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It wasn't really something he thought about, not often at least. He knew it was still there, but at the same time it was all too easy to forget about. Out of sight, out of mind, he supposed.
Sometimes he wished he'd had the brains to say no all those years ago when it'd been offered, although he hadn't been (and still wasn't) the type to say no to free things. He could've had it removed- or at the very least covered up- when he had money, but with how expensive either option had been, Robert elected to continue pooling it towards keeping the mech functional over his own comfort and. . . Physical preferences. As it was, the markings only served as a reminder of Robert's brainless younger self.
It was also perfect grounds for bullying.
He'd gotten to SDN early, after a sleepless night and a little too much caffeine, with nothing better to do than hit the gym. With Beef safely napping in his cubicle and seemingly nobody else around to judge him, Robert spent the early hours of the morning doing the usual song and dance of regaining his muscle mass. He wouldn't ever get back to his pre-coma build, but he could at least get somewhere close and that was enough for him.
It's something Robert had been working on since he got the job. He wasn't there as often as he could be, just enough to make a difference. He partially blamed Flambae for that. The walking matchstick was unnervingly territorial, always chasing Robert out if he spent too long in the room. Prism had mentioned offhandedly that he was trying to make sure Robert didn't trip and die, but he wasn't sure he believed her.
He'd just finished a set, without crushing himself (fuck you very much Flambae), when someone interrupted the blissful silence.
“What have I been telling you, bitch?” Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.
Robert set the weight back in place with a hefty click, using the bar as leverage to pull his aching body up.
“Something about not hurting myself, which, I'll have you know, didn't happen,” Robert said, gesturing to himself theatrically.
Flambae scoffed, arms crossed over his ample chest and weight shifting to cock a hip out, the pose very similar to something an annoyed mom would do.
“You just got lucky this time, Bob-Bob. What would you even do if you were crushed? Scream like a little bitch?” He sneered, leaning into Robert's personal space.
Robert shrugged his shoulders, meeting Flambae's challenging glare with his own dead-eyed look.
“I'd probably just let it happen,” He spoke dryly.
Not like it would happen anyway, Robert knew how to get himself out from under a barbell.
Flambae clicked his tongue and swatted at Robert's shoulder, “Keep that depressing shit away from my bench.” And that was enough incentive for Robert to get up and step away.
Behind him, Flambae groused something about Robert sweating like a pig all over the place, which made him all too aware of how gross he felt.
It was a good thing he hadn't already showered this morning in preparation of this, but still, he felt excessively sweaty.
Without sparing the action much thought, Robert grasped the bottom of his worn hoodie and lifted it up to at least air out. After a second of deliberation, he decided fuck it, and slipped the damp fabric over his head. A sweaty, half nude walk of shame to the showers would cool him off better.
Robert felt eyes on him as he messily folded his hoodie into some semblance of a square, but couldn't think of why until Flambae uttered a baffled, “What.” And then there were hands on his hips.
Ah, shit. That.
“What the fuck is this?” Flambae hissed out, but he sounded more flustered than angry. . . Interesting.
“A tattoo?” Robert kept the obviously he wanted to add to himself. He grabbed the hem of his sweatpants to pull them further up, trying to cover the faded ink on his lower back while attempting to step out of Flambae's hold, but the other man tightened his grip.
“I can see that, captain fuckin' obvious. I mean how long has this been there?” Flambae scoffed, pointer fingers digging into the sparse flesh between Robert's hips and groin that immediately sent sparks of heat down his spine. The larger man's thumbs carved a path just above Robert's ass, presumably tracing the pattern that covered his lower back and trailed across his hips.
Robert froze in place at the almost sensual way Flambae held him, brain losing all function when his thumbs trailed back towards the center of the tattoo.
“Uh,” He'd gotten it done in his early twenties, so. . . “Ten years? I think,” He muttered.
“You think?” Flambae huffed, and Robert could almost hear his eye roll, “Shit, this makes you, like, almost attractive.”
