Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ All The Things That You Do... ( Chapter 8 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Things turn a little...weird...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.01.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.9K | Visits: 517 | Status: Completed
Things turn a little...weird...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.01.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 8.9K | Visits: 517 | Status: Completed
A/N: O_O This chapter is...sorta...strange...but, interestingly, it goes with the story. O_O I couldn’t stop writing it, and it matches the mood. O_O sorta.
I’m_Alive: You are so perceptive!
Shampoo Marea: Thank you! ^_^
Chapter Eight:
All The Things That You Hide From Me...
“Ahem.”
Ivan stilled, but didn’t look up from finishing the last installation of the amp he was infixing within an ‘02 Acura. The feminine clearing of throat made him utterly angry at himself for being caught, but the cooler part of him immediately settled into place. He continued with the installation, merging wires together with quick flicks of his fingers and ignoring the feel of eyes on his back.
“I don’t like being bothered,” he muttered, focusing intently on his work.
“You can do that sort of stuff with your eyes closed,” Theresa murmured, walking into the wide, open space of the garage, where most of the body work was being conducted on various vehicles. Everyone was at lunch, she’d been informed, but Ivan had remained to finish work before heading to his second job at the record shop.
She took her time in examining a half stripped Camry and admired the racing stripes on a ‘03 Mustang.
Ivan stopped tinkering, pausing in action as he kept his position within the back seat of the Acura. His eyes flicked over the direction from where her voice came, but her thin frame was blocked by the side wall of the interior.
Theresa looked over at the Acura that Ivan was hiding in, reaching out to run her fingertips over the back end of the car. Her bruises had faded considerably; she had dressed up to meet him, today. Her orange-red hair was brushed and curled, pinned back with bobby pins, her earlobes adorned with thin wire hoops that brushed against her clavicle; her lace and polyester shirt was frilly and pretty over well worn jeans that showcased her lean form. Her shoes added five inches to her height, and she had even gone all out with liquid liner, lip liner and gloss.
“You keep avoiding me, Ivan,” she said, a sort of stern annoyance audible in her tone. She could see his bent head through the back window of the car, for once without its usual array of cornrows. The dark color of his afro matched the Sean John t-shirt that he wore, the contrast of his diamond studs and single white gold chain catching the eye. “Why you doing that?”
Hearing the sullen silence within, followed by the obvious shifting of electronics into the car’s side wall made her snort as she moved away from the vehicle. She walked over to the Mustang, and took her time to admire the paint job–realized that embedded within the dark paint were images of more contrasting lines that made the vehicle seem as if it were constantly in motion. She marveled it while she waited for Ivan to acknowledge her verbally, or leave the car he had hidden himself in. She had all day–she would wait for either one.
The car door slammed behind her, ringing throughout the garage when she turned away from the stripped Camry. She watched Ivan with serious, dark eyes as he glared at her with a mixture of annoyance and scrutiny.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, frowning at the expression on his face. “About things. But you’ve been avoiding my calls. You been telling these guys over here to keep me away with constant excuses? The only reason why I don’t hit that record shop of yours is because my man’s friend works there. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, and you’ve been avoiding me.”
“So? Shit, we don’t got shit to say to each other.”
She scoffed at this, giving a sound that made it clear of what she thought of that. He gave her a scowl, tossing aside a box full of wires onto a nearby cluttered table, and walked out from the garage. She followed, not at all bothered by his gruff attitude.
“You may not, but I do,” she said quietly, shielding her eyes from the sun as they stepped outside, surveying the back junkyard of the shop. He had a cigarette lit, the smoke wafting over in her direction as he looked away from her. Her bangles gave a musical jingle as she waved the offensive smell away. “I wanted to thank you...for bringing him back. He hasn’t come out from the hospital yet; he told the police he was jumped by some guys, but he didn’t know who. He said a lot of things to me the day after, y’know...just...apologizing. Making all these excuses and vows and promises...like he’s all a changed man.”
She squinted her eyes, keeping them shielded as she waited for some sort of reaction, or comment from the man standing before her. He seemed to be ignoring her again, focused on something in the distance, smoking on the cig while he took out his cellphone.
Ignoring this obvious display, she crossed her arms over her midriff, toeing the pavement with her raised wedges. “Y’know, I was thinking about things the other day. How, back in the day, we all hung out and had fun like it was the greatest thing in the world to be robbing stores and terrorizing peoples...we were all so close back then...and it felt good. Y’know? To have a family that would understand you and make you feel secure...at times...if not for some idiot that was convinced that following his orders would lead us to a trouble-free Nirvana.”
She didn’t wait for a reaction, or a comeback to this; merely pulled absently at her top and smoothed out the thighs of her jeans. “I miss those times. Having family...mine is okay, but things change. They look at me differently. When I got with Eustacio, they spaced themselves from me because they didn’t like him. Gang member, an’ all. But he gave me security and he made me feel safe. He really loved me; always givin’...I fell hard in love with that one. Sort of...like when I fell in love the first time with someone else. He was no where like Eustacio, though. Complete opposite in some aspects. He never gave; he was selfish. But I fell in love with him because he seemed to strong, to me. Knew what he was about, knew what he wanted, and his family ties made so much sense...he was always willin’ to give to family. But this man was so easily hurt when someone close to him hurt him.
“But those times...with time, I grew apart from that man. I moved on when he didn’t want to reciprocate, or didn’t feel the same way. I guess I was looking for another man like that, and found some of it in Eustacio...big mistake, huh?” Theresa snorted, shaking her head. She heard the telltale sounds of a number being inputted into the cell, and felt that agonizing give of defeat and weariness overtake her heart.
She lifted her head to study the one turned away from her, and shook her head slightly.
“Thank you, Ivan. For bringing him back. You guys stay cool with each other, okay? It felt really good to know that people had my back, once more. I’m an idiot and a fool, but it felt really good to know that I am still loved by those I left behind...I guess that’s all I wanted to say.”
She watched as he put the cell to his ear and began talking. Feeling a little foolish, and more than hurt, she turned away and walked off without another word.
That night, Ivan was scowling as he drummed his fingertips over the counter, staring off into the distance while Theresa’s words somehow wormed themselves above all other matters of thinking. While he had a vague realization that she was talking about him, there was an insecure part of him that didn’t want to accept that.
Merely because he was moving over her–that what they had was in the past, now. She had that idiot to love and dote on. He didn’t really understand that sort of relationship, not really having any of his own. Lust, greed, power...that is what he understood. To really give oneself to another, to really let that person in and dominate one’s thinking and lifestyle was something that he didn’t really want to venture into.
But Theresa...back in the day, maybe if he had a clue and maybe if he stopped focusing on his plans, perhaps he would have learned things differently.
It didn’t help matters much when he had someone like Francis dictating what he should be feeling.
He had to pound on the counter in agitation over that. Feeling Francis’ love for his husband, the way he relied and doted on every loving thing Richie did to and for him influenced Ivan’s way of thinking. Sometimes, he found himself curious to wonder what it would feel like to have that given to him; love. Understanding.
But he was quick to deny it. He grew up strong and he grew up without that influence. Even if he had a taste of it, it was quick to be taken away from him. So he knew it wasn’t for him.
He glared at the obscene amount of CDs that spilled over the counter, most of them hitting his elbows as they rested on the surface. He knew without having to lift his eyes that his little brother was there to annoy him with his presence.
“Long day?” Adam asked, frowning at him as he leaned against the counter. He was dressed in usual fashion; dark blue jeans that were fashionably faded along the legs, track jacket with a black, blank hat that sat sideways on his head. He had grown a goatee, again, his face drawn with the Evans’ trademark scowls. “You look bored, Ivan.”
“Fuck off. Whatcha doin’ buying all this shit, anyway? Might as well as buy the whole fuckin’ store while you’re at it.”
“Couldn’t get the deal,” Adam said with a serious expression, not bothered by his older brother’s attitude. “I don’t like seeing you work like this, man. It seriously pulls you down.”
Ivan tossed one of the CD’s at him. “Like I really need you to tell me what the fuck I be needing.”
“I could get you into a job where you won’t be so fuckin’ bothered all the time!” Adam insisted. “You won’t have to work with me–you won’t have to be associated with me!”
“Man, I ain’t listening to this bullshit,” Ivan muttered, leaving the counter. The manager saw him do so, and growled his name, but Adam waved him off. Sliding his hands into his jacket pockets, Adam followed Ivan as he left the checkout stands and headed over to the back to start re-stocking. Because of his standing, because of who he was, Adam was allowed to follow his brother into the employees’ area, greeting those he knew as Ivan struggled to ignore him.
“Okay, fine, I’ll stop with the job thing,” Adam said on a sigh, gesturing. “I just...I dunno, I just feel like I gotta return the favor. You looked after me when we were kids, and I just–!”
“I don’t want no fuckin’ ‘favors’ returned to me.” Ivan turned, giving him a disgusted look. Adam stood at five foot eight, so Ivan still had the height advantage over him. Except that Adam was twenty pounds heavier, the weight gained from his recent happiness with his wife and his way of life. “I’m just doin’ what I gotta do. Doesn’t mean I want fuckin’ reciprocation from stupid fools.”
Adam held his hands up in surrender, but followed as Ivan grumbled his way over to a couple of opened boxes.
“I just want you to be happy, man. Just...settle down, I guess. I mean, not in the way that I had, y’know, but...at least settle down. Stop partying so much, hanging out with that fuckin’ loser.”
“Ya gotta be more specific,” Ivan muttered. “I know many ‘losers’...”
“Well, all of them.”
“Can’t. They the only family I got.” Ivan gave him a flick of an angry expression. “The kind that don’t leave.”
Adam looked away, his lips pursing as Ivan dropped the extra copies into a nearby push cart. Without any other word, he followed grimly after, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“Fine, we’ll drop that,” he then decided. “Look...we’re having dinner Sunday, maybe you can–”
“Got plans.”
