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Robert wasn’t bothered by the fact that Chad refused to undress in front of him. Yeah, the behavior seemed a little out of character from the guy who wore a skin-tight suit with a neckline down to his navel, but it’s not like he was going to push the matter.
Besides, there was a difference between wearing revealing clothing and dropping your pants in front of someone. Robert had his own reservations about letting anyone see below his neckline with all the scars that criss-crossed his torso— on a good day it looked like he had been tossed in a rock tumbler full of knives.
The first time it happened Robert had just finished working out, chest heaving as he shoved open the door to the locker room. Honestly, he would have loved to just go home and shower there but his fuckwit of a landlord still hadn’t fixed the water heater. It was either freeze under a showerhead with worse water pressure than a grocery store vegetable mister or shower at work.
Robert started heading towards the showers, pausing as he heard Chad muttering under his breath. He turned the corner to see where the man was holding his duffle bag, rifling through it with a frown. It seemed he was looking for something in particular, completely shirtless as damp, curly hair pooled around his shoulders.
Robert just barely avoided slamming his knee into one of the benches at the sight, swearing as he nearly ate shit on the concrete floors. Chad looked up in an instant, freezing at the sight of Robert trying to regain his balance.
“Hey.” Robert called, awkwardly shoving his hands in his sweatpants pockets and hoping the embarrassed flush on his ears wasn’t too visible.
Before he can register the movement Robert is letting his eyes drag over the expanse of golden skin, relishing in the definition of toned abs and the way dark hair sprawls over a broad chest. Chad didn’t respond, body frozen as his hands stilled from where they were buried beneath a mound of clothes and hair gel containers. “You good?”
That seemed to snap him out of it, Chad grabbing the first shirt he could and tugging it over his head so quickly Robert barely registered the action. “What the fuck do you want, Mechadick?” He was scowling now, arms crossed over his chest. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
“Last time I checked, this was a public space.” He drawls, crossing his arms and leaning against a locker. “Don’t worry, I’m not here for a free show. Just wanted to grab a shower.”
Chad just sneers, snatching up his duffel and storming towards the doors. He shoulder-checks Robert hard with a snipped, “Fucking knock, asshole.”
So. Chad didn’t like to be seen shirtless. No big deal.
Maybe he would have felt differently if Chad only refused to change in front of him, but it seemed the man avoided undressing in front of anyone on the team. Well, except Prism. Hell, even then Robert would have understood. They had a… complicated past, to say the least.
Since dealing with Shroud, the two of them had come to a somewhat tentative peace. Chad got to punch him in the face once a month, Robert sent him to help the Torrance Sewer System when needed, and they only antagonized each other the normal amount when the team got drinks.
The next time was an accident, the team getting a celebratory dinner following an extremely successful mission taking down the leader of an up-and-coming weapon smuggling ring. Of course, things had quickly devolved from splitting appetizers to getting filthy wasted and Robert was right there with them. Usually he could handle his liquor with some respectability, but now that he had consistent health insurance he was back on the anti-depressants he had been prescribed a decade ago. One drink feels like four, he remembers the doctor saying.
By now they were getting nasty looks from neighboring tables. Robert should probably tell everyone to quiet down, right?
Nah. He was having too much fun fucking with Chad.
“So like,” Robert leaned the bulk of his weight on the broad, too warm shoulder, grinning with all of his teeth. “How many bed sheets have you burned through?” He pokes a finger into firm abs and earns a hiss in return. “Do they even make fireproof blankets?”
Chad grabs him by the back of his neck, hauling him up and away. Robert begins to protest, tequila-addled mind telling him to go back to the warmth but strong hands force him upright in the booth. “Jesus, Mechabitch, the fuck’s up with you?”
Robert shrugs, grabbing his drink from where it was leaking condensation on the table. He goes to take a drink when it’s snatched out of his hands and placed far too away. “Hey! That’s min-”
“Nuh-uh Robbo.” A glass of water is shoved in his hands and he frowns. “You are not throwing up all over me tonight. I look fucking fabulous.”
He did. Robert had gotten to the restaurant early to grab the table and had nearly fallen out of his chair when he and Alice had walked in.
Chad was wearing a black mesh top, somehow leaving both nothing and absolutely everything to the imagination in combination with black leather pants. It was topped with a jean jacket, flame decals licking up the sides and back with red and orange embroidery along the sleeves. He blamed that outfit for why he had slammed back a strawberry margarita with only a little more force than strictly necessary.
