Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ If It Makes You Happy ❯ Chapter Nine ( Chapter 9 )

[ 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
A/N: CONTINUED LEMON-NESS! Beware...this chapter's kinda lengthy in that aspect. (winces)

If It Makes You Happy:
Chapter Nine



The room was extremely quiet. Richie listened to Hotstreak breathe. The older meta was still settled on him, but had shifted to the side. Restlessness caused by this surreal event and the effects of just having very uncomfortable sex made him shift against the other, wincing at the pain that throbbed in his ass. At feeling a warm, uncomfortably strong leak from the ravaged area, he stilled, flushing with embarrassment and horror. He felt he had to use the bathroom–but he was too nervous to move, for fear of something embarrassing to happen. In a way, he was feeling a peculiar mixture of anxiety caused by his discomforts, but he was also feeling a strange sense of giddiness...combined with a sort of approval-seeking part of him that made his face burn even hotter.
He could feel the other’s skin against his arm and thigh–a moist texture that, as he shifted to give him space, gave him tingles. Staring up at the darkened ceiling, his thoughts raced out of control. To things ranging over what had just happened; to the return of his parents; to what was going to happen now; to if, by some chance, they were going to do it again.
That one surprised him. He was actually feeling himself look forward to it. At remembering Hotstreak saying ‘next time’ made him feel even more anxious about it. Because despite the painful first experience, he truly wanted it to happen.
Hotstreak shifted, exhaling heavily, then rolled onto his back from Richie. Both of them were quiet, staring at nothing; reflecting their own thoughts. Richie contemplated the brand-new feeling of being ‘de-virginized’; Hotstreak wondered if this mixture of disbelief/awe/curiousness/want happened all the time. He’d had plenty of anal sex with females, but it hadn’t felt like this before. He’d gone in for the pleasure, and had experienced it. But during the end, growing aware of the way Richie was responding to him (or lack thereof), he’d realized that he hadn’t known what to do with a virgin. In all honesty, he’d never had one–his partners were experienced and both of them knew what to do, or establish what they knew.
Richie had simply struggled, protested and finally submitted; all in pain and with all the naivety of the inexperienced (what? Being in love makes the pain go away? Hotstreak had to snort at that thought).
He found himself feeling oddly shamed in that he’d gone this far with Richie. Richie didn’t know what he was doing; what he was going into. And Hotstreak used the blond’s hormones to make that decision–his own had taken control, he’d admit. Because Richie had tasted good while they were kissing earlier; because Hotstreak kept feeling that peculiar combination of earlier; because once Richie began responding to him, things took a different turn. Now that things had happened, and he’d experienced this shocking euphoria of having sex with Richie, he wanted to get up to leave. He felt awkward; he usually left after shooting his load. There was nothing more to stay for, even if the sex was good. He knew he could always come back. But in this situation, it was different; he felt hesitant to leave. As it continued to sink in, smelling the strong scent of sex and listening to Richie breathe next to him, Hotstreak felt his face shift slowly with shock.
He had had sex with a teen he happened to face off with near regularity. Someone he commonly taunted/made fun of; someone that made his ire rise because he was so different from him. To add to it, Richie was male. Hotstreak was still feeling it all sink in as Richie shifted once more, catching his attention. Richie’s arm bumped against his, and the blond uttered a quick apology. Hotstreak pulled his arm back at contact–out of reflex rather than rudeness. He shifted, and realized how sticky he felt. Vaseline, body fluid, semen–it half dried into his pubes, his skin. He had to wince.
Richie shifted again, and he was rising stiffly from the bed. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he muttered, picking something off the floor and leaving the room. Hotstreak merely nodded–feeling stiff as he listened to Richie pad down the hall to the bathroom. At hearing the door close, Hotstreak sat up.
Staring around, he shook his head in astonishment. He rose from the bed, and searched through the darkness for his clothes. He found Richie’s laundry hamper, and found a towel atop of it. He used that to clean himself off, then balled it up to stuff it back inside. He opened the balcony door, sliding the vertical blinds aside. Breathing in the night air, he stared out into the night for a few minutes. Then he began slipping on his boxers. He figured he’d leave, now–before Richie came back. Why make it awkward? He had just adjusted the waistband of his boxers when Richie came back, dressed in an overly large t-shirt that Hotstreak recognized as his own. Hotstreak chucked his shirt aside as Richie closed the bedroom door.
