Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ All The Things You Hide From Me... ( Chapter 19 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
“You never answered my question,” he stated quietly...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.05.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.9K | Visits: 373 | Status: Completed
“You never answered my question,” he stated quietly...
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Hentai / Drama | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 12.05.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 8.9K | Visits: 373 | Status: Completed
Disclaimers Apply Here: Manga-Chick does NOT own any part of Static Shock...no matter what she thinks.
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A/N: LEMON!
Shampoo: No, he didn't. Just played a bit...
Chapter Nineteen:
All The Things You Hide From Me...
Armando shifted restlessly, watching his brother push and shove Danny through a series of exercises, to get used to the loss of his one eye. Amid all the cursing and shouting, Rudy expressing himself in both Spanish and English, using that worn bat to administer tough love on the metahuman, Armando shifted through some photos that had been taken of the neighborhood Stone and Evans hung around in. Rudy was planning on something big–he didn’t want to be caught carrying out his plans.
He wanted revenge and street cred with playing with two of the biggest names on the street, and Rudy was planning things carefully. It had already been decided that to get the revenge aspect was taking it out on Stone’s husband; then waiting for the retaliation that would come out of it from Stone and Evans. Rudy was certain that with beating them down they’d get more recognition and credibility from the other gangs in the area.
No matter that Stone and Evans weren’t up in the gang scene as they used to; Armando had learned that they’d settled considerably, living their lives like the rest of the sheep with jobs and home lives that coincided with the others’. Evans had a continuous bad relationship with his younger brother and rarely visited unless Adam visited him first. Lately, he’d been hanging around Stone’s husband, looking wholly irritated and cranky the entire time. Stone had been in jail–nothing new came out of that.
He watched as Rudy kicked Danny when the metahuman didn’t respond to a direction quick enough. The snarling maw settled around Rudy’s shin, and the man gave an enraged scream as Danny chewed. Several whacks of the bat later, and Danny was slinking off into the shadows with a sullen growl and Rudy was cursing over his bloodied leg.
Armando chose this time to interfere, walking over to examine the torn jeans and jagged wound. “Time to wind it down, bro,” he murmured, eyebrows raising. “You need stitches.”
“Fucking little shit,” Rudy cursed, tentatively probing the wound. But he gave a satisfactory smile. “But he gots better balance. Better than the other day, actually. He ain’t gonna be all top-dog for awhile, though. But enough to get by.”
“...The wound closed up?”
“Enough. Had to cut off his fuckin’...the little strips that connect to his brain.” Rudy held up his forearm, gesturing at a bandaged mess that Armando blinked at.
“Didn’t like it, but if he kept it, someone could get a hold of it. I’m looking out for the bastard, and all he does is fuckin’ bite me around. Fuck it. Least he’s gettin’ better at things.”
Armando cast the shadows an uncertain glance. He could still hear Danny growling angrily. Since the day he’d returned with one less eye, the metahuman had been extremely cranky. No one but Rudy would venture close. No longer were the clipped words and bouts of affection the metahuman had bestowed on the other members. The animal-man was sullen.
Danny still hadn’t confessed to who had taken his eye. Rudy left it at that, but punished him for his shortcoming by locking him into a room and starving him. Making him mean.
Armando had mixed feelings about his brother’s actions, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. He didn’t want Rudy turning on him. He was obsessed with wanting revenge, but Armando had to wonder why he hadn’t already carried out his orders just yet.
But he had to hand it to his brother–thinking carefully of all the angles before actually delving into the action. Still...there was always going to be a slip-up, and Armando tried to think of what they were before Rudy could.
Family stuck together.
Rudy turned, glancing in the direction Danny had taken. A low, sullen growl was the response given to him, and he gave a weary smile.
“That’s it for today, then,” Rudy decided, hanging his shaved head. “Let’s get something to eat. I found this place down the projects that we’re going to use for–you in, right? With the plan?”
Armando shrugged carelessly. A beating was a beating. He’d go mainly to see what his brother would do.
“I found this place down in the projects. We’re going to use it on that fag. Kinda...I got ropes and other shit we’re going to use on him. Bat, some lighter fluid, some gas...got some knives, some nails, and I wanna try out this fuckin’ thing where you rope ‘im up and drive some–”
“Rudy...just...eye for an eye, right? We’re not going to kill him...”
“No. No, man. We ain’t gonna kill him. Just mark him up. Like what they did to Eustacio.” Rudy gave him an exasperated look. “C’mon, man. Just...c’mon. Think of him like another ‘banger. He ain’t that much. Prolly is tougher than he looks.”
“...You’re not going to...like...rape him, or you?”
Rudy gave him a disgusted look, punching his shoulder. “I ain’t fag, you fuckin’ homo. No. I ain’t gonna do that. That’s...that’s fuckin’ gross. I’ll have someone else do it. Heh.”
“No, seriously...I mean...just because he’s gay doesn’t mean we’re going to...do that kind of thing, right?”
“...Faggots are faggots...”
“Rudy...”
“Hey, if one of the boys speaks up and wants it, I ain’t gonna talk him out of it.”
“Eustacio wasn’t raped.”
“...Yeah. But...faggots are like bitches. Bitch was in the same story, she’d get her pussy fucked just cuz she’s a bitch. So...it kinda applies and makes sense, eh?”
“...Still...that’s a man we’re talking about. A man, Rudy...”
Rudy shrugged his shoulders, giving the floor a disinterested swipe of his shoe. “Well, what happens, happens.”
Armando sighed, shaking his head. “Stone’ll be super pissed. Hella.”
“Yeah...but...that’s what happens in the game, huh? Shouldnt’ve have touched our little brother. Now his bitch is gonna pay for it. ‘Sides, he wants shit, he’ll come get it. Stone ain’t known for, like, common sense and shit.” Rudy punched his palm. “Hah! Show him who’s fuckin’ tough. He ain’t shit. Just fuckin’ talk. Always wanted a whack at him since back in the day...”
Armando thought briefly of the days before the Big Bang–how Stone would run his mouth about the Sedano brothers and challenge them. They never really crossed paths–just talked and talked, other things coming in between.
“...Ivan?”
“Him, too. Just for fuckin’ bein’ a bitch.” Rudy took practice swings at the air, punching solidly. “Gonna teach ‘em both for being fuckin ‘stupid. For bein’ fuckin’...stupid. Damn. Can’t wait. Can’t wait for it all. You know what? Maybe I should get both Stone and his bitch. Then make Stone watch what we do to him.”
Armando snorted. He shook his head, not liking the idea. “Stone would go crazy, man. If he’s what they say he’s like.”
Rudy laughed. “Damn. Word. He would go crazy. Kinda make it even more fun. I mean, we’re all fuckin’ over his man, and he’s just...unable to stop it. I kinda like that idea, more. It sounds more fun. Then we bring in Ivan....then kick both their asses, y’know? Kinda rub it in more if we do it like that.”
“Man, when people see that shit happening to their loved one, man, they get all crazy. You can’t predict what they’re going to do,” Armando warned. “Stone’s strong, man. You seen him. He’s built like a fuckin’...house. He got bigger since back in the day.”
“Prolly just for show, man. He ain’t shit,” Rudy scoffed. “Dunno. Well, haven’t really decided. I mean, I like to just make Stone watch what we do to his husband. It would be kinda fun. But then again...I kinda respect that idea you have, man. People can do weird things for each other.”
“Yeah...keep that in mind...who knows what he’ll do, huh? I mean...if they been together all this time, and he’s possessive of him...he’ll fuckin’ kill you, Rudy. Don’t make him watch, man. That’s... that’s fucked up.”
But Rudy was ignoring him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he stared off into the distance. Armando sighed once more, shaking his head.
Both of them looked up sharply upon seeing Danny slink out from the room, still growling low under his breath.
Rudy narrowed his eyes. “Where you think he goes, eh? When I didn’t lock him in, he always leaves at this time.”
Armando glanced at his wrist watch, noting that it was nearly six in the evening. “...dunno...”
Giving a snort and lick of his lips, Rudy grinned at his younger brother. “Maybe he has a bitch waiting for him, or something.”
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He had just gotten the key into the driver’s side door when he heard the ominous click of a safety being disengaged. Richie stilled, inwardly groaning at the familiar sound. He looked up, his face showing his surprise at seeing Joe standing there, a gun at his head. It took a few moments to note that the brunette’s appearance was rather raggedy–that his hair was unwashed and fixed, that he was wearing very rumpled clothes. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a week, and his eyes were drawn with overly large dark circles.
Another quick glance around told him that the parking lot was empty–this was another reason why he hated grocery shopping; one never knew when they were going to be accosted while performing such normal duties. The cart of plastic bags was shoved aside by the brunette, clattering loudly against another vehicle.
“J-Joe,” Richie said stammered, feeling a little confused as to why the man looked this way.
Until all things hit him at once–the cruel hoax of Joe’s ‘suicide’ note, the embezzling; all of it done because of Joe’s assault charges against his husband. He wondered if Joe’s current state was a product of that. He felt little guilt for it.
Joe stared at him, almost blankly, making Richie shiver as he pulled his keys from the door. He knew he could disarm him–it wasn’t that hard to move and pull the gun from him. But he didn’t need to, because then Joe was stilling at the feel of a gun at the back of his head.
Joe’s eyes snaked to the side, seeing an exasperated Jason and Dominic standing there, armed and filling in for Ivan as the black man worked.
Richie gave a sheepish expression, mortified by the lengths that was being taken for his consideration. The parking lot was empty, fortunately, because he was more embarrassed then alarmed by the scene that faced him. “Sorry, man. Just...I’ll be happy to talk to you, but you need to lose the gun.”
