Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ If It Makes You Happy ❯ Chapter Seven ( Chapter 7 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I do not own Static Shock and associated characters. Just manipulating them against their will.
Warnings: SLASH, violence, swear words galore, and...uh..we’ll see what else later on.
OooooooooooO means scene break


If It Makes You Happy:
Chapter Seven


Hotstreak was asleep. Or so he appeared to be in History that day. Slouched low in his seat, arms crossed, chin on chest–he hadn’t bothered with taking off his beanie; had it pulled so low over his eyes that no one could really tell if they were opened or shut. Just his posture gave an indication of his current mood, though. The woman at the front of the class had given up on trying to make the guy listen, and was lecturing away. Students shuffled in their seats, and his thoughts kept jumbling. He kept thinking about last night–about Richie Foley’s room, about the books, about the toys...his lips.
He wanted to laugh out loud at recalling the boy’s stunned expression. Truth to tell, he was just as stunned. He’d only meant to do that to provoke him. It was meant to be mean and cruel and...and in the end, it wasn’t. It was all supposed to be a cruel jest, and he knew he could get away with it. A sort of insult to character, insinuated incitement to the teen’s sexuality. But it wasn’t.
Rather, after that first kiss, he’d impulsively took another. Because he hadn’t been sure if that jolt of excitement/astonishment/curiousness had been real. And it had. He hadn’t done that before–kissed another guy. The very thought was revolting. Kissing another male, tasting stubble and chapped lips–girls were so much different. They were soft, yielding, stubble-less– if he were lucky– and just right. But last night had been...a sort of eye-opener.
He had kissed Richard Foley and liked it. If he could, he’d do it again.
It wasn’t a question of what was wrong with him–it was a question as to why. He hadn’t looked at other guys before–hadn’t even contemplated such things. But he knew he would do this again with Richie Foley if he had to chance. Not like he was going to go out of his way for it, but...
He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms more firmly. Someone hissed that he had better pay attention, but he ignored the guy and thought about Richie.
Really, the guy was a nerd–a geek. His room was filled with toys–toys!–and comic books. And he was such a brain that it was irritating to others. But there was also a charm about him–and Hotstreak felt a kinship with him. Richie was coming from a similar background as his, so he couldn’t completely hate the guy. Not when he knew what it was like to grow up knowing another person’s fists and words meant to hurt. If Richie had the picture perfect family that Hotstreak thought he had, then he wouldn’t have given a shit to any of this. He even would have led Ebon to his house just to have him finished off.
But ever since that night he’d seen Richie’s father hitting him, he just felt...acquainted with the guy. In a sense that he both understood and didn’t. In a way, he was looking forward to seeing the guy, today. Just to torment him. Because he knew Richie was easily flustered, and he wanted to be the source of that fluster.
He snorted, shifting so that he was slouched even lower before. In a way, he had an inkling that he knew Richie had a thing for other guys. He had thought it fishy that he’d never been with a girl, or that he didn’t try for them. A guy couldn’t be THAT shy...But to have it confirmed yesterday in the lockerrooms...how could he have missed Richie’s obviousness for his best friend? It all made SENSE! Richie’s clingliness to his friend had just been irritating–wherever Virgil was, his best friend was either at his side, or nearby. Richie didn’t make a big to do about it–just now that he knew about it, Hotstreak could recall long looks the blond would give his friend, or the attentive way he listened to Virgil at times.
But just to see the guy try very hard not to look at Virgil, and at the same time taking in all he could get of his friend’s flesh–in a way, that had been a surprising turn-on.
He had to bet that Richie was a virgin–that embarrassed flush of color when he’d been kissed, combined with the fact that he just seemed so damn innocent was a dead giveaway. That was a turn-on, too.
He chuckled lowly, ignoring the looks that were being tossed in his direction.
He then had to wonder if Ebon’s assumption in that Richie was something of value to him was true.

OooooooooooO

That afternoon, while sneaking in a smoke behind the building and finding out some bits of information about Ebon from a few of his Crew members, a maroon, four door Escort pulled into the nearby parking lot, causing a lot of interested stares in that direction.
