Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ They Tell You I'm Difficult... ( Chapter 16 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Warning: Bad words and racial slurs galore...I should warn people more often of that, eh?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.27.2005 | Pages: 7 | Words: 9.8K | Visits: 391 | Status: Completed
Warning: Bad words and racial slurs galore...I should warn people more often of that, eh?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 11.27.2005 | Pages: 7 | Words: 9.8K | Visits: 391 | Status: Completed
Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.
A/N: Bad words and racial slurs galore...O_O
Shampoo: XD Wasn’t it some of the most angry sex you’ve ever read? LOL
I'm Alive: Oi...yeah, it was pretty weird...writing that then wondering what people would think when they read it. Heh. But things will continue to grow weirder and weirder between them---heh. I love it. Your hate for both Ivan and Rudy make me bewildered---how come you hate them so much? XD As for Danny, he seems to demand more attention than I'm giving him---I'll help ya out there with the next chappy! As always, thanks so much for your input!
NME: As you well know, I love your story, MtG. R and Iv's relationship---and much thanks for your flattery in that I could make things believable in that mentioned aspect---is based on head games. Just a couple of people that like pushing each other's buttons to see what happens. But I wanted to write a story in which they do, and I'm having fun with it. XD And I thank ya for reading this chaos and commenting on it---the next chapter will have what you demand, pwomise. XD
Chapter Sixteen:
They Tell You I’m Difficult...
By that Friday, Francis was eager to mingle among the smoky environments of the clubs he’d frequented before begging Richie’s forgiveness. Remembering his promise, he gave Richie notice that they were going to go out, and the blond suffered a mixture of reactions to this plan. Francis, pumped at the idea, made sure Richie wasn’t going to wear his usual casual outfits and bought him an outfit that would fit the club environment and satisfy him. Upon seeing the fitting and silky black collar shirt and fitting black jeans, the threads matching his never been worn classic K-Swisses, Richie sighed in reluctance. It wasn’t that he was timid or shy of his body–while he complained of ‘showing off’, he was just scared that Francis would put two and two together and realize how closely his husband resembled Gear.
Tight clothing equaled spandex, and he felt obvious if he wore either outside of superheroing.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy going out–he went out with Virgil all the time, and had his fun in drinking and dancing. Just being there with Francis felt restricting, as his husband kept close tabs on him at all times.
It was probably the same with the redhead–Francis was anxious about the reception he’d get with having Richie with him, seeing all his former fucks in there, but he’d given them plenty of time and warning in that he was with a man. He’d heard it all in response, but it didn’t mean that he had to hide away for the rest of his life.
By the time they reached the club, Richie was already complaining of the environment, the atmosphere, and for the fact that his pants were riding his ass. Francis was growing tired of his complaints, and had wandered off with some male friends of his to find a table. A little satisfied with that, Richie headed straight for the bar, meeting acquaintances here and there, and enjoying a little attention from those that he’d already had fun with, before. The pizza boy, Milton, especially. Making sure Francis or the others weren’t looking, Richie enjoyed the boy’s advances until spying Ivan walking nearby. He ordered a beer and ignored Milton as he headed away.
It was rather amazing, the way men reacted to his attitude–he’d learned that confidence and a little flirtation went a long way. He’d learned that the key to keeping his admirers was to leave them hanging. To keep them guessing. He’d learned how to play with them with compliments and touches and innuendoes–then turn around and ignore them. Men tried harder when he got past that level, and he had learned that ignoring them made them more desperate.
It was flattering. He loved the attention.
He found a straight friend and spoke with him about various things until finishing off his beer, glancing around for his husband. Francis was busy with his other friends, laughing with some woman with dark hair. Richie flushed angrily, feeling his fists clench as he watched that woman run her hands over Francis’ shoulders, leaning close enough to lean on him. Immense jealousy flooded through him at that moment, insecurity forcing that earlier confidence away. He had to compete with both sexes for his husband’s attention, and that fact made him intensely restless. He was aware of his looks–aware of what he looked like to others. So when women that resembled Carmen Electra began crowding his husband, he felt furious and angry for being convinced to come out to this place.
He turned and headed off to the restrooms, fuming over plans on getting back at Francis for being so damn inconsiderate and sneaky.
Coming out from the restrooms, he spotted Ivan standing near the stairwell by the back exit. Richie felt his lips curve into a smirk. As far as he was convinced, he may have lost a battle–but not the war. There were other things he could do to make the black man regret pushing his cocky attitude into this mess. He was going to make Ivan pay for all of it–the humiliation, the challenges...
He already had his foot in the door with Francis’ link to Ivan–whatever Francis felt, Ivan did. He knew Ivan had feelings for him–no straight man would have done what he did if he didn’t have feelings involved. No straight man would ever give him this sort of constant attention–he knew he had Ivan hooked. It was just making sure that Ivan knew that that bothered him.
He bypassed the pathway that would take him to Francis and the others, aware that the darkness of the club and rapidly flashing lights would help him keep his cover. Ivan was smoking a cigarette, a beer in the other hand, lazily surveying the dance floor. He was almost surprised when the blond strode up to him and snatched his cigarette.
The thought that they could be seen together made Ivan anxious. His scowl darkened as he watched Richie pull the cigarette to his lips, and before he knew what he was doing, Ivan was watching those lips form around the filter.
Quickly, he forced himself to look away, his expression turning to that of disgust.
“I don’t want to hear no fuckin’ whining from you,” he warned.
“No whining...can’t I just be friendly toward someone I know?”
Ivan snorted–but couldn’t look away from the intense stare Richie was giving him. He then grew aware that the blond was leaning on him, his fingers moving over his hip. He quickly shoved him away, and Richie caught himself, laughing as he pulled the cig from his mouth.
“Don’t be a tease!”
“Fuck you! Stay the fuck away from me!”
“Ooh...Ivan...what’s wrong?” Richie’s voice was rich with concern as he gave Ivan his most sincere expression. He reached out to caress his cheek, and laughed again when his hand was batted away from him. “C’mon, Ivan! Don’t be that way! Why are you being such a prude?”
Ivan’s stare was full of his disgust as he sought the darkness for anyone that might be alerted of their behavior. Then he gave Richie his most darkest scowl.
“I don’t wanna be seen with you.”
“Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” Richie shrugged as he pulled Ivan’s cig to his lips and took a long drag. After exhaling, Ivan slightly surprised in that the blond could even smoke in the first place, he gave Ivan one of those single-raised-eyebrow smirks that made his belly twist. Angrily, he reached out to snatch his cancer-stick back, making sure to crush his fingers as he did so.
Richie winced, rubbing his hand as he gave Ivan an annoyed stare.
Still, even as Ivan pulled the cig to his lips to take a long drag, he could feel the way his lips seemed to tingle upon connection.
“Fucking bitch,” he murmured.
Richie turned to glance over the darkness of the club, eyes scanning the area suspiciously before once again turning back to Ivan. The black man found himself stilling as the blond crowded his space, his hands settling over his chest and ribs, nose inches from his. He couldn’t even move, even when he so wanted to. His body seemed to remember every bit of his, his skin tingling anxiously as he felt the weight of Richie leaning against him.
“I want more, Ivan,” Richie murmured against his lips, so close that he had to bend slightly to fit against him. “You know what I want...you made it good for me, Ivan...you can’t just leave it at that...”
For a few moments, Ivan’s throat was so tight that he couldn’t even remember how to breathe. But as his cigarette burned and someone shrieked with laughter from somewhere beyond them, he found it pertinent to say, “Told you.”
“You were right and I was wrong, Ivan. I misjudged you.” Lips brushed against Ivan’s cheek, hot breath dancing over his jaw line. He couldn’t stop himself from shivering just slightly, inhaling the now familiar scents of the blond, and feeling his weight against him. It took all he could to keep from touching him.
“Get off me,” he hissed tightly. “Get off me, or so help me Lord-Jesus–”
“Don’t get so mad, Ivan. I’m just saying–! You were right. I want your cock. Again. In me. I wanna taste it and have it splitting me apart. I wanna feel it in my palm, I want to taste it. I want to lick all ten inches, and I want it deep inside of me–I can’t decide which end. It was so good, Ivan, so good. You had me bow-legged for days, man.”
His lust, combined with his hate, started to warm his blood. His skin burned with Richie’s closeness, the way his traitorous body began to grow interested in the hot whispers against his ear, the restless way Richie’s lithe body shifted against his. And, damn it, the most traitorous part of him grew intensely interested in what was being said.
Tightly, Ivan managed to shove him off, but not enough force was put into the action–Richie only ended up being pushed off of him. Their closeness remained the same.
Richie studied his expression, then laughed softly. He reclaimed the cig, even as Ivan burned with intense conflict, his eyes scanning the club crowd intensely, looking for witnesses.
Richie had just inhaled deeply once more, blowing the smoke into Ivan’s face with deliberate decision when hands wrapped around his arms and forced him around.
Ivan was not about to admit that he’d been so intensely focused on Richie that he’d completely forgotten his link with Francis–he thought that it was Francis, ready to drop his fists on both. But it wasn’t. He’d never felt so much relief flood through him at that instant before quickly reigning himself in.
At seeing the tall, obviously drunk brunette that looked at them with not very convincing clarity, Ivan relaxed once more against the wall and decided to watch.
Richie’s face bloomed with horror and annoyance as Joe held tightly onto him. Then he cringed at the strong smell of alcohol that seemed to pour off of him.
Then, apparently, Joe felt he was being very helpful when he shouted at Ivan, “Don’t let him fool you, man! Don’t let him in! He’s going to fuck you over and leave you rotting when he’s done with you!”
“What the hell–?! Joe! Joe, you’re drunk! You don’t know what you’re saying!” Richie shouted back, the music preventing both from keeping quiet.
His eyes were wild and nearly bloodshot, and when Richie wrenched himself from his grasp, Joe stumbled just slightly before catching himself. Even as drunk as he was, the brunette was obviously capable of expressing his views quite clearly.
“He’ll eat you up! He’s a man-eater!” Joe shouted, continuing with his public duty. Ivan simply lit another cigarette, since the other was lost. “He’ll take your feelings, he’ll fuck with your head–he’ll leave you when you start wanting to get serious! I spent a lot of money on him–!”
“YOU DID NOT! I didn’t take ANYTHING from you!” Richie shouted, indignant as he shoved Joe away from him. “Get out of here! Get out of here, you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying!”
“He’ll do it, man!” Joe insisted. “Don’t fall for his shit! He’ll eat you up and spit you out! Fuck with your feelings like they were nothing! He’ll do it, and you’ll be left wondering what you did wrong! He’s got a husband! He’s just–!”
“Shut up, Joe! Get out of here! Get out of here, you pathetic creep! Take it somewhere where someone will actually give a shit!” Richie roared, shoving him again.
Joe quickly turned, grabbing his arms as Ivan scanned the crowd for Francis.
“Fuck you, you whore!” he commanded, shoving Richie away from him, the blond returning to shove him back. Looking back at Ivan, he continued with, “He’ll fuck you over! Suck you dry! He’ll take all your money and use you like it was nothing!”