Joe’s breath was short and clipped as both men shot Richie annoyed looks. But the gun at the blond’s head lowered slowly. He looked back at the blond and continued to look desolated. Richie looked over at Jason and Dominic with a frown.
“Let me talk to him, all right? Can we have some privacy?”
The pair grumbled and muttered, but stepped away from the two of them, Joe looking at them with some level of disbelief. He looked back at Richie, who took his gun from him, unloading the clip quickly.
“You’ve got...bodyguards,” Joe murmured, his tone light with continued incredulity.
“It’s not my decision. Look...you look a little...out of it, man. What’s wrong with you?” Richie then asked, slipping the clip of bullets into his back pocket, and unloading the chamber.
Joe stared at him for several seconds, then shook his head. “My world...my world is gone...I...a whole lot of things happened, and–and I have every reason to suspect that it was you.”
“...W-what’d I do? I mean...you...you can’t blame your feelings on me, Joe. That’s unrealistic.”
“...I should...I mean...I got involved. Never in my life–my entire life!–has this ever happened to me!” Joe ended in a shout, tapping his chest. The two men nearby shuffled closer, and he cast them cautious looks, Richie taking on a puzzled expression. Joe looked back at him, his bloodshot eyes looking entirely crazy. “It was all because of you! Because of YOU. I never had this much trouble until YOU came along...then...then it all fell apart...I lost my fucking job...they think I embezzled money from them. I have never stolen ANYTHING from anybody my entire life, and now the FBI’s on my case–! Do you realize that this would have never happened until YOU came along?”
“Joe, I–I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie uttered nervously, feeling a little guilty for what he’d done, but fiddled with the wedding band around his ring finger. “How could I have–?”
“–And now my family thinks I’m on the verge of fucking suicide!” Joe barked out a strangled laugh, sweeping his hands through his hair. “Suicide! Me?! This is totally ridiculous!”
“Yes, very, so, um...I wasn’t involved–!”
“It had to be you,” Joe murmured softly, his hands shaking as they reached for him. Richie quickly pulled back, shaking his head and gesturing at the two men that were watching suspiciously nearby. Joe dropped his hands, and sighed heavily, shaking his disheveled head. “None of this shit ever started until you came along...”
“Joe...have you been drinking? I mean...you seem really out of it, today,” Richie said, a little nervously as he watched the taller brunette prop himself against the back bumper of the Vitera. Licking his lips, he cautiously reached out for the shopping cart, pulling it close to him to start loading the back seat with groceries. He only managed to get one bag in before Joe snatched the other, preventing him from continuing.
“I realize that you hit a patch of bad luck, but...to come along and blame me for it–! And above it all, to hold a gun against my head–! Joe! You were never this reckless!...maybe you’re taking steroids or some sort of–”
Joe gave another strangled sound of laughter, turning away from the vehicle to give him a glazed expression. He then gestured at himself repeatedly, fingertips on his chest as he advanced, saying, “Me? Steroids? I have never taken the sort–! This all started because of you! Because of you! You and your fucking primate of a husband–! If I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t be in this mess! I should have never encouraged you! I should have left earlier so that we never could talk–! Isn’t this crazy? You see this sort of thing on television, but never in real life–! You are...you are something, man, seriously. You are a real work of art. To bring a man down. To bring a man down this way, and just... look smug at it all. They should document you, or something. Follow you around with cameras. See how many lives you actually ruin in a day!”
Richie chuckled nervously, never taking his eyes away from the apparently demented soul before him. Jason and Dominic were still standing nearby, watching the entire thing with expressions of interest and confusion, but they were still armed and ready to react if Joe made one wrong move.
And even if Joe had wrecked some parts of his life right now, Richie really didn’t want the man dead. That would just make him feel so entirely guilty.
He held his hands up cautiously. “Look...just...Joe. You’re acting way out of line. Way out of your character. I mean...you never freak out. All right? You were the type of guy that saw the good things in a tragic car accident! That’s why I liked you. Okay? Your optimism was really...I dunno. Fun. But...but now you’re...all weird. You have to stop that, okay? Trust me, I’m not some valuable charm, or whatever. I’m just...damn, I’m just me. I don’t do that sort of thing. Look, all this bad stuff–it’s going to go away, soon. You just need to–lay off whatever it is you’re doing and just–relax. I guess. That’s all you can do right now, and–”
“‘Relax’?! I have the fucking F-B-I on me, man!” Joe shouted. He shoved the shopping cart away from Richie, so that he wasn’t blocked by the object. The cart slammed into the other vehicle with a clatter of sound. “For something that I know I didn’t do! I know it was you!”
“Joe, you’re overreacting. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can reassure you, it wasn’t me–!”
“I know it was you! I never had this sort of trouble before you came along!”
“Joe, good grief, stop. Stop it. Look, go away, all right? I didn’t do anything. Well, the only bad thing I did was make a bad choice in choosing you to have fun with. Go away, Joe. If you keep this up, I’ll have to file a restraining order against you, and I don’t want to do that–!”
“You?! File a restraining order against me?! I should against you!”
“That’s perfectly all right, Joe! But I’m not the one doing all the approaching, here! You are!”
“You little bitch! I can’t believe you!” Joe cried, once again gesturing at himself. “My life has fallen apart because of you!”
Richie gave him a disgusted look, shaking his head as he tossed his gun back at him. The metal clattered uselessly against the taller man’s form and to the pavement. “Go home, Joe. Keep your vivid fantasies to yourself. Stop bothering me.”
Joe watched as he waved at the two men still watching them, then opened the door to his vehicle.
He moved quickly, kicking the door shut, then grabbing Richie by the hair. The two men were quick to react, screaming their orders quickly as Joe shifted his arms into a choke hold around the blond’s neck. Richie rolled his eyes, feeling more annoyed then pained by the entire thing, keeping himself steady as he was brought snugly against the other man.
“I’ll break his neck!” Joe spit, with an almost maddened snarl. Both Jason and Dominic held their guns out, both moving to surround him as Richie stood calmly within the hold. There wasn’t a way Joe could break his neck, and he felt calm with this knowledge. Joe wasn’t trained in any form of defensive arts, and Richie felt very confident in that he could break out of his hold easily to escape.
He just felt so much pity for the man. It was so uncharacteristic of him to behave in such a manner.
“Joe,” he said slowly, reaching up to firmly curl his fingers around the man’s wrists. “You are making a really big mistake. You need to stop. You’re going to get hurt–”
“‘Me’?! I am and was already hurt, Richie!” Joe snarled, his mouth settled against the side of Richie’s head, his arms tightening around his neck. “As far as I see it, I have nothing more to lose. I lost everything. My job, my family thinks I am crazy–you went back to your husband. I have nothing more to lose. I can be desperate all I like–I don’t want to be the only one suffering when you were the one that brought me to this moment!”
“...You’re so psychotic, Joe. Get a life.” Richie pushed his fingertips into the soft underside of his forearm, just an inch below his wrist. Applying more force, he jerked his head forward at the slight give, and slammed it back against his chin. Joe was stunned by the action, letting him go so that he could dart out of his arms, kicking the inside of his upper left thigh.
The brunette sank to the ground, groaning slightly, Richie shaking his head in pity once more. He took that time to finally unload his groceries into the back seat of the Vitera, then pushed the cart aside.
“You need to stop taking things out of context, Joe,” he said with some vexation. “You ruined your own life. You made your own choice. Leave me alone.”
“No...no...my life...my life ended when you left,” Joe said on a choked sob.
Angrily, Richie turned to face him, giving an annoyed shout. “C’mon, man! Stop it! Stop that fucking bullshit! It wasn’t even serious! Damn, it was just one fucking night! Why are you so fucking obsessed?!”
Joe sniffled loudly, shaking his head as he moved onto his hands and knees. Richie watched him with some flickers of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest, barely able to believe what he was seeing. Jason and Dominic exchanged incredulous looks, Dominic popping his chewing gum loudly. The pair weren’t really standing at attention–just sort of hanging about, as they realized that Joe wasn’t a threat without his gun.
It was then that Richie heard the sharp sound of a clip snapping in place, and he belatedly remembered the clip he’d taken earlier. His hands slapped his empty back pockets with surprise, and watched as Joe held the reloaded gun once more, Jason and Dominic snapping to alert attention.
Tears were streaming down Joe’s face, his expression wholly agonized as he held the gun steady. He slowly rose to his feet once more, ignoring the guys that yelled at him to put his weapon down. Richie repressed the urge to groan and roll his eyes, holding his hands up defensively as Joe faced him with the weapon once more.
Sniffling deeply, his breath coming in short clips, Joe focused the gun at Richie’s face and spoke harshly. “I’m telling you...I’m telling you now...you ruin people’s lives. You come in, you dig your little claws into them–then you use them, and you leave them bewildered. I am honestly bewildered, man! My life...my life is over. I don’t want to go to jail. For especially something that I didn’t do! You understand?”
“Joe...Joe, put the gun down, okay? Put it down.”
“Listen to me! My life is over! And it’s because of you! Because of you, I’ll be treated like a criminal! I did nothing but love you, and this is what happens? I feel sorry for your husband, man. What’s it going to be like for him when you leave him? He seems like a devoted guy–seems like he’d be more crushed than I would if you fucked him over, the same way you did to me....”
Richie shook his head noiselessly, not taking his eyes from the gun.
Joe took a few moments to cry angrily, his face flushing with splotchy misery as he held the gun steady, ignoring the two men that were moving around him, ready to strike.
“You fucked me,” Joe cried. “You fucked me over...you came into my life, and you fucked me over. I hope the same happens to you, you little bitch. I hate you! I hate what you did to me! Look at what you did to me! Look at this! Reduced to nothing–! Nothing! I hope the same happens to you. I hope someone comes along and fucks you over the same way you fucked with me...”
