Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ So Much For My Happy Ending ( Chapter 1 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The life of a married couple varies...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.11.2005 | Updated On: 10.28.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 877 | Status: Completed
The life of a married couple varies...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.11.2005 | Updated On: 10.28.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 877 | Status: Completed
Author’s notes: Hi. This story was bugging me for the longest time...I myself was always curious to know what happened in the Happily Ever After aspect...what REALLY happens after the princess wins the prince...and I came out with THIS! Yay! I realize that, yeah, it’s another Hs and R...BUT I LOVE THEM. And this story in NO WAY coincides with my other trilogy, k? It has no connection with that one. AND IT IS AU. And, hmm...the characters will most likely be OUT of it...but not too extremely...I think...
Disclaimer: Dudes...if you’ve followed my fics, you’ll have realized by now that I do not own SS or anything else involved. If I had, I’d be rolling around in riches and writing cartoon eppies for shows, like, I don’t know...Totally Spies! XD Just kidding. I wouldn’t torture you like that. O_OI DO NOT OWN STATIC OR ANY OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARAS!!SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS. Means scene break
Chapter One:
So Much For My Happy Ending
The pair of them were so in love that it made everyone sick.
Almost a year after the second Big Bang, they were making eyebrows rise. Francis Stone, AKA Hotstreak and geeky, unnoticeable Richard Foley were often seen together throughout Dakota. As Hotstreak’s friends gaped and looked on in stunned shock, Richie’s friends were looking at him in horror and fright. The two complete opposites disregarded all that was being said or flung at them; their happiness was reflective in their hand holding, their constant touching, their bright, sunny smiles...
And when it all came down to it, those closest to them could easily complain of the sudden surge of dental visits...
No one truly knew how they’d gotten together. How they had overcome stereotypes to fall in love. Suddenly...one day...it just was.
At first, they had a lot of objections; all of them ranging from You’re Gay? to How Could You?.
After their initial acceptance and for the fact that friendship circles reluctantly began to acknowledge each other–oh, how Virgil Hawkins threw a fit when he realized he had to be friends with the MetaBreed and the Meta Men–oh, how Ivan Evans, AKA Ebon, threw a tantrum upon having to be friends with his little brother’s girlfriend’s family for another reason–things began to progress from there. Almost six months from the coming out of the pair of them, they slapped their friends with another shocker: Hotstreak had proposed to Richie, and Richie had accepted.
The next time they were seen, both were sporting wedding bands and already talking about securing a small house on the east end of Dakota.
It was determined that the pair, according to their friends and families, were destined for a sickeningly sweet future together.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Five years had passed since their “I dos” at the courthouse in downtown Dakota. The law had recently been passed in favor of gay marriages, and theirs had been one of the hundreds that had occurred since that favor. Since then, Dakota had grown larger, the threat of Bang Babies were very minimal due to the cure that was constantly spread throughout the population via air and water, and life, as it seemed, was calm.
Letting himself into the one story, two bedroom house, Ivan Evans sullenly regarded the overstuffed easy chair that comfortably fit two people with a grunt. He saw two pairs of legs hanging over the edge of one arm, and heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing. He rolled his eyes, and slammed the door hard behind him, ignoring the protests outside.
It had taken awhile–but Ebon and Hotstreak, after that night of being combined, had come to terms with each other. Once where they’d regarded each other as scum, they now looked at each other on meager terms of civility. They had been combined that night; enough to instill the other’s thoughts, insecurities, strengths and weaknesses into their own mind sets. They still retained their individual needs; but they often caught themselves mirroring the other’s movements or thoughts.
When Ebon and Hotstreak were found by lingering authorities near the dock area where the second Big Bang had happened, considerably miserable and mirroring each other’s movements to an exact pinpoint, they were sent to a rehabilitation center focused on Bang Babies and served six months each for their crimes. Of course, this light sentence was protested, but things had died down since then. Hotstreak and Ebon became Francis Stone and Ivan Evans once more, the pair taking their given names and re-designing their lives like all the other former Bang Babies.
One would think they would separate, force themselves far away from the other just to feel themselves again. But the link prevented that. As much as it bothered them, they often found themselves engrossed in mirroring feelings and thoughts, spending hours together in uncomfortable relation.
After the second Big Bang, the city and the former metas had come to terms with each other. Many charges were loose or let go of altogether, insanity blamed on the gas’s effects. Though there was still a bad seed or two within those that were finally settling down, the aftereffects of their crimes were minimal.
When Hotstreak had fallen in love and he and Richie had begun openly displaying their status, their friends had been reluctant.
As a result, Richie had come to accept the former bad metas as they had to accept his family, and Virgil and his family. It had been hard at first; getting to know one’s enemy and having them turn into a civil acquaintance had been an interesting experience. Ivan still proved stubborn and sullen from time to time when he was forced to acknowledge Virgil and his brother, and Francis still hated it when Ivan tried to boss him around.
But it had grown so that everyone was comfortable with each other in a sense of understanding. The blond had stopped looking at the group as menaces and had started seeing them as playful acquaintances; all with their individual needs and worries, their lives just as insecure and hopeful as his.
“You guys decent? For once?” Ivan asked, scowling as he made a beeline to the kitchen. His only response was one of Richie’s legs curling around Francis’ waist. He made a shake of his head, removing his sunglasses.
As time passed since the second Big Bang, so did their appearances. Richard Foley had always been a little on the short side, scrawny, with a messy appearance. But in the past five years, he’d grown a few inches, filling out in the shoulders and upper chest, developing sterner lines around his jaw and cheek area. He’d lost most of his baby fat, leaving behind a thinner nose, smaller, rounded eyes, and had faint dimples whenever he smiled. His blond hair had been trimmed with slightly longer sideburns, with long bangs that he kept swept to the left side of his face, the back trimmed very short at the nape. He still wore glasses, this pair thin and oval, and he’d pierced the other ear as well, wearing a pair of small diamond studs that had been a Christmas present from Francis over a year ago. Attractive in the ‘cute’ sense, he still had a baby-faced expression.
With his height gain, that put him an inch taller than Francis; something that the redhead secretly resented.
The redhead himself stayed at five foot ten; it appeared his growing spurts were over with. But along the way, he’d gained more muscle in the chest and shoulder areas, making him larger, his body filled with a sort of strength gained from strenuous workouts. He’d left his hairstyle the way it was, but had let his sideburns touch the curves of his jaw, letting it thicken so that the strip of hair closed off his features. He kept his soul patch under his lower lip, letting that dip into a goatee that he kept meticulously trimmed. He’d lost a great majority of his baby fat as well, but had retained a great deal of his thickness from muscle. After the rehab and time served, he’d learned to dress a little more classy–opting for neat, pressed jeans and corduroys, for dressy shirts that showed off his muscle. Everything of his coordinated in the sense that didn’t match with his previous style.
Richie, tall and athletically slender and Francis large and built; their styles almost seemed to clash at times, Richie preferring comfort over style as he always had. Their friends had heard many arguments over this subject, Francis wanting him to dress more stylish while Richie refused to go that extra mile just for a few hours of ‘showing off’.
