Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fiero almost didn't notice the kid at first. Not out of any deliberate effort or desire to ignore him, of course, but… he was a little easy to overlook, even after he joined the Z-Team. The poor bastard was a little too good at slinking along unnoticed in the background, far away from prying and judging eyes. Especially after his first few shifts, doing nothing but awkwardly- if a little ineffectively- trying his best while the rest of the team tore into him like a pack of rabid, bored animals. Fiero found himself feeling a little bad for the guy, all things considered- he knew well enough what it was like to be the new guy in the Z-Team, even though he'd been mostly left alone so far. Either way, the new guy was still the new guy.

And then a very specific call came in on a random Friday afternoon shift- something that felt tailor-made to encourage team building or whatever the fuck Robert liked to drone on about while he worked on dispatching them.

"Waterboy, and… Fiero. Looks like there's a fire developing in a two-level restaurant. The building's sprinkler system is malfunctioning- the lower floor is flooding, fire spreading on the upper floor. There are some trapped civilians. Think you guys can handle it?"

Fiero was already moving before Robert had finished speaking, his combat boots hitting the tiles as he made his way down the hall and toward the exit. The building in question was only a few blocks away from SDN headquarters- apparently not one of the nicer buildings that knew how to not blow itself up, if the call was anything to go by.

He heard hurried footsteps behind him and didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"We- we… we're on… on it!" Waterboy exclaimed just behind him and over the comms, slightly breathless and clearly rushed from whatever he'd been doing before. "On the way!"

"Keep us updated as needed," Fiero tersely added as he waved Waterboy over and led the charge out of the building and towards the call. "What are things looking like on the ground?"

"Looks like the fire started in the second-floor kitchen," Robert's voice crackled through their earpieces as they sprinted down the sidewalk, weaving through startled pedestrians. "The sprinkler malfunction triggered a cascade failure- water's pooling on the first floor and seeping into the basement level. Fire's contained to the second floor for right now, but it's spreading fast."

Fiero could already see the smoke rising three blocks ahead, a dark plume against the hazy LA sky. The palms of his prosthetic hands warmed instinctively, heat coiling beneath his skin like a living thing.

"And the civ- civilians?" Waterboy asked, the younger man keeping an easy pace beside him with long, loping strides. A sheen of that ever-present water on his skin was making him look like he was constantly sweaty, a few strands of light auburn hair plastered to the sides of his face and temples. Not the worst look in the world, though- nor the worst manifestation of hydrokinetic powers he'd seen. And Fiero had seen plenty worse back when he was still running with Los Muertos.

"Kitchen staff trapped in a walk-in freezer on two—door's jammed from debris. Three customers and a server stuck near the back stairwell. Ground floor's been mostly evacuated, but we've got an elderly woman in a mobility chair stuck in the flood. Basement's unclear—could be storage workers down there."

Fiero heard the urgency in Robert's voice behind the professionalism- they needed to move fast. "Fire department?"

"Six minutes out. You two are closer."

Fiero grunted acknowledgment, his eyes cutting sideways to assess his... partner. Waterboy's jaw was set despite the anxiety evident in his darting eyes. The kid was scared—that much was obvious—but he was still running toward the fire, right there alongside Fiero. No hesitation to be found.

"What's... what's the p-plan?" Waterboy managed between breaths.

"You try and taper down the flooding on the ground floor," Fiero curtly said as they approached the last block of distance separating them from the scene. "Guide out any civilians you find and join me on the upper level once things seem safe, or if first responders get here to help. Call me if you need backup, okay?"

"O-okay, yes! You got it!" Waterboy nodded with an enthusiasm that made Fiero a little wary- not that he didn't think the kid was capable, but… he knew Waterboy could be a little clumsy sometimes. He wasn't freezing up though, which counted for something in Fiero's book.

They rounded the corner and the scene came into full view. Smoke billowed from several broken windows on the second floor, a large swath of flames licking at the frame of what he faintly recognized as having been some kind of run-down fusion restaurant before the place lit up. There was murky water already seeping out from under the front door, pooling on the sidewalk in a grimy flood. A small crowd had gathered at a safe distance, murmuring amongst themselves with their phones out. A few people were crying. One woman in a singed apron was gesturing frantically toward the upper floor, shouting something about her coworkers.

"Alright." Fiero stopped at the building's entrance, eyes darting up and around to more closely inspect the fire. It was aggressive and hungry, and it was growing stronger by the second —he could feel the heat of it buzzing underneath his skin, felt his own body temperature rising in response. "Ground floor's yours. I'm heading up."

"R-right." Waterboy squared his shoulders, a determined set to his face that was a little like watching a gangly fawn preparing to headbutt a brick wall. "I've got it. I— I won't let you down."

Fiero paused for just a moment, something faintly tugging in his chest that he chose not to examine too closely. Brick wall he may be headed, but the kid's earnestness was almost painful in its genuinity.

"Just focus on the job," he said, his voice coming out rougher than intended. "And call me if things go south. Don't try to be a hero."

He winced internally at his own choice of words. Don't try to be a hero. Christ. Old habits die hard, apparently.

Waterboy's lips quirked into something that might have been a nervous smile. "I th-thought that was... kind of the whole p-point?"

Fiero stared at him for a moment, caught off guard. Was that— was the kid making a joke?

"Smart ass," he muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. "Let's just go."

He turned and vaulted through the restaurant's flooded entrance, boots splashing through ankle-deep water as he made for the back stairwell. Behind him, he heard Waterboy take a steadying breath before the sound of yelling and rushing water being commanded rather than simply flowing filled the space.

Focus, Fiero reminded himself as he hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. The fire above roared in warning, but he answered in kind, letting his own flames curl around his forearms as he prepared to breach the second floor.

But some small, irritating part of his attention stayed fixed on the sounds below. On the kid working alone in the flood.

He'll be fine. He's got this.

…Probably.

Fiero kicked open the stairwell door and stepped into an inferno.

—/—/—

The second floor was fucking chaos.

Thick black smoke roiled along the ceiling, and the heat was so intense that an ordinary person would've collapsed within seconds. For Fiero, it felt like walking into a warm bath- uncomfortable for different reasons. Namely the wrongness of the fire as it burned out of control, all-consuming and overwhelming without direction or purpose.

He summoned his own flames and breathed in the familiar warmth as they danced and curled around his arms, occasionally darting out to lap against the wild inferno surrounding him to test the waters and figure out exactly what he was dealing with.

Ha. Test the waters. Bet Waterboy would get a kick out of that.

Fiero very deliberately ignored the unbidden thought as his gaze swept across the scene in front of him. The kitchen was the clear epicenter- looked like it was a grease fire that had found ample fuel and oxygen. It had devoured numerous tablecloths and wooden fixtures with gleeful abandon once it'd made its way to the dining area and was seeking out stronger energy sources.

"Anyone hear me?" He shouted, his voice slicing through the crackle of flames. "This is Z-Team! Call out if you can so I can find you!"

A muffled banging sound came from his left. The walk-in freezer- the kitchen staff.

"I've got you, hang on!" He parted the flames with a deliberate swipe of his hands, creating a corridor of nearly-scorching air like some kind of strange parody of the Red Sea rather than outright lethal heat. The freezer door was blocked by a collapsed section of shelving, several misshapen chunks of metal quickly warping from the heat.

Fiero grabbed the debris and pulled, using an extra burst of strength from his flames to aid in the effort. The metal groaned, shifted, and finally gave way with a loud screech that rang incessantly in his ears.

The freezer door burst open and three terrified kitchen employees stumbled out- two young women and a middle-aged man, all shivering and rattled after being rescued from their cold cage.

"Back stairs," Fiero ordered, jerking his thumb toward the stairwell he'd just come from. He briefly spiked his own body temperature to offer them some kind of controlled warmth to counteract the chill from the freezer- hopefully nothing strong enough to send anyone into shock. "Stay low and move fast. My partner's clearing the ground floor."

They didn't need to be told twice.

Look for the others. Lock down the upper level. He pressed deeper into the roaring flames, searching for any of the other customers and stray server that Robert had mentioned.

—/—/—

Herman was very deliberately trying not to panic as he took in the full extent of the flooding happening on the ground level.

There was water everywhere- pouring from burst pipes in the ceiling, pooling across the tile floor, soaking into pretty much everything it could reach. And just like Robert had said, somewhere in the back of the floor, an elderly woman was calling for help in a voice that was strained and getting weaker by the minute.

Something instinctive and gut-wrenching pulled from deep within him- Robert couldn't have known, of course, but hearing the desperate and panicked cries of someone that easily could've been his own grandma was quickly driving him towards something akin to panic. But despite the rapid beat of his heart and the looming threat of passing out because he was suddenly having trouble regulating his breathing, he forced his way through the feeling and tried to focus on why he was here in the first place.

You can do this. This person needs you right now. Focus on that.

