Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ If It Makes You Happy ❯ Chapter Ten ( Chapter 10 )

[ 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 Ten



He awoke quietly–stiffly. He could hear the sounds of morning through the window. The chill in the air had made the heat disperse, and now his room felt chilly. He was comfortable underneath his blankets. Comfortable and sore.
He could groggily recall the night Hotstreak had spent with him. Amid whispers and more sex, quietly administered so they couldn’t be heard, Richie realized that something had occurred doing the night.
That everything wasn’t what it seemed.
Sex itself had been something painful and uncomfortable–he’d only seemed to enjoy the very notion of it when the pain started to ebb, and certainly had enjoyed the last time. But it wasn’t just that–it seemed that their relationship had changed.
He knew Hotstreak’s temper and arrogance–his cruelty and his dismissible ‘good graces’. But he also knew that he was just a lost male on the streets–whose own father beat him just because...whose mother ran off, leaving him behind with that father...whose only purpose in mind was to keep his street cred intact. It was the only thing he had.
Francis Stone could have so much more going for him–but the reason why he chose this track was because it was the only one for him. No one pushed him to do his best–no one tried to convince him to take the right track. He looked out for himself, with himself–and had built his reputation and cred based on strength and violence alone. For those reasons alone, he drove people off rather than rounding them in.
In a way, Richie felt sorry for him–and certainly more understanding.
It was just a shame that no one else would know this.
He opened his eyes, blinking them slowly as he adjusted to the darkness that was being eased away by the rising sun. His ass felt sore–thoroughly used, and his lower intestine was having trouble distinguishing what was wrong. But...but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that perhaps losing his virginity to Hotstreak hadn’t been a bad decision at all.
The guy had been considerate–just lacked the intensity that Richie had felt he’d needed. Sure, they had sex three awkward times–enough for Richie to familiarize himself with the act, and enough for Hotstreak to realize that he enjoyed it–but it was...just physical distraction. Hormones thought for themselves.
He had his arms tucked underneath his pillow–he was lying on his stomach. He felt rebellious at that moment–he had a man in his room the entire night, he’d had homosexual sex, and he spent it all with an ‘enemy’. He could only imagine the repercussions he’d receive if either his parents or Virgil found out about this.
He realized that it was much too quiet in the room, and noticed that he was alone. He lifted his head curiously, and saw Hotstreak sitting at the edge of the bed–at his feet. Just sitting there–staring off into space. Watching the sun rise. When he heard Richie shift in bed, he glanced at him over his shoulder.
Richie could see the freckles decorating his shoulders–he wanted to reach out to touch him again, but now that the magic of the night was gone, he restrained himself.
Suddenly awkward as to what to say next, Richie stared at him in silence. Hotstreak seemed in the same boat, looking entirely different than what he had yesterday. More human. More...vulnerable. Or just dazed.
“I never did that, before,” he croaked, his eyes rimmed with lack of sleep. While the blond still felt tired, there was a sense of physical satisfaction that could only come from orgasm. There was a sense of contentment in the redhead’s features–but there was also disbelief, surprise and wonder as well.
“With a guy, I mean.”
Richie felt his lips curl with a slight smile. “Me, either.”
“It...it was different...”
“...hm.”
Hotstreak stared at him for a few moments, then shifted his eyes away. Richie realized he had nothing more to say. Suddenly needing to hide, he laid his head back down, and turned his back to the room. He heard Hotstreak shift in his seat, then rise from the bed.
Staring at the wall, he listened to the sounds of him getting dressed. Then Hotstreak left the room through the balcony, jumping down to the hard pavement below. Richie shut his eyes and tried not to acknowledge the disappointment that flooded through him.

OooooooooooO

Shiv stared blankly ahead of him, leaning firmly against the wall of the school. He watched various students pass him by; some looked at him with glares and confrontation; others looked at him with interest, wondering what he was doing here. He was sure none of them had any idea who he was–while infamous being one of Ebon’s Metabreed, he wasn’t the guy that made people point at him and scream in recognition.
