Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ All This Time You Were Pretending ( Chapter 4 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Who names themselves 'Cube'?!
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.18.2005 | Updated On: 10.25.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 495 | Status: Completed
Who names themselves 'Cube'?!
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.18.2005 | Updated On: 10.25.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 495 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC OR ANY OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARAS!!
Chapter Four:
All This Time You Were Pretending
Francis watched Richie follow him into the room, shutting the door behind them, and locking it. His narrow eyes searched for anything out of place on his young husband–but he noted that Richie looked as he always had. Wearing casual clothing, loosely tied Converses, wedding band, diamond studs...Richie didn’t give one that impression he was slightly effeminate.
He didn’t talk in a high pitched lisp, nor made those obvious limp wrist and hand gestures. But it was in the scent of his perfume (Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue, something that just went heavenly on him), the way he nibbled on his bottom lip nervously, the way his body shifted from that way to this under Francis’ scrutinizing gaze.
But then again, maybe it was just something Francis noticed on his own. Many of those who met Richie for the first time never realized he was gay unless he said something. In all stereotypes considered, he didn’t have thin wrists; he wasn’t sickly thin; he didn’t wear makeup nor did he dress in a way that made him obvious. He was masculine, and there was an athletic appeal to him that had even the women performing double takes, their eyes taking in his muscular arms, the tempting ass that looked best in low slung, worn jeans–he grunted as he realized that his thoughts were wandering off-course.
He loved this man; definitely. He loved being close to him, loved being able to go to sleep with him at night and waking up next to him in the morning. He loved picking out random gifts (whether it was a simple sweater shirt–and he wondered why he was always on his case for dressing casually– or something utterly casual, like a candy bar), he loved being affectionate with him, he loved knowing that Richie loved him in the same sense.
It had been the showering of attention, of giving and loving without expectations that had drawn Francis to him. Not lately, but Francis couldn’t stand knowing that Richie could easily do the same to someone else. It didn’t matter that he’d been unfaithful numerous of times. All that mattered was that, in the end, he was still coming home to Richie.
But, he’d also noticed that he hadn’t been putting in the same efforts as he had when they were starting out. He didn’t give affection as freely, and he’d noticed his steady reluctance to even try for the same level of things they’d had when their relationship started. Even if he was comfortable where he was, he just felt too lazy to take up where he’d stopped. He’d gotten the boy; he had a ring around his finger; what more needed to be done?
“Where were you?” he asked quietly, staring at him with an intense gaze. Looking for the telltale shifting that would tell him of his husband’s lies.
“With Virgil,” Richie replied, not taking his eyes from his. His eyes moved briefly over his head, then focused on him. “All day and night. We caught a late movie. I’m sorry. Did you want me here earlier?”
“Why wasn’t your cellphone on?”
“I didn’t charge it. Look.” Richie gestured with his chin at the top of the dresser. Amidst their scent bottles, wallets and spare change, Francis saw the cell with the connecting charger. “I wasn’t aware that I had a leash on me, Francis. Weren’t you complaining about that the other night?”
“I don’t like it when you go out and stay out this late, Rich. There’s no reason for you to do that.”
“Oh, and you can stay out until nine Monday morning? That’s not fair.”
“There’s no reason for you to be out this late.”
“Are you my father, now? That’s gross, Francis.”
“There’s NO reason for you to be out this late. I want you home, baby, with me. I don’t like it when you’re out there.”
“It's not fair when you get to stay out, and then turn around and say that I can't. You’re too controlling, Francis. Ease up. I was with Virgil. There’s no reason to get all freaky,” Richie muttered, kicking off his socks and shoes, then sweeping them toward the closet.
“‘Controlling’? You want me to be controlling? I can be controlling...all I ask is that you’re home when you’re supposed to be.”
“Sheesh, want me to sign on the dotted line for that one? In that aspect, Francis, you should be doing the same thing. You’ve been going out a lot. Almost every Friday this month, and you never come home until after work Monday. What am I supposed to do? What to think? It’s like you’re not home, or you don’t want to go out with me, anymore.”
“I work hard, Rich. When I wanna relax with friends, that’s what I’m going to do. What do you do? You don’t put in the same hours as I do. You’re not doing strenuous work like I do...”
“Painting cars with fake flames is ‘strenuous’?”
“I do more than that, Rich.”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Francis. I’m sorry I came home late. I should have called. But it shouldn’t be such a big deal,” Richie said, grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull it up and over his head. Folding that, he tossed it aside as he gave Francis a frown. He then unbuckled his belt, and undid his jeans, lowering them. He kicked them aside, and Francis found himself running his eyes over the tight body before him; the displayed abs, the strong calves, the sweet way his naval seemed to dip with a reflexive reaction to the temperature in the room.
The redhead also couldn’t help but notice long, tapered fingers that idly smoothed over pale skin where hip met side. The tantalizing way they smoothed over his hip, over the leg of his boxers and underneath the hem to scratch at a spot that hiked up material. Displaying well defined muscle and golden blond hairs that caught the dim lighting of the room.
“Please don’t make it into a big deal. Come to bed?”
“...I’m not tired, yet. An’ we still got guys here...” He couldn’t look away from the exposed flesh, the way the thigh muscles flexed as Richie shifted to take off his watch and glasses, setting them aside.
“They’ll go home on their own, Francis. Come to bed. I’m tired.”
“I’m not tired.” He watched Richie’s fingers shift up to his collarbone, scratching lightly at the soft skin behind the jutting bone. He hadn’t realized he was licking his lips until he noted the sudden dryness in his mouth.
“Then lay with me. Lay with me until I go to sleep.”
“Nah...I’m going to go back outside. Have a few more drinks. I can relax now that I know you’re home.”
“Think someone’s going to steal me away, Francis?” Richie asked, grinning at him crookedly.
“...Kinda.”
Richie shook his head. But he didn’t take his eyes away from Francis’, nor did his smile disappear. He walked over to Francis, to wrap his arms around his neck, pressing his body firmly against his. He kissed his cheek, and took his time doing so. Knowing exactly what he had to do to take his husband’s mind off things, he gently bit the thick muscle of his neck, his hands moving down Francis’ shoulders. He felt the tightening of his lover’s body, the way muscles seemed to ripple against his. The feel of his hard pectorals against his, strong and defined, gave a definite twitch when his hands coursed from his arms to hold gently at his sides.
He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly where to touch to draw Francis’ attention, how to display what had been so carefully crafted from working out and from his patrolling as Gear. He’d seen the way Francis seemed to lose all that hot air of his the moment he’d started submitting, and started displaying skin. He never seemed to focus very well on that aspect.
“Well, have fun out there, ‘k? And don’t keep the neighbors up, or they’ll complain, again.”
“Yeah. ‘K.” Francis searched out his lips, then paused. He leaned in to sniff deeply of his blond’s hair, his neck. He gave him a stormy glare. “What’s that smell on you?”
“Huh? Smell?” Richie sniffed himself, then made a face. “Ooh. I need a shower. I guess I didn’t shower good after working out.”
“That isn’t any cologne I know.”
“Oh, GOD, STOP!” Richie growled, pushing away from him, having his arm caught when Francis reached out for him. “Stop! You’re just so paranoid! I was wrestling with Shiv, earlier. And one of those guys bumped into me, too.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, Francis. That’s all.” He shifted, to hold up his hand, displaying his wedding bang. The diamonds that glittered within the white gold setting seemed to blink as he wiggled his finger. “I take this seriously. I belong to you. You’re the only one that touches me. I love you, but you can be so damn controlling.”
“...I just don’t like it when you’re gone. For...at night. Things...could happen out there. Just come home when you realize how late it’s getting?”
“I love it when you’re so concerned and protective, Francis. You love me, don’t you?”
“...Yes. Yes, I do. I’m just lookin’ out for you, Rich. I want you to be safe. I want to protect you. I can’t do that when you’re gone, when you’re far away from me. There are people out there that will use you to get to me if they figure things out. Y’know...old enemies and stuff.” Francis’ hands swept over his back, touching the muscle that twitched under his touch. His fingers automatically found the twin dimples just below the waistband of his boxers. Recognized the jolting press Richie gave as one of his hotspots were caressed.
Lips traveled over his cheek, to his ear, the shell licked and pulled between lips. “You sure you’re tired, Francis? I can make you tired. I want you to come to bed with me...”
The waistband was slowly rolled downwards, to display the top halves of his ass, that sensitive spot at the start of his crevice stroked with knowing fingers. Francis felt his stomach tighten as he caressed that spot, feeling the way Richie’s hips rolled against his, his fingers moving up to entangle into his hair. Francis lowered his head, to taste the slightly salty flesh of Richie’s shoulder, inhaling of his scent, but frowning at the other that wasn’t part of his usual combination of smells. It was enough to turn him off, so he straightened Richie’s boxers and pulled away, the blond giving a startled exclamation after being denied.