“Go AWAY!”
“Watch it, man!” Joe shouted, keeping Richie from shoving at him. “He’s a good fuck, but nothing else!”
With a low growl, Richie hooked his arm around Joe’s neck, pulling him down to his level, keeping him steady by holding tightly onto his collar with his other hand. “You are only making yourself look stupid, Joe! Get out of here before you embarrass yourself even further!”
Joe grabbed him by his face as Ivan scanned the dark club for Francis to lay the smackdown.
“I loved you, damn it!” Joe shouted, holding tightly as Richie tried pulling away. Ivan then gave a comical expression of shock as Joe began kissing him roughly, Richie shoving at him with panicked movements and muffled curses.
“I loved you! I’ll still take you back, even after you fucked me the way you did! I’ll forgive you! I’m a man like that! I can overlook your stupid mistakes!” he shouted, even as Richie shoved at his face. “I want you back! I need to have you back!”
“Let go! Let go! Oh, God, I’m serious, let go!”
Finally spotting the redhead at the bar, who looked as if he were in the process of searching for him, Ivan began pointing and gaping with that same mocking expression at the two that were almost hidden from Francis’ view. The redhead was confused for a few moments, but eventually grew to realize that he was being called over.
Joe continued to shout at Richie, uncaring that the blond was panicking as he pushed at him.
“Let’s go talk!” Joe yelled, forcefully hauling Richie towards the exit that led into the back alley of the club. “I want to talk to you! I can’t keep yelling in here!”
“I’m serious, Francis is going to be–let go! God, let go! Don’t be stupid–you’re being stupid, Joe!” Richie was shouting, Ivan following the pair once he saw that Francis was steadily making his way over through the thick crowd.
The night air was cool and quiet, the beat of the music inside pounding at the brick walls. Once out the doors, Joe shoved Richie ahead of him, roaring, “I’m still fucking pissed! I hate what you did, but I can’t stop thinking of you! Why can’t I stop thinking of you! You’re a fucking bastard, and you fucking dominate my thoughts!”
“This is fucking drama!” Richie shouted back at him, pushing at him fiercely. Their voices were loud, carrying through the silence and ringing off the walls of the alley. “I’m not like that! Why are you so fucking psychotic!? You’re making a big deal out of nothing!”
“I miss you! Not being able to talk to you–not being able to–to fuck you, to–! I have you in my head! All the time! I can’t think of another person without you being there to make me forget!”
“You’re so fucking psychotic!”
Joe clutched handfuls of his thick brown hair, giving a frustrated shout as Richie stared at him in disbelieving shock, patches of red showing up on his cheeks.
Ivan just had to ask, gesturing with a new cig.
“What’s so special ‘bout him?” he asked Joe, giving Richie a dubious look. “What’s so fuckin’ special? He fucked with your head, fucked with your feelings–an’ you still want him back? What the fuck for? Spare the fuckin’ drama, man.”
“I can’t,” Joe answered mournfully, shaking his head, nearly losing his balance. Richie slapped his shoulder in disgust, shooting Ivan a dark glare right afterward. “You don’t understand. It’s–it’s like...magic. Fuckin’ magic...once he starts paying attention to you, giving you attention, you just–you just get hooked! I can’t explain it!”
Ivan managed to keep himself from laughing as he shot Richie a theatrical shocked expression. “You magic, cracker!” he exclaimed with all the wonder he could muster.
“Fuck you, Ivan!” Richie shouted angrily, tossing his arm when Joe turned his attention to him, struggling to hold onto him. “Joe, you’re crazy! Get away from me, you fucking psycho!”
“I want you to call me. I want you to talk to me again,” Joe pleaded, holding onto his arm. When that was shoved away, he was holding onto the other arm, Richie struggling to keep him from touching him. In the process, the whole scene was being taken out toward the parking lot, where several people milled around with no real purpose. Ivan followed because he thought the whole thing hilarious.
Richie? Magic? He had to laugh aloud.
“I need more time with you!” Joe was pleading, his entire mood changed. He’d gone from angry and vengeful to pleading, his fingers digging into the blond’s arm as he struggled to make Richie understand, the blond fighting him all that time. “I need you to myself! I’ll be more than him, be more than what he can give you!”
“Let go, you fucking psycho! Shit, when did I ever miss the part where you’re fucking unhinged?!”
Ivan looked over when he heard Francis plowing through the exit doors, spying them almost immediately. His expression went from befuddled to furious within an instant. Ivan watched with growing interest as the redhead began to stalk over to the pair that were moving away from the club and into the parking lot.
“I need you, I fucking need you, you’re all I ever fucking think about!” Joe insisted, Richie growing mortified by the scene as he spied those looking over with interest. Uncaring of their audience, Joe kept his hold on his arms, moving steadily through one aisle as he did so. “I can get past that night, man, I can get past what you fucking said to me–! I just–I can’t do this knowing that I’d fallen for you, and I fucking need you, man! I need you!”
“You psychotic, deranged stalker freak! Let go of me! Joe! Let go! Let–! This is so fucking retarded–! I’m not even–! ARGH! You’re so fucking stupid, and this is so fucking retarded–! You’re making a big–oh, SHIT–!”
Francis reached out, grabbing Joe by his shoulder and forcefully swinging him around. Joe very nearly lost his balance, slamming into a nearby vehicle to prevent himself from hitting the pavement. Richie paled significantly as more interested spectators began moving over to see what was going on.
Realizing who had touched him, Joe straightened from the vehicle, watching Richie wrap his arms around Francis in an effort to hold him back, pleading all the while.
Ivan loved it–it was intensely fascinating, like watching a car accident. He knew what would happen, who was going to get beat down, who was going to be blamed. He allowed Francis’ jealousy, possession, anger and pride to course through him, sorting through the emotions with familiarity. Once he began feeling the need to join the redhead in confronting Joe, he pulled back on that control.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Francis demanded fiercely, glaring at the taller brunette, recognizing Joe. He shoved Richie’s hands off of him, and strode forward to confront the taller man, Richie once again moving after him and trying to pull him back. “What the fuck are you doin’? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“He’s a bitch!” Joe shouted, shifting mood once more, spittle flying as he pointed at Richie. “Fuck that bitch! You’ve got a bitch for a spouse!”
“Francis, stop it, you’re making a scene!” Richie hissed as he practically hung from his husband’s shoulders, intensely mortified by what was happening. Francis was hearing nothing of that as he advanced toward Joe, fists curling and straightening repeatedly as the brunette hurriedly backed away, stumbling repeatedly in his efforts.
“Fuck that bitch! Fuck ‘im!”
“Talkin’ shit?! Huh? Wanna talk more shit?!”
“You’re nothin’!” Joe screamed, face reddening. “You’re nothing! Convict! Loser! Caveman freak! You’re not even close to respectability and maturity! You’re–you’re just a fucking loser! You’re not even HALF of what I am!”
“Fucking gym fag! You fucking bitch, you don’t talk to me that way! I’ll fuck you over, you fucking fairy! Goddamned queen!”
“Fuck you!”
“No, you fuck you!”
“Stop it! Stop it, you two, STOP IT!” Richie ended in a humiliated shout as both men lunged at each other, fists flying. The crowd whooped with excitement as fleshy thuds began to thunder through the parking lot.
Ivan cackled in amusement.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Richie screamed, then jumping on Francis’ back and trying to stop him from beating on Joe. Both of them were banging off of various vehicles, slamming each other against doors, knuckles scraping over flesh.
“Shit...what the fuck’s going on here?” someone asked Ivan from the crowd.
Ivan wasn’t paying attention to them. As long as they weren’t the cops, things were fine. But he glanced at the small group of men that had their features nearly hidden underneath billed caps, hoods and folded bandannas around their heads.
“Bitch problems,” he said simply, scoffing.
“Oh my god, they’re fags?” one exclaimed, almost in awe.
Ivan nodded absently, drawing his cig to his lips. Joe landed a lucky hit, sending the redhead back against the trunk of an Escalade. Francis ended up shoving Richie out of the way to lunge at the brunette, slamming him face first into the bumper of an Eclipse.
“Fighting over that one?! What the fuck...?!”
“Ivan! Stop him!” Richie cried, moving over toward him in agitation. Ivan gave him a mocking wide-eyed stare.
“But...you magic,” he whispered, then laughed uproariously. “You a magic bitch!”
“Ivan–! Fuck you! Stop them!”
“You stop ‘em. They fightin’ over you...”
“Francis! Stop! Joe! Stop it!”
Those watching the entire spectacle laughed as Joe hit the pavement, and Francis looked back at Richie with murder in his eyes. Ivan intercepted without thinking, shaking his head as he stepped forward.
“You wanna focus on him,” he said, pointing at Joe. “He the one all up on him. Ain’t no wrong doing with this one...”
Francis turned away, Richie exhaling noisily as he shot Ivan a grateful look.
“Man...all over that guy? Ain’t no fag, but he really ain’t all that,” one of the men standing nearby commented, giving the blond a dubious look.
“Magic,” Ivan repeated, then laughed. “He’s magic! You get a taste, apparently, everyone be wantin’ him!”
“Ew...”
“This is insane! This is fucking insane!” Richie then gasped, hands in his hair, his skin red with mortification. He had decided that it was fruitless trying to stop Francis when he was going. Even with his capabilities and own strength, he wouldn’t be able to stop his husband from doing what he was doing.
“You magic, bitch?” one of the men asked him, the others laughing.
Richie ignored them, looking over to see Joe stagger back to his feet, giving Francis a panicked look. Francis apparently decided that he’d had enough, angrily wiping his bloodied nose, then turning to stalk away. He grabbed Richie by his arm and yanked him along as he marched towards his vehicle. Ivan laughed again, following them both as Joe shouted threats of going to the police.
Rudy Sedano looked at his brothers and friends, all of them smirking at what they’d just witnessed.
Quickly, he intercepted Joe before he could get far.
“Hey, man, hey...c’mon, man, you’re bleeding all over the place!” he exclaimed, pulling his colors from his pocket and handing it over. “Here, take this. Take it, man. C’mon, you’re getting all fucking dirty.”
Joe paused, taking the bandanna, and using it to wipe his bloodied chin, shaking angrily and breathing hard. Everyone looked up to see the Vitera back out from a parking space nearby and speed off, tires protesting over pavement.
“Goddamn him,” he hissed, wiping his face. Rudy had to lean back, grimacing at the strong alcoholic scent that wafted away from him. A couple of the guys even exclaimed in surprise as they caught the smell. “Goddamn them both! Fuck them! Fuck them, fucking–Goddamn him...”
“What’s this all about, man?” Rudy asked, wincing as he kept Joe at a distance. “You guys fighting over that guy? Who was that guy?”
“Just–! Just a...damn. Goddamn him...just a guy. Fucking–”
“Thought that was his husband, man. Thought they was all married–!”
“They are! They are, but–Richie came to me when Francis was being–fucking redhead freak–when Francis was being shitty. He came to me, then left me to go back to him–fucking little shit. Fucking cocksucking bitch–!”