The front door was opened with a clumsy jerk of a foot (the married couple had long since learned it was futile to lock them out, and had given up on the aspect of ever being alone), Scott Gummer, AKA Shiv and Freddie Todd, AKA Ferret, hurrying into the house with their arms full of video games and controllers.
“C’mon, guys!” Shiv cried, leaping over the plain green couch with overstuffed pillows and thrusting all the contents he held onto the battered wooden coffee table.
“We were promised a whole afternoon of racing!”
“You guys are too...like, involved,” Ferret muttered, his face turning a faint red color as he struggled not to look over.
The former Bang Baby was still a little timid around others, but he managed to hold his ground with everyone. He’d shaved off all his hair one year, and left it at that; not bald, but cropped close. He was a casual drug user; he retained his thin frame through that use.
“This is our house...deal with it,” Francis managed to mutter, lifting his face from Richie’s to give them a glare, untangling himself from long limbs. “What are you doing here?”
“Games! C’mon! Games! We planned for this! Pizza should be here in five minutes!” Shiv declared, hurriedly locating the Xbox underneath the entertainment center and hooking up the appropriate wires. “Oh, by the way, you guys are paying, right? I got fired again this week.”
“‘Again’?” Richie questioned, pushing Francis off of him, straightening his shirt.“You just started Monday!”
He looked over at the Asian, who had grown a few inches since the second BB. He had filled out more, switching from the thin, athletic form that he had as a Bang Baby to a slightly chubby young man. His face was filled, the start of a double chin forming, his purple hair still retaining the wild mohawk-style that he had for years. He’d added more earrings and an eyebrow bar. The young man was fond of ring tees and extremely baggy jeans; but religiously wore DC products and went through more skateboards than he did with girls. He’d calmed slightly since the second BB, and got along nicely with both Richie’s family and Francis. Still following around in Ivan’s shadow, Shiv was more of a friendly moocher than an annoying one.
“Oh...something about no more licking the customers...I dunno. I kinda stopped paying attention after that.” Shiv shrugged as he began hooking up the controllers.
“...Licking the customers...”
“I couldn’t help it. She was cute.”
Richie rolled his eyes, sitting up straight in the chair while Francis left the living room. Seeing that Ivan was in the fridge, already drinking out of a freshly opened can of beer, he drew a hand over his face in exasperation.
The tall black man had emerged from the second BB with a slight change of attitude; though he was still a little controlling, still sullen from a hard life lived, he had calmed considerably to get along with others. In his mid-twenties, the man had gained a few inches height-wise, and still retained his previous thinness. Though he worked out from time to time, he wasn’t as built as Francis was. Nowadays, the former Bang Baby worked at an independent hip-hop record shop; selling vinyls, CD’s and other appropriate electronics. He had a side job at the Custom Auto Shop where Francis worked, where he often installed stereo-systems in creative ways similar to that on MTV’s “Pimp My Ride”. He was talented in that aspect; but he wasn’t happy with where he was.
Even though, he was always dressed in neat, pressed clothing, wearing labels from Sean John to Rockafella. His earlobes were either decorated with expensive diamond studs or his usual white gold hoops. His cornrows often varied when he had them fixed; one day they’d be curved over his skull, or artistically decorated in an array that he had tied into braided pigtails below his ears. This week was one of those fashionable designs, and while braided pigtails often looked silly on a man, they didn’t on him. He still had an intense gaze that often left one feeling either silly or unimportant, or downright scared.
Today, he was dressed in an oversized white plain tee over low hanging baggy jeans, his expensive K-Swiss shoes untied and tucked, diamonds flashing from his Rolex. Francis often commented on how he resembled a washed out rapper, to which Ivan always replied, cooly, that Francis resembled Rabbit from “8-Mile”. Ivan had learned that any reference to white trash always left the redhead feeling immensely furious; but it always cut the arguments and references to his own dressing.
When it became obvious whom Francis developed his sense of fashion from, he’d been pretty annoyed. But had let it drop when he realized how people took him differently based on his appearance.
“‘Video games’?” Francis asked, snatching a can of beer.
“Nothin’ else to do, today,” Ivan grumbled, picking at an open bag of chips on the counter. “‘Sides, Shiv said your boy’s springing for pizza.”
“Oh. You guys ain’t got homes of your own?”
“What’s wrong with your place? Ain’t like you guys ain’t done nothin’ new.”
Francis shrugged, chugging half the contents of his beer before belching in satisfaction. “Dunno. Just...you guys are always here.”
“You gotta problem with havin’ your friends over?”
“No, just–”
“Bitch holdin’ out the leash?”
“No!” Francis scoffed, giving him a dirty look. “Just...sometimes, we want some time to ourselves.”
“Don’t fuckin’ blame me for this shit, Francis,” Ivan muttered. “This wouldn’t have started if you’d just listened to me–!”
“Don’t even bring that up again! Damn!”
“It ain’t even all my thing, you–!”
Ferret stumbled in, grinning at them sheepishly. He opened the fridge and pulled out some beers, then darted out. Drawing a hand over his face once again, Francis left the kitchen, echoing Ivan’s curse of annoyance.
Ivan grabbed the chips, then another beer as he followed him out.
Richie looked at them both, frowning at their sullen expressions, but shifted closer to Shiv to allow Ivan to sit down on the couch, Francis kicking Ferret out of the overstuffed chair with all the air of a pouty child. Shrugging, the blond returned to kicking Shiv’s ass in street car racing.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Things are getting weird,” Richie admitted, tossing down his credit card, the cashier taking it with a request for ID. “I mean, last night was the first night in a while since he’s kissed me. It was a little startling, considering that it was out of no where, and it leads to making out like kids. We’ve been together for almost five years, and he suddenly springs that on me from out of no where? I was kind of expecting him to confess to something that he did wrong, or tell me that he’s going to leave me. You know how long it has been since he did that? We barely have sex anymore.”
Virgil Hawkins gave a small laugh. “Guess that would be a crime.”
“Got used to it after awhile.” Richie shrugged as he signed his name on the receipt held out, Virgil taking the full Target bags as the cashier gaped at them both. After receipts were exchanged, Richie took his ID and credit card, and the pair of them made their way to the exit.
Virgil’s physical appearance had changed as well–he’d also gained some height, and had filled out considerably. The pair were still carrying out their roles as Static and Gear, and the activity showed on both their frames. While Richie was more slender, Virgil had filled out considerably with added mass. He’d lost a great deal of baby fat as well, his face cut and defined with a sterner jaw line and narrower eyes. His features were more mature, shaping him out into a very attractive man that made heads turn.
His limbs had lengthened considerably, filling with added mass, all of it cut and defined. His dreads had grown longer, most of which he kept in a low ponytail as Virgil. His voice had deepened considerably, the bass musical and somewhat off-kilter as it served for an unnatural support for his jokes and often clueless behavior.
“You think he’s cheating?” he asked, looking down at his best friend. Richie had evened out at five foot eleven; but Virgil was nearly six foot three, and considerably forty pounds heavier. “I used to do that. Like...have a long relationship, but I never gave none because I was too busy giving it out to someone else.”
“...I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think I’d want to know.” Richie made a face, shaking his head. Of course he’d considered it. The long hours away from home...never coming home on weekends...the lack of physical and emotional expression....it was something that made his stomach turn uneasily.
