”
“The baby girl.”
“Yes,” Mecha Man sighed, “the baby girl, being held by Mecha Man Astral—”
“Your dad.”
“Jesus, will you let me talk?” Bone Zone put his hands up in surrender, not looking the least bit remorseful. “That was my sister.”
“Huh?” For a second, that smirk faltered.
“Yup. The reason I asked where you got it from is because it cropped me out - I was off to the side.”
“Why weren’t you in the middle with your dad?”
“‘Cause I was probably covered in dirt and didn’t look as cute,” the hero shrugged. "Plus, you know girls. She had to be the center of attention."
“How come I’ve never heard of her?”
“One, it’s no one’s business. Two, it’s especially not your business. Three, the whole secret identity thing. Mecha Man’s family wasn’t relevant to his hero work, so we stayed out of the light until I had to step in, and I’ve never talked about my family besides what’s been public knowledge.”
“Uh huh. And where is she now?”
“Chicago. Last I know of, at least.”
Bone Zone frowned, suspicious of him. “You don’t keep in contact?”
“Well, it was kinda hard after she died, and I don’t mess with that ouija stuff.”
“She’s dead?” He gasped, abruptly shooting forward and grabbing his mic, as if it was the juiciest thing he’d ever heard in this stuffy booth.
“If you wanna say it louder, maybe she’ll hear you.”
“When did she die? What happened?”
Mecha Man would like to say he’s a decent actor. He’s not auditioning for anything any time soon, but he could bullshit his way through an emotional monologue.
“August 8th, ‘96, about two years after that photo. She, uh,” he cleared his throat, trying to keep tears at bay. “She was at a sleepover. The girl had one of those tarp slip’n’slide things, and Ka—” he sniffled and shook his head, mentally chastising himself for accidentally slipping up. “Sorry. My sister just, uhm, landed wrong. Broke her neck,” a sharp snap of his fingers, “just like that.”
“Fuck.”
“So I get the whole, yanno, old photo thing, like you pulled some dirt on me, and sure, now everyone knows I’ve not only lost both my parents, but my sister, too.” He used his knuckle to carefully wipe at his eyes through his mask and cleared his throat. “But, uh, ladies, if you’re into the sad orphan—”
“Is there anyone to corroborate this story?” Bone Zone quickly derailed.
“I mean, probably, but that was like, 30 years ago. Do you not believe me? ‘Cause that’s a really fucked up thing to lie about.”
“Just doin’ my due diligence.”
“Well, sorry, but I’d like to keep my privacy and let her rest. If that’s all—”
“Wait, hold on, we got questions.” They weren’t near the established 45 minute deadline, but Mecha Man wasn’t gonna be a bitch about their deal. “Alright. Caller one, you’re up.”
“Hi Mecha Man, big fan. Sorry about your sister.”
“Mhm.”
“Do you have any other siblings?”
“No.”
“If your parents only had girls, would she be Mecha Man?”
“Don’t know. Wasn’t applicable.”
“Okay, thank you. Caller two!”
“Bone Zone, you’re a real fucking asshole to make Mecha M—”
“Caller three.”
“Uh, hey. First time calling in, kinda nervous, but uhm, Mecha Man, why wait?”
“Wait for what?”
“Wait until this scandal came out to talk about your sister?”
“I had no reason to. She’s been gone a long time, I’ve made my peace with it, I wasn’t expecting to ever have to talk about her on behalf of Mecha Man.”
“Caller four?”
“This is a load of horseshit. We don’t need some mentally reta—”
“Caller five.”
“So you’re saying you’re not trans?”
“Correct.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Okay…” he hummed in thought. “Why not?”
“You’re too short.”
That, admittedly, made him laugh. “No one in my family was tall, that’s just how it goes.”
“Caller six.”
“Prove you’re a real man.”
“How exactly do you want me to prove that? I’m not gonna strip.”
“Cut or uncut?”
“Dude.”
“Answer the question,” Bone Zone encouraged.
After he took a deep inhale, Mecha Man crossed his arms over his chest, puffed out, and met Bone Zone’s gaze dead on.
“Cut. 5.8 inches on a good day. Slight right curve. There are two freckles on my left nut, near the taint. Width is like, uh.” Mecha Man made a circle with his middle finger and thumb. “Yea big? I jack off every morning in the shower to get the day going, sometimes a couple times if—”
“And that’s o—"
“—I’ve got a lot going on. I’ve found the most efficient way is to h—”
"—ur time! Tha—"
“—old the shaft up, and—"
"—nk you, M—"
"—with your other han—”
“Get the fuck out!”
“—d you sorta tease th—”
Two hands gripped the back of his chair and forcibly yanked him away from the desk, answering his question on why the third person was present, as he was dumped on the other side of the threshold after the door had been shoved open.
“If you want more advice,” he yelled from his spot on the floor, “my num—”
The door slammed hard enough that a couple decorations on the wall rattled, some shitty local podcast awards Bone Zone definitely baited his followers into voting for.
“Sheesh.” After Mecha Man was sure his costume was in order, he looked up to see an array of expressions, all directed at him, their voices overlapping.
“What the fuck?”
“Man, why’d you stop? I was so close.”
“Good job, maybe now you’ll get bitches.”
“You really said all that, huh.”
“Wish I coulda seen the fucker’s face.”
“No way you’re over five inches.”
“15 mins of fame and you do that?”
“That crying was iconic.”
“Can we go? I can’t stand even being near this asshole.”
“Why the hell are all of you here?” Mecha Man asked, shooing them out of the building. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Here for emotional support.”
“Damage control.”
“Bored.”
“Chase sent us.”
“Then why is Chase here?”
“Like I’d miss this.” A hearty slap to the hero’s shoulder forced him forward a few steps. “Blazer let us all go early.”
“Let’s get stinko!”
Back at the office, Robert stripped from his flight suit and into jeans and a tacky shirt he was gifted (courtesy of the nearest bodega after he was thrown up on one night) and regrouped with the team. Flambae was the only other person to have changed; everyone else remained in the clothes they wore to work, be it their plain clothes costumes or bodysuits.
“Took you long enough,” Flambae grouched, hand on the back of Robert’s neck as he guided them forward. “C’mon, we’re gonna miss happy hour.”
To make the best of the discounted drinks, the team ordered a lot of shots. Enough that the bartender refused to pour any more. Robert, as the only normie and the one most deserving of a drink, slammed a few back in succession. Even with a high tolerance, he couldn’t keep pace with anyone else, and some of his colleagues favored nursing their drinks for no other reason than to watch Robert devour his.
“Robert.”
“Hm?” Turned in the booth, Robert propped his arm over the back of the seat to look over, where Malevola was reclined against a beam beside him.
“There never was a sister, right?”
“Nope.”
“Wait, that was you?” Punch Up followed.
“Uh, yeah? I thought you all had figured that out. The sister story was just to throw Bone Zone off my ass.”
“I knew he wasn’t over five inches,” and Robert laughed.
“No, that was real.”
“Your strap, maybe.”
Robert shook his head and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “No, I mean m’dick.”
No one was subtle in the way they all looked at Robert’s crotch, assessing if he was being truthful or not.
“How—”
“I had surgery.”
“They Frankenstein’d you a dick?”
“If you’re gonna be crude, yes, from skin grafts.”
“… and balls, too?”
“Eyup. They don’t function like—”
“There’s no fucking way.”
“Hey, I know some of you have seen me in the shower or at the urinal.”
“I’m not looking.”
“You can piss outta it?”
“Yeah.” Fist over his mouth, Robert belched. “Fuck with it, too.”
A collection of voices overlapped at the statement; disbelief, mainly.
“How?”
“It’s a dick. It gets hard, stick it in, fuck, cum, y’know. It’s a dick."
“Sorry, Rob, I just don’t believe that. You lied so naturally about your sister.”
“Uhhhh,” Robert blew a raspberry and glanced over the group, eyes narrowed in thought. “Eenie meenie… Coop.”
“Yes?”
“You’re the most honest, which is crazy considerin’—” Robert gestured vaguely. “If I show you, then everyone’s gotta believe it.”
“That’s some serious sexual harassment, dude.”
“Like this whole thing hasn’t been?” He snorted, then dropped his smile when he turned to his coworker. “Only if you wanna, Coop, nothin’ weird about it.”
Briefly, her dark eyes flicked over to Punch Up, who only shrugged in response.
“Sure,” she settled on, and stepped out of the booth
“He’s taking out his cock!” Sonar gasped; Robert flipped the table off as he and Coupé left.
“Are you cool with this?” Robert asked as the two of them walked towards the bathrooms. “‘Cause I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable but this’ll get everyone off my back.”
“If I wasn’t, you’d know,” she held the door open for him.
The men’s room was small, three urinals and two stalls, one of which was occupied. There wasn’t a very convenient or casual way to go about this, but Coop entered the stall, diligently wiped off the tank with a glove of toilet paper, then perched herself up to sit before she motioned Robert over.
“Oooookay.” It was cramped, especially when the door closed behind him. Backed up as far as he could manage, he asked her, again, if she was cool with this; and she reminded him, again, that he would be aware if she wasn’t, and her wings fluttered a bit, as if to emphasize she could - and would - handle herself. With that, he undid his belt, button, zipper, pushed his jeans down mid-thigh before he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and, after he received a nearly imperceptible nod, shucked them down as well.
“Hm.”
Beneath the thick patch of pubic hair, the scarring was barely visible, though the skin of the penis was a noticeably lighter tone than the rest of him. Awkwardly, Robert took it in his hand and showed it off, giving a firm squeeze before he pressed it up against his belly and shifted his hips forward a bit to show beneath.
“I see.” When Coupé leaned forward and ducked her head, Robert tried to back away further, trapped beneath the door. “I’m not going to touch,” she assured him. “What has been done internally?”
“Everything’s still there, just don’t work.”
“Externally?”
“There’s a saline pump in my balls to get hard and I’ve still got the hole, just don’t use it. Natal is unburied but kinda awkward to show.”
“What the fuck?” The opposite stall asked.
“Mind your business,” Coop answered swiftly. “Can you ejaculate?”
“No more than I could before. The coolest part is I’m on so many fucking SSRIs that I’ve got two dicks and can’t even cum.”
“And this is from your arm?”
“Mostly my thigh. Surprised no one’s ever asked about it.” Beneath the obnoxious overhead lights that flickered, Robert turned his arm to show off where the skin had been pulled from. “But I’ve got so many scars already, guess it never stuck out, or no one cared enough.”
“Are you guys done in there?” Sonar asked, the bathroom door opened just slightly, letting in the chatter and music from the bar. “‘Cause I gotta piss and I don’t want to walk in on whatever the fuck—”
“We’re in a stall. We’re almost done,” Coupé answered for Robert, who had already begun to dress himself again. “Thank you for showing me that, Robert. Very fascinating.”
“Yuh huh. This isn’t gotta come up again, right?”
“Correct.”
“‘Cause I don’t wanna deal with more HR shit.”
“No need to worry.” She stood, which made the crowded space more tight, but they managed to step out with minimal interaction.
“So?” Arms crossed over his chest, Sonar tapped his foot.
Calmly, Coop held up a finger. “Cut.” A second, “5.8 inches.” Third, “a slight right curve.”
“Okay, I get it,” he grumbled as he shouldered past them and to the urinal.
“Two freckles, width about yea big,” she reported to the table, her thumb and forefinger making a circle. A collective groan rumbled across the booth and some began to dig in their pockets.
“You guys made a fucking bet?”
“Obviously!”
