Chapter Text
“Hey,” Invisigal says over the mic, out of breath. She’s waiting for some bank thieves to be hauled away. “What do you guys think of Robert?”
Flambae snorts. “Where do I start? He’s a bitch with a stupid name.”
“He’s got a very sad vibe,” Malevola says. “Knew a guy like that in hell. Wonder how he’s doing.”
“A depressed bitch with a stupid name,” Flambae clarifies. “He needs someone to help him change it.”
“Not to ruin the fun, but I can hear you,” Robert says, stretching his fingers. Hacking is sometimes just as challenging as piloting a mech-suit. Carpal tunnel is a silent killer. He flexes his hand and continues, “This is the team line.”
“Yeah, yeah, bitch,” Flambae mutters. Someone shouts in the background, but it’s muffled. He curses. “Can someone come lend a hand with this train?”
“On my way,” Golem responds, before Robert can look over who’s available. “And at least he’s got jokes.”
“He’s growing on me,” Punch Up remarks. “Less bitch, more… bud.”
Robert sighs. “Still here.”
“No, no,” Invisigal says. “Like, do you guys think he’s a beta?”
“This isn’t appropriate,” Robert immediately interjects. Like everyone’s secret identities, secondary genders are often kept private at SDN. Otherwise, heroes and dispatchers could be tracked or manipulated. Some members of the team are open with their identities—like Golem, Coupe, and Prism. But they’re all betas, so there’s minimal risk.
Prism chimes in, “Oh, for sure a beta. Is this even a discussion?”
“I don’t know,” Sonar drawls. “There’s a lot of pent-up aggression in that body. I could see alpha. He’s got that grrr-I’m-a-leader alpha vibe.”
There’s an overlap of murmured agreement over the line. “I’ve never heard of that ‘vibe’ before,” Robert says, loudly. “And as scintillating as this is, I’ll remind everyone that discussing secondary sexes is prohibited. Not to mention annoying.”
Silence crackles over the line for a moment. Then Invisigal says, “Hello, button. We look forward to pushing you again in the future.”
Great. Thankfully, at that moment, Robert gets a call for help at the docks. It’s a colossal mess of destruction—villains crawling everywhere, innocent civilians in the mix, damage to the port. He waits a beat for Invisigal to become available, then dispatches everyone. With the whole team busy, Robert leans back and turns off his mic with a sigh.
Ever since presenting, Mecha Man Blue has always kept that part of himself private. His dad was an alpha, his granddad was an alpha, and Robert Robertson III? Of course, he kills the family legacy in more ways than one: he presented as an omega.
Not even Track Star knows. The only person in the world who knew Robert was an omega was his father, who came home one day to find his feverish son cowering in a sea of blankets. When the dust settled, Robert was embarrassed—no, ashamed—ashamed enough to suggest that he live the rest of his days as a beta.
Unsurprisingly, his father agreed, and since then, Robert has lived a relatively scentless, heatless existence. As Mecha Man, he never had the time to deal with his heats. Even though Robert has retired the mech suit and decided to devote himself to dispatching, he’s kept up his routine of blockers and suppressants because, honestly? He’s used to it now. He’s just used to keeping the secret.
Through SDN, Robert gets his drugs paid for by the company. The upside? He’s saving money. The downside? They only provide the generic brand. But generic is better than nothing, and not only that—it’s helping Robert save money. He’ll be able to buy a proper bed frame or a TV soon.
“Good work today,” Robert tells the team when their shift ends. “I’ll see you all on Monday.”
“No, what?” Punch Up asks. “You’re not coming out for drinks?”
“It’s tradition at this point, Robert,” Coupe adds. “Friday night team bonding. Very important for synergy, as you call it.”
“I’m pretty tired. Chase can’t watch Beef tonight.” He pauses. “I don’t feel like getting kicked out of a bar. I found out I’m allergic to alcohol. I have a family emergency. Pick your favorite excuse.”
Everyone protests, annoyed. “What fuckin’ family emergency could an orphan have?” Prism asks, making Flambae snicker.
“That’s the one you picked?” Robert asks back. “I give you, like, five options and you hone in on that one?”
“Whatever, guys,” Invisigal cuts in, ignoring Robert. “He’s being lame and flaky because he doesn’t want to admit he’s a beta.”
“Hilarious,” Robert says. “But seriously, I’m good on drinks tonight. You guys have fun.”
“Give us a hint,” Golem requests. “C’mon, dude.”
“Don’t say anything, Robbie,” Sonar interjects. “We needed something new to bet on, man. Make it interesting for us. I know I fought for alpha earlier, but I’ll put twenty on beta.”
“Twenty?” Coupe parrots. “What is this, a little league? At minimum, this is a fifty-dollar bet.”
“Bobby-boy, how much should I wager?” Flambae asks. “Come tell me over drinks.”
“Good-bye, everyone. Rest easy this weekend,” Robert says. Before they can continue and try to drag or trick him into going out with them, he pulls off the headset.
Robert isn’t feeling well. Usually, he isn’t easily teased about his secondary gender. When he’s been teased about his gender in the past, he knows that the more he protests, the more suspicious he appears. So, he has perfected his poker face so that this brand of ribbing doesn’t get a reaction out of him.
But not today. Today, with his well-meaning group of ex-villains, Robert let the mask slip. There must be something wrong with him.
Robert sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and logging out of the computer. Maybe he is just tired today—maybe he’s coming down with something. It’s for the best that he doesn’t go out. Picking up Beef and a stack of paperwork he wants to work on over the weekend, Robert heads out.
Since defeating Shroud, Robert has tried to make his apartment seem a little more homey and a little less like a serial killer's. It’s hard when you’re still strapped for cash, but he’s bought a few blankets to go with the couch that Blonde Blazer gifted him, there’s a mattress in the corner of the room, and he even put up an actual photo of him and his dad, replacing the wanted signs and newspaper clippings that he had up weeks ago.
