Full of Hubris and Spite

The Z-team had convened at a bar (luckily not one they were likely to start a major fight in this time) and Prism was on a mission. Her bestie had been dropping increasingly desperate hints and she was going to rip off her ears if she had to listen to his whining a moment longer. Flambae had long since left finesse at the door and it still wasn't enough—Prism was just finally tipsy enough to do something about it.

Their stupid dispatcher (whom her heart decided to care about without her input, thanks) had stepped back from their raucous party for a moment. Flambae had been laying the flirting on thick, but it was in his usual style. Frequently mean, occasionally raunchy, and apparently too subtle for Robert to pick up on.

Robert's gaze was focused on the group, but soft in its intensity. Ugh, how the hell was Flambae not managing to pull this heart-on-his-sleeve dumbass?

He noticed her stalking over, expression growing quizzical as he lowered his glass of pisswater beer from his lips. She flicked her shades up to her forehead so he could see her glare.

Once they were close enough together to talk over the music, he asked, "What have I done this time?"

Prism snorted. "Oh, nothing—and that's just the problem. Dumbass."

"Uh huh. Care to elaborate on that?"

She took a deep breath in through her nose. She wasn't questioning her bestie's taste, honest. "You," She said, jabbing him in the chest with one sharply manicured finger, "Are one dense motherfucker." His drink sloshed a little.

Before Robert had a chance to shoot back, Prism kept going. "You see my bestie over there?" She gestured at Flambae, who'd noticed them talking. He sneered when they made eye contact and made a point of turning back to the conversation. Bitch wasn't hiding the growing flush highlighted on his cheekbones. 

"...What about him?"

Prism grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in closer. "He wants to fuck you so bad it's making him look stupid." 

Robert spluttered, but she kept going. "His pining is driving me insane. So you need to either tell him you're not interested or nail him to the motherfucking wall. Got it?" She let go and slugged him in the shoulder. "Good talk!" With that, she left him and went back to the table. 

If that conversation ended up not working, her next plan was to lock them in a closet together and pray they actually rip each other's clothes off instead of ripping each other apart.

(When they come into work the next day with Flambae in an uncharacteristic good mood and Robert finally relaxed, she damn near cheers that the pining is over. Unfortunately, she hadn't predicted Robert reciprocating Flambae's on-the-job flirtation.)