He raised his hands at the same time he relaxed his jaw and tried his hardest to reach for his water- deliberately this time, instead of something that was only ever an inconvenience to everyone else around him. The flood responded sluggishly at first- he was still learning how to command water that he hadn't produced himself- but then it began to move. And it began to flow toward him rather than rushing throughout the room in an uncontrolled chaos.

"I'm c-coming!" he shouted, surging through the flood toward the voice. "Just keep- keep talking to me!"

"Here! I'm over here! Please- my chair is stuck-"

Herman found her near the back of the restaurant, her wheelchair half-submerged and clearly unable to slog through the water steadily accumulating around them. She looked like she was pushing her seventies, clutching a small and worn handbag in her lap like a lifeline.

"It's okay," Herman said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the frantic hammering of his own heart. "I've… I've got you. I'm going to c-clear the water, okay? Then we'll get you out."

He focused hard, pushed as forcefully as he could, and the water around them actually began to recede- not disappearing, but slowly sloshing away, pooling against the walls instead of directly around the woman's chair.

"Oh my," she exclaimed, eyes wide as she watched the water respond to his commands. "Oh my goodness."

"Can you- hold- hold on?" He rushed behind her chair and grasped tightly onto the handles. "I'm going to get you out of h-he-heee…here."

"Please, let's just go."

Herman did his best to maintain as much control as possible as he wheeled the woman toward the entrance, trying not to let any thoughts other than almost there pass through his mind as the water kept trying to rush back in. He had to maintain a constant focus to keep the worst of it at bay, an unfamiliar mental pressure that was quickly beginning to make his temples throb.

Come on, come on. Almost there.

They made it to the door just as the first fire truck rounded the corner, sirens wailing and nearly breaking Herman's concentration.

"First responders are here," he gasped into his comm. "G-ground floor civilian secured. Heading up to- to assist Fiero."

"Good work, Waterboy," Robert's voice came back, and was that a note of genuine approval? "Fiero, status?"

"Kitchen employees evacuated from the upper-level freezer. Located customers and server further back on this level- heat signatures are still active," Fiero hurriedly responded, and Herman heard a loud whooshing sound from over the communication lines. His voice was tense and slowly becoming strained as he continued, "Trying to absorb the flames as I go, but if I go full throttle to suck everything in I won't be able to control it properly without some serious property damage. Waterboy, how close are you?"

Herman handed off the elderly woman to a paramedic who had rushed over from the arriving fire truck, making sure she would be properly attended to before turning back towards the building.

"On my w-way," he hurried to respond. "Coming up the b-back stairs now!"

He splashed through the remaining puddles in the lower level of the restaurant, the water parting around his legs almost instinctively now that he'd started to get a feel for commanding it. The back stairwell was still intact, though steam hissed where water from the malfunctioning sprinklers met the overwhelming heat radiating down from above.

The temperature rose dramatically as he made his way back up. Sweat was quickly plastering his hair to his forehead rather than his own passive water generation, and his lungs were starting to burn from the smoke that was creeping down despite Fiero's efforts to contain the blaze.

"Wh-what do you need me to do?" he asked, pushing through the stairwell door onto the second floor.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat.

Fiero was standing in the center of what looked like had once been a modestly decorated dining room, the flames swirling around him like a living thing. His arms were extended, veins glowing faintly orange beneath the warm tan of his skin as he pulled the fire into himself- absorbing it, containing it, preventing it from spreading further. But Herman could see the strain in the hard set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest was heaving with each controlled breath.

He looked fucking terrifying. But beyond that, in some strange way that Herman's panicked brain couldn't fully process right now, he also looked kind of… breathtaking. Magnificent.

"Back corner," Fiero ground out through clenched teeth without turning to look at him. "Three civs left. Smoke inhalation's getting bad- they need a clear path now. Ceiling's compromised. Sprinkler pipes are ruptured but the water's evaporating before it can do any good."

Herman followed his gaze and saw them- two women huddled together and a young man in a server's uniform, all of them crouched as tightly as possible against the back wall. The ceiling above them was sagging dangerously, glowing embers quickly eating through the support beams.

"I think I can- can pull water from the p-pipes," Herman said, mind racing. "Create a- a barrier. Cool the ceiling enough to b-buy them time to get out."

"Do it." Fiero's voice was strained. "I'll keep the flames back, but I can't hold them for much longer without-" He cut himself off, jaw clenched with the effort of maintaining his position.

Without what?

Herman didn't have time to ask. He took a deep breath, raised his hands toward the ruptured sprinkler pipes overhead, and pulled.

The water came reluctantly at first, fighting against the intense heat that was trying to turn it to steam the moment it emerged. Herman gritted his teeth and pulled harder, feeling that new pressure beginning to build behind his eyes. A stream of water burst from the pipes and arced toward the compromised ceiling, hissing violently as it made contact with the superheated metal and wood.

"C-come on," he panted, trying to force the water to spread, to coat the ceiling above the trapped civilians like a protective blanket. There was steam billowing everywhere, reducing visibility to almost nothing, but he could at least feel the water- could mostly sense where it was, what it was doing.

The ceiling groaned, but miraculously, it held.

"Move!" Fiero barked at the civilians. "Now! Follow the kid!"

Herman was already scrambling toward them, one hand still raised to maintain the water barrier while the other frantically beckoned them toward the stairway. "Th-this way! Stay low, stay c…close to m-me!"

The server moved first, grabbing both women by the arms and hauling them upright. They stumbled toward Herman coughing and gasping, eyes streaming from the smoke.

"I've g-got you," he managed, guiding them toward the stairwell. "Just ke…keep- keep moving, okay? Almost there."

He risked a glance back in Fiero's direction and felt his stomach clench.

The older man was full-on shaking now, the flames he was absorbing casting harsh shadows across the sharp and severe features of his face. The glow beneath his skin had spread, creeping up his neck, and there was something almost pained in his expression- like he was holding back something that desperately needed to be released.

"F-Fiero?" Herman called out, hesitating at the entryway to the stairwell even as he ushered the civilians through. "Are you- can you-"

"Get them out," Fiero roughly interrupted. "I'm right behind you."

It didn't sound like a lie, exactly. But it didn't sound like the whole truth either.

Herman bit his lip. The civilians needed him. But Fiero-

"Go, Waterboy."

He went.

But he didn't go far.

"Don't fucking hang back, Herman, go with the others- now!" Fiero shouted. "Get everyone out so I can disperse the heat, I can't hold it all in like this- I need to guide it upward, this level's about to fucking explode!"

And it was the sudden, tightly concentrated inferno of fucking blue flames- not the usual red and yellow flames that he was used to seeing from Flambae, but blue- that finally got Herman to start moving for real.

That kind of output wasn't in Fiero's dossier. Not even close. Possibly hiding full extent of pyrokinetic abilities was apparently doing a lot of heavy lifting on that fucking thing, based on what Herman was seeing right now.

The older man's use of Herman's real name- apparently Fiero remembered his actual name, god- was enough to jolt him out of his stupor. He whirled around and practically shoved the civilians down the stairwell ahead of him, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.

Blue flames. Blue fucking flames.

His mind was racing even as his body moved on autopilot. He'd obsessively studied the files on every Z-Team member when he'd first joined- partly out of anxiety, partly because knowing what his teammates could do felt like the only way to really prepare himself for his first proper foray into hero work. Fiero's dossier had mentioned standard sounding fire power stuff- Pyrokinesis. Flame Invulnerability. Fire Infusion. Pyro-propulsion. Combat and tactical skills from his bounty hunting days that had earned him a reputation as someone you didn't want to cross.

But there was nothing about the kind of heat that turned fire blue. That was… what, over two thousand degrees? The kind of heat that melted steel?

Herman could feel the heat intensifying above them- could sense Fiero's power straining at some kind of limit he didn't fully understand.

He's going to explode. The whole floor's going to explode. He's still up there.

They burst out of the ground floor entrance just as the firefighters were setting up their hoses. Herman thrust the last of the civilians towards the waiting paramedics, not even stopping to make sure they were received properly before he whirled back towards the building.

"Fiero!" he shouted into his comm. "I'm c-clear! Everything's clear! Do it!"

For a horrible, endless moment, there was no response.

Then the second floor fucking exploded.

The blast of heat was so intense that Herman stumbled backward, arms instinctively flying up to shield his face even though he knew- somewhere in the rational part of his brain- that he wasn't close enough to be in any real danger. A column of blue-white flame erupted through the roof of the restaurant, punching through weakened ceiling tiles and compromised support beams like they were made of paper. The fire roared upward rather than outward, a controlled detonation that looked like a fucking laser beam parting the clouds and spiraling into the LA sky.

The crowd behind the barricades screamed. Firefighters shouted orders. A car alarm started wailing somewhere nearby.

But all Herman could focus on was the gaping hole where the second floor used to be- and the complete, terrifying silence from his comm.

"Fiero?" His voice cracked. "Fiero!"

Nothing.

