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See, the thing was - Robert Robertson had finally started putting on weight, for the first time since the coma.
And with Shroud once more behind bars, his attempts to gain it had also become a hell of a lot more fucking sensible. A lot less ‘kamikaze idiot, 10-pounds-when-wet John Wick’. Without the same level of urgency fuelling his martyr complex and magnetising the weight of the world down onto his bitch-ass shoulders, he went about it like a sane person, even.
Which meant that the change in him was… gradual.
Casual.
Hidden under ill-fitted shirts, that suddenly began fitting a hell of a lot better.
Easy to miss. Until it wasn’t.
- Until Chad, like a fucking idiot, turned round in the Sardine one evening with a little too much tequila already alight in his system, saw his bitch dispatcher in the most boring ass long-sleeve tee - charcoal, not even ribbed, with its only distinguishing feature was that it was on the right side of a little too tight - and for some godforsaken fucking reason said:
“Wow. Holy shit, bitch. You’re like, solidly hot now.”
Then, he realised he’d said it out loud, and promptly wished he could fucking die.
The bland, bemused non-expression on Robert’s face didn’t help matters. Neither did the one two feet behind him to his right - which was Alice, looking at Chad like she’d just seen his intelligence stats on the SDN database in real time.
Of course, Alice knew that they’d been circling the elephant in the room that was Robert’s hotness, for months now. To the point where she’d told Chad that he either needed to do something about it, or shut the fuck up and find a new topic sentence for hangouts with her.
The issue boiled down to one simple fact: Chad found confidence sexy. It was why he embodied it so well in himself, worked so hard on his flawless outward persona - he knew what he liked, what he aspired to be around and invite into his life, and he also knew what sold.
He made it his own in a way no one else could ever hope to emulate, sure. But confidence was a nebulous, eminently fuckable thing.
So, between Robert’s utterly unruffled, dispassionate demeanour; his calm, concise instructions over comms; and his deeply soulful, utterly unflinching eyes above his fuck-ass, frankly insane jawline, Flambae had been having… something of an internal war with himself.
Not a big one - not one to lose any sleep over. Even if he found his dispatcher attractive, it wasn't like he'd never had a fucking inappropriate crush before. He wasn’t deprived, or in anything close to a dry spell. So it wasn’t anything he planned to act on. After all, they’d all seen the HR modules that had been brought in. They all knew which team they’d been targeted at.
Contrary to his biggest haters and their attempts to sway popular opinion, Chad… was an adult. And as an adult, he knew how these things worked. He already had the whole world against him - he wasn’t about to shit where he ate, with fucking Golden Boy Mecha Man, no less. If he did something as impulsive and reckless as starting something with his boss and things turned to shit, it was already crystal clear which side corporate would take. He liked having money, a stable job, and a one-way ticket out of prison. Chad wasn’t about to give SDN another bullshit reason to suddenly decide to turn this redemption arc around.
So… you know. It wasn’t a big deal.
It was just something he’d started noticing - Robert being the kind of hot that you gave a second glance at. It was an issue that popped up, only occasionally, and effected him barely at all. Chad knew lots of hot people, both carnally and in passing. So, it really wasn’t anything much.
Just… distracting.
Whenever Chad was bored, restless, pent up, or a bit stupider than usual.
Like when he had four tequilas working through his system. Like now.
“Uh… thanks?” Robert - who had arrived at the bar late, and was therefore not tequilaed - said, staring at him oddly. “Kind of didn’t realise I was even on your radar.”
Chad staunchly ignored the look Alice gave him then - kind of the telepathic equivalent of, ‘let go of one fucking ounce of your pride, and you’ll be able to rail that Mecha-Ass into next week. Like we both know you want to.”
- Well, that's what Alice thought he wanted, and Chad hadn't corrected her. His own feelings and fantasies on the matter would go with him to the fucking grave.
“Please, bitch,” he sputtered out, “don’t flatter yourself. You fucking wish.”
Robert gave him a token flat look. It implied he didn’t think about Chad much, if at all, outside of work.
Well, fuck him, amiright? Chad thought, as he tried not to feel like he’d been gutted out right there on the floor of the Sardine.
Instead, he rallied as best he could:
“It just… makes things fucking interesting, you know?”
“...Really. How so?” Robert said, drawing each of the syllables out slowly.
Behind him, Alice took off her visor, and began massaging her forehead like she had a migraine.
“It's like... a challenge," Flambae said, trying not to flounder. "I mean, sure, I pull whenever we go out but it’s like, not even hard, you get what I’m saying?” He gestured to their table: “not when the only other competition for those interested in dick is a furry, a stoner kid made of rocks, some 3ft loser who’s already fucking whipped, and fucking… I dunno. Connecticut Clark.”
Robert raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Now you’re not the fucking… human equivalent of beige, at least I’ll feel like I’m actually doing something when I continue getting all that dick, you know? Rather than just… existing. And being the only good option. By default. I’m just saying: each bitch that picks me over you now will still have good taste, but also like… I dunno, a choice.”
“...Right. Okay.” said Robert, again. Slow, and condescending, like Chad had tried to confuse him and failed - or maybe like Chad was just stupid. “Welllll... Congrats, I guess. As long as you’re having fun. That’s all that matters.”
And Chad, as he so often did when someone implied he was being dumb, immediately doubled down.
“-Yo, hey! Batboner!”
Sonar - who was sat in the booth with Mal, likely pleading some new kind of loophole to try end his five months of sobriety - looked over the back of his seat in the direction of his name, “...Yelloooo?”
“Odds on me pulling over Bitch-Bob-Boy - here, tonight?”
“I mean…” Sonar squinted at him, “you’ll be… trying? And he… won’t?”
“What I’m talking about is a competition,” Chad explained, impatiently ploughing ahead. “Now that he’s someone who’s actually worth competing against. Pick someone out for him, pick someone out for me. Whoever takes them home quickest, wins.”
“Ooooooooooh,” said Malevola.
Chad privately decided that, in lieu of Alice’s current disdain, Mal was the real one. As in, a true Z-Teamer. Because as soon as the prospect of a stupid - enlightened - contest or bet was on the table, you knew the siren song would lure all those other fuckers over here. For a bunch of ex-villains turned newly-minted famous saviours of the city, they had very simple tastes.
And unfortunately, lived kinda boring lives - that was what giving up crime ended up doing to a person, it turned out.
“I’m in,” said Visi, materialising somewhere to Mal’s left and giving Robert a look that Chad didn’t even try to parse. Who knew what juvenile pseudo-psychosexual bullshit the two of them were up to lately, under the guise of being ‘just friends’.
A minute or so later, and Coupe, Golem, and Colm had all drifted over. A tentative formula for the odds became under construction. Everyone’s curiosity had been piqued - because Chad was a genius.
“Ok, so, we’re betting on attractiveness versus game versus… hmm, I guess you’d call it ‘motivation’,” Sonar said, sketching out everything on a ragged napkin. “But the added vector of who the other two people are will definitely affect the state of play. Who picks them? You two? We’ll need to consider how attractive they are, versus how desperate-”
“-Eh. It can just be the same person.” Robert interrupted.
“Um, excuse me?” said Chad, turning to him, “I actually want to take someone home tonight, bitch. I am not about to waste these charms,” (he gestured down to his tits), “on the wrong fucking half of the population, just to-”
“-To win a game you’ve invented, for no good reason?” Robert finished for him, without affect. A beat later, he shrugged: “Well, then. It’s a good job I like men.”
The responding silence and dazed expression from half the Z-Team was reassuring to Chad. It meant this was, in fact, news to other people as well as him.
That he’d definitely process. Quickly. And with very little interest. Or investment.
…Visi was the only one who didn’t look surprised.
“There's no need to drag this on any longer than it needs to, or spread… whatever this is, around,” Robert continued with an exhausted sigh, making a dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Pick one guy. Or let Flambae pick them. So this isn’t just cruel.”
…And that was how Chad’s bet suddenly became the most interesting thing the Z-Team currently had going for them.
Not because it was much of a competition - because obviously, it wasn’t. Didn't matter that Bob-Bob had got his twunk upgrade. That first night, the only person who bet on him - with his dull, hollow-eyed acceptance of proceedings, and obvious lack of any real interest - was Visi, out of some misplaced sense of loyalty. Everyone else put their money on Chad, who had always been sex on legs, and happened to have things to prove - like how he had definitely planned on them having this bet, from the very beginning, and it hadn’t just been some last-minute asspull to avoid an unwanted dose of alcohol-fuelled vulnerability.
In fact, it was such an easy win, that during the next shift - with Prism reading off his hook-up’s weekend texts for team comms, stink-eying Chad the whole time even with her boots rested in his lap - they ended up with an extreme deficit, in Chad’s corner. Visi scoffed, and Robert refused to foot the bill his loss had cost people. Without him willing to pay out and make up the difference that came from everyone taking the same side (of a clear prize-fighting fuckboy stallion, with 2 to 1 odds), Sonar went “...damn”.