“God, you’re such a fucking dick,” Richie muttered, stomping into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Francis considered his words, then shrugged. He reached out for the cellphone charging atop of the dresser, and activated it. Scrolling through the day’s incoming calls, he noted that all were familiar with reasonable excuse, and set it aside so that it could finish charging. He then left the room at hearing the sounds of Richie taking a shower, a smug smirk on his face.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
That Wednesday, Ivan frowned at the two that were taking up the couch space. Letting himself in without knocking, Ivan paused just outside the doorway as he stared at them. Both of them were dressed in the same fashion as last time; dark, extremely baggy...the one that spoke up the most was wearing a do-rag underneath a billed cap that sat sideways atop of his head. Both of them were playing Shiv’s video-games, and neither seemed to care when he appeared. Ivan scowled at them, then looked around the house. Neither Francis or Richie was home; Francis was working overtime (for real, this time, he’d been assured) and Richie worked til nine on weekdays.
The front door was never locked, anyway. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, these two strangers were in a house they weren’t supposed to be in.
“What you two up to?” he asked coolly, with a scowl as he noted the empty cans of soda nearby. The obvious mess of a day well spent on the game console.
“Someone know you’re here?”
“They let us in, man. You here all the time?” the first one asked.
“What’s your name, dog?”
“Name’s Tyson. This here’s Cube. We all cool, man. Just hangin’ out. F-Stop said he was going to show us stuff on Cube’s car.”
Francis was ‘F-Stop’ to those that weren’t his close friends. Taking up the old name made him feel better in that he wasn’t addressed as a sissy or a pansy; even if he’d married a cute boy.
“That right? Well, he ain’t gonna be back til later.”
“We’ll just hang out ‘til then.”
“You’ll just come back when he’s here,” Ivan snapped. “Get on out of here. They don’t like it when their shit’s all in a mess. Pick up your shit and come back when either he or–or his roommate’s here.”
“Sorry, man. Hey, we’re sorry. We just thought he’d be back. Look, we’ll clean up. Can you just tell him we’ll be back?” Tyson asked as both he and Cube rose from the couch. Cube began picking up their mess while Tyson grabbed his single can from the coffee table.
“Yeah. Just pick up your shit. And don’t come on in here when there ain’t no one here.”
“Sorry, man. We’re sorry. Later.”
Ivan watched as they picked up their mess, and straightened up the area. After they had left, Ivan shook his head. They had been much too forward, much too eager–he thought they were very young. Maybe sixteen, maybe seventeen. But they already wore the strain of a hard life lived; he could tell by the set of their eyes, the sort of meanness associated with what they had to grow up, with.
He looked around the area, noting the picture frames and such that speckled the area. There weren’t any pictures of the couple together–no, those were safely tucked away, hidden where newcomers wouldn’t immediately suspect the real story of the couple that lived here. Francis was smart in that aspect; covering both himself and protecting his husband that way. Ivan knew of several people at the top of his head that had definite designs of interfering with Francis’ happiness. They had enemies. Either made from the Big Bang, or from before. It was realistic to know that shit could still happen, even if they had served their time.
He wandered down the hall, and opened the door of their bedroom. He was instantly hit with the combined smells of Richie’s perfume and that of an air freshener that constantly emitted a sort of crisp scent. He took in the made king-sized bed, the fact that this room was immaculate. The silence of the house drowned him, then; his thoughts zoned as he took in the curtains that were half drawn, the blinds opened half way.
He looked at the print of the comforter, the worn carpet of the walkway throughout the room. He noted the open closet, the fact that a sweater was half-heartedly hanging onto a hangar. Without thinking, he walked in, to straighten that sweater, realizing that it was Richie’s. He shut the slated door with a low curse, then turned to look over at the bathroom. It was in the same state as the bedroom, but there was a clean, soapy scent that wafted from its open door.
He took several steps in that direction, and inhaled deeply of a mixture of scents that he associated with cleanliness. He smelled his ‘brother’, the minty touch of toothpaste and mouthwash, the telltale waft of hair gel and the comforting scent of recently used soap. The color designs in there were a mixture of maroon and deep blue; the rug just outside the shower stall was thick and comfortable. The towels were tossed over the shower curtain bar rather than the set of towel racks nearby.
On the sink was a blue toothbrush, which seemed to have escaped the rack that three others sat on.
He turned away from the bathroom, his eyes taking in the scent bottle atop of the dresser. He saw the black Ralph Lauren cologne that Richie had given to him for use last Friday. Polo Black...he had liked the scent, and he’d gotten many compliments on it, that night. He took the bottle, and spritzed some upon his dark shirt, his dark jeans. He faintly wondered why Francis didn’t like it as he set it aside, scowling at the brand Francis had used since his teens. He picked up the clear bottle and sniffed it, though he already knew what it smelled like.
It was something that wasn’t Francis at all; once, he’d imagined him wearing something classic, something thick, like Stetson or even Polo. Not something like ‘Tommy’. It felt mismatched and fruity...but in that aspect, it was probably best...He set that down, then looked at the last bottle.
He picked up the light gold bottle, Dolce and Gabbana labeled distinctly on the front. He recognized it as he brought it to his nose, inhaling the crisp, light scent. It felt odd to know that another male wore this. Something that was customarily pitched toward women. But it fit. Like pieces of a puzzle, it just fit to know that Richie wore it. He couldn’t picture a masculine scent on the blond; even if he carried well toned muscle, even if he were able to throw Shiv around like it was nothing.
To know that he wore the feminine scent sent a curl of desire into his stomach, and he set the bottle down, shaking his head. Quickly, before he found himself delving into other aspects, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
He walked down the hall, straightening his shirt, catching the previous scent on it. He reached up to straighten his hoops, then frowned as he caught sight of the time. He heard the car horn blast impatiently outside, his driver having only expected him to retrieve a CD he’d left previously; not go through other people’s things. Smirking, he hit the fridge and grabbed a soda, then left the house after a thorough glance around the area he could see.
Walking toward the car with the complaining passengers, he pulled his hands-free set from his pocket, and sped-dialed a number as he adjusted the ear plug.
Climbing into the car, getting settled as the driver complained about the time he took, he waited for Francis to answer.
“Hey,” he barked, opening his soda, “you talkin’ to those kids? Tyson an’...fuckin’ Cube?”
“What kids?”
“Just left your house, man. And those two kids from the other night were all in there. Says you were going to look over Cube’s car.”
“I haven’t said shit! What the fuck? Who was there?”
“No one but them. Parked out on your couch all day.”
“Where the fuck’s Shiv?”
“Sucka, that bitch finally got a job!” Ivan gave a very rare bark of laughter. The driver was startled out of his complaints, shooting him a look while the other passengers quieted with widened eyes. “Down at the mall. He started today.”
“Fuck...just when he came in handy. You kick ‘em out?”
“Yeah. They went home.”
“...Rich there?”
“No.”
“...They say anything about him?”
“Fucker, stop bein’ all paranoid. They was waiting for you!”
“What for?”
“I told you already. Anyway, I’m going to cut. Better start locking shit up, Stone. You don’t want that bullshit if those kids get around.”
“Yeah...you gonna come over tonight?”
“No. Got other things to do.”
“Fine. See ya, bitch.”
“Later, ho.” Ivan disconnected the call, then eyed the driver suspiciously. “You takin’ me to my brother’s house, right?”
“I’m all good, man.”
Ivan grunted in reply, shifting in his seat. Leaning his head back against his seat, he stared up at the ceiling. Adam had requested to see him again. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Last Saturday night, Adam had asked if he’d like to work with him. Work detail with this rising group of rap stars that were building their rep in Dakota before hitting the bigger cities. Ivan had never been interested in that aspect, but money made him curious. He had lived poor before; lived the streets without having the security and comfort the green brought him, so it was always a considering choice for him whenever something was brought to his attention.
But he hadn’t wanted to work for his brother; to be something that Adam could easily control. It had been insulting and downright sneaky, and Ivan had told him so. That had resulted in an argument that had left Ivan feeling as if he’d been cheap shot. It wasn’t supposed to work that way. Adam wasn’t supposed to be the one watching out for him, taking care of him. That had been his job as the older brother.
Now, Adam wanted to talk to him again. To apologize, he’d said over the phone. Ivan hadn’t cared. He was trying to keep himself from being sucked in to that drama scene, but when his little brother called, he couldn’t seem to resist. No matter how angry he was. Perhaps it was just a sort of paternal instinct, some instinctive need to bend over backwards to resume his old role. Whichever, it was very frustrating.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Shiv was grinning by the time Ivan arrived back at the house that night, via taxi, the Asian excitedly tossing his controller away from him. Richie gave a startled sound as it bounced off his head, Ivan taking his time to walk up the tattered lawn to the front porch. The black man wasn’t expecting to be glomped quite thoroughly as Shiv launched himself at him. Giving a vivid curse, Ivan hit the ground on his back while Shiv laughed in that maniacal way he had.