“You putting a curse on me, Joe?” Richie asked, unable to help the sarcasm that filtered into his tone.
Joe stared at him blankly, saying nothing for the moment. But his arm lifted, and Richie prepared to move, anticipating his next action and feeling the adrenaline course through him quickly. He could dodge it–he knew he could. Joe wasn’t exactly a gun handler–just misguided by his sudden madness.
“Yeah,” Joe then said quietly, nodding his head. “Yeah. I’m putting a curse on you. Someone has to stop you.”
Richie stared at him in silence, then shook his head tightly. “You’re crazy, Joe,” he muttered.
“...Yeah...crazy...I loved you, dammit. I loved you.”
Then, before Richie could move, the gun went off. But it wasn’t at him, or expelled from one of the others.
Joe had committed suicide right before him.
Someone screamed in surprise and reaction near the store, and Jason and Dominic hurriedly hid their weaponry. Richie stared at the bloodied mess before him, feeling utterly numb and heavy from the inside out.
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The charges were dropped, and Francis came home two days later. All the while, Richie was stuck in a sort of state of disbelief and numb horror over what had happened. He hadn’t expected anything to happen in that extent. He had never given thought of such possibilities. Such things happened to other people, not to him–discounting all the weird actions that befell him since the Big Bang.
When Francis arrived home, he couldn’t be happier. It meant that no kidnaping schemes would continue, that Ivan would stop grumbling and threatening him, and that perhaps some quality of peace and normality would occur.
Francis was quite concerned over what had happened to Joe, but he was doubly relieved as well. Since Joe’s death, no charges could be completed against him.
The next Tuesday night, Richie stared numbly at the television screen as Francis sat beside him, a wall of protective muscle that made the blond feel somewhat comforted and secure. He hadn’t noticed since the third year of their marriage how protected he felt when sitting by the more muscular male. There were a lot of things he was starting to realize with Francis that made him feel guilty for ever losing sight of them all.
When they were first starting out, he found much comfort and security with the older male. Francis’ presence had been dominating until Richie’s last growth spurt occurred, and even then, it was just so soothing to feel Francis’ protective hardness against him whenever they were out, or just relaxing at home.
It had never occurred to him that he’d counted on him so much for the little things; and now that he was granted clear view of what he’d missed, he was feeling much more appreciative for the things he’d almost lost.
Joe’s death had scared him in that things could be driven so far–that people’s feelings were actually more than they let on.
He didn’t want to blame himself for what had happened–after all, the attraction had been mutual in the beginning. He felt that Joe was the one that let it turn so badly. He tried not to think of the actions he’d taken against the brunette when Francis was in jail.
Francis was laughing with Shiv over something, Ivan scowling in the overstuffed chair nearby–the living room was a clutter of beer cans, take-out containers and various video games and DVDs, but Richie never felt much more secure than he did, now. He leant forward, to wrap his arms around Francis’ waist and press his cheek against his back, sighing heavily as all the familiar smells and sensations coursed through him at that moment. The redhead gave his knee an absent squeeze in response, and continued laughing about something that Shiv was saying.
Snuggling into the hard muscles of his back, Richie closed his eyes and figured that if he were ever to cheat again, it would be with someone that he wasn’t going to make any attachments, to.
Francis made him feel secure; but their marriage felt stiff. He was still giving considering thoughts to cheating, no matter what Daniel had done to him, or what Joe had accomplished. He loved his husband–but there were some things that he wanted to do anyway.
He opened his eyes, licking his lips, considering his choices and decisions. He would just have to be more careful in the future. Choose his partner more wisely.
Someone that didn’t want to get serious, or was rumored to be the clingy type.
Without thinking, his sight set on Ivan–he was slightly startled to see the black man scowling at him, with a different sort of anger that Richie didn’t understand. He hadn’t made any flirty advances toward him lately, nor had he encouraged any interaction. Ivan had resorted to treating him as he did before the game–both of them avoiding each other as much as they could.
But that look–it was something that made Richie uncomfortable. Both of them looked away at almost the same instant, and Richie felt Francis shift, to reach back and curl his arm around his waist, leaning back against the couch to settle a pillow over his lap so that Richie could rest upon it as he laid down. With that position settled, Richie stared at the television screen with Francis running his fingers through his hair–and casting Ivan suspicious glances all the while.
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It was a tingling feeling at the back of his neck. That he wasn’t seeing something that he was supposed to.
It had to do with Ivan–he was sensing a lot of hostility from him, and most of it involved Richie. It wasn’t his usual aggression–some of it was being direction at him. Francis wasn’t sure what he was to make of this situation–but he felt traces of Ivan’s emotions that concerned some things he found questionable.
It had to do with his husband.
He didn’t think Ivan ever felt such things for Richie, but he understood that because of their link, Ivan would be closer to Richie than he’d be willing to admit.
Francis’ suspicions started that night when the argument over the blinds began. He’d taken a brief nap after having sex with his husband, but he’d awoken because Ivan’s anger had been intense. Enough to have him clutching the pillow and cringing. Because it had been directed at Richie.
There were lingering things that had dwelled, as well. Some traces of sexual overtures, of lust. Francis had left the bed to investigate why such things, when he knew Ivan hadn’t been attracted to Richie in that sense–or had he?
Ivan had learned how to pull in and hide his feelings. Ivan had always been one of those people that could hide his feelings and intentions, while Francis had always been unable to.
But it suddenly occurred to him that night–if Ivan could feel Francis’ wants and needs from Richie, then there was no doubt that the black man could act upon them and feel the same way.
Walking into the living room, he’d known that something had happened–he knew his husband was smug about something. And feeling on Ivan, Francis had recognized the faint effects of lust satisfied. From that point on, he’d tried to pay more attention, tried to rein in his feelings of need for Richie, but he’d slipped up here and there.
The thought of them having ‘something’ was almost unimaginable. They fought all the time; sniping, growling, complaining, shooting each other irritated looks...Francis couldn’t believe that the pair would actually start something.
He decided to play closer attention to things.
That night, he was breathing heavily as Richie sucked on him, his hands moving insistently over his hips, playing with his hotspots. Enjoying the fellatio, Francis ran his fingers through his short blond locks, leaning back onto the pillows, feeling the cool night air sweep over him. Throat muscles pulled on him, Richie’s tongue moving over his shaft, his fingers moving up his hip and over his stomach. Tilting his head back, Francis moaned in protest over the mouth that left his cock, lips moving over his hipbones and a firm tongue licking up the rigid strength of his sides.
Francis curled his fingers under his husband’s chin, pulling him up to his face, their mouths meeting heatedly. His tongue prodded the warm depths of Richie’s mouth, smoothing over his tongue, and wincing suddenly.
“When you take up smoking, baby?” he asked softly, shifting to kiss on his jawline and throat, one hand snaking between them to masturbate his husband roughly.
“I–just one. Earlier. Just took one of Ivan’s,” Richie answered, shifting forward to run his tongue over his collarbone, his fingers dancing up his sides.
Francis felt his face shift into that of puzzlement, his hands drifting up Richie’s arms, curling over his shoulders to draw him close against him.
“Sorry. Thought I brushed better,” Richie muttered, biting on his neck, shifting restlessly over him.
Francis thought about that, trying to picture both of them standing on the back deck, smoking. Talking. Enduring each other for something so casual.
He forced himself to run his hands over Richie’s ass, squeezing and kneading the cheeks. He forced both of them up, pinning him underneath him, shifting and adjusting until he slid into his husband’s body with a low, much approving grunt. He clasped his hands, pulling them so that their hands were pinned between them.
“Babe, when you start smoking?” he asked quietly, propping his feet into the mattress, to aid him in thrusting slowly, ignoring Richie’s frustrated actions in wanting him to move faster.
“Just–occasional!” Richie grunted, short of breath from the weight that Francis pinned him with.
“Don’t do it. It makes you taste gross,” Francis muttered, dropping his head to kiss his neck, biting lightly at the tendons that flexed there. “Especially when I swallow your cum.”
“Fine, fine–!”
With a somewhat discontented frown, Francis shifted, to pull one of his legs up and out, shifting to prop his other hand down on the mattress. He continued moving slowly, enjoying the tight moans coming from his husband. One of Richie’s legs curled around his waist, clinging tightly, his hips rising and falling with each motion Francis made.
In the middle of it, Francis paused, blinking at the scrape of sound against the window. He frowned at it, but was distracted when Richie’s hands coursed over his waist, his fingers digging with need into his skin. He reached down, to grip his hips, lifting him higher in order to gain that angle his husband loved. He felt his insides tighten heatedly at the lift of noises that emerged from Richie’s mouth.
Richie lowered both feet onto the bed, aiding Francis in his lifting, his hands going up and over his head to clutch at the mattress. He was enjoying the repeated intrusions into his ass, the way filling heat gave him both pain and pleasure into their actions. Francis stopped suddenly, and Richie gave an annoyed protest, squeezing his length tightly with his ass.
“You and Ivan ain’t fuckin’, are you?” Francis asked quietly.
Richie blinked away the pleasure filled haze, staring up at him with an incredulous expression. He let his head fall back with exasperation, bringing his arms down to settle over his stomach. Francis waited patiently, hating the sudden twisting of his gut as he didn’t answer.
“Get out of me, Francis,” Richie muttered, wrenching himself off of Francis, and twisting away from him. “Of all the STUPID questions that you could ever ask...”
Francis blinked, frowning as Richie left the bedroom and slammed his way into the bathroom. He settled on his heels, heaving a low sigh as he stared through the darkness at his still hardened erection. He heard the low, clipped moan from the bathroom, and scowled as he realized that Richie had jerked himself off to completion. But the question still went unanswered, and he took his time in cleaning himself, not even feeling the need to come.
