Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Five ( Chapter 5 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The oddest things are acknowledged; what's with the stick up Ebon's ass?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 7.3K | Visits: 758 | Status: Completed
The oddest things are acknowledged; what's with the stick up Ebon's ass?
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 6 | Words: 7.3K | Visits: 758 | Status: Completed
One
Chapter Five:
Richie stared sightlessly at the parking lot, his mind running over the words that had been exchanged earlier this morning. He really hated doing this to Virgil–but his internal battle in keeping his friendship kept butting heads with his wanting to confess everything. In a way, he was scared to lose Virgil–telling him he was gay and was in love with him; and that he had a ‘thing’ with Hotstreak; but at the same time, it was apparent that he was going to lose his friendship with him, anyway, because of his reluctance to confess. The fight early this morning really troubled him.
He knew how much Virgil hated Francis Stone. He did try to shoot him that night–but his good conscience had kicked in. He’d tossed the weapon, choosing to deal with the older male on other terms, instead. Virgil wouldn’t understand that while Richie felt for him, he also felt for Hotstreak as well. It was a confusing situation for him–he felt as if he were being pulled at both arms. To Virgil because he was his best friend and partner, as well as secret love. To Hotstreak because he was more than what people thought, and because he...well, Richie figured that Francis needed him.
He was really trying–he hadn’t gotten into fights, he attended every class, he was doing his homework... he was trying. It had only been a couple of days, but those couple of days were enough to convince him that the guy was trying to turn things around for himself.
Usually, if he were in trouble, he’d merely get himself sent back by throwing a temper tantrum or being a general menace with his gang or by himself. But these last two days...
Richie sighed as he gripped the edge of the table, where he was sitting to be alone. The others had immersed themselves in a superhero card game, and Virgil was off with Daisy, doing Virgil-Daisy things, and he needed time to think on his own. All his tumultuous feelings and situation gave him a headache.
He jumped at the sound of books hitting his table, letting out a sharp squeak that damned his manliness. Whirling around, he looked, wide-eyed, at the smirking meta standing there.
“Jumpy?”
“No.” Richie felt himself swallow hard as he stared into those dark eyes, then looked down at the pile of books. Anatomy, English, Algebra, World History...that notebook of his was filled with various papers that peeked out from the black and white cardboard cover. “What’s this?”
“Stuff...”
Hotstreak looked down at it as well, frowning as if he’d never seen it all before. Then he gave a reluctant shuffle of his feet, looking enormously pissed off at himself.
He looked at Richie with a frank, direct stare that made the other teen shift nervously.
“You said you’d help.”
Surprised, Richie’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and his mouth fell open. But he quickly snapped it shut, nodding as he turned to face him. “Yes...I will help. But I won’t do your work for you.”
“I’m still gonna get you back for that.”
“But you learned, right?” Richie felt himself grin, then quickly wiped it off when the glare intensified.
With a snort, Hotstreak hit the first book in the pile with a languid slap. “Well?”
“What’s due first?”
“...This fuckin’...study sheet for...Anatomy.”
“That should be easy,” Richie said, sliding over to rifle through the thick text. Hotstreak pulled back, hands slipping into his cargo pants pockets as he watched the teen retrieve the mentioned study sheet from the pages of the text.
He hadn’t been looking for him, actually. He’d just been looking for a quiet place to escape the snickers and stares from various classmates that refused to believe he was trying to do right for himself.
When he’d seen the teen sitting at the table, he’d felt a sense of relief and good fortune sweep through him. He’d taken in the blue hoodie and those brown cargo pants and had been somewhat...happy...
For whatever reason, he didn’t decipher quite yet. Didn’t even want to think about it. But he remembered Richie telling him that he could help him if he needed it. And had jumped on that.
“They usually have these diagrams in here. You just have to copy what’s listed there onto here,” Richie was saying, looking at the sheet and getting that concentrating I’m-On-A-Mission look.
“You won’t do it?”
“No,” Richie emphasized, giving him a direct look. There was a moment where they ended up staring too deeply at each other. But neither one acknowledged it. “I can help you with any other questions you might have. An’ if you try and make me do it? I’ll just mess it up again.”
“You’re just asking to get beat down, aren’t you?”
“It’s my drive in life. To see how many times I can get beat up.”
Hotstreak snorted again, then gave another book an annoyed slap. “This one needs an essay topic...I don’t know what to fuckin’ write about...”
“What do you have to write about?”
“...Dunno. Just...something about Chauncer...whoever the fuck that is.”
“‘Canterbury Tales’?”
“Yeah. Whatever...
“That can be easy, too. Did you read it?”
“I don’t got no fuckin’ time to read some bullshit story. It’s not that important...”
“But it is if you have to write about it.”
“Look–I asked for your help. Not fuckin’ lip.”
“And I am helping you," Richie said, trying to suppress a smile. Neither of them realized just how close they were to each other; the way Hotstreak stood with his legs brushing against Richie's knees; the way Richie leaned toward him as he fiddled with the book. “You’re just getting angry because you feel pressured.”
“Who th’ fuck do you think you are? Some fuckin’ psychiatrist an’ shit? You know how I feel?”
“You look,” Richie demanded, slapping the Anatomy book shut. “Whining and crying around about things aren’t going to solve your problems. It’ll just make it worse. So, if you stop complaining, you can get started.”
“Fuck you and your fuckin’ superior talk! You think you’re above me? Think you’re better than me?” the older male snarled, growing furious as he worked himself into a shaking frenzy.
“No,” Richie stated quietly, firmly. “I don’t think I’m above you. I just think that you need someone to push you to do things that you aren’t comfortable with.”
“...Fuck that shit.”
“Sit down. I can help you with your essay, first.”
“...You’ll do it?”
“I’ll help.”
“...whatever...”
Richie hid his grin as the other male took a seat, and took out his pen from his back pocket, getting settled to write. He didn’t see or notice the way Virgil glared at the both of them from the top of the staircase, his hands baring gifts for forgiveness. With a shake of his dreads, Virgil walked back into the school.
Hotstreak began working on his Anatomy study guide after much grumbling, Richie agreeing to look over his completed homework. The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable–there shouldn’t have been need for words, considering that they were working on their projects, but it was just...natural. As if it were okay. There wasn’t a need to speak up and make nervous conversation or useless small talk. He could look up from his paper, see that Richie was concentrating on his task, and not have to delve into any pissing contests or verbal jabs for domination.
He looked up, once, from his homework to ask a question–but he’d froze as he'd done so. Richie wasn’t all that attractive–he had okay features that he assumed girls found all right ( he didn’t know or care what the boys thought); dark eyes that hid behind oval shaped glasses; shaggy blond hair that was most often left to fend for itself; a straight nose that was fond of twitching when especially excited over something; curved lips that was either curled with a smile or thought; a single hoop earring that dangled from one earlobe, and a sort of bewitching mixture of naivety and mischief that gave a person an idea of whom he was.
But when Hotstreak looked at him in that moment, he saw something he never thought he would–a boy that was attractive because of his cheerful attitude and his helpful nature. Someone that he often beat on regularly for being so damn nerdy. But he wasn’t nerdy in this instance–he was someone higher than him. Higher than anybody. Giving him this chance of being normal, of risking his friendship with the one he loved most–Richie gave him more than anybody else gave him.
So it struck him dumb as he cleared his throat and looked back down at his paper, thoughts momentarily jumbled. He felt his face flush with color, of which severely irritated him. Whoever thought that he could blush over something like this? Over stark realization that he had it for some guy?
“You doing okay, man?” Richie asked him, looking over at him.
“Yeah. Lemme alone.”
“All right, all right.”
When Hotstreak looked up to glare at him for being so damn cheerful, Richie caught his glare, and grinned. Hotstreak was undecided in whether he should grumble, threaten, or ignore the grin.
But his eyes lingered longer as he tried to decide, and Richie wasn’t looking away either.