“So, anyway, thanks for all this, man.”
“I didn’t know you were talking to Shenice again.”
“Yeah, well...it’s kinda complicated.” Virgil avoided his friend’s curious gaze as they walked out into the bright afternoon, Richie taking one of the bags.
“‘Complicated?’ Dude, I just spent over a hundred dollars’ worth for some infant clothes, bottles, and a ...bouncing baby chair with a stimulating aquarium musical distraction toy...don’t tell me it’s ‘complicated’. What’s Frieda got to say about it all?”
Virgil rolled his eyes, shaking his dreads. “Don’t EVEN mention it to her, man. After bursting into tears and exclaiming that I don’t love her anymore, that she isn’t carrying my child it’s really my father’s, she then went into nesting mode and wouldn’t talk to me all day.”
Richie had to laugh as they paused at the white Impala that Virgil owned. Opening the trunk, both men thrust their full bags into the open space, and separated to get into the front seats.
“Here, I thought you were the good boy of us all, V,” Richie murmured as he pulled the seatbelt on. “I thought I was shocking...but you’re the one with two different women and having kids around the same month...”
Virgil sighed, shaking his head again. He started the car, the engine humming smoothly with the air conditioner already blasting to disperse the heat of Dakota’s summer. He had bought the car a year before, after he’d graduated from college and had worked a steady job for the last two years. He was quite proud of it, and had even gotten his sullen brother-in-law to install a kick ass system that made his car thud with the bass of his music. His glove compartment was filled with tickets for ‘disturbing the peace’. “Yeah...me too, man. I thought that, too.”
“I guess we all got a little bad in us, huh V?”
“By the way, my married chump–what about you? You ever want kids?”
“Well...yeah. But...” Richie shrugged his shoulders, slipping his ID and credit card into his worn leather wallet. “That’s not something I really consider right at the moment, y’know? I mean, I think I would love to...but not right away.”
“You guys ever talk about it?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I do? Just...not right now.”
“Adopt?”
“Yeah. Most likely. The idea of having a surrogate is kinda freaky to me. I don’t care if my or Francis’ sperm is used, it’s just–not settling with me.”
“You were always too fuckin’ jealous for your own good.”
“Not jealous, V, just a little possessive...or is that the same thing?”
“I’d say. You springing for food?”
“Yeah, but I gotta stop at a Chinese food joint...how about Juan’s?”
“Why you gotta stop there?”
“Shiv, Dominic, and Freddie are still there.”
“Don’t they have homes of their own?”
“We’re the only ones that still have electricity up and runnin’.” Richie shrugged, pulling out a fist full of bills from his pocket. “They give me money–I don’t ask where they got it from.”
“We live in a crazy world, Rich. A really crazy world.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Virgil’s havin’ another kid?” Francis exclaimed, blinking repeatedly as he lowered the electric razor. “He didn’t have the first one, yet!”
He had just finished showering, standing at the sink with a towel wrapped around his waist. He had plans to go out with clients that night, and Richie was keeping him company in the bathroom. He’d gotten used to having the blond sitting nearby, talking to him as he went through the motions of taking a shower and shaving afterward. And, in a way, it ensured them some private time with each other. Even as they spoke, they heard the moochers out in the living room, continuing with their video games.
“With who?”
“Y’know Shenice? Vale? Shebang?” Richie frowned as he tried to picture how that came about. They’d parted on civil terms, but how civil had turned into a night of passion made him wonder.
He looked over at his husband with a thoughtful expression, and promptly lost the train. Francis kept his muscular form by working out when he got the time, using the weight-lifting system out in the garage. His shoulders were broad, muscular; his arms were thick with defined strength, flexing and bunching with even the simplest of movements, veins like ropes twining around his forearms and biceps. His eyes traced the visible lines of muscle on his back; flitted from the freckles dotting his shoulders to the golden blonde hairs on his arms. Appreciated the strong curves of his ass, the thick muscular thighs and built calves.
“Fuckin’ a...what a ho.” Going back to shaving, Francis frowned at his reflection. He then shifted his eyes to look over at his husband, who was fiddling with a bottle of lotion as he sat on the toilet seat. “You ain’t think about that? About havin’...kids?”
“V asked that, too. I dunno. Sometimes. But...it’s not really that important. I’m not ready for that. And I think we both aren’t ready.” Richie shrugged, not looking at him. “It’s not that important...and if it gets to be, I’ll just offer to baby sit. That should settle whatever craving I might get.”
Francis frowned, and made a shuddering motion. “I don’t like kids,” he grunted, reaching up to touch his face, checking for stubble. Satisfied, he set the razor aside and began washing his face. “How much you spend today?”
“Sheesh, who are you? Nick Lachey?”
“You want me to go there, Jess?”
It had been a joke, started by Shiv, that the two were an odd version of Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. While Richie had pulled Shiv into a headlock and yanked on his earrings as punishment, Francis had commented that the blond resembled the ditzy singer in particular ways. Francis had slept on the couch for a week until he managed to convince Richie that he’d only been joking.
“Fine...around a hundred and twenty.”
“GODDAMN–!”
“For the baby!”
“Virgil has a fuckin’ job! He can support hisself and his brats! Goddammit, Richie! You take some of that stuff back!”
“I AM NOT TAKING BACK MY GIFTS FOR HIS...uh, CHILDREN!” Richie roared, rising from the toilet. “Besides, it’s all covered. I get paid this week.”
“We don’t have that sorta money to spend! I told you to fuckin’ save! Quit fuckin’ spendin’ all our money on stupid shit all the time!”
“I’m savin’, I’m savin’,” Richie muttered as he walked out from the bathroom, into the bedroom. “Besides, it’s not like I’m the ONLY one spending on my friends!”
Francis rolled his eyes, slapping his hands on the sides of the sink. “DON’T EVEN START!”
“You’re the one starting things...”
Francis finished washing his face, then examined his reflection. Approving, he reached over for the tube of hair gel, and squirted some into his hands. He spent several minutes swiping the product through his red and bleached gold hair, adjusting this and that until he was satisfied. He then rummaged through the medicine cabinet for his spray-on deodorant and cologne. After applying both, he left the bathroom, hearing Richie shriek at Shiv over something in the living room. Hearing Shiv’s own shrieking reply, he had to shake his head.
Never, in a million years, had he ever imagined himself ever getting domesticated. Settling down. He never thought he’d find himself in a cozy one story house with his husband; never thought he’d be the type to consider finances, to juggle bills, to work a nine-to-five, to be too tired at night to have sex. But here he was...with a ring around his finger and bawling his younger husband out for spending too much money on his best friend’s illegitimate kid.
The thought of kids made him shift uncomfortably.
He walked out into the bedroom, and snatched up the white fitting tee that he had on the bed. He pulled that on, and then shucked off his towel, dressing in a pair of briefs and a pair of slacks. He was just tying the laces of his polished black leather shoes when Ivan walked in.
“GODDAMN!” both shouted in dismay, looking at each other’s clothing.
“I fuckin’ TOLD you I’m wearing this!” Francis shouted angrily, kicking off his shoe.
“You did no such thing!” Ivan snapped at him, looking down at his own black fitting tee and white slacks. “And you gotta change, cuz I ain’t goin’ out lookin’ like this with you!”