"Robert, I-I'm not gett-getting a response from- from Fiero, he was still on the s-second floor when it-"

"I'm tracking his vitals," Robert's voice came back, tense but controlled. "He's alive. Heartbeat's elevated but steady. Give him a second."

A second felt like an eternity.

Herman was already moving before he'd consciously decided to, splashing back through the flooded entrance despite the shouts of protest from the firefighters behind him. The floor was a disaster- waterlogged debris everywhere, ceiling tiles hanging at precarious angles, the acrid smell of smoke and wet ash filling his lungs.

"Waterboy, wait-" Robert started.

"He m-might be hurt!" Herman shot back, taking the stairs two at a time. His legs burned, his lungs burned, everything fucking burned, but he kept climbing.

When he reached the top the stairwell door was gone- just… gone, reduced to a twisted frame of blackened metal. Herman stepped through it and stopped dead.

The second floor was… devastated wasn't a strong enough word. The ceiling had been completely blown out, the open sky visible above through a jagged hole at least twenty feet across. Charred remnants of tables and chairs lay scattered around like broken bones. The walls were scorched black, still radiating heat that made Herman's skin prickle.

And in the center of it all, on his knees in a circle of ash and cooling embers, was Fiero.

The older man was hunched forward, prosthetic palms flat against the scorched floor, his shoulders heaving with each labored breath. Smoke curled off his body like he'd just crawled out of a furnace. The red orange stripe across the front of his vest and pretty much his entire upper body was smeared with soot and ash, the warm tan of his skin still faintly glowing with residual heat as he began to come back down to a more normal temperature.

"Fiero!" Herman rushed forward, kneeling down beside the older man without thinking. "Are you- are you okay? Can you-"

"'M fine." Fiero's voice was a rough growl, barely above a whisper. He didn't look up. "Just… gimme a minute."

"You just b-blew up a building!"

"Controlled dispersal." A weak cough. "Not the same thing."

"That's- that's not-" Herman's hands were hovering uselessly, unsure where to touch, if he should touch. Fiero's skin was still radiating heat like a space heater. "You could have d-died! You should've t-told me you could- that you were going to-"

"Needed you at a safe distance." Fiero finally lifted his head, and Herman's breath caught.

The older man looked like hell. His dark curls were disheveled, several strands from his left purple streak and right gray one plastered to his forehead with sweat. His face was pale beneath the soot and grime, but his right eye- his one good eye, a deep and piercing violet that contrasted sharply with the blank, milky white of the prosthetic and vertical facial scar, an eye that always seemed to be evaluating everyone and everything around him- that eye was fixed on Herman with an intensity that made something flutter uncomfortably in his chest.

"You came back," Fiero said. It wasn't a question.

"Of c-course I came back!" Herman's voice came out more high-pitched than he intended. "You were- the building exploded, and you weren't answering your comm, and I thought-"

"I told you to get out."

"You also told… told me to call you if things went south! Things looked pretty f-fucking south from where I was standing!"

Fiero stared at him for a long moment. Then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Language," he said.

Herman gaped at him. "Did you just- are you joking right now? You almost died!"

"I wasn't going to die." Fiero shifted, wincing as he tried to push himself upright, his arms trembling with the effort. "I just… overextended. Happens sometimes when I have to absorb more than I can safely contain."

"That… that's not in your f-file."

"There's plenty of things that aren't in my file, kid."

Herman watched him struggle for another moment before something in him snapped. He reached out and grabbed Fiero's arm- ignoring the residual heat that made his palm sting- and hauled the older man upright with more strength than his lanky frame suggested he possessed.

Fiero made a surprised noise, stumbling slightly before catching his balance. His hand ended up braced against Herman's shoulder, heavy and warm and there in a way that made Herman's brain short-circuit for a brief moment.

"Thanks," Fiero muttered, not quite meeting his eyes.

"You're w-welcome." Herman's voice came out slightly strangled. "Can you walk? We should- we should get you checked out. The paramedics are downstairs, and-"

"I don't need paramedics." Fiero straightened up, though he didn't immediately remove his hand from Herman's shoulder. "Fire doesn't hurt me. Just… drains me when I push too hard."

"That's still- you still need to-"

"I need," Fiero interrupted, his voice dropping to something more low and rough, "to make sure the civilians got out okay. And to debrief with Robert. And probably to drink a gallon of water." A pause. "Not you. Regular water."

Herman blinked. Then blinked again. "Did you just make- make a joke about my name?"

"Maybe."

"You're d-definitely concussed."

"Probably." Fiero's hand finally slid off of Herman's shoulder, leaving a warm ghost of pressure behind. He took an experimental step toward the ruined stairwell, then another, his gait steadier than Herman expected. "Come on. Let's get out of here before the building decides to finish collapsing."

Herman quietly followed, hovering closer than strictly necessary in case Fiero's legs decided to give out. The older man didn't comment on it, which felt significant somehow.

They made it down the stairs and outside without incident, emerging into the controlled chaos of emergency response. There were firefighters already moving in with hoses to douse the remaining hot spots. Paramedics had the civilians on stretchers, administering oxygen and checking for injuries. The crowd behind the barricades had grown, with several phones out and probably already uploading footage to every social media platform in existence.

"Fiero! Waterboy!" A firefighter was jogging over, face flushed with exertion. "Hell of a job in there. We got confirmation- everyone's out, no casualties. Kitchen staff's being treated for minor smoke inhalation, but they'll be fine. Same with the customers."

"Good." Fiero's voice was flat, professional, all traces of the dry humor from moments ago gone. "And the basement? Dispatch mentioned possible workers down there."

"Storage was empty- they'd already evacuated through the back before you got here. Building manager confirmed."

Some of the tension in Fiero's shoulders eased. "Then we're done here."

The firefighter nodded, clapped him on the shoulder (Fiero barely concealed a wince), and jogged back to his team.

Herman watched him go, then turned back to Fiero. The older man was staring at the smoldering building with an unreadable expression, his jaw tight.

"Hey," Herman said quietly. "You okay? F-for real?"

Fiero didn't answer right away. When he did, his tone was short and clipped. "Told you. Just overextended."

"That's not what I m-meant."

Mismatched eyes cut toward him, sharp and assessing. Herman held his ground, even though his heart was hammering against his ribs.

"…Yeah," Fiero finally said. "I'm okay. For real."

It still didn't sound like the whole truth, but it sounded closer than before.

"Good," Herman managed. "That's- that's good."

They stood there in silence for a moment, side by side in front of the ruined restaurant, watching the firefighters work. Herman was acutely aware of how close they were standing- close enough that he could feel the residual heat still radiating from Fiero's body, could smell smoke and something underneath it that was almost pleasant.

"You did good in there," Fiero said abruptly.

Herman's head whipped toward him. "Wh-what?"

"The flooding. The civilians. The water barrier you pulled to buy them time." Fiero still wasn't looking at him, his gaze fixed firmly on the building. "That was solid work. Quick thinking."

"I-" Herman's brain was struggling to catch up. Was Fiero- was he actually complimenting him? "Th-thank you? I mean- I just did what you- what you told me to-"

"No." Fiero slowly shook his head. "You did more than that. You saw what needed to happen and you made it happen. That's not nothing, kid."

Herman felt heat creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the ambient temperature. "You c-called me by my real… real name earlier. When you were telling me to go."

Fiero went very still.

"Did I?"

"Yeah. You said- you said 'Herman.'"

A muscle ticked in Fiero's jaw. "…Didn't realize."

"It's okay!" Herman rushed to add, suddenly terrified he'd made things weird. "I just- I didn't think you knew my actual name. Mos…most people just call me Waterboy."

"I pay attention." The words came out clipped, almost defensive. Then, more softly: "It's a good name. Herman."

Herman's heart did something complicated in his chest. "Thanks. I, um. I like your name too. Fiero. Is that- is that your real name, or-"

"No." A pause. "It's Jaime."

"Jaime," Herman repeated it slowly, testing the shape of it. "That's… that's nice."

Fiero- Jaime- made a sound that might have been a laugh if it wasn't so exhausted. "Such a way with words."

"Shut up, I'm t-tired."

"You're tired? I just absorbed an entire restaurant fire and shot it into the stratosphere."

"And I had… had to w-watch you do it while thinking y-you were going to die! That's emotionally exhausting!"

Jaime turned to look at him properly then, something shifting in his expression. That intense scrutiny was still there, the constant guarded wariness, but underneath it was something… warmer. Softer. It made Herman feel exposed in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"You really thought I was going to die," Jaime said. It wasn't a question.

Herman swallowed hard. "You weren't answering. And th-the building exploded. Wh-what was I supposed to think?"

"That I know what I'm doing. That I've been doing this a lot longer than you have."

"That doesn't mean you're invincible!"

Jaime actually looked a little startled at the fervency of Herman's outburst, studying him with an unreadable expression. Then he sighed and ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, leaving it disheveled and frizzy.