Hotstreak narrowed his eyes as he flicked the cigarette from him. It had to be Ebon’s crew. The dark tinted windows and the loud bass of Tech 9 rang out over the campus. He felt tense, wondering what they were doing here, until he watched four members get out from the vehicle. Ebon wasn’t one of them, but he recognized one of the guys as being one of Ebon’s elder members. Someone that usually acted as a messenger. He only had a message to deliver.
Still...he knew the guys packed some heat, and knew that they weren’t the only ones around. But he wasn’t going to hide within the school grounds just to avoid them. He pulled away from the wall and began walking over, his friends following him.
The chainlink fence that kept the gang from entering the school grounds was hanging limply by a single ring, and floppy at the top from too many people climbing on it over the years. But it was the only thing separating them as he approached, ignoring the shouts from the campus security behind him.
“Ebon wants to see you,” the black man said, displaying a few gold teeth and purple gums. “Tomorrow night. Francesca Docks, around two.”
“About what?” Hotstreak demanded, forehead wrinkling. “Don’t sound all that important.”
“Wants to negotiate with you about some thang. You gonna be there? Or puss out?”
“Depends on what he wants.”
“Just be there, white boy. An’ bring your little tea party with ya. Maybe we’ll all have some fun,” the member muttered, turning away from the fence as campus security rushed over. Hotstreak slapped the fence as the members left him, and turned away to start back toward the school building, mind racing. He wondered what it was Ebon wanted to ‘negotiate’ with him about. With Ebon, there was no negotiation. There was only his way...and his other way. Hotstreak wasn’t about that.
The campus cops slowed as they realized nothing was happening and watched him and his friends walk back to school.
“What you gonna do, man?” one of his Crew asked. “You gonna show?”
“Nothin’ else to do. ‘Sides, maybe this’ll all get settled. Go tell the others. I’ll meet you all at the park around four. Got somethin’ to do, first.”
“All right, man. We’ll do it. Don’t learn too much.”
Hotstreak glared at him as the three walked off, chuckling to themselves. They ignored the campus cops that tried to stop them from leaving, and left school grounds. Hotstreak himself walked through a side door of the school and decided to eat.
On his way to the cafeteria, though, he heard voices coming from an open doorway in a Chemistry lab. He paused near the open doorway, and rolled his eyes. Should have known. He walked off without bothering to see what he could do to terrorize them.
“–And all the guys gathered up, and were like–Shit! It’s all clam chowder! Chowder!” Virgil then guffawed loudly, slapping Richie’s back repeatedly as Daisy, Larry and Felix stared at him blankly.
“I so totally don’t get it, man,” Larry moaned, eyeing a full vial. “You’re just gettin’ weirder an’ weirder, man.”
“Aw, man, c’mon! It’s a Mary-Kate joke!”
“Who is that?” Felix asked, rubbing his eyes. “An’ if it’s something like teeny bopper shit, then I don’t wanna know.”
“You need to lay off those comic books, Virgil,” Daisy admonished, swiping her straightened hair behind her ear. “It’s taking over your brain. Making you think crazy.”
“Aw, c’mon, girl. Don’t play that way. You know you love my wackiness,” Virgil complained, leaning toward her and flubbing her bottom lip.
“Ssstooopppp!” she complained, pushing at him.
Richie rolled his eyes and gave Larry and Felix a look. “On that note, did you guys finish the report in Lit?”
“Nah, man. I’m puttin’ that shit off til the last minute. My brain works better that way,” Felix answered with a grin, leaning against the counter.
“Hey, you finish the cheat sheet in Trig?” Larry asked Richie. “Let me look at that, bro. I had some trouble with number twenty.”
“Oh, the diagram? Yeah. It’s in my locker.”
“You guys going to lunch?” Daisy asked them, stepping away from her stool and picking up her bag. The others began doing the same as Felix began cleaning up their project.
“We’ll meet you out there,” Larry said, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.
“Hey, Rich–you gotta couple of dollars I can borrow?” Virgil asked, hurrying over to him.
