Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ Was It Something You Said? ( Chapter 14 )

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

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


A/N: LEMON!! XD Be forewarned, there’s a lemon. And how, er, bitter it is. Also, another warning–I like writing lemons. They’re fun. Especially when I have reference. And because it makes up a main part of this story, probably expect more in later chapters....Just a warning.

Shampoo: Yeah, Francis can be an ape at times...but sometimes, he’s kinda cute at it. And, I think I’ve satisfied your lust for a lemon in this one...

I’m_Alive: Yeah, it’s kinda complicated–I like playing with Richie’s ‘intentions’. He showed he can be somewhat evil and manipulative in the series, and would practically stop at nothing to get his way. O_O So, I like to twist and play with that aspect...heh.


Chapter Fourteen:
Was It Something You Said?



Eustacio watched his brother interact with the mutt. He understood that Daniel Trujillo had been unable to change back into his human form. He knew Rudy had some sort of relationship with the thing, and he thought it was wrong. For someone to treat another person like that made him ill. He paused as he stood before the wire cages of nearly a dozen purebred pits, all of them eager for the small meal they were allowed each day.

Rudy paid him to take care of the dogs–to clean up their shit in their pens, to feed them, to occasionally tease and knock them around in their cages. To keep them mean and vicious. He knew of other dog owners that didn’t treat their animals in this manner, but the Pitts were quite successful in their dog fights.

But as Rudy tossed Danny a slab of meat from a recently slaughtered lamb, Eustacio felt a curl of disgust swirl up his gut and into his throat. It was as if his brother kept a slave–a personal one that did whatever he said for a treat.

“That’s wrong, man,” he commented, loud enough to be heard over the dogs’ barking and snarling from within their cages. The room they were kept in was double-walled–it was impossible to hear the activity of the dogs from the outside.

“What?” Rudy asked, looking away from Danny as the hulking creature tore into the slab of meat.

“You. Treating that guy like that. What made you God?”

Rudy shrugged, walking away from Danny. “I ain’t treatin’ him bad. Feed him, groom him–take care of him. Same way I would with the other dogs.”

“That’s what I mean,” Eustacio muttered. “He’s a guy, man. A motherfuckin’ guy. He can’t change back, but he shouldn’t be treated like a fuckin’ pet.”

“Where was this attitude when you beat your woman down?”

“...Man, fuck you. I’m just sayin’. That’s another human being there, man.”

“So is Theresa. But you didn’t care when you smacked her around.”

“This ain’t about her. It’s about him.”

“What’s the difference, man?” Rudy reached his brother’s side, looking at him impassively. His Dickies and oversized white tee hung fashionably from his frame, his head freshly shaven and his mustache and goatee impeccably taken care of. Eustacio could smell his cologne–something spicy and unlike him. Remembered that Rudy saw a girl occasionally when he wasn’t busy running the Pitts.

“Just...it’s just wrong.”

“Yeah, but what’s the difference between him and your bitch?”

“Man, c’mon. You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t, brother. C’mon. Let me know. What’s the difference?”

Eustacio scowled at him, and tossed some scraps at a black pit. Satisfied with his reluctance to answer, Rudy scanned the dogs. “You know what I do, right? I mean...kinda, it helps.”

“No. I don’t want to know. Don’t want the police sniffing around me, man. Don’t fuckin’ tell me shit.”

“Danny-Boy takes care of those fools, man. Rips them apart. I was kinda wondering about starving him and penning him, then tossing him a human. That way, the bodies disappear better.”

Eustacio gave him a look of disgust, and tossed more scraps into another cage. “Man, shut up! I don’t want to hear that!”

“He’s only killed five guys–people think they’re just regular animal maulings, an’ stopped lookin’ at us. He’s cool. He can track him down easy once he has their scent. Sometimes, during a fight, we snatch these fuckers’ clothing off them. Fuckin’ jacket, shoes, shirt–whatever. Anything so that Danny can get his scent. He tracked down hella suckers like that.”

Eustacio blocked him out as he fed another animal. Ignoring Rudy, he grabbed the worn, wooden baseball bat from the floor and knocked a white pit around. The snarling was vicious, gums displayed as the abused animal waited for another attack. Eustacio busied himself with knocking the dog’s skull, sharp teeth embedding into the wood once the dog recovered to attack.

Rudy watched this for awhile, then shifted. He studied his younger brother, looking at the tattoo that told those who knew better that he’d taken one life–a shoot-out, a couple of years ago that had been Eustacio’s initiation into the gang. Rudy had been proud of him then–the murder had never been solved.

“I still think your bitch was involved with your beat down,” he said slowly. “I heard she got friends in high places. That she’s tight with them Evans brothers...Chachi told me that she talks to Ivan.”

Eustacio threw him a sneer. “She don’t talk with that chump! Fuck that fucking bastard! She don’t got no fuckin’ business with him.”

“It’s just what I heard. He ain’t sure, though. But I have a guy watching him–I dunno. If it was him, I won’t hesitate to move in on him. You’re a bitch, but you’re still family. Gotta look out for you, cuz your fuckin’ daddy don’t–”

“Fuck off about my fuckin’ dad, man!”

“When we find shit out, we’re gonna move in. Take care of business. I don’t care who those fuckers are, they ain’t shit. They’ve been doin’ nothin’ for so long, doubt they know how to do shit. Fuck, bro for a bro, I’ll go after his if I have to. Heard he’s got a wife–we can get to her if needs be.”

He didn’t know why–but Eustacio thought back to that night; faintly recalled seeing Francis kissing a blond guy. A guy. Since he hadn’t been too coherent, he hadn’t really been sure–either it had been, or a really masculine girl. But he didn’t say anything, merely tightening his lips as he glared at Rudy.

“Leave it alone,” he muttered. “Was nothin’."

