Chapter Text
It starts with a celebration.
They’ve just saved the city, after all, from sure destruction. Buildings are still smoking in the distance and someone’s lost phone keeps buzzing with notifications somewhere in the rubble, but still they deserve as many beers as they fucking want.
Robert isn’t even counting them. He tried to, but he lost count somewhere after the fourth bottle and decided it wasn’t worth trying again.
They’re all too giddy and riding the high of success too much to look for a bar that hasn’t been blown up, so the headquarters’ parking lot, or what’s left of it, does just fine to host the team.
It works well enough.
It starts with laughter.
Chuckles that are loose and helpless and spilling out of Robert’s chest, feeling both too tired and too alive. His ribs hurt from laughing and from getting slammed into a wall earlier, and he can’t tell which one is worse nor does he care. He’s sitting on the hood of a half-crushed car, feet dangling and yet another bottle of beer in his hand.
Herm is beside him. Too close, probably. Not that Robert does anything about it. Not that he wants to.
Their shoulders bump every time one of them shifts, and eventually Robert finds that he just lets himself lean against the other man. He tells himself it’s because he’s tired, but it’s not a very convincing argument.
“Can’t believe we pulled that off,” he says, voice a little rough around the edges of his words.
Herm makes a sound that he can tell is supposed to be a word but doesn’t quite make it, ending up more like a snort and a mumble at the same time. He’s nervous. Robert doesn’t know why but he thinks he’s absolutely adorable. Herm won’t look at him directly, gaze focused on the ground while he smiles to himself.
Robert does try not to stare at that smile.
Someone says something funny. Alice, he thinks, but he’s not too sure, just joins in with the laughter and lets his arm slip behind Herm’s shoulders without him really thinking about it. It feels…natural. Easy. Even if Herm seems to be dealing with his nerves by gulping down mouthful after mouthful of beer.
His hand lingers on Herm’s back longer than it needs to.
It starts with the journey back to Robert’s apartment.
He’s too drunk to return on his own, and everyone knows it. Victor mentions it out loud between laughs, and Herm is suddenly closer than ever, wet fingers hooking into the fabric of his shirt to keep him standing.
“I got him. I-I have…him. Can take him. Home. I-I can help take him, erm, home.”
No one argues. Especially not Robert. Chase makes a joke about babysitting duties, and Robert flips him off without looking.
He grins at Herm, knowing that he is just as drunk as he is, but somehow able to hide it better. Not from him, though. He can see those bright red ears as bright as day.
The night air is cold and sharp as they leave, sobering them just enough to be aware of their surroundings. Streetlights, the few that remain standing, smear into long glowing lines in Robert’s vision as they walk. Or stumble. Mostly stumble, with glass crunching under their shoes.
Herm’s arm is around his waist, muttering apologies for soaking his clothes. Robert shows that he doesn’t give a shit by throwing his own arm around the man’s shoulder which, considering their height difference, only makes walking so much harder. It makes them bump into each other’s ribs and hips and knees, summoning ridiculous bouts of laughter.
They look really fucking stupid, honestly. They move like they’re learning to walk for the first time, but they make it to his place anyway.
It starts with an invitation.
They’re both fucking smashed, and Robert insists that he doesn’t want Herm to go home on his own. Not when the city is still dealing with the aftershock of disaster and with villains still being rounded up.
“You’re stayin’,” he says, voice slurring just a touch as he fumbles with his keys. He drops them and has to scramble to grab them, very nearly losing his balance in the process. “Not negotiable.”
Herm blinks at him, like he’s not quite sure that he’s heard him correctly. In fact, he looks like he’s about to argue, but the words get lost somewhere between his mouth and his brain. A nod is given instead.
“Yeah. ‘Kay. J-Just… yeah,” he says, swaying on his feet like he might forget how standing works entirely.
The door sticks. Of course it does. Because this apartment is cheap but it’s fucking terrible. Robert shoves his shoulder into it and it does nothing. Herm does the same and it easily gives way, slamming open hard enough to hit the wall
Kid’s stronger than he looks.