He leans back into the warmth, shuffling closer and tucking his chin over Chad’s shoulder. He was just barely tall enough for the motion and felt the soft wisps of well-conditioned hair tickling along the back of his neck. Robert looks across the table, some small voice in the back of his head breathing a sigh of relief when he sees that everyone is too preoccupied with their own bullshit to start whipping out insults.
Prism and Sonar are trying to peer pressure Waterboy into doing shots with them, Malevola and Invisigal are crowded in front of Golem to try and get a good luck at the music blasting through the wired earbuds he had shoved in his ears (?) the second they had sat down. Punch-Up and Coupe are on the other end of the booth-half of the table, not quite making out but well on the way there. Aw. He loves his team.
Oh, fuck. He really is wasted. He takes a long sip of the water clutched in his hands, wincing as a brainfreeze suddenly hits him. He makes a pitiful noise, leaning back and dropping his cheek on Chad’s shoulder. “Rob? What the fuck are you doing?” He drags his cheek along the jean material, sighing softly.
“You’re warm. ‘S nice.” He closes his eyes, cradling the glass to his chest and sighing. “I’m like, always cold. I like sitting next to you.” There’s nothing but silence from the man and Robert sighs again, relishing the heat of the body against his.
…that’s a little too hot, actually.
Robert yelps, snatching his hand back from where it had been resting by the mesh undershirt. He draws away, blinking in confusion before leaping back.
“Fuck, Chad! You’re on fire!” It takes the other man a second to respond, jolting upright and looking down to see where the mesh of his shirt was beginning to smolder. Robert scrambles out of the booth with Chad on his heels, his years of training overriding the inebriation as they dash for the nearest exit and slam the door open. They end up in the parking lot, the cold air sobering as Chad pats himself down with a fervor.
“Ah, fuck, fucking shit! Goddamnit fucking bitch-” He spins like a dog trying to catch their tail, patting out flames wherever he could reach. Robert instinctively stepped forward to help before realising how tremendously stupid that was. Chad was fire-proof, Robert was not. Plus, it was a little entertaining to watch him scramble.
Chad hissed as he tore off the jean jacket, helped along by the fact that the article was basically in tatters by this point. He tossed it down, stomping a few times to put out the rest of the flames. When it seemed like less of a hazard Chad stepped back, sighing roughly as he set his hands on his hips and looked down. “Fuck. I really liked that jacket.”
He looked down to the mesh top, hooking his fingers under one of the knots and gently tugging. It was almost comical how it fell apart, shedding and falling to pieces around his feet. He frowned, lips falling into a little pout that made Robert want to scream. Robert was extremely proud of himself for not stuttering when he asked, “Why’d your pants not burn?” Chad gave him a look like he was stupid, which, rude. Robert thought he was asking a very reasonable question.
“It’s leather, dumbass. Fire resistant.” He looked down, gently pinching the material between two fingers. “Might be a little scorched but it should be fine.” He sighed, irritation lingering on his brow. “Fuck. Forgot mesh was so flammable. Doubt the restaurant is gonna let me back in like this. I’ll text Alice, she might-” He paused, hands stilling as they patted empty pockets. “Motherfucking- I left my phone inside.”
He looked so frustrated with the entire turn of events Robert almost felt bad. He stifled a laugh as he stepped forward. “Want me to go grab it?” Chad eyed him, clearly debating how genuine the offer was before stopping.
“Bob. Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Robert. Close your fucking eyes.” He obeys, snapping his eyes shut.
“Uh. Should I-”
There’s a sudden whooshing, heat enveloping him and chasing away the whipping chill of the night air. It fades as quickly as it came and Robert slowly cracks his eyes open to reveal his solitude in the Chilli’s parking lot.
“Fucker left me with his drink tab.”
Robert got with the program pretty quickly, generally trying to steer clear of the showers when he knew Chad was in there or delaying visiting him in medical if a call had left him especially roughed up. As asshole-ish as the team could be it seemed they also tried to respect his wishes, nudging him towards the family bathroom with the locking door when they changed before leaving work.
The third time is both of their faults.
“See you, Robbo.” Malevola calls over her shoulder as she summons a portal, leaning over the back of the couch to scoop up a wasted Victor. The hybrid whines high enough that Beef starts barking, Robert sighing as he scoops him up and covers his ears.
“Bye, guys. See you on Monday.” The team had moved to his apartment after four rounds of drinks at the Beacon, a hero bar they were absolutely now banned from. For as many leaps and bounds the team had made in becoming better people, it seemed they still struggled with resisting the siren call of bar fights. They were also seemingly allergic to picking up after themselves.
