Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Three ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Doing someone else's homework costs quite a bit
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.7K | Visits: 724 | Status: Completed
Doing someone else's homework costs quite a bit
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 5 | Words: 5.7K | Visits: 724 | Status: Completed
One
Chapter Three:
He had been in love with Virgil Hawkins throughout high school, and had never really questioned himself why. He just knew that he loved Virgil’s outlook on life–optimistic, cheerful, tinged with moralistic values and everything else. He loved his best friend’s physical appearance, and he loved his voice. He loved the smell Virgil had after an intense work out, and the way he smelled after a shower. Virgil had a sturdy frame perfect for snuggling or leaning against–he knew this from brief moments during wrestling bouts or sappy, humorous acts of affection. Richie had always wondered what it’d feel like to touch Virgil in the affectionate way he’d always wanted–kisses on that coffee colored skin, strokes of his own pale fingers against his friend’s dark thighs, having that muscular frame pressed against his front or back...
He had pleasant wet dreams of Virgil taking him with loving and animalistic actions; he would wake up, feeling the phantom kisses his dream Virgil had given him; tasting bitter fluids; having the sensation of feeling Virgil underneath his fingertips; Virgil was his fantasy, his ideal partner, life mate. Virgil can be Virgil, and he’d always be perfect.
He didn’t want Virgil to find out his secret, freak out and leave him, or think differently of him. He didn’t want Virgil to run away from him, or get disgusted. Even if they remained only friends, Richie would be happy for that. He’d still have Virgil. Still have his brotherly love and affection...he would still be happy.
Virgil was straight–he and Daisy Watkins had been dating quietly over the last month and a half. While Richie had been jealous at first, he’d gradually accepted that Virgil would be nothing more than his friend. He understood that. It was the frustrating path he had to take and admit once admitting his sexuality.
Richie knew he was in love with his best friend, and couldn’t think of ever replacing him with someone else. Virgil was just...everything to him!
So when Virgil grew angry at him over his apparent ‘mood swings’, Richie felt a little hurt and worried. He didn’t want Virgil to find out his little secret...or two secrets...whatever.
He knew Virgil was hurt about his apparent lying–but he had to do it. If Virgil found out that Hotstreak and Richie had a ‘thing’...it would just make things entirely worse. Nothing would be repaired. So Richie vowed to keep this all a secret, and no matter the cost, Virgil couldn’t find out about Hotstreak.
Virgil had ignored him when Richie sighted him in the hall, so Richie had left to find Hotstreak to find out what the older male wanted. It would be safer for Virgil to calm down before Richie approached him.
He walked out into the lobby of the school, and found the older male talking to a group of juniors that Richie associated with another gang. It looked as if they were getting a kick out of something Hotstreak was telling them, so he lingered at the edge of the hall, waiting for them to finish up before approaching him.
The boys walked away five minutes later, and began hassling the security guards. When Richie walked over, glancing around sheepishly and feeling like a character from a bad soap opera, he could feel his skin heating with an embarrassed flush.
He wasn’t sure what to say to Hotstreak–his throat felt tight and constricted as he looked up at him.
Hotstreak seemed the same way until he jerked his notebook up, the action seeming to remind him of why he’d asked Richie to join him.
“There’s somethin’ I need you to do,” he started out, reaching up to pinch his nostrils, then winced. “You’re good at school stuff, right?”
“Once a nerd, always a nerd.”
“Good. Cuz I need somethin’ done.”
“Oh, no,” Richie refused, holding his hands up and shaking his head. “No way. I’m not doing your work for you.”
“Why not?”
“Er...cuz...well...that’s wrong!”
Hotstreak frowned at him, tapping his notebook against his thigh. Then his eyes narrowed, and he straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to loom over the shorter teen. Richie immediately winced, drawing away from him, and started to take off. Hotstreak grabbed his sweater shirt and jerked him back.
“Listen to me, punk! I got shit on you! Unless you want it all out in the fuckin’ open, you better do as I say!”
“Aw, man! C’mon! I thought you were above blackmail!” Richie exclaimed, jerking the material of his sweater shirt from Hotstreak’s grip. “Why can’t you just resort to threats and bullying, instead?”
“...Are you challenging my current inability to follow through with conventional matters of intimidation?”
The question was given with such a straight face, challenging tone and perfect grammar that Richie stared at him in silent, aghast shock, having no reply. Frankly, he couldn’t believe that Hotstreak was capable of such things.
With a smirk, Hotstreak pulled back, and swatted the upside of his head. Richie had to catch his glasses before they sailed through the air.
“Well? Are ya? Or do I have ta get even tougher about shit?”
“Let me get over the fact that you spoke intelligently for one second, an’ I’ll see what I can do,” Richie muttered, sliding his glasses over his nose.
“Are you fuckin’ back talkin’ again?”
“Look–! I really don’t want to take on your load of crap along with my load! There’s a lot of work being assigned nowadays, and I really don’t have the time–!”
“Static can pull his own weight without his partner,” Hotstreak said with a smirk. “An’ besides...ain’t like you do much, anyway. Not without your toys...”
Richie glared up at him with so much hostility and insulted pride that the older male pulled back, feeling satisfied with the way things were going.
“Whatever,” Richie muttered, adjusting the weight of his back pack.
“Straight up. Hurry up, Poindexter. I gotta job ta get to. Don’t make me wait around while you get yer fuckin’ panties out of a bunch.”
“I don’t want to do–” Richie grunted as the Composition notebook was thrust against his unprotected gut, causing him to momentarily lose his breath.
“It’s all in there. I need it before class starts. Better get started if ya wants to get out on the street, tonight,” Hotstreak then said, walking off without another glance in his direction.
Richie considered tossing the notebook at the guy’s back–but restrained himself in mid pull. It wouldn’t be smart–Hotstreak did have many things on him, most of which he was desperate to keep secret. If Virgil found out that he was gay...
With a sigh, he lowered his arm, giving a dejected glare at the floor. He opened the notebook to see what he had in store, and had to snort. He had to chuckle at himself as he walked along, reading the scrawled notes, and that Francis Stone dotted every ‘i’ with open circles and he curled all the tails of lower case letters. It was actually...femmy in a funny way.