Rudy sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. He then tightened his lips, whistling tightly between his teeth. Danny immediately abandoned that slab of meat and dashed over, rising to his hind legs to stand over them. Eustacio hated looking at the creature–he considered Danny extremely ugly, a little frightening. Those teeth of his were extremely sharp, and he’d seen what he could do with them. He was really a scary creature–the things nightmares were made of concerning werewolves. But the thing that made him human were his occasional words and phrases, his sometimes human characteristics. Eustacio had seen the creature hunched over on occasion, playing and examining his claws, picking at his teeth, grooming his fur with flustered movements.

There were other instances that convinced Eustacio of Danny’s humanity, but there were more canine actions that left him confused.

“Danny...go find Chigger. Bring him this way,” Rudy ordered him, Danny lowering to all fours and taking off. Exhaling heavily, Rudy looked back at Eustacio. “Wanna earn more money?”

“...What kind?”

“I want you to talk to Ivan.”

Eustacio immediately balked. “What the fuck–? What the fuck for? I don’t want to talk to some fuckin’ nigger! I don’t want to talk to him!”

“Why?” Rudy asked calmly. “I just want you to talk to him. Feel him out. I wanna see how you two interact with each other.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to him!”

“Why?”

“Cuz I don’t like the fuckin’ bastard!”

“Why? You don’t even know him.”

“So? I don’t like him!”

“I just want you to buy somethin’ from him. From that record store. I’ll give you money,” Rudy offered. “I mean, if he didn’t do it, shouldn’t be any problem, right? He don’t know you, or anything. Right?”

“Man...I don’t want to do it.”

“Why not?”

“I just fuckin’ told you! I don’t want to do it! I don’t fuckin’ like him!” Eustacio then limped away, sullenly muttering to himself. But Rudy’s lips curled into a smirk, broad shoulders shrugging as he turned away to leave the room.

Later on that afternoon, he made sure Anthony Edwards wasn’t wearing any of their color schemes, frowning at the new tattoo that he’d recently gained around his neck.

“Just go up to him,” he advised, even as the teen’s body trembled with tension. “Buy the fuckin’ CD, kinda feel around for attitude. Mention Eustacio. Say something shitty about Theresa. Is that clear?”

“Man...I don’t even want to do this,” Anthony complained. He glanced around nervously. “He might know what I’m doin’!”

“I’ll be watching from right over there.” Rudy pointed at a used record section, and gestured at his hat and sunglasses. He wasn’t that recognizable, hiding his usually pronounced features with the low bill, the bandanna that hid his shaven head, and the over large shirt and jeans. “Talk loud enough, too, for me to listen.”

Anthony wiped the sweat from his forehead, nodding with a jerky motion. Finally, after exhaling nervously, he ambled away from the gang member and headed inside. Rudy followed a little while after, giving the shop a slow examination. He avoided this place for one reason and one reason only–he had to force himself to steady his expression as he found Ivan Evans talking to someone Rudy didn’t recognize, the pair of them engaged in heavy conversation while Ivan stocked some CD’s into their appropriate places along the wall shelf.

Anthony took his time–by the time Ivan ended his conversation with the dude, who left the shop, Rudy was impatiently examining the Oldies section and cursing the younger male’s slacking attitude in that aspect.

He heard Anthony greet Ivan cheerily–his voice cracked near the end. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ivan cast Anthony an annoyed glance and ignore him. Anthony stood nervously nearby, shuffling from foot to foot, then started conversation. He laughed at first, forced and too loud, but eventually he started talking about how Eustacio treated Theresa–adding that he’d been knocking her around because she wouldn’t ask around for pain medication.

Rudy was delighted to see the way Ivan stiffened at that. Anthony, as well, continuing on with more exaggerations until Ivan turned to him and started asking more questions about it.

Feeling quite successful, he caught Anthony’s attention, signaling at him to cut it short. Anthony did so with noticeable abruptness, leaving before he even finished his answer. Ivan tried calling him back, but Anthony was already out the door when Rudy left the shop.

“That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” Rudy asked him, noting that the collar of Anthony’s shirt was soaked with moisture.

“He’s going to kill me!” Anthony wailed. “He’s gonna know that I fuckin’ lied, and he’s gonna send someone after me!”

“No, he won’t,” Rudy muttered in disgust. “Stop being a puss. I heard you tellin’ him that was what you heard. You don’t know shit.”

“Yeah, but–! He’s so fuckin’ scary! So fuckin’ scary! He can do anything! He can tell fuckin’ people to knock me off, and he’s gonna do it!”

Rudy sighed, shaking his head as Anthony continued to complain and exaggerate his fears. Walking down the sidewalk, he licked his lips thoughtfully, gesturing for the younger male to hand over his cellphone.

“Hey, Mark,” he greeted a mutual friend of Gabe’s. “You still talk to Shiv?”

“Yeah...but not as much, man. Why? What’s up?”

“See what you can get from him about Ivan’s homies. That Stone character, that Dominic guy, and the other one–I think there’s, like, six guys he’s always hanging out with.”

“...er...sure...but, why?”

“I’m just curious. Checking up on Evans, makin’ sure he ain’t doin’ anything. You know? Check the angles.”

“Stone’s married to some guy. I only found this out cuz the bitch he was messin’ around with is my little brother’s girl, now.”

“Some fuckin’ guy?!” Rudy exclaimed, pausing. His face was pulled into an expression of disgust. “When did he turn fag?”

“Dunno. But she was pissed. Says they been married for a long time. He’s just now tellin’ people. Kinda. She found out from a friend of hers. A lot of bitches are starting to hear that, now.”

Rudy cursed low in wonder. He shook his head, Anthony pulling eagerly at his sleeve. He covered the phone, giving him a questioning look.

“I know what he looks like,” Anthony supplies. “Works in that computer shop down on Stryder, in that mall.”

“That’s fuckin’...I dunno. Never expected that,” Rudy muttered, both to him and to Mark. “Well, find out if Ivan’s got a bitch. A serious one. I know he don’t play around too long with bitches. I wanna get all the angles covered so I can make sure these are the guys that fucked my little brother up.”