A couple of guys stood next to him, murmuring approval for the teen girls that walked by, and laughing as they made fun of others. Ebon had given them strict instructions, and hell if Shiv disobeyed them. He had gotten the gist of what the shadow man might do if his orders weren’t followed to the ‘T’.
His arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes scanning each of the students as they hustled toward the main entrance doors.
Frankly, while he knew his boss was off one deep end, and twisted at the other, he had to wonder why he was making such a big deal out of one kid. From the reports they received, Hotstreak cared for no one but Hotstreak. For his accidental rescue of the kid from that fight the other day, the redhead was getting a lot of flak for being ‘soft’. Shiv knew parts of Hotstreak that Ebon scoffed at–he knew that while the guy was tough and street smart, having nothing more on his mind than basic survival and need for street cred, he did have a soft spot for pretty girls that put him in his place and nerds. Pretty girls were fun to play with, and nerds were fun to beat up. That was the extent of Hotstreak’s ‘softness’. Perhaps all he felt for the kid he’d rescued was to rescue his real-life punching bag.
That’s all Shiv could make out of from this crazy situation.
Now, for Ebon to be all hard-up about Hotstreak having a soft spot for the kid, taking it out of context–he was a little bewildered to find that hard-core, vicious, ruthless and merciless Ebon had taken a liking to the same kid. Whether it be lust or simply a brainstorm, Ebon had his attention focused on the high school geek. Shiv really couldn’t understand why–he’d seen the kid. God, he was nerdy! Glasses, scrawny, utterly innocent and clean–the guy had made Shiv laugh at the sight of him. He’d kept looking for pocket protectors and waiting for Richie to shove his glasses up the bridge of his nose and say nerdy things like, “Well, for starters, the pyrogathethim diagram was composed mainly of autoelectronic components” or something as equally brainy and nerdy.
He’d been impressed, really, that the kid had a backbone. Talking back to Ebon, making fun of him to his face, tearing him a new one when Ebon threatened him; the kid deserved props for doing so with someone that made grown men tremble at the sight of him. Shiv wouldn’t do any of that shit to piss him off! He wasn’t considered one of the smartest of the bunch, but he knew when to work his mouth when it concerned Ebon.
Which was why he wasn’t complaining while he waited for Richie Foley at the front entrance of Dakota Union High. If Ebon wanted the kid–hell, Shiv would hand him over with a bow and a gift card. The thugs next to him were just backup, because he doubted Talon, Tarmac or Kangor would be taken seriously out here. He was the only normal looking one of the bunch.
He spotted the subject coming up the front sidewalk, laughing with someone that was inconsequential. Shiv straightened from the wall, nodding in Richie’s direction, the two thugs straightening and arranging serious faces into place. Richie drew closer to him, saying something along the lines of–“I didn’t stretch out before I started. I’m so totally sore, man.”
“I can’t see you runnin’ no track meet, Richie!” the other guy laughed, slapping his back.
“Seriously, I can’t either. That’s why I gave up.”
Before the two could enter, Shiv reached out and grabbed Richie’s jacket, yanking the blond away from the doors. The blond stumbled, slamming into a couple of students before straightening. The two boys looked ready to do some talking, but after a single glance from the two thugs Shiv was with, they walked off. Richie’s friend realized he was alone, and walked back out.
“We got some business with you,” Shiv sneered into Richie’s face, trying to look as threatening as possible. “You’re takin’ a ride with us!”
“My mother taught me never to talk with strangers–”
One of the thugs flashed a piece tucked into the waist band of his pants, and Shiv looked ready to conjure a weapon with both hands. Richie quickly switched his tactic.
“–unless they offered candy...”
“Let’s go. Comin’ to this place gives me the creeps,” Shiv muttered, shuddering.
“Felix! Tell Virgil I’m ditching with Shiv!”
“Wit’ who?”
“Just tell him!”
“Er...ahyite.”
