Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ ...Do They Even Know You? ( Chapter 13 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Surprising things are learned...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.19.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 413 | Status: Completed
Surprising things are learned...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.19.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 413 | Status: Completed
Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.
Shampoo Marea: Heh...well, since this is a rated X story, there's more to, er...arrive...(sheepish blush)
I'm_Alive: Yeah, it was a little shocking---but, er...there's more to...in the next chapter! XD
Thank you both for your continuous reviews! Yay! You keep me going!
Chapter Thirteen:
...Do They Even Know You?
“Mua ha ha ha ha!” His laugh was infected with evil, and he cackled again just for the sheer joy and liberation he felt of it. Ivan’s expression of defeat had been obscenely delicious. “Take THAT, you stupid smug sonofabitch! What’cha gonna do now, huh? HUH? HAH! Showed you, you evil motherfucker! HAH! IN YOUR FACE!...well...actually mine, but that’s not what I was getting at...MWA HA HA HA HA HA–!”
“You are totally scaring me,” Trevor Black commented nervously as he glanced warily at his co-worker, who was busily clearing away viruses that had infected a teenager’s sticker-sticky computer.
Richie cleared his throat, but couldn’t stop grinning as the software he’d designed personally to clear out the menaces of file-ravaging viruses worked its magic–for ten dollars extra, it also managed to locate and build up certain files that were often lost to the nuisances of PC viruses.
“Sorry...was a little excited.”
“Well...that enthusiasm should be bottled and sold. Is that a new program?”
“Er...yes. Actually. Works pretty good.”
“Man, I don’t see how you can do that,” Trevor said on a sigh, leaning back in his chair as the store’s own version of virus detecting software worked slowly on a Dell laptop. “Just produce things just like that. And actually have them work.”
“All from the magic that is my brain, pitiful mortal....say...gotta question for you...”
“Spit.”
“...Do you care what sort of blinds cover your windows at home?”
“Huh? Oh, fuck, those fucking annoying slats that you have to pull a string to work? Ugh, I HATE those! I always end up fucking breaking them!”
Richie sighed mournfully. He would have to ask a female, but that was totally killing the point he was looking for.
“Why are you asking me that?” Trevor then asked cautiously, a curious frown causing his lips to curl with thought.
“My best friend was totally kicking my ass for making a big deal out of these vertical blinds that I wanted to get for my home...I didn’t think it was, like, unmanly. I just want my home to look good, is that so wrong?”
“Well...uh...no, I guess. Chicks like that. Personally, I couldn’t care less about my apartment, but I make a big fucking deal about my bathroom.” Trevor expressed this with a wild gesture. “Matching rugs, toilet seat cover, shower curtains, towels, soap dispenser! Everything has to match! I have, like, sixteen sets of matching bathroom decorations. All of them packed in their expressively marked plastic storage units...”
Richie blinked, picturing this. But he couldn’t imagine going those lengths, and gave Trevor a bewildered stare as the other male lost himself in some concentration over his secret.
“You’re so gay,” he said on a laugh.
Trevor shrugged. “My last girlfriend told me I was whacked out. But I can’t stand a dirty, disorganized bathroom. It has to be SPARKLING before I use it. I stock up on bathroom cleaners and candles every payday.”
Richie laughed again.
“What? Shit..better than blinds...did Francis throw a fit about those things?”
“Yeah. Well, the old ones were ugly! They match the baseboards and fit the color scheme we have going on, and they’re ordinary! It’s not silk, or fancy–it’s basic vertical slats for the back door!”
“All right, all right, sheesh. Remind me never to bring the subject up again.”
“Fine, you closeted bathroom-decor organizing freak.”
“Shut up about that. I’ve got Spongebob currently going on this week,” Trevor mentioned, laughing.
“What’s next, Hello Kitty?”
“Nah. That was last month. That was also why my ex called me ‘whack’. I was trying to impress her.”
Richie laughed again and began cleaning up his station. “I’m out. If I have to see another waffy fanfic, I’m going to puke. This chick can’t write to save her life.”
“Check this out–this one keeps a diary of what she keeps in her fridge...she has fuckin’ week old fast food in that joint, and she eats them only when she has to stock in more! These people are freaks!”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Right....right...”
After signing out and noting the hour on his timecard, Richie was whistling to some random tune he’d heard earlier that day, tossing his keys from hand to hand. The back door locked automatically behind him as he ventured out into the back parking lot of the strip mall, frowning at the Vitera that had only five payments left. His cell rang at that moment, and he paused in walking to look down at the window, frowning as he realized that Joe was trying to get into touch with him once more. He ignored the call and continued on his way, glancing around himself as he once more thought of Ivan’s face last night.
He had to cackle aloud again, feeling success and smug satisfaction spill throughout his system. It had been worth choking on his disgust and ten inches of fat, uncut cock for that expression and knowledge that he’d taken this round. Sure, he hated Ivan–hated the games that he played, but he wasn’t about to let the black man continue with his damn power spree.
There were other ways to manipulate and go about destroying him; with his easy access to many city records and other endless possibilities that he could do to make Ivan’s life hell, using sex seemed more...forbidden. Exciting.
Sex with his husband had added to that cheer–even if they were both hampered by thoughts that made actions a little reluctant at first. They had both agreed to get tested after their making up, something that both were amicable about, considering that neither wanted diseases nor condoms. When their results came back, both were pretty relieved that things were pretty clean. Each had been careful in that aspect with their other partners, but it was a scenario that neither wanted to deal with if things were different.
But once they got back into the flow of things, it had been easy to let go of things and focus on pleasure. It still felt a bit like a chore, but he’d managed to overcome that to enjoy what was being done to him.
He had just reached the driver’s side of the Vitera when he felt something shift behind him. He gave a startled gasp when strong fingers curled around his arm, making him jump in surprise as he looked up.
“Why aren’t you returning any of my calls?” Joe fairly snarled, looking pissed as Richie realized that his mind had temporarily shut down due to awkward discomfort. He licked his lips nervously, frowning as he jerked his arm from his grip, turning to face him. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all this time...I know you went back with him. I know he knows that you were messing around with me. It took me over four thousand dollars to fix what he did to my Jeep!”
Richie was horrified at that–he hadn’t known that Francis had even known Joe, but he knew he’d overheard that comment made by Virgil the night Oscar was born. Then he bared his teeth, growling angrily, “SHIV!”
“Look...look...I know that it’s a long shot, and I know that it’s a very big possibility in that things won’t be the same between us, but–I really liked you,” Joe insisted, frowning at him as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You stopped coming to the gym; you don’t call me, nor do you even bother returning any of my messages! You don’t even pick up when I try to call you! I just saw your reaction when I called you a few minutes ago!”
“Joe, listen–I know, all right? I know we had a thing going on, but that’s all it was. Just a ‘thing’! And–I’m married, and I know that we’re having problems, but–!”
“For three years you’ve complained of what he doesn’t do! What he does do! For three years, you’ve come to me, always fucking around with my head and making me wonder what it was we had! You were married then, and THAT didn’t stop you from making me feel as if we had something special going on! You know how much I enjoy talking to you! You know that I think of you all the time! And you can’t say that you–”
“It was a ‘thing’, Joe! This wasn’t anything serious! And you knew this! You didn’t want anything more than that–!”
“But I thought you were leaving him!”
“I–I was honestly planning on it, but–!”
“But what? Huh? But what? C’mon, Richie! You can’t just lead people on all the time, and expect them to NOT grow any feelings for you! I knew you for three years, and I feel more for you than I would with some random fuck I picked up in the club!”