“Alm-ost!” Robert's annoyed response ended with a startled yelp when Flambae's wandering thumbs hooked under his sweats and yanked them down without warning, “What the fuck, man!” He snapped, trying and failing again to step out of the bruising hold Flambae kept on him.
“Goddamn, Bob! This shit keeps going down your asscrack, you practically got your asshole tatted!” Flambae exclaimed, almost sounding excited.
“Yeah, well, I was a stupid kid,” Robert grumbled, “Will you let go?” He had to get away from this absolute menace before he noticed just how hard this interaction made him, Robert's blood rushing south fast enough to make him dizzy.
Robert's hands fell to Flambae's own, struggling to pry them off, when he was pulled back against a sculpted chest. One of his hands- the one Robert had maimed- trailed over Robert's abdomen and down, grasping at Robert's erection.
“Such a little whore,” He whispered into Robert's ear. He nipped lightly at the side of Robert's neck and he could feel the wicked smirk on the man's lips when his dick twitched at the insult, “Oh you like that don't you?” He snickered.
Despite everything in him demanding to stop this now, Robert tipped his head to the side, allowing Flambae to bite harder.
“I can't believe you have a tramp stamp and you didn't tell me, didn't want me to see what a slut you are.” Flambae's voice bordered on a growl, rolling his hips against Robert's back and-
Robert grabbed the man's wrist, pulling it away from his throbbing cock.
“Cameras,” He hissed, eyes flitting over to where he knew there was at least one in the corner.
There was a puff of breath against his bared neck, a hum, then Flambae grabbed the hem of his sweats and bodily dragged him away. Robert had to scramble on his feet to avoid falling ass first and getting properly dragged behind the firestarter.
He didn't even have time to question where they were going before his back was slammed against hard tiles and a hot mouth seared against his own.
The locker room, the showers specifically. The one place that was guaranteed to not have cameras (at least legally). It was Robert's original destination, but he doubted he'd be getting a proper shower anytime soon.
Flambae's lips pressed insistently against his own, teeth dragging along his bottom lip, and Robert lost himself in the push and pull of the kiss.
They broke apart only when air became a necessity, and Flambae's hands were immediately on Robert's small ass, kneading at the skin.
“I'm going to fuck you,” He whispered, voice a demand in the echoing stillness of the locker room.
Robert narrowed his eyes, and in a burst of confidence, lifted a hand up to grab Flambae's stupid ponytail, yanking his head back. The firestarter’s eyes dilated, biting his bottom lip and showcasing the gap between his teeth.
“Ask nicely,” Robert ordered, enjoying the slight hitch in Flambae's breath.
The man's grip on his cheeks tightened, eyebrows twitching like he was annoyed, but the look in his eyes gave away how turned on he was.
“Please, let me fuck you. . . Bitch,” The vulgar word was added as an afterthought, an I'm agreeing to this but I'm still better than you, and Robert sighed but acquiesced.
“Good enough, fucker,” He snarked.
“That's barely an insult if that's what I'll be doing,” Flambae snorted, then dove back in for another kiss.
Robert allowed the other man to explore his mouth, reaching to the side blindly until he found the shower taps. He flicked one on, the hiss and pattering of water hopefully loud enough to drown out whatever noises they may make, on the off chance that someone stumbles across them. The spray sent cold mist over them, but Flambae's unnaturally high body heat washed over him, keeping him warm.
The man's thumbs hooked in his waistband again, this time fully yanking his sweats off. Robert stepped out of them, barely paying attention to where they ended up. He was more focused on getting Flambae's workout clothes off. His tank top left little to the imagination, and Robert already saw his bare chest on the daily, but he could still appreciate the man's well maintained abs and biceps when he was fully bare.
Robert's eyes swept down, but before he could gauge the size of Flambae's dick he was spun around, face pressed against the tiled wall.
“No spoilers, Bob-Bob,” Flambae teased, hands returning to Robert's hips.
