Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ Thanks For Acting Like You Care ( Chapter 11 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.


Shampoo Marea: Your enthusiasm makes me...enthusiastic! XD But I really truly appreciate it! I’m glad that you like my updates! Sorry for this one taking so long...hopefully I’ll do better the next one.

I’m_Alive: LOL yeah, things happened practically very quickly. I realize that I cannot keep dragging things out–they gotta get a move on! XD As for your reaction with Ivan and Rudy...O_O Well, like I said before, I sometimes base my characters on people I actually know...but I like that you can see those characters that way. Gives them...more depth, I suppose. Frankly, Francis is the one that makes me wanna smash his face in–most of his reactions are those I know unfortunately VERY well...

GingerAlli: Yay! You found my other fic! Yes, Hs is a little different in this fic rather than the other one...I figured I couldn’t really keep the same person acting the same way in an entirely different situation...as for Richie, don’t feel sorry for him, yet. (Wink wink) And thanks for the encouragement!




Chapter Eleven:
Thanks For Acting Like You Care




“I’m going to change, man. Everything. My attitude, my fuckin’ life choices...all that stuff.”

Ivan puffed away on his cigarette with a bored expression. Francis promised to change his life nearly four times a year. He hadn’t succeeded with his goals just yet. It wasn’t unusual to hear this gibberish when things were looking bad with him and his husband.

“Fuckin’...I’m going to stop going out all the time...” Francis listed off his goals with a curl of each finger, a determined look on his face. “...Stop fuckin’ drinking...stop letting so many fuckin’ people over all the time...stop bein’ so fucking controlling–I finally have to admit that I have a slight problem with that...”

“‘Slight’?” Ivan repeated with amusement. The serious expression on the redhead’s face almost made him laugh. Almost.

“Start...start fuckin’ being good to my husband...” Francis trailed off with a heavy sigh, shaking his head.

Both of them were on their lunch break–sitting in a booth in a nearly empty sandwich shop that was just a few blocks away from their job.

Ivan rolled his eyes, stabbing the cig out, reaching for his container of soda. “Whatever...”

“No, man, I–I need to. I just...I’ve been...not right to him. Always...I dunno...talking shit. Being all fucking shitty to him all the time...I know he gets tired of it. I’m kinda surprised he lasted this long with me.”

Ivan twiddled with the straw, gazing off into the distance with an annoyed expression on his face.

“Ya’ll just lazy, anyway,” he muttered. “You don’t break up cuz it takes too much work to do. That’s why you stay. You don’t care.”

He could still feel the smooth heat of Richie’s hardened dick in his hand. Often found himself wondering how he could somehow hear those whimpers and moans again. He shifted uncomfortably in the booth, and frowned darkly when Francis mimicked the movement.

“Kinda hadn’t been having any sex, or anythin’, either,” the redhead muttered, seeming to follow that train of thought. “Not that you care, right? But that...that makes up a lot of the relationship. Things...things are always good in that aspect. Nothin’...nothin’ needs fixing, there.”

“Looked healthy to me,” Ivan muttered, propping his chin upon his palm and looking away uncomfortably, recalling that day after teaching Eustacio a lesson. How comfortable the blond looked to be pinned in the position he was on the counter, Francis over him.

“Nah...haven’t had nothin’. Not even a hand job!” Francis said with disgust, hitting the remains of his trash.

Ivan didn’t know why–but he suddenly couldn’t stop the flush that he felt creep along his cheeks. Not that it was visible, anyway.

“I gotta change, man. Definitely. Gotta...gotta fix things. I’ve been taking things for granted.” Francis sighed again, fingers drumming the tabletop.

Ivan found himself memorized by the wide wedding band that he wore–studied the diamonds, the way the folded metal bore weathered scrapes and smudges. Richie’s was the same, only slimmer, appropriately proportioned for his long, thin fingers.

He had to shake his head. The only reason why he kept thinking of the blond was because Francis was doing it.

“But I gotta do it, this time!” Francis insisted, hitting the table with his exuberance. “Things...I see that things are changing. That...that he’s pulling away from me. I don’t want him to pull away from me. I get so...fuckin’...I dunno...insecure that he does. Kinda...I get scared, sometimes. Cuz I know he wants to leave. Cuz I treat him so fucking shitty...”

Ivan studied Francis’ gloomy expression, the way he drew his eyebrows together, that set of his lips. He had to shake his head in disgust.

“You know Rudy Sedano?” Ivan asked on a heavy sigh. “That guy’s older brother. Eustacio. Word is, he’s tryin’ to figure out who fucked him over.”

“...So? Fuckin’ beat him down, too. Man, I hope he comes lookin’ for trouble! I would like an excuse to beat some stupid fucker down! The way I’m feelin’?”

“Been sending some guys over to watch us,” Ivan continued over Francis’ enthusiasm for violence. He played with the straw, his bored expression drawing more flat as he did so. “If you’re gonna do that changing, you might as well as start screenin’ your visitors.”

“I can do that,” Francis murmured, running his fingers through his goatee. “Gotta stop havin’ kids over. Kinda...you’ll help me with that, huh? They mostly know you, anyway.”

“They say that the Playas are having troubles on the streets–that the Pitts have something to do with it.”

“You’ve been gettin’ a lot of words and rumors on ya, Ivan,” Francis noticed, looking at him closely. “Who’re you talking to?”

“People...”

“Heard Theresa was around the other day...”

Ivan scowled at him, pushing at the wheat bread that covered his pastrami and ham sandwich. “Fuck that ho.”

“I’ll bet you would if you had it. What, she would let you....it wasn’t no fucking secret you two had a thing going.”

“You wanna keep that husband of yours, you better shut the fuck up, or you losing him forever.”