He pulled on his boxers, running his fingers through his hair. He tried to think of better ways to approach the subject, to think rationally. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought up the subject during sex, but it had bothered him, picturing them both amicable enough to share smokes on the back deck.
He cleared his throat and watched the bathroom door, taking calming breaths. Eventually, Richie finally came out, scowling at him as he shut off the light.
Francis held his hand out in a pleading gesture. “Come talk to me, babe. I didn’t mean things like that.”
“...I am so pissed at you, right now. I don’t even want to touch you.”
“...I’m sorry. Just...I never knew you smoked. Or that you and Ivan got along enough to do that sort of thing. C’mere. Please. Let’s not...make this into a big thing. Just...I said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”
Richie frowned at him, then pulled the bathroom door closed. He fiddled with his fingers in self conscious regard as he walked over to him, mind racing over how he could carefully elude the subject. How Francis grew suddenly suspicious of his relationship with Ivan was unnerving. They had given no indications of their tryst or games, and yet now, Francis was questioning him on things that were much too uncomfortably close. He licked his lips nervously, then stood before him.
Francis eyed him with the sort of scrutiny that he used whenever questioning Richie about their credit card bill every month. It was very unnerving. And suddenly, despite his earlier confidence about the matter, Richie felt very vulnerable.
He felt Francis’ fingers curl and play lightly with his balls, testing their weight. Richie had to wince, quickly pulling in the expression once Francis’ brows lowered.
“You come?”
“...I was in the mood. Couldn’t just...” Richie trailed off, shrugging his shoulders guiltily.
Francis stared up at him for several more moments, his fingers letting go of Richie’s balls and trailing down his left inner thigh. He then shifted direction, smoothing upward until his questing fingers found the stretched hole. He played with the widened muscle, making slick noises with the mixture of body juices and lube from earlier. Played with the heated channel, watching his husband's face the entire time. Once he found that certain mass, he began stroking lightly on that spot with his middle finger.
“You never answered my question,” he stated quietly, his other hand moving up to curl and hold Richie's hip in place.
“That’s because–! It’s fucking totally ridiculous. It’s like...it’s like asking if you slept with Shiv! Accusing you of sleeping with Shiv because you two laugh around about things a lot!”
Francis continued stroking him from within, his eyes never leaving his. He licked his lips, his fingers curling over his hipbone and pulling him closer, so that he had to open his legs to keep Richie close to him. He continued to finger fuck him all that time, watching the mixture of expressions flitter over his face. The room was intensely quiet, and through the open window, they could hear someone laughing over the noise of the radio.
“You know...when you lie or avoid something...your eyes always shift to the left,” Francis muttered, never looking away. Even when Richie struggled not to, himself.
“And you always–always–wrinkle your brow. And the right corner of your mouth always tightens. I know you, babe. I watch you closely. I’m sure you know every bit of my expressions, too. We know each other so well that...sometimes, we don’t need things answered.”
“...Francis...I didn’t–!”
“I am going to pretend that this conversation didn’t happen, Richard. I am going to pretend that you never answered my question. I am going to pretend that you two have something going on behind my back. I am going to avoid it. I don’t want to know about it. You have no idea how much pain it’s going to cost me–being connected with him, and knowing that the one I love and the one I really don’t want to be with are...doing something behind my back. Who knows for how long? Who knows for what?”
Richie stared down at him, blinking every so often–feeling chilled throughout all his limbs and insides. He couldn’t look away from the intensity in his husband’s eyes, nor could he completely escape from his presence or grasp. He registered that Francis had stopped stroking him, that his fingers were curling in slightly onto his thigh.
But he couldn’t move.
He wanted to shake his head, and move into vocal denial–but another part of him didn’t want to do that. Francis knew something was going on–that something had happened. And if he denied it, the truth would come out. And he knew it.
So, he swallowed tightly, stomach tightening–every bit of his muscles going rigid. And Francis began to stroke his inner thigh once more, still never looking away.
“Francis, I love you,” Richie could only say, feeling his chest tighten as Francis stopped his stroking and curled his fingers once more into his muscle.
“...No more...right?”
“...No more.”
Francis stared up at him for several more moments, then swallowed tightly himself. He didn’t need a verbal answer. He just knew. And the feeling left him heavy-hearted, his gut twisting with violent burning. His hands were shaking as he pulled them away from Richie’s body, and settled them on the mattress.
Richie moved quickly, to cup his face, kissing him roughly. “Don’t think that way, Francis,” he pleaded quietly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, practically hanging off him. “Please don’t think that way...”
But you never denied it, Francis thought, leaning back on the bed, pulling him atop of him. You never denied it...
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Francis knows...did you say anything to him?”
Ivan was interrupted mid-yawn by the anxious, quietly spoken question. Lifting one of many morning cigs to his mouth, he turned and looked behind him, at the pale face behind him. It was very rare to see the blond up and about without needing help to get up. Ivan looked at his watch–it was nearly seven in the morning. Usually, Francis was going through a routine to wake him up.
But the question startled him.
“No,” he answered carefully. The question threw off his normal cool, and his brow furrowed. He may have slipped here and there with his feelings, but–he always managed to pass them off as nothing.
He studied the sleep rumpled young man before him, the way his hands shook as he pulled on his sweater and tried in vain to fix his hair.
He pulled his cig to his mouth, inhaling thoughtfully. His eyes swept away from Richie’s probing stare, and looked off into the distance. The mornings were growing cooler–Dakota was bound for a cold winter.
“I don’t want to lose him,” Richie continued, in a low mutter. He crossed his arms over his chest, and toed at the planks below him. “But...I don’t...I don’t feel the same toward him.”
Ivan narrowed his eyes, the cig balanced between his teeth as he gave him a sneer. “Then what the fuck you hangin’ around, for?”
Richie shifted his eyes, staring off at the rising sun. “Because...I...I still love him. But...that intensity...it’s gone. Some days I’ll feel it, others...others I won’t. Is that normal?”
Ivan rolled his eyes, scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest. He shuffled with a sort of nervous air, contemplating Francis’ feelings in the subject. He’d felt the incredible down feeling Francis had last night, amidst the usual emotions of sex and love. Had known with a lingering sort of downer that the redhead knew something was up.
Only instead of feeling cautious or bad about it, Ivan just felt that the stakes were raised. The game felt even more exciting.
He looked back at the blond, noting the far off expression on his face.
“You still playing games?” he asked, quietly.
Richie looked at him, frowning. “No. I told you. That other day–no.”
Ivan didn’t believe him for a moment. His expression told him so, and he enjoyed the flush of color that chased away that paleness. He lifted a hairless brow and turned away to continue watching the morning sun rise.
“Then why you still playin’?”
“...I’m not playing nothing. Not with you. If Francis,” Richie lowered his voice, looking around him anxiously, continuing with a low hiss, “if Francis found out, he’d kill us, both. I don’t want to hurt him that way, Ivan. I don’t. Please. Just...I...I think he knows that something did happen, but...I don’t want to continue hurting him that way. You understand?”
Ivan exhaled lightly, staring at the shifting colors in the sky.
“Maybe,” he answered slowly. “How do I know this isn’t one of your tricks?”
“...I don’t...I’m not playing with you, Ivan. It’s over. I shouldn’t have, in the first place. But the temptation was just...it...was too great.” Richie shrugged.
Ivan frowned, lowering the cig, looking back at him. Richie met his gaze evenly, shifting from foot to foot as he noted the black man’s irritated gaze.
“You realize that games aren’t your style? Once a player enters the game, sucka, they still in it until they completely eliminated.”
Richie frowned, pausing in mid-action. His arms tightened over his chest. Ivan didn’t look away from that contemptuous gaze, his cigarette burning stubbornly from his fingers.
Finally, Richie looked away. He studied the back yard for a few moments, then looked back at him with a sneering expression. One eyebrow lifted. “You can’t get enough, huh? Will you turn out like Joe, Ivan? Get all crazy-like? Blow your brains out just because you can’t have me? If that’s so, you’re so totally stupid, Ivan.”
Ivan struck out, catching his arm before he could turn and leave. Richie gave him a startled glance as fingers sank into his forearm.
“I’ll never be addicted to you,” Ivan snapped lowly.
Richie smirked at him, pulling his arm from him. “You already are, Ivan.”
Ivan sucked at his cigarette with considerable thought. He never took his eyes away from Richie, exhaling slowly. “Fine. I admit it. But what’s going to keep me from playing, Foley? What’s going to keep me from playing to win? Francis is here, but what he don’t know can’t hurt him, huh?”
Richie stared at him in silence, his mouth tightening as he realized the extent of Ivan’s words. He swallowed noisily.
“I don’t want you,” he said finally. “And you’re not interested in me. You’re interested in what we played. The game is over, Ivan.”
Ivan pulled his cigarette back to his mouth. “Not until I say so, cracker.”
Anger washed over Richie’s features, and he couldn’t resist socking Ivan in the shoulder. “Stop it! I want out! I–!”
He suddenly paused, staring at Ivan in consideration. The black man stabbed the remnants of his cigarette out on the railing, then frowned at the smirk that had crossed Richie’s face.
“Heh,” the blond uttered, giving Ivan a long stare. “Fine. You’re nothing, Ivan. You want me so bad, then you’re just going to have to keep on chasing. Because I won’t submit to you, anymore. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t make you submit to me. You’ve already fallen, Ivan. You’re just being too stubborn to admit it.”
Ivan scowled–but he didn’t say anything.
“You can deny it all you want–but you don’t want the game to stop. It isn’t about who has the power and the control.” Richie was about purring, stepping back from him.
“You’ll be regretting this ever started, you piece of shit.”
“No...you will. And the day you end up like Joe will be the day I end up laughing at you.”