“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression–”
“You’re ‘sorry’? You’re SORRY? You’re sorry that I fell for you, or that you’re being a shitty asshole for leading me on? For making me think that I had a chance–!”
“LOOK! You knew from the beginning that I was married, and yes, we do have problems! But he’s the one I have feelings for, and he’s the one I’m going to keep returning to, and I’m sorry if it sounds so wrong and selfish–but you were just something on the side that I had fun with when he mistreated me!”
“Oh my god,” Joe exclaimed, giving him a wide-eyed look. His hands plowed through his hair in agitation, and he gestured at Richie accusingly. “You–! You–! You fucking man-bitch!”
Richie gave him a mock hurt expression, then laughed. “That hurt. Really. It did.”
“How–? Why? Huh? Why? Why did you do that to me? I honestly thought that we were going to have a chance–I thought you were going to leave him and come to me–that night, you were planning on staying with me! I treated you better! Better than he ever could! And still, you choose that neanderthal over someone like me? I have a better education than him–!”
“Don’t you dare insult him! He works hard and he provides a whole lot more than you could ever–!”
“Fucking golddigging bitch!”
“Oh, ho, now the names!”
“I am more than he could ever be, and you’re honestly going to choose him over me?” Joe shouted angrily, tapping his chest to punctuate the point. “I make more money! I know far more than he! I don’t have a fucking record, nor have I ever tried to take over the fucking city–!”
“This is so pathetically ridiculous...”
“–and I certainly wouldn’t be all over the fucking block with all these–these women! You do know he was with women, right? Huh?”
Richie tried not to scowl at that acknowledged fact, but he failed and felt that shiver of disgust race through him. Joe caught the action, pointing at him accusingly.
“I saw him, plenty of times–there were nights when he was with more than one! Fucking all over each and every one, and this is a man you say you want to spend your life with? When I can do so much better? When you know that he makes these promises all the time, and breaks them all. Man, I care about you. I want to be the one that you should be with. I want to be the one to treat you the way that you want–I won’t be like him. I won’t–!”
“Joe, you need to stop. You sound like an over-hormonal teenager! A girl one,” he added absurdly, wincing. “All this waxing poetic is making me ill. I’m not some ludicrously ‘hot’ item that everyone fights for–if you know I play games, how do you know that I won’t be doing similar things to someone else behind your back? Huh? Once a cheater, always a cheater...”
Joe stared at him in disbelief, and shook his head slightly.
Smug, Richie slid his hands into his pockets, leaning against the door of the Vitera. “Go home, Joe. Focus on other things. I’m with my husband, now. I’m avoiding you for a reason. Take the hint and drop it.”
“...You...fucking...man-bitch...how could you do this to me...?”
“I know I’m not attractive, nor am I the type that’s ‘fantastic’ in bed. I’m just a humble joe...I just know how to work the angles. And, Joe, I’m just working yours. Probably, my husband will go back on his promise. He will probably go back to the way he was...and I’ll leave him again. But you know what, Joe? All it takes is a phone call or a visit from me, and you’ll be letting me back. No matter what you say. No matter how I treat you in the end, you’ll be waiting for me to talk to you. It’s just how it works.”
Joe fairly trembled with repressed fury, his face draining of color, features filled with stunned amazement as these words were given smugly. All his muscles flexed and bunched, and his hair even managed to flop gracefully as Richie shrugged in half-hearted remorse.
Because no words were appropriate, Joe reacted angrily–his palm connected with that smug face and sent glasses flying. Richie stumbled, having not expected that, and looked at Joe with surprise as the brunette then turned and stalked off.
“MAN-BITCH!” he roared angrily, rubbing his face as the sting seemed to radiate throughout his entire body. “Ow...geez, who slaps people nowadays? What kind of man are you if you’re going to freakin’ slap another man?”
He found his glasses, grumbling at the broken lense.
Joe’s angry bellow caught his attention as he finally opened the Vitera, tossing the broken things aside. “He’s going to leave you for one! And then what? Huh?”
Richie rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut as he started the engine.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Francis came home to hear Shiv’s hysterical shrieking coming from the guest bathroom. Confused, he hefted bags of groceries from the porch, Dominic helping him out by picking up the twelve pack of beer with a grin.
“What’s goin’ on?” Francis asked, blowing hair from his face as Shiv reached a whole new octave in his shrieks.
“We just came by to pick up some stuff,” Dominic explained, Jamaican accent thick as he opened the still cold pack of beer. “Then your boy pulled him into that bathroom and both haven’t come out yet.”
“Heh.” Francis set down the bags of groceries, glancing around anxiously. “Where’s Ivan? He didn’t show up for work or nothin’. Not even at the record store.”
“Don’t know. Try his cell?”
“Yeah. Tried everything. Feel all...weird. I fuckin’ hate this, man, I fuckin’ hate it. It’s like, I feel so...fucking incomplete,” he muttered in low defeat, unloading the bags of groceries as Dominic sympathized with a couple of nods. “Want some chicken?”
“Do you two ever cook?”
“Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Occasionally waffles. But...no. Do you?”
“Hell, no...”
Francis grinned at him, unloading the box of still hot chicken pieces he’d bought along with the groceries. There was a rapid shuffle of feet, and Shiv stumbled out from the hall, hands all over his face, shaking noticeably. Both looked up to see violent red and blue splotches all over his neck, jaw line, cheek and even the center of his forehead. It was obvious that all his previous screaming and yowling were the results of Richie applying those violent hickies on his face in punishment for providing Francis the information on Joe.
Francis’ mouth dropped open, and Dominic dropped his unopened beer as Shiv screamed, fingers clawing over his skin. He broke into random screeches of languages, cursing fiercely as his skin turned a vehement red, Dominic rounding the counter to stand beside Francis as the episode grew more violent. The overstuffed chair was kicked over, bar stools tossed in random directions.
“DON’T TOUCH MY FICUS!” Francis had to bellow when one of the houseplants were threatened.
Richie walked out from the hall and ducked a picture frame, laughing. He hurried into the kitchen, Francis performing a double take in surprise.
“I”m sorry, he had to be punished,” Richie said in apology, throwing his arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. For some reason, just seeing Francis amidst the groceries he’d bought sent a surge of pride through him–because there were times when such a notion had been impossible. Hotstreak? Grocery store? Spending responsibly?
“What happened to your face?” Francis asked, with a tone of bewilderment as he examined the slight tinge of red caused by broken blood vessels–just a touch short of a complete bruise. “Who the fuck hit you?”
“Never mind. I had to–”
“No, not ‘never mind’! Who the fuck hit you? Shiv?”
“NEVER MIND. See, I had to–!”
“Broke your glasses? WHO HIT YOU?”
“You fuckin’ deserve it, you fucking whore!” Shiv screamed, punching the air as Dominic laughed humorously, picking up his beer and opening it carefully. “Fuck you, Dominic! Fucking fag!”
“Don’t be gettin’ mad at me, man...”
“I wish I fuckin’ hit you! Fucking dick! You deserve that! You fucking deserve it–!”
“Man, shut up, you–!”
“Don’t tell me to shut up DON’T tell ME to SHUT UP YOU SHUT UP!”
Richie laughed as Francis rolled his eyes and turned away to finish unloading what he’d bought.
“THIS MEANS WAR! THIS MEANS ALL OUT WAR!”
“Join the rest of them,” Richie murmured, arms curling around Francis once more, leaning against his back and feeling happy to feel the comfort of familiarity.
“NO! I’M SERIOUS! THIS IS WRONG! WRONG! You should be getting mad at Francis, not me!” Shiv howled, dropping to his knees. “I’m and I just was the lackeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!”