“You always threaten someone’s life,” Francis muttered in disgust, dropping his head to tug fitfully at the gold patch of hair. “Haven’t seen you do shit, yet.”

“I can do it,” Ivan said lazily, shutting his eyes. “Easy...pull up a niner and bam! There goes my problem...”

“You’re all talk, Ivan, man. You ain’t no action. C’mon, let’s head back. I gotta finish up with that car before that Hyundai comes in. Hey, what you think about me getting a tat? Right here?”

Ivan didn’t bother to open his eyes to know that Francis had been thinking about getting tattooed flames along his forearms. He snorted. “How about I paint my fingernails black?”

“Then I’ll be calling you the fag, you fuckin’ fairy. Ain’t no guy wears fucking fingernail bullshit unless they’re all queen.”

Ivan examined his fingernails lazily. “Says the fucker buyin’ his bitch perfume..”

“Shut up about that! It makes him smell even more delicious. Especially when he’s all warm and sweaty. THEN it gets better.”

Ivan attempted to stab out his eardrums with the straw, but Francis laughed and rose from the table, leaving his mess where it was.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

Richie sat in Virgil’s borrowed Impala, and glared at the one story house before him.

Francis had been his first everything–he had heard that first loves were hard to let go of. But this relationship had met its end; he was growing sure of that. Both of them were discontent; both of them were already pulling away. They merely lived together, now, expressing only the unhappy efforts of lovers growing bored with each other.

Now that he had a taste of what was out there, he wanted more. Joe from the gym had been more than happy enough to express those options; even if Richie found himself comparing and expecting the things he was used to from Francis. Joe’s cock size, his smells, his movements, his enthusiasm in bed, the taste of his sweat and cum–totally different from Francis. And yet, while pleasant in that it was all new, there was some small discontent in that it wasn’t familiar.

Not that he was dissatisfied–no way. Joe had enough experience to know what he was doing, where he was negotiating and what he planned on accomplishing; roles had been discussed before hand. Francis rarely allowed himself to take bottom; he had always complained and whined whenever Richie asked for it, but Joe had barely blinked. Because it was his first time with someone new, Richie had chosen comfort in a familiar position. But the fact that he’d been given an option had been pretty exciting. Joe had promised a reversal the next time they hooked up, and Richie found himself looking forward to it.

It was an exalting, dark secret that made him as giddy as a school boy once more. Knowing that he had accomplished something deliciously forbidden and yet satisfying had chased away his hurt.

Also, in leaving Francis, he would be able to leave Ivan, as well. The newly re-discovered hate of the black man burned within his gut, his forehead furrowing as he thought of that man’s smug expression.

His fists curled in his lap. Ivan had been the start of this–but then again, Richie admitted that he brought it all on himself. Knowing that Ivan was dangerous territory, and venturing onto it anyway.

Still...still, there was the matter of recalling that incident; of how his gut had twisted with forbidden excitement when Ivan had masturbated him. If Ivan had hated him so much...if he couldn’t stand him in the way that he’d said repeatedly...then why touch him that way? Why would he even bother to make that effort? In a twisted, roundabout way, Richie knew why. His suspicions about Ivan feeling what Francis did for him always managed to worm their way into his thoughts.

That, on a level neither could understand, Ivan actually felt more than he was letting on.

Feelings of interest into someone that expressed their dislike to him made his lower belly quiver. The very same way it did when met with a sexually charged interest.
In another way, he understood why Ivan had chosen that route. To make someone submit sexually with manually induced pleasure left the victim feeling as if they had no control over themselves; that they ‘liked’ what was being done to them despite it all. And for that, they felt shame and utter disgrace with themselves...and he’d felt that way.

But in another way...he didn’t. Because he’d ventured into sexual fantasies involving the older man. Of wondering what would happen if he would allow Ivan to dominate him. Sexually explicit fantasies that had left him feeling somewhat sickened and curious at the same time. But those were just fantasies–random thoughts that he would never act on. This was a cruel, bitter man that wasn’t afraid to express his opinion and his dislike. He didn’t seem to have any softness about him. To imagine him in bed was a frightful delight, actually.

Things had been made worse by Ivan masturbating him.

Richie gave a strong groan, shaking his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, right now. Not when he’d come back to get the rest of his things and ask Francis for a separation.

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. He would just pack some more of his things. Maybe Francis wouldn’t even argue with him–maybe he would just fuel Richie’s decisions with more names and derogatory comments. Francis hadn’t tried to track him down as he usually did the past two weeks; maybe...maybe their relationship was coming to an end.

He fiddled with his wedding band. It was just a big part of him as his glasses, his hair, his features! He took it off, just to re-examine how he would feel without it. The skin was much paler underneath the band–silky from sweat. He wiggled his fingers experimentally–Joe had found it a kinky turn-on to know that he was doing someone’s husband.

But as seconds passed, his finger felt naked and vulnerable. He slipped the wedding band back on.

Finally, he took another deep breath, dropped the keys onto the passenger side seat, and climbed out from the car.

He found himself hoping that Francis would resume his attitude toward him. It would make things easier. Because when Francis expressed his true feelings, it was hard to continue to elude him. Francis was never vulnerable; he used that trait truthfully, never to manipulate. When he was vulnerable...well...Richie had a hard time denying that.

He wished he had brought Virgil with him.

He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants and swallowed hard. His knees were shaking as he walked up the front pathway. He almost turned away once reaching the front door–the wood creaked underneath as he walked onto the porch. He grimaced at the telltale sounds he made, and took another deep breath before trying the handle.

Please, God, please let him have attitude, he thought as he swung the door open, walking in cautiously.

Ivan was watching tv–Shiv was talking a mile a minute to Jason. Neither of the three looked at him. There wasn’t any sign of Francis, and he was thankful for that.