…And they all agreed to carry things over to the next night out - double or nothing.
So... yeah. This wasn’t about who had better game (because that was obviously Chad).
This was to prevent the Z-Team falling into debt.
…And the more debt they subsequently fell into, the more it became about making Robert put his money where his mouth was - in regards to the whole ‘liking men’ thing. So, like, the saying had the potential to be literal.
“Ok,” said Visi, head bowed over the table with Sonar, the next time the Z-Team got together for drinks after work. “We have to pick out someone who’ll actually make him want to compete, this time.”
Chad cast a sceptical glance in Visi’s direction: “didn’t you used to have a crush on him? The fuck are you trying to set him up with other people for?”
“Yeah,” said Prism, by his shoulder. “Because, I mean, if someone was doing that right now - finding him some other hot piece of ass whilst lusting after his uncooked, pancake batter derriere - then they’d be some kind of, I don’t know, total goddamn idiot-”
Chad ignored this. Visi rolled her eyes hard enough for both of them.
“Oh, that ship’s sailed, trust me. He’s not emotionally available enough for a relationship - at least he wasn’t, five seconds after he turned Shroud’s face to pulp. Which was when my stupid ass decided to try setting the mood, so that’s on me. Anyway, I’m starting to think that what I was feeling at the time wasn’t like… love, y’know? Maybe more... hero worship?”
“Hero worship?! Him?”
Chad wrinkled his nose, glancing over towards where Robert was stood alone ordering a round at the bar.
…He looked good, again. Annoyingly. Dressed in a button up that wasn’t SDN issue, but worn the exact same way - sleeves rolled up, tucked into his pants to accentuate the tight line of his waist - which had definitely filled out decently, with all his stray dog looks earning him leftovers from every goddamn party or home-cooked meal in a fifteen mile radius of SDN, but somehow stayed proportional to the bulk he’d gotten back on his shoulders. And also to… other things.
-He’d started filling out his pants properly, for the first time Chad had known him.
But like… hero worship? Please. Chad thought, with a shake of his head to clear it. Mecha Man was keeping shit pathetically provincial, these days - only helping with disaster recovery, and occasional jobs that required Robert’s expertise in hacking, and rarely even required the suit. Like. He was barely in the fucking field.
“Um, yeah?” Visi shrugged. “That can still be horny, trust me - but the kind you definitely enjoy better from a distance, you know? It needs a pedestal, more than anything. So… if I don’t want to fuck him anymore, and he doesn’t want me, then next best thing is to have him give me premium fujo content for the special memory banks, whilst also enabling me to profit. Once we find a guy he actually wants to hit-"
“-I still think that last guy was smoking hot!” Sonar argued.
“He was a fucking MBA graduate,” Chad muttered, massaging his forehead as he remembered the lingering headache he’d received, from how much boring fucking shoptalk he’d had to plough through to make it clear to Mr. Mormon Suit that he just wanted to get into his pants. The sex that followed had not been worth the effort.
Sonar’s ears twitched.
“...Oh. Did he mention if he had a LinkedIn?!”
“Jesus Christ, dude,” Visi said. “Just admit you’re fucking bi already. We’ve already got enough intricate rituals going on right now, as it is.”
…Which was Chad’s cue to go up to the bar, to help Robert with his tray of drinks. Because his bitch-ass noodle arms (not so noodly anymore) might drop them. And then, they’d spill. That was still probably half of Robert's paycheck. He was pathetic like that.
His arms were actually already full by the time Chad reached him, and the wary look in his eyes at his approach make an awful lot of sense. No smart man who’d cut off Flambae’s fingers would want a tray of 40% proof alcohol between the two of them.
Luckily for Bobert, Chad had grown, as a person.
“You actually need to pull your fucking weight tonight, bitch,” he said, in lieu of a greeting, or an offer to actually help. “No more empty fucking wins for me, ok? If I have to talk to shitty business grads who practically moan their own names as they come, then so do you.”
“...I’m sorry?”
“The point of me having competition now was that I have, like, competition,” Chad emphasised. “You can’t keep just bitching out and backing down each time, not even trying. You’re being boring. Everyone’s bored.”
Robert looked at him, the wariness in his eyes dulling down once more to grim resignation.
“...You do realise, that when I agreed to go along with this, it was just to shut you the fuck all up?” he pointed out. “I thought this bet would last one night, tops. It’s not my fault y’all can’t invent a better game to play. I don’t want to take some random stranger home.”
“Well, tough luck, bitch. You signed your ass up - and you know it won’t end, not until you actually try. Why aren’t you putting in any fucking effort? You’re literally the one who tells us that," he did his best Robert 'dead behind the eyes' face, "'Z-Teamers don’t quit, even when shit gets hard.' Day in, fucking day out. In my ear like a mosquito with a sidegig as a fucking motivational speaker. You really gonna half-ass this one thing we ask of you?”
Something flickered in Robert’s expression, then. Chad tried not to smirk, and when he did he tried not to do it too smugly. But... he was fighting a losing battle. If Robert had learned some of the workarounds for getting his team to cooperate, then that shit luckily went two ways. There were some buttons the Z-Team now knew how to press, in order to get their dispatcher on side - and all of them were self-righteous as fuck.
“Besides,” Chad added with a snort, “it’s not like you’ll actually win, and have to do any of the follow through. So what are you so afraid of? Unless you’re not actually into men, or you are and you’re just a sad little closet case who doesn’t know how to…”
Robert stared at him.
He stared at him, dead on and dead in the eyes, until Chad started to feel… well… flustered. He trailed off uncertainly.
Fuck. He kind of hated it when Robert pretended to be bored - when he was able to act like other peoples’ opinions didn’t matter enough, to make him actively care. That shit was so… sexy. Fucking sue him. It was like, the one thing Chad faked but had never actually gotten down. You could work on yourself til the cows came home and did self-care right alongside you, but some insecurities were there for fucking life.
Seeing Robert not give a shit made Chad wish it was true at his end. Maybe he wished that he had never invented this game in the first place. That he’d just given Bob the compliment, then let the whole thing fucking die.
But now they were here, he couldn’t back down. (See: those core-deep insecurities, aforementioned.)
So he kept the discomfort off his own face, and acted like he’d meant to let the sentence trail off there. From Robert’s Mexican stare-off, Chad had the awful feeling it hadn’t worked. He hated the way those dark, deadpan eyes could feel like they were burrowing inside your fucking soul, whenever they hit at the wrong angle.
Robert's face didn't change, but something like resolve tightened his mouth and squared his shoulders. Then, he ducked around Chad’s side, and carried the drinks over to the Z-Team without need for assistance.
“Right team,” he said, as he dropped the tray down on the table hard enough for a couple of the drinks to spill a little. “We gonna get this quaint humiliation ritual on the road? Which poor fuck is our target?”
Everyone blinked up at him, surprised.
“Uhhhhh..." said Sonar.
“...Why don’t you pick?” Visi interjected before anyone else could scramble to their senses. At the looks she got from around the table, she shrugged, “listen. He’s three rounds down already. Might as well let him have the handicap. Not exactly rigged, if it’s a skill issue.”
Robert sighed, muttering "thanks", then cast an assessing glance around the room. It took him all of three seconds - the room wasn’t empty, that’s just how quickly his mind seemed to work, taking stock of information and cataloguing it in the blink of an eye. Chad felt something in the back of his throat and base of his spine twinge, in a way he did not like or want. This was Bob-Bob’s paranoia, he told himself. Not... you know, competency.
He wondered, briefly, what Robert’s type was. Had he already picked them out from the crowd, before Chad had come over to speak with him? Maybe that was why he was giving in so easily now. They weren’t in the Sardine this time, so chances were there might be more people here he’d drop his spotless Mecha Man panties for.
…Maybe they should’ve stuck to the Sardine.
“You got any preference, Flambae?” Robert asked him, casting a final glance his way, with all the same indifference he'd used for his scan of the room.
“Nah, bitch,” Flambae tried to say. The shake in his voice was a surprise, but only audible to him, so he shrugged. “Like she says, you need all the fuckin' help you can get.”
Robert let out an illegally low hum, coming deep from the base of his throat.
“Mmmm… that one.”
He nodded his head in the direction of a man who was blonde, built, and - based on the facial hair and the fit of the t-shirt - probably gay. He was sat alone at a table, after his friend had gone off to talk to someone else nearby. Checking his phone, but body posture outward facing to try and show he was approachable. So… like, at least Robert knew ball.
From the thoughtful and curious expressions of everyone at the table, Chad knew the Z-Team were all wondering the same thing - was that his type? Chad guessed he was kinda Blonde Blazer adjacent, before she’d given the amulet to Chase and become Mandy full-time.
…Or had he chosen them for another reason?
Chad kinda hoped so.
Because otherwise… y’know. Things fucking sucked for Visi.
