Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ If It Makes You Happy ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Things take a violent turn when lemons are involved! Extended scene!
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.19.2005 | Updated On: 09.19.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.4K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Completed
Things take a violent turn when lemons are involved! Extended scene!
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.19.2005 | Updated On: 09.19.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 4.4K | Visits: 1.1K | Status: Completed
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
A/N: WARNING! SEX! For those that are familiar with this chapt., please note that I extended the, er, last scene. (grins) And I have a surprise for ya'll with next chapter!
If It Makes You Happy:
Chapter Eight
Hotstreak was pissed at the guy–which is why he’d convinced himself to go to his house that night. To lay down the rules. To remind him who was in charge, here. To give him a lesson for mouthing off, and causing him to lose his temper. Hotstreak had all of this in mind when he’d climbed the balcony, and ghosted through the window. Richie had been there, talking (yelling, really, to his mother downstairs), and had been startled by his appearance. Even giving a slight exclamation before slamming the door shut, so his mother couldn’t hear what was going on.
Hotstreak had been ready to knock the creep to the ground and teach him a lesson–then maybe take the rest of his anger out on his valuable models and toys. Anything to appease his infamous temper as he continued to think about the words being exchanged in the gym.
That was his plan. His intentions.
But, as plans usually went, his didn’t follow through.
“You think you have som’thin’ over me?” Hotstreak had snarled, jabbing Richie in the chest. The boy was trying to shush him, fearful that his mother or whomever would hear the activity in his room. “I don’t fuckin’ care who can hear me! You think you can just jump right in an’ start talkin’ shit, just cuz ya think you have somethin’ over me? Fuck that shit!”
“I’m truly sorry, Francis,” Richie had apologized, hands up. “But I couldn’t let Mr. Constinelli get hurt. He’s our gym teacher...”
“I don’t fuckin’ care if the guy was the fuckin’ mayor! Your fucking dick-ass chump fucked with me, an’ I wasn’t gonna have it!”
“But it wasn’t anything to lose your temper for, man. Think about it! You attacked a teacher, and the campus rent-o-guards! You were walking a thin line, then–! What about now?”
“‘Rent-o-guards’?” Hotstreak then asked, blinking.
“Seriously, Francis,” Richie tried again, using his real name. Sometimes it bothered Hotstreak–sometimes it didn’t. Apparently, this was one of those times when it didn’t. “I’m worried about you, man. Yeah, you’re a little unhinged and everything...an’ that temper of yours needs to be worked on...but you’ve been held BACK twice. Aren’t you tired of high school? Why not try for your GED?”
“Why you on my back?”
“I just–! I can see you’re capable of passing, Francis! Why sell yourself short? Why continue ruining things for yourself?”
Hotstreak pulled himself back, wondering where this was coming from. Geeky nerd guy was talking to him about his future? He didn’t even let the school counselor talk this way to him...well...he was the reason why the counselor smelled of booze, all the time, anyway.
“Fuck that shit,” he then muttered, turning away from Richie. “Your mom here?”
Notably confused by the switch in topic, Richie blinked, then nodded. “For a while, actually. She’s going to meet my father at the movie theaters.”
Hotstreak narrowed his eyes, and gave a soft exhalation of disdain.
“Just you by yourself?”
“For a couple of hours, yes. I...uh...had plans, as well.”
“...Where you goin’?”
“Um...well, after I finished my homework, I was going to head over to Virgil’s. Oh, thanks for giving me back my book. I didn’t know you were interested in that.”
Momentarily puzzled, wondering what he was talking about, Hotstreak hesitated in looking over at the diagrams he saw on the desk. It looked as if Richie were trying to set himself between him and the desk, trying to keep him from looking at them.
Then he recalled the story of a woman avenger, out for blood against those that killed her boyfriend and her son. ‘100 Bullets’. It had caught his interest because of the raw reality the story carried, along with the possibility of being able to carry out revenge with untraceable, one hundred bullets. It was kind of funny that Richie would be interested in that sort of thing. Really, it continually surprised him that Richie was the type to enjoy hard core rap and stories of the ‘hood...he was just the type to NOT be. Which is why he found the guy fascinating...
“Yeah,” he muttered. “It was cool.”
“So was my Darth Vadar,” Richie then said, giving him a pointed expression.
“Yeah...that was, too.”
“I’m never going to get it back, huh?”
“Get what back?”
“My sanity.” Richie then sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Maggie called from downstairs, and Richie turned away from him, opening the door to walk out into the hall. While he talked to his mother over the railing, Hotstreak turned away from the doorway, and rummaged through the night stand container that held some rock candy and Pixie sticks.
When he heard the front door slam shut, Richie walked back into the room, looking over at Hotstreak with much uncertainty. He was a far cry from the guy he’d fought with on campus mere hours ago–his temper was something of a catastrophic occurrence that flashed in and out of existence within moments. It was both scary and laughable at the same time.