Maybe he wasn’t even here. He shut the door behind him, and made his way to the back, hoping against hope that Francis wasn’t back there. He hoped to catch him with someone else. Enlightened by that, he walked into the bedroom and flicked on the lights. It was empty, and he was quite disappointed at that.

He opened the closet and began pulling out clothes with a hastiness that made his limbs weak. He heard the telltale screech of the sliding door, admitting loud and boisterous conversation. He closed his eyes momentarily at hearing Francis’ voice being one of those men.

By the time he’d dumped what was his onto the bed, and moved toward the dresser, he heard Shiv announce that he was back there. And heard the approaching footfalls of Francis coming his way. Never had he prayed so hard for the redhead’s assy attitude than he did at that moment.

He kept his back to the door as he pulled out what was his from the dresser, feeling intense brown eyes on him as Francis entered the room. He fumbled with the collection of his socks, and felt the tips of his ears grow pink the more he felt his stare on him.

He anxiously awaited the cruel words and the enraged expressions, and realized that he was hearing none. At the soft click of the door shutting, he wanted to hit the dresser in frustration.

“What’s this?” Francis asked softly, gazing at the pile of clothing on the bed.

Richie paused in gathering what was left in the shirt drawer. He felt a warm flash of hate curl along his belly as he recognized that Francis held no angry undertones or snotty attitude. Hated God at that moment for letting him down.

“My stuff,” he replied evenly. He tossed what he had found onto the rest of the pile. “I came back to get my stuff.”

“...For...for what? You taking a trip?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Francis, I am.”

“...Where to?”

“...Away from here.” He opened the drawer that held his pants.He felt those eyes on him again, and he was determined not to look back at him. He heard the bed emit a small sound of protest as the heavy bulk of his husband sat at the edge. He faltered only because that attitude that made the redhead so infamous wasn’t showing. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments, and forced himself to think about being called a ‘sluthole’.

At that, his movements were more determined.

“Why you packing everything?” Francis asked, on a low, pouty mutter. “You movin’?”

“Yup.” Damn. His voice almost cracked on that. “Out of here. Away from you.”

“...Why?”

“Because...you said it was over.” Don’t sound like a sullen kid, man! Richie told himself angrily. “And because I am tired of things.”

“I say a lot of things that I don’t mean when I’m mad, Rich. I didn’t–I don’t want you gone. I don’t want you to move. I did a lot of thinking while you were gone, and I realize that I’m–that I act like a fucking prick. That...that I got mad because...I dunno...because I thought you were doing things that I...dammit. Stop that. Stop doing that and look at me, please. Rich? Please?”

Richie angrily piled his things onto one arm, and shook his head. “No. Stop. Get out of here, all right? I don’t want to talk with you. I don’t want to ‘discuss’ things. I made up my mind! I’m so sick of being insulted and mistreated all the time, and I’m so fed up with it–! I don’t want to do this, anymore. And every time you apologize for something, you end up doing it again! I don’t want to go through that cycle, again!”

“Rich, please. Please, baby, put that stuff down. You don’t have to do this–!”

“Don’t call me that!”

“At least...at least let me talk to you some, all right? I know I did wrong! I know I–I shouldn’t be doing things, an’–I shouldn’t blame my temper, or shit like that. But...Rich, please. Face me. Okay? Turn around and face me.”

“Man...no! I don’t want to!”

“Stop acting like a–! Rich...man...just...please. Give me this chance to talk to you. Okay? Baby, Please?”

“...No, Francis. No...”

“Please! You can’t just come in and take off without hearing what I need to say to you! You know you had plenty of fuckin’ chances to come out here and get your shit without me bein’ here, an’ I know you don’t do impulsive stuff–well, other than spending, but...you came out here, knowing I was here, and you can’t deny that.”

Richie felt himself flush slightly at that. But he wouldn’t really admit it completely. Stubbornly, he continued doing what he was doing.

“I know I ain’t good at talking about things! But I need to...I need to tell you...I need to talk to you. And you need to listen to me.”

“The only thing I need to do is get my things and get out of here. I have Virgil’s car–he needs it back within an hour.”

“I’ll call and explain that you’ll be late.”

“No, Francis.” Richie realized he had been staring at the empty drawer, and rose to dump what he’d gathered onto the bed. He refused to look in his husband’s direction. “I just wanna get my things and go. I don’t want to talk about things. Please just let me get my stuff and leave. The sooner I do this, the sooner I can leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave, baby. Please stop all that and talk to me.”

“NO!”

“You can’t just up and leave, Rich! We have all this shit behind us–! We can’t just–!”

“There’s no ‘we’! There’s only you! I’m tired of you!”

“You’re tired of how I’m treating you, an’ I fully understand that, an’ I fully deserve it, okay? I’ve been a prick, and I’ve been fuckin’ disrespectful, and I’ve done a lot of things that you don’t need or deserve! I can’t lose you, not over this, not after we’ve been through so much! Rich, please sit down and look at me...please look at me!”

“NO! I don’t want to look at you!”

“Rich, please!”

Richie felt himself held in place when he turned to gather his things atop of the dresser, feeling Francis wrap his arms around his thighs, face pressed against the back of his right leg. Angrily, hating the lengths Francis was going to, Richie kicked out of the hold, but found himself grabbed again. He whirled to tug at his hand, Francis pulling at him and holding tightly onto both wrists. It was frustrating how much stronger he was, and Richie grit his teeth, hating that he already felt weakened in his absolved decision. He hated when Francis pulled this–admittedly, it was rare, and even more rare for him to beg.

He couldn’t continue to make him beg or plead, because he wasn’t like that.