“I GOTTA JOB!” he about shrieked, settling his weight atop of Ivan’s chest. “Can ya believe it? A JOB! I also get paid this week, too, so I can pay you back for that hooker the other day...”
Ivan shoved him off, storming to his feet as Shiv ran circles around him. Then, with an exaggerated show of running out of breath, palms on his knees as Ivan brushed himself off.
“You got grass stains on me, Shiv, and I’m going to rip you apart–!” Ivan snarled, examining his clothes for telltale stains.
“But...I gotta job. And you just had to know. Cuz...y’know...you were the wind beneath my wings, Ivan.”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “I know you gotta job. You called and told me this morning!”
“Oh...I did? Oh yeah! I did! My bad. Never mind...”
Ivan hurled a clump of grass after him to show him what he thought of ‘never mind’...
Walking into the house, he watched Shiv resume his seat atop of a floor pillow on the other side of the coffee table, and noted that Tyson and Cube were back–with friends, this time. One of them looked to be fifteen. Scowling, Ivan shook his head as he looked over into the kitchen, seeing Tyson toss a basketball from hand to hand while he spoke and watched Richie rummage through the cabinets.
Ivan looked around for Francis, seeing that the glass sliding door was opened, and Francis was out there, laughing and talking loudly with a couple of others guys he couldn’t see very well. He looked back at the kitchen scene with another scowl, noting the way Tyson constantly licked his lips, the way his expression bespoke of interest. He shuddered very noticeably, unable to understand the teen’s sudden infatuation with the blond.
While he understood Francis’ point of view perfectly, he just could not with another’s. He moved away from the area, and walked outside, Francis lifting his chin in greeting.
“Go get a beer,” Ivan said, gesturing inside. “I’m going to light up.”
“You want one? Wait a minute, why didn’t you just get one yourself?”
“Just do it.”
Francis rolled his eyes and walked inside, Ivan turning to look at the two that he’d been speaking with.
“What’s up?” he asked casually, taking a seat on one of the chairs.
“Hey, Evans. Heard your boy was workin’ on Cube’s car?” one of them asked, blinking in curious fashion. At least this one was old enough to buy alcohol. “You work on the side?”
“I work where I’m supposed to.”
“I wanna amp up my system. Did you see the Toyota outside?”
“That black one with the rims? Thought it was some chick’s car.”
“Nah, man, that’s all mine. Wondered if you could look at it. See what I could be spending on if I wanted a new system. Somethin’ that would be rattlin’ my teeth out.”
“Hit the shop, then. I don’t do anything outside.”
“Ah, c’mon, man! I’m right here! Just peek in there a bit.”
“I’m tired of that bullshit, nigger. Don’t be hounding me about stuff I don’t wanna do.”
“Sorry, sorry. Sheesh. Your boy said he’d look at my car. Why don’t you go with him when he does?”
“...NO.”
The guy held his hands up in surrender, his friend snickering as he looked from one to another. He looked at Ivan as he lit up.
“You just as crabby as they say, man,” he muttered as he walked off, Ivan frowning after him.
Francis walked out at that moment, holding two cans of beers. He passed one over. “That kid talk to you?”
“Yeah. Sucka’s gotta realize that when I ain’t being clocked, I ain’t doin’ shit.”
“Might bring more business.”
“Fuck that shit. They read the papers. They watch tv. They can come from that. But I ain’t doing shit that I ain’t being paid for.”
Francis chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you go and see your brother? What’s he want, anyway?”
“Wants to hire me. I ain’t pulling that bullshit. Workin’ for him. Fuck that shit.”
Both of them realized they were holding their cans in the same position, jiggling the same nervous knee. As they put more distance between them, as if that would make them stop mimicking the others’ movements, Richie poked his head out through the open door.
“I’m heading over to V’s!” he then called, hurrying off before Francis could move to stop him. As it were, the redhead started inside, barking his name, but watching the front door slam shut as he exited.
Ivan shook his head. He was so tempted to reach out and slap Francis over the head for his behavior. He was behaving much too desperately, disparagingly possessive. He felt a warm flush of frustrated anger warm his insides, and decided he needed a cigarette. As he pulled one, that resistance crumbled, and he slapped Francis upside his gelled head.
“OW!”
“You need to stop frontin’ like that,” Ivan snapped.
“...Just don’t fuckin’ like it when he takes off like that.”
“You gotta stop being so fuckin’ dependent on that trick! Where’s your girl, at?”
“Don’t gotta girl.”
“Call her up. See if we can go out this week. And have her bring her friend.”
“...The one with the skirt?”
“No, stupid. The one with the ‘rows. Can’t resist a girl with ‘rows.”
“The tall one? She’s like, ten feet tall!”
“I like all them legs. Plus she was giving me shit. I like the bitches that talk back.”
“...You and your bitches. I don’t wanna see–what’s her name? Anyway, I don’t wanna see her. But I’ll tell her to bring her. Man, this chick called me today. You remember some girl named Terren?”
“No. Like I keep a list of all your bitches...”
“I can’t even remember what she looks like. Says she has to talk to me. I don’t wanna talk to her. If I can’t remember her, the fuckin’ was probably bad, anyway.”
“What she want?”
“Said she wants to talk to me! I just said that. Don’t you listen?”
“What she wanna talk to you ABOUT?”
“I dunno. Just that she wanted to see me about something. Fuck it. I don’t know.”
“...She know where you live?”
“No. Bitches don’t come around here. I make sure of that.”
“...What you tell them?”
“That I got a bitch. ‘Course, that all weeds them out. ‘Ew, I don’t want that drama!’ ‘I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!’” Francis mimicked in a high pitched falsetto.
“One day, he’s gonna find out,” Ivan said, his chin thrusting in the direction of the house.
“He won’t believe it. Just gotta tell him a few things.”
“...See? Why you act this way, then expect him to act another?”
“It’s just different. That’s all. He can’t be doing that shit. He’s stupid. He’ll fuck it all up, make a mistake. You know what? I probably wouldn’t care if he found someone else to mess with... I think as long as he came back home every night, it’s okay.”
Ivan barked out harsh laughter. “You wouldn’t think that way, you fuckin’ dick! You’d be ripping him apart! I know what you’re like, Stone. You wouldn’t take it that easily. You’d fuck him up, then go after the one he’s been fuckin’ with!”
“...Nah, I–”
“Shut the fuck up, Stone. I ain’t hearin’ that. You say one thing, and do another. You ain’t gonna do shit. If he’s fuckin’ on you, you’re gonna be all heartbroken. Like one of them bitches on tv.”
“No I won’t–! Fine. FINE! If he is messin’ around, I’ll be...really...pissed.” Francis shrugged. “Doesn’t mean that I have to stop, though. It’s all right with me. Cuz I can get away with it. Plus, I won’t lie. I love him. I’d do anything for him. But I need somethin’ on the side to keep me going, since things aren’t, like, the same, anymore.”
Ivan snorted, shaking his head. He stared up at the night sky, of what he could see of the stars due to the light pollution. He heard Shiv’s excited screams and crows from inside, the bass of the other boys’ laughter.
“So...wanna look at that car?”
“...Nope.”
“Fuck it. I’m going to get it over with. Hey, let that guy know. I’m going around front.”
Ivan nodded, watching as Francis took the stairs down to the rock pathway, then poked his head through the open sliding door.
“He’s gonna look at your car, man,” he said. He didn’t care who he was addressing. At that, though, all the boys he was unfamiliar with got up from their various places and left through the front door, leaving Shiv on his lonesome. Ivan scowled at him. “You! You gotta home!”
“Yeah...actually...I’m going to get a ride with one of these guys. You need one?”
“...No.”
“And you talk shit about me!” Shiv scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Shut it, busta.” Ivan shut the door, hearing the faint laughter and voices that wafted from the front of the house.
The summer wasn’t that hot–night temperatures usually fell around the sixties, and it was cool enough for him to relax comfortably with as he finished off his cigarette. Staring up at the light polluted skies, he lost himself in thought once more.
He heard the coming and going of vehicles, the raucous laughter from within the house, Shiv’s final scream of “goodbye!”
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d last talked to Francis, but the night had darkened, and everything fell silent. He hadn’t moved much; just shifted position here and there, until he finally glanced at his wristwatch, noting that it was nearly one thirty. The house’s lights were still on; someone was still up, or the lights were on and everyone was still out. Sighing heavily, he figured on passing out on the couch for the night (he was welcome to do so, with no questions asked), so he rose from his chair, dusting off his pants. He walked inside, noting that just the tv was running, muted. He took over on the couch, and snagged the remote. Flipping through the channels, he found an interesting skin flick, and watched that.