“...Okay, there’s this premiere–!”
“I hate movies.”
“...Gotcha. Look, Ivan...you have a lunch break, soon?”
“I don’t like eating.”
Adam sighed in exasperation, throwing his hands up. “Look, man, I know you don’t like talking to me! I know you don’t like it when I follow you around, but you’re my brother. You’re my family! You’ve all I got in blood! I just wanna hang out with you, sometime, just...y’know, almost like it was back in the day. When we just...hang out. And talk. And not have me tryin’ to keep up with you, or tryin’ to stay on your good mood. Y’know?”
Ivan grunted, pointedly ignoring him as he started shelving some of the CDs he had in his cart. Adam watched him for a few moments, then rolled his eyes, hands slapping onto his sides.
“Well...fuck...I wanted to talk to you about some things. This guy I know, who lives down the north end, he’s been talkin’ about the Playas. How they’re fuckin’ around with the Pitts...word is, people are arming themselves, and gettin’ scared.”
Ivan screwed his face up with annoyance. “Don’t you have some chump to cheap talk to?”
“I’m talkin’ to you, aren’t I?” Adam shot back, frowning at him. Ivan looked away from his job, and stared at him. Shifting uncomfortably, Adam hated feeling six years old all over again. “Sorry.”
“I don’t fuckin’ care about what’s goin’ on in the streets, man. I ain’t in on that,” Ivan then muttered, working once more.
“Parole, huh? Well...everyone still talks about you, I guess. But word’s gettin’ out that all the old members and current members are being targeted by this weirdo. So I was kinda ...y’know...concerned.”
“Man, everyone’s bein’ targeted for some reason. I ain’t scared of no one. And lastly, I don’t need your fuckin’ ‘concern’,” Ivan growled, pushing the cart forward and leaving Adam to gape after him.
Following, Adam sighed, shaking his head. “Anything involving your old gang is something of concern for me, man. That stuff never leaves you. Even if you walk away. Even if you start someplace new. There’s always someone that wants to fuck you over to take your place. I don’t want you runnin’ from it, just...I dunno.”
Ivan ignored him, hearing his cellphone chirp loudly for attention. Ignoring the annoyed glare from the manager, he leaned against the cart and answered with pointed attention.
“Like runnin’ away from Theresa all the time,” Adam finally muttered, giving his older brother a glare as he moved past him. Ivan frowned at him, but lost interest as he listened to Shiv eagerly explain what he’d seen a couple of hours earlier.
“So, like, I was like, workin’? And then this guy comes in, all battered and fucked up like that guy you beat down a couple of weeks ago? And he’s all, I was attacked! I was attacked by this big dog thing! It was tryin’ to eat me! And then, when my boss was callin’ the ambulance and the cops and stuff? Dude, his GUTS just fell out onto the fuckin ‘floor! I was like, woah!...It was cool.”
Ivan rolled his eyes, leaning with exaggerated exasperation against the cart. “And I fuckin’ care... why?”
“Dude! His guts! They fell!...there’s a stain where they fell! It was fuckin’ rockin’, man! Like... something out of a fuckin’ movie! Oh, hold on, JIM! I’m talking to some guy at Channel Four! Hey, listen, gotta go, ‘k? I’ll smooches you later!”
Ivan hung up before he could even finish, sensing another ridiculous goodbye. While he was halfway interested in knowing what could make a guy walk into a store, guts hanging out, he really wasn’t that concerned.
Later on, still a little annoyed over Theresa’s and Adam’s visit, he took over on the overstuffed chair and listened to Francis whine and complain over the disappearance of his husband. Sipping at a Corona, Ivan thought about the way Richie had looked so defiant and angry while Francis looked ready to rip off his head. The blond had always been so damn spunky–sure he’d tremble and swoon like some damn femme in distress, but he’d always turn around and start running off at the mouth, angering anybody he was talking to. It tended to drive Francis up the wall whenever he did that, and Ivan had been unwilling witness to every instance.
Frankly...it was amusing. If that insolence wasn’t directed to him.
“...always fuckin’ takin’ off...never comin’ back...he’s never with any of his family! He never stays with Virgil! I know he has someone on the side he goes cryin’ to whenever he starts shit with me!” Francis huffed, kicking the already battered coffee table as he folded his arms over his chest. “Just wish I knew who it was, I’d kick his ass as well.”
“‘Ch.”
“Fuckin’ ;...where do you think he goes? He ain’t with Virgil, that fucking dick calls over here lookin’ for him. And Maggie and Sean are fuckin’ useless...fuck. Fucking cellphone’s always turned off...”
Ivan thought of Theresa. It was an unbidden thought, something that had chosen to pop up for whatever reason. That day, she had touched the car–he’d noticed her nails were neat and trim, short and painted a soft pink color. Pink had never been her color–she was too strong for pink. But that flash of it on her fingertips seemed to make her vulnerable. A woman that needed a strong man to take care of her.
...He wasn’t a strong man. He was capable of breaking.
“...always has guys lookin’ at him. Like he’s a fuckin’ piece of meat. I know he flaunts it for everyone else. Never fuckin’ believed any of it, but seein’ it that night? Fuck...he probably has all these fuckers panting after him. Fuckin’ cocktease. Fuckin’ cocktease, and he’s married to me, and he still fucks around! Probably fuckin’ all of them...why the fuck isn’t he calling?...Fuck...hope he didn’t get into an accident, or laying on the side of the road, somewhere. Probably where he is. He’s always getting beat up in high school! Man, if anybody touched him like that...”
What was Adam saying? Something about his old gang, having members loading up protection against some...weirdo? What sort of weirdo? Gang members were targeted all the time–he wasn’t worried. Most of the time, he had enemies coming up to him, getting into his face–but he had the power and the back-up to send them packing. He wasn’t afraid of confrontation–from those that he hadn’t allowed close.
Adam and Theresa had the most power over him. He hated that.
“...can’t take of himself. He needs me. Fuck, the bastard needs me. He can’t do shit without me! He needs me. Like back in the day. I need him...fuck, he better not be cheating on me. I’d be so...I dunno...”
“Yeah, right.”
“...You hear about Shiv? Hey, I heard Theresa was at the shop, today. What’s that about?”
“Nothin’. Just botherin’. Shiv?”
“Yeah. Somethin’ about some guy walkin’ into the shop, with his guts all hanging out. Dude, they said he was attacked by some dog. Said he had connections to some gang. You were with the Playas, weren’t you?” Francis asked, looking over at him with a thoughtful expression.
“Yeah.” Ivan shifted uncomfortably. He looked over at Francis with a frown. “Why? That kid part of it? I heard something about them, too.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Like they were bein’ targeted, or somethin’.”
“...By who? They got enemies. All over the place. They all do.”
“Yeah. By some... ‘weirdo’. Dunno.”
“Some ‘weirdo’?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, man. That’s just what I was told. An’ what the fuck...? You weren’t wearing that all day, were you?” Ivan then asked in disgust, looking at Francis’ dark blue shirt and jeans.
“No. Why–! Fuck! Lemme go change.”
Ivan shook his head as Francis left the couch, grumbling about having limited fashion options. He thought about what Adam had heard, and wondered where it had come from. The front door opened, admitting Shiv and Freddie, both of them talking loudly over some inane subject. They weren’t greeted, just as familiar to the setting as the owners themselves.
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearing eleven. He figured on hitting the sack early, feeling more than tired as he finished off his beer, hearing Francis and Shiv laugh over what had happened in Shiv’s shop earlier that day.
He heard the familiar running theme of Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps”, and had to chortle. It was the ringtone that signaled that his husband was calling him. Shiv and Francis thought it was hilarious to associate that particular song with Richie.
He heard Francis answer, Shiv cackling as he hurried back into the living room, flopping onto the couch with an uncoordinated mess of limbs. He had lost himself in the continuous flap of Shiv’s mouth and the amusing images of crashing skateboarders on screen when Francis cursed angrily.
“That’s it,” he announced, grumbling as he snatched another beer from the fridge. “I’m gettin’ a divorce. Fuck this bullshit.”
Ivan gave a bark of laughter. “You threaten that at least three times a year. Haven’t seen you do it yet. You all soft, fuckin’ pussy.”
“Well...for tonight, then. Fuck this shit. Let’s go out. I don’t wanna hang around here. Expects me to apologize? Fuck that bullshit. Hah! Let’s go find a dumb broad that won’t talk back.”
“Want me to introduce you to my mom?” Shiv asked, getting up from the couch and laughing as Francis shot him a dirty look.
Ivan snickered, rising as well. “He ain’t comin’ back?”
“Nah...fuckin’ pitching a fit. Called me a bastard.” Francis huffed. But he was lying; Ivan could feel the anxiety coming from him, wondering where Richie was, wondering if he was okay. Francis could display all his tough man attitude all he wanted, but Ivan knew better.
Somehow, he had to wonder if falling in love was even worth that effort.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
He’d tried to call Francis; to test the waters, so to speak.
But the moment Francis started accusing him of staying with someone that he kept on the side, things just escalated from there. Richie called him a selfish bastard and hung up without hearing the reply. For the past few days, he had taken residence in a hotel. It wasn’t anything new. He’d done it a few times when he just had to get away from Francis’ temper tantrums.
Venturing out for some grub, he’d hit a gas station down the road, and had run into a familiar face. Tyson had been coming out from the store while he was going in, and instead of ignoring each other, the boy had grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the side like he was nothing more than a rag doll. He looked ready to rip into him when Richie began working his charm, easily worming his way beyond Tyson’s embarrassed anger and earning his want and attention once more.
“I just really want to apologize for the other night,” Richie said, wincing as he struggled not to look directly at the bruise on the left side of Tyson’s face. The younger boy shrugged, almost half-heartedly as he fiddled with his sixty-four ounce drink–the blond strongly suspected that it wasn’t soda. “I really feel, y’know, bad about it...”