When they finally realized that the look was held longer than necessary for manliness, they both hurriedly looked away. But the next few minutes was spent with the other trying to decide what that look had meant; as well as a lot of sneaking in glances at the other’s face. A sort of play that was similar to ‘tag’–one looked at the other, looked away; the other would follow suit until they finally just stopped.
Nearly five minutes from when the bell was going to ring, Richie looked up from the algebra homework that had been completed, correcting mistakes and explaining why. Hotstreak was busy writing the essay, having found a topic to use on the promise that he’d read the entire story later on. His head was bent over his paper, his pen making scrawls and scratches within the lines as his face hardened with a mask of concentration. It was funny, really, that Richie found himself in this position–sitting across from his ‘enemy’ and helping him with his homework.
He also felt a lot of other conflicting things that made him inwardly wince. Virgil, for instance. He hoped that his friend wouldn’t see them working together. That would just make things even harder to deal with, if Virgil thought Richie was dropping him for Hotstreak. He just wished Virgil was able to understand–but he also understood Virgil’s side, as well.
Another conflict that was bothering him was looking across the table at the curiously quiet male, and noting little nuances in him that made his belly squirm. Today’s clothing combination was a dark t-shirt over belted baggy jeans, and that beanie that tried to hide his shocking color of hair. The dark coloring of his clothes brought out the slight tan on his arms and neck, and fit him in ways that reminded Richie of what he looked like without it all.
He found himself glancing over the way those eyebrows furrowed together with concentration, the way those lips tightened firmly with intensity, the way his shoulders hunched over, as if he were trying to hide what he was doing from the world. Richie found himself blushing slightly, covering this up with his hands as he pressed his cheeks forward onto his palms, elbows on table. He resumed looking over the sheet of homework, and idly turned a ‘4' into an ‘9'. It wasn’t as if he were falling in love, or anything. He knew that belonged to Virgil.
It was just having Hotstreak close to him, reminding him of what he was in danger of losing, made him feel...oddly giddy. He’d been nervous and anxious upon hearing the guy was returning to school, of knowing the secret information that they shared with each other, of being intimate–such things would make anyone nervous, right? But he’d caught himself thinking of how it’d feel if they could share that sort of intimacy again...the physical aspect of it, especially. It seemed that once his hormones were stroked with a heady dose of what was out there, they seemed rampant on experiencing that all over again. And he could fully remember what Hotstreak was capable of in bed.
He felt his face flush at remembering those three times; the first had been definitely rough and uncomfortable. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Hotstreak had indeed used him to figure things out; and in the end, Hotstreak hadn't used him at all. During the course of the night, it had been obvious that Hotstreak's mood had changed toward him. And it made Richie feel nervous about that; nervous and anxious...in an entirely good way. Because he could see them having a better relationship than the one they had now as enemies; because as they talked and revealed to each other their secrets, their bodies, they had given themselves to each other in a way that couldn't just be...friendly. If Hotstreak really decided that he didn't like Richie in that manner---then why the continuous touching, the kissing, the sex? Staying the whole night?
It made Richie's skin break out in goosepimples; because it was exciting to think that, on some level, the older male felt for him in ways that Richie never thought of, before. And as the seed began taking root, simple realizations came to him. And as they did, he suddenly felt short of breath. It was much too soon, it was too fantastic---but it was happening.
He took a deep breath; forced himself to think AWAY from that direction. He thought, instead, of that night when they messed around. Having that heavy weight against him, having his hardened dick deep inside of him, feeling his sweat slicked skin underneath his palms–
“Done.”
He jumped again, startled out of his rather vivid thoughts. He blinked himself back to reality and nodded. “Good. Let me see that. I left the corrections on your paper, so you can look it over. You can erase it later, before you turn it in.”
They exchanged papers. Richie was about to smirk his way through the essay, delighting in the curled tails and open circles, when the doors opened, the fire alarm going off. Both of them looked up to see students evacuating the school with a mixture of panic and excitement, the teachers and security guards shouting orders and directing them away from the building. In confusion, Richie rose from the bench, staring at the activity, not knowing what was going on.
“Dude! Where the fuck you been?” Chuck asked breathlessly as he strayed away from the crowd, glaring at him. He looked over at Hotstreak, realized who he was, and stepped back, as if he’d been burned.
“What? What’s wrong?” Richie asked, dropping his pen.
“Dude! Uh...they’re letting school out early, today.”
“What?”
“Th’ fuck for?” Hotstreak demanded angrily, tossing his pen aside in exasperation. “Did all this fuckin’ lousy shit for nothin’...?”
Chuck swallowed hard, clutching his pack tightly as he stared at the older male with fear evident on his face. He struggled to face Richie, but he wasn’t going to let that guy out of his sight.
“There was a big break-in at the jail, man. All those metas they had in there got away. Police and Static are chasing them all over the streets! It all started twenty minutes ago! They’re shuttin’ the school down cuz they were comin’ in this direction. They wanna evacuate the students before someone gets hurt!”
“What?” Richie cried, rising from his seat. “How–? Why–? Why wasn’t there an announcement, or something?”
“I’m gone, man!” Chuck hurried off after one last glance at Hotstreak.
Static was already working on it? Without him? Why didn’t he–? Well, he couldn’t be bothered with trying to find Richie if that sort of emergency came up. He gathered his things, intending to run off.
“Hey, where ya goin’?”
“The school–! Evacuation?”
Hotstreak scoffed, shaking his head. “Gonna run off like a chicken with its head snapped off? They ain’t comin’ over here. They gots no real business over here.”
“I–you know why I have to go.” Richie had already accepted that Hotstreak knew his secret; while on one level, he was surprised, on another level...he knew harm of that nature, of that important secret---would never come to him. It was knowledge that made his belly squirm once more.
“Seriously, by the time you get out there, all them guys will be gone. ‘Sides, most of the ones that were there ain’t all that important. Ebon–” he trailed off sharply, his face suddenly darkening with something that Richie couldn’t identify. But he wasn’t going to stick around. He turned and hurried off, ignoring the annoyed shouts that followed after him.
Huffing, Hotstreak plopped right back into his seat and glared at his work. Fine. Let him find out. Once those guys were out, they spread and hide like cockroaches in the shadows. There wasn’t a way both he and Static could round them up within minutes and have the streets clear again. It was better just letting those thugs go and rounding them up one at a time as they usually did. He shrugged and began working on his Anatomy homework. At least he had another extra day to finish up what he hadn’t done.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been working, but he suddenly grew aware that he wasn’t alone. He lifted his head from his Anatomy study sheet and turned around.
Shiv was tossing a couple of sporks from hand to hand, grinning maniacally as he walked down from the top of the staircase.
“Hey, school boy! Thought I might find you here!” the Asian said cheerfully, juggling the sporks, alighting them with energy. “Was kinda curious an’ all...people were sayin’ you were turning goody-goody...”
“Fuck off, whack job,” Hotstreak muttered, folding up his work and carefully tucking it away within his text.
“C’mon, Francis...that some way to talk to a good friend?” Shiv laughed as he paused at the edge of the table. He then lowered his voice to a gossiping whisper.“So...is it true?”
“Get outta here! Don’t fuckin’ mess with me...”
“Heard you got off easy, son.”
Hotstreak found himself rolling his eyes in exasperation as he picked up his texts and moved them into one pile. He turned and found Ebon lingering in the shadows of the trees nearby, arms crossed and those white eyes narrowed with a smirk.
“The fuck...? Why don’t you fuckin’ losers just head on home, or somethin’? Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Not when we’ve been hearing interesting things!” Shiv cried, jumping onto the table and kicking the texts out onto the pavement. As papers and pages fluttered through the air, Hotstreak found himself torn between exploding or...imploding.
“What things?” he growled, sweeping his beanie off his head. “Why th’ fuck is my life of so much concern for th’ rest of you? Get the fuck out of here!”