In the faint light coming from outside, he could see Richie looking over at him, squinting.
“Are you...leaving?” Richie asked quietly, his voice filled with hesitancy.
“Yeah.”
“So...that’s it?”
Hotstreak shrugged. He fiddled with his jeans–tugged at the belt. Richie ventured away from the door; Hotstreak could make out the pale skin of his face, arms and legs–it made his gut curdle at the thought of taking his shirt back. Because he knew he would smell him on it, and it wasn’t an unpleasant thought.
Richie paused by the bed; slowly sat. Hotstreak wanted his shirt back. There was a level of awkwardness between them that both couldn’t address. Headlights on the road down below made Hotstreak shift away from the window–he pulled the blinds shut, but left the window open.
Richie fiddled with the hem of his shirt; looked over to see Hotstreak pull on his pants. He felt that awful gut-clench in realizing that Hotstreak intended to leave things as they were. In a way, he was disappointed. In another...relieved. He looked over to see Hotstreak buckle his pants; zip up. Richie watched as Hotstreak walked over to stand before him, hand out. Confused, Richie stared at his hand, then back at him.
“My shirt,” Hotstreak said, gesturing.
“Oh!” Richie stood, and hurriedly pulled the shirt off, growing embarrassed as he stood naked before him. He dropped it into his waiting hand, his own hands moving over to cover his privates. Hotstreak took the shirt, moved to put it on–then paused in mid-motion as he looked Richie over. Now that there was some light, he could actually see the boy better. He noted the defined arms, the toned stomach, chest and sides. Legs that were packed with visible muscle tone. He had felt such things when touching him earlier–but had no idea how extensive it was. Both of them were flushing at the awkwardness, until Hotstreak cleared his throat, searching for the appropriate end of his shirt.
“Y’know...for a nerd...you’re pretty ripped,” Hotstreak pointed out, and in a moment of hesitation–reached out to run his fingers over the flat, toned planes of Richie’s stomach. Richie reflexively shifted at the touch, and Hotstreak quickly pulled away.
“Well, I kinda...work out,” Richie admitted, licking his lips nervously.
“...Lift weights?” Hotstreak asked skeptically.
Richie thought of the various things he did as Gear. “Yeah...”
Hotstreak stared down at him for a few minutes, just holding his shirt. Richie grew red, and finally searched the floor for his clothes. Before he could move, though, Hotstreak moved–kissed him gently. The move surprised Richie, and he responded. Feeling his warmth, the way he smelled, Richie relaxed into the kiss. Tasted the tongue that swept over his. He kept waiting for Hotstreak to pull away; kept waiting for himself to. But the kiss continued, and before he knew it, he was holding onto his shoulders and tiptoing to get better access. Hotstreak had curled his hands over his waist, his shirt dangling against him.
By the time Richie pulled his head back, Hotstreak’s hands were stroking his back, and Richie realized that his own were restlessly stroking his hips over his underwear. Before he knew it, he was asking, “Do you have to leave?”
The question surprised them both. Hotstreak pulled away from him; Richie turned to pick up the article of clothing closest to him. “Why you askin’ that?” Hotstreak demanded–mainly because he was surprised that Richie was asking. That the suggestion of the blond wanting him to stay threw him off.
“I–I don’t know. You can go. Just...I don’t know what I was saying.” Richie shrugged. He pulled his boxers on.
Hotstreak didn’t move. Just took in the brightness of his skin. “You...want me to...stay?” he asked quietly. In disbelief.
Richie bit his lower lip. Considered the question. What would they do? And if he said ‘yes’, what would it mean to them both? He shrugged again. Hotstreak continued to stare at him. Richie forced himself to look up–into his eyes.
“Rich? You want me to stay?” Hotstreak repeated–mainly for himself.
Did he? Richie blinked–could smell Hotstreak’s body scents. Remembered the feel of his skin and weight against his. In a moment of boldness, he reached out to lay the flat of his palm against Hotstreak’s hard stomach. Felt muscles tighten and twitch in reaction. As he considered this with much confusion, Hotstreak lowered his shirt.
“Rich–”
“Yeah.” Richie quickly said, looking away–but not dropping his hand.
Hotstreak stood there with surprise. Felt his stomach burn with Richie’s touch. The strange butterflies were back.