Malevola shoots him a half-hearted salute as they leave, the rest of the team starting to make their own exits. Alice is out the door with a comment about having to talk to her manager (third time she’s used that one this month), Herman mentions something about needing to take care of his grandma (which Robert actually does believe), and Courtney, Janelle, and Colm had disappeared the second Robert mentioned needing to take drink glasses to the sink. At least Bruno had left earlier with a comment about the babysitter not being able to calm the baby kaiju.
Robert sighs as he bends down to collect empty pizza boxes, hissing under his breath as his lower back twinges. The alcohol could only do so much to disguise pain when he had a couple dozen screws in his spine.
“I get that you’re like, the team dad, but you’re way too young to be throwing out your back.”
Robert rolls his eyes, carrying his horde of boxes to the kitchen to start looking for a trash bag. “Ha, ha. Why are you still here? Don’t you wanna leave?” Chad scoffs from the living room and Robert looks over to see him starting to collect empty mixer cans.
“I mean, yeah, but unlike everyone else I was raised with some fucking manners. Here, give me a bag.” Robert is tempted to make a jab at his sudden willingness to clean a mess that isn’t his but valiantly resists at the prospect of doing this all by himself. The apartment falls into a gentle silence, Chad stepping around abandoned knives as he picks up stray Twinkie wrappers while Robert begins loading the dishwasher. He really should just buy a stack of paper plates.
Between their efforts they finish soon, Robert leaning against the counter with a sigh after starting the machine. Chad drops another trash bag at the door and sets it with the several others that had accumulated. That’s a tomorrow problem. Chad joins him, leaning against the other counter with a groan and closed eyes. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Robert smirks, crossing his arms and kicking out his feet. “Aren’t you like thirty-six?”
“Case in point, Bob-Bob. I should be at home drinking a bottle of shitty wine and watching Desperate Housewives.” Robert laughs, pushing himself off the counter to stand in front of the other man.
“I get it.” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling tiredly. “I swear every time I drink with the team the hangovers get worse.” Chad just grins, reaching up to tug out his hair tie with a relieved sigh.
“You know what that is?”
“Don’t-”
“A skill issue.” Robert shoves his shoulder but laughs all the same, shaking his head as watches Chad begins to gently untangle the long, silky waves. He hasn’t gotten this privilege a lot— it seems Chad likes to wait until he’s around fewer people and is less inclined to keep up appearances.
Robert takes in the view, enjoying the slightly annoyed but mostly serene expression as skilled fingers break up sections stiffened with hair gel. It must be a little harder, missing two fingers. Robert shakes his head as he tries to pull himself out of that line of thought. “It’s pretty.”
“What?” Robert reaches out without thinking, wrapping a finger around one of the loose strands. He pauses, pulling back in an instant and clearing his throat. When he looks back up Chad is giving him an unreadable expression, eyes molten with an emotion Robert can’t quite piece together.
“Do people ever pull it? In a fight, I mean.” Chad seems to shake himself out of his own thoughts, shrugging.
“I mean, they try.” He resumes his work, dividing sections and tucking them over his other shoulder. “They usually get burned before they get the chance.”
They fall into an uneasy silence, Robert unsure of what to say. They spend a lot of time around each other, sure, but most of it is with the buffer of the team. Their time alone is usually joined by this stifling, baffling silence that leaves Robert’s heart racing.
Surprisingly, it’s Chad who speaks first. “You’re, uh, less of an asshole than you used to be.” He refuses to let their gazes meet, fingers working.
“…thanks?” Chad rolls his eyes.
“God, just take the fucking compliment.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“You’re so insufferable.”
“You’ve said.”
“I could beat your scrawny little ass right now.”
“I’m sure.”
“Could burn you to a- ack!” Chad doesn’t get the chance to finish as Robert darts forward, hand snapping out and grabbing the now-free hair. He yanks hard, nearly sending the both of them tumbling to the floor.
To his credit Chad recovers quickly, growling under his breath as he grabs Robert’s arm to wrench it away. He tries to grab his waist but Robert manages to dodge, feinting to the side in order to leap forward. Despite his pitiful weight he manages to send them both tumbling backwards, Chad nearly cracking his head open on the counter as they collapse on the floor.
They tussle on the floor, a laugh unbidden bubbling out of his throat as he scrambles away from where he had landed half-sprawled on Chad. Despite his obvious advantage Chad’s body temperature doesn’t rise, clearly unwilling to cut this play-fight short.