“Yeah, well...I had no idea you two had a thing goin’ on, anyway. Never knew F-Stop was...y’know.”
“He...isn’t obvious. Um, but...if it helps, he pretty much did the same thing to me. I haven’t been home in a couple of days, anyway...”
Tyson swirled his drink around the plastic walls of his cup, looking at him with almost suspicious regard. Richie pretended not to see it as he played with a packet of unopened gum, leaning against the lamppost that struggled to shine light upon the parking lot.
He found it an opportune time to try and worm some information out from the boy, for his association with Cube.
“So, I...heard about your friend,” he started, looking up at him. “Cube. I had no idea he was into that scene.”
“He got sloppy, yeah. Fuckin’ Static and that guy took him down. They was all stupid, anyway.”
“That was a lot of artillery,” Richie commented, recalling the shed’s capacity. He gave Tyson a bewildered expression, raising his hands in gesture. “What were they going to do with it all? Storm the city? Rob a few banks?”
“Nah, man, it was protection,” Tyson corrected, giving him a frown. “They ain’t gonna rob no fuckin’ banks! They ain’t like that! The Playas have more than a few enemies hatin’ on them, and they just needed protection...”
“With weapons that are capable of bringing down small aircraft? Those Fifty Cals were–”
“They gotta lotta shit goin’ on them in the streets, man. You wouldn’t understand.”
“...You sound like you do.” Richie gave him a skeptical smile. “What, you affiliated with them, or somethin’?”
“Something.” Tyson grinned at him suddenly, that gold incisor catching the dull light of the lamp. “They my friends. More of a family, actually...”
“So...are you a Playa?”
“...Maybe. Depends on who’s asking...y’know, you’re asking a lot of questions...”
“Sorry. Maybe I’m just trying to get to know you, better. We could be friends, you know...” Richie let the suggestion hang heavily between them, making sure to add a playful smirk. He felt a little successful when Tyson caught the implication and shifted eagerly, invading his space with a couple of steps forward. It made Richie uneasy, being seen like this where anybody could see them and relay it to Francis, so he stepped out and away from the lamppost, moving to where the shadows cast by the building and the natural darkness kept them hidden from the road, and from those patronizing the store.
Tyson followed, giving him a curious, but impish look as he realized the situation.
“Don’t want anybody seeing us, and telling F-Stop about it,” Richie assured him, folding his arms behind his back and leaning against the wall. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Old enough to know what I’m doing.”
“...You’re way too confident, y’know that? For someone of your age. It took me awhile to accept who I am. Maybe you’re just exploring, huh?”
“I know who and what I am,” Tyson repeated, a little forcefully. “I don’t need to explore to know anything more.”
“All right, all right...I was just making conversation.” Richie studied him for a few moments, wondering how he could pry into the gang activity without being too obvious. Tyson shifted, moving closer to him, and Richie allowed it–though he kept his guard up, unsure if he wanted the boy to touch him. The thought was exciting, in all regards–to be touched by someone other than his husband, by someone that genuinely wanted him...it was uplifting and rewarding. Francis wouldn’t care if he didn’t know, right?
After all, he thought about other people while they were having sex. He thought that Richie wasn’t attractive; just another convenient hole. Those words still hurt, even when he told himself that they shouldn’t. Francis had said a lot of things in the course of their years together that hurt and ripped, and Richie had grown used to it; he returned a lot of those words with his own vigor.
“‘K...well, then, what’s going on? What’s this?” Tyson then asked, gesturing around them, at the shadows and the concealed conversation.
“Just...making conversation. Making sure that we don’t get into trouble...you in the situation with Cube?”
“...Why you all interested in that?”
“Because I never knew you two were associated with a gang. I just want to believe that it’s a stereotype instead reality...”
Tyson made a scoffing sound, his lips spreading into another smile as he studied Richie with a scrutinizing expression. “You’re all hard-up about wanting to know things...what’ll happen if I tell? Whatcha gonna give me?”
“Why do you always want things from me?” Richie asked, on the verge of a whine, but he gave him a slight, teasing smile as he did so.
“Why do you think?”
“I dunno...that’s why I’m asking YOU. What do you want from me?”
“What do you think I want?”
“That’s why I’m asking! Because I don’t know!”
Tyson licked his lips, then looked away, studying the busy street just beyond the gas station. He then looked at him again, a sort of impish quality clouding his features, dark eyes ablaze with intensity. It was a little scary to see that, instinctively knowing what it meant.
“You know what I want...you’re just cockteasing around...”
“I seriously don’t. I need things spelled out for me; I’m a little slow, if you haven’t already realized it,” Richie murmured, ducking his head slightly, but pining his eyes on the other boy’s.
That high was almost dizzying–this boy wanted him, so badly, that he didn’t care if Francis had beaten him to humiliation in their home. He thought Richie attractive enough to pursue, to tease and taunt with his own game. It was both flattering and exciting–different. As if he were challenging things all over again, the way he had with Francis.
At the thought, his heart ached for what had been, but he quickly quashed that when he saw Tyson lower his head, his full, alcohol scented lips touching his cheek. Richie was frozen in a sort of disbelief that he’d allowed this, but also in the excitement that followed. Francis had been the only one to touch him, to kiss and love him. What would it feel like if another was allowed in?
The curiosity seemed to burn, intensifying as he tilted his head the other way, Tyson’s lips moving over his jaw, over his ear. He gave an involuntary shiver as he compared this to those Francis had given him, his skin tingling and waiting the scruffy feel of facial hair. Feeling nothing left him feeling a little confused.
When Tyson finally captured his lips with his own, Richie felt mildly guilty–but that was squashed when he kept hearing Francis ask him who would want him...that he was nothing but another ‘hole’.
Tyson’s kisses were sloppy, wet, and he was way too overeager–Richie felt smothered by the eager tongue that plowed into his mouth, having his teeth scrapped and the sides of his mouth explored with much enthusiasm. He wrinkled his nose, moving back, feeling the wall prevent him from doing so. Tyson stepped in, smothering him with his scent, with his greedy kisses, his hands moving over his body in avid gropes as Richie reached up to push at him.
“Wait...wait, you’re moving too fast,” he complained, feeling the boy’s hands sliding over his ass, pulling him close so that their hips collided. He tilted his head back, feeling lips move over his throat, teeth nipping lightly at the tender skin, and heard himself moan, reaching up to hold onto supportive shoulders. Insistent hands slid between his jeans and boxer-briefs, then changed direction, slipping past the waistband of his underwear, hot skin moving over his ass cheeks.
Startled, but losing himself in the hasty action, Richie curled his fingers into Tyson’s shoulders and allowed the groping, giving a small whine as pleasure started to build up within him, feeling the boy’s own response to the action he began moving his hips in a circular motion against him.
No other thoughts came to him as he felt Tyson’s fingers delve over his crack, sweeping over the entrance of his body. Shifting, he spread his legs, standing on tip-toe as he began breathing heavily, pelvis tilted forward, feeling the welcoming bulge in the teen’s pants against his belly. He felt the tip of an inquisitive finger enter him briefly, and he gave a clenched groan, moving against that pressure, feeling Tyson smash him against the wall, shifting his hand hold to press more of that digit into him.
So blind and deaf to anything else, Richie didn’t hear the shift of weight against pavement, the low snuffle as Tyson hissed about how warm he was, about how much he wanted to fuck him senseless. He just moved against the finger that was inside him, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure as the heat of heavy panting warmed his ear.
When Tyson did shift away, to start pushing his already sagging jeans down his thighs, to wrestle with the button and zipper of Richie’s jeans, both of them didn’t notice the darkened shape that moved swiftly from the narrow by-way nearby.
There was a loud snarl that had them both jumping in startled surprise, and the creature was on Tyson with a blur of weight and noise. Richie heard himself give a startled shout as his pleasure hazed mind cleared, realizing immediately that Daniel Trujillo was attacking his underage, would-have-been-in-few-seconds lover.
Without thinking, he leapt onto the furry humanoid, digging his fingers into the muscular shoulders, feeling the creature shift instantly upon contact. Unsure of what even to do, just knowing that he’d better stop the creature’s attack, Richie held on as the werewolf rose onto its hind legs, lifting him completely off the ground. Snarling, the werewolf spun in a sharp circle, Richie’s legs swinging out until he wrapped them around its waist, struggling for a better hold. He couldn’t see if Tyson was up and running, but he heard nothing from him as the werewolf fell onto all-fours, and sprinted back into the by-way.
The creature moved so easily, even with his weight on its back, leaping onto the roof of an abandoned car and sailing over the tall chainlink fence that separated the gas station from a small park. Richie could feel all the power and strength that the werewolf had as it moved fluidly over grass and jumped up and over the water fountain. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he definitely didn’t want to try to face those teeth and claws, literally defenseless without his tools. He simply held on with one hand, and groped his back pocket for the cellphone he had tucked away there.
Sensing Richie’s occupation with the device, the werewolf suddenly bucked, Richie giving a startled cry as he let go of his cellphone and held on firmly onto the heavy, matted fur that reeked of animal thickness. Raising onto its hind legs once more, the creature spun again, its front limbs straining to reach him. Ducking and pressing his head tightly against the creature’s back, Richie felt the near misses of those sharp claws, and gripped him tightly around the waist with his legs. Snarling, the werewolf lowered itself onto all four legs once more, and jumped forward, bucking wildly. Richie held on tightly, trying to think of a way out, of a way that he could use to escape the dangerous situation.
The creature suddenly dove forward, rolling, its immense weight crushing Richie as it dove into a somersault over the grass. At this point, Richie had to let go, groaning as he was left in the grass, the creature springing back onto its feet.
Feeling pained throughout his torso and shoulders, where the weight had been distributed most, he rolled onto his stomach, immediately assessing his mobile abilities.
The creature snarled, teeth snapping in the air as Richie looked up. He was thankful he hadn’t lost his glasses, but he stared up at the werewolf with fear, feeling himself tremble slightly as he laid helpless before it.