Felix watched with some confusion as Richie walked off with the three, one of whom put an arm around his shoulders and continued talking in that snakey voice of his. Shrugging, he turned and walked into the school to pass on the message.

OooooooooooO

“WHAT?” Virgil nearly shrieked, leaping up from his chair. “He went where with WHO?”
“Some guy named Shiv, man. Don’t know. Looked slanty, hangin’ with a couple of G’s. Don’t know. Don’t know what the fuck that was about!” Felix protested. “Richie was all knowin’ them...”
Virgil looked panicked, glancing around the classroom helplessly–the class was occupied with group projects, and Virgil’s outburst wasn’t the only one. The teacher had stepped out of the room for a quick bathroom break, so everyone was loud and out of control for the moment.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Virgil howled, hands embedding into his dreads. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“What the fuck’s the deal?” Felix asked, utterly in the dark. “He all buddy-buddy wit’ ‘em! Didn’t know what the hell!”
“Oh my–Shit, Felix! Dammit! Do you know where they went?”
“Why? Ya’ll wanna play, too? I mean...fun for all? What’cha all doin’, anyway? Somethin’ going down we don’t know of?”
“I’ll say,” Virgil snapped, thrusting his books into his back and picking up his coat. “I’m out of here. Seriously. This is FUCKED up!”
“What the hell–?” Felix protested, watching as Virgil ran out from the classroom at full speed. He heard the teacher holler Virgil’s name, then walk in shaking his head in exasperation. Felix then shrugged and picked up where Virgil had left off in the project.
Virgil ran to his locker, struggling with the lock for a few moments before opening it, and throwing his backpack in. He withdrew his duffle, and slammed the door shut, mind racing. Felix had waited until after lunch to tell him what had happened–he’d just thought Richie was out for the day. But he had to admit that he really hadn’t noticed Richie’s absence–he’d been so focused on Daisy that he hadn’t bothered with too much with the other guys. Just assumed Richie was doing his own thing with other people. They did that, sometimes. They weren’t attached at the hip all the time, like a lot of people thought.
He slammed out through a pair of side doors, mind racing. What did Ebon want with Richie? The same business as the other day? Thinking he had leverage against Hotstreak?...who currently wasn’t at school, today. But why think that way? He’d laughed, joking about what Richie had told him, but he had to wonder if any of it were true.
He changed into Static a couple of blocks away, in an alleyway, and was flying off toward Ebon’s ‘hideout’ near the east side. If he wasn’t able to confront Ebon directly, no doubt he could make one of his ‘crew’ do so.
He arrived within the same alley he and Gear fought the others, and swept his disk up. The group really didn’t come out during the day–no, they were usually asleep or something. They saved their best tricks for night, when everything seemed defenseless and vulnerable.
He walked over to the door that was boarded over, a condemnation sign tacked to the rotting wood. Examining that for any signs of use, he then continued this tactic with the three other doors he found throughout the alley. None of them were in use–but that didn’t mean the buildings were being used. He used his disk to fly up to the second story windows, and tried those. He found one that was unlocked on the first building, and carefully crept inside. He saw the signs of life within–the floor, dusty and dirty, had the imprints of recent tracks. They led out of the room, and into a dark hallway straight ahead. Carefully, Static took his time, straining his ears for any indication that he wasn’t alone.
It took him awhile to search the building–he found that the downstairs sweat shop, closed for obvious reasons, had many signs of use. Plus, Talon’s feathers gave indication that it was used for their own wicked reasons. But they obviously weren’t in this building.
Giving a frustrated groan as he realized he had a lot of tracking to do, Static left the building, and headed over to the Projects, where Ebon had a few hidey holes tucked away. He found himself ducking, out of habit, when something swooped over his head, nearly knocking him out of the sky. Swirling around, he saw that Talon was landing on the second story window he’d just left. She looked up at him, expression scowling as she opened the window, and crawled in.
Leaving the window open.
Static blinked a few times, then glanced around. Ambush?
Talon poked her head out, and hollered, “Get your ass in here!”