“Aw, c’mon,” Rudy scoffed, snorting. “He ain’t all that! C’mon! You saw him! He just one of those computer nerds, man! He ain’t all that!”
Joe shook his head vehemently. “NO...no, you don’t understand...when–he’s gay, right? You wouldn’t understand, you’re not–! You talk to him, you get his attention–he makes you feel good. Makes you feel–like, I dunno. Like you can give him everything, then he turns around and fucks you. Fucking fucks you! Takes all that! Money, your feelings–! I fucking hate him! But...at the same time, I just want him back. I just want him to leave that freak and come back to me. Can treat him better, give him everything–!”
Rudy shot him a look of disgust. “You drunk, man. You drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying. Probably, if you were sober, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“That other guy’s gonna find out the hard way! That other guy, he’s falling prey to him–! Like one of them spiders that bite the head off when they mate, man. He’s gonna fuck him over like he did to me! He and F-Stop deserve each other! Fuckin’ assholes! Users! Careless fucks!...fuck...fuck, I want him back...”
“What other guy?”
“That black one! Richie was all over him in the club. Tried to warn him. Man, I tried to warn him. Looks like he’s gone, too. Fuck. Tried to warn him.”
“Ivan?!” Rudy exclaimed in shock, blinking repeatedly. Gabe’s mouth fell open with stunned surprise, others echoing the same expression. “Ivan ain’t like that!”
“He wasn’t complaining when Richie was all over him!” Joe insisted. “Letting him kiss him, letting him all over–motherfucker, he uses them! Guys like me, he uses us for his amusement! Fucking black widow–like a woman! A magic woman–a witch! A witch!”
“Ivan ain’t like that–!”
“That’s what they all say! That’s what they all say, and still–! Still, Richie gets them. Gets all of them. You wouldn’t think so, you wouldn’t believe it–but give him time. You’ll fall for him. Like I did. Fuck! Fucking caveman. Fucking–fucking golddigger! Whore! Fucking slut! I fucking hate him!...I tried to warn him...tried to warn him...I’mah...I’m not feeling so swell...gonna...go sit down.”
Joe shook his head once more, but lost his balance, falling. Rudy and the others laughed, the eldest Sedano signaling for their leave. They left Joe sitting in the parking lot, talking amongst themselves with amusement.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Back at the house, Ivan watched with amusement as Richie and Francis screamed at each other over what had happened. Francis was screaming about Joe, Richie was trying to clean up the mess around his nose–both were throwing accusations at each other. It was more entertaining to watch than to kick back with a beer with a good movie on the tv. Ivan thought he’d be used to it, having seen it all many times before, but drama was drama.
He sat down on the back of the overstuffed chair and watched both as he nursed a beer from the fridge and interjected with an occasional word here and there.
Finally, Francis threw up his arms in disgust and stomped off toward the kitchen, Richie flinging the dirtied washrag after him, huffing furiously.
Ivan snorted. “You know what you ‘mind me of?” he asked calmly. “One of those squeaking toys animals play with. The kind that makes noise when they’re chewed.”
“Oh, shut up, you black fuck. Like I need to hear your fucking opinion in matters that don’t concern you.”
Ivan looked taken back by the slur and the anger that was being directed at him. “Don’t you be gettin’ mad at me.”
“No, fuck you, Ivan. Fuck off! Get your own fucking life! Stop coming around here and fucking things up for other people!”
“Don’t you be gettin’ mad at me!”
“GO AWAY, you fucking TAGALONG! You know what? Never mind. Don’t go away. Because you know why? You know why you can’t really go away?” Richie asked, moving towards him as Ivan scowled. “Because you’re scared. Because you’re nothing. You’re nothing. You were nothing before the Big Bang, and you’re nothing now. Without any powers, you’re just another washed up, low down, useless ‘banger that does nothing more than waste the air other respectable people breathe!”
Ivan stared at him in silence, then felt his face darken as he rose from his sitting position.
Francis, catching some of those biting words, leaned onto the counter to shout at Richie, “You don’t be talking shit to him just cuz you’re fucking pissed off!”
Richie ignored him, giving Ivan a piercing look of disgust as Ivan sought to calm his own rising anger. He knew what Richie was doing–but he couldn’t seem to control himself in that aspect. He couldn’t seem to regain the cool composure he’d had before.
“You raised your little brother, yeah, that’s cool an’ all–but what happened, Ivan? Why’d he pull away from you? Betcha that fucking hurt, huh? Having a follower and admirer all that time and having him realize the truth. That you ain’t nothing. That you’re just a fucking loser with no real future. Adam–”
“You fucking bitch, you shut the fuck up–!”
“–Adam is now successful. He’s a fucking rich man, Ivan, with a good life and a good wife and he’s got it all! What do you have, Ivan? Huh? You don’t have ANYTHING! You smoke, you drink, you barely spend time at a fucking cockroach infested apartment! You work two fucking jobs! You present yourself like you’re something, but you’re really just a fucking poser!”
“Fuck you, you fucking whore! You fucking whore, you don’t fuckin’ talk to me that way!”
“Rich!” Francis barked from the kitchen, growing exasperated as he felt Ivan’s rising ire. With a look of uncertainty, he watched as Ivan closed the space between himself and Richie, getting as close as possible into his space. He started moving out from the kitchen, feeling that anger rise as Richie got into Ivan’s face. “Fucker, knock it off! He didn’t fuckin’ do anything to you! Get out of his fucking face, you fucking cum dumpster!”
“That’s all you’ll ever be, Ivan,” Richie continued over Francis’ clipped voice, looking into those darkening eyes, recognizing the rising visages of fury on Ivan’s face. He smirked at it, tensing as Ivan drew closer, both of them ready to throw fists. “A fucking poser. You’re nothing but a poser, that’s all you’ll live as–that’s how you’ll fucking die!”
“You shut the fuck up, bitch, you shut that fuckin’ mouth, or I’ll fuckin’ make sure it’s fucking shut for good–!”
“Threaten me? You can’t do anything about it, you fucking nigger. Old, washed up, tagalong nigger–!”
“You fucking white piece of trash! Fucking piece of shit white trash! You’re nothing but a whore, a fucking dirty, useless whore–the only reason why you’re tolerated here is because you’re fucking pitied, you fucking dirty ass slut.”
“HAH! Useless nigger–!”
“RICHARD! Motherfucker, stop all that fuckin’ shit talk–!” Francis barked, hurrying over once he saw Ivan raise his fist. With a sort of alarmed shout, he darted over to come between them as they began punching at each other. Using his body as a barrier, he blocked Ivan from reaching Richie while the blond surged against him to grab a hold of Ivan’s cornrows. Amidst all the racial slurs and derogatory shouts, Francis shouted at both of them, trying to keep them apart.
Shiv, Dominic and three others walked in to see this, all of them wide-eyed and stunned as their screams and shouts rang throughout the neighborhood. Quickly, Shiv hurried forward, moving to pull anxiously at Ivan’s shirt while Francis stumbled against the coffee table. Upon that movement, Richie managed to grab a hold of Ivan’s arm, swinging with his other, connecting a few times before Ivan ensnared his fingers into Richie’s hair and yanked him over Francis.
“Oh my god!” Shiv screamed as he was pulled into the fracas. Random punches landed upon him as he tried to separate both, cackling and gasping in choked action as he tried to figure out what was going on.
Francis finally succeeded in pulling his husband from Ivan, Shiv managing to use all his force to yank Ivan back. They hit the floor as one of them stumbled, legs entangling with the others’, Francis hauling Richie off his feet and twisting so that more space was set between them.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?!” Freddie shrieked, looking agape at the entire thing.
“Goddamned poser!” Richie screamed, kicking wildly as Francis tightened his hold, shouting at him fiercely to be quiet. “Useless fucking tagalong! You have no life, you will NEVER have a life–you think you’re a fuckin’ leader, but you’re just as big as a follower as Shiv is!”
“Uh-uh! Uh-uh!” Shiv tried to shout, gesturing that he wanted to stay out of it, snagging Ivan’s arms quickly when the black man surged to his feet, lunging in that direction.
“You fucking white piece of trash!” he screamed, Francis gritting his teeth as pure anger surged throughout his entire system, making him see red. It was almost impossible to think on his own as Ivan’s fury took over on him. “You talk all that fuckin’ shit, fuckin’ back it up! You fucking–you’re just a fucking useless woman, you white piece of shit! You useless! You’re nothin’! Fuckin’ weak piece of cocksucking shit! You’re nothin’! You were nothin’, you’re still nothin’!”
“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ hard, Ivan! You’re so fucking–!”
Shiv shouted for help as Ivan escaped his clutches, leaping over Francis to get at Richie, all three of them hitting the wall and slamming into the floor. Immediately, Freddie and the others were clamoring over, all their shouts and screams ringing throughout the house and the night.
By the time the two were separated, there was blood everywhere, and everyone was a mass of over-excited adrenaline. Francis had Richie pinned against the wall, falling victim to his punches and enraged shouts, while Freddie and Shiv wrestled Ivan across the living room.
Dominic rescued Ivan’s dropped beer and used the toe of his shoe to clean the spill.
Francis hit the wall just beside Richie’s head, giving an enraged howl of rage, causing Richie to focus in on him. He jabbed a finger painfully against his husband’s face, snarling, “You shut the fuck up. You shut the fuck up, don’t fucking SAY anything more! You fuckin’ say anything more, goddamn it, I’m going to fuckin’ kick your fuckin’ ass! DON’T say anything! Keep that fuckin’ mouth shut–!”
“You WOULD stick up for him–!”
“You started shit, you started this bullshit with him just to fuckin’–!”
“You WOULD stick up for him–!”
“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” Francis hit the wall again, then again, hearing Shiv and Freddie talking quickly as they tried keeping Ivan from escaping.
Almost in unison, everyone managed to still, heavy breathing audible as everyone tried to calm themselves. Dominic waited patiently, shifting his customary sunglasses off his nose and atop of his forehead as he looked from one man to another.
“Now that we all calm...what the hell just happened?” he asked curiously. “Since when they getting at each other’s throats?”
“Let’s go home, Ivan, man,” Shiv said nervously, not taking his hands off of Ivan in case the black man moved. “Let’s go home, man. We’ll sleep it off, okay? We’ll get this all sorted out in the morning, all right? There’s nothing more, man. Nothing more here to stick around for–!”
“You–!” Richie’s angry shout was cut off when Francis used unnecessary force in clapping his hand over his mouth. He used his shoulder to pin the blond against the wall, looking back at them, ignoring the angry punches he received in the head and shoulders for his action.
“Take him home, get him to calm the fuck down,” he instructed. “Make sure he don’t fuckin’ leave, man.”
“I’mina fuckin’ kill that bitch!” Ivan cursed, shoving Shiv’s arms away from him, pushing Freddie away from him. “I’m going to fuckin’ kill you, Foley! Fucking little bitch, I’m going to fuckin’ RUIN you!”
Richie’s answer was muffled by Francis’ hand, but they got the gist of it as he reddened and kicked and clawed at Francis to get at Ivan.