He had just gotten ready to shut the tv off when the front door opened quietly, and he looked over to watch Richie walk into the house, quiet as a mouse. Unaware that he was there, the blond shut the door just as quietly, carrying what looked to be a duffle bag, his hair flat and stringy–as if he’d been wearing a baseball cap all evening. It was apparent that his sneaking around was designed so that Francis wouldn’t know–and judging from his actions, he’d perfected the art a long time ago.
Ivan raised his eyebrows and waited to be noticed, but the blond had his back to him the entire time as he crept out from the living room and into the garage with nary a sound.
Ivan snorted, and pillowed his head on one arm along the armrest. He stared at the quiet television set, watching the flicker of whatever channel he’d landed on, and heard the sharp click of a lock down the hall. Lifting his head, he listened for anymore sounds... but heard none. He got up from the couch and turned everything off, finally settling for sleep.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Where’d you creep in from, the other day?”
The question startled Richie, forcing him to drop his cup of soda on the counter. He hadn’t realized that Ivan had been there until he started to speak. Cursing, he picked up his cup and grabbed a nearby wash rag. He’d thought he’d been home alone, with Francis out with some newfound friends. He hadn’t known Ivan was still at the house, and wondered where he’d been all this time.
“‘Creep’? I wasn’t creeping,” he finally stammered, giving him a puzzled look. He then caught the waft of cologne, the telltale smell of Polo Black. He sniffed it approvingly, giving him a small, complimentary smile. "That stuff smells good on you, Ivan. You can have it."
Ivan ignored that. “The other night. Wednesday.”
“Oh...Oh! I was out with V. What, Francis has you doing his work, now?” Richie asked with a frown, giving Ivan a dirty look. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. What’s with all the suspicion?”
“You came in, creeping like you were up to no good.”
“...I didn’t want to wake anybody up. Good grief. You’re just as bad as he is.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“The very same thing I told you. I never knew that what I did was any of interest to you, Ivan,” Richie then said, setting the cup aside. He tossed the wet rag into the sink. He gave him a lifted eyebrow and a sly smirk. “Changing your mind lately?”
Ivan’s scowl was just dark enough to make him grimace, and blush in reaction. As he turned his back to him, rummaging carelessly through the cupboard for a certain brand of chips that he wanted, he could feel Ivan’s eyes baring into the back of his head.
“Don’t even play those games on me, Foley,” Ivan muttered low. “You may get away with it with everyone else, but I know what you’re doing.”
That was enough to make Richie turn, giving him a confused look. “What ‘games’? I don’t play games with anybody...”
“You play games, you fuckin’ cracker. You play them both with your man, and with that kid that comes around here.”
“Oh my god, you’re preposterous! I don’t play games with anybody! I don’t know what’s up your ass, Ivan, but I’ve done nothing to anybody. You’re just looking for a fight, or an excuse to cause trouble like you always do,” Richie snapped at him, growing heated underneath that hard gaze. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them nervously on his pants. “Don’t start it with me. And don’t be telling Francis any lies about me!”
“Francis knows you’re up to no-good. And I know you’re up to no-good.”
“...That link of yours?” Richie managed to meet that darkened gaze, unintimidated at this point. He knew how much it pained both men to be linked. To feel and know the others’ feelings. Seeing as Ivan was obviously going off of that, he leaned against the counter, arms crossing in front of him. “Whatever happened to thinking on your own, Ivan? Can’t do it? You gotta run off Francis’ like a bitch?”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed, and his lips parted slightly with a low growl. There was a flutter of excitement that coursed through Richie’s body, tingling throughout his muscles and thoughts as he faced Ivan with a slight smirk.
“You’re not my keeper, Ivan. Yes, I’m married, but I am my own individual. Too bad the same can’t be said for both of you, huh?”
Ivan’s hand snaked out, and Richie was thankful for his sharpened reflexes that took him out of his reach, sliding down the counter as Ivan turned to face him.
“You keep talking shit, boy. Keep talkin’ that shit,” Ivan snarled fiercely, growing fiercely agitated the more his fury started building.
“Don’t be angry, Ivan,” Richie murmured, turning his back to him, to rummage through the junk drawer with no real intent. Something that he knew pissed Ivan off, because it also pissed Francis off when he did that. Something about being dismissed, their needs and wants ignored, disrespected... “Maybe one day you’ll lose that connection. And find me just as unimportant as I was before. You’re spending waaaay too much time thinking about me, Ivan. What would Francis say about that?”
Ivan glared hotly at the back of his neck, his fists bunched at his thighs. He was oblivious to anything other than the blond, his breathing short as he struggled not to fall prey to those words. He licked his lips, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed. He watched as Richie turned, to give him one of those smug little looks he had when instigating a situation. He’d seen him do it a few times to Francis, something that he knew drove the redhead up the wall.
“Nothing to say?” Richie spoke softly, as if keeping his voice lowered pushed more at Ivan’s buttons.
And perhaps they did. Because they ghosted over his belly like a forbidden touch, his senses sharpened by his fury. He could smell him, now; that mixture of perfume, of his own masculine scent. He felt blood rush to his head then, roaring through his ears. Felt his arms jolt with a twitch that made his fingers clench and relax.
But he wasn’t about to let this boy, no matter how important he was to anybody, push him around this way.
Richie turned to face him, corner of his mouth still curled in that sly manner that rearranged his pleasant features. He saw that Ivan had nothing to say; it was exciting and uplifting to know that he’d gotten the upper hand. Licking his bottom lip with a slow perusal as he searched for something else to say, he felt a slight tightening of his gut as he watched Ivan’s burning gaze drop from his own eyes to the action.
Some tingle of excitement raced through him, then, realizing that he’d caught Ivan’s attention. Burning curiosity had him pushing for more, to see just how far he could take this. To know just how much of him Ivan really wanted.
He pulled his tongue back into his mouth; his upper teeth sank gently into that moistened lip. He watched as Ivan struggled to lift his gaze, the action obvious by the storm in his eyes. The way his lips tightened at the corners. Richie removed his teeth from his lip, licking once more at his bottom lip, then flicking slightly at the top, the wet sounds of his mouth audible with the action. He was fully aware of the tension; the way the air seemed to tingle with awareness on both their parts.
He then lowered his head, turning away to draw his hand down one thigh, smoothing the material over. Drawing attention to his crotch by pulling his fingers deliberately over the area to fumble with his belt buckle. There was an almost physical feel of Ivan’s snapping point; the black man moved before he could complete the action, his fingers curling around his biceps in a rather painful grip.
Richie found himself shoved hard against the counter, Ivan almost in his face as he twisted his arm behind his back.
“You cheap trick,” Ivan snarled low, his breath on Richie’s chin, the blond giving a pained grunt as he pressed a palm against his chest, trying to put some space between them. “You don’t fuck with me. You don’t fuck with my brain. I’m not one of those fucking idiots that let you pull this shit. You understand that? You don’t fuck with me that way.”
Richie felt pained, shifting to try and alleviate the pain that raced up his arm and shoulder. His legs spread to try and shift away from Ivan’s crowding position. But at this point, regaining his thoughts, he looked at Ivan with an even expression, then curled his lips into a smirk once more.
He brought his hand, the one settled on Ivan’s chest, down in a deliberate caress over the black man’s stomach. He felt the flutter of his muscles, the rapid jerk as Ivan shoved himself away from him, ultimately releasing him. Not looking away from him, Richie continued to smirk as he brought his arm out from behind him, rubbing it vaguely with the other.
Ivan stared at him with contempt in his eyes, his lips tightening for an instant then evening out once more.
Richie lifted an eyebrow, still not looking away as his upper teeth sank briefly into his bottom lip, the pain rubbed out from his shoulder. “Go and tell Francis, Ivan. Go tell him what I did. You’re just as guilty as I am.”
Ivan didn’t blink for the longest time as he stood there, staring at him in silence; but he stiffened noticeably as he started to pick apart the entire situation from start to finish. With noticeable effort, he drew himself back; but his fists were balled tight, knuckles prominent and neck tense as he shifted further away from Richie. Still, as his nostrils flared, that blood still thundering throughout his head, he could smell him. Could feel his own skin tingling with sensation from where Richie had touched him.
Francis’ reaction to him, he justified. Just feeling Francis’ usual reaction to him.
But as unconvincing as it was, he felt his spine stiffen as he turned, to march out of the kitchen.
All that time, he could feel Richie’s eyes on him , and it made his stomach quiver. For his palms to tingle where he’d grabbed him. Cursing, he grabbed his keys and made sure to slam the door hard on his way out.
