Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ It's Nice To Know That You Were There ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Is it a game?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.25.2005 | Updated On: 10.26.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 504 | Status: Completed
Is it a game?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 10.25.2005 | Updated On: 10.26.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 504 | Status: Completed
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS. Means scene break
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC OR ANY OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARAS!!
A/N: Shampoomarea: Addictions are good things...if they are healthy. Liiiiike...Diet Coke! ^_^
Ebon4Shiv: I like a mischievous Richie. A frisky Richie is a good Richie. He’s soooo capable of being bad. As for the chills...in a good sorta way? Or a bad one? Oh, and BTW...thanks so much for your review on ‘Right Here’!
I’m_Alive: oi, I’m right up there with ya on the mucus. Mucus...makes me puke. Especially when it’s someone else’s...I have a weak stomach when it comes to mucus.
Chapter Six:
It’s Nice To Know That You Were There
He still wasn’t sure what they had had.
Whether it had been mutual understanding, or a form of love, it had been something that he’d felt secure with. She went along with what he said, and had the same ideals as he had; occasionally, if she felt something different, she made sure to let him know. At the time, he was obsessed with the next big thing, the next big rip-off; he hadn’t taken her values into too much consideration, and would listen to her only if it pertained to something of his concern. He had taken it all for granted; she had been loyal to him, if not particularly flighty, and he had grown used to the security she had given him. Her loyalty, her faith, her commitment; he suspected he’d fallen for her and was slapped with this fact when the time of the second Big Bang came around.
Her scathing words of him being ‘nothing’ before the Big Bang, even after knowing what he’d gone through with Adam and his family, had been like a dull knife through his gut. Her continued want to leave, to be normal again, to want to leave him–he still couldn’t think back to that time and feel that aching hurt all over again.
He’d known that she hated what she’d looked like. Her mutated appearance drove away any other contact, and inspired fear and disgust. She’d been angry and resentful–just like him. They’d bonded over their lifestyles...when she turned human, and turned away from it all, it had hurt in the same manner as losing Adam had.
Which was why, after everything was settled and paid for, he didn’t bother returning her calls. Or answer her visits at the shop. He hid his hurt behind his anger and his strive to overcome and accept. To accept her back into his life was putting himself back at risk once more. He was tired of losing things when he grew attached to it, and had been too egomaniacal to appreciate the time he’d spent with her over the course of four years. That was why he cut and ran when it came to her. He’d hear things, of course; via Shiv, because Shiv quietly knew the truth. Shiv was good that way–loyal, dependent, but giving when he was sure Ivan wanted it while denying it.
Last night’s incident continued to bother him–her defeat, her acceptance, her willingness to disregard her own common sense and strength for a loser. Theresa was his softness; he couldn’t exactly deny things when it came to her. Last night she had needed them, and they had come to her.
Taking care of Eustacio had been somewhat comforting; an eye for an eye, he made sure that Eustacio got the message loud and clear. With all the damage that had been inflicted on him, Eustacio wasn’t going to be bothering anybody for a long time. And if he tried, Ivan was sure that with every movement his ruined body made in that effort would remind him of what had been done to him.
He’d wanted to kill the man. But Theresa had wanted him to come back. And even if he didn’t want to grant that, for purely selfish reasons, he’d let the man live. It had been, strangely, an easy battle to lose. But it also meant that he had lost what final connection he had with Theresa. If she were happy...if she wanted that jerk...then she can have him and be at peace.
And so, today, he was looking to get drunk, to take his mind off what had happened.
Getting drunk and spending the day with his lumbering ‘brother’ sounded promising. Francis, with his basic thinking (mostly consisting of Richie, drinking, women and Richie–not all in that order), managed to get him pretty distracted.
Especially those games with Richie.
He was pretty sure that was all it was. Richie was playing with him. Had he somehow figured out that Ivan was attracted to him, and was looking to continue his cockteasing games with him? Or was it because Francis was paying him less and less attention, the blond doing the same thing and looking for something to alleviate his boredom?
The boy had never ventured beyond flirting, from what he learned from those Richie set his eyes on. Mostly, he played with their heads; doing his come-hither impression with lingering stares, with secretive smiles, with ‘accidental’ incidents of drawing his hands where a man’s eyes would linger long after they were gone, forever noticing them no matter how one tried not to. Then, he’d turn around and ignore them, behaving as if he’d never given them the eye, never gave them the time of day.
Just like a female, Ivan had thought. Sending the signals, playing a man where she wanted him until she fucked him over and moved on, a ferocious predator in lipstick and airy perfume.
Only this female came fitted with the same equipment and was capable of everything that a man can do.
Ivan blamed himself for watching that sly, pink tongue working his lips that day. It had been distracting, really, of knowing and not knowing what it tasted of, what it was capable of. He’d seen it plenty of times slinking over Francis’ lips, over exposed flesh when the blond was feeling particularly kinky, and though Francis’ impression, Ivan knew that it was capable of great things.
It shouldn’t have been any of his interest.
But it was too late; like a predator playing with its food, Richie had found a new plaything. He didn’t plan on devouring; he planned only on teasing and baiting to his own heart’s content.
Ivan didn’t want to be interested. But he was. He was interested to see where this went; if Richie would continue to sling him along with the rest of his admirers, or back off when things grew too intense. Ivan wanted to teach him a lesson; like Eustacio.
He was too cocky, too risky; Francis really had no idea what his husband did, literally, behind his back. It would be fitting if Richie were caught; not because Francis would most likely rip him a new one, but because it was always fitting to see a player fall. That always made Ivan’s day; seeing those get theirs at their own games.
Would Richie break, like Eustacio? Or would he just get back up, brush himself off, and learn from his mistakes to start another game, to be even more sneakier than before? It was interesting to think about.
Which was why it continued to plague him as he headed out of the apartment he shared with Shiv and the others, and for the nearest liquor store.
He considered Francis, of course. He was quite sure that if Francis found out he was messing around with his husband, the redhead would be very upset. But that was another consideration he was willing to bypass; it wasn’t as if he cared for Francis. While they felt the same things on a considering level, there wasn’t any real feelings between them. They were reluctant siblings. It wouldn’t hurt Ivan at all if Francis was hurt....though he might reconsider if Francis ever got his hands on him.
That was a different story.
If he were playing with Richie in that manner...would Francis be able to feel it? He would feel Francis’ emotions, but only when he was really riled. Francis felt his in the same attitude, only Ivan had learned to keep some of his bigger feelings in check–he wasn’t like Francis, and exploding at every turn and level. So Ivan was pretty sure he could keep that under control–besides, it wasn’t as if he were going to fall in love with the boy...just play him at his game. Feelings shouldn’t be involved.
But the challenge...the risk of it all...it was just as euphoric as things were when he was Ebon. Thinking that he could get away with everything, knowing that he could get away with anything, if he put his mind to it.
There were always consequences...he’d learned quite well of that. But what would they be?
On an insanely curious level, he wanted to know.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Later that morning, Shiv was already hollering up a storm with Freddie over some video games while Richie rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat. Francis was in the shower, and Richie himself had taken one hours earlier. He was still so very tired from last night’s activities, especially this morning’s possession, an uncomfortable pain burning insistently at him every time he moved.
He had just put the finishing touches on his sandwich when he felt lips on the back of his neck, two thick arms curling around his waist.
“You okay?” Francis asked against his ear, tongue sponging the back of his earlobe, making him cringe with reflexive sensitivity. “Not too hurt?”
“I suspect I’ll be walking bow-legged for a few days, but that’s nothing new,” Richie said with a wide grin, turning around to wrap his arms around his waist, to kiss him fully on the lips. It felt like old times again, and he wanted to make it last.
“Wearin’ my clothes, again?” the redhead asked with a frown, taking in the extremely baggy jeans that were held in place by a belt with the letter ‘F’ cut-out on the buckle.
“I hate doing laundry,” Richie muttered, wanting to ignore the annoyed tone.