It was madness, trying to calm himself, to recognize his own identity and thoughts once more. Ivan was certainly riled up enough for Francis to feel everything–the hate he had for his husband was strong, but–he was quite stunned to realize the hurt and the anxiety, as well. It made Francis numb as he watched the group leave, Ivan still cursing up a storm and pushing Shiv and the others away from him.
He knew Ivan was still sore about Adam leaving him–about his efforts in raising his younger brother being regarded as ‘nothing’. He knew how much Ivan had hurt and suffered because of being continually rejected and passed over. He knew all the things that made the man what he was, and felt hurt himself in that he was treated that way.
Still, in all things considered, this fight was truly baffling. He knew Ivan and Richie hated each other–but he didn’t understand why Ivan finally caved in. Ivan wasn’t drunk–he wasn’t drugged, nor had he exchanged enough hate with Richie to be fully riled in the way that he was. Amidst all these feelings, there were others that he just couldn’t grasp. There were traces of hurt unrelated to past issues–these felt more personal. More conflicting.
He couldn’t focus on them clearly enough to really get the meaning behind it all. He was still just shocked that they’d fought in this manner.
He gave a stunned curse when Richie punched him solidly in the jaw, knocking him away. It was enough to have stars whirling around him as he stumbled back.
“YOU ALWAYS STICK UP FOR HIM!” he screamed, shoving Francis away and stomping off, managing to kick all the hapless things in his path as he headed out back.
Standing alone in the mess that had been made during the fight, Francis resisted mightily in throwing one of their precious houseplants after him, and sighed heavily as he surveyed the room. He started to straighten things up when the front door opened, Shiv scurrying in to look around quickly.
“You seen his cigs, man?” he asked hurriedly.
“Oh...look over that chair.”
“What the fuck was going on?” Shiv exclaimed, digging into the cushions to search for the mentioned cigs. “They were trying to kill each other! I never saw that happening!”
“Rich just started talking shit! Dunno...just started talkin’, and Ivan got all fed up. Fuck if I know what was going on...he still fuckin’ pissed?”
“Yeah...man...it’s been awhile since he was up all riled like this, man.” Shiv exhaled heavily. He found the crushed box, seeing that during the fracas, sticks had spilled out. He gathered them quickly, carefully setting each one back into the box. “Oh yeah! Cassandra was pissed that you left her. She threatened that she knew where you lived...”
“Fuck that bitch. I told her I was married up.”
“She’s quite determined. Her exact words were, If he’s fucking with women, then he isn’t serious about being gay, or some shit like that.” Shiv shrugged.
Francis shook his head. “Nah, it’s not. I mean, with her and the others. I quit that. No more.”
“Yeah, I tried telling her. But...”
Both of them looked up to see Dominic and Freddie coming in, both making a beeline for the fridge. Shiv gave them a bewildered look. “Hey, what’cha guys doin’? Ivan still in the car?”
“Said he was gonna smoke for a bit,” Freddie exclaimed. “He’s still in the car. Fucking mad as hell.”
“What happened at the club? They fightin’ then?” Shiv then asked Francis. “Ya’ll were there one minute, then the next? You weren’t.”
“Nah, man, one of Rich’s fuckin’ boyfriends was there to start shit. He was tryin’ to take him away!” Francis then exclaimed angrily, recalling what he’d seen.
“Fuckin’–that guy was pushin’ him through the parking lot. Fuckin’ Ivan was just laughing at the entire thing. Not doing things. So I had to have words with that fuck.”
“Looks like those words hurt, man. You still bleeding.”
“Ain’t mine. I was all cleaned up before those two started at each other.”
“Here...we’ll help you clean up a bit. Ivan’s sulking around in the car, anyway. Where’s...?”
“Out back.”
“‘K. C’mon, guys. Pitch in.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
In that combination of satisfaction and rage, Richie felt calm and coherent enough to realize he could be a damn good actor. Starting shit with Ivan had been his plan–to knock him off-course and rearrange the game a bit. Ivan had fallen for it; hook, line and sinker.
Snickering quietly to himself, Richie hugged his knees and wiped awkwardly at the corner of his mouth, which stung painfully and continued to ooze in protest. It was worth getting all bloody and sore over it–sometimes, sacrifices could be made. He was going to win–Ivan couldn’t take head trips for very long, anyway.
Eventually, he’d break. Richie had felt bad for saying some of the things he had–especially the racial slurs–but Ivan’s rage had quelled that guilt.
Now...he had to focus on how he was going to repair this deliberate break. He could go about it the difficult way, or the hard way–either way, he was going to win Ivan back. He had plenty of practice from previous admirers–of which reminded him of the situation with Joe, but that was going to be ignored until he could get over his irritation over the brunette’s actions–and Ivan had proved to be a worthy opponent with his share of games...all in all, Richie was just excited at having a challenging obstacle. This game between them was growing stronger and more complicated, and he enjoyed it. Of course, what made it even better was Francis’ cluelessness into the entire thing. Ivan was doing a great job at hiding his feelings from the redhead, which made Richie want to push more and more to see just how much Ivan could take.
He snickered again to himself, wincing as he touched his nose. He’d lost his glasses somewhere in the living room, and wasn’t really concerned with their demise. He could get others–or, more than likely, Francis would go ahead and replace them.
He started to feel bad in that his husband was being used, but bristled upon realizing just how angry he was with Francis’ words to him earlier. Names were being used again, and earlier irritation with those women all over him made that anger hotter. He just grew more determined to quell that vexation with means of his own, and that meant playing with Ivan.
Chewing with an agitated manner on his fingernail, he eyed the darkness with an accusing glare, wiping his mouth once again. He heard the squeak of the gate opening, but paid it no mind because he figured Francis was the one doing so.
He was irritated at his husband, but also a little guilty at what he was doing behind his back. He really couldn’t decide which was stronger.
He wiped his mouth again, using the sleeve of his shirt to do so, and looked up to address Francis on his loyalty ties. He froze upon seeing Ivan glaring down at him. For a moment, Richie was thrown off balance–he’d thought they’d left. Thoughts scattered and fear automatically eased its way in, but he forced himself to display nothing of what he felt. He lost his earlier confidence and determination and couldn’t think of anything witty or scalding to say.
Ivan was still furious, and his expression told him so. Before Richie could move, the black man’s hand snatched out and pulled him to his feet by his hair. Richie nearly lost his balance in the action, his hands shooting out to push at him, and the two struggled against each other.
Finally, Richie felt air whoosh out of his lungs as Ivan slammed him into the back gate, pinning him there with hands over his throat. He choked and gagged as he tried to breathe, his fingers clawing at Ivan’s wrists, rational thought leaving him as Ivan hissed in determination.
Immediately, the need for Francis to interfere came to mind, and he tried calling his name, the sound escaping in pathetic wheezes.
Ivan laughed lowly at this, easing the grip slightly so that Richie could breathe in.
“You little fuck,” Ivan murmured, looking wild with his hair all askew and his face arranged with maniacal amusement. But the way he spoke made the curse sound almost like an endearment. There was affection in that tone that made him even more frightening. “You got me goin’ there for a moment or two–took me a minute to realize what you were doing. You clever, stupid little fuck!”
“W-what are you talking about? You–!”
“I know you’re playing games with me, I know you’re pulling this bullshit just to get things your way–!” Ivan laughed once again, but kept his voice low. He tightened his grip, hearing the wheezy cut-off of breath Richie made at the action. He relished the helpless way pale fingers clawed at his wrists, the way the blond struggled to inhale. The gate creaked with the extra weight that was being pushed onto it, and Ivan continued to enjoy watching his work before he loosened his hold once more to allow him to breathe.
“It goes to you,” he said in wondrous amusement. “This all goes to you. You know what you’re doin’, and you’re doin’ it good. I’m amused, cracker. Straight out amused.”
Richie looked at him, struggling to gasp in more air, trying to think of something to say. But his eyes caught something moving behind them, and he focused beyond Ivan’s shoulder just in time to catch a large, hulking shape shift out of the shadows and bound away. He froze instinctively, automatically knowing what it had been, bewildered to know why Daniel Trujillo was spying on them.
Ivan saw the shift of sight, glancing over his shoulder to see what it was Richie was looking at. Quickly, the blond thrust both of his arms up against his, knocking his grip off and away from him. He breathed in quickly, rubbing his throat as he glanced around them. Ivan turned back to him, eyeing him determinedly as Richie looked back at him.
“This is far from over,” Ivan muttered.
Richie didn’t say anything, just shifted to allow him to pass as he left the backyard through the gate. He swallowed hard, rubbing his throat painfully as he then shifted his attention back to the shadows beyond the rock pathway. Hearing Ivan meet up with the others, he pulled the back gate closed and locked it. He felt trepidation upon knowing that Daniel knew where they lived–he had to wonder if it was because of him that the werewolf was stalking their house. He didn’t want his secret as Gear to come out, especially to Francis. Francis had a continued hate for both him and Static due to their constant policing of his actions back in the day.
Carefully, he walked away from the gate and headed out toward the barbeque pit, anxiously curling his fists.
“Daniel?” he whispered, a little shakily. “Daniel, are you out here? I know it’s you...Daniel...please come out. Let’s talk a little bit, huh?”
He listened carefully, finally then noticing that the neighborhood dogs were intensely silent. That nothing seemed to be moving, save for the occasional vehicle on the streets. It made every hair on the back of his neck stick straight up, and a fear-tinged shiver to course throughout every limb. It was creepy, knowing that something of that size and determination was out there. Even though he knew who it was, it was still creepy that the metahuman could produce such an effect.
He stared out at the shadows, then ducked behind the grill when he heard the back sliding door open, Francis calling his name with impatience. As he took the position, he scanned the backyard for any more sign of Daniel, hearing Francis search for him. Hearing his annoyed mutters, Richie rolled his eyes and kept hidden as he listened to Francis walk around the deck and the rockway to the back gate. Finally deciding to give up on the search, Francis then walked inside, slamming the door shut.
Richie relaxed, then began to speak again. “You’re obviously intelligent enough to know what I’m saying, Trujillo. I know who you are–there is a cure. The next time we meet, you could be getting that cure.”
Nodding firmly, he gave the shadows another perusing glance, then straightened away from the grill. He headed back inside to see what it was Francis wanted, and to apologize for what he’d done.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Down the street, Rudy chuckled to himself as he slipped Danny a couple of pieces of raw meat, Armando writing down the address of the house and memorizing the neighborhood.
"Well, now...we know where they live," Rudy muttered, scratching Danny's head affectioniately, Danny loving the attention, giving a small whine as he leaned into the touch. "We'll just drop by sometime...just to see how things are. Good job, man, good job."
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
That next morning, Francis was awakened by the sound of the doorbell and several insistent knocks. Grumbling low, he shifted, pushing Richie off of him.
He yawned again, climbing off the bed and pulling on a shirt and last night’s jeans. Richie continued to sleep, so he didn’t bother with trying to wake him up as he headed down the hall to answer the door. The doorbell was depressed once more, and the knocks grew more insistent.
He had a very bad feeling as he reached out and opened the door, grimacing at the sight of John Knoxson and a couple of policemen standing behind him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, automatically thinking of Joe.