“Sure. You can go first, bitch,” he said, quickly, when Robert glanced his way for approval.
“...Lucky me,” Robert deadpanned - before picking up one of the whiskies that had spilled, throwing it back, and walking over to the man with his usual unhurried certainty.
Chad felt a thrill of adrenaline watching his approach.
- At the fact that this was now finally going to be a challenge, he told himself. It was totally not even close to a spike of panic.
Robert reached out and tapped the man lightly on the shoulder, politely getting his attention. Then made a gesture between them, as though asking to sit. Chad saw the up-down scan - and obvious interest - in the other guy’s face, as he nodded and let Robert Robertson take the chair, in order to shoot his shot.
The two of them chatted together for roughly ten minutes. At the Z-Team's table, only Golem, Phenomaman, and Punch Up managed to get a real conversation going, chatting amiably away as everyone else stayed riveted on any potential developments. Even Waterboy was interested in this one, watching it like it was his favourite show on TV.
At one point, Robert put his hand casually on the other guy’s arm again, and Malevola straight up gasped.
“Cute!”
“Eh… I’m not wet,” Visi said. “I think it’s not really doing anything for me. Not sure they have any chemistry.”
“I think that’s the other guy, though,” Sonar offered. “He’s like… I don’t know. Not Robert’s cup of tea? Drink of water?”
“Too blonde, maybe?” Visi agreed. “I think he told Mandy once that he liked brunettes.”
“In their current dynamic, the ideal scenario would actually be for Robert to not feel anything whatsoever, and to divulge the rules of the convoluted scenario by which they have come to interact, in the hopes of building camaraderie,” Coupé informe them all. “Then, their relationship could develop from a place of allyship, and deepen, over a series of staged encounters. Until their shared attraction breaks its confined, agreed-upon parameters, and becomes too much for the both of them to withstand.”
“‘Allyship’?” said Sonar, “but… like. They’re both already gay.”
Chad didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer any of his usual derisive additions to their commentary, and gave no outward reaction to events as they unfolded. He also didn't glare a hole into the wall, one foot above blondie’s head. Because it literally wasn’t a big deal. He’d literally told Robert to do this.
“Boy,” Prism leaned over to whisper in his ear. Nobody else could hear her, when she told him: “You are so fucking stupid.”
The blonde guy said something. Robert nodded decisively, once, then dropped his hand, and stood up in one unhurried movement. He walked back over to the Z-Team.
“He’s not interested,” he announced with a shrug, and sat down with about as much skin in the game as if he just discussed the weather. “Does somebody here want to get me a drink?”
“Yeah, babes, I’m sure you’ve earned it,” Mal said, patting him on the shoulder, “usual?”
Robert nodded, then turned to Visi and asked her something about her aunt… Suddenly, everyone seemed to lose interest. They started chatting amongst themselves again. Sure, they'd seen Bobert Bobertson’s game in action. But with no stakes, the novelty immediately wore off.
Meanwhile Chad couldn’t quite process the utter relief he was feeling - like a full-body wave of that shit. It wasn’t even funny. As his shoulders relaxed again, he realised just how close they’d crawled up to his ears. He was going to feel that in the morning, probably. Shit was fucking tense.
It could easily be chalked up to his usual competitiveness. After all, he was just as invested in coming out near the top of SDN’s rankings, at the end of each month.
- So, after letting the guy simmer for half an hour, Chad got up to take his run at him. He took his keys and his phone with him as he stood, because there would be no point doubling back if things fell out the way they were supposed to. He felt eyes on him, more intent than usual, and glanced up to see Robert tracking his movements from across the tacky surface of the table. Their eyes met, and Robert tilted his head slightly to the side, as though to say, good luck. Chad gave him a curt nod, broke eye contact super fucking quickly, and strode over to their chosen mark.
“Yo, you wanna leave here with me?” he asked bluntly, placing his body at its best angle, to look down his nose at him. “I’ll give it to you any way you like, I'm not fussy. But it’ll be so good you feel it til next week.”
Blonde guy gave Chad the same appreciative up-down he’d given Robert. Chad wondered briefly, if this was doing anything for his ego - being chatted up by two hotties, in quick succession.
“...You know what?” the guy said - and holy shit, he was fucking British. “Sure. Why not? So long as you’re good to your word.”
Chad nodded, not feeling like justifying that with an answer. The people who delivered didn’t need to. He gave a quick glance back to the group to signal he was leaving, then waited for the guy to get his coat off the back of the booth without needing to look again.
Honestly didn’t know how Robert had spent so long just fucking… talking to the guy. In that shirt, man was clearly cruising. It really was that simple.
Chadwas still thinking about it, when they were in the back of the uber. His curiosity got the better of him.
“So…" he said. "You shot my friend down."
They hadn't exactly been chatting, and this was just as blunt an opening as before. Chad supposed he wasn’t really Bob-Bob’s friend - but he didn’t feel like explaining their whole 'boss-coworker-nemesis-turned-uneasy-ally-who-occasionally-looks-good' dynamic to a stranger.
“Oh, I did, yeah,” the guy - Mark? - said, with an easy and unapologetic grin. “I saw you come over from the same table. There some kind of a story there?”
“I’m… helping him. With his, like, game,” Chad outright lied. “So… if you have any notes, I can find a way to pass them along. He’s like, only just come out, so…”
“Oh shit, really? Well, send him my compliments. Didn’t seem that way at all, so good for him.”
“Well, you still clearly weren’t feeling it,” Chad said. His voice came out short, and he cringed when it hit his ears. Mark’s answer had annoyed him, for some reason. “So… what else did he do wrong, exactly?”
Mark cocked his head, seemingly thinking it over. If anything about the question or the overarching explanation struck him as odd - with its glaring plot holes, given that Chad was apparently not a good enough mentor to stick around until his protege actually got himself laid - then he was at least selfishly pent up enough to not want to say anything about it. The uber continued on its way to their final destination, which was Chad’s apartment.
“Honestly, guy was maybe just a little… intense?” he said, after a couple of beats. “Like, nice enough to look at and, oh boy... that voice. But he just asked me a few too many questions about myself. Started to feel a little bit like a job interview, if you know what I mean.”
Chad thought, briefly, about Robert’s weekly team meetings, and the Z-Team’s monthly 1-1s, and their biannual performance reviews. They’d been an established part of his management style for just over a year now - ever since Shroud got his ass handed to him and put back in prison. In the aftermath, Robert had taken a good look at how he’d been operating at SDN, and realised it had been kinda… blinkered. He said as much, honestly and openly, and then promised to make it more about them - the Z-Team - and less about him, and his post-Mecha-Man crisis.
Chad thought about the way Robert remembered little details about each team member - asked about their birthdays, and relatives by name; prompted updates on the running throughlines of each of their personal lives. How each month, he sat them down one-by-one and cut through the corporate bullshit to get straight into the issues that mattered - how they were feeling, what was pissing them off, what they wanted next from this shitty fucked-up bureaucratic system of heroing, what steps they could take to get it. Chad wondered if Mark even knew what a rush it was, to hold Bob-Bob’s sincere, undivided attention for over an hour - what it was like when he was firmly in your corner, and interested in you as a person. In what you might achieve together. When he kept asking you to talk.
The last one had been awkward for Chad, because Robert had just bought a new cologne. And had kept just... fucking looking at him. Like he cared.
Shit, who knew what that kind of energy was like in bed.
But also… Chad got it. He understood. This guy - Mark? It was Mark right? - was just looking for a decent-enough lay. Not like… a relationship. Or even a connection that extended beyond tonight, or maybe tomorrow morning. He didn't need his shit evaluated or psychoanalysed, before it was rocked.
And once the uber pulled up at his place, Chad fucked him anyway.
After all - that was the whole point. That was the fucking win condition.
────────✧────────
Coming into work on Monday, Flambae felt oddly… bashful. Which was crazy - lord knows he’d kept the Z-Team plenty up-to-date with the comings (and comings) and goings of the guys on rotation in his apartment. Once, on a particular quiet shift when all of them were together in the breakroom, he’d even gotten them to do a re-enactment. Golem had provided audio description captions to Robert, where he sat patiently back at his desk.
But maybe it had something to do with the look Alice gave him. There were no texts needed this time as proof - only the hickies on his neck, and a request for her to apply concealer to the bits he’d missed.
“Bitch,” she said, even as she dutifully buffed out the edges to match up to his skintone. “You already in therapy. You got no fucking excuse for whatever the fuck this is.”
“...Gabi actually loves hearing my hook-up stories. So, you know. Joke’s on you.”
“Oh, yeah? And what if she knew they were some straight-cut self-sabotage bullshit? How would she feel about them, then?”
“Oh shit, does that clock say 9.02…?”
Chad put his headpiece in, and pretended not to hear her. Though honestly, he had a reply locked-and-loaded - because you know what would be the real self-sabotage, in his current situation?