Robert files that thought away somewhere stupid and dangerous.
It starts with the couch.
Because Robert doesn’t really own anything else for comfort than the plastic chair. That’s just a fact.
He kicks the door shut behind them and kicks off his shoes too, not even looking to see where they land. One of them ping pongs against the walls of the small entry hallway, nearly causing Herm to trip over it.
“S-Sorry,” he mumbles, even though it’s definitely not his fault. His cheeks are still flushed, which is not helping to get Robert to stop looking at him.
“Don’t be,” Robert says, grabbing his arm without thinking. “You’re good. I got you.” His hand lingers an extra second before he lets go.
They look at each other, grin, then collapse onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. The couch protests, and so do their ribs, but Robert is perfectly content with laughing and behaving like he’s eighteen all over again.
Shit, it’s warm in here. Too warm.
Silence creeps in as the laughter runs out, although, strangely enough, it isn’t awkward nor sharp. It’s…heavy, perhaps? Yes. Heavy with things unsaid.
Herm’s leg is pressed to his and their shoulders are touching again. Too close, once more.
Neither of them moves.
It starts with a look.
Herm’s staring at him.
It’s neither the quick glances he’s used to, nor the insecure sideway looks. This is open. Bare. Like he’s forgotten to hide what he usually doesn’t want anyone to see.
And holy shit, the goggles are off again, sitting on his forehead and letting Robert feast on the sight of those big beautiful blue eyes. They’re wide, a little uncertain, and somehow devastating all at once.
Robert feels something loop in his stomach. A tight flip that makes his insides feel weird and hot.
“What?” he asks. Soft. Curious. He can’t help the way his voice comes out quieter than intended.
Herm swallows, and his eyes flick to Robert’s mouth and then back to his eyes so fast it almost hurts to watch.
“It’s, um, i-it’s nothing,” he says, which is the clearest lie he’s likely ever told in his life.
And still, neither of them moves save for Robert, who dares to draw a little closer. Just a little, just enough to make the space between shrink even more.
It starts with a breath.
Robert can feel it, warm and shaky. His own breath betrays him, coming fast and shallow.
Fuck, they are close.
He can smell the beer on Herm’s breath and Herm’s hand is on his thigh, casual in a way that makes his pulse spike.
He doesn’t remember how it got there, but he knows he wants it to stay there.
Herm seems to realise where his hand is at the same time Robert does, and starts to pull it away, but Robert is fast to press a palm against it. Firm but gentle. Permission and invitation all in one motion.
Then Robert tilts his head before he’s aware that he’s doing it. Herm freezes, and does not mirror the gesture but does not move forward either.
He just…waits.
“...Robert?” Herm whispers, like a warning, like he’s saying please at the same time.
Robert looks at him through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?”
“If we…” Herm stops, swallows, then starts again. His thumb brushes over Robert’s hand, nervously, like he’s asking for reassurance. “I-If we do this…If y-you want to do… this. With me?”
He doesn’t finish. Frankly, he doesn’t have to.
It starts with a choice.
Robert studies him. Really looks at him. Not just the outline of his face in the dim light, but the part of him that’s scared and unsure. He mentally takes a step back and takes in the fear, and the want, and the way Herm is still, for some goddamn reason, giving him time to back out.
It’s terribly sweet and terribly frustrating, all at the same time.
Yes, this is very inappropriate, if one is to bring up the matter of their work relationship. Herm is his employee. Robert is his boss. A fact that has absolutely zero relevance tonight, as far as either of them are concerned.
But…they also are very fucking drunk and they’ve just saved the entire city. Hell, even the world. Sure. Why not? They’ve saved the world and they’re both into each other so…why the hell not?
“We do this only if you want to,” he says quietly. “And we keep it between you and me. Tonight is about being really fucking stupid and not feeling alone. What do you think?”