"No," he agreed quietly. "It doesn't."

Herman didn't know what to say to that. So he didn't say anything, just stood there in the fading afternoon light, shoulder-to-shoulder with a man who'd basically been a stranger a few hours ago and now felt like something else entirely.

"We should head back," Jaime eventually said. He wasn't sure how long they'd been standing there, and they were technically still on the clock. "Robert's probably losing his mind."

"Y-yeah. Probably."

Neither of them moved.

"Herman."

"Y-yeah?"

Jaime hesitated, and for a moment he looked almost uncertain- an expression Herman never would have associated with him before today. "Thanks. For coming back."

"You alr…already thanked me."

"Well, then I'm thanking you again." Jaime's eyes met his, and Herman felt pinned by the intensity of his mismatched gaze. "Most people wouldn't have. Especially not for someone like me."

Someone like me. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Former villain. Reformed anti-hero. Someone with a reputation that made even other heroes nervous.

"Well," Herman said, forcing his voice to stay steady despite the way his heart was racing, "m-most people don't know you like… like I do."

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "You've known me for three weeks."

"That- that's still knowing you."

Something flickered across Jaime's face- surprise, maybe, or something deeper. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Robert's voice crackled through their comms.

"Fiero, Waterboy- great work out there. Fire department has things under control, so you're clear to head back. Let's debrief in thirty."

The moment broke. Jaime straightened, his expression smoothing back into something more neutral.

"Copy that," he said into his comm. Then, to Herman: "You heard the man. Let's go."

They started walking, falling into step beside each other with an ease that felt new and fragile and precious. Herman was hyper-aware of every brush of their shoulders, every accidental bump of their hands.

"Hey, um… Jaime?"

"Hm?"

"When we get, get back… do you w-want to get, um… food, or… or something? I know you said you n…needed water, but-"

"Are you asking me out, Herman?"

Herman's face went nuclear. "N-no! I mean- not like- I just thought- after everything- we could-"

Jaime's laugh was low and rough and did things to Herman's nervous system that he wasn't prepared to examine. "Relax, kid. I'm fucking with you."

"You're mean."

"Yeah." Jaime glanced at him sideways, and there was that warmth again, barely visible beneath the surface. "Food sounds good. After the debrief."

Herman's heart soared. "R-really?"

"Really." A pause. "I know a place."

"I- okay. Yeah. S-sounds like a plan."

They walked the rest of the way back to headquarters in comfortable silence, the setting sun painting the LA skyline in shades of orange and gold. Herman's shoulder still tingled where Jaime's hand had rested. His chest still felt too full, too warm, too much.

It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was the best he'd felt since joining the Z-Team.

And when Jaime held the door open for him at headquarters, something almost like a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth, Herman thought that maybe- just maybe- this hero thing was going to work out after all.

—/—/—

The debrief was mercifully short.

Robert ran through the usual checklist— civilian casualties (none), property damage (significant but contained), media coverage (already trending on three platforms, mostly positive). He commended them both on their coordination, made a pointed comment about Fiero's "creative use of vertical dispersal" that suggested he'd be having a longer conversation about undisclosed capabilities later, and dismissed them with instructions to file their incident reports by morning.

Herman barely heard any of it. He was too busy trying not to stare at Jaime, who had somehow managed to change into clean clothes somewhere between the entrance and the briefing room. He was wearing a shirt now that was form-fitting and slightly too tight across his shoulders, and Herman's brain kept short-circuiting every time Jaime shifted and the fabric stretched.

Stop it. Stop being weird. He's your teammate. You almost watched him die today. This is not the time to be noticing his shoulders.

"Waterboy. You good?"

Herman blinked. Robert was looking at him expectantly, and he realized with dawning horror that he'd been asked a question.

"S-sorry, what?"

Robert's mouth briefly pulled into something resembling amusement. "I asked if you needed medical. You took in a lot of smoke."

"Oh! No, I'm- I'm fine. The water thing, it… it helps filter stuff out, I think? I'm not- not too sure about the sp-specifics."

"Noted. Make sure you document that in your report- any new observations about your powers are useful for the database." Robert stood and inclined his head toward the conference room's exit. "That's all. Good work today, both of you."

They filed out of the conference room, and Robert began winding his way back to his desk with a brief smile and wave. Herman immediately felt the awkwardness descend as soon as him and Jaime were alone again. The adrenaline was wearing off, reality was setting in, and he had just asked Jaime- Fiero- his brain corrected, because using his real name felt dangerously intimate- out for food.

What were you thinking? He probably only said yes to be polite. He's going to find an excuse to bail. He's going to—

"There's a place two blocks east," Jaime said, cutting through Herman's spiral. "Hole in the wall place with pretty good tacos. You okay with walking?"

Herman's brain finally rebooted. "Y-yeah. Walking's good. I like walking."

I like walking. God. Kill me now.

But Jaime just nodded and started toward the exit, and Herman scrambled to follow.

—/—/—

The tiny restaurant was exactly the kind of place Herman never would have found on his own— tucked between a laundromat and a vintage record store, with a hand-painted sign that simply read "NINO'S" and a door that looked like it hadn't been replaced since the seventies. Inside, it was dim and cozy, all mismatched furniture and exposed brick and the savory smell of carne asada.

"Corner booth," Jaime said, already heading toward the back. "Less visibility from the street."

Of course he'd think about tactical positioning, even at a restaurant. Herman followed, sliding into the booth across from Jaime and immediately not knowing what to do with his hands.

A server appeared— young, bored, with an impressive collection of ear piercings— and gave them a pair of laminated menus. Jaime nodded his thanks and wordlessly handed one to Herman.

"Two Modelos, please," he said to the server, and when he noticed Herman's expression he reluctantly added, "and two waters as well."

"You got it."

Jaime inclined his head toward the menu clutched in Herman's hands, his own untouched and laid flat on the table. "Better start looking at that. There's a lot to choose from."

"O-okay. Yeah, okay."

Herman tried very hard to focus on the words in front of him— fuck, this was a real Mexican restaurant, he could barely understand the names of half the items on the menu— and tried even harder not to keep stealing quick, furtive glances at Jaime. The older man was turned away from him at the moment, giving him a chance to take in a closer look at his appearance for the first time.

He'd never noticed before that the long, vertical scar across the left side of his face was so large it ran through his eyebrow all the way down to the upper slope of his cheek— clearly the reason why that eye was a prosthetic now. Another jagged and almost sloppy scar streaked across the bridge of his nose, one end of it dangerously close to reaching his still-good eye. His facial hair was dark and neatly trimmed, helped frame the sharp cut of his jaw in a way that made Herman's mouth dry. He wondered how the scratch of that facial hair would feel against his skin as those full and stupidly pouty pink lips bit and sucked bruises onto his throat—

Oh, Herman was so fucked.

"Anything look good?"

Herman nearly dropped his menu as Jaime turned back to look at him again and he realized that he'd been staring too long. He awkwardly cleared his throat and flipped the menu back up under the guise of continuing to scan through it, trying to hide the flush that had tinged his cheeks.

"Uh, I, um…" Herman swallowed hard and actually tried to start reading for real. "I don't- I don't know. The- the Spanish. I don't really know wh-what most of this stuff… stuff is."

"Ah. My bad." Herman tentatively lowered the menu and saw that Jaime actually looked apologetic. "Um… what are you in the mood for? Tacos? Burrito? Caldo— Soup, I mean?"

Herman had to fight not to stare again. It was such a rare thing to hear Jaime even barely stumble over his words he almost thought he'd misheard. It took another second for the actual words to register.

"Oh! Um, maybe… maybe just. Tacos?" The smells coming from the kitchen were heavenly, but Herman was feeling a little overwhelmed by all of the options that he couldn't fully parse. "Y-yeah. Tacos sound good."

Jaime's lips briefly quirked upward into something resembling a smile. "Tacos it is then." He plucked the menu from Herman's grip and laid it on top of his own. "What kind of meat?"

"Wh-what?"

"For the tacos. What kind of meat do you want?"

"I, uh… I don't… I don't know," Herman stammered. Fucking hell, get it together, Herman. "Wh…whatever you think is good, I guess."

"Pastor it is, then," Jaime said with something strange in his expression. The server came back with a tray carrying their beer and water then, and Herman tried very hard not to think too much on whatever he was feeling as he listened to Jaime order their food in Spanish, his voice interestingly bending into something more lazy and… rich? Sure. Rich was a good enough word for it. Either way, he sounded even hotter than before, if that was possible, and Herman was realizing now that he was woefully out of his depth here.

The server finally retreated after their order was taken, and then they were alone again.

"…So, um…" Herman started, then immediately stalled out. What did you talk about with someone after you'd both nearly died together? The weather? Sports? Hey, cool blue flames back there, are those new?

"You're overthinking it," Jaime said.

"Wh-what?"

"Whatever you're trying to figure out how to say. You're overthinking it." Jaime leaned back against the worn leather of the booth, his posture deceptively relaxed. "Just talk."