“I let you in on my secrets, boy,” Ebon snarled, walking over, stretching to loom over him. “An’ you been holdin’ out on me.”
“What the fuck–?”
“My boys been seein’ a lot of ya with that Foley person. Making me think. You all denyin’ shit, Hotstreak, but it all plain obvious you just been lyin’ and keepin’ shit on the d-low.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you think you–!”
“I still am pretty sore that you got off easy, man,” Ebon snarled, jabbing him in the chest. Hotstreak shoved him away, but Ebon moved once more to loom over him.
“That we never got to settle our business...”
“Ain’t no fuckin’ business! I don’t wanna get caught up in your fuckin’ bullshit! I got out, an’ I don’t plan on goin’ back! Get the fuck out of my face!”
“Fuck you, cracker! Fuckin’ pansy ass cracker!”
A shrill whistle hit the air, and both looked up to see Talon perched at the edge of a lunch cart, her wings unfolding with unease.
“Let’s go, boys,” she commanded, taking flight. “Static’s coming this way!”
Ebon turned to face Hotstreak once more and jabbed him again. “I’ll be seeing you later, shitface.”
“Fuck you, cock suck.”
“HA!” the living shadow barked, opening a vortex that Shiv jumped into with a happy cackle, both disappearing within instants. Talon was gone just as quick, and the entire situation made Hotstreak flame briefly with fury as he wiped his face. Bad enough Ebon was on his case about something that he couldn’t have known, but it was made even worse when Static flew overhead, pausing in his flight as he noticed the flame.
“What’s here, foe? What fray is this?” he commanded, surveying the damaged texts and papers that were fluttering about.
“Fuck off, monkey! Ain’t nothin’ here!”
Funny...
“No, fuck you, Mr. All High And Mighty! You don’t got no right to talk to me that way!” Static snarled, uncharacteristically bitchy right off the bat. “For all that I know, you were in on that break-in!”
Noticing this, Hotstreak’s brow furrowed, and he blinked as he stared up at the boy, staring at him as if it were the first time he’d ever seen him.
Then he started to laugh, feeling utterly retarded and dense that he hadn’t noticed before.
Static felt his eye twitch as Hotstreak bent at the waist, laughing in an oddly maniacal way. He didn’t know why the sudden laughing fit, but it was really irritating him. He thrust his hands out, prepared to strike first when his conscience struck him. Instead of shocking him, he charged the older male’s clothes, forcefully sticking him to the table.
At his outraged shout, Static turned and flew off, on the lookout for the other metas.
Hotstreak calmed himself as he tugged uselessly on his arm, muttering about jealous bitches. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Once he realized who Richie was, he should have known right then and there about Static! There wasn’t any other black kid that hung constantly with Richie, and acted all out in this sort of manner than Virgil Hawkins did. How could he have missed that?
That night, he tossed his recovered books onto his battered couch, and kicked off his shoes. He changed into darker clothing, traded his shoes for something more comfortable for longer distances, and left the studio apartment, never noticing the note that sat underneath his books.
Heading over to Richie’s, he pulled his hood over his head, adjusting his baseball cap atop of his head. He wanted to talk to the guy–some about homework, some about the break-out, about Static...mainly, he just wanted to see the guy, again. It hit him like a punch in the gut, of what he was going to do. Of what he felt.
He could deny it all he wanted–but the truth was, there was still something between them. It wasn’t basic friendship–he could accept that, somewhat–but it wasn’t friendship that he felt toward the teen. What ‘friend’ thought of repeating the many things that happened that one night? That grew angry at the thought of another man taking over what he’d been the only one to touch?
He was working on frenzy, really–not really thinking and concluding what his thoughts were on the actual subject. He just knew that he wanted to...talk to the guy again. To be treated like a person.
To know that he’d be taken seriously and given a chance to express his real thoughts and feelings and not be made fun of. His chest burned with embarrassment over this new thing, and his head felt light from realizing the truth. But his strides were determined and he didn’t stop until he reached that now familiar two story house.
He’d tried to come over yesterday–but he’d slipped during one point of the climb, and he’d known Sean had heard him. He made his getaway–parole kept him from acting on impulse–and hadn’t mentioned it because he didn’t want Richie feeling as if he were being stalked...or something.
He saw the Corolla in the driveway, and shook his head in frustration. He ignored the fact that Sean Foley was home, and hurried up to the balcony's underlying support beams. A quick glance up told him that Richie was in his room, and he reached up for the first support beam. He had to hop up to do so, and he swung himself up, steadying himself with a low exhale of air as he judged his next reach. Before he could grasp another beam, there was the familiar shout of a man exhausting his temper with almost indistinguishable sounds. He managed to shuffle up to the barrier of the balcony and leap over, seeing that the vertical blinds were thrust aside, giving him enough cover to avoid being seen from the inside.
He paused, then grunted as he realized he’d have to wait for awhile. He wasn’t sure what Sean was yelling about now, but there was no mistaking the scene that was hidden within that house.
Something crashed to the floor, and there were indistinguishable thumps that seemed to shake the house walls. Somewhere within the neighborhood, a dog barked madly, and someone was having a barbeque in one of their back yards.
Amid all the normal sounds of a neighborhood that may have seen better days long before he set foot over here, he strained his ears, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He felt slightly appeased as he heard Sean slamming his way downstairs, and exit the front door, screaming something about cleaning up some pigsty. He glanced down between the balcony slats, watching the large man fumble with his keys. He watched him climb into his car, speeding out from the driveway in reverse, tires screeching loudly upon braking. Then the Corolla was gone.
Maybe Richie wasn’t even home, and the Mr. was slamming the wife around, like he did that other time. He peered through the window, making a grimace upon seeing that Sean had been on a rampage, tonight–the floor, which had been immaculate last time he’d visited, was sprinkled with glass shards from a thrown television; a game console had been destroyed by impact with one of the walls; several models and toys were scattered all over; magazines were tossed and thrown randomly, and the entire desk top had been swept clean, everything that had been on top scattered on the floor. He reached out to jiggle the door open, finding himself lucky as it opened easily upon his prompting. He walked in noiselessly, carefully stepping over the mess that was strewn across the floor .
He paused in moving, listening for anything that would alert him of others’ presence in the house, and heard slight sounds from the hall. He felt slightly nervous as he walked out from the room, and took a chance to peer out the hall. He’d done B and E’s before, when the occupants were still in the house–it wasn’t that he was scared of getting caught; the thrill of it was getting things done without having anyone notice that they weren’t alone.
He felt that thrill now as he scanned the hall, hearing sounds from downstairs. Cautiously, he took a chance, peering over the railing to see the missus running out from the kitchen with a First Aid kit, her face streaked with wet trails. She had a fresh hand print on her left cheek, and her eyes were swollen with her tears. Cautiously, Hotstreak eased himself back into Richie’s room as she hurried up the stairs.
When her foot steps faded away, he carefully peered out from his room once more, one hand reaching out to steady himself as he listened to the soft murmur of her voice from the bathroom down the hall.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, baby. Just let me get that...there. I told you he wasn’t in a very good mood. Why did you have to do that? Why? Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut, for once? He wouldn’t have lost his temper if you wouldn’t have opened your mouth!”
“...I didn’t even say anything....He just did it, unprovoked–”
“You know how he gets when someone puts him down at work! Why did you have to provoke him? You brought this onto yourself! Next time, keep your mouth shut and don’t make him angry!”
“...I’m sorry, mom.”
“Just...clean up your mess. Where are your glasses?”
“In my room. He made me take them off, first–ow!–so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Clean up your room. Then go to bed. He won’t be back, for awhile. He’ll be too tired to check on you.”
“Thanks, mom.”
When Richie walked into the room, sullenly muttering about psycho, overworked buffoons with no real goal in life, the door slammed shut behind him, making him jump in surprise.