The pool went to Flambae, who winked at Robert as he stuffed the cash into his shirt pocket and then pushed more glasses towards the returned guest.
“Do you have a strap?” Invisigal asked around her cigarette. “I’ve got a harness that could probably fit your hips.”
“I think you just wanted to let everyone know that you have a strap,” several heads nodded in agreement with Golem.
The team, never knowing their boundaries, did feel like they suddenly had an in to asking Robert invasive questions, of which he was mostly candid about. He suggested they do their own research and not bombard the nearest trans person with the expectation that he knew everything - especially not while flirting the edge of shitfaced.
“So, like… when did you know?”
“Think I always knew.”
“But when did you start?”
“I was, uh, 12, I think? Blockers and then T a few years later in high school.”
“12? Did you ever get your period…?”
“Yep. Tried to kill m’self so we expec—expuh— hold on. Ex-pe-di-ted. Expedited.” A thumbs up replaced the rest of his sentence and the group nodded.
“What did your dad—”
His hands cupped around his mouth, Robert made an annoyingly loud incorrect error noise and the subject was quickly dropped before it eventually rounded to its usual nonsensical bullshit, which left Robert to turn his brain off for a second and bask into the warmth of booze.
At some point, the night he revealed his hero identity was brought up. Had he not been looking for it, he might not have noticed the way Flambae jumped a little at the memory. Since then, they had mostly settled their differences and made amends with the fallout of that conversation - they still liked to punch each other on a monthly basis, more so just for fun and routine than any malicious intent - but being reminded Flambae had lost his temper and lashed out at Robert the way he did always doused the man with shame like a bucket of cold water.
“We’re not gonna go in a circle and say our pronouns,” Robert grunted, slumped back in the booth.
“Why not?”
“‘Cause if someone used it wrong, we would know.”
“We didn’t know you were trans.”
“What’s that matter? Still male.”
“Mal is trans.”
“Dude.” Her hand smacked Sonar upside the head harder than a playful slap but not enough to do significant damage - just enough to catch him off balance and stumble, as was deserved. She then turned to the rest of the group, who waited for any follow up, and sighed. “It’s a little different for me. Y’know how Phen goes on ‘bout not matching anatomy?” Malevola rolled her wrist to say the unspoken, a point which went over some heads.
“So, what, you’ve got a girldick?” Invisigal asked crudely; both Sonar and Malevola nodded. “Huh. Cool.”
“I ain’t got any of that.” When Golem shrugged, a few pebbles rolled away from the friction. “Just a dude, I guess.”
“Fucked up.”
A series of half-sentences and muttered words were barely audible over the music and other chatter in the bar, but Waterboy’s insistent fidgeting naturally drew attention to him next, and he looked up with a yelp at everyone’s gaze.
“Ah! Um! Is it— am I next?”
“You don’t hafta,” Punch Up assured him, a brief pat on the boy’s shoulder then wiped awkwardly on his shirt. “No pressure, lad.”
“I guess I, um, nev-ver thought about. Sex?”
Invisigal snorted. “‘Course not.”
“Not—” a frustrated groan, more comfortable with the team’s bantering, “not as muh-much as you,” and Prism cheered in support. “But, ah, gender… I mean, Water… Waterg-girl doesn’t really… ring…”
“Don’t let anyone make you say anything you aren’t ready for, babes,” Malevola offered, the puddle of water growing in size, as if it would grow large enough to swallow everyone at the table from the confession.
“I had a she-they phase in high school,” Prism played with a ring on her thumb. “Not ‘cause it, like, is a phase, it just was for me.”
“I alternate pronouns,” Coop answered, “but you all may use feminine ones.”
“Aye,” Punch Up nodded. “I’m of the he-slash-him sort.”
Palms braced against the edge of the table, Invisigal pushed against it, as if she could miraculously faze her way through the wooden backing of the booth. She flickered for a couple seconds before she let out a deep exhale, more than just holding her breath. “I don’t really give a shit,” she settled on, going for indifference. “Never bothered me, not gonna let it bother me now. I’ll fuck whoever I wanna fuck.”
“We’re talking about gender, not sexuality.”
“Those aren’t the same?”
“I’ll be the only brave motherfucker here,” Sonar boasted. “Cishet.”
“Booooooooo!”
“Boy, I know you ain’t straight.”
“Everyone was a little bi-curious in high school.”
“And undergrad.”
“And grad school.”
“And Silicon Valley.”
“And—”
“Okay! Fuck.” Ears flattened against his head in embarrassment. “Whatever. Now I’m straight.”
“Booooo.”
“Flambae?”
“What?”
“Your turn.”
“Pass.”
“Everyone else has gone.”
“Ugh. What are we doing? Pronouns? He.”
“Heehee,” was maybe Sonar’s attempt at a Michael Jackson impression, which went ignored.
In no more than a couple seconds, an exchange was had across the table. Robert looked at Flambae, who looked back at him in turn; Prism, who had been studying Flambae, followed his gaze to Robert; after he detected a second pair of eyes on him, he glanced to Prism and winked; her eyeroll broke the chain and Flambae gently bumped his foot against hers under the table. He knew she knew Robert knew and there was nothing more to say.
Conversations came and went at their usual rapid, borderline ADHD speed, mainly never being finished before a new topic dominated. Similarly, the occupants of the table shifted as people slipped out, changed seats, hovered into others’ spaces or eventually departed. By the time they had lost half of their original party, a new location was considered.
“There’s this new place.” Furiously, Invisigal typed something into her phone, trying to search the restaurant. “It’s got a rotating sushi belt.”
“I don’t fuck with sushi.”
“What, really?”
“It’s raw fish. I don’t trust like that.”
“They have food besides sushi.”
“Yeah, but if it’s a sushi place, then the rest of their food’s gonna suck.”
“I’m down for sushi.”
“I’m down, but if I don’t like how they cut it, I’m out.”
“Boy, I’ve seen you eat food off the floor.”
“Five second rule.”
“It was from overnight.”
“It was free?”
“Robert’s our tiebreaker.”
“Rob?”
From where they had been huddled around Invisigal’s phone, the group looked over to see Robert’s head tipped back, tonguing a pint glass (which wasn’t originally his) for the last couple drops.
“Ooookay, yeah, let’s get him home.”
Malevola gestured with her hands for Robert to stand as her tail gingerly plucked the glass from him. When he wouldn’t budge, Prism leaned over and tugged on his elbow.
“We’re cutting you off, man. C’mon.”
“Ughhhhh,” Robert groaned. “Whyyyyyy?”
“I think the fact you don’t seem to know is reason enough.”
Another long, drawn out groan from Robert and a couple snickers followed.
“We have work tomorrow, ‘member?”
“Fffffffffuck that.”
The gathered crowd gasped, scandalized.
“Alright, he’s gotta go.”
As they continued to coax Robert out, the others learned their tabs had been forcibly closed with tips tacked on, arguments with the bartender giving Robert more time to drag his feet. Eventually, they all reconvened on the sidewalk.
“I’m getting his ass a ride,” Flambae announced. “You guys can go on ahead.”
“Are we doing sushi?”
“Yeah, fuck it.”
“I like sushi,” mumbled Robert, palms pressed firmly into his eyes as he rested all of his weight against the building.
“No, dude, you’d probably just throw it back up and your ass cannot afford to waste that,” and the man acquiesced.
“Are you coming back out, ‘Bae?”
“For sushi? Fuck no.”
“What is with you guys? Sushi fucking rocks!”
“There’s something about the primal urge to eat something raw.”
“Yeah, no, freak.”
“Aaaaaaand Rob’s down.”
“M’not,” words were barely audible from how he had his cheek squished against the sidewalk, flat on his belly and surrounded by cigarette butts and bottle caps. “I’m oh-kay-do-kay.”
“Yeah, Flambae, get this messy bitch home.”
“Don’t scowl, bitch, you should be fucking thankful—”
“M’not messy—"
“If this motherfucker yaks on my shoes—”
“Yak! Yak! Yak!”
“Visi!”
“Ride’s here. C’mon, wakey-wakey.”
“I am awakey,” to prove himself, Robert attempted to stand on his own, managing to get his knees under him with one hand against the brick facing, the other reaching for a secondary support - Flambae.
“Ow, bitch! You did that on purpose!”
“Don’t put so many holes in your pants, then! It’s like a damn rock climbing wall.”
Annoyed, Flambae took both of Robert’s wrists and pulled him upright and began to walk him towards the waiting car.
“Text when you get home!” Prism yelled, the group already headed toward their next destination.
“Move over, bitch,” Flambae knocked his knee against Robert’s when he slipped in the back seat behind him. “Don’t be difficult, we’re going home.”
“Is he going to throw up?” The driver asked warily. “That’ll be extra.”
“No, he’s fine. Right, Rob?”
Robert did his best impression of a thin-lipped Caucasian smile and buckled himself in, though he kept his hands consciously cupped in his lap. Neither of them spoke, Flambae occupied with his phone while Robert angled his head back.
“…hey?” Quiet, like sharing a secret, Robert had opened one eye to look at Flambae.
“What?” He asked, voice soft to match his cadence, not looking up from his screen.
On the seat between them, Robert placed his hand, palm down, and inched his pinky toward Flambae’s thigh.
“What?” He asked again, staring intently as the finger closed the distance and aligned itself with the seam of his jeans, phone faced down on his lap to focus on the other man.
“Can we go back to your place? Mine sucks.”
“We’re not—” Flambae slapped Robert’s hand away and held it to the cushion. “We’re not going home, I’m making sure you don’t kill yourself between here and your front door.”
“After the day I’ve had,” a dramatic sigh that Flambae was surprised Robert had in him rattled the man’s ribcage when he let it out. “You’re gonna make me go home alone?”
“Yes, bitch.”
“Bullshit.”
Eyes pinched in frustration, Flambae asked, slowly, “why is that bullshit?”
“‘Cause I know you and I know how you work and I know you’re gonna feel bad about leaving me alone and how you’re gonna make up some dumbass excuse to check in on me but you don’t really care, bitch,” his voice lowered to supposedly imitate Flambae, which unfortunately prompted a laugh, “and it’s only…” a sharp gasp startled the three occupants as Robert shot upright and turned his hands over. “Where’s my watch?!”
“You don’t wear a watch - I don’t think you even own one, you broke bitch. Now fucking sit still.” Straining his own seat belt, Flambae reached over to grab both of Robert’s slim wrists and hold them against his chest, as if bound. Robert was strong enough to push him off, if he needed to, and Flambae was only using enough force to relay his message. Despite that, the man whined like a caged pup and Flambae grit his jaw hard enough he could feel a vein in his temple pulse.
“Fucking, alright! Hey,” he snapped to get their driver’s attention, “you can drop us off at the corner.”
Almost relieved to do so, the driver pulled to the curb and informed them that there were water bottles inside the door.
“Fuck yeah.” Grabbing the entire stock, Flambae fished the cash from his pocket and tipped a few additional bills before he had to practically drag Robert out.
“I think you’re just being fucking difficult on purpose,” after he opened a bottle, Flambae handed it to Robert, who promptly downed it in one gulp.
“Yeah,” an unapologetic smile made his cheeks dimple, his face still lightly flushed.
“You are such a pain in my ass.”
“Mhm.” Once the second bottle was emptied - at a slower rate, after Flambae had to remind him to take a fucking breath - Robert stretched his hand out and hooked his pinky in one of the tears of Flambae’s jeans along his thigh.
“You could’ve grabbed a fucking belt loop instead.”
“Mmhmm,” he hummed again, drawn out, and when their eyes met, there was a mischievous glint to his otherwise dull, half-lidded gaze. “Soooo, your place?”