When he gets home, Robert showers with his scent-blocking soap, re-applies his scent-blocking patches, and then rummages through his medicine cabinet. His body is probably used to generic-brand suppressants—they must be losing effectiveness. That’s why he’s acting strangely today. When Robert can’t find any of his old, higher-dose suppressants hiding in the secret compartment at the back of the cabinet, he makes a mental note to head to the store tomorrow.
Guess this week’s paycheck is going to heat suppressants. So much for a TV, he thinks. He wanders over to his kitchen, wanting a beer. He opens the fridge. He’s out. Great.
Knock, knock, someone raps at the door. There are only so few people who know where he lives. Out loud, Robert murmurs, “Oh, no.” Then Punch Up kicks open his door.
“Robert!” Punch Up calls, Coup at his heels. “We were waiting out there for ages.”
“What are you doing here?” He asks, rubbing his face.
Coupe sets a bottle of whiskey on the counter. “You couldn’t come out tonight,” she says, now raiding his cabinets for his red solo cups. “So we brought the party to you. Sorry about your family emergency.”
He sighs. “Thanks, I guess.”
Malevola, Flambae, and Prism trickle in through the gaping door-shaped hole. “This is no good, Robert,” Flambae says. “What if Beef gets out? Will this not plunge you even deeper into depression?”
“I am not depressed,” Robert says, taking the cup of something-strong that Coupe shoves into his hands. Prism and Punch Up have Beef on his back, petting his tummy. Robert points his drink at Flambae. “I was depressed. With Shroud behind bars, I have crept back to semi-average, run-of-the-mill melancholia.”
Flambae heats the hinge of the front door, shaping it back into place. “Your honesty is depressing me, Bobbert.”
“I brought another lamp,” Golem says, stepping in from the balcony with Sonar, who shifts from monster-bat back to half-human. Golem’s holding a wall-sconce in one meaty hand. He grumbles, “Where’ja want it?”
His quiet night has flown out the door. Robert sighs. “Put it down anywhere.”
“You were supposed to bring food,” Punch Up complains. “Anyone got a DoorDash Dashpass?”
Prism and Malevola get the speaker going, playing some upbeat pop. Robert lets himself be pulled into a dance between them, rolling his eyes as they chant for him to chug his drink.
The bathroom door opens on its own, then Visi pops into existence. “Scent blockers, patches, and soaps, oh my,” she announces to the room, catching her breath. She waves the generic brand of heat/rut suppressants that Robert wants to upgrade, then tosses the bottle of pills to Punch-Up. “But only the SDN suppressants. Nothing damning.”
“Hey!” Robert protests, crossing the room to take the bottle from Punch Up. He pockets it. “Is this why you guys came?”
“Not a beta then,” Punch Up says, ignoring Robert. “Scent blocking patches and the soap? That’s no beta scent that he’s hiding.”
“I use both,” Prism defends, sipping from her cup. “Otherwise, I’d smell too good. Too distracting. He could still be a beta.”
Malevola points at her, a coy grin growing on her face. “You hide your scent because you don’t like it. Admit it.”
“Bitch, what do you think I smell like?”
“Grass.” The group laughs, and Prism reels back a fist, so Malevola clarifies, “Not weed! The regular kind of grass. I caught it on the tail end of a shift last week.”
Looking away guiltily, Prism’s face warms. “Shut up.”
“Hey, I like it!” Malevola says, knocking her hand against Prism’s shoulder. “Not a lot of greenery in hell.”
Striding to the kitchen to fill up his drink—god knows he needs it—Robert mutters, “This feels a little like hell right now, actually.”
Waterboy knocks, and Flambae lets him in. He calls out, “S–sor—apologies for being—having lateness. I brought…beer. Anyone want a c-can?”
Raising his hand, Sonar burps. “This is an open-and-shut case. His file said beta. He’s a beta who hates his scent. Boom-pow.” He catches the beer can thrown to him. “Thanks, Water-bud.”
“But why the suppressants?” Invisigal points out, sitting down and splaying her arms across the back of the couch. “It’s not like he’s dating anyone who would need them.”
“You don’t know that,” Robert says.
“Oh, right. Anyone on the old radar, Rob?” She asks, catching a beer thrown to her from Waterboy. “Last I checked, you missed the train for a couple of potential lovers. It’s quite tragic, really, how Blazer dropped you.”
“She didn’t ‘drop’ me,” Robert says, sitting on the counter. He takes a swig of his drink. “We decided we were better off as friends.”
“‘We’?” Coupe repeats. “By my observation, you let her down. Hard.”
“Not cool,” Golem says. “Blazer’s super fine.”
Punch Up sits next to Robert on the counter and asks, “You have trouble letting people in, huh?”
“Oh, yeah. Someone took a bullet for Robert,” Malevola says. “And still he didn’t give them a chance.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Visi jokes. “I thought heroes cream their jeans over self-sacrifice.”
“For your information,” Robert says, already feeling the buzz from his drinks. “Heroes do not ‘cream their jeans’ over sacrifice.”
Flambae steals a sip from Robert’s cup as he passes. Winking, he asks, “Then what do they cream over?”
Robert pulls his drink back, holding it closer to his face. He glares at Flambae. “...Heroism.”
“Then we must really turn you on,” Flambae says. “Should you be sitting on the counter? Should I get you a towel?”
“He fixed his file,” Coupe tells Sonar. “I’ve done it for clients before. Otherwise, it makes no sense why he would have blockers and suppressants on hand.”
“I could be dating someone,” Robert reiterates, met with a tide of disagreement from every corner of the room. “This is fucked—you guys see that, right?”