“Why?” he croaked. Then cleared his throat. “Why?”
“Can we...talk? I mean, not–I–I don’t even know you,” Richie heard himself say. His fingers curled. Numbly watched his other hand press forward, sliding over Hotstreak’s hip and up his side. Noted Hotstreak’s lack of reaction to his touch.
“Talk?” Hotstreak repeated numbly.
“Not about...about this...um...if it makes you uncomfortable. But maybe...about school?”
Hotstreak snorted–finally moved away. But how his skin felt cold without Richie’s touch. “What about it?”
“I dunno...why do you go if you don’t plan on finishing?”
Hotstreak paused in finally trying to pull his shirt on. The question threw him off. He turned back to Richie, lowering his arms. “I...I dunno. Just...for somethin’ to do...?”
Richie swallowed–sat stiffly. “Do you plan on passing?”
Hotstreak blinked. Then scowled. “Why you up on my back?”
“I’m not! I’m just...wondering? You’re smart, Hotstreak, and I just don’t–”
“You think I’m smart?” Hotstreak interrupted skeptically.
“If you weren’t...you wouldn’t have command over such a large group of people. It wouldn’t be just for your power–obviously, you know how to carry out an attack.” Richie shrugged.
Hotstreak stared at him. He blinked, then ventured closer to intimidate him, for daring to mock him. Richie simply looked up at him, his hands resting on the mattress.
“And Ebon fears you for a reason,” he continued. “He’s also a smart cunning man, but if he perceives you as a threat, you are smart enough to make anyone nervous. So...I’m just wondering why you wouldn’t want to pass high school...you can make it if you try.”
Hotstreak continued to stare at him in disbelief. Then said, “I tried, but...I dunno, every time I did, it felt like everything was against me. Like I’d pay attention, but it was like...if I asked somethin’, they’d fuck around with me. Mock me. Make it seem like I couldn’t do anythin’ right. So I’d get mad.”
“Do you have a learning disability?”
“Like, am I a retard–?”
“No. Dyslexia? Reading things–”
“No. Nothin’ like that. I can read. I can do all that stuff. I just choose not to. It’s just like, when I try at stuff? It just...ends up messin’ up in the end. An’ it’s like, there ain’t no motivation for me to keep tryin’. People already think I’m a fuck-up. I just ain’t cut out for school. People think I’m not goin’ to do shit, anyway. An’ ‘sides, what’s out there, anyway?” Hotstreak heard himself getting loud the more he voiced his opinion on the subject. Immediately, he lowered it, and shoved his arms through his shirt–but left it at that as he continued with, “Ain’t nothin’ out there for me, anyway...What am I gonna do? I just try to fuckin’ survive. To keep my rep intact. Cuz that’s the only thing that keeps me on top. That’s all I need to do.”
Richie quietly absorbed all this. Watched as Hotstreak paced, arms still shoved within the t-shirt, the material stretched over his chest.
“What do your parents think?” he asked curiously, trying to recall any information about them.
“Ain’t got none...”
“...You came from somewhere...”
“Don’t be gettin’ all cute–!”
Richie immediately grinned. “Am I cute?”
“...Fuck you.” Hotstreak shrugged. Realized he still hadn’t put on his shirt, and pulled it off. “Don’t gotta mother. She ran off when I was, like, eight or nine. My daddy was like yours. Always bitchin’ ‘bout somethin’. Solved things with his fists...”
Hotstreak thought briefly on the woman that had given birth to him. Felt that flash of hate/confusion/helplessness flit over him. “Momma was like yours...didn’t do nothin’ to stop him. Saved herself.”
Richie listened to the resentment, the hurt. The repressed slew of feelings that rendered this young man vulnerable.
“Left me to fend on my own. Hated her for that.”
“Did you think she’d come back?”
Hotstreak thought about it. Thought of all the hours he’d spent as a child, waiting for some sign of her return. Though of all the angry things afterward when she never did. He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah. I got mad cuz she didn’t. He was, too. My daddy. Took it out on me.”
Richie thought about all that anger. All that pent-up hate and hurt. Realized how it made Hotstreak the way he was today.
“Think they’re all like that...women,” Hotstreak was then muttering in disgust. “They only good for one thing.”
“...Do you really hate them?”