“If you throw up on my rugs, you’re paying to clean them. Or, wait, I’ll roll your body in it. No, they were expensive. I’ll make you pay for them and then kill you for the trouble.”
“Awesome. Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Bob-Bob, you’re coming back to my apartment only to make sure you survive the night. I’m not responsible for your hangover and if you make tomorrow’s shift—”
A rather loud, rude, and wet raspberry from Robert cut Flambae off, who looked at him in disbelief.
“You are such a fucking child.”
Another cheeky grin and Flambae quickly realized something.
“You are doing this on purpose, brat.”
Again, that little sparkle, though he briefly glanced away, as if embarrassed to have been caught. Though, judging by the way Robert wiggled his pointer and middle finger into a separate rip that was closer to Flambae’s ass, he wasn’t apologetic about being exposed.
“They were right,” Robert hummed. “Your jeans are like a rock climbing wall. Fuckin’ LA Fitness over here.”
“Fittin’ ‘diss dick in your mouth,” Flambae shot back instinctively, no better than some of his colleagues when it came to juvenile humor.
“Really?” Seemingly out of nowhere, Robert sounded so sharp and serious, Flambae almost questioned if being drunk was just an act; instead, he blinked a couple times before everything caught up.
“What? No,” when he pulled the fingers away, Robert pouted, using the biggest puppy eyes Flambae had ever seen a person do. “No,” he repeated, firmly, trying to make eye contact but Robert looked too pitiful to take him seriously. “We’re getting your ass in bed before you blackout on me.”
“Nuh uh.”
One hand around Robert’s wrist, Flambae started walking the two of them down the sidewalk, releasing Robert once he caught up and was able to match pace without assistance.
“You fucking suck.”
“That’s what m’saying!”
“This is why I hate drinking with normies. Low tolerance makes them messy bitches.”
“Coop’s got a low tolerance,” came a retort. “You callin’ her a messy bitch?”
“Are you guys besties now? Gonna tell on me?”
“She’s actually, like, really funny.”
“Do you say that about everyone who looks at your dick?” But before Robert could reply, Flambae continued. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”
“I mean, c’mon.” With the aid of his fingers, Robert began to list people off. “Sonar wouldn’t be mature about it. Visi sure as shit wouldn’t. Mal, Prism, you n’ Golem wouldn’t be serious and only make it seem like I was lying.”
“Golem’s pretty chill.” Flambae didn’t attempt to argue against Robert’s read of him, because he likely would have reported back that Robert was lying about his size just to start shit.
“He’s also like ten feet tall and I wasn’t gonna try and deal with that. I think Punch Up would be too close which would be weird.”
“So you flashed his girlfriend?”
“They both were okay with it.”
“Why not, uh—”
“I think Waterboy would, like, die and Chase already knew. You guys probably wouldn’t’ve believed him, anyway, ‘cause he’s in my corner.” With all ten fingers raised, Robert turned his hands over and wiggled them. “If you wanna see it, just ask.”
“I’m not gonna ask to see your dick, bitch, that’s weird.”
“Not really,” then he snorted. “Unless you’ve got some disorder that you gotta suck any dick you see.”
“Yeah, man, just salivating thinking about your flaccid little dick.”
“It’s average, thank you very much.”
“Yeah, whatever, fuckin’ yea big and yea thick with an asshole yea tight and—”
“Second wettest pussy this side of the Mississippi.”
A very dignified and handsome squawk escaped Flambae when he laughed at Robert’s comment, then stopped to whip around. “What?”
“What?”
“What did you — second wettest?”
Robert grinned, boyish. “Guar-an-teed.”
“By what parameters?” They began to walk again, Flambae gesticulating with his hands as he spoke. “Did you survey every pussy from here to Mississippi? Fucking… measure the humidity?”
“Nah. That’s just what some guy from Tinder told me.”
“That’s ‘cause you fucked some guy from Tinder, bitch, they’ll say weird shit like that.”
“Wanna know something else?”
“Great, now what?”
From over his shoulder, Flambae looked back at Robert’s sudden silence. He had stopped and was patting down his pockets with a frown. Upon coming up empty handed, he blinked at Flambae and looked a little sheepish when he asked, “you got a smoke?”
“Bad for you,” he answered as he pulled out a crumpled pack from his shirt pocket. With two in his mouth, he brought a small spark to the tip of his finger and lit them both before he handed one to Robert.
“Thanks. So this guy,” Robert carried on. “Second wettest, right?”
“Uh huh.”
“Didn’t even fuck. Never met. I don’t think I even sent him pics.”
“How—?”
“He was one of those, uh, chasers? Or something. Like he was into fucking trans dudes and was really weird about it. Shit like ‘yeah babe you’re so masculine I love how small your hands are; you should put on a skirt ‘cause it’ll be funny and ironic.’”
“Then you blocked his ass, right?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually? Bitch—”
“Hey, hey,” he quickly interjected. “In my defense, I wanted to know who had the wettest, and if I had to move back to Chicago.”
“And?”
“Never got an answer, his account was deactivated.”
“Crazy.”
“Yeah.” A pause to inhale, exhale, tap ash away. “Hey, do you think that’s still true?”
Releasing a deep sigh, Flambae rolled his eyes. “Are you asking if I think you have the second wettest pussy this side of the river?”
“At least if I’m in the top 10.”
“Dunno man, I’m not into pussy.”
“Not even mine? Bummer.”
Flambae spun on his heel and crowded Robert’s space.
“Quit saying shit like that,” he had hissed, exhaling a trail of smoke through his teeth that Robert was delighted to discover was his own doing, not his cigarette.
“Or what?” Impishly, Robert batted his eyelashes. “Or else you’re gonna take me up on it?”
“You’re drunk, Rob. I’m not—”
“So let’s keep talking. How much farther is your place? Fuckin’ hungry, too. I think we passed a 7/11 earlier.”
“And we’ll pass another dozen on the way. Move.”
“What’s your go-to gas station snack?”
“I don’t eat that shit.”
“Wrong, everyone has a go-to.”
“No, dick, you’re wrong.”
“Y’know those glass Coke bottles?”
“The Mexican ones?”
“Yeah. Love those.”
“How are you not diabetic?”
Robert made a vague I’unno noise. “What’s your favorite pop?” When he wasn’t answered, he continued. “You at least gotta have a favorite soda.”
“No, no, what’d you say the first time? Pop?”
“Uh, yeah, like soda?”
“This is fucking LA, bitch, knock that hoosier shit off.”
A hand clapped on Flambae’s shoulder, jerking him to a stop, and before he could turn around or snap, Robert laughed. Louder than Flambae had ever heard him, so much so it seemed to startle the man himself, other hand over his stomach as he bent slightly at the hip.
Some would call him an attention whore, and Flambae was familiar with drunken friends being disruptive in public, but all of the eyes suddenly on their commotion made him bristle. It felt like this was a side of Robert he rarely showed and it was just for Flambae, not the block. An audience of one where no one else mattered. He was the one who elicited that reaction, it was his right to soak in that laughter, memorize the way Robert almost didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, like he’d never laughed in his life. The way his nose bunched up, the freckles at his temples, how his face reddened in uneven splotches around his cheeks and when he doubled over more, Flambae could see a glint in his mouth.
“You had braces?” And Robert, who had barely begun to come down, started up again. “Oh my God, come on, you’re so fucking embarrassing.” Grip latched onto Robert’s wrist, he pulled them down the sidewalk until they were a safer distance away.
“Gonna fucking piss myself,” Robert wheezed as he stumbled along.
“Alright! Come the fuck on, there’s a fucking 7/11.”
“So you do have a go-to.”
“I had to buy something to get the bathroom code, asshole, so this doesn’t count.”
“What? Yes it does.”
“When someone says gas station snacks, they mean, like, Funyuns—”
“Those are vending machine snacks. Gas sta—”
“I’m not having this discussion. Have you sobered up?”
“Oooo, is someone getting antsy?”
“I was gonna fly the rest of the way and was trying to gauge if you’d barf or not.”
“You know I do fly, right?”
“In a giant metal coffin.”
“Yowch.”
“It’s different.”
“I’ve been flown by others.”
“I’m pretty fast.”
“I mean, Sonar—”
“Okay, shut the fuck up now. For real. Raise your arms.”
“Aw, I was hoping you’d carry me bridal style.”
“Fuck no. Are we doing this or not?”
Turning to face Flambae, Robert lifted his arms and, with his best dead-inside monotone voice, said simply, “uppies.”
“We’re not doing this fucking face-to-face, bitch, this isn’t missionary.” Hands on either side of Robert’s ribs, he spun him to face the other way, then adjusted his hold and pushed off the sidewalk. After a moment, Robert squirmed. “Don’t tell me you’re ticklish, Rob, I swear to God if you keep moving I’ll drop you. Not ‘cause I’m bad with carrying people,” he corrected quickly, “just ‘cause you’re such a pain in my ass. And you can put your arms down, I just needed them out of the way.”
“It’s like a rollercoaster. Wheeee.”
Just to fuck with him, Flambae lifted the pinky and ring fingers (or what was left) on both hands, the slight ease in pressure noticeable enough to Robert that he shrieked.
“You fucker!” His arms dropped and gripped Flambae’s wrists, blunt nails pressed into his skin. “Lemme down!”
“What’s wrong, Bob-Bob?” The smirk on Flambae’s face was loud. “That was kinda like a rollercoaster.”
“I can’t fucking believe y—!” For just a couple feet, Flambae let them freefall and Robert promptly drew his knees up, as if trying to brace himself for impact and it hit Flambae like a fist to the face. They were over his building, anyway, he only meant to scare Robert before gently easing them down.
“Robert, we’ve landed.” In his arms, the man was still tensely curled up. “I hope you know that I wouldn’t actually let you fall, right? I was just fucking around. It was shitty of me.” Slowly, Robert began to unfurl himself. “If you want, I can take you home. Call a Lyft. Or you can crash here and I’ll fuck off.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was closer to one than Flambae would’ve given anyone - especially Robert - in the past couple years. Who knew that a city-wide traumatic event slash bonding moment (plus the mandated therapy assigned to them afterwards) could change how—
“Hrhk.”
Eyes closed, Flambae inhaled through his nose, exhaled out his mouth; took a step back, turned, made sure Robert was steady on his feet before he disengaged and made the disappointing discovery that he had feared: Robert just threw up on his fucking shoes.
“I deserved that.” It still pissed him off, but it wasn’t worth arguing about. “Okay, come on. We’re here.” Keys in one hand, disgusting shoes in the other, Flambae unlocked his balcony door and motioned his guest inside.
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know.”
“Like you really, really fucking suck.”
“I know.”
“Real goddamn piece of—”
Flambae was ready to turn around and ask Robert what his fucking problem was but stopped short at the expression he was met with.
“Is this turning you on?!”
“Uh, yeah?” With the back of his wrist, Robert wiped his mouth clean, then cringed. “I actually threw up?”
“Why the fuck would you ask me?” Offended, Flambae held up his shoes. “I didn’t do this.”
“Gross. My bad.”
“Bathroom’s on the left. Mouthwash on the sink. Waterfall.”
“Yezzzir.”
“Shut up.”
As Robert shuffled past, Flambae mournfully wiped off his shoes and left them on the balcony before he headed into his kitchen.
“Are you hungry?”
“You got any sushi?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m not picky.”
“With how scrawny you are, I’d expect you to have all sorts of allergies and whatever. White people can’t digest for shit. Have I ever seen you drink milk? Hey, Bobbo, you drink milk?”