OooooooooooO
Hours later, Richie reclined in his desk chair, stretching his arms upward. He’d just completed Hotstreak’s paper on the economic impact the Iraq War had caused on the states, and was set to start on his own two page report for Chemistry. Glancing over at the clock, he winced when he saw that it was ten past twelve; he should have been out on patrol with Static, but the homework...he sighed as he dropped his chin onto his palm, tapping his pen against the text he had opened in front of him.
Virgil hadn’t bothered to call him on the Shock Vox, or the phone...he was probably very pissed at Richie’s attitude. Richie felt minutely hurt by his reaction, but as he thought about it, he felt it was his fault, anyway. He was the one that chose to have these secrets, and was going all out to keep them.
He sighed again, straightening away from his desk. The rest of the house was quiet and his parents had gone to bed a few hours ago. He figured on doing the same, picking his glasses off his face and setting them aside. Turning off his lights, he flopped face first onto his bed and prepared for sleep.
While he slept, his dreams were full of warmth, pressure and movement that was similar to all of his fantasies. All that was missing was Virgil...
That next day, at lunchtime, he went in search of his best friend, unsure of how Virgil was going to take things. He wanted to apologize for his moods, and try to get him to understand that he had things under control; to make up for what happened yesterday. Virgil was just hurt and concerned for him–Virgil always had his back, no matter what. Richie had to respect that.
But when he found him, Virgil was talking to Daisy, the pair laughing and talking in the middle of the school’s back staircase. Richie figured he’d try and catch him later. As he was heading back into school, the doors slammed open with a vicious familiarity, and Richie found himself staring up at Hotstreak’s enraged expression with much surprise.
“Wow, they grade papers fast nowadays,” he had time to mutter before Hotstreak reached out, grabbed his collar, and jerked him into the school.
“Listen, you little shit–!” Hotstreak snarled fiercely, slamming him hard against the wall, several students jerking to stops to watch the scene. “You fucked up fo’ the last fuckin’ time, you little cocksucking prick! I’ma fuck you over, you fuckin’ lil’–!”
“Temper temper temper!” Richie reminded him shakily, wincing at the balled up fist that was about to descend upon him. He brought his hands up to his face, assuming the position that would most likely try and keep his glasses from being broken.
Hotstreak seemed to remember his current situation with the courts, and with much impressive restraint, lowered his arm. His fist and arm was shaking badly with his fury, the movement quite noticeable to those that were watching with wide eyes. He shoved Richie hard against the wall, and stormed off, sending many students running for cover.
Upon realizing that he’d narrowly escaped death, Richie looked out from behind his arms, seeing that the coast was basically clear. His legs felt extremely weak, so he sank to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief as he rested against the wall.
The doors opened again, and he looked up to see Virgil and Daisy walking in, both of them staring down at him in surprise.
“Richie? What you doing down there?” Virgil asked, pausing as he held his hand out.
“Oh, just examining the floor for, uh...viruses...or...something.” Richie held onto his hand and allowed the help up.
“‘Viruses’? Whatever, man.”
“I’m going to lunch, Virgil. See you later!” Daisy said, waving as she walked away.
Richie and Virgil waved, then faced each other.
“Look, man, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Richie said, smiling sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was wrong of me.”
“Yeah, well...it’s just gettin’ weird, Rich. I mean...you’re so tense, an’ I know it has something to do with fuckin’ Hotstreak, man! And you’re not saying anything! I want to help,” Virgil said, rushing as Richie opened his mouth to interject, “and you’re, like, hurting me when you refuse and lie. An’ I know you’re lyin’, Rich! We grew up together! I know when you’re lying!”
“Virg...I’m really sorry,” Richie muttered, picking up his backpack. “Nothing’s happening, and–it’s really nothing for you to be concerned, with.”
“Richie, if that guy’s usin’ you, blackmailing you–! There has to be something that I can do to help you out!” Virgil insisted, using the back of his hand to smack Richie’s shoulder with his insistence. “I don’t want you feelin’ as if you’re alone in this! We’re practically brothers, Rich, an’ for you to keep turning me away, leaves me thinkin’ that I ain’t adequate enough to hold ya together.”
“Virgil...”
“C’m on, man, spill!” Virgil insisted, reaching over to wrap his arm around Richie’s shoulder. “What is it that has ya all tense?”
“I...Virgil...fine,” Richie said on a heavy sigh, dropping his head. “Let’s get some privacy.”
Virgil led the way outside, down the stairs to the small round table at the bottom. After getting settled at the table, Richie fretting nervously over what he was going to say, Virgil set his backpack aside and looked at him pointedly.
“Well?” he prompted, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Spill...what’s goin’ on in your life?”
He couldn’t tell him, now! It was too soon! He wasn’t ready to talk about this yet! He stared across the table at Virgil’s expectant face, and saw years of their friendship flash across his eyes...he felt his skin break out in a slight sweat, and his fingers curled with extreme nervousness...his gut gave an anxious twist that left him feeling pained.
Virgil opened his mouth to prompt again, and Richie quickly spat out, “He’s actually a nice guy, Virgil!”
“Say what?” Virgil screeched, looking at him in horrified shock.
Richie paused–that had come out of no where. But what an excellent save!
“Francis is actually a good guy, Virgil. He’s just...mistaken a lot, and no one really gives him a chance to really reveal himself to others! I...didn’t want to say anything, because I figured that you wouldn’t believe me. I thought you would have a problem with it.”
Virgil lost three shades of color as he stared at his best friend in a stupor. Richie had been taken over by some alien, or zombie–to hear that Francis Stone, AKA Hotstreak was a ‘nice guy’ was something completely out of the ordinary! His brain temporarily shorted of information and relaying data as he heard the echo of Richie’s outburst.
Richie, meanwhile, was staring at Virgil with a similar expression, his mouth slightly open, his brain shooting loads of accompanying information to back this save up.
“We...actually get along really well, Virgil. And...he figured out that I was Gear on his own. I didn’t supply him with any information. You have got to believe me.”
Virgil’s head moved slightly, but his expression was still the same. Eventually, the heaviness of the situation forced him out of his stupor, and he closed his mouth, his teeth snapping together. He raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak–but failed and lowered his hand. Then he repeated the former action, only to repeat the latter once more. He did this three times until Richie shook his head from side to side, preventing him from speaking any more.