“Is that all you want me to do, man? Find out about them?”

“Yeah...yeah. Can you do that? You can do that?”

“Yeah, man. No problem. I’m not that tight with them, me an’ Shiv just hang out sometimes.”

“Cool. That’s cool. I’ll give you compensation when I find the info satisfactory. Don’t mention it to Shiv, man. I don’t want you and your family involved if shit goes down.”

“...Yeah. Thanks. Call ya later.”

After Rudy hung up, he made a disgusted expression once more. “He’s really fuckin’ married to some guy? They can do that here?”

“Yeah.” Anthony shrugged. “Dunno. Ain’t like I pay attention to it. But...yeah. He’s married. Wanna check him out?”

Rudy gave him a disgusted look, but then shrugged. “Fuck it. Might as well.”

Anthony told him what Richie looked like, then waited outside the shop as Rudy himself went to check the info himself. The younger male was certain that the blond would recognize him, and didn’t want to risk that chance. The shop was small, but surprisingly popular as Rudy walked in, seeing various people with their broken PCs or laptops and other electronics in the small waiting area. There were numbers being taken as Rudy watched, frowning as he glanced from one employee to another. He finally spotted Richie laughing with a customer as he detailed what they had fixed, Rudy making a face once more.

He shook his head and walked back out, giving an uncontrolled cringe as he made his way back to Anthony.

“I can’t believe Stone’s a fuckin’ fag,” he muttered, both of them walking out from the mall. “Didn’t seem like a fuckin’ queer.”

“He’s not obvious,” Anthony mumbled. “But that guy kinda is. They don’t really hang all over each other. It took me awhile before I realized it. But F-Stop’s really protective over him. I heard he beat down some guy–that fuckin’ Tyson guy before he died cuz he was hittin’ on him.”

“ He was a fuckin’ fag in the first place.” Rudy frowned, blinking as they left the mall. “But Stone’s possessive, huh?”

“Yeah. Followed him everywhere. Made sure no guys were talkin’ to him.”

“...That’s useful. Real useful. ‘Case he don’t wanna cooperate, we got us a lure.”

Anthony cast him an uncertain look. “We don’t even know if they were the ones that beat down your brother, man. We don’t wanna cause any shit just yet, right?”

“That’s right. We’re going to wait until we get the real truth. But I’m thinkin’ Ivan’s involved. And from what I hear, Stone ain’t that far behind. I’ve no doubt about it. Just...instinct. Y’know?”

“...Hasn’t failed you yet, huh?”

“Nope.”

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.S S.SS.SS.

His tongue lapped hungrily around the quivering ass hole, rimming the puckered muscle with the tip, tasting the earthly flavors of his husband’s body. He loved the way Richie shifted to gain more sensation, the way his already staccato breathing shortened upon the penetration of his anus. Face buried between hardened cheeks, Francis gripped tightly onto his hips, pulling him closer to push his tongue deeper into that tightened hole, working more spit into the area as he enjoyed the full flavor and reaction from his partner.

“God, that’s so fucking good,” Richie moaned, pushing harder against Francis’ face, his fingers curling into the sheets as the muscle was licked over once more. “More...I want more...”

Francis removed his face from his ass, kissing his way up his spine, his hands gliding over heated skin, nibbling softly at the occasional bump. He could feel the way Richie’s body quivered under his hands, the way he shifted restlessly as he protested the loss of his mouth. “You’re always wanting more...how was your day?”

“...what? Jesus, your tongue was in my ass an’ you’re asking about my fucking day?!”

Francis laughed softly, his hands curling around his hips to tug playfully on his hardened dick, making him moan in protest. “You’re so fucking impatient. Just enjoy stuff.”

Richie growled into the mattress when Francis began kissing his shoulders, nibbling lightly at his shoulder blades and licking lightly at the crease dipping into his armpits. With an annoyed frown, he used an elbow to push him away from the more ticklish areas. Francis chuckled against his skin, his fingers traveling up his stomach, flattening over his nipples. He played briefly with them, tweaking them lightly as Richie shifted underneath him, thrusting himself up onto his hands and knees and thereby forcing him up.

“If you don’t fuck me soon, or let me fuck you, I’m going to go watch cartoons,” he threatened, turning onto his backside and masturbating him roughly. He grew impatient as he curled both hands around his husband’s dick, ignoring the way Francis protesting the latter part of his threat.

“Shit, we hardly ever do anything, an’ all you’re thinkin’ about is cartoons?”

“I don’t want you to play around! I don’t want romantic, slow sex! I just want it now,” Richie then whined, pulling one hand up to slather saliva into his palm, and returning to his ministrations. “Besides, if we don’t hurry, there’s going to be someone at the damn door, wanting to know when you’re done.”

Francis rolled his eyes in annoyance, reaching over for the lube on the nightstand. “Want some of this?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t want to rough ride anything. I want to be on top, this time.”

“You’re not fucking me. I don’t want to be fucked.”

“You never let me do that, anymore! God, do I do it wrong, or something?”

Sensing that the mood was quickly being lost, Francis pulled out of his reach, irritation quickly growing on him. “I just don’t like bein’ bottom, is all. Christ.”

“...Look, if you don’t want to do this–!”

“Fuck! Baby, I just don’t want you fucking me. You can be on top.”

Richie frowned, catching the lube that was tossed to him, pouting stubbornly as he contemplated suffering blueballs and Francis’ temper if he’d just stopped everything right now. Sensing this, Francis sighed heavily, feeling his erection start to deflate a little. He shifted off the bed and grabbed his clothes.

“Get dressed. I’m not in the mood, anymore.”

With irritation, Richie tossed the lube aside and angrily grabbed his wrist. “Why are you throwing a fit? I’m just saying, you never let me do that, anymore! Sometimes I get tired of being bottom!”

“If you’re not into it, I’m not into it.”

“Don’t be mad–! Francis, don’t you fucking leave!”

“Go watch your fucking cartoons, Rich. I’m not in the mood.”