Back from the bathroom, Robert helped himself to the chaise, taking up the entire length of it.
“I won’t drink a straight glass of milk, if that’s what you mean.”
“You’re not lactose intolerant?”
“Why would you think that?”
“That’s a thing, right? White people can’t drink milk?”
It was hard to look at Flambae while they spoke from his position, so Robert had to pull himself up and lean against the arm, chin propped in his hand.
“Wrong. White people love dairy. S’why they’re so pale - too busy staying inside eating cheese.”
“Yeah, alright,” but he laughed, a snicker to himself. “I don’t feel like dealing with dishes so get fucked if you were looking for a meal.”
“Like you wouldn’t intentionally add a lot of spice to mine.”
“Another day, maybe.” On the coffee table, Flambae dropped a ziplock baggie of baby carrots and a plastic container.
“Hummus?”
“Mhm. With an olive tapenade. Homemade."
“Damn.” As soon as Robert opened it up, he reiterated, “damn,”
“You haven’t even tasted it.”
“Yeah, but it smells good as fuck.”
“Are you gonna eat with your mouth closed this time?”’
Though he considered it, when Robert took a bite he all but moaned.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, bitch, that’s what I thought.” One arm thrown over the back of the sofa, Flambae folded his legs under him and scrolled through his phone. Since they departed, Prism had been updating him on how her side of things were going.
“They didn’t even go out for sushi,” he informed Robert. “Stopped at another bar.”
“Hm.”
“Ah, hold on.” The piece of furniture wasn’t particularly large but the distance between them felt too wide as Flambae scooted closer. Without listening to it first, he clicked on an audio message and turned the volume up.
“SERVES YOU RIGHT, BIIIIIIITCH!” Prism cackled, her laugh loud and unfiltered, not unlike Robert’s earlier.
“What the fuck is that about?” Robert asked, then craned his neck to try and read any of the preceding messages.
“Told her you barfed on my shoes,” the man grumbled and Robert snorted.
“And you were hoping she’d be making fun of me and not you?”
“Tch. No.” Tossed onto another cushion, Flambae abandoned his phone and instead took the carrot from Robert’s hand.
“Dude.”
“Serves you right, bitch,” he parroted.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Nonplussed, Flambae flipped him off and they settled into a companionable silence until he cleared his throat.
“So. Now what?”
Somewhere, there was a quip. A smart ass response. Possibly even an argument, had just to have one.
But then there was still this thing. Not quite strong enough to be called sexual tension, but something raw and intimate and suffocating nonetheless. Robert - Mecha Man - had, in an emergency, once found himself with his hands inside someone’s body to keep their intestines in place while they waited for paramedics, and despite the fact he’d barely touched Flambae (fingers in the rips in his jeans notwithstanding), he felt like he’d never known anyone else on a deeper level. If he cut Flambae open, he’d find himself; Robert would do the same in hope that Flambae saw the same in him.
With the way Flambae’s teeth bit at Robert’s bottom lip and how his tongue desperately explored his mouth once granted access, it seemed like Flambae wanted to see it for himself.
“Yeah?” Robert panted against Flambae’s chin.
“Yeah. Are y—”
“Yeah.” As much as he wanted to have Flambae eat him alive, the corporate whipped part of his brain blared alarms in the forefront of his mind. Considering how easily Flambae pulled away when Robert gently pushed at his shoulder, he was likely thinking the same.
“I’m clean.”
“Same.”
“Call me vanilla or whatever, I’m not looking for anything that'll necessitate safe words. My biggest hard no is choking ‘cause I will freak the fuck out on you.”
Flambae nodded in understanding. “My hard no’s are for more hardcore shit.” He then made a face and narrowed his eyes. “I'd like to keep the fingers I have left.”
Robert snapped in faux disappointment. “Darn.”
“And don't touch my hair.”
“‘Cause then I’d have to kill myself.”
“Bitch.” Practiced fingers pulled his hair free from its ponytail, then tied it back up into a bun, kept neatly out of the way.
“Cute,” breathed Robert, his hand raised to carefully stroke the skin behind Flambae’s ear and down to his nape.
“Of course I am.” Neither of them commented on the way he leaned slightly into the touch, like a cat. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Great. Now get your skinny ass over here, Robertson.”
“Uh oh,” he purred. “Last name. Am I in tr—!” Superhuman powered abilities aside, Flambae was strong; something Robert witnessed often and was, on occasion, an active participant of. Even with obvious restraint - he wasn’t trying to throw Robert around - the ease of which the smaller of the two was pulled from his cushion and into Flambae’s lap, who then stood and began to walk off down the hallway, was dizzying.
“Do you think you could fly and fuck someone like this?” Ankles crossed behind the small of Flambae’s back, Robert’s arms draped over his shoulders and let himself hang back slightly. “That’d be hot.”
“If you’re interested in a disconcerting ER visit afterwards.”
The bedroom was about how Robert envisioned it to be - matching furniture set that looked straight from a magazine spread with an assortment of mismatched decorations. Even if it may not match the vibe the room was going for, it was filled with important memories he kept private, including a lot of Polaroids that Robert made a note to poke at later. What stuck out to him the most was the dartboard on the wall with Mecha Man’s face tacked to it.
“Dude,” he laughed, shifting his Flambae’s hold to gesture toward it with his chin. “What the fuck?”
“What?”
Eyes narrowed, he tried to lean closer and get a better look at it, and Flambae withheld his attempts to bite Robert’s throat open in order to humor him.
“Is that— that’s my new SDN picture,” he balked. “I would’ve understood if it was old but that’s gotta be no more than three months ago.”
“You pissed me off one day. The idea was Visi’s, actually.”
“That makes more sense.”
“Now shut up.” Hands around Robert’s thighs, Flambae pressed his thumbs into the crease of his groin, an instinctual reaction to jump and release his hold, effectively being dumped on the bed. Before crawling after him, Flambae’s eyes glanced back towards the door. “Lights on or off? I can see in the dark so it doesn’t matter.”
“Got any mood lighting?” Robert teased, and of course Flambae did. Strategically placed candles filled the room with a soft glow and an undercurrent of spice, homey in a way Robert hadn’t expected when moving to the bedroom. For a brief, delirious second, Robert questioned to himself if it was intentional, arranged just for him, but seeing as the Mecha Man dartboard was still up, likely not. Or maybe it was, and Flambae was just angling for a weird power play - not something Robert would put past him.
Fingers curled around the hem of his shirt, Robert pulled it up and off, discarded on the floor. Before goosebumps had the chance to settle in, two hands began to warm his skin, light touches that lingered with a quiet swear before they committed to it.
“Fuck.” It was like Robert had said; if he hadn’t had known, Flambae wouldn’t have given his chest a second glance, his body only registered as the soft fat of unflexed pecs over anything else. “You were right.” At the inquisitive hum, Flambae drew a line down Robert’s sternum with his finger, then brushed back up against the grain of his chest hair. “This is sad.”
“Uh huh. Also criminally unsucked.”
“Sucks to be you, ‘cause I’m refor—”
“Oh my god, get over here.” Reclined onto his back, Robert pulled Flambae down with two fistfuls of his shirt and attempted to smash their mouths together when he stopped short, one palm braced on the bed, the other on Robert’s flank.
“Patience, Robbo,” the man purred, the corner of his lip pulled up in a hungry smirk, eyes locked as he lowered his head and licked a stripe up Robert’s chest, warm mouth encasing the dusty nipple with a light suck.
“Ah,” a pleased exhale, Robert let his head fall back to the bed and brought one hand to play with his unoccupied nipple, his other hand on the back of Flambae’s neck, just resting. Despite the fact he was the one to criticize Robert’s impatience, Flambae didn’t hesitate to escalate, nipping at the pale skin and sucking harshly, groaning into it when Robert’s back arched. Given their height difference, it was a little awkward to navigate, but Flambae moved to rest on his elbows and rucked up one of Robert’s legs between his own to roll his hips against. After a moment, with both hands on Flambae’s lower back, Robert ground up to meet him, the bulge in his jeans pressed to the other man’s abdominals.
“Mh—” at a particularly deep hump, Flambae bit down to muffle his moan when the give of soft flesh breaking beneath his teeth immediately forced him away, apologies already spilling from his mouth when Robert moaned.
“Wait wait wait, fuck, don’t stop—” hands beneath the untucked shirt, Robert sank his claws into the firm muscles and held Flambae close, his hips giving a few aborted thrusts. Flambae could only watch as blood filled the indentation his teeth left, Robert’s chest adorned with fresh bruises, his red, irritated nipples slick with spit as the man’s face pinched together, mouth open with a wordless sound. After he stopped writhing and fell limp to catch his breath, Flambae was able to sit up properly and blurted.
“Did you just cum?”
“No,” replied an irritated voice, arm thrown over his eyes.
“Normally I’d make fun of you if that wasn’t so hot.”
“I didn’t,” the irritation came with a hint of embarrassment, almost a whine. “It’s hard for me to get off with meds and—”
“ED, I know,” flippantly, Flambae waved it off and stood. “It was still hot but we need to disinfect that bite. Are you gonna stay here or do I need to carry your ass to the bathroom?”
“And make you do everything for me? I’ll stay.”
Departing with only an eye roll, Flambae stalked down the hall and Robert took the opportunity to kick out of his jeans, dumped on the floor and began to grope himself over his boxers.
“Damn, you couldn’t wait two fucking minutes?” In the doorway, Flambae pulled his shirt off from over his head, not bothering with the buttons and Robert only groaned and pressed his hand down harder onto himself.
“I’ve been waiting all day.”
Legs crossed beneath him on the bed, Flambae put a hand on Robert’s shoulder to keep him flat. “Stay still.”
“You don’t—”
“Were you going to do it? No? Didn’t think so.” The gel was warm when he rubbed it into Robert’s skin. “All day?” He then questioned as he took his time with the bandage.
“Critical case of blue balls.” Brown eyes tracked movement, obedient in remaining still until he was sure Flambae was finished. “Been thinking about your pussy all day,” came a breathless admission, stopping Flambae in the middle of standing to return to the bathroom.
“You have?” He asked, one part surprised, another part incredulous. Though they’ve learned a lot about each other over the course of the day, that wasn’t something he expected to hear Robert say - and to him. It generally wasn’t a word he liked to hear used for himself but the half-lidded and unabashedly horny way Robert eyed him pushed past any trepidations, and he came willingly when a hand motioned him back to the bed.
“Yeah.” It was easy for Robert to flip them over, basking in the warmth of the body beneath him as he began to bite and suck the outstretched neck offered before him. “On the roof, when you told me—” in just his boxers, the friction of his cock grinding against Flambae’s hip made him groan. “Your fuckin’ camel toe, fuck, been thinking about the shape of you through that costume. How much it’d smell like you after a shift.”
“Shit, Bob-Bob, have you always been this horny?”
He snorted a little laugh as he continued to mouth his way around Flambae’s neck. “With everything going on today, all the shit hitting the fan, I would think about how I could get you home and—” another pause, this time to suck a hickey below the hinge of his jaw. “Just fuck you until everything else disappeared.”
“Then what’re you waiting for?” Cocky, airy, almost taunting. Fingers gripped Robert’s short hair and pulled his head up, off of his neck, to meet his eyes. The brown was nearly eclipsed by the size of his pupils, which got a laugh from Flambae. “What? All talk?”
“You actually— me?”
“Bitch, look at us. What makes you think I don’t want to continue this?”