"I don't— I mean—" Herman took a breath, forced himself to slow down. Slowly, deliberately, he said, "Okay. Fine. The blue flames. What was that?"

Jaime's expression flickered, something guarded sliding into place before smoothing out again. "What about them?"

"That's… wasn't in your file. Not even close. You— your file says st—standard pyrokinesis, fire infusion and stuff. It doesn't s—say anything about…" Herman gestured vaguely. "Whatever that was."

"Files don't tell shit."

"Obviously." Herman leaned forward, curiosity temporarily overriding his nervousness. "But that was— that was insane. The he—he—heat output alone must have been—"

"Around two thousand degrees. Give or take." Jaime's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. He paused to take a long drag of his beer. "It's not something I use often. Too hard to reliably control. And the energy drain is…" He shook his head slightly. "Not worth it unless there's no other option."

"But you— you can do it. That's… that's incredible."

Something tight shifted in Jaime's expression. "Most people don't use that word."

"What word?"

"Incredible." Jaime's eyes met his, sharp and searching. "Usually it's 'dangerous.' Or 'terrifying.' Or 'why the fuck didn't you disclose that during your intake assessment.'"

Herman winced. "Is that what Robert's going… going to say?"

"Probably." A faint, humorless smile. "Wouldn't be the first time I've gotten that lecture."

The server eventually returned with their food— the smell alone was enough to make Herman's mouth water. He distantly registered just how hungry he actually was— apparently straining his powers in ways that he'd never strained them before burned through a lot of calories.

They sat together in silence for a moment as they tore into the food, the only sounds between them the shifting of sauce and toppings being traded back and forth as they dressed their tacos.

Herman full-on moaned out loud as he took his first bite, warmth and spice and flavor exploding across his tongue and leading him directly into his second— and then his third.

His trance was quickly broken when Jaime took his own first bite and let out a low, pleased hum, something that rattled between his ears and settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Fuck, this is good," Jaime muttered, and his tone was rough in a way that made Herman pause for a brief second to avoid dropping his taco directly onto the table.

"…Can I, uhm… Can I ask you something?" Herman finally found the will to ask.

"You've been asking me things this whole time."

"Something… something different."

Jaime briefly tightened his grip on his beer bottle and took a quick pull before setting it back down onto the table. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Why… why Z-Team?" Herman asked. "You were— I mean, I read about you. Before. The bounty hunting, the— the other stuff. You could have gone anywhere. Done… done anything. Wh-why here?"

For a long moment, Jaime didn't answer. He stared down at his plate, his jaw tight, and Herman was suddenly terrified that he'd pushed too far, asked too much, ruined whatever fragile thing was building between them before it could even take shape.

Then Jaime sighed, and some of the tension bled out of his shoulders.

"Because I was tired," he quietly admitted. "Of running. Of fighting. Of being the guy everyone was afraid of." When he looked up, there was something raw yet tightly contained in his expression that made Herman's chest ache. "I spent too many years doing things I'm not proud of. Telling myself it was justified because the people I was hurting— the people I was killing— were worse than me. And maybe some of them were. But that doesn't mean what I was doing was right."

Something tight and hot sat heavy at the base of Herman's throat. "Jaime…"

"Z-Team isn't glamorous. It's not prestigious. We're all…" Jaime's mouth twisted. "Broken, in one way or another. Maladjusted, fucked up villains that no one else wanted to even pretend to give a fuck about. But that's the point, isn't it? We're not trying to be perfect. We're just trying to be better."

The admission hung heavy in the air between them, unexpected and disorienting. Herman was suddenly reminded of his own mindset when Robert had chosen to add him to the team- the desperate need to prove himself, to be useful for once, to turn his inconvenient powers into something that mattered.

"I… I get that," he said softly. "The, um… the wanting to be… be better part."

Jaime studied him with that same careful detachment— though this time something more charged was laying just beneath. "Yeah. Good to know you do."

They ate their food in comfortable silence after that, the earlier tension slowly dissolving into something warmer. Herman found himself relaxing in tiny increments, the constant thrum of anxiety that usually sat in his chest quieting to a more manageable hum rather than its usual overwhelming noose.

"You're different than I expected," Jaime eventually said.

"Diff… different how?"

"Quieter. More observant." A pause. "Braver."

Herman felt his face flushing again with renewed embarrassment. "I'm not— I'm not brave. I was t—terrified the whole time."

"That's what makes it brave, kid." Jaime's lips quirked into that almost-smile again, something that Herman was quickly finding himself spoiled with considering how many times he'd had the privilege of seeing it over the course of this single, improbable day. "Being scared and doing it anyway."

"You… y-you called me kid again."

"Force of habit."

"I'm twenty-four."

"And I'm forty-three. You're a kid."

"That—that's only nineteen years!"

"You do realize that the word 'only' is doing literally all of the heavy lifting there in that sentence, right?" Jaime's lips briefly turned up again like he was fighting to keep something smoothed over in a way that Herman had never seen before.

Herman wanted to argue, but he was distracted by the way Jaime was looking at him— warm and appraising and interested in a way that made his stomach flip.

"…Nineteen y-years isn't that… isn't that much," Herman insisted, though his voice came out smaller than he'd intended. The warmth in Jaime's gaze was doing something dangerous to his clearly already compromised brain-to-mouth filter.

"Tell yourself whatever you need to. Herman."

The way he said his name— low and deliberate, rolling over the syllables like he was savoring the taste— sent a shiver down Herman's spine that had nothing to do with his powers.

"Y-yeah. That's. That's me."

"I know." Jaime's eye held his for a beat too long. "I remember it from your file."

"Right. Obviously. I just—" Herman grabbed his water glass again just to have something to do with his hands, nearly sloshing it over the rim. "Sorry. I'm being weird."

"You're always weird."

"Thanks. That's— that's really helpful."

"Wasn't trying to be helpful." Jaime leaned forward slightly, closing some of the distance between them across the small table. "Just stating facts."

He took another pull of his beer, and Herman found himself tracking the movement of his throat as he swallowed. When Jaime set the bottle down, there was something knowing in his expression. "You're staring again."

Herman's face burned with embarrassment for what felt like the hundredth time today. "I— I wasn't—"

"You were." Jaime's mismatched gaze bore into Herman with an almost unsettling intensity, and suddenly the booth felt much smaller than before. "You've been doing it all night. Every time you think I'm not looking."

"I don't— that's not—" Herman's mouth opened and closed uselessly, his brain short-circuiting under the weight of that stare pinning him in place. "I just— you're—"

"I'm what?"

The question itself was simple, but there was an obvious edge to it— a challenge. Herman's heart was pounding so hard he was sure Jaime could hear it from across from the table.

"You're…" Gorgeous. Terrifying. The most interesting person I've ever met. "…hard to not look at."

Something shifted in Jaime's expression— surprise, maybe, but there was something more complicated behind it. His good eye darkened, and Herman watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.

"That so?'

"Y-yeah." Herman's voice was barely above a whisper. "That's— that's so."

The silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Herman could feel the heat radiating off of Jaime from across the table— or maybe that was just his imagination, his powers picking up on something that wasn't really there. Either way, the air felt thick, electric, dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with fire.

"You know what you're doing right now?" Jaime's voice was low, rough. "What you're asking for?"

Herman swallowed hard. "I— I think so."

"You think so." Jaime's laugh was short and sharp. "That's not good enough, kid. I need you to be sure if anything is going to happen here."

"I'm sure." The words came out steadier than Herman expected. "I'm— I know what I want."

"And what is it that you want?"

Herman's mouth went dry. He could feel himself starting to tremble a little— nerves, anticipation, something else entirely. "You. I want… I w—want you."

Jaime went very still. For a long, seemingly endless moment, he just looked at Herman— really looked, like he was trying to see straight through to his core, to pick him apart from the inside out. Herman forced himself to hold that piercing gaze, even as every instinct screamed at him to look away, to take it back, to retreat to safer ground.

Then Jaime exhaled slowly, and something in his expression cracked open.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're gonna kill me if you keep talking like that."

"Is that— is that a yes?"

"It's a 'we're not doing this here.'" Jaime pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the table— more than enough to cover their meal and then some. "Come on."

Herman scrambled to follow as Jaime slid out of the booth, his heart hammering against his ribs. He distantly hoped that he hadn't left behind too much of a puddle in the spot where he'd just been sitting, but for the first time in… well, in any time in recent memory, for once, he found that he didn't care all that much. "Where— where are we going?"

"My place." Jaime glanced back at him, and the heat in his gaze made Herman's knees go weak. "Unless you've changed your mind."

"No." Herman shook his head quickly— maybe a little too quickly. "No, I— I haven't changed my mind.

"Good." Jaime's hand found the small of Herman's back, guiding him toward the exit with a touch that was somehow both casual and possessive. "Let's get going, then."