“Just tell us, then,” Prism says. “If you want us to stop.”
“Why aren’t you psycho-analyzing each other?” Robert requests. “What’s Punch Up? What’s Visi? Why no intrigue about their genders?”
“Please, we already know each other,” Punch Up says, like it’s obvious. “We shower together after shifts, for god’s sake. Hard to hide your scent when you’re dead-tired, and your blockers have worn off.”
“Really?” Robert asks. He looks around the room. “You all really know each other like that?”
Prism has changed the music to something softer. The room of Z-team heroes looks at each other and nods.
“Alright,” Robert acknowledges, with a pang of annoyance. “Tell me about yourselves then. Seriously.”
“I’m more curious about your own analysis, Mr. Robertson,” Invisigal says. “Make your guesses first.”
He rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s a beta. There, I’ve guessed.”
“Boring,” she says into her beer as she takes a sip. “Try again.”
Robert sighs, looking around the room. He looks back at Visi and nods to her. “Omega,” he says. “You were out two weeks ago without notice. Possible unplanned heat cycle.”
Her cheeks flame as she takes a long pull from her drink.
He looks over to Malevola. “If you’ve caught Prism’s scent, you must have a souped-up nose,” he says. “Probably alpha. Some chance you’re an omega, but I’d say odds are low.”
Malevola nods with a smile.
Next, he slides a glance at Punch Up, sitting next to him on the counter. “...Beta,” he says. “Maybe. You help keep everyone focused—kind of a neutral vibe—but… I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“What about me, Bobby?” Sonar asks. He flexes.
“...Alpha,” Robert begrudgingly admits. “Or an omega with an inferiority complex.”
“Y-ouch,” Sonar mutters.
“Waterboy,” Robert says, looking the kid over. Waterboy awkwardly looks back at Robert, smoothing his hair back. He’s meek, which is a trait typically assigned to omegas, and it would undoubtedly make Robert laugh if his power is creating water and slick… But Waterboy just has a confidence problem, so that doesn’t mean anything. Robert isn’t sure he’d really be able guess his secondary gender accurately, so he says, “Beta, but… I’m not sure. Could go either way.”
“And me?” Flambae prompts.
“Alpha,” Robert says, surprising himself. He doesn’t have a real reason behind it—it’s just a gut feeling—so he shrugs and clears his throat. “Maybe.”
“Well, you were almost right,” Flambae says, resting against the counter on the other side of Robert, his hip grazing against Robert’s knee. He points to Golem, Coupe, and Prism. “Betas, as they’ve so diligently kept secret.” He points at Invisigal and Punch Up. “Omegas.” He gestures around the room. “Everyone else is an alpha, bitch.”
“Really? What about Phenomaman?” Robert asks. The alien isn’t with them.
“Trick question,” Sonar responds. “They don’t have secondary genders on his planet. Don’t you pay attention?”
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Robert says. He sighs. The more he fights this, the more they’re going to prod. And it’s true—he’s always advocating for synergy. If he trusted them with his secret identity, he could trust them with this. For an extra boost of confidence, he asks, “You guys promise to keep it to yourselves? No joking about it on comms?”
“Hand on where my heart would be,” Malevola says.
“We promise,” Prism insists. “Though we don’t know why you’re being so coy about it.”
Invisigal starts chanting, “Tell us, tell us,” and then the group joins in.
This moment is monumental for Robert. The final nail in the coffin of Mecha Man. Waving his hand to stop them, Robert relents. He finished his drink. “Okay, okay. I’m—I’m an omega, alright? You guys happy?”
“Mecha-bitch is an omega?” Flambae repeats, surprised. “Shit. How much do I owe?”
“Who put money on omega?” Punch Up asks. Waterboy raises his hand, shyly. Punch Up curses under his breath. “Anyone else?”
No one else speaks.
Maybe it’s because he’s tipsy, but Robert can’t stop the chuckle that escapes. He feels lighter now that the team knows his greatest secret. “Really?” He asks. “Only one of you?”
“Do we even believe him?” Visi ignores Robert and asks the room. “He’s the type of fucker who would lie about this shit, right?”
“Yeah!” Sonar agrees, pointing at her. “For real, Robbie. We need proof!”
“Proof?” Robert repeats, incredulous. “What proof? As much as I like you, I’m not dropping my pants around you guys.”
“Your scent,” Golem grumbles. “Drop the blockers, dude.”
It’s ridiculous. Robert showers daily—almost twice—with scent-blocking soaps, then applies patches that are supposed to last for days. “Look, I just showered. I can try to take off the patches, but you guys aren’t going to get a whiff of anything,” he says.
“You should still try,” Coupe says. “I’ve got about 75 riding on this.”
“I bet 100,” Punch Up groans. “Proof or it didn’t happen.”
“Jesus Christ,” Robert mutters. He exhales. “Let’s all remember when I said you won’t scent anything.”
The room begins a new chant, “Take them off! Take them off!”
Robert peels the scent blockers from his neck, waving them as proof before setting them down. “Okay? Are you all happy now?”
Leaning in, Flambae sniffs at Robert. “Oh, shit,” he says. “He is an omega.”
“What?” Robert asks, incredulous, trying and failing to scoot away with Punch Up on the other side of him. He covers his neck. “You shouldn’t be able to scent anything.”
“I’m fucking with you. Of course, I don’t smell anything,” Flambae says, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
Robert pushes his face back. “Asshole.”
“W-when do I get—have payment?” Waterboy asks, an uncharacteristic smile on his face.
“Was that his way of saying pay up? Hold on,” Prism says, pointing at Waterboy. “How’d you know he was an omega?”
Waterboy’s shoulders rise as he holds up his hands. “J-just a hunch.”
“Hunch, my ass,” Prism says. “How?”
