Flambae isn’t sure if he’s doing this ‘friends’ with benefits thing right.
Especially not with Robert.
They’re not particularly skilled at having friends to begin with, let alone the kind who make out in dusty file rooms.
“OH MY GOD! BOB-BOB, THIS IS TERRIBLE!”
Robert’s hands immediately leave Flambae’s thighs, checking him over instead, touching vitals like he’s been built to.
“What?! What, what’s wrong?!”
“Sorry, I was looking at my file,” His lips curl in a displeased arch. “Why is my fucking curl doing that?”
Robert buries his nose in the curve of his shoulders and laughs.
Which is weird, because he’s been doing it a lot more since they started this thing.
Flambae doesn’t have a problem with it, — Robert laughs like someone who finally can— but he isn’t sure if that’s the main objective here.
Neither Is making him lunch and labelling it, but here he is.
But the truly bizarre part happens in the morning.
Always his place, because he refuses to ride Robert on the bare ground.
It’s when Flambae’s eyes flutter open, rested, warmth spreading from scalp to chest, Robert’s handprints still pulsing on his waist—
A waist still being hugged by two arms.
But the morning’s still pale, so all Flambae can do is fake a displeased sound, voice still buzzing with sleep, turning so his arms wrap around Robert, too.
“Bob Bob, wake up,” he mumbles into sweet brown hair, catching notes of mint. A shampoo he recommended. “You forgot to leave. Again.”
He gets unintelligible gibberish in return. Which isn’t surprising. His bed must be paradise for the guy.
“And you forgot to kick me out. Again.”
They both agreed to it. In by night. Out by day.
It’s not until they have this conversation on comms do they consider it’s worth having a talk:
“Flambae, that’s the third time this week you skipped R&R. Babe, your heart is gonna collapse.”
“Azizam, is this OUR heart attack?!”
…Neither of them were supposed to say that.
Needless the say, the Z team has no idea who won the ‘who’s gonna drop the pet name’ bet.