Richie let go of his wrist, huffing as he turned away from him. He heard him pull his clothing on, and frowned down at the remaining hardness left over from his arousal. He shook his head in disappointment and resolved to beat off before dressing, feeling Francis looking at him accusingly.

He ignored the look as he searched for the lube, wondering where their stash of toys were.

“What’cha gonna do? Flog when I’m gone?” Francis asked nastily, pulling on his shirt. “Betcha just did that shit just to fuckin’ play with yourself.”

“Fuck off, asshole. Go play with your stupid friends.”

“...Why you have to be like that, Rich? Fuckin’ start shit when we start makin’ it. I swear, you do that deliberately just so I wouldn’t have to fuck you.”

“You weren’t complaining the last time.”

“Fuck you. You started that shit cuz of those stupid blinds.”

“Gowan, Francis. Go play with your dumb friends. They’re waiting for you.”

Francis watched with disgust as Richie left the bed, heading into the bathroom with the lube. As soon as the door closed behind him, he rolled his eyes in annoyance, exhaling heavily. He walked into the bathroom to grab his arm and pull him back out.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat, sometimes,” he muttered, undoing his pants, Richie frowning at him as he sat on the bed. “You’re still bottom. I’ll do it quick. Don’t know why you’re in such a fuckin’ hurry all the time.”

“If you don’t like it–” Richie cut himself off, realizing what he was going to say. Somehow, saying “I’ll find someone else that will” didn’t seem too smart. He quickly added, “Then don’t start things you don’t want to finish.”

Francis rolled his eyes again, shoving his pants and underwear down to his ankles, coaxing his arousal with a few tugs of his hand. Once he was fully hard again, he reached for the lube, Richie pulling himself toward the middle of the bed.

“Well, I finished my finals last Thursday, and grades come in next Monday,” he muttered in response to Francis’ question from earlier. “Monday, I start working at nine. Nine to six. I’ll have six classes this Fall, starting the twentieth. That was my day. How was yours?”

“Fuckin’ boring...I guess. I start classes, too.”

“You do? What kind?”

“...Just...art. Stuff. And I got...fuckin’....AM every Wednesdays, from six to seven.”

Richie gave him a surprised look, pulling one of their pillows from above his head to shift underneath his hips. “I didn’t know you signed up for classes.”

“Just...fuckin’ stuff to keep me busy,” Francis muttered, crawling over him. He inserted two of his fingers into his husband, making him flinch. Above the slick sounds of his fingers intruding Richie’s ass, he continued with, “Sorry. Guess there’s a new guy teaching AM, anyway. John said he was good.”

“I...I didn’t know...when did you decide all this?”

“I told you I was going to change, man.”

Richie contemplated this while Francis loosened him, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to picture his husband taking classes at the University. “Wait, at Dakota U? Or the community college?”

“Tryin’ stuff out at the community college. It’s closer to work,” Francis muttered, pulling his fingers out, wiping them on the towel that hung from the bed for this exact use. He kicked off his underwear and pants, then held his dick steady, pushing into his husband’s body and relishing the familiar heated feel of his ass. He pushed himself into the hilt, pausing to allow Richie to adjust to it. Since they hadn’t been having sex so much, things weren’t as loose and easy as they had been before. Periods of abstinence had left his husband feeling just as tight as he had been when they first started having sex.

That felt like eons ago as he thought about it.

Richie shifted his hips, to pull his knees up and tilt his pelvis. He started to move as Francis positioned himself firmly over him. For a few moments, the two moved against each other in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Everything felt mechanical and somewhat stilted as the mattress thumped lightly against the wall.

Finally, Richie adjusted himself firmly, stopping Francis in mid-thrust with his legs curling over his waist and drawing him down. Staring up at his face, he said quietly, “You really are serious, aren’t you? About changing things.”

Francis returned the look, nodding. “Yeah. I told you. I’m workin’ on things. They still ain’t perfect, but–we aren’t fighting as much. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”

“I’ve noticed...” Richie trailed off, keeping him still with his legs still holding him down. “It’s just... weird, I guess. You always made those promises before, and you never kept them. What’s making you change your mind, now?”

“Things got...scary, I guess. You were pulling away from me. So was I. I was makin’ all these stupid mistakes. I can’t go losing things that we worked on, baby.”

Francis shifted, rolling neatly onto his back and pulling Richie atop of him. As soon as the blond was adjusted over him, leaning back with his hands on Francis’ knees, he started to pump upward, holding tightly onto his hips. He concentrated on the position his husband was in, the way his dick bobbed with their movements, the way his hips flexed.

He’d never noticed before, but there were moments when he truly appreciated the lengths Richie went to keep in shape. He had to wonder why he’d found interest in women’s bodies when this one was just as fascinating in its familiarity.

“We got...years,” he added between heavy breaths.

Richie nodded absently, concentrating on riding him for a few moments. Flickers of pleasure were starting to build, but everything was mechanical. He really wasn’t into it. Francis’ confession into needing to change and actually going through with the promise bothered him–just a little. He had a dark hope in that Francis wouldn’t actually follow through. That he’d fail.

He straightened, curling his legs around his thighs and stopping his thrusting once more. Leaning over to rest his forearms over his husband’s broad chest, he asked, “What are you planning, Francis?”

Francis had to catch his breath, frowning at the question. “What? I told you, I was going to fix things. I told you, we have history, man. Why throw away all that work?”

“I don’t know...just...it seems unusual. Out of the blue. Especially for you.” Richie quickly silenced his protest with a hand over his mouth. “But I...I guess I appreciate it. Not that I’m ungrateful, or anything. Just...I’m just actually surprised, babe. I honestly didn’t think you would go through with it. I was expecting you to fail.”

Francis frowned underneath his palm–felt his dick throb within his husband’s body. He swallowed, furrowing his eyebrows as he gazed upward at his husband’s face. “Is that what you wanted?”