“You need to break it. It’s a five. Just get me one of those sandwiches. And a coke. And one of those expresso things!”
“Like you need it!” Virgil scoffed, taking the five that was held out to him. “You had three of them already!”
“See what happens when you two stay up watching stupid movies?” Daisy asked them, unable to imagine staying up all hours of the night just to watch some sci-fi horror flicks. Both of them had slight bags under their eyes, and were only moving by magic of expresso and Power Horse energy drinks.
Richie took the five from him, scowling.
“Fine! Fine! But I don’t want any blame comin’ to me when you’re all jacked up later on from overdose.”
After taking the five once more, Virgil gestured at Daisy, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “May I escort you to the cafeteria, miss? A lot of questionable folk out there in the world...”
Daisy giggled as Richie scowled at them both, watching them leave the room.
Larry nudged him and started out the door, prompting the boy to follow. Once outside the classroom, though, a couple of girls heading to the cafeteria called Larry over. Unable to resist the invitation, Larry said he’d see Richie later, and left with them.
Annoyed that he was left alone, Richie headed over to his locker for the cheat sheet he’d completed the day before for Trig. While there, through, he became aware of the creepy feeling that he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder, glancing from one hall to the next, and found an open classroom. Standing there were the two teens from Ebon’s crew, watching him with hardened stares. More than intimidated by their closeness and their business, he found what he was looking for, and shut his locker.
He hurried off, feeling their eyes on his back, and cursed the unfortunate situation he was in. He and Virgil had discussed their options on their way to school this morning, and while they were doing so, he had found himself more than preoccupied with what had happened between him and Hotstreak. Much as he’d rather not, he kept thinking about how it felt to be kissed–to know that the other male’s lips were somewhat firm and rough. While he was glum about his first kiss being with someone like Hotstreak, he was also...alarmingly calm about it. Sure, he’d freaked afterward–sure, he still found it disturbing. But it had been his First Kiss. And with a male, no less. He had acknowledged himself as being gay–and his hormones weren’t exactly quiet about things.
After his initial shock about things, he realized that it had felt...nice. Just...nice. While he tried to picture his First Kiss being given by Virgil, and tried to imagine his full lips rather than Hotstreak’s, he had to admit that being kissed by Hotstreak was rather...nice. In an alarming way.
It was wholly alarming that he liked Hotstreak kissing him. The guy hadn’t said anything–hadn’t threatened him, hadn’t punched him, hadn’t done a thing afterward. Just...kissed and left. Like it was a normal thing to do.
He could still feel the older male’s lips on his–firm, solid, his scent washing over him. He could feel his goatee on his chin. He had thought it would be revolting, to have this knowledge with an enemy. But, no... it was made all the more so. Sure, he was confused and jumbled by this unexpected edge, both on his own thoughts and feelings of the situation, and on the fact that it was Hotstreak.
He reached up to adjust his glasses, recalling how Hotstreak had taken them last night, and worn them for himself. It was comical, now that he thought about it. But at the same time...it made his gut curl with apprehension. What was going on?
Was Hotstreak like him? He couldn’t be...he had been sighted with a gaggle of females, all of them pretty model types that were into powerful bad boys. He also had Aqua Maria, the watery beauty that often set him in his place. But...was that just a show?
He shook his head, heading toward the cafeteria. He neared the doors, stuffing his Trig cheat sheet into his open bag, and opened his mouth to yawn. It was a bitch going without sleep some days–maybe he’d take a nap in History...
After lunch, he found himself heading back to class, by himself----razzem frazzem Daisy rizzem googly eyes–and was contemplating what they should do as Gear and Static to stop the gang war. It would be somewhat easy just to check out the normal haunts of each–Hotstreak had his park and various areas; Ebon was prone to hellish neighborhoods and familiar party houses and his hideouts.
He hadn’t seen Hotstreak all day–but he knew the guy was in school. Was he avoiding him? Or...just... was Richie simply taking things out of context? It wasn’t as if he saw the older male all the time at school–Hotstreak came and went as he pleased.