“I’M NOT CHANGING!”
“Then get the fuck out and let me grab somethin’ from your place.”
“YOU–! Fine. Look in Rich’s closet. Cuz I ain’t sharin’.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Stone. Get out.”
Grumbling at being kicked out from his own bedroom, Francis walked down the short hall to see Shiv and Richie engaged in mortal combat, video controllers strewn about and cords being used to wrap around necks.
“You two knock it off,” Francis commanded, giving a disgusted look at the cluttered living room. “Shiv, you ever goin’ home?”
“Not until I win. Where you goin’?” the purple haired former Bang Baby asked curiously as he unwrapped himself, Richie kicking him off the couch to resume playing.
“He’s got a hot date,” Richie muttered sullenly. “Looking to divorce me and play with other boys.”
Francis rolled his eyes once more. “Ivan’s lookin’ in your closet. And don’t be givin’ me shit. I told you where I’m goin’.”
“MY closet?” Richie dropped the controller and ran off toward the bedroom, shouting that he was coming in.
Shiv reclaimed the couch as Francis pulled on his watch. He took in the former Bang Baby’s attire, inhaled deep of the thick, musky cologne. Wiggling his eyebrows, Shiv said, “Ivan told me what’s up. You think you can keep getting away with it?”
“Like you’re someone to talk to me about shit.”
“He’s gonna find out one day. Then what?”
“I can handle him. Shut up about it.”
“It’s kinda sad, Francis. You give all these vows about being faithful and shit–”
“Shut up!”
“–and here you are, goin’ out NOT to have dinner with clients; but to fuck around with some cheap ho. Cut it out, man. It ain’t right.”
“Man...shut up. It’s nothin’. ‘Sides, it’s nothin’ new. He’s prolly doin’ the same thing behind my back.”
“With who?” Shiv exclaimed, eyes wide as he looked away from the television set. “You think so? I always thought there was a sneaky connection between him and the pizza guy.”
Francis thought of the attractive, tall and almost willowy boy that often delivered pizza to their house. Frowned as he then realized that Richie was always the first to pay, and that they spent entirely too much time exchanging change and pizzas...then he shook his head.
“He ain’t like that,” he then said with confidence, shrugging. But he had to frown again as he thought of Richie flirting with the pizza boy. “You gonna be here all night?’
“Yeah...”
“Then don’t order any pizza.”
“Right on.”
Meanwhile, Ivan frowned at the black tee that was being held out against his chest.
“This one goes good with those slacks,” Richie said, tossing that over his shoulder.
The open, wooden slate closet door revealed what t-shirts, pullovers and dress-up shirts that he had. It was small, but fit what he owned. The single shelf was fitted with a former wooden shoe rack, but was currently shelved with folded jeans and other pants wear. Down the bar hung Francis’ shirts; stacked neatly just below the shirts were the rack that held their shoes.
Ivan stared at his choices with a distasteful expression. Richie’s clothes were either horridly plain or horridly casual. Everything was worn and laundered to a faded color.
“Here! This one will fit you!”
“Don’t you have any GOOD clothes? This is all...casual bullshit.”
“No...I mean, a few, but...I don’t go out all the time like you guys. Here...this shirt I got him over a month ago, and he didn’t even wear it.” Richie pulled out a dark blue, three quarter sleeve shirt and held it up to Ivan’s frame. The black man immediately pushed it away with a look of disgust. “Okay, fine. I bought myself a shirt that I haven’t worn yet. What’s so wrong with it?”
“Ever wonder that about Teletubbies?”
“...Um...how does that fit a shirt...?”
“It. Just. Is.”
Richie shrugged, and tossed it over his shoulder.
It was still a toss-up on whether or not he was completely comfortable with the former Bang Baby. They’d been enemies since the Big Bang; for Richie, it was twice that factor. Ivan was on the straight and narrow, and didn’t aspire to be the criminal he once was, but with his history and their past, it was almost difficult to completely relax. Ivan hadn’t mentioned their past, working only on paving through with his future, but his interaction with Richie was often limited despite their common link with Francis. Ivan spoke to him only when spoken to, and Richie often found it hard to take on a subject that Ivan would relate to. He tried, though, because Ivan was a big part of his life because of his link with Francis. But it was just so odd talking to someone that had kidnaped him or was in the throes of taking him against his will.
He reached out to pull a light pink polo from the closet. “Real men wear pink. I honestly don’t know who’s this is...it can’t be mine. I don’t wear polos...”
Ivan snorted, not even deigning it another glance. Richie tossed that over his shoulder as well, a wide grin on his face. He pulled out a light gray sweater-shirt with a single dark gray stripe across the chest and arms. Ivan looked over with interest, and Richie held it out. Taking it, Ivan pulled it on. It was a snug fit, but it brought out the width of his shoulders and his trim waist. Richie reached out to pluck the tag from the neckline, then smoothed the sleeves with Ivan giving him a withering expression.
“There! That’s good. But...hmm. Maybe a different belt?”
“I’m fine.” Ivan looked at himself in the full length mirror nearby, refusing to admit that it was strategically placed in view of the bed. Examining and approving of what he saw, he had to frown as Richie continued to examine him with a critical eye.
“Wait...why are you going with him, anyway?” Richie asked curiously. “It’s his clients.”
“Just...somethin’ to do. Quit buggin’.”
“I’m not...it’s just...the third Friday in a row, an’...I dunno. I guess I have every right to be a little suspicious.”
“It ain’t like you’re going out, either, right? You just said you don’t do it. He’s the type that goes out.”
“Yeah, I know, but...since when did he need cologne to appeal to his clients?” Richie asked with a low tone, his face settling with an annoyed expression. He turned, walking suddenly into the bathroom to rummage around in there.
Ivan found that he was threading on dangerous grounds, and shrugged. He lifted the sweater-shirt to smell the newness of it, and frowned. Richie walked out, handing over a bottle of cologne. Not the one Francis was wearing, but a different bottle. Giving him an annoyed look, Ivan took the bottle and spritzed on the scent without really testing it first.
“It’s new,” Richie said mournfully, watching him apply it. “He only wore it once.”
Ivan wondered why as he caught the scent. It was rather nice. He looked at the bottle, adjusting his diamond studs with his other hand. “‘Black’. Huh. Appropriate.”
Richie laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Only you would take it that way, Ivan.”
Walking out, he headed into the living room, hearing Ivan mutter about racist wives. Ignoring the comment, he saw that Shiv and Francis were engaged in quiet conversation near the door. Shiv saw him and immediately bursted out with something about tortilla chips making the salad better. Deciding that he didn’t want to know what was so secretive, he touched his husband’s waist and kissed his cheek soundly. Francis gave an embarrassed tug of his head.
“Aw...what’s it like to be owned, Francis?” Shiv then asked curiously. He ducked the throw pillow that flew his way. “I’m just asking!”
“I don’t own anybody!”
“I ain’t owned,” Francis muttered in disgust. “Let’s GO, Ivan! Shit...”
Ivan walked out from the hall, pulling at the sleeves of the sweater-shirt, and frowned at him. His face registered his annoyance for a few moments. “You in a hurry?”
“We’re supposed to meet them at eight. It’s eight fifteen.”
