Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ But They Don't Know Me... ( Chapter 12 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Things just get more interesting...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.18.2005 | Pages: 7 | Words: 9.6K | Visits: 505 | Status: Completed
Things just get more interesting...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.18.2005 | Pages: 7 | Words: 9.6K | Visits: 505 | Status: Completed
Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.
A/N: BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! LEMON! MY LIFE’S PURPOSE!! XD Be warned...
I’m_Alive: Hmm...really? (Reads over story) You’re right...damn. Wonder how THAT happened? And Hs is stupid because that’s just how guys are...(smiley face) Despite all common sense, they never seem to learn (affectionate face), no matter if they’re straight or gay! XD
Shampoo Marea: LOL He could have been sneaky enough for that...but then again...what's in it for him? (wink)
Chapter Twelve:
But They Don't Know Me...
Virgil held his son proudly, marveling at the small creation in his arms. Wrinkled, brown, features resembling those of a pug with swollen eyelids and flat nose, Oscar Robert Hawkins was indescribably perfect. Certainly not resembling any of the movie babies Virgil was used to seeing, but pretty close. Exhausted from nearly thirty hours of labor, his son slept quite peacefully in his arms, wrapped tightly in hospital issued clothing and blanket. His mother had finally fallen asleep, lying stiffly atop of the hospital bed. He himself was quite tired, spending all that time encouraging and motivating, but he wasn’t the one giving birth.
His son’s hair were stern tufts of dark brown fluff, nearly hairless eyebrows scowling while long, wrinkled fingers curled loosely into fists. He marveled at the lengths of the fingernails, at the fact that the mocha colored skin was finally losing that angry flushed color. Oscar’s head was nearly cone-shaped, having been trapped for some time in the birthing canal before entering the world, soft skull bones flexing and allowing this position due to nature’s own plans.
He giggled to himself cheerily. Then he frowned, shifting him carefully away at the warm wetness he felt filling the diaper. When Oscar yawned, a mouth full of gums and tongue, Virgil leaned forward to inhale deeply of the new scent.
“It’s time to change him, Virgil,” Sharon squealed as quietly as she could without disturbing Shenice, nearly clapping with glee. “Look at these things! They’re made for dolls, not baby boys! Let me change him! Let me hold him! Oh my gosh, he’s so precious!”
“Not uh, Sharon!” Virgil yelped, then lowered his voice after a quick glance at Shenice. “This is my son–not a sacrifice to some war god.”
“Oh, Virgil, you must be tired...that line just wasn’t as clever as the rest. Now, give ‘im up before you drop him.”
Grumbling, Virgil reluctantly parted with his son, handing him over. Sharon squealed once more, excitedly bouncing in place before finally settling. Pressing her nose against his skull, she inhaled deeply of what Virgil had moments before. Oscar stirred fitfully–it wasn’t enough. She began pressing excited kisses all over exposed skin before he finally protested with a mewling crack of sound. She squealed and exclaimed over the newborn’s fitful yowls, taking her time in changing the diaper.
Virgil, nose wrinkled, looked over her shoulder to see dark black fluid coating the diaper’s absorbent cloth, and he panicked briefly.
“All that fluid he’s been breathin’ in all this time, stupid,” Sharon muttered, wiping the baby’s pointed butt, lifting scrawny, wrinkled legs.
“Look at ‘im...already taking after his daddy...look how long he is!”
“Damn Virgil, if you’re that small, how on Earth was Shenice ever satisfied?”
“Sharon!”
She laughed, applying the tape over the diaper, and fitting his newborn hospital threads back over him. “You are just too adorable!” she growled, watching Oscar try in vain to open his swollen eyes. “Oh my goodness, he’s just an angel! Fallen straight from heaven!”
Virgil shook his head, trying to take him back, but protesting weakly as Sharon turned away from him, giggling as Oscar tried to cry once more.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Shenice asked tiredly, lifting her head as she watched Sharon pack him around, giggling continuously over Oscar’s protests and movements. Virgil looked over at her, then crossed the space between them, bending to kiss her forehead. “I’m so tired, but I feel like I don’t wanna sleep...knowing that he’s finally here...”
“He’ll still be here when you wake up,” Virgil reassured her, brushing her wiry hair from her face. “You okay?”
“Fine, fine...just...incredibly tired. I’ve never been this exhausted before,” Shenice admitted, adjusting the I.V. before shifting in bed. She looked over at Virgil, and smiled tiredly, shaking her head. “Did the doctors look over him?”
“Yeah...he’s healthy. All seven pounds, eighteen inches!”
“Only seven? I’ve been packing around nearly thirty pounds of weight, and he’s only seven pounds?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why’s that matter? You’re a mother, not a supermodel...I mean–!”
“Virgil, shut up before I hit you.” But Shenice smiled at him, licking her dry lips before sitting up. “Let me try feeding him...”
“How? There ain’t no bottles in here! Want me to go get a nurse and bring ya one?”
“Virgil, I ain’t about that! I decided to breast feed...”
Sharon walked over, kissing Oscar once more before carefully handing him to his mother. Virgil watched with uncertainty as Shenice adjusted herself on the bed, frowning as she attempted to get the positioning right. At the sight of a darkened brown nipple and an obscenely large breast, Virgil looked away, flushing.
“Oh, I heard you lose more weight that way, girl,” Sharon commented, propping a pillow underneath Shenice’s elbow, helping her shift Oscar more firmly against the swollen breast. “It’s going to take awhile...you ain’t gonna be pouring out milk just yet.”
“Okay, this is talk I don’t need to hear,” Virgil commented, getting up from his side of the bed and hurrying out. He chuckled to himself, then jumped about excitedly. “One down, one more to go!”
A nurse passing by cast him a dubious look at the comment.
Flushing once more, he hurried out from the maternity ward to make a phone call. All the while, he thought fondly of his son, wondering what it was going to be like with Frieda. As he sped-dialed his best friend’s number, he anxiously paced the sidewalk, feeling nervous energy running through him. He could have just flown home, but with the way he was feeling, he knew more than a few people would witness his undisguised features and he didn’t want to, in any way, have his son threatened.
Once he caught the answering service, he sighed and redialed. Being nearly four in the morning, he figured Richie was already asleep. While he really didn’t want to waste minutes trying his damndest to wake up the person-most-likely-to-sleep-through-World-War-Three, he also really wanted to know if he were all right. Francis wasn’t known for his self-control–what if something awful had happened while he was celebrating one of his most happiest times in his life?
By the tenth redial, he was really starting to worry. Then he heard one of the most welcome noises since Oscar’s protesting wail a couple of hours earlier: “Muh?”
“Seven pounds, eighteen inches, buddy!” he crowed happily, punching the air. “Oscar Robert Hawkins!”
“...don’t wanna hear drunken penis stories, Virgil!”
“NO! My son! Rich! WAKE UP! My son is here! My son is here, and he’s officially...uh...outta the womb! Real, alive, healthy–you need to get here and see him! So, shove Joe off you and get your pathetic ass down here to see him!”
“Not–oh, geez, Virgil. I’ll be there in a bit.”
At the abrupt hang-up, Virgil blinked, but shrugged, and happily raced inside.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, Virgil was proudly showing off his son, Richie dumbly hiding behind Sharon when he was offered to hold the sleeping baby. Visiting hours weren’t until ten in the morning, but the nurses were quickly agreeable to a young woman that was able to bend steel with her hands.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Virgil asked, gazing down at him with a delighted expression.
“He looks like one of those baby snuggle toys, V. I don’t wanna hold him. I might, like, drop him, or something.” The blond gave an uncertain glance at the baby wrapped in blue blankets and tiny clothing, ducking behind Sharon as if the baby could see him.
“It’s okay, Richie. Here, I’ll help you,” Sharon said, taking Oscar from Virgil, and spinning around to do just that. Richie ducked and hid behind Virgil. “C’mon, Richie!”
“No, thanks. I’m scared. He looks so...tiny. And fragile. Like he’ll collapse if I breathe on him!”
“I think your breath will make me collapse!” Virgil commented, waving the air in front of his nose. “Did you brush your teeth?”
“C’mon, V! I didn’t have time, to!”
“Here, Richie! Come sit down...”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait until he’s five and more sturdy...”
“By then, he won’t want to be held!”
“I know.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, and shoved his friend into the chair nearby. With a petrified expression, Richie watched as Sharon brought the baby over, his arms stiff and his body tense as she set him gently within.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna drop him! I’m going to drop him!”
“You’re sitting down, and Sharon’s right there! Quit being a puss, man!”
“He’s so...wrinkly.” Richie held him stiffly, not bothering to move his arms closer to his body, certain he was going to smush him.
“Isn’t he?” Sharon sighed lovingly, and rearranged the blanket around him. “When you gonna have some of your own, Rich?”
“Er...never? I’ll just borrow V’s when he’s done with them.”
She rolled her eyes and swatted his head. Straightening his glasses with his shoulder, Richie stared down at the sleeping face and winced. Getting up, he nearly shoved Oscar back into her arms and moved out of reach should she try to dump him back into his arms once more.
Glancing back at Shenice, seeing that she was asleep, Sharon hissed at her brother, “When’s the next one?”
“Should be within a week, or so.”
“Good luck with that one, little brother. I can’t wait to see if lil Oscar here will have a brother or a sister...I wish she found out the sex! Oh, I hope she has a little girl! Then I’ll spoil her just as rotten with all them cute clothes, and get her ears pierced, and fix her hair–!”
“I’m scared, V. Can we leave, now?”
“Uh...yeah,” Virgil answered, giving his sister an odd look as she continued to make plans for Oscar’s sibling. Before he left, through, he hurried over to kiss Shenice’s forehead, murmuring that he’d be back later with something she liked from her favorite restaurant.
As they were heading back to the car, Virgil reached over to punch his best friend’s arm. “Well? Huh? Make you change your mind?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I really am not into the idea of having kids. I’d rather just pretend with yours–that way, I know I have to return them,” Richie muttered, yawning loudly.
“Aw, c’mon–you’ll change your mind. Or you can adopt! Ala Jolie! You know, there’s a lot of kids in the Dakota area that would love to have a home–and it’s really not that shocking that a kid’ll have two daddies nowadays...it’s more common than you think.”
“No thanks. Really, Virgil. I’m not planning on kids. I have one of my own.”
“Oh yeah? Who...?” Virgil then trailed off, giving his friend a knowing sigh and slump of his shoulders. “You went back to him.”
“It’s just...I know it’s stupid, V. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Rich...man...Fine. I’m not going to say anything. That’s your choice. Just...you seemed happier without him.”
“Virgil, stop talking about it.”
Virgil shrugged, shaking his head as he took the keys held out to him. It wasn’t any of his business, and he couldn’t make his friend’s choices for him.
“It was neat, really,” he said, thinking about that moment when Oscar was pulled out from his mother. “Seeing him come out...holding him afterward...seeing the mucus being pulled from his mouth and nose with those turkey baster thingies...”