“Mecha Man fights like an omega,” Waterboy says, then quickly continues, “Not that there’s a specific way omegas fight— I mean— it varies, really— he analyzes— watches—then dives, jumps in—”
“Put your tongue away,” Golem grumbles. “Prism’s fucking with you.”
“Where’s the pizza?” Punch Up asks, changing the subject.
Holding Beef in one arm, Malevola checks her phone. “Five minutes away.”
The room dissolves into smaller groups again, as Prism turns the music back up and Punch Up offers Robert an apology shot. Robert takes it with a smile.
Not everyone believes him, not yet, but it’s a weird sensation—being known, being honest. His scent glands are breathing free for the first time in who-knows-how-long. He can’t stop rolling his shoulders, rubbing his neck at the feeling.
He happily lets Visi drag him up to dance. Tonight is a good night. After a few songs, he actually works up a sweat, so he steps outside to get some fresh air.
Los Angeles at night is like staring at a small galaxy. Robert has always loved the noise, the light. His apartment might be a little shitty, a little small, but at least he has something to stare at. While a bead of sweat drips down his forehead, Robert reaches into the fake plant he keeps out here and produces a half-empty pack of cigarettes.
“Shit,” he mutters. His lighter isn’t working, clicking uselessly.
“I can help with that,” Flambae says from the doorway. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”
“...Only sometimes,” Robert responds, waiting for Flambae to hold one flaming thumb out to light his cig. He exhales a cloud of smoke. “Want one?”
“They’re wasted on me,” Flambae says, leaning against the railing next to Robert. “I burn through them too fast.”
“It’s for the best,” Robert tries to console him, taking another drag. “The smell always seems to linger. I used to… I used to smoke when I couldn’t afford patches. It worked pretty well.” It’s weirdly freeing to be able to talk about all the silent, unseen habits that Robert developed to hide himself. He holds the cigarette to his lips and thinks, I think I’ll keep this one for a little while.
“You must have a pretty weak scent,” Flambae muses.
For a second, Robert wonders wildly what he smells like. But it’s hard to scent yourself, and impossible if you make sure there’s nothing there to scent. He wonders if Flambae scents just like he looks, like fire and ash. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Robert says, “Well, even destitute, I was getting suppressants.”
Flambae shakes his head. “Bob bob. When’s the last time you had a break from suppressants?”
Good question. Robert shrugs. “They still pumped in suppressants when I was in that coma, so,” he silently counts the years. “Ten? Eleven years?”
Simply staring at Robert, Flambae doesn’t need to respond for his judgment to be palpable.
Robert sees three possible options here. Change the subject, defend himself, or just remain silent. He chooses to keep his trap shut, looking back out on the city and taking a drag from his cigarette.
“I’d tell you to go to the infirmary,” Flambae says, turning his gaze out to the city as well. “But I know you wouldn’t listen, bitch.”
“Are you treating me nicely because I said I was an omega?” Robert asks, amused. “Don’t hold yourself back on my account.”
“I am always nice,” Flambae says. “But I can be nicer if you apologize for my eyebrows.”
“But they’ve grown back,” Robert observes, only to get another fiery glare. He holds his hands up. “Okay, I’m sorry. Really. I was in a bad place that night. I had that press conference, and I didn’t know if I’d ever be Mecha Man again. You poked an open wound, and I reacted poorly. I shouldn’t have thrown that drink at you.”
“Well, I guess I’ll forgive you, Bob-bob,” Flambae says. He holds out a hand for Robert to shake. “I picked the fight, anyway. You just finished it.”
Robert smiles, happy to see his wisdom rubbing off. As he takes Flambae’s hand, he realizes that there’s something else he should apologize for. “I’m also… I’m sorry about your fingers.”
“Robert,” Flambae says, palm warm against Robert’s. “Don’t.”
Ignoring the warning, pulling him a little closer by the hand, Robert continues, “You did something wrong. You know that, and you’re making up for it every day. But I did something wrong, too, even if it was an accident. I could’ve figured out another way to stop you.”
Eyes trailing down Robert's face, Flambae nods.
“I’m sorry,” Robert says, finishing his little speech. “But I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad that I’ve gotten to know you. Don’t tell anyone, but you’re my favorite.”
The party erupts into cheers behind them, making Robert jump and let go of Flambae’s hand. As he steps back, he turns and sees Punch Up attempting to bench-press Golem. He’s doing surprisingly well.
Uncharacteristically taken aback, Flambae clears his throat. “Your favorite?”
“You always get the job done,” Robert says with an eye roll. “You’ve started your own fire once or twice in the beginning, but you put them out. Since then, you’ve been very consistent.”
“Consistent,” Flambae repeats, a smile growing on his face.
“Yeah, yeah,” Robert says, taking a final drag of his cigarette, savoring the taste. “I’ve given you enough compliments. You got anything nice to say to me?”
“I forgive you,” Flambae says, stepping closer. “Well, I forgave you a while ago. Was that nice enough, Bob-bob?”
Robert’s face grows warm. “And you just let me go on and on about it?”
“I tried to stop you,” he says with a shrug. He leans against the railing next to Robert. “I resented you. For a long time. Because you knew me before… this.” He gestures toward himself, then back toward the apartment. “You saw me… angry.”
“I see you angry all the time,” Robert jokes, nudging Flambae’s arm.
“Not angry like I used to be,” he says. “Sometimes, especially back then, I get this feeling like I’m… powerless. I mean, obviously not power-less, I’m a fucking flamethrower. But sometimes the only thing I can control is my fire. Before I had the program, I thought: Why not burn it all down? It was like I was born to do it.”
Robert remembers a conversation he had with Invisigal once. When she said she has villain powers. Robert looks at Flambae and sees the same cage around him. “It’s okay to be angry,” he says. “I’m angry. You felt powerless? So did I. So, burn away. That’s what makes you a member of the team.”