His mouth opened and closed a couple times, Robert working it out in his head before he pushed himself to his hands and knees, shuffled backward until he practically fell off the bed and made quick work of the jeans Flambae still wore, the wearer of which definitely made a show to shimmying them down his muscular legs, a black jockstrap left in its wake.
“Can—”
“Yes, bitch, I’m not gonna beg.”
Most of Robert’s sexual endeavors were nameless one night stands from bars or dating app flings that didn’t go beyond sex, and rarely were they more than desperate and horny moments of indulgence. Even if he knew he had the time, both parties were willing and trusting enough, he’d like to draw out the foreplay, but he needed a taste yesterday and couldn’t waste another second without it.
“You showered?” Almost a pout, Robert hooked his fingers into the elastic band and began to work the underwear down.
“Sorry, Robbo, I didn’t realize you were gonna be a pervert about it.”
As confident as he was about his body and even with the haze of arousal filling his mind, Flambae tensed up just slightly once he was exposed, a knee jerk reaction from previous rejections. In the presence of like company, though, he received a brief, sympathetic pat on his thigh and that was that. Not as if he had time to think about anything else with how quickly Robert buried his face in his groin, not even going for anything in particular but needing to smell, to taste, to savor, to experience.
Above him, Flambae laughed; a rich, airy sound, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Robert wasn’t sure what expression he made with it - that would require lifting his head and he wasn’t ready to witness that kind of softness.
“God damn, this your first time eating pussy? What, ah, happened to all that talk about fucking?” Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, Robert mumbled something against the warm skin about just a taste when Flambae interrupted him. “We can do that later. I want your mouth when your brain isn’t already leaking out of your dick.”
Brown eyes sparkled in surprise at the notion of later. He could spend hours eating Flambae out, maybe even convincing him to sit in Robert’s face - fuck, he’d eat either hole if Flambae was willing.
“Just— ngh, just a bit.” Slightly less desperate, Robert used his thumbs to spread Flambae open, the flat of his tongue swiping from entrance to tip. “Fuck, you’ve got a big cock. Have you ever penetrated anyone with it?”
Up on his elbows to watch, the man shook his head, a loose strand of hair bobbing with the motion.
“Do you usually bottom?”
His stomach flexed when he laughed. “Do I look like a bottom?” Robert’s eyebrow answered in lieu of a verbal response. “I use a strap, dumbass. I’ve never fucked another trans man and cis gays aren’t really into dicks like that.”
“Missing out.” One arm wrapped around Flambae’s thigh to pull his hood back, Robert’s other hand began to gather some of the slick he’d been producing with his fingers before he paused again. “Which hole…?”
An incredulous scoff. “Weren’t you just talking about my pussy?”
“I said that’s what I wanted, not wh—”
“Bobert, if you don’t get your fingers inside me ri—” teeth clicked audibly with how fast Flambae shut his mouth to hold back a moan. “You asshole, you were waiting for that.”
“Mhm,” unapologetically, Robert grinned before he leaned in again, nursing on Flambae’s dick while slowly working him open. “You’re giving Waterboy a run for his money.”
“Huh?”
“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, pulling his fingers out to the tips to spread his hole open, fucking his tongue inside with an obscenely loud slurp. “Could drown in here.”
“Don’t mention wet bitch boy while we’re fucking.”
“‘kay. But fuck do you ever get this wet for anyone else?”
“What’s it fucking matter? I don’t let just anyone eat me out, so you should be thankful.”
“Best fucking cock I’ve ever sucked.” Then, playfully, Robert bit the plump skin that surrounded his hole, making sure his teeth caught on the sensitive skin and he relished in the way he could feel Flambae pulse and leak desperately. “You know, actually, you might be the wettes—”
“Okay, up, you're done.” The ease at which he sat up, pried Robert away and pulled him up would be sad in any other context, but Robert went willingly, discarding his boxers on the way.
“Oh, wow. What the fuck?” Warm hands were immediately on Robert. “No way that’s 5.8 inches.”
“All guys lie about their dick size.”
After he employed some curious and clinical fondling to familiarize himself with the shaft, Flambae whistled when he examined lower. “Damn! Whole thing, huh?”
“Something like that.” As exploring fingers began to prod, Robert wrapped his hand around Flambae’s wrist - not to pull away, but to pause. “I’m not looking for penetration.”
“Anal?”
“You offering?”
“After I give this shit a spin, maybe.”
“Missionary is the easiest for me, so.” Using both of his hands, Robert gestured for Flambae to lie down. “After you, princess.”
“I am not a fucking pillow princess.”
“... said the pillow pr—”
“Shut the fuck up, god.” Before he settled, Flambae grabbed a bottle of lube from his nightstand and Robert noticed what looked like a riding crop in the drawer, quickly shut before he could ask. “Do you need to do anything first, or what?”
“There’s a tube inserted into the shaft with a pump in one of the testes,” he explained and Flambae watched with rapt attention as two fingers gingerly pinched the right side of his scrotum and squeezed until his cock, otherwise having been hanging limply, was able to hold itself upright. “Ta da.”
“Huh.”
“Is that a good huh or a bad huh?”
“Let’s find out.” Flat on his back, Flambae tucked his hands beneath his knees and raised his legs. Presenting.
“You look like such a goddamn whore,” moaned Robert, fumbling to open the bottle cap. “Holy fuck, Chad.”
“Jad.”
Bottle tossed on the bed, Robert coated his cock with a slick hand. “That’s what I said.”
“No. Chad is the name I use for Westerners. Jad is the name I chose. If you’re gonna fuck me, you’re gonna use my real name.”
“Jad.”
“Jad.”
“That’s wha—”
“You’re using the wrong emph—”
“I’m about to stick my dick in you. Do we have to do this now?”
“Yes, fucker, I don’t want to hear you moan my white name. Get it right.”
“Jad.”
“Jad.”
“Jad.” Robert smeared lube over the empty opening with his tip, now teasing; the body beneath him seemed to warm in anticipation.
“Jad.” Legs released, he wrapped them around Robert’s hips instead, newly freed hands going for his shoulders to press their foreheads together.
“Jad.” Sweat was already beginning to collect at his hairline just from the proximity of their bodies, nevermind any physical activity.
“Jad.” Pelvis angled slightly upward, their cocks brushed together and Jad shut his eyes with an exhale.
“Jad.” Lips lined together, Robert breathed the name as he gently notched his head into the warmth, mind immediately blanked from anything else as a moan slipped from his lips.
“Fuck!” Head thrown back, Jad tightened his muscles to try and draw Robert in deeper.
“So fucking warm,” he grunted, rocking his hips to bully more of his length in. “Jad, shit, you're gonna melt my fucking dick off.”
“Teased me too long, bitch, not my fault.”
“Not my fault you're just so, ah, desperate to be fucked?”
“You're the one who—”
“All this is really killing my boner,” deadpanned Robert.
“Tch. Let's see if your normie ass can keep up.”
Though he had the strength, Jad wasn’t going to force Robert to bottom out, but he wasn’t very satisfied with the way it only seemed that he was penetrating with just the tip.
“I’m not gonna fucking beg,” he snapped. “And your dick isn’t big enough that you’re gonna hurt me.”
“Fuck off, I’m having a good time.” Eyes closed, hands on Jad’s hips, he savored the heat and groaned when it spiked. “If you’re trying to actually melt my dick off, I’ll go.”
“Fine,” relenting, Jad threw himself back against the pillows and huffed. He was not going to beg, especially not for Robert Robertson III.
“Thank you.” Pushed up to his knees, Robert forced Jad’s legs apart as he shoved all the way in, immediately settling into a slamming pace, hitting hard against the back of his thighs.
“Fuck!” Due to his higher than average body temperature, Jad couldn’t discern how warm Robert felt as compared to another phallus, but it was softer, firmer in a way that differed from other natal penises or silicone he’d had. By the way he used it, though, Jad almost envied how well he was being fucked. It would be a horrible goddamn time to get dysphoric about his own lack of a cock, his brown tip rubbed raw by skilled fingers. “Ohhh, fuck you, Robert,” he hissed, smoke wafting through his teeth.
“Maybe later.” Between his knuckles, Robert stroked Jad’s dick, pinching and toying with the soft skin. Though he knew the bottle of lube was on the bed somewhere, Robert shifted into a slow grind instead of hard snaps of his hips, craned his neck, and spat on the swollen nerves; in a different set of circumstances, he probably would’ve cum just by watching how it sizzled on contact. As it were, he could maybe believe there was an orgasm in his future - fucking Jad was certainly not the issue, but in recent years his success rate had been a mixed bag.
Beneath him, though, it seemed like the approach was much closer and coming in fast.
“What do you—”
“Kiss me,” whispered Jad, his gaze locked onto Robert’s. There was something hidden behind the amber eyes, stronger than lust but nevertheless magnetizing as Robert leaned forward, their stubble snagging together. “Hey, Bob-Bob?”
Instinctively, he let out a frustrated groan at the nickname. He had his cock buried inside the man, yet he insisted on still—
“Woah!” It was absolutely intentional, Robert realized belatedly. To throw him off with the shitty nickname, it was easy to flip them over - albeit with a few readjustments - as Jad very firmly settled himself on top.
“My turn.”
No time was wasted as he set into a rhythm, almost graceful in his movements.
“You look so good.” Hands on Jad's thighs, Robert relished in how he could feel the muscles working with each lift. “Fucking gorgeous.”
At the praise, Jad scoffed. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Rob.”
“Will it get you off?”
“What, tired already? I knew your normie—”
“I don’t want to waste your time ‘cause I can’t finish.”
Jad blinked and cocked his head, flush against Robert’s lap but gyrating in small circles. “Are you…” he stopped completely, weight shifted onto his knees if he needed to dismount. “Do you want to stop?”
“No! God, no, it’s just… in the past, it’s been a problem.”
“Yeah, well. You’ve never fucked anyone like me.” The smugness dropped for a second, his voice softer when he added, “say the word and we’ll stop.”
“If you’re offering to do all the work, hey,” a lopsided smirk turned into an open mouthed moan when Jad placed two warm hands down on Robert's chest. After a moment, he eased up and they both looked to see bright red handprints left on the skin - eight fingers that spanned his chest, the amputated digits neatly framing the bandage from the bite. “Holy fuck. Do that again.”
With that as his leverage, Jad resumed fucking himself on Robert, finding the angle that made him clench and swear. Though he was sure Robert’s freak ass would be down for it, he had to rip his hands off to place on the fire retardant bedding as his palms sparked. Feet planted on the bed, Robert began to meet his thrusts, feeling heat begin to build at every point of contact.
The candles had dimmed and the room filled with smoke, Jad only getting louder as Robert drilled into him. “Touch yourself,” he murmured and was almost startled by how bright those irises were in the dark.
“I’ll cum,” he grunted, as if reluctant to do so.
“Please?”
Around his cock, a flutter of heat and Jad grabbed a handful of Robert’s hair to hold him into the pillows.
“Shut up.”
“Come on, I know you’re so close,” goaded Robert, nails latched onto the hot skin above him.
“Shut. Up.”
Like a waiting predator, as soon as Robert made any indication he was going to do it himself, Jad gripped his wrist.
“The, ah, point of sex is to cum, you know.”
“Not yet,” teeth grit, Jad seemed like he was holding his orgasm back with an ungodly amount of force.
“What, don’t wanna admit I can m—”
“Shutthefuckup, Robert, I swear to god.”
