Chapter Text
“You brought me…knives?”
Flambae rolled his eyes, contemplating the sad state of Robert’s depressingly tiny kitchen. Sad state of the entire apartment, really, which hadn’t improved much since the last time he’d been here. Better lit, of course, and he couldn’t help but wonder what sort of psych profile an investigator would put together examining a place like this — so devoid of personality, the only pops of character manifesting in an array of wildly different lamps gifted by wildly different people. The poster board was gone, at least, though he wasn’t sure if that helped. Bare walls were their own indication of someone not much vested in the here and now.
“Knives — bitch I brought you the best fucking knives a chef could ever wish for. Fucking knives.”
“So, yes, knives, you brought me knives, and I am notably not a chef.”
“You don’t say.”
Flambae grabbed a dishcloth and gave the counter a cursory swipe before setting the knife block down beside the fridge. “You don’t need to be a chef to appreciate good knives, Bob-Bob. Even a culinary idiot should have decent blades. Do you even realize how easy it is to fuck up using a set of shitty fucking knives?”
Robert said nothing, but Flambae could feel his eyes on him. Could feel…implication, in the things not being said here, almost like a physical weight hanging in the air between them.
“Thank you,” Robert said at last. “I appreciate it, Chad.”
“Yeah, you’re fucking welcome or whatever.” Another silence, this one no lighter than the last.
“Is that all you came here for—“
“—I know what’s going on.” Flambae turned, and Robert blinked at him.
“What’s going on?” Robert prompted, straightening from where he’d been leaning on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the studio.
“You think I didn’t notice? The… the changes?”
“Changes?”
“You just gonna repeat every fucking thing I say?”
“I don’t know, you gonna keep being fucking cryptic?”
Flambae glared, and Robert stared almost placidly back, ever the picture of calm when he wanted to be. Fucker.
“You’ve been flirting with me.”
Robert blinked.
“For weeks now, maybe months. It…was brought to my attention that I may not have been as perceptive about it, at first.” Robert blinked again, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, and that was nearly enough to drive Flambae insane.
He started to pace, hoping to expend the build-up of energy he could feel coursing through his veins. He needed to maintain control, here. Not let his… excitement? Anxiety? Some horrible mixture of both? Get the better of him.
“Then — nothing. It stops, almost over night. And I think, what the fuck? He playing hot and cold with me? That didn’t seem right, and then I realized…”
“Realized what?” Robert’s voice was so very, very quiet, and he could feel the weight of his gaze on him. Flambae chewed on the inside of his lip before fishing out a tightly folded piece of paper from his possibly-too-tight jeans. He unfolded it in quick, deliberate motions before all but slamming it onto the counter between them.
Robert held his gaze for a long moment before leaning over, eyes darting across the block of typed text.
“HR Form 502?”
“You’re back behind the desk, Robert,” Flambae said. “And whether you’re there or out in the field with us, you’ve still got those fucking hero tendencies — that drive to do things properly. And maybe you would’ve done this eventually, maybe not, but I’m not interested in games.” He moved his hand, showing one of a set of lines with a loopy signature scrawled rather neatly above it. “So, here it is — a consensual relationship contract, signed and dated.” He fished a pen out of his back pocket and slapped it down on top of it before spreading his hands on the counter top and leaning as far into Robert’s space as he physically could.
“Your move, Robert Robertson.”
——
Robert hadn’t known what to think when Flambae had appeared at his apartment out of the blue, dressed in a pair of distressingly distracting jeans and a white V-neck of some semi-transparent, draping material that did nothing to detract from his chest. He’d assumed a pit-stop before moving on to a club or something, except the other man had something blocky and with considerable heft tucked under his arm in one of those canvas shopping bags.
He hadn’t known what to think, either, when the mystery package wound up being a knife block.
And now, standing across from him, an already signed contract bearing SDN’s official header and logo, Robert found he couldn’t think of anything at all for a long, long moment. Too long, maybe, as he grew aware of the restlessness of the man across from him, and he mentally shook himself.
Licked his lips.
And reached out when Flambae seemed about to step away, grabbing a fistful of the other man’s stupid fancy sexy fucking shirt and pulling him back into place. Looked up and held his gaze as he took up the pen, only glancing down to make sure he’d positioned it properly before scrawling his own signature on the line below Chad’s.
Then he braced a foot on the footrest that ran along the bottom side of the “breakfast bar” side of the counter, leaned over, and smashed his lips to Chad’s.
He savored a moment of satisfaction at Flambae’s surprised gasp but wasted little time pressing his advantage. He deepened the kiss, felt Flambae’s hum against his lips as he tasted what was undoubtedly the aftermath of mints on his tongue.
“You were planning this?” he murmured when they broke, though they remained close enough that their lips brushed as they spoke.
“What, I’m not allowed to have some fucking hope of this going the way I want?”
Robert chuckled, nipping at Chad’s lower lip. “For all I know, you’re only doing this because you needed help getting out of those fucking jeans.”
Flambae scoffed, running his nose along the side of Robert’s. “Please, like you’d be my first choice.”
“Alice?”
“Well, yeah — she’s the one who helped me get them on.”
“Fair — ah!” His stomach swooped as Flambae suddenly moved his hands to Robert’s sides and lifted, pulling him up onto the counter. The brief moment of surprise melted into something more desperate as those hands made their way down to his hips and tugged him forward. Sitting like this — kneeling like this, really — knowing he’d gotten there with so little effort on Chad’s part… okay, yeah, that was doing something for him, if the heat coiling low in his belly was any indication. His knees were splayed, one on each side of Flambae as he pressed against him, leaving him feeling oddly exposed for all he was fully dressed. Distantly he noted the pen rolling off the counter and dropping to the floor, but it was hard to care beyond a quick look to make sure the contract hadn’t gotten scrunched with his momentum.
And there it was, off to the side, stark black ink on crisply folded paper.
Fingers cupped his chin, turning his head until he was looking back into pale hazel eyes. There was a smirk playing about Flambae’s lips, but Robert sensed a hint of uncertainty, there, too. Theirs wasn’t exactly a smooth history, and Robert had a feeling Flambae was about as good at this…whatever it was, as he was.
Well. Maybe he could make it easier for both of them.
He turned his head ever so slightly, capturing Chad’s thumb in his mouth. Watched as the other man shivered and bit his own lip, watching the way Robert moved his mouth oh so deliberately over the digit. Smiled, a little smug, at the soft sigh he got when he released it only to catch Flambae’s hand in his own.
He held his gaze as he pressed little kisses to his palm, his wrist. Soft presses of his lips, sharper presses of his teeth.
“Your move, Chad.”