Hotstreak merely raised an eyebrow, and Richie felt his blood rush from his face at his appearance. Struck between being mortified at this incident and for the fact that the older male was here–how much did he know? See?–he stared at Hotstreak in silence, unable to move.
“Piss daddy off, again?” he merely grunted, looking at the mess within the room.
“Yeah...I...what are you doing here?”
“Nothin’...”
They stared at each other in silence, until Richie sat down slowly at the edge of his bed, sighing as he surveyed the room. He gestured at his destroyed tv set and game console. “That’s that, I suppose.”
“What’s he pissin’ an’ moanin’ about, now?”
“I don’t know. I think someone pissed him off at work–”
“Richie?”
Hotstreak stilled as both went silent, Maggie’s voice just right outside his door.
“Yeah?”
“...Who are you talking to, honey?”
“I’m on the phone, mom.”
“Well...curfew’s at nine. It’s five til. Make it short. Clean up your mess, all right?”
“Yeah, mom...”
They waited until they heard a door shut at the end of the hall, and Richie sighed again, reaching up to rub his head.
He winced as he surveyed his room, shoulders slumped. Neither had nothing to say as silence descended onto them, making the air thick and tense within the blue walls of his room. The window was open, admitting in the cool night air and the sounds of the neighborhood.
The quiet grew so thick that when Hotstreak moved, the movement startled them both. “Turn off your lights.”
“Why–?”
“People can see inside.”
“I–fine.” Richie reached over and flicked the lamp off, and Hotstreak himself flipped off the room light. He heard the blond give a slow exhalation that released some of his tension, but from the lingering feelings that persisted, knew he was still upset over previous.
“So, what happened? Didja two catch ‘em?”
“Not really...the only one they’re truly focused on is Ebon. But...we’ve no idea where he’s at. We’ve checked all his hotspots...there’s not even any sign of his followers, and his normal gangbangers aren’t saying anything...unless you...”
“Don’t use me like that, kid.”
“...I’m sorry. That was retarded. But...I don’t know...I just have to know–you’re not involved with him, are you?”
“You fuckin’ stupid? No fuckin’ way. Don’t ever think I have shit involved with him.”
“All right, all right...that’s good, then, I guess. This is awkward,” Richie suddenly blurted out, squinting to see him through the darkness. His glasses were somewhere on his dresser, out of harm’s way–he could only see the dark, distinguishable shape near his door, really. It really sucked to have crappy vision. “Having you know–seeing it. How am I supposed to act?”
Hotstreak shrugged, having nothing to say to that.
“I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to say. I feel so fucking dumb, sometimes. I’m out there as Gear, beating all the bad guys–”
“Not all of them,” Hotstreak grumbled, crossing his arms stiffly.
“–and I come home and have my father beating the crap out of me because he could hear me playing video games, and I was ‘clicking the buttons’ too loudly! Doesn’t that sound fucking stupid?”
Hotstreak ducked his head, hearing the rising hysterical tone creeping into Richie’s voice. He toed the carpet with the scuffed thread of his sneakers. “Ain’t no use cryin’ about it,” he muttered, kicking aside something that had settled against his foot. “Nothin’ ain’t changin’ unless you get out of here.”
“Yeah...I guess...I can’t wait to go away to college. That’s the only thing taking me away from here,” Richie admitted, folding his hands upon his lap. “Not–I don’t want to leave Dakota, for obvious reasons, but I want to get out of here.”
Hotstreak grunted, toeing the carpet once more.
Sensing an awkward pause, he said, “Ebon’s out, then, huh?”
“Yeah...he’s out. Doing whatever he does,” Richie said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face and wincing when his palm came into contact with his bruised lip. “Kinda funny, though. I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about that kinda thing.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“It isn’t that...it’s more like...you’re one of them. Not exactly like them, but...like them. We took you to jail regularly. And you’re part of that. And here I am, discussing things with you because you know who I am. It’s just...awkward.”
“Well, same shit here.”
“...What do you mean? Everyone knows who you are....”
“I got a rep. Something that took me years to build. People are afraid of me; I get the respect that I want from doin’ what I do. An’ for me to...go out of my way ta...talk to ya...kinda...doesn’t blend well.”
Richie gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t. We both have things that are important to us, huh? And those things are the things that keep us from...I mean...I–I don’t know.”
In the darkness, Hotstreak felt an eyebrow lift, his forehead furrowing. Did he just say–?
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that those things are the things that brought us here, and–they’re also the same things that will...keep us apart.”
“...Wha–? What are you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“You like me, don’t you?”
The question, spoken out loud with conviction and defiance, stunned them both. But once he started, it was hard to stop.
“I can tell. Because of the way you act. And it isn’t because of...anything else. And I like you, too. And it’s weird, for me, because I know you’re going through the same thing.”
“What the fuck–?”
“No, listen to me, please...we both have feelings for each other, an’ we can’t do anything about it, because we’re opposites and we’re supposed to be enemies. But we do, and we deny it to ourselves and everyone else over and over and over because we can’t accept it! But...because of society and because of our own personal views, we can’t even accept it to ourselves. Can’t even admit it out loud. So we do this, Francis... you follow me. And I follow you. And we try not to show that we do. But we do.”
Hotstreak felt his head shake slightly, his denial causing his back to stiffen–for his arms to tighten. He stared silently through the darkness, at the floor. He listened to the slightly cracking voice that addressed him quietly, but with firm conviction. And he knew it was true. But to have it said out loud–!
He shook his head again, but his voice wasn’t working to accompany this. He didn’t come here for this–! Or...did he? What had driven him here in the first place?
What had brought him to come here, to face Richie, to stay and listen to this? He didn’t have control of himself–the loss of control left him feeling angry,
lost...confused. Because he knew he wasn’t going to explode with his usual temper. He was just going to stand there and...continue to listen.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Richie said with a heavy sigh. “My best friend is hating me because I keep lying to him. I have you to find some semblance of comfort in, and...I can’t even accept it...and I’ll never pass the second level that I worked so hard on...”
Hotstreak blinked. ‘Second level’? Oh...the game console. Something tugged at his lips. “Idiot...”
He heard Richie leave his bed, the squeak of the mattress the only indication of his movement. He looked up sharply to see the other close the space between them....when he felt gentle hands on his face, he didn’t push or struggle, or deny...
He merely accepted the tender kiss that touched his lips, feeling himself respond in kind.
A shot of intensity seemed to shoot through his muscles, leaving behind a forceful tingle that dulled his thinking. Kissing Richie had always been so pleasant–it always left him wanting more, wanting more of his unique taste and flavor, wanting more than that. He stood still as Richie curled his arms around his waist, his tongue swiping against his lower lip; asking for entrance. Hotstreak opened his mouth, and Richie’s tongue snaked in, tentatively touching his teeth, scraping lightly against his tongue.
He then pulled back, muttering, “Ow” as he touched his lip. Hotstreak reached out, to stop him from moving away, and found himself surrendering to temptation as he nuzzled the teen’s cheek, then lowered to kiss his neck. Richie immediately tilted his head, giving a soft sound as lips scraped over his skin, feeling traces of stubble and goatee against his throat.
Hotstreak lifted his head, found his lips; was careful to avoid the bottom one as he kissed the top, reaching up to tilt his chin up so that he had better access to
Richie’s mouth. The blond responded immediately, reaching up to cradle his face between his hands, his tongue snaking over his lips again.
It felt good to touch and taste in this way, again. He lost all incoherent thought---he just wanted to be re-acquainted with Richie in this manner. It was so easy to lose himself to this; to forget what brought them together, to forget the taboo. His hands drifted from Richie's chin, to settle on his shoulders. He felt the blond's hand creep up his back, his fingers digging into muscle, fitting his body against his. Felt that unfamiliar craving start to warm his body.
Suddenly embarrassed at his own body's reaction, Hotstreak pulled away. "Gotta go," he muttered, wiping his mouth, still tasting Richie's flavor on his tongue.