“Please just listen to me,” Francis begged, holding tightly onto his wrists, his expression pleading. “I don’t want you to go without me saying what I have to, all right? I ain’t the smartest guy, nor am I really, like, everyone’s ideal. I have my mistakes; I have my attitude, and I make more enemies than I do friends...all right? But you saw past that. Like, once upon a time, you saw past that. And now that all this time went by, it’s like, we lost track of each other. No, wait! I ain’t done, yet!”

“I don’t want to hear this! Goddamn, I don’t want to hear any of it! I just want to go!”

“You need to listen to me!”

“I DON’T WANT TO!”

“You sound like a fuckin’ bratty kid! Always whining, always fuckin’ complaining!” Francis then shouted furiously, tossing Richie’s arms away from him. He rose from the floor, arms out. “When are you going to start acting like a man, huh? Act your fuckin’ age!”

Richie gave him a derisive smirk, shaking his head. “Why would I continue to come home to this? To have some guy dictating what I’m doing or what I think? I would rather I spent my time with someone that was nicer to me.”

Francis stared at him for several moments, saying nothing.

Richie’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’ll admit, Francis, I did meet someone. Someone who does treat me nice. I like spending time with him. I did sleep with him the other night. I felt driven to do it–you haven’t been very loving–nor even close to being considerate or kind. This situation that you and I have, it’s like–none of us are happy...and truthfully...I wanted to–I wanted to hurt you. It was really nice being with someone that didn’t treat me the way that you have been.”

He trailed off, thinking about that night. He looked back at Francis, and exhaled slowly, staring at that tight, almost ashen expression. He waited, watching him for a few more moments, then cast a glance at the pile of clothing. When Francis moved, he noticeably jerked, hand raising in automatic reaction.

Francis cast him a look of contempt, turning away from him and walking out from the room without another word. Confused, more than a little worried, Richie watched him go, feeling his legs shake. He strained to hear if something would be said in the other room, but when conversation resumed, he swallowed hard. His cell rang at that moment, and he pulled it from his jacket pocket, seeing that it was Virgil.

“You okay?” came his friend’s breathless query. Richie scrunched his eyebrows as he listened to his friend’s breathing, giving a stunned expression.

“Virgil, you’re not having sex with someone again, are you?”

“No! Actually, I’m running up several flights of stairs to get to the maternity ward...Shenice went into labor this morning...I just got here. She’s not even close to dilation, or whatever, but I just now got the message.”

“Wow! That’s awesome! You want me to pick you up afterward?”

“Can you? I don’t know how long it’s going to take...”

“Having babies takes awhile, I think. Not speaking from experience...But it’s no problem. I can pick you up.”

“You...still over...there?”

“Yeah...I just...I told him, Virg. About...about Joe. I just blurted it out. I’m just going to get my things, and maybe head back out to the hotel. You know the one.”

“Yeah...man, just...be careful, k? Do you think he’d try to hurt you?”

“...No.”

“You took too long to answer that.”

“No, it’ll be fine. He won’t. Just...just call when you’re ready. Even before that. I’d like to see your son.”

“That’ll be cool. Hey, I’m there. Be careful, man!”

“You too!” Richie hung up, smiling. It must be exciting, he thought, being there to see the life that he created coming into the world. He tried to picture himself with a kid, and couldn’t do it. He really wasn’t that much of a kid person in the first place. He set the phone aside, and sighed heavily as he regarded his things. Cautiously, he left the room to venture into the second bedroom, locating a couple of suitcases and an extra duffle in the closet.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to pack everything that he had into the suitcases. As he packed his toiletries into the duffle, amid all the other trinkets and things that he had gathered from the room, he was starting to feel weighted down by the oncoming feelings of second guessing his decisions. He didn’t want to feel that way.

But he sat down at the edge of the bed, staring with some worry at his shoes. What had that look meant? Why didn’t Francis pursue it? Why didn’t he say anything? Was he hurt? Or angry? When Francis was quiet about things, those things Richie worried about. The redhead always spoke so impulsively, reacting instantaneously to whatever catalyst.

Why didn’t he say anything?

He suddenly realized how quiet the house was. He’d been so focused on packing that he hadn’t heard anyone leaving...or any conversation. Usually, they were so loud...and there was always some sort of activity going on...with some hesitation, he rose from the bed, wrinkling his brow. If Francis left... it would make some things easy. But at the same time, he felt a little frustrated and annoyed. If Francis didn’t care that he’d slept with someone...then...was it really truly over?

He hefted the two full suitcases off the bed, staring at it almost sightlessly. He heard footsteps coming up the hall, and he turned to face the doorway. When Francis came in, he found himself dropping his eyes, unable to meet those narrow black ones. He stood still as Francis pointedly ignored him, rummaging through the closet for a light jacket, then walking off without a word.

Inwardly, Richie felt crushed–he didn’t know why. He had been tired of being treated the way he had! And he knew he was gung-ho about things before, but...he hadn’t expected to feel like this. He thought he would have been more...satisfied. Happier.

But he did recognize that, on a level deeper than those he acknowledged, he still loved his husband. He exhaled long and quietly through his nose, and picked up his suitcases. The house was indeed empty, and he tried not to think too hard as he walked through and headed outside. Both of their vehicles were gone–as well as Shiv’s beaten up Neon and that hateful black Maxima.

After he finished loading his things into the back of Virgil’s car, he made another trip into the house and grabbed the duffle bag full of his things from the bedroom. Wandering into the living room, he grabbed the framed pictures of his family and set them carefully within. He glanced around, wondering if he was truly going to go through the act of moving out.

Wordlessly, he glanced around the living room and kitchen, and finally left the house. It was dark, and a little chilly. Somewhere, a dog barked, seemingly just for the fun of it.

He set the duffle into the open trunk and sighed heavily as he shut it.