Those gold eyes seemed to darken as it lowered itself, hackles raised with a straight fan over its shoulders and back, tail swishing through the air with tight agitation. Those claws were curled before him, limbs locked and pensive as it seemed to determine his ability to move into action once more.
There was a sense of acknowledgement in those eyes, slightly resembling human recognition as that nose twitched, audible noises of sniffing catching Richie’s ear.
Oh, shit, he recognizes my scent! He realized, eyes widening as he tensed, hardly daring to blink as the creature leaned forward, sniffing with much more vigor.
The growl that rumbled through its thick throat made Richie jerk in startled fear, his fingers curling into the grass. Lowering itself to all fours, gold eyes turned even darker as teeth were bared ferociously, moisture slipping from those discolored canines with absurdly thick slowness. Taking those minute moves, limbs seemingly taking their time to shift and curl in movement towards him, the creature started to stalk toward him, growling low the entire time.
Desperate, feeling all his limbs lock with paralyzing fear, Richie eked out, “Wait! Wait, Daniel, wait! Don’t–don’t eat me, or whatever. I’m stringy! I’ll taste nasty! You don’t want to eat me, c’mon, man! You were human! It’d make you into a cannibal! C’mon, you don’t want that! Do you?”
The creature snarled, snapping at the air viciously, and Richie ducked his head. When he sensed that he wasn’t going to be attacked just yet, he peered up from the cover of his arms, still trembling madly as he saw how close the creature was getting.
“Can you talk? Can you even understand me?” he asked, voice shaking as it stalked closer.
Those lips pulled back to reveal more of those purple gums, and Richie decided that it could not.
He started to pull back, to rest on his knees, feeling a slight strain in his upper torso as he did so. He’d probably just end up sore in the morning–nothing felt out of place or broken. The creature stopped stalking, and those eyes grew wide with warning, tail sticking straight out.
Richie licked his lips, unable to take his eyes away from the creature, noting how agitated it grew the more he stared at it. Something hit him, then, and he froze as he wondered, with some lunacy, if it would work. The creature was animal–seemingly all traces of human removed; mind wise, at least. If he wouldn’t respond to human responses...would he respond to canine responses?
It was worth at least a try.
Shaking, he lowered his eyes from the creature’s, anticipating a sudden attack as he did so. With every limb weak, and his breath coming in short clips, he lowered himself back to the grass, twisting onto his back, forcing his arms to stay curled, fists shaking with unquestioned fear as he rested them on his chest. He tilted his chin up, exposing his throat and watching the werewolf suddenly hesitate, growling ceasing as it stared down at him in considerable measurement.
Ooh, great idea, Foley! He told himself mentally, feeling every bit of his shaking intensify with the extremely vulnerable position. Give him easy access to your intestines! Make it easier for him!
The werewolf’s nose twitched, and those teeth were still bared, but at least it didn’t look half as threatening as it had earlier. It walked over with a sort of jaunty amusement, then gave a low growling as Richie automatically started to curl up in a defensive action. Forcing himself to straighten out into that earlier position, he heard a whine of protest against his natural human instincts to curl up defensively, but he battled that urge with as much intensity as he could the more he realized that the werewolf was responding to the gesture.
It made him sick, in a sort of way that questioned his common sense and sanity, but he kept his vulnerable form to show he was a non-threat to the creature. The werewolf sniffed at him, the way a dog would when responding to a submissive, tail wagging in a clipped manner. Feeling the wet, slightly abrasive feel of its nose against his exposed throat, the heat of its breath as it escaped between its teeth, Richie scrunched his face up with immense fear and reaction, vowing to never cheat again if the thing let him live.
He felt the slick moisture of its drool, smelled the intense thickness of its breath and the scent on its fur, and could feel its heavy weight as it moved over him, nose moving over his shoulder and down his chest. He started to shift, very uneasily when a warning growl and opened teeth closed lightly over his throat. He gave a yelp, mixed with fear and pain, but stilled when he realized that it wasn’t going to clamp its teeth into him. This kept him very still, breathing harshly until the creature was satisfied that he wasn’t going to move. Removing its teeth, it continued to sniff him, picking out the places where Tyson had been earlier.
When the invasive nose began moving over his shirt, down toward his waist, Richie got very uneasy, bringing his hand up to push at the inquisitive head and earning a snap of teeth and a snarl in response. He forced himself still, giving a pained and mortified whine when that nose continued down over his stomach, around his hip, over his groin and then back again over his stomach. Wondering with dazed disbelief if this creature was going to sniff him in the same manner dogs greeted each other, Richie felt his neck and face fill with color. He certainly didn’t want this thing sniffing around his ass; what would that look like if people saw them? He was so intensely grateful this was in the park, where the darkness was thick, where, in a mixture of relief and despair, no one could see what was happening to him.
The creature lifted its head and snorted, shaking its head as it stood rigidly over him, gazing off into the distance. There were some shouts near the gas station–Richie froze, straining his ears, to hear what was being said as he felt the creature tense. It shifted over him, nose once again pressing against his throat, nudging firmly to make him turn his head. He followed the non-verbal direction, feeling teeth scrape against the curve of his shoulder as that sniffing continued. The creature shifted, sniffing at the balled fists Richie held against his chest, and the blond was jolted by the feel of teeth scraping against his wedding band, feeling slick gums move over his tightly clenched fingers.
The creature seemed to recognize the gesture of that possession, snorting again, lifting its head with its tongue peeking from between its teeth as it once again gazed over toward the gas station. It then lowered its head, to growl low as it clamped its teeth over Richie’s throat once more, the blond giving a startled jerk as those points clamped with startling firmness over his windpipe. He expected death, giving a little choke and protest as the creature shifted over him.
It took him a moment to realize that the creature was speaking. A mixture of growls, punctuated with rough, barely understandable words that made Richie freeze, automatically focusing on distinguishing them.
“Not his,” it was saying, the almost inarticulate words a forceful heave of growling sound. “Not his.”
Richie realized what it was talking about; felt foolish, and yet relieved in that this creature still retained some amount of human knowledge. He started speaking before thinking. “No. My husband, he–!”
Those teeth tightened around his throat, and he quieted immediately. It didn’t hurt–no, it was the fear of those teeth completing its crushing descent that pained him.
Suddenly it lifted its head again, a strange sort of clicking noise emerging from its half opened mouth. It gazed into the distance, its body a rigid line as ears pricked upward with interest.
“Danny boy,” it suddenly growled, an almost inarticulate wheeze of sound. “Heeeere, Danny-boy...”
Richie froze, breathing heavily, his eyebrows furrowing as he waited for more movement, more words. He gave a startled grunt as the creature then left him, taking off with abnormal speed down the length of the park, disappearing into the parking lot.
Shakily, he rose to his feet, brushing off grass from his pants and shirt. That incident had left him feeling pretty disgusted, and yet entirely aware of his situation; he felt molested and violated, leaving him with a sick feeling in his stomach. He spent much of the time trying to calm himself down as he searched for his cellphone. He found it a considerable distance from where the creature had taken him down, and with much weakness in his limbs, he started stumbling toward the gas station, to see what had happened to Tyson.
Once he got there, though, he was more than disturbed and troubled by the array of police cruisers that had swarmed the parking lot. His first thought was Francis–what would the redhead think if he realized his husband was in the throes of a forbidden tryst with a kid? The very same kid that had began that ugly argument? In all actuality, he didn’t want to know.
So he didn’t venture any further, choosing instead to crouch and hide behind the car that Daniel had used to leap over the chainlink fence. He watched the scene from here, shaking with rising dread as he listened to everyone talk excitedly, to the shop owner’s exclamations in that he’d just rung up the kid’s purchases not even half an hour ago. At that, Richie’s eyes fell to the tarp on the pavement, and he froze with paralyzing realization as he observed the darkened area that had eked around the bright blue covering. That dread made his very bones turn cold, and a rising sense of acid fullness to ascend his throat.
Realizing that Tyson was dead, that the creature had taken his life for whatever reason, Richie decided to get out of there. But first, he scanned the parking lot and the side of the building for any outside cameras. To see if he would be considered in this startling murder. Seeing none, he felt some relief cascade into him, and thought of the earlier moment when Tyson had grabbed him in the store. He’d been alone, he was sure–Richie hadn’t seen any other youths, and if he had...
Common sense told him to approach the police, to tell them what had happened.
But the thought of Francis finding out that he’d been right was enough to keep him rooted where he was.
He swallowed hard, resolving to try and fix this situation as Gear. Carefully, he eased away from the car, and made his way down the by-way, remembering that his vehicle was still parked just in front of the store.
Grimacing, he took his time to walk around the block, approaching the gas station from the front, and acted surprised and alarmed when he was questioned. It had been easy to lie his way out of that; that he’d left his vehicle there to walk off with some friends he’d seen down the sidewalk. The cops took it as that, took his report, and let him go. Still shaking and considerably miserable, Richie headed back home, stunned and scared, uneasy with the encounter he’d had with Tyson and the creature.
But once he’d reached the driveway, he paused; there wasn’t anybody there. All the lights were off, and all the vehicles that were usually parked around the area were missing. Probably, after the unsuccessful phone call, Francis had decided to act like a dick and head off to the clubs.
He put the vehicle in reverse and backed out from the driveway, driving away from the house. He called Virgil up on his cellphone and decided to meet him at the Gas Station to relate what had happened.
In all actuality, he wanted to go to Francis, driven by some a familiar need to feel safe and secure again. He just wanted him; no one else, with no distractions, no glaring and judgmental eyes from his friends...just Francis. But the redhead kept himself too closely guarded with surrounding himself with people, and going places where Richie wasn’t welcome. He felt blockaded.
As much as he wanted his husband, he wasn’t willing to charge through a large mess just to get to him. Things weren’t the same as they were when they were starting out. Francis had been the first person he turned to when he needed help, and Francis had been always ready to help or respond. But it seemed that those moments were lost. Differences were separating them, and he hated it...at the same time, he was also hopeful.