“You’re the laziest wife I–fuck! What the fuck you do that for?” Francis then snarled, hand moving up to where Richie bit him.
“Oh, quit your bitchin’. Be a man, and take it.”
“Take THIS!” the redhead snapped, punching him in the hip.
“OW!” Richie cried, then kicked him in the shin, using his pained paralyzation to shove him against the stove. The two wrestled briefly, slamming into counters and knocking over various items, until Francis shoved him away with an annoyed growl.
“Don’t you ever bite me again, you little shit...that fuckin’ hurt.”
“Then don’t refer to me as a female.” Richie frowned at him, rubbing his hip as Francis scowled at him. Then, in an effort to apologize, he reached for him, leaning over to kiss where he’d bitten. Somewhat satisfied, Francis gave a low grumble, but went along as he grew interested with Richie’s hands moving over his waist to pull him close.
With his lips traveling firmly over his jaw line, noting that Francis needed to shave, he murmured, “Don’t hit me again, okay? Even when we’re playing. You’re too rough, sometimes. I feel like I really make you angry, and you really want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”
“...Only when you need it,” Francis grumbled, pulling away to yank at his hair.
“Like last night, baby?” Richie asked, lifting an eyebrow as he rubbed at his scalp.
Francis was instantly remorseful, his scowl giving away to concern. “No...no, last night, I’m sorry. I’m sorry...you still hurting? I wasn’t thinking–I was just playing with you. You can take it. That’s why I like playing with you...”
Richie knew how and when to make him feel guilty, to use that for his own use. He’d learned that tactic well, waving goodbye, sometimes, to his own masculinity. Sometimes he felt bad about it.
Sometimes.
“I know you like playing, you big lug. You’re like one of those overeager puppies, you know? But sometimes, you’re just too rough, baby. I’m not one of your dumb friends, or those guys you beat up, okay? People might get to talking if they see me all bruised up...”
“...Not uh...I don’t do that to you, Rich. I wouldn’t–”
“I know you don’t, lover. But I don’t want people talking trash about you. We can still play rough, just...calm it down a little, k? Look...you stretched out my shirt. This is my favorite shirt, you know that...”
“...Shit. I did, didn’t I? I’ll get you another one, ‘k? I’m sorry...C’mere, let me see where I hurt you...”
“Right here, for one,” Richie then said, tapping his lips, his eyes locked on Francis as he drew him close.
Francis settled himself against him, so that Richie was now pressed against the counter, his lips opening to admit the prodding tongue. He tasted of their toothpaste, minty and fresh, and his saliva was thick and warm as their tongues rubbed and entwined. He felt Francis’ hands move from around his waist, moving over his ass, kneading gently as Richie enjoyed the dominating kiss.
It felt good, yes, but there was a sort of detachment that he felt as he let Francis take control. There was a familiarity to their routine of kissing, of knowing when their teeth would clink, when one would drool too much, of the moment when one would have to take a breath. It felt forced---but at the same time, it was pleasing, for they never kissed this much in a long while. So he decided to just enjoy it, the comfort and warmth he felt in knowing that, perhaps, his husband still desired him and still liked to kiss him.
His fingers slipped up the hem of his shirt, exploring familiar territory, rubbing warm flesh and hard muscle. He hummed in pleasure, shifting against him, his fingers spreading over his shoulder blades, clutching tightly. He felt Francis’ fingers move over the middle seam of his pants, tracing over his crevice with a firm stroke that made him shift restlessly once more.
His mouth left his, to pant lightly over his ear as Francis made his way down his neck, to nibble at his collarbone. Once he began feeling the gentle rocking of hips against his, the smooth way those fingers stroked and pressed at him, he gave a light sound of frustration, growing aroused and restless as he pined for more, his fingers interlacing around his neck so that he could hold on.
“Since you’re not eating this...thanks,” Shiv then said, interrupting as he snatched the sandwich Richie had just made.
Without looking away, or moving too much, Richie’s arm shot out and grabbed Shiv by his hair, yanking him back as Francis moved back to his lips, plundering as the purple-haired Bang Baby squawked in protest over the sandwich.
Grumbling, Shiv walked out of the kitchen as the commodity was taken from him. Giving a sullen look at the two that should really move their activities to their bedroom, he jumped over the back of the chair to settle down in the cushions within, snatching his controller out of Freddie’s hands.
“It’s really embarrassing when they do that,” Freddie whispered, face beet red as he struggled not to look. “I mean...it’s two guys...”
“You get used to it, man. Just...ignore them. When they started shedding clothes, I don’t fuckin’ care what the fuck I’m doing. I’m outta here,” Shiv said, with all the voice of experience, concentrating on his game. “‘Sides, if you’re so bothered, ask if you could join in.”
“No!” Freddie exclaimed with a goofy set of giggles.
“You know you want it. You want them takin’ over your ass.”
“No!”
“C’mon, Freddie...if it was so wrong, they wouldn’t be in that situation right now. God made his creatures equally–if it wasn’t pleasurable for two guys to fuck up each other’s asses, they wouldn’t be doing it, and there would be no such thing as gay porn,” Shiv said matter-of-factly, growling as his fighter began losing on-screen. “Or a prostate.”
“Er...but...a prostate is essential to a man’s body, as it is a gland surrounding the neck of the bladder and releases a fluid component of semen, something that aids in procreation.”
Shiv paused the game, and looked at Freddie. “If that is so...then...no matter what...if that thing’s hit, you cum no matter what? Damn. No wonder so many guys are
going gay.”
Both of them then shrugged, focusing determinedly onto the television screen.
The front door opened, Ivan walked in with his customary scowl, carrying a one-liter bottle of Coke, a bottle of Southern Comfort in his other hand.
“Don’t you two have work, today?” he asked with a suffering sigh, kicking the door shut.
“It’s Sunday,” Shiv pointed out with an eye roll.
“It’s Saturday!”
“Oh, shit, really?” Shiv saved his game, then grabbed a remote, switching channels until he came to Saturday morning cartoons, where he laughed joyously before settling in his seat once more.
Ivan shook his head, already buzzed from his share of alcohol as he spotted his ‘brother’ and his husband in the kitchen. Disregarding the fact that Francis had Richie on the counter, continuously rocking against him as Richie had his legs over his arms, he walked over, used to seeing such activity. There had been some moments where he’d been too drunk to care and had talked to Francis through the closed door of his bedroom, hearing the sounds and activities between sentences.
“We goin’ out?” he asked, settling both bottles on the counter with a perfunctory movement. He waited for Francis to stop sucking on Richie’s neck and then spied the sandwich nearby. He reached for it, only to have Richie slap his hand over the ruined bread and meat commodity, making him scowl.
He locked his eyes on the blond’s. It was a frozen moment in time as they stared at each other, even as Francis had his hands shoved between Richie’s open jeans and boxer-briefs, and his mouth nibbling on the column of his throat.
“Nah,” the redhead muttered, biting on the blond’s collarbone, Richie giving a jerk of his body and a light gasp that made Ivan’s stomach clench. “Stayin’ in.”
Ivan scowled darkly, and opened the bottle of Southern Comfort, taking a long chug before chasing it down with his Coke.
“No,” he heard the blond grunt, shaking his head as he struggled to pull away. “You said you’re going out.”
“I changed my mind.”
“No, you promised.”
“What are you doing, then?”
“Mom’s house.”
“Ah...right...yeah, we’re going out,” Francis then said, the blond giving a little smile before leaning in to nibble on his neck, making the redhead jerk. But Ivan caught the wicked flick of his eyes in his direction as he did so.
He grabbed the battered sandwich and left the area, taking his two bottles with him as he did so.
Shiv gave him an interested glance. “You okay?” he asked, already knowing his buzzed up state. “It’s only nine in the mornin’, man.”
“Gimme that thingy. I ain’t watchin’ no damn cartoons.”
