“say it again, slower this time, maybe you'll hear how stupid it sounds.”
🔥 call this bitch out, or something - accepting!
BISECTED LIGHT from the flickering overhead strips cuts @jvstaguy into red and shadow, a portrait of insolence propped against Royd's workbench like he didn't just catch him red handed, rummaging in there; and then he fuckin' goes and runs his mouth, throws that line at him as if he were still fully juiced, like he isn't currently held together by duct tape and shitty life choices. Flambae's first instinct is not fury, actually, it's disbelief; and something hideous and delighted makes him erupt into a mocking laugh, head tipping back for a moment.
wow, okay, bitch wants to die today.
he threads his fingers through his hair, pushing sweat-damp strands off his face, as he paces in a slow, tight arc, testing the shape of the room, making the air temperature climb with each footfall. there's fire under his skin already, turning sweat to steam in the hollow of his throat, begging to be let out, barely held back. barely wanting to be.
oh, the fucking audacity. augments fried, spine running on sheer fuckin' spite, and still mouthing off. still… god, he's annoying.
he stops right in front of him, just to get the full picture: the shape of a jaw set in defiance, the way Bitchbert's fingers twitch like he's ready to swing even though he'd break his own wrist attempting it, the stubborn line of his throat; something about Robert answers a certain hunger, whether he likes it or not. and in that stillness, a feeling slithers in his gut and a thought intrudes, as sudden as a spark, heated and darkly curious: where would he burn him, if he really let himself indulge? somewhere he couldn't hide with fabric or attitude? or somewhere secret, just for his own fucked-up and private delight, a place Robert would feel every time he breathed too deep, and know exactly who put it there ... ? he braces a hand beside Bobert's head on the bench, close enough to cage him in, casual in the way a lit fuse is, watching him, letting heat simmer in waves, warming the metal until it creaks.
"you're fuckin' unbelievable, you know?" Flambae purrs as he taps a patronising finger to the centre of the other man's chest, hot yet threateningly gentle, just a taste of what he could do. "…you're just a hundred pounds of wet attitude," he says, dripping smugness, "--and you're still runnin' your fuckin' mouth. still actin' like you're gonna out-anything me." and just before Robert can spit some feral comeback, Flambae adds in a hiss, "'cause if I wanted you on your knees, beggin' for your life? you wouldn't even make it to the floor." a humourless, vicious grin curls across his expression.
"I know what you are, bitch. don't insult both of us by pretendin' you're not fuckin' garbage." he doesn’t spell it out, doesn't have to. Flambae's seen enough to join the dots, even if he publicly pretends he hasn't. his finger lingers there, feeling the hitch of breath, the jump of heart, and it spikes a sensation restless and triumphant in him; it would be so easy to fire up and let the scald seep into a perfect sun right over his sternum, and press until it hisses. he drags his molten orange gaze up, taking his time. chest. throat. jaw. mouth. until it momentarily pauses on a spot high on the cheek where the bone is sharp and the skin thin. yeah. that'd glow real nice, catch his eye in every mirror; that'd be a problem for him, and a little trophy for Flambae both. but then he settles, mentally, secretly, on a tender place below the collarbone, right where the pulse stutters when shit gets real, something he could hide under a shirt, if he really tried. he could mark him anywhere, he knows that. Robert knows that. that's the whole point.
now everything hangs in quickened breaths and tension: heat, pride, the ghost of that future burn he hasn't given him yet; and Flambae just looks at him, daring him to talk one more word to stop imagining and give it to him, wondering how far he's gonna let himself go before someone, something, common fuckin' sense, pulls him back.