Ivan looked at his watch, then shrugged. He gave Shiv a warning look, then followed after Francis.
Once the door closed, Richie blinked, his lips thinning for a few moments as untold thoughts fluttered through his mind. He looked over at Shiv, who gave him a weak grin, then hurried back to the couch to start playing again.
Disclaimer: Dudes...if you’ve followed my fics, you’ll have realized by now that I do not own SS or anything else involved. If I had, I’d be rolling around in riches and writing cartoon eppies for shows, like, I don’t know...Totally Spies! XD Just kidding. I wouldn’t torture you like that. O_OI DO NOT OWN STATIC OR ANY OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARAS!!SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS. Means scene break
Chapter One:
So Much For My Happy Ending
The pair of them were so in love that it made everyone sick.
Almost a year after the second Big Bang, they were making eyebrows rise. Francis Stone, AKA Hotstreak and geeky, unnoticeable Richard Foley were often seen together throughout Dakota. As Hotstreak’s friends gaped and looked on in stunned shock, Richie’s friends were looking at him in horror and fright. The two complete opposites disregarded all that was being said or flung at them; their happiness was reflective in their hand holding, their constant touching, their bright, sunny smiles...
And when it all came down to it, those closest to them could easily complain of the sudden surge of dental visits...
No one truly knew how they’d gotten together. How they had overcome stereotypes to fall in love. Suddenly...one day...it just was.
At first, they had a lot of objections; all of them ranging from You’re Gay? to How Could You?.
After their initial acceptance and for the fact that friendship circles reluctantly began to acknowledge each other–oh, how Virgil Hawkins threw a fit when he realized he had to be friends with the MetaBreed and the Meta Men–oh, how Ivan Evans, AKA Ebon, threw a tantrum upon having to be friends with his little brother’s girlfriend’s family for another reason–things began to progress from there. Almost six months from the coming out of the pair of them, they slapped their friends with another shocker: Hotstreak had proposed to Richie, and Richie had accepted.
The next time they were seen, both were sporting wedding bands and already talking about securing a small house on the east end of Dakota.
It was determined that the pair, according to their friends and families, were destined for a sickeningly sweet future together.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Five years had passed since their “I dos” at the courthouse in downtown Dakota. The law had recently been passed in favor of gay marriages, and theirs had been one of the hundreds that had occurred since that favor. Since then, Dakota had grown larger, the threat of Bang Babies were very minimal due to the cure that was constantly spread throughout the population via air and water, and life, as it seemed, was calm.
Letting himself into the one story, two bedroom house, Ivan Evans sullenly regarded the overstuffed easy chair that comfortably fit two people with a grunt. He saw two pairs of legs hanging over the edge of one arm, and heard the unmistakable sounds of kissing. He rolled his eyes, and slammed the door hard behind him, ignoring the protests outside.
It had taken awhile–but Ebon and Hotstreak, after that night of being combined, had come to terms with each other. Once where they’d regarded each other as scum, they now looked at each other on meager terms of civility. They had been combined that night; enough to instill the other’s thoughts, insecurities, strengths and weaknesses into their own mind sets. They still retained their individual needs; but they often caught themselves mirroring the other’s movements or thoughts.
When Ebon and Hotstreak were found by lingering authorities near the dock area where the second Big Bang had happened, considerably miserable and mirroring each other’s movements to an exact pinpoint, they were sent to a rehabilitation center focused on Bang Babies and served six months each for their crimes. Of course, this light sentence was protested, but things had died down since then. Hotstreak and Ebon became Francis Stone and Ivan Evans once more, the pair taking their given names and re-designing their lives like all the other former Bang Babies.
One would think they would separate, force themselves far away from the other just to feel themselves again. But the link prevented that. As much as it bothered them, they often found themselves engrossed in mirroring feelings and thoughts, spending hours together in uncomfortable relation.
After the second Big Bang, the city and the former metas had come to terms with each other. Many charges were loose or let go of altogether, insanity blamed on the gas’s effects. Though there was still a bad seed or two within those that were finally settling down, the aftereffects of their crimes were minimal.
When Hotstreak had fallen in love and he and Richie had begun openly displaying their status, their friends had been reluctant.
As a result, Richie had come to accept the former bad metas as they had to accept his family, and Virgil and his family. It had been hard at first; getting to know one’s enemy and having them turn into a civil acquaintance had been an interesting experience. Ivan still proved stubborn and sullen from time to time when he was forced to acknowledge Virgil and his brother, and Francis still hated it when Ivan tried to boss him around.
But it had grown so that everyone was comfortable with each other in a sense of understanding. The blond had stopped looking at the group as menaces and had started seeing them as playful acquaintances; all with their individual needs and worries, their lives just as insecure and hopeful as his.
“You guys decent? For once?” Ivan asked, scowling as he made a beeline to the kitchen. His only response was one of Richie’s legs curling around Francis’ waist. He made a shake of his head, removing his sunglasses.
As time passed since the second Big Bang, so did their appearances. Richard Foley had always been a little on the short side, scrawny, with a messy appearance. But in the past five years, he’d grown a few inches, filling out in the shoulders and upper chest, developing sterner lines around his jaw and cheek area. He’d lost most of his baby fat, leaving behind a thinner nose, smaller, rounded eyes, and had faint dimples whenever he smiled. His blond hair had been trimmed with slightly longer sideburns, with long bangs that he kept swept to the left side of his face, the back trimmed very short at the nape. He still wore glasses, this pair thin and oval, and he’d pierced the other ear as well, wearing a pair of small diamond studs that had been a Christmas present from Francis over a year ago. Attractive in the ‘cute’ sense, he still had a baby-faced expression.
With his height gain, that put him an inch taller than Francis; something that the redhead secretly resented.
The redhead himself stayed at five foot ten; it appeared his growing spurts were over with. But along the way, he’d gained more muscle in the chest and shoulder areas, making him larger, his body filled with a sort of strength gained from strenuous workouts. He’d left his hairstyle the way it was, but had let his sideburns touch the curves of his jaw, letting it thicken so that the strip of hair closed off his features. He kept his soul patch under his lower lip, letting that dip into a goatee that he kept meticulously trimmed. He’d lost a great majority of his baby fat as well, but had retained a great deal of his thickness from muscle. After the rehab and time served, he’d learned to dress a little more classy–opting for neat, pressed jeans and corduroys, for dressy shirts that showed off his muscle. Everything of his coordinated in the sense that didn’t match with his previous style.
Richie, tall and athletically slender and Francis large and built; their styles almost seemed to clash at times, Richie preferring comfort over style as he always had. Their friends had heard many arguments over this subject, Francis wanting him to dress more stylish while Richie refused to go that extra mile just for a few hours of ‘showing off’.
The front door was opened with a clumsy jerk of a foot (the married couple had long since learned it was futile to lock them out, and had given up on the aspect of ever being alone), Scott Gummer, AKA Shiv and Freddie Todd, AKA Ferret, hurrying into the house with their arms full of video games and controllers.
“C’mon, guys!” Shiv cried, leaping over the plain green couch with overstuffed pillows and thrusting all the contents he held onto the battered wooden coffee table.
“We were promised a whole afternoon of racing!”
