#ok dude

A week later? A new bar? Hero, villain, not important? That's something made.

They were supposed to fight, is the thing. That's the only reason Flambae even tracked him down. But he has requests.

“Mecha Dick — this isn't fight club. I can't be on the news and have my dispatcher see me if I flame up! We gotta find a different place.”

“Or you can just... Not fight me. That's also an option.”

“And I won't. Well, after this.I can't stop thinking about you, when my teeth hurt, and it's annoying. So just this one time.”

And it should've been fair. No powers. No suit. Just an abandoned warehouse, Flambae’s clumsy form, and retribution with teeth marks on it.

But Robert doesn’t think it's fair.

He doesn't think it's fair. How they both end up on the floor, — him, surprisingly, with significantly fewer bruises. How Flambae tried to kick him, tripped, and made Robert laugh.

He doesn't think its fair when he jokes about kissing Flambae’s bruised lip, and Flambae smiles about it, gaped tooth and all. He never does it in the office. “Pucker up, then.”

He shouldn't. Extend indulgences.

He does for Flambae. At least for a night.

Except it's not a night.

It's once a week. In warehouses, in bar bathrooms, in hotel rooms where Flambae complains the mattress is lumpy.

Yet, he spends the night. Laid on his back. Breathing a bit easier, a bit lighter. Until they're nose to nose. Damage to damage.

“…I know what you're doing.”

“Yeah,” Flambae grins at him like sunshine shattered on his mouth. He kisses Robert — Mecha Man— on the nose, fingers dancing on where mask ends and nose starts. “It’s working, too. “