John gave him a frown, and walked in without invitation.
“Get your stuff, man,” he said on a tired sigh. “You’re being hauled in for assault.”
A/N: Bad words and racial slurs galore...O_O
Shampoo: XD Wasn’t it some of the most angry sex you’ve ever read? LOL
I'm Alive: Oi...yeah, it was pretty weird...writing that then wondering what people would think when they read it. Heh. But things will continue to grow weirder and weirder between them---heh. I love it. Your hate for both Ivan and Rudy make me bewildered---how come you hate them so much? XD As for Danny, he seems to demand more attention than I'm giving him---I'll help ya out there with the next chappy! As always, thanks so much for your input!
NME: As you well know, I love your story, MtG. R and Iv's relationship---and much thanks for your flattery in that I could make things believable in that mentioned aspect---is based on head games. Just a couple of people that like pushing each other's buttons to see what happens. But I wanted to write a story in which they do, and I'm having fun with it. XD And I thank ya for reading this chaos and commenting on it---the next chapter will have what you demand, pwomise. XD
Chapter Sixteen:
They Tell You I’m Difficult...
By that Friday, Francis was eager to mingle among the smoky environments of the clubs he’d frequented before begging Richie’s forgiveness. Remembering his promise, he gave Richie notice that they were going to go out, and the blond suffered a mixture of reactions to this plan. Francis, pumped at the idea, made sure Richie wasn’t going to wear his usual casual outfits and bought him an outfit that would fit the club environment and satisfy him. Upon seeing the fitting and silky black collar shirt and fitting black jeans, the threads matching his never been worn classic K-Swisses, Richie sighed in reluctance. It wasn’t that he was timid or shy of his body–while he complained of ‘showing off’, he was just scared that Francis would put two and two together and realize how closely his husband resembled Gear.
Tight clothing equaled spandex, and he felt obvious if he wore either outside of superheroing.
It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy going out–he went out with Virgil all the time, and had his fun in drinking and dancing. Just being there with Francis felt restricting, as his husband kept close tabs on him at all times.
It was probably the same with the redhead–Francis was anxious about the reception he’d get with having Richie with him, seeing all his former fucks in there, but he’d given them plenty of time and warning in that he was with a man. He’d heard it all in response, but it didn’t mean that he had to hide away for the rest of his life.
By the time they reached the club, Richie was already complaining of the environment, the atmosphere, and for the fact that his pants were riding his ass. Francis was growing tired of his complaints, and had wandered off with some male friends of his to find a table. A little satisfied with that, Richie headed straight for the bar, meeting acquaintances here and there, and enjoying a little attention from those that he’d already had fun with, before. The pizza boy, Milton, especially. Making sure Francis or the others weren’t looking, Richie enjoyed the boy’s advances until spying Ivan walking nearby. He ordered a beer and ignored Milton as he headed away.
It was rather amazing, the way men reacted to his attitude–he’d learned that confidence and a little flirtation went a long way. He’d learned that the key to keeping his admirers was to leave them hanging. To keep them guessing. He’d learned how to play with them with compliments and touches and innuendoes–then turn around and ignore them. Men tried harder when he got past that level, and he had learned that ignoring them made them more desperate.
It was flattering. He loved the attention.
He found a straight friend and spoke with him about various things until finishing off his beer, glancing around for his husband. Francis was busy with his other friends, laughing with some woman with dark hair. Richie flushed angrily, feeling his fists clench as he watched that woman run her hands over Francis’ shoulders, leaning close enough to lean on him. Immense jealousy flooded through him at that moment, insecurity forcing that earlier confidence away. He had to compete with both sexes for his husband’s attention, and that fact made him intensely restless. He was aware of his looks–aware of what he looked like to others. So when women that resembled Carmen Electra began crowding his husband, he felt furious and angry for being convinced to come out to this place.
He turned and headed off to the restrooms, fuming over plans on getting back at Francis for being so damn inconsiderate and sneaky.
Coming out from the restrooms, he spotted Ivan standing near the stairwell by the back exit. Richie felt his lips curve into a smirk. As far as he was convinced, he may have lost a battle–but not the war. There were other things he could do to make the black man regret pushing his cocky attitude into this mess. He was going to make Ivan pay for all of it–the humiliation, the challenges...
He already had his foot in the door with Francis’ link to Ivan–whatever Francis felt, Ivan did. He knew Ivan had feelings for him–no straight man would have done what he did if he didn’t have feelings involved. No straight man would ever give him this sort of constant attention–he knew he had Ivan hooked. It was just making sure that Ivan knew that that bothered him.
He bypassed the pathway that would take him to Francis and the others, aware that the darkness of the club and rapidly flashing lights would help him keep his cover. Ivan was smoking a cigarette, a beer in the other hand, lazily surveying the dance floor. He was almost surprised when the blond strode up to him and snatched his cigarette.
The thought that they could be seen together made Ivan anxious. His scowl darkened as he watched Richie pull the cigarette to his lips, and before he knew what he was doing, Ivan was watching those lips form around the filter.
Quickly, he forced himself to look away, his expression turning to that of disgust.
“I don’t want to hear no fuckin’ whining from you,” he warned.
“No whining...can’t I just be friendly toward someone I know?”
Ivan snorted–but couldn’t look away from the intense stare Richie was giving him. He then grew aware that the blond was leaning on him, his fingers moving over his hip. He quickly shoved him away, and Richie caught himself, laughing as he pulled the cig from his mouth.
“Don’t be a tease!”
“Fuck you! Stay the fuck away from me!”
“Ooh...Ivan...what’s wrong?” Richie’s voice was rich with concern as he gave Ivan his most sincere expression. He reached out to caress his cheek, and laughed again when his hand was batted away from him. “C’mon, Ivan! Don’t be that way! Why are you being such a prude?”
Ivan’s stare was full of his disgust as he sought the darkness for anyone that might be alerted of their behavior. Then he gave Richie his most darkest scowl.
“I don’t wanna be seen with you.”
“Well, that makes two of us, doesn’t it?” Richie shrugged as he pulled Ivan’s cig to his lips and took a long drag. After exhaling, Ivan slightly surprised in that the blond could even smoke in the first place, he gave Ivan one of those single-raised-eyebrow smirks that made his belly twist. Angrily, he reached out to snatch his cancer-stick back, making sure to crush his fingers as he did so.
Richie winced, rubbing his hand as he gave Ivan an annoyed stare.
Still, even as Ivan pulled the cig to his lips to take a long drag, he could feel the way his lips seemed to tingle upon connection.
“Fucking bitch,” he murmured.
Richie turned to glance over the darkness of the club, eyes scanning the area suspiciously before once again turning back to Ivan. The black man found himself stilling as the blond crowded his space, his hands settling over his chest and ribs, nose inches from his. He couldn’t even move, even when he so wanted to. His body seemed to remember every bit of his, his skin tingling anxiously as he felt the weight of Richie leaning against him.
“I want more, Ivan,” Richie murmured against his lips, so close that he had to bend slightly to fit against him. “You know what I want...you made it good for me, Ivan...you can’t just leave it at that...”
For a few moments, Ivan’s throat was so tight that he couldn’t even remember how to breathe. But as his cigarette burned and someone shrieked with laughter from somewhere beyond them, he found it pertinent to say, “Told you.”
“You were right and I was wrong, Ivan. I misjudged you.” Lips brushed against Ivan’s cheek, hot breath dancing over his jaw line. He couldn’t stop himself from shivering just slightly, inhaling the now familiar scents of the blond, and feeling his weight against him. It took all he could to keep from touching him.
“Get off me,” he hissed tightly. “Get off me, or so help me Lord-Jesus–”
“Don’t get so mad, Ivan. I’m just saying–! You were right. I want your cock. Again. In me. I wanna taste it and have it splitting me apart. I wanna feel it in my palm, I want to taste it. I want to lick all ten inches, and I want it deep inside of me–I can’t decide which end. It was so good, Ivan, so good. You had me bow-legged for days, man.”
His lust, combined with his hate, started to warm his blood. His skin burned with Richie’s closeness, the way his traitorous body began to grow interested in the hot whispers against his ear, the restless way Richie’s lithe body shifted against his. And, damn it, the most traitorous part of him grew intensely interested in what was being said.
Tightly, Ivan managed to shove him off, but not enough force was put into the action–Richie only ended up being pushed off of him. Their closeness remained the same.
Richie studied his expression, then laughed softly. He reclaimed the cig, even as Ivan burned with intense conflict, his eyes scanning the club crowd intensely, looking for witnesses.
Richie had just inhaled deeply once more, blowing the smoke into Ivan’s face with deliberate decision when hands wrapped around his arms and forced him around.
Ivan was not about to admit that he’d been so intensely focused on Richie that he’d completely forgotten his link with Francis–he thought that it was Francis, ready to drop his fists on both. But it wasn’t. He’d never felt so much relief flood through him at that instant before quickly reigning himself in.
At seeing the tall, obviously drunk brunette that looked at them with not very convincing clarity, Ivan relaxed once more against the wall and decided to watch.
Richie’s face bloomed with horror and annoyance as Joe held tightly onto him. Then he cringed at the strong smell of alcohol that seemed to pour off of him.
Then, apparently, Joe felt he was being very helpful when he shouted at Ivan, “Don’t let him fool you, man! Don’t let him in! He’s going to fuck you over and leave you rotting when he’s done with you!”
“What the hell–?! Joe! Joe, you’re drunk! You don’t know what you’re saying!” Richie shouted back, the music preventing both from keeping quiet.
His eyes were wild and nearly bloodshot, and when Richie wrenched himself from his grasp, Joe stumbled just slightly before catching himself. Even as drunk as he was, the brunette was obviously capable of expressing his views quite clearly.
“He’ll eat you up! He’s a man-eater!” Joe shouted, continuing with his public duty. Ivan simply lit another cigarette, since the other was lost. “He’ll take your feelings, he’ll fuck with your head–he’ll leave you when you start wanting to get serious! I spent a lot of money on him–!”
“YOU DID NOT! I didn’t take ANYTHING from you!” Richie shouted, indignant as he shoved Joe away from him. “Get out of here! Get out of here, you’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying!”
“He’ll do it, man!” Joe insisted. “Don’t fall for his shit! He’ll eat you up and spit you out! Fuck with your feelings like they were nothing! He’ll do it, and you’ll be left wondering what you did wrong! He’s got a husband! He’s just–!”
“Shut up, Joe! Get out of here! Get out of here, you pathetic creep! Take it somewhere where someone will actually give a shit!” Richie roared, shoving him again.
Joe quickly turned, grabbing his arms as Ivan scanned the crowd for Francis.
“Fuck you, you whore!” he commanded, shoving Richie away from him, the blond returning to shove him back. Looking back at Ivan, he continued with, “He’ll fuck you over! Suck you dry! He’ll take all your money and use you like it was nothing!”
“Go AWAY!”
“Watch it, man!” Joe shouted, keeping Richie from shoving at him. “He’s a good fuck, but nothing else!”