“AW! C’mon, man! It’s Ninja Turtles,” Shiv hissed, moving into a whisper. “They’re fuckin’ bad-ass, man. I wanna be like Mike.”
“Turtles are cool,” Freddie said on a giggle.
Ivan gave them both disgusted looks, biting into the sandwich. The couple in the kitchen finally separated, with Francis taking over on the Southern Comfort, swigging that without the chaser as he sat down on the couch. Ivan munched complacently on the ham and cheese until Richie snagged it back with a growl, and took up a seat on the floor, between Shiv’s legs, the purple haired Asian giving him a scowl.
“We goin’ out, tonight?” Shiv then asked, looking over at them. “Let’s go to the one on West Second. There’s some gorgeous babes up on that joint. You remember Tomiko? I met her there. There’s always little honies that put out over there!”
“I don’t like Asians.”
“You like ‘em big and tall. You ever wonder if it’s some sort of mother complex, Ivan?”
Ivan gave him a disgusted look, and tossed a pillow at him.
Richie turned to look at Francis with a frown, but Shiv slugged him with the pillow before he could say anything. Abandoning his sandwich, the blond leapt up from the floor and slammed into him, the pair wrestling and growling on the overstuffed chair. Ivan rescued the sandwich, biting into it as he frowned over at Francis. He noticed the scary bite mark on his forearm, and shook his head.
“I checked that thing out,” he said. “Y’know, Cass?”
Francis gave him a frown as he indicated Richie nearby. Not caring, Ivan went on with, “It ain’t good. You think your ho’s a golddigger. She all makin’ plans for babies and shit. She knows you’re loaded. Was braggin’ around to her friends how she was gonna trap ya.”
“I ain’t on that,” Francis muttered around the mouth of the bottle, darting nervous glances in Richie’s direction. But the blond was too occupied with wrestling Shiv into submission, the pair shouting and pulling dirty tactics in an effort to win. “Fuck that.”
“Movin’ on?”
“Yeah. I got word this one chick wants to meet up. Think I might do it,” both cringed at Shiv’s howl of pain, the chair toppling over with a loud collusion of sound, “tonight. Call her up. Y’know, see what’s what.”
“Let me ride in with you.”
“Where the fuck’s your ride?” Francis asked, thinking of the black Nissan Maxima that, somehow, still seemed to retain the new car smell. Everything about it was black; the interior, the rims, the grill, the lights; the windows were darkly tinted, just barely surpassing legal limits in darkness.
“Gettin’ it tuned up. Fuck, I just gotta go get it, really. I’ve just been too lazy to drive. I hate drivin’, man. It’s fuckin’...stupid.”
“You’re just a puss, is all. Hey, don’t be wearing any black jeans or blue shirts, tonight, either. I’m wearing that. The Tommys with the...the shirt with the thing...”
“That one you got from that preppy place?”
“Yeah, the thing on the front. Don’t be wearin’ that. An Rich said he gave ya that cologne?”
“Yeah. You ain’t gettin’ it back. I got it all corrupted.”
“Keep it. I like my old stuff.”
“Sucka, you’re just a fuckin’ fruit.”
“Heh heheh...hey! HEY! Rich, let him go. Man, that ain’t cool...You know he’s all beat.”
“...Shiv thinks he’s all tough, huh? Fuckin’ kid...”
“Wanna barbeque tonight? Got some steaks.”
“Fire it up. I’m hungry right now.”
“...What the fuck are we watching?” Francis then asked, noting the television screen with disgust. Richie gave a shriek of outrage, Shiv laughing with glee. The coffee table fell victim to their actions, crashing over, sending video games and empty cans of soda flying. No one blinked, too focused on the activity on the screen to really give any reaction.
“...Dunno. Hey, check out that guy. What’s his name, Freddie?” Ivan asked curiously, taking the Southern Comfort to snatch a comforting swallow before chasing it with Coke.
“That’s Casey Jones, sucka,” Freddie said eagerly, grinning goofily. “He hangs out with the turtles, man. Kinda like...I dunno.”
“Fuckin’...you hear about that Spalding chick?”
“...Who’s that?”
“That psycho bitch with the head trip. Heard she committed suicide. In her cell.”
Francis snorted, shaking his head, swigging more of the alcohol and wincing at another one of Shiv’s screams. “She was young, huh? Rich’s age.”
“Just a kid. Adam was talkin’ about–hey....” Ivan scowled as the sandwich was taken away again, Richie giving him a dirty look at the remaining chunk. Watching him leave, Ivan muttered, “Ho.”
Francis frowned at him, then looked after Richie, as if he could see such a thing on his husband. He shook his head, shrugging as he finished off the alcohol.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“I’m havin’ a boy with Shenice,” Virgil panted over sit-ups, Richie pausing in his as he considered this.
The gym wasn’t that crowded–the two were taking up the mats near the back, completing repetitions of sit-ups and cool down stretches. Their two hours were almost up, and both had been mostly silent that entire time, lost to their own thoughts. For Virgil to speak right then was a welcome change.
“Oh yeah? Well...that’s cool.”
“Yeah...she was thinkin’ of movin’ back here. Her parents are a little pissed that I got her knocked-up. I mean, yeah, I fucked up an’ all. But I want to fix things. It ain’t like I’m abandoning them, or anything...”
“You’re there to support them. I know, man, I see what efforts you’re taking. And it’s all cool, V.” Richie frowned as he paused once more, glaring at the twenty-five pound weight he held against his chest. “Do either of them want to get married?”
Virgil grunted as he paused as well, sweat making his dark skin shine as he considered his own twenty-five pound weight in his arms. Shrugging a shoulder, he looked at his best friend and partner. “I kinda don’t want to get married. In a way...I don’t love either, you know? Yeah, they’re my babies’ mamas and all that, but...it’s like...in the overall situation, it was just sex. Man, you know what it’s like. Hormones make most of your decisions for you.”
“Yeah...got me a ring on my finger.”
“Yeah, that, and...I dunno. I don’t love them. I respect them, and I care for them...but I don’t love them enough to, y’know, want to spend–well, in any event, I’m spending my life with both of them because of the kids.”
“I know what you mean, V. They got you for eighteen years, at least. But you’ll have a great relationship with your kids, man. You’re good with them.”
“Yeah...” Virgil considered his weight again, then the pair resumed their sit-ups once more. Nothing more was exchanged save for the strained grunts and exhales of air. Then, “Pops finally sat down and talked with me, last night. Still kinda pissed...I mean, I would be, too, with me, y’know? So it ain’t like, I’m going to hold it against him. Said stuff like, how he was going to support me an’ all that, he just don’t think too highly of my decision makin’ skills. An’...you ever think you married too young, man? I mean, that guy was your first boyfriend–”
“First serious boyfriend. I’ve had others.”
“Oh, uh-uh, no way....wait a minute...that Travis guy?”
“Wasn’t that serious...”
“...Ya’ll told me he was just a study buddy...”
“Oh, he was a study buddy all right...”
“...Rich, you a ho!”
“Whhhaaatttt? So are you! Even though, your situation’s more so than mine ever was!”
Virgil snorted, and paused once more, panting from both the efforts he was taking to keep his body in shape, and from the conversation. Sometimes, he could swear they talked more than women ever did. He glared over at his best friend, who was striving to finish his reps.
“Man...we both hoes,” he complained. “But I still say you’re more so than me.”
“No way, partner. You have two different mamas for two different babies...”
“Yeah, but...you openly admit to messing around with guys...”
“I do NOT touch....but then again, who’s to say they can’t touch me?”
“Man...there ain’t enough words in the dictionary, and in the English language to describe your hoey-ness!”
Richie laughed, finishing up and setting the weight aside. “You just made up a word, Virgil.”
“Yeah, well...your situation demanded it.”
“I’m not a ho! Damn, V...”
Both of them reflected briefly on their own situations, until Richie sighed gustily. “I have a problem.”
“What? Thinking of divorcing Hs for Shiv?”