Confused, Richie clamped his mouth shut, and watched him leave.
Chapter Five:
Richie stared sightlessly at the parking lot, his mind running over the words that had been exchanged earlier this morning. He really hated doing this to Virgil–but his internal battle in keeping his friendship kept butting heads with his wanting to confess everything. In a way, he was scared to lose Virgil–telling him he was gay and was in love with him; and that he had a ‘thing’ with Hotstreak; but at the same time, it was apparent that he was going to lose his friendship with him, anyway, because of his reluctance to confess. The fight early this morning really troubled him.
He knew how much Virgil hated Francis Stone. He did try to shoot him that night–but his good conscience had kicked in. He’d tossed the weapon, choosing to deal with the older male on other terms, instead. Virgil wouldn’t understand that while Richie felt for him, he also felt for Hotstreak as well. It was a confusing situation for him–he felt as if he were being pulled at both arms. To Virgil because he was his best friend and partner, as well as secret love. To Hotstreak because he was more than what people thought, and because he...well, Richie figured that Francis needed him.
He was really trying–he hadn’t gotten into fights, he attended every class, he was doing his homework... he was trying. It had only been a couple of days, but those couple of days were enough to convince him that the guy was trying to turn things around for himself.
Usually, if he were in trouble, he’d merely get himself sent back by throwing a temper tantrum or being a general menace with his gang or by himself. But these last two days...
Richie sighed as he gripped the edge of the table, where he was sitting to be alone. The others had immersed themselves in a superhero card game, and Virgil was off with Daisy, doing Virgil-Daisy things, and he needed time to think on his own. All his tumultuous feelings and situation gave him a headache.
He jumped at the sound of books hitting his table, letting out a sharp squeak that damned his manliness. Whirling around, he looked, wide-eyed, at the smirking meta standing there.
“Jumpy?”
“No.” Richie felt himself swallow hard as he stared into those dark eyes, then looked down at the pile of books. Anatomy, English, Algebra, World History...that notebook of his was filled with various papers that peeked out from the black and white cardboard cover. “What’s this?”
“Stuff...”
Hotstreak looked down at it as well, frowning as if he’d never seen it all before. Then he gave a reluctant shuffle of his feet, looking enormously pissed off at himself.
He looked at Richie with a frank, direct stare that made the other teen shift nervously.
“You said you’d help.”
Surprised, Richie’s eyes widened behind his glasses, and his mouth fell open. But he quickly snapped it shut, nodding as he turned to face him. “Yes...I will help. But I won’t do your work for you.”
“I’m still gonna get you back for that.”
“But you learned, right?” Richie felt himself grin, then quickly wiped it off when the glare intensified.
With a snort, Hotstreak hit the first book in the pile with a languid slap. “Well?”
“What’s due first?”
“...This fuckin’...study sheet for...Anatomy.”
“That should be easy,” Richie said, sliding over to rifle through the thick text. Hotstreak pulled back, hands slipping into his cargo pants pockets as he watched the teen retrieve the mentioned study sheet from the pages of the text.
He hadn’t been looking for him, actually. He’d just been looking for a quiet place to escape the snickers and stares from various classmates that refused to believe he was trying to do right for himself.
When he’d seen the teen sitting at the table, he’d felt a sense of relief and good fortune sweep through him. He’d taken in the blue hoodie and those brown cargo pants and had been somewhat...happy...
For whatever reason, he didn’t decipher quite yet. Didn’t even want to think about it. But he remembered Richie telling him that he could help him if he needed it. And had jumped on that.
“They usually have these diagrams in here. You just have to copy what’s listed there onto here,” Richie was saying, looking at the sheet and getting that concentrating I’m-On-A-Mission look.
“You won’t do it?”
“No,” Richie emphasized, giving him a direct look. There was a moment where they ended up staring too deeply at each other. But neither one acknowledged it. “I can help you with any other questions you might have. An’ if you try and make me do it? I’ll just mess it up again.”
“You’re just asking to get beat down, aren’t you?”
“It’s my drive in life. To see how many times I can get beat up.”
Hotstreak snorted again, then gave another book an annoyed slap. “This one needs an essay topic...I don’t know what to fuckin’ write about...”
“What do you have to write about?”
“...Dunno. Just...something about Chauncer...whoever the fuck that is.”
“‘Canterbury Tales’?”
“Yeah. Whatever...
“That can be easy, too. Did you read it?”
“I don’t got no fuckin’ time to read some bullshit story. It’s not that important...”
“But it is if you have to write about it.”
“Look–I asked for your help. Not fuckin’ lip.”
“And I am helping you," Richie said, trying to suppress a smile. Neither of them realized just how close they were to each other; the way Hotstreak stood with his legs brushing against Richie's knees; the way Richie leaned toward him as he fiddled with the book. “You’re just getting angry because you feel pressured.”
“Who th’ fuck do you think you are? Some fuckin’ psychiatrist an’ shit? You know how I feel?”
“You look,” Richie demanded, slapping the Anatomy book shut. “Whining and crying around about things aren’t going to solve your problems. It’ll just make it worse. So, if you stop complaining, you can get started.”
“Fuck you and your fuckin’ superior talk! You think you’re above me? Think you’re better than me?” the older male snarled, growing furious as he worked himself into a shaking frenzy.
“No,” Richie stated quietly, firmly. “I don’t think I’m above you. I just think that you need someone to push you to do things that you aren’t comfortable with.”
“...Fuck that shit.”
“Sit down. I can help you with your essay, first.”
“...You’ll do it?”
“I’ll help.”
“...whatever...”
Richie hid his grin as the other male took a seat, and took out his pen from his back pocket, getting settled to write. He didn’t see or notice the way Virgil glared at the both of them from the top of the staircase, his hands baring gifts for forgiveness. With a shake of his dreads, Virgil walked back into the school.
Hotstreak began working on his Anatomy study guide after much grumbling, Richie agreeing to look over his completed homework. The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable–there shouldn’t have been need for words, considering that they were working on their projects, but it was just...natural. As if it were okay. There wasn’t a need to speak up and make nervous conversation or useless small talk. He could look up from his paper, see that Richie was concentrating on his task, and not have to delve into any pissing contests or verbal jabs for domination.
He looked up, once, from his homework to ask a question–but he’d froze as he'd done so. Richie wasn’t all that attractive–he had okay features that he assumed girls found all right ( he didn’t know or care what the boys thought); dark eyes that hid behind oval shaped glasses; shaggy blond hair that was most often left to fend for itself; a straight nose that was fond of twitching when especially excited over something; curved lips that was either curled with a smile or thought; a single hoop earring that dangled from one earlobe, and a sort of bewitching mixture of naivety and mischief that gave a person an idea of whom he was.
But when Hotstreak looked at him in that moment, he saw something he never thought he would–a boy that was attractive because of his cheerful attitude and his helpful nature. Someone that he often beat on regularly for being so damn nerdy. But he wasn’t nerdy in this instance–he was someone higher than him. Higher than anybody. Giving him this chance of being normal, of risking his friendship with the one he loved most–Richie gave him more than anybody else gave him.
So it struck him dumb as he cleared his throat and looked back down at his paper, thoughts momentarily jumbled. He felt his face flush with color, of which severely irritated him. Whoever thought that he could blush over something like this? Over stark realization that he had it for some guy?
“You doing okay, man?” Richie asked him, looking over at him.
“Yeah. Lemme alone.”
“All right, all right.”
When Hotstreak looked up to glare at him for being so damn cheerful, Richie caught his glare, and grinned. Hotstreak was undecided in whether he should grumble, threaten, or ignore the grin.
But his eyes lingered longer as he tried to decide, and Richie wasn’t looking away either.