Chapter Four:
All This Time You Were Pretending
Francis watched Richie follow him into the room, shutting the door behind them, and locking it. His narrow eyes searched for anything out of place on his young husband–but he noted that Richie looked as he always had. Wearing casual clothing, loosely tied Converses, wedding band, diamond studs...Richie didn’t give one that impression he was slightly effeminate.
He didn’t talk in a high pitched lisp, nor made those obvious limp wrist and hand gestures. But it was in the scent of his perfume (Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue, something that just went heavenly on him), the way he nibbled on his bottom lip nervously, the way his body shifted from that way to this under Francis’ scrutinizing gaze.
But then again, maybe it was just something Francis noticed on his own. Many of those who met Richie for the first time never realized he was gay unless he said something. In all stereotypes considered, he didn’t have thin wrists; he wasn’t sickly thin; he didn’t wear makeup nor did he dress in a way that made him obvious. He was masculine, and there was an athletic appeal to him that had even the women performing double takes, their eyes taking in his muscular arms, the tempting ass that looked best in low slung, worn jeans–he grunted as he realized that his thoughts were wandering off-course.
He loved this man; definitely. He loved being close to him, loved being able to go to sleep with him at night and waking up next to him in the morning. He loved picking out random gifts (whether it was a simple sweater shirt–and he wondered why he was always on his case for dressing casually– or something utterly casual, like a candy bar), he loved being affectionate with him, he loved knowing that Richie loved him in the same sense.
It had been the showering of attention, of giving and loving without expectations that had drawn Francis to him. Not lately, but Francis couldn’t stand knowing that Richie could easily do the same to someone else. It didn’t matter that he’d been unfaithful numerous of times. All that mattered was that, in the end, he was still coming home to Richie.
But, he’d also noticed that he hadn’t been putting in the same efforts as he had when they were starting out. He didn’t give affection as freely, and he’d noticed his steady reluctance to even try for the same level of things they’d had when their relationship started. Even if he was comfortable where he was, he just felt too lazy to take up where he’d stopped. He’d gotten the boy; he had a ring around his finger; what more needed to be done?
“Where were you?” he asked quietly, staring at him with an intense gaze. Looking for the telltale shifting that would tell him of his husband’s lies.
“With Virgil,” Richie replied, not taking his eyes from his. His eyes moved briefly over his head, then focused on him. “All day and night. We caught a late movie. I’m sorry. Did you want me here earlier?”
“Why wasn’t your cellphone on?”
“I didn’t charge it. Look.” Richie gestured with his chin at the top of the dresser. Amidst their scent bottles, wallets and spare change, Francis saw the cell with the connecting charger. “I wasn’t aware that I had a leash on me, Francis. Weren’t you complaining about that the other night?”
“I don’t like it when you go out and stay out this late, Rich. There’s no reason for you to do that.”
“Oh, and you can stay out until nine Monday morning? That’s not fair.”
“There’s no reason for you to be out this late.”
“Are you my father, now? That’s gross, Francis.”
“There’s NO reason for you to be out this late. I want you home, baby, with me. I don’t like it when you’re out there.”
“It's not fair when you get to stay out, and then turn around and say that I can't. You’re too controlling, Francis. Ease up. I was with Virgil. There’s no reason to get all freaky,” Richie muttered, kicking off his socks and shoes, then sweeping them toward the closet.
“‘Controlling’? You want me to be controlling? I can be controlling...all I ask is that you’re home when you’re supposed to be.”
“Sheesh, want me to sign on the dotted line for that one? In that aspect, Francis, you should be doing the same thing. You’ve been going out a lot. Almost every Friday this month, and you never come home until after work Monday. What am I supposed to do? What to think? It’s like you’re not home, or you don’t want to go out with me, anymore.”
“I work hard, Rich. When I wanna relax with friends, that’s what I’m going to do. What do you do? You don’t put in the same hours as I do. You’re not doing strenuous work like I do...”
“Painting cars with fake flames is ‘strenuous’?”
“I do more than that, Rich.”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Francis. I’m sorry I came home late. I should have called. But it shouldn’t be such a big deal,” Richie said, grabbing the hem of his shirt to pull it up and over his head. Folding that, he tossed it aside as he gave Francis a frown. He then unbuckled his belt, and undid his jeans, lowering them. He kicked them aside, and Francis found himself running his eyes over the tight body before him; the displayed abs, the strong calves, the sweet way his naval seemed to dip with a reflexive reaction to the temperature in the room.
The redhead also couldn’t help but notice long, tapered fingers that idly smoothed over pale skin where hip met side. The tantalizing way they smoothed over his hip, over the leg of his boxers and underneath the hem to scratch at a spot that hiked up material. Displaying well defined muscle and golden blond hairs that caught the dim lighting of the room.
“Please don’t make it into a big deal. Come to bed?”
“...I’m not tired, yet. An’ we still got guys here...” He couldn’t look away from the exposed flesh, the way the thigh muscles flexed as Richie shifted to take off his watch and glasses, setting them aside.
“They’ll go home on their own, Francis. Come to bed. I’m tired.”
“I’m not tired.” He watched Richie’s fingers shift up to his collarbone, scratching lightly at the soft skin behind the jutting bone. He hadn’t realized he was licking his lips until he noted the sudden dryness in his mouth.
“Then lay with me. Lay with me until I go to sleep.”
“Nah...I’m going to go back outside. Have a few more drinks. I can relax now that I know you’re home.”
“Think someone’s going to steal me away, Francis?” Richie asked, grinning at him crookedly.
“...Kinda.”
Richie shook his head. But he didn’t take his eyes away from Francis’, nor did his smile disappear. He walked over to Francis, to wrap his arms around his neck, pressing his body firmly against his. He kissed his cheek, and took his time doing so. Knowing exactly what he had to do to take his husband’s mind off things, he gently bit the thick muscle of his neck, his hands moving down Francis’ shoulders. He felt the tightening of his lover’s body, the way muscles seemed to ripple against his. The feel of his hard pectorals against his, strong and defined, gave a definite twitch when his hands coursed from his arms to hold gently at his sides.
He knew what he was doing. He knew exactly where to touch to draw Francis’ attention, how to display what had been so carefully crafted from working out and from his patrolling as Gear. He’d seen the way Francis seemed to lose all that hot air of his the moment he’d started submitting, and started displaying skin. He never seemed to focus very well on that aspect.
“Well, have fun out there, ‘k? And don’t keep the neighbors up, or they’ll complain, again.”
“Yeah. ‘K.” Francis searched out his lips, then paused. He leaned in to sniff deeply of his blond’s hair, his neck. He gave him a stormy glare. “What’s that smell on you?”
“Huh? Smell?” Richie sniffed himself, then made a face. “Ooh. I need a shower. I guess I didn’t shower good after working out.”
“That isn’t any cologne I know.”
“Oh, GOD, STOP!” Richie growled, pushing away from him, having his arm caught when Francis reached out for him. “Stop! You’re just so paranoid! I was wrestling with Shiv, earlier. And one of those guys bumped into me, too.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes, Francis. That’s all.” He shifted, to hold up his hand, displaying his wedding bang. The diamonds that glittered within the white gold setting seemed to blink as he wiggled his finger. “I take this seriously. I belong to you. You’re the only one that touches me. I love you, but you can be so damn controlling.”
“...I just don’t like it when you’re gone. For...at night. Things...could happen out there. Just come home when you realize how late it’s getting?”
“I love it when you’re so concerned and protective, Francis. You love me, don’t you?”
“...Yes. Yes, I do. I’m just lookin’ out for you, Rich. I want you to be safe. I want to protect you. I can’t do that when you’re gone, when you’re far away from me. There are people out there that will use you to get to me if they figure things out. Y’know...old enemies and stuff.” Francis’ hands swept over his back, touching the muscle that twitched under his touch. His fingers automatically found the twin dimples just below the waistband of his boxers. Recognized the jolting press Richie gave as one of his hotspots were caressed.
Lips traveled over his cheek, to his ear, the shell licked and pulled between lips. “You sure you’re tired, Francis? I can make you tired. I want you to come to bed with me...”
The waistband was slowly rolled downwards, to display the top halves of his ass, that sensitive spot at the start of his crevice stroked with knowing fingers. Francis felt his stomach tighten as he caressed that spot, feeling the way Richie’s hips rolled against his, his fingers moving up to entangle into his hair. Francis lowered his head, to taste the slightly salty flesh of Richie’s shoulder, inhaling of his scent, but frowning at the other that wasn’t part of his usual combination of smells. It was enough to turn him off, so he straightened Richie’s boxers and pulled away, the blond giving a startled exclamation after being denied.