“Wonderful images, V...”
“Man...I can’t wait until the day when I could actually teach them things, man! Get out there with a ball–basketball, baseball, football–have father/son time...wrestle with father/daughter time...oh man, what if I have a girl? You think I might have a girl?”
“You dream about the all-American dream of father/child bonding? Virgil! You’re betraying me, man!”
“Oh, I’ll let ‘im know about the other great things of life, Rich, no prob. Just...wow...you know, my son could be a complete opposite of me!”
“Yeah, I suppose...”
Virgil sighed with exaltation as Richie yawned loudly, covering his mouth. “Man...havin’ a kid...wow. I mean...wow. I can’t think only of myself! I have someone else I need to provide and nurture!...spending more money on baby things rather than comics and music and cars...and women...and...oh my god...this is a life long investment!”
Richie rolled his eyes, wiping his glasses. “Did you just now realize that?”
“Oh my god, Rich!”
“Virgil, you’re not having an epiphany now, are you?”
“Rich! I am a father!”
Richie sighed, pulling on his seatbelt belatedly while Virgil continued to look shocked at this realization.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
A couple of days later, Shiv cackled as he bounced into the Shop, waving a piece of paper over his head. He ignored the signs that declared an “Employees Only” area, and bypassed all the work that was occurring within the garage, heading directly toward Francis.
Clad in protective paint splattered gear from head to toe, Francis was studying the design he had set out for a Scion when he noticed Shiv bounding towards him.
The purple haired Asian handed him the slip of paper, grinning as he hopped from toe to toe. Taking the paper with paint stained gloves, Francis looked at it in confusion until he saw what it was. Then he smirked with satisfaction, crumbling it as he stuffed it into his pocket.
Later that evening, Joe Lyons left the gym, whistling cheerfully as he headed over to his maroon Jeep Cherokee. He was feeling a little down that his phone calls to Richie weren’t being returned, but he’d planned on dropping by the blond’s work later on. Just a quick drive-by to see if things were still going the way that they were.
He had just lifted his head to open the door when he realized that his Jeep was sitting crookedly–both tires on the driver’s side were flat, and every window smashed out. On the leather seats were foul smelling carcasses of fish, and a tidy little note awaiting him on the hood. Trembling with both rising fury and confusion, he took the note, hardly able to look away from the mess that had been his prized possession.
Dropping his duffle bag of clothes, he opened the slip of paper to read, “He’s MARRIED.”
Those two words were all that he needed to know, giving a sharp curse as he delivered a kick into the ruined door.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Happy?” Ivan asked Francis over a chicken bucket and mashed potatoes that were still warm in their containers. Both of them were relaxing at Francis', as usual, and were eating Popeye's while watching "CSI". Shiv had just called and given him his 'report', something that made Francis very satisfied and cheerful.
“Yeah. A little. Wish I was there, though,” Francis admitted, checking the clock. “Could’ve made the point more clear.”
“Whatever. John would be gettin’ a call later on, anyway...”
“Yeah...but, still. Just wish I was there. Saw pictures of the fucker. Can’t believe Rich chose him to fuck around with. He ain’t nothin’. Fuckin’ gym-built fag, anyway.”
“Well...’s what happens...You gonna tell ‘im?”
“...No. Cuz...that’d fucked things up even more. Tryin’ to fix things, man. Not...not fuckin’ start shit. I’m just coverin’ the bases, y’know? Makin’ sure that he ain’t trying to still see him on the side. I’m still paranoid, though.”
“Should be puttin’ all this effort in other things.”
“Yeah, I signed up for anger management classes. An’, fuckin’, some college courses for winter. Art stuff, man, so I don’t have to think too much. I can do art. But, fuck, it’s going to suck! Not being able to go out all the time! I’m going to miss it. But if I do, I’m taking him with me.”
“Too much trouble. Ain’t worth any of that trouble,” Ivan muttered.
“You don’t know, man. You don’t know. I mean, I fell in love with this boy. He got me when no one else did. He was there when I needed someone. Gave me everything that I lacked. An’, like, I was able to give him what he didn’t have. Sorta a give and take, huh?” Francis shrugged, dipping his drumstick into the mashed potatoes and gravy.
Ivan gave him a disgusted sneer, tossing aside his fork. “Lost my appetite on that shit.”
“Talk all you want. You won’t get it. Until you know it. Then you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“Ain’t ever gonna be that stupid. Ya’ll just stupid. Wasting all this time for some trick.”
“Yeah, well...this trick makes me happy when things are the way they’re supposed to be.”
Ivan ate in silence for awhile, contemplating Francis’ feelings.
He’d never completely get them.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
He didn’t meet whom he was supposed to that night; rather, once he’d arrived with his brothers nearby in case it was a set-up, the street had been empty. He’d waited there for nearly a half hour before calling it quits.
In the days that followed, Rudy was plagued with wondering who it had been–who had been willing to divulge such information, knowing what it meant? Gabe had advised him to let go of it, to focus only on the fact that another rival gang was taking up arms in response to the sudden and questionable declination of the Playas. The police and gang units had been questioning them in their parts in the few deaths of those mauled by an ‘animal’, but after declaring and proving their innocence, they were released. Their illegal handling of their animals were transferred to another location, safe from the eyes of the man.
Rudy made sure Danny was well taken care of; he regarded the animal, as he always had, as he would with one of his own pets. It was continually growing hard to think of the metahuman as a person–Danny’s actions were those of a loyal pet rather than a loyal gang member.
Nearly two weeks after that phone call, he, along with Armando, Anthony, Carmelo and another gangmember, Lyle, had decided on impulse to head to out clubbin’. Danny had chosen the shadows, sneaking about like a ghost as they walked from location to location on Dakota’s downtown streets Bored at two-thirty in the morning, they decided to look for some fun.
The air a little more chilly as Fall approached, so a few of them had taken to wearing light jackets, of which fit their gang color scheme, of course.
Once they neared a particular club, none for its college age patrons and drunken revelry, Rudy started to grow aware that Danny was growing agitated–he paused, looking into the darkened shadows of the parking lot, to see the large creature bristling. He glanced back at the club’s darkened brick wall, lips curving into a smirk. The others followed suit, expressions of smug indifference crossing their faces as they continued on.
“Stay, boy, stay,” Rudy commanded, waving Danny away. The hulking creature merged into the night, leaping over various vehicles before disappearing. Continuing on, Rudy bypassed several vehicles, Anthony giving a quick suction of breath as he recognized Shiv’s beat up Neon.
“Man, I’m out of here,” he said, stopping, the others noticing what he had. In fact, they recognized several vehicles from members of rival gangs and from various others. The club was packed–it seemed like tonight would be more interesting than they had thought.
“They might recognize me!”
“So?” Rudy turned, giving him a disgusted look. “What they gonna do to you, man, huh? Nothin’. Let’s go. Stop being a bitch, an’ let’s go.”
Anthony gave an uncertain sound, hesitated, but reluctantly followed after the others as they walked up to the entrance. They recognized various people coming in and out from the building, but no one really bothered with them. As a group, they filed in, showing ID and paying the cover price. Fake ID’s were easy to come by for those that were underage, and no trouble was given to them as they went in.
The next morning, Rudy took his time in ambling up to the apartment his youngest brother shared with his girlfriend. Theresa was away at work, so he didn’t have to worry about her interference. As he depressed the doorbell, he glanced around himself, noting that the early morning risers had already taken themselves to work.
Eustacio answered the door sullenly, leaning on crutches to do so. Noting that it was only his eldest brother waiting for him, he opened the door wider and slowly moved away to allow him entrance. Rudy walked in, immediately scanning the place for any wrong-doings or anything that could give him indications of what had been going on since his last visit.
But the place was immaculate, except where Eustacio kept his place on the couch. The end table was full of empty soda cans, of food wrappers, the remote to the tv laying atop of a soiled napkin that reeked of hamburger grease. Rudy’s upper lip lifted and curled in disgust.
“What’chu doin’, man?” he asked, disapproval clear on his face. “Why you lettin’ yourself go like this?”
“Man, it fuckin’ hurts!” Eustacio complained, lowering himself gently onto the couch. “Ran outta painkillers...everything hurts like a fuckin’ bitch. Nothin’ else to do! Can’t work! Can’t do shit! Fuckin’ hip hurts like hell...fuck it all.”
Rudy studied him for a few moments, then shook his head. “This is pathetic, man,” he commented. “Should be up and movin’ around, by now. You sit around like this anymore, and you’re gonna get all lame.”
“Already all lame,” Eustacio said with disgust, shaking his head. “I’m already all fuckin’ lame. Can’t do shit.”
“Like you could do it before!”
“Can’t even do anything! Fuckin’...what’s there to do for someone like me? Huh? Can’t work. Can’t stock things. Can’t fuckin’ take orders cuz that means I gotta walk, and I can’t do it, yet...can’t do shit.”
“You all pathetic,” Rudy muttered. “You talk to momma lately?”
“She’s on my case, too. Just like you. I can’t do shit, Rudy!” Eustacio exclaimed, pointing one of his crutches to punctuate his frustrated shouts. “Everything hurts too fuckin’ much to do anything!”
“Whose fucking fault was that? Huh? Just let us know the guys, man.”
“...Fuckin’ told you. I don’t know who they were!”
Rudy exhaled in a controlled fashion as he stared down at his youngest brother, his thin eyebrows narrowing with thought. As Eustactio grew aware of this contemplation, he looked away from the television set to focus on him.
“...What?”
“There’s stuff you could do, man. But you gotta get off your ass to do it. I’ll even pay you,” Rudy negotiated. “The kennels–”
“I ain’t doin’ shit for your fuckin’ mutts, man! I don’t wanna do anything with those fuckin’ pits!”
“Don’t you wanna earn some fuckin’ money?”
“No. Not like that. I just fuckin’ told you–! I. Can’t. Do. Shit. Don’t try and make me!”
“You need to get off your ass, Eustacio!”
“Fuck you, man. You ain’t shit.”
“That’s the other way around, man. You ain’t. You all laid up here, whining an’ crying around like a bitch. Man up, Eustacio! Man up! Do your duty! Your woman gonna do all the work for you? Gonna run around behind your back, because you’re all laid up an’ don’t wanna do anything,” Rudy scoffed. He rapidly smoothed his fingers over his mustache, his eyes rolling in disgusted pity. “Gonna depend on her, now, huh? Just like your daddy–!”
“Fuck off about my dad, man!”
“Daddy was just about as worthless as you! Knocked up momma and ran out on her! You gonna do the same?”
“No,” Eustacio muttered, giving his older brother a disgusted expression. “Ain’t like that...”
“Fuck that bullshit, Eustacio. You are, too. Acting every bit like your fuckin’ dad. Get the fuck up, punk, and get dressed. I’ll show you how you can earn some fuckin’ money. Just so’s you can prove you ain’t like your daddy.” Rudy’s smile was smug, hands sliding into his pockets as he looked down at Eustacio expectantly.