“Well! Can’t exactly ignore a ladies invitation,” he said to himself, brow furrowing.
A trap, a trap, a trap, he kept telling himself, on full alert. This is a trap...
He climbed in through the window once more, finding himself facing Talon. The woman had her arms awkwardly crossed her over middle, waiting for him.
“Come with me,” she said, gesturing at him. “I have something I need to tell you.”
“I don’t suppose I’m your only playmate...?”
“Truth to tell, Static–we aren’t exactly the best of friends,” Talon said over his question, walking out from the room. “None of the guys are around. Alla them are off doin’ their own thing here and there...I made sure it was safe before coming to you.”
“What’s this about?” Static questioned, carrying his disk in front of him, for something to use in case the woman did happen to turn on him. He kept his back to the wall, on high alert–waiting for someone to emerge from the shadows, or from the ceiling. Something!
“Ebon’s crazy and shit, but he’s gone too far. I ain’t lying to you, Static, that I sometimes question myself on why I work with the fool. But I do, and that’s that. But there are some things that I don’t wanna be part of. And sometimes, my own conscience mocks me. This is one of those times, Static. I’m going to be straight out with you cuz I don’t like what the fool’s doin’ this time,” Talon said, shaking her head.
Static’s eyes widened as he realized that Talon was going to talk. And he didn’t even have to do anything!
“To what do I owe this honor, Theresa?” he asked, hurrying to catch up with her, eager to hear what she had to say.
“Ebon’s all hard-up. He got this thing goin’ down with Hotstreak, about turf. Frankly, it’s more about who’s got the biggest balls...it ain’t nothin’, but they’re taking it out of control. They be fighting each other, and, yeah, they’re shootin’ up the place...but Ebon’s got it in his head that this kid’s the center of it all. He’s gone all thinkin’ that this kid is something Hotstreak values, or some crazy shit. You wanna find him? Ebon and his thugs are hiding out in the projects, near Courtney and Breston. Y’know that red building on the corner?”
“Yes...”
“The one behind it. He got his crew parked there. Kid’s with him. I don’t know. I don’t care about the kid, but...Ebon’s playing funny, and I don’t want no part of it...Hotstreak don’t care about anybody. I just don’t think he plays that, man. He ain’t fag.”
Static raised his eyebrows. It was obvious Talon was going out of her way for things...and her tone...well, his momma didn’t raise no idiot. It was obvious who Talon was really acting for. Females. “This is quite honorable, Theresa.”
“I don’t want no part of it, Static. Get the kid, stop Ebon and Hotstreak. They’re stupid, and they need their head cracked to stop this fuckin’ pissing contest. Yeah, I’m still down with him, but I just think it’s stupid.” She shrugged a shoulder. “I’d still do this if it were someone else. I don’t like where Ebon be going with the kid, or that Hotstreak’s all shooting up shit with his powers. Girl gets tired of it all, sometimes.”
“This is amazing...thank you, Theresa. I can’t tell you enough how thankful I am for this change of heart.”
“It ain’t shit,” she said with another shrug, rolling her eyes. “Just...don’t let the boys know who told, all right? I’m still workin’ for him. Just...some things a girl can’t handle.”
“I am right thankful for female wiles. I don’t understand the lot of you, but, hell–who am I to complain when woman requests something?”
“Fuck it. Get outta here. I told you my piece.”
“Yeah...thanks again, Theresa. Really.”
Static wasn’t about to stick around for anything else. Talon had told him what he needed, and there wasn’t any more time to waste. Now that he knew where Richie was, he was going to get him. With a look cast over his shoulder at the bird woman, he gave a slight smile.
Females.

OooooooooooO

Richie stared at Shiv as the metahuman fiddled with a deck of cards. He was playing a game of rummy with a bunch of Ebon’s thugs, and was cheating quite obviously. And no one was saying anything! They were all playing with real money, though. As he wondered where they got that sort of cash, he was aware that he was quite out of place of it all. Ebon’s hidey hole was comfortably furnished, and somewhat clean. There was a stereo with hardcore rap emerging from the speakers nearby, and there was the faint waft of marijuana in the stale air. The broken windows were covered with plastic and wood, yet open enough to admit in the daylight. It was rapidly fading, through, and he kept hearing about a showdown for tonight.