“Dunno why you’re so fucking stubborn—”
Upon contact, Jad’s hand hissed when he pressed over the imprint he had already left on Robert’s skin. Whether he meant it as a threat or not was lost on Robert, mouth hung open with a shout as he fucked his cock in deeper. Surprised by the reaction, Jad braced his other hand on the bed, folded forward to watch every minute expression as he carefully placed his fingertip just short of Robert’s collar bone and burned his skin, not unlike putting out a cigarette.
“Fuck! Oh, fuck, Jad!” For being non-meta and significantly smaller, when Robert bridged his hips, Jad went willingly, letting himself be malleable, transfixed on the light burns he was inflicting instead of leading. “Jad, fuck, you’re gonna—”
“You’re so fucking loud,” it was almost a laugh, but Robert was aware that - for some fucking reason - his partner was still trying to stave off his orgasm.
“Please,” he wasn’t too proud to beg, especially not when he hadn’t been fucked like this before; amber eyes blinked in surprise, though, clearly not having expected it. “I want— I need you to cum on my cock, please.”
“Rob—”
“‘Cause I’m gonna fucking blow—”
A safeword hadn’t been established - a point was made to not bother with it - and Jad wasn’t sure he could trust himself to tell Robert to stop, to give him a moment, even to swear and mock him as part of their usual reverie without an embarrassing noise slipping past first. So, his next best option was to relay his message in a physical sense. The heated palms on Robert’s flank startled him to flinch (after the initial surprise passed, he released a whorish moan) and Jad used the momentary stutter in rhythm to lift himself up enough that Robert’s cock slipped out, and was this close to dismounting enough when Robert got his wits about him and attempted to stop him before he got too far.
“Jad, wai—”
But the thread had snapped seconds ago and Jad was too late to do anything about it. With his hand slapped over his mouth, Jad’s eyes were clenched shut as his body tensed and released, hovering inches away from the cock he’d been riding. Jad’s cum was hot. Not so much that Robert worried about burns - not in the same way his other burns were, at least - but hot enough he knew it’d leave marks. It was wet and messy, more than Robert would’ve expected from a squirter but not so much it was worrisome or disingenuous. No, Jad was cumming hard, hole empty and pulsing around nothing, just from penetration alone.
“Oh my fucking God. Jad, Jad, just – just fucking sit on it.”
Panting with the force of his orgasm, Jad only nodded vacantly and let Robert guide himself back in, allowed to take charge as Jad’s hands flickered with flames, like the constant roll of a lighter. As soon as their bodies were flush, bottomed out with balls pressed up to slightly sticky skin, Robert moaned, tongue behind his teeth. Due to the already sensitive nerves, Jad could feel every little twitch, buried as deep inside as Robert could.
Clumsily, he tried to get a hand around the thighs that bracketed his hips, succeeded with a bit of a strain as he pressed two fingers against his scrotum – no, lower, pinching his natal cock and dropping his jaw for a soundless scream as his own orgasm finally reached him.
“Mm, fuck, fuck, Rob—” It wasn’t another climax but the tipping point of another ejaculation, splashing hot directly onto Robert’s pubic mound.
Together they trembled, aftershocks continuing to keep their bodies alight.
“Jad,” finally croaked out a hoarse voice. “Holy shit.” Were it not their first night together, the fact that they were coworkers - not even factoring their technical boss-employee hierarchy - and not previously sworn enemies, Robert might’ve been delirious enough to say something he couldn’t take back. As it was, the burns on his body were just enough to keep him grounded. It wasn’t something he would say he regretted, chalked up to another bad decision in favor of seeking contact, nor would another count on his list of hookups where he’d slip out without any intention of seeing the other again. No, when Robert looked at the man above him, the man he was still buried into, the man who looked so blissed out he could fall asleep just as he was, sat in Robert’s lap and warming his cock, Robert knew he was bordering dangerous territory.
Thank God Jad spoke first.
“What the fuck.”
It made Robert laugh, a gentle hand on the slightly sweaty thigh that was splayed out across his hips.
“What the fuck indeed,” he had hummed. “That was probably the fucking hottest thing I’ve ever had happen to me. Literally and figuratively.”
Bright eyes popped open and turned down to look. “Fuck, man, why didn’t you fucking say anything!” Carefully, Jad lifted himself up, the slide out making his oversensitive hole clench as it passed. “Stupid fucker, I shoulda known you had some pain kink.”
“Like you weren’t super fucking into it.”
“Usually I fuck other metas, I forgot how fragile you are.” On stiff legs, Jad stood from the bed and turned on a lamp, putting the room in a soft glow; it also made Robert aware of the heavy layer of smoke against the ceiling, the smell of sex strong enough to mask it. No, rather it was that Jad’s smoke didn’t smell like something was burning; it was more of a musky, distinctly masculine smell that always lingered around him at work, something Robert had just assumed was cologne. Fuck was that sexy.
“Do you see all my other scars? I can take it.”
“I’m not gonna let you fuck yourself up like that during sex.” A pause. “Not without previously discussing it.”
It revealed a lot about Jad and Robert couldn’t formulate a response fast enough that the other took his leave, disappearing into the bathroom. When he returned with a first aid kit - as compared to the bandages and ointment he had brought out by themselves earlier - and donned a bathrobe, Robert found himself thinking more reckless thoughts.
“Sit still. And don’t talk, I can hear you overthinking and I’m in too good of a mood to deal with that.”
Giving his best attempt to comply, Robert briefly wondered if Jad was having a similar internal conflict. By the way he was just rough enough as he worked on Robert’s burns to relay a message of ‘don’t get too used to me being soft, bitch’ but nevertheless taking care of him, Robert closed his eyes and felt confident in his assumption. Throughout his many years of dealing with his powers, Jad was at least familiar enough to know how to tend to burns. Unlike some of their teammates, he didn’t have any particular healing capabilities, but assured Robert none of the wounds were serious enough to warrant any hospital trips so long as he didn’t do anything stupid.
“No promises,” he had smiled and Jad couldn’t turn away from it fast enough. “I’m gonna go wash up.”
“Ugh, please do. Otherwise I was gonna fucking drag you over there myself.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Yeah, no. You’re not sleeping with me when you still smell like cum.”
Legs swung over the side of the bed, Robert paused. “I’m staying?” He asked, quietly, surprised by the idea. In response, Jad gave him a mockingly pitying look.
“That’s so sad, Rob. Are you just a pump and dump guy?”
“I mean… kinda, yeah.”
“You and like, half the guys I bring home.” Despite that, he didn’t seem particularly offended at the notion. Even after everything, with the post-coitus comfort still in their bones, they both knew it was, ultimately, a one night stand. To himself, Robert cringed - he didn’t want to think of it like it was an emotionless fuck but he couldn’t afford to give it any more thought.
“You’ve seen my place, you think I’m gonna turn down sleeping in a bed this nice?” His attempt to lighten the situation worked, as Jad rolled his eyes and stood up as well.
“Again, that’s so, so sad. Now go before I change my mind.”
There was no bite, as there was nothing that would change his mind. When he returned from the bathroom, Jad was in the kitchen and Robert found the bedding had been changed and clothes were laid out for him. Way too big, almost too big for Jad that it had to have been on purpose, doubly so based on the amused look he received when he stepped out.
“Catch,” was the only warning he got before a can was thrown at him. “Don’t open that, ‘cause it’s shaken up and if you get that shit—”
“On the rug you’ll kill me, yeah yeah. Wouldn’t have taken you for an IPA guy.”
“It was a gift.”
Nail under the tab, Robert narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me it was—”
“From work, I know.” SDN had a rule about accepting gifts, though they were pretty lenient as long as it wasn’t extravagant. Cans of IPA were not, but Robert was a little hesitant about it. “I wasn’t going to say no to free beer, and it sucks, so you can have it. As a gift from me.”
“Thanks,” he droned, but opened the can and took a swig. “That does suck.”
“You’re welcome.” Even though he agreed, as it was objectively a shitty tasting beer, Jad drank his own can with efficiency, possibly bypassing the flavor entirely. “I’m gonna shower. Don’t fuck with my things.”
“Booooooo.”
“Fuck off.” Then, “there’s an extra charger plugged in by the couch.”
Phone plugged in, Robert looked at the notifications on his lockscreen and decided he wasn’t going to ruin his comfortable mood worrying about anything. Most importantly, there were no messages from Blazer, Chase, or Royd, meaning there were no work related emergencies, and that was good enough.
Beer finished, as he also wasn’t going to turn down free alcohol, Robert ensured the doors were locked and all the lights were off before he slipped under the sheets. He hadn’t really noticed how thin the bedding was, nor how cold the apartment was in general - but it made sense that someone who was always hot didn’t need to bother with heat.
“You’re on my side.”
“I sleep on the right.”
“So do I, bitch. Move.”
Smirking, Robert remained in place, a challenging shine in his eye. Jad, who was frankly wanting to go the fuck to sleep, slipped in behind Robert, drawing him in to a spooning position, then shuffled them over in an awkward, stubborn fashion that Robert found himself laughing as he went along.
“This isn’t a sleepover,” mumbled a voice against the back of his head. “Go to sleep.”
“I was hoping we could play truth or dare.”
“Fine. I’ll go first. Dare: I dare you to shut the hell up.”
“I don’t think you know how to play.”
An annoyed huff, Jad craned his neck just enough to slow out a thin line of smoke, angled in such a way it tickled Robert’s nose and made him sneeze.
“Dick.”
“Yep,” and he soon fell quiet. Arm draped over Robert’s middle, chest to back, legs slotted together, Jad’s hand happened to find Robert’s, either intentionally or not.
Sleep rarely came easily to Robert, even when he felt safer than he had in a while - he was not going to dwell on that thought - and was unbelievably comfortable, wrapped in someone’s arms like this. It had been far too long since he was fucking cuddled like this and something in him, the scared teenager who pushed everyone away and closed himself off, felt the sudden urge to ruin it, because he wasn’t deserving. That would be really fucking unfair to Jad, so Robert settled for a slightly safer option: being annoying.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“No.”
“Was there, uh, a reason you were… fuck, I dunno, edging?”
“I wasn’t— what the fuck?”
“You were obviously close but it was like you didn’t want to.”
From behind him, there was silence, but the mindless way his index finger drew shapes against the back of Robert’s hand meant he was thinking about a response.
“I knew I was gonna do that and I was trying not to.”
“Vague.”
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
Gently, Robert turned his hand over and laced their fingers together.
“Worried you were gonna scald me with your squirt?”
“God, shut up.”
“It was really sexy. You should’ve done it sooner.”
“Fucking weirdo.”
“Hey, actually.” It was hard to look over his shoulder and not knock their heads together, but Robert did it, anyway. “Round two?”
“Bitch, no, I just showered and changed the sheets.”
“I’m not the one who made the mess.”
“No. Go the fuck to sleep before I shove this pillow over your face.”
Against his back, Jad’s body temperature raised just slightly; enough for Robert to know he was getting hard.
“We can put a towel down.”
“Robert.” Tone soft but more alert than previously sleepy murmurs, he’d taken the bait.
“Just you. Just wanna touch you again.”
“Ugh. Are you always this needy?”
For you, Robert wanted to say; he hummed playfully instead and Jad groaned again.
“... what are you thinking?”
“Honestly? I kinda want you to fuck me. You said you’ve never used your dick, right?”
Previously, Robert had just been staring ahead with his eyes open, and the sudden burst of light behind him told him Jad was very interested.
“It’s not much,” quiet, not quite embarrassed but self conscious, maybe. In a vulnerable enough state that he couldn't - wouldn't - use his usual swagger to mask his insecurities.
“Trust me, it’s not about that. I want you to feel it. It’ll probably take a while for me to cum again so I don’t even care about that.”