“I expected more from you, you asshole,” he muttered, climbing into the vehicle. He started it, his phone ringing again. He looked at the LCD window, seeing that it was Joe that was calling him. Despite his current turmoil, he refused to answer it, setting it aside and letting the answering service pick up. Feeling as if he’d just been kicked out once more, he shifted to back out from the driveway, and jumped when he heard the slight clink of metal against glass on the passenger-side window.

Looking over, he saw Francis there, and he was noticeably confused as he activated the window to hear what he had to say, inwardly cringing in reaction to harsh words or accusations.

Instead, Francis took a deep breath, shifting awkwardly as he leaned against the car. “Can you come out?” he asked quietly. “I want to talk to you.”

For once, Richie didn’t feel that urge to rebel–he was a little curious as to what Francis wanted to say.

He shrugged, turning the car off, and getting out. They walked back into the house, where the silence, though welcome, was deafening.

Richie still couldn’t look him in the eyes after his confession, shifting uncomfortably with his hands sliding into his back pockets. Francis stirred, giving the floor a considering look.

“I did, too, y’know,” he said quietly, Richie feeling his lips tighten. “A few times.”

“‘A few’–?” Richie exclaimed, Francis shushing him with a wave of his hand. Already feeling his face shift into an angry frown, Richie crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the couch, trying to guess when it had happened. Couldn’t help but feel a cold, disgusted shiver run through him.

“Didn’t mean anything. Just...I felt the same way you did. Cuz you were always talkin’ down on me. Always acting like you were all fuckin’...like, superior. And it was like...you were gone all the time, too. Spendin’ all your time with Virgil. And whenever we were makin’ it, you weren’t really into it. Like you were thinking about other things...”

“I didn’t...”

“That’s why I did it. Okay? Then I was sure you were doing the same thing, anyway. That’s why I kept accusing you. An’ it hurts because...y’know...you an’ me, we’ve been together for a long time. I don’t wanna lose that.”

“I never cheated on you until the other night, Francis.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I really am. Just...I can’t stand that someone can take you away. That someone better will come along, an’ you’ll leave me. It just gets me all...riled up. Kinda...then...I dunno. Those chicks didn’t mean anything–”

“‘Chicks’?! You were sleeping with women?”

“...Well...yeah. I mean...wasn’t like I was interested in them personally–!”

“With women?! That’s disgusting!”

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it!”

“I don’t want to sleep with women! That’s fucking gross! So, like, after you got done with them, you came back to me?”

“Hey, I showered!”

“THATS DISGUSTING!!”

“Rich, look–I didn’t think it was anything that bad. Just...just sex. Just fuckin’. What would you feel if it were guys? Huh?”

“So, you’re bi, now?” Richie asked bitterly, arms tightening around his chest. Just the thought of Francis with women, looking at them and admiring them, knowing that he wanted them made him gloomy. If he stayed...he would be competing against them as well. The thought was extremely depressing, especially after being told that he wasn’t ‘attractive’.

“I don’t...I don’t think so. I just...I dunno. I don’t have feelings for them. You’re the one I come home to–”

“Yeah, that’s flattering...”

“What do you want me to say, huh?” Francis then asked, gesturing. “Yeah, I fucked up. Royally. I shouldn’t have done it, but I did. I can’t take it back, I can’t–like, turn back time. I can apologize and work things out, but...I can’t...I don’t want to lose you.”

Richie shook his head, feeling utterly miserable. Francis had finally confessed what Richie felt he already knew, but he didn’t feel any better about it at all. “I don’t know, Francis...this...I don’t know. I don’t want to–”

“How do you think I feel, huh? That you slept with some guy? That you have some sorta connection to him?”

“I only did that because it appears I already lost you. To a ‘few’ women!” Richie spat angrily. “My mistake was nothing compared to yours!”

“So, we’re comparing mistakes, now?” Francis asked, eyebrows raising.

“I–no! I mean...” Richie trailed off, looking away.

Exhaling heavily, Francis shook his head, his jacket making light rustling sounds. “I wanna fix things, Rich. I...want to...I want to change things. I don’t...I don’t want to lose you.”

“I...don’t want to.”

“...What?”

“I don’t want to fix things. You always promise you’ll change–!”

“Things are different this time, Rich! I learned my lesson! I’ll do whatever it takes to change!”

“It’s not that easy!”

“Why?”

“‘Why’ what?”

“Why isn’t that easy?”

“You–! You haven’t–in all these years, you–!”

“Look, I’ll go back to anger management–maybe take up a few hobbies that don’t involve drinking and going out. I need to settle down. I’ll take classes with you–!”

“I don’t want you to!”

“Why? Why are you pushing me away when I’m trying to fix things?”

“Because I heard it all before, Francis! I’m tired of it! Yeah, it’s all fine and dandy that you’re willing to do things, but I’m so tired of being so up and happy for you, then having to bear the fall-out when you decide that you can’t do it anymore! I hate it! I hate being disappointed!”

“Oh, yeah, like you’re a fuckin’ saint! Like you’re perfect!”

“I’m not saying that I am!” Richie shouted. “I know I’m not perfect! I know I’m not attractive, nor am I absolutely saintly! I’m just saying, I can’t take the disappointment in you failing again!”

“Like I fuckin’ do it all the fucking time! Look,” Francis interrupted, reaching out to hold onto his shoulders. Staring into his eyes, he said quietly, “let’s make a deal. If I can’t abide by this–if I can’t do what I am supposed to, an’ I fail... I’ll–you can–we can get...you can decide what you want to do. But I am asking you–I am begging you–”

“Don’t do that...”

“–to give me this chance. This last chance. I can’t lose you. I can’t–I can’t go on bein’ this way, and end up losing one of the best things in my life.”

“...one?”

“You know what I mean...please...just this once. This last time. I swear I’ll change.”

