Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ One ❯ Chapter Eight ( Chapter 8 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The trap is set; but will Gear fall for it?
Warning: LEMON
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 733 | Status: Completed
The trap is set; but will Gear fall for it?
Warning: LEMON
Non Anime: Static Shock Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 09.25.2005 | Pages: 4 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 733 | Status: Completed
WARNING: LEMON, AHEAD!
One
Chapter Eight:
Hotstreak wanted to bash his head into the brick wall, Shiv tittering beside him as he played a game of ‘speed’ with Ebon. The three metas were perched within the shadows underneath a water tower, their ‘bait’ strapped to a couple of concrete pilings that Ebon had pilfered from a bridge across Dakota. The thing was struggling rather uselessly, too damaged to put up a fight and escape. Tools that its owner had deemed necessary were spilling out from opening sections, giving an indication of just how damaged it was. Only one of its legs were functioning–it clawed the air uselessly, that single eye continuously blinking a bright red.
He kept hoping that Gear wouldn’t be out, tonight. Because while he couldn’t do a thing to keep Ebon from wanting to make his dreams come true, he had to at least make an effort to keep the others from realizing his situation with the teen. His rep was on the line. He had to do it.
He had to wonder why Ebon had included him in his scheme–from what Talon and Shiv were talking about, all it took was one of Talon’s screams to take Gear down last night. Ebon had delighted in the confusion afterward, mentioning how helpless the guy was after being hit. It was sick, and it made Hotstreak’s gut curl with disgust and...fear. Fear for himself and his rampant emotions, and for Gear. Ebon was deadset on making his ‘dream come true’. It was only a matter of time before Static could catch him and have him sent back, and he didn’t want to miss out on the chance.
They were all settled near the projects, where gunshots were common place, and where a current gang battle was taking place a couple of blocks away. They could hear the shouts, screams, gunshots and laughter from the abandoned lot where it was taking place, and Talon had taken off in that direction to see for herself what was going on.
Hotstreak felt miserable as he glanced upward at the night sky–he’d left work, running after Shiv, and never returned. No doubt the woman was going to report him to his parole officer. He pulled the hem of his pants upward, tugging at the anklet that gripped his leg. Useless piece of shit, anyway. Things were falling apart–why should he keep going? Why should he even bother? Maria was right–he wasn’t meant to be ‘good’. Just look at him, now. He was helping Ebon to lure in Gear for some perverse design–which was a roil of badness in itself, considering how much he was involved with the superhero. He was going to lose his part-time job...he was kicked out of Dakota Union. How many other clues did he need to have for him to realize that the good path wasn’t his?
His fingers curled over the anklet and pulled. He could burn it off. Easy.
A shrill whistle sounded through the air, and Ebon and Shiv immediately set up positions, Ebon slipping through the roof. Shiv gathered up his cards and hid against one of the legs of the tower, snickering before clapping a hand over his mouth. Hotstreak looked away from his anklet, took a deep breath, and pulled his hoodie up over his head.
Don’t take it personal, he thought as he spotted the trademark boosters that kept Gear afloat. Both of us knew...ain’t like I love him, or anything...my rep’s more important...he can handle it, himself. Shit, he ain’t weak. He knew. Nothin’ personal...nothin’ personal...Ebon couldn’t grab him, anyway.
The shadows effectively hid both him and Shiv on the roof as Gear immediately located his precious piece of equipment, a tracking modulator in one hand. But he automatically suspected something fishy as he stared down at the setup, then glanced around himself.
It was obvious he knew that this was a trap, for he hovered in the air for a long while, scanning the rooftop for catches. Hotstreak held his breath as he held his position, knowing that Shiv was doing the same. Talon had taken flight high enough to stay undetected, but low enough to fly in for an attack. The gang fight suddenly erupted into a cacophony of gunshots, sending Gear to look over. But he hesitated, looking down at Backpack with a conflicting expression on his face.