The Hotstreak in his room was quiet, mysteriously curious about Richie’s home and company, and more than confusing. He’d taken off his beanie–his multi-toned hair mashed limp with familiar ‘hat’ hair, and he had changed his hoodie to a Nike jacket. Hotstreak wasn’t a flashy dresser–he wore what he felt was comfortable, within reasonable limits. Richie guessed that it was based on what couldn’t get caught on fences or things if he were trying to make a running getaway from the authorities. Things that don’t snag, yet looked fashionably thuggish, was the guy’s fashion style.
He reached up to fiddle with his single hoop earring, watching as the guy picked up another ‘100 Bullets’ book, and flip through it. In a way, the guy was attractive–if he ignored the temper and bullying. He wasn’t the sort that demanded double takes on the street–one had to look several times in order to see the attractiveness. Because of his attitude and the way he carried himself, he was either intimidating or...very intimidating. Girls only flocked to him because he was power, and the infamous ‘bad boy’.
His hawkish nose, hooded eyes, sneering lips and slouched frame wasn’t Richie’s cup of tea–nor was his color. But...the guy had shown interest in him. Sure, Richie knew his feelings for Virgil, but...Virgil was never going to return his feelings. Ever. He had Daisy.
He captured his bottom lip with an indecisive frown, recalling the older male’s lips on his. In a way, they expressed volumes. Interest. Curiousness. Uncertainty. He had made the first move. He had kissed him. He was following him. Hotstreak was making the moves first, without really saying things out loud.
In a way, it was obvious. In another, Richie just couldn’t accept it. But he understood that this continuous bothering was just the other male’s unexpressed desire for him.
That word made his stomach curl with some unexpected thrill. Virgil was never going to return his affection, or look at him in the light that he wanted. But this guy was willing to. Sure, Richie was sure he would continue to love his friend, no matter who he was with. But he was seventeen, right now. He was young and impulsive, right now. He was just finding himself out. What better way to continue this journey than with someone that would actually want him back?
It was insane, the way he was thinking. That he was accepting this and more about one of his enemies. He may as well as express some similar thing about Slipstream, or Shiv, or Ebon, even...but none of them looked at him the same way Hotstreak did. Contemplative and unsure. Threatening and cautious. Curiousness and interest. And certainly none of them would ever come to his room at night and look through his comic books in silence.
He felt himself swallow hard, hearing his heart race as it pounded away. He was admitting to himself that he acknowledged Hotstreak’s interest in him. Admitting that he, himself, felt some interest for him. That he could accept a thousand other kisses from the other male without any further thought. His gut wrenched with agonizing realization, and he lowered his head, still fiddling with his earring.
When Hotstreak looked back at him to see why he was so quiet, Richie forced himself to look him in the eye, expressing only with his silence and stare what the other male needed to know. The other male must have read the expression correctly, for he lowered the comic book to the bed, and closed the space between them. He lowered his face as Richie raised his, and their lips met in the middle. With the acquiescement of their feelings, it didn’t at all feel strange or uncomfortable–rather warm and interesting, enough to elicit goosebumps.
He felt Hotstreak’s goatee scrape against his chin, felt his nose bump against his. His lips were slightly dry, but tasted of something bitter and bland...he could smell Hotstreak’s unique scent and faint traces of alcohol. A mixture made pleasant by his warmth. The other male had experience, and took his kisses with ease; taking and gently administering his own form of expressed desire for him. For Richie.
His hands felt uncomfortable at his sides, so he tentatively reached up to press them lightly against the firm hardness of Hotstreak’s stomach, fingertips curling slightly to grip his shirt. Hotstreak lifted his own hands and cupped Richie’s face, fingers splayed over jaw and neck, in a frighteningly tender hold that made Richie feel relaxed. But he became aware of a certain problem, turning his head away to take a deep breath.
“Stupid...breathe through your nose,” Hotstreak muttered.
“Sorry...haven’t done this, before.”
Hotstreak snorted, his fingers softly running through Richie’s sideburns, then removing his glasses just as gently. He lowered his head once more, finding the other’s lips, tasting and taking, thoroughly enjoying the moment. It was not revolting. It was not unsatisfying–it was very unique and utterly enchanting, and, for the moment, he did not care that he was kissing another male.
He’d truly come to the house with every intention of setting the record straight–never had he given thought that after twenty minutes, he’d find himself making out with someone he commonly beat up. Nor had he ever thought that his advances would be recognized, and returned.
Some time had passed when he heard himself arguing softly in the darkened, quiet room. An age old argument that he’d had with past lovers; an argument he’d perfected with the various females he’d bedded since he lost his virginity around fourteen. And even as he was doing it, he couldn’t believe that he was.
“I’ll be gentle...it won’t hurt.”
“Do you know what you’re talking about? Do you know who you’re telling that to? You just told me you’ve never done it, before!”
“I have...a few times. Yeah, not with a guy, but–I’ll make it feel good. I’ll go slow.”
“You’re moving way too fast–!”
“Why th’ fuck are you makin’ me stop, when we got this far?” Hotstreak asked, annoyed.
“I...it’s...that is a really big step,” Richie said anxiously. “I never–I don’t think I’m ready for that sort of commitment and–”
“It ain’t like we’re gettin’ married! It’s sex!”