A few sullen minutes later, he helped his youngest brother off the couch to get ready to leave with him.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Francis gave an annoyed groan as the alarm went off, startling him from sleep. Rolling over, he slapped the nuisance off and stared at the ceiling for a few moments.
Things hadn’t exactly turned around and hit that wonderful plane they had been when they’d first gotten married; rather, both had to work on being friendly toward each other again. It was hard biting his tongue when the urge to unleash his impulsive rages erupted through him when Richie wasn’t exactly cooperative. The blond was sullen, a little more poutier than he had been before; he seemed to push Francis’ buttons with uncaring experiment just to see how far he could go. He would apologize, gruffly, and try to make it up later with a small compliment or comment that would dispel the previous tension.
At least they weren’t insulting each other as much as they used to. They were still working on the physical aspect, but things weren’t exactly easy after knowing what and whom the other had done before; Richie was still angry over the cheating-with-women aspect, and Francis was growing sullen that the blond had cheated on him with someone taller and more educated than he.
It was hard touching a person, knowing that they had touched someone else in the same manner.
Things weren’t perfect; not yet. They just had to work on them, a bit.
He exhaled heavily, rolling over to pat his husband’s bottom, registering the dead sleep that made it difficult for the blond to respond to anything beyond dreamland.
“Time to get up, babe!” he said cheerfully. It would be the first of several announcements from the time he woke up to the time he left. Entirely used to it, he rolled out of bed and yawned deeply, divulging in a satisfactory nut-scratch as he walked toward the bathroom. Before he entered, though, he called again, “Rich! Time to wake up! Wake up!”
Bathroom activities performed and a satisfying morning shower later, Francis emerged, drying his hair and noting that in the space of fifteen minutes, Richie had simply shifted his head. The alarm clock was going off, programmed to do so every five minutes with a different set of tones at each interval. Francis shut it off and dressed quickly in a pair of worn jeans and a loose Hanes tee, and shut off the clock once more as a musical set of chimes went off.
He opened the curtains and window, jumped awkwardly into a pair of socks, and called for Richie to wake up before leaving the room. He made breakfast for himself, setting aside a couple of pieces of bacon. He made sure his cell phone was charged, and went through the messages that were left while he was charging it. A couple of calls were from women he’d messed around with, and another from Shiv, laughing about something he’d heard about one of these flings.
He bellowed Richie’s name, grabbed the keys to the car, and went outside to start the vehicle.
By the time he returned to the living room, the alarm clock was on its last set of programmed alarms. He shut it off, and added more force into the smack he sent against his husband’s bottom. Finally, Richie stirred, muttering about the early hours.
“Get up. I gotta go to work,” Francis then commanded, finding a pair of worn shoes, and putting them on. He reached out and pulled the blankets from the blond’s curled form, making him flinch at the coolness coming from the open window. “Get up. C’mon, man, I gotta go to work.”
“Mnygah...”
“You up?”
“Mughg...”
“Love you, too. Get up. I’ll bring home dinner tonight. Want anything from the store? I need to pick up a few things...no, get your ass up. Man, how on Earth did you ever get up to go to school?” Francis then asked affectionately, entirely used to the morning routine.
Sometimes, Richie slept like the dead–it had, admittedly, come into use a couple of times when they had unexpected visitors, or something happened that shouldn’t have.
“I’m up...I’m up...”
“Get up and get in the shower, then. I ain’t leaving until I hear that water running...”
Francis watched his husband literally jerk himself from the bed, and yawn loudly as he slouched his way into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he heard the shower running, and muffled curses. Satisfied, he finished applying his cologne, made sure his hair was in place, and left the house.
Over sandwiches and alcohol-laced soda that afternoon, Ivan admitted to seeing Virgil’s baby the other day. He hadn’t exactly been willing to do so, but Sharon could be quite persuasive when she wanted to be. He didn’t get why his little brother chose her to spend his life with–with her bossiness, he was sure his little brother had been looking for a mother figure and found that pathetic. Still...in all things regarding that subject, it left him smug to know that Adam was secretly dependent on someone.
“Fuckin’ ugly,” he commented, recalling Oscar’s features.
“Can’t see that guy with a kid,” Francis muttered through a mouthful of ham and turkey. “He’s still a kid himself!”
“You two ain’t plannin’ on kids, are you?” Ivan asked, giving him a skeptical glance. “Cuz if you are...”
“What? You askin’ to babysit already? Aw...”
“Fuck that. Can’t handle kids. Fuckin’ piss me off. Some lil punk tried to talk shit to me the other day. ‘You ain’t got powers’,” Ivan commented in a sing-song that made Francis chuckle, spraying food over his side of the table. “‘You ain’t nothin’! You can’t catch me!’ Little fucker, made me wanna whack him one upside the head with that fuckin’ CD he was tryin’ to buy on.”
“Whatever. You know you all ready for ‘em. You raised Adam.”
“Shit was different. Was my little brother. Had to.”
“Yeah, but–you weren’t always a prick. One day, you were makin’ sure he was all dressed and had food.”
“Well...them days are gone. Fuck...fuckin’ can’t handle kids.” Ivan tossed aside his used napkin.
“Whatever...it all different when you’re in love.”
“Like you?”
“No way. Can’t handle kids, either. Fuck...can you imagine me? Havin’ one? What the fuck would I do with it? I ain’t no good role model. Fuck, with my luck, he’d turn out to be one of them, like, arsonists, or somethin’. But Daddy did it!” Francis mimicked in the same sing-song Ivan had earlier. He then laughed. “Can you imagine Rich bein’ a mom? Hah! Fuckin’ funny ass, shit. ‘Specially when he can’t take care of himself! Can’t even get up in the fuckin’ morning...”
Ivan grumbled low under his breath about no more Richie-affiliated subjects, Francis cheerfully finishing off the last of his sandwich.
“‘Sides...can’t be havin’ kids this day and age. Growin’ up to be all dangerous and shit. You read about the ones goin’ into schools and shootin’ shit up cuz they all bullied on? Fuck...man, in my day–aw, fuck, well, Hawkins tried to do that. Heh. Little fucker.”
Ivan fiddled with the bill of his hat. “Hate kids.”
“I’m sure they hate you, too, man.”
Later that night, when Richie came home from work, Francis was immediately on him, having given some thought about that conversation with Ivan.
“You still wonderin’ about kids?” he asked, Richie giving him a curious look as he set aside a couple of texts on biochemistry. Summer classes were almost over, and while he really didn’t have to study, lugging the books around gave him something to do.
“No...just that they scare me. Y’know, Frieda might have to be induced...do you know what that means?”
“I know what that means!” Francis muttered in disgust, flipping through a notebook that had been stuffed between the thick books. Spying an empty sheet of paper, he found a pen in the junk drawer, Richie digging in the fridge for something to eat. Jotting down something he thought romantic, Francis continued with, “‘Sides, fuck that ho. Gettin’ all knocked up by someone like Hawkins... fuckin’ dumb is all she is.”
“Hah!” Richie nearly spit out the juice he’d been drinking from the carton. Swallowing and cleaning his chin with the back of his hand, he grinned at his husband. “You’re just mad that she didn’t fall for you back then.”
“Whatever. Bullshit. Was all for show, anyway. On a bet.”
“Yeah, because by then, you already knew you were queer.”
“Fuck you, Rich,” Francis said good-naturedly, tossing his pen aside and shutting the notebook. “But, no, seriously...you don’t want kids?”
“If you want, Franny, I can ask Virgil to come over with him. You can play with Oscar then.”
“‘Oscar’? Who names their kid fuckin’ ‘Oscar’?”
“Probably the same fools that named you Francis,” Richie muttered low as he toyed with a bagful of grapes.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’...”
“Nah, I don’t wanna babysit no kid. Dunno. Babies...babies are bad. Way bad. Like when they bring them into movie theaters...”
“Oh, I totally agree with you. No doubt on that one. Or when you’re trying to eat at a restaurant, and all they do is cry.”
“Or, fuckin’, like in a store? And the baby’s momma’s all ramming your heels with her fuckin’ cart cuz her kid won’t shut the fuck up. Nah, babies are...uncool.”
“For once, we agree!” Richie said cheerfully, shutting the fridge. He exhaled heavily, eyeing his husband as Francis thought further on the subject. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he sidled over, pushing his chest lightly. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothin’. Just...how babies suck.”
“Not-uh...not with that face....Virgil would probably be cool with it, Francis. I’ll ask him.”
“I don’t want no fuckin’ kid!”
“I’ll ask...but I doubt he’d let Oscar out of his sight for more than, like, five seconds! And there’s no way I’m staying here to suffer through that sickening sight while you satisfy your baby urges,” Richie said, rolling his eyes as he walked out from the kitchen. Glancing over at the couch, he snapped, “Well, it appears we acquired new furniture...but what is the foot stool doing on the couch?”
“Fuck you, bitch!” Ivan snapped, glaring at him, trying to ignore them as he focused on “The Real World: Austin”.
“No, seriously...no kids, man,” Francis said, nodding his head firmly. Then he snapped, “An’ I gotta fuckin’ bone to pick with you! What the fuck are you orderin’ from Macy’s?”
Richie whirled around happily, hands clapping with glee. “The blinds finally came in?”
“NO! I fuckin’ sent them back! That’s fuckin’ three hundred dollars we don’t fuckin’ need to lose!”
“YOU SENT BACK MY BLINDS?!”
“Rich! We don’t need no fuckin’ blinds!”
“Look at those ones! They’re all–STUPID! And ruined! They needed to be replaced! You didn’t send them back, did you? I spent a long time finding those, Francis!”
“We don’t need fuckin’ three hundred dollar blinds!”
“I didn’t order three hundred ones! I also bought dishes and–!”
“DISHES!?”
Ivan rolled his eyes, dropping his head back on the couch as Francis began to rant and rave over spending so much money on such things. Richie didn’t make it any better by adding that he’d bought rugs as well.
The eldest Evans brother wasn’t any more relieved when they finally took their tirade over Richie’s spending habits to the back bedroom. Door slammed and voices rose and fell–Ivan couldn’t believe that so much time was devoted to such things.
Here, the biggest spending habit he had was on his appearance; he stared over at the ‘stupid, ruined’ blinds in question and wondered what was so wrong with them. They still operated in the fashion they were built for. They still closed–opened....what was so bad about them?
He rolled his eyes–he’d never understand that one. For the millionth time, he thanked his lucky stars that he was not in a relationship–that he didn’t have to put up with such horseshit.
Ivan stared sullenly at the television screen, his mind running through the conversation he’d had with Francis earlier today. He’d raised Adam–practically since the man was in diapers, taking over when Savannah had ‘too much’. He’d been a kid himself, doing all that work. While it felt so natural and easy back then, not giving a second thought to feeding, diapering, bathing and rocking Adam to sleep, it was hard to think of him doing those very same things today.