“...Kinda. Ain’t met an honest one, yet.”
“There are kind, loving women out there.” Richie thought of Jean Hawkins. Of Daisy and Frieda.
“They just there to use you! Fuck wit’ your head. Leave you when it gets tough.” Hotstreak shrugged. “Don’t take ‘em seriously. Just use ‘em. Like they use me.”
“God...”
“What?” Hotstreak snapped, hearing the tone Richie used.
“I’m sorry...” Richie looked up at him. Rose from the bed to reach out to touch him. Hotstreak pushed his hand away, still struggling with his damn shirt. “I can’t imagine that world you live in. I thought I had it bad, but–
“But what? What, like yer better than me, all of a sudden?”
“No, not at all,” Richie quickly amended. “We have a lot in common...except the only thing that makes me different is that I have someone I can trust. I...I wish you had the same. I wish you were–are able to see that not everything is bad.”
Hotstreak blinked. Frowned at Richie’s sudden nearness. He looked down at him. “Everything ain’t.”
“...Really? Like what?”
“Well...sex. That ain’t bad.”
Richie laughed softly. Reached out to place his hands on his hips once more. Didn’t really register kissing his broad chest until Hotstreak directed his face upward. Their lips met, meshed. Hotstreak pulled away abruptly; pushed Richie away from him.
“Don’t be gettin’ all weird, man. Startin’ to think you are a girl.”
Richie reacted without thinking–he socked Hotstreak in the gut, the older male bending over with a hiss. “Don’t call me a girl!”
Hotstreak straightened to shove him, Richie shoving him right back.
He had to laugh. “You get pissed off about that? That’s the most I seen you get all riled.”
“I don’t like it. I know I’m wimpy. I know I’m not all manly. But I am NOT a girl.”
“Only girls lay beneath me...”
“I didn’t have a choice! One moment we were okay, the next you’re smashing me in half and tellin’ me it won’t hurt!” Richie mimicked in a high falsetto. Hotstreak laughed again.
He reached out to grab him, the two struggling against each other until he realized he was wrestling Richie back down onto the bed, pining him underneath. He took his lips eagerly, feeling Richie respond to him, his slender body shifting to adjust to him. At the enclosure he felt with Richie’s legs holding him in place, the way his hands roved over his arms and back, it wasn’t long when he heard himself asking for another round.
Richie protested immediately, but Hotstreak managed to coax him, braving his discomfort to finally touch what made Richie male. He was disgusted at first, handling the soft, velvety member with as little contact as possible–he wasn’t even sure what to do. Richie sensed his discomfort, gently pushing his hand away.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, his fingers trailing over his back. “You don’t have to.”
Hotstreak took him again, but things were definitely different. That conversation had revealed his secrets and instead of being manipulative or scoffing at his revelation, Richie just seemed to identify with him and actually listen to him. In a way, that combination worked as a sort of key; releasing his pent-up aggression and moods, allowing him to grow comfortable with the blond on a whole different level. It was as if he’d fileted himself and laid himself bare before Richie–who hadn’t fed on his pain, but seemed to use it to understand him. Something that he hadn’t had happen to him.
He took him from behind, trying out the different position upon remembering Richie’s earlier complaint about being ‘squashed in half’. His hands held tightly onto his hips, and he lost himself in the euphoria, the warmth and comforts of Richie’s body. He could feel Richie adjusting to him, the way he felt more receptive to Hotstreak’s actions. As Hotstreak leaned down to kiss the back of his neck, to stroke over his thighs and tight ass cheeks, he felt himself growing attached to him.
It was reflective in Richie’s answering movements, the way he reached back to touch him as the older male kissed his neck. The actions weren’t new–it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been touched in such ways. But somehow...with Richie’s touch he felt as if Richie was touching him to reassure him.
Before he knew it, Hotstreak came too soon to be proud of, his face pressed against Richie’s back, inhaling his scent and enjoying the feel of his fingers through his hair.
A shower was definitely needed at this point; he continued to feel that distinctive need to leave, that unfamiliar want to linger. When he felt the impending relaxation that overtook his limbs after his orgasm, he forced himself to move. Richie made a sound of relief as he pulled out of him, shifting uncomfortably. Hotstreak found himself pulling at him before even registering that he did it.
“When are your parents coming back?” he asked. Richie glanced at the digital clock on his nightstand.