“Embarrassed? I should've guessed you have a small dick, with how obsessed you are with mine,” Robert said, flinching when his jabs were met with a harsh slap to his ass.
“Shut the fuck up,” Flambae pinched the aching spot, Robert shuddering at the jolt of pain-pleasure that shot straight to his dick, “You won't be calling it small when you're choking on it later.”
“Jesus christ,” Robert gasped, forehead falling against the wall with a hollow thunk.
“Of fucking course you have a pain kink, you enjoying yourself?” There was another slap, and Robert shuddered out a wholly unexpected moan, “Damn right you are. I bet this is all you think of, you little slut, me beating you until you cum.” Flambae dug his fingers into the reddening spot, pulling another noise from Robert.
“Please,” Robert gasped out, rutting his hips forward.
Flambae hummed, pinching his cheek just to be cruel.
“Please what? Use your words, Bob,” He taunted. Robert groaned, rubbing his dick against the wall for any sort of friction.
“Please fuck me,” He begged.
-~-~-~-~-
“Please fuck me,” Robert practically moaned out, and Flambae almost cracked his knees on the slick floor in his hurry to comply.
Before now he thought the man was only slightly attractive, in that kicked puppy way most depressed white men are, but now that he discovered the fucking tramp stamp on the bitch, it somehow made him so much more fuckable.
The tattoo was a surprisingly beautiful design, black ink faded with age and edges fuzzy, but still eye catching. The central part of it looked almost like an abstract interpretation of an animal skull and a sword all in one, the tip of it continuing well past where a normal tat would end. (He wasn't kidding about it going down Robert's asscrack) The rest of the tattoo resembled stereotypical tribal designs that were popular around the time it was done, the ink curving over Robert's scrawny ass in a way that helped accentuate it, and curving over his hips. It ended in thin, barely visible points aiming at his dick.
Flambae examined the designs, licking his lips as he considered where to start.
“Flambae,” Robert whined, fucking whined at him.
“Be patient,” Flambae snapped back, though his voice lacked its usual heat. Robert just groaned like he was annoyed, humping the wall like a deprived dog.
He scoffed at the pathetic image, but at the same time it was incredibly attractive. He was doing this to Robert, he was making him suffer.
Flambae settled his hands back on the man's thin hips to stop him, then leaned forward to press his lips against his tailbone, right at the tallest point of the faded tattoo.
It was a soft gesture that he hadn't intended on making, but he couldn't take it back now.
Above him, Robert's breaths escaped in little gasping pants, barely audible over the cascade of water next to them. Flambae gazed up at him, taking in the tremble in the shorter man's shoulders and the sweat that beaded at the base of his neck, and trailed his mouth down.
He licked down the sword-esque design, following its point until his tongue dipped between Robert's cheeks and the man choked on a startled noise.
Flambae paused, grinning to himself. Oh he was about to rock his world.
No longer delaying, Flambae spread Robert's cheeks and licked a stripe down to his asshole, dipping into his folds. Robert continued letting out utterly debauched moans while Flambae ate him out, which was all the motivation he needed to insert a finger with the next swipe of his tongue.
The ring of muscle was tight, so much so that Flambae worried he wouldn't be able to get Robert loose enough to actually fuck him. It was painfully obvious that this was either his first time bottoming, or he hasn't done it in a while. Either option was fucking sad.
He pushed his index finger in a little further, frowning when Robert clenched down hard.
“Relax, I can't fuck you if you keep acting like a little bitch.” Flambae kept his tone demeaning, but couldn't help the softness that crept into his voice.
“Sorry,” Robert gritted out immediately, head bowed forward.
Flambae gave him a second to breathe, then pushed his finger up to the second knuckle, Robert exhaling shakily and noticeably relaxing. He nudged a little deeper, tongue prodding at the tight furl. It wasn't often that he ate someone out, because he doesn't trust anybody, but in the moment it felt intoxicating.