Dominic laughed again, a lazy way that allowed him to drink gratefully of his beer.
Francis lifted an eyebrow, examining one of his purchases. “What? Why?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you, about,” Richie said against his back, sighing. “Um...the guy I ...messed around with confronted me at work. And–”
“IS HE THE ONE THAT HIT YOU?”
“–he mentioned that he knew it was you that had ruined his Jeep, and–”
“Rich, did he hit you?!”
“–we had words, and I knew it was Shiv that told him all this, and it’s really nothing because I handled that situation. No, he didn’t,” he then added with a frown. “I walked into a street lamp on campus. I’m such an idiot.”
Francis had to take some time to clear the beginning slips of anger, wanting another excuse to pummel the ‘gym-built’ fag. He believed what Richie told him of the street lamp–his husband was prone to clumsiness, having seen more than his fair share of such actions throughout the years. He shrugged and began folding up the plastic bags so that they would fit into the drawer near the sink.
Then he frowned again. “You knew about his ride?”
“He told me about it. I dunno. That’s your business. Francis, don’t do that kind of bullshit! You’re lucky he didn’t report it!”
“He’s lucky he didn’t report it...”
“Whatever...hey, Shiv...who you snagging on, huh?”
“FUCK YOU HO-BITCH!”
Richie laughed and ducked the ivy that was flung after him. Giving a running leap, Shiv tackled the blond into the wall, making plaster and framed pictures hit the floor as they slammed hard into the immovable surface.
“This place so much funner than our apartment,” Dominic muttered as more screams and scuffling ensued in the hallway.
“‘This place is more fun than our apartment’,” Francis corrected in a haughty tone. They both laughed at themselves and began dishing up for dinner.
The front door opened, Virgil calling out cheerfully as he walked in. Francis promptly choked on his drumstick and Dominic had to slap him hard across the shoulder blades to assist him as Virgil also lugged in a car seat filled with baby. Adam and Ivan followed, the elder looking pretty damn sullen as Adam greeted everyone cheerfully.
Virgil saw Francis in the kitchen, narrowing his eyes. The redhead gave a stunned, disbelieving look at the small bundle within the car seat, his anxiety obvious with the lips that curled back apprehensively. While Adam investigated the war going on in the hall, Ivan slumped onto the couch and refused to look at anybody.
Grinning so wide that even his back teeth were visible, Virgil hefted the car seat onto the counter, Francis eyeing the covered bundle with unease. Dominic shifted, then tucked their beers away under the counter, as if Oscar could see them and possibly get to them. Both former metas shifted away uncomfortably, as Virgil nodded.
“So, I heard you been wanting to see him,” Virgil said, adjusting the handle of the car seat, grunting as he did so.
“You...brought that...here?” Francis eked out, giving a disbelieving stare as he watched the African-American pull a Winnie The Pooh blanket from the top, revealing Oscar in a tiny sleeper set. Dominic adjusted his tinted glasses, grimacing as he stepped back.
“He’s so little,” he discovered.
“He’s considered big for his size!” Virgil said, unbuckling the seatbelt. “C’mere, big guy. Come to daddy. Hah hah! I’m a father, man! A father! Can you actually believe that?”
Shiv shrieked bloody murder as he was tossed from the hall, Adam hurrying out of his flight path. Panting, Richie rounded the corner, and saw Virgil with Oscar. He quickly ducked back into the hallway, disappearing into the second bedroom, locking the door behind him.
“Er...what are you doing with that?” Francis asked Virgil as he watched the younger male shift Oscar in his arms, so that he laid comfortably along the length of his forearm, head supported by his biceps.
“Showin’ him off! Come look at him!” Virgil exclaimed cheerfully. “Check ‘im out! We were in the neighborhood, anyway...”
Adam snorted, and then performed a double-take on Shiv upon seeing the hickies. “Damn, man! The hell? Who gave you them?”
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU and YOU and YOU and YOU and ESPECIALLY YOU, ASS BASTARD!” the Asian shrieked, nearly hopping up and down in place. Then spying Virgil with the baby, who was startled by his previous shouts. “Oh my god! A baby! Man, I’m hella good with kids! Lemme hold him!”
“Whoa!” Virgil exclaimed, Oscar snatched from him expertly. He fretted visibly as Shiv tucked the newborn in the same position as he had earlier, happily exclaiming over how light he was, how he had that new baby smell.
Francis gave the car seat an uncertain push of his finger, Dominic crouching to sneak a sip of his beer he’d hidden in the drawers below. Once Oscar began to protest the supportive hold from a loud and certainly exuberant stranger, Shiv cackled happily and announced that he’d planned on having ten of them with several different women. Virgil hovered close by, anxiously fretting as Oscar was maneuvered up and out of Shiv’s arms, to allow the purple-haired Asian prop him against his shoulder, hand lightly patting his back.
At the resounding burp and spillage of milk, Shiv and Virgil exclaimed happily over progress.
Adam held his hands up, not wanting to touch that area, moving over to examine the DVDs that hadn’t been thrown in the rage Shiv had thrown previously. Dominic continued to sneak sips from his beer under the counter, and Francis anxiously poked once more at the car seat, picking up the Winnie blanket with an expression of distaste.
“Bombs away!” Shiv said happily, surprising him. Francis reacted quickly to have eight pounds of baby dumped into his arms, Virgil quickly adjusting his arms to support Oscar safely. “Check that out, big daddy! One day, if you’re lucky, one of those chicks you fucked will be doin’ the same thing!”
“Man, fuck you,” Francis muttered, looking down at Oscar in surprise. Round eyes opened, lids blinking heavily under the kitchen light as Oscar tried to determine who was holding him this time.
Upon spying this new stranger’s multi-colored hair, his eyes focused determinedly upon the contrast, then looked at Francis before erupting into protesting mewls. Francis hurriedly passed him back to Virgil before he could get any further.
Virgil laughed. “Aw, he likes you. He was able to reach past history and previous episodes of drama to see the real inner you. Babies are sensitive that way.”
“Yeah, well, explains you, huh?”
Virgil snorted as Francis shuddered.
Later that night, he was staring at the ceiling. His arms were tingling where Oscar’s weight had rested upon them, and he could still smell that mixture of baby lotion, spit-up and the unfamiliar smells of Virgil and Shenice. It was a dizzying combination, and he was scared about how focused he was on it.
Oscar had looked right at him. For a moment, there had been a connection of sorts. It probably wasn’t anything–the boy was barely over two weeks old! But Francis had felt something at that moment, and he was scared of it. He was cautiously venturing into possibilities of having children–of what he’d do to interact with them. How would he talk to them...touch them...hold them...be as easy going with them as he’d seen other fathers do with their children....
As Richie snored next to him, and one of their neighbors’ arguments escalated into a fight that carried out through the night, Francis Stone wondered what he’d be like as a father.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Nearly a week later, Richie was quite grateful when Tony pushed the last of his loan across the kitchen counter.
“That should stop his fuckin’ bitchin’,” the older man muttered, grizzled face rubbed anxiously as Richie took the money and tucked it into his back pocket. He swallowed the remnants of his chicken sandwich, listening to Francis grumble nearby about Tony’s attitude.
“Thank you,” he said, giving the older Stone a grateful smile. “It’s okay to ask for money–”
“RICHARD.”
“– just as long as we’re paid back,” he finished, shooting Francis a stern glare.