Richie sighed heavily, looking away from him. He hated the probing stare, the way Francis lowered himself to his knees before him. Uncomfortably, feeling a mixture of feelings that made the situation hard to bear, he shifted his gaze to the opened sliding door. While he certainly appreciated that Francis did indeed care for him, was willing to ‘change’ (as promised constantly), he was just tired of hearing the same thing and enduring the consequences of having his hopes up. While he was comfortable in this relationship, having certainly learned enough of this other person to feel quite safe with him, he wanted to know others. He wanted to get to know Joe more; wanted to meet more of his peers and learn what more others had to offer.

And he felt that severe roil of indecision, knowing that he was hesitant; his temples began to throb painfully, and he recognized the impending feelings of his protective wall crumbling.

“Damn it,” he muttered, hating himself for his irresolution. Having known him well for over six years, Francis knew he had broken through. For that, he was extremely grateful; he was on his feet and hugging Richie tightly, unable to hide his smile and joyous laugh.

“I’ll fix things, babe,” he promised, squeezing him breathless. “You’ll see. I’ll fix things, an’ things will be so much better. I’ll take those classes, I’ll cut out the stupid stuff that I do. I won’t say shitty things anymore. I won’t–”

“Francis, stop!” Richie ordered, his voice muffled by his shoulder. He pulled his head up, looking down at him with a frown as he adjusted his glasses. Francis took them away, his smile fading as he studied that stern expression. “I can’t guarantee my own feelings...I already feel discontent. But...”

He searched the ceiling for the right words, feeling Francis’ hold on him loosen, and found himself fumbling for words. “I...I’ll try, too. I’ll...I just want to be truthful. That...that I already planned on moving on. But–if you’re willing to try and change things, then...then I’ll try, too.”

Staring at him intently, Francis pulled back to say, “But you were already thinking of moving on.”

“How can you blame me, Francis? I can’t just turn around and declare that everything’s all right, that things will change in a better way! It’s...”

“I understand. I understand, all right? I did this...I gotta fix it,” Francis then interrupted, pulling away from him, sliding his hands back into his pockets. He studied Richie for several moments, the blond feeling disgusted at himself for allowing the cycle to begin again. He looked at his husband and felt his lips tighten as he recognized the plotting expression on that familiar face.

“I have to woo you back, huh?” Francis then asked, giving an amused smirk.

Richie felt uncomfortably humored at the expression, not giving any indication of what he felt upon hearing that.

“It’ll be worth it, though,” Francis decided, shifting to hand back his glasses. “I can’t just be stupid about shit.”

Biting his lower lip, exhaling heavily, Richie felt exhausted.

“Don’t look that way, babe,” Francis said on a sigh, shoulders drooping slightly. “You look...I dunno...miserable.”

“I am. Honestly, I am. I just don’t...I don’t want to be hurt anymore.”

“I...I understand. I understand. It won’t happen. I’ll change. Things’ll change...”

Richie sighed, looking away from him. Registering the admission, Francis moved close to him, to kiss his cheek and draw him into his arms. Inhaling deeply of the familiar scents, feeling the lean hardness of his husband’s body, Francis tilted into him, determined to fix what he felt he’d ruined.

Glumly, Richie stared at the ceiling and hoped that he hadn’t made the wrong decision.

Later, Richie glanced around surreptitiously, hoping none of the neighbors were seeing this. He didn’t want to look like one of those pitiful fools that continously tried to leave their lover, only to be wooed back. Francis was pulling his suitcases back out from the car, Richie standing close by, keys and cell in one hand. He went through his phone and deleted all of Joe’s missed phone calls. He didn’t save the number, and was already making plans on intercepting the phone bill so that Francis couldn’t see the name and number next month.

Determined to break the uncomfortable silence, he blurted, “Shenice is having her baby tonight. I need to go pick Virgil up when all’s settled.”

“Already? Was she having it then?”

“Nah. Didn’t sound like she was even close. It might take awhile...could you...like, wake me up when he does call?”

“How long does it take to have a kid? Don’t they just pop ‘em out like in the movies?”

“Francis, do you really believe what movies tell you?”

“Well, some.”

Richie frowned at him as Francis shut the trunk. Cutting through the neighborhood silence was the sound of tires squealing on pavement.

“Sheesh, what’d you pack in here? The whole fuckin’ bedroom?”

“Your dad called, actually, now that you mention a parent. Dani needed a loan.”

“I ain’t givin’ that fuckin’ kid anymore money! What she need it for this time?”

“Um...”

“Rich, you didn’t give her money, did you? She fuckin’ lies about what she’s spending it on!”

“I know you hate them, but that’s your family. But...erm...I used your bank account...because I was mad at you.”

“Rich! I don’t want you spending money on those fuckers! Dad gots his own fuckin’ job, and Dani can get one if she gets off her fuckin’ lazy-ass–! How much you give them?”

“Well...since this was the day after you kicked me out, about five hundred dollars–”

“RICHARD OSGOODE FOLEY!!”

“Oh, GOD, don’t EVEN FUCKING START!”

“I ain’t gonna see that fuckin’ money ever again! Why don’t you use your fuckin’ head? They’re parasites! Fuckin’ no good–!”

“They are your father and your sister, Francis–!”

“They fuckin’ only use YOU to get money, cuz they know they ain’t gettin’ it from me!”

“Well, I–”

Both of them paused as a bright red Prisma screeched to a stop at the end of their driveway, the bumper slamming into the mailbox. As wood and metal flew through the air, and tires destroyed grass, Francis dropped the suitcases with a loud curse. Richie blinked with surprise, watching the driver’s side door open.

A teenager, wearing the signature colors of the Playas, stumbled out. His eyes were wide, and his dark skin color was an ashy shade, slick with sweat. It looked as if he were in panicked fear for awhile, breathing in short pants.

“What the fuck, man?” Francis shouted, pointing at their mailbox.