“Because we’re phoenixes, yeah,” Flambae responds, with an amused eyeroll. “Is there a button I can push to turn off your pep talks?”
“It’s my only superpower,” Robert says, shrugging and putting out the simmering cigarette bud against the railing. “You still going to call me a bitch?”
“It’s a term of endearment,” Flambae says. “Bitch.”
Robert laughs, turning back to the LA skyline. A breeze catches his face, but does nothing to alleviate the heat. He came outside to cool off, but standing next to Flambae, he’s still warm. He wipes sweat from his forehead.
Flambae notices and asks, “You okay, bitch?”
“Just hot,” Robert says, unzipping his hoodie and revealing the plain white shirt underneath. It’s his everything else outfit—everything else but work. Exercising. Running to the store. Hanging around at home. It’s not a particularly insulated ensemble. “Is it warm out here to you, too?” He asks.
Head tilting curiously, Flambae says, “I wouldn’t know. I run hot.”
Breathing hard through his nose, Robert feels a wave of lightheadedness wash over him, and a strange feeling builds in his stomach. He grips the railing to ground himself, and it helps, but barely. The party rages behind him, looming dangerously. Robert needs to be alone. “Listen, Flambae, I—I think I drank too much. Could you go inside and kick everyone out for me?”
“You okay, man?” Flambae asks, lifting a hand toward Robert curiously.
Robert waves him away before he can touch the omega’s shoulder. “Please,” Robert says. “I just need to be alone now.”
“...Okay, Bobby-boy,” Flambae says hesitantly. He touches the door handle and says, “I’ll get rid of everyone. But you’ll owe me.”
“I’ll owe you,” Robert agrees. “Thank you.”
The alpha disappears back inside, as Robert slides down to sit on the floor. He holds the railing, pressing his face to the cool metal. This isn’t drunk, he thinks. I really am sick.
Usually, for Robert, being ‘sick’ means a broken rib. A mild concussion. Internal bleeding. You know. The works. It’s been years since he’s had the damn flu. If he ever had a fever, it was because of an infected wound. If his nose was running, it was blood. If he coughed… it was also blood. Robert doesn’t know what to do with… with whatever this is. He’s melting, and there’s an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his stomach, like muscles tensing. He wonders if he’s going to be sick. He looks down. He wonders if he would hit anyone if he puked over the side.
The door slides open behind him unexpectedly. “Man, they’re stubborn,” Flambae says, stilted when he finds Robert on the ground. “But they’re gone. Bobert, are you okay?”
Robert, who has slowly dipped into a state of loopiness that feels both familiar and foreign, nods. It’s not so bad. “Mhmm,” he hums. “You can… You can go, now, too.”
Flambae doesn’t move. “Robert,” he says, crouching down. His nostrils flare. “I can scent you now.”
“Oh,” Robert responds, leaning his nose down toward his shirt. He doesn’t smell anything. He looks back up. “There’s nothing there.”
Flambae shakes his head, looking Robert up and down. Examining him. Robert deliriously feels like leaning back, tilting his head, giving the alpha a better view. That warmth in his stomach grows, but it’s not unpleasant anymore with Flambae next to him. Reaching out, Flambae says, “I fucking told you so. Your suppressants are wearing off.”
“What?” Robert asks, breathing a little faster now. He wishes he could scent the alpha. His stomach tightens with a strange flippy sensation. Odd. “What do you smell like?” He asks because he can’t help it.
“I’m taking you to the infirmary,” Flambae says, grabbing Robert’s shoulders and attempting to pick him up.
Robert didn’t realize how badly he needed to be touched until Flambae’s hands spread across his shoulder blades. It’s bliss, friction he craves, but he doesn’t want to go anywhere, so he flails and says, “Wait! What are you talking about?”
“You’re in heat, bitch,” Flambae responds, trying again to pull Robert away from the railing.
The fabric of his shirt itches him now, where the alpha’s hand presses. Robert wants to take it off. “That’s not possible,” Robert says, focusing as best as he can. “I—I took my suppressants today—”
“You have to take tolerance breaks,” Flambae says, slowly. “There’s a warning on the label, man. This is heat, and it isn’t going to be easy.”
A pause. “Help me, then,” Robert says—not knowing where the request is coming from. Flambae’s copper eyes trail down his face as he says, “I want you to help me. Be a hero.”
“I’m trying,” Flambae grits, finally pulling Robert up into his arms. “Let’s get you to a clinic, or—the infirmary—”
Robert’s hands grip the alpha’s broad shoulders, relishing in the feeling of being held. “No, you,” he says. It’s like the filter he usually uses to sort out the embarrassing stuff is off. He tucks his face into Flambae’s neck, trying desperately to scent him. “Just you, please. Help me, Flambae.”
Flambae curses, bringing Robert back into his apartment. He tries to set Robert down, but the omega holds on.
Robert lets his feet hit the floor but refuses to let go of the alpha’s neck. “Please,” he begs again.
Flambae’s fingers dig into Robert’s hip to keep some distance as he surveys the room, asking, “Robert, focus. What do you need for the clinic? Do you have more clothes?”
“Flambae, listen to me,” Robert says, finding Flambae’s scent gland and the translucent patch above it. He mouths at the patch, one hand coming up to tangle in Flambae’s hair—trying to keep him still. “I want you,” he says, teeth trying to find purchase on the edge of the patch.
“Oh, my god,” Flambae says, voice strained. His accent is stronger as he continues, “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Robert.”
Robert tugs on the patch and is rewarded by the fiery, candlelight scent of Flambae. Like sitting on the edge of a bonfire or dipping metal into a forge. He groans, tucking his nose against it. “I’ve wanted you,” he says, breathing in that fire. The words just spill out of him, like a dam bursting open. “...I’ve wanted you for a while. Help me, alpha. Need you. Don’t trust anyone else.”