With a low growl, Richie hooked his arm around Joe’s neck, pulling him down to his level, keeping him steady by holding tightly onto his collar with his other hand. “You are only making yourself look stupid, Joe! Get out of here before you embarrass yourself even further!”
Joe grabbed him by his face as Ivan scanned the dark club for Francis to lay the smackdown.
“I loved you, damn it!” Joe shouted, holding tightly as Richie tried pulling away. Ivan then gave a comical expression of shock as Joe began kissing him roughly, Richie shoving at him with panicked movements and muffled curses.
“I loved you! I’ll still take you back, even after you fucked me the way you did! I’ll forgive you! I’m a man like that! I can overlook your stupid mistakes!” he shouted, even as Richie shoved at his face. “I want you back! I need to have you back!”
“Let go! Let go! Oh, God, I’m serious, let go!”
Finally spotting the redhead at the bar, who looked as if he were in the process of searching for him, Ivan began pointing and gaping with that same mocking expression at the two that were almost hidden from Francis’ view. The redhead was confused for a few moments, but eventually grew to realize that he was being called over.
Joe continued to shout at Richie, uncaring that the blond was panicking as he pushed at him.
“Let’s go talk!” Joe yelled, forcefully hauling Richie towards the exit that led into the back alley of the club. “I want to talk to you! I can’t keep yelling in here!”
“I’m serious, Francis is going to be–let go! God, let go! Don’t be stupid–you’re being stupid, Joe!” Richie was shouting, Ivan following the pair once he saw that Francis was steadily making his way over through the thick crowd.
The night air was cool and quiet, the beat of the music inside pounding at the brick walls. Once out the doors, Joe shoved Richie ahead of him, roaring, “I’m still fucking pissed! I hate what you did, but I can’t stop thinking of you! Why can’t I stop thinking of you! You’re a fucking bastard, and you fucking dominate my thoughts!”
“This is fucking drama!” Richie shouted back at him, pushing at him fiercely. Their voices were loud, carrying through the silence and ringing off the walls of the alley. “I’m not like that! Why are you so fucking psychotic!? You’re making a big deal out of nothing!”
“I miss you! Not being able to talk to you–not being able to–to fuck you, to–! I have you in my head! All the time! I can’t think of another person without you being there to make me forget!”
“You’re so fucking psychotic!”
Joe clutched handfuls of his thick brown hair, giving a frustrated shout as Richie stared at him in disbelieving shock, patches of red showing up on his cheeks.
Ivan just had to ask, gesturing with a new cig.
“What’s so special ‘bout him?” he asked Joe, giving Richie a dubious look. “What’s so fuckin’ special? He fucked with your head, fucked with your feelings–an’ you still want him back? What the fuck for? Spare the fuckin’ drama, man.”
“I can’t,” Joe answered mournfully, shaking his head, nearly losing his balance. Richie slapped his shoulder in disgust, shooting Ivan a dark glare right afterward. “You don’t understand. It’s–it’s like...magic. Fuckin’ magic...once he starts paying attention to you, giving you attention, you just–you just get hooked! I can’t explain it!”
Ivan managed to keep himself from laughing as he shot Richie a theatrical shocked expression. “You magic, cracker!” he exclaimed with all the wonder he could muster.
“Fuck you, Ivan!” Richie shouted angrily, tossing his arm when Joe turned his attention to him, struggling to hold onto him. “Joe, you’re crazy! Get away from me, you fucking psycho!”
“I want you to call me. I want you to talk to me again,” Joe pleaded, holding onto his arm. When that was shoved away, he was holding onto the other arm, Richie struggling to keep him from touching him. In the process, the whole scene was being taken out toward the parking lot, where several people milled around with no real purpose. Ivan followed because he thought the whole thing hilarious.
Richie? Magic? He had to laugh aloud.
“I need more time with you!” Joe was pleading, his entire mood changed. He’d gone from angry and vengeful to pleading, his fingers digging into the blond’s arm as he struggled to make Richie understand, the blond fighting him all that time. “I need you to myself! I’ll be more than him, be more than what he can give you!”
“Let go, you fucking psycho! Shit, when did I ever miss the part where you’re fucking unhinged?!”
Ivan looked over when he heard Francis plowing through the exit doors, spying them almost immediately. His expression went from befuddled to furious within an instant. Ivan watched with growing interest as the redhead began to stalk over to the pair that were moving away from the club and into the parking lot.
“I need you, I fucking need you, you’re all I ever fucking think about!” Joe insisted, Richie growing mortified by the scene as he spied those looking over with interest. Uncaring of their audience, Joe kept his hold on his arms, moving steadily through one aisle as he did so. “I can get past that night, man, I can get past what you fucking said to me–! I just–I can’t do this knowing that I’d fallen for you, and I fucking need you, man! I need you!”
“You psychotic, deranged stalker freak! Let go of me! Joe! Let go! Let–! This is so fucking retarded–! I’m not even–! ARGH! You’re so fucking stupid, and this is so fucking retarded–! You’re making a big–oh, SHIT–!”
Francis reached out, grabbing Joe by his shoulder and forcefully swinging him around. Joe very nearly lost his balance, slamming into a nearby vehicle to prevent himself from hitting the pavement. Richie paled significantly as more interested spectators began moving over to see what was going on.
Realizing who had touched him, Joe straightened from the vehicle, watching Richie wrap his arms around Francis in an effort to hold him back, pleading all the while.
Ivan loved it–it was intensely fascinating, like watching a car accident. He knew what would happen, who was going to get beat down, who was going to be blamed. He allowed Francis’ jealousy, possession, anger and pride to course through him, sorting through the emotions with familiarity. Once he began feeling the need to join the redhead in confronting Joe, he pulled back on that control.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Francis demanded fiercely, glaring at the taller brunette, recognizing Joe. He shoved Richie’s hands off of him, and strode forward to confront the taller man, Richie once again moving after him and trying to pull him back. “What the fuck are you doin’? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
“He’s a bitch!” Joe shouted, shifting mood once more, spittle flying as he pointed at Richie. “Fuck that bitch! You’ve got a bitch for a spouse!”
“Francis, stop it, you’re making a scene!” Richie hissed as he practically hung from his husband’s shoulders, intensely mortified by what was happening. Francis was hearing nothing of that as he advanced toward Joe, fists curling and straightening repeatedly as the brunette hurriedly backed away, stumbling repeatedly in his efforts.
“Fuck that bitch! Fuck ‘im!”
“Talkin’ shit?! Huh? Wanna talk more shit?!”
“You’re nothin’!” Joe screamed, face reddening. “You’re nothing! Convict! Loser! Caveman freak! You’re not even close to respectability and maturity! You’re–you’re just a fucking loser! You’re not even HALF of what I am!”
“Fucking gym fag! You fucking bitch, you don’t talk to me that way! I’ll fuck you over, you fucking fairy! Goddamned queen!”
“Fuck you!”
“No, you fuck you!”
“Stop it! Stop it, you two, STOP IT!” Richie ended in a humiliated shout as both men lunged at each other, fists flying. The crowd whooped with excitement as fleshy thuds began to thunder through the parking lot.
Ivan cackled in amusement.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Richie screamed, then jumping on Francis’ back and trying to stop him from beating on Joe. Both of them were banging off of various vehicles, slamming each other against doors, knuckles scraping over flesh.
“Shit...what the fuck’s going on here?” someone asked Ivan from the crowd.
Ivan wasn’t paying attention to them. As long as they weren’t the cops, things were fine. But he glanced at the small group of men that had their features nearly hidden underneath billed caps, hoods and folded bandannas around their heads.
“Bitch problems,” he said simply, scoffing.
“Oh my god, they’re fags?” one exclaimed, almost in awe.
Ivan nodded absently, drawing his cig to his lips. Joe landed a lucky hit, sending the redhead back against the trunk of an Escalade. Francis ended up shoving Richie out of the way to lunge at the brunette, slamming him face first into the bumper of an Eclipse.
“Fighting over that one?! What the fuck...?!”
“Ivan! Stop him!” Richie cried, moving over toward him in agitation. Ivan gave him a mocking wide-eyed stare.
“But...you magic,” he whispered, then laughed uproariously. “You a magic bitch!”
“Ivan–! Fuck you! Stop them!”
“You stop ‘em. They fightin’ over you...”
“Francis! Stop! Joe! Stop it!”
Those watching the entire spectacle laughed as Joe hit the pavement, and Francis looked back at Richie with murder in his eyes. Ivan intercepted without thinking, shaking his head as he stepped forward.
“You wanna focus on him,” he said, pointing at Joe. “He the one all up on him. Ain’t no wrong doing with this one...”
Francis turned away, Richie exhaling noisily as he shot Ivan a grateful look.
“Man...all over that guy? Ain’t no fag, but he really ain’t all that,” one of the men standing nearby commented, giving the blond a dubious look.
“Magic,” Ivan repeated, then laughed. “He’s magic! You get a taste, apparently, everyone be wantin’ him!”
“Ew...”
“This is insane! This is fucking insane!” Richie then gasped, hands in his hair, his skin red with mortification. He had decided that it was fruitless trying to stop Francis when he was going. Even with his capabilities and own strength, he wouldn’t be able to stop his husband from doing what he was doing.
“You magic, bitch?” one of the men asked him, the others laughing.
Richie ignored them, looking over to see Joe stagger back to his feet, giving Francis a panicked look. Francis apparently decided that he’d had enough, angrily wiping his bloodied nose, then turning to stalk away. He grabbed Richie by his arm and yanked him along as he marched towards his vehicle. Ivan laughed again, following them both as Joe shouted threats of going to the police.
Rudy Sedano looked at his brothers and friends, all of them smirking at what they’d just witnessed.
Quickly, he intercepted Joe before he could get far.
“Hey, man, hey...c’mon, man, you’re bleeding all over the place!” he exclaimed, pulling his colors from his pocket and handing it over. “Here, take this. Take it, man. C’mon, you’re getting all fucking dirty.”
Joe paused, taking the bandanna, and using it to wipe his bloodied chin, shaking angrily and breathing hard. Everyone looked up to see the Vitera back out from a parking space nearby and speed off, tires protesting over pavement.
“Goddamn him,” he hissed, wiping his face. Rudy had to lean back, grimacing at the strong alcoholic scent that wafted away from him. A couple of the guys even exclaimed in surprise as they caught the smell. “Goddamn them both! Fuck them! Fuck them, fucking–Goddamn him...”
“What’s this all about, man?” Rudy asked, wincing as he kept Joe at a distance. “You guys fighting over that guy? Who was that guy?”
“Just–! Just a...damn. Goddamn him...just a guy. Fucking–”
“Thought that was his husband, man. Thought they was all married–!”
“They are! They are, but–Richie came to me when Francis was being–fucking redhead freak–when Francis was being shitty. He came to me, then left me to go back to him–fucking little shit. Fucking cocksucking bitch–!”
“Aw, c’mon,” Rudy scoffed, snorting. “He ain’t all that! C’mon! You saw him! He just one of those computer nerds, man! He ain’t all that!”