Tentatively, Robert turned over fully and found himself nose to nose with -
His mission. His capture. His self-proclaimed nemesis. His subordinate. His phoenix. His colleague. His spotter. His teammate. His partner. His friend. His lover. His undoing. His.
- Jad, who licked his lips, practically close enough to have tongued Robert’s.
Whoever closed that small gap first wasn’t important, nor was whose hands started to fumble with clothes. Upon realizing Robert had forgone underwear, Jad moaned around sucking his tongue, their kisses slow and easy but hungry, wanting, especially when they began to grind against each other’s palms. Truly, Robert wouldn’t even be mad about the night ending with this, some hand stuff under the blanket in the dark, but he had a goal in mind and Jad took the next step, kicking out of his sweatpants before he pulled the ones Robert wore - also his - off.
One leg raised, Robert placed his foot on the outside of Jad’s thighs, then brought him forward to press their cocks together. After moving his scrotum aside and tilting his hips up enough to frot, he exhaled a laugh out his nose. He didn’t want to say it in case it ruined the mood, but to find himself scissoring Jad was like a wild fantasy come true. Hell, had he known prior to today, he likely would’ve dreamt about it, jerked himself off at the idea of rubbing together, even if it made him feel guilty after. Not like it would be the first time.
For the time being, he tried to reposition himself and reached down between them, gingerly taking hold of Jad’s dick.
“Fuck.” Hard and hot, without the actual thing in his sight, it felt larger just by touch alone and Robert found himself wet in anticipation. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah. I want to fuck you so goddamn bad.”
“Then come here, big boy.”
Side by side wasn’t the ideal position, but the two of them were too horny and comfortable to bother with anything else.
“Oh.” He was more or less humping against Robert’s core, less so penetrating his hole, but Jad shuddered and rolled his hips and Robert would let himself be used in any and every way if it coaxed more moans like that.
Fingers around his own dick, Robert squeezed and rolled the glans before he pulled his foreskin up, intending to expose his hole better.
“Fuck!” Too loud for their proximity, Jad surged forward to chew on Robert’s bottom lip as he succeeded in notching the tip in. “Fuuuck.”
With Robert’s guidance, they shifted until Robert had his leg bent around Jad’s waist, a definite stretch to his hamstrings but that was a problem for tomorrow Robert, not the present one, who was brain-leaking-out-of-his-ears horny. Using his hand to pull his hood back, Jad pumped his cock into Robert, who offered himself up in turn.
“Oh my God.”
“Mhm.”
“You don't gotta — quit sounding so fucking smug about it.”
“I’ll stop when you stop proving me right.”
A retort died on Jad’s tongue when he tensed up, a line of fire roaring up his spine, grip on Robert’s thigh bruising. Under his breath, it sounded to Robert like a series of expletives in his mother tongue, and the short burst of wetness between his legs drew an indecipherable noise, almost like a soft whine.
“It’s okay,” Robert patted the flames out before tracing the curve of his back, murmuring into his mouth. “You’re okay.”
“Bitch,” soft, inoffensive; like a puppy trying to bark but not sounding threatening enough. “I know I’m okay.”
“You did a great job.”
“It’s not a performance report, Bobbo.” In the process of untangling their legs, Robert had cruelly ground his hips down, a keen deep in Jad’s chest before he promptly rolled himself over and got to his feet. “Do you…” his wrist rolled, giving Robert the opportunity to fill in the blanks himself.
“Hell no, that was good enough. Definite spank bank material. When I come into the office with carpal tunnel—”
The bathroom door shut before he could finish, and Robert found himself smiling in the dark. He also found himself a little sticky, the cum having dried enough to leave a tacky residue. Sheets unharmed, he didn’t find any new burns on himself - and was just slightly disappointed about it - and redressed in Jad’s shared clothes, waiting his turn to use the bathroom.
“Were you wearing that earlier?”
“This?” Jad pointed to the silk bonnet he had put his hair up in. “No.”
Smirk on his lips, Robert then asked, “is that because you knew you’d be getting up again?”
“Pfft, you wish. Now hurry your ass up and get to bed.”
“Oh, right, about that.”
“What, are you like, fucking afraid of the dark or something?”
“No, it takes me a while to fall asleep and I don’t want to keep you up.”
For a moment, Jad’s posture changed, as if something had shifted.
“If you want to go home—”
“No, Jad, it’s not like that.” His hand touched Jad’s elbow, as if worried the man would walk away. “I’d feel like a dick if you couldn’t sleep because I was restless.”
“Okay, well… whatever. You know where I’ll be.” Hand over Robert’s, Jad leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, bitch, don’t fuck with my things,” and he was gone, the bedroom door left ajar.
Robert sat on the couch in silence for some time until the eventual soft but still audible snoring from the other room made its way to his ears. Because he had nothing else to do, he did poke about a bit; read the spines on Jad’s bookcase, studied the framed artwork he had on the wall, chuckled to himself about some of the absolutely tacky magnets on the fridge and the notes they held, then peered inside the fridge itself. Naturally, it was better stocked than Robert’s own, with the addition of several reusable containers - leftovers or meal prep. Lastly, his attention went to the pack of beer - three were missing.
He knew it was bad, it didn’t take a genius to figure that out, but drinking did tend to help him fall asleep a little easier. Usually, though, it led to bad decisions or he was already too stuck in his head and alcohol only exacerbated the spiral. Unsure which it was going to be tonight, he cracked open a can and pressed his hip against the counter, drinking in the dark.
It was when he went to reach for a fourth that he realized he fucked up. That was the rest of Jad’s beer, even if it was shitty. As quietly as he could, he lined the cans on the counter and slipped out, back into the bedroom and shimmied under the blanket. Though he had started facing away, as soon as Robert was in close enough proximity, Jad turned over and pulled the body close to his own, an immediate heat overcoming him. None of that guaranteed he would fall asleep soon, but he was at least warm enough to lean into the touch, held by a strong arm that laid over his torso, protective and safe.
To wake up in bed with Jad was one thing; to wake up with Jad quietly laughing was another. It might even be cute if there wasn’t an icepick in his optic nerve.
“What?” He groaned, face turned to hide in the pillow.
“You are the sweatiest motherfucker I’ve slept with.”
“You’re a fucking furnace.”
“I’ve never had anyone get so fucking - ugh, gross from it.”
“Well sor-ry.”
“Go shower, it’s quarter after 6. Do you need to go home before work?”
Groggily, Robert opened one eye and promptly squeezed it shut, an incomprehensible comment made against the pillow.
“What? Don’t mumble.”
“Jad.” Blindly, a hand slapped the bed in search of the other. “Jad. I’m trying to be nice when I say please shut the fuck up.”
“You’re in my fucking bed—” in an attempt to glare, Robert’s scowl quickly gave way to a pale grimace and Jad clicked his tongue. “Alright, alright, come on.”
It wasn’t easy to maneuver the man but Jad managed to haul his ass to the bathroom, then positioned him at the sink (just in case) before he left, just to promptly return with a somewhat concerned expression.
“Did you drink the rest of that fucking beer?”
“Uh huh.”
“Why—”
“Helps me sleep.”
“You need some Xanax, dude.”
“Can’t. Addictive.”
Jad blinked before deciding that was not his business. “Get some THC or something then, damn. Hit up Golem, he grows. And since when are you such a fucking lightweight?”
“Not… it’s a migraine.”
“Oh.” Without hesitation, Jad reached out and turned off the bathroom light; Robert promptly let out a moan of relief. “Do you need anything?”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Bitch,” quickly, he reeled back on the insults. When his sister got migraines, she spent days holed up, miserable and sick, and Jad would stay out of the house as much as he could to give her peace. He had always assumed it was power-related, mainly because medicine or injections never helped her.
“M’gonna throw up and shower, then I’ll be good.”
Nose upturned, Jad set Robert on the floor beside the toilet and ran the sink, leaving to return with a towel, a candle to offer some light, and quietly closed the door behind him.
He could just shower at work, that’d be fine. Wouldn’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last, and maybe he could get a quick workout in. As he waited, he made a protein shake for breakfast and ginger tea for Robert and checked his phone. Texts, photos, videos from Alice, updates on the group’s sushi adventure and the consequential ban after they tried to dine and dash. Thank fuck they weren’t arrested, that’s the last thing the team needed, goddamn idiots.
With a towel around his wait, Robert looked slightly better; at the very least, cleaner. His bare torso had faded, but nevertheless prominent handprints on his light skin, which looked pretty
“Hot, right?” An uncertain smirk on his face, Robert flexed his arms and puffed out his chest, displaying the burns. “You should see the ones around my dick.”
Jad nearly choked on his drink, pounding his chest to clear his throat. “Wait, what the fuck?”
“Oh,” his smirk grew wider, though his eyebrows were too furrowed, expression otherwise too tight to be relaxed; the stabbing in his eyes had lessened but not gone away. “You don’t remember?”
“Don’t remember what?” Jad snapped, knowing his face was heating up. “Yeah, we fucked, so what?”
“Aaaaand you nutted so hard it fucking burned.”
In the kitchen, Jad stammered and Robert laughed.
“Drink your tea,” barked Jad instead, sulking past on his way to the bedroom to change. Lame ass gym shorts and a sleeveless top would have to do until he could shower and put on his suit. Elbows braced on the breakfast bar, two hands gripped around the mug, Robert hung his head.
“You’re allowed to take a sick day. In fact, you fucking should, ‘cause having a shitty dispatcher is already bad enough, bu—”
“It’s a Mecha Man day.”
“Even worse. More like Migraine Man. Wait, fuck, that was bad. Shut up, I can see you laughing. Fuck you. I’ll tell Blazer you’re—”
“No, I’ll text her.” It took a lot of grunts and groans for Robert to shuffle his way to where he’d left his phone, promptly squinting at the harsh light.
“This is sad. You were gonna go to work like this? In the fucking mech?”
“I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Well, you are. Your ass is going back to bed.”
“Jad—”
“I’ll put you to sleep if I have to, bitch.” Warm hands on both shoulders guided him toward the bedroom. “And I’m gonna let you sleep here, ‘cause I know your ass is only gonna make your headache worse on your own shitty mattress, so you’re welcome.”
“Mm. Do you have any painkillers?”
“Yeah, hold on.” Jad found Robert laying on top of the covers, arm thrown over his eyes. “On the nightstand. Give me your phone, I’ll text Blazer for you.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“You can’t see, but I’m rolling my eyes so hard at you. Like, enough to give myself a headache.” Then a pause. “Why the fuck do you have everyone’s contact like this?”
“What’s my name in your phone?”
“Touche.” Jad opens up the chat with B 🌠 (work). “Is just ‘sick’ enough? Or, no, uh, ‘not coming in today comma sick.’ That good?”
“Huh? That’s fine. Thanks.”
“Now get some rest.” Intentionally, Jad dropped the phone on Robert’s stomach, who flinched and groaned. “Call if you need anything.”
“Tch.”
“Now what?”
“Not even gonna kiss my booboo better?”
Amber eyes roamed over Robert’s body. His head? His chest? His stomach? His dick? The guy wasn’t that roughed up, but if he was going to whine about it, then so be it.
Carefully, Jad approached the side of the bed and placed his pursed lips gently around the bitemark he had left near Robert’s nipple.
“Oh!” Startled, he dropped his arm and tried to sit up but was just as easily pushed back down. “I was talking about my balls, actually, but that was nice.”
“Don’t get used to it,” While he intended to stand up, to leave, they had locked eyes. If he kept lingering, he would be rushing his morning routine which was already thrown off, not to mention the fact the whole day would fuck up their usual schedule, now with one person short.