“Ew...Not a very good mental picture. Bluegh. Anyway, no. Theresa, y’know, Talon?...”
“Oh...yeah, I heard she got knocked-up by her man.”
“Yeah...well, her man beat her up, V. She miscarried yesterday. The situation got dealt with, and I doubt her man will ever lift a fist to her again–”
“What happened to him?”
“...Let’s just say that Theresa has very loving friends.”
“...Rich...you weren’t involved, were you?”
“Dude, we barely know each other. But...don’t pay any attention to that. She was all messed up, V. She had that racoon effect going on, she just miscarried...she was all busted up. And yet...even after all that shit she went through with him? She just...she loved him enough to want him back despite it all. I found it disturbing, you know? To what extent can you love a person without losing all common sense and values?”
“...I dunno, man. Haven’t been in that situation, before. We see that shit all the time, man. I mean, still, it is different when you actually know the person involved–!”
“Yeah, I know–!”
“–and it’s all fucked up when you think about it, because it’s two desperate people that are too dependent on each other to really care...I can’t understand those types of situations, man. I mean, I just can’t see it. If a person’s gonna whack up on you, why you gonna stand there and take it?”
“...I don’t know...”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I guess it’s just...what I said earlier. You know? To what extent can you love a person without losing all common sense and values?”
“...That’s bothering you? You think...you think you might do somethin’ like that?”
“...I think we married too young, V. Realistically, we’re not going to last,” Richie said finally, sighing as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “And I know this, and I am fully aware that, yeah, there are ways of making things work. But...I want to have fun. I want to be able to have fun without having to restrict myself all the time, without...having that leash on me.”
Virgil pulled his knees up lightly, frowning as he interlaced his fingers around them. “You thinking of gettin’ out of that, man?”
“...I love Francis, Virgil. There isn’t a day that goes by when I just feel... so content....but at the same time, there’s something nagging at me, y’know? I want to be able to see other people...I also want to come home to him every night. But the thought of cheating on him just to achieve that makes me sick. Like I’m being unfair. And at the same time, I feel really resentful, because he’s older than me, and he should have known better.”
“...You’re supposed to be this big genius, Richie. Why didn’t you think of that in the first place?”
“Well, I did! But...at the time, I was sorta convinced that I’d never think this way...but here I am.”
“You don’t sound happy, Richie. You don’t. I mean, in a way? You do, but you don’t.”
“...I dunno...maybe I should see a marriage councilor, or something. I know if I bring this subject up to Francis, he’ll take it as I’m cheating on him already. He accuses me constantly about that.”
“You think if you did...would you ever?”
Richie thought about it, then stared at his worn sneakers. “I think I could...but I would feel so guilty, Virgil. He loves me. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, but then again at the same time...I just resent him for tying me down before I was ready...do you think I’m evil?”
“...I think you’re capable of it. But that’s what makes you human, man. That’s why we were given free will...”
“...Yeah...I guess I shouldn’t really bug on it. But, I think I’m just getting used to the idea that I could do something totally evil...this sucks, V. Let’s talk about something else...”
“Fine. Want to hit the pool? I feel like doin’ some laps. Get things all muscled out of the way.”
“Yeah...oh...hey, hold on...”
Virgil reached out, snagging Richie’s shirt before he could take any more steps further. “Oh, not uh!” he growled, hauling him back. “You are NOT ditching me so you can go talk to him! Dammit, Rich!”
“But he looks lonely...and awfully attractive in that poor green polo. I must comfort him with my words of intellect...oh, shit. I better not. Shiv’s been hearing things, that prick. I wonder who he’s hearing things from...do any of these guys look like they know him?”
“Fuck if I know. Let’s go.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
It was early in the evening when Francis fired up the grill, more than gleeful to play with fire. The house was once again crowded with a gaggle of his friends, the blond just trying to grab a snack before he left for the evening to go and hang out with Virgil once more. He had just put the finishing touches on another ham sandwich when he felt the back of his neck prickle.
He licked the mustard from his thumb, acknowledging Ivan’s presence from the waft of that cologne and the familiar smell of his cigarette smoke. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he felt the tips of his ears redden as he recalled his shame and guilt from what he’d done the other day, and from this morning. He still wanted to apologize and fix things in some way–but realized how much of a high he’d gotten from doing so.
Ivan had given him that attention; it was his fault for being attracted.
He capped the mayonnaise, hearing the others outside laugh uproariously about something, the smell of the grill wafting in through the open sliding door. He made Ivan wait as he carefully laid the top bread over his completed project, and at the same time, gather his confidence.
The front door opened then, and he felt rather than heard Ivan slip away from him. He glanced over to see that it was Tyson and the others, and saw Ivan rummaging through the fridge from the corner of his eye.
He wrinkled his brow as he rolled up the bread package and eyed his sandwich with glee. Setting aside the mayonnaise and mustard tipped butterknife, he had just resolved to chase down his snack with the rum and Coke Shiv had made for everyone when a pair of dark hands snaked over and grabbed his sandwich. He dove over the counter with a growl, snatching it back.
Tyson laughed, a musical sound as he took a seat on one of the bar stools, his friends taking the sliding door out to join the others. Today, he was dressed in a pair of overly baggy jeans that nearly hit his knees, with an oversized Detroit Pistons jersey over a blank white tee. Gold flashed whenever he grinned, the crooked incisor a mite distracting whenever his lips were pulled open.
“What are you, some kinda cat or dog, or somethin’?”
The kid was seventeen–years younger than Richie, and was going to be a junior at Dakota Union. It was a little flattering that he gave his attention to the blond; a little intimidating in that he was younger.
Poised on the counter, Richie bit into his sandwich, giving him a sort of cheeky grin as he did so. He saw the way Tyson’s eyes skimmed over his form, especially over his ass, as he was wearing a brand new pair of jeans that Francis had gotten him earlier; a sort of gift for ‘stretching’ out his shirt. It was exciting to feel desired by someone other than his husband.
“No one touches my food.”
“No one, huh?” Tyson asked, leaning in close, as if he were going to bite into the held commodity. Richie held it out of reach, but didn’t move from his position on the counter, their faces but a foot away from each other. Francis would kill him if he came in at that moment, seeing him splayed out on the counter, but that was something that added to the excitement. It wasn’t as if he were going to actually kiss him, or anything. There wasn’t anything wrong with playing.
“No touchy. Make your own sandwich. In your own home.”
“You ain’t gonna share? What kinda host are ya? You’re not being very generous....” Because Tyson was a stranger, he did not know of their marriage, their preference status. He was only playing with the assumptions.
“What’s your idea of ‘generous’? You’re here to stay, aren’t you?”
“Generous, meaning you either give me a bite of your sandwich...or a bite outta you.”
“...Dreaming a little high, aren’t you?”
“What’s wrong with having aspirations, goals?”
“Nothing, I suppose...”
“Then give me a bite...who has to know?”
“That’s just something you’ll have to continue dreaming on, then. Because you’re not getting my sandwich,” Richie murmured, taking another bite of his snack, never taking his eyes away from the grinning boy’s.
“Then I’m gettin’ you?”
Richie merely grinned, sliding off the counter without a verbal response. He could feel Tyson watching his every move, and it was a little difficult to walk normally after this early morning’s desperate coupling. But that must have made some sort of positive response, Tyson’s eyes studiously taking in what he could as Richie sauntered his way to the sliding door. Before he stepped out, though, he gave the black boy a mischievous grin that made Tyson leave his chair to follow.
He immediately took cover near Francis, who was talking detail with the boy that aspired for a change on his car. A little disappointed, Tyson wandered off to talk with others, but kept the blond in sight the entire time.
Taking a seat next to the redhead, he was surprised when he felt Ivan bend down to whisper into his ear, “I’m not above tattletaling, especially when you’re all obvious.”
A little annoyed, Richie reached up to grab firmly onto one of his braids, holding him close to whisper back, “Then stop watching me.”