Ivan flicked the last of his cigarette at him, stubbornly turning away from him to start another.
Neither of them noticed the vertical blinds flicking back into place as Richie turned and made his way back to the sliding door.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
A/N: LEMON!
Shampoo: No, he didn't. Just played a bit...
Chapter Nineteen:
All The Things You Hide From Me...
Armando shifted restlessly, watching his brother push and shove Danny through a series of exercises, to get used to the loss of his one eye. Amid all the cursing and shouting, Rudy expressing himself in both Spanish and English, using that worn bat to administer tough love on the metahuman, Armando shifted through some photos that had been taken of the neighborhood Stone and Evans hung around in. Rudy was planning on something big–he didn’t want to be caught carrying out his plans.
He wanted revenge and street cred with playing with two of the biggest names on the street, and Rudy was planning things carefully. It had already been decided that to get the revenge aspect was taking it out on Stone’s husband; then waiting for the retaliation that would come out of it from Stone and Evans. Rudy was certain that with beating them down they’d get more recognition and credibility from the other gangs in the area.
No matter that Stone and Evans weren’t up in the gang scene as they used to; Armando had learned that they’d settled considerably, living their lives like the rest of the sheep with jobs and home lives that coincided with the others’. Evans had a continuous bad relationship with his younger brother and rarely visited unless Adam visited him first. Lately, he’d been hanging around Stone’s husband, looking wholly irritated and cranky the entire time. Stone had been in jail–nothing new came out of that.
He watched as Rudy kicked Danny when the metahuman didn’t respond to a direction quick enough. The snarling maw settled around Rudy’s shin, and the man gave an enraged scream as Danny chewed. Several whacks of the bat later, and Danny was slinking off into the shadows with a sullen growl and Rudy was cursing over his bloodied leg.
Armando chose this time to interfere, walking over to examine the torn jeans and jagged wound. “Time to wind it down, bro,” he murmured, eyebrows raising. “You need stitches.”
“Fucking little shit,” Rudy cursed, tentatively probing the wound. But he gave a satisfactory smile. “But he gots better balance. Better than the other day, actually. He ain’t gonna be all top-dog for awhile, though. But enough to get by.”
“...The wound closed up?”
“Enough. Had to cut off his fuckin’...the little strips that connect to his brain.” Rudy held up his forearm, gesturing at a bandaged mess that Armando blinked at.
“Didn’t like it, but if he kept it, someone could get a hold of it. I’m looking out for the bastard, and all he does is fuckin’ bite me around. Fuck it. Least he’s gettin’ better at things.”
Armando cast the shadows an uncertain glance. He could still hear Danny growling angrily. Since the day he’d returned with one less eye, the metahuman had been extremely cranky. No one but Rudy would venture close. No longer were the clipped words and bouts of affection the metahuman had bestowed on the other members. The animal-man was sullen.
Danny still hadn’t confessed to who had taken his eye. Rudy left it at that, but punished him for his shortcoming by locking him into a room and starving him. Making him mean.
Armando had mixed feelings about his brother’s actions, but he wasn’t going to say anything about it. He didn’t want Rudy turning on him. He was obsessed with wanting revenge, but Armando had to wonder why he hadn’t already carried out his orders just yet.
But he had to hand it to his brother–thinking carefully of all the angles before actually delving into the action. Still...there was always going to be a slip-up, and Armando tried to think of what they were before Rudy could.
Family stuck together.
Rudy turned, glancing in the direction Danny had taken. A low, sullen growl was the response given to him, and he gave a weary smile.
“That’s it for today, then,” Rudy decided, hanging his shaved head. “Let’s get something to eat. I found this place down the projects that we’re going to use for–you in, right? With the plan?”
Armando shrugged carelessly. A beating was a beating. He’d go mainly to see what his brother would do.
“I found this place down in the projects. We’re going to use it on that fag. Kinda...I got ropes and other shit we’re going to use on him. Bat, some lighter fluid, some gas...got some knives, some nails, and I wanna try out this fuckin’ thing where you rope ‘im up and drive some–”
“Rudy...just...eye for an eye, right? We’re not going to kill him...”
“No. No, man. We ain’t gonna kill him. Just mark him up. Like what they did to Eustacio.” Rudy gave him an exasperated look. “C’mon, man. Just...c’mon. Think of him like another ‘banger. He ain’t that much. Prolly is tougher than he looks.”
“...You’re not going to...like...rape him, or you?”
Rudy gave him a disgusted look, punching his shoulder. “I ain’t fag, you fuckin’ homo. No. I ain’t gonna do that. That’s...that’s fuckin’ gross. I’ll have someone else do it. Heh.”
“No, seriously...I mean...just because he’s gay doesn’t mean we’re going to...do that kind of thing, right?”
“...Faggots are faggots...”
“Rudy...”
“Hey, if one of the boys speaks up and wants it, I ain’t gonna talk him out of it.”
“Eustacio wasn’t raped.”
“...Yeah. But...faggots are like bitches. Bitch was in the same story, she’d get her pussy fucked just cuz she’s a bitch. So...it kinda applies and makes sense, eh?”
“...Still...that’s a man we’re talking about. A man, Rudy...”
Rudy shrugged his shoulders, giving the floor a disinterested swipe of his shoe. “Well, what happens, happens.”
Armando sighed, shaking his head. “Stone’ll be super pissed. Hella.”
“Yeah...but...that’s what happens in the game, huh? Shouldnt’ve have touched our little brother. Now his bitch is gonna pay for it. ‘Sides, he wants shit, he’ll come get it. Stone ain’t known for, like, common sense and shit.” Rudy punched his palm. “Hah! Show him who’s fuckin’ tough. He ain’t shit. Just fuckin’ talk. Always wanted a whack at him since back in the day...”
Armando thought briefly of the days before the Big Bang–how Stone would run his mouth about the Sedano brothers and challenge them. They never really crossed paths–just talked and talked, other things coming in between.
“...Ivan?”
“Him, too. Just for fuckin’ bein’ a bitch.” Rudy took practice swings at the air, punching solidly. “Gonna teach ‘em both for being fuckin ‘stupid. For bein’ fuckin’...stupid. Damn. Can’t wait. Can’t wait for it all. You know what? Maybe I should get both Stone and his bitch. Then make Stone watch what we do to him.”
Armando snorted. He shook his head, not liking the idea. “Stone would go crazy, man. If he’s what they say he’s like.”
Rudy laughed. “Damn. Word. He would go crazy. Kinda make it even more fun. I mean, we’re all fuckin’ over his man, and he’s just...unable to stop it. I kinda like that idea, more. It sounds more fun. Then we bring in Ivan....then kick both their asses, y’know? Kinda rub it in more if we do it like that.”
“Man, when people see that shit happening to their loved one, man, they get all crazy. You can’t predict what they’re going to do,” Armando warned. “Stone’s strong, man. You seen him. He’s built like a fuckin’...house. He got bigger since back in the day.”
“Prolly just for show, man. He ain’t shit,” Rudy scoffed. “Dunno. Well, haven’t really decided. I mean, I like to just make Stone watch what we do to his husband. It would be kinda fun. But then again...I kinda respect that idea you have, man. People can do weird things for each other.”
“Yeah...keep that in mind...who knows what he’ll do, huh? I mean...if they been together all this time, and he’s possessive of him...he’ll fuckin’ kill you, Rudy. Don’t make him watch, man. That’s... that’s fucked up.”
But Rudy was ignoring him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as he stared off into the distance. Armando sighed once more, shaking his head.
Both of them looked up sharply upon seeing Danny slink out from the room, still growling low under his breath.
Rudy narrowed his eyes. “Where you think he goes, eh? When I didn’t lock him in, he always leaves at this time.”
Armando glanced at his wrist watch, noting that it was nearly six in the evening. “...dunno...”
Giving a snort and lick of his lips, Rudy grinned at his younger brother. “Maybe he has a bitch waiting for him, or something.”
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
He had just gotten the key into the driver’s side door when he heard the ominous click of a safety being disengaged. Richie stilled, inwardly groaning at the familiar sound. He looked up, his face showing his surprise at seeing Joe standing there, a gun at his head. It took a few moments to note that the brunette’s appearance was rather raggedy–that his hair was unwashed and fixed, that he was wearing very rumpled clothes. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a week, and his eyes were drawn with overly large dark circles.
Another quick glance around told him that the parking lot was empty–this was another reason why he hated grocery shopping; one never knew when they were going to be accosted while performing such normal duties. The cart of plastic bags was shoved aside by the brunette, clattering loudly against another vehicle.
“J-Joe,” Richie said stammered, feeling a little confused as to why the man looked this way.
Until all things hit him at once–the cruel hoax of Joe’s ‘suicide’ note, the embezzling; all of it done because of Joe’s assault charges against his husband. He wondered if Joe’s current state was a product of that. He felt little guilt for it.
Joe stared at him, almost blankly, making Richie shiver as he pulled his keys from the door. He knew he could disarm him–it wasn’t that hard to move and pull the gun from him. But he didn’t need to, because then Joe was stilling at the feel of a gun at the back of his head.
Joe’s eyes snaked to the side, seeing an exasperated Jason and Dominic standing there, armed and filling in for Ivan as the black man worked.
Richie gave a sheepish expression, mortified by the lengths that was being taken for his consideration. The parking lot was empty, fortunately, because he was more embarrassed then alarmed by the scene that faced him. “Sorry, man. Just...I’ll be happy to talk to you, but you need to lose the gun.”
Joe’s breath was short and clipped as both men shot Richie annoyed looks. But the gun at the blond’s head lowered slowly. He looked back at the blond and continued to look desolated. Richie looked over at Jason and Dominic with a frown.
“Let me talk to him, all right? Can we have some privacy?”