“It’s a big thing! It’s a really intimate thing, and–!”
“Just like a virgin to say shit like that...”
“...So? I can’t go that far! I–I never even–I never even–I didn’t think–!”
“What, so, yer just gonna go through life, thinkin’ you’d save it for someone that you ‘love’? Busta, you don’t think someone’s gonna come along, an’ be all understandin’ that you don’t got experience when yer older. By the time you fuckin’ ‘fall in love’ with someone, an’ get that far wit’ him, they gonna be all disappointed that you ain’t got shit to show to him. Nobody wants a virgin past eighteen. They all gonna think yer all diseased, an’ by that time, yer gonna be all desperate, anyway. Like I haven’t been seventeen. I know what the fuck at that age...”
“Yeah...but...”
“Ya think Hawkins’ gonna change his mind ‘bout things? That he gonna look at you one day an’ say, ‘Golly! What was I thinkin’?’”
“Well...that’s sort of an impossibility...but...I...And what are you talking about? You want me.”
“You ain’t eighteen.”
“So?”
“You’re gonna hate it if we stop, now.”
“...why?”
“You scared? Is that why you don’t wanna do it?”
“...No, but...”
“‘But’ what?”
“I...”
“See? You don’t have any real reason that’s plausible for me to stop.”
“...Yeah, but...I don’t...I’m not ready...”
“When are ya gonna be ready? I’m tellin’ ya...it’s better to get it over with now...get some experience now. You’ll please your...ahem...loved one better with experience.”
“But...I want...my feelings...”
“Shit, Foley! Sex is sex! You can just like it cuz it feels good! You don’t have to get your fuckin’ panties in a bunch for those!”
“...But...”
“Just let me do it. I’ll go slow. I’ll do the work...”
“...But...”
“Stay there. I’ll be right back. Where’s your bathroom?”
“...Down the hall. Straight ahead.”
When Hotstreak left his room, Richie let out a groan, hands pressed to his eyes. He was entirely anxious and nervous, and his stomach kept performing flip-flops. Was he actually going to go through with this? Was he actually going to let this happen? The clock on his nightstand told him his parents weren’t going to be home for another hour, or so. But this wasn’t what he’d picture for his first time. He’d pictured it with someone special...something done with love and emotion...not something done just because “it feels good”. But he’d relented. He still could say ‘no’...but another part of him was quietly nudging him to go through with it. To just...get it over with. What harm could happen? Other than the fact that it was going to be with someone he’d never ever pictured doing it with.
Hell, he’d never ever imagined getting this friendly with Hotstreak! It was all some weird dream! It had to be.
He was nervous as hell, his legs shaking as he removed his hands from his eyes. Staring up at the ceiling with his bad vision, he heard the other male’s movements down the hall. It sounded like he was looking for something. Richie was more than embarrassed that this was happening.
But in a way, it felt...natural. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought would happen. Especially in this manner. At this speed.
He sat up on the bed, looking down at himself. He’d fallen prey to Hotstreak’s uncanny ability to strip clothes from his person without him noticing until the last second. During the moment, he hadn’t minded. It had felt good–for his skin to be caressed and explored, for his hormones to be calmed by touches and kisses. Sure, it was all rushed–but weren’t things at seventeen? Discovering sex and other associations?
The other still had his clothes on, save for his shoes. Those were lying somewhere on the floor. Feeling very self conscious of himself, shamefully aware that he’d been responding to touches and strokes and licks with unabashed behavior, he covered his nakedness with a sheet. His face felt heated as he rubbed his eyes once more. He was exhausted.
He heard the other male coming back, his footsteps silent and swift, and prepared himself for more.
The room was still dark–the only light coming in was that from the window, where the blinds were drawn halfway. He watched, propped up on his elbows, as Hotstreak pulled off his own clothing. He couldn’t see much–just flashes of naked skin, of strong shoulders and defined arms. He swallowed hard as the other male crawled onto the bed with him, leaning over him–he felt the brush of his penis against his leg, felt the wiry touch of pubic hair on his thigh.
He flushed, from head to toe, about his decision, feeling his knees tremble and his gut flutter with apprehension. As he felt Hotstreak’s breath on his neck, his lips touching the sensitive spots underneath his jaw, the juncture at his shoulders, he felt himself being manipulated–of his legs being coaxed into opening wide; of fingers drifting to his opening, slick with what felt like Vaseline; the minute fear of what came next.
“Wait...a condom...”
“I hate those things.”
“But–!”
“But it don’t mean I don’t use ‘em. Don’t want no kids. I don’t have any on me, right now. It ain’t like I’m gonna getcha pregnant...”
“Diseases–!”
“I ain’t got anything! I told you–I don’t like condoms, but I ain’t dumb. Last checkup I had, I was clean.”
“But...”
“Chill out. Ain’t like you’re gonna give me anything, either...”
“...Yeah...but...”
He squirmed and winced at being penetrated; his body tensed as he took the unfamiliar invasion. His body didn’t like the invasive force that was being used–in an embarrassing struggle, he caught himself trying to reject the object and holding back at the same time, for fear of doing something humiliating.
