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Really, Robert’s not sure how he ended up here. He could’ve been hanging out with Invisigal, or on a date with Blonde Blazer. So how the fuck did he end up in some alleyway with Waterboy?
He thinks about it like it’s some detour gone wrong — but he knows exactly where it started. He’d been ready to head home with Beef. The little dog had seemed more than happy to stay with Chase, who’d been spoiling him rotten lately. Honestly, Robert’s pretty sure Beef’s picked a new favorite. He’d allowed it, though. It’s not like his own apartment had much waiting for him anyway. The dog deserved somewhere warmer for the night.
Waterboy had been… a surprise choice. Hell, Robert hadn’t even thought of it as a choice until it happened. He’d found him earlier, sitting in the supply closet, eating the leftover melon arrangement. After a weirdly heartfelt one-on-one — something Robert’s slowly getting better at — he’d offered to hang out. Waterboy wasn’t anyone’s first pick, sure. His first day with the Z-Team had ended with most of them clowning on him, but that hadn’t changed Robert’s mind. The others were just natural assholes — ones he’s begrudgingly grown fond of — but he’s learned none of their shit’s worth taking to heart.
That’s a lesson he hopes Waterboy picks up on fast. Because underneath all that nervous energy, the guy’s got a fragile heart.
Back to the present, though — he’s extremely aware of the fact that Waterboy is beneath him.
Yes, he slipped. Really.
They’d gone to a bar, had a few drinks, grabbed something to eat. The problem came when Waterboy — who turned out to be way more of a lightweight than Robert expected — dropped the water bottle Robert had gotten him. Then he made a huge deal out of getting it back, even after Robert told him, repeatedly, that it was just a goddamn water bottle. He’s still not sure why he even got it for a guy who can literally vomit up water, or why Waterboy didn’t call him an idiot on the spot.
One thing led to another — two drunk idiots, one runaway bottle — and somehow, they ended up falling. Now Waterboy’s underneath him, and Robert doesn’t have the energy (or sobriety) to be embarrassed about it.
He pushes himself up, ignoring how his shirt and pants are soaked. “Here,” he says, offering a hand. “Let me help you up.”
But there’s silence.
“Waterboy?” he tries again, tugging a little at the man who’s still face-down on the concrete.
He meets resistance.
“N-No—” Waterboy stammers suddenly. “The ground is — actually — it’s, uh, it’s fine down here, actually.”
“Are you bleeding?” Robert asks.
“N— No, not exactly, not… not r-really,” Waterboy responds.
Robert furrows his eyebrows. He’s not sure why Waterboy’s being difficult, though he chalks it up to embarrassment.
“Listen, I’m not going to judge you,” Robert says. He tries to help him up again, meets resistance again. He tilts his head back, shuts his eyes in exasperation, and decides, fuck it.
He grips Waterboy’s shoulders and flips him over easily, despite the guy squirming like he’s trying to escape.
The second Waterboy’s on his back and their eyes meet, something clearly clicks in his head. His hands fly down instinctively to cover himself.
Robert blinks. The moment naturally draws his eyes to Waterboy’s tent in his pants. Then— “Oh.”
“I’m not a creep!” Waterboy blurts, voice cracking. “I-It just happened, and—”
“You know,” Robert says, scratching absently at his stubble, “if you hadn’t moved your hands there, I probably wouldn’t have noticed.”
He’s not flustered, not even close. He’s too old and too tired to get embarrassed about this kind of thing. It happened. Whatever.
He pushes himself to his feet, brushing off his pants, and holds a hand out to Waterboy again. The guy looks like he’s short-circuiting — bouncing between mortified and speechless that Robert’s not making a big deal out of it.
Once Robert gets Waterboy to his feet, an awkward silence settles over them like fog. In the corner of his eye, he can see the guy shifting from foot to foot, cheeks burning, looking like he wants to melt into the pavement. Robert just sighs internally — what the hell, sure.
“I can help you,” he says, casual as ever.
He doesn’t even get to elaborate before Waterboy chokes — literally — spitting out a mouthful of water onto the concrete.
“S — Sorry, I just — did I hear you right?” Waterboy blurts, wiping at his mouth.
“Yes,” Robert says flatly. “Unless you don’t want my help. Then we can forget this ever happened—”
“No!” Waterboy says way too fast. He flinches at his own volume, curling in on himself like he wishes he could rewind time. “N… No, um. I’d— You— If it’s— If—”
“Use your words,” Robert cuts in, tone soft but steady. “I’m not going to judge you.”
Waterboy’s face goes pink again. He bites his lower lip, stammering through it. “I’d… I’d like that. If it’s not a hassle, I mean.”
“If it was, I wouldn’t’ve offered.”
Robert finally turns toward him. There’s a beat of silence before he decides to close the distance himself. Waterboy’s not going to make the first move, that much is obvious.
He presses a hand to the other man’s shoulder and nudges him back against the wall — gentle, deliberate. It’s not the ideal place for anything, but Robert doesn’t even own a bed, and the idea of going to Waterboy’s place feels too… personal. So, yeah. The alleyway will have to do.