Thirsting after your boss. Starting something, with your boss. Getting fired or demoted or moved teams, over something you initiated… with your boss.
“Morning, team,” drawled Robert, the boss in question. “I hope we’re all ready for another week in paradise.”
“Damn, Bob, you sure you should be in today? Shouldn’t ye still be in the hospital?” said Punch-Up.
The man had the telltale edge in his voice, that told everyone he was leading up to a joke. So Robert sighed dutifully, then asked - “...and why would I still be in hospital?”
“Well, you are very fragile, Robert Robertson-” Phenomaman started.
“Nah, bud,” Punch-Up interjected gently, “it’s because of… the blow to his ego! Which might’ve been fatal. Dealt, of course, by our very own Flambae."
“Ah,” said Robert. “I see. Yes, well. I’m still reeling. Officially worse for me, than the two comas."
Chad hated it when you could hear the smug fucking smirk in his voice.
“Thirty seconds, Dan,” Visi said. “Less than. You spent ten minutes. And got shot down. It’s just sad.”
“And in this scenario… it’s a bad thing, that I lasted longer?”
“Hey, hey, hey - no backtalk about my fucking stamina!” Flambae immediately interrupted. “This is a fucking recorded line, and I do not want any of your implied, inaccurate fuckin’ slander leaking in a Bone Zone-ward direction!" He paused. "But also… he didn’t leave til like 10pm. On the Sunday. His first time dealing with a meta-refractory period, apparently. Just… FYI.”
“Ew.” said Visi.
“Glad we made sure the recorded line kept things professional,” said Robert.
“I just want it on record, that I left him very satisfied. And that I go hard. For a very, very long time.”
“...Can you bag the next one, Robert?” Mal said. “So we don’t have to hear any of this shit? Please? For us?”
“...I’ll try my best.” Robert said, dry sarcasm turned up to 100.
“I still don’t understand what happened!” Sonar said. “I thought you were in with a shot! The little arm touch, very smooth.”
“I’d go for it, Bobby. It was a slutty little arm touch, at my end.” said Punch-Up.
“I have learned from my counsellor that initiating physical contact is a key part of forging human connection, Robert Robertson. It is therefore my understanding that you did all of the right things, to signal your attraction to this man.”
“Thanks, team. As you can see, I’m very cut up about it,” Robert sighed. “That’s why I haven’t said anything, whilst you guys won’t shut the hell up.”
“...He said that you asked too many questions,” Flambae blurted, not too sure where the words came from, or why. “Man was just looking for a nice dick to bounce on, not hang out with a police interrogator, or deal with your fucking… lifestyle counsellor bullshit.”
The line went silent for a beat. Bae wondered if he’d crossed a line. Divulging real-life critique - even if it came in the form of constructive criticism. He was just trying to be helpful!
…Whilst admitting he’d talked about Robert, with the guy he was supposed to be hooking up with.
“So… are we all just supposed to act like we believe Bae tops?” Visi interjected, in a snide whisper.
“Bitch, if you want us to keep pretending it’s your tiny underfed ass in the pipe-laying harness, then you can shut the fuck-”
Robert sighed down the line, cutting Chad off, and said, “listen, all that proves is that I’m not built for casual hook-ups. Which is actually something I already knew about myself. It's why I picked a guy I knew Flambae would like, so at least no one would end the night disappointed.”
Flambae blinked, at the implications of this new information. Alice looked him dead in the eye, as she said. “So… you set him up, that’s what you’re saying?”
In under three seconds, she mouthed at Chad.
Which… yeah. Was kind of embarrassing. He hated whenever Robert read him for filth. He had things he didn’t need that little bitch seeing, and any time he picked up on something else it always led to panic.
“From what I could tell, Marcus wanted to get laid, Chad wanted to feel good about himself, and all I wanted, was some peace and quiet. As always, I was realistic about everyone’s goals and objectives, and did my best to accommodate,” Robert replied smoothly. “Everyone… other than the morons who lost, betting on a losing dog, of course. You guys need me to settle up at all? I’ll pay out this time, if that’s what it takes for this to stop.”
“...Nah.” said Visi, a little too quickly for Flambae’s liking. “This bill has kind of spiralled… a little out of control. You couldn’t foot it, even if you wanted to. Sorry.”
“We’re betting on something different now, anyway,” Prism suddenly announced.
Bae span to look at her: “...Wait, what?!”
“The pot’s the biggest it’s ever been,” Prism informed everyone serenely. “So, we want the stakes to reflect that.”
“That… isn’t as reassuring as you think it is,” Robert said, dryly. “Does it still involve conning members of the public?”
“You’ll see, baby. Just bring your A-slash-Z-game to the next night out, and then we can get to work on protecting your peace.”
“Or getting you a boyfriend. Whichever you prefer,” said Mal, sounding smug.
“Yeah… I’ll pass, on that,” Robert said, tiredly, “I realise who I’m talking to here, oh Council of Lamps, but could you all stop meddling in my personal life? I get the good intentions - well, from everyone but Bae - but I do, in fact, know myself. When I start dating, it’ll be with someone I picked out, not who you all chose for me.”
When I start dating.
Not if. When.
“But… Visi said you're not ready for a relationship,” Chad said, voice sounding dumb to his own ears.
…Another silence, on the line.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Guy Fieri, are you fucking-”
“Well, then…” said Robert. “...If that’s what you think, that must explain why I'm not currently getting any. So, is everyone ready to move on now?”
And he was still so fucking unruffled.
Would that confidence ever be shaken - and if not, then did it have to happen, one millimetre from Chad's fucking eardrum? It would really help him, if he could see his dispatch go back to being a fucking loser, just once.
────────✧────────
The next ten days were so fucking crazy, that Chad almost forgot that whole conversation - and even worse, the ominous fucking smile on Alice’s face.
But there was no time to fucking dwell on it. Shit was too busy hitting the fan.
Some upstart loser from Fremont launched their wannabe supervillain takeover of the Bay Area, which then started a turf war with all the other major players in the vicinity. It lasted six days, and meant that everyone on the West Coast who could fly was drafted and forced to commute to San Francisco, for an insane series of shifts. It was a little like when Shroud had tried to take Torrance… except that the LA branch could like, clock out at the end, because it wasn’t happening to their fucking hometown.
Chad (for whom flying those kind of distances took serious fucking fuel) collapsed into his bed face first for twelve hours every fucking night, and barely had time to think of anything, except for how much he hated working with dispatchers and heroes who weren’t ex-con, or ex-con adjacent. When they were firefighting a dispute between two enemy factions in San Pedro on Day Three, he’d pointed a decision out over comms that he thought the underdog was likely to make. His helpful suggestion was met with a solid wall of silence that might as well have been transcribed on record as: everyone judges me for not being 100% squeaky clean and morally pure, and debates sending my ass back to prison for fucking thought crimes.
The annoying thing was, he’d been right. Sometimes, it helped to know how villains’ minds worked.
So Chad would be side-eyed, fucking shift after shift; would run himself ragged just getting to work... and would wake up to a mouthful of his silk pillow, no guarantee that he'd successfully undressed the night before, with texts from Robert that said things like:
Mecha Bitch
I checked whether if points transferred before I left, and the good news is: they’re weighted.
I know it sucks, but keep up the good work.
(This came with a photo of Flambae’s name three lines higher on the Torrance leaderboard, and a time stamp that told Chad this normie loser was somehow working longer days than he was.)
He tried not to feel any kind of way about Robert reaching out, at the exact point in each day when his own motivation reached rock-bottom.
Me
Jfc bitch get some fucking sleep ur not even in the field
(...Nailed it.)
Chad had a delayed weekend once it was all over, that he mostly spent in a perpetually-heated bubble bath. But even in the aftermath, there was still no rest for the presumed-to-still-be-wicked.
LA crime had spiked, whilst SDN numbers were thinner on the ground and attention was divided. Wannabe World Dominator of the Week’s key associates had fled the scene of his premature victory ejaculation, and were doing their level fucking best to get out of San Francisco and away from all the shiny new enemies they’d made. The shiny new enemies of course followed, which led to three separate curbstomp battles in LA - one of them there in Torrance - and a bunch of infrastructure damage across the downtown area that SDN forked out their time to.
Honestly, Chad kept up the twelve hours of sleep where he could. It was the only self care he had left in him, after a near fortnight of hell.
With that, a series of dangerous stars started to align. The Z-Team was spread wafer thin, and becoming pissed off in overtime. Chad was too exhausted to check Grindr, leaving him tired and pent up. He was lonely, after rotating shifts with strangers he couldn’t build any kind of rapport with; grateful, when he returned, and had the reassuring presence of Robert’s voice there in his ear. With no time for anything, other than the next fucking job.
…And they all fell into place, when things finally settled down, and the Z-Team had their first two days of calm after their Category 5 workplace hurricane.