He felt lips on his chest, minute kisses that were reassuring and oddly soft. A contradiction as he knew who they were from.
“You scared?” The whisper startled him, and he reflexively tightened, causing the other to grunt as muscle tightened on his fingers. “You need to relax. I’ll do this gently. You’ll be used to it before I come in. Relax...”
“It feels...gross. I c-can’t relax...”
“I need to stretch it...y’know. Makes it easier.”
“For whom?”
“Just relax.”
Richie found himself gripping the naked, warm shoulders above him, wincing as he contemplated the finger moving inside of him.
“Stop being so tight–!”
“Says you! You aren’t the one with something up your ass–!”
“RELAX, or I’ll–!”
“HOW CAN I WHEN YOU’RE GROWLING AT ME AND BEING SO DAMN ROUGH?”
Hotstreak laughed softly, but quickly changed it into an annoyed growl that seemed half-hearted. He made a sound of approval, then, and Richie made a distressed sound as another finger was added. He tilted his head back, trying to breathe deeply, to relax himself.
“That’s better...”
Before he could ask what was better, Hotstreak had withdrawn his fingers from his body, and was pulling one of Richie’s pillows from behind him, propping it underneath his hips. At the loss of his warmth, Richie gave an uncertain sound, wishing he could see what was going on. Hotstreak then shifted again, pushing his legs up; Richie found himself with his knees almost against his face, and he grunted in annoyance at the position–he then gave a panicked sound upon feeling the broad head of Hotstreak’s penis pushing into his loosened hole.
“WAIT! I’m not ready–!” he started to shout, changing it into a strangled sound as the much larger, much thicker object pressed forward into his ass. His legs tightened, stretching into an uncomfortable strain as his fingers balled into the sheets beneath him. Trying to breathe evenly, losing at that, he gave another strangled groan as Hotstreak forced his way into his body.
Hotstreak gave a low growl as he worked his hips, pushing against the force that was trying to keep him out, feeling intensely pleased at the tight heat that clamped down on him. He felt Richie pushing against him with his legs, and worked hard to keep his position, using his much stronger strength to keep the teen bent the way he was.
Grunting, he worked his hips with a harsh thrust, fully sheathing himself into the warmth that was Richie. The blond gave another choked sound, his fingers leaving the sheets to push at his shoulders.
Giving no regard to his comfort, only reveling in the pleasure he felt at being encased within his tight channel, Hotstreak pulled back slightly, closing his eyes in ecstasy as Richie’s fingers tightened, digging into his skin.
He shifted, to plunge in with a low grunt, using his legs to do so. He could feel Richie’s feet bouncing in the air with his movements, could feel the way the teen struggled to keep him out. He reached down to hold his hip, his fingers digging into his flesh and bone with an painful grip. Pulling out, noting the continued tightness, he shifted his position to spread his thighs more, for a more controlling position in thrusting.
Minutes later, Richie had given up on changing the other’s mind in pounding him, and had ended up clinging tightly to his arms, whimpering quietly as the other male caused him and the bed to rock with his thrusts.
It wasn’t what he’d promised–it felt as if Hotstreak had lost his mind once he pushed his penis into Richie’s body. The blond could only hold on, and take what was being administered. He pushed his head back into the pillow, his eyes squeezed tight, not wanting to see the person that was taking him with such uncaring force. His fingers tightened on the bunching muscles of Hotstreak’s arms, and he grit his teeth, trying to block out the pain he was feeling at being intruded upon. There was a stinging to the back of his eyelids that made him ashamed for a few moments, but justified it with the feeling of being split apart.
There was a moment when he sensed Hotstreak looking at him, and he opened his eyes, squinting, unable to see clearly. He opened his mouth to give him a snappish remark when he felt the older male shift, touching his lips to his, the movement hindered by the feeling of being squashed in the position he was in. The touch threw Richie off, and he felt Hotstreak pause in his thrusting; to push his leg off his shoulder, to touch lips once more. Feeling his ass throb with discomforted pain, Richie breathed quietly, taking the kiss, his hands still holding firmly onto his arms.
“You okay?”
“...Does it look like it?”
“It only hurts the first time.”
“...Yeah...says you...”
“It’ll be okay next time...”
“...‘Next–’?” But Richie trailed off when Hotstreak moved his face away, and began thrusting again, the force of his thrust sending the teen back into the pained discomfort he’d felt earlier. But his words bothered him–was there going to be a next time? What did that mean? Hotstreak didn’t resume his earlier position, with Richie’s legs against him–he continued to take him in this one, allowing Richie to shift, to hide his face against his neck. He found it minutely comforting to hide in this manner, feeling slightly comforted by the smell of Hotstreak’s sweat and skin; of being free to hold onto him without being expected to perform and impress.
He shut his eyes tightly, and tightened his hold on flexing muscle; if he could just think hard enough...he could imagine Virgil in Hotstreak’s place...could imagine that he felt Virgil’s love and admiration for him... could feel as if this act were made out of love...not just because...
When he realized that Hotstreak’s thrusts were coming faster and stronger, he pulled his head back, wincing. Upon feeling the hot splash of liquid warmth splatter his insides, the way Hotstreak growled against his temple, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief flood over him. It was finally over.
