"I can make him talk."
Flambae scoffed but didn't move to stop Mecha Man when the hero stepped up. There was an analytical intensity to those doe brown eyes and a thoughtful, almost teasing tilt to his head that Flambae recognized as Robert's. Even after all this time, it bothered him. Mecha Man. Robert. Mecha Man. Their dispatcher.
"Sure, tough guy," Flambae mocked, waving a hand at the tied up henchman. "He's all yours. I'm telling you, though, that if you just let me play with him a little bit..."
Flame exploded from his fingertips. The henchman glared at him but didn't flinch, not even when Prism started to laugh. She had an excellent villain's laugh, too, and was skilled enough with her voice that she made the sound carry. She was amazing.
Mecha Man didn't look at either of them. His focus never strayed from the henchman. He stared at him like he was a puzzle. A familiar puzzle, if the sudden recognition in his features meant anything. To Flambae's confusion, Mecha Man smiled, slow and sweet and not something Flambae associated with the battlefield. Or Mecha Man. Or Robert. Flambae desperately ignored the new heat stirring in his belly.
"We're heroes." Mecha Man's already deep voice dipped into something low and husky. Across the room, Prism straightened a little. Mecha Man smiled at the henchman and knelt down so smoothly in front of him that no one would guess how he creaked like an old man most of the week.
"And because we're heroes," Mecha Man continued, catching the henchman's widening eyes with his own dark gaze, "we don't threaten. We don't need to, do we?"
The bastard hadn't cracked at all when Flambae tied him to that chair earlier, flames still flickering on his shoulders. Now he swallowed and twitched. "I... I won't -"
"Won't what?" Mecha Man purred. Fucking purred. Flambae shifted a little to adjust himself. Prism was growing a little flushed, phone suddenly in her hand. "Won't help me with a couple questions?"
"I won't -"
Mecha Man tilted his head a little. Smiled with a hint of teeth. His voice was a low rumble. "Won't be my good boy?"
The fire in Flambae's stomach exploded into a conflagration. He knew he heard Prism make a soft noise.
The henchman's face burned with a dull flush now, staring at Mecha Man like a mouse caught by a snake. "He'll fucking kill me."
Mecha Man never blinked. Never looked away. "Do you think I can't take care of you? Keep you safe? I'm very, very good at handling my problems."
Flambae still remembered Robert, bare-fisted, no suit, pummeling Shroud until the man was bloody and submissive. His hands had been a mess afterwards, and he still had faint scars. Flambae maybe, sometimes, when he was bored and desperate, imagined licking each one. He shuddered, cock growing painful in its confinement.
"You help me," Mecha Man murmured, hand sliding on the chair, close but not touching the henchman's thigh, "and I help you. Doesn't that sound good? Don't you want to help me?"
The henchman stuttered. Mecha Man leaned ever so slightly forward. "Answer my questions. Be my good boy."
The henchman broke. Flambae almost followed.
Later, it became one of Prism's most popular posts, filled with comments about Mecha Man's ability to spot a sub from a hundred yards and that it confirmed that Mecha Man was definitely the boss in the relationship. The kicker was when fucking Toxic responded and said he would have betrayed Shroud if Mecha Man came at him like that.
Whatever it was, it was enough to have Chad knocking on Robert's door, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of homemade food on his wrist.
Like he'll was anyone else going to be Robert's good boy.