Joe shook his head vehemently. “NO...no, you don’t understand...when–he’s gay, right? You wouldn’t understand, you’re not–! You talk to him, you get his attention–he makes you feel good. Makes you feel–like, I dunno. Like you can give him everything, then he turns around and fucks you. Fucking fucks you! Takes all that! Money, your feelings–! I fucking hate him! But...at the same time, I just want him back. I just want him to leave that freak and come back to me. Can treat him better, give him everything–!”
Rudy shot him a look of disgust. “You drunk, man. You drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying. Probably, if you were sober, you wouldn’t be saying that.”
“That other guy’s gonna find out the hard way! That other guy, he’s falling prey to him–! Like one of them spiders that bite the head off when they mate, man. He’s gonna fuck him over like he did to me! He and F-Stop deserve each other! Fuckin’ assholes! Users! Careless fucks!...fuck...fuck, I want him back...”
“What other guy?”
“That black one! Richie was all over him in the club. Tried to warn him. Man, I tried to warn him. Looks like he’s gone, too. Fuck. Tried to warn him.”
“Ivan?!” Rudy exclaimed in shock, blinking repeatedly. Gabe’s mouth fell open with stunned surprise, others echoing the same expression. “Ivan ain’t like that!”
“He wasn’t complaining when Richie was all over him!” Joe insisted. “Letting him kiss him, letting him all over–motherfucker, he uses them! Guys like me, he uses us for his amusement! Fucking black widow–like a woman! A magic woman–a witch! A witch!”
“Ivan ain’t like that–!”
“That’s what they all say! That’s what they all say, and still–! Still, Richie gets them. Gets all of them. You wouldn’t think so, you wouldn’t believe it–but give him time. You’ll fall for him. Like I did. Fuck! Fucking caveman. Fucking–fucking golddigger! Whore! Fucking slut! I fucking hate him!...I tried to warn him...tried to warn him...I’mah...I’m not feeling so swell...gonna...go sit down.”
Joe shook his head once more, but lost his balance, falling. Rudy and the others laughed, the eldest Sedano signaling for their leave. They left Joe sitting in the parking lot, talking amongst themselves with amusement.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Back at the house, Ivan watched with amusement as Richie and Francis screamed at each other over what had happened. Francis was screaming about Joe, Richie was trying to clean up the mess around his nose–both were throwing accusations at each other. It was more entertaining to watch than to kick back with a beer with a good movie on the tv. Ivan thought he’d be used to it, having seen it all many times before, but drama was drama.
He sat down on the back of the overstuffed chair and watched both as he nursed a beer from the fridge and interjected with an occasional word here and there.
Finally, Francis threw up his arms in disgust and stomped off toward the kitchen, Richie flinging the dirtied washrag after him, huffing furiously.
Ivan snorted. “You know what you ‘mind me of?” he asked calmly. “One of those squeaking toys animals play with. The kind that makes noise when they’re chewed.”
“Oh, shut up, you black fuck. Like I need to hear your fucking opinion in matters that don’t concern you.”
Ivan looked taken back by the slur and the anger that was being directed at him. “Don’t you be gettin’ mad at me.”
“No, fuck you, Ivan. Fuck off! Get your own fucking life! Stop coming around here and fucking things up for other people!”
“Don’t you be gettin’ mad at me!”
“GO AWAY, you fucking TAGALONG! You know what? Never mind. Don’t go away. Because you know why? You know why you can’t really go away?” Richie asked, moving towards him as Ivan scowled. “Because you’re scared. Because you’re nothing. You’re nothing. You were nothing before the Big Bang, and you’re nothing now. Without any powers, you’re just another washed up, low down, useless ‘banger that does nothing more than waste the air other respectable people breathe!”
Ivan stared at him in silence, then felt his face darken as he rose from his sitting position.
Francis, catching some of those biting words, leaned onto the counter to shout at Richie, “You don’t be talking shit to him just cuz you’re fucking pissed off!”
Richie ignored him, giving Ivan a piercing look of disgust as Ivan sought to calm his own rising anger. He knew what Richie was doing–but he couldn’t seem to control himself in that aspect. He couldn’t seem to regain the cool composure he’d had before.
“You raised your little brother, yeah, that’s cool an’ all–but what happened, Ivan? Why’d he pull away from you? Betcha that fucking hurt, huh? Having a follower and admirer all that time and having him realize the truth. That you ain’t nothing. That you’re just a fucking loser with no real future. Adam–”
“You fucking bitch, you shut the fuck up–!”
“–Adam is now successful. He’s a fucking rich man, Ivan, with a good life and a good wife and he’s got it all! What do you have, Ivan? Huh? You don’t have ANYTHING! You smoke, you drink, you barely spend time at a fucking cockroach infested apartment! You work two fucking jobs! You present yourself like you’re something, but you’re really just a fucking poser!”
“Fuck you, you fucking whore! You fucking whore, you don’t fuckin’ talk to me that way!”
“Rich!” Francis barked from the kitchen, growing exasperated as he felt Ivan’s rising ire. With a look of uncertainty, he watched as Ivan closed the space between himself and Richie, getting as close as possible into his space. He started moving out from the kitchen, feeling that anger rise as Richie got into Ivan’s face. “Fucker, knock it off! He didn’t fuckin’ do anything to you! Get out of his fucking face, you fucking cum dumpster!”
“That’s all you’ll ever be, Ivan,” Richie continued over Francis’ clipped voice, looking into those darkening eyes, recognizing the rising visages of fury on Ivan’s face. He smirked at it, tensing as Ivan drew closer, both of them ready to throw fists. “A fucking poser. You’re nothing but a poser, that’s all you’ll live as–that’s how you’ll fucking die!”
“You shut the fuck up, bitch, you shut that fuckin’ mouth, or I’ll fuckin’ make sure it’s fucking shut for good–!”
“Threaten me? You can’t do anything about it, you fucking nigger. Old, washed up, tagalong nigger–!”
“You fucking white piece of trash! Fucking piece of shit white trash! You’re nothing but a whore, a fucking dirty, useless whore–the only reason why you’re tolerated here is because you’re fucking pitied, you fucking dirty ass slut.”
“HAH! Useless nigger–!”
“RICHARD! Motherfucker, stop all that fuckin’ shit talk–!” Francis barked, hurrying over once he saw Ivan raise his fist. With a sort of alarmed shout, he darted over to come between them as they began punching at each other. Using his body as a barrier, he blocked Ivan from reaching Richie while the blond surged against him to grab a hold of Ivan’s cornrows. Amidst all the racial slurs and derogatory shouts, Francis shouted at both of them, trying to keep them apart.
Shiv, Dominic and three others walked in to see this, all of them wide-eyed and stunned as their screams and shouts rang throughout the neighborhood. Quickly, Shiv hurried forward, moving to pull anxiously at Ivan’s shirt while Francis stumbled against the coffee table. Upon that movement, Richie managed to grab a hold of Ivan’s arm, swinging with his other, connecting a few times before Ivan ensnared his fingers into Richie’s hair and yanked him over Francis.
“Oh my god!” Shiv screamed as he was pulled into the fracas. Random punches landed upon him as he tried to separate both, cackling and gasping in choked action as he tried to figure out what was going on.
Francis finally succeeded in pulling his husband from Ivan, Shiv managing to use all his force to yank Ivan back. They hit the floor as one of them stumbled, legs entangling with the others’, Francis hauling Richie off his feet and twisting so that more space was set between them.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?!” Freddie shrieked, looking agape at the entire thing.
“Goddamned poser!” Richie screamed, kicking wildly as Francis tightened his hold, shouting at him fiercely to be quiet. “Useless fucking tagalong! You have no life, you will NEVER have a life–you think you’re a fuckin’ leader, but you’re just as big as a follower as Shiv is!”
“Uh-uh! Uh-uh!” Shiv tried to shout, gesturing that he wanted to stay out of it, snagging Ivan’s arms quickly when the black man surged to his feet, lunging in that direction.
“You fucking white piece of trash!” he screamed, Francis gritting his teeth as pure anger surged throughout his entire system, making him see red. It was almost impossible to think on his own as Ivan’s fury took over on him. “You talk all that fuckin’ shit, fuckin’ back it up! You fucking–you’re just a fucking useless woman, you white piece of shit! You useless! You’re nothin’! Fuckin’ weak piece of cocksucking shit! You’re nothin’! You were nothin’, you’re still nothin’!”
“Oh, you’re so fuckin’ hard, Ivan! You’re so fucking–!”
Shiv shouted for help as Ivan escaped his clutches, leaping over Francis to get at Richie, all three of them hitting the wall and slamming into the floor. Immediately, Freddie and the others were clamoring over, all their shouts and screams ringing throughout the house and the night.
By the time the two were separated, there was blood everywhere, and everyone was a mass of over-excited adrenaline. Francis had Richie pinned against the wall, falling victim to his punches and enraged shouts, while Freddie and Shiv wrestled Ivan across the living room.
Dominic rescued Ivan’s dropped beer and used the toe of his shoe to clean the spill.
Francis hit the wall just beside Richie’s head, giving an enraged howl of rage, causing Richie to focus in on him. He jabbed a finger painfully against his husband’s face, snarling, “You shut the fuck up. You shut the fuck up, don’t fucking SAY anything more! You fuckin’ say anything more, goddamn it, I’m going to fuckin’ kick your fuckin’ ass! DON’T say anything! Keep that fuckin’ mouth shut–!”
“You WOULD stick up for him–!”
“You started shit, you started this bullshit with him just to fuckin’–!”
“You WOULD stick up for him–!”
“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!” Francis hit the wall again, then again, hearing Shiv and Freddie talking quickly as they tried keeping Ivan from escaping.
Almost in unison, everyone managed to still, heavy breathing audible as everyone tried to calm themselves. Dominic waited patiently, shifting his customary sunglasses off his nose and atop of his forehead as he looked from one man to another.
“Now that we all calm...what the hell just happened?” he asked curiously. “Since when they getting at each other’s throats?”
“Let’s go home, Ivan, man,” Shiv said nervously, not taking his hands off of Ivan in case the black man moved. “Let’s go home, man. We’ll sleep it off, okay? We’ll get this all sorted out in the morning, all right? There’s nothing more, man. Nothing more here to stick around for–!”
“You–!” Richie’s angry shout was cut off when Francis used unnecessary force in clapping his hand over his mouth. He used his shoulder to pin the blond against the wall, looking back at them, ignoring the angry punches he received in the head and shoulders for his action.
“Take him home, get him to calm the fuck down,” he instructed. “Make sure he don’t fuckin’ leave, man.”
“I’mina fuckin’ kill that bitch!” Ivan cursed, shoving Shiv’s arms away from him, pushing Freddie away from him. “I’m going to fuckin’ kill you, Foley! Fucking little bitch, I’m going to fuckin’ RUIN you!”
Richie’s answer was muffled by Francis’ hand, but they got the gist of it as he reddened and kicked and clawed at Francis to get at Ivan.
It was madness, trying to calm himself, to recognize his own identity and thoughts once more. Ivan was certainly riled up enough for Francis to feel everything–the hate he had for his husband was strong, but–he was quite stunned to realize the hurt and the anxiety, as well. It made Francis numb as he watched the group leave, Ivan still cursing up a storm and pushing Shiv and the others away from him.