While all of this was going on, he kept wondering where Virgil was. Seriously, the moment he left this mess, he was going to have words with that fool. Leaving him here with Ebon and his guys...alone and vulnerable...the only white guy here...oh, yeah. Virgil was going to get it when Richie left this mess.
As he was contemplating shaved eyebrows and wax in uncomfortable places, the door to a nearby bedroom opened. A couple of G’s walked out, both of them looking comfortable with plans and laughter.
Ebon was behind them, saying something that he couldn’t catch as he passed them a couple of rolls of money.
Richie just could not think of any banks that had been robbed recently, or of any other instance. Because where in the world did the guy get so much money?
Ebon looked away from the two, and over at him. Without much of a gesture, he was signaling for him to come over. Richie scowled, not wanting to move. But the stares sent to him from the guys playing rummy nearby convinced him to leave the couch–albeit reluctantly.
He had no idea why Ebon wanted him–he wasn’t going to acknowledge the Gold Bitch theory (but then again, was it somehow true? After what happened...last night...? He fought to ignore the rising blush at remembering that), and he could come up with Ebon wanting him in relative terms of Static business. After all, Ebon knew that he was Static’s friend. There were more than a few times when Ebon had come up onto him BG (Before Gear), and then there was that time when he’d ran away from home...so, he had to wonder if this was Static-related business. It had a better ring to it than the Gold Bitch theory.
He walked into the room, hearing the door shut behind him. The room reeked of marijuana, and it was obvious this was where Ebon conducted most of his business. In the back corner, there was a bunch of plastic lawn bags that were stuffed full of...something...and in the other, there was a mountain of boxed electronics. Off to his right, there was a worn sectional, perfect for meetings, and to his left was a cooler containing beer and ice. There was the remains of a sandwich sitting on one of the boxes.
“Take a seat,” Ebon said, indicating the sectional.
Slowly, Richie did as he said, keeping Ebon in sight. The guy kept peering out one of the boarded windows, and muttering under his breath. The living shadow left Richie uneasy ninety percent of the time. First off, Ebon’s twisted mind was enough to scare even the hardened police officer–he was fully capable of shooting kids, of rape and battery without blinking an eye. He once shot an old woman when she didn’t hand her purse over fast enough–and that was when he was thirteen. He’d built a rep around himself that had many in fear of him, or in awe. The ultimate street baddie that looked out for himself with himself. Second off, the people that worked with him worked because they were either afraid of him, or eager to catch a piece of the rep he’d built. His thugs were weathered criminals, and, of course, there were the Metabreeds. They were eager to prove themselves, and would do anything to do so. Anything. Which was what made them dangerous.
Ebon was the type to instill nightmares in a person. And even as Gear, Richie was uneasy with him.
“So...been enjoyin’ yourself, so far? You been fed...given somethin’ to drink–”
“I’m underage. Remember? The kid that says ‘no’ to drugs? Applies to alcohol, too.”
“–ain’t no one bothered you. Ain’t been threatened–”
“Out loud...”
“...Has anyone ever told you that for a fag, you all mouthy?”
“Constantly. It’s what gets me into these types of things,” Richie said, trying to a shit eating smile, but failing miserably as Ebon turned to him.
He watched, shoulders and back stiff, as the living shadowman took a seat opposite him on the couch. Facing Ebon directly, without any real way to defend himself, made Richie’s insides curdle. It felt as if his intestines had just knotted themselves, and his stomach tried in vain to make it’s way up his throat. That’s what Ebon did to a person. With his abilities, he just made his reputation even worse. He could do anything to a person, and that person couldn’t fight back.
Unless they were Static...
...He was going to maim Virgil once he got out of this mess...