“IVAN! Where’s Ivan?” The teen’s voice broke in his panicked haste. Richie could see that there were three other teens in the car, all of them just as panicked as the first, a couple of them packing heat. They all looked just as scared.

“Francis, they’re armed,” he murmured, his fingers reaching out to grip his husband’s coat nervously.

“Huh? He ain’t here, man. He’s gone,” Francis commented, frowning at this fact.

“I need his help! We need him–! Fuck! He ain’t here!”

“I just said that!”

“Fuck!” the kid cried, running back to his car. The Prisma gave a protesting squeal as it was maneuvered out from the driveway, the back end slamming into a neighbor’s car. As the car tore off down the street, tires squealing upon pavement once more, Francis looked at Richie in confusion.

“What was that about?”

“...Dunno...is Ivan involved with stuff like that?”

“He ain’t in all that.”

“Where are they, anyway?”

“Out. Told them to take the vehicles, so people wouldn’t come by. So I could have some time with you.”

Richie gave a down expression, swallowing as he studied their broken mailbox. “Francis, I...I don’t feel that I can...”

“Babe, listen–the moment I start being shitty with you, you let me know. Just...just give me this chance again, ‘k? Please?” Francis turned to him, frowning as he contemplated Richie’s expression. He reached up to touch him, lifting his chin, then kissing him briefly. “Is that all that you packed?”

“I have one more bag in the back seat.” Richie stepped aside, Francis walking past him to set the suitcases back into the house, then moving back toward the car to retrieve the last bag. Following to lock the vehicle, Richie felt the pressure of his decision settle uncomfortably on his shoulders, and he emitted another heavy sigh as he took out the keys. Once Francis shut the door, he used the remote keypad to lock the doors of the Impala, the security system emitting a tiny set of beeps as headlights flashed.

“Rich, you–” Francis cut himself off when the Prisma appeared once more, driving up their driveway, Richie diving out of the way to avoid being hit. Francis cursed, dropping the duffle as the same teen practically fell out of his vehicle, the others getting out hastily as well.

“Not uh! No way! You get that shit business outta here!” Francis growled as the teen launched himself at him. “What the fuck? Get outta here! I don’t want none of this shit goin’ on here!”

“Please–! Please, help us!” the teen cried, latching onto his legs. Richie picked himself up from the pavement, watching with bewildered fascination as those teens crowded around the redhead, all of them looking at him as if he were their savior.

Francis kicked out of the hold, stumbling only once when another latched onto his legs. “What the fuck–? Stop it! Get out of here! Don’t be bringing that shit to my home! Get outta here!”

“Please! Please, it’s after us! They’re after us! They sendin’ that thing after us!” the first teen cried, crawling on his knees and latching onto his leg once more.

“Do you guys need the cops?” Richie asked, venturing forward, one of the teens turning to him.

“It’s after us!” he cried. “It’s gonna kill us! Help us! It’s gonna get us!”

“What–? What’s going on?”

“Don’t encourage them, Rich! Get off me! Get out of here! Get your shit and go, man!” Francis shouted, finally kicking free, pushing the teen away from Richie. He proceeded to shove both of them back toward the car, which was still running.

“Francis, we should call the cops–”

“Don’t even get involved, man. It ain’t our business. The moment we do, shit’s gonna go down,” Francis growled, pushing another teen toward the vehicle.

At the squeal of tires on pavement, everyone stilled. Francis then cursed, pushing the first teen into the car. “Get the fuck out of here! Don’t be bringing shit over here!”

“Please, help us–! Help us! We didn’t do anythin’! We didn’t do anything!” the teen begged, but climbed into the vehicle.

“Francis, let’s call the cops–!”

The sounds of a speeding vehicle grew closer, and Francis kicked the door shut, gesturing at the teen to leave. The Prisma quickly backed out from the driveway, then took off once more, a black Toyota Tundra shooting past just a few moments later.

Richie winced, looking at Francis as the redhead picked up the duffle. “That was strange.”

“It was fuckin’ stupid. C’mon, let’s go inside. Lock up good.” He then tensed at the sounds of firecrackers bursting in the distance, the sounds echoing sharply throughout the area. Dogs began barking furiously, and lights were flaring to life in the houses around them. “Fuck. C’mon.”

“Wow, I thought we moved out here to get away from all that. We should call the cops anyway...John might think something different if he hears about this from another source.”

At the mention of his parole officer, Francis sighed. He and Richie began walking up the front path when another sound caught their attention–the heavy panting of an animal. Puzzled, Francis hesitated, Richie tensing as familiarity made the back of his neck tingle.

The sound came as if it were running on the street–but there was no indication of it. The sound then shifted, metal protesting as heavy weight befell it, and wood cracked as both males shifted, looking over at the adjoining wooden fence that separated their back yard from the neighbor’s. They then shifted again as something heavy fell onto their roof, tiles scraped under clawed feet, a heavy thump sounding from along the side of the house. This was then followed by the sound of another fence protesting heavy weight. Then, it was silent. Even the dogs that had been barking previously fell quiet.

“What the fuck was that...?” Francis asked, turning away from the door. Stricken, wondering how it was possible, Richie grabbed the doorknob and turned, pulling Francis in after him and slamming the door shut. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to know...it sounded...scary.”

“‘Scary’?” Francis opened the door again, Richie struggling to pull him back into the house. “Let go! What was that?”

“It doesn’t matter! Come back! I don’t want to be here by myself! Stay here with me!”

“Rich, don’t be a–c’mon, we’ll look together, ‘k?”

“NO! Stay in here! You know what happens to people when they investigate things?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Francis walked outside, but the animal was gone. Staring out at the street, where people were standing on their porches and curiously commenting about the shooting that had just occurred, he shrugged.