The pair grumbled and muttered, but stepped away from the two of them, Joe looking at them with some level of disbelief. He looked back at Richie, who took his gun from him, unloading the clip quickly.
“You’ve got...bodyguards,” Joe murmured, his tone light with continued incredulity.
“It’s not my decision. Look...you look a little...out of it, man. What’s wrong with you?” Richie then asked, slipping the clip of bullets into his back pocket, and unloading the chamber.
Joe stared at him for several seconds, then shook his head. “My world...my world is gone...I...a whole lot of things happened, and–and I have every reason to suspect that it was you.”
“...W-what’d I do? I mean...you...you can’t blame your feelings on me, Joe. That’s unrealistic.”
“...I should...I mean...I got involved. Never in my life–my entire life!–has this ever happened to me!” Joe ended in a shout, tapping his chest. The two men nearby shuffled closer, and he cast them cautious looks, Richie taking on a puzzled expression. Joe looked back at him, his bloodshot eyes looking entirely crazy. “It was all because of you! Because of YOU. I never had this much trouble until YOU came along...then...then it all fell apart...I lost my fucking job...they think I embezzled money from them. I have never stolen ANYTHING from anybody my entire life, and now the FBI’s on my case–! Do you realize that this would have never happened until YOU came along?”
“Joe, I–I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richie uttered nervously, feeling a little guilty for what he’d done, but fiddled with the wedding band around his ring finger. “How could I have–?”
“–And now my family thinks I’m on the verge of fucking suicide!” Joe barked out a strangled laugh, sweeping his hands through his hair. “Suicide! Me?! This is totally ridiculous!”
“Yes, very, so, um...I wasn’t involved–!”
“It had to be you,” Joe murmured softly, his hands shaking as they reached for him. Richie quickly pulled back, shaking his head and gesturing at the two men that were watching suspiciously nearby. Joe dropped his hands, and sighed heavily, shaking his disheveled head. “None of this shit ever started until you came along...”
“Joe...have you been drinking? I mean...you seem really out of it, today,” Richie said, a little nervously as he watched the taller brunette prop himself against the back bumper of the Vitera. Licking his lips, he cautiously reached out for the shopping cart, pulling it close to him to start loading the back seat with groceries. He only managed to get one bag in before Joe snatched the other, preventing him from continuing.
“I realize that you hit a patch of bad luck, but...to come along and blame me for it–! And above it all, to hold a gun against my head–! Joe! You were never this reckless!...maybe you’re taking steroids or some sort of–”
Joe gave another strangled sound of laughter, turning away from the vehicle to give him a glazed expression. He then gestured at himself repeatedly, fingertips on his chest as he advanced, saying, “Me? Steroids? I have never taken the sort–! This all started because of you! Because of you! You and your fucking primate of a husband–! If I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t be in this mess! I should have never encouraged you! I should have left earlier so that we never could talk–! Isn’t this crazy? You see this sort of thing on television, but never in real life–! You are...you are something, man, seriously. You are a real work of art. To bring a man down. To bring a man down this way, and just... look smug at it all. They should document you, or something. Follow you around with cameras. See how many lives you actually ruin in a day!”
Richie chuckled nervously, never taking his eyes away from the apparently demented soul before him. Jason and Dominic were still standing nearby, watching the entire thing with expressions of interest and confusion, but they were still armed and ready to react if Joe made one wrong move.
And even if Joe had wrecked some parts of his life right now, Richie really didn’t want the man dead. That would just make him feel so entirely guilty.
He held his hands up cautiously. “Look...just...Joe. You’re acting way out of line. Way out of your character. I mean...you never freak out. All right? You were the type of guy that saw the good things in a tragic car accident! That’s why I liked you. Okay? Your optimism was really...I dunno. Fun. But...but now you’re...all weird. You have to stop that, okay? Trust me, I’m not some valuable charm, or whatever. I’m just...damn, I’m just me. I don’t do that sort of thing. Look, all this bad stuff–it’s going to go away, soon. You just need to–lay off whatever it is you’re doing and just–relax. I guess. That’s all you can do right now, and–”
“‘Relax’?! I have the fucking F-B-I on me, man!” Joe shouted. He shoved the shopping cart away from Richie, so that he wasn’t blocked by the object. The cart slammed into the other vehicle with a clatter of sound. “For something that I know I didn’t do! I know it was you!”
“Joe, you’re overreacting. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can reassure you, it wasn’t me–!”
“I know it was you! I never had this sort of trouble before you came along!”
“Joe, good grief, stop. Stop it. Look, go away, all right? I didn’t do anything. Well, the only bad thing I did was make a bad choice in choosing you to have fun with. Go away, Joe. If you keep this up, I’ll have to file a restraining order against you, and I don’t want to do that–!”
“You?! File a restraining order against me?! I should against you!”
“That’s perfectly all right, Joe! But I’m not the one doing all the approaching, here! You are!”
“You little bitch! I can’t believe you!” Joe cried, once again gesturing at himself. “My life has fallen apart because of you!”
Richie gave him a disgusted look, shaking his head as he tossed his gun back at him. The metal clattered uselessly against the taller man’s form and to the pavement. “Go home, Joe. Keep your vivid fantasies to yourself. Stop bothering me.”
Joe watched as he waved at the two men still watching them, then opened the door to his vehicle.
He moved quickly, kicking the door shut, then grabbing Richie by the hair. The two men were quick to react, screaming their orders quickly as Joe shifted his arms into a choke hold around the blond’s neck. Richie rolled his eyes, feeling more annoyed then pained by the entire thing, keeping himself steady as he was brought snugly against the other man.
“I’ll break his neck!” Joe spit, with an almost maddened snarl. Both Jason and Dominic held their guns out, both moving to surround him as Richie stood calmly within the hold. There wasn’t a way Joe could break his neck, and he felt calm with this knowledge. Joe wasn’t trained in any form of defensive arts, and Richie felt very confident in that he could break out of his hold easily to escape.
He just felt so much pity for the man. It was so uncharacteristic of him to behave in such a manner.
“Joe,” he said slowly, reaching up to firmly curl his fingers around the man’s wrists. “You are making a really big mistake. You need to stop. You’re going to get hurt–”
“‘Me’?! I am and was already hurt, Richie!” Joe snarled, his mouth settled against the side of Richie’s head, his arms tightening around his neck. “As far as I see it, I have nothing more to lose. I lost everything. My job, my family thinks I am crazy–you went back to your husband. I have nothing more to lose. I can be desperate all I like–I don’t want to be the only one suffering when you were the one that brought me to this moment!”
“...You’re so psychotic, Joe. Get a life.” Richie pushed his fingertips into the soft underside of his forearm, just an inch below his wrist. Applying more force, he jerked his head forward at the slight give, and slammed it back against his chin. Joe was stunned by the action, letting him go so that he could dart out of his arms, kicking the inside of his upper left thigh.
The brunette sank to the ground, groaning slightly, Richie shaking his head in pity once more. He took that time to finally unload his groceries into the back seat of the Vitera, then pushed the cart aside.
“You need to stop taking things out of context, Joe,” he said with some vexation. “You ruined your own life. You made your own choice. Leave me alone.”
“No...no...my life...my life ended when you left,” Joe said on a choked sob.
Angrily, Richie turned to face him, giving an annoyed shout. “C’mon, man! Stop it! Stop that fucking bullshit! It wasn’t even serious! Damn, it was just one fucking night! Why are you so fucking obsessed?!”
Joe sniffled loudly, shaking his head as he moved onto his hands and knees. Richie watched him with some flickers of irritation, crossing his arms over his chest, barely able to believe what he was seeing. Jason and Dominic exchanged incredulous looks, Dominic popping his chewing gum loudly. The pair weren’t really standing at attention–just sort of hanging about, as they realized that Joe wasn’t a threat without his gun.
It was then that Richie heard the sharp sound of a clip snapping in place, and he belatedly remembered the clip he’d taken earlier. His hands slapped his empty back pockets with surprise, and watched as Joe held the reloaded gun once more, Jason and Dominic snapping to alert attention.
Tears were streaming down Joe’s face, his expression wholly agonized as he held the gun steady. He slowly rose to his feet once more, ignoring the guys that yelled at him to put his weapon down. Richie repressed the urge to groan and roll his eyes, holding his hands up defensively as Joe faced him with the weapon once more.
Sniffling deeply, his breath coming in short clips, Joe focused the gun at Richie’s face and spoke harshly. “I’m telling you...I’m telling you now...you ruin people’s lives. You come in, you dig your little claws into them–then you use them, and you leave them bewildered. I am honestly bewildered, man! My life...my life is over. I don’t want to go to jail. For especially something that I didn’t do! You understand?”
“Joe...Joe, put the gun down, okay? Put it down.”
“Listen to me! My life is over! And it’s because of you! Because of you, I’ll be treated like a criminal! I did nothing but love you, and this is what happens? I feel sorry for your husband, man. What’s it going to be like for him when you leave him? He seems like a devoted guy–seems like he’d be more crushed than I would if you fucked him over, the same way you did to me....”
Richie shook his head noiselessly, not taking his eyes from the gun.
Joe took a few moments to cry angrily, his face flushing with splotchy misery as he held the gun steady, ignoring the two men that were moving around him, ready to strike.
“You fucked me,” Joe cried. “You fucked me over...you came into my life, and you fucked me over. I hope the same happens to you, you little bitch. I hate you! I hate what you did to me! Look at what you did to me! Look at this! Reduced to nothing–! Nothing! I hope the same happens to you. I hope someone comes along and fucks you over the same way you fucked with me...”
“You putting a curse on me, Joe?” Richie asked, unable to help the sarcasm that filtered into his tone.