When they finally realized that the look was held longer than necessary for manliness, they both hurriedly looked away. But the next few minutes was spent with the other trying to decide what that look had meant; as well as a lot of sneaking in glances at the other’s face. A sort of play that was similar to ‘tag’–one looked at the other, looked away; the other would follow suit until they finally just stopped.
Nearly five minutes from when the bell was going to ring, Richie looked up from the algebra homework that had been completed, correcting mistakes and explaining why. Hotstreak was busy writing the essay, having found a topic to use on the promise that he’d read the entire story later on. His head was bent over his paper, his pen making scrawls and scratches within the lines as his face hardened with a mask of concentration. It was funny, really, that Richie found himself in this position–sitting across from his ‘enemy’ and helping him with his homework.
He also felt a lot of other conflicting things that made him inwardly wince. Virgil, for instance. He hoped that his friend wouldn’t see them working together. That would just make things even harder to deal with, if Virgil thought Richie was dropping him for Hotstreak. He just wished Virgil was able to understand–but he also understood Virgil’s side, as well.
Another conflict that was bothering him was looking across the table at the curiously quiet male, and noting little nuances in him that made his belly squirm. Today’s clothing combination was a dark t-shirt over belted baggy jeans, and that beanie that tried to hide his shocking color of hair. The dark coloring of his clothes brought out the slight tan on his arms and neck, and fit him in ways that reminded Richie of what he looked like without it all.
He found himself glancing over the way those eyebrows furrowed together with concentration, the way those lips tightened firmly with intensity, the way his shoulders hunched over, as if he were trying to hide what he was doing from the world. Richie found himself blushing slightly, covering this up with his hands as he pressed his cheeks forward onto his palms, elbows on table. He resumed looking over the sheet of homework, and idly turned a ‘4' into an ‘9'. It wasn’t as if he were falling in love, or anything. He knew that belonged to Virgil.
It was just having Hotstreak close to him, reminding him of what he was in danger of losing, made him feel...oddly giddy. He’d been nervous and anxious upon hearing the guy was returning to school, of knowing the secret information that they shared with each other, of being intimate–such things would make anyone nervous, right? But he’d caught himself thinking of how it’d feel if they could share that sort of intimacy again...the physical aspect of it, especially. It seemed that once his hormones were stroked with a heady dose of what was out there, they seemed rampant on experiencing that all over again. And he could fully remember what Hotstreak was capable of in bed.
He felt his face flush at remembering those three times; the first had been definitely rough and uncomfortable. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Hotstreak had indeed used him to figure things out; and in the end, Hotstreak hadn't used him at all. During the course of the night, it had been obvious that Hotstreak's mood had changed toward him. And it made Richie feel nervous about that; nervous and anxious...in an entirely good way. Because he could see them having a better relationship than the one they had now as enemies; because as they talked and revealed to each other their secrets, their bodies, they had given themselves to each other in a way that couldn't just be...friendly. If Hotstreak really decided that he didn't like Richie in that manner---then why the continuous touching, the kissing, the sex? Staying the whole night?
It made Richie's skin break out in goosepimples; because it was exciting to think that, on some level, the older male felt for him in ways that Richie never thought of, before. And as the seed began taking root, simple realizations came to him. And as they did, he suddenly felt short of breath. It was much too soon, it was too fantastic---but it was happening.
He took a deep breath; forced himself to think AWAY from that direction. He thought, instead, of that night when they messed around. Having that heavy weight against him, having his hardened dick deep inside of him, feeling his sweat slicked skin underneath his palms–
“Done.”
He jumped again, startled out of his rather vivid thoughts. He blinked himself back to reality and nodded. “Good. Let me see that. I left the corrections on your paper, so you can look it over. You can erase it later, before you turn it in.”
They exchanged papers. Richie was about to smirk his way through the essay, delighting in the curled tails and open circles, when the doors opened, the fire alarm going off. Both of them looked up to see students evacuating the school with a mixture of panic and excitement, the teachers and security guards shouting orders and directing them away from the building. In confusion, Richie rose from the bench, staring at the activity, not knowing what was going on.
“Dude! Where the fuck you been?” Chuck asked breathlessly as he strayed away from the crowd, glaring at him. He looked over at Hotstreak, realized who he was, and stepped back, as if he’d been burned.
“What? What’s wrong?” Richie asked, dropping his pen.
“Dude! Uh...they’re letting school out early, today.”
“What?”
“Th’ fuck for?” Hotstreak demanded angrily, tossing his pen aside in exasperation. “Did all this fuckin’ lousy shit for nothin’...?”
Chuck swallowed hard, clutching his pack tightly as he stared at the older male with fear evident on his face. He struggled to face Richie, but he wasn’t going to let that guy out of his sight.
“There was a big break-in at the jail, man. All those metas they had in there got away. Police and Static are chasing them all over the streets! It all started twenty minutes ago! They’re shuttin’ the school down cuz they were comin’ in this direction. They wanna evacuate the students before someone gets hurt!”
“What?” Richie cried, rising from his seat. “How–? Why–? Why wasn’t there an announcement, or something?”
“I’m gone, man!” Chuck hurried off after one last glance at Hotstreak.
Static was already working on it? Without him? Why didn’t he–? Well, he couldn’t be bothered with trying to find Richie if that sort of emergency came up. He gathered his things, intending to run off.
“Hey, where ya goin’?”
“The school–! Evacuation?”
Hotstreak scoffed, shaking his head. “Gonna run off like a chicken with its head snapped off? They ain’t comin’ over here. They gots no real business over here.”
“I–you know why I have to go.” Richie had already accepted that Hotstreak knew his secret; while on one level, he was surprised, on another level...he knew harm of that nature, of that important secret---would never come to him. It was knowledge that made his belly squirm once more.
“Seriously, by the time you get out there, all them guys will be gone. ‘Sides, most of the ones that were there ain’t all that important. Ebon–” he trailed off sharply, his face suddenly darkening with something that Richie couldn’t identify. But he wasn’t going to stick around. He turned and hurried off, ignoring the annoyed shouts that followed after him.
Huffing, Hotstreak plopped right back into his seat and glared at his work. Fine. Let him find out. Once those guys were out, they spread and hide like cockroaches in the shadows. There wasn’t a way both he and Static could round them up within minutes and have the streets clear again. It was better just letting those thugs go and rounding them up one at a time as they usually did. He shrugged and began working on his Anatomy homework. At least he had another extra day to finish up what he hadn’t done.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been working, but he suddenly grew aware that he wasn’t alone. He lifted his head from his Anatomy study sheet and turned around.
Shiv was tossing a couple of sporks from hand to hand, grinning maniacally as he walked down from the top of the staircase.
“Hey, school boy! Thought I might find you here!” the Asian said cheerfully, juggling the sporks, alighting them with energy. “Was kinda curious an’ all...people were sayin’ you were turning goody-goody...”
“Fuck off, whack job,” Hotstreak muttered, folding up his work and carefully tucking it away within his text.
“C’mon, Francis...that some way to talk to a good friend?” Shiv laughed as he paused at the edge of the table. He then lowered his voice to a gossiping whisper.“So...is it true?”
“Get outta here! Don’t fuckin’ mess with me...”
“Heard you got off easy, son.”
Hotstreak found himself rolling his eyes in exasperation as he picked up his texts and moved them into one pile. He turned and found Ebon lingering in the shadows of the trees nearby, arms crossed and those white eyes narrowed with a smirk.
“The fuck...? Why don’t you fuckin’ losers just head on home, or somethin’? Leave me the fuck alone.”
“Not when we’ve been hearing interesting things!” Shiv cried, jumping onto the table and kicking the texts out onto the pavement. As papers and pages fluttered through the air, Hotstreak found himself torn between exploding or...imploding.
“What things?” he growled, sweeping his beanie off his head. “Why th’ fuck is my life of so much concern for th’ rest of you? Get the fuck out of here!”
“I let you in on my secrets, boy,” Ebon snarled, walking over, stretching to loom over him. “An’ you been holdin’ out on me.”