He couldn’t tell what Ebon was thinking–the only visible feature in his face were his unnatural white eyes. And they were currently narrowed, piercing him with a stare that revealed nothing. Hatred? Annoyance? Exasperation?...Love? HA! Anything to keep Richie’s bravado up and going. He tried not to snicker out loud, but failed that as well.
“What’chu laughin’ about?” Ebon asked slowly, relaxing on the couch. Arms were lifted and spread along the back of his section, and his shadowed shoe fitted itself onto the milkcrate that acted as a table between them.
“Ah...nothing...just...I’ve been here all day, and...you haven’t told me why.”
“You know why.”
“I...really don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be all...confused and asking you.”
“You ain’t that fuckin’ stupid, kid. I know you all brainy. You know why.”
“No. I seriously don’t.”
“This is why I like you, kid. You’re spunky. You don’t take my shit the way others do. You can look me right in the eye an’ fuckin’ talk shit, an’ you don’t even get all scared ‘bout it. You amuse me.”
“Well,” Richie said on a chuckle, pulling at his collar. Damn...it was kinda hot in here...
He jerked as he realized Ebon was reaching over, his limb stretching to unnatural length as he pulled on his sweater shirt collar–away from his neck. Richie slapped at his hand and pulled away from him, trying to put some distance between them.
“Where’d you get those?” Ebon demanded, pulling his hand back. “You all marked up.”
Richie felt his face flush with embarrassment, his hand reaching up to somehow cover the hickies that he knew were there. He’d thought they’d go unnoticed under his collar, but apparently...
“Hey, I have hormones, too,” was all he muttered in reply.
Ebon chuckled lowly, then straight out laughed.
Richie adjusted his collar, glancing over almost sullenly. He sat back against the cushions of the couch, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
Ebon fell silent, and resumed that quiet stare, leaving Richie feeling no less molested. Squirming uncomfortably in his seat, Richie swallowed and focused on various things within the room. The sandwich (mayo?), the box of electronics, the plastic lawn bags, the boarded windows–where the fuck was Static? If Virgil was in this situation, Richie would have made every effort he could to be there for him! The hell? Did Felix even tell him? Did Virgil even show up for school today?
A flurry of questions ran through his mind as the silence thickened. He could hear the faint beat of the music from the other room, but while it had been so loud out there, it was nothing but a faint thump in here. That tidbit was a little...unnerving...
He swallowed again. No one could hear him scream in here. That was what made things even more so frightening. Ebon could do anything to him, and no one would know. He’d seen the guys knock on the door and wait minutes before being allowed to enter. No one could hear him out here. That was a terrifying thought. In a city of thousands, no one would hear him scream. Worse than outer space...
He jumped when he heard Ebon move, but the shadow man was simply stretching out his arms, picking up a cell phone and a beer. He was immensely curious to see how this worked out. He couldn’t see Ebon’s mouth, or anything...his form was entirely shadow. He’d often caught himself wondering if the guy had to pee in the normal way, or use some other form to reject waste...
He watched him open the bottle of beer, and drink it the way everyone else had. Richie was disappointed at that. After dialing a number, Ebon was talking on the phone to someone named Timmy, resuming his steady stare at Richie.
Sighing, shifting his head to look away and try to ignore that stare, Richie wondered where the hell Virgil was. He had no way of reaching him–Ebon had checked him for the Shock Vox he carried, and had taken away his backpack, jacket, shoes, and belt. He was basically left with nothing, and he felt truly worthless. Sure, he was a Bang Baby, but what were the good of having a genius brain? He couldn’t think a person to death. He couldn’t talk them into submission. He couldn’t defend himself with a high IQ...he was basically a normal, vulnerable human being like everyone else. He once again wished for powers that would have been more useful–super strength, telekinesis, flight, energy–even something disfiguring! At least then he’d be able to startle his opponents into...something...
He looked back at Ebon when he heard the words “Francesca Docks,” and “popping caps.”