He had to think about that later.
I’m_Alive: You are so perceptive!
Shampoo Marea: Thank you! ^_^
Chapter Eight:
All The Things That You Hide From Me...
“Ahem.”
Ivan stilled, but didn’t look up from finishing the last installation of the amp he was infixing within an ‘02 Acura. The feminine clearing of throat made him utterly angry at himself for being caught, but the cooler part of him immediately settled into place. He continued with the installation, merging wires together with quick flicks of his fingers and ignoring the feel of eyes on his back.
“I don’t like being bothered,” he muttered, focusing intently on his work.
“You can do that sort of stuff with your eyes closed,” Theresa murmured, walking into the wide, open space of the garage, where most of the body work was being conducted on various vehicles. Everyone was at lunch, she’d been informed, but Ivan had remained to finish work before heading to his second job at the record shop.
She took her time in examining a half stripped Camry and admired the racing stripes on a ‘03 Mustang.
Ivan stopped tinkering, pausing in action as he kept his position within the back seat of the Acura. His eyes flicked over the direction from where her voice came, but her thin frame was blocked by the side wall of the interior.
Theresa looked over at the Acura that Ivan was hiding in, reaching out to run her fingertips over the back end of the car. Her bruises had faded considerably; she had dressed up to meet him, today. Her orange-red hair was brushed and curled, pinned back with bobby pins, her earlobes adorned with thin wire hoops that brushed against her clavicle; her lace and polyester shirt was frilly and pretty over well worn jeans that showcased her lean form. Her shoes added five inches to her height, and she had even gone all out with liquid liner, lip liner and gloss.
“You keep avoiding me, Ivan,” she said, a sort of stern annoyance audible in her tone. She could see his bent head through the back window of the car, for once without its usual array of cornrows. The dark color of his afro matched the Sean John t-shirt that he wore, the contrast of his diamond studs and single white gold chain catching the eye. “Why you doing that?”
Hearing the sullen silence within, followed by the obvious shifting of electronics into the car’s side wall made her snort as she moved away from the vehicle. She walked over to the Mustang, and took her time to admire the paint job–realized that embedded within the dark paint were images of more contrasting lines that made the vehicle seem as if it were constantly in motion. She marveled it while she waited for Ivan to acknowledge her verbally, or leave the car he had hidden himself in. She had all day–she would wait for either one.
The car door slammed behind her, ringing throughout the garage when she turned away from the stripped Camry. She watched Ivan with serious, dark eyes as he glared at her with a mixture of annoyance and scrutiny.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, frowning at the expression on his face. “About things. But you’ve been avoiding my calls. You been telling these guys over here to keep me away with constant excuses? The only reason why I don’t hit that record shop of yours is because my man’s friend works there. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, and you’ve been avoiding me.”
“So? Shit, we don’t got shit to say to each other.”
She scoffed at this, giving a sound that made it clear of what she thought of that. He gave her a scowl, tossing aside a box full of wires onto a nearby cluttered table, and walked out from the garage. She followed, not at all bothered by his gruff attitude.
“You may not, but I do,” she said quietly, shielding her eyes from the sun as they stepped outside, surveying the back junkyard of the shop. He had a cigarette lit, the smoke wafting over in her direction as he looked away from her. Her bangles gave a musical jingle as she waved the offensive smell away. “I wanted to thank you...for bringing him back. He hasn’t come out from the hospital yet; he told the police he was jumped by some guys, but he didn’t know who. He said a lot of things to me the day after, y’know...just...apologizing. Making all these excuses and vows and promises...like he’s all a changed man.”
She squinted her eyes, keeping them shielded as she waited for some sort of reaction, or comment from the man standing before her. He seemed to be ignoring her again, focused on something in the distance, smoking on the cig while he took out his cellphone.
Ignoring this obvious display, she crossed her arms over her midriff, toeing the pavement with her raised wedges. “Y’know, I was thinking about things the other day. How, back in the day, we all hung out and had fun like it was the greatest thing in the world to be robbing stores and terrorizing peoples...we were all so close back then...and it felt good. Y’know? To have a family that would understand you and make you feel secure...at times...if not for some idiot that was convinced that following his orders would lead us to a trouble-free Nirvana.”
She didn’t wait for a reaction, or a comeback to this; merely pulled absently at her top and smoothed out the thighs of her jeans. “I miss those times. Having family...mine is okay, but things change. They look at me differently. When I got with Eustacio, they spaced themselves from me because they didn’t like him. Gang member, an’ all. But he gave me security and he made me feel safe. He really loved me; always givin’...I fell hard in love with that one. Sort of...like when I fell in love the first time with someone else. He was no where like Eustacio, though. Complete opposite in some aspects. He never gave; he was selfish. But I fell in love with him because he seemed to strong, to me. Knew what he was about, knew what he wanted, and his family ties made so much sense...he was always willin’ to give to family. But this man was so easily hurt when someone close to him hurt him.
“But those times...with time, I grew apart from that man. I moved on when he didn’t want to reciprocate, or didn’t feel the same way. I guess I was looking for another man like that, and found some of it in Eustacio...big mistake, huh?” Theresa snorted, shaking her head. She heard the telltale sounds of a number being inputted into the cell, and felt that agonizing give of defeat and weariness overtake her heart.
She lifted her head to study the one turned away from her, and shook her head slightly.
“Thank you, Ivan. For bringing him back. You guys stay cool with each other, okay? It felt really good to know that people had my back, once more. I’m an idiot and a fool, but it felt really good to know that I am still loved by those I left behind...I guess that’s all I wanted to say.”
She watched as he put the cell to his ear and began talking. Feeling a little foolish, and more than hurt, she turned away and walked off without another word.
That night, Ivan was scowling as he drummed his fingertips over the counter, staring off into the distance while Theresa’s words somehow wormed themselves above all other matters of thinking. While he had a vague realization that she was talking about him, there was an insecure part of him that didn’t want to accept that.
Merely because he was moving over her–that what they had was in the past, now. She had that idiot to love and dote on. He didn’t really understand that sort of relationship, not really having any of his own. Lust, greed, power...that is what he understood. To really give oneself to another, to really let that person in and dominate one’s thinking and lifestyle was something that he didn’t really want to venture into.
But Theresa...back in the day, maybe if he had a clue and maybe if he stopped focusing on his plans, perhaps he would have learned things differently.
It didn’t help matters much when he had someone like Francis dictating what he should be feeling.
He had to pound on the counter in agitation over that. Feeling Francis’ love for his husband, the way he relied and doted on every loving thing Richie did to and for him influenced Ivan’s way of thinking. Sometimes, he found himself curious to wonder what it would feel like to have that given to him; love. Understanding.
But he was quick to deny it. He grew up strong and he grew up without that influence. Even if he had a taste of it, it was quick to be taken away from him. So he knew it wasn’t for him.
He glared at the obscene amount of CDs that spilled over the counter, most of them hitting his elbows as they rested on the surface. He knew without having to lift his eyes that his little brother was there to annoy him with his presence.
“Long day?” Adam asked, frowning at him as he leaned against the counter. He was dressed in usual fashion; dark blue jeans that were fashionably faded along the legs, track jacket with a black, blank hat that sat sideways on his head. He had grown a goatee, again, his face drawn with the Evans’ trademark scowls. “You look bored, Ivan.”
“Fuck off. Whatcha doin’ buying all this shit, anyway? Might as well as buy the whole fuckin’ store while you’re at it.”
“Couldn’t get the deal,” Adam said with a serious expression, not bothered by his older brother’s attitude. “I don’t like seeing you work like this, man. It seriously pulls you down.”
Ivan tossed one of the CD’s at him. “Like I really need you to tell me what the fuck I be needing.”
“I could get you into a job where you won’t be so fuckin’ bothered all the time!” Adam insisted. “You won’t have to work with me–you won’t have to be associated with me!”
“Man, I ain’t listening to this bullshit,” Ivan muttered, leaving the counter. The manager saw him do so, and growled his name, but Adam waved him off. Sliding his hands into his jacket pockets, Adam followed Ivan as he left the checkout stands and headed over to the back to start re-stocking. Because of his standing, because of who he was, Adam was allowed to follow his brother into the employees’ area, greeting those he knew as Ivan struggled to ignore him.
“Okay, fine, I’ll stop with the job thing,” Adam said on a sigh, gesturing. “I just...I dunno, I just feel like I gotta return the favor. You looked after me when we were kids, and I just–!”
“I don’t want no fuckin’ ‘favors’ returned to me.” Ivan turned, giving him a disgusted look. Adam stood at five foot eight, so Ivan still had the height advantage over him. Except that Adam was twenty pounds heavier, the weight gained from his recent happiness with his wife and his way of life. “I’m just doin’ what I gotta do. Doesn’t mean I want fuckin’ reciprocation from stupid fools.”
Adam held his hands up in surrender, but followed as Ivan grumbled his way over to a couple of opened boxes.
“I just want you to be happy, man. Just...settle down, I guess. I mean, not in the way that I had, y’know, but...at least settle down. Stop partying so much, hanging out with that fuckin’ loser.”
“Ya gotta be more specific,” Ivan muttered. “I know many ‘losers’...”
“Well, all of them.”
“Can’t. They the only family I got.” Ivan gave him a flick of an angry expression. “The kind that don’t leave.”
Adam looked away, his lips pursing as Ivan dropped the extra copies into a nearby push cart. Without any other word, he followed grimly after, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
“Fine, we’ll drop that,” he then decided. “Look...we’re having dinner Sunday, maybe you can–”
“Got plans.”
“...Okay, there’s this premiere–!”
“I hate movies.”
“...Gotcha. Look, Ivan...you have a lunch break, soon?”
“I don’t like eating.”