Pulling away, Ivan snorted, Richie watching him with one of those smug, sly smirks.
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC OR ANY OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARAS!!
A/N: Shampoomarea: Addictions are good things...if they are healthy. Liiiiike...Diet Coke! ^_^
Ebon4Shiv: I like a mischievous Richie. A frisky Richie is a good Richie. He’s soooo capable of being bad. As for the chills...in a good sorta way? Or a bad one? Oh, and BTW...thanks so much for your review on ‘Right Here’!
I’m_Alive: oi, I’m right up there with ya on the mucus. Mucus...makes me puke. Especially when it’s someone else’s...I have a weak stomach when it comes to mucus.
Chapter Six:
It’s Nice To Know That You Were There
He still wasn’t sure what they had had.
Whether it had been mutual understanding, or a form of love, it had been something that he’d felt secure with. She went along with what he said, and had the same ideals as he had; occasionally, if she felt something different, she made sure to let him know. At the time, he was obsessed with the next big thing, the next big rip-off; he hadn’t taken her values into too much consideration, and would listen to her only if it pertained to something of his concern. He had taken it all for granted; she had been loyal to him, if not particularly flighty, and he had grown used to the security she had given him. Her loyalty, her faith, her commitment; he suspected he’d fallen for her and was slapped with this fact when the time of the second Big Bang came around.
Her scathing words of him being ‘nothing’ before the Big Bang, even after knowing what he’d gone through with Adam and his family, had been like a dull knife through his gut. Her continued want to leave, to be normal again, to want to leave him–he still couldn’t think back to that time and feel that aching hurt all over again.
He’d known that she hated what she’d looked like. Her mutated appearance drove away any other contact, and inspired fear and disgust. She’d been angry and resentful–just like him. They’d bonded over their lifestyles...when she turned human, and turned away from it all, it had hurt in the same manner as losing Adam had.
Which was why, after everything was settled and paid for, he didn’t bother returning her calls. Or answer her visits at the shop. He hid his hurt behind his anger and his strive to overcome and accept. To accept her back into his life was putting himself back at risk once more. He was tired of losing things when he grew attached to it, and had been too egomaniacal to appreciate the time he’d spent with her over the course of four years. That was why he cut and ran when it came to her. He’d hear things, of course; via Shiv, because Shiv quietly knew the truth. Shiv was good that way–loyal, dependent, but giving when he was sure Ivan wanted it while denying it.
Last night’s incident continued to bother him–her defeat, her acceptance, her willingness to disregard her own common sense and strength for a loser. Theresa was his softness; he couldn’t exactly deny things when it came to her. Last night she had needed them, and they had come to her.
Taking care of Eustacio had been somewhat comforting; an eye for an eye, he made sure that Eustacio got the message loud and clear. With all the damage that had been inflicted on him, Eustacio wasn’t going to be bothering anybody for a long time. And if he tried, Ivan was sure that with every movement his ruined body made in that effort would remind him of what had been done to him.
He’d wanted to kill the man. But Theresa had wanted him to come back. And even if he didn’t want to grant that, for purely selfish reasons, he’d let the man live. It had been, strangely, an easy battle to lose. But it also meant that he had lost what final connection he had with Theresa. If she were happy...if she wanted that jerk...then she can have him and be at peace.
And so, today, he was looking to get drunk, to take his mind off what had happened.
Getting drunk and spending the day with his lumbering ‘brother’ sounded promising. Francis, with his basic thinking (mostly consisting of Richie, drinking, women and Richie–not all in that order), managed to get him pretty distracted.
Especially those games with Richie.
He was pretty sure that was all it was. Richie was playing with him. Had he somehow figured out that Ivan was attracted to him, and was looking to continue his cockteasing games with him? Or was it because Francis was paying him less and less attention, the blond doing the same thing and looking for something to alleviate his boredom?
The boy had never ventured beyond flirting, from what he learned from those Richie set his eyes on. Mostly, he played with their heads; doing his come-hither impression with lingering stares, with secretive smiles, with ‘accidental’ incidents of drawing his hands where a man’s eyes would linger long after they were gone, forever noticing them no matter how one tried not to. Then, he’d turn around and ignore them, behaving as if he’d never given them the eye, never gave them the time of day.
Just like a female, Ivan had thought. Sending the signals, playing a man where she wanted him until she fucked him over and moved on, a ferocious predator in lipstick and airy perfume.
Only this female came fitted with the same equipment and was capable of everything that a man can do.
Ivan blamed himself for watching that sly, pink tongue working his lips that day. It had been distracting, really, of knowing and not knowing what it tasted of, what it was capable of. He’d seen it plenty of times slinking over Francis’ lips, over exposed flesh when the blond was feeling particularly kinky, and though Francis’ impression, Ivan knew that it was capable of great things.
It shouldn’t have been any of his interest.
But it was too late; like a predator playing with its food, Richie had found a new plaything. He didn’t plan on devouring; he planned only on teasing and baiting to his own heart’s content.
Ivan didn’t want to be interested. But he was. He was interested to see where this went; if Richie would continue to sling him along with the rest of his admirers, or back off when things grew too intense. Ivan wanted to teach him a lesson; like Eustacio.
He was too cocky, too risky; Francis really had no idea what his husband did, literally, behind his back. It would be fitting if Richie were caught; not because Francis would most likely rip him a new one, but because it was always fitting to see a player fall. That always made Ivan’s day; seeing those get theirs at their own games.
Would Richie break, like Eustacio? Or would he just get back up, brush himself off, and learn from his mistakes to start another game, to be even more sneakier than before? It was interesting to think about.
Which was why it continued to plague him as he headed out of the apartment he shared with Shiv and the others, and for the nearest liquor store.
He considered Francis, of course. He was quite sure that if Francis found out he was messing around with his husband, the redhead would be very upset. But that was another consideration he was willing to bypass; it wasn’t as if he cared for Francis. While they felt the same things on a considering level, there wasn’t any real feelings between them. They were reluctant siblings. It wouldn’t hurt Ivan at all if Francis was hurt....though he might reconsider if Francis ever got his hands on him.
That was a different story.
If he were playing with Richie in that manner...would Francis be able to feel it? He would feel Francis’ emotions, but only when he was really riled. Francis felt his in the same attitude, only Ivan had learned to keep some of his bigger feelings in check–he wasn’t like Francis, and exploding at every turn and level. So Ivan was pretty sure he could keep that under control–besides, it wasn’t as if he were going to fall in love with the boy...just play him at his game. Feelings shouldn’t be involved.
But the challenge...the risk of it all...it was just as euphoric as things were when he was Ebon. Thinking that he could get away with everything, knowing that he could get away with anything, if he put his mind to it.
There were always consequences...he’d learned quite well of that. But what would they be?
On an insanely curious level, he wanted to know.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Later that morning, Shiv was already hollering up a storm with Freddie over some video games while Richie rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat. Francis was in the shower, and Richie himself had taken one hours earlier. He was still so very tired from last night’s activities, especially this morning’s possession, an uncomfortable pain burning insistently at him every time he moved.
He had just put the finishing touches on his sandwich when he felt lips on the back of his neck, two thick arms curling around his waist.
“You okay?” Francis asked against his ear, tongue sponging the back of his earlobe, making him cringe with reflexive sensitivity. “Not too hurt?”
“I suspect I’ll be walking bow-legged for a few days, but that’s nothing new,” Richie said with a wide grin, turning around to wrap his arms around his waist, to kiss him fully on the lips. It felt like old times again, and he wanted to make it last.
“Wearin’ my clothes, again?” the redhead asked with a frown, taking in the extremely baggy jeans that were held in place by a belt with the letter ‘F’ cut-out on the buckle.
“I hate doing laundry,” Richie muttered, wanting to ignore the annoyed tone.
“You’re the laziest wife I–fuck! What the fuck you do that for?” Francis then snarled, hand moving up to where Richie bit him.