“It’s not like I ask for shit all the time,” Tony snapped, shooting his son a glare that told Richie what to expect in at least forty years. Tony had been an alcoholic throughout his life, and the effects were obvious. Deep wrinkles cut into his tanned skin, strains of weathered hardships cast around his deep set eyes. His fiery red hair was managed into a stiff comb over, hiding not a bald spot, but the fact that it hadn’t been well taken care of lately. Richie tried not to look at the obvious signs of dandruff and grease, and struggled to keep his sandwich where it was.
Danielle gave her father a revolted look–she was the product of an affair with a woman none of the kids ever saw, and was fairly different from the two men. With her black hair flowing down to her ample hips, she looked as if she’d been adopted rather than possessing Stone blood. Her plus-size body had been poured into a black t-shirt and black shorts, with a punk flair in various accessories.
“It’s not like we’re fuckin’ dependent on you both,” she snarled, shooting both males a disgusted look. “God, we just ask for help sometimes.”
“Get a job,” Francis suggested snottily. “You’re old enough. Start payin’ your part.”
“And follow in your footsteps? You’re such a fuckin’ perfect role model.”
“Man, fuck you, you fat–!”
Richie cleared his throat loudly. “Do you guys want anything to drink? Eat?”
Dani shot him a sneer. “Stop acting all fake, and pretending that you’re some sort of friend of ours.”
He opened his mouth to reply when Tony gave her a look that quelled any other words she may have had. “Go outside, Danielle.”
“...I don’t want to. I don’t–!”
“Go outside, Danielle.”
With another one of her looks, she whipped away from the counter, Francis giving her a disgusted glance. It appeared she’d gained more weight since he’d last seen her–her mother had been a large woman, and it looked as if she possessed those same genes. Frankly, he had a thing against fat people–just a prejudice of his own.
He then looked back at his father, whom he knew was going to ask something more of them. He was immediately angry, shaking his head, crossing his arms.
“NO.”
“She’s pregnant,” Tony eked between gritted teeth. “Some fuckin’ nigger from the neighborhood managed to woo her into his bed. She needs to get rid of it.”
“Maybe it’ll get her to settle down,” Francis grumbled, annoyed that his little sister was pregnant at sixteen.
“She’s not old enough to be having children,” Richie muttered. “But then again, she’s too young to be having sex.”
“...Says the honky experimenting with ‘study buddies’ after school.”
“Francis–!”
“She needs to get rid of it,” Tony repeated over the exchange. “But I don’t have the money.”
“Of course! You never have the money! What, you want us to adopt the brat so she could go on and do more of that shit?”
“Don’t talk like that, man!” Richie snapped, giving him a revolted look.
“She needs birth control. She don’t have a mother to explain that sort of stuff to her, an’ I certainly can’t do it,” Tony continued. “Fuckin’ good for nothin’ school does nothing to educate her on these matters!”
“Oh, so we gotta pay for the abortion and the pills? Fuck that bullshit, dad! That’s your responsibility! You’re her fuckin’ father!”
“I can pay for her birth control, but I have to go with her to the clinic to make sure she goes through the process,” Richie volunteered with a shrug.
“RICHARD! This is their fuckin’ problem!” Francis exclaimed.
“Think about it, Francis. You want your little sister to continue this cycle? To come to us for abortion money all the time, or having her breed like a fucking rabbit and having kids that’ll grow up as dysfunctional and fucked over as you?”
Tony straightened rigidly, his dark eyes narrowing fiercely at his son’s husband. But Francis frowned, considering this as Richie gave him a pointed look.
“Look here, you fuckin’ woman,” Tony spit. “I don’t appreciate bein’ talked down to like that, like I fuckin’ didn’t do shit for my stupid kid–!”
“Hey–!” Francis snapped, cut off when Tony swept a gnarled hand through the air to shush him.
“–when I did all that I fuckin’ could! I did ALL that I fuckin’ could for him! Not everyone has a fuckin’ family like yours!”
“I’ll fuckin’ pay for her abortion, then,” Francis decided, interjecting his father’s rant even as he moved protectively in front of his husband, an unconscious prompt that he didn’t even notice. “But she has to get on those pills. Fuckin’ one time thing.”
“I hate comin’ here,” Tony muttered, eyeing his son fiercely.
He wasn’t as big as Francis–at five foot six, his back was hunched slightly, and his body was thin due to the constant illnesses that plagued him. All of it was from the hard lived years of loving alcohol, something that secretly scared Richie, because he didn’t want to see Francis following in that same direction.
“Takes a lot of me to come down here and ask for your fuckin’ money. Knowing that my son married a man. I wouldn’t do it, but I need to. For her. She’s still my daughter–I wish that I could provide better, but I can’t. Something I hate. Something I regret. Don’t forget that.”
“Whatever, dad. Get outta here. She has to make the appointment.”
Tony gave a grunt, slapped the counter, and then bellowed Dani’s name before slamming his way out the front door. As Dani came in from the back, Francis gave her a scowl.
“Fuckin’ use a condom,” he mentioned with disgust.
“I hope you both get AIDS,” she spit back before following her father’s example and slamming her way out from the house.
“I hope you both get AIDS,” Francis mimicked, angrily swatting at the stove. “Fuckin’ ungrateful whore...fuckin’ useless piece of trash...fuckin’ hate them both.”
Richie reached over, to work at the tight stiffness that he knew knotted his husband’s back, something that always happened whenever the Stones had a mini-reunion. Glancing out the window over the sink, he watched the battered Acura pull away from the curb, taking Dani and Tony away from them. Fingers still working on the knots, he moved in close to kiss the back of his neck.
Silence descended the house, and Richie grew curious as to whatever thoughts were bothering his husband. He stopped the massage, moving around to look into his face, noting the concentration there. It was natural to touch when certain things were bigger than the circumstances that still bothered them in regards of other people.
So when his fingers gently cupped Francis’ jaw, making him look up, it was also natural to inquire with concern what the matter was.
‘Kinda...I don’t wanna be like him. Y’know? Turn out like him. Do what it takes to keep that from happening, but sometimes, I catch myself acting like him. It’s sort of...disappointing.”
“You’re not like him. Not at all. Except when I’m mad at you, then you’re an exact copy of your father.” Richie nodded firmly as Francis gave him a half-hearted scowl. But then his face was cupped, Francis’ eyes turning dark with intensity, Richie covering his hands with his own.
“There are so many times when you annoy the hell out of me,” Francis said quietly, making Richie scrunch his eyebrows with insult, “but there are many others when I just...just can’t live without you. I hate when they say shit like that, cuz they don’t know what we have. You’re not bothered by what they say, are you?”
“No...if I was, we wouldn’t be here, today.”
“Nah....true. But...I love you. All right? You piss me off, but I love you. An’ I know we can work things out if we just keep that, huh?”
“What’s with the sudden emotion?”
“Just...I’ve been doing some thinkin’. Just had to let you know.”
“You always do. I know you do, but there are times when I need to be reminded.”
Francis snorted, letting go of him. He whapped him hard on the ass, making him yelp in pain. “By the way...bills are in this week. Better not see anything on them that ain’t supposed to be there.”
“Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch...” Richie then paused in rubbing painfully along his left ass cheek when he spotted something on the floor. He picked it up, chuckling upon recognizing Oscar’s pacifier. “Look at this. It’s so...enabling...”
Francis turned to see it, and plucked it from his hand with a wondrous expression. “Smelly little kid, huh?”
“I had no idea they could do that in their diapers. There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that sort of thing. I definitely don’t want kids...oh, by the way, finals are coming up. So I’ll be having some odd hours for at least a week. After that, my hours at work are going to be extended, or traded with someone else’s shift...”