Looking up, he sees Flambae’s eyes screwed shut, his mouth dipped open. Ecstasy, agony. He bites his lip, saying, “I… can’t…”
The pain in Robert’s stomach scatters with the scent of the alpha. He takes one last breath before taking Flambae’s shoulders and pushing him backward toward the bed.
Flambae clearly wasn’t expecting it, dazed and off-balance. The back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and he sits. “Robert—”
Robert wastes no time in straddling his lap and pressing his nose back to that indulgently delicious scent. “Flambae,” Robert groans. “I trust you.”
Flambae grips Robert’s hips, making a flare of desire rip through the omega. “You… don’t know what you’re saying,” Flambae says. He sighs a moan as Robert presses his hips down. “You… Robert, think. Please.”
“No,” Robert says. “Don’t need to.”
“You don’t,” Flambae breathes. “You… You don’t know what you’re asking, Robert. Your scent is…”
“You can like it,” Robert pleads—he’s not sure where it comes from. A pang of worry hits him, and he pulls away from Flambae’s scent gland, curling as far away as he can, perched on his lap. He looks Flambae in the eyes, as sober as he can be, and he says, “I want you to like my scent, I want you to help, but if… If you don’t… don’t want to, then…”
A tuft of fire bursts from the top of Flambae’s head, puffs a short plume of smoke, as the alpha shifts his hands up Robert’s hips, seizing his waist with purpose. “Bob-bob,” he says. “It’s not a question if I want to…”
Robert perks back up, letting his hands glide up the back of Flambae’s neck and into his hair—upsetting his ponytail. Robert says, “Then want me. Help me. Please.”
“My name,” Flambae says, eyes unfocused as they trail down Robert’s face. His fingertips graze Robert’s thighs. “...Say my name.”
“Flambae,” Robert says and leans closer, gently tugging on his hair. He realizes that the flippy, strange feeling in his stomach might be him producing slick. “Alpha,” he gasps. “Need you.”
Inhumanly strong and fast, Flambae hoists Robert up from his hips and spins him down onto the mattress. Robert’s thighs fall open, and he presses between them. “Robert,” he grits, nose pressed to Robert’s scent gland, in the junction between his neck and shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”
What he needs? Robert sighs, tilting his hips up into Flambae’s. The pain from earlier is gone, but an uncomfortable emptiness has started building within him. He licks his lips, eyes on Flambae’s, and he says, “...I need your knot.”
It seems like the correct answer as Flambae groans, licking the side of Robert’s neck, his teeth pressed tightly against the skin. He rocks down into Robert’s hips, sending a spark of pleasure up his chest.
A gasp takes Robert by surprise as he chases the feeling, turning to kiss Flambae wherever he can. Unsatisfied, he reaches up and turns Flambae’s face. Robert leans forward and pulls their lips together, moaning into Flambae’s mouth. He never let himself think about what kissing Flambae would be like, so every moment is a delicious surprise. It’s like there’s a direct line between Robert’s tongue and his cock, which throbs with each pounding heartbeat.
Robert doesn’t remember what his first heat was like. All he knows is the shame he felt when his father opened the door. If this is heat—or, sharing your heat—then Robert regrets going so long without it.
Flambae continues to kiss Robert stupid as he pulls at the omega’s shirt. Robert is vaguely aware of the sound of Flambae ripping his shirt so that they can keep kissing. Against Flambae’s lips, he says, “You’re buying me a new one after this.”
He can feel Flambae’s laugh against his lips. Flambae says, “There’s the Robert I know.”
“Take your pants off,” Robert says.
Flambae leans away to take off his suit. Robert uses the opportunity to slide his sweats down, attempting to take off his underwear in one sweep. He finds his hands aren’t as coordinated as usual, his thumb getting caught between the lip of his sweats and his boxers. “Leave it to me,” Flambae says, amused. His hands, warm and steady, replace Roberts as he pulls them off.
Freed from the confines of his pants, Robert settles back against the mattress. For a brief second, he’s cold and exposed, then Flambae leans over him like a heater. In the haze of his heat, Robert’s eyes drift languidly down Flambae’s form.
“I know,” Flambae says, following his eyes with a cocked brow. “I’m a total catch.”
The alpha’s pink, rigid cock drags against Robert’s as he lowers down. Robert’s breath gets caught in his throat as a flash of pleasure grips him. “Please,” he says. His hands perch on Flambae’s shoulders, nails digging into the muscles he finds there.
“Please, what?” Flambae asks, nipping the edge of Robert’s jaw.
The omega tilts his head to give him a better angle. “Please, alpha,” he says. His pussy throbs with each heartbeat. He ruts up against Flambae. “I’m so empty.”
Capturing Robert’s lips in a fierce kiss, Flambae reaches down and takes Robert’s cock into his fist. Robert gasps, hips stuttering up into the heat. “Fuck my hand,” he tells Robert. “C’mon, Robert. Show me how much you want it.”
“Oh, god,” Robert groans, letting his hips find a rhythm as his stomach tightens. Flambae kisses Robert as he takes what Robert feeds him. It doesn’t take very long before Robert feels the orgasm building, the tension rising. His toes curl. Breaking away from Flambae’s lips, he rasps, “I’m—please, Flambae, I’m close.”
“Go ahead,” Flambae tells him, biting Robert’s bottom lip. He tightens his grip on Robert’s cock, meeting Robert’s thrusts. “Cum for me, Robert.”
That’s it. Releasing a series of punched-out groans, Robert clings to Flambae’s shoulders—it’s all he can do, as he cums.