The first day, everyone was too fucking tired to do anything about it. Comms were so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Punch-Up napped, practically curled in Coop's lap. Everyone was simply relieved to be seeing a quieter run to the weekend, and to actually perch their ass on the breakroom couch for longer than their mandated fifteen minutes.
The second day, they became restless.
“...Drinks tonight after work?” Flambae asked down the line, as the final ninety minutes came into view.
“Oh, HELL yes, boo,” said Prism.
“Fuck yea.”
“Fucking... please.”
“I need to get drunk, and then, I need someone to hold me,” said Sonar, “this week made me wish I’d stayed with Shroud.”
“Dude.” said Visi. “Too soon.”
“...Also, you’re technically not allowed to drink,” added Mal.
“...But the hug can be arranged,” offered Bruno.
“I’ll get the first two rounds,” Robert said. He was still calm and collected, but even his voice frayed at the edges with tiredness. It made him sound better, which shouldn't be possible. “The last week has been ass for everyone. Might as well put the overtime pay to good use.”
Everyone’s outfits were well overdue at the on-site dry cleaners’, after a week of hard use, so they all agreed to head home and change before going out. Chad did the full routine that was required to make him feel human again, then added a couple of extra steps that would guarantee he’d get laid. Even though it took him nearly two hours, the fact he was flying somehow meant he was still the first to arrive at the bar Visi had picked out for everyone. It was some weird converted warehouse type-beat, with cheap fake-hardwood interiors, overly dim lighting, and long tables spread out across the floor and mezzanine. Kind of like if hipsters managed a prohibition-era barn conversion.
Vibe was weird, but Chad got the logic: each of the tables was fucking huge, and the high ceilings meant Golem would have plenty of room to come in and sit down, which was probably why his bestie had chose it. Chad didn’t wanna be sat at one of those giant tables alone though, so settled himself in a corner by the door. He was idly scrolling through insta when the first person arrived, tugging lightly on his sleeve.
“Took you fucking long enou- Bitch, what the fuck?”
Robert was stood there next to him. Two minutes past the hour - still insanely punctual. Clean-shaven, smelling off his boring-ass cotton-y deodorant, and that cologne Chad was pretending not to notice.
In a suit.
A motherfucking suit.
It was gunmetal grey, over a loose collared black shirt with the top two buttons left undone. And unfortunately, like all of Robert’s clothes these days, it fit.
Whilst the Bob-Bob 3.0 of fifteen months ago would probably have drowned in it, looking like a scrawny kid playing dress up, or a man with no clue how to style himself, the look now was kind of devastating. So much so that it would’ve probably been overkill, if it wasn’t for the way he held himself: not awkward or out of place (which was the way he should have felt), but calm and casual - homely, even. As though clearly not realising anything had changed, and that he was accidentally turning into a total smokeshow.
“...The fuck you looking all James Bond for?” Chad said, dumbly.
“Coop actually picked this one out for me, and I think she was thinking more… k-drama, at the time?" Robert said, glancing down at himself. "I got that text from Prism, telling me to dress my best,”
He stopped picking at his own lapel, and looked at Chad, for just a second or two more than was polite.
“Did you… also get the text, telling you to dress up?”
Chad looked down: sheer shirt, tight leather trousers, gold bars threaded through his ears and nipples, glinting in the light. Hair still up in a high pony - but only so that some lucky bitch be the one allowed to pull it loose later, and probably come in their pants about it, or whatever.
“Bitch, you know this is just how I dress.” Chad replied, rolling his eyes.
But when he looked back up from his own torso towards Robert, he caught the way the guy’s gaze had to drag itself upwards to meet his eyes again. Sticky as treacle, as though magnetised to his body.
Which, you know... made sense. It was a killer fucking body.
And if a wave of warmth went through Chad’s shoulders at catching Robert finally taking notice, well, that was because it was also a hot body. Figuratively, and literally. He staunchly ignored how the look lingered, and pretended not to have caught his boss out as a closet pervert and chest-admirer.
“Well… it looks phenomenal on you,” Robert replied easily, giving his crooked half smile. “Why change what works, I guess?”
- Turned out it didn’t matter that Chad had caught him out, because he was just straight up surrendering information Chad would take to the grave, like it was a casual compliment.
Everything going on with Chad’s body (with his fire powers, which were normal) immediately got ten times worse. Normally, he would just conjure some kind of mean comeback and get on with it - or, you know, invent a convoluted bet to get himself out of the situation.
In this case, all he had was silence. Of the dumb-fuck (or fucked-dumb) kind.
It went on long enough for Robert to fucking notice.
He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, before saying: ‘So .. you thinking of moving to San Francisco?”
That hit Chad like a spark to tinder.
“Bitch,” he said. “I. will. kill. you. Do you know how many naps I had to take, burning myself out like that? That’s a ninety minute fucking flight, fucking each way. My commute to Torrance is four. Four Minutes, Bobert. I was eating, like, 9,000 calories a day. Doesn’t matter that I used it all, do you know how many zits that kind of change in diet causes? Bloated to shit, and still running on fucking fumes, I swear to God-”
-“Yeah.” Robert him gave that grin again. “Real bad week for Malevola to have been off sick.”
“...Fuck. You’ve pissed me off, now. I need a fucking drink,” Chad said, striding towards the bar.
He needed to get away from that stupid fucking smile. Unfortunately, the owner of it fucking followed him.
“So, if we’re both dressed to the nines…” Robert said, “I’m guessing that means it’s time for another rematch?”
Chad paused. Shit, he really had forgotten - and like Robert, suddenly found himself wishing other people had also moved the fuck on by now. He was too fucking tired to be charming. Like yeah, he wanted to get laid tonight. But that was private, unless he chose otherwise. And Prism’s judgement was starting to wear a little thin. He wasn’t really interested in all of this becoming a… thing.
“I wonder what they’re betting on now,” Robert drawled. “If it’s, you know, different from last time.”
“-Listen. I can get them to stop, if you want,” Chad suddenly blurted.
At Robert’s raised eyebrow, he looked away: “It’s just not that good a bit anymore.”
“Whereas it started out hilarious-”
“-I didn’t realise it was, like, a thing for you,” Chad said. “The ‘casual relationship’ thing. Just thought it’d be funny to see your lack of game in action… but if it’s actually making you fucking uncomfortable, then it was my stupid idea in the first place. I can get it to stop.”
“Well, that’s awfully mature of you,” the worst thing was, Robert’s dry and sarcastic voice did sound genuinely pleased, like this was in fact growth for him. “But... it really doesn’t matter, at my end. Like I said before: whatever you need.”
Well. That wasn’t actually what he’d said, (‘as long as you’re having fun’). And Chad did not like hearing those words from him now. It had been too long a week, for people to be making those kind of offers when sober.
“Listen, Bob-Bob,” he said, “no need to play it all fucking noble. I’ll just get them to quit it-”
“-Only if you want that,” Robert immediately countered. Like an asshat.
…Chad was rapidly recognising the hole he’d dug himself into. He knew one when he saw one: he was a tried-and-tested hole-digger. This had gone on too long to admit why it started in the first place, and if he said he wanted it to stop… even if he didn’t have to explain himself, then that was basically admitting defeat.
The only safe way out. Was down.
“Ok then, bitch, listen-” he hissed down at Robert, frustrated. “Either you call it off, if that’s what you wanna do, or you actually put the fucking effort in. We thought you were last time, but it turns out all that was was some kind of a weird fucking mindgame, and even the fucking armtouch wasn’t you actually trying. If we have a proper competition - like I asked for in the first place - then maybe they’ll finally be satisfied, and move the fuck along.”
“Right,” Robert nodded sagely. “Because this is about them.”
“Bitch, I am offering you an out!”
“So… let me get this straight: you actually want me to flirt with whoever they end up picking.”
“Yes.” Chad said shortly - mostly in the hope of getting him to shut up. He didn’t like the direction this line of questioning was going in.
“...Even if it ends up with them choosing me over you - which means you getting rejected, publicly, and probably finding that humiliating. Whereas I don’t want to win, and literally don’t care?” Robert prompted.
…Oh.
That actually made a lot more sense, than what Chad had been thinking.
He didn’t like the twinge of disappointment it left him with, though - except that ignoring it also gave him motivation to barrel on through.
“Oh, please, bitch,” he said. “I’m fucking sick of you thinking I get my wins because you fucking hand them to me. You can wear all the pretty clothes you want, like I said: you have no fucking game. I do.”
“...Sure.”
“See - that’s - that’s what I mean! Your ass can’t go round acting all fucking superior, if you’ve never actually tried. Put your money where your fuck-ass mouth is, bitch. Let’s actually do this shit properly, for once.” Chad faltered, then added: “Unless, like, you really, really don’t want to. Or you have weird stuff to work through, about liking men, or coming out, or whatever. Only if this is actually-”
Chad stopped mid-sentence, as Robert burst out laughing. It was fucking plosive, the way it burst out of him. Chad actually felt a hint of concern - dis-bitch-aptcher might be bulkier now, but his skeleton was still probably fucked. So… hopefully Bobert didn’t pull anything, as he laughed loud and long enough that the bartender - who’d finally got round to them, stupid long bar in a stupid warehouse set-up - flinched in surprise, along with Flambae right across from him.