Joe stared at him blankly, saying nothing for the moment. But his arm lifted, and Richie prepared to move, anticipating his next action and feeling the adrenaline course through him quickly. He could dodge it–he knew he could. Joe wasn’t exactly a gun handler–just misguided by his sudden madness.
“Yeah,” Joe then said quietly, nodding his head. “Yeah. I’m putting a curse on you. Someone has to stop you.”
Richie stared at him in silence, then shook his head tightly. “You’re crazy, Joe,” he muttered.
“...Yeah...crazy...I loved you, dammit. I loved you.”
Then, before Richie could move, the gun went off. But it wasn’t at him, or expelled from one of the others.
Joe had committed suicide right before him.
Someone screamed in surprise and reaction near the store, and Jason and Dominic hurriedly hid their weaponry. Richie stared at the bloodied mess before him, feeling utterly numb and heavy from the inside out.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
The charges were dropped, and Francis came home two days later. All the while, Richie was stuck in a sort of state of disbelief and numb horror over what had happened. He hadn’t expected anything to happen in that extent. He had never given thought of such possibilities. Such things happened to other people, not to him–discounting all the weird actions that befell him since the Big Bang.
When Francis arrived home, he couldn’t be happier. It meant that no kidnaping schemes would continue, that Ivan would stop grumbling and threatening him, and that perhaps some quality of peace and normality would occur.
Francis was quite concerned over what had happened to Joe, but he was doubly relieved as well. Since Joe’s death, no charges could be completed against him.
The next Tuesday night, Richie stared numbly at the television screen as Francis sat beside him, a wall of protective muscle that made the blond feel somewhat comforted and secure. He hadn’t noticed since the third year of their marriage how protected he felt when sitting by the more muscular male. There were a lot of things he was starting to realize with Francis that made him feel guilty for ever losing sight of them all.
When they were first starting out, he found much comfort and security with the older male. Francis’ presence had been dominating until Richie’s last growth spurt occurred, and even then, it was just so soothing to feel Francis’ protective hardness against him whenever they were out, or just relaxing at home.
It had never occurred to him that he’d counted on him so much for the little things; and now that he was granted clear view of what he’d missed, he was feeling much more appreciative for the things he’d almost lost.
Joe’s death had scared him in that things could be driven so far–that people’s feelings were actually more than they let on.
He didn’t want to blame himself for what had happened–after all, the attraction had been mutual in the beginning. He felt that Joe was the one that let it turn so badly. He tried not to think of the actions he’d taken against the brunette when Francis was in jail.
Francis was laughing with Shiv over something, Ivan scowling in the overstuffed chair nearby–the living room was a clutter of beer cans, take-out containers and various video games and DVDs, but Richie never felt much more secure than he did, now. He leant forward, to wrap his arms around Francis’ waist and press his cheek against his back, sighing heavily as all the familiar smells and sensations coursed through him at that moment. The redhead gave his knee an absent squeeze in response, and continued laughing about something that Shiv was saying.
Snuggling into the hard muscles of his back, Richie closed his eyes and figured that if he were ever to cheat again, it would be with someone that he wasn’t going to make any attachments, to.
Francis made him feel secure; but their marriage felt stiff. He was still giving considering thoughts to cheating, no matter what Daniel had done to him, or what Joe had accomplished. He loved his husband–but there were some things that he wanted to do anyway.
He opened his eyes, licking his lips, considering his choices and decisions. He would just have to be more careful in the future. Choose his partner more wisely.
Someone that didn’t want to get serious, or was rumored to be the clingy type.
Without thinking, his sight set on Ivan–he was slightly startled to see the black man scowling at him, with a different sort of anger that Richie didn’t understand. He hadn’t made any flirty advances toward him lately, nor had he encouraged any interaction. Ivan had resorted to treating him as he did before the game–both of them avoiding each other as much as they could.
But that look–it was something that made Richie uncomfortable. Both of them looked away at almost the same instant, and Richie felt Francis shift, to reach back and curl his arm around his waist, leaning back against the couch to settle a pillow over his lap so that Richie could rest upon it as he laid down. With that position settled, Richie stared at the television screen with Francis running his fingers through his hair–and casting Ivan suspicious glances all the while.
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
It was a tingling feeling at the back of his neck. That he wasn’t seeing something that he was supposed to.
It had to do with Ivan–he was sensing a lot of hostility from him, and most of it involved Richie. It wasn’t his usual aggression–some of it was being direction at him. Francis wasn’t sure what he was to make of this situation–but he felt traces of Ivan’s emotions that concerned some things he found questionable.
It had to do with his husband.
He didn’t think Ivan ever felt such things for Richie, but he understood that because of their link, Ivan would be closer to Richie than he’d be willing to admit.
Francis’ suspicions started that night when the argument over the blinds began. He’d taken a brief nap after having sex with his husband, but he’d awoken because Ivan’s anger had been intense. Enough to have him clutching the pillow and cringing. Because it had been directed at Richie.
There were lingering things that had dwelled, as well. Some traces of sexual overtures, of lust. Francis had left the bed to investigate why such things, when he knew Ivan hadn’t been attracted to Richie in that sense–or had he?
Ivan had learned how to pull in and hide his feelings. Ivan had always been one of those people that could hide his feelings and intentions, while Francis had always been unable to.
But it suddenly occurred to him that night–if Ivan could feel Francis’ wants and needs from Richie, then there was no doubt that the black man could act upon them and feel the same way.
Walking into the living room, he’d known that something had happened–he knew his husband was smug about something. And feeling on Ivan, Francis had recognized the faint effects of lust satisfied. From that point on, he’d tried to pay more attention, tried to rein in his feelings of need for Richie, but he’d slipped up here and there.
The thought of them having ‘something’ was almost unimaginable. They fought all the time; sniping, growling, complaining, shooting each other irritated looks...Francis couldn’t believe that the pair would actually start something.
He decided to play closer attention to things.
That night, he was breathing heavily as Richie sucked on him, his hands moving insistently over his hips, playing with his hotspots. Enjoying the fellatio, Francis ran his fingers through his short blond locks, leaning back onto the pillows, feeling the cool night air sweep over him. Throat muscles pulled on him, Richie’s tongue moving over his shaft, his fingers moving up his hip and over his stomach. Tilting his head back, Francis moaned in protest over the mouth that left his cock, lips moving over his hipbones and a firm tongue licking up the rigid strength of his sides.
Francis curled his fingers under his husband’s chin, pulling him up to his face, their mouths meeting heatedly. His tongue prodded the warm depths of Richie’s mouth, smoothing over his tongue, and wincing suddenly.
“When you take up smoking, baby?” he asked softly, shifting to kiss on his jawline and throat, one hand snaking between them to masturbate his husband roughly.
“I–just one. Earlier. Just took one of Ivan’s,” Richie answered, shifting forward to run his tongue over his collarbone, his fingers dancing up his sides.
Francis felt his face shift into that of puzzlement, his hands drifting up Richie’s arms, curling over his shoulders to draw him close against him.
“Sorry. Thought I brushed better,” Richie muttered, biting on his neck, shifting restlessly over him.
Francis thought about that, trying to picture both of them standing on the back deck, smoking. Talking. Enduring each other for something so casual.
He forced himself to run his hands over Richie’s ass, squeezing and kneading the cheeks. He forced both of them up, pinning him underneath him, shifting and adjusting until he slid into his husband’s body with a low, much approving grunt. He clasped his hands, pulling them so that their hands were pinned between them.
“Babe, when you start smoking?” he asked quietly, propping his feet into the mattress, to aid him in thrusting slowly, ignoring Richie’s frustrated actions in wanting him to move faster.
“Just–occasional!” Richie grunted, short of breath from the weight that Francis pinned him with.
“Don’t do it. It makes you taste gross,” Francis muttered, dropping his head to kiss his neck, biting lightly at the tendons that flexed there. “Especially when I swallow your cum.”
“Fine, fine–!”
With a somewhat discontented frown, Francis shifted, to pull one of his legs up and out, shifting to prop his other hand down on the mattress. He continued moving slowly, enjoying the tight moans coming from his husband. One of Richie’s legs curled around his waist, clinging tightly, his hips rising and falling with each motion Francis made.
In the middle of it, Francis paused, blinking at the scrape of sound against the window. He frowned at it, but was distracted when Richie’s hands coursed over his waist, his fingers digging with need into his skin. He reached down, to grip his hips, lifting him higher in order to gain that angle his husband loved. He felt his insides tighten heatedly at the lift of noises that emerged from Richie’s mouth.
Richie lowered both feet onto the bed, aiding Francis in his lifting, his hands going up and over his head to clutch at the mattress. He was enjoying the repeated intrusions into his ass, the way filling heat gave him both pain and pleasure into their actions. Francis stopped suddenly, and Richie gave an annoyed protest, squeezing his length tightly with his ass.
“You and Ivan ain’t fuckin’, are you?” Francis asked quietly.
Richie blinked away the pleasure filled haze, staring up at him with an incredulous expression. He let his head fall back with exasperation, bringing his arms down to settle over his stomach. Francis waited patiently, hating the sudden twisting of his gut as he didn’t answer.
“Get out of me, Francis,” Richie muttered, wrenching himself off of Francis, and twisting away from him. “Of all the STUPID questions that you could ever ask...”
Francis blinked, frowning as Richie left the bedroom and slammed his way into the bathroom. He settled on his heels, heaving a low sigh as he stared through the darkness at his still hardened erection. He heard the low, clipped moan from the bathroom, and scowled as he realized that Richie had jerked himself off to completion. But the question still went unanswered, and he took his time in cleaning himself, not even feeling the need to come.
He pulled on his boxers, running his fingers through his hair. He tried to think of better ways to approach the subject, to think rationally. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought up the subject during sex, but it had bothered him, picturing them both amicable enough to share smokes on the back deck.