Fretfully, Richie wondered why Daniel Trujillo was involved in this shoot-out, and backed away from the door, hoping that the thing wouldn’t somehow recognize his smell.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

Ivan hit the counter in frustration. ‘Eavesdropping’ on the conversation that had taken place miles away, he knew that Francis had once again convinced his younger husband to stay. It was completely pathetic the way Francis cherished the blond. He could talk all he wanted about hating and disliking this and that that Richie did, but in the end, Francis was the one on his knees. Francis was the one doing all the begging and pleading–it was pathetic. And for what?

Ivan, on his own, couldn’t see what was so good about Richie. He spent too much of their money; whined about many things in general; constantly tagged along like an overeager younger sibling wanting to hang out with the big kids; and was scandalous in that he played with others’ heads.

Francis had seen him as a sort of saint; the good boy that listened and treated him as an equal; that firmly believed he could do things once he put his mind to it; the sort that put out when no one else had.

It was all on the account of desperation, anyway. Two people that couldn’t get anyone else, that bonded merely because no one else was interested in them.
Richie was attractive only because he gave out the signals; signals that everyone understood. Otherwise, no one gave him a second glance. What was it about him that had the redhead so hooked?

Ivan signaled for another shot of Southern Comfort, angrily shaking his head. Why Francis valued the blond was something beyond his comprehension. He should have just done away with him–certainly would have made life much more easier. All this drama, and Ivan had to come back to it all.

He swallowed the strong, brown liquor and slammed the shot glass back down on the counter.

“Fuck this bullshit,” he muttered.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

“You find them?” Rudy asked, scratching his fingers over Daniel’s head. At the shake, Rudy frowned, looking over at Armando. The two were sitting in Armando’s dark blue Camry, posted just on the outskirts of a grocery store parking lot. Daniel was crammed in the back seat, taking up all available space as he whined and leaned into the affection.

“Damn, man. I thought he was just going crazy,” Rudy commented. “He acted like he knew somebody. Did you see anything when he was out?”

“Nah. He was just running around like one of them fuckin’ mutts. All for nothing.” Armando chuckled at the nip he received for the comment, the creature growling low in his throat. “Sometimes, he knows what’s being said, huh?”

“Yeah...just...sometimes. Shit, man. Those fuckin’ kids. Fuck them kids. Who’s in this area, anyway?”

“I don’t know. I don’t come out here very often.”

“They was going to someone’s house...looking for help. Who else they got around here that’s so fuckin’ important?”

“We’ll ask later on. The cops still around?”

“Nah. Haven’t seen any...call up Carmelo. See what he’s got on his end. This problem will be solved soon, man,” Rudy vowed, tossing his half-eaten hamburger in Daniel’s direction. “Won’t have those fuckin’ kids to bother us, anymore. You like eating human, man? Huh?”

“That’s fuckin’ gross, man. Maybe he’ll be like one of them pigs on that Hannibal movie. Y’know, the ones that eat human?”

“...Maybe we should consider it? All he been doin’ is tearin’ up their guts and shit. Let’s check it out...”

“I don’t know, Rudy. That’s intense. ‘Sides, who we gonna use? I don’t know if I can take seeing some guy gettin’ all fucked up and eaten by this guy. Besides, that’d be...kinda disturbing. Cuz this guy was a man before this...”

“Yeah, well...we gotta do what we gotta do.” Rudy shrugged, looking back at the werewolf in the backseat. “You think he can do it? If we start feeding him? Holding back on the meals? Holding him in a cell? Train him like the dogs?”

“...I don’t want to do it, actually,” Armando muttered. “It’s kinda...outrageous.”

“Yeah...yeah, I guess. Just a suggestion, actually. I don’t think I could do it!” Rudy said with a laugh. “We’d have to fuck some guy up and starve Danny-boy here to get him to eat. It’s kinda cool, actually.”

Armando shot him an uncertain expression, and shrugged.

Rudy studied the large creature, then reached back to scratch behind his ears.

Later that night, he followed a loose distance behind the animal as they walked within the industrial area, Danny taking his time as he sniffed and investigated everything he came into contact to. So lost in his thoughts, Rudy didn’t really register his cell phone ringing until Danny came racing back to him, nosing his jacket pocket.

The oversized creature then bounded away, barking joyously, and taking time to mark the side wall of an abandoned building. Rudy had to stare with a mixture of bewilderment and disgust in that the werewolf was standing like a man to do it, holding tightly onto his member.

“Yeah?”

“Rudy? Hey...hey, I got something you might wanna hear,” someone said, their voice obviously being muffled. Rudy looked away from Danny, overlooking the grounds of a construction site. “About...about Eustacio.”

“What’d he do now?” Rudy asked on a suffering sigh, wondering how much money it’d take to fix another one of his younger brother’s mistakes.

“About who fucked him up. Heard you been looking for some information on that.”

Rudy blinked, running his free hand over his head. “Yeah...a little. Frankly, it’s not really that big of a deal. Said he deserved it...”

“Well...I’m sure you’ll want to hear who did it, anyway...”

Suspiciously, Rudy turned to look back at Danny, who was bounding up the street and peering into an alleyway frequented with bums. “What we talkin’ about, here? Sounds like this ain’t gonna come for free...”

“Yeah, about that...it ain’t.”

He swallowed, frowning at the darkness. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”

“I was there, man. Saw the entire thing. Start to finish. I can tell you who asked for it, who carried it out, and I tell you, man, you’ll be so glad that I did.”

“...Fine. Let’s meet.”

“In an hour by the digs over in China Square. You’ll know me.”

“I’ll see you there.” Rudy hung up, puzzled over the call. But he placed two fingers into his mouth and whistled sharply for Danny.

As the creature tore across the street, racing at cheetah-like speeds to meet him, Rudy licked his lips and wondered who it was he’d be meeting.