Just go, idiot, Hotstreak thought, clenching his fists. Just go! It’s obviously busted! It ain’t worth the trap!
Gear must have been thinking the same thing, pushing himself up into the air, making as if to leave, but then hesitating once more as he scanned the rooftop. The gunshots were coming out rapidly now, the screech of tires and continuing exploding rounds cracking sharply through the air. From the sounds of things, the fight was going to come this way.
Gear let out a noisy exhalation, digging into one of his pockets and bringing the device to his mouth. “Static! Static, come in! Static! C’mon, it’s an emergency! STATIC!”
There was a scream as someone was hit in the chase, and Gear lowered the Shock Vox, looking very torn as he glanced back down at Backpack.
“Static! I need your help!” he insisted, moving over to the roof’s edge as he stared down into the street. “C’mon! V–!”
The sound came out nothing more than something indistinguishable as Talon struck, using the distraction of the car chase below to attack. Her scream was focused intensely on Gear, who immediately reacted with a pained shout, both Hotstreak and Shiv covering their ears as they suffered from the aftereffect.
Gear dropped out of the air, slamming shoulder first into the rooftop. Ebon was up and moving, shadows shifting around the teenaged superhero like a blanket. Gear let out another shout, and Ebon was suddenly recoiling quickly with an enraged roar, his shadows dancing in frantic reaction to the Cap that had been tossed into his face.
Shiv was running out from his spot, his arms shifting into a bo staff, releasing the pure energy so that he could weld it within both hands. Hotstreak moved out of his hiding spot, hesitating, but moving again when Talon looked at him sharply.
Gear was obviously in a confused muddle, aimlessly crawling on the rooftop, his movements uncoordinated, like a drunk. It was almost as if he didn’t know where he was, or what was happening. Those guys were right–it was kind of funny to see.
Ebon was recovering from the Zap Cap that had sent volts of electricity through him, but his shadow form had yet to reform into something distinguishable. He was groaning and cursing, struggling hard to reformulate as Talon alighted onto the water tower, hissing, “Get him! Before he falls! I ain’t carrying him!”
Hotstreak saw that Gear was going to fall off from the roof, and was there before the teen’s hands could touch the lining. He pulled him from the edge, tossing him unceremoniously near the pilings. He couldn’t afford to be careful, here. Not in front of everyone. When Gear tried getting up, he calmly walked over and pressed the bottom of his shoe against the teen’s head, pining him to the roof with that simple movement.
“Don’t move, or I’ll fuck you over,” he muttered.
“You got ‘im! You got ‘im!” Shiv cried excitedly, waving his bo-staff about. “Let me give the finishing touch...”
Intending to knock him out, Shiv ran at Gear, his weapon poised as a golf club. Before he could even get close, Hotstreak had his hand out and released a torrent of flame in his direction. Shiv ducked and rolled before he could get hit.
“What you doing, Hotstreak?” Talon hissed from her perch up above.
“Think about it, idiots,” he snarled. He gestured down at Gear, who hadn’t moved at all. “He’s already got a headshot–what would happen if he gets his head fuckin’ bashed in? He ain’t gonna be anythin’ but vegetable...unless that’s the shit your boss is into!”
“Oh, right, right,” Shiv agreed, nodding furiously. “That’s right...good thinking, Francis! See what all that time in school can do to you?”
“He down for now?” Ebon asked, finally able to pull a humanoid form, but he was still unrecognizable.
“For now,” Hotstreak muttered, looking back at the useless device wrapped within the pilings. He removed his foot from Gear’s head, and walked over to it. Melting the surrounding chains that held it in place, he lifted the thing from its anchor, and studied it. It was so damaged that his brainstorm might work...as far as he knew, the thing was fireproof, but...
His hand lit with flame, and he plunged it within an open section on its side, silently thanking Shiv for his target practicing. The robot shuddered, the single eye blinking rapidly as Shiv hurried over to see what he was doing.