Richie felt uncomfortable in that he felt as if he couldn’t wait to see the guy. To see if things had changed. To see if...if what had happened between them was real. To see if–
“Hey, four-eyed fag. Get this shit out of my face,” Hotstreak snarled, appearing seemingly out of no where from amidst the crowd. He slapped Richie’s graphic novel against his chest with a harsh shove that sent Richie into the lockers with a loud bang. From there, he lost his footing, and slid to the floor, his backpack catching onto the locker handles on his way down.
A few people laughed at the sight, and he flushed in embarrassment as he sat on the floor, knocked senseless by the action.
Hotstreak chuckled and walked off, being followed by a couple of admirers that tittered at Richie behind their hands.
“So much for that,” he grumbled, picking his graphic novel off the floor before rising. He didn’t remember the guy taking it from his room, but he was dismayed to see it curled into creased flaps front and back. As if Hotstreak had folded the cover into itself as he read it. It was hard to imagine the guy reading anything. But the pages were worn, there was a thumbprint on one of the pages.
He straightened his backpack before continuing his way to class.

OooooooooooO

He ran his fingertips through his goatee as he contemplated the gym ceiling. The teacher had most of the students running a dodgeball game that didn’t look any fun, and Hotstreak was trying to catch up on some sleep. His mind kept running through Ebon’s possible negotiation that he wanted to run through tomorrow night...and for this ‘meeting’ to be held at the docks...it was obvious Ebon wanted this away from prying eyes, and from those of the authorities.
So, a showdown was what the guy wanted...he’d give him a showdown. If this was going to settle any and everything between them, then this was the day that would settle all things. Possibly, it could be the only chance he got to get rid of Ebon. If he could just somehow throw the guy off-guard...could bullets hurt him? He used a piece from time to time, but could that hurt him? Ebon’s form allowed him to stretch any limb and into form he wanted, and to fade in shadow. His normal human form was replaced with this shadowy build, with the only indication of his human self built in that form. He didn’t have normal features–but if one could look closely enough, they could see his browbone moving with his expressions, and those wicked eyes of his spoke volumes..
Along this route, Hotstreak idly wondered if he could still perform bodily functions. Could the guy shit? Did he eat? Drink? He knew Ebon smoked pot...so perhaps he could do all that. But..how? Hotstreak couldn’t see any useful orifice on the guy. When he spoke, the sound came from seemingly no where. Could the guy have sex? And if he did...could he manipulate his penis as well, the same way he did to his form?
He fought the urge to laugh out loud and retch at the same time. Why the hell was he thinking of Ebon’s penis? It was a disgusting thought. But he was curious to wonder if Ebon could perform such functions in his form.
He had to know Ebon’s weaknesses–Static’s electricity more than worked him over. He’d seen the way he zapped Ebon to release Richie the other day. So if Ebon could be pained by electricity...could he be pained by bullets?
He frowned as he mused this over. He was dressed in corduroys, today–the warmth of the material kept him comfortable, as the weather in Dakota was dropping. He’d also settled for his beanie and another hoodie; all of it in a dark blue color. He had faint plans to drop by Richie’s again...just to bother him. See what he was doing after last night’s situation...
He turned his head to locate the blond, finding him on the court, talking and laughing with a classmate. He wasn’t even participating in the sport–the three of them were settled at the corner of their end, and not taking real effort to do anything. Virgil, on the other hand, was going all out from his end, and shouting up a storm.
God...the guy had to be a Bang Baby...that mouth of his just kept flapping. He tried to ignore it, but he found himself growling and gritting his teeth as Virgil’s shouts got to him. Something about Eewoks and Storm Troopers...nonsense that Hotstreak wasn’t going to try to understand.
Finally, he grew tired of it. He rose from his position on the bleachers, and stormed down onto the court. Walking out onto the opposite end, he snatched up a rubber ball, and hurled it at Virgil, who’d been caught unaware. The ball bounced right off the kid’s face, knocking him back a few paces.
“SHUT UP!” Hotstreak roared fanatically. “I am TRYING to SLEEP!”