Flambae continued stretching the man, eventually withdrawing his tongue and replacing it with a second finger. He expertly prodded along the man's inner walls, curling his fingers until Robert keened, hips stuttering. There. He continued abusing the spot, mouthing at the back tattoo while finger fucking the increasingly more vocal man, until he deemed it good enough and withdrew his fingers.
“No!” Robert whimpered, hips rocking back.
“Calm down, I'm not done yet.” Flambae pinched the reddened handprint imprinted on the man's ass, reveling in the way he shuddered.
Flambae stood, bracing himself with one hand next to Robert's shoulders, and spat into his palm to slick himself up. Without lube, it was better than water, and he didn't actually want to hurt this pathetic white bitch that badly.
He gripped his cock in one hand, the neglected member flushed an angry red and dripping precum as he stroked it.
Flambae groaned softly, rutting into his fist while dribbling more saliva onto his erection. Once he was certain Robert wouldn't immediately fucking die on his dick, he lined himself up and slowly pressed just the head into Robert's hole.
Instantly, the shorter man went stiff, certainly making the slide more painful.
“I know you like pain and all, but fucking relax before you hurt yourself, dumb bitch,” He scolded, leaning down to nip at the nape of Robert's neck.
“‘M’trying,” Robert gritted out, reaching back and grabbing Flambae's hip.
“Not trying hard enough,” He scoffed, tipping Robert's head back to look at him. The other's eyes were glazed over, with both pain and pleasure clouding the whiskey color. His mouth was dropped open in a soundless moan, and Flambae was quick to capture his lips, distracting him.
He licked into Robert's mouth, snickering when the other tried shoving his face away, muttering, “That was just in my ass, fuckhead,” against Flambae's lips.
He dove back in anyway, kissing Flambae like he was trying to fuse their mouths together.
Robert was so enraptured by the clashing of their teeth and tongues that Flambae was able to slowly shove further and further in, thrusting shallowly to help with the slide. By the time he'd nearly bottomed out, Robert tore their lips apart, gasping for air.
“Mmh, fuck,” He moaned, head dropping back against Flambae's shoulder.
The hand on his hip twitched, grip going tight with each drag of his hips.
“Still think I'm small?” Flambae asked, smirking as the other's eyes clenched shut.
Robert only moaned in response, body going lax like he fully trusted Flambae to support him. It was a little startling, having the man limp and soft beneath him, pliable like he didn't care that Flambae had tried to kill him only a few weeks ago. The thought had small flickers of flame licking at his shoulders, but Flambae patted them out before Robert could notice.
He tilted Robert's head to kiss him again, biting at his bottom lip and swallowing his moans as he pulled out to just his tip, thrusting back in all in one go. It pulled a punched out moan from Robert, and he pulled their lips away to press his forehead back against the tile. Flambae took that opportunity to nibble at the man's neck again, peppering it with open mouthed kisses and bites that were bound to bruise and draw attention throughout the day.
All the while he kept up a slow rhythm, only picking up the pace when he was sure Robert was ready for it.
Soon enough the shower barely masked the sounds of skin slapping together and Robert's soft uhn’s as Flambae carved a burning path inside of him. The sounds were almost deafening to him, Robert's pleasure as loud as a siren ringing in his ears.
Only when the smack of their hips turned bruising did Flambae reach for Robert's own cock, swiping his thumb across the weeping tip. He was close, and he could tell Robert was as well. Flambae stroked in time with his thrusts, mind going hazy with lust while he cupped the man's tight balls.
It only took one more stroke for Robert to finish, cum splattering on the wall. Flambae kept his dick in hand, stroking it well past overstimulation until Robert was sobbing, though not pushing his hand away yet.
The sight of tears beading in Robert's lashes had Flambae thrusting a little harder, until the tightening in his gut caught his attention and he pulled out, his spend spraying across the tattoo like he was staking his claim.
He finally released Robert's softened cock, settling his hand on his abdomen instead and holding him up as the man went fully boneless, slumping back against Flambae.
Flambae stood there with Robert, admiring the well-fucked look on his face while they came down from their highs.