Adam sighed in exasperation, throwing his hands up. “Look, man, I know you don’t like talking to me! I know you don’t like it when I follow you around, but you’re my brother. You’re my family! You’ve all I got in blood! I just wanna hang out with you, sometime, just...y’know, almost like it was back in the day. When we just...hang out. And talk. And not have me tryin’ to keep up with you, or tryin’ to stay on your good mood. Y’know?”
Ivan grunted, pointedly ignoring him as he started shelving some of the CDs he had in his cart. Adam watched him for a few moments, then rolled his eyes, hands slapping onto his sides.
“Well...fuck...I wanted to talk to you about some things. This guy I know, who lives down the north end, he’s been talkin’ about the Playas. How they’re fuckin’ around with the Pitts...word is, people are arming themselves, and gettin’ scared.”
Ivan screwed his face up with annoyance. “Don’t you have some chump to cheap talk to?”
“I’m talkin’ to you, aren’t I?” Adam shot back, frowning at him. Ivan looked away from his job, and stared at him. Shifting uncomfortably, Adam hated feeling six years old all over again. “Sorry.”
“I don’t fuckin’ care about what’s goin’ on in the streets, man. I ain’t in on that,” Ivan then muttered, working once more.
“Parole, huh? Well...everyone still talks about you, I guess. But word’s gettin’ out that all the old members and current members are being targeted by this weirdo. So I was kinda ...y’know...concerned.”
“Man, everyone’s bein’ targeted for some reason. I ain’t scared of no one. And lastly, I don’t need your fuckin’ ‘concern’,” Ivan growled, pushing the cart forward and leaving Adam to gape after him.
Following, Adam sighed, shaking his head. “Anything involving your old gang is something of concern for me, man. That stuff never leaves you. Even if you walk away. Even if you start someplace new. There’s always someone that wants to fuck you over to take your place. I don’t want you runnin’ from it, just...I dunno.”
Ivan ignored him, hearing his cellphone chirp loudly for attention. Ignoring the annoyed glare from the manager, he leaned against the cart and answered with pointed attention.
“Like runnin’ away from Theresa all the time,” Adam finally muttered, giving his older brother a glare as he moved past him. Ivan frowned at him, but lost interest as he listened to Shiv eagerly explain what he’d seen a couple of hours earlier.
“So, like, I was like, workin’? And then this guy comes in, all battered and fucked up like that guy you beat down a couple of weeks ago? And he’s all, I was attacked! I was attacked by this big dog thing! It was tryin’ to eat me! And then, when my boss was callin’ the ambulance and the cops and stuff? Dude, his GUTS just fell out onto the fuckin ‘floor! I was like, woah!...It was cool.”
Ivan rolled his eyes, leaning with exaggerated exasperation against the cart. “And I fuckin’ care... why?”
“Dude! His guts! They fell!...there’s a stain where they fell! It was fuckin’ rockin’, man! Like... something out of a fuckin’ movie! Oh, hold on, JIM! I’m talking to some guy at Channel Four! Hey, listen, gotta go, ‘k? I’ll smooches you later!”
Ivan hung up before he could even finish, sensing another ridiculous goodbye. While he was halfway interested in knowing what could make a guy walk into a store, guts hanging out, he really wasn’t that concerned.
Later on, still a little annoyed over Theresa’s and Adam’s visit, he took over on the overstuffed chair and listened to Francis whine and complain over the disappearance of his husband. Sipping at a Corona, Ivan thought about the way Richie had looked so defiant and angry while Francis looked ready to rip off his head. The blond had always been so damn spunky–sure he’d tremble and swoon like some damn femme in distress, but he’d always turn around and start running off at the mouth, angering anybody he was talking to. It tended to drive Francis up the wall whenever he did that, and Ivan had been unwilling witness to every instance.
Frankly...it was amusing. If that insolence wasn’t directed to him.
“...always fuckin’ takin’ off...never comin’ back...he’s never with any of his family! He never stays with Virgil! I know he has someone on the side he goes cryin’ to whenever he starts shit with me!” Francis huffed, kicking the already battered coffee table as he folded his arms over his chest. “Just wish I knew who it was, I’d kick his ass as well.”
“‘Ch.”
“Fuckin’ ;...where do you think he goes? He ain’t with Virgil, that fucking dick calls over here lookin’ for him. And Maggie and Sean are fuckin’ useless...fuck. Fucking cellphone’s always turned off...”
Ivan thought of Theresa. It was an unbidden thought, something that had chosen to pop up for whatever reason. That day, she had touched the car–he’d noticed her nails were neat and trim, short and painted a soft pink color. Pink had never been her color–she was too strong for pink. But that flash of it on her fingertips seemed to make her vulnerable. A woman that needed a strong man to take care of her.
...He wasn’t a strong man. He was capable of breaking.
“...always has guys lookin’ at him. Like he’s a fuckin’ piece of meat. I know he flaunts it for everyone else. Never fuckin’ believed any of it, but seein’ it that night? Fuck...he probably has all these fuckers panting after him. Fuckin’ cocktease. Fuckin’ cocktease, and he’s married to me, and he still fucks around! Probably fuckin’ all of them...why the fuck isn’t he calling?...Fuck...hope he didn’t get into an accident, or laying on the side of the road, somewhere. Probably where he is. He’s always getting beat up in high school! Man, if anybody touched him like that...”
What was Adam saying? Something about his old gang, having members loading up protection against some...weirdo? What sort of weirdo? Gang members were targeted all the time–he wasn’t worried. Most of the time, he had enemies coming up to him, getting into his face–but he had the power and the back-up to send them packing. He wasn’t afraid of confrontation–from those that he hadn’t allowed close.
Adam and Theresa had the most power over him. He hated that.
“...can’t take of himself. He needs me. Fuck, the bastard needs me. He can’t do shit without me! He needs me. Like back in the day. I need him...fuck, he better not be cheating on me. I’d be so...I dunno...”
“Yeah, right.”
“...You hear about Shiv? Hey, I heard Theresa was at the shop, today. What’s that about?”
“Nothin’. Just botherin’. Shiv?”
“Yeah. Somethin’ about some guy walkin’ into the shop, with his guts all hanging out. Dude, they said he was attacked by some dog. Said he had connections to some gang. You were with the Playas, weren’t you?” Francis asked, looking over at him with a thoughtful expression.
“Yeah.” Ivan shifted uncomfortably. He looked over at Francis with a frown. “Why? That kid part of it? I heard something about them, too.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Like they were bein’ targeted, or somethin’.”
“...By who? They got enemies. All over the place. They all do.”
“Yeah. By some... ‘weirdo’. Dunno.”
“Some ‘weirdo’?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, man. That’s just what I was told. An’ what the fuck...? You weren’t wearing that all day, were you?” Ivan then asked in disgust, looking at Francis’ dark blue shirt and jeans.
“No. Why–! Fuck! Lemme go change.”
Ivan shook his head as Francis left the couch, grumbling about having limited fashion options. He thought about what Adam had heard, and wondered where it had come from. The front door opened, admitting Shiv and Freddie, both of them talking loudly over some inane subject. They weren’t greeted, just as familiar to the setting as the owners themselves.
Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was nearing eleven. He figured on hitting the sack early, feeling more than tired as he finished off his beer, hearing Francis and Shiv laugh over what had happened in Shiv’s shop earlier that day.
He heard the familiar running theme of Black Eyed Peas’ “My Humps”, and had to chortle. It was the ringtone that signaled that his husband was calling him. Shiv and Francis thought it was hilarious to associate that particular song with Richie.
He heard Francis answer, Shiv cackling as he hurried back into the living room, flopping onto the couch with an uncoordinated mess of limbs. He had lost himself in the continuous flap of Shiv’s mouth and the amusing images of crashing skateboarders on screen when Francis cursed angrily.
“That’s it,” he announced, grumbling as he snatched another beer from the fridge. “I’m gettin’ a divorce. Fuck this bullshit.”
Ivan gave a bark of laughter. “You threaten that at least three times a year. Haven’t seen you do it yet. You all soft, fuckin’ pussy.”
“Well...for tonight, then. Fuck this shit. Let’s go out. I don’t wanna hang around here. Expects me to apologize? Fuck that bullshit. Hah! Let’s go find a dumb broad that won’t talk back.”
“Want me to introduce you to my mom?” Shiv asked, getting up from the couch and laughing as Francis shot him a dirty look.
Ivan snickered, rising as well. “He ain’t comin’ back?”
“Nah...fuckin’ pitching a fit. Called me a bastard.” Francis huffed. But he was lying; Ivan could feel the anxiety coming from him, wondering where Richie was, wondering if he was okay. Francis could display all his tough man attitude all he wanted, but Ivan knew better.
Somehow, he had to wonder if falling in love was even worth that effort.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
He’d tried to call Francis; to test the waters, so to speak.
But the moment Francis started accusing him of staying with someone that he kept on the side, things just escalated from there. Richie called him a selfish bastard and hung up without hearing the reply. For the past few days, he had taken residence in a hotel. It wasn’t anything new. He’d done it a few times when he just had to get away from Francis’ temper tantrums.
Venturing out for some grub, he’d hit a gas station down the road, and had run into a familiar face. Tyson had been coming out from the store while he was going in, and instead of ignoring each other, the boy had grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the side like he was nothing more than a rag doll. He looked ready to rip into him when Richie began working his charm, easily worming his way beyond Tyson’s embarrassed anger and earning his want and attention once more.
“I just really want to apologize for the other night,” Richie said, wincing as he struggled not to look directly at the bruise on the left side of Tyson’s face. The younger boy shrugged, almost half-heartedly as he fiddled with his sixty-four ounce drink–the blond strongly suspected that it wasn’t soda. “I really feel, y’know, bad about it...”
“Yeah, well...I had no idea you two had a thing goin’ on, anyway. Never knew F-Stop was...y’know.”
“He...isn’t obvious. Um, but...if it helps, he pretty much did the same thing to me. I haven’t been home in a couple of days, anyway...”