“That’s why I didn’t want to say anything, V,” he said on a sigh, folding his arms atop of the table. “I wasn’t sure how you would take it...I wasn’t sure...I don’t know...”
“But he treats you like crap, Richie!”
“Have you seen him do anything, Virgil?”
Virgil opened his mouth, ready to nod, but had to shake his head. Then, as he thought about it, he had to shake his head once more. Richie was going to keep quiet about what had transpired just moments before Virgil and Daisy had come in.
Richie nodded his head to emphasize his point. “We’ve talked a lot, Virg–just about...stuff, I guess. He doesn’t really let his guard down very often, and when he does...he’s just a normal guy. He’s like us, V. He wants approval and wants to fit in–unfortunately, he’s doing it for all the wrong reasons.”
Virgil stared at Richie in silence, wondering when, during a course of three months, the teen had become a stranger to him.
Richie looked at him with a pitifully innocent expression, his eyes just begging Virgil to try and understand. Virgil winced, and forced himself to look away. “Stop, stop, stop!”
“...Huh? Stop what?”
“Those eyes!”
“What–? What ‘eyes’?”
“You know what eyes! Those eyes you do when you’re fixin’ to snag somethin’, and I ain’t giving! C’mon, man!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man!”
“Oh, don’t give me that innocent bit, damn it! FINE!” Virgil slapped both palms onto the table, glaring at Richie suspiciously. “Let’s get this out in the open–there ain’t NO WAY I’m warming up to him like you’re doin’. There ain’t enough gold in this world to convince me that he’s some saint in disguise!”
“I didn’t say he was a ‘saint’–!”
“I don’t want you tryin’ to hook us up all friendly like, and tryin’ to get him into our circle!”
“Virgil–!”
“I mean it, Richard Osgoode Foley! I don’t want none of his bullshit around me! You can go and have your thang with him but that’s seriously fucked up that he knows about you...”
“Like it’s my fault–!”
“You’re the one hanging around him like he’s some fuckin’ gift from God, man! You lettin’ him in on all our stuff, and–!”
“For this very same reason, this is why I haven’t told you anything!” Richie suddenly shouted over him, rising from his seat. “Because you take things out of context! I can’t say anything to you, because you go over the top and don’t try to understand! I love you, Virgil, I really do–you’re my best friend and everything else to me...but...I can’t talk to you, sometimes, about things.”
Virgil quietly twiddled his thumbs, the action odd and out of place on the boy’s person. He stared up at Richie with a contemplative expression, blinking every so often. Richie felt embarrassed about his outburst, and resumed his seat, more than uncomfortable with how things were going between them. They rarely had fights, and when they did–they tended to hurt him. He was always so afraid of losing Virgil to some petty thing–! As he tried to think of a way to soothe over this new wound, Virgil cleared his throat and stared at him pointedly.
“What else you keeping from me, Richie?” he asked quietly. “There somethin’ else you wanna say?”
Richie stared back at him in silence, and shook his head. “No.”
“You kept this from me. C’mon, Rich. We used to talk about everything!”
“I’m your best friend, Virgil. You know that. I rely on you for so many things, and you do the same for me. But...some things...I can’t talk about.”
“Like what, Richie?” Virgil insisted in that same low tone.
“I...I’m not ready to...to share some things with you...quite yet. I’m...afraid of...of your reaction, V. Like just now? If I have something else to tell you, you’ll just...just flip.”
“Why would I ‘flip’, Richie? What else is there?”
“I–I can’t–!”
“GodDAMN it, Richie!” Virgil then shouted furiously, slapping the table as he rose from his seat once more. “Why we growin’ apart? Is this all because I’m dating Daisy?”
“NO! No, V, it’s not that at all! I–! It isn’t that! I’m happy for you, really, and, yes, there’s been a few times when we can’t hang out because–! But it’s not that. I....” Failing for anything more to say, Richie trailed off and shrugged his story. “I don’t know, V.”
Virgil drummed his fingers atop the table top, staring at his best friend in silence. “Well...since I ain’t doing too well in the friendship department, I’m going to get some lunch. You eat already?”
“Virgil...”
“Nah , it s’okay, Rich. I understand. I just hope that...that in the end, you don’t get burned...” Virgil lifted his eyebrows and attempted a humorous expression, but failed miserably. He rose from his seat and walked off with a casual wave over his shoulder.
Richie sighed, shoulders drooping as he looked away. With the reaction Virgil had given to Richie’s earlier confession, he truly doubted he was going to reveal the rest of his secrets. Virgil had a good soul, but his mouth and his impulsiveness to react to something of crucialness was something to tread carefully with.
He truly wasn’t ready to reveal his secrets.
That afternoon, miserable over the rift that was slowly coming between them, Richie tried hard to focus on the positive aspects of things–at least this gave Virgil a chance to hang out more with Daisy, who looked genuinely happy being with him...
Once upon a time, Richie had thought he’d be the same way–goofy smiles, constant excitement at the pit of his stomach, a constant optimistic outlook in life that would remain constant just as long as he had Virgil...
He thought he would look like Daisy did now–all happy smiles, delighted blushes, the freedom to touch and kiss him without restraint...
He sighed heavily as he watched Virgil perform some sort of impersonation from a movie he had no doubt was one of their favorites, and sullenly adjusted his backpack. He shouldn’t feel this way–Virgil was happy with her. He should be happy for them both...
But how was that possible when he knew the depth of his own feelings for Virgil? How could he be happy when Virgil was with someone else? When he knew for certain that Virgil would never return his love with the love he was looking for?
He bit his lower lip and began walking the other way to avoid walking near the two. He felt terrible for what had transpired during lunch, and was certain that because he wasn’t open to those he loved, he was affecting them. But he just wasn’t ready! And Virgil’s reaction to Richie’s confession had been more than disappointing...what would he do if Richie finally told him of his sexuality, of his crush?
He didn’t want to think about that.
He was about to head outside when he heard a familiar growl and grumble, and he paused near the side doors, to see Hotstreak walking away from a flustered teacher. The man gave an exasperated throw of his arms and disappeared into his classroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Richie lifted an eyebrow, and watched as the older male paused in the hall, looking at something he had.