“God, you’re such a fucking dick,” Richie muttered, stomping into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Francis considered his words, then shrugged. He reached out for the cellphone charging atop of the dresser, and activated it. Scrolling through the day’s incoming calls, he noted that all were familiar with reasonable excuse, and set it aside so that it could finish charging. He then left the room at hearing the sounds of Richie taking a shower, a smug smirk on his face.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
That Wednesday, Ivan frowned at the two that were taking up the couch space. Letting himself in without knocking, Ivan paused just outside the doorway as he stared at them. Both of them were dressed in the same fashion as last time; dark, extremely baggy...the one that spoke up the most was wearing a do-rag underneath a billed cap that sat sideways atop of his head. Both of them were playing Shiv’s video-games, and neither seemed to care when he appeared. Ivan scowled at them, then looked around the house. Neither Francis or Richie was home; Francis was working overtime (for real, this time, he’d been assured) and Richie worked til nine on weekdays.
The front door was never locked, anyway. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, these two strangers were in a house they weren’t supposed to be in.
“What you two up to?” he asked coolly, with a scowl as he noted the empty cans of soda nearby. The obvious mess of a day well spent on the game console.
“Someone know you’re here?”
“They let us in, man. You here all the time?” the first one asked.
“What’s your name, dog?”
“Name’s Tyson. This here’s Cube. We all cool, man. Just hangin’ out. F-Stop said he was going to show us stuff on Cube’s car.”
Francis was ‘F-Stop’ to those that weren’t his close friends. Taking up the old name made him feel better in that he wasn’t addressed as a sissy or a pansy; even if he’d married a cute boy.
“That right? Well, he ain’t gonna be back til later.”
“We’ll just hang out ‘til then.”
“You’ll just come back when he’s here,” Ivan snapped. “Get on out of here. They don’t like it when their shit’s all in a mess. Pick up your shit and come back when either he or–or his roommate’s here.”
“Sorry, man. Hey, we’re sorry. We just thought he’d be back. Look, we’ll clean up. Can you just tell him we’ll be back?” Tyson asked as both he and Cube rose from the couch. Cube began picking up their mess while Tyson grabbed his single can from the coffee table.
“Yeah. Just pick up your shit. And don’t come on in here when there ain’t no one here.”
“Sorry, man. We’re sorry. Later.”
Ivan watched as they picked up their mess, and straightened up the area. After they had left, Ivan shook his head. They had been much too forward, much too eager–he thought they were very young. Maybe sixteen, maybe seventeen. But they already wore the strain of a hard life lived; he could tell by the set of their eyes, the sort of meanness associated with what they had to grow up, with.
He looked around the area, noting the picture frames and such that speckled the area. There weren’t any pictures of the couple together–no, those were safely tucked away, hidden where newcomers wouldn’t immediately suspect the real story of the couple that lived here. Francis was smart in that aspect; covering both himself and protecting his husband that way. Ivan knew of several people at the top of his head that had definite designs of interfering with Francis’ happiness. They had enemies. Either made from the Big Bang, or from before. It was realistic to know that shit could still happen, even if they had served their time.
He wandered down the hall, and opened the door of their bedroom. He was instantly hit with the combined smells of Richie’s perfume and that of an air freshener that constantly emitted a sort of crisp scent. He took in the made king-sized bed, the fact that this room was immaculate. The silence of the house drowned him, then; his thoughts zoned as he took in the curtains that were half drawn, the blinds opened half way.
He looked at the print of the comforter, the worn carpet of the walkway throughout the room. He noted the open closet, the fact that a sweater was half-heartedly hanging onto a hangar. Without thinking, he walked in, to straighten that sweater, realizing that it was Richie’s. He shut the slated door with a low curse, then turned to look over at the bathroom. It was in the same state as the bedroom, but there was a clean, soapy scent that wafted from its open door.
He took several steps in that direction, and inhaled deeply of a mixture of scents that he associated with cleanliness. He smelled his ‘brother’, the minty touch of toothpaste and mouthwash, the telltale waft of hair gel and the comforting scent of recently used soap. The color designs in there were a mixture of maroon and deep blue; the rug just outside the shower stall was thick and comfortable. The towels were tossed over the shower curtain bar rather than the set of towel racks nearby.
On the sink was a blue toothbrush, which seemed to have escaped the rack that three others sat on.
He turned away from the bathroom, his eyes taking in the scent bottle atop of the dresser. He saw the black Ralph Lauren cologne that Richie had given to him for use last Friday. Polo Black...he had liked the scent, and he’d gotten many compliments on it, that night. He took the bottle, and spritzed some upon his dark shirt, his dark jeans. He faintly wondered why Francis didn’t like it as he set it aside, scowling at the brand Francis had used since his teens. He picked up the clear bottle and sniffed it, though he already knew what it smelled like.
It was something that wasn’t Francis at all; once, he’d imagined him wearing something classic, something thick, like Stetson or even Polo. Not something like ‘Tommy’. It felt mismatched and fruity...but in that aspect, it was probably best...He set that down, then looked at the last bottle.
He picked up the light gold bottle, Dolce and Gabbana labeled distinctly on the front. He recognized it as he brought it to his nose, inhaling the crisp, light scent. It felt odd to know that another male wore this. Something that was customarily pitched toward women. But it fit. Like pieces of a puzzle, it just fit to know that Richie wore it. He couldn’t picture a masculine scent on the blond; even if he carried well toned muscle, even if he were able to throw Shiv around like it was nothing.
To know that he wore the feminine scent sent a curl of desire into his stomach, and he set the bottle down, shaking his head. Quickly, before he found himself delving into other aspects, he left the room, closing the door behind him.
He walked down the hall, straightening his shirt, catching the previous scent on it. He reached up to straighten his hoops, then frowned as he caught sight of the time. He heard the car horn blast impatiently outside, his driver having only expected him to retrieve a CD he’d left previously; not go through other people’s things. Smirking, he hit the fridge and grabbed a soda, then left the house after a thorough glance around the area he could see.
Walking toward the car with the complaining passengers, he pulled his hands-free set from his pocket, and sped-dialed a number as he adjusted the ear plug.
Climbing into the car, getting settled as the driver complained about the time he took, he waited for Francis to answer.
“Hey,” he barked, opening his soda, “you talkin’ to those kids? Tyson an’...fuckin’ Cube?”
“What kids?”
“Just left your house, man. And those two kids from the other night were all in there. Says you were going to look over Cube’s car.”
“I haven’t said shit! What the fuck? Who was there?”
“No one but them. Parked out on your couch all day.”
“Where the fuck’s Shiv?”
“Sucka, that bitch finally got a job!” Ivan gave a very rare bark of laughter. The driver was startled out of his complaints, shooting him a look while the other passengers quieted with widened eyes. “Down at the mall. He started today.”
“Fuck...just when he came in handy. You kick ‘em out?”
“Yeah. They went home.”
“...Rich there?”
“No.”
“...They say anything about him?”
“Fucker, stop bein’ all paranoid. They was waiting for you!”
“What for?”
“I told you already. Anyway, I’m going to cut. Better start locking shit up, Stone. You don’t want that bullshit if those kids get around.”
“Yeah...you gonna come over tonight?”
“No. Got other things to do.”
“Fine. See ya, bitch.”
“Later, ho.” Ivan disconnected the call, then eyed the driver suspiciously. “You takin’ me to my brother’s house, right?”
“I’m all good, man.”
Ivan grunted in reply, shifting in his seat. Leaning his head back against his seat, he stared up at the ceiling. Adam had requested to see him again. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Last Saturday night, Adam had asked if he’d like to work with him. Work detail with this rising group of rap stars that were building their rep in Dakota before hitting the bigger cities. Ivan had never been interested in that aspect, but money made him curious. He had lived poor before; lived the streets without having the security and comfort the green brought him, so it was always a considering choice for him whenever something was brought to his attention.
But he hadn’t wanted to work for his brother; to be something that Adam could easily control. It had been insulting and downright sneaky, and Ivan had told him so. That had resulted in an argument that had left Ivan feeling as if he’d been cheap shot. It wasn’t supposed to work that way. Adam wasn’t supposed to be the one watching out for him, taking care of him. That had been his job as the older brother.
Now, Adam wanted to talk to him again. To apologize, he’d said over the phone. Ivan hadn’t cared. He was trying to keep himself from being sucked in to that drama scene, but when his little brother called, he couldn’t seem to resist. No matter how angry he was. Perhaps it was just a sort of paternal instinct, some instinctive need to bend over backwards to resume his old role. Whichever, it was very frustrating.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Shiv was grinning by the time Ivan arrived back at the house that night, via taxi, the Asian excitedly tossing his controller away from him. Richie gave a startled sound as it bounced off his head, Ivan taking his time to walk up the tattered lawn to the front porch. The black man wasn’t expecting to be glomped quite thoroughly as Shiv launched himself at him. Giving a vivid curse, Ivan hit the ground on his back while Shiv laughed in that maniacal way he had.