Flambae rubs him through it, as Robert’s hips stall and collapse back. He leans forward, tucking his nose against Robert’s scent gland and murmuring, “Good. Good, Robert.”
Catching his breath, Robert runs his hands through Flambae’s hair. “Thank you,” he says. The fog that clouds his brain clears for a moment, and he clears his throat. “I mean it, thank you.”
“Are you back?” Flambae asks, leaning away just enough to look Robert in the eye. “You in there, Robert?”
Robert sighs, tilting his hips and feeling the confusing emptiness yet again. “Sort of,” he responds. “I’m sorry for… jumping you. But not that sorry—you know, for the record.”
“Good to know,” Flambae says, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to finger you open, now.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Robert opens his legs more, hoping to give the alpha a better angle. “Yes, please. Please do that.”
With warm, nimble fingers, Flambae reaches behind Robert’s cock to find his cunt. A jolt of electricity courses through Robert at the feeling. He’s avoided that part of his sex for years—all he has are some hazy memories of exploring the area when he was a teen. Flambae is fearless in his exploration, rubbing tight circles around the opening, spreading the slick he finds there.
The tip of a finger pierces Robert. “Flambae,” he moans, overwhelmed.
“...Can I keep you?” Flambae asks, running a tongue over the edge of a sharpened canine.
Robert watches the motion, transfixed. The finger pushes deeper, and pulls out, massaging the slick that accompanies it, then delves back inside. Robert sucks in a breath. “Please,” he whispers.
Nipping at the edge of Robert’s jaw, Flambae fucks his finger a little deeper each time it rocks back into Robert. A second finger joins it. It hurts, but in the perfect way. “You’re so tight, Robert,” Flambae says.
“It’s not enough,” Robert responds. The emptiness within him wants to feed on everything— everything that Flambae can give it. The working part of Robert’s brain understands that this ache can only be appeased by an alpha’s knot. He rakes his nails across Flambae’s shoulders, moaning, “More. I need more.”
Flambae tuts, pressing his fingers as deep as they go. “Are you even ready for more, omega?” He asks. He grunts as Robert’s hands squeeze across his shoulders. “Can you handle all of me? I’m a lot.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Robert says with a laugh, then finds himself breathless as Flambae’s fingers fuck him a little faster, now with a third, and a wave of pleasure cascades over him. “Please, alpha,” he begs. “More.”
“Tell me again what you need,” Flambae requests.
“Knot me,” Robert answers.
With a groan, Flambae simply kisses Robert, his tongue sweeping across Rob’s bottom lip. As they kiss, Robert takes the opportunity to feel Flambae’s fangs for himself.
Robert has been denying the attraction he feels for Flambae for months. When they first met, he thought the guy was a total asshole, a show-offy douchebag. But all those buttons he pressed always seemed to stick with Robert—always had him looking twice. He can’t deny it anymore; Robert likes it. He likes the way Flambae tugs his pigtails. He likes putting Flambae back down a notch, making him look back.
Gripping Flambae by the shoulders and hooking his legs around his waist, Robert flips Flambae until he’s perched above him.
“Robert,” Flambae groans, hands landing right above Robert’s ass. “You little shit.”
“If you don’t give me what I want, I might just take it,” Robert says, breathing hard. He rises onto his knees, grabbing Flambae’s cock and lining it up for himself.
“Impatient,” Flambae grumbles, his head knocking back against the mattress. “Fuck.”
The first inch is easy, expected. It enters like the three fingers Robert was just taking. But then the weight sinks deeper, deeper, wider than just a few fingers. The stretch is heaven, agony—nothing like Robert has ever experienced before. It’s good—great, even—but Robert needs more.
“Rob-ert,” Flambae stutters. His broad chest heaves with one big breath. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.”
“No, you’re so fucking big,” Robert gasps, looking down at Flambae. “Don’t blame this on me.”
“God, you’re wet,” Flambae sighs. His fingers dig into Robert’s hips. “So tight. Jee-zus.”
Robert lets gravity do the rest of the work, relaxing as much as he can as he sinks down. Their pelvises meet. There’s a stretch that borders on painful, but Robert needs it. He’s never felt so full. “Yesss,” he hisses, grinding down. His cock rubs a trail of precum across Flambae’s abdomen.
Flambae’s hips jerk up, pressing deeper than Robert thought possible. “Let me fuck you,” he begs, massaging Robert’s straining thighs. “Please, omega,” he says.
Raising himself back up on trembling thighs, Robert lifts until Flambae’s cock is just halfway inside, then lets himself fall back down. Is this really something he’s been missing out on for over half his life? He groans as he does it again. “Alpha,” he mouths around his heaving breaths.
“Please,” Flambae requests again, running his hand against everything he can touch— Robert’s hips, his cock, his stomach. Robert doesn’t respond, and Flambae’s fingernails press crescent-shaped indents into Robert’s ass. “Robert,” he says, his hips circling up into the tight heat of Robert’s cunt. “I can fuck you so good, omega, let me.”
Out of spite, as if to prove something, Robert doesn’t acknowledge Flambae’s begging and instead just keeps taking what he needs. He has a rhythm now, grinding his hips up and down. Every now and then, he can get the alpha’s cock to drag against something amazing.
“Fuck,” Flambae moans. “Let me help you, Robert. I can give you what you need.”
Robert bounces a few more times, until he can’t lift himself anymore—he’s in shape, thank you very much, but this pleasure, this pain is different. He finds himself taking Flambae’s shoulders and nodding. “Okay,” Robert sighs. “Okay, Flambae. Fuck me.”
With a sudden release of energy, Flambae flips them over. His cock nearly slips out in the process, making Robert whine, but Flambae settles back between his thighs quickly. Flambae presses his lips to Robert’s neck, nearly bent in half, as he thrusts as deep as he can go.