Warnings: SLASH, violence, swear words galore, and...uh..we’ll see what else later on.
OooooooooooO means scene break
A/N: WARNING! SEX! For those that are familiar with this chapt., please note that I extended the, er, last scene. (grins) And I have a surprise for ya'll with next chapter!
If It Makes You Happy:
Chapter Eight
Hotstreak was pissed at the guy–which is why he’d convinced himself to go to his house that night. To lay down the rules. To remind him who was in charge, here. To give him a lesson for mouthing off, and causing him to lose his temper. Hotstreak had all of this in mind when he’d climbed the balcony, and ghosted through the window. Richie had been there, talking (yelling, really, to his mother downstairs), and had been startled by his appearance. Even giving a slight exclamation before slamming the door shut, so his mother couldn’t hear what was going on.
Hotstreak had been ready to knock the creep to the ground and teach him a lesson–then maybe take the rest of his anger out on his valuable models and toys. Anything to appease his infamous temper as he continued to think about the words being exchanged in the gym.
That was his plan. His intentions.
But, as plans usually went, his didn’t follow through.
“You think you have som’thin’ over me?” Hotstreak had snarled, jabbing Richie in the chest. The boy was trying to shush him, fearful that his mother or whomever would hear the activity in his room. “I don’t fuckin’ care who can hear me! You think you can just jump right in an’ start talkin’ shit, just cuz ya think you have somethin’ over me? Fuck that shit!”
“I’m truly sorry, Francis,” Richie had apologized, hands up. “But I couldn’t let Mr. Constinelli get hurt. He’s our gym teacher...”
“I don’t fuckin’ care if the guy was the fuckin’ mayor! Your fucking dick-ass chump fucked with me, an’ I wasn’t gonna have it!”
“But it wasn’t anything to lose your temper for, man. Think about it! You attacked a teacher, and the campus rent-o-guards! You were walking a thin line, then–! What about now?”
“‘Rent-o-guards’?” Hotstreak then asked, blinking.
“Seriously, Francis,” Richie tried again, using his real name. Sometimes it bothered Hotstreak–sometimes it didn’t. Apparently, this was one of those times when it didn’t. “I’m worried about you, man. Yeah, you’re a little unhinged and everything...an’ that temper of yours needs to be worked on...but you’ve been held BACK twice. Aren’t you tired of high school? Why not try for your GED?”
“Why you on my back?”
“I just–! I can see you’re capable of passing, Francis! Why sell yourself short? Why continue ruining things for yourself?”
Hotstreak pulled himself back, wondering where this was coming from. Geeky nerd guy was talking to him about his future? He didn’t even let the school counselor talk this way to him...well...he was the reason why the counselor smelled of booze, all the time, anyway.
“Fuck that shit,” he then muttered, turning away from Richie. “Your mom here?”
Notably confused by the switch in topic, Richie blinked, then nodded. “For a while, actually. She’s going to meet my father at the movie theaters.”
Hotstreak narrowed his eyes, and gave a soft exhalation of disdain.
“Just you by yourself?”
“For a couple of hours, yes. I...uh...had plans, as well.”
“...Where you goin’?”
“Um...well, after I finished my homework, I was going to head over to Virgil’s. Oh, thanks for giving me back my book. I didn’t know you were interested in that.”
Momentarily puzzled, wondering what he was talking about, Hotstreak hesitated in looking over at the diagrams he saw on the desk. It looked as if Richie were trying to set himself between him and the desk, trying to keep him from looking at them.
Then he recalled the story of a woman avenger, out for blood against those that killed her boyfriend and her son. ‘100 Bullets’. It had caught his interest because of the raw reality the story carried, along with the possibility of being able to carry out revenge with untraceable, one hundred bullets. It was kind of funny that Richie would be interested in that sort of thing. Really, it continually surprised him that Richie was the type to enjoy hard core rap and stories of the ‘hood...he was just the type to NOT be. Which is why he found the guy fascinating...
“Yeah,” he muttered. “It was cool.”
“So was my Darth Vadar,” Richie then said, giving him a pointed expression.
“Yeah...that was, too.”
“I’m never going to get it back, huh?”
“Get what back?”
“My sanity.” Richie then sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Maggie called from downstairs, and Richie turned away from him, opening the door to walk out into the hall. While he talked to his mother over the railing, Hotstreak turned away from the doorway, and rummaged through the night stand container that held some rock candy and Pixie sticks.
When he heard the front door slam shut, Richie walked back into the room, looking over at Hotstreak with much uncertainty. He was a far cry from the guy he’d fought with on campus mere hours ago–his temper was something of a catastrophic occurrence that flashed in and out of existence within moments. It was both scary and laughable at the same time.
The Hotstreak in his room was quiet, mysteriously curious about Richie’s home and company, and more than confusing. He’d taken off his beanie–his multi-toned hair mashed limp with familiar ‘hat’ hair, and he had changed his hoodie to a Nike jacket. Hotstreak wasn’t a flashy dresser–he wore what he felt was comfortable, within reasonable limits. Richie guessed that it was based on what couldn’t get caught on fences or things if he were trying to make a running getaway from the authorities. Things that don’t snag, yet looked fashionably thuggish, was the guy’s fashion style.