—/—/—

Jaime's house was sparse and utilitarian— a one bedroom space about ten minutes from SDN headquarters. Herman barely had time to register any details before Jaime was closing the door behind them, and then he was being pressed against it, Jaime's body a firm and solid wall of heat.

"Last chance," Jaime roughly said. His hands were braced on either side of Herman's head, caging him in without quite touching. "You can still walk away. No hard feelings."

Herman's breath caught. This close, he could see the faint lines around Jaime's eyes, the singular silver bang threading through the right side of his dark curls and tucked against his temple. He could smell him— smoke and something warmer, more human underneath.

"I don't… I don't want to walk away," Herman managed.

"You're sure?"

"Yes." It came out almost embarrassingly desperate. "Please—"

The word was barely out of his mouth before Jaime surged forward and kissed him.

It wasn't gentle. Jaime kissed like he did everything else— with intensity and focus, like Herman was something to be consumed— to be devoured. His prosthetic hands finally moved from the door to Herman's body, one gripping his hip hard enough to bruise while the other tangled in his hair, tilting his head back for better access.

Herman made a sound he'd never heard himself make before— something between a whimper and a moan— and felt Jaime smirk against his mouth.

"Sensitive," Jaime murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. "Good to know."

"I—" Herman tried his best to form a coherent response, he really did— but then Jaime's mouth was on his neck, and his higher brain functions quickly petered out.

The scratch of Jaime's facial hair against his skin was exactly as devastating as he'd imagined. Every rough brush of stubble sent sparks shooting down his spine, made his hips shift involuntarily against Jaime's thigh. When Jaime bit down on a spot just underneath his jaw, the space available to him limited by the high collar of Herman's suit— not hard enough to break skin, but close— Herman actually keened, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Jaime's shoulders.

"F-fuck," he gasped. "Jaime—"

"That's it." Jaime's voice was a low rumble against his throat, his breath hot against the mark he'd just left. "Let me hear you."

He made quick work of sucking another bruise into Herman's neck, then another, finally finding the zipper to his suit and hastily tugging it down so he could work his way down his collarbone with single-minded determination. Herman could feel himself getting hard embarrassingly fast, his cock straining against the confines of his suit in a way that was impossible to hide with Jaime pressed this close against him.

"You're shaking," Jaime observed, pulling back to look at him. His good eye was dark with want, his pupil blown wide. "You good?"

"Y-yeah." Herman's voice cracked. "Just— a lot. It's a lot."

"Too much?"

"No." Herman shook his head frantically. "No, it's— please don't stop."

Something hungry and predatory flashed across Jaime's face. "Don't worry. Wasn't planning on it."

He kissed Herman again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding past Herman's lips in a way that made him feel claimed, owned. One of Jaime's hands went back to unzipping his suit, the sudden contrast of cool metal sliding down to trace patterns on his stomach making his muscles jump and twitch.

"Bedroom," Jaime said against his mouth, and it wasn't a question. "Now."

Herman nodded dumbly, letting Jaime pull him away from the door and guide him through the house. He was dimly aware of passing a small kitchen, through a living room with minimal furniture, and then they were in Jaime's bedroom and Jaime was pushing him down onto the bed.

"Suit off," Jaime ordered, already pulling his shirt over his head.

Herman's fingers fumbled with his zipper and he hastily began to peel it the rest of the way down, his coordination shot to hell by arousal and nerves. But he finally managed to get it off, and then he was just— lying there fully naked, his cock hard and flushed, watching Jaime watch him with an intensity that made him want to squirm.

Jaime's body was… a lot. Hard muscle and old scars, a tapestry of violence written across his skin. There was a particularly nasty one across his ribs, just underneath an old and faded top surgery scar— puckered and pale, clearly from something that had nearly killed him. Herman wanted to trace every single mark with his tongue.

"Like what you see?" Jaime's voice was amused, but there was something careful underneath it.

"Yeah," Herman breathed. "Y-yes. Absolutely."

Jaime climbed onto the bed, settling over Herman in a way that pressed their bodies together from chest to hip. The friction against Herman's cock made him whine, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

"Easy." Jaime's hand pressed down on his hip, pinning him to the mattress. "We've got time."

"I— I don't know if I have time," Herman admitted, his face flushing with embarrassment. "It's… this is— I've n-never, and you're—"

"Shh." Jaime kissed him more softly this time, a sharp contrast to the bruising kisses from before. "It's fine. We'll go slow."

"I don't want slow," Herman protested. "I want—"

"What do you want?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility. Herman's mind raced through a dozen half-formed scenarios, positions— anything, God.

"I… I want you to touch me," he finally said. "I want— I want to feel you. All of yyyo—of you."

Jaime's breath caught, and for a moment he just stared at Herman like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Then his expression shifted into something darker, more predatory.

"I can do that," he said, and his hand drifted down to wrap around Herman's cock.

Herman gasped, his back arching off the bed. The feeling of cool metal sliding against heated flesh sent shivers down his spine, goosebumps trailing across the back of his neck and arms. It was too much and not enough all at once, pleasure building in waves that threatened to overwhelm him.

Jaime's stroked him slowly, deliberately, watching his face with rapt attention. "You're so responsive," he murmured. "Every little touch and you just—" He squeezed, and Herman moaned. "—melt."

"Please," Herman begged. He wasn't even sure what he was begging for anymore. "P-please, Jaime—"

"I've got you."

Jaime picked up the pace slightly, his prosthetic quickly starting to warm up as he twisted his wrist on each upstroke and teased the head briefly before sliding back down, drawing more breathy, whining sounds from him. Herman thought he might die then and there.

"Jaime—" Herman's voice was already wrecked. "I'm— I'm gonna—"

"Not yet." Jaime's grip tightened around the base of his cock to stave off his orgasm. "Not until I say."

Herman whimpered, his hips straining against Jaime's hold. "Please—"

"Please what?"

"P-please let… let me come—"

"Soon." Jaime leaned down to kiss him, swallowing his increasingly desperate moans. "But I want to taste you first."

Before Herman could process what that meant, Jaime was sliding down his body, settling between his legs with a smooth and controlled grace. And then his mouth was on Herman's cock, and Herman's brain whited out entirely.

"Fuck—" The word was punched out of him as Jaime's lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling in a way that made his toes curl. "Oh god, oh fuck—"

Jaime hummed around him, the vibration sending shock waves of pleasure up Herman's spine. He took him deeper, inch by inch, until Herman could feel the back of his throat, and then he started to move.

It was messy and wet and absolutely devastating. Jaime sucked him like he had something to prove, like he wanted to take Herman apart and put him back together again. His hands gripped Herman's thighs hard enough to bruise, holding him firmly in place as he worked.

Herman's hands fisted in the sheets, his whole body trembling with the effort of not thrusting up into that perfect, hot mouth. "Jaime— Jaime, I can't— I'm gonna— please—"

Jaime pulled off just long enough to say, "Come for me," and then swallowed him down again.

Herman shattered.

His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, pleasure crashing through him in relentless pulses. He was vaguely aware of crying out, of his hips jerking helplessly, of Jaime swallowing around him and milking every last drop. It felt like it went on forever, wave after wave until he was wrung out and gasping.

When he finally came back to himself, Jaime was hovering over him, watching him with something like wonder in his expression.

"You good?" Jaime asked, and his lips quirked upward into that faint, barely-there smile.

Herman managed a breathless laugh. "S…super. I'm— great, yeah. Good."

Jaime's smile widened. "Good. Because we're just getting started."

"Jus-just…?" Herman faintly echoed, and a shiver ran down his spine as Jaime's smile sharpened into something predatory and fucking terrifying.

Oh. Oh no. I'm in so much trouble.

"I'm going to get the biggest cock I think you can take from my collection," Jaime started, and his voice was dark and tight with want, "and get my harness set up with it. Get you onto your hands and knees, and then I'm going to fuck you into my mattress so fucking hard you'll be crying by the time I make you come again."

Herman's breath caught in his throat, his spent cock already twitching with renewed interest despite the fact that he'd just come harder than he ever had in his life. The words hit him like a physical blow, settling hot and heavy in his gut.

"I—" His voice cracked. "Y-yeah. Okay. Yes. Please."

There was something almost feral in the curl of Jaime's lips now. "Good boy."

The praise shot straight to Herman's dick, and he made a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whine. Jaime laughed— low and rough— and pressed a brief, biting kiss to his mouth before pulling away entirely.

"Stay," Jaime ordered, climbing off the bed. "Don't move."

Herman nodded dumbly, watching as Jaime crossed to a dresser against the far wall. He pulled open the bottom drawer, and Herman caught a glimpse of leather and silicone before Jaime's broad shoulders blocked his view.

The anticipation was excruciating. Herman's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, his whole body still trembling with aftershocks from his orgasm. He could hear Jaime moving around— the clink of buckles, the soft sounds of straps being adjusted— and every second that passed felt like an eternity.

When Jaime finally turned around, Herman's mouth went dry.