“What, bitch?” he said. “What the fuck?”
“Chad… my first kiss was with a boy,” Robert said to him, wiping at his eyes, “I did the bi thing the real fun way round. Jesus. Why do you think my relationship with my father’s so fucked?”
And then, he ordered both their drinks, without asking Chad what he might want.
…He got the order right, regardless.
Chad was blushing. He felt really fucking stupid.
He glanced around the bar.
…Nobody else from the Z-Team was here yet.
Chad looked around, again. The mood lighting of this place was off the fucking charts. Robert was standing next to him, looking like he’d stepped out of a photoshoot - and Prism had been the one who told him to make himself up like that. And - and this bitch was apparently a career long men-enjoy, a real for-lifer - and no one else was here yet-
“Uh, hey." Chad cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling the back of his neck heat under his collar. “If they told you to wear that fucking suit, and we’re the only two people actually here, do you think they maybe-”
- He was interrupted when the door to the bar burst open, rattling nearly off its hinges
“Hey bitchessssssssssss!” shouted Sonar, shirt already undone around his tie, clearly high on fucking something. Malevola portalled in to his left, leaving a ash-smudge on the battered metal wall as she herded Prism through, and Visi and Bruno followed in, behind her. “Who’s ready to not fly to San Fransisco!?”
“Ah.” Robert said calmly next to him. “There they are.”
────────✧────────
…Chad was sulking.
Chad was aware he was sulking.
It had been stupid to think this was any kind of fucking set-up.
Everyone had been late, because all these fuckers were fucking riddled with ADHD - and only Visi (fucking Visi) was medicated. It turned out they were here, because she wanted to bang one of the women behind the bar, that she’d met at a tattoo parlour that got robbed last week.
But no matter how brief the thought had been, the fact that had even occurred to him - and apparently no one fucking else - threw Chad totally off his game.
That was the only reason events of the night were going in the direction they were currently.
The whole Z-Team had ended up at one of those booth tables, along with a very hassled-looking Mandy - who’d been coordinating efforts across the SDN California network for back-to-back fourteen-hour days, and still looked slightly rumpled, even when dressed up. The liquor came quickly, with two bosses present to foot the bill, and that meant things quickly descended into their usual shenanigans and organised chaos. Chad had been too busy glaring at everyone in self-inflicted offence, to pay much attention to the announcement of who he and Robert were being set upon tonight. All he knew was that the Z-Team were back to picking, and Robert once again volunteered to go first.
“And,,, to be clear,” he said to Chad, “you want me to try and win this? I’ll be asking to take them home, only put them in an uber.”
Chad could’ve cringed at how relieved that little added sentence made him feel. He glowered his way through it rather than risk another treacherous blush, and nodded.
“Fuck sake, Mecha Dick,” he said, “if only there’d been this much fucking negotiation, when you took my fingers and put my ass in jail. Had no problem with just winning and humiliating me, then.”
Robert gave him an unintelligible look - it actually got weirdly hurt towards the end. He sighed, then got up from his chair. Chad noticed how his face caught the light, and how his shoulders fucking moved, in the confines of his stupid suit - and looked away quickly, down to the fake-ass mahogany tabletop.
- And when he looked back up, he saw Robert was sat, with another fucking blonde. This one was kinda… mousier, in a soft white sweater, with longer hair and a pair of thin glasses perched on his nose. Kind of pale - the kind that blushed super easily, and gave everything away. The two of them were sat on stools together at the bar - and the first time Robert laughed, his knee touched the other guy’s, from the angle at which his body moved. The other guy’s face went fucking beetroot.
“I told you,” Visi announced in an obnoxiously loud voice, two chairs down from him. “If he doesn’t do the casual fuckboy thing, then we just needed to find him a non-casual, non-fuck boy.”
It transpired, that she’d asked the girl with the lip piercing who she wanted in-pants access to, if she had any single guy friends who were looking for a relationship.
That’s who Glasses was.
Small, slim-built, pale. Aryan-fucking-fair. Non-casual, non-fuckboy…
…The opposite of Chad, basically.
And the two of them kept talking.
And talking.
Jesus, it just kept going. Robert flagged down a staff member, and got them both another drink.
Chad had no idea if Robert was following his own request, and pulling out all the fucking stops. Only Visi or Mandy would've been able to confirm or deny.
But he was definitely acting differently than he had in the previous encounter with Mark. In hindsight, he’d still been kinda… stiff then, still treating Mark like he was a confirmed stranger, and maybe even a chore. Here, he bypassed all of that entirely - and went straight in for the fucking kill. Chad felt a little bit of unease, just watching him. It was slightly uncanny - like watching someone get out of the right side of the bed for once, not the ‘depressed, exhausted, bored by the entire world side’ - and also just… well.
Chad shifted his legs under the table. He didn’t want to talk about.
“Ohohohohohoho,” said Punch-Up, at one point.
“I know, right? If it wasn’t an oof it would be a woof, know what I mean?” added Mal in agreement, actually fanning herself with a grin. “He looks so fucking good in that suit.”
Chad neither agreed, or disagreed… he had an awful fucking feeling that it wasn’t the suit.
Robert was actually... kind of decent, at talking to people. He had a natural charm on comms, for sure - that kind of dry charisma designed to buffer out the insanity of the team, but that still had to be strong enough to match it as counterweight.
And this was him turning all… that, straight up to 100%, without the manufactured artfulness of it becoming some kind of corporate schmooze. He was giving poor Glasses a lot of dangerously authentic smiles, leaning in all conspiratorially as he made the other guy laugh, and then laughing along with him. The two of them kept inching closer and closer together at the bar, like they were the only two people in the room.
Chad could feel himself getting nauseous. No arousal left. He folded his arms just above his stomach, as the temperature around him ticked up a few degrees.
“Careful, Calcifer,” said Visi, “nobody likes a sore loser. Or property damage.”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Chad snapped, throwing out a hand. “I invented this… this whole fucking thing! You think I’m worried? I literally told him to do this.”
“Oh, really?” Alice hummed, “then when they get married, maybe you’ll get to give a speech, boo. Do you think setting them up makes you best Man material?”
Chad spun in his chair to glare at her. She levelled him with a single, knowing look.
“Y’know what? Good for Bobito!” Sonar said, leaning back in his chair. “The guy looks a little pathetic, but maybe the non-threatening thing works for him - and he deserves to let loose, you know? Seemed like those first few months at SDN were crazy for him - from what I saw of them, of course. Then, it’s like he scaled everything back. He’s been getting kinda… straight-laced ‘round us lately.”
“Oh…” said Mandy, “that was our fault, actually. The HR training you all got sent went out to managers too, and came with two extra modules. There was actually a lot of discussion, around whether out-of-hours stuff like this could even take place, outside of company approved times and locations. To be honest, he still breaks a lot of rules for you guys. But I think he’s been trying to keep a more professional distance where he can, to make up for it.”
“Huh.” Punch-Up tilted his head. Chad wondered if it was in relation to this revelation, which was certain giving him some shit to recalibrate at his end, but then he continued, “...Guys. Is it me, or does this mark kind of look a little bit like if you crossed Legolas with fucking Waterboy?”
“I - but he’s - do you think - I - wow, really?”
“You think he’s been twink for twink this whole time?” Visi asked the air.
“Boy’s barely even a twink anymore, in my admittedly uneducated opinion,” said Punch-Up. “But have ye seen what he’s been lifting in the gym lately?”
“...It should be my turn already.” Chad muttered.
He didn’t even want to take this guy home - he just wanted this to stop.
“Nahhh.” said Alice. “I think we should let this play out, actually. You got your turn, four times over.”
“Alice-”
“Unless…” she said, turning to him again, “...this isn’t about you trying to win the game.”
This is all your fault, her look said.
Over by the bar, Robert leaned in again to murmur something to the guy, and his hand closed over his casually over top of his, as he did it. It was a step up from the arm touch - and was heralded by a chorus of appreciative “ooooohs” from the Z-Team table. Murmuring something in the other guy’s ear, Bobert raised his free hand to flag down the bartender, as though to settle up.
Chad was standing up, before he even knew what happened.
Only... once he was up, he didn’t move.
He just… kinda… froze in place.
Mortified, as every eye on the Z-Team table turned to look at him.
The expressions on their faces were mostly just confusion, but a few people were more knowing than he would like. Mandy - his real boss, not even his kind-of, sort-of, don’t-think-too-hard-about-it boss - looked downright sympathetic. Which was just… oh god. Kill him. That woman made decisions about his fucking salary. She didn’t need to know him like that. Otherwise, she might pay him less.