He reached up to fiddle with his single hoop earring, watching as the guy picked up another ‘100 Bullets’ book, and flip through it. In a way, the guy was attractive–if he ignored the temper and bullying. He wasn’t the sort that demanded double takes on the street–one had to look several times in order to see the attractiveness. Because of his attitude and the way he carried himself, he was either intimidating or...very intimidating. Girls only flocked to him because he was power, and the infamous ‘bad boy’.
His hawkish nose, hooded eyes, sneering lips and slouched frame wasn’t Richie’s cup of tea–nor was his color. But...the guy had shown interest in him. Sure, Richie knew his feelings for Virgil, but...Virgil was never going to return his feelings. Ever. He had Daisy.
He captured his bottom lip with an indecisive frown, recalling the older male’s lips on his. In a way, they expressed volumes. Interest. Curiousness. Uncertainty. He had made the first move. He had kissed him. He was following him. Hotstreak was making the moves first, without really saying things out loud.
In a way, it was obvious. In another, Richie just couldn’t accept it. But he understood that this continuous bothering was just the other male’s unexpressed desire for him.
That word made his stomach curl with some unexpected thrill. Virgil was never going to return his affection, or look at him in the light that he wanted. But this guy was willing to. Sure, Richie was sure he would continue to love his friend, no matter who he was with. But he was seventeen, right now. He was young and impulsive, right now. He was just finding himself out. What better way to continue this journey than with someone that would actually want him back?
It was insane, the way he was thinking. That he was accepting this and more about one of his enemies. He may as well as express some similar thing about Slipstream, or Shiv, or Ebon, even...but none of them looked at him the same way Hotstreak did. Contemplative and unsure. Threatening and cautious. Curiousness and interest. And certainly none of them would ever come to his room at night and look through his comic books in silence.
He felt himself swallow hard, hearing his heart race as it pounded away. He was admitting to himself that he acknowledged Hotstreak’s interest in him. Admitting that he, himself, felt some interest for him. That he could accept a thousand other kisses from the other male without any further thought. His gut wrenched with agonizing realization, and he lowered his head, still fiddling with his earring.
When Hotstreak looked back at him to see why he was so quiet, Richie forced himself to look him in the eye, expressing only with his silence and stare what the other male needed to know. The other male must have read the expression correctly, for he lowered the comic book to the bed, and closed the space between them. He lowered his face as Richie raised his, and their lips met in the middle. With the acquiescement of their feelings, it didn’t at all feel strange or uncomfortable–rather warm and interesting, enough to elicit goosebumps.
He felt Hotstreak’s goatee scrape against his chin, felt his nose bump against his. His lips were slightly dry, but tasted of something bitter and bland...he could smell Hotstreak’s unique scent and faint traces of alcohol. A mixture made pleasant by his warmth. The other male had experience, and took his kisses with ease; taking and gently administering his own form of expressed desire for him. For Richie.
His hands felt uncomfortable at his sides, so he tentatively reached up to press them lightly against the firm hardness of Hotstreak’s stomach, fingertips curling slightly to grip his shirt. Hotstreak lifted his own hands and cupped Richie’s face, fingers splayed over jaw and neck, in a frighteningly tender hold that made Richie feel relaxed. But he became aware of a certain problem, turning his head away to take a deep breath.
“Stupid...breathe through your nose,” Hotstreak muttered.
“Sorry...haven’t done this, before.”
Hotstreak snorted, his fingers softly running through Richie’s sideburns, then removing his glasses just as gently. He lowered his head once more, finding the other’s lips, tasting and taking, thoroughly enjoying the moment. It was not revolting. It was not unsatisfying–it was very unique and utterly enchanting, and, for the moment, he did not care that he was kissing another male.
He’d truly come to the house with every intention of setting the record straight–never had he given thought that after twenty minutes, he’d find himself making out with someone he commonly beat up. Nor had he ever thought that his advances would be recognized, and returned.
Some time had passed when he heard himself arguing softly in the darkened, quiet room. An age old argument that he’d had with past lovers; an argument he’d perfected with the various females he’d bedded since he lost his virginity around fourteen. And even as he was doing it, he couldn’t believe that he was.
“I’ll be gentle...it won’t hurt.”
“Do you know what you’re talking about? Do you know who you’re telling that to? You just told me you’ve never done it, before!”
“I have...a few times. Yeah, not with a guy, but–I’ll make it feel good. I’ll go slow.”
“You’re moving way too fast–!”
“Why th’ fuck are you makin’ me stop, when we got this far?” Hotstreak asked, annoyed.
“I...it’s...that is a really big step,” Richie said anxiously. “I never–I don’t think I’m ready for that sort of commitment and–”
“It ain’t like we’re gettin’ married! It’s sex!”
“It’s a big thing! It’s a really intimate thing, and–!”
“Just like a virgin to say shit like that...”