Herm searches his face, lips twitching into a smile. Then, he nods.
It starts with a kiss.
Slow and careful, like they’re touching glass. A tentative brush at first, exploring unknown terrain, both of them aware of how desperately they want it to not fall apart.
Herm’s lips are warm and unsure and trembling a little, but the second he catches the appreciative hum that rumbles in Robert’s throat, he takes charge with surprising ease. His hands slide from Robert’s shoulders to his chest, pulling him closer.
With another happy little hum, Robert responds by tilting his head further to deepen the kiss, lips pressing firmly against Herm’s, tasting beer and adrenaline. It’s unlike any kiss he’s had before, and not just because of the helpful moisture that helps their mouths slide along each other.
Though there’s obvious inexperience, Herm kisses him like he’s something precious, like he’s memorising the feeling of his lips.
Robert’s hands slide into Herm’s hair, tugging gently, coaxing him even closer. The warmth of his tongue is something he wants engraved into his memory.
It starts with a revelation.
Robert is happily straddling Herm, practically devouring the inside of his mouth so that the poor man will stop apologising about getting water all over him. He grabs those bony wrists and settles them on his torso, allowing long fingers to venture under his shirt and explore.
Herm’s touch is tentative at first, like he’s afraid of doing something wrong. His fingers trace ribs, thumbs brushing over his stomach, urged on by all the encouraging kisses Robert makes sure to give him. And, fuck, every soft sound Herm makes goes straight to Robert’s head, warm and dizzying.
Then one hand slowly drifts lower.
Robert stills.
Not because he wants to stop, or because he doesn’t want this, but because he wants to make sure they’re both on the same page here.
“Hey,” he says, breaking the kiss with visible effort. “Hang on. Just a sec.”
Herm, predictably, freezes instantly, hands retreating like he’s been burned. “S-Sorry,” he blurts, already panicking. “I-I did something wrong, I–” He winces like he’s ready for impact.
“No,” Robert huffs, and cups his face before he can spiral. “No, no, no. You’re fine. You’re perfect.”
That shuts him up, staring back at him with wide eyes, waiting and trusting.
Not knowing what he did to get Herm all to himself tonight, Robert exhales slowly in preparation. This conversation always goes one of two ways, and while he’s sure Herm is not about to push him off and run away, there’s always a nibble of doubt in moments like this. Old memories have a tendency to sit heavy at the back of his mind, ugly and stubborn.
“You’ve probably already realised. I…don’t really hide my scars much in the showers, but…I want to say it outright. Before we go any further, okay?”
Herm swallows and nods. “Okay. B-But, um…just so you know, I never, uh, peeked. Looked. Much. I didn’t see any…scars.” His ears redden terribly while he says it.
Fucking hell, why is he so sweet? It makes Robert’s chest ache in the worst, best way.
Right. Out with it, then.
“I’m trans,” he says, plain and steady.
Silence, but Herm doesn’t look the least bit bothered by this fact. If anything, he looks relieved, like he was imagining something so much worse.
“Is that…okay?” Robert says, trying to prompt him into talking.
“Robert, I like you for you. Not for your body parts,” Herm answers, smile wide and sincere and Robert just wants to kiss him stupid.
So, he does.
It starts with a question.
“D-Do I need to, uh, wear a…put on a…?” Herm’s voice drops almost to a whisper, hand hovering awkwardly between them, not quite knowing where to rest.
“Condom? Nah. My hormones are fucked. I don’t even get periods and I’m clean. Don’t worry about it,” Robert answers casually, like he’s talking about the weather even though his heart is racing with anticipation.
“Oh. O-Okay. Good to know.”
Herm nods too fast, filing that information away with the kind of seriousness that makes Robert want to laugh.
It starts with pressure.
Delicious, wonderful fucking pressure.
Skin against skin and moans drowned out in a lover’s mouth.
Robert clings on to Herm for dear life as he drives into him again and again. His hands dig into his bare shoulders, trying not to slip from the wetness that beads all over him.