Underneath all their stares, Chad felt briefly and brutally exposed. He hadn't said anything, but it was still like he’d admitted something humiliating out loud.
And… there was nothing he could do about it. It was already done.
The rapt audience served one purpose: the scales about which part of this was embarrassing suddenly tipped.
Right. Chad started forward, hands in fists by his sides. He acted like it was what he’d been intending to do all along. He’d already given himself away now, over something small, like a fucking idiot. But it wasn't like they could guess why.
So… he’d just go over there, ask to speak to Robert, have a quick conference that made it look like he was querying the rules, and then… he’d sit down again.
(Behind him, Prism leaned over and whispered to Visi, “I fucking told you so.”)
It would be fine! Chad tried to rationalise his panic.
Robert wasn’t leaving with anyone, so it was fine.
…But then, Robert had also watched him leave, with a fuck-tonne bunch of people, and he hadn’t reacted at all, so this was also stupid.
The problem with a man being that so goddamn fucking monotone was that it made him impossible to read. Or he was easy to read, and he just didn’t care. There was nothing Chad could do.
- Except now he was stood by Robert’s table, so he had to do something.
“Hey bitch,” he said, caustic and abrupt. “I need to talk to you.”
Glasses blinked up at him. He looked like an owl made of porcelain. Chad spared him a glance, and even with only that, his ears heated. Whilst Mark had played it off like he was used to being tag-teamed by gorgeous men, it was clear Glasses was feeling like he was out of his depth - or that Christmas had come early, to his Rudolf-no-other-reindeer-games ass. Chad hadn’t been paying much attention to him when he was stood up, but from the way his eyes trailed upwards and upwards, Glasses liked tall people. Which was one area Chad had Bob-Bob fucking beat in. This wasn’t a foregone conclusion, actually.
...Not that it mattered.
Meanwhile Robert was giving him his strongest unimpressed stare. His hands had moved back into his own space, leaving Chad feeling triumphant.
“You’ll get your turn, Chad. I know patience isn’t your strong suit, but-”
“Not him. You.”
Glasses blinked again, this time glancing between the two of them.
“Well, as you can see, I’m busy,” Robert said. “Arthur and I-”
“Arthur?” said Chad. “Like the Aardvark?”
And Glasses went so fucking pink that Chad actually felt like recommending him a foundation. Then, he remembered he wore glasses. Hence the nickname… Hmmm. Unfortunate.
“...One of my parents is a medievalist,” he mumbled.
Meanwhile, Robert spoke over him: “Wow. So, you really do just rely on your looks, huh?”
“Yeah yeah, you caught me. I’m so fucking hot that I didn’t need to bother with having a likeable personality.”
“I thought the whole point of this was to prove you have ‘game’-”
“-But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to you. Bitch.”
“And I told you, I’m busy. And you’re being rude.”
“Arthur doesn’t mind if I borrow you for like, two fucking minutes. Right, Arthur?”
Arthur watched the two of them, like he was spectating a game of tennis, and wasn’t quite sure where the ball had landed. Or if this was Challengers, and the two players should be having sex. He stared dumbly at Chad’s face, at a fucking loss for what to say.
Chad glared.
“...Yeah!” Arthur squeaked. “That sounds… fine.”
“-See?!” Chad said, with an abrupt gesture.
Robert paused, then sighed. He put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry about him.”
Arthur started sweating. Could just be the kid’s constitution, Robert’s weird ‘are ya winning son?’ rizz - or the fact that with the contact, heat started coming off Chad’s shoulders, shimmering like a desert mirage.
“It’s ok!” he replied, unconvincingly. He was becoming more Waterbitch-coded by the minute.
Robert sighed, again, then shook his head almost to himself. He then looked at Chad expectantly, gesturing that he would follow. Chad glanced around. Every fucking space in the bar would have a full Z-Team audience present, right there in the cheap seats, probably throwing fucking popcorn. So, with arms still folded, he led him back to the entrance and outside into the night air. It actually helped - the heat around him dissipated, at about the same time that horrible, nauseous knot in his stomach began to unravel.
“This better be good,” Robert drawled from behind him. “I did warn you this would happen.”
But once they were outside, stood together a few feet from the door, Chad found that that was all he could do. Stand there. Like a loser. At a total fucking loss for words.
Simply relieved that he’d stopped everything from getting worse. Even though not much had been happening in the first place.
Much like at every other point in this process, he had to ask himself - what the fuck am I trying to achieve?
The heat that had been threatening to set his shoulders alight became concentrated in his face, and it somehow became even harder to speak. Robert looked at him with a stupid, expectant expression, and his stupidly dead, baby-bitch-deer eyes.
And the silence stretched out for way longer than Chad knew what to do with.
“...Listen, I’m all for not forcing me to gaslight some poor guy who is clearly just desperate for connection,” Robert said. "But I’m going to need you to give me a good reason for being out here.”
Chad shifted nervously from foot to foot.
“So,” Robert continued, “this was just pure sabotage, huh? Guess I should be flattered I’m that good? Do you even have anything interesting to say - or is Prism just duplicating him, and hiding the real one as we speak?”
“I…” started Chad.
Then stopped.
Robert paused, as well. It was a pause that started off hopeful - like when he left a gap in team meetings and wanted the Z-Team to contribute an idea, and trusted it to be something he could actually work with. It was almost like he thought Chad would have something useful to say, which was way more faith than he had in himself.
Then, nothing happened, and he started looking blatantly confused.
“...Good talk, Chad.” he muttered. He hugged his own arms, rather than reaching out to pat him on the shoulder condescendingly, or touch him at all like the way he had the guy inside.
He glanced back towards the door, started to move-
Chad’s hand snapped out, and grabbed hold of Robert's arm. Just like when he’d stood up from the table inside, he didn’t make a conscious decision. It just…happened. In fact, he started looking at his hand like it was a fucking traitor, whilst Robert grimaced in a way that suggested the grip was either stronger or warmer than he might like.
“I think the Once-And-Future Twink can stand wait a couple of minutes,” Chad bit out.
Even if it hurt, Robert didn’t bother trying to shift out of the grip. Instead, he gazed up at him laconically.
“It’s probably saying a lot, that I’m impressed you could pull out that kind of reference.”
“I - you - bitch, you and Phenomaman both talked about reading the fucking book, on lunch that one time. Plus, that BBC show was like, so fucking gay. Give me some fucking credit, I mean please.”
As he was bitching, Chad forced himself to calm down, and did his best to loosen his grip. When he did, Robert brushed himself down, and carefully straightened out the sleeve of his suit. But he stayed where he was, smiling almost despite himself. “Shame you didn’t mention it back there. Because, I’ll be honest… I don’t think I even need to try winning this one, after the shit you just pulled.”
It’s not about winning, Chad thought.
Only… it was, a little.
And he was better than a lot of people, but especially someone who wore a white sweater to the club.
“If you started dating someone and it didn’t work out,” he said, suddenly, “would you ruin their life?”
Robert looked baffled by the random change in topic. “...What. Don’t tell me you’re worried about Arthur?”
“You wouldn’t, right?” Chad said. “You’d just give them your big fucking sadboy eyes and go all ‘it’s not you, it’s me', then root for them like you do Invisibitch.”
“...Um. Courtney and I never dated.”
“Right. Because you’re 'emotionally unavailable'.”
“Nooooo, because my being nice to people who really need it got vastly misinterpreted, to the point where I’m scared to say 'bless you' when someone sneezes on comms, in case that counts as a HR violation.”
“But… you didn’t let any of that ruin her career,” Chad said, mostly to himself. “Hell. She fucking blew you up, and you didn’t let it ruin her career.”
“Chad… where the fuck is this going?”
Confidence.
- Chad knew what he liked, what he aspired to be around, and invite into his life - and he also knew what sold.
“I… don’t think you should go back inside,” he said, carefully.
Robert rolled his eyes. “I swear, if this is all happening because you’re that afraid of losing some dumb, made-up-”
“-I think you should leave here with me, instead."
Robert choked on the rest of sentence, as Chad added: "Right now. Together.”
“...What?!”
Chad leaned back, cocked his weight onto one hip, and gave Robert an up-down so leering and blatant that it was probably seen from space.
“If you’re not interested, then that’s totally fine - we can go back inside and carry on with our evening, and we can pretend like this never happened. And if you are interested, then it can be whatever you want it to be. Casual… but you don't like that. So... not casual. I like you, and I find you attractive. I’m down for most things, if you’re the one I’m doing them with. But if you do this, and it all goes wrong, you cannot let it backfire on my ass, and it cannot affect that payrise we discussed me gunning for, last month. You still need to help me. If you let personal shit get in the way of my work, after I’ve spent a full year working for fucking Mecha Man, with zero fucking complaints, I will burn your house - flat - office cubicle down to the fucking ground. I swear to God, I will kidnap your dog. So either you go all in, and I match it 100%, and you have the best fucking time of your life. Or we call it here and move on, because I am not going back to prison over a fucking break up, with White Man of The Year.”