“Sneaky bitch.” He growls, fingers wrapping around Robert’s ankle and pulling him back. Realistically Robert could wrench himself out of the grasp and they both know it but he lets himself be pulled, regaining his orientation quickly to kick at Chad’s side. He seems to have kicked a little too hard, a ragged breath being torn out of Chad's lungs. Robert pauses for a half second in concern, about to ask if he’s okay when he’s grabbed by the back of his shirt and thrown back.
Unfortunately, all of Chad’s control seemed to be going to his body temperature and there’s a sharp tearing sound as his fingers catch Robert’s collar just right. The force had strained the buttons, nearly all of them flying off to hide around the apartment in places he would surely find them several months from now. In this moment though they’re both frozen, looking down to where his shirt has fallen open to reveal his bare torso.
“Damn, you really are a twink.” Robert makes an offended noise.
“Uh, no, I have muscle. Way too much to be considered a twink.”
Chad scoffs, crossing his arms from where he’s now sitting upright on Robert’s kitchen floor, eyeing his exposed skin with barely-concealed interest. “Uh, yes. Muscle doesn’t have anything to do with it. Twinks are skinny hairless men. You’re a skinny hairless man.”
He leans forward to jab a finger into Robert’s stomach and earns a swat in return. “If you’d eat properly we might be able to get you to otter status. Those fuckin’ Twinkies aren’- ACK!”
Robert leaps forward once again, hand landing on his right shoulder and laser focused as he shoves his fingers under the slick edge of the costume and yanks. He’s only marginally successful, the costume peeling off the shoulder and most of the upper arm with a gross shlick noise, sagging down to begin falling off the other shoulder. He scrambles back again, back hitting one of his cabinets with a satisfied grin. “Now we’re even.”
Chad moves to retaliate, eyes flaring as he begins to reach forward before freezing. It’s a little comical honestly, the way muscles rippling with intention suddenly stop, a heaving chest stilled and eyes wide. Robert realizes his mistake a moment later, his own breath still. He slams his eyes shut, hands grabbing the edge of the counter to navigate to a standing position while blinded. “Wait, fuck, Chad, I’m sorry, I forgot. Here, I’ll-”
“Don’t.”
Robert stills again, dropping back to sit on the heels of his feet. There’s a long, deeply suffering sigh. “Open your eyes, you fucking bitch.”
He does so cautiously, still not sure whether or not he’s about to be immolated for his transgression. He peers through lowered lids to see Chad slightly hunched, shoulders curled forward and face cast to the side in conflict. It seems the costume is incredibly reliant on tension and now that it’s slipped a little it’s slipped a lot, pooling around his waist with the forearms still covered. Chad refuses to meet his gaze.
Robert wants to speak, wants to break this stifling tension but he has no idea what to say. He has his own experience with body dysmorphia but is well aware that whatever words he might try to throw together could hurt a hell of a lot more than help. He chooses to stay silent, waiting for Chad to make the first move.
His broad chest rises and falls with a sharp exhale. “I, uh, I probably should have done this a while ago.” His arms cross over his chest, voice tight.
“Chad, I don’t want you to do anything you-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Robert’s mouth falls shut with a clack. Silence lingers for another few seconds. “My therapist says this will like, help me move on or whatever. Get over a piece of my past. I think it’s bullshit but Jennifer is unfortunately, like, really good at her job.” He exhales roughly. “Just… don’t fucking laugh, okay?”
Robert is so tempted to make a comment. “Okay.” Chad sighs again, pulling his arms the rest of the way out of the sleeves and eyes flickering up to meet his now that he's fully exposed. With a slow, fortifying breath he turns to expose his back. Robert’s breath catches.
There, on Chad’s upper right shoulder, is a tattoo of the Mecha Man symbol. It’s not huge, probably only the size of Robert’s palm but the stylized M is unmistakable, neat black lines shifting as Chad takes measured breaths.
“I got it before I was Flambae.” He mutters, voice low and muffled now that he’s turned away. “I, uh. Fuck, this is humiliating.” He drags a hand over his face. “I was a really big Mecha Man fan. As a kid, I mean.”
His head drops a little. “When I moved to America I had really bad anxiety. No one wants to be friends with the immigrant freak who barely speaks English and catches on fire whenever he’s frustrated, you know? So I spent a lot of time online. Got really into the superhero stuff. And it’s like, really stupid, but Mecha Man kind of helped my self confidence or whatever. This guy is a normie but still finds a way to help people. Invented a fucking Astral Pulse.”