Francis blocked out the rest of what Richie had to say. He simply stared at the pacifier and hoped to whomever was listening that he’d never turn out like his father.
Shampoo Marea: Heh...well, since this is a rated X story, there's more to, er...arrive...(sheepish blush)
I'm_Alive: Yeah, it was a little shocking---but, er...there's more to...in the next chapter! XD
Thank you both for your continuous reviews! Yay! You keep me going!
Chapter Thirteen:
...Do They Even Know You?
“Mua ha ha ha ha!” His laugh was infected with evil, and he cackled again just for the sheer joy and liberation he felt of it. Ivan’s expression of defeat had been obscenely delicious. “Take THAT, you stupid smug sonofabitch! What’cha gonna do now, huh? HUH? HAH! Showed you, you evil motherfucker! HAH! IN YOUR FACE!...well...actually mine, but that’s not what I was getting at...MWA HA HA HA HA HA–!”
“You are totally scaring me,” Trevor Black commented nervously as he glanced warily at his co-worker, who was busily clearing away viruses that had infected a teenager’s sticker-sticky computer.
Richie cleared his throat, but couldn’t stop grinning as the software he’d designed personally to clear out the menaces of file-ravaging viruses worked its magic–for ten dollars extra, it also managed to locate and build up certain files that were often lost to the nuisances of PC viruses.
“Sorry...was a little excited.”
“Well...that enthusiasm should be bottled and sold. Is that a new program?”
“Er...yes. Actually. Works pretty good.”
“Man, I don’t see how you can do that,” Trevor said on a sigh, leaning back in his chair as the store’s own version of virus detecting software worked slowly on a Dell laptop. “Just produce things just like that. And actually have them work.”
“All from the magic that is my brain, pitiful mortal....say...gotta question for you...”
“Spit.”
“...Do you care what sort of blinds cover your windows at home?”
“Huh? Oh, fuck, those fucking annoying slats that you have to pull a string to work? Ugh, I HATE those! I always end up fucking breaking them!”
Richie sighed mournfully. He would have to ask a female, but that was totally killing the point he was looking for.
“Why are you asking me that?” Trevor then asked cautiously, a curious frown causing his lips to curl with thought.
“My best friend was totally kicking my ass for making a big deal out of these vertical blinds that I wanted to get for my home...I didn’t think it was, like, unmanly. I just want my home to look good, is that so wrong?”
“Well...uh...no, I guess. Chicks like that. Personally, I couldn’t care less about my apartment, but I make a big fucking deal about my bathroom.” Trevor expressed this with a wild gesture. “Matching rugs, toilet seat cover, shower curtains, towels, soap dispenser! Everything has to match! I have, like, sixteen sets of matching bathroom decorations. All of them packed in their expressively marked plastic storage units...”
Richie blinked, picturing this. But he couldn’t imagine going those lengths, and gave Trevor a bewildered stare as the other male lost himself in some concentration over his secret.
“You’re so gay,” he said on a laugh.
Trevor shrugged. “My last girlfriend told me I was whacked out. But I can’t stand a dirty, disorganized bathroom. It has to be SPARKLING before I use it. I stock up on bathroom cleaners and candles every payday.”
Richie laughed again.
“What? Shit..better than blinds...did Francis throw a fit about those things?”
“Yeah. Well, the old ones were ugly! They match the baseboards and fit the color scheme we have going on, and they’re ordinary! It’s not silk, or fancy–it’s basic vertical slats for the back door!”
“All right, all right, sheesh. Remind me never to bring the subject up again.”
“Fine, you closeted bathroom-decor organizing freak.”
“Shut up about that. I’ve got Spongebob currently going on this week,” Trevor mentioned, laughing.
“What’s next, Hello Kitty?”
“Nah. That was last month. That was also why my ex called me ‘whack’. I was trying to impress her.”
Richie laughed again and began cleaning up his station. “I’m out. If I have to see another waffy fanfic, I’m going to puke. This chick can’t write to save her life.”
“Check this out–this one keeps a diary of what she keeps in her fridge...she has fuckin’ week old fast food in that joint, and she eats them only when she has to stock in more! These people are freaks!”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Right....right...”
After signing out and noting the hour on his timecard, Richie was whistling to some random tune he’d heard earlier that day, tossing his keys from hand to hand. The back door locked automatically behind him as he ventured out into the back parking lot of the strip mall, frowning at the Vitera that had only five payments left. His cell rang at that moment, and he paused in walking to look down at the window, frowning as he realized that Joe was trying to get into touch with him once more. He ignored the call and continued on his way, glancing around himself as he once more thought of Ivan’s face last night.
He had to cackle aloud again, feeling success and smug satisfaction spill throughout his system. It had been worth choking on his disgust and ten inches of fat, uncut cock for that expression and knowledge that he’d taken this round. Sure, he hated Ivan–hated the games that he played, but he wasn’t about to let the black man continue with his damn power spree.
There were other ways to manipulate and go about destroying him; with his easy access to many city records and other endless possibilities that he could do to make Ivan’s life hell, using sex seemed more...forbidden. Exciting.
Sex with his husband had added to that cheer–even if they were both hampered by thoughts that made actions a little reluctant at first. They had both agreed to get tested after their making up, something that both were amicable about, considering that neither wanted diseases nor condoms. When their results came back, both were pretty relieved that things were pretty clean. Each had been careful in that aspect with their other partners, but it was a scenario that neither wanted to deal with if things were different.
But once they got back into the flow of things, it had been easy to let go of things and focus on pleasure. It still felt a bit like a chore, but he’d managed to overcome that to enjoy what was being done to him.
He had just reached the driver’s side of the Vitera when he felt something shift behind him. He gave a startled gasp when strong fingers curled around his arm, making him jump in surprise as he looked up.
“Why aren’t you returning any of my calls?” Joe fairly snarled, looking pissed as Richie realized that his mind had temporarily shut down due to awkward discomfort. He licked his lips nervously, frowning as he jerked his arm from his grip, turning to face him. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all this time...I know you went back with him. I know he knows that you were messing around with me. It took me over four thousand dollars to fix what he did to my Jeep!”
Richie was horrified at that–he hadn’t known that Francis had even known Joe, but he knew he’d overheard that comment made by Virgil the night Oscar was born. Then he bared his teeth, growling angrily, “SHIV!”
“Look...look...I know that it’s a long shot, and I know that it’s a very big possibility in that things won’t be the same between us, but–I really liked you,” Joe insisted, frowning at him as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You stopped coming to the gym; you don’t call me, nor do you even bother returning any of my messages! You don’t even pick up when I try to call you! I just saw your reaction when I called you a few minutes ago!”
“Joe, listen–I know, all right? I know we had a thing going on, but that’s all it was. Just a ‘thing’! And–I’m married, and I know that we’re having problems, but–!”
“For three years you’ve complained of what he doesn’t do! What he does do! For three years, you’ve come to me, always fucking around with my head and making me wonder what it was we had! You were married then, and THAT didn’t stop you from making me feel as if we had something special going on! You know how much I enjoy talking to you! You know that I think of you all the time! And you can’t say that you–”
“It was a ‘thing’, Joe! This wasn’t anything serious! And you knew this! You didn’t want anything more than that–!”
“But I thought you were leaving him!”
“I–I was honestly planning on it, but–!”
“But what? Huh? But what? C’mon, Richie! You can’t just lead people on all the time, and expect them to NOT grow any feelings for you! I knew you for three years, and I feel more for you than I would with some random fuck I picked up in the club!”
“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression–”
“You’re ‘sorry’? You’re SORRY? You’re sorry that I fell for you, or that you’re being a shitty asshole for leading me on? For making me think that I had a chance–!”