He had to frown as he realized the guilt he felt in viewing this. Yeah, he felt bad for writing the same paragraph over and over again for the guy’s paper, but that was Hotstreak’s fault in the first place. Maybe it would have been different if he’d asked for help–not for convenient slave labor.
He pushed away from the doors, gathering a deep breath as he walked over to the other guy. He reached out and settled a restraining hand on the older male’s arm when he caught sight of him.
“Look, forgetting all about things this afternoon–I can see you’re trying to do things. I can help you if you’re looking for it. But I’m not doing your work for you.”
Hotstreak snatched his arm from him. “Fuck off, four-eyes.”
“I’m serious! I can help you...trust me, it’ll make things go easier if you had help.”
“Like I need it!”
“Obviously you do if you pushed me around to do something for you!” Richie snapped, shifting his backpack. “It’d be something entirely different if you weren’t doing anything–! But it’s obvious you’re making an effort! And...I’d like to help.”
Hotstreak stared at him in silence, then seemed to consider this offer. But his eyes settled onto something in the distance, and he walked away without a word. Confused, Richie looked after him, blinking. The guy walked around the corner in the hall without looking back. Standing alone in the hall, Richie wondered what that was all about and shrugged.
Hey...he offered...
OooooooooooO
That night, playing video games in his room and allowing himself to try and forget all that had transpired that day, Richie had a startling thought hit him. The soldier he was playing on the recent Medal of Honor dropped dead from German assault rifles as he contemplated this new thought.
That time when we...hooked up, or whatever...it almost felt natural.
He felt his face redden at the memories, his gaze moving away from the action on his television screen to the carpet on the floor.
Once we got over the fact that we actually liked each other and could...do those things with each other... it was just natural. I always had dreams that this was how Virgil and I would start out...but Virgil’s straight. He won’t make an exception just for me...I’ll never have him in that way. So when Francis began...hitting on me, I allowed it. Because it was new...interesting...because I was lonely. Because maybe I did grow to like him.
Which was more than odd...Francis Stone had kicked his and Virgil’s ass with regularity, and showed no signs of softness or care for their regard. And when they met up as Static and Gear to stop one of his rampages, they were tried and cut super heroes and villains. There wasn’t any neutral point between them all. How in the world did this come into existence?
But it wasn’t as if Hotstreak turned a one-eighty and began treating him differently...no, judging from the looks he was given and the hostility, things were the same as they were before.
“Obviously things aren’t going to change,” he muttered to himself, resuming the game. He was curled up on his bed, dressed in a plain t-shirt and lounge pants, ready to hit the sack. He planned on getting up tomorrow morning around two to go out for patrol, so he was hoping for a few hours of sleep.
His door opened, and he straightened up from the bed with a panicked rush, startled. Sean Foley walked in, glancing at his tv screen with an expression of irritation.
His father was a big man–standing over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick arms that were toughened from continuous lifting at work. He was also barrel chested, with an obvious gut, and legs that looked thick within pants that sagged slightly. His ash blond hair was combed away from his broad face, revealing a strong nose, hooded eyes that were constantly narrowed with irritation, and a mouth with thin, pursed lips. With his strong chin, which set his expression into that of a disgruntled man, Sean Foley often made many people severely uncomfortable.
Many weren’t sure if he were even capable of smiling. There were times when he tried to change. But mounting stress and irritation from the changing world kept that change to a minimum. Richie and Maggie walked on eggshells all the time around him, to keep that infamous Irish temper from lashing out at them. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t. He severely hoped that tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
But his skin broke out in a nervous cold sweat, and his heart was racing a million miles per hour. He recognized the high levels of stress that his body produced just from the sight of the man. He never felt this way as Gear, facing off bad guys...
“It’s past ten, son,” Sean rumbled, frowning as Richie rushed to shut off the console and television. “Little late to be up?”
“Um...I was just...I don’t know. I know. I’ll go to bed, now.”
“I heard something funny outside. You aren’t having friends over without letting us know, are you?”
“Funny sounds? Outside? Like what?” Richie asked in genuine puzzlement, glancing over at his window.
“Like someone climbing the tree, Richard!” Sean snapped.
“No, I haven’t had anyone over. Honest. I don’t–don’t have people over.”
“I told you those niggers will teach you disrespectful things! They don’t fucking care whether or not they’re breaking a rule. As long as they’re doing what they fucking want...”
“Not all of them think that way, dad,” Richie said quietly, avoiding any direct looks at his father.
“That’s why I don’t want you friends with them! Especially that one. Him and his stuck up father, always running around, thinking they’re better than us.”
“That’s not true, dad...”
“And here you are, defending them! What’s so good about them that makes them better than us?”
Richie shrugged a shoulder, still avoiding looking up at his father, waiting for him to just leave. Sean snorted in exasperation, and looked around his room. Hands on his hips, he turned to walk out, but paused. He jabbed a finger at the game console.
“When did you get this?” he asked curiously. “I don’t remember buying it...”
“I save my allowance. I bought it over a year ago.”
“This shit rots your brain.”
“I’m getting A’s, dad.”
“Don’t mean shit. You don’t need that shit workin’ in the factory. But you need that diploma. You need to stay in school!”
“I know...I never planned on dropping out.”
“Maybe it’s about time you got a job. Get your lazy ass out of the house and do something productive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And clean up this fucking pigsty! Your mother isn’t your slave.”
The door slammed shut, and Richie breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his entire body relax. He’d been so tense with his father’s presence that every one of his muscles had been tight and knotted, leaving him feeling sore once he relaxed. He quickly unplugged the game console, wrapping both controllers around it, and the accompanying wires. He set that into a box, and shoved it underneath his bed.
Then, he glanced over at the window. Someone climbing the tree? Had it been...? But why...?
Richie quietly walked over to the window, opening it to glance out. Within the dim light from various street lamps, he saw nothing in the darkness below. His heart thundered within his chest, as that same strange sting of excitement hit all his inside organs. Was Hotstreak out there, somewhere? Had he tried to come up, but had been foiled by his father?
His breath caught in his throat, and he shut the window.