“What the fuck–?”
“My boys been seein’ a lot of ya with that Foley person. Making me think. You all denyin’ shit, Hotstreak, but it all plain obvious you just been lyin’ and keepin’ shit on the d-low.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you think you–!”
“I still am pretty sore that you got off easy, man,” Ebon snarled, jabbing him in the chest. Hotstreak shoved him away, but Ebon moved once more to loom over him.
“That we never got to settle our business...”
“Ain’t no fuckin’ business! I don’t wanna get caught up in your fuckin’ bullshit! I got out, an’ I don’t plan on goin’ back! Get the fuck out of my face!”
“Fuck you, cracker! Fuckin’ pansy ass cracker!”
A shrill whistle hit the air, and both looked up to see Talon perched at the edge of a lunch cart, her wings unfolding with unease.
“Let’s go, boys,” she commanded, taking flight. “Static’s coming this way!”
Ebon turned to face Hotstreak once more and jabbed him again. “I’ll be seeing you later, shitface.”
“Fuck you, cock suck.”
“HA!” the living shadow barked, opening a vortex that Shiv jumped into with a happy cackle, both disappearing within instants. Talon was gone just as quick, and the entire situation made Hotstreak flame briefly with fury as he wiped his face. Bad enough Ebon was on his case about something that he couldn’t have known, but it was made even worse when Static flew overhead, pausing in his flight as he noticed the flame.
“What’s here, foe? What fray is this?” he commanded, surveying the damaged texts and papers that were fluttering about.
“Fuck off, monkey! Ain’t nothin’ here!”
Funny...
“No, fuck you, Mr. All High And Mighty! You don’t got no right to talk to me that way!” Static snarled, uncharacteristically bitchy right off the bat. “For all that I know, you were in on that break-in!”
Noticing this, Hotstreak’s brow furrowed, and he blinked as he stared up at the boy, staring at him as if it were the first time he’d ever seen him.
Then he started to laugh, feeling utterly retarded and dense that he hadn’t noticed before.
Static felt his eye twitch as Hotstreak bent at the waist, laughing in an oddly maniacal way. He didn’t know why the sudden laughing fit, but it was really irritating him. He thrust his hands out, prepared to strike first when his conscience struck him. Instead of shocking him, he charged the older male’s clothes, forcefully sticking him to the table.
At his outraged shout, Static turned and flew off, on the lookout for the other metas.
Hotstreak calmed himself as he tugged uselessly on his arm, muttering about jealous bitches. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Once he realized who Richie was, he should have known right then and there about Static! There wasn’t any other black kid that hung constantly with Richie, and acted all out in this sort of manner than Virgil Hawkins did. How could he have missed that?
That night, he tossed his recovered books onto his battered couch, and kicked off his shoes. He changed into darker clothing, traded his shoes for something more comfortable for longer distances, and left the studio apartment, never noticing the note that sat underneath his books.
Heading over to Richie’s, he pulled his hood over his head, adjusting his baseball cap atop of his head. He wanted to talk to the guy–some about homework, some about the break-out, about Static...mainly, he just wanted to see the guy, again. It hit him like a punch in the gut, of what he was going to do. Of what he felt.
He could deny it all he wanted–but the truth was, there was still something between them. It wasn’t basic friendship–he could accept that, somewhat–but it wasn’t friendship that he felt toward the teen. What ‘friend’ thought of repeating the many things that happened that one night? That grew angry at the thought of another man taking over what he’d been the only one to touch?
He was working on frenzy, really–not really thinking and concluding what his thoughts were on the actual subject. He just knew that he wanted to...talk to the guy again. To be treated like a person.
To know that he’d be taken seriously and given a chance to express his real thoughts and feelings and not be made fun of. His chest burned with embarrassment over this new thing, and his head felt light from realizing the truth. But his strides were determined and he didn’t stop until he reached that now familiar two story house.
He’d tried to come over yesterday–but he’d slipped during one point of the climb, and he’d known Sean had heard him. He made his getaway–parole kept him from acting on impulse–and hadn’t mentioned it because he didn’t want Richie feeling as if he were being stalked...or something.
He saw the Corolla in the driveway, and shook his head in frustration. He ignored the fact that Sean Foley was home, and hurried up to the balcony's underlying support beams. A quick glance up told him that Richie was in his room, and he reached up for the first support beam. He had to hop up to do so, and he swung himself up, steadying himself with a low exhale of air as he judged his next reach. Before he could grasp another beam, there was the familiar shout of a man exhausting his temper with almost indistinguishable sounds. He managed to shuffle up to the barrier of the balcony and leap over, seeing that the vertical blinds were thrust aside, giving him enough cover to avoid being seen from the inside.
He paused, then grunted as he realized he’d have to wait for awhile. He wasn’t sure what Sean was yelling about now, but there was no mistaking the scene that was hidden within that house.
Something crashed to the floor, and there were indistinguishable thumps that seemed to shake the house walls. Somewhere within the neighborhood, a dog barked madly, and someone was having a barbeque in one of their back yards.
Amid all the normal sounds of a neighborhood that may have seen better days long before he set foot over here, he strained his ears, listening for anything out of the ordinary. He felt slightly appeased as he heard Sean slamming his way downstairs, and exit the front door, screaming something about cleaning up some pigsty. He glanced down between the balcony slats, watching the large man fumble with his keys. He watched him climb into his car, speeding out from the driveway in reverse, tires screeching loudly upon braking. Then the Corolla was gone.
Maybe Richie wasn’t even home, and the Mr. was slamming the wife around, like he did that other time. He peered through the window, making a grimace upon seeing that Sean had been on a rampage, tonight–the floor, which had been immaculate last time he’d visited, was sprinkled with glass shards from a thrown television; a game console had been destroyed by impact with one of the walls; several models and toys were scattered all over; magazines were tossed and thrown randomly, and the entire desk top had been swept clean, everything that had been on top scattered on the floor. He reached out to jiggle the door open, finding himself lucky as it opened easily upon his prompting. He walked in noiselessly, carefully stepping over the mess that was strewn across the floor .
He paused in moving, listening for anything that would alert him of others’ presence in the house, and heard slight sounds from the hall. He felt slightly nervous as he walked out from the room, and took a chance to peer out the hall. He’d done B and E’s before, when the occupants were still in the house–it wasn’t that he was scared of getting caught; the thrill of it was getting things done without having anyone notice that they weren’t alone.
He felt that thrill now as he scanned the hall, hearing sounds from downstairs. Cautiously, he took a chance, peering over the railing to see the missus running out from the kitchen with a First Aid kit, her face streaked with wet trails. She had a fresh hand print on her left cheek, and her eyes were swollen with her tears. Cautiously, Hotstreak eased himself back into Richie’s room as she hurried up the stairs.
When her foot steps faded away, he carefully peered out from his room once more, one hand reaching out to steady himself as he listened to the soft murmur of her voice from the bathroom down the hall.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, baby. Just let me get that...there. I told you he wasn’t in a very good mood. Why did you have to do that? Why? Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut, for once? He wouldn’t have lost his temper if you wouldn’t have opened your mouth!”
“...I didn’t even say anything....He just did it, unprovoked–”
“You know how he gets when someone puts him down at work! Why did you have to provoke him? You brought this onto yourself! Next time, keep your mouth shut and don’t make him angry!”
“...I’m sorry, mom.”
“Just...clean up your mess. Where are your glasses?”
“In my room. He made me take them off, first–ow!–so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Clean up your room. Then go to bed. He won’t be back, for awhile. He’ll be too tired to check on you.”
“Thanks, mom.”
When Richie walked into the room, sullenly muttering about psycho, overworked buffoons with no real goal in life, the door slammed shut behind him, making him jump in surprise.
Hotstreak merely raised an eyebrow, and Richie felt his blood rush from his face at his appearance. Struck between being mortified at this incident and for the fact that the older male was here–how much did he know? See?–he stared at Hotstreak in silence, unable to move.