“...So? I can’t go that far! I–I never even–I never even–I didn’t think–!”
“What, so, yer just gonna go through life, thinkin’ you’d save it for someone that you ‘love’? Busta, you don’t think someone’s gonna come along, an’ be all understandin’ that you don’t got experience when yer older. By the time you fuckin’ ‘fall in love’ with someone, an’ get that far wit’ him, they gonna be all disappointed that you ain’t got shit to show to him. Nobody wants a virgin past eighteen. They all gonna think yer all diseased, an’ by that time, yer gonna be all desperate, anyway. Like I haven’t been seventeen. I know what the fuck at that age...”
“Yeah...but...”
“Ya think Hawkins’ gonna change his mind ‘bout things? That he gonna look at you one day an’ say, ‘Golly! What was I thinkin’?’”
“Well...that’s sort of an impossibility...but...I...And what are you talking about? You want me.”
“You ain’t eighteen.”
“So?”
“You’re gonna hate it if we stop, now.”
“...why?”
“You scared? Is that why you don’t wanna do it?”
“...No, but...”
“‘But’ what?”
“I...”
“See? You don’t have any real reason that’s plausible for me to stop.”
“...Yeah, but...I don’t...I’m not ready...”
“When are ya gonna be ready? I’m tellin’ ya...it’s better to get it over with now...get some experience now. You’ll please your...ahem...loved one better with experience.”
“But...I want...my feelings...”
“Shit, Foley! Sex is sex! You can just like it cuz it feels good! You don’t have to get your fuckin’ panties in a bunch for those!”
“...But...”
“Just let me do it. I’ll go slow. I’ll do the work...”
“...But...”
“Stay there. I’ll be right back. Where’s your bathroom?”
“...Down the hall. Straight ahead.”
When Hotstreak left his room, Richie let out a groan, hands pressed to his eyes. He was entirely anxious and nervous, and his stomach kept performing flip-flops. Was he actually going to go through with this? Was he actually going to let this happen? The clock on his nightstand told him his parents weren’t going to be home for another hour, or so. But this wasn’t what he’d picture for his first time. He’d pictured it with someone special...something done with love and emotion...not something done just because “it feels good”. But he’d relented. He still could say ‘no’...but another part of him was quietly nudging him to go through with it. To just...get it over with. What harm could happen? Other than the fact that it was going to be with someone he’d never ever pictured doing it with.
Hell, he’d never ever imagined getting this friendly with Hotstreak! It was all some weird dream! It had to be.
He was nervous as hell, his legs shaking as he removed his hands from his eyes. Staring up at the ceiling with his bad vision, he heard the other male’s movements down the hall. It sounded like he was looking for something. Richie was more than embarrassed that this was happening.
But in a way, it felt...natural. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought would happen. Especially in this manner. At this speed.
He sat up on the bed, looking down at himself. He’d fallen prey to Hotstreak’s uncanny ability to strip clothes from his person without him noticing until the last second. During the moment, he hadn’t minded. It had felt good–for his skin to be caressed and explored, for his hormones to be calmed by touches and kisses. Sure, it was all rushed–but weren’t things at seventeen? Discovering sex and other associations?
The other still had his clothes on, save for his shoes. Those were lying somewhere on the floor. Feeling very self conscious of himself, shamefully aware that he’d been responding to touches and strokes and licks with unabashed behavior, he covered his nakedness with a sheet. His face felt heated as he rubbed his eyes once more. He was exhausted.
He heard the other male coming back, his footsteps silent and swift, and prepared himself for more.
The room was still dark–the only light coming in was that from the window, where the blinds were drawn halfway. He watched, propped up on his elbows, as Hotstreak pulled off his own clothing. He couldn’t see much–just flashes of naked skin, of strong shoulders and defined arms. He swallowed hard as the other male crawled onto the bed with him, leaning over him–he felt the brush of his penis against his leg, felt the wiry touch of pubic hair on his thigh.
He flushed, from head to toe, about his decision, feeling his knees tremble and his gut flutter with apprehension. As he felt Hotstreak’s breath on his neck, his lips touching the sensitive spots underneath his jaw, the juncture at his shoulders, he felt himself being manipulated–of his legs being coaxed into opening wide; of fingers drifting to his opening, slick with what felt like Vaseline; the minute fear of what came next.
“Wait...a condom...”
“I hate those things.”
“But–!”
“But it don’t mean I don’t use ‘em. Don’t want no kids. I don’t have any on me, right now. It ain’t like I’m gonna getcha pregnant...”
“Diseases–!”
“I ain’t got anything! I told you–I don’t like condoms, but I ain’t dumb. Last checkup I had, I was clean.”
“But...”
“Chill out. Ain’t like you’re gonna give me anything, either...”
“...Yeah...but...”
He squirmed and winced at being penetrated; his body tensed as he took the unfamiliar invasion. His body didn’t like the invasive force that was being used–in an embarrassing struggle, he caught himself trying to reject the object and holding back at the same time, for fear of doing something humiliating.
He felt lips on his chest, minute kisses that were reassuring and oddly soft. A contradiction as he knew who they were from.