But left it unlocked...just in case...
Chapter Three:
He had been in love with Virgil Hawkins throughout high school, and had never really questioned himself why. He just knew that he loved Virgil’s outlook on life–optimistic, cheerful, tinged with moralistic values and everything else. He loved his best friend’s physical appearance, and he loved his voice. He loved the smell Virgil had after an intense work out, and the way he smelled after a shower. Virgil had a sturdy frame perfect for snuggling or leaning against–he knew this from brief moments during wrestling bouts or sappy, humorous acts of affection. Richie had always wondered what it’d feel like to touch Virgil in the affectionate way he’d always wanted–kisses on that coffee colored skin, strokes of his own pale fingers against his friend’s dark thighs, having that muscular frame pressed against his front or back...
He had pleasant wet dreams of Virgil taking him with loving and animalistic actions; he would wake up, feeling the phantom kisses his dream Virgil had given him; tasting bitter fluids; having the sensation of feeling Virgil underneath his fingertips; Virgil was his fantasy, his ideal partner, life mate. Virgil can be Virgil, and he’d always be perfect.
He didn’t want Virgil to find out his secret, freak out and leave him, or think differently of him. He didn’t want Virgil to run away from him, or get disgusted. Even if they remained only friends, Richie would be happy for that. He’d still have Virgil. Still have his brotherly love and affection...he would still be happy.
Virgil was straight–he and Daisy Watkins had been dating quietly over the last month and a half. While Richie had been jealous at first, he’d gradually accepted that Virgil would be nothing more than his friend. He understood that. It was the frustrating path he had to take and admit once admitting his sexuality.
Richie knew he was in love with his best friend, and couldn’t think of ever replacing him with someone else. Virgil was just...everything to him!
So when Virgil grew angry at him over his apparent ‘mood swings’, Richie felt a little hurt and worried. He didn’t want Virgil to find out his little secret...or two secrets...whatever.
He knew Virgil was hurt about his apparent lying–but he had to do it. If Virgil found out that Hotstreak and Richie had a ‘thing’...it would just make things entirely worse. Nothing would be repaired. So Richie vowed to keep this all a secret, and no matter the cost, Virgil couldn’t find out about Hotstreak.
Virgil had ignored him when Richie sighted him in the hall, so Richie had left to find Hotstreak to find out what the older male wanted. It would be safer for Virgil to calm down before Richie approached him.
He walked out into the lobby of the school, and found the older male talking to a group of juniors that Richie associated with another gang. It looked as if they were getting a kick out of something Hotstreak was telling them, so he lingered at the edge of the hall, waiting for them to finish up before approaching him.
The boys walked away five minutes later, and began hassling the security guards. When Richie walked over, glancing around sheepishly and feeling like a character from a bad soap opera, he could feel his skin heating with an embarrassed flush.
He wasn’t sure what to say to Hotstreak–his throat felt tight and constricted as he looked up at him.
Hotstreak seemed the same way until he jerked his notebook up, the action seeming to remind him of why he’d asked Richie to join him.
“There’s somethin’ I need you to do,” he started out, reaching up to pinch his nostrils, then winced. “You’re good at school stuff, right?”
“Once a nerd, always a nerd.”
“Good. Cuz I need somethin’ done.”
“Oh, no,” Richie refused, holding his hands up and shaking his head. “No way. I’m not doing your work for you.”
“Why not?”
“Er...cuz...well...that’s wrong!”
Hotstreak frowned at him, tapping his notebook against his thigh. Then his eyes narrowed, and he straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to loom over the shorter teen. Richie immediately winced, drawing away from him, and started to take off. Hotstreak grabbed his sweater shirt and jerked him back.
“Listen to me, punk! I got shit on you! Unless you want it all out in the fuckin’ open, you better do as I say!”
“Aw, man! C’mon! I thought you were above blackmail!” Richie exclaimed, jerking the material of his sweater shirt from Hotstreak’s grip. “Why can’t you just resort to threats and bullying, instead?”
“...Are you challenging my current inability to follow through with conventional matters of intimidation?”
The question was given with such a straight face, challenging tone and perfect grammar that Richie stared at him in silent, aghast shock, having no reply. Frankly, he couldn’t believe that Hotstreak was capable of such things.
With a smirk, Hotstreak pulled back, and swatted the upside of his head. Richie had to catch his glasses before they sailed through the air.
“Well? Are ya? Or do I have ta get even tougher about shit?”
“Let me get over the fact that you spoke intelligently for one second, an’ I’ll see what I can do,” Richie muttered, sliding his glasses over his nose.
“Are you fuckin’ back talkin’ again?”
“Look–! I really don’t want to take on your load of crap along with my load! There’s a lot of work being assigned nowadays, and I really don’t have the time–!”
“Static can pull his own weight without his partner,” Hotstreak said with a smirk. “An’ besides...ain’t like you do much, anyway. Not without your toys...”
Richie glared up at him with so much hostility and insulted pride that the older male pulled back, feeling satisfied with the way things were going.
“Whatever,” Richie muttered, adjusting the weight of his back pack.
“Straight up. Hurry up, Poindexter. I gotta job ta get to. Don’t make me wait around while you get yer fuckin’ panties out of a bunch.”
“I don’t want to do–” Richie grunted as the Composition notebook was thrust against his unprotected gut, causing him to momentarily lose his breath.
“It’s all in there. I need it before class starts. Better get started if ya wants to get out on the street, tonight,” Hotstreak then said, walking off without another glance in his direction.
Richie considered tossing the notebook at the guy’s back–but restrained himself in mid pull. It wouldn’t be smart–Hotstreak did have many things on him, most of which he was desperate to keep secret. If Virgil found out that he was gay...
With a sigh, he lowered his arm, giving a dejected glare at the floor. He opened the notebook to see what he had in store, and had to snort. He had to chuckle at himself as he walked along, reading the scrawled notes, and that Francis Stone dotted every ‘i’ with open circles and he curled all the tails of lower case letters. It was actually...femmy in a funny way.