Frankly, it made him shudder. Big, bad Ivan Evans–formerly Ebon...with a baby? The thought was inconceivable! He couldn’t picture himself being that way. He’d done his job with his brother, and while Adam was more successful in life, money and fame than he’d be, Ivan simply wasn’t up to par with him. He was the black sheep, so to speak; the one that stayed on the only path he knew rather than trying to turn positive like Adam had.
Turning his back to gangs, serving his time with all the wrong-doing he did willingly; going so far as to marry and settle down, Adam was a far cry man than Ivan could ever be. There were days when Ivan tried to picture himself living the lifestyle Francis and Adam had; to be with that one special person and having arguments over blinds and kids. To know that he had to plan his night hours around his woman, and know personally of her grooming habits that no man should ever venture into.
But he couldn’t see that–and the one person that he tried to was too far beyond his reach. He scowled at the screen, and focused on how hot Johanna was when she was drunk.
It was later on when he realized he was hearing the familiar sounds of sex; moans, occasional orders and curses...it made him wince, face wrinkling with displeasure while at the same time, his stomach seemed to cave in with some sort of relief. Even as he was hearing those sounds, wishing that he couldn’t and yet straining his ears to hear what he could, he kept wondering what it would be like to touch more of the blond. To see what else he was hiding underneath those dorky clothes. To know what other sounds he was capable of.
“You sick fuck,” he cursed himself, even as he lowered the volume on the television set to hear better. “You fuckin’ sick ass fuck. Fuckin’ should have your mind washed with fuckin’ soap. Fuckin’ sick ass fuck...fuckin’ hearin’ on that...fucking sick.”
The living room was very quiet, with only the flashing images on the screen lighting up the area. He had a slight boner from the activities that he could hear from the back bedroom, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch, stretching out his legs. He hated knowing that he could physically react to what he could hear; hated feeling Francis’ complete abandon whenever he devoted himself to physical activities with his husband.
He hated it all so much, wishing for the countless time that this link of theirs could somehow be severed.
But then again...it was his fault for paying attention to it. For picking out a particular set of moans, for letting himself feel what Francis was doing. How single-minded the redhead was when focused on his husband’s body.
They were especially intense after they had their fights.
He shifted, reaching for the half-hardened trouble that needed adjustment. Grumbling to himself, he propped his back up against the armrest with pillows and scowled at the screen. Two shows later, he settled himself more firmly on the couch, and tried to grasp at sleep. It took a few moments, but he then registered the sound of the back bedroom door opening and closing softly. Figuring upon one of them venturing out for some post-sex snacks, he focused on the screen and wondered if he should make a private trip to the bathroom to jerk off. It shamed him, to know that he could respond so easily to what he could hear–fueled even more by what he hated.
He then suddenly registered that there were eyes on him, and he was being approached. He looked away from the screen just in time to see Richie crawl atop of him, not giving him a chance to react at his presence. At the knee against his groin, Ivan sucked in a quick breath, his arms shifting to shove hard at the lean, pale body above him. His touch registered that he was attired only in boxers. That shock was enough to have him stilling; even more so when lips crushed against his.
Soft, supple–he could taste Francis on them. Could smell his cologne, and the scent of his sweat. And still, the blond kissed him, his tongue forceful and wet as it swiped over his lips messily. Ivan’s mind went into shock; that was the only reason why he didn’t move. Stunned, he was defenseless as Richie shifted over him, bare skin brushing against his arms, over his clothes clad body.
And, damn it, his body responded enthusiastically.
Warm fingers moved over his jeans covered erection, and a soft hum vibrated against Ivan’s lips as Richie found this agreeable. When a forceful squeeze was applied, Ivan gave a shocked sound, and Richie’s tongue dipped into that open cavern with a quick flick. His teeth were given a light scrape, his tongue nudged, the inside of his lip explored. His taste–it was familiar, and yet not; wet, unique, musky, his tongue surprisingly firm as it scraped over his palate.
He didn’t know why he wasn’t biting that muscle off and spitting it back into the blond’s face; didn’t know why his hips thrust up into that avid grope, and certainly didn’t know why he cooly registered his belt buckle and pants manipulated, opened.
All thoughts were lost; unexplainably missing as he faintly registered responding to that invasive tongue. Teeth clicked, his head was pressing forward, and he chased that tongue back into the owner’s mouth, feeling saliva escape between their open mouths. He was breathing the air that escaped, tasting the warm silkiness of his moisture, feeling how absolutely perfect and clean those teeth were–and the smell, oh, the smell made his breathing hasten as he drank more taste and more sensation.
His body jerked at the feeling of warm, firm fingers moving over his discovered erection. Had the pleasure to drink in the startled whimper that escaped those sweet lips. When Richie began pulling away from him, his body shifting off of him, Ivan resisted the urge to draw him back. His tongue swiped over his lips, licking off the excess saliva that had gathered under the curve of his lower lip.
He shifted, looking down to see that bowed blond head lower, and felt the heated breath of the younger male’s mouth blowing over the head of his cock.
Foreskin was manipulated, pulled down to fully reveal the head, the sensation encouraging more blood flow into the area. He shifted, to allow himself to thrust upward, feeling those soft lips touch him gently. Firm fingers manipulated him, holding him firmly at the base, foreskin pulled tightly to bear all. All ten inches were stroked, size measured thoughtfully with a twist of his wrist; Ivan knew many were intimidated by his size, and he felt a flicker of apprehension, of doubt as he waited for the blond to be scared off by it.
In the fleeting light from the images on television, he could see that pink tongue snake out, to lick at the slit first, wet and firm as it probed gently. It was enough to send severe tingles throughout Ivan’s entire body, goosebumps rising as he shifted again, thrusting upward for more. When that didn’t work, when Richie shifted only to lick lightly at his cockhead, Ivan shifted his hands around the back of his head and pushed.
The blond pushed back, but then dipped again, teeth firmly settling around Ivan’s cockhead and making the black man stiffen considerably. Once the threat passed, the hold was loosened, and he gave a slow exhale as half of his cock was engulfed within warm, moist heat. He knew Richie was stretching his mouth wide as he shifted over him for a more firmer position.
Ivan enjoyed the tongue that licked and rubbed at his cockhead, the way inner cheeks scraped against his thick shaft. He repressed another groan, not wanting to divulge in that weakness, but thrust upward into that moist cavern for more. Fingers tightened around the base of his dick, and elbows settled firmly at the tops of his thighs. Suction was applied forcefully, his tongue scraping firmly along the underbelly of his shaft, veins traced inquisitively. Once his cockhead popped out of that warm mouth, Ivan shifted again, using his hands to express his need by pushing at his head once more.
Ignoring that, Richie settled to lick wetly at his exposed head, his lips closing around it and sucking hard; something that made twinges shoot up and down Ivan’s spine. His precum was licked and swallowed, a slight humming rumbling in that slim throat. Then he was swallowed again, determinedly, throat muscles relaxing and shifting to allow him in. It was amazing, feeling enclosed within that tight tunnel, feeling the tip of his nose against the short curls of his pubic hair. His boxers were pulled lower, and his balls were tickled with prying fingers.
Ivan shifted again, repressing the urge to groan, his fingers moving through the short blond locks and tightening once he felt his dick massaged by throat muscles. All thought was lost, and sensation experienced, his previous horniness from earlier coaxed and encouraged by what he was receiving now.
Amid the soft sounds of shifting, of slick slurping sounds as Richie bobbed his head, Ivan released another clenched groan, feeling strained and weak at the same time, fighting the imminent orgasm. But against his will, he felt the swell of his penis, the tightening of his balls. His teeth gritted tightly, he felt himself shudder before releasing his load, his hips thrusting up, his cum swallowed as Richie shifted over him to keep that connection.
The blond gagged once, releasing the connection, but quickly covered that spurting cockhead with his lips and forcefully milked the remaining bit. The sensation was painful, but filled with more pleasure that was encouraged by the milking action of his mouth. Ivan felt his face screw into that of a man pleased by his sexual release, his thick meat licked clean.
There was a slick slurp of sounds as Richie released his slowly deflating member from his mouth, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with his fingers. That wedding band caught the flickering light of the television set, diamonds sparkling as Ivan briefly wondered how much of himself he’d revealed. And then suddenly, he was furious, his breathing releasing in tight clips, his entire body warming up with anger as he angrily straightened and fastened his pants.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarled lowly, almost breathlessly with his rising fury. Richie smirked at him before climbing off, and it was all Ivan could do to stay where he was. His fingers shook as they fumbled with his zipper and belt buckle. “You fucking bitch...”
“You taste good, Ivan,” Richie murmured on a purr, looking somewhat evil in that flickering light. Ivan wanted nothing more badly than to slap that smirk off his face, his fingers curling tightly into fists. “You’ll be giving me more of that later...”
“Ain’t giving you shit,” Ivan cursed, struggling to keep his voice low, but unable to deny the ripple of fury that laced his words.
“Hmf. You can fight it all you want. But as long as Francis desires me, you’ll be close behind...like the bitch that you are.” Richie gave a low chuckle at the hatred that crossed Ivan’s features, his eyes dark and menacing. It was exciting, a heightened tingle racing through his body as he took his time in adjusting his boxers, making sure to flash skin as he did so. “You’ll be wanting me, Ivan, especially after this.”
Ivan felt his body trembling with his fury–could hear movements coming from the back bedroom. Richie heard it as well, turning away and walking toward the kitchen at a slow and deliberate pace.
“How do you know that, whore?” Ivan asked, his voice tight, forced through clenching teeth. “Huh? You just a fuckin’ whore!”
“But I’ll be the only whore you’ll be thinking about, Ivan,” Richie murmured, giving him another one of those smirks, making his way into the kitchen to make a snack. The back bedroom door opened, and Ivan had to struggle fiercely with replacing all his feelings with those of indifference.
Francis walked out, blinking sleepily as he looked around the living room, then at the kitchen. He looked back at Ivan with a frown.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly, truly puzzled as to the surge of fury he’d felt earlier.
“Yeah. Just...fuckin’...groovy,” Ivan muttered, fists hidden within the cushions of the couch.
“It just felt, like...you were ready to fuckin’ kill someone...”
“Yeah...just...this show...always gets me like that.”
Francis studied the MTV screening of “Making the Band 3", and frowned with a bewildered blink of his eyes. He then looked away, staring at the blinds that covered the glass door. Ivan struggled not to look at any of them, his skin heated with his fury, muscles locked from both the orgasm and his struggle to repress what he didn’t want Francis to feel.
“Huh...guess they are lookin’ pretty worn,” he heard the redhead mutter to himself, and had to roll his eyes. It was apparent who won the argument...
Francis then shook his head as he walked away from the living room, lingering at the entrance into the kitchen as Richie finished making his snack. He watched the blond for a few moments, then glanced back at Ivan suspiciously.
“Wear something when you come out,” he then muttered, walking back to the bedroom.
Richie looked up from his sandwich, then looked down at his boxers. Chuckling, he shut off the light and followed his husband without another word or glance in Ivan’s direction.