“I GOTTA JOB!” he about shrieked, settling his weight atop of Ivan’s chest. “Can ya believe it? A JOB! I also get paid this week, too, so I can pay you back for that hooker the other day...”
Ivan shoved him off, storming to his feet as Shiv ran circles around him. Then, with an exaggerated show of running out of breath, palms on his knees as Ivan brushed himself off.
“You got grass stains on me, Shiv, and I’m going to rip you apart–!” Ivan snarled, examining his clothes for telltale stains.
“But...I gotta job. And you just had to know. Cuz...y’know...you were the wind beneath my wings, Ivan.”
Ivan rolled his eyes. “I know you gotta job. You called and told me this morning!”
“Oh...I did? Oh yeah! I did! My bad. Never mind...”
Ivan hurled a clump of grass after him to show him what he thought of ‘never mind’...
Walking into the house, he watched Shiv resume his seat atop of a floor pillow on the other side of the coffee table, and noted that Tyson and Cube were back–with friends, this time. One of them looked to be fifteen. Scowling, Ivan shook his head as he looked over into the kitchen, seeing Tyson toss a basketball from hand to hand while he spoke and watched Richie rummage through the cabinets.
Ivan looked around for Francis, seeing that the glass sliding door was opened, and Francis was out there, laughing and talking loudly with a couple of others guys he couldn’t see very well. He looked back at the kitchen scene with another scowl, noting the way Tyson constantly licked his lips, the way his expression bespoke of interest. He shuddered very noticeably, unable to understand the teen’s sudden infatuation with the blond.
While he understood Francis’ point of view perfectly, he just could not with another’s. He moved away from the area, and walked outside, Francis lifting his chin in greeting.
“Go get a beer,” Ivan said, gesturing inside. “I’m going to light up.”
“You want one? Wait a minute, why didn’t you just get one yourself?”
“Just do it.”
Francis rolled his eyes and walked inside, Ivan turning to look at the two that he’d been speaking with.
“What’s up?” he asked casually, taking a seat on one of the chairs.
“Hey, Evans. Heard your boy was workin’ on Cube’s car?” one of them asked, blinking in curious fashion. At least this one was old enough to buy alcohol. “You work on the side?”
“I work where I’m supposed to.”
“I wanna amp up my system. Did you see the Toyota outside?”
“That black one with the rims? Thought it was some chick’s car.”
“Nah, man, that’s all mine. Wondered if you could look at it. See what I could be spending on if I wanted a new system. Somethin’ that would be rattlin’ my teeth out.”
“Hit the shop, then. I don’t do anything outside.”
“Ah, c’mon, man! I’m right here! Just peek in there a bit.”
“I’m tired of that bullshit, nigger. Don’t be hounding me about stuff I don’t wanna do.”
“Sorry, sorry. Sheesh. Your boy said he’d look at my car. Why don’t you go with him when he does?”
“...NO.”
The guy held his hands up in surrender, his friend snickering as he looked from one to another. He looked at Ivan as he lit up.
“You just as crabby as they say, man,” he muttered as he walked off, Ivan frowning after him.
Francis walked out at that moment, holding two cans of beers. He passed one over. “That kid talk to you?”
“Yeah. Sucka’s gotta realize that when I ain’t being clocked, I ain’t doin’ shit.”
“Might bring more business.”
“Fuck that shit. They read the papers. They watch tv. They can come from that. But I ain’t doing shit that I ain’t being paid for.”
Francis chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you go and see your brother? What’s he want, anyway?”
“Wants to hire me. I ain’t pulling that bullshit. Workin’ for him. Fuck that shit.”
Both of them realized they were holding their cans in the same position, jiggling the same nervous knee. As they put more distance between them, as if that would make them stop mimicking the others’ movements, Richie poked his head out through the open door.
“I’m heading over to V’s!” he then called, hurrying off before Francis could move to stop him. As it were, the redhead started inside, barking his name, but watching the front door slam shut as he exited.
Ivan shook his head. He was so tempted to reach out and slap Francis over the head for his behavior. He was behaving much too desperately, disparagingly possessive. He felt a warm flush of frustrated anger warm his insides, and decided he needed a cigarette. As he pulled one, that resistance crumbled, and he slapped Francis upside his gelled head.
“OW!”
“You need to stop frontin’ like that,” Ivan snapped.
“...Just don’t fuckin’ like it when he takes off like that.”
“You gotta stop being so fuckin’ dependent on that trick! Where’s your girl, at?”
“Don’t gotta girl.”
“Call her up. See if we can go out this week. And have her bring her friend.”
“...The one with the skirt?”
“No, stupid. The one with the ‘rows. Can’t resist a girl with ‘rows.”
“The tall one? She’s like, ten feet tall!”
“I like all them legs. Plus she was giving me shit. I like the bitches that talk back.”
“...You and your bitches. I don’t wanna see–what’s her name? Anyway, I don’t wanna see her. But I’ll tell her to bring her. Man, this chick called me today. You remember some girl named Terren?”
“No. Like I keep a list of all your bitches...”
“I can’t even remember what she looks like. Says she has to talk to me. I don’t wanna talk to her. If I can’t remember her, the fuckin’ was probably bad, anyway.”
“What she want?”
“Said she wants to talk to me! I just said that. Don’t you listen?”
“What she wanna talk to you ABOUT?”
“I dunno. Just that she wanted to see me about something. Fuck it. I don’t know.”
“...She know where you live?”
“No. Bitches don’t come around here. I make sure of that.”
“...What you tell them?”
“That I got a bitch. ‘Course, that all weeds them out. ‘Ew, I don’t want that drama!’ ‘I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!’” Francis mimicked in a high pitched falsetto.
“One day, he’s gonna find out,” Ivan said, his chin thrusting in the direction of the house.
“He won’t believe it. Just gotta tell him a few things.”
“...See? Why you act this way, then expect him to act another?”
“It’s just different. That’s all. He can’t be doing that shit. He’s stupid. He’ll fuck it all up, make a mistake. You know what? I probably wouldn’t care if he found someone else to mess with... I think as long as he came back home every night, it’s okay.”
Ivan barked out harsh laughter. “You wouldn’t think that way, you fuckin’ dick! You’d be ripping him apart! I know what you’re like, Stone. You wouldn’t take it that easily. You’d fuck him up, then go after the one he’s been fuckin’ with!”
“...Nah, I–”
“Shut the fuck up, Stone. I ain’t hearin’ that. You say one thing, and do another. You ain’t gonna do shit. If he’s fuckin’ on you, you’re gonna be all heartbroken. Like one of them bitches on tv.”
“No I won’t–! Fine. FINE! If he is messin’ around, I’ll be...really...pissed.” Francis shrugged. “Doesn’t mean that I have to stop, though. It’s all right with me. Cuz I can get away with it. Plus, I won’t lie. I love him. I’d do anything for him. But I need somethin’ on the side to keep me going, since things aren’t, like, the same, anymore.”
Ivan snorted, shaking his head. He stared up at the night sky, of what he could see of the stars due to the light pollution. He heard Shiv’s excited screams and crows from inside, the bass of the other boys’ laughter.
“So...wanna look at that car?”
“...Nope.”
“Fuck it. I’m going to get it over with. Hey, let that guy know. I’m going around front.”
Ivan nodded, watching as Francis took the stairs down to the rock pathway, then poked his head through the open sliding door.
“He’s gonna look at your car, man,” he said. He didn’t care who he was addressing. At that, though, all the boys he was unfamiliar with got up from their various places and left through the front door, leaving Shiv on his lonesome. Ivan scowled at him. “You! You gotta home!”
“Yeah...actually...I’m going to get a ride with one of these guys. You need one?”
“...No.”
“And you talk shit about me!” Shiv scoffed, rolling his eyes.
“Shut it, busta.” Ivan shut the door, hearing the faint laughter and voices that wafted from the front of the house.
The summer wasn’t that hot–night temperatures usually fell around the sixties, and it was cool enough for him to relax comfortably with as he finished off his cigarette. Staring up at the light polluted skies, he lost himself in thought once more.
He heard the coming and going of vehicles, the raucous laughter from within the house, Shiv’s final scream of “goodbye!”
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d last talked to Francis, but the night had darkened, and everything fell silent. He hadn’t moved much; just shifted position here and there, until he finally glanced at his wristwatch, noting that it was nearly one thirty. The house’s lights were still on; someone was still up, or the lights were on and everyone was still out. Sighing heavily, he figured on passing out on the couch for the night (he was welcome to do so, with no questions asked), so he rose from his chair, dusting off his pants. He walked inside, noting that just the tv was running, muted. He took over on the couch, and snagged the remote. Flipping through the channels, he found an interesting skin flick, and watched that.