“LOOK! You knew from the beginning that I was married, and yes, we do have problems! But he’s the one I have feelings for, and he’s the one I’m going to keep returning to, and I’m sorry if it sounds so wrong and selfish–but you were just something on the side that I had fun with when he mistreated me!”
“Oh my god,” Joe exclaimed, giving him a wide-eyed look. His hands plowed through his hair in agitation, and he gestured at Richie accusingly. “You–! You–! You fucking man-bitch!”
Richie gave him a mock hurt expression, then laughed. “That hurt. Really. It did.”
“How–? Why? Huh? Why? Why did you do that to me? I honestly thought that we were going to have a chance–I thought you were going to leave him and come to me–that night, you were planning on staying with me! I treated you better! Better than he ever could! And still, you choose that neanderthal over someone like me? I have a better education than him–!”
“Don’t you dare insult him! He works hard and he provides a whole lot more than you could ever–!”
“Fucking golddigging bitch!”
“Oh, ho, now the names!”
“I am more than he could ever be, and you’re honestly going to choose him over me?” Joe shouted angrily, tapping his chest to punctuate the point. “I make more money! I know far more than he! I don’t have a fucking record, nor have I ever tried to take over the fucking city–!”
“This is so pathetically ridiculous...”
“–and I certainly wouldn’t be all over the fucking block with all these–these women! You do know he was with women, right? Huh?”
Richie tried not to scowl at that acknowledged fact, but he failed and felt that shiver of disgust race through him. Joe caught the action, pointing at him accusingly.
“I saw him, plenty of times–there were nights when he was with more than one! Fucking all over each and every one, and this is a man you say you want to spend your life with? When I can do so much better? When you know that he makes these promises all the time, and breaks them all. Man, I care about you. I want to be the one that you should be with. I want to be the one to treat you the way that you want–I won’t be like him. I won’t–!”
“Joe, you need to stop. You sound like an over-hormonal teenager! A girl one,” he added absurdly, wincing. “All this waxing poetic is making me ill. I’m not some ludicrously ‘hot’ item that everyone fights for–if you know I play games, how do you know that I won’t be doing similar things to someone else behind your back? Huh? Once a cheater, always a cheater...”
Joe stared at him in disbelief, and shook his head slightly.
Smug, Richie slid his hands into his pockets, leaning against the door of the Vitera. “Go home, Joe. Focus on other things. I’m with my husband, now. I’m avoiding you for a reason. Take the hint and drop it.”
“...You...fucking...man-bitch...how could you do this to me...?”
“I know I’m not attractive, nor am I the type that’s ‘fantastic’ in bed. I’m just a humble joe...I just know how to work the angles. And, Joe, I’m just working yours. Probably, my husband will go back on his promise. He will probably go back to the way he was...and I’ll leave him again. But you know what, Joe? All it takes is a phone call or a visit from me, and you’ll be letting me back. No matter what you say. No matter how I treat you in the end, you’ll be waiting for me to talk to you. It’s just how it works.”
Joe fairly trembled with repressed fury, his face draining of color, features filled with stunned amazement as these words were given smugly. All his muscles flexed and bunched, and his hair even managed to flop gracefully as Richie shrugged in half-hearted remorse.
Because no words were appropriate, Joe reacted angrily–his palm connected with that smug face and sent glasses flying. Richie stumbled, having not expected that, and looked at Joe with surprise as the brunette then turned and stalked off.
“MAN-BITCH!” he roared angrily, rubbing his face as the sting seemed to radiate throughout his entire body. “Ow...geez, who slaps people nowadays? What kind of man are you if you’re going to freakin’ slap another man?”
He found his glasses, grumbling at the broken lense.
Joe’s angry bellow caught his attention as he finally opened the Vitera, tossing the broken things aside. “He’s going to leave you for one! And then what? Huh?”
Richie rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut as he started the engine.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Francis came home to hear Shiv’s hysterical shrieking coming from the guest bathroom. Confused, he hefted bags of groceries from the porch, Dominic helping him out by picking up the twelve pack of beer with a grin.
“What’s goin’ on?” Francis asked, blowing hair from his face as Shiv reached a whole new octave in his shrieks.
“We just came by to pick up some stuff,” Dominic explained, Jamaican accent thick as he opened the still cold pack of beer. “Then your boy pulled him into that bathroom and both haven’t come out yet.”
“Heh.” Francis set down the bags of groceries, glancing around anxiously. “Where’s Ivan? He didn’t show up for work or nothin’. Not even at the record store.”
“Don’t know. Try his cell?”
“Yeah. Tried everything. Feel all...weird. I fuckin’ hate this, man, I fuckin’ hate it. It’s like, I feel so...fucking incomplete,” he muttered in low defeat, unloading the bags of groceries as Dominic sympathized with a couple of nods. “Want some chicken?”
“Do you two ever cook?”
“Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Occasionally waffles. But...no. Do you?”
“Hell, no...”
Francis grinned at him, unloading the box of still hot chicken pieces he’d bought along with the groceries. There was a rapid shuffle of feet, and Shiv stumbled out from the hall, hands all over his face, shaking noticeably. Both looked up to see violent red and blue splotches all over his neck, jaw line, cheek and even the center of his forehead. It was obvious that all his previous screaming and yowling were the results of Richie applying those violent hickies on his face in punishment for providing Francis the information on Joe.
Francis’ mouth dropped open, and Dominic dropped his unopened beer as Shiv screamed, fingers clawing over his skin. He broke into random screeches of languages, cursing fiercely as his skin turned a vehement red, Dominic rounding the counter to stand beside Francis as the episode grew more violent. The overstuffed chair was kicked over, bar stools tossed in random directions.
“DON’T TOUCH MY FICUS!” Francis had to bellow when one of the houseplants were threatened.
Richie walked out from the hall and ducked a picture frame, laughing. He hurried into the kitchen, Francis performing a double take in surprise.
“I”m sorry, he had to be punished,” Richie said in apology, throwing his arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek. For some reason, just seeing Francis amidst the groceries he’d bought sent a surge of pride through him–because there were times when such a notion had been impossible. Hotstreak? Grocery store? Spending responsibly?
“What happened to your face?” Francis asked, with a tone of bewilderment as he examined the slight tinge of red caused by broken blood vessels–just a touch short of a complete bruise. “Who the fuck hit you?”
“Never mind. I had to–”
“No, not ‘never mind’! Who the fuck hit you? Shiv?”
“NEVER MIND. See, I had to–!”
“Broke your glasses? WHO HIT YOU?”
“You fuckin’ deserve it, you fucking whore!” Shiv screamed, punching the air as Dominic laughed humorously, picking up his beer and opening it carefully. “Fuck you, Dominic! Fucking fag!”
“Don’t be gettin’ mad at me, man...”
“I wish I fuckin’ hit you! Fucking dick! You deserve that! You fucking deserve it–!”
“Man, shut up, you–!”
“Don’t tell me to shut up DON’T tell ME to SHUT UP YOU SHUT UP!”
Richie laughed as Francis rolled his eyes and turned away to finish unloading what he’d bought.
“THIS MEANS WAR! THIS MEANS ALL OUT WAR!”
“Join the rest of them,” Richie murmured, arms curling around Francis once more, leaning against his back and feeling happy to feel the comfort of familiarity.
“NO! I’M SERIOUS! THIS IS WRONG! WRONG! You should be getting mad at Francis, not me!” Shiv howled, dropping to his knees. “I’m and I just was the lackeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!”
Dominic laughed again, a lazy way that allowed him to drink gratefully of his beer.