He cleared his throat and watched the bathroom door, taking calming breaths. Eventually, Richie finally came out, scowling at him as he shut off the light.
Francis held his hand out in a pleading gesture. “Come talk to me, babe. I didn’t mean things like that.”
“...I am so pissed at you, right now. I don’t even want to touch you.”
“...I’m sorry. Just...I never knew you smoked. Or that you and Ivan got along enough to do that sort of thing. C’mere. Please. Let’s not...make this into a big thing. Just...I said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”
Richie frowned at him, then pulled the bathroom door closed. He fiddled with his fingers in self conscious regard as he walked over to him, mind racing over how he could carefully elude the subject. How Francis grew suddenly suspicious of his relationship with Ivan was unnerving. They had given no indications of their tryst or games, and yet now, Francis was questioning him on things that were much too uncomfortably close. He licked his lips nervously, then stood before him.
Francis eyed him with the sort of scrutiny that he used whenever questioning Richie about their credit card bill every month. It was very unnerving. And suddenly, despite his earlier confidence about the matter, Richie felt very vulnerable.
He felt Francis’ fingers curl and play lightly with his balls, testing their weight. Richie had to wince, quickly pulling in the expression once Francis’ brows lowered.
“You come?”
“...I was in the mood. Couldn’t just...” Richie trailed off, shrugging his shoulders guiltily.
Francis stared up at him for several more moments, his fingers letting go of Richie’s balls and trailing down his left inner thigh. He then shifted direction, smoothing upward until his questing fingers found the stretched hole. He played with the widened muscle, making slick noises with the mixture of body juices and lube from earlier. Played with the heated channel, watching his husband's face the entire time. Once he found that certain mass, he began stroking lightly on that spot with his middle finger.
“You never answered my question,” he stated quietly, his other hand moving up to curl and hold Richie's hip in place.
“That’s because–! It’s fucking totally ridiculous. It’s like...it’s like asking if you slept with Shiv! Accusing you of sleeping with Shiv because you two laugh around about things a lot!”
Francis continued stroking him from within, his eyes never leaving his. He licked his lips, his fingers curling over his hipbone and pulling him closer, so that he had to open his legs to keep Richie close to him. He continued to finger fuck him all that time, watching the mixture of expressions flitter over his face. The room was intensely quiet, and through the open window, they could hear someone laughing over the noise of the radio.
“You know...when you lie or avoid something...your eyes always shift to the left,” Francis muttered, never looking away. Even when Richie struggled not to, himself.
“And you always–always–wrinkle your brow. And the right corner of your mouth always tightens. I know you, babe. I watch you closely. I’m sure you know every bit of my expressions, too. We know each other so well that...sometimes, we don’t need things answered.”
“...Francis...I didn’t–!”
“I am going to pretend that this conversation didn’t happen, Richard. I am going to pretend that you never answered my question. I am going to pretend that you two have something going on behind my back. I am going to avoid it. I don’t want to know about it. You have no idea how much pain it’s going to cost me–being connected with him, and knowing that the one I love and the one I really don’t want to be with are...doing something behind my back. Who knows for how long? Who knows for what?”
Richie stared down at him, blinking every so often–feeling chilled throughout all his limbs and insides. He couldn’t look away from the intensity in his husband’s eyes, nor could he completely escape from his presence or grasp. He registered that Francis had stopped stroking him, that his fingers were curling in slightly onto his thigh.
But he couldn’t move.
He wanted to shake his head, and move into vocal denial–but another part of him didn’t want to do that. Francis knew something was going on–that something had happened. And if he denied it, the truth would come out. And he knew it.
So, he swallowed tightly, stomach tightening–every bit of his muscles going rigid. And Francis began to stroke his inner thigh once more, still never looking away.
“Francis, I love you,” Richie could only say, feeling his chest tighten as Francis stopped his stroking and curled his fingers once more into his muscle.
“...No more...right?”
“...No more.”
Francis stared up at him for several more moments, then swallowed tightly himself. He didn’t need a verbal answer. He just knew. And the feeling left him heavy-hearted, his gut twisting with violent burning. His hands were shaking as he pulled them away from Richie’s body, and settled them on the mattress.
Richie moved quickly, to cup his face, kissing him roughly. “Don’t think that way, Francis,” he pleaded quietly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, practically hanging off him. “Please don’t think that way...”
But you never denied it, Francis thought, leaning back on the bed, pulling him atop of him. You never denied it...
SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.
“Francis knows...did you say anything to him?”
Ivan was interrupted mid-yawn by the anxious, quietly spoken question. Lifting one of many morning cigs to his mouth, he turned and looked behind him, at the pale face behind him. It was very rare to see the blond up and about without needing help to get up. Ivan looked at his watch–it was nearly seven in the morning. Usually, Francis was going through a routine to wake him up.
But the question startled him.
“No,” he answered carefully. The question threw off his normal cool, and his brow furrowed. He may have slipped here and there with his feelings, but–he always managed to pass them off as nothing.
He studied the sleep rumpled young man before him, the way his hands shook as he pulled on his sweater and tried in vain to fix his hair.
He pulled his cig to his mouth, inhaling thoughtfully. His eyes swept away from Richie’s probing stare, and looked off into the distance. The mornings were growing cooler–Dakota was bound for a cold winter.
“I don’t want to lose him,” Richie continued, in a low mutter. He crossed his arms over his chest, and toed at the planks below him. “But...I don’t...I don’t feel the same toward him.”
Ivan narrowed his eyes, the cig balanced between his teeth as he gave him a sneer. “Then what the fuck you hangin’ around, for?”
Richie shifted his eyes, staring off at the rising sun. “Because...I...I still love him. But...that intensity...it’s gone. Some days I’ll feel it, others...others I won’t. Is that normal?”
Ivan rolled his eyes, scowling as he crossed his arms over his chest. He shuffled with a sort of nervous air, contemplating Francis’ feelings in the subject. He’d felt the incredible down feeling Francis had last night, amidst the usual emotions of sex and love. Had known with a lingering sort of downer that the redhead knew something was up.
Only instead of feeling cautious or bad about it, Ivan just felt that the stakes were raised. The game felt even more exciting.
He looked back at the blond, noting the far off expression on his face.
“You still playing games?” he asked, quietly.
Richie looked at him, frowning. “No. I told you. That other day–no.”
Ivan didn’t believe him for a moment. His expression told him so, and he enjoyed the flush of color that chased away that paleness. He lifted a hairless brow and turned away to continue watching the morning sun rise.
“Then why you still playin’?”
“...I’m not playing nothing. Not with you. If Francis,” Richie lowered his voice, looking around him anxiously, continuing with a low hiss, “if Francis found out, he’d kill us, both. I don’t want to hurt him that way, Ivan. I don’t. Please. Just...I...I think he knows that something did happen, but...I don’t want to continue hurting him that way. You understand?”
Ivan exhaled lightly, staring at the shifting colors in the sky.
“Maybe,” he answered slowly. “How do I know this isn’t one of your tricks?”
“...I don’t...I’m not playing with you, Ivan. It’s over. I shouldn’t have, in the first place. But the temptation was just...it...was too great.” Richie shrugged.
Ivan frowned, lowering the cig, looking back at him. Richie met his gaze evenly, shifting from foot to foot as he noted the black man’s irritated gaze.
“You realize that games aren’t your style? Once a player enters the game, sucka, they still in it until they completely eliminated.”
Richie frowned, pausing in mid-action. His arms tightened over his chest. Ivan didn’t look away from that contemptuous gaze, his cigarette burning stubbornly from his fingers.
Finally, Richie looked away. He studied the back yard for a few moments, then looked back at him with a sneering expression. One eyebrow lifted. “You can’t get enough, huh? Will you turn out like Joe, Ivan? Get all crazy-like? Blow your brains out just because you can’t have me? If that’s so, you’re so totally stupid, Ivan.”
Ivan struck out, catching his arm before he could turn and leave. Richie gave him a startled glance as fingers sank into his forearm.
“I’ll never be addicted to you,” Ivan snapped lowly.
Richie smirked at him, pulling his arm from him. “You already are, Ivan.”
Ivan sucked at his cigarette with considerable thought. He never took his eyes away from Richie, exhaling slowly. “Fine. I admit it. But what’s going to keep me from playing, Foley? What’s going to keep me from playing to win? Francis is here, but what he don’t know can’t hurt him, huh?”
Richie stared at him in silence, his mouth tightening as he realized the extent of Ivan’s words. He swallowed noisily.
“I don’t want you,” he said finally. “And you’re not interested in me. You’re interested in what we played. The game is over, Ivan.”
Ivan pulled his cigarette back to his mouth. “Not until I say so, cracker.”
Anger washed over Richie’s features, and he couldn’t resist socking Ivan in the shoulder. “Stop it! I want out! I–!”
He suddenly paused, staring at Ivan in consideration. The black man stabbed the remnants of his cigarette out on the railing, then frowned at the smirk that had crossed Richie’s face.
“Heh,” the blond uttered, giving Ivan a long stare. “Fine. You’re nothing, Ivan. You want me so bad, then you’re just going to have to keep on chasing. Because I won’t submit to you, anymore. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t make you submit to me. You’ve already fallen, Ivan. You’re just being too stubborn to admit it.”
Ivan scowled–but he didn’t say anything.
“You can deny it all you want–but you don’t want the game to stop. It isn’t about who has the power and the control.” Richie was about purring, stepping back from him.
“You’ll be regretting this ever started, you piece of shit.”
“No...you will. And the day you end up like Joe will be the day I end up laughing at you.”
Ivan flicked the last of his cigarette at him, stubbornly turning away from him to start another.
Neither of them noticed the vertical blinds flicking back into place as Richie turned and made his way back to the sliding door.