A/N: BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! LEMON! MY LIFE’S PURPOSE!! XD Be warned...
I’m_Alive: Hmm...really? (Reads over story) You’re right...damn. Wonder how THAT happened? And Hs is stupid because that’s just how guys are...(smiley face) Despite all common sense, they never seem to learn (affectionate face), no matter if they’re straight or gay! XD
Shampoo Marea: LOL He could have been sneaky enough for that...but then again...what's in it for him? (wink)
Chapter Twelve:
But They Don't Know Me...
Virgil held his son proudly, marveling at the small creation in his arms. Wrinkled, brown, features resembling those of a pug with swollen eyelids and flat nose, Oscar Robert Hawkins was indescribably perfect. Certainly not resembling any of the movie babies Virgil was used to seeing, but pretty close. Exhausted from nearly thirty hours of labor, his son slept quite peacefully in his arms, wrapped tightly in hospital issued clothing and blanket. His mother had finally fallen asleep, lying stiffly atop of the hospital bed. He himself was quite tired, spending all that time encouraging and motivating, but he wasn’t the one giving birth.
His son’s hair were stern tufts of dark brown fluff, nearly hairless eyebrows scowling while long, wrinkled fingers curled loosely into fists. He marveled at the lengths of the fingernails, at the fact that the mocha colored skin was finally losing that angry flushed color. Oscar’s head was nearly cone-shaped, having been trapped for some time in the birthing canal before entering the world, soft skull bones flexing and allowing this position due to nature’s own plans.
He giggled to himself cheerily. Then he frowned, shifting him carefully away at the warm wetness he felt filling the diaper. When Oscar yawned, a mouth full of gums and tongue, Virgil leaned forward to inhale deeply of the new scent.
“It’s time to change him, Virgil,” Sharon squealed as quietly as she could without disturbing Shenice, nearly clapping with glee. “Look at these things! They’re made for dolls, not baby boys! Let me change him! Let me hold him! Oh my gosh, he’s so precious!”
“Not uh, Sharon!” Virgil yelped, then lowered his voice after a quick glance at Shenice. “This is my son–not a sacrifice to some war god.”
“Oh, Virgil, you must be tired...that line just wasn’t as clever as the rest. Now, give ‘im up before you drop him.”
Grumbling, Virgil reluctantly parted with his son, handing him over. Sharon squealed once more, excitedly bouncing in place before finally settling. Pressing her nose against his skull, she inhaled deeply of what Virgil had moments before. Oscar stirred fitfully–it wasn’t enough. She began pressing excited kisses all over exposed skin before he finally protested with a mewling crack of sound. She squealed and exclaimed over the newborn’s fitful yowls, taking her time in changing the diaper.
Virgil, nose wrinkled, looked over her shoulder to see dark black fluid coating the diaper’s absorbent cloth, and he panicked briefly.
“All that fluid he’s been breathin’ in all this time, stupid,” Sharon muttered, wiping the baby’s pointed butt, lifting scrawny, wrinkled legs.
“Look at ‘im...already taking after his daddy...look how long he is!”
“Damn Virgil, if you’re that small, how on Earth was Shenice ever satisfied?”
“Sharon!”
She laughed, applying the tape over the diaper, and fitting his newborn hospital threads back over him. “You are just too adorable!” she growled, watching Oscar try in vain to open his swollen eyes. “Oh my goodness, he’s just an angel! Fallen straight from heaven!”
Virgil shook his head, trying to take him back, but protesting weakly as Sharon turned away from him, giggling as Oscar tried to cry once more.
“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Shenice asked tiredly, lifting her head as she watched Sharon pack him around, giggling continuously over Oscar’s protests and movements. Virgil looked over at her, then crossed the space between them, bending to kiss her forehead. “I’m so tired, but I feel like I don’t wanna sleep...knowing that he’s finally here...”
“He’ll still be here when you wake up,” Virgil reassured her, brushing her wiry hair from her face. “You okay?”
“Fine, fine...just...incredibly tired. I’ve never been this exhausted before,” Shenice admitted, adjusting the I.V. before shifting in bed. She looked over at Virgil, and smiled tiredly, shaking her head. “Did the doctors look over him?”
“Yeah...he’s healthy. All seven pounds, eighteen inches!”
“Only seven? I’ve been packing around nearly thirty pounds of weight, and he’s only seven pounds?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why’s that matter? You’re a mother, not a supermodel...I mean–!”
“Virgil, shut up before I hit you.” But Shenice smiled at him, licking her dry lips before sitting up. “Let me try feeding him...”
“How? There ain’t no bottles in here! Want me to go get a nurse and bring ya one?”
“Virgil, I ain’t about that! I decided to breast feed...”
Sharon walked over, kissing Oscar once more before carefully handing him to his mother. Virgil watched with uncertainty as Shenice adjusted herself on the bed, frowning as she attempted to get the positioning right. At the sight of a darkened brown nipple and an obscenely large breast, Virgil looked away, flushing.
“Oh, I heard you lose more weight that way, girl,” Sharon commented, propping a pillow underneath Shenice’s elbow, helping her shift Oscar more firmly against the swollen breast. “It’s going to take awhile...you ain’t gonna be pouring out milk just yet.”
“Okay, this is talk I don’t need to hear,” Virgil commented, getting up from his side of the bed and hurrying out. He chuckled to himself, then jumped about excitedly. “One down, one more to go!”
A nurse passing by cast him a dubious look at the comment.
Flushing once more, he hurried out from the maternity ward to make a phone call. All the while, he thought fondly of his son, wondering what it was going to be like with Frieda. As he sped-dialed his best friend’s number, he anxiously paced the sidewalk, feeling nervous energy running through him. He could have just flown home, but with the way he was feeling, he knew more than a few people would witness his undisguised features and he didn’t want to, in any way, have his son threatened.
Once he caught the answering service, he sighed and redialed. Being nearly four in the morning, he figured Richie was already asleep. While he really didn’t want to waste minutes trying his damndest to wake up the person-most-likely-to-sleep-through-World-War-Three, he also really wanted to know if he were all right. Francis wasn’t known for his self-control–what if something awful had happened while he was celebrating one of his most happiest times in his life?
By the tenth redial, he was really starting to worry. Then he heard one of the most welcome noises since Oscar’s protesting wail a couple of hours earlier: “Muh?”
“Seven pounds, eighteen inches, buddy!” he crowed happily, punching the air. “Oscar Robert Hawkins!”
“...don’t wanna hear drunken penis stories, Virgil!”
“NO! My son! Rich! WAKE UP! My son is here! My son is here, and he’s officially...uh...outta the womb! Real, alive, healthy–you need to get here and see him! So, shove Joe off you and get your pathetic ass down here to see him!”
“Not–oh, geez, Virgil. I’ll be there in a bit.”
At the abrupt hang-up, Virgil blinked, but shrugged, and happily raced inside.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, Virgil was proudly showing off his son, Richie dumbly hiding behind Sharon when he was offered to hold the sleeping baby. Visiting hours weren’t until ten in the morning, but the nurses were quickly agreeable to a young woman that was able to bend steel with her hands.
“Isn’t he beautiful?” Virgil asked, gazing down at him with a delighted expression.
“He looks like one of those baby snuggle toys, V. I don’t wanna hold him. I might, like, drop him, or something.” The blond gave an uncertain glance at the baby wrapped in blue blankets and tiny clothing, ducking behind Sharon as if the baby could see him.
“It’s okay, Richie. Here, I’ll help you,” Sharon said, taking Oscar from Virgil, and spinning around to do just that. Richie ducked and hid behind Virgil. “C’mon, Richie!”
“No, thanks. I’m scared. He looks so...tiny. And fragile. Like he’ll collapse if I breathe on him!”
“I think your breath will make me collapse!” Virgil commented, waving the air in front of his nose. “Did you brush your teeth?”
“C’mon, V! I didn’t have time, to!”
“Here, Richie! Come sit down...”
“That’s all right. I’ll wait until he’s five and more sturdy...”
“By then, he won’t want to be held!”
“I know.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, and shoved his friend into the chair nearby. With a petrified expression, Richie watched as Sharon brought the baby over, his arms stiff and his body tense as she set him gently within.
“Oh my god, I’m gonna drop him! I’m going to drop him!”
“You’re sitting down, and Sharon’s right there! Quit being a puss, man!”
“He’s so...wrinkly.” Richie held him stiffly, not bothering to move his arms closer to his body, certain he was going to smush him.
“Isn’t he?” Sharon sighed lovingly, and rearranged the blanket around him. “When you gonna have some of your own, Rich?”
“Er...never? I’ll just borrow V’s when he’s done with them.”
She rolled her eyes and swatted his head. Straightening his glasses with his shoulder, Richie stared down at the sleeping face and winced. Getting up, he nearly shoved Oscar back into her arms and moved out of reach should she try to dump him back into his arms once more.
Glancing back at Shenice, seeing that she was asleep, Sharon hissed at her brother, “When’s the next one?”
“Should be within a week, or so.”
“Good luck with that one, little brother. I can’t wait to see if lil Oscar here will have a brother or a sister...I wish she found out the sex! Oh, I hope she has a little girl! Then I’ll spoil her just as rotten with all them cute clothes, and get her ears pierced, and fix her hair–!”
“I’m scared, V. Can we leave, now?”
“Uh...yeah,” Virgil answered, giving his sister an odd look as she continued to make plans for Oscar’s sibling. Before he left, through, he hurried over to kiss Shenice’s forehead, murmuring that he’d be back later with something she liked from her favorite restaurant.
As they were heading back to the car, Virgil reached over to punch his best friend’s arm. “Well? Huh? Make you change your mind?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I really am not into the idea of having kids. I’d rather just pretend with yours–that way, I know I have to return them,” Richie muttered, yawning loudly.
“Aw, c’mon–you’ll change your mind. Or you can adopt! Ala Jolie! You know, there’s a lot of kids in the Dakota area that would love to have a home–and it’s really not that shocking that a kid’ll have two daddies nowadays...it’s more common than you think.”
“No thanks. Really, Virgil. I’m not planning on kids. I have one of my own.”
“Oh yeah? Who...?” Virgil then trailed off, giving his friend a knowing sigh and slump of his shoulders. “You went back to him.”
“It’s just...I know it’s stupid, V. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Rich...man...Fine. I’m not going to say anything. That’s your choice. Just...you seemed happier without him.”
“Virgil, stop talking about it.”
Virgil shrugged, shaking his head as he took the keys held out to him. It wasn’t any of his business, and he couldn’t make his friend’s choices for him.
“It was neat, really,” he said, thinking about that moment when Oscar was pulled out from his mother. “Seeing him come out...holding him afterward...seeing the mucus being pulled from his mouth and nose with those turkey baster thingies...”
“Wonderful images, V...”
“Man...I can’t wait until the day when I could actually teach them things, man! Get out there with a ball–basketball, baseball, football–have father/son time...wrestle with father/daughter time...oh man, what if I have a girl? You think I might have a girl?”