OooooooooooO
Hours later, Richie reclined in his desk chair, stretching his arms upward. He’d just completed Hotstreak’s paper on the economic impact the Iraq War had caused on the states, and was set to start on his own two page report for Chemistry. Glancing over at the clock, he winced when he saw that it was ten past twelve; he should have been out on patrol with Static, but the homework...he sighed as he dropped his chin onto his palm, tapping his pen against the text he had opened in front of him.
Virgil hadn’t bothered to call him on the Shock Vox, or the phone...he was probably very pissed at Richie’s attitude. Richie felt minutely hurt by his reaction, but as he thought about it, he felt it was his fault, anyway. He was the one that chose to have these secrets, and was going all out to keep them.
He sighed again, straightening away from his desk. The rest of the house was quiet and his parents had gone to bed a few hours ago. He figured on doing the same, picking his glasses off his face and setting them aside. Turning off his lights, he flopped face first onto his bed and prepared for sleep.
While he slept, his dreams were full of warmth, pressure and movement that was similar to all of his fantasies. All that was missing was Virgil...
That next day, at lunchtime, he went in search of his best friend, unsure of how Virgil was going to take things. He wanted to apologize for his moods, and try to get him to understand that he had things under control; to make up for what happened yesterday. Virgil was just hurt and concerned for him–Virgil always had his back, no matter what. Richie had to respect that.
But when he found him, Virgil was talking to Daisy, the pair laughing and talking in the middle of the school’s back staircase. Richie figured he’d try and catch him later. As he was heading back into school, the doors slammed open with a vicious familiarity, and Richie found himself staring up at Hotstreak’s enraged expression with much surprise.
“Wow, they grade papers fast nowadays,” he had time to mutter before Hotstreak reached out, grabbed his collar, and jerked him into the school.
“Listen, you little shit–!” Hotstreak snarled fiercely, slamming him hard against the wall, several students jerking to stops to watch the scene. “You fucked up fo’ the last fuckin’ time, you little cocksucking prick! I’ma fuck you over, you fuckin’ lil’–!”
“Temper temper temper!” Richie reminded him shakily, wincing at the balled up fist that was about to descend upon him. He brought his hands up to his face, assuming the position that would most likely try and keep his glasses from being broken.
Hotstreak seemed to remember his current situation with the courts, and with much impressive restraint, lowered his arm. His fist and arm was shaking badly with his fury, the movement quite noticeable to those that were watching with wide eyes. He shoved Richie hard against the wall, and stormed off, sending many students running for cover.
Upon realizing that he’d narrowly escaped death, Richie looked out from behind his arms, seeing that the coast was basically clear. His legs felt extremely weak, so he sank to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief as he rested against the wall.
The doors opened again, and he looked up to see Virgil and Daisy walking in, both of them staring down at him in surprise.
“Richie? What you doing down there?” Virgil asked, pausing as he held his hand out.
“Oh, just examining the floor for, uh...viruses...or...something.” Richie held onto his hand and allowed the help up.
“‘Viruses’? Whatever, man.”
“I’m going to lunch, Virgil. See you later!” Daisy said, waving as she walked away.
Richie and Virgil waved, then faced each other.
“Look, man, I’m sorry about yesterday,” Richie said, smiling sheepishly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was wrong of me.”
“Yeah, well...it’s just gettin’ weird, Rich. I mean...you’re so tense, an’ I know it has something to do with fuckin’ Hotstreak, man! And you’re not saying anything! I want to help,” Virgil said, rushing as Richie opened his mouth to interject, “and you’re, like, hurting me when you refuse and lie. An’ I know you’re lyin’, Rich! We grew up together! I know when you’re lying!”
“Virg...I’m really sorry,” Richie muttered, picking up his backpack. “Nothing’s happening, and–it’s really nothing for you to be concerned, with.”
“Richie, if that guy’s usin’ you, blackmailing you–! There has to be something that I can do to help you out!” Virgil insisted, using the back of his hand to smack Richie’s shoulder with his insistence. “I don’t want you feelin’ as if you’re alone in this! We’re practically brothers, Rich, an’ for you to keep turning me away, leaves me thinkin’ that I ain’t adequate enough to hold ya together.”
“Virgil...”
“C’m on, man, spill!” Virgil insisted, reaching over to wrap his arm around Richie’s shoulder. “What is it that has ya all tense?”
“I...Virgil...fine,” Richie said on a heavy sigh, dropping his head. “Let’s get some privacy.”
Virgil led the way outside, down the stairs to the small round table at the bottom. After getting settled at the table, Richie fretting nervously over what he was going to say, Virgil set his backpack aside and looked at him pointedly.
“Well?” he prompted, lifting a dark eyebrow. “Spill...what’s goin’ on in your life?”
He couldn’t tell him, now! It was too soon! He wasn’t ready to talk about this yet! He stared across the table at Virgil’s expectant face, and saw years of their friendship flash across his eyes...he felt his skin break out in a slight sweat, and his fingers curled with extreme nervousness...his gut gave an anxious twist that left him feeling pained.
Virgil opened his mouth to prompt again, and Richie quickly spat out, “He’s actually a nice guy, Virgil!”
“Say what?” Virgil screeched, looking at him in horrified shock.
Richie paused–that had come out of no where. But what an excellent save!
“Francis is actually a good guy, Virgil. He’s just...mistaken a lot, and no one really gives him a chance to really reveal himself to others! I...didn’t want to say anything, because I figured that you wouldn’t believe me. I thought you would have a problem with it.”
Virgil lost three shades of color as he stared at his best friend in a stupor. Richie had been taken over by some alien, or zombie–to hear that Francis Stone, AKA Hotstreak was a ‘nice guy’ was something completely out of the ordinary! His brain temporarily shorted of information and relaying data as he heard the echo of Richie’s outburst.
Richie, meanwhile, was staring at Virgil with a similar expression, his mouth slightly open, his brain shooting loads of accompanying information to back this save up.
“We...actually get along really well, Virgil. And...he figured out that I was Gear on his own. I didn’t supply him with any information. You have got to believe me.”
Virgil’s head moved slightly, but his expression was still the same. Eventually, the heaviness of the situation forced him out of his stupor, and he closed his mouth, his teeth snapping together. He raised his hand and opened his mouth to speak–but failed and lowered his hand. Then he repeated the former action, only to repeat the latter once more. He did this three times until Richie shook his head from side to side, preventing him from speaking any more.