“Piss daddy off, again?” he merely grunted, looking at the mess within the room.
“Yeah...I...what are you doing here?”
“Nothin’...”
They stared at each other in silence, until Richie sat down slowly at the edge of his bed, sighing as he surveyed the room. He gestured at his destroyed tv set and game console. “That’s that, I suppose.”
“What’s he pissin’ an’ moanin’ about, now?”
“I don’t know. I think someone pissed him off at work–”
“Richie?”
Hotstreak stilled as both went silent, Maggie’s voice just right outside his door.
“Yeah?”
“...Who are you talking to, honey?”
“I’m on the phone, mom.”
“Well...curfew’s at nine. It’s five til. Make it short. Clean up your mess, all right?”
“Yeah, mom...”
They waited until they heard a door shut at the end of the hall, and Richie sighed again, reaching up to rub his head.
He winced as he surveyed his room, shoulders slumped. Neither had nothing to say as silence descended onto them, making the air thick and tense within the blue walls of his room. The window was open, admitting in the cool night air and the sounds of the neighborhood.
The quiet grew so thick that when Hotstreak moved, the movement startled them both. “Turn off your lights.”
“Why–?”
“People can see inside.”
“I–fine.” Richie reached over and flicked the lamp off, and Hotstreak himself flipped off the room light. He heard the blond give a slow exhalation that released some of his tension, but from the lingering feelings that persisted, knew he was still upset over previous.
“So, what happened? Didja two catch ‘em?”
“Not really...the only one they’re truly focused on is Ebon. But...we’ve no idea where he’s at. We’ve checked all his hotspots...there’s not even any sign of his followers, and his normal gangbangers aren’t saying anything...unless you...”
“Don’t use me like that, kid.”
“...I’m sorry. That was retarded. But...I don’t know...I just have to know–you’re not involved with him, are you?”
“You fuckin’ stupid? No fuckin’ way. Don’t ever think I have shit involved with him.”
“All right, all right...that’s good, then, I guess. This is awkward,” Richie suddenly blurted out, squinting to see him through the darkness. His glasses were somewhere on his dresser, out of harm’s way–he could only see the dark, distinguishable shape near his door, really. It really sucked to have crappy vision. “Having you know–seeing it. How am I supposed to act?”
Hotstreak shrugged, having nothing to say to that.
“I don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to say. I feel so fucking dumb, sometimes. I’m out there as Gear, beating all the bad guys–”
“Not all of them,” Hotstreak grumbled, crossing his arms stiffly.
“–and I come home and have my father beating the crap out of me because he could hear me playing video games, and I was ‘clicking the buttons’ too loudly! Doesn’t that sound fucking stupid?”
Hotstreak ducked his head, hearing the rising hysterical tone creeping into Richie’s voice. He toed the carpet with the scuffed thread of his sneakers. “Ain’t no use cryin’ about it,” he muttered, kicking aside something that had settled against his foot. “Nothin’ ain’t changin’ unless you get out of here.”
“Yeah...I guess...I can’t wait to go away to college. That’s the only thing taking me away from here,” Richie admitted, folding his hands upon his lap. “Not–I don’t want to leave Dakota, for obvious reasons, but I want to get out of here.”
Hotstreak grunted, toeing the carpet once more.
Sensing an awkward pause, he said, “Ebon’s out, then, huh?”
“Yeah...he’s out. Doing whatever he does,” Richie said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face and wincing when his palm came into contact with his bruised lip. “Kinda funny, though. I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about that kinda thing.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“It isn’t that...it’s more like...you’re one of them. Not exactly like them, but...like them. We took you to jail regularly. And you’re part of that. And here I am, discussing things with you because you know who I am. It’s just...awkward.”
“Well, same shit here.”
“...What do you mean? Everyone knows who you are....”
“I got a rep. Something that took me years to build. People are afraid of me; I get the respect that I want from doin’ what I do. An’ for me to...go out of my way ta...talk to ya...kinda...doesn’t blend well.”
Richie gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t. We both have things that are important to us, huh? And those things are the things that keep us from...I mean...I–I don’t know.”
In the darkness, Hotstreak felt an eyebrow lift, his forehead furrowing. Did he just say–?
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that those things are the things that brought us here, and–they’re also the same things that will...keep us apart.”
“...Wha–? What are you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“You like me, don’t you?”
The question, spoken out loud with conviction and defiance, stunned them both. But once he started, it was hard to stop.
“I can tell. Because of the way you act. And it isn’t because of...anything else. And I like you, too. And it’s weird, for me, because I know you’re going through the same thing.”
“What the fuck–?”
“No, listen to me, please...we both have feelings for each other, an’ we can’t do anything about it, because we’re opposites and we’re supposed to be enemies. But we do, and we deny it to ourselves and everyone else over and over and over because we can’t accept it! But...because of society and because of our own personal views, we can’t even accept it to ourselves. Can’t even admit it out loud. So we do this, Francis... you follow me. And I follow you. And we try not to show that we do. But we do.”
Hotstreak felt his head shake slightly, his denial causing his back to stiffen–for his arms to tighten. He stared silently through the darkness, at the floor. He listened to the slightly cracking voice that addressed him quietly, but with firm conviction. And he knew it was true. But to have it said out loud–!
He shook his head again, but his voice wasn’t working to accompany this. He didn’t come here for this–! Or...did he? What had driven him here in the first place?
What had brought him to come here, to face Richie, to stay and listen to this? He didn’t have control of himself–the loss of control left him feeling angry,
lost...confused. Because he knew he wasn’t going to explode with his usual temper. He was just going to stand there and...continue to listen.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Richie said with a heavy sigh. “My best friend is hating me because I keep lying to him. I have you to find some semblance of comfort in, and...I can’t even accept it...and I’ll never pass the second level that I worked so hard on...”
Hotstreak blinked. ‘Second level’? Oh...the game console. Something tugged at his lips. “Idiot...”
He heard Richie leave his bed, the squeak of the mattress the only indication of his movement. He looked up sharply to see the other close the space between them....when he felt gentle hands on his face, he didn’t push or struggle, or deny...
He merely accepted the tender kiss that touched his lips, feeling himself respond in kind.
A shot of intensity seemed to shoot through his muscles, leaving behind a forceful tingle that dulled his thinking. Kissing Richie had always been so pleasant–it always left him wanting more, wanting more of his unique taste and flavor, wanting more than that. He stood still as Richie curled his arms around his waist, his tongue swiping against his lower lip; asking for entrance. Hotstreak opened his mouth, and Richie’s tongue snaked in, tentatively touching his teeth, scraping lightly against his tongue.
He then pulled back, muttering, “Ow” as he touched his lip. Hotstreak reached out, to stop him from moving away, and found himself surrendering to temptation as he nuzzled the teen’s cheek, then lowered to kiss his neck. Richie immediately tilted his head, giving a soft sound as lips scraped over his skin, feeling traces of stubble and goatee against his throat.
Hotstreak lifted his head, found his lips; was careful to avoid the bottom one as he kissed the top, reaching up to tilt his chin up so that he had better access to
Richie’s mouth. The blond responded immediately, reaching up to cradle his face between his hands, his tongue snaking over his lips again.
It felt good to touch and taste in this way, again. He lost all incoherent thought---he just wanted to be re-acquainted with Richie in this manner. It was so easy to lose himself to this; to forget what brought them together, to forget the taboo. His hands drifted from Richie's chin, to settle on his shoulders. He felt the blond's hand creep up his back, his fingers digging into muscle, fitting his body against his. Felt that unfamiliar craving start to warm his body.
Suddenly embarrassed at his own body's reaction, Hotstreak pulled away. "Gotta go," he muttered, wiping his mouth, still tasting Richie's flavor on his tongue.
Confused, Richie clamped his mouth shut, and watched him leave.