Authors note: Found my new obsession. Loving the characters, art, and diversity, this idea just came to mind. Will most likely make this into a multi-part story. We’ll see how this goes. This takes place before the events of the game. My OC, a trans man named Heath, who is the twin brother of Herman (Water boy).
Relationship: Flambea x OC
Rated: R (sexual content, innuendos, and language)
Spoilers for Dispatch Ahead
Herman slips into a simple mustard-yellow button-up over his grey-blue tank top, shorts, and Chucks.
Passing a closed bedroom door right across from his.
He gives it two good knocks. After a few moments, shuffling sounds come from inside the room.
“He must have been dead asleep.” Herman thought, remembering hearing his brother getting in late last night. He hoped he was getting enough rest.
Being the fastest rising hero at only a rookie level after being officially admitted into the SDN program six months ago.
His brother, Tidal Wave
“Uhhhh—yeah?” calls through the door.
“Grandma and I are goin’ to the store; wanna come?” He asks, knowing the answer, but it was common courtesy to at least offer.
“WHAT!…” Screams in horror, making Herman’s brows furrow. “…Oh!….n-no no… I’m a bit winded from yesterday’s shift,” his brother answers, out of breath.
Herman shakes his head. Choosing to ignore this odd interaction. “Ok… Hope you feel better---want us to pick up some Gatorade---Gaterlyte… cucumber lime.” he lists.
“Yes…Thank you, little bro.”
“Kay, be back a bit, big bro,” he returns.
Heath, aka Tidal Wave, is a young man with a head of wild, fire-red hair that matches his twin brother’s. Sides buzzed, and the top tousled. He lets out a sigh of relief, dropping his head on his pillow, hearing squeaky sneakers, the front door close, and a car backing out of the driveway.
A cackle sounds from the mound of sheets at his waist.
“Wanna cum, big boy?”
He slaps the mound as Chad, aka Flambea, frees his head from beneath them. He’s without his signature ponytail, his thick dark hair framing his face and falling down his chest like Fabio from a romance erotica cover as he straddles Heath’s hips.
“You almost got us caught!” Heath scolds.
The fire-starter bats his amber eyes, the color of the First breath of fire when ignited. “I didn’t make a sound,” pulling the light blue sheet flush over his head, giving the appearance of an innocent nun. “I was innocently eating seafood.”
Heath’s lips form a straight line. “Don’t call it that, please.”
“I was gonna say kitty cat, but I love cats and would never even joke about eating one.” Lowering to leave loving kisses and love bites along the crescent moon scars along each peck.
Heath rakes his finger through the man’s long hair. “You’re insufferable,” he breathes.
“You mean, desirable,” Chad corrects, resting his head on the crook of Heath’s neck and shoulder. “I know… English is hard.” He adds.
Heath exhales a long, loud, dramatic groan. “This would be a good time to shower and get dressed before they get back.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Flambea grumbles, getting comfortable. “I never get to be the little spoon.”
Heath rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He gives in. Getting into position, bracing his arm around the larger man’s abs. Burying his nose into his hair, taking a big inhale, reminded him of burning incense.
His warm hand holds his forearm, keeping it in place. “Been working out?” He mumbles. Thumbing circles along the definition and veins.
“Yeah,” Heath hums humbly. “I can gain muscle mass now, which is cool after…thirteen weeks on T,” he mumbles, always having an issue when talking about his body—compliments or otherwise.
“You actually look intimidating,” he chuckles softly.
“Really!” Heath exclaims excitedly.
“No, I can still kick your ass.” He corrects, feeling the men behind him pout. “After I’ve eaten it, of course,” he softens.
Heath’s muffled laughs in the man’s thick hair
The fire guy laughs too. Heath always made it easy to laugh. “Just wanna pour icing on it and go to town. Don’t ever wear that thirst trap suit around me again,” he mocks seriousness. “Very un-do-gooder-like,” he scolds.
“The PR team says the public poll percentages favored it most, over my other ones.” He whispers slowly into his ear, taking a nibble of the pink, flushed lobe. “Siri, set a timer for ten minutes,” Heath instructs through a yawn.