Francis lifted an eyebrow, examining one of his purchases. “What? Why?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you, about,” Richie said against his back, sighing. “Um...the guy I ...messed around with confronted me at work. And–”
“IS HE THE ONE THAT HIT YOU?”
“–he mentioned that he knew it was you that had ruined his Jeep, and–”
“Rich, did he hit you?!”
“–we had words, and I knew it was Shiv that told him all this, and it’s really nothing because I handled that situation. No, he didn’t,” he then added with a frown. “I walked into a street lamp on campus. I’m such an idiot.”
Francis had to take some time to clear the beginning slips of anger, wanting another excuse to pummel the ‘gym-built’ fag. He believed what Richie told him of the street lamp–his husband was prone to clumsiness, having seen more than his fair share of such actions throughout the years. He shrugged and began folding up the plastic bags so that they would fit into the drawer near the sink.
Then he frowned again. “You knew about his ride?”
“He told me about it. I dunno. That’s your business. Francis, don’t do that kind of bullshit! You’re lucky he didn’t report it!”
“He’s lucky he didn’t report it...”
“Whatever...hey, Shiv...who you snagging on, huh?”
“FUCK YOU HO-BITCH!”
Richie laughed and ducked the ivy that was flung after him. Giving a running leap, Shiv tackled the blond into the wall, making plaster and framed pictures hit the floor as they slammed hard into the immovable surface.
“This place so much funner than our apartment,” Dominic muttered as more screams and scuffling ensued in the hallway.
“‘This place is more fun than our apartment’,” Francis corrected in a haughty tone. They both laughed at themselves and began dishing up for dinner.
The front door opened, Virgil calling out cheerfully as he walked in. Francis promptly choked on his drumstick and Dominic had to slap him hard across the shoulder blades to assist him as Virgil also lugged in a car seat filled with baby. Adam and Ivan followed, the elder looking pretty damn sullen as Adam greeted everyone cheerfully.
Virgil saw Francis in the kitchen, narrowing his eyes. The redhead gave a stunned, disbelieving look at the small bundle within the car seat, his anxiety obvious with the lips that curled back apprehensively. While Adam investigated the war going on in the hall, Ivan slumped onto the couch and refused to look at anybody.
Grinning so wide that even his back teeth were visible, Virgil hefted the car seat onto the counter, Francis eyeing the covered bundle with unease. Dominic shifted, then tucked their beers away under the counter, as if Oscar could see them and possibly get to them. Both former metas shifted away uncomfortably, as Virgil nodded.
“So, I heard you been wanting to see him,” Virgil said, adjusting the handle of the car seat, grunting as he did so.
“You...brought that...here?” Francis eked out, giving a disbelieving stare as he watched the African-American pull a Winnie The Pooh blanket from the top, revealing Oscar in a tiny sleeper set. Dominic adjusted his tinted glasses, grimacing as he stepped back.
“He’s so little,” he discovered.
“He’s considered big for his size!” Virgil said, unbuckling the seatbelt. “C’mere, big guy. Come to daddy. Hah hah! I’m a father, man! A father! Can you actually believe that?”
Shiv shrieked bloody murder as he was tossed from the hall, Adam hurrying out of his flight path. Panting, Richie rounded the corner, and saw Virgil with Oscar. He quickly ducked back into the hallway, disappearing into the second bedroom, locking the door behind him.
“Er...what are you doing with that?” Francis asked Virgil as he watched the younger male shift Oscar in his arms, so that he laid comfortably along the length of his forearm, head supported by his biceps.
“Showin’ him off! Come look at him!” Virgil exclaimed cheerfully. “Check ‘im out! We were in the neighborhood, anyway...”
Adam snorted, and then performed a double-take on Shiv upon seeing the hickies. “Damn, man! The hell? Who gave you them?”
“FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU and YOU and YOU and YOU and ESPECIALLY YOU, ASS BASTARD!” the Asian shrieked, nearly hopping up and down in place. Then spying Virgil with the baby, who was startled by his previous shouts. “Oh my god! A baby! Man, I’m hella good with kids! Lemme hold him!”
“Whoa!” Virgil exclaimed, Oscar snatched from him expertly. He fretted visibly as Shiv tucked the newborn in the same position as he had earlier, happily exclaiming over how light he was, how he had that new baby smell.
Francis gave the car seat an uncertain push of his finger, Dominic crouching to sneak a sip of his beer he’d hidden in the drawers below. Once Oscar began to protest the supportive hold from a loud and certainly exuberant stranger, Shiv cackled happily and announced that he’d planned on having ten of them with several different women. Virgil hovered close by, anxiously fretting as Oscar was maneuvered up and out of Shiv’s arms, to allow the purple-haired Asian prop him against his shoulder, hand lightly patting his back.
At the resounding burp and spillage of milk, Shiv and Virgil exclaimed happily over progress.
Adam held his hands up, not wanting to touch that area, moving over to examine the DVDs that hadn’t been thrown in the rage Shiv had thrown previously. Dominic continued to sneak sips from his beer under the counter, and Francis anxiously poked once more at the car seat, picking up the Winnie blanket with an expression of distaste.
“Bombs away!” Shiv said happily, surprising him. Francis reacted quickly to have eight pounds of baby dumped into his arms, Virgil quickly adjusting his arms to support Oscar safely. “Check that out, big daddy! One day, if you’re lucky, one of those chicks you fucked will be doin’ the same thing!”
“Man, fuck you,” Francis muttered, looking down at Oscar in surprise. Round eyes opened, lids blinking heavily under the kitchen light as Oscar tried to determine who was holding him this time.
Upon spying this new stranger’s multi-colored hair, his eyes focused determinedly upon the contrast, then looked at Francis before erupting into protesting mewls. Francis hurriedly passed him back to Virgil before he could get any further.
Virgil laughed. “Aw, he likes you. He was able to reach past history and previous episodes of drama to see the real inner you. Babies are sensitive that way.”
“Yeah, well, explains you, huh?”
Virgil snorted as Francis shuddered.
Later that night, he was staring at the ceiling. His arms were tingling where Oscar’s weight had rested upon them, and he could still smell that mixture of baby lotion, spit-up and the unfamiliar smells of Virgil and Shenice. It was a dizzying combination, and he was scared about how focused he was on it.
Oscar had looked right at him. For a moment, there had been a connection of sorts. It probably wasn’t anything–the boy was barely over two weeks old! But Francis had felt something at that moment, and he was scared of it. He was cautiously venturing into possibilities of having children–of what he’d do to interact with them. How would he talk to them...touch them...hold them...be as easy going with them as he’d seen other fathers do with their children....
As Richie snored next to him, and one of their neighbors’ arguments escalated into a fight that carried out through the night, Francis Stone wondered what he’d be like as a father.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Nearly a week later, Richie was quite grateful when Tony pushed the last of his loan across the kitchen counter.
“That should stop his fuckin’ bitchin’,” the older man muttered, grizzled face rubbed anxiously as Richie took the money and tucked it into his back pocket. He swallowed the remnants of his chicken sandwich, listening to Francis grumble nearby about Tony’s attitude.
“Thank you,” he said, giving the older Stone a grateful smile. “It’s okay to ask for money–”
“RICHARD.”
“– just as long as we’re paid back,” he finished, shooting Francis a stern glare.
“It’s not like I ask for shit all the time,” Tony snapped, shooting his son a glare that told Richie what to expect in at least forty years. Tony had been an alcoholic throughout his life, and the effects were obvious. Deep wrinkles cut into his tanned skin, strains of weathered hardships cast around his deep set eyes. His fiery red hair was managed into a stiff comb over, hiding not a bald spot, but the fact that it hadn’t been well taken care of lately. Richie tried not to look at the obvious signs of dandruff and grease, and struggled to keep his sandwich where it was.