Tyson swirled his drink around the plastic walls of his cup, looking at him with almost suspicious regard. Richie pretended not to see it as he played with a packet of unopened gum, leaning against the lamppost that struggled to shine light upon the parking lot.
He found it an opportune time to try and worm some information out from the boy, for his association with Cube.
“So, I...heard about your friend,” he started, looking up at him. “Cube. I had no idea he was into that scene.”
“He got sloppy, yeah. Fuckin’ Static and that guy took him down. They was all stupid, anyway.”
“That was a lot of artillery,” Richie commented, recalling the shed’s capacity. He gave Tyson a bewildered expression, raising his hands in gesture. “What were they going to do with it all? Storm the city? Rob a few banks?”
“Nah, man, it was protection,” Tyson corrected, giving him a frown. “They ain’t gonna rob no fuckin’ banks! They ain’t like that! The Playas have more than a few enemies hatin’ on them, and they just needed protection...”
“With weapons that are capable of bringing down small aircraft? Those Fifty Cals were–”
“They gotta lotta shit goin’ on them in the streets, man. You wouldn’t understand.”
“...You sound like you do.” Richie gave him a skeptical smile. “What, you affiliated with them, or somethin’?”
“Something.” Tyson grinned at him suddenly, that gold incisor catching the dull light of the lamp. “They my friends. More of a family, actually...”
“So...are you a Playa?”
“...Maybe. Depends on who’s asking...y’know, you’re asking a lot of questions...”
“Sorry. Maybe I’m just trying to get to know you, better. We could be friends, you know...” Richie let the suggestion hang heavily between them, making sure to add a playful smirk. He felt a little successful when Tyson caught the implication and shifted eagerly, invading his space with a couple of steps forward. It made Richie uneasy, being seen like this where anybody could see them and relay it to Francis, so he stepped out and away from the lamppost, moving to where the shadows cast by the building and the natural darkness kept them hidden from the road, and from those patronizing the store.
Tyson followed, giving him a curious, but impish look as he realized the situation.
“Don’t want anybody seeing us, and telling F-Stop about it,” Richie assured him, folding his arms behind his back and leaning against the wall. “How old are you, anyway?”
“Old enough to know what I’m doing.”
“...You’re way too confident, y’know that? For someone of your age. It took me awhile to accept who I am. Maybe you’re just exploring, huh?”
“I know who and what I am,” Tyson repeated, a little forcefully. “I don’t need to explore to know anything more.”
“All right, all right...I was just making conversation.” Richie studied him for a few moments, wondering how he could pry into the gang activity without being too obvious. Tyson shifted, moving closer to him, and Richie allowed it–though he kept his guard up, unsure if he wanted the boy to touch him. The thought was exciting, in all regards–to be touched by someone other than his husband, by someone that genuinely wanted him...it was uplifting and rewarding. Francis wouldn’t care if he didn’t know, right?
After all, he thought about other people while they were having sex. He thought that Richie wasn’t attractive; just another convenient hole. Those words still hurt, even when he told himself that they shouldn’t. Francis had said a lot of things in the course of their years together that hurt and ripped, and Richie had grown used to it; he returned a lot of those words with his own vigor.
“‘K...well, then, what’s going on? What’s this?” Tyson then asked, gesturing around them, at the shadows and the concealed conversation.
“Just...making conversation. Making sure that we don’t get into trouble...you in the situation with Cube?”
“...Why you all interested in that?”
“Because I never knew you two were associated with a gang. I just want to believe that it’s a stereotype instead reality...”
Tyson made a scoffing sound, his lips spreading into another smile as he studied Richie with a scrutinizing expression. “You’re all hard-up about wanting to know things...what’ll happen if I tell? Whatcha gonna give me?”
“Why do you always want things from me?” Richie asked, on the verge of a whine, but he gave him a slight, teasing smile as he did so.
“Why do you think?”
“I dunno...that’s why I’m asking YOU. What do you want from me?”
“What do you think I want?”
“That’s why I’m asking! Because I don’t know!”
Tyson licked his lips, then looked away, studying the busy street just beyond the gas station. He then looked at him again, a sort of impish quality clouding his features, dark eyes ablaze with intensity. It was a little scary to see that, instinctively knowing what it meant.
“You know what I want...you’re just cockteasing around...”
“I seriously don’t. I need things spelled out for me; I’m a little slow, if you haven’t already realized it,” Richie murmured, ducking his head slightly, but pining his eyes on the other boy’s.
That high was almost dizzying–this boy wanted him, so badly, that he didn’t care if Francis had beaten him to humiliation in their home. He thought Richie attractive enough to pursue, to tease and taunt with his own game. It was both flattering and exciting–different. As if he were challenging things all over again, the way he had with Francis.
At the thought, his heart ached for what had been, but he quickly quashed that when he saw Tyson lower his head, his full, alcohol scented lips touching his cheek. Richie was frozen in a sort of disbelief that he’d allowed this, but also in the excitement that followed. Francis had been the only one to touch him, to kiss and love him. What would it feel like if another was allowed in?
The curiosity seemed to burn, intensifying as he tilted his head the other way, Tyson’s lips moving over his jaw, over his ear. He gave an involuntary shiver as he compared this to those Francis had given him, his skin tingling and waiting the scruffy feel of facial hair. Feeling nothing left him feeling a little confused.
When Tyson finally captured his lips with his own, Richie felt mildly guilty–but that was squashed when he kept hearing Francis ask him who would want him...that he was nothing but another ‘hole’.
Tyson’s kisses were sloppy, wet, and he was way too overeager–Richie felt smothered by the eager tongue that plowed into his mouth, having his teeth scrapped and the sides of his mouth explored with much enthusiasm. He wrinkled his nose, moving back, feeling the wall prevent him from doing so. Tyson stepped in, smothering him with his scent, with his greedy kisses, his hands moving over his body in avid gropes as Richie reached up to push at him.
“Wait...wait, you’re moving too fast,” he complained, feeling the boy’s hands sliding over his ass, pulling him close so that their hips collided. He tilted his head back, feeling lips move over his throat, teeth nipping lightly at the tender skin, and heard himself moan, reaching up to hold onto supportive shoulders. Insistent hands slid between his jeans and boxer-briefs, then changed direction, slipping past the waistband of his underwear, hot skin moving over his ass cheeks.
Startled, but losing himself in the hasty action, Richie curled his fingers into Tyson’s shoulders and allowed the groping, giving a small whine as pleasure started to build up within him, feeling the boy’s own response to the action he began moving his hips in a circular motion against him.
No other thoughts came to him as he felt Tyson’s fingers delve over his crack, sweeping over the entrance of his body. Shifting, he spread his legs, standing on tip-toe as he began breathing heavily, pelvis tilted forward, feeling the welcoming bulge in the teen’s pants against his belly. He felt the tip of an inquisitive finger enter him briefly, and he gave a clenched groan, moving against that pressure, feeling Tyson smash him against the wall, shifting his hand hold to press more of that digit into him.
So blind and deaf to anything else, Richie didn’t hear the shift of weight against pavement, the low snuffle as Tyson hissed about how warm he was, about how much he wanted to fuck him senseless. He just moved against the finger that was inside him, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure as the heat of heavy panting warmed his ear.
When Tyson did shift away, to start pushing his already sagging jeans down his thighs, to wrestle with the button and zipper of Richie’s jeans, both of them didn’t notice the darkened shape that moved swiftly from the narrow by-way nearby.
There was a loud snarl that had them both jumping in startled surprise, and the creature was on Tyson with a blur of weight and noise. Richie heard himself give a startled shout as his pleasure hazed mind cleared, realizing immediately that Daniel Trujillo was attacking his underage, would-have-been-in-few-seconds lover.
Without thinking, he leapt onto the furry humanoid, digging his fingers into the muscular shoulders, feeling the creature shift instantly upon contact. Unsure of what even to do, just knowing that he’d better stop the creature’s attack, Richie held on as the werewolf rose onto its hind legs, lifting him completely off the ground. Snarling, the werewolf spun in a sharp circle, Richie’s legs swinging out until he wrapped them around its waist, struggling for a better hold. He couldn’t see if Tyson was up and running, but he heard nothing from him as the werewolf fell onto all-fours, and sprinted back into the by-way.
The creature moved so easily, even with his weight on its back, leaping onto the roof of an abandoned car and sailing over the tall chainlink fence that separated the gas station from a small park. Richie could feel all the power and strength that the werewolf had as it moved fluidly over grass and jumped up and over the water fountain. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but he definitely didn’t want to try to face those teeth and claws, literally defenseless without his tools. He simply held on with one hand, and groped his back pocket for the cellphone he had tucked away there.
Sensing Richie’s occupation with the device, the werewolf suddenly bucked, Richie giving a startled cry as he let go of his cellphone and held on firmly onto the heavy, matted fur that reeked of animal thickness. Raising onto its hind legs once more, the creature spun again, its front limbs straining to reach him. Ducking and pressing his head tightly against the creature’s back, Richie felt the near misses of those sharp claws, and gripped him tightly around the waist with his legs. Snarling, the werewolf lowered itself onto all four legs once more, and jumped forward, bucking wildly. Richie held on tightly, trying to think of a way out, of a way that he could use to escape the dangerous situation.
The creature suddenly dove forward, rolling, its immense weight crushing Richie as it dove into a somersault over the grass. At this point, Richie had to let go, groaning as he was left in the grass, the creature springing back onto its feet.
Feeling pained throughout his torso and shoulders, where the weight had been distributed most, he rolled onto his stomach, immediately assessing his mobile abilities.
The creature snarled, teeth snapping in the air as Richie looked up. He was thankful he hadn’t lost his glasses, but he stared up at the werewolf with fear, feeling himself tremble slightly as he laid helpless before it.