The docks were near the area where the Big Bang occurred...a hot spot for people wanting to settle scores. Was that where he was going to settle this thing with Hotstreak, once and for all? How could he contact Virgil with this information?
Ebon hung up the phone, tossing it aside as he resumed his hardened stare at Richie.
Richie squirmed once more, clearing his throat, thinking of happy things–comics, Virgil’s smile, cheesy poofs...
“Betcha you taste sweet, huh?”
Oh, God...don’t talk to me that way, Richie thought to himself with a horrified expression directed at the other Bang Baby. You don’t play that way...you don’t do that sort of thing...you don’t think that way!
“Prolly do...I always liked the taste of white folk...somehow, they taste sweeter than my black brethren. Betcha taste just as sweet...s’why Francis is makin’ a big ole thing about you...”
“You–don’t–I thought you were a man, Ebon. Men don’t like other men that way,” Richie said, in a brilliant effort to somehow direct his attention elsewhere.
Ebon merely laughed. “Who said you were a man? Just a boy...just a little, sweet boy that still in school, an’ still lives with his mommy. You ain’t no man, kid. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit’ that...”
“You just ruined my image of you, Ebon. Here, you’re all tough and bad, and you’re hitting on...on geeky white guys! I’ll bet you have a picture of Steve Zahn on your cell wall, huh?”
Ebon laughed again. “It ain’t workin’ with me, kid. By now, I gotcha all figgered out. Tryin’ to get me all pissed an’ shit. You ain’t do anythin’ but makin’ me laugh. I like you, crackerjack. You’re okay.”
“That’s bad. That’s...not what I would want. I’d rather you hated my guts, Ebon. I’d rather you were all up on my face, bustin’ your caps all over the place than having you like me,” Richie muttered, wrapping his arms loosely around his middle.
“You ain’t gettin’ that way wit’ me, Foley. I know what I want. I like a challenge here an’ there. You just make it all sweet with that mouthin’ off. Wonder what you taste like, though. I be thinkin’ I would want a taste of you. Just to see what keeps Francis around ya.”
“I just ate onions. And pickles. And, boy, I don’t like brushing my teeth,” Richie said, finding himself inching toward the edge of the couch as Ebon rose from his position on his section. “And you’ve got Hotstreak all wrong, man! The guy likes to pound my head into the locker! Just the other day, last week, rather, he was stuffing my head into a toilet bowl.”
“Nothin’ like sayin’ he likes you by pullin’ on your hair. Ain’t you done that sorta thing with lil’ Susie Q in the sandbox?”
“Nothing like telling the object of your affection you like ‘em by pulling your hair, huh? Riiigght...I’ll just be going, now.”
Ebon’s hand stretched out, and slapped against the door as Richie hurriedly made his way over. The rest of him joined the area, Richie hurriedly scooting away from him. Ebon turned, following him slowly, stalking him. Those eyes of his were narrowed with a smirk as he found amusement in this game.
“Damn it!” Richie then roared, placing himself behind one of the sectionals. “I just said the other day, I am not someone’s bitch!”
“That’ll be remedied shortly. Get over here. I’m sick of playing around.”
“All right–not. I’m warning you, Ebon. It’s not pretty. I bite. And spit. And if you try and–a-and get far with me, I’ll–I’ll...damn it, I’ll do something to make you regret it.”
“Nothin’ you can do will make me regret anythin’...get over here.”
“No. Don’t you have any morals? I’m just a kid! You’re like, forty years old!”
“WHAT? I ain’t that fuckin’ old! And fuck morals. They ain’t shit. I want what I want, I’mina fuckin’ get it. An’ I want you. Get over here, before I get pissed.”
“Ha! I handle pissed guys easy! I go to school with Hotstreak!” Richie scooted over to the other end of the room, but grew dismayed as Ebon shifted over just as easily, stretching limbs to do so. As the shadow man loomed over him, reaching for him, Richie glanced over at the window and tried to picture what he’d look like after a seven story fall.
Ebon began to chuckle, advancing on him. It seemed as if there wasn’t a way out...