“...No,” Richie said carefully, sensing that’d he’d better answer in that manner. “Just...I grew so used to you failing to keep up your end that I expected this to be no different. It’s nothing against you–it’s just what I was used to.”

“...I guess.” Francis sighed quietly. “I guess I failed a lot, huh? To make you feel that way?”

A sudden shift in compassion and appreciation made Richie consider his answer. His lips curled into a smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss against lips that were as familiar as his own. He had to ignore that while in this position, Francis’ hardened dick was painfully thick in his channel. He’d appreciated his eight inch dick before, but had taken it for granted the more time had passed. It took having another man fuck him for him to notice this. He took a moment to treasure that while it was quite capable of giving him pleasure, it was quite painful when nothing was happening. Joe’s dick hadn’t even come close to this filling contradiction. He gave his husband’s dick a comforting squeeze of his ass, watching his face flush with pleasure.

“Well, in that consideration, I’m proud of you, Francis. I don’t know what to say.”

“...Just say you’ll stick with me. That’s all I want.”

“I’ll stick with you, babe. You’re so adorable, sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“You want me to say all the time?”

“No,” Francis then said quickly, grinning as he reached up to cup his face. “Let’s not make this feel like a job, man. Let’s at least get into it enough to make some noise.”

“...Sorry. I was still mad at you.” Richie kissed him again, then straightened, to start riding him with more enthusiasm.

The door was given several loud thumps, and he stopped in mid-action, sighing impatiently as he gave Francis an I-Told-You-So look.

“You guys done yet?” Dominic nearly whined against the barrier. “We wanna get goin’ sometime tonight.”

Francis pulled Richie off of him, manipulating him onto his stomach, pulling his ass up into the air.

The blond took that moment to rub his ass against him, Francis frowning at the door as he slid his dick between his cheeks, rubbing against him with smooth movements before entering him again, harshly, hearing him groan into the mattress.

“Fuck off!” he growled, holding Richie’s hips tightly, slamming into him with rapid movements, his husband approving of this as he moaned into the sheets, shifting to take him in deeper. Francis growled again as Richie tightened his hole, squeezing his dick tightly as he spread his thighs, taking over the movement. Francis simply held onto his hips, watching his pale ass slap against his front, his dick sliding smoothly within his lubed hole. He tightened his fingers into his hips, holding him still as he leaned forward, to kiss his ears and start pumping once more, then hauling Richie’s ass against him to meet every thrust.

He felt Richie tighten around him, cursing hotly as his hands pushed out against the window sill, fingertips curling over the wooden surface and aiding him as he met every thrust. Francis growled low, lowering his head to sink his teeth lightly into Richie’s shoulder, feeling the blond jolt hurriedly against him with a gasp.

“I’m close! Fuck me harder!”

Francis complied with the breathless order, spreading his thighs out and snapping his hips forward in a hasty fashion, angling himself in just the way he knew Richie liked. He had the pleasure to feel his husband’s ass tighten painfully around him. Richie gave a loud, pleasing cry, bucking eagerly as Francis quickly reached around him, to tug at his hardened dick with a firm grip and a fast pace. Once he felt liquid warmth spurt into his moving hand, Francis bit the straining tendons of his neck, hearing Richie curse and cry out as he bucked once more against him, his ass squeezing him as he moved against him determinedly.

Francis felt his cock swell, his balls lift into his body, and he quickly pulled out of him, an audible pop following the movement. He jerked himself off, his load shooting out over his husband’s back. Very pleased with how things turned out, he sighed happily.

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


Ivan regarded the cans of paint around him with some uncertainty. Then he looked up to see Francis complaining over the customer’s request to the manager, bitching about his already set primer while the manager shrugged and shook his head.

Ivan wasn’t that interested in Francis’ job. Frankly, painting designs and changing a vehicle’s entire color scheme didn’t seem so hard. But he was occupied in how to make things interesting. Leaving the supply that Francis had set out to work with, he wandered through the garage and headed into the main supply room. There, every available color known to the redhead caught Ivan’s eye. They were all arranged in the color spectrum, displayed by a wide strip of color on each can. It took him nearly twenty minutes to find the colors that he was looking for, and with a patience that a nun would envy, carried them back out to the shop where Francis worked. He was still missing from the area, and Ivan hummed a beat by Pharrell as he exchanged a few colors with the ones that he’d taken from the supply room.

Nodding in satisfaction to his work, he took the other colors back into the supply room and set them in the very back of the shelf behind other colors.

Later that day, the other workers were startled by the ferocious ranting and raving Francis bellowed as he left the shop, ripping off his protective hood and goggles. Ivan looked up from the system he’d just installed, catching random words here and there that told him his plan had worked out quite well. Glancing at the clock visible above the garage entrance door, he realized that his work hours were up.

He finished clearing out his mess from the completed vehicle, put things away, and patiently approached Francis as he angrily regarded his work from a well ventilated area outside the shop’s doorway.

“Man, look at that shit!” he snarled. “I thought I had the colors all fuckin’ right! What the fuck? I must’ve fuckin’ switched some shit! It don’t even look good!”

Ivan regarded the sight lazily. He shrugged as Francis ripped off his gloves and hurled them against one of the tables. “People make mistakes.”

“Man, fuck that! Why does it haveta be me that’s gotta be makin’ those fuckin’ mistakes?! Fuck! Fuck, it’s almost six...man, I gotta get this shit done by tomorrow. I ain’t gonna be home in time. Can you tell Rich I’ll be late? I probably won’t be able to make it home in time for the last movie....fuck. I had this night planned out for both of us.”

Ivan gave him a sullen expression, hiding his satisfaction behind that look. “A date? Fuck...whatta ya thinkin’?”

“I’m tryin’ to be, like, romantic an’ shit. It ain’t workin’. Fuck. FUCK! I was so fuckin’ sure I had those colors right! Where the fuck did I mess up?”

“Just call him. I don’t feel like goin’ over there. Got some plans of my own.”