Danielle gave her father a revolted look–she was the product of an affair with a woman none of the kids ever saw, and was fairly different from the two men. With her black hair flowing down to her ample hips, she looked as if she’d been adopted rather than possessing Stone blood. Her plus-size body had been poured into a black t-shirt and black shorts, with a punk flair in various accessories.
“It’s not like we’re fuckin’ dependent on you both,” she snarled, shooting both males a disgusted look. “God, we just ask for help sometimes.”
“Get a job,” Francis suggested snottily. “You’re old enough. Start payin’ your part.”
“And follow in your footsteps? You’re such a fuckin’ perfect role model.”
“Man, fuck you, you fat–!”
Richie cleared his throat loudly. “Do you guys want anything to drink? Eat?”
Dani shot him a sneer. “Stop acting all fake, and pretending that you’re some sort of friend of ours.”
He opened his mouth to reply when Tony gave her a look that quelled any other words she may have had. “Go outside, Danielle.”
“...I don’t want to. I don’t–!”
“Go outside, Danielle.”
With another one of her looks, she whipped away from the counter, Francis giving her a disgusted glance. It appeared she’d gained more weight since he’d last seen her–her mother had been a large woman, and it looked as if she possessed those same genes. Frankly, he had a thing against fat people–just a prejudice of his own.
He then looked back at his father, whom he knew was going to ask something more of them. He was immediately angry, shaking his head, crossing his arms.
“NO.”
“She’s pregnant,” Tony eked between gritted teeth. “Some fuckin’ nigger from the neighborhood managed to woo her into his bed. She needs to get rid of it.”
“Maybe it’ll get her to settle down,” Francis grumbled, annoyed that his little sister was pregnant at sixteen.
“She’s not old enough to be having children,” Richie muttered. “But then again, she’s too young to be having sex.”
“...Says the honky experimenting with ‘study buddies’ after school.”
“Francis–!”
“She needs to get rid of it,” Tony repeated over the exchange. “But I don’t have the money.”
“Of course! You never have the money! What, you want us to adopt the brat so she could go on and do more of that shit?”
“Don’t talk like that, man!” Richie snapped, giving him a revolted look.
“She needs birth control. She don’t have a mother to explain that sort of stuff to her, an’ I certainly can’t do it,” Tony continued. “Fuckin’ good for nothin’ school does nothing to educate her on these matters!”
“Oh, so we gotta pay for the abortion and the pills? Fuck that bullshit, dad! That’s your responsibility! You’re her fuckin’ father!”
“I can pay for her birth control, but I have to go with her to the clinic to make sure she goes through the process,” Richie volunteered with a shrug.
“RICHARD! This is their fuckin’ problem!” Francis exclaimed.
“Think about it, Francis. You want your little sister to continue this cycle? To come to us for abortion money all the time, or having her breed like a fucking rabbit and having kids that’ll grow up as dysfunctional and fucked over as you?”
Tony straightened rigidly, his dark eyes narrowing fiercely at his son’s husband. But Francis frowned, considering this as Richie gave him a pointed look.
“Look here, you fuckin’ woman,” Tony spit. “I don’t appreciate bein’ talked down to like that, like I fuckin’ didn’t do shit for my stupid kid–!”
“Hey–!” Francis snapped, cut off when Tony swept a gnarled hand through the air to shush him.
“–when I did all that I fuckin’ could! I did ALL that I fuckin’ could for him! Not everyone has a fuckin’ family like yours!”
“I’ll fuckin’ pay for her abortion, then,” Francis decided, interjecting his father’s rant even as he moved protectively in front of his husband, an unconscious prompt that he didn’t even notice. “But she has to get on those pills. Fuckin’ one time thing.”
“I hate comin’ here,” Tony muttered, eyeing his son fiercely.
He wasn’t as big as Francis–at five foot six, his back was hunched slightly, and his body was thin due to the constant illnesses that plagued him. All of it was from the hard lived years of loving alcohol, something that secretly scared Richie, because he didn’t want to see Francis following in that same direction.
“Takes a lot of me to come down here and ask for your fuckin’ money. Knowing that my son married a man. I wouldn’t do it, but I need to. For her. She’s still my daughter–I wish that I could provide better, but I can’t. Something I hate. Something I regret. Don’t forget that.”
“Whatever, dad. Get outta here. She has to make the appointment.”
Tony gave a grunt, slapped the counter, and then bellowed Dani’s name before slamming his way out the front door. As Dani came in from the back, Francis gave her a scowl.
“Fuckin’ use a condom,” he mentioned with disgust.
“I hope you both get AIDS,” she spit back before following her father’s example and slamming her way out from the house.
“I hope you both get AIDS,” Francis mimicked, angrily swatting at the stove. “Fuckin’ ungrateful whore...fuckin’ useless piece of trash...fuckin’ hate them both.”
Richie reached over, to work at the tight stiffness that he knew knotted his husband’s back, something that always happened whenever the Stones had a mini-reunion. Glancing out the window over the sink, he watched the battered Acura pull away from the curb, taking Dani and Tony away from them. Fingers still working on the knots, he moved in close to kiss the back of his neck.
Silence descended the house, and Richie grew curious as to whatever thoughts were bothering his husband. He stopped the massage, moving around to look into his face, noting the concentration there. It was natural to touch when certain things were bigger than the circumstances that still bothered them in regards of other people.
So when his fingers gently cupped Francis’ jaw, making him look up, it was also natural to inquire with concern what the matter was.
‘Kinda...I don’t wanna be like him. Y’know? Turn out like him. Do what it takes to keep that from happening, but sometimes, I catch myself acting like him. It’s sort of...disappointing.”
“You’re not like him. Not at all. Except when I’m mad at you, then you’re an exact copy of your father.” Richie nodded firmly as Francis gave him a half-hearted scowl. But then his face was cupped, Francis’ eyes turning dark with intensity, Richie covering his hands with his own.
“There are so many times when you annoy the hell out of me,” Francis said quietly, making Richie scrunch his eyebrows with insult, “but there are many others when I just...just can’t live without you. I hate when they say shit like that, cuz they don’t know what we have. You’re not bothered by what they say, are you?”
“No...if I was, we wouldn’t be here, today.”
“Nah....true. But...I love you. All right? You piss me off, but I love you. An’ I know we can work things out if we just keep that, huh?”
“What’s with the sudden emotion?”
“Just...I’ve been doing some thinkin’. Just had to let you know.”
“You always do. I know you do, but there are times when I need to be reminded.”
Francis snorted, letting go of him. He whapped him hard on the ass, making him yelp in pain. “By the way...bills are in this week. Better not see anything on them that ain’t supposed to be there.”
“Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch...” Richie then paused in rubbing painfully along his left ass cheek when he spotted something on the floor. He picked it up, chuckling upon recognizing Oscar’s pacifier. “Look at this. It’s so...enabling...”
Francis turned to see it, and plucked it from his hand with a wondrous expression. “Smelly little kid, huh?”
“I had no idea they could do that in their diapers. There’s no way in hell I’m going to do that sort of thing. I definitely don’t want kids...oh, by the way, finals are coming up. So I’ll be having some odd hours for at least a week. After that, my hours at work are going to be extended, or traded with someone else’s shift...”
Francis blocked out the rest of what Richie had to say. He simply stared at the pacifier and hoped to whomever was listening that he’d never turn out like his father.