Those gold eyes seemed to darken as it lowered itself, hackles raised with a straight fan over its shoulders and back, tail swishing through the air with tight agitation. Those claws were curled before him, limbs locked and pensive as it seemed to determine his ability to move into action once more.
There was a sense of acknowledgement in those eyes, slightly resembling human recognition as that nose twitched, audible noises of sniffing catching Richie’s ear.
Oh, shit, he recognizes my scent! He realized, eyes widening as he tensed, hardly daring to blink as the creature leaned forward, sniffing with much more vigor.
The growl that rumbled through its thick throat made Richie jerk in startled fear, his fingers curling into the grass. Lowering itself to all fours, gold eyes turned even darker as teeth were bared ferociously, moisture slipping from those discolored canines with absurdly thick slowness. Taking those minute moves, limbs seemingly taking their time to shift and curl in movement towards him, the creature started to stalk toward him, growling low the entire time.
Desperate, feeling all his limbs lock with paralyzing fear, Richie eked out, “Wait! Wait, Daniel, wait! Don’t–don’t eat me, or whatever. I’m stringy! I’ll taste nasty! You don’t want to eat me, c’mon, man! You were human! It’d make you into a cannibal! C’mon, you don’t want that! Do you?”
The creature snarled, snapping at the air viciously, and Richie ducked his head. When he sensed that he wasn’t going to be attacked just yet, he peered up from the cover of his arms, still trembling madly as he saw how close the creature was getting.
“Can you talk? Can you even understand me?” he asked, voice shaking as it stalked closer.
Those lips pulled back to reveal more of those purple gums, and Richie decided that it could not.
He started to pull back, to rest on his knees, feeling a slight strain in his upper torso as he did so. He’d probably just end up sore in the morning–nothing felt out of place or broken. The creature stopped stalking, and those eyes grew wide with warning, tail sticking straight out.
Richie licked his lips, unable to take his eyes away from the creature, noting how agitated it grew the more he stared at it. Something hit him, then, and he froze as he wondered, with some lunacy, if it would work. The creature was animal–seemingly all traces of human removed; mind wise, at least. If he wouldn’t respond to human responses...would he respond to canine responses?
It was worth at least a try.
Shaking, he lowered his eyes from the creature’s, anticipating a sudden attack as he did so. With every limb weak, and his breath coming in short clips, he lowered himself back to the grass, twisting onto his back, forcing his arms to stay curled, fists shaking with unquestioned fear as he rested them on his chest. He tilted his chin up, exposing his throat and watching the werewolf suddenly hesitate, growling ceasing as it stared down at him in considerable measurement.
Ooh, great idea, Foley! He told himself mentally, feeling every bit of his shaking intensify with the extremely vulnerable position. Give him easy access to your intestines! Make it easier for him!
The werewolf’s nose twitched, and those teeth were still bared, but at least it didn’t look half as threatening as it had earlier. It walked over with a sort of jaunty amusement, then gave a low growling as Richie automatically started to curl up in a defensive action. Forcing himself to straighten out into that earlier position, he heard a whine of protest against his natural human instincts to curl up defensively, but he battled that urge with as much intensity as he could the more he realized that the werewolf was responding to the gesture.
It made him sick, in a sort of way that questioned his common sense and sanity, but he kept his vulnerable form to show he was a non-threat to the creature. The werewolf sniffed at him, the way a dog would when responding to a submissive, tail wagging in a clipped manner. Feeling the wet, slightly abrasive feel of its nose against his exposed throat, the heat of its breath as it escaped between its teeth, Richie scrunched his face up with immense fear and reaction, vowing to never cheat again if the thing let him live.
He felt the slick moisture of its drool, smelled the intense thickness of its breath and the scent on its fur, and could feel its heavy weight as it moved over him, nose moving over his shoulder and down his chest. He started to shift, very uneasily when a warning growl and opened teeth closed lightly over his throat. He gave a yelp, mixed with fear and pain, but stilled when he realized that it wasn’t going to clamp its teeth into him. This kept him very still, breathing harshly until the creature was satisfied that he wasn’t going to move. Removing its teeth, it continued to sniff him, picking out the places where Tyson had been earlier.
When the invasive nose began moving over his shirt, down toward his waist, Richie got very uneasy, bringing his hand up to push at the inquisitive head and earning a snap of teeth and a snarl in response. He forced himself still, giving a pained and mortified whine when that nose continued down over his stomach, around his hip, over his groin and then back again over his stomach. Wondering with dazed disbelief if this creature was going to sniff him in the same manner dogs greeted each other, Richie felt his neck and face fill with color. He certainly didn’t want this thing sniffing around his ass; what would that look like if people saw them? He was so intensely grateful this was in the park, where the darkness was thick, where, in a mixture of relief and despair, no one could see what was happening to him.
The creature lifted its head and snorted, shaking its head as it stood rigidly over him, gazing off into the distance. There were some shouts near the gas station–Richie froze, straining his ears, to hear what was being said as he felt the creature tense. It shifted over him, nose once again pressing against his throat, nudging firmly to make him turn his head. He followed the non-verbal direction, feeling teeth scrape against the curve of his shoulder as that sniffing continued. The creature shifted, sniffing at the balled fists Richie held against his chest, and the blond was jolted by the feel of teeth scraping against his wedding band, feeling slick gums move over his tightly clenched fingers.
The creature seemed to recognize the gesture of that possession, snorting again, lifting its head with its tongue peeking from between its teeth as it once again gazed over toward the gas station. It then lowered its head, to growl low as it clamped its teeth over Richie’s throat once more, the blond giving a startled jerk as those points clamped with startling firmness over his windpipe. He expected death, giving a little choke and protest as the creature shifted over him.
It took him a moment to realize that the creature was speaking. A mixture of growls, punctuated with rough, barely understandable words that made Richie freeze, automatically focusing on distinguishing them.
“Not his,” it was saying, the almost inarticulate words a forceful heave of growling sound. “Not his.”
Richie realized what it was talking about; felt foolish, and yet relieved in that this creature still retained some amount of human knowledge. He started speaking before thinking. “No. My husband, he–!”
Those teeth tightened around his throat, and he quieted immediately. It didn’t hurt–no, it was the fear of those teeth completing its crushing descent that pained him.
Suddenly it lifted its head again, a strange sort of clicking noise emerging from its half opened mouth. It gazed into the distance, its body a rigid line as ears pricked upward with interest.
“Danny boy,” it suddenly growled, an almost inarticulate wheeze of sound. “Heeeere, Danny-boy...”
Richie froze, breathing heavily, his eyebrows furrowing as he waited for more movement, more words. He gave a startled grunt as the creature then left him, taking off with abnormal speed down the length of the park, disappearing into the parking lot.
Shakily, he rose to his feet, brushing off grass from his pants and shirt. That incident had left him feeling pretty disgusted, and yet entirely aware of his situation; he felt molested and violated, leaving him with a sick feeling in his stomach. He spent much of the time trying to calm himself down as he searched for his cellphone. He found it a considerable distance from where the creature had taken him down, and with much weakness in his limbs, he started stumbling toward the gas station, to see what had happened to Tyson.
Once he got there, though, he was more than disturbed and troubled by the array of police cruisers that had swarmed the parking lot. His first thought was Francis–what would the redhead think if he realized his husband was in the throes of a forbidden tryst with a kid? The very same kid that had began that ugly argument? In all actuality, he didn’t want to know.
So he didn’t venture any further, choosing instead to crouch and hide behind the car that Daniel had used to leap over the chainlink fence. He watched the scene from here, shaking with rising dread as he listened to everyone talk excitedly, to the shop owner’s exclamations in that he’d just rung up the kid’s purchases not even half an hour ago. At that, Richie’s eyes fell to the tarp on the pavement, and he froze with paralyzing realization as he observed the darkened area that had eked around the bright blue covering. That dread made his very bones turn cold, and a rising sense of acid fullness to ascend his throat.
Realizing that Tyson was dead, that the creature had taken his life for whatever reason, Richie decided to get out of there. But first, he scanned the parking lot and the side of the building for any outside cameras. To see if he would be considered in this startling murder. Seeing none, he felt some relief cascade into him, and thought of the earlier moment when Tyson had grabbed him in the store. He’d been alone, he was sure–Richie hadn’t seen any other youths, and if he had...
Common sense told him to approach the police, to tell them what had happened.
But the thought of Francis finding out that he’d been right was enough to keep him rooted where he was.
He swallowed hard, resolving to try and fix this situation as Gear. Carefully, he eased away from the car, and made his way down the by-way, remembering that his vehicle was still parked just in front of the store.
Grimacing, he took his time to walk around the block, approaching the gas station from the front, and acted surprised and alarmed when he was questioned. It had been easy to lie his way out of that; that he’d left his vehicle there to walk off with some friends he’d seen down the sidewalk. The cops took it as that, took his report, and let him go. Still shaking and considerably miserable, Richie headed back home, stunned and scared, uneasy with the encounter he’d had with Tyson and the creature.
But once he’d reached the driveway, he paused; there wasn’t anybody there. All the lights were off, and all the vehicles that were usually parked around the area were missing. Probably, after the unsuccessful phone call, Francis had decided to act like a dick and head off to the clubs.
He put the vehicle in reverse and backed out from the driveway, driving away from the house. He called Virgil up on his cellphone and decided to meet him at the Gas Station to relate what had happened.
In all actuality, he wanted to go to Francis, driven by some a familiar need to feel safe and secure again. He just wanted him; no one else, with no distractions, no glaring and judgmental eyes from his friends...just Francis. But the redhead kept himself too closely guarded with surrounding himself with people, and going places where Richie wasn’t welcome. He felt blockaded.
As much as he wanted his husband, he wasn’t willing to charge through a large mess just to get to him. Things weren’t the same as they were when they were starting out. Francis had been the first person he turned to when he needed help, and Francis had been always ready to help or respond. But it seemed that those moments were lost. Differences were separating them, and he hated it...at the same time, he was also hopeful.
He had to think about that later.