He leans in — slowly — and just as he does, Waterboy tenses, his whole body scrunching up like he’s bracing for a hit. Robert huffs a small laugh and places both hands on his shoulders, steady and grounding.
“Relax,” he murmurs.
He leans in again, slower this time — giving Waterboy a chance to pull away if he wants to, but he doesn’t. Their breath mingles for a moment before their lips finally meet, hesitant at first, almost uncertain.
Waterboy’s clearly out of his depth; his hands just hang uselessly at his sides. His whole body feels stiff, like he’s waiting for instructions. Robert sighs quietly through his nose — not annoyed, just resigned — and takes one of Waterboy’s hands, guiding it to rest against his hip.
It’s a small touch, but it anchors them both.
The kiss itself is clumsy, unpracticed. Waterboy’s lips are too soft, his rhythm off, but there’s something endearing about the effort. He tastes faintly like cheap beer and the lemon wedge from his drink earlier. It’s not bad — actually, it’s kind of… nice.
Robert’s been kissed before, plenty of times, but it’s been a while since one’s made him feel anything. He realizes that somewhere in the middle of it — somewhere between the second breath and the way Waterboy finally starts to kiss him back, tentative but trying.
When they part, it’s brief, awkward, and a little breathless. Waterboy blinks up at him, wide-eyed and red to the ears, and Robert just huffs a small laugh through his nose.
“See?” he murmurs. “Not that hard.”
He kisses Waterboy again, slower this time, but with more certainty. They fall into rhythm — clumsy, yes, but in sync enough. Waterboy shifts against him, a restless little movement, and Robert can’t help but grin into the kiss. His hands find Waterboy’s hips, holding him still, steadying the way he’s trembling with need to move.
“Impatient,” Robert murmurs against his lips. The word makes Waterboy let out a small, involuntary sound — half whine, half breath. It reminds Robert faintly of a puppy, all nerves and eagerness. “If you don’t like anything I do, you tell me.”
His hand trails up, resting on the zipper of Waterboy’s wetsuit, pausing there. He doesn’t move further — not yet. He waits. When Waterboy looks at him, wide-eyed and silent, Robert adds softly, “Use your words.”
“Y–Yes. I—understood—” Waterboy stammers, nodding quickly, voice catching on each word.
He pulls the zipper down just enough that he can reach his hand inside, but not far enough for the night air to make Waterboy shiver. His hand slowly trails lower and lower — teasingly, which makes the ginger’s head spin — until his hand wraps around Waterboy’s length. It had him crying out immediately, and Robert hadn’t even moved his hand yet.
Luckily, he was wet — literally — so it provided an easy lubricant. His hand glided smoothly as he began to pump his hand up and down.
Robert looks up — and, wow.
Waterboy’s staring at him, eyes wide and glassy, so full of desire and want and need it almost knocks the breath out of him. He’s biting his lip hard enough that, for a second, Robert half expects to see blood. But his attention — every ounce of it — is fixed on Robert.
“God,” Robert mutters, because his head’s spinning and there’s no way in hell he’s about to say what he’s actually thinking: that Waterboy looks pretty.
Waterboy’s getting a little louder now, keening and gasping anytime it feels good. And though it’s music to Robert’s ears, it likely wouldn’t be to any passerbys. On reflex, he sticks his fingers into the other man’s mouth. It’s only a second later that he recognizes how fucking weird that may be, but Waterboy’s already sucking on them before he can regret it.
Which is — hot. Really fucking hot, and Robert’s realizing how turned on he is.
Though he kept teasing Waterboy for being impatient, it’s Robert who’s fishing out his own cock and impatiently pressing them together. He grasps them tight enough into his hand that he’s effectively jerking off them both, and apparently that’s too much for Waterboy.
“Rob— Robert—” Waterboy’s crying out, and that’s as much warning as he gets before the ginger’s spilling all over onto his hand. And it’s like a domino effect.
Robert realizes he should be embarrassed he’s come too fast, but he honestly doesn’t care, because it feels good and it feels like stars exploding behind his eyes. With a groan of his own, he’s finding his own release, pumping his hand once or twice.
It takes Robert a few seconds to come back to himself — maybe more, but he’s not keeping count. The world feels a little quieter now, the night air cool against his skin as they both catch their breath.
He wipes his hand on his pants, which… yeah, kind of gross, but that’s what washing machines are for. He doesn’t say anything as he helps Waterboy straighten out his wetsuit, tugging the zipper back up and smoothing it with quiet efficiency.
Waterboy’s clearly trying not to make things awkward — which, of course, only makes it worse. Robert just huffs out a small laugh, leans in, and kisses him again. That seems to reset him; Waterboy practically melts, shoulders dropping, eyes fluttering shut.
“You okay?” Robert asks quietly when they part.
Waterboy nods so fast it’s almost dizzying. “V–very okay. Really — uh, really good. Great,” he stammers, and his grin is wide and a little dazed.
Robert can’t help the faint smirk tugging at his mouth. He makes a mental note to actually take him out sometime — something with good food, maybe wine, and definitely not in an alleyway. Because if this counts as a first date, Waterboy’s standards are criminally low.
“I’m glad,” he says. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”