He feels his hips tilt back on instinct, chasing that incredible depth that jars pleasure straight through his core. Every nerve ending is alight, screaming pure joy that can only be released by moaning into Herm’s ear.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck.”
Herm’s response is a guttural noise, vibrating against the side of Robert’s neck where he buries his face. He smells musky and sweet, like everything he wants and more, and Robert clutches the damp curls on the back of his head, urging him on.
“You’re so good,” Robert whispers, though it comes out as more of a ragged moan. He feels Herm’s hands slide from his torso, down his back, finding purchase on his ass, fingers digging in and pulling him tighter, closer, deeper.
The speed picks up, Herm moving with a frantic energy that mirrors the spiraling intensity in Robert’s own body. The world narrows down to this point of perfect friction, to the heat between them and the impact of skin on skin.
“Don’t stop, Herm. T-That’s it—!” Robert commands, pulling Herm’s head up for a bruising kiss. He needs this connection before he lets go completely.
And then, with one final thrust, the tension breaks. Herm lets out a strangled cry, his entire body convulsing with bliss as he collapses forward, chest pressing hard against Robert’s.
Robert’s own release is shattering, a brilliant wave that locks his legs around Herm’s waist and tears a loud groan from his throat.
They stay like that for a long time, breathing each other in, Herm still inside him.
It ends in the morning.
The couch is soggy and cold.
Herm is gone.
There’s a second where Robert just stares at the ceiling and lets the shame settle in, slow and familiar. It fills his chest the way water fills cracks in stone.
Fucking hell.
He needs to get Beef back from Chase too.
Maybe after that, he can breathe again. Or, at least, try.
It continues with distance.
Once SDN is running again, as normal as things can get after such destruction, they orbit each other like broken satellites.
Robert notices it in small miserable ways. The sudden absence of the little things Herm used to leave for him at his desk, the careful timing of breaks that never overlap and the quiet avoidance in the hallways.
It really fucking sucks.
They become very good at not talking to each other. Experts, really. Their only exchanges now are exclusive to when he has to dispatch Herm on assignments. And they are miserably good at it.
Good at not looking at each other..
Good at pretending nothing ever happened between them.
It continues eight weeks later.
Robert has been feeling sick.
Not in the way he’s used to. That bone-deep exhaustion is something that never quite leaves him, as are the headaches that bloom behind his eyes after long shifts. That’s his normal, he knows how to deal with it and how to push through.
This? This is different.
It’s…wrong.
His mouth tastes like metal in the mornings and food makes his stomach twist. Even coffee has betrayed him. Its smell, normally sacred and necessary, now turns his gut inside out.
For weeks, he tell himself it’s nothing. Stress. Just stress. He repeats it to himself often, as if doing so will magically make it true. He can handle this. He’s fine.
Until he almost passes out in the bathroom at work.
He’s bent over the sink, knuckles white where he grips the basin, staring himself down in the mirror as his vision swims back into focus. His face looks so much thinner. Paler, too.
He doesn’t look fine at all.
“You’re being dramatic,” he mutters to his reflection but it, of course, does not suddenly start reflecting a perfectly healthy Robert Robertson.
And his hands don’t stop fucking shaking.
There is, after all, one possibility he can’t ignore. The one that’s been lurking behind every symptom, impossible as it seems.
In the end, he can’t put it off any longer.
Robert buys the test like he’s buying contraband.
The cashier doesn’t even look at him, just beeps the box and slides it across the counter. No judgement and no curiosity. Small blessings, he supposes.
It starts with two lines on a plastic stick.
He laughs a short unsteady laugh, sitting on the closed toilet lid like the world has just ended.
“No,” he breathes. “No fucking way. There’s no fucking way.”
His heart hammers in his chest as he checks the instructions again and again, as if reading them differently will change what’s happening. It doesn’t.
Two lines.
Positive.
“That’s not… I don’t… I can’t—”
Pregnant.
He’s fucking pregnant.