For the first time in his life, Chad used his steam-rolling powers for good.
Robert stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Go all in on what, Chad?” he said incredulously. “You… like me? The last month has been us competing over who could get laid the quickest - with other people.”
“Yeah… I kind of fucked this one up, not gonna lie,” Chad said, shrugging, trying his best to pretend his heart wasn’t thumping at 300 beats per minute, out his fucking ribcage. “But in my defence, I didn’t even know you fucked with men a month ago. I’m kinda doing my best over here, given the circumstances. You look really nice in that suit by the way.”
Robert’s face was a little less unreadable than usual - his mouth was fully open. Not exactly the reaction you wanted when asking a guy out but… hey. It could be worse, Chad thought. It wasn’t like Robert could go to HR and tell them all about the time he fumbled a baddie. Chad was just glad the dumb silences weren’t living with him anymore.
“...Not interested?” he prompted, when nothing much else happened, “ok, cool. It’s whatever, bitch. Thank fuck that’s done. Just such a relief, honestly. Phew! I was going crazy, over here. You know how fucking stressful it is, having a crush on your fucking boss? Anyway, let’s get back to chatting up the - shit, all I’ve got is aardvark jokes, and that’s kinda -”
A hand reached up, and snagged at the collar of his shirt.
There wasn’t much to snag, in all honesty. Shit was kinda skintight. Having it grabbed and manhandled immediately did something to restrict his airflow. Not that Chad was complaining, as it all pulled taut around him, and the fist at his neck reeled him in closer, forced him down until he was nose-to-nose to Robert’s face.
Which was a whole head lower than his, by the way. And about, what… an inch away? As breath started to ghost the edge of his lower jaw, Chad could feel himself smiling.
Now this. This was familiar ground.
Finally.
“The signals of the past few weeks,” Robert seemed to feel the need to inform him. “Have not been clear.”
Struck Chas as fucking rich, coming from a guy who barely managed to emote on a day-to-day basis.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, not really sounding sorry at all. “I dunno what to tell you. You becoming hot was actually really inconvenient for me.”
With a sound that was definitely a growl of annoyance, Robert gave up on talking, and simply smashed their faces together. For a second, Chad was stunned by how fucking adorable it was. Robert, up close, dark lashes closed and still frowning - his brows all furrowed like he was concentrating really, really hard, or had just unveiled a corporate misconduct - all whilst up on his tippy-toes to make up the height difference. And then he realised oh fuck, Robert is kissing me, and quickly lost himself in a fantasy that he would admit had plagued him for nearly half a fucking year.
Robert’s mouth tasted like leathery old-man Bourbon, and it was not interested in being gentle. Chad learned quickly that the feral fucker liked when the smile had bite to back it up, when there was teeth. And he was not a fan of yielding. When Chad went straight in for the ass-grab (new and improved), Robert moaned - low enough, that Chad felt it fucking everywhere, and then suddenly his tongue was pressed up against the roof of Robert's mouth. But that just made Robert cling onto him tighter, and lick his own way inside as well. Chad blindly moved them towards the wall, and was relieved when they actually made it, in under five paces, because he had no idea if he was even going the right way.
He'd tried to be controlled about it, but Robert still let out a soft ooft as his body hit the metal side of the warehouse. Chad was trying to think of a way to move back and maybe like, apologise, when the hand mangling his collar moved upwards and into his hair instead, almost as retaliation. Robert took the meat of the ponytail in one hand, and Chad’s mouth dropped in a desperate gasp as he felt the sensation of Robert wrapping it up tight, once around the knuckles, like he was about to go to the punching bag. The pressure tingled hard in Chad's scalp, as Robert moved him where he wanted him to go.
Chad had been imagining someone at the start of the night, losing themselves over the chance to play with his hair. Had the image in his mind been Robert, from the start?
Robert, loosening up the hair tie. Robert, letting it frame his face, and watching it the whole time. Robert, coming in his expensive suit trousers, over the chance to-
“Wait.” said Robert.
Chad blinked, as suddenly they weren’t fucking kissing anymore.
But he was still being handled by the ponytail - like it was a fucking leash. Robert had pulled his face back, to look at him. Fuck knew how fucked out he looked right now, just from some kissing.
“Fucking… what... bitch?” He asked, trying his best not to pant too hard, and to sound annoyed, rather than desperate.
“I’m just… is all this because you didn’t mean to say that ‘hot’ thing out loud, back at the Sardine, that one time? It can’t be, right? Is that really what happened?”
“I - bitch, is that what you were thinking about?!”
He felt a dangerous flush ghost the upper half of his face - that became fucking thermonuclear, when he was manoeuvred forward, still by the hair, in order for Robert to examine the reaction more closely.
“Oh, baby,” he said, with a dangerous, poleaxed grin on his kiss-smashed mouth. “All this, just to avoid telling me I'm pretty? What's so bad about being sweet, every once in a while?”
The warehouse was metal, but Chad could’ve burned the whole fucking thing down in that moment - either out of fucking spite, or as a total involuntary reaction.
“I -” he sputtered, “you - bitch-!”
Robert smirked up at him. “...Liked that one, huh?”
“You’re- you are not supposed to have any game. You don't even know how to flirt!”
“Yeah… about that. I know how to flirt,” Robert said, calmly, with even a flinch or a blush as he stared Chad down. He tugged his hair, once, almost thoughtfully, and Chad fought the urge to let his eyes roll back. “I just didn't care, before. I only make the effort, in the moments that matter. For the people who are important. Like you could be,” he paused, meaningfully, before adding, “sweetheart.”
Chad had no idea what noise he fucking made - only that it happened, and afterwards, it was ringing in his ears, and Robert was grinning like the sadistic fuck he truly was. He glanced down to below Chad’s belt, and Chad wished he hadn’t, as the flush of heat lingering in his face went full body.
“See how much you like feeling important?” Robert smirked harder. “It'd be dangerous, if I was just doing that to everyone, all the time. They'd never let me back into SDN.”
“Y-yeah,” said Chad through gritted teeth. “The hair-pulling kink seems… a little fucking inappropriate.”
“But you like it though?”
“...Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”
“And you like a lot of things. You were just too embarrassed to tell me.”
“I - Robert, I am not above killing you.”
“Really?” Robert leaned in, still with that fucking grip on his hair. “But I thought that was only if things 'didn’t work out'. Don’t you trust me? Or… is it your game, maybe, that you’re worried about?”
────────✧────────
Ten minutes - and another, louder, odd warbled thump that carried all the way to the very top of the warehouse’s metal wall - later, and Arthur Reynolds had to admit to himself that neither of the guys he’d apparently been talking to earlier were going to be coming back.
…You know. There’d been a lot of low points, since he’d broken up with Gabe nine months ago. But it was safe to say, having a ‘we really liked your vibe’ moment happen to him in full fucking reverse really took the prize. When Raya got off shift, she was buying him ice cream. And pizza. He was going to hold this over her until he’d gotten all the free drinks he possibly could out of the shitty new place where she worked.
…He was happy for the guy who'd just stood there with his tits out, at least. Maybe Art should follow his example, and get his tits out more often. But then, he wasn’t built like a Greek God. Or an asshole, who clearly didn’t care about what other people thought of him.
For now, he finished his own drink, then thought fuck it, and finished what was left of Robert’s old man whiskey as well, coughing and choking on the dregs.
“...Hey, man, you good? Can I buy you a drink?”
Arthur put his forehead against the heel of his hand and said, “no. No. I think I’m fine, thank y-”
And then he turned, and found himself looking at… a bat in a suit.
He blinked.
The bat in the suit blinked back at him.
“Are you sure, my guy?” he asked him, with his bat mouth, that was saying human words. “I feel kinda... bad for you. Me and my friends will get you your drinks for the rest of the night, if you like, to make up for it?”
Arthur glanced behind him where he was pointing, then blinked at him a couple more times, wondering how he’d missed the full on bat at the table with the - was that a demon lady, and - and literal Phenomaman? - then said, in what he thought was a valiant effort: “...um. Ok? Sure?”
“Heh, awesome,” said the bat in a suit, and then sat down in the now vacant seat next to him. Arthur swallowed. “Listen… I hope there’s no hard feelings, ok? We had a communication problem we were trying to fix, but honestly did not think you would get caught in the crossfire like that. Like, fuck me, man. Who knew Robert had game?”
“Um, yeah,” Arthur could feel himself getting red, “he was very nice-”
“But listen - now we’ve sorted that one out, the Z-Team’s got something new on the agenda-”
The bat in the suit turned to him, and held out his - why the fuck did he have human hands?!
“So hey, man. I’m Victor,” the man-bat said. “And you’re gay, so… I’m wondering if you could help me with something?”
“Um... I’m actually bi?” Art said, at a squeak.
“Oh, shit, really?” Victor smiled. “Even better, my guy. Even better.”