“C’mon, man. Just once. He’s at work, still, and I saw he left his phone at home. He probably won’t even look at it in time, then he’d be pissed when I didn’t call him to let him know. C’mon, Ivan. Please? Man, I won’t ask you again.”

“Ch,” Ivan snorted, looking away. It was hard to hide his smug satisfaction in that things were working for him quite brilliantly. The blond was going to get his, for pulling what he had the other night. Ivan had planned and waited for the right time, and it had come down to this.

It would be nearly two weeks since Richie had given him head, and Ivan hadn’t seen him since that night Virgil had shown off Oscar. It had been hard to control himself all that time–but he had to wait and plan carefully. He wasn’t going to let the blond win. He couldn’t. His credibility, and his own honor and pride demanded it.

Francis was just a pawn–sad, but true.

He almost felt sorry for him.

“Fine. Whatever. Just don’t fuckin’ ask me to do that shit again,” Ivan muttered, reluctantly giving in.

Francis shot him a grateful look, almost childish in appearance. Ivan almost felt bad for what he was going to do.

Almost.

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

He shut the door behind him, licking his lips. He then paused, examining the door closely, recognizing that it was brand-new and made out of a sturdy material, Home Depot’s insignia imprinted near the top. He shrugged, turning to head into the bathroom, so used to seeing the new doors that even after one was broken, he never really paid attention to when they were replaced.

Richie hurriedly pulled off his shirt and glasses, tossing both onto the bed as he hurried into the bathroom. Nearly ten minutes later, he was drying his hair, hearing the bedroom door shut softly. Figuring upon Francis returning from work, he pulled a towel around his waist and quickly brushed his teeth, wiping the new mirror to see his reflection. He scowled at himself, finger combing his hair, realizing that he needed a hair cut. Tired of this hairstyle, he figured on getting a whole different cut.

Finished with his teeth, he pulled at his earlobes, remembering that he’d left his earrings off so that he could clean the jewels later. The diamond studs were set carefully within the box they’d come in in the medicine cabinet.

He opened the door, pausing to rub on some lotion in his dryer areas, and hurried out from the bathroom, looking up for Francis to ask his advice on clothing pieces.
He stilled, eyes widening slightly when he realized that he wasn’t looking at Francis.

“W-what are you doing in here?” he demanded angrily, clutching the towel around his waist tightly as he felt his skin redden in embarrassment.

Ivan didn’t say anything; his expression was clearly indifferent, blinking heavy eyelids lazily. Richie felt unease ripple up his spine, and he swallowed, trying to ignore the fear and uncertainty that made every one of his limbs weak.

He then straightened his shoulders, clearing his throat as he faced him with a frown. “Francis is coming back home,” he said evenly. “I don’t want you giving him the wrong impression when he comes back. Or...is that your plan? Kinda pathetic, don’t you think?”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Really...that plan is so juvenile.”

“He said to tell you he had to work overtime, tonight,” Ivan replied cooly. “Left a message on your phone.”

Richie glanced over at his cell, reaching over to check if this was true. Something inside of him faltered as he registered the three messages that demanded his attention. Flicking his eyes back towards Ivan, he listened to the two messages from Francis, letting him know that he was going to be held up with an ‘emergency’ job and wouldn’t be home until later. The last message was a hang-up, but it didn’t matter.

He set his phone aside, swallowing again as he looked back over at Ivan, feeling tension straighten his spine.

“Well...thank you for letting me know,” he said, quelling the slight tremor that ran through his voice at that moment. “Now...go away. I don’t like it when weird men watch me get dressed.”

Ivan snorted, shooting him a dubious smirk. “With all your experience, it’s surprising that you feel that way.”

“Only on special occasions, Ivan,” Richie answered sweetly. “You’re as weird as it gets.”

“There you go, Foley. Act your age.”

Richie rolled his eyes, letting out an impatient sigh. “Will you please leave? While I love knowing that others want my goodies, the thought of having your eyes on me makes me really ill.”

“I would want nothing more than to see if your balls have dropped yet, boy. But that would be disgusting.”

“Ooh, such pillow talk from you, Ivan. You being interested in my balls makes me wonder what else you’re thinking about. Perhaps...my mouth?” Richie touched his lips, drawing the pads of his fingers over the curling smile that lifted the corners, watching as Ivan scowled at him. “Remembering what I accomplished the other night? You took a long time in coming back here, Ivan. Ashamed of what your body did to you? Or just that you wanted more?”

Ivan drew in a deep breath–but released it in a controlled manner. Richie’s words bit at him, but he wasn’t going to lose control, again. No, this situation was in his hands. He turned to fully face him, and licked his lips with contemplation. Richie continued to smirk, but his hand fell from his mouth and settled around his left hip.

Ivan cleared his throat, preparing himself for what came next. He locked the door without looking, and watched Richie stiffen, his face losing that smirk and his shoulders tense.

“Francis is coming home in a little bit, Ivan,” he said lowly, but Ivan had to smile, almost fondly, at the hesitation that was evident in his tone. “Whatever you try to stage, he’s not going to believe you.”

“I’m not staging anything.”

And then Richie knew what he was talking about, about Ivan’s intentions. He gave an uncontrolled shiver, feeling it throughout his shoulders and stomach. His mouth felt dry, and his throat tightened with unease.

But, staring at Ivan for those moments, something came to him. His own words came back to him. He’d mocked him, vowed that Ivan would think only of him. There was another battle in this–he could fight and scream ‘rape’, but it wouldn’t be the right move. Ivan would win–Ivan would win that one. Richie didn’t want that–he’d been in control the last move, and had the pleasure of seeing Ivan fall.

This was a battle of wills, of seeing who had the power and control. It had been since Richie had made the first move in the kitchen, in what felt like months ago.

“Fine,” he muttered, forcing himself to meet that dark gaze of his. If Ivan was trying to take this move by initiating something more, then he was going to meet it. Match it, and overpower him. He straightened his shoulders. Taking the chance, he shifted away from the dresser, hands on his towel. “Well, bring it on, huh? What is it you tend to do, Ivan? What evil, manipulative thing do you have in mind? Tape me saying something incriminating? Get dirty pictures of me? Return the favor I gave you? I’m really curious, Mr. Evans...you don’t mind me calling you that, huh? You are in your thirties, right?”