“Probably within the hour...”
Hotstreak nodded. He figured he could be gone by then, after he cleaned himself up. “Let’s go to your bathroom.”
“...What?”
“Let’s take a shower.”
“T-together?”
“Like you wanna be all self-conscious right now!”
“B-b-but–! Let me go first. I mean, to–um...”
“Hurry, then...”
Richie gave him a strange look, then moved off the bed to do so. He grimaced at the leak of liquid warmth down his leg, self-consciously tightening his cheeks and walking stiffly to prevent any more occurrence. Hotstreak found himself once more wondering what he was doing. He felt that uneasy, detached feeling of being drunk, of being under the influence of some unexplainable drug. While on one hand he realized what he was doing, he couldn’t really comprehend it. He sat at the edge of the bed and set his head into his hands, to reflect.
Nearly twenty minutes later, he was soaping up his body, washing away the sticky after effects of sex. Taking showers with someone he was fooling around with never left him feeling vulnerable or self-conscious–it was something he did just for another excuse to fool around, to take in the sights of his partner’s body without that annoying need for her to cover herself. Besides, he found it interesting to watch them squirm in self-conscious regret as they bared their physical selves to him. Left them vulnerable, easily accessible to his charm.
Richie was displaying just that–standing nearby, already clean; he merely stood there and fiddled with the water that hit him from the off-spray. But he wasn’t looking away from the older meta; just stood there, and looked his fill, his eyes taking in every aspect of Hotstreak’s body in a way that almost left him feeling self-conscious. He knew Richie was seeing the obvious muscular stature that he possessed from hours of lifting weights and physically bullying others; but he was also looking at the freckles that left him feeling self-conscious, the scars he’d gotten from knife fights and burns from before the Big Bang. Richie was seeing the dark auburn color of his pubes, the way his naval sank in deeply, the way his pink nipples pebbled under the spray. The display of his cock and balls. It didn’t bother him–no, not at all. That Richie, a male, was checking him out. For some odd reason...it just didn’t bother him at all.
As Richie continued to stare at him, Hotstreak took in his own sight of the teen; noting the muscular definition of his arms and shoulders, the display of well-toned abs, the length of his lightly hairy legs...the scars, the bruises, the oddly shaped welts along his side. The flaws on Richie made him oddly reflective; the too-pale skin, the way veins criss-crossed certain areas, the fact that he was male...in a way, Richie wasn’t bodily attractive to him, but the fact that he bore scars that he himself was too familiar with made him more identifiable. More relatable. Richie knew the pain of abuse, and from the looks of things, wasn’t as soft as people thought when they looked at him. No, his body was strong; a little scrawny, but he wasn’t the type to break down easily. That in itself, was an odd turn-on. In a way, he felt better accepting of Richie in that aspect–if he had been thin and soft, if his wrists were thin and girlish, if he moved with effeminate movements that made his ire rise, Hotstreak had no doubt that things would be different.
Looking at that strong frame, realizing that Richie could take things–it made him feel more relaxed.
He washed his hair, rinsed the shampoo from his multi-toned strands and then shifted to point the showerhead away from him. Richie looked up at him, strands of golden hair being shifted aside so he could see clearly.
“Are you tired?” he asked, his voice quiet over the spray of water.
“Kinda...are you?”
“...Kinda. I...just...this is so weird...”
Hotstreak blinked. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I should go after this.”
“I...” Richie frowned at himself. But noted that Hotstreak made no movement to leave.
“What?”
“...I dunno.”
Hotstreak looked at him for a few moments, then broke into a sly grin. “‘Hotstreak, you’re the man–!’”
“That’s NOT what I was going to say!” Richie hissed, but snickered at the proud expression on his face. Wiped his hair from his face as he studied the way Hotstreak’s laid limply around his face, his ears. Seeing him in this light made Richie feel light-headed in that, despite it all–the older meta was just like them. Bodily flawed, with manipulative hair...and distinguishable features that were variant from his. He felt himself relax considerably before him. His own level of restraint had been broken down. “Besides, in all honesty? I think I could have had better experience with someone younger than me. The way you were movin’, I almost thought I was with someone with no experience.”