Tilting his head to the side to give Flambae better access, Robert gasps. He can feel fangs scraping dangerously close to his scent gland, swelling beneath. Deliriously, he wishes the alpha would just bite. To keep himself from saying as much, he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth.
The angle of Flambae’s cock is different, stretching in a new way. Robert grabs his thighs to hold them apart, letting Flambae rock their hips together. “Good boy,” Flambae mocks, sucking a kiss against Robert’s neck. “Never thought it was possible for you to be quiet.”
Every touch is electric with Flambae against him, but Robert herds all his braincells to flip the alpha off. It’s all he can do with each thrust being punctuated by his little grunts.
Flambae laughs breathlessly, taking Robert’s hand and pressing it above his head. “Bad, bad, Robert,” he says, grinding down. “Be sweet for me.”
Sex with Flambae feels like winning a battle. The excitement, low in Robert’s stomach, is building. He tilts his hips to meet Flambae’s on every down thrust. He moans.
“There we go,” Flambae grunts, letting go of Robert’s hand to lean back and fuck Robert harder, faster. One hand grips Robert’s hip, while the other circles his cock, tugging and massaging the head on each upswing.
“Flam—” Robert’s breath gets caught in his throat. Everything tightens—his stomach, his cock. His toes curl.
It’s getting more and more difficult for Flambae to pull out and dive back in as the base of his cock begins to expand. “You want this?” He asks Robert, out of breath. He leans back down, one hand staying on Robert’s cock, the other bracketing the omega. “You want to take my knot, Robert?”
God, it’s all he wants. Robert sucks in a deep breath. “Yes,” he exhales, grabbing Flambae around the shoulders. His fingernails dig into the alpha as he gets closer and closer to his peak. “Knot me, you asshole.”
“There’s my sweet Robert,” Flambae laughs. He nips the edge of Robert’s jaw, then soothes the skin with his tongue. He fucks in as deep as he can. “Here it is,” he moans. “Just for you.”
The knot fully expands—tearing Robert in two. The stretch is fucking painful, but it’s exactly what Robert needed. The omega instincts he’d been running from, pushing down, ignoring—they sing with pleasure as his cunt grinds against an alpha knot. His back arches as an orgasm shoots through him, pulsing with every heartbeat. Robert tries to breathe through it, eyes squeezed shut, feeling every twitch of Flambae’s hips beneath him. His cock weeps cum into Flambae’s fist and onto his stomach. “Thank you,” he finds himself babbling. “Alpha, did so good, thank you.”
Flambae’s cum is hot inside of him. The bonfire scent blankets Robert, settling over him like a protective shield. As the wave of pleasure slows, the alpha tilts them into a more comfortable position on their sides with Robert’s leg thrown over his hip. He massages Robert’s side, his nose running along Robert’s neck. “...Like tea,” he whispers.
“What?” Robert asks, brushing a hand through Flambae’s hair. He rubs the nape of his neck.
“Your scent,” Flambae clarifies. “It’s like… chai. Cinnamon and vanilla. There’s a coffee shop near my sister’s apartment—they sell a tea just like it…”
After Robert presented, he immediately started using scent-blocking soaps and scent patches. The first week after his presentation, he would sometimes catch a whiff of something sweet, something warm. But then, like smoke clearing from the rubble, it left. His heat—combined with the natural warmth of Flambae—must have helped him sweat away all his protective measures. “Oh,” Robert responds. All this time, he’d never known what his scent was. Cinnamon. Vanilla. Embarrassed, he says, “Hope it’s not too sweet.”
“I like tea,” Flambae sighs, settling back. His amber eyes study Robert’s face. “It’s my favorite pick me up whenever I’m down. I take my niece there every Sunday.”
Robert could close his eyes, maybe lean away. He could politely tell Flambae thank you and then lapse back into silence, waiting for the next wave of heat to overtake him. Or… He bites his lip. “You smell like a bonfire,” he says. “Like… coals in my grandpa’s old workshop. My dad—he sold the old house and workshop when I was young, but I always remembered it. I… missed it. You kind of smell like how it felt to be in that room. Like…”
A complicated look passes over Flambae’s face.
“...Like being a hero,” Robert finishes, breathless. He looks down, embarrassed again.
Flambae tilts Robert’s chin up, forcing him to look back up while rubbing a thumb across his bottom lip. “...We’re courting now,” he says, simply, like there’s no room for argument. “This was backwards, Robert, spending a heat together before a first date, but we are going to fix it, okay?”
“Okay? Uh—what?” Robert asks, flustered. Confused.
“We are courting,” Flambae repeats, leaning in and pressing his lips to Robert’s. He grinds his slowly deflating knot against Robert’s cunt. “Are your ears alright?” He asks.
Robert grips his shoulder, pulling him back an inch. “No, I heard you, I just confused what you mean—how can we be courting already? That’s not—that’s a huge—”
“I know what I said,” Flambae insists, cutting him off. “You'd better get your fill of this knot tonight, Robert. We’re doing this right tomorrow.”
A spark of pleasure zings up Robert’s spine as Flambae’s cock moves within him. He gasps, heat sneaking up on him yet again. “You’re a cocky asshole, huh?” He grits, pressing back against the alpha. “You think just because I’m an omega… and I’m letting you help…”
Flambae laughs, grinning as he kisses Robert again. “Shut up, Bobbert,” he says. “You talk too much.”
Before he can come up with something clever to say, Robert’s cock finishes filling back out, and Flambae rubs it between their stomachs—so, so sensitive. A wave of slick gushes from Robert, hot against the deflated knot. He drags his nails over Flambae’s shoulders.
“I got you,” Flambae says, tilting Robert onto his back. He pulls out and sinks back in. “Let me take care of you, Robert.”
And take care of Robert, he does.