“Not that it’s any of your business. An’ if you think you can draw me down with your little words, it ain’t workin’. It only makes you more pathetic. Shows your age.”

Richie frowned, looking away to judge his own next move. He walked over to the bed, and sat on the edge. He had to force himself to relax, his heart racing wildly with excitement and traces of fear–he didn’t know what Ivan had planned, but he wanted to be prepared. And, because he’d already captured Ivan’s attention, he made sure to slump back, legs spreading outward just slightly so that his towel draped over his parts and his thighs were fully exposed. He gave Ivan a full-on come hither gaze, and had the pleasure of seeing the black man shift awkwardly, face screwing up with a mixture of disgust and chagrined anger.

“What is it, Ivan?” he about cooed, leaning back on his elbows. “You have Francis looking in through one of the windows? Attempt to have me seduce you while he watches? That’s original.”

Ivan said nothing, merely grunting in response. He had to force himself not to look away from the blond that placed himself in a provocative position. That towel merely melded to his hips and parts, the lump quite visible.

He shifted, carelessly smoothing his shirt over his chest with slow, deliberate motions. “You think you have it all that easy, huh? Thinking, all you have to do is show this and deliver that. Stoking your own ego when you have all these fools falling all over themselves for you–”

“You being one of them...”

Ivan licked his lips. “Admittedly...but only because games interest me. Yer nothin’ but a game, boy. And I love playing games. I love to see when suckas fail. Just like you.”

Richie smirked. At least Ivan knew what it was. Knew what they were doing. But his guard was still up–with Ivan acknowledging this fact, Richie had to wait for his move to see where they were going. But he could move things along–with a careless air, his fingers slithered through the slit of his towel to scratch lightly at his upper thigh. And Ivan watched the move, expressionless.

“I won’t fail,” Richie murmured. “There’s nothing you can do to bring me down. You succeeded in making Francis angry, but anybody can make Francis angry.”

Ivan moved away from the door, and Richie did all he could not to tense, or move. He forced himself to breathe steady as he kept his eyes on Ivan’s, his mind racing. Ivan could do many things; he could be hiding a weapon within those extremely baggy clothes of his, or could be setting him up for a trap. And he really didn’t know what the man had planned for him, his throat tight as he attempted to swallow yet again, his stomach quivering with his growing agitation.

He licked his lips again, struggling to maintain his expression of smugness, but feeling his face falter in that aspect as Ivan came to a stop between his legs, both of them separated by a small space. He could feel the heat emanating from the older man, his two-hundred dollar jeans brushing against his bare skin.

He had to wait–to see what move Ivan would make. Or he could force him into making one himself. And if that happened...what would happen after that? What would be the next move? Could he go through with it, if it somehow came down to sex? Could he have sex with this man?

For a few moments, nothing was said. But Richie grew uncomfortable under that intense gaze, his flesh prickling with goosebumps and his muscles feeling weak. Ivan did nothing but stand there, his eyes on his. Richie would prefer them off of him, looking away from him, but he chose to remain where he was.

It was too quiet. He forced himself to speak. “Well? What is it? Are you just going to look?”

Ivan’s face made a look of disgust, frowning down at him. He shifted, hands sliding into his pockets, Richie giving a smirk as he lifted an ankle, deliberately rubbing it against his outer left leg. That expression shifted to that of immense dissatisfaction.

“What’s wrong? The big, bad, older Evans can’t decide on what move he’s going to make?” Richie kept his eyes on him, stretching his torso out a little, the towel shifting to expose more of him. He felt embarrassed at going through such lengths, but anything helped when bringing Ivan down.

The tension was thick, and it was hard to breathe–he wasn’t attracted to this man. He didn’t think him attractive, nor did he really like him to the extent others had. He got along with him only for Francis.

At that thought, he wondered how Francis could not know that Ivan was plotting against Richie.

Ivan shifted, making him jump. Then he tensed, watching with held breath as Ivan lifted a hand from his pocket and reached down. Long, dark fingers hooked the corner of the towel and pulled. Richie stilled, feeling everything tighten inside as he allowed Ivan to open the material. He didn’t want to watch the actual action–he shifted his eyes up to Ivan’s face and struggled to maintain his position. If he tried to hide himself, cover himself, he was convinced Ivan would win.

His throat had a lump in it when he swallowed, and thought of how uncomfortable Ivan was whenever he made the moves. So when the towel fell open, he instead went for the confident and cool look, determined not to have him tear him down on the aspect of his size or appearance.

Ivan studied the package with wordless assent, leaning back to shift his hands back into his pockets. The blond was indeed natural, his pubes groomed shortly around the base, his balls smooth and hairless. He was of average size, neither small nor large, cut–an almost pretty pink color. His palm remembered the feel of its arousal, the heat and the stiffness smooth in his palm. His fingers itched to curl around it, again–he could recall Francis’ delight with it, as well. His eyes then drifted away from what he’d studied, to look into that smirking face. Insults wouldn’t do–the blond would just eat them up and shoot them right back. It wouldn’t be the right move.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” he then asked, his tone suggesting his boredom. “What’s this supposed to do?”

“You don’t know what a dick’s supposed to do?” Richie asked innocently, tilting his head.

Ivan scowled. “This.”

He gestured at his body–he wouldn’t deny his interest. He hadn’t really paid attention to the blond in this manner, but now that he was exposed before him, he took in the long, muscular legs that shifted to bend, heels at the edge of the bed. There was that light line of muscle that formed a ‘V’ toward his groin, light veins visible here and there, everything tight and appeasing in that he took care of himself.