“You guys are too...like, involved,” Ferret muttered, his face turning a faint red color as he struggled not to look over.
The former Bang Baby was still a little timid around others, but he managed to hold his ground with everyone. He’d shaved off all his hair one year, and left it at that; not bald, but cropped close. He was a casual drug user; he retained his thin frame through that use.
“This is our house...deal with it,” Francis managed to mutter, lifting his face from Richie’s to give them a glare, untangling himself from long limbs. “What are you doing here?”
“Games! C’mon! Games! We planned for this! Pizza should be here in five minutes!” Shiv declared, hurriedly locating the Xbox underneath the entertainment center and hooking up the appropriate wires. “Oh, by the way, you guys are paying, right? I got fired again this week.”
“‘Again’?” Richie questioned, pushing Francis off of him, straightening his shirt.“You just started Monday!”
He looked over at the Asian, who had grown a few inches since the second BB. He had filled out more, switching from the thin, athletic form that he had as a Bang Baby to a slightly chubby young man. His face was filled, the start of a double chin forming, his purple hair still retaining the wild mohawk-style that he had for years. He’d added more earrings and an eyebrow bar. The young man was fond of ring tees and extremely baggy jeans; but religiously wore DC products and went through more skateboards than he did with girls. He’d calmed slightly since the second BB, and got along nicely with both Richie’s family and Francis. Still following around in Ivan’s shadow, Shiv was more of a friendly moocher than an annoying one.
“Oh...something about no more licking the customers...I dunno. I kinda stopped paying attention after that.” Shiv shrugged as he began hooking up the controllers.
“...Licking the customers...”
“I couldn’t help it. She was cute.”
Richie rolled his eyes, sitting up straight in the chair while Francis left the living room. Seeing that Ivan was in the fridge, already drinking out of a freshly opened can of beer, he drew a hand over his face in exasperation.
The tall black man had emerged from the second BB with a slight change of attitude; though he was still a little controlling, still sullen from a hard life lived, he had calmed considerably to get along with others. In his mid-twenties, the man had gained a few inches height-wise, and still retained his previous thinness. Though he worked out from time to time, he wasn’t as built as Francis was. Nowadays, the former Bang Baby worked at an independent hip-hop record shop; selling vinyls, CD’s and other appropriate electronics. He had a side job at the Custom Auto Shop where Francis worked, where he often installed stereo-systems in creative ways similar to that on MTV’s “Pimp My Ride”. He was talented in that aspect; but he wasn’t happy with where he was.
Even though, he was always dressed in neat, pressed clothing, wearing labels from Sean John to Rockafella. His earlobes were either decorated with expensive diamond studs or his usual white gold hoops. His cornrows often varied when he had them fixed; one day they’d be curved over his skull, or artistically decorated in an array that he had tied into braided pigtails below his ears. This week was one of those fashionable designs, and while braided pigtails often looked silly on a man, they didn’t on him. He still had an intense gaze that often left one feeling either silly or unimportant, or downright scared.
Today, he was dressed in an oversized white plain tee over low hanging baggy jeans, his expensive K-Swiss shoes untied and tucked, diamonds flashing from his Rolex. Francis often commented on how he resembled a washed out rapper, to which Ivan always replied, cooly, that Francis resembled Rabbit from “8-Mile”. Ivan had learned that any reference to white trash always left the redhead feeling immensely furious; but it always cut the arguments and references to his own dressing.
When it became obvious whom Francis developed his sense of fashion from, he’d been pretty annoyed. But had let it drop when he realized how people took him differently based on his appearance.
“‘Video games’?” Francis asked, snatching a can of beer.
“Nothin’ else to do, today,” Ivan grumbled, picking at an open bag of chips on the counter. “‘Sides, Shiv said your boy’s springing for pizza.”
“Oh. You guys ain’t got homes of your own?”
“What’s wrong with your place? Ain’t like you guys ain’t done nothin’ new.”
Francis shrugged, chugging half the contents of his beer before belching in satisfaction. “Dunno. Just...you guys are always here.”
“You gotta problem with havin’ your friends over?”
“No, just–”
“Bitch holdin’ out the leash?”
“No!” Francis scoffed, giving him a dirty look. “Just...sometimes, we want some time to ourselves.”
“Don’t fuckin’ blame me for this shit, Francis,” Ivan muttered. “This wouldn’t have started if you’d just listened to me–!”
“Don’t even bring that up again! Damn!”
“It ain’t even all my thing, you–!”
Ferret stumbled in, grinning at them sheepishly. He opened the fridge and pulled out some beers, then darted out. Drawing a hand over his face once again, Francis left the kitchen, echoing Ivan’s curse of annoyance.
Ivan grabbed the chips, then another beer as he followed him out.
Richie looked at them both, frowning at their sullen expressions, but shifted closer to Shiv to allow Ivan to sit down on the couch, Francis kicking Ferret out of the overstuffed chair with all the air of a pouty child. Shrugging, the blond returned to kicking Shiv’s ass in street car racing.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Things are getting weird,” Richie admitted, tossing down his credit card, the cashier taking it with a request for ID. “I mean, last night was the first night in a while since he’s kissed me. It was a little startling, considering that it was out of no where, and it leads to making out like kids. We’ve been together for almost five years, and he suddenly springs that on me from out of no where? I was kind of expecting him to confess to something that he did wrong, or tell me that he’s going to leave me. You know how long it has been since he did that? We barely have sex anymore.”
Virgil Hawkins gave a small laugh. “Guess that would be a crime.”
“Got used to it after awhile.” Richie shrugged as he signed his name on the receipt held out, Virgil taking the full Target bags as the cashier gaped at them both. After receipts were exchanged, Richie took his ID and credit card, and the pair of them made their way to the exit.
Virgil’s physical appearance had changed as well–he’d also gained some height, and had filled out considerably. The pair were still carrying out their roles as Static and Gear, and the activity showed on both their frames. While Richie was more slender, Virgil had filled out considerably with added mass. He’d lost a great deal of baby fat as well, his face cut and defined with a sterner jaw line and narrower eyes. His features were more mature, shaping him out into a very attractive man that made heads turn.
His limbs had lengthened considerably, filling with added mass, all of it cut and defined. His dreads had grown longer, most of which he kept in a low ponytail as Virgil. His voice had deepened considerably, the bass musical and somewhat off-kilter as it served for an unnatural support for his jokes and often clueless behavior.
“You think he’s cheating?” he asked, looking down at his best friend. Richie had evened out at five foot eleven; but Virgil was nearly six foot three, and considerably forty pounds heavier. “I used to do that. Like...have a long relationship, but I never gave none because I was too busy giving it out to someone else.”
“...I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t think I’d want to know.” Richie made a face, shaking his head. Of course he’d considered it. The long hours away from home...never coming home on weekends...the lack of physical and emotional expression....it was something that made his stomach turn uneasily.
“So, anyway, thanks for all this, man.”
“I didn’t know you were talking to Shenice again.”
“Yeah, well...it’s kinda complicated.” Virgil avoided his friend’s curious gaze as they walked out into the bright afternoon, Richie taking one of the bags.