“Oh, quit your bitchin’. Be a man, and take it.”
“Take THIS!” the redhead snapped, punching him in the hip.
“OW!” Richie cried, then kicked him in the shin, using his pained paralyzation to shove him against the stove. The two wrestled briefly, slamming into counters and knocking over various items, until Francis shoved him away with an annoyed growl.
“Don’t you ever bite me again, you little shit...that fuckin’ hurt.”
“Then don’t refer to me as a female.” Richie frowned at him, rubbing his hip as Francis scowled at him. Then, in an effort to apologize, he reached for him, leaning over to kiss where he’d bitten. Somewhat satisfied, Francis gave a low grumble, but went along as he grew interested with Richie’s hands moving over his waist to pull him close.
With his lips traveling firmly over his jaw line, noting that Francis needed to shave, he murmured, “Don’t hit me again, okay? Even when we’re playing. You’re too rough, sometimes. I feel like I really make you angry, and you really want to hurt me. You don’t want to hurt me, do you?”
“...Only when you need it,” Francis grumbled, pulling away to yank at his hair.
“Like last night, baby?” Richie asked, lifting an eyebrow as he rubbed at his scalp.
Francis was instantly remorseful, his scowl giving away to concern. “No...no, last night, I’m sorry. I’m sorry...you still hurting? I wasn’t thinking–I was just playing with you. You can take it. That’s why I like playing with you...”
Richie knew how and when to make him feel guilty, to use that for his own use. He’d learned that tactic well, waving goodbye, sometimes, to his own masculinity. Sometimes he felt bad about it.
Sometimes.
“I know you like playing, you big lug. You’re like one of those overeager puppies, you know? But sometimes, you’re just too rough, baby. I’m not one of your dumb friends, or those guys you beat up, okay? People might get to talking if they see me all bruised up...”
“...Not uh...I don’t do that to you, Rich. I wouldn’t–”
“I know you don’t, lover. But I don’t want people talking trash about you. We can still play rough, just...calm it down a little, k? Look...you stretched out my shirt. This is my favorite shirt, you know that...”
“...Shit. I did, didn’t I? I’ll get you another one, ‘k? I’m sorry...C’mere, let me see where I hurt you...”
“Right here, for one,” Richie then said, tapping his lips, his eyes locked on Francis as he drew him close.
Francis settled himself against him, so that Richie was now pressed against the counter, his lips opening to admit the prodding tongue. He tasted of their toothpaste, minty and fresh, and his saliva was thick and warm as their tongues rubbed and entwined. He felt Francis’ hands move from around his waist, moving over his ass, kneading gently as Richie enjoyed the dominating kiss.
It felt good, yes, but there was a sort of detachment that he felt as he let Francis take control. There was a familiarity to their routine of kissing, of knowing when their teeth would clink, when one would drool too much, of the moment when one would have to take a breath. It felt forced---but at the same time, it was pleasing, for they never kissed this much in a long while. So he decided to just enjoy it, the comfort and warmth he felt in knowing that, perhaps, his husband still desired him and still liked to kiss him.
His fingers slipped up the hem of his shirt, exploring familiar territory, rubbing warm flesh and hard muscle. He hummed in pleasure, shifting against him, his fingers spreading over his shoulder blades, clutching tightly. He felt Francis’ fingers move over the middle seam of his pants, tracing over his crevice with a firm stroke that made him shift restlessly once more.
His mouth left his, to pant lightly over his ear as Francis made his way down his neck, to nibble at his collarbone. Once he began feeling the gentle rocking of hips against his, the smooth way those fingers stroked and pressed at him, he gave a light sound of frustration, growing aroused and restless as he pined for more, his fingers interlacing around his neck so that he could hold on.
“Since you’re not eating this...thanks,” Shiv then said, interrupting as he snatched the sandwich Richie had just made.
Without looking away, or moving too much, Richie’s arm shot out and grabbed Shiv by his hair, yanking him back as Francis moved back to his lips, plundering as the purple-haired Bang Baby squawked in protest over the sandwich.
Grumbling, Shiv walked out of the kitchen as the commodity was taken from him. Giving a sullen look at the two that should really move their activities to their bedroom, he jumped over the back of the chair to settle down in the cushions within, snatching his controller out of Freddie’s hands.
“It’s really embarrassing when they do that,” Freddie whispered, face beet red as he struggled not to look. “I mean...it’s two guys...”
“You get used to it, man. Just...ignore them. When they started shedding clothes, I don’t fuckin’ care what the fuck I’m doing. I’m outta here,” Shiv said, with all the voice of experience, concentrating on his game. “‘Sides, if you’re so bothered, ask if you could join in.”
“No!” Freddie exclaimed with a goofy set of giggles.
“You know you want it. You want them takin’ over your ass.”
“No!”
“C’mon, Freddie...if it was so wrong, they wouldn’t be in that situation right now. God made his creatures equally–if it wasn’t pleasurable for two guys to fuck up each other’s asses, they wouldn’t be doing it, and there would be no such thing as gay porn,” Shiv said matter-of-factly, growling as his fighter began losing on-screen. “Or a prostate.”
“Er...but...a prostate is essential to a man’s body, as it is a gland surrounding the neck of the bladder and releases a fluid component of semen, something that aids in procreation.”
Shiv paused the game, and looked at Freddie. “If that is so...then...no matter what...if that thing’s hit, you cum no matter what? Damn. No wonder so many guys are
going gay.”
Both of them then shrugged, focusing determinedly onto the television screen.
The front door opened, Ivan walked in with his customary scowl, carrying a one-liter bottle of Coke, a bottle of Southern Comfort in his other hand.
“Don’t you two have work, today?” he asked with a suffering sigh, kicking the door shut.
“It’s Sunday,” Shiv pointed out with an eye roll.
“It’s Saturday!”
“Oh, shit, really?” Shiv saved his game, then grabbed a remote, switching channels until he came to Saturday morning cartoons, where he laughed joyously before settling in his seat once more.
Ivan shook his head, already buzzed from his share of alcohol as he spotted his ‘brother’ and his husband in the kitchen. Disregarding the fact that Francis had Richie on the counter, continuously rocking against him as Richie had his legs over his arms, he walked over, used to seeing such activity. There had been some moments where he’d been too drunk to care and had talked to Francis through the closed door of his bedroom, hearing the sounds and activities between sentences.
“We goin’ out?” he asked, settling both bottles on the counter with a perfunctory movement. He waited for Francis to stop sucking on Richie’s neck and then spied the sandwich nearby. He reached for it, only to have Richie slap his hand over the ruined bread and meat commodity, making him scowl.
He locked his eyes on the blond’s. It was a frozen moment in time as they stared at each other, even as Francis had his hands shoved between Richie’s open jeans and boxer-briefs, and his mouth nibbling on the column of his throat.
“Nah,” the redhead muttered, biting on the blond’s collarbone, Richie giving a jerk of his body and a light gasp that made Ivan’s stomach clench. “Stayin’ in.”
Ivan scowled darkly, and opened the bottle of Southern Comfort, taking a long chug before chasing it down with his Coke.
“No,” he heard the blond grunt, shaking his head as he struggled to pull away. “You said you’re going out.”
“I changed my mind.”
“No, you promised.”
“What are you doing, then?”
“Mom’s house.”
“Ah...right...yeah, we’re going out,” Francis then said, the blond giving a little smile before leaning in to nibble on his neck, making the redhead jerk. But Ivan caught the wicked flick of his eyes in his direction as he did so.
He grabbed the battered sandwich and left the area, taking his two bottles with him as he did so.
Shiv gave him an interested glance. “You okay?” he asked, already knowing his buzzed up state. “It’s only nine in the mornin’, man.”
“Gimme that thingy. I ain’t watchin’ no damn cartoons.”
“AW! C’mon, man! It’s Ninja Turtles,” Shiv hissed, moving into a whisper. “They’re fuckin’ bad-ass, man. I wanna be like Mike.”
