CALL ME OUT

[bootyhunter]

CALL ME OUT:

| |


Currently writing Dandy (Space Dandy) / Rex Splode (Invincible) / and Simon Laurent (Infinity Train)

bootyhunter / himbomb / incelligent



|
*Note: Sakamoto Tatsuma (Gintama) kaihentai and Asher Millstone (How to Get Away With Murder) moneyballer available on request



Also voicetesting Mike Wazowski (Monsters Inc) googlybear / Eddy (Ed, Edd, n' Eddy) edboy / Reagan Ridley (Inside Job) madcryentist / Abdul Ali (Squid Game) aitbaar / Portia Davenport (Search Party) portialain / Elliot Goss (Search Party) confabulous / Fleabag (Fleabag) feminitwit / Johnny Bravo (Johny Bravo) pretteh / and Joel Hammond (Santa Clarita Diet) screechy

Comments

shakespearean tragicomedy

[bobbob]

What, but I just told you— [ Robert stops even without Flambae grabbing onto him. Because neither of them can let the other go with the last word apparently, especially when the last word is shit! ]

Okay. Nevermind. Fuck. [ just yelling back and forth isn't going to really do anything or prove anything at all. And it's infuriating how weirdly sweet it is that Flambae's just asking him about his allergies in the middle of all the shit bubbling out of his mouth. He really is going to cook for Robert isn't he? Seriously, no one's ever done that.

The urge to insist he can walk himself or take a cab is strong, but he can also see that this is a ... gesture. So he'll make one too. ]

Wait just a minute.

[ And he's scurrying off before Flambae can stop him with his hands or words or anything else. True to his word though he's back immediately with a pen in his hand. He reaches for Flambae's and scrapes his number onto his palm with the ink. ]

"Robert-sized hole" isn't coming off the way you want it to, by the way. [ with his handiwork complete, he steps back. And smiles. ] Tomorrow it is.

[incinerhater]

[Perhaps it's telling how quiet Flambae actually gets when he's touched, offering Robert no resistance at all. Instead he allows his hand to limply be drawn on in silence, focusing on the numbers and committing them to memory, just in case the ink smudges before he can get a chance to add the digits to his phone.

There's so many feelings he's denied or buried for the sake of his own fragile ego, and yet he can't help but continue to fuck up his lovelife or let the wrong idiots from the club into his heart or his home, so why not gamble with the highest stakes possible.

Robert's fingers are rough as to be expected. Why is it that despite that, it seems so easy for him to be kind when he's trying? God, it makes the loss of fingers to him that much more embarrassing.

The joke gets a wry chuckle out of him, because, hey, that was funny.

Flambae pulls his hand back, flashing one of those trademark wicked smiles. This time, he does look pleased. Still sneering (but with.... delight??? how does one describe this), he lets out a:]

Cool! I'll see you later.

[Also because he's a fucking asshole-]

You better look nice.