“‘Complicated?’ Dude, I just spent over a hundred dollars’ worth for some infant clothes, bottles, and a ...bouncing baby chair with a stimulating aquarium musical distraction toy...don’t tell me it’s ‘complicated’. What’s Frieda got to say about it all?”
Virgil rolled his eyes, shaking his dreads. “Don’t EVEN mention it to her, man. After bursting into tears and exclaiming that I don’t love her anymore, that she isn’t carrying my child it’s really my father’s, she then went into nesting mode and wouldn’t talk to me all day.”
Richie had to laugh as they paused at the white Impala that Virgil owned. Opening the trunk, both men thrust their full bags into the open space, and separated to get into the front seats.
“Here, I thought you were the good boy of us all, V,” Richie murmured as he pulled the seatbelt on. “I thought I was shocking...but you’re the one with two different women and having kids around the same month...”
Virgil sighed, shaking his head again. He started the car, the engine humming smoothly with the air conditioner already blasting to disperse the heat of Dakota’s summer. He had bought the car a year before, after he’d graduated from college and had worked a steady job for the last two years. He was quite proud of it, and had even gotten his sullen brother-in-law to install a kick ass system that made his car thud with the bass of his music. His glove compartment was filled with tickets for ‘disturbing the peace’. “Yeah...me too, man. I thought that, too.”
“I guess we all got a little bad in us, huh V?”
“By the way, my married chump–what about you? You ever want kids?”
“Well...yeah. But...” Richie shrugged his shoulders, slipping his ID and credit card into his worn leather wallet. “That’s not something I really consider right at the moment, y’know? I mean, I think I would love to...but not right away.”
“You guys ever talk about it?”
“No. Not really. I mean, I do? Just...not right now.”
“Adopt?”
“Yeah. Most likely. The idea of having a surrogate is kinda freaky to me. I don’t care if my or Francis’ sperm is used, it’s just–not settling with me.”
“You were always too fuckin’ jealous for your own good.”
“Not jealous, V, just a little possessive...or is that the same thing?”
“I’d say. You springing for food?”
“Yeah, but I gotta stop at a Chinese food joint...how about Juan’s?”
“Why you gotta stop there?”
“Shiv, Dominic, and Freddie are still there.”
“Don’t they have homes of their own?”
“We’re the only ones that still have electricity up and runnin’.” Richie shrugged, pulling out a fist full of bills from his pocket. “They give me money–I don’t ask where they got it from.”
“We live in a crazy world, Rich. A really crazy world.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Virgil’s havin’ another kid?” Francis exclaimed, blinking repeatedly as he lowered the electric razor. “He didn’t have the first one, yet!”
He had just finished showering, standing at the sink with a towel wrapped around his waist. He had plans to go out with clients that night, and Richie was keeping him company in the bathroom. He’d gotten used to having the blond sitting nearby, talking to him as he went through the motions of taking a shower and shaving afterward. And, in a way, it ensured them some private time with each other. Even as they spoke, they heard the moochers out in the living room, continuing with their video games.
“With who?”
“Y’know Shenice? Vale? Shebang?” Richie frowned as he tried to picture how that came about. They’d parted on civil terms, but how civil had turned into a night of passion made him wonder.
He looked over at his husband with a thoughtful expression, and promptly lost the train. Francis kept his muscular form by working out when he got the time, using the weight-lifting system out in the garage. His shoulders were broad, muscular; his arms were thick with defined strength, flexing and bunching with even the simplest of movements, veins like ropes twining around his forearms and biceps. His eyes traced the visible lines of muscle on his back; flitted from the freckles dotting his shoulders to the golden blonde hairs on his arms. Appreciated the strong curves of his ass, the thick muscular thighs and built calves.
“Fuckin’ a...what a ho.” Going back to shaving, Francis frowned at his reflection. He then shifted his eyes to look over at his husband, who was fiddling with a bottle of lotion as he sat on the toilet seat. “You ain’t think about that? About havin’...kids?”
“V asked that, too. I dunno. Sometimes. But...it’s not really that important. I’m not ready for that. And I think we both aren’t ready.” Richie shrugged, not looking at him. “It’s not that important...and if it gets to be, I’ll just offer to baby sit. That should settle whatever craving I might get.”
Francis frowned, and made a shuddering motion. “I don’t like kids,” he grunted, reaching up to touch his face, checking for stubble. Satisfied, he set the razor aside and began washing his face. “How much you spend today?”
“Sheesh, who are you? Nick Lachey?”
“You want me to go there, Jess?”
It had been a joke, started by Shiv, that the two were an odd version of Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson. While Richie had pulled Shiv into a headlock and yanked on his earrings as punishment, Francis had commented that the blond resembled the ditzy singer in particular ways. Francis had slept on the couch for a week until he managed to convince Richie that he’d only been joking.
“Fine...around a hundred and twenty.”
“GODDAMN–!”
“For the baby!”
“Virgil has a fuckin’ job! He can support hisself and his brats! Goddammit, Richie! You take some of that stuff back!”
“I AM NOT TAKING BACK MY GIFTS FOR HIS...uh, CHILDREN!” Richie roared, rising from the toilet. “Besides, it’s all covered. I get paid this week.”
“We don’t have that sorta money to spend! I told you to fuckin’ save! Quit fuckin’ spendin’ all our money on stupid shit all the time!”
“I’m savin’, I’m savin’,” Richie muttered as he walked out from the bathroom, into the bedroom. “Besides, it’s not like I’m the ONLY one spending on my friends!”
Francis rolled his eyes, slapping his hands on the sides of the sink. “DON’T EVEN START!”
“You’re the one starting things...”
Francis finished washing his face, then examined his reflection. Approving, he reached over for the tube of hair gel, and squirted some into his hands. He spent several minutes swiping the product through his red and bleached gold hair, adjusting this and that until he was satisfied. He then rummaged through the medicine cabinet for his spray-on deodorant and cologne. After applying both, he left the bathroom, hearing Richie shriek at Shiv over something in the living room. Hearing Shiv’s own shrieking reply, he had to shake his head.
Never, in a million years, had he ever imagined himself ever getting domesticated. Settling down. He never thought he’d find himself in a cozy one story house with his husband; never thought he’d be the type to consider finances, to juggle bills, to work a nine-to-five, to be too tired at night to have sex. But here he was...with a ring around his finger and bawling his younger husband out for spending too much money on his best friend’s illegitimate kid.
The thought of kids made him shift uncomfortably.
He walked out into the bedroom, and snatched up the white fitting tee that he had on the bed. He pulled that on, and then shucked off his towel, dressing in a pair of briefs and a pair of slacks. He was just tying the laces of his polished black leather shoes when Ivan walked in.
“GODDAMN!” both shouted in dismay, looking at each other’s clothing.
“I fuckin’ TOLD you I’m wearing this!” Francis shouted angrily, kicking off his shoe.
“You did no such thing!” Ivan snapped at him, looking down at his own black fitting tee and white slacks. “And you gotta change, cuz I ain’t goin’ out lookin’ like this with you!”
“I’M NOT CHANGING!”
“Then get the fuck out and let me grab somethin’ from your place.”
“YOU–! Fine. Look in Rich’s closet. Cuz I ain’t sharin’.”
“Don’t be a bitch, Stone. Get out.”