“That’s why I didn’t want to say anything, V,” he said on a sigh, folding his arms atop of the table. “I wasn’t sure how you would take it...I wasn’t sure...I don’t know...”
“But he treats you like crap, Richie!”
“Have you seen him do anything, Virgil?”
Virgil opened his mouth, ready to nod, but had to shake his head. Then, as he thought about it, he had to shake his head once more. Richie was going to keep quiet about what had transpired just moments before Virgil and Daisy had come in.
Richie nodded his head to emphasize his point. “We’ve talked a lot, Virg–just about...stuff, I guess. He doesn’t really let his guard down very often, and when he does...he’s just a normal guy. He’s like us, V. He wants approval and wants to fit in–unfortunately, he’s doing it for all the wrong reasons.”
Virgil stared at Richie in silence, wondering when, during a course of three months, the teen had become a stranger to him.
Richie looked at him with a pitifully innocent expression, his eyes just begging Virgil to try and understand. Virgil winced, and forced himself to look away. “Stop, stop, stop!”
“...Huh? Stop what?”
“Those eyes!”
“What–? What ‘eyes’?”
“You know what eyes! Those eyes you do when you’re fixin’ to snag somethin’, and I ain’t giving! C’mon, man!”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, man!”
“Oh, don’t give me that innocent bit, damn it! FINE!” Virgil slapped both palms onto the table, glaring at Richie suspiciously. “Let’s get this out in the open–there ain’t NO WAY I’m warming up to him like you’re doin’. There ain’t enough gold in this world to convince me that he’s some saint in disguise!”
“I didn’t say he was a ‘saint’–!”
“I don’t want you tryin’ to hook us up all friendly like, and tryin’ to get him into our circle!”
“Virgil–!”
“I mean it, Richard Osgoode Foley! I don’t want none of his bullshit around me! You can go and have your thang with him but that’s seriously fucked up that he knows about you...”
“Like it’s my fault–!”
“You’re the one hanging around him like he’s some fuckin’ gift from God, man! You lettin’ him in on all our stuff, and–!”
“For this very same reason, this is why I haven’t told you anything!” Richie suddenly shouted over him, rising from his seat. “Because you take things out of context! I can’t say anything to you, because you go over the top and don’t try to understand! I love you, Virgil, I really do–you’re my best friend and everything else to me...but...I can’t talk to you, sometimes, about things.”
Virgil quietly twiddled his thumbs, the action odd and out of place on the boy’s person. He stared up at Richie with a contemplative expression, blinking every so often. Richie felt embarrassed about his outburst, and resumed his seat, more than uncomfortable with how things were going between them. They rarely had fights, and when they did–they tended to hurt him. He was always so afraid of losing Virgil to some petty thing–! As he tried to think of a way to soothe over this new wound, Virgil cleared his throat and stared at him pointedly.
“What else you keeping from me, Richie?” he asked quietly. “There somethin’ else you wanna say?”
Richie stared back at him in silence, and shook his head. “No.”
“You kept this from me. C’mon, Rich. We used to talk about everything!”
“I’m your best friend, Virgil. You know that. I rely on you for so many things, and you do the same for me. But...some things...I can’t talk about.”
“Like what, Richie?” Virgil insisted in that same low tone.
“I...I’m not ready to...to share some things with you...quite yet. I’m...afraid of...of your reaction, V. Like just now? If I have something else to tell you, you’ll just...just flip.”
“Why would I ‘flip’, Richie? What else is there?”
“I–I can’t–!”
“GodDAMN it, Richie!” Virgil then shouted furiously, slapping the table as he rose from his seat once more. “Why we growin’ apart? Is this all because I’m dating Daisy?”
“NO! No, V, it’s not that at all! I–! It isn’t that! I’m happy for you, really, and, yes, there’s been a few times when we can’t hang out because–! But it’s not that. I....” Failing for anything more to say, Richie trailed off and shrugged his story. “I don’t know, V.”
Virgil drummed his fingers atop the table top, staring at his best friend in silence. “Well...since I ain’t doing too well in the friendship department, I’m going to get some lunch. You eat already?”
“Virgil...”
“Nah , it s’okay, Rich. I understand. I just hope that...that in the end, you don’t get burned...” Virgil lifted his eyebrows and attempted a humorous expression, but failed miserably. He rose from his seat and walked off with a casual wave over his shoulder.
Richie sighed, shoulders drooping as he looked away. With the reaction Virgil had given to Richie’s earlier confession, he truly doubted he was going to reveal the rest of his secrets. Virgil had a good soul, but his mouth and his impulsiveness to react to something of crucialness was something to tread carefully with.
He truly wasn’t ready to reveal his secrets.
That afternoon, miserable over the rift that was slowly coming between them, Richie tried hard to focus on the positive aspects of things–at least this gave Virgil a chance to hang out more with Daisy, who looked genuinely happy being with him...
Once upon a time, Richie had thought he’d be the same way–goofy smiles, constant excitement at the pit of his stomach, a constant optimistic outlook in life that would remain constant just as long as he had Virgil...
He thought he would look like Daisy did now–all happy smiles, delighted blushes, the freedom to touch and kiss him without restraint...
He sighed heavily as he watched Virgil perform some sort of impersonation from a movie he had no doubt was one of their favorites, and sullenly adjusted his backpack. He shouldn’t feel this way–Virgil was happy with her. He should be happy for them both...
But how was that possible when he knew the depth of his own feelings for Virgil? How could he be happy when Virgil was with someone else? When he knew for certain that Virgil would never return his love with the love he was looking for?
He bit his lower lip and began walking the other way to avoid walking near the two. He felt terrible for what had transpired during lunch, and was certain that because he wasn’t open to those he loved, he was affecting them. But he just wasn’t ready! And Virgil’s reaction to Richie’s confession had been more than disappointing...what would he do if Richie finally told him of his sexuality, of his crush?
He didn’t want to think about that.
He was about to head outside when he heard a familiar growl and grumble, and he paused near the side doors, to see Hotstreak walking away from a flustered teacher. The man gave an exasperated throw of his arms and disappeared into his classroom, slamming the door shut behind him. Richie lifted an eyebrow, and watched as the older male paused in the hall, looking at something he had.