“You scared?” The whisper startled him, and he reflexively tightened, causing the other to grunt as muscle tightened on his fingers. “You need to relax. I’ll do this gently. You’ll be used to it before I come in. Relax...”
“It feels...gross. I c-can’t relax...”
“I need to stretch it...y’know. Makes it easier.”
“For whom?”
“Just relax.”
Richie found himself gripping the naked, warm shoulders above him, wincing as he contemplated the finger moving inside of him.
“Stop being so tight–!”
“Says you! You aren’t the one with something up your ass–!”
“RELAX, or I’ll–!”
“HOW CAN I WHEN YOU’RE GROWLING AT ME AND BEING SO DAMN ROUGH?”
Hotstreak laughed softly, but quickly changed it into an annoyed growl that seemed half-hearted. He made a sound of approval, then, and Richie made a distressed sound as another finger was added. He tilted his head back, trying to breathe deeply, to relax himself.
“That’s better...”
Before he could ask what was better, Hotstreak had withdrawn his fingers from his body, and was pulling one of Richie’s pillows from behind him, propping it underneath his hips. At the loss of his warmth, Richie gave an uncertain sound, wishing he could see what was going on. Hotstreak then shifted again, pushing his legs up; Richie found himself with his knees almost against his face, and he grunted in annoyance at the position–he then gave a panicked sound upon feeling the broad head of Hotstreak’s penis pushing into his loosened hole.
“WAIT! I’m not ready–!” he started to shout, changing it into a strangled sound as the much larger, much thicker object pressed forward into his ass. His legs tightened, stretching into an uncomfortable strain as his fingers balled into the sheets beneath him. Trying to breathe evenly, losing at that, he gave another strangled groan as Hotstreak forced his way into his body.
Hotstreak gave a low growl as he worked his hips, pushing against the force that was trying to keep him out, feeling intensely pleased at the tight heat that clamped down on him. He felt Richie pushing against him with his legs, and worked hard to keep his position, using his much stronger strength to keep the teen bent the way he was.
Grunting, he worked his hips with a harsh thrust, fully sheathing himself into the warmth that was Richie. The blond gave another choked sound, his fingers leaving the sheets to push at his shoulders.
Giving no regard to his comfort, only reveling in the pleasure he felt at being encased within his tight channel, Hotstreak pulled back slightly, closing his eyes in ecstasy as Richie’s fingers tightened, digging into his skin.
He shifted, to plunge in with a low grunt, using his legs to do so. He could feel Richie’s feet bouncing in the air with his movements, could feel the way the teen struggled to keep him out. He reached down to hold his hip, his fingers digging into his flesh and bone with an painful grip. Pulling out, noting the continued tightness, he shifted his position to spread his thighs more, for a more controlling position in thrusting.
Minutes later, Richie had given up on changing the other’s mind in pounding him, and had ended up clinging tightly to his arms, whimpering quietly as the other male caused him and the bed to rock with his thrusts.
It wasn’t what he’d promised–it felt as if Hotstreak had lost his mind once he pushed his penis into Richie’s body. The blond could only hold on, and take what was being administered. He pushed his head back into the pillow, his eyes squeezed tight, not wanting to see the person that was taking him with such uncaring force. His fingers tightened on the bunching muscles of Hotstreak’s arms, and he grit his teeth, trying to block out the pain he was feeling at being intruded upon. There was a stinging to the back of his eyelids that made him ashamed for a few moments, but justified it with the feeling of being split apart.
There was a moment when he sensed Hotstreak looking at him, and he opened his eyes, squinting, unable to see clearly. He opened his mouth to give him a snappish remark when he felt the older male shift, touching his lips to his, the movement hindered by the feeling of being squashed in the position he was in. The touch threw Richie off, and he felt Hotstreak pause in his thrusting; to push his leg off his shoulder, to touch lips once more. Feeling his ass throb with discomforted pain, Richie breathed quietly, taking the kiss, his hands still holding firmly onto his arms.
“You okay?”
“...Does it look like it?”
“It only hurts the first time.”
“...Yeah...says you...”
“It’ll be okay next time...”
“...‘Next–’?” But Richie trailed off when Hotstreak moved his face away, and began thrusting again, the force of his thrust sending the teen back into the pained discomfort he’d felt earlier. But his words bothered him–was there going to be a next time? What did that mean? Hotstreak didn’t resume his earlier position, with Richie’s legs against him–he continued to take him in this one, allowing Richie to shift, to hide his face against his neck. He found it minutely comforting to hide in this manner, feeling slightly comforted by the smell of Hotstreak’s sweat and skin; of being free to hold onto him without being expected to perform and impress.
He shut his eyes tightly, and tightened his hold on flexing muscle; if he could just think hard enough...he could imagine Virgil in Hotstreak’s place...could imagine that he felt Virgil’s love and admiration for him... could feel as if this act were made out of love...not just because...
When he realized that Hotstreak’s thrusts were coming faster and stronger, he pulled his head back, wincing. Upon feeling the hot splash of liquid warmth splatter his insides, the way Hotstreak growled against his temple, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief flood over him. It was finally over.