He had just gotten ready to shut the tv off when the front door opened quietly, and he looked over to watch Richie walk into the house, quiet as a mouse. Unaware that he was there, the blond shut the door just as quietly, carrying what looked to be a duffle bag, his hair flat and stringy–as if he’d been wearing a baseball cap all evening. It was apparent that his sneaking around was designed so that Francis wouldn’t know–and judging from his actions, he’d perfected the art a long time ago.
Ivan raised his eyebrows and waited to be noticed, but the blond had his back to him the entire time as he crept out from the living room and into the garage with nary a sound.
Ivan snorted, and pillowed his head on one arm along the armrest. He stared at the quiet television set, watching the flicker of whatever channel he’d landed on, and heard the sharp click of a lock down the hall. Lifting his head, he listened for anymore sounds... but heard none. He got up from the couch and turned everything off, finally settling for sleep.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Where’d you creep in from, the other day?”
The question startled Richie, forcing him to drop his cup of soda on the counter. He hadn’t realized that Ivan had been there until he started to speak. Cursing, he picked up his cup and grabbed a nearby wash rag. He’d thought he’d been home alone, with Francis out with some newfound friends. He hadn’t known Ivan was still at the house, and wondered where he’d been all this time.
“‘Creep’? I wasn’t creeping,” he finally stammered, giving him a puzzled look. He then caught the waft of cologne, the telltale smell of Polo Black. He sniffed it approvingly, giving him a small, complimentary smile. "That stuff smells good on you, Ivan. You can have it."
Ivan ignored that. “The other night. Wednesday.”
“Oh...Oh! I was out with V. What, Francis has you doing his work, now?” Richie asked with a frown, giving Ivan a dirty look. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. What’s with all the suspicion?”
“You came in, creeping like you were up to no good.”
“...I didn’t want to wake anybody up. Good grief. You’re just as bad as he is.”
“What’d you tell him?”
“The very same thing I told you. I never knew that what I did was any of interest to you, Ivan,” Richie then said, setting the cup aside. He tossed the wet rag into the sink. He gave him a lifted eyebrow and a sly smirk. “Changing your mind lately?”
Ivan’s scowl was just dark enough to make him grimace, and blush in reaction. As he turned his back to him, rummaging carelessly through the cupboard for a certain brand of chips that he wanted, he could feel Ivan’s eyes baring into the back of his head.
“Don’t even play those games on me, Foley,” Ivan muttered low. “You may get away with it with everyone else, but I know what you’re doing.”
That was enough to make Richie turn, giving him a confused look. “What ‘games’? I don’t play games with anybody...”
“You play games, you fuckin’ cracker. You play them both with your man, and with that kid that comes around here.”
“Oh my god, you’re preposterous! I don’t play games with anybody! I don’t know what’s up your ass, Ivan, but I’ve done nothing to anybody. You’re just looking for a fight, or an excuse to cause trouble like you always do,” Richie snapped at him, growing heated underneath that hard gaze. His palms were sweaty, and he wiped them nervously on his pants. “Don’t start it with me. And don’t be telling Francis any lies about me!”
“Francis knows you’re up to no-good. And I know you’re up to no-good.”
“...That link of yours?” Richie managed to meet that darkened gaze, unintimidated at this point. He knew how much it pained both men to be linked. To feel and know the others’ feelings. Seeing as Ivan was obviously going off of that, he leaned against the counter, arms crossing in front of him. “Whatever happened to thinking on your own, Ivan? Can’t do it? You gotta run off Francis’ like a bitch?”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed, and his lips parted slightly with a low growl. There was a flutter of excitement that coursed through Richie’s body, tingling throughout his muscles and thoughts as he faced Ivan with a slight smirk.
“You’re not my keeper, Ivan. Yes, I’m married, but I am my own individual. Too bad the same can’t be said for both of you, huh?”
Ivan’s hand snaked out, and Richie was thankful for his sharpened reflexes that took him out of his reach, sliding down the counter as Ivan turned to face him.
“You keep talking shit, boy. Keep talkin’ that shit,” Ivan snarled fiercely, growing fiercely agitated the more his fury started building.
“Don’t be angry, Ivan,” Richie murmured, turning his back to him, to rummage through the junk drawer with no real intent. Something that he knew pissed Ivan off, because it also pissed Francis off when he did that. Something about being dismissed, their needs and wants ignored, disrespected... “Maybe one day you’ll lose that connection. And find me just as unimportant as I was before. You’re spending waaaay too much time thinking about me, Ivan. What would Francis say about that?”
Ivan glared hotly at the back of his neck, his fists bunched at his thighs. He was oblivious to anything other than the blond, his breathing short as he struggled not to fall prey to those words. He licked his lips, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed. He watched as Richie turned, to give him one of those smug little looks he had when instigating a situation. He’d seen him do it a few times to Francis, something that he knew drove the redhead up the wall.
“Nothing to say?” Richie spoke softly, as if keeping his voice lowered pushed more at Ivan’s buttons.
And perhaps they did. Because they ghosted over his belly like a forbidden touch, his senses sharpened by his fury. He could smell him, now; that mixture of perfume, of his own masculine scent. He felt blood rush to his head then, roaring through his ears. Felt his arms jolt with a twitch that made his fingers clench and relax.
But he wasn’t about to let this boy, no matter how important he was to anybody, push him around this way.
Richie turned to face him, corner of his mouth still curled in that sly manner that rearranged his pleasant features. He saw that Ivan had nothing to say; it was exciting and uplifting to know that he’d gotten the upper hand. Licking his bottom lip with a slow perusal as he searched for something else to say, he felt a slight tightening of his gut as he watched Ivan’s burning gaze drop from his own eyes to the action.
Some tingle of excitement raced through him, then, realizing that he’d caught Ivan’s attention. Burning curiosity had him pushing for more, to see just how far he could take this. To know just how much of him Ivan really wanted.
He pulled his tongue back into his mouth; his upper teeth sank gently into that moistened lip. He watched as Ivan struggled to lift his gaze, the action obvious by the storm in his eyes. The way his lips tightened at the corners. Richie removed his teeth from his lip, licking once more at his bottom lip, then flicking slightly at the top, the wet sounds of his mouth audible with the action. He was fully aware of the tension; the way the air seemed to tingle with awareness on both their parts.
He then lowered his head, turning away to draw his hand down one thigh, smoothing the material over. Drawing attention to his crotch by pulling his fingers deliberately over the area to fumble with his belt buckle. There was an almost physical feel of Ivan’s snapping point; the black man moved before he could complete the action, his fingers curling around his biceps in a rather painful grip.
Richie found himself shoved hard against the counter, Ivan almost in his face as he twisted his arm behind his back.
“You cheap trick,” Ivan snarled low, his breath on Richie’s chin, the blond giving a pained grunt as he pressed a palm against his chest, trying to put some space between them. “You don’t fuck with me. You don’t fuck with my brain. I’m not one of those fucking idiots that let you pull this shit. You understand that? You don’t fuck with me that way.”
Richie felt pained, shifting to try and alleviate the pain that raced up his arm and shoulder. His legs spread to try and shift away from Ivan’s crowding position. But at this point, regaining his thoughts, he looked at Ivan with an even expression, then curled his lips into a smirk once more.
He brought his hand, the one settled on Ivan’s chest, down in a deliberate caress over the black man’s stomach. He felt the flutter of his muscles, the rapid jerk as Ivan shoved himself away from him, ultimately releasing him. Not looking away from him, Richie continued to smirk as he brought his arm out from behind him, rubbing it vaguely with the other.
Ivan stared at him with contempt in his eyes, his lips tightening for an instant then evening out once more.
Richie lifted an eyebrow, still not looking away as his upper teeth sank briefly into his bottom lip, the pain rubbed out from his shoulder. “Go and tell Francis, Ivan. Go tell him what I did. You’re just as guilty as I am.”
Ivan didn’t blink for the longest time as he stood there, staring at him in silence; but he stiffened noticeably as he started to pick apart the entire situation from start to finish. With noticeable effort, he drew himself back; but his fists were balled tight, knuckles prominent and neck tense as he shifted further away from Richie. Still, as his nostrils flared, that blood still thundering throughout his head, he could smell him. Could feel his own skin tingling with sensation from where Richie had touched him.
Francis’ reaction to him, he justified. Just feeling Francis’ usual reaction to him.
But as unconvincing as it was, he felt his spine stiffen as he turned, to march out of the kitchen.
All that time, he could feel Richie’s eyes on him , and it made his stomach quiver. For his palms to tingle where he’d grabbed him. Cursing, he grabbed his keys and made sure to slam the door hard on his way out.