The harness sat low on Jaime's hips, black leather stark against his scarred skin and accentuating the thick power of his thighs. And the cock jutting out from it was… substantial. Not impossibly huge, but definitely bigger than anything Herman had taken before— thick and curved in a way that promised to hit every spot that mattered.

"Tell me if something's too much?" Jaime asked, his voice suddenly gentler. "I don't want to hurt you."

Herman blinked, his chest tightening with something strange and unfamiliar. The fact that Jaime— Fiero, former villain, terrifying anti-hero— was checking in on him made that tightness in his chest bloom into something warm and fuzzy. "Y—yeah. Yeah, okay. I can… that. I can do that."

"Good." Jaime grabbed something else from the drawer— a bottle of lube— and climbed back onto the bed. "On your hands and knees. Face the headboard."

Herman scrambled to obey, his limbs still shaky but functional. He positioned himself as instructed, acutely aware of just how exposed he was like this— his ass in the air, his hole on display. The vulnerability of it made him flush from his cheeks all the way down to his chest.

He heard the click of the lube bottle opening, and then Jaime's hand was on his lower back, warm and steadying.

"I'm going to open you up first," Jaime said, his thumb tracing small circles on Herman's skin. "Make sure you can take it. Tell me if anything hurts, understand?"

"Y—yes."

"Yes, what?"

Herman's brain short-circuited. "I— what?"

"Try again." There was a hint of amusement in Jaime's voice. "Yes, what?"

Oh. Oh. "Yes… sir?"

Jaime made a low, pleased sound that rumbled through Herman's entire body. "Good boy. That's it."

The first touch of slick, rubber-coated fingers against his hole made Herman jolt, a gasp escaping him. Jaime didn't push in right away— just circled the rim, spreading lube and letting Herman get used to the sensation. It was maddening, teasing, and Herman found himself pushing back involuntarily, trying to get more.

"Patience," Jaime murmured, and there was dark amusement in his tone. "I'll give you what you need."

"Please—"

"I know." Jaime's finger finally pressed inside, and Herman moaned at the stretch. "Fuck, you're tight. When's the last time you did this?"

"I— ah— a while," Herman managed. "C-couple months, maybe."

Jaime swore under his breath. "We're definitely going slow, then."

"I don't want slow—"

"Too bad." Another finger joined the first, and Herman's protest dissolved into a whimper. "I'm not hurting you. Not like this."

The care in his voice, buried under the gruffness, made Herman's chest ache. He dropped his head down between his shoulders, focusing on breathing as Jaime worked him open with patient, methodical precision. Two fingers became three, and the stretch burned in a way that was just on the right side of painful— pleasure and discomfort tangling together until Herman couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"There we go," Jaime said, his fingers crooking to brush against Herman's prostate. "That's the spot, isn't it?"

Herman keened, his whole body jerking. "F-fuck—"

Jaime did it again, and again, until Herman was trembling and leaking onto the sheets below him. "Look at you. So fucking pretty like this."

"Jaime— please— I need—"

"What do you need?"

"You." Herman's voice cracked. "I need… need you inside me. Please, sir, please—"

The fingers withdrew, leaving Herman empty and aching. He heard the slick sound of Jaime coating the silicone cock with lube, and then the blunt head was pressing against his hole, and Herman forgot how to breathe.

"Relax," Jaime murmured, one hand gripping Herman's hip while the other guided the cock. "Bear down for me. That's it."

The stretch was intense. Even with the prep, the toy was bigger than anything he'd taken, and his body resisted for a moment before yielding, letting Jaime sink in inch by inch. Herman's fingers clawed at the sheets, his mouth open in a silent cry.

"Okay?" Jaime asked, his voice strained.

"Yes," Herman gasped. "Yes, don't stop—"

Jaime bottomed out with a low groan, and Herman felt impossibly full, stuffed to the brim in a way that made his eyes water. He could feel the toy pressing against his prostate, constant and maddening, and he knew he wasn't going to last long.

"Fuck," Jaime breathed, and his voice was wrecked in a way that made Herman's chest tight. "You should see yourself right now. Stretched around my cock, shaking for it." His hands tightened on Herman's hips. "You ready?"

"Yes— yes—"

Jaime pulled back and thrust in hard, and Herman cried out sharply.

It was exactly what Jaime had promised— brutal and relentless, each thrust punching the air from Herman's lungs and driving him further into the mattress. The toy hit his prostate on every stroke, sending sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through his entire body. His arms gave out almost immediately, leaving him face-down with his ass in the air, completely at Jaime's mercy.

"That's it," Jaime growled, his voice rough with exertion. "Fucking take it. Take all of it."

Herman couldn't respond— couldn't do anything but moan and sob and feel. Tears were streaming down his face now, just like Jaime had promised, but they weren't from pain. It was too much, too good, too intense, and he was drowning in it.

"Please," Herman sobbed, his voice wrecked. "P-please, I need to come, please—"

"You want to come?" Jaime's hand snaked around to wrap around Herman's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. "Then come for me, Herman."

The sound of his actual name— not Waterboy, not kid, but Herman— pushed him over the edge.

His second orgasm hit even harder than the first, ripping through him with an intensity that whited out his vision. He was vaguely aware of screaming, of his whole body convulsing, of Jaime fucking him through it with relentless precision. It felt like it lasted forever, pleasure cresting and cresting as the relentless thrusts began to tip him over into overstimulation.

"Too— too much—" Herman whimpered, and Jaime immediately slowed down before stilling.

"I've got you." Jaime's voice was softer now, gentle, as he carefully pulled out. "You did so good. So fucking good for me."

Herman collapsed onto the mattress, boneless and wrecked. He felt Jaime moving around— heard the harness being removed, felt a warm cloth cleaning him up— but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes. His whole body was buzzing with aftershocks, every nerve end singing.

"Hey." Jaime's voice was a low murmur, his hand gentle on Herman's back. "You with me?"

Herman made a vague sound of acknowledgment, too wrung out to form actual words. Jaime let out a huff of laughter as the warmth of the washcloth finally retreated. "I'll take that as a yes."

Herman managed to turn his head, blinking blearily at Jaime through tear-spiked lashes. The older man looked… different. Softer, somehow. The hard edges smoothed out, replaced by something almost tender.

Something faint and distant forced its way through the fog clouding his thoughts. He shifted so he was laying on his side and frowned at Jaime. "Wait. Y-you… you don't have a— a… you didn't…?"

"Not important," Jaime said with a surprising, quiet firmness. "Wore the harness because I'm trans. And I got what I wanted out of this. Don't worry about it."

"What… what if— I want to— let me—" Herman let out a frustrated noise. "L-let me eat you out. Or— or… suck you off. Whatever you w-want me to call it."

Something startled and raw briefly washed over Jaime's face before it smoothed over again. His voice was rough as he asked, "Have you ever done that before?"

"N…no," Herman admitted, but before Jaime could say anything he continued, "But my powers— makes things w…wet, remember? I can… I bet that I, I could… use that to make you feel— feel good. If you want, of course."

Jaime stared at him for a long moment, something complicated flickering behind his eyes. His jaw worked silently, and Herman could practically see the war happening behind that scarred face—want versus caution, desire versus something that looked almost like vulnerability.

"You don't have to," Jaime finally said, but his voice had gone rough in a way that betrayed him. "This was about you. I didn't expect—"

"I want to," Herman interrupted, surprising himself with how steady his voice came out despite the exhaustion still weighing down his limbs. "Please. Let me... let me try. If it's bad, you can tell me to stop."

Jaime's breath caught audibly. His hand, still resting on Herman's back, twitched.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. Then, louder: "Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

He settled back against the headboard, spreading his thick and scarred thighs. "Get down here, then."

Herman scrambled to obey, positioning himself between Jaime's legs. Up close, he could see everything— the dark curls of hair, the flushed and swollen cock peeking out from its hood, the slick evidence of his arousal already visible. His mouth watered.

"Start slow," Jaime instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Use your tongue. Figure out what makes me react."

Herman nodded, then leaned in and pressed a tentative kiss to Jaime's inner thigh. He felt the muscle jump under his lips, heard Jaime's sharp intake of breath. Encouraged, he worked his way inward, pressing open-mouthed kisses closer and closer to where Jaime clearly needed him.

When he finally dragged his tongue through Jaime's folds for the first time, Jaime made a quiet, low noise.

"Fuck," Jaime murmured, his hands reaching up to tangle in Herman's hair. "That's—yeah, that's good—"

The taste was musky and salt-sweet, and Herman found he liked it immediately. He licked again, more confident this time, exploring the folds and ridges with curious attention. When his tongue found Jaime's cock and circled it, Jaime's grip in his hair tightened.

"There— right there— shit—"

Herman focused his attention there, lapping and sucking experimentally. And then he reached for his powers.