“...Okay, you’re just lookin’ to get your ass kicked,” Hotstreak growled, flushing before reaching over to grab him, to shove him under the spray and turn the water cold. Richie nearly shrieked as he struggled to switch the temperature, both of them slipping and sliding within the shower stall. For a few moments, the two struggled against each other, until Richie sank his teeth into his arm in a very painful way. Hotstreak shoved him away, rubbing his arm as he muttered, “Ain’t ever been with a guy, before.”
“Me, either. No one, actually.” Richie looked up at him, then grinned again as he reached up to finger comb his wet hair from his face.
Hotstreak watched the tendons of his arms flex with the movement, then reached over to pinch the soft underside of his arm. “So, when’d ya start pumping?” he asked as Richie winced. “You only get fucked over, anyway.”
“Some battles are not worth the effort. And then again, there are some worth gettin’ my ass kicked over.”
“...All of them?”
“Hah, hah,” Richie muttered sarcastically as Hotstreak pushed him lightly. The water was turning cool. The blond shifted away from it; found himself paused in the action as Hotstreak kept him from moving away. The feel of his hard, wet body against his made Richie suddenly light-headed, and he felt his face flush as he reached up to curl his fingers over his left arm, fingers twitching with the feel of muscle underneath.
“I never see you fight back,” Hotstreak said, skeptical of his ability as he took in the toned arms once more.
“I do.” Richie suddenly looked at him, with a slowly revealing grin. “There are just some that I don’t...”
Hotstreak snorted, listening to the heavy implication in his words. His hand lifted, to smooth over the wet, slick skin of Richie’s shoulder. He couldn’t seem to stop touching him. Richie seemed to purr at the contact, his fingers tightening against his arm. With his body pressing against his, his hands moving up to Hotstreak’s jawline to caress the stubbled flesh there, the water ran freely behind them, alerting them that it had turned cold. Minutes passed in silence as they touched each other, fingertips taking in textures and defining features of previously explored body parts.
Hotstreak had to force himself to let go, snatching a towel from the rack nearby. At this, Richie turned off the shower, and the two dried themselves off. After redressing in their boxers, they headed back to his room. Richie changed the sheets quickly, tossing the others into the hamper. Nothing more was said as they settled onto the bed once more, and before he knew it, Hotstreak was relaxing with the surrounding darkness and the way Richie settled next to him.
Almost an hour later, he awoke sharply upon hearing Sean and Maggie’s entrance into the house. Blinking away his disorientation, feeling how stiff Richie had gotten at the same sound, he felt that prick of fear at being caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He sat up, preparing to move, and realized at that instant that he’d fallen asleep with an arm over Richie. He swing the offending limb off softly scented skin, both of them listening to the two adults climb the stairs. Nothing more was heard once they entered their bedroom down the hall. Hotstreak relaxed slightly, Richie looking at him.
“Must’ve fallen asleep,” hotstreak muttered in explanation. He shifted. “I should go...”
“Aren’t you tired?” Richie asked quietly.
“...Yeah...”
“Do you do this all the time?”
“...No. Well, I party alot...so...I stay up a lot.” Hotstreak stared at him for a few moments; watched as he resettled, eyes closing. Minutes passed in silence–he listened to the sounds of the city that drifted in through the open balcony window; listened to the deep, even breathing of Richie. Squinted as he realized he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He found himself thinking unexpectedly of their earlier conversation–of women.
“There is a girl I trust,” he muttered after awhile. But he wasn’t sure if he were talking to himself, or if Richie was listening. As it were, he continued to talk very quietly. He resisted the urge to shake Richie awake. “Kinda...but, like, she’s not–it’s Talon. We talk an’ stuff. Before that, we were pretty tight, but I never thought of her like that. She don’t take no shit. I kinda wish she weren’t with Ebon–she don’t deserve that. But...things changed when she got all fucked up. She’s all animal... y’know, is she like that all over? Like...if someone did her, would...she be all feathery down there?”
He contemplated this, fiddling with Richie’s pillow. Listened to him breathe, smelled the clean scent that wafted from his skin.
“If I slept with her,” he continued nearly ten minutes of quiet contemplation, the soft sound making Richie jerk in startled surprise from his sleep, “would she be that way...all the way?”
This demanded his serious thought. Richie was breathing softly again, and while Hotstreak realized he couldn’t disrespect Talon that way, he picked at the threads of the pillow cover.
Richie’s voice startled him. “Would you? Sleep with her?”