“Turtles are cool,” Freddie said on a giggle.
Ivan gave them both disgusted looks, biting into the sandwich. The couple in the kitchen finally separated, with Francis taking over on the Southern Comfort, swigging that without the chaser as he sat down on the couch. Ivan munched complacently on the ham and cheese until Richie snagged it back with a growl, and took up a seat on the floor, between Shiv’s legs, the purple haired Asian giving him a scowl.
“We goin’ out, tonight?” Shiv then asked, looking over at them. “Let’s go to the one on West Second. There’s some gorgeous babes up on that joint. You remember Tomiko? I met her there. There’s always little honies that put out over there!”
“I don’t like Asians.”
“You like ‘em big and tall. You ever wonder if it’s some sort of mother complex, Ivan?”
Ivan gave him a disgusted look, and tossed a pillow at him.
Richie turned to look at Francis with a frown, but Shiv slugged him with the pillow before he could say anything. Abandoning his sandwich, the blond leapt up from the floor and slammed into him, the pair wrestling and growling on the overstuffed chair. Ivan rescued the sandwich, biting into it as he frowned over at Francis. He noticed the scary bite mark on his forearm, and shook his head.
“I checked that thing out,” he said. “Y’know, Cass?”
Francis gave him a frown as he indicated Richie nearby. Not caring, Ivan went on with, “It ain’t good. You think your ho’s a golddigger. She all makin’ plans for babies and shit. She knows you’re loaded. Was braggin’ around to her friends how she was gonna trap ya.”
“I ain’t on that,” Francis muttered around the mouth of the bottle, darting nervous glances in Richie’s direction. But the blond was too occupied with wrestling Shiv into submission, the pair shouting and pulling dirty tactics in an effort to win. “Fuck that.”
“Movin’ on?”
“Yeah. I got word this one chick wants to meet up. Think I might do it,” both cringed at Shiv’s howl of pain, the chair toppling over with a loud collusion of sound, “tonight. Call her up. Y’know, see what’s what.”
“Let me ride in with you.”
“Where the fuck’s your ride?” Francis asked, thinking of the black Nissan Maxima that, somehow, still seemed to retain the new car smell. Everything about it was black; the interior, the rims, the grill, the lights; the windows were darkly tinted, just barely surpassing legal limits in darkness.
“Gettin’ it tuned up. Fuck, I just gotta go get it, really. I’ve just been too lazy to drive. I hate drivin’, man. It’s fuckin’...stupid.”
“You’re just a puss, is all. Hey, don’t be wearing any black jeans or blue shirts, tonight, either. I’m wearing that. The Tommys with the...the shirt with the thing...”
“That one you got from that preppy place?”
“Yeah, the thing on the front. Don’t be wearin’ that. An Rich said he gave ya that cologne?”
“Yeah. You ain’t gettin’ it back. I got it all corrupted.”
“Keep it. I like my old stuff.”
“Sucka, you’re just a fuckin’ fruit.”
“Heh heheh...hey! HEY! Rich, let him go. Man, that ain’t cool...You know he’s all beat.”
“...Shiv thinks he’s all tough, huh? Fuckin’ kid...”
“Wanna barbeque tonight? Got some steaks.”
“Fire it up. I’m hungry right now.”
“...What the fuck are we watching?” Francis then asked, noting the television screen with disgust. Richie gave a shriek of outrage, Shiv laughing with glee. The coffee table fell victim to their actions, crashing over, sending video games and empty cans of soda flying. No one blinked, too focused on the activity on the screen to really give any reaction.
“...Dunno. Hey, check out that guy. What’s his name, Freddie?” Ivan asked curiously, taking the Southern Comfort to snatch a comforting swallow before chasing it with Coke.
“That’s Casey Jones, sucka,” Freddie said eagerly, grinning goofily. “He hangs out with the turtles, man. Kinda like...I dunno.”
“Fuckin’...you hear about that Spalding chick?”
“...Who’s that?”
“That psycho bitch with the head trip. Heard she committed suicide. In her cell.”
Francis snorted, shaking his head, swigging more of the alcohol and wincing at another one of Shiv’s screams. “She was young, huh? Rich’s age.”
“Just a kid. Adam was talkin’ about–hey....” Ivan scowled as the sandwich was taken away again, Richie giving him a dirty look at the remaining chunk. Watching him leave, Ivan muttered, “Ho.”
Francis frowned at him, then looked after Richie, as if he could see such a thing on his husband. He shook his head, shrugging as he finished off the alcohol.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“I’m havin’ a boy with Shenice,” Virgil panted over sit-ups, Richie pausing in his as he considered this.
The gym wasn’t that crowded–the two were taking up the mats near the back, completing repetitions of sit-ups and cool down stretches. Their two hours were almost up, and both had been mostly silent that entire time, lost to their own thoughts. For Virgil to speak right then was a welcome change.
“Oh yeah? Well...that’s cool.”
“Yeah...she was thinkin’ of movin’ back here. Her parents are a little pissed that I got her knocked-up. I mean, yeah, I fucked up an’ all. But I want to fix things. It ain’t like I’m abandoning them, or anything...”
“You’re there to support them. I know, man, I see what efforts you’re taking. And it’s all cool, V.” Richie frowned as he paused once more, glaring at the twenty-five pound weight he held against his chest. “Do either of them want to get married?”
Virgil grunted as he paused as well, sweat making his dark skin shine as he considered his own twenty-five pound weight in his arms. Shrugging a shoulder, he looked at his best friend and partner. “I kinda don’t want to get married. In a way...I don’t love either, you know? Yeah, they’re my babies’ mamas and all that, but...it’s like...in the overall situation, it was just sex. Man, you know what it’s like. Hormones make most of your decisions for you.”
“Yeah...got me a ring on my finger.”
“Yeah, that, and...I dunno. I don’t love them. I respect them, and I care for them...but I don’t love them enough to, y’know, want to spend–well, in any event, I’m spending my life with both of them because of the kids.”
“I know what you mean, V. They got you for eighteen years, at least. But you’ll have a great relationship with your kids, man. You’re good with them.”
“Yeah...” Virgil considered his weight again, then the pair resumed their sit-ups once more. Nothing more was exchanged save for the strained grunts and exhales of air. Then, “Pops finally sat down and talked with me, last night. Still kinda pissed...I mean, I would be, too, with me, y’know? So it ain’t like, I’m going to hold it against him. Said stuff like, how he was going to support me an’ all that, he just don’t think too highly of my decision makin’ skills. An’...you ever think you married too young, man? I mean, that guy was your first boyfriend–”
“First serious boyfriend. I’ve had others.”
“Oh, uh-uh, no way....wait a minute...that Travis guy?”
“Wasn’t that serious...”
“...Ya’ll told me he was just a study buddy...”
“Oh, he was a study buddy all right...”
“...Rich, you a ho!”
“Whhhaaatttt? So are you! Even though, your situation’s more so than mine ever was!”
Virgil snorted, and paused once more, panting from both the efforts he was taking to keep his body in shape, and from the conversation. Sometimes, he could swear they talked more than women ever did. He glared over at his best friend, who was striving to finish his reps.
“Man...we both hoes,” he complained. “But I still say you’re more so than me.”
“No way, partner. You have two different mamas for two different babies...”
“Yeah, but...you openly admit to messing around with guys...”
“I do NOT touch....but then again, who’s to say they can’t touch me?”
“Man...there ain’t enough words in the dictionary, and in the English language to describe your hoey-ness!”
Richie laughed, finishing up and setting the weight aside. “You just made up a word, Virgil.”
“Yeah, well...your situation demanded it.”
“I’m not a ho! Damn, V...”
Both of them reflected briefly on their own situations, until Richie sighed gustily. “I have a problem.”
“What? Thinking of divorcing Hs for Shiv?”
“Ew...Not a very good mental picture. Bluegh. Anyway, no. Theresa, y’know, Talon?...”