“You dream about the all-American dream of father/child bonding? Virgil! You’re betraying me, man!”
“Oh, I’ll let ‘im know about the other great things of life, Rich, no prob. Just...wow...you know, my son could be a complete opposite of me!”
“Yeah, I suppose...”
Virgil sighed with exaltation as Richie yawned loudly, covering his mouth. “Man...havin’ a kid...wow. I mean...wow. I can’t think only of myself! I have someone else I need to provide and nurture!...spending more money on baby things rather than comics and music and cars...and women...and...oh my god...this is a life long investment!”
Richie rolled his eyes, wiping his glasses. “Did you just now realize that?”
“Oh my god, Rich!”
“Virgil, you’re not having an epiphany now, are you?”
“Rich! I am a father!”
Richie sighed, pulling on his seatbelt belatedly while Virgil continued to look shocked at this realization.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
A couple of days later, Shiv cackled as he bounced into the Shop, waving a piece of paper over his head. He ignored the signs that declared an “Employees Only” area, and bypassed all the work that was occurring within the garage, heading directly toward Francis.
Clad in protective paint splattered gear from head to toe, Francis was studying the design he had set out for a Scion when he noticed Shiv bounding towards him.
The purple haired Asian handed him the slip of paper, grinning as he hopped from toe to toe. Taking the paper with paint stained gloves, Francis looked at it in confusion until he saw what it was. Then he smirked with satisfaction, crumbling it as he stuffed it into his pocket.
Later that evening, Joe Lyons left the gym, whistling cheerfully as he headed over to his maroon Jeep Cherokee. He was feeling a little down that his phone calls to Richie weren’t being returned, but he’d planned on dropping by the blond’s work later on. Just a quick drive-by to see if things were still going the way that they were.
He had just lifted his head to open the door when he realized that his Jeep was sitting crookedly–both tires on the driver’s side were flat, and every window smashed out. On the leather seats were foul smelling carcasses of fish, and a tidy little note awaiting him on the hood. Trembling with both rising fury and confusion, he took the note, hardly able to look away from the mess that had been his prized possession.
Dropping his duffle bag of clothes, he opened the slip of paper to read, “He’s MARRIED.”
Those two words were all that he needed to know, giving a sharp curse as he delivered a kick into the ruined door.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Happy?” Ivan asked Francis over a chicken bucket and mashed potatoes that were still warm in their containers. Both of them were relaxing at Francis', as usual, and were eating Popeye's while watching "CSI". Shiv had just called and given him his 'report', something that made Francis very satisfied and cheerful.
“Yeah. A little. Wish I was there, though,” Francis admitted, checking the clock. “Could’ve made the point more clear.”
“Whatever. John would be gettin’ a call later on, anyway...”
“Yeah...but, still. Just wish I was there. Saw pictures of the fucker. Can’t believe Rich chose him to fuck around with. He ain’t nothin’. Fuckin’ gym-built fag, anyway.”
“Well...’s what happens...You gonna tell ‘im?”
“...No. Cuz...that’d fucked things up even more. Tryin’ to fix things, man. Not...not fuckin’ start shit. I’m just coverin’ the bases, y’know? Makin’ sure that he ain’t trying to still see him on the side. I’m still paranoid, though.”
“Should be puttin’ all this effort in other things.”
“Yeah, I signed up for anger management classes. An’, fuckin’, some college courses for winter. Art stuff, man, so I don’t have to think too much. I can do art. But, fuck, it’s going to suck! Not being able to go out all the time! I’m going to miss it. But if I do, I’m taking him with me.”
“Too much trouble. Ain’t worth any of that trouble,” Ivan muttered.
“You don’t know, man. You don’t know. I mean, I fell in love with this boy. He got me when no one else did. He was there when I needed someone. Gave me everything that I lacked. An’, like, I was able to give him what he didn’t have. Sorta a give and take, huh?” Francis shrugged, dipping his drumstick into the mashed potatoes and gravy.
Ivan gave him a disgusted sneer, tossing aside his fork. “Lost my appetite on that shit.”
“Talk all you want. You won’t get it. Until you know it. Then you’ll know what I’m talking about.”
“Ain’t ever gonna be that stupid. Ya’ll just stupid. Wasting all this time for some trick.”
“Yeah, well...this trick makes me happy when things are the way they’re supposed to be.”
Ivan ate in silence for awhile, contemplating Francis’ feelings.
He’d never completely get them.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
He didn’t meet whom he was supposed to that night; rather, once he’d arrived with his brothers nearby in case it was a set-up, the street had been empty. He’d waited there for nearly a half hour before calling it quits.
In the days that followed, Rudy was plagued with wondering who it had been–who had been willing to divulge such information, knowing what it meant? Gabe had advised him to let go of it, to focus only on the fact that another rival gang was taking up arms in response to the sudden and questionable declination of the Playas. The police and gang units had been questioning them in their parts in the few deaths of those mauled by an ‘animal’, but after declaring and proving their innocence, they were released. Their illegal handling of their animals were transferred to another location, safe from the eyes of the man.
Rudy made sure Danny was well taken care of; he regarded the animal, as he always had, as he would with one of his own pets. It was continually growing hard to think of the metahuman as a person–Danny’s actions were those of a loyal pet rather than a loyal gang member.
Nearly two weeks after that phone call, he, along with Armando, Anthony, Carmelo and another gangmember, Lyle, had decided on impulse to head to out clubbin’. Danny had chosen the shadows, sneaking about like a ghost as they walked from location to location on Dakota’s downtown streets Bored at two-thirty in the morning, they decided to look for some fun.
The air a little more chilly as Fall approached, so a few of them had taken to wearing light jackets, of which fit their gang color scheme, of course.
Once they neared a particular club, none for its college age patrons and drunken revelry, Rudy started to grow aware that Danny was growing agitated–he paused, looking into the darkened shadows of the parking lot, to see the large creature bristling. He glanced back at the club’s darkened brick wall, lips curving into a smirk. The others followed suit, expressions of smug indifference crossing their faces as they continued on.
“Stay, boy, stay,” Rudy commanded, waving Danny away. The hulking creature merged into the night, leaping over various vehicles before disappearing. Continuing on, Rudy bypassed several vehicles, Anthony giving a quick suction of breath as he recognized Shiv’s beat up Neon.
“Man, I’m out of here,” he said, stopping, the others noticing what he had. In fact, they recognized several vehicles from members of rival gangs and from various others. The club was packed–it seemed like tonight would be more interesting than they had thought.
“They might recognize me!”
“So?” Rudy turned, giving him a disgusted look. “What they gonna do to you, man, huh? Nothin’. Let’s go. Stop being a bitch, an’ let’s go.”
Anthony gave an uncertain sound, hesitated, but reluctantly followed after the others as they walked up to the entrance. They recognized various people coming in and out from the building, but no one really bothered with them. As a group, they filed in, showing ID and paying the cover price. Fake ID’s were easy to come by for those that were underage, and no trouble was given to them as they went in.
The next morning, Rudy took his time in ambling up to the apartment his youngest brother shared with his girlfriend. Theresa was away at work, so he didn’t have to worry about her interference. As he depressed the doorbell, he glanced around himself, noting that the early morning risers had already taken themselves to work.
Eustacio answered the door sullenly, leaning on crutches to do so. Noting that it was only his eldest brother waiting for him, he opened the door wider and slowly moved away to allow him entrance. Rudy walked in, immediately scanning the place for any wrong-doings or anything that could give him indications of what had been going on since his last visit.
But the place was immaculate, except where Eustacio kept his place on the couch. The end table was full of empty soda cans, of food wrappers, the remote to the tv laying atop of a soiled napkin that reeked of hamburger grease. Rudy’s upper lip lifted and curled in disgust.
“What’chu doin’, man?” he asked, disapproval clear on his face. “Why you lettin’ yourself go like this?”
“Man, it fuckin’ hurts!” Eustacio complained, lowering himself gently onto the couch. “Ran outta painkillers...everything hurts like a fuckin’ bitch. Nothin’ else to do! Can’t work! Can’t do shit! Fuckin’ hip hurts like hell...fuck it all.”
Rudy studied him for a few moments, then shook his head. “This is pathetic, man,” he commented. “Should be up and movin’ around, by now. You sit around like this anymore, and you’re gonna get all lame.”
“Already all lame,” Eustacio said with disgust, shaking his head. “I’m already all fuckin’ lame. Can’t do shit.”
“Like you could do it before!”
“Can’t even do anything! Fuckin’...what’s there to do for someone like me? Huh? Can’t work. Can’t stock things. Can’t fuckin’ take orders cuz that means I gotta walk, and I can’t do it, yet...can’t do shit.”
“You all pathetic,” Rudy muttered. “You talk to momma lately?”
“She’s on my case, too. Just like you. I can’t do shit, Rudy!” Eustacio exclaimed, pointing one of his crutches to punctuate his frustrated shouts. “Everything hurts too fuckin’ much to do anything!”
“Whose fucking fault was that? Huh? Just let us know the guys, man.”
“...Fuckin’ told you. I don’t know who they were!”
Rudy exhaled in a controlled fashion as he stared down at his youngest brother, his thin eyebrows narrowing with thought. As Eustactio grew aware of this contemplation, he looked away from the television set to focus on him.
“...What?”
“There’s stuff you could do, man. But you gotta get off your ass to do it. I’ll even pay you,” Rudy negotiated. “The kennels–”
“I ain’t doin’ shit for your fuckin’ mutts, man! I don’t wanna do anything with those fuckin’ pits!”
“Don’t you wanna earn some fuckin’ money?”
“No. Not like that. I just fuckin’ told you–! I. Can’t. Do. Shit. Don’t try and make me!”
“You need to get off your ass, Eustacio!”
“Fuck you, man. You ain’t shit.”
“That’s the other way around, man. You ain’t. You all laid up here, whining an’ crying around like a bitch. Man up, Eustacio! Man up! Do your duty! Your woman gonna do all the work for you? Gonna run around behind your back, because you’re all laid up an’ don’t wanna do anything,” Rudy scoffed. He rapidly smoothed his fingers over his mustache, his eyes rolling in disgusted pity. “Gonna depend on her, now, huh? Just like your daddy–!”
“Fuck off about my dad, man!”
“Daddy was just about as worthless as you! Knocked up momma and ran out on her! You gonna do the same?”
“No,” Eustacio muttered, giving his older brother a disgusted expression. “Ain’t like that...”
“Fuck that bullshit, Eustacio. You are, too. Acting every bit like your fuckin’ dad. Get the fuck up, punk, and get dressed. I’ll show you how you can earn some fuckin’ money. Just so’s you can prove you ain’t like your daddy.” Rudy’s smile was smug, hands sliding into his pockets as he looked down at Eustacio expectantly.
A few sullen minutes later, he helped his youngest brother off the couch to get ready to leave with him.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Francis gave an annoyed groan as the alarm went off, startling him from sleep. Rolling over, he slapped the nuisance off and stared at the ceiling for a few moments.