He sighs roughly, hand coming up to fidget with loose curls. “When he died, it really messed with me. This guy was the Mecha Man. He couldn’t die, right?” He shakes his head with a self deprecating laugh. “And then you came along. I watched the press conference where you announced you were taking over and I thought, fuck. This is a kid. He’s younger than me, his predecessor just died, his life is probably in shambles. But he’s still got the balls to get into that suit.”
He shuffles to lean against one of the cabinets, his back still facing Robert. “A few days later I got wasted. I found the nearest tattoo shop and asked for the Mecha Man symbol. Hurt like a bitch but I couldn’t stop smiling when I looked in the mirror. You always seemed so sure of what you were doing, it felt like I was borrowing a piece of your confidence. Or whatever.”
He finally moves so Robert can see his face again, back against the cabinets and eyes on the floor in front of him. “That’s why it hurt so much. When you told us. I wasn’t just staring at the guy who cut off my fingers and stuck me in jail. I was staring at the guy who I idolized for over a decade. The guy whose symbol I put on myself.” He finally looks up, eyes faintly glimmering. “Gave myself a nasty fever trying to burn out the ink. It wouldn’t budge.”
“The tattoo isn’t your fault, that was my dumbass.” His fingers run over the stubs of the mutilated fingers. “But now, no matter what, even if I got laser removal and tried to move on with my life, I would always have a reminder of you. Now I had two permanent marks.”
He clears his throat. “So, um, yeah, Obviously if you mention this to anyone I’ll-”
“Can I touch it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. Chad’s head whips up, the flames in his eyes flickering out in shock.
They stare at each other for a long moment.
The words come softly. “Yeah.” They shuffle towards each other, still on the kitchen floor as Robert walks on his knees and Chad pushes himself back. Both of their breaths are bated as Robert lifts his hand, finger hovering for a moment before resting in the dead center.
Chad shivers beneath him, body temperature picking up a little as Robert lets the pad of his finger trace the outline. Honestly, it was pretty well done for a late-night drunk decision. “It looks good.” He murmurs.
For once Chad doesn’t respond, head ducked as Robert brushes his thumb over the stylized letter. He lets himself linger there, revelling in the smoothness of skin that’s been well taken care of and unable to ignore the near lack of scars the other man seems to have. He draws away after a second, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding and dropping his shoulders, his destroyed work shirt hanging off his shoulders. “Chad?”
“...yeah?”
“I’m sorry.” Chad moves to face him, brows pinched.
“I already said it wasn’t your fault.” Robert shakes his head.
“For your fingers. I don’t think I’ve actually apologized for that yet.” He feels nausea rippling in his gut, guilt tearing through his chest and tightening his throat. “It was unnecessary.” He moves back to sit properly, back against the cabinets and gaze never leaving Chad’s. “I don’t regret stopping you. I think we both know that was necessary. But I could have done it differently, I didn’t need to mutilate you in the process.”
A scoff. “That wasn’t mutilation.”
“It was.” Robert snaps back, words harsh and biting before he shakes his head and sighs. “Sorry. I just… I took it too far. I regret it.” Chad nods, thumb brushing over the stubs of his fingers. He moves after a moment, scooching over to sit at Robert’s side and pressing their shoulders together.
“I forgive you. I think I forgave you a long time ago.” He tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “Don’t get me wrong, I was fucking pissed, but I don’t think anything else would have actually stopped me. I was kind of spiralling and as awful as it was, it snapped me out of it.” Chad ducks his head to meet his eyes. “I can only hate you so much when you’re the reason I’m where I’m at today.”
A beat. They linger in the moment, breaths syncing in the heavy silence and never looking away.
Robert’s not really sure who moved first. One moment he’s letting his eyes fall to plush lips and the next those lips are against his own— it’s gentler than he would have expected, tentative as a hand comes up to cradle his face. He returns the gesture, letting his hand wander up a bare shoulder before tangling in dark hair.
That pulls a sound out of the other man, Robert smiling into the kiss as a searingly hot tongue prods at his bottom lip. He complies, sighing into a too-hot mouth and relishing the sensation of fingers dragging along his stubble. They pull away a moment later, breaths coming heavier and chest heaving. Robert knows his eyes are lidded when he can’t tear them away from the spit that shines along reddened lips.
“You want another one of my marks?”
“Shut the fuck up.”