“Oh...yeah, I heard she got knocked-up by her man.”
“Yeah...well, her man beat her up, V. She miscarried yesterday. The situation got dealt with, and I doubt her man will ever lift a fist to her again–”
“What happened to him?”
“...Let’s just say that Theresa has very loving friends.”
“...Rich...you weren’t involved, were you?”
“Dude, we barely know each other. But...don’t pay any attention to that. She was all messed up, V. She had that racoon effect going on, she just miscarried...she was all busted up. And yet...even after all that shit she went through with him? She just...she loved him enough to want him back despite it all. I found it disturbing, you know? To what extent can you love a person without losing all common sense and values?”
“...I dunno, man. Haven’t been in that situation, before. We see that shit all the time, man. I mean, still, it is different when you actually know the person involved–!”
“Yeah, I know–!”
“–and it’s all fucked up when you think about it, because it’s two desperate people that are too dependent on each other to really care...I can’t understand those types of situations, man. I mean, I just can’t see it. If a person’s gonna whack up on you, why you gonna stand there and take it?”
“...I don’t know...”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I guess it’s just...what I said earlier. You know? To what extent can you love a person without losing all common sense and values?”
“...That’s bothering you? You think...you think you might do somethin’ like that?”
“...I think we married too young, V. Realistically, we’re not going to last,” Richie said finally, sighing as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “And I know this, and I am fully aware that, yeah, there are ways of making things work. But...I want to have fun. I want to be able to have fun without having to restrict myself all the time, without...having that leash on me.”
Virgil pulled his knees up lightly, frowning as he interlaced his fingers around them. “You thinking of gettin’ out of that, man?”
“...I love Francis, Virgil. There isn’t a day that goes by when I just feel... so content....but at the same time, there’s something nagging at me, y’know? I want to be able to see other people...I also want to come home to him every night. But the thought of cheating on him just to achieve that makes me sick. Like I’m being unfair. And at the same time, I feel really resentful, because he’s older than me, and he should have known better.”
“...You’re supposed to be this big genius, Richie. Why didn’t you think of that in the first place?”
“Well, I did! But...at the time, I was sorta convinced that I’d never think this way...but here I am.”
“You don’t sound happy, Richie. You don’t. I mean, in a way? You do, but you don’t.”
“...I dunno...maybe I should see a marriage councilor, or something. I know if I bring this subject up to Francis, he’ll take it as I’m cheating on him already. He accuses me constantly about that.”
“You think if you did...would you ever?”
Richie thought about it, then stared at his worn sneakers. “I think I could...but I would feel so guilty, Virgil. He loves me. I couldn’t bring myself to do that, but then again at the same time...I just resent him for tying me down before I was ready...do you think I’m evil?”
“...I think you’re capable of it. But that’s what makes you human, man. That’s why we were given free will...”
“...Yeah...I guess I shouldn’t really bug on it. But, I think I’m just getting used to the idea that I could do something totally evil...this sucks, V. Let’s talk about something else...”
“Fine. Want to hit the pool? I feel like doin’ some laps. Get things all muscled out of the way.”
“Yeah...oh...hey, hold on...”
Virgil reached out, snagging Richie’s shirt before he could take any more steps further. “Oh, not uh!” he growled, hauling him back. “You are NOT ditching me so you can go talk to him! Dammit, Rich!”
“But he looks lonely...and awfully attractive in that poor green polo. I must comfort him with my words of intellect...oh, shit. I better not. Shiv’s been hearing things, that prick. I wonder who he’s hearing things from...do any of these guys look like they know him?”
“Fuck if I know. Let’s go.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
It was early in the evening when Francis fired up the grill, more than gleeful to play with fire. The house was once again crowded with a gaggle of his friends, the blond just trying to grab a snack before he left for the evening to go and hang out with Virgil once more. He had just put the finishing touches on another ham sandwich when he felt the back of his neck prickle.
He licked the mustard from his thumb, acknowledging Ivan’s presence from the waft of that cologne and the familiar smell of his cigarette smoke. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he felt the tips of his ears redden as he recalled his shame and guilt from what he’d done the other day, and from this morning. He still wanted to apologize and fix things in some way–but realized how much of a high he’d gotten from doing so.
Ivan had given him that attention; it was his fault for being attracted.
He capped the mayonnaise, hearing the others outside laugh uproariously about something, the smell of the grill wafting in through the open sliding door. He made Ivan wait as he carefully laid the top bread over his completed project, and at the same time, gather his confidence.
The front door opened then, and he felt rather than heard Ivan slip away from him. He glanced over to see that it was Tyson and the others, and saw Ivan rummaging through the fridge from the corner of his eye.
He wrinkled his brow as he rolled up the bread package and eyed his sandwich with glee. Setting aside the mayonnaise and mustard tipped butterknife, he had just resolved to chase down his snack with the rum and Coke Shiv had made for everyone when a pair of dark hands snaked over and grabbed his sandwich. He dove over the counter with a growl, snatching it back.
Tyson laughed, a musical sound as he took a seat on one of the bar stools, his friends taking the sliding door out to join the others. Today, he was dressed in a pair of overly baggy jeans that nearly hit his knees, with an oversized Detroit Pistons jersey over a blank white tee. Gold flashed whenever he grinned, the crooked incisor a mite distracting whenever his lips were pulled open.
“What are you, some kinda cat or dog, or somethin’?”
The kid was seventeen–years younger than Richie, and was going to be a junior at Dakota Union. It was a little flattering that he gave his attention to the blond; a little intimidating in that he was younger.
Poised on the counter, Richie bit into his sandwich, giving him a sort of cheeky grin as he did so. He saw the way Tyson’s eyes skimmed over his form, especially over his ass, as he was wearing a brand new pair of jeans that Francis had gotten him earlier; a sort of gift for ‘stretching’ out his shirt. It was exciting to feel desired by someone other than his husband.
“No one touches my food.”
“No one, huh?” Tyson asked, leaning in close, as if he were going to bite into the held commodity. Richie held it out of reach, but didn’t move from his position on the counter, their faces but a foot away from each other. Francis would kill him if he came in at that moment, seeing him splayed out on the counter, but that was something that added to the excitement. It wasn’t as if he were going to actually kiss him, or anything. There wasn’t anything wrong with playing.
“No touchy. Make your own sandwich. In your own home.”
“You ain’t gonna share? What kinda host are ya? You’re not being very generous....” Because Tyson was a stranger, he did not know of their marriage, their preference status. He was only playing with the assumptions.
“What’s your idea of ‘generous’? You’re here to stay, aren’t you?”
“Generous, meaning you either give me a bite of your sandwich...or a bite outta you.”
“...Dreaming a little high, aren’t you?”
“What’s wrong with having aspirations, goals?”
“Nothing, I suppose...”
“Then give me a bite...who has to know?”
“That’s just something you’ll have to continue dreaming on, then. Because you’re not getting my sandwich,” Richie murmured, taking another bite of his snack, never taking his eyes away from the grinning boy’s.
“Then I’m gettin’ you?”
Richie merely grinned, sliding off the counter without a verbal response. He could feel Tyson watching his every move, and it was a little difficult to walk normally after this early morning’s desperate coupling. But that must have made some sort of positive response, Tyson’s eyes studiously taking in what he could as Richie sauntered his way to the sliding door. Before he stepped out, though, he gave the black boy a mischievous grin that made Tyson leave his chair to follow.
He immediately took cover near Francis, who was talking detail with the boy that aspired for a change on his car. A little disappointed, Tyson wandered off to talk with others, but kept the blond in sight the entire time.
Taking a seat next to the redhead, he was surprised when he felt Ivan bend down to whisper into his ear, “I’m not above tattletaling, especially when you’re all obvious.”
A little annoyed, Richie reached up to grab firmly onto one of his braids, holding him close to whisper back, “Then stop watching me.”
Pulling away, Ivan snorted, Richie watching him with one of those smug, sly smirks.