Grumbling at being kicked out from his own bedroom, Francis walked down the short hall to see Shiv and Richie engaged in mortal combat, video controllers strewn about and cords being used to wrap around necks.
“You two knock it off,” Francis commanded, giving a disgusted look at the cluttered living room. “Shiv, you ever goin’ home?”
“Not until I win. Where you goin’?” the purple haired former Bang Baby asked curiously as he unwrapped himself, Richie kicking him off the couch to resume playing.
“He’s got a hot date,” Richie muttered sullenly. “Looking to divorce me and play with other boys.”
Francis rolled his eyes once more. “Ivan’s lookin’ in your closet. And don’t be givin’ me shit. I told you where I’m goin’.”
“MY closet?” Richie dropped the controller and ran off toward the bedroom, shouting that he was coming in.
Shiv reclaimed the couch as Francis pulled on his watch. He took in the former Bang Baby’s attire, inhaled deep of the thick, musky cologne. Wiggling his eyebrows, Shiv said, “Ivan told me what’s up. You think you can keep getting away with it?”
“Like you’re someone to talk to me about shit.”
“He’s gonna find out one day. Then what?”
“I can handle him. Shut up about it.”
“It’s kinda sad, Francis. You give all these vows about being faithful and shit–”
“Shut up!”
“–and here you are, goin’ out NOT to have dinner with clients; but to fuck around with some cheap ho. Cut it out, man. It ain’t right.”
“Man...shut up. It’s nothin’. ‘Sides, it’s nothin’ new. He’s prolly doin’ the same thing behind my back.”
“With who?” Shiv exclaimed, eyes wide as he looked away from the television set. “You think so? I always thought there was a sneaky connection between him and the pizza guy.”
Francis thought of the attractive, tall and almost willowy boy that often delivered pizza to their house. Frowned as he then realized that Richie was always the first to pay, and that they spent entirely too much time exchanging change and pizzas...then he shook his head.
“He ain’t like that,” he then said with confidence, shrugging. But he had to frown again as he thought of Richie flirting with the pizza boy. “You gonna be here all night?’
“Yeah...”
“Then don’t order any pizza.”
“Right on.”
Meanwhile, Ivan frowned at the black tee that was being held out against his chest.
“This one goes good with those slacks,” Richie said, tossing that over his shoulder.
The open, wooden slate closet door revealed what t-shirts, pullovers and dress-up shirts that he had. It was small, but fit what he owned. The single shelf was fitted with a former wooden shoe rack, but was currently shelved with folded jeans and other pants wear. Down the bar hung Francis’ shirts; stacked neatly just below the shirts were the rack that held their shoes.
Ivan stared at his choices with a distasteful expression. Richie’s clothes were either horridly plain or horridly casual. Everything was worn and laundered to a faded color.
“Here! This one will fit you!”
“Don’t you have any GOOD clothes? This is all...casual bullshit.”
“No...I mean, a few, but...I don’t go out all the time like you guys. Here...this shirt I got him over a month ago, and he didn’t even wear it.” Richie pulled out a dark blue, three quarter sleeve shirt and held it up to Ivan’s frame. The black man immediately pushed it away with a look of disgust. “Okay, fine. I bought myself a shirt that I haven’t worn yet. What’s so wrong with it?”
“Ever wonder that about Teletubbies?”
“...Um...how does that fit a shirt...?”
“It. Just. Is.”
Richie shrugged, and tossed it over his shoulder.
It was still a toss-up on whether or not he was completely comfortable with the former Bang Baby. They’d been enemies since the Big Bang; for Richie, it was twice that factor. Ivan was on the straight and narrow, and didn’t aspire to be the criminal he once was, but with his history and their past, it was almost difficult to completely relax. Ivan hadn’t mentioned their past, working only on paving through with his future, but his interaction with Richie was often limited despite their common link with Francis. Ivan spoke to him only when spoken to, and Richie often found it hard to take on a subject that Ivan would relate to. He tried, though, because Ivan was a big part of his life because of his link with Francis. But it was just so odd talking to someone that had kidnaped him or was in the throes of taking him against his will.
He reached out to pull a light pink polo from the closet. “Real men wear pink. I honestly don’t know who’s this is...it can’t be mine. I don’t wear polos...”
Ivan snorted, not even deigning it another glance. Richie tossed that over his shoulder as well, a wide grin on his face. He pulled out a light gray sweater-shirt with a single dark gray stripe across the chest and arms. Ivan looked over with interest, and Richie held it out. Taking it, Ivan pulled it on. It was a snug fit, but it brought out the width of his shoulders and his trim waist. Richie reached out to pluck the tag from the neckline, then smoothed the sleeves with Ivan giving him a withering expression.
“There! That’s good. But...hmm. Maybe a different belt?”
“I’m fine.” Ivan looked at himself in the full length mirror nearby, refusing to admit that it was strategically placed in view of the bed. Examining and approving of what he saw, he had to frown as Richie continued to examine him with a critical eye.
“Wait...why are you going with him, anyway?” Richie asked curiously. “It’s his clients.”
“Just...somethin’ to do. Quit buggin’.”
“I’m not...it’s just...the third Friday in a row, an’...I dunno. I guess I have every right to be a little suspicious.”
“It ain’t like you’re going out, either, right? You just said you don’t do it. He’s the type that goes out.”
“Yeah, I know, but...since when did he need cologne to appeal to his clients?” Richie asked with a low tone, his face settling with an annoyed expression. He turned, walking suddenly into the bathroom to rummage around in there.
Ivan found that he was threading on dangerous grounds, and shrugged. He lifted the sweater-shirt to smell the newness of it, and frowned. Richie walked out, handing over a bottle of cologne. Not the one Francis was wearing, but a different bottle. Giving him an annoyed look, Ivan took the bottle and spritzed on the scent without really testing it first.
“It’s new,” Richie said mournfully, watching him apply it. “He only wore it once.”
Ivan wondered why as he caught the scent. It was rather nice. He looked at the bottle, adjusting his diamond studs with his other hand. “‘Black’. Huh. Appropriate.”
Richie laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Only you would take it that way, Ivan.”
Walking out, he headed into the living room, hearing Ivan mutter about racist wives. Ignoring the comment, he saw that Shiv and Francis were engaged in quiet conversation near the door. Shiv saw him and immediately bursted out with something about tortilla chips making the salad better. Deciding that he didn’t want to know what was so secretive, he touched his husband’s waist and kissed his cheek soundly. Francis gave an embarrassed tug of his head.
“Aw...what’s it like to be owned, Francis?” Shiv then asked curiously. He ducked the throw pillow that flew his way. “I’m just asking!”
“I don’t own anybody!”
“I ain’t owned,” Francis muttered in disgust. “Let’s GO, Ivan! Shit...”
Ivan walked out from the hall, pulling at the sleeves of the sweater-shirt, and frowned at him. His face registered his annoyance for a few moments. “You in a hurry?”
“We’re supposed to meet them at eight. It’s eight fifteen.”
Ivan looked at his watch, then shrugged. He gave Shiv a warning look, then followed after Francis.
Once the door closed, Richie blinked, his lips thinning for a few moments as untold thoughts fluttered through his mind. He looked over at Shiv, who gave him a weak grin, then hurried back to the couch to start playing again.