Things hadn’t exactly turned around and hit that wonderful plane they had been when they’d first gotten married; rather, both had to work on being friendly toward each other again. It was hard biting his tongue when the urge to unleash his impulsive rages erupted through him when Richie wasn’t exactly cooperative. The blond was sullen, a little more poutier than he had been before; he seemed to push Francis’ buttons with uncaring experiment just to see how far he could go. He would apologize, gruffly, and try to make it up later with a small compliment or comment that would dispel the previous tension.
At least they weren’t insulting each other as much as they used to. They were still working on the physical aspect, but things weren’t exactly easy after knowing what and whom the other had done before; Richie was still angry over the cheating-with-women aspect, and Francis was growing sullen that the blond had cheated on him with someone taller and more educated than he.
It was hard touching a person, knowing that they had touched someone else in the same manner.
Things weren’t perfect; not yet. They just had to work on them, a bit.
He exhaled heavily, rolling over to pat his husband’s bottom, registering the dead sleep that made it difficult for the blond to respond to anything beyond dreamland.
“Time to get up, babe!” he said cheerfully. It would be the first of several announcements from the time he woke up to the time he left. Entirely used to it, he rolled out of bed and yawned deeply, divulging in a satisfactory nut-scratch as he walked toward the bathroom. Before he entered, though, he called again, “Rich! Time to wake up! Wake up!”
Bathroom activities performed and a satisfying morning shower later, Francis emerged, drying his hair and noting that in the space of fifteen minutes, Richie had simply shifted his head. The alarm clock was going off, programmed to do so every five minutes with a different set of tones at each interval. Francis shut it off and dressed quickly in a pair of worn jeans and a loose Hanes tee, and shut off the clock once more as a musical set of chimes went off.
He opened the curtains and window, jumped awkwardly into a pair of socks, and called for Richie to wake up before leaving the room. He made breakfast for himself, setting aside a couple of pieces of bacon. He made sure his cell phone was charged, and went through the messages that were left while he was charging it. A couple of calls were from women he’d messed around with, and another from Shiv, laughing about something he’d heard about one of these flings.
He bellowed Richie’s name, grabbed the keys to the car, and went outside to start the vehicle.
By the time he returned to the living room, the alarm clock was on its last set of programmed alarms. He shut it off, and added more force into the smack he sent against his husband’s bottom. Finally, Richie stirred, muttering about the early hours.
“Get up. I gotta go to work,” Francis then commanded, finding a pair of worn shoes, and putting them on. He reached out and pulled the blankets from the blond’s curled form, making him flinch at the coolness coming from the open window. “Get up. C’mon, man, I gotta go to work.”
“Mnygah...”
“You up?”
“Mughg...”
“Love you, too. Get up. I’ll bring home dinner tonight. Want anything from the store? I need to pick up a few things...no, get your ass up. Man, how on Earth did you ever get up to go to school?” Francis then asked affectionately, entirely used to the morning routine.
Sometimes, Richie slept like the dead–it had, admittedly, come into use a couple of times when they had unexpected visitors, or something happened that shouldn’t have.
“I’m up...I’m up...”
“Get up and get in the shower, then. I ain’t leaving until I hear that water running...”
Francis watched his husband literally jerk himself from the bed, and yawn loudly as he slouched his way into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, he heard the shower running, and muffled curses. Satisfied, he finished applying his cologne, made sure his hair was in place, and left the house.
Over sandwiches and alcohol-laced soda that afternoon, Ivan admitted to seeing Virgil’s baby the other day. He hadn’t exactly been willing to do so, but Sharon could be quite persuasive when she wanted to be. He didn’t get why his little brother chose her to spend his life with–with her bossiness, he was sure his little brother had been looking for a mother figure and found that pathetic. Still...in all things regarding that subject, it left him smug to know that Adam was secretly dependent on someone.
“Fuckin’ ugly,” he commented, recalling Oscar’s features.
“Can’t see that guy with a kid,” Francis muttered through a mouthful of ham and turkey. “He’s still a kid himself!”
“You two ain’t plannin’ on kids, are you?” Ivan asked, giving him a skeptical glance. “Cuz if you are...”
“What? You askin’ to babysit already? Aw...”
“Fuck that. Can’t handle kids. Fuckin’ piss me off. Some lil punk tried to talk shit to me the other day. ‘You ain’t got powers’,” Ivan commented in a sing-song that made Francis chuckle, spraying food over his side of the table. “‘You ain’t nothin’! You can’t catch me!’ Little fucker, made me wanna whack him one upside the head with that fuckin’ CD he was tryin’ to buy on.”
“Whatever. You know you all ready for ‘em. You raised Adam.”
“Shit was different. Was my little brother. Had to.”
“Yeah, but–you weren’t always a prick. One day, you were makin’ sure he was all dressed and had food.”
“Well...them days are gone. Fuck...fuckin’ can’t handle kids.” Ivan tossed aside his used napkin.
“Whatever...it all different when you’re in love.”
“Like you?”
“No way. Can’t handle kids, either. Fuck...can you imagine me? Havin’ one? What the fuck would I do with it? I ain’t no good role model. Fuck, with my luck, he’d turn out to be one of them, like, arsonists, or somethin’. But Daddy did it!” Francis mimicked in the same sing-song Ivan had earlier. He then laughed. “Can you imagine Rich bein’ a mom? Hah! Fuckin’ funny ass, shit. ‘Specially when he can’t take care of himself! Can’t even get up in the fuckin’ morning...”
Ivan grumbled low under his breath about no more Richie-affiliated subjects, Francis cheerfully finishing off the last of his sandwich.
“‘Sides...can’t be havin’ kids this day and age. Growin’ up to be all dangerous and shit. You read about the ones goin’ into schools and shootin’ shit up cuz they all bullied on? Fuck...man, in my day–aw, fuck, well, Hawkins tried to do that. Heh. Little fucker.”
Ivan fiddled with the bill of his hat. “Hate kids.”
“I’m sure they hate you, too, man.”
Later that night, when Richie came home from work, Francis was immediately on him, having given some thought about that conversation with Ivan.
“You still wonderin’ about kids?” he asked, Richie giving him a curious look as he set aside a couple of texts on biochemistry. Summer classes were almost over, and while he really didn’t have to study, lugging the books around gave him something to do.
“No...just that they scare me. Y’know, Frieda might have to be induced...do you know what that means?”
“I know what that means!” Francis muttered in disgust, flipping through a notebook that had been stuffed between the thick books. Spying an empty sheet of paper, he found a pen in the junk drawer, Richie digging in the fridge for something to eat. Jotting down something he thought romantic, Francis continued with, “‘Sides, fuck that ho. Gettin’ all knocked up by someone like Hawkins... fuckin’ dumb is all she is.”
“Hah!” Richie nearly spit out the juice he’d been drinking from the carton. Swallowing and cleaning his chin with the back of his hand, he grinned at his husband. “You’re just mad that she didn’t fall for you back then.”
“Whatever. Bullshit. Was all for show, anyway. On a bet.”
“Yeah, because by then, you already knew you were queer.”
“Fuck you, Rich,” Francis said good-naturedly, tossing his pen aside and shutting the notebook. “But, no, seriously...you don’t want kids?”
“If you want, Franny, I can ask Virgil to come over with him. You can play with Oscar then.”
“‘Oscar’? Who names their kid fuckin’ ‘Oscar’?”
“Probably the same fools that named you Francis,” Richie muttered low as he toyed with a bagful of grapes.
“What was that?”
“Nothin’...”
“Nah, I don’t wanna babysit no kid. Dunno. Babies...babies are bad. Way bad. Like when they bring them into movie theaters...”
“Oh, I totally agree with you. No doubt on that one. Or when you’re trying to eat at a restaurant, and all they do is cry.”
“Or, fuckin’, like in a store? And the baby’s momma’s all ramming your heels with her fuckin’ cart cuz her kid won’t shut the fuck up. Nah, babies are...uncool.”
“For once, we agree!” Richie said cheerfully, shutting the fridge. He exhaled heavily, eyeing his husband as Francis thought further on the subject. Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he sidled over, pushing his chest lightly. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothin’. Just...how babies suck.”
“Not-uh...not with that face....Virgil would probably be cool with it, Francis. I’ll ask him.”
“I don’t want no fuckin’ kid!”
“I’ll ask...but I doubt he’d let Oscar out of his sight for more than, like, five seconds! And there’s no way I’m staying here to suffer through that sickening sight while you satisfy your baby urges,” Richie said, rolling his eyes as he walked out from the kitchen. Glancing over at the couch, he snapped, “Well, it appears we acquired new furniture...but what is the foot stool doing on the couch?”
“Fuck you, bitch!” Ivan snapped, glaring at him, trying to ignore them as he focused on “The Real World: Austin”.
“No, seriously...no kids, man,” Francis said, nodding his head firmly. Then he snapped, “An’ I gotta fuckin’ bone to pick with you! What the fuck are you orderin’ from Macy’s?”
Richie whirled around happily, hands clapping with glee. “The blinds finally came in?”
“NO! I fuckin’ sent them back! That’s fuckin’ three hundred dollars we don’t fuckin’ need to lose!”
“YOU SENT BACK MY BLINDS?!”
“Rich! We don’t need no fuckin’ blinds!”
“Look at those ones! They’re all–STUPID! And ruined! They needed to be replaced! You didn’t send them back, did you? I spent a long time finding those, Francis!”
“We don’t need fuckin’ three hundred dollar blinds!”
“I didn’t order three hundred ones! I also bought dishes and–!”
“DISHES!?”
Ivan rolled his eyes, dropping his head back on the couch as Francis began to rant and rave over spending so much money on such things. Richie didn’t make it any better by adding that he’d bought rugs as well.
The eldest Evans brother wasn’t any more relieved when they finally took their tirade over Richie’s spending habits to the back bedroom. Door slammed and voices rose and fell–Ivan couldn’t believe that so much time was devoted to such things.
Here, the biggest spending habit he had was on his appearance; he stared over at the ‘stupid, ruined’ blinds in question and wondered what was so wrong with them. They still operated in the fashion they were built for. They still closed–opened....what was so bad about them?
He rolled his eyes–he’d never understand that one. For the millionth time, he thanked his lucky stars that he was not in a relationship–that he didn’t have to put up with such horseshit.
Ivan stared sullenly at the television screen, his mind running through the conversation he’d had with Francis earlier today. He’d raised Adam–practically since the man was in diapers, taking over when Savannah had ‘too much’. He’d been a kid himself, doing all that work. While it felt so natural and easy back then, not giving a second thought to feeding, diapering, bathing and rocking Adam to sleep, it was hard to think of him doing those very same things today.