He knew Ivan was still sore about Adam leaving him–about his efforts in raising his younger brother being regarded as ‘nothing’. He knew how much Ivan had hurt and suffered because of being continually rejected and passed over. He knew all the things that made the man what he was, and felt hurt himself in that he was treated that way.
Still, in all things considered, this fight was truly baffling. He knew Ivan and Richie hated each other–but he didn’t understand why Ivan finally caved in. Ivan wasn’t drunk–he wasn’t drugged, nor had he exchanged enough hate with Richie to be fully riled in the way that he was. Amidst all these feelings, there were others that he just couldn’t grasp. There were traces of hurt unrelated to past issues–these felt more personal. More conflicting.
He couldn’t focus on them clearly enough to really get the meaning behind it all. He was still just shocked that they’d fought in this manner.
He gave a stunned curse when Richie punched him solidly in the jaw, knocking him away. It was enough to have stars whirling around him as he stumbled back.
“YOU ALWAYS STICK UP FOR HIM!” he screamed, shoving Francis away and stomping off, managing to kick all the hapless things in his path as he headed out back.
Standing alone in the mess that had been made during the fight, Francis resisted mightily in throwing one of their precious houseplants after him, and sighed heavily as he surveyed the room. He started to straighten things up when the front door opened, Shiv scurrying in to look around quickly.
“You seen his cigs, man?” he asked hurriedly.
“Oh...look over that chair.”
“What the fuck was going on?” Shiv exclaimed, digging into the cushions to search for the mentioned cigs. “They were trying to kill each other! I never saw that happening!”
“Rich just started talking shit! Dunno...just started talkin’, and Ivan got all fed up. Fuck if I know what was going on...he still fuckin’ pissed?”
“Yeah...man...it’s been awhile since he was up all riled like this, man.” Shiv exhaled heavily. He found the crushed box, seeing that during the fracas, sticks had spilled out. He gathered them quickly, carefully setting each one back into the box. “Oh yeah! Cassandra was pissed that you left her. She threatened that she knew where you lived...”
“Fuck that bitch. I told her I was married up.”
“She’s quite determined. Her exact words were, If he’s fucking with women, then he isn’t serious about being gay, or some shit like that.” Shiv shrugged.
Francis shook his head. “Nah, it’s not. I mean, with her and the others. I quit that. No more.”
“Yeah, I tried telling her. But...”
Both of them looked up to see Dominic and Freddie coming in, both making a beeline for the fridge. Shiv gave them a bewildered look. “Hey, what’cha guys doin’? Ivan still in the car?”
“Said he was gonna smoke for a bit,” Freddie exclaimed. “He’s still in the car. Fucking mad as hell.”
“What happened at the club? They fightin’ then?” Shiv then asked Francis. “Ya’ll were there one minute, then the next? You weren’t.”
“Nah, man, one of Rich’s fuckin’ boyfriends was there to start shit. He was tryin’ to take him away!” Francis then exclaimed angrily, recalling what he’d seen.
“Fuckin’–that guy was pushin’ him through the parking lot. Fuckin’ Ivan was just laughing at the entire thing. Not doing things. So I had to have words with that fuck.”
“Looks like those words hurt, man. You still bleeding.”
“Ain’t mine. I was all cleaned up before those two started at each other.”
“Here...we’ll help you clean up a bit. Ivan’s sulking around in the car, anyway. Where’s...?”
“Out back.”
“‘K. C’mon, guys. Pitch in.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
In that combination of satisfaction and rage, Richie felt calm and coherent enough to realize he could be a damn good actor. Starting shit with Ivan had been his plan–to knock him off-course and rearrange the game a bit. Ivan had fallen for it; hook, line and sinker.
Snickering quietly to himself, Richie hugged his knees and wiped awkwardly at the corner of his mouth, which stung painfully and continued to ooze in protest. It was worth getting all bloody and sore over it–sometimes, sacrifices could be made. He was going to win–Ivan couldn’t take head trips for very long, anyway.
Eventually, he’d break. Richie had felt bad for saying some of the things he had–especially the racial slurs–but Ivan’s rage had quelled that guilt.
Now...he had to focus on how he was going to repair this deliberate break. He could go about it the difficult way, or the hard way–either way, he was going to win Ivan back. He had plenty of practice from previous admirers–of which reminded him of the situation with Joe, but that was going to be ignored until he could get over his irritation over the brunette’s actions–and Ivan had proved to be a worthy opponent with his share of games...all in all, Richie was just excited at having a challenging obstacle. This game between them was growing stronger and more complicated, and he enjoyed it. Of course, what made it even better was Francis’ cluelessness into the entire thing. Ivan was doing a great job at hiding his feelings from the redhead, which made Richie want to push more and more to see just how much Ivan could take.
He snickered again to himself, wincing as he touched his nose. He’d lost his glasses somewhere in the living room, and wasn’t really concerned with their demise. He could get others–or, more than likely, Francis would go ahead and replace them.
He started to feel bad in that his husband was being used, but bristled upon realizing just how angry he was with Francis’ words to him earlier. Names were being used again, and earlier irritation with those women all over him made that anger hotter. He just grew more determined to quell that vexation with means of his own, and that meant playing with Ivan.
Chewing with an agitated manner on his fingernail, he eyed the darkness with an accusing glare, wiping his mouth once again. He heard the squeak of the gate opening, but paid it no mind because he figured Francis was the one doing so.
He was irritated at his husband, but also a little guilty at what he was doing behind his back. He really couldn’t decide which was stronger.
He wiped his mouth again, using the sleeve of his shirt to do so, and looked up to address Francis on his loyalty ties. He froze upon seeing Ivan glaring down at him. For a moment, Richie was thrown off balance–he’d thought they’d left. Thoughts scattered and fear automatically eased its way in, but he forced himself to display nothing of what he felt. He lost his earlier confidence and determination and couldn’t think of anything witty or scalding to say.
Ivan was still furious, and his expression told him so. Before Richie could move, the black man’s hand snatched out and pulled him to his feet by his hair. Richie nearly lost his balance in the action, his hands shooting out to push at him, and the two struggled against each other.
Finally, Richie felt air whoosh out of his lungs as Ivan slammed him into the back gate, pinning him there with hands over his throat. He choked and gagged as he tried to breathe, his fingers clawing at Ivan’s wrists, rational thought leaving him as Ivan hissed in determination.
Immediately, the need for Francis to interfere came to mind, and he tried calling his name, the sound escaping in pathetic wheezes.
Ivan laughed lowly at this, easing the grip slightly so that Richie could breathe in.
“You little fuck,” Ivan murmured, looking wild with his hair all askew and his face arranged with maniacal amusement. But the way he spoke made the curse sound almost like an endearment. There was affection in that tone that made him even more frightening. “You got me goin’ there for a moment or two–took me a minute to realize what you were doing. You clever, stupid little fuck!”
“W-what are you talking about? You–!”
“I know you’re playing games with me, I know you’re pulling this bullshit just to get things your way–!” Ivan laughed once again, but kept his voice low. He tightened his grip, hearing the wheezy cut-off of breath Richie made at the action. He relished the helpless way pale fingers clawed at his wrists, the way the blond struggled to inhale. The gate creaked with the extra weight that was being pushed onto it, and Ivan continued to enjoy watching his work before he loosened his hold once more to allow him to breathe.
“It goes to you,” he said in wondrous amusement. “This all goes to you. You know what you’re doin’, and you’re doin’ it good. I’m amused, cracker. Straight out amused.”
Richie looked at him, struggling to gasp in more air, trying to think of something to say. But his eyes caught something moving behind them, and he focused beyond Ivan’s shoulder just in time to catch a large, hulking shape shift out of the shadows and bound away. He froze instinctively, automatically knowing what it had been, bewildered to know why Daniel Trujillo was spying on them.
Ivan saw the shift of sight, glancing over his shoulder to see what it was Richie was looking at. Quickly, the blond thrust both of his arms up against his, knocking his grip off and away from him. He breathed in quickly, rubbing his throat as he glanced around them. Ivan turned back to him, eyeing him determinedly as Richie looked back at him.
“This is far from over,” Ivan muttered.
Richie didn’t say anything, just shifted to allow him to pass as he left the backyard through the gate. He swallowed hard, rubbing his throat painfully as he then shifted his attention back to the shadows beyond the rock pathway. Hearing Ivan meet up with the others, he pulled the back gate closed and locked it. He felt trepidation upon knowing that Daniel knew where they lived–he had to wonder if it was because of him that the werewolf was stalking their house. He didn’t want his secret as Gear to come out, especially to Francis. Francis had a continued hate for both him and Static due to their constant policing of his actions back in the day.
Carefully, he walked away from the gate and headed out toward the barbeque pit, anxiously curling his fists.
“Daniel?” he whispered, a little shakily. “Daniel, are you out here? I know it’s you...Daniel...please come out. Let’s talk a little bit, huh?”
He listened carefully, finally then noticing that the neighborhood dogs were intensely silent. That nothing seemed to be moving, save for the occasional vehicle on the streets. It made every hair on the back of his neck stick straight up, and a fear-tinged shiver to course throughout every limb. It was creepy, knowing that something of that size and determination was out there. Even though he knew who it was, it was still creepy that the metahuman could produce such an effect.
He stared out at the shadows, then ducked behind the grill when he heard the back sliding door open, Francis calling his name with impatience. As he took the position, he scanned the backyard for any more sign of Daniel, hearing Francis search for him. Hearing his annoyed mutters, Richie rolled his eyes and kept hidden as he listened to Francis walk around the deck and the rockway to the back gate. Finally deciding to give up on the search, Francis then walked inside, slamming the door shut.
Richie relaxed, then began to speak again. “You’re obviously intelligent enough to know what I’m saying, Trujillo. I know who you are–there is a cure. The next time we meet, you could be getting that cure.”
Nodding firmly, he gave the shadows another perusing glance, then straightened away from the grill. He headed back inside to see what it was Francis wanted, and to apologize for what he’d done.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
Down the street, Rudy chuckled to himself as he slipped Danny a couple of pieces of raw meat, Armando writing down the address of the house and memorizing the neighborhood.
"Well, now...we know where they live," Rudy muttered, scratching Danny's head affectioniately, Danny loving the attention, giving a small whine as he leaned into the touch. "We'll just drop by sometime...just to see how things are. Good job, man, good job."
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
That next morning, Francis was awakened by the sound of the doorbell and several insistent knocks. Grumbling low, he shifted, pushing Richie off of him.
He yawned again, climbing off the bed and pulling on a shirt and last night’s jeans. Richie continued to sleep, so he didn’t bother with trying to wake him up as he headed down the hall to answer the door. The doorbell was depressed once more, and the knocks grew more insistent.
He had a very bad feeling as he reached out and opened the door, grimacing at the sight of John Knoxson and a couple of policemen standing behind him.
“Fuck,” he muttered, automatically thinking of Joe.
John gave him a frown, and walked in without invitation.
“Get your stuff, man,” he said on a tired sigh. “You’re being hauled in for assault.”