He had to frown as he realized the guilt he felt in viewing this. Yeah, he felt bad for writing the same paragraph over and over again for the guy’s paper, but that was Hotstreak’s fault in the first place. Maybe it would have been different if he’d asked for help–not for convenient slave labor.
He pushed away from the doors, gathering a deep breath as he walked over to the other guy. He reached out and settled a restraining hand on the older male’s arm when he caught sight of him.
“Look, forgetting all about things this afternoon–I can see you’re trying to do things. I can help you if you’re looking for it. But I’m not doing your work for you.”
Hotstreak snatched his arm from him. “Fuck off, four-eyes.”
“I’m serious! I can help you...trust me, it’ll make things go easier if you had help.”
“Like I need it!”
“Obviously you do if you pushed me around to do something for you!” Richie snapped, shifting his backpack. “It’d be something entirely different if you weren’t doing anything–! But it’s obvious you’re making an effort! And...I’d like to help.”
Hotstreak stared at him in silence, then seemed to consider this offer. But his eyes settled onto something in the distance, and he walked away without a word. Confused, Richie looked after him, blinking. The guy walked around the corner in the hall without looking back. Standing alone in the hall, Richie wondered what that was all about and shrugged.
Hey...he offered...
OooooooooooO
That night, playing video games in his room and allowing himself to try and forget all that had transpired that day, Richie had a startling thought hit him. The soldier he was playing on the recent Medal of Honor dropped dead from German assault rifles as he contemplated this new thought.
That time when we...hooked up, or whatever...it almost felt natural.
He felt his face redden at the memories, his gaze moving away from the action on his television screen to the carpet on the floor.
Once we got over the fact that we actually liked each other and could...do those things with each other... it was just natural. I always had dreams that this was how Virgil and I would start out...but Virgil’s straight. He won’t make an exception just for me...I’ll never have him in that way. So when Francis began...hitting on me, I allowed it. Because it was new...interesting...because I was lonely. Because maybe I did grow to like him.
Which was more than odd...Francis Stone had kicked his and Virgil’s ass with regularity, and showed no signs of softness or care for their regard. And when they met up as Static and Gear to stop one of his rampages, they were tried and cut super heroes and villains. There wasn’t any neutral point between them all. How in the world did this come into existence?
But it wasn’t as if Hotstreak turned a one-eighty and began treating him differently...no, judging from the looks he was given and the hostility, things were the same as they were before.
“Obviously things aren’t going to change,” he muttered to himself, resuming the game. He was curled up on his bed, dressed in a plain t-shirt and lounge pants, ready to hit the sack. He planned on getting up tomorrow morning around two to go out for patrol, so he was hoping for a few hours of sleep.
His door opened, and he straightened up from the bed with a panicked rush, startled. Sean Foley walked in, glancing at his tv screen with an expression of irritation.
His father was a big man–standing over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and thick arms that were toughened from continuous lifting at work. He was also barrel chested, with an obvious gut, and legs that looked thick within pants that sagged slightly. His ash blond hair was combed away from his broad face, revealing a strong nose, hooded eyes that were constantly narrowed with irritation, and a mouth with thin, pursed lips. With his strong chin, which set his expression into that of a disgruntled man, Sean Foley often made many people severely uncomfortable.
Many weren’t sure if he were even capable of smiling. There were times when he tried to change. But mounting stress and irritation from the changing world kept that change to a minimum. Richie and Maggie walked on eggshells all the time around him, to keep that infamous Irish temper from lashing out at them. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t. He severely hoped that tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
But his skin broke out in a nervous cold sweat, and his heart was racing a million miles per hour. He recognized the high levels of stress that his body produced just from the sight of the man. He never felt this way as Gear, facing off bad guys...
“It’s past ten, son,” Sean rumbled, frowning as Richie rushed to shut off the console and television. “Little late to be up?”
“Um...I was just...I don’t know. I know. I’ll go to bed, now.”
“I heard something funny outside. You aren’t having friends over without letting us know, are you?”
“Funny sounds? Outside? Like what?” Richie asked in genuine puzzlement, glancing over at his window.
“Like someone climbing the tree, Richard!” Sean snapped.
“No, I haven’t had anyone over. Honest. I don’t–don’t have people over.”
“I told you those niggers will teach you disrespectful things! They don’t fucking care whether or not they’re breaking a rule. As long as they’re doing what they fucking want...”
“Not all of them think that way, dad,” Richie said quietly, avoiding any direct looks at his father.
“That’s why I don’t want you friends with them! Especially that one. Him and his stuck up father, always running around, thinking they’re better than us.”
“That’s not true, dad...”
“And here you are, defending them! What’s so good about them that makes them better than us?”
Richie shrugged a shoulder, still avoiding looking up at his father, waiting for him to just leave. Sean snorted in exasperation, and looked around his room. Hands on his hips, he turned to walk out, but paused. He jabbed a finger at the game console.
“When did you get this?” he asked curiously. “I don’t remember buying it...”
“I save my allowance. I bought it over a year ago.”
“This shit rots your brain.”
“I’m getting A’s, dad.”
“Don’t mean shit. You don’t need that shit workin’ in the factory. But you need that diploma. You need to stay in school!”
“I know...I never planned on dropping out.”
“Maybe it’s about time you got a job. Get your lazy ass out of the house and do something productive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And clean up this fucking pigsty! Your mother isn’t your slave.”
The door slammed shut, and Richie breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his entire body relax. He’d been so tense with his father’s presence that every one of his muscles had been tight and knotted, leaving him feeling sore once he relaxed. He quickly unplugged the game console, wrapping both controllers around it, and the accompanying wires. He set that into a box, and shoved it underneath his bed.
Then, he glanced over at the window. Someone climbing the tree? Had it been...? But why...?
Richie quietly walked over to the window, opening it to glance out. Within the dim light from various street lamps, he saw nothing in the darkness below. His heart thundered within his chest, as that same strange sting of excitement hit all his inside organs. Was Hotstreak out there, somewhere? Had he tried to come up, but had been foiled by his father?
His breath caught in his throat, and he shut the window.
But left it unlocked...just in case...