Frankly, it made him shudder. Big, bad Ivan Evans–formerly Ebon...with a baby? The thought was inconceivable! He couldn’t picture himself being that way. He’d done his job with his brother, and while Adam was more successful in life, money and fame than he’d be, Ivan simply wasn’t up to par with him. He was the black sheep, so to speak; the one that stayed on the only path he knew rather than trying to turn positive like Adam had.
Turning his back to gangs, serving his time with all the wrong-doing he did willingly; going so far as to marry and settle down, Adam was a far cry man than Ivan could ever be. There were days when Ivan tried to picture himself living the lifestyle Francis and Adam had; to be with that one special person and having arguments over blinds and kids. To know that he had to plan his night hours around his woman, and know personally of her grooming habits that no man should ever venture into.
But he couldn’t see that–and the one person that he tried to was too far beyond his reach. He scowled at the screen, and focused on how hot Johanna was when she was drunk.
It was later on when he realized he was hearing the familiar sounds of sex; moans, occasional orders and curses...it made him wince, face wrinkling with displeasure while at the same time, his stomach seemed to cave in with some sort of relief. Even as he was hearing those sounds, wishing that he couldn’t and yet straining his ears to hear what he could, he kept wondering what it would be like to touch more of the blond. To see what else he was hiding underneath those dorky clothes. To know what other sounds he was capable of.
“You sick fuck,” he cursed himself, even as he lowered the volume on the television set to hear better. “You fuckin’ sick ass fuck. Fuckin’ should have your mind washed with fuckin’ soap. Fuckin’ sick ass fuck...fuckin’ hearin’ on that...fucking sick.”
The living room was very quiet, with only the flashing images on the screen lighting up the area. He had a slight boner from the activities that he could hear from the back bedroom, and he shifted uncomfortably on the couch, stretching out his legs. He hated knowing that he could physically react to what he could hear; hated feeling Francis’ complete abandon whenever he devoted himself to physical activities with his husband.
He hated it all so much, wishing for the countless time that this link of theirs could somehow be severed.
But then again...it was his fault for paying attention to it. For picking out a particular set of moans, for letting himself feel what Francis was doing. How single-minded the redhead was when focused on his husband’s body.
They were especially intense after they had their fights.
He shifted, reaching for the half-hardened trouble that needed adjustment. Grumbling to himself, he propped his back up against the armrest with pillows and scowled at the screen. Two shows later, he settled himself more firmly on the couch, and tried to grasp at sleep. It took a few moments, but he then registered the sound of the back bedroom door opening and closing softly. Figuring upon one of them venturing out for some post-sex snacks, he focused on the screen and wondered if he should make a private trip to the bathroom to jerk off. It shamed him, to know that he could respond so easily to what he could hear–fueled even more by what he hated.
He then suddenly registered that there were eyes on him, and he was being approached. He looked away from the screen just in time to see Richie crawl atop of him, not giving him a chance to react at his presence. At the knee against his groin, Ivan sucked in a quick breath, his arms shifting to shove hard at the lean, pale body above him. His touch registered that he was attired only in boxers. That shock was enough to have him stilling; even more so when lips crushed against his.
Soft, supple–he could taste Francis on them. Could smell his cologne, and the scent of his sweat. And still, the blond kissed him, his tongue forceful and wet as it swiped over his lips messily. Ivan’s mind went into shock; that was the only reason why he didn’t move. Stunned, he was defenseless as Richie shifted over him, bare skin brushing against his arms, over his clothes clad body.
And, damn it, his body responded enthusiastically.
Warm fingers moved over his jeans covered erection, and a soft hum vibrated against Ivan’s lips as Richie found this agreeable. When a forceful squeeze was applied, Ivan gave a shocked sound, and Richie’s tongue dipped into that open cavern with a quick flick. His teeth were given a light scrape, his tongue nudged, the inside of his lip explored. His taste–it was familiar, and yet not; wet, unique, musky, his tongue surprisingly firm as it scraped over his palate.
He didn’t know why he wasn’t biting that muscle off and spitting it back into the blond’s face; didn’t know why his hips thrust up into that avid grope, and certainly didn’t know why he cooly registered his belt buckle and pants manipulated, opened.
All thoughts were lost; unexplainably missing as he faintly registered responding to that invasive tongue. Teeth clicked, his head was pressing forward, and he chased that tongue back into the owner’s mouth, feeling saliva escape between their open mouths. He was breathing the air that escaped, tasting the warm silkiness of his moisture, feeling how absolutely perfect and clean those teeth were–and the smell, oh, the smell made his breathing hasten as he drank more taste and more sensation.
His body jerked at the feeling of warm, firm fingers moving over his discovered erection. Had the pleasure to drink in the startled whimper that escaped those sweet lips. When Richie began pulling away from him, his body shifting off of him, Ivan resisted the urge to draw him back. His tongue swiped over his lips, licking off the excess saliva that had gathered under the curve of his lower lip.
He shifted, looking down to see that bowed blond head lower, and felt the heated breath of the younger male’s mouth blowing over the head of his cock.
Foreskin was manipulated, pulled down to fully reveal the head, the sensation encouraging more blood flow into the area. He shifted, to allow himself to thrust upward, feeling those soft lips touch him gently. Firm fingers manipulated him, holding him firmly at the base, foreskin pulled tightly to bear all. All ten inches were stroked, size measured thoughtfully with a twist of his wrist; Ivan knew many were intimidated by his size, and he felt a flicker of apprehension, of doubt as he waited for the blond to be scared off by it.
In the fleeting light from the images on television, he could see that pink tongue snake out, to lick at the slit first, wet and firm as it probed gently. It was enough to send severe tingles throughout Ivan’s entire body, goosebumps rising as he shifted again, thrusting upward for more. When that didn’t work, when Richie shifted only to lick lightly at his cockhead, Ivan shifted his hands around the back of his head and pushed.
The blond pushed back, but then dipped again, teeth firmly settling around Ivan’s cockhead and making the black man stiffen considerably. Once the threat passed, the hold was loosened, and he gave a slow exhale as half of his cock was engulfed within warm, moist heat. He knew Richie was stretching his mouth wide as he shifted over him for a more firmer position.
Ivan enjoyed the tongue that licked and rubbed at his cockhead, the way inner cheeks scraped against his thick shaft. He repressed another groan, not wanting to divulge in that weakness, but thrust upward into that moist cavern for more. Fingers tightened around the base of his dick, and elbows settled firmly at the tops of his thighs. Suction was applied forcefully, his tongue scraping firmly along the underbelly of his shaft, veins traced inquisitively. Once his cockhead popped out of that warm mouth, Ivan shifted again, using his hands to express his need by pushing at his head once more.
Ignoring that, Richie settled to lick wetly at his exposed head, his lips closing around it and sucking hard; something that made twinges shoot up and down Ivan’s spine. His precum was licked and swallowed, a slight humming rumbling in that slim throat. Then he was swallowed again, determinedly, throat muscles relaxing and shifting to allow him in. It was amazing, feeling enclosed within that tight tunnel, feeling the tip of his nose against the short curls of his pubic hair. His boxers were pulled lower, and his balls were tickled with prying fingers.
Ivan shifted again, repressing the urge to groan, his fingers moving through the short blond locks and tightening once he felt his dick massaged by throat muscles. All thought was lost, and sensation experienced, his previous horniness from earlier coaxed and encouraged by what he was receiving now.
Amid the soft sounds of shifting, of slick slurping sounds as Richie bobbed his head, Ivan released another clenched groan, feeling strained and weak at the same time, fighting the imminent orgasm. But against his will, he felt the swell of his penis, the tightening of his balls. His teeth gritted tightly, he felt himself shudder before releasing his load, his hips thrusting up, his cum swallowed as Richie shifted over him to keep that connection.
The blond gagged once, releasing the connection, but quickly covered that spurting cockhead with his lips and forcefully milked the remaining bit. The sensation was painful, but filled with more pleasure that was encouraged by the milking action of his mouth. Ivan felt his face screw into that of a man pleased by his sexual release, his thick meat licked clean.
There was a slick slurp of sounds as Richie released his slowly deflating member from his mouth, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with his fingers. That wedding band caught the flickering light of the television set, diamonds sparkling as Ivan briefly wondered how much of himself he’d revealed. And then suddenly, he was furious, his breathing releasing in tight clips, his entire body warming up with anger as he angrily straightened and fastened his pants.
“You fucking bitch,” he snarled lowly, almost breathlessly with his rising fury. Richie smirked at him before climbing off, and it was all Ivan could do to stay where he was. His fingers shook as they fumbled with his zipper and belt buckle. “You fucking bitch...”
“You taste good, Ivan,” Richie murmured on a purr, looking somewhat evil in that flickering light. Ivan wanted nothing more badly than to slap that smirk off his face, his fingers curling tightly into fists. “You’ll be giving me more of that later...”
“Ain’t giving you shit,” Ivan cursed, struggling to keep his voice low, but unable to deny the ripple of fury that laced his words.
“Hmf. You can fight it all you want. But as long as Francis desires me, you’ll be close behind...like the bitch that you are.” Richie gave a low chuckle at the hatred that crossed Ivan’s features, his eyes dark and menacing. It was exciting, a heightened tingle racing through his body as he took his time in adjusting his boxers, making sure to flash skin as he did so. “You’ll be wanting me, Ivan, especially after this.”
Ivan felt his body trembling with his fury–could hear movements coming from the back bedroom. Richie heard it as well, turning away and walking toward the kitchen at a slow and deliberate pace.
“How do you know that, whore?” Ivan asked, his voice tight, forced through clenching teeth. “Huh? You just a fuckin’ whore!”
“But I’ll be the only whore you’ll be thinking about, Ivan,” Richie murmured, giving him another one of those smirks, making his way into the kitchen to make a snack. The back bedroom door opened, and Ivan had to struggle fiercely with replacing all his feelings with those of indifference.
Francis walked out, blinking sleepily as he looked around the living room, then at the kitchen. He looked back at Ivan with a frown.
“You okay?” he asked gruffly, truly puzzled as to the surge of fury he’d felt earlier.
“Yeah. Just...fuckin’...groovy,” Ivan muttered, fists hidden within the cushions of the couch.
“It just felt, like...you were ready to fuckin’ kill someone...”
“Yeah...just...this show...always gets me like that.”
Francis studied the MTV screening of “Making the Band 3", and frowned with a bewildered blink of his eyes. He then looked away, staring at the blinds that covered the glass door. Ivan struggled not to look at any of them, his skin heated with his fury, muscles locked from both the orgasm and his struggle to repress what he didn’t want Francis to feel.
“Huh...guess they are lookin’ pretty worn,” he heard the redhead mutter to himself, and had to roll his eyes. It was apparent who won the argument...
Francis then shook his head as he walked away from the living room, lingering at the entrance into the kitchen as Richie finished making his snack. He watched the blond for a few moments, then glanced back at Ivan suspiciously.
“Wear something when you come out,” he then muttered, walking back to the bedroom.
Richie looked up from his sandwich, then looked down at his boxers. Chuckling, he shut off the light and followed his husband without another word or glance in Ivan’s direction.