Hotstreak had thought that he was asleep–he hadn’t expected anything from him. So when he spoke, revealing that he had been listening to him, he felt a tingle of disbelief. Were his thoughts, no matter how inconsequential, that important?
“No,” he answered truthfully. “Couldn’t treat her that way.”
“You wouldn’t do that to her?”
“..no. She’d kick my ass.”
Richie chuckled lowly. Shifted to reach out to hit him companionably. Hotstreak hit him back, expecting the responding fist to his shoulder. They wrestled briefly, Richie hissing at him to be quiet. Catching his wrists, Hotstreak pinned him on the bed, moving over him. Their lips met once more, tongues tasting, exploring. Keeping his wrists pinned, Hotstreak began moving over previously explored territory, taking his time as he did so. Richie shifted restlessly against him, drawing his legs against his hips. Hotstreak drew his tongue over his collarbone, tasting him, feeling the urge to have him once more. He moved over his chest, taking one coral colored nipple into his mouth, feeling it pebble against his tongue. He sucked on it briefly, hearing Richie moan softly, his chest arching up against him for more contact. Hotstreak moved to the other nipple, administering licks and suckling to that one. Minutes passed in this fashion, until he finally let go of him. Richie shifted to kiss his neck, his tongue snaking out and scraping against his skin. His nimble fingers danced over Hotstreak’s stomach, already familiar with what he’d seen and touched in the shower. He lowered his head to his left nipple, pulling that into his mouth, tonguing it insistently. His hands moved over the older male’s arms, drifting down his biceps, and locating a hotspot as his fingers trailed over the inside crook of his arm. He heard the older male hiss at the contact, and played with that area briefly, feeling him shift against him. Felt that thick, warm organ slowly rise to attention.
“Your hormones are waaaaay too active,” he murmured against his naval.
“Can’t help it.”
Richie shifted, to nervously slide his hands down his arms, to his hips, to his thighs. Finally convinced himself to palm that length. He pulled the thick organ from the slit in his boxers, running his fingers over it. Exploring the smooth length, the way it strained for attention in his hand. Listening to the older male’s heavy breathing, he adjusted his hold, firmly tightening his fingers and roughly masturbating him.
“This is how I like it,” he confessed quietly, ducking his head. “Almost like it hurts...”
“You into S and M?”
“No...just...this.” Richie captured his lips, drawing his tongue out–sucking with gentle force. Hotstreak moaned into his mouth, shifted against him. Feeling precum against his fingers, Richie released his mouth. Curious, he lifted his hand and licked his thumb, to taste that thick fluid. Hotstreak watched this, his mouth falling open slightly.
“Can you do that? Down there?” he asked, tilting his hips to nudge at Richie’s body with the head of his cock.
“I...don’t know...”
“Do like you did with my tongue. Just like that...”
Richie hesitated, then grew bold. He shifted, lowering his head. The experience wasn’t unpleasant–just awkward. He experimented with different variants of sucking and licking; discovered the bittersweet taste of moisture that leaked from the broad head. Hotstreak quietly encouraged him on what to do, what not to do as he enjoyed every moment of it. As he did so, he realized that all this time, Richie hadn’t had any sort of relief. He felt guilty all of a sudden, hearing Richie slurp as he lifted his heat at feeling the shift in mood.
“I’m sorry...did I–?”
“I...take off your boxers...”
“...AGAIN?”
“Just do it. I’ll be...I won’t be rough.”
“I’ve HEARD that one! Honestly, I’m so sore!”
“I won’t do much...just..you haven’t...yet, so–I won’t move. But I still wanna be...in you.”
Richie eyed him cautiously, frowning. But shifted anyway, settling with a pillow under his hips as Hotstreak watched him.
“...What?” he finally asked, lifting onto his elbows.
“...You trust me?” Hotstreak questioned, lifting his eyebrows.
“Well, you know what you’re doing...”
“If you were really sore, you wouldn’t do it. I think yer lyin’ to be about it.”
Richie sat up and shoved him with a snarl. “You told me to do this. If I was so experienced, wouldn’t I be trying to get you off better?”
Hotstreak had to laugh–softly as he caught his hands. “I like it when you try ta get all tough. You just ain’t shit, man.”
“I’m not LYING!” Richie hissed.