Ivan ran his eyes over the flat, toned stomach, taking in the fine blond hair that drifted away from a tight, small navel. Ribs were visible slightly, skin stretched tightly, but the muscles were toned there as well. His pectorals were defined, hairless, his flat nipples a lighter shade of pink. All soft colors, nothing harsh–nothing stood out. He was lean, his arms defined and slim, tendons visible whenever he shifted. All of it was surprising in that he wasn’t soft like Ivan had thought–despite the gym trips, he’d figured on a sort of effeminate softness commonplace with computer nerds.

“I haven’t had any complaints, Ivan,” Richie murmured in answer, feeling uneasy with the perusal. It had felt like every nook and cranny had been taken notice of. Others hadn’t paid this much attention to him since the very first time with Francis. Even Joe hadn’t bothered to notice what Ivan had.

“I’m not complaining. I’m just saying. You look like every other American cracker. Ain’t nothin’ special about you.”

Richie shrugged. “You aren’t exactly gay, either. But you’re looking at me like everyone else would. If you’re done, I’d like to get dressed. I have somewhere to go.”

“...You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Richie stilled, frowning as he looked back up at him. “Why?”

“Because I need to get things straightened out, here. I guess I didn’t make myself clear the last time. For you to fuck around with me the way you did the other night, I kinda took it personally. Seems what I did didn’t really register much with you, huh?”

Unmoving, Richie stared up at him in silence, trying to figure out his move. He couldn’t sense anything sexual from Ivan, nor any real pursuit of what he had to offer. So he began to suspect other things–a set-up, a witness to walk in real conveniently, something–! Perhaps a camera set up inconspicuously somewhere, something that made him scan the room uneasily, already looking at the spots where someone could place something small and convenient.

He looked back when he realized that Ivan was moving, and watched with a combined mixture of horror and hesitation as he realized he was watching him undress, unmoving from his position between his legs. Instantly, his heart started to race, his stomach tightening with apprehension. There was no way–!

Ivan was slim–he’d lost weight since the Second Big Bang, but his shoulders were still broad, his arms lightly muscled. His torso was lean, ribs visible, pectorals flat, his stomach lightly toned. His skin was much darker than Virgil’s–the color of coffee. It contrasted greatly with his own coloring. He swallowed hard, wondering how much he could take of this power exchange, feeling his chest constrict as his own skin prickled with tension. The waistband of Ivan’s boxers were low, revealing his slim hips and that ‘V’ that was much more defined than his–he was smooth and hairless save for his armpits, and the more he undressed, the more Richie began to tremble with doubt and dread.

He didn’t want to do this–sure, he’d had his fantasies, but that was just that. He felt every part of him stiffen as Ivan kicked off his shoes and removed his jeans–revealing the firm roundness of a pert backside, the characteristic very common with many blacks. He had light stretch marks around that area, every scar white and visible against the darkness of his skin.

Apprehensively, Richie found himself staring at the part of Ivan that really made him tense.

That monster of his was darker than the rest of him–chocolately smooth, uncut and rounded thickly. His balls hung low, hairless, large, a lighter shade than the covered cock that dangled above it. His pubes were tight ringlets that weren’t very lush around the area, ascending lightly toward his navel.

He wasn’t aware that he was trembling visibly, his conscience and his doubt intensifying all his current feelings and mood. Ivan was really going to go through with this–or was he just trying to scare him? To make him back out?

At that, Richie stiffened his spine, forcing himself to swallow everything and just see how far this went. Perhaps, with the right coaxing and action, Ivan would back out–he wasn’t gay. He wasn’t attracted to him personally–it was all because of Francis. He was going off Francis’ feelings.

But, in that sense, Richie really felt the determined part of him deflate.

He felt himself start to tremble anew, all confidence lost. He moved to cover himself and admit defeat when Ivan intercepted that action by moving over him, thick lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“I’ll tell on you!” Richie threatened, feeling utterly childish at this admission, recoiling away from him.

Ivan merely chuckled, real amusement displayed on his face as his knees settled outside Richie’s thighs, and his fists curled at his head. “See what happens when you lead a man on? When you flaunt what you got? You either put up or put out, you fuckin’ slut.”

Richie stiffened, then frowned, fingers curling into fists as he lifted his upper torso up from the bed, inches away from his face. Here, he could see every detail of the man’s face–his curled eyelashes, the freckle nearly hidden near the corner of his left eye–the tiny scar near his temple. His skin smelled of his cologne and his own masculine scent, and Richie was truly repulsed by it, feeling nothing of attraction toward him.

But he didn’t want this man walking all over him–the way he was capable of. Ivan may have intimidated him in the past, but not now; not when he was fully capable of ruining things, of taking him down. Richie was determined to show him differently–that he wasn’t going to be afraid of him, anymore. He wasn’t going to allow Ivan to push him around. He would use all that he knew to draw Ivan down again.

“Give me what you got, then,” he challenged. “But I’m willing to bet that after this is through, it won’t be enough for you. I’ll make you want more. I’m not some stupid, untried virgin. I can make you want more.”

Ivan smirked, and Richie jerked at the feel of his warm palm over his stomach. “This...has been shaking all the time. You think you’re all in charge. But you give yourself away. An’ I’ll take that bet–you ain’t nothin’. Mine will be the same, you little whore. You’ll be dissin’ Francis in favor of my big dick.”

Richie chuckled nervously, shaking his head. “I’ll be wanting nothing of you. You have nothing special.”

“We’ll see, huh? Francis ain’t comin’ home for hours–I made sure of that. No one’s gonna bother us–I’ve got hours to prove my point.”

“‘Hours’?! Hah! Don’t delude yourself! You’ll last only a minute! Or lose it completely. You won’t be able to keep it up–!”

“You forget–I’m older. I have more experience than you. I can last–far longer than you think. Don’t care if you’re a male–I’m going to win. I’ll have you screaming by the time I’m done with you.”

“Yeah, with laughter cuz you don’t know how to use it.”

“Hmf. We’ll see.” With that last smirk, he lowered his head, taking Richie’s lips with his, quickly drowning out any other protests or remarks that the blond had to say.