Everyone around them looked horrified and amused as Virgil straightened, blinking surprised eyes as he rubbed his face.
“Did the sound of me winning finally get ta ya?” he shot back, walking off court.
“Th’ sound of your stupid voice got to me.”
“Did anyone ever tell you that ya throw like a girl?” Virgil snarled, knowing that this was going to take him somewhere.
“Let’s find this out–OUTSIDE,” Hotstreak then growled, gesturing out the doors.
“Guys, guys,” the teacher said, pathetically coming in between them. “Let’s settle this in a more peaceful way. There’s no need to fight. Virgil, you don’t have to lower yourself to his level. Francis, why don’t you learn to control your temper? There’s no need to get physical all the time.”
Virgil found reasoning in that, and stepped back, but Hotstreak wasn’t going to let some pep talk stop him. He shoved the teacher aside, causing girls to gasp in fright, and for the guys to step back cautiously. Virgil moved forward, spurred by Hotstreak’s willingness to fight, intent on getting the guy to reasonably chill. Hotstreak saw this movement out of the corner of his eye, and faced Virgil’s incoming attack.
Before the two could jump at each other, one ball slammed into Hotstreak’s head, and another off Virgil’s. This action stopped them both, stunned at the attack.
Richie was thankful for great aim, and ignore the incredulous stares from his classmates as he broke the fight up.
“Chill out, you two. You’re fighting over nothing.”
“Ya little shit–! I’m going to fuck ya over!” Hotstreak snarled, his infamous temper taking control. Many students began to run as his fists burst into flames, his entire body sending out heat.
“HEY! You just back off, Hot Shit!” Virgil roared, picking up a ball, ready to throw it. Though, what good it’ll do, considering that Hotstreak could throw fireballs right back–!
“Fuck you, negro–!”
“GUYS!” the teacher shouted, once again in the fray. He set himself between the two, eyeing Hotstreak threateningly. “Knock it off. Turn that off. There’s no need for that, here.”
“Bite me, muthafucker,” Hotstreak snarled, rising an arm, a girl shrieking from her position near the bleachers.
The teacher took a few steps back, gasping, entirely afraid of what was going to happen, now. Virgil thought quickly, glancing upward at the water sprinklers above them. Everyone was so focused on Hotstreak and his flames, that they probably won’t notice if–
“Hey, Francis!” Richie shouted. He was standing beside the exit doors, looking the picture of suspicion. “Did I ever tell you that I caught you checking out Bronson’s ass in the locker room?”
Virgil’s eyes widened as Hotstreak’s entire body emitted enough heat to melt the protective finish on the court floor, scorch marks spreading away from him. He had to move back to avoid feeling baked. The flames expanded within his fists, and he was turning toward Richie’s direction, snarling in an unhealthy way.
Richie shoved the doors open, and added, “It looked like you were enjoying it, too. The way you were drooling.”
“I’m gonna smoke you, ya little shit!” Hotstreak roared, running after him.
The blond had time to squeak before slamming the door shut. There was a resounding bang as Hotstreak slammed into the metal, unable to stop in time to avoid this. This nearly blew his top–instead of opening the doors, he blasted them from their hinges with a mad scream of rage. He was then sprinting after Richie, his unnatural speed coming into play. Fortunately for the blond, he had some distance ahead of Hotstreak, and was using the best of it to keep it that way.
Virgil ran after him, trying to think of a way to defend his friend. But he had to hand it to Richie, who had successfully diverted a crisis on school grounds.
Once outside, he saw that Richie was running like mad from Hotstreak, who was tearing after him. The two turned a corner, and were headed toward the parking lot; Richie was most likely leading him in that area just to cut down on any possible victims Hotstreak may gain by activating his powers.
“Richie!” he shouted, trying to catch either’s attention.
Richie heard Virgil shout his name, but he was currently focused on trying to stay ahead of Hotstreak’s reach. When the first fireball slammed into the pavement at his left, he gave a startled yell, and poured on the speed.
“Yer dead!” Hotstreak bellowed, gearing up for another fireball.