“Don’t be a bitch. I was just–” Hotstreak gave a startled exclamation as Richie slugged him across the jaw. Roughly, seeing stars, he pushed Richie against the bed, pulling off his boxers. He plunged a finger up into his body, feeling the loosened hole, hearing the blond grunt in protest as he pushed at his arm. Hotstreak quickly shed his boxers and resumed his position to shove his penis into him, covering his mouth as Richie started to cry out. He replaced his hand with his mouth, groaning as he undulated against him, noting the rough feel. One arm snaked out from the bed, searching for the Vaseline that he’d left on the nightstand. Minutes were lost as he asserted his control, noting the way Richie made himself pliant, the way he gave in.
He used the Vaseline to lubricate himself, and entered his body once more, groaning at the slickness, the heat. He remembered that he wasn’t trying to get off–had to force himself to stop as Richie returned his kisses, moving his hips in practiced effort against him. Breathing heavily, he dropped his forehead against his, stilling, even as Richie continued to move his hips in awkward but tantalizing effort. He enjoyed it–felt the heat build deep within him as Richie moved against him, small moans coming from him. Hotstreak shifted, reaching between them to still his hips. Moved so that his legs kept him between his, to allow him to lean over and to grasp that half-hardened member. Remembering how Richie had masturbated him, he began using what he thought was the same force, and felt Richie move against him, his hips shifting upward. He gave a small sound of pleasure, something that wrenched at Hotstreak’s gut in that he was doing it right. At the way Richie clenched his thighs, the way he breathed in a heavy manner, Hotstreak wondered how he could continue this and start moving again. He wanted to feel Richie orgasm–he wanted to see his face, hear his release. He just wasn’t sure if he wanted cum all over him.
“Move your hips,” he ordered quietly, feeling his own cock throb at the clenching it was receiving while in his channel.
“No...it hurts!”
“You just did it earlier!”
“I wanted to make it quick–it–hurts–!”
Suddenly, Hotstreak registered the liquid warmth in his hand–then heard Richie moan quietly, his hips moving as his muscles constricted painfully around his cock, making the redhead forget what he was doing. Without thinking, he shifted his hold to Richie’s hips, holding them in place as he began thrusting tightly. Richie gave another sound, this one panicked as he struggled to pull away. Before he knew it, Hotstreak was once again marking him, groaning as he tilted his head back, fluttery wave after wave sweeping over him. They rested in their respective positions, until Richie shifted with a light, complaining groan.
Hotstreak pulled out of him; winced at the rawness he felt upon doing so. On shaky legs, he moved off the bed, to retrieve their damp towels from the shower earlier. He cleaned himself off, then tossed one to Richie. After, he pulled his boxers on, located Richie’s, then settled back down on the bed.
“You wear me out,” he complained as he took over on one of the pillows.
“‘Me’? I do? You’re the one doing it all! I feel raw from the inside out!” Richie muttered, tossing the towel away and sliding on his boxers. “I’ll be leaking man fluid for a month...”
Hotstreak chuckled, feeling exhausted as he settled against him. His eyelids felt heavy. He closed them briefly, feeling Richie shift against him to get comfortable. He hadn’t expected to fall asleep–just when he opened his eyes, the room was noticeably lighter. He shifted to see that it was nearing five-thirty in the morning. That he’d spent the night with Richie–and enjoyed every moment. He looked at the blond, seeing him rest on his belly–he was drooling, snoring lightly. Hotstreak stared at him for several long minutes. Went over everything that passed between them; their conversations, the sex, the repeated kissing. Licking his lips now, he could still taste Richie on them. He took in the paleness of his flesh, the fading bruises on his back, the definition of muscle. It was unsettling, how he felt. As if Richie was some drug he couldn’t get enough of. It was absurd the way he felt the craving for him. The new, unfamiliar craving that made his groin heat and his mind eager. Staring at Richie’s defenseless features, the way dark eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks, Hotstreak felt something twist within him. Some instincts, familiar and trustworthy, screamed at him, alerting him to danger. He stared at Richie, wide-eyed and alarmed, and pulled up from the bed. For a few moments, he was dazed as he forced himself to look away; to catch hold of himself. Unfamiliar invasion shot through him as he staggered to the edge of the bed. As he sat, to watch the early morning light shift through the vertical blinds, he was fully aware that something had happened that night.
He just didn’t what it was...