When the moment went on a little too long and the sweat on his body began to feel tacky, Flambae stepped to the side and dragged Robert with him, directly under the cold spray of water.
“Shit!” Robert yelped, jolting upright as he was blasted by freezing water. Flambae just laughed at his misfortune, not helping him switch to warm water at all.
Thankfully the water heater in the building was actually decent, so Robert wasn't left shivering for long. It certainly helped when Flambae raised his body temperature, if only to get rid of that kicked puppy look on Robert's face.
“Well that definitely makes the post nut clarity settle faster,” Robert grumbled, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Flambae was slightly distracted watching the water wash his cum off of Robert's absurdly sexy tattoo.
“Regret it already?” Flambae asked, leaning on the wall next to him.
Robert paused, eyes raking up and down Flambae's figure, then his lips quirked into a small grin.
“Nah.”
-~-~-~-~-
When Robert limped walked back onto the dispatching floor, properly scrubbed down, uniformed and clear headed, he felt surprisingly good.
His morning hadn't gone as planned at all, but he couldn't complain.
Rounding the corner to his cubicle, he was met with the rather confusing sight of Beef sprawled out on his rolling chair.
“How'd you get up there buddy?” He chuckled, leaning down to scoop the chunky dog up. The action sent a sharp pain up his spine, but he ignored it in favor of containing the wiggly dog trying to smother his face with affection.
“Thought your ass wasn't gonna show, someone had to cover for you,” Chase joked. Robert turned around to find him hovering over his normal cubicle, arms crossed over his chest but an amused look on his face. He still had Mandy's amulet, but despite eagerly returning to hero work, he still dispatched occasionally. Robert assumed it was just an excuse to make sure he was taking care of himself, since he's apparently awful at that.
“Is that so? Did you have a fun first shift?” Robert smiled, scratching under Beef's chin. The only answer he got from his dog was passing gas, “Yeah, feel you there.” He set the dog down, watching him scamper into Chase's cubicle and settle onto his dog bed, releasing that world weary sigh that all dogs made.
Robert eased himself onto his still-warm chair, gritting his teeth at the burn between his legs.
“You alright kid?” Chase asked, leaning over the dividing wall to squint down at him.
Robert waved him off, sliding his headset on and booting up the monitor so he wouldn't have to explain anything.
The team was up to their usual chatter, conversation flowing about anything and everything, yet somehow in a way that HR would have nightmares about if they actually existed.
Only Flambae was suspiciously quiet, and Robert narrowed his eyes at his image on the roster. He had a feeling the man was going to be an asshole, he just hoped he'd keep this morning to himself.
“You've been awful quiet Bae, what’chu up to?” Prism asked, voice a little muffled like her earpiece wasn't in yet.
A beat of silence.
Don't do it.
“Bob-Bob has a tramp stamp.”
Goddamnit.
Robert sighed, head tipping back and slouching in his chair, willing it to swallow him whole and take him out of his situation.
“All the way down his fucking ass too!” Flambae added, to the delight of everyone else on the team.
Robert ignored the roars of laughter through the headset, moving it down to hang around his neck to delay the inevitable. To his right, he felt eyes burrowing into his soul.
“Please tell me he's bullshitting,” Chase said, and Robert turned to him with a grimace.
“Yeah, um, I was dumb,” He told him in lieu of an actual answer.
Chase let out a bark of laughter, joining the cackling echoing over the comms.
“That's why everyone says to think before you commit! Christ, I never thought you'd do that!” Chase wheezed, wiping fake tears from his eyes.
“Ha ha, laugh it up grandpa, I'm getting it removed,” He pulled the headphones back on, “Thanks for that,” He told Flambae sourly.
“No problem, Robert,” The other spoke his name like it was an insult, not even trying to sound regretful.
Robert rubbed his forehead, squinted at the screen, and assigned Flambae to a Bone Zone interview.
“. . . Okay, yeah, I deserve that one.”
Good to know he has common sense.