“I was only looking out for your best interests!” Richie shouted over his shoulder, narrowly avoiding collusion with the gate to the parking lot. This slowed him considerably–Hotstreak reached out and grabbed him before he could even recover.
He was tossed onto the pavement with a startled yell, hands reaching up to cover his face (and protect his glasses) when Hotstreak loomed over him, fists still alit with flames.
“Prepare to die, you fuckin’–!”
Hotstreak let out a grunt as Virgil tackled him from behind, the pair of them flying into the pavement. Richie quickly rolled to his feet, looking for something to use against the metahuman. Virgil was tossed from Hotstreak as the older male kicked him away. The chase had caught the attention of the campus police, and the same ones from lunch were running over, drawing their weapons.
“You–need–to–learn–to–cont rol–your–temper before someone gets hurt!” Virgil grunted, diving at the other male once more, mindful of the fists.
Hotstreak killed the heat in his hands, and focused entirely on pounding the African-American into the dirt. He managed to switch positions, and landed a few punches before Richie intervened once more, curling both arms around his neck and yanking him off of Virgil. By this time, the campus cops reached them, and were screaming orders as their guns went up.
Virgil scrambled to his feet as Richie let go of Hotstreak, the metahuman panting with the effort of their activity. Wiping a hand over his mouth as he eyed the guns with contempt, Hotstreak activated the flames once more. One of the cops panicked, firing first, much to the horror of his coworkers. Richie leapt in surprise as he felt the heat of the bullet pass inches from his exposed arm.
“Ouch!” he yelped in alarm. He tripped over his feet in his haste to move, Hotstreak lifting his arms.
“Shit!” Virgil shouted as he dove out of the way, fireballs slamming into the pavement. The cops backed away, hollering for backup as they began firing at him. “Stop! STOP!!!”
“Think your heat can beat mine?” Hotstreak roared, pulling both arms back, gathering an alarmingly large ball of fire within the space he provided between both hands. The cops saw this, and began running like mad for cover.
“STOP!” Richie cried, leaping onto his back, struggling to drop him. Hotstreak dropped the ball he’d been gathering, and deactivated his flames. He reached back, grabbed a firm handful of shirt, and tossed Richie over his shoulder like a rag doll.
He saw the cops running for cover and backup near the school, and sneered. Hocking up a loogie and spitting it near Richie’s feet, he turned and walked off campus grounds, having had enough of school for today.
Virgil quickly raced over to his friend, looking for any visible injuries.
“Damn, man! That was tough!” he exclaimed as Richie straightened from the pavement, wincing as he rubbed at his back. “Wasn’t the brightest of ideas, man.”
“At least Mr. Constinelli’s still intact, V. That’s all that I was aiming for,” he said on a sigh, letting Virgil help him up.
“Couldn’t you at least asked him nicely? ‘Steada signing your name on your life contract?” Virgil joked, slapping the dirt and pebbles from the back of Richie’s gym shirt.
“It was either that, or enjoying the smell of human turkey, V. But, hey–it worked.”
“At least you’re cool, man. No injuries?”
“Just need a bandaid for this tiny scratch, here...”
Virgil grinned, reaching over to ensnare his fingers through Richie’s golden locks. He pulled his friend close, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re a tough, strong guy, Rich. Ain’t nothin’ break you down. There are times when I think to myself–I say, ‘Self, that Richie’s gonna be just like ya one o’ these days. Better watch it’.”
“I’d much rather be myself than be someone like you, V,” Richie chuckled, enjoying the feel of Virgil’s forehead against his, the feel of his hands through his hair.
Virgil gave him a companionable slap on the shoulder, and pulled away from him. “C’mon. Let’s complain to the principal about those cops shootin’ blind. Pissed me off, man. You could’ve been shot.”
“It’s all right, Virg. They just panicked.”
“Don’t be making excuses for fools, Rich. Ain’t gonna get ya know where. You’re too fucking soft for yer own good, sometimes.”
Richie chuckled as they made their way back to the gym.
Funny thing was, he was thinking the same thing that night, when Hotstreak paid him another visit.