Whose lips pressed sweetly against his own.
“Have a good day at work, dear,” he had murmured, then flicked his fingers against Jad’s forehead as he threw himself back onto the bedding, face down into the pillows. Jad decided not to mention the fact his guest was ass naked on his own damn bed and unapologetic about it, but considered the way his entire being looked more exhausted than usual. As his final good deed, he brought a trashcan to the side of the bed and then, as quietly as he could, left the apartment.
After what only felt like seconds after Jad left the apartment, Robert’s phone rang. Once he’d slapped around the bed a few times, he picked it up and squinted.
“What?”
“Damn, you do sound like shit.”
“Uh huh.”
“I was calling ‘cause Blazer told me you were sick. Wanted to check on you.”
“Haven't killed myself yet, but it's not off the table.”
“Long night?”
“Kinda. Migraine.”
Chase seemed to hesitate for a second too long. “This doesn’t have anything to do with that Bone Zone bullshit, right?”
“No. I haven’t checked anything and don’t wanna hear it. Went out drinking last night—”
“I was there.”
“Oh. Right. Just woke up feeling like shit.”
“And it’s got nothing to do with you know who?”
“Bone Zone? I just told you—”
“Not him. Chucklefuck McIndecent-Exposure.”
“Huh?” With a groan, Robert turned his head to the empty space in the bed, as if Jad would still be there. “Whaddya—”
“Robert, I’m saying this because I love your stupid ass.” Under his breath, the aforementioned muttered a quiet uh oh. “There’s a tracker on your phone—”
“Ughhhhh, why?”
“‘Cause your stupid ass gets kidnapped too often! How do you think—”
“Okay, alright, alright! What about it?”
“I wanted to make sure you got home last night.”
“Oh my God.”
“Look. It’s not my business,” quickly, Chase interjected, “and I don’t wanna hear shit.”
“Chase—”
“Just, be careful where you stick it—”
“That’s not what happened. Also, lowkey homophobic.”
“It’s not a gay thing, anyone can get— what do you mean that’s not what happened?”
“What do you mean that’s not what happened? Were you there?”
“Thank fuck no.”
“Then you don’t know what happened. But, if you must know, I got shitfaced and Jad lived the closest so I crashed at his after I threw up on him.”
“Chad?” The upturn of his nose was audible and Robert tried to backpedal.
“Yeah, Chad,” he over emphasized. “I know for a fact you knew that was his name. Dementia already setting in?”
“Don’t get on a first name basis with him, that shit’s weird.”
“Look. I appreciate the concern, but I’m goin’ back to sleep. If anyone asks, it’s not because I’m a bitch who’s hiding or anything, it’s ‘cause I had a long night and my fucking head hurts. I’ll be there for second shift.”
“You do remember I can still see your location, right?”
Robert hung up.
Blazer had responded to his text with a thumbs up and a Hope you feel better! and Robert decided since that shit was taken care of, he’d go back to sleep.
After taking the pills Jad left him - with a cold glass of water, a single piece of bread with peanut butter, folded over, and some sort of fancy ass chocolate candy for caffeine - and put on the cold eye mask left out for him, he fell asleep thinking of how he could repay Jad for his kindness before deciding this was all Jad’s way of repaying him for giving him the best dick of his life. It was easier to not get sentimental that way.
A few hours of laying restlessly in the dark later, Robert put the borrowed clothes in the hamper, cleaned up after himself, then helped himself to a pair of sunglasses (thankfully not the gaudy ones Jad seemed to only wear at night?), a couple cigarettes and a lighter, and left.
The walk to SDN from Jad’s apartment was fine. Closer than his own abode, naturally in the opposite direction, and the city didn’t seem to give a shit about his headache but he’d live - the nicotine helped.
If anyone noticed he was wearing the same clothes he left in, no one commented. It was a Mecha Man shift, anyway, and his suit was at work; he was able to change before he ran into anyone he knew. And thank God for that, because the giant hand-shaped burns on his chest would be awkward to explain. His suit zipped up to his chin as well, covering any other marks.
He needed glasses. Not because he was old, the constant staring at screens was getting hard on him. For the time being, eyedrops worked, and he was blinking away what had leaked out when a voice cut through the silence in the bathroom.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Last I checked, I work here,” Robert grunted and dabbed at his eyes.
“Are you crying?” A mix of concern and humor, maybe, like he was unsure if it was a prank or genuine.
“Eyedrops. Stuck to my lashes.”
“Your big dumb cow eyes?”
After snorting, Robert capped the bottle and tucked it back into one of the pouches on his belt. “What are you doing here?”
“Reapplying makeup.” Saddled up beside Robert, Jad dropped an obnoxiously shiny pouch, digging through tubes and bottles. “It’s Prism’s.”
“Ah.” Arms crossed, he watched as the man dabbed foundation on his middle finger and worked it over an already covered but partially rubbed off bruise. “Huh.”
“What?”
“You’ve never bothered covering up hickeys in the past,” Robert noted. “I don’t care, you still look like a slut without them, I’m just surprised.”
In the reflection, he gave Robert a dirty look but continued. “Prism clocked it immediately and I didn’t want to deal with anyone else on my ass about it. I love her, but she can’t lie for shit.”
“She kept your secret.”
“No one’s ever gone up and asked her, ‘hey is it true Flambae’s got a pussy’ but she’d probably say yes. Or her face would. Again, love her, but she’s not immune to gossip.”
“So what happened? When she, uh, clocked it or whatever.”
“She got us coffee, because it’s Friday and that’s our thing, and before I could say anything she asked if I fucked that boy - you - good enough he called in. Didn’t say yes but I didn’t say no, y’know.”
“Because you’re also bad at lying?”
“No, bitch, it’s because if someone’s gonna read me that well then there’s no point in answering. So I didn’t. Then we drank our coffee and bitched about how expensive it was.”
“Was it good?”
“Obviously.” Capped, replaced, zipped, Jad tucked the bag under his arm. “I’m not gonna say anything. You?”
“Dunno. My schedule’s too busy to deal with everyone wanting a turn.”
“Sucks to be them, ‘cause I was there first.”
“Speaking of, I was thinking of getting that tattooed. You think you could let me trace—”
“Shut the fuck up,” but he laughed, loud in the otherwise empty bathroom, and Robert found himself smiling. “Now come on, your little dog has been yapping all morning.”
“Beef?”
“Waterboy. He wanted to stop by your apartment to check on you.”
“And you let him go?”
“Duh.”
“Asshole.”
Hand on the back of Robert’s neck, Jad directed him toward the door and the two walked out.
“Just so we’re clear.” Bent at the hip, he pressed his ear close to the side of Robert’s mask. “It’s Flambae. Chad if you want to piss me off.”
“And Jad if we’re fucking, got it.”
“I prefer dadd—” quickly, Robert cocked his head and bumped it into Flambae’s nose, who groaned and recoiled. “What the fuck!”
“Sorry, thought there was a fly in my ear. You know, an annoying little buzzing—”
“I know what a fucking fly is. Ugh, you bitch.” Huffily, Flambae stalked off, their usual jabs a comfort to Robert, who trailed after him, several steps behind.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Chase asked, a punch to Robert’s shoulder. “Migraine my ass.”
“Nah, my head still hurts, just got bored.”
“If I see you two making fucckin’ kissy eyes—”
“Nothing happened,” Robert repeated.
“Sure.”
“Alright, you want the details? Huh, pervy old man?”
“I can still kick your ass.”
“We’d both dislocate a fucking hip.”
“There he is!” Someone hollered, Robert turned to see Punch Up waving him down, an envelope in hand. “Feeling better?”
“I’ve been worse.”
“Attaboy. We got you this,” thrusted out before him, Robert picked up the envelope and eyed the man in front of him, then down the hall to where Coop, Sonar, Malevola, and Invisigal stood nearby. Clearly, this was not going to be a normal gift.
“Thanks. I’ll be sure to read it later."
Obviously displeased, the team dispersed and left Robert by himself, Chase already back at his desk. Earpiece and watch synced, Robert made his way to the garage and climbed inside his suit, only to close the hatch and sit in isolation. Even the time he blew up, the cockpit always protected him, his safety blanket, even if it sometimes felt like the mech was the bane of his existence.
There was still some time to his shift, and in the comfort of his cocoon, Robert opened the envelope.
IT’S A BOY!! was printed on the front of the card in big blue letters; the cartoonish bottles of milk had been drawn over to look like beer bottles, the pacifiers made into poorly drawn dicks, and the soccer balls changed into Beef's head. Inside, the had a speaker to be triggered when opened - it hadn’t come with the card and was crudely affixed to the page - but from it came a voice that soured Robert’s mood.
“Alright, alright, I’m going! Ugh. Hey, Mecha Man, this is Danny Diaz, AKA Bone Zone, and I’m here to… apologize. Ow!” It sounded like someone smacked him and Robert snorted. “Fuck! Okay. I’m sorry for spreading that image and claiming you were a girl. And, uh, sorry about your sister… and folks, I guess. My bad about the Mecha Man Pink shit, I won’t do that again, so please don’t sue me.”
At that point, Robert had to close the card to laugh. They had threatened Bone Zone? Claimed that Mecha Man was going to sue him?
Tuned into the channel, there was some discussion about whose turn it was to buy dinner, to which the group mainly bullied Sonar into accepting the task; Robert waited for a lull to speak.
“Hey, team. Thanks for the card, but don’t threaten to sue people.”
“We just told him to say that.”
“Yeah, we actually threatened the fucker.”
“Don’t do that, either.”
“He kinda deserved it though.”
“Still,” Robert sighed.
“His X got hacked.”
A series of laughs parroted over the line.
“Get fucked!”
“Please don’t tell me—”
“Wasn’t us, Robbo.”
“I wish.”
“Dude pissed off the wrong people. No one was gonna shit on Mecha Man in this city and get away with it.”
“Tell that to Reddit,” hummed Robert, which got him a couple audible eyerolls.
“Of course you use Reddit.”
“Only we can shit on Mecha Man.”
“Speaking of - what the fuck are you doing here?”
“You looked like total shit.”
“I was hungover this morning—”
“Lame.”
“— but I’m feeling better now.”
“Mm, are you, though? I think you’re just a workaholic who can’t stand to be alone.”
“Okay, ouch.”
“She’s not wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean she had to say it.”
“But for real, Robert,” Malevola interjected, an almost unnerving quiet falling over the line. “No one is going to fuck with you like that. You said something once about how it doesn’t matter who we used to be, it only matters who we want to be. You’re always gonna be Robert and no shithead with a fucking podcast is gonna say otherwise.”
“Thank you, Malevola. That was very kind of you.” A pause. “Is that what I sound like when—”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.”
“TED talk sounding ass.”
“I appreciate it. Really.” Suit powered on, Robert rolled his neck and buckled in. “And thanks for being cool about all this.”
“Why the fuck wouldn’t we?”
“This is LA, who gives a shit.”
“Literally no one cares.”
“We got a demon chick, a manbat and a sentient rock. You’re not special.”
Robert was glad to have the team he did. “Now let’s have a good shift, it’s Friday, we—”
“Man, we just told you your pep talks are corny.”
“Try being cool for once.”
“Fine.” A notification appeared on his watch, his first assignment for the shift - “let’s go kick some fucking ass.” - to retrieve a badminton birdie from a tree. Even with the following series of heckles about how Mecha Man was going to show that tree who’s boss and kick its ass, he was proud to be doing what he loved.