It was subtle at first— just a hint of extra slickness coating his tongue, making every movement glide smoother and wetter. But he pushed further, letting moisture seep from his lips and tongue until Jaime was drenched, until obscene wet sounds filled the room with every movement of Herman's mouth.

"Fuck," Jaime ground out, then gasped out a low, ragged moan as his grip on Herman's hair tightened to the point of pain, his thighs clamping around Herman's head. "Holy fuck, that's— oh god—"

Herman hummed against him, and the vibration combined with the supernatural wetness made Jaime full-on whimper— a needy, desperate sound that Herman never would have imagined coming from the fearsome Fiero.

"More," Jaime gasped, his hips grinding up against Herman's face. "Don't stop— don't fucking stop—"

Herman doubled his efforts, sucking Jaime's cock into his mouth while his tongue worked in tight, frantic swipes. He added more moisture, letting it drip down, making everything impossibly slick and messy. His chin was soaked, the sheets beneath them growing damp, and the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth working were fucking filthy.

"Fingers," Jaime breathed as his hips hitched forward, fucking against Herman's mouth. "Use— use your fingers."

Herman obeyed immediately, bringing his hand up and pressing two fingers against Jaime's entrance. The slickness from his powers made the slide effortless— his fingers sank in with almost no resistance, and Jaime let out a breathy groan that went straight to Herman's spent cock.

"Yes— fuck, just like that—"

Herman curled his fingers experimentally, searching, and when Jaime's whole body twitched and a strangled noise tore from his throat, Herman knew he'd found it. He pressed against that spot again and again, his mouth never stopping its relentless attention on Jaime's cock.

"Gonna—" Jaime's voice was rough and strained, starting to properly lose control now. His thighs were trembling imperceptibly around Herman's head, his hips moving in sharp, uncoordinated thrusts. "Fuck, I'm gonna— Herman, I'm—"

Herman added a third finger and sucked, hard, while flooding Jaime with another pulse of his water.

Jaime came with a startled, choked off grunt, his inner walls clamping down on Herman's fingers in rhythmic pulses. His thighs squeezed so tight around Herman's head that his ears were ringing, and the hands in his hair yanked hard enough to make his eyes water. Herman worked him through it, maintaining his rhythm as the waves of Jaime's orgasm gradually subsided into trembling aftershocks.

"F-fuck, 'm sensitive—" Jaime finally gasped, weakly attempting to pull Herman's mouth off of him.

But Herman was almost dizzy with the rush of it, too caught up in his ministrations to properly register the older man's words. He paused for a moment, breathing hard, before diving back in, feasting like a man dying of fucking thirst.

Jaime's breath hitched sharply, his legs jerking as overstimulation crashed through him. "Herm… Herman— hold on, fuck—"

But his protests dissolved into a ragged moan as Herman's tongue dragged over his hypersensitive cock again, the wetness from his powers making every touch feel amplified tenfold. Jaime's thighs were starting to shake harder, trying to close but unable to because Herman's shoulders kept them spread.

"Shit— wait— t…too much," Jaime's words came out slurred and urgent, but his hips betrayed him, grinding up against Herman's mouth even as he tried to push him away. His fingers tightened in the damp locks of Herman's hair, caught between pulling him closer and shoving him back. He roughly ground out, "Fucking… you're gonna make me fucking come again, oh my god—"

Herman made a muffled sound of acknowledgement against Jaime's flesh— not stopping, not even slowing down. If anything, the strained and increasingly desperate edge in Jaime's voice only spurred him on. He wanted this. Wanted to wreck Jaime the way Jaime had wrecked him.

He curled his fingers again, pressing hard against that sensitive spot inside while his tongue worked in relentless, sloppy circles. More water pulsed from him, flooding Jaime until everything was fucking drenched— the sheets, Herman's chin, Jaime's thighs. The obscene, wet sounds filled the room, punctuated by Jaime's increasingly ragged moans.

"Herman— Herman— I'm, I'm gonna— oh fuck, oh fuck—"

Jaime's whole body was shaking now, his abs visibly clenching as he fought against the overwhelming sensation. His head fell back against the headboard with a solid thunk, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat, and the sounds coming out of him were fucking hypnotizing— low and gravelly and wrecked in a way that seemed almost torn from him against his will.

"Fuck," Jaime growled, and the word rumbled deep in his chest in a way that rattled in Herman's ears. "Fuck, I'm gonna fucking come again— gonna come all over your fucking face, good boy, good boy—"

Herman moaned desperately at the praise, the vibration making Jaime's hips buck sharply. He redoubled his efforts, sucking hard on Jaime's swollen cock while his fingers pistoned in and out, curling on every thrust to hit that perfect spot.

Jaime's second orgasm hit him with devastating intensity.

His whole body seized up, back arching off the headboard as a raw, broken noise tore from his throat. His thighs clamped around Herman's head so hard that Herman genuinely couldn't hear anything except the thundering of his own pulse and Jaime's muffled, desperate noises. Slick gushed against Herman's chin, mixing with the water still flowing from his powers until everything was an absolute fucking mess.

"Fuck— fuck, fuck, fuck—" Jaime was practically vibrating out of his skin, his body convulsing with each wave of pleasure. His fingers had gone from gripping Herman's hair to scrabbling weakly at his shoulders, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to push him away or pull him impossibly closer.

Herman finally— finally— slowed down, gentling his touches as Jaime's orgasm wound down into full-body tremors. He pressed soft, almost reverent kisses to Jaime's inner thighs, his fingers carefully withdrawing from that slick and tight heat. The older man was an absolute wreck above him— chest heaving, skin flushed and sheened with sweat, his good eye glazed and unfocused.

"Holy… shit," Jaime managed after a long moment, his voice rough and absolutely destroyed. He sounded like he'd been screaming for hours. "You… you sure you've never done that before?"

Herman pulled back, wiping his soaked chin with the back of his hand. A giddy, almost delirious smile spread across his face. "Beginner's luck?"

Jaime let out a breathless laugh that turned into a groan. "Beginner's luck my fucking ass. Get up here."

Herman crawled up the bed obediently, and Jaime immediately pulled him into a messy, exhausted kiss. He could tasted himself on Herman's lips, and rather than pulling away, he deepened the kiss with a low hum of satisfaction.

When they finally broke apart, Jaime's forehead rested against Herman's, both of them breathing hard.

"You're dangerous," Jaime murmured, something warm and almost wondering in his voice. "Fucking dangerous."

"Th-thanks…?" Herman mumbled, feeling suddenly shy now that he was being pinned underneath that mismatched gaze once again. "I did… did good then?"

Jaime's lips curled into a lazy smile. "You did fucking great. Stay the night?"

The offer was so fucking tempting, but there was a small, still-functioning part of his brain that was just aware enough to realize how late it was getting.

"I… I wish I c-could," Herman said apologetically, and tried not to outwardly cringe as he saw Jaime's face fall. "I gotta… my grandma. I'm- I take care of her. I can't leave- leave her alone overnight."

The disappointment on Jaime's face quickly smoothed over and softened with understanding. "Of course. Let me take you home, then."

"You don't have to—" Herman started, but Jaime was already shaking his head.

"It's late. And you can barely stand after what I just put you through." There was a hint of smug satisfaction in his voice that made Herman's face flush. "I'm driving you. End of discussion."

Herman opened his mouth to protest again, but the stern look Jaime leveled at him made the words die in his throat. Instead, he just nodded weakly.

Getting dressed was an ordeal. Herman's legs felt like jelly, and his whole body ached in ways that were going to be very obvious tomorrow. Jaime watched him struggle into his suit with an amused expression, only stepping in to help when Herman nearly toppled over trying to get his foot through one of the legs of the brightly colored spandex.

"Shut up," Herman muttered, even though Jaime hadn't said anything.

"Didn't say a word." But his grin was insufferably smug.

The drive back to Herman's house was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Jaime's worn, beat up truck rumbled through the empty streets, the radio playing something soft and staticky. Herman found himself drifting, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

When they pulled up at his driveway, Jaime put the truck in park but didn't unlock the doors.

"Hey." His voice was uncharacteristically soft and careful. "This was… I had a good time tonight."

Herman blinked at him, something warm and tentative unfurling in his chest. "M-me too."

Jaime's jaw worked for a moment, like he was wrestling with something. Then: "I… I'll see you at work on Monday? We're still good?"

Herman's heart did something strange in his chest. "Y-yeah. We're… of course. Good. It's good. We're good."

Jaime's mismatched eyes met his, and there was a vulnerability— a rawness there that Herman had never seen before. A tiny smile spread across Herman's face before he could stop it.

The tension in Jaime's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Good. That's— good." He reached over and unlocked the doors. "Now get inside before your grandma starts to wonder where you're at."

Herman fumbled with the door handle, then paused. On impulse before he could lose his nerve, he leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Jaime's cheek.

"G-goodnight, Jaime."

The look on Jaime's face— startled and soft and almost tender— was something Herman knew he'd be thinking about for a long, long time.

"Goodnight, Herman."