All things electronic blow up, right? Hotstreak asked himself, removing the top metal plates that held everything inside. His action earlier had melted the fastenings that kept the plating in place. Like in the movies...with the right spark? Does this stupid thingamajig, all high tech an’ shit, have something combustible inside? Hell...might as well as find out...
He turned suddenly, using momentum and strength to toss the thing as high and as far as he could into the air.
“What the fuck?” Ebon shouted in stunned anger, watching the thing fly. Hotstreak ignored him, slamming both fists together and releasing a column of flame that chased after the flying piece of machinery. It almost didn’t work–but Backpack exploded with enough shower and light to bathe their block with display. Probably wasn’t enough to be seen throughout Dakota, but it was brief. And should be enough, if Static were smart to know where to look.
That’s all I can do, he thought with a lanky shrug, looking at Ebon.
“Yo, dick face. Ya think he ain’t smart enough to plant some sorta homin’ device an’ shit on it? Think ‘bout it. Him an’ Static probably worked out a thing with it, ‘case it ever got separated from its owner...”
“We could have just left the shit here!” Ebon cursed, completely resuming his human form. His white eyes were narrowed with fury as he walked over, Shiv dancing away as he recognized the bristling of Alpha Male activity.
“That fuckin’ piece of shit’s prolly equipped with all sorts of bullshit! What makes you think it prolly was recordin’ everything said between ya’ll? Or recordin’ where you were? Hideout an’ all? Static finds it, he gets it, and finds out where ya’ll are by doing some shit with it.”
Ebon blinked, taking this into consideration. Hotstreak glared at him for a few moments, but then looked away, searching the skies of Dakota for Static.
C’mon...c’mon...Fuckin’ Virgil. Prolly bonin’ his girl, right now, he then thought in frustration.
Shiv was there, clapping his hands animatedly. “Wow, Francis! You really were paying attention to your science teacher! C’mon, c’mon! Where’d you learn that, from? Can you teach me? I wanna be like you!”
Ebon shoved him away with an irritated growl, and faced Hotstreak again. “Think you’re playin’ games with me, Stone. I don’t like the way you be thinkin’...all hard-up and shit. Like you know this kinda bullshit.”
Hotstreak raised an eyebrow as the living shadow grew close. “I think I know enough about that shit to know what I’m talkin’ about. What you implyin’?”
“I’m saying you sure know a lot about that shit...an’ I wanna know just how much you know, an’ why you know.”
“...Like Shiv said...I paid attention in science. Doesn’t hurt. You jealous of me, now?”
Ebon’s eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. In the darkness, it was almost hard to see him, but Hotstreak could distinguish his shape from the real shadows on the rooftop. He turned and walked away from the redhead, heading over toward Gear.
Hotstreak glanced up into the sky, vowing to hunt Virgil down personally when he caught the faint telltale signature of Static’s glow coming from the east. He’d seen the explosion.
He almost smirked in relief.
Looking back, he saw Ebon opening a vortex, Shiv waving to Talon as the girl flew off. He looked down at Gear, who was being roughly trussed up by a rope Ebon produced from his person. He then moved quickly, shoving Ebon aside.
“What the fuck–?”
“His helmet,” Hotstreak said, fingers searching for the release catch. “It might have one of those things, too.”
“Let’s go, man. Do that later,” Shiv whined, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced around. “Oh, snaps! Static! He’s comin’!”
Ebon grunted, catching sight of the rapidly approaching superhero, and turned to Hotstreak.
He found the catch and released the helmet–but he wasn’t about to show Ebon who Gear really was. In an awkward movement, he shifted to a crouch so that he could draw Richie’s upper body onto his lap, his head pressed firmly against his chest. Hotstreak tossed the helmet aside, then smirked as he looked at Ebon with a pointed expression.
Ebon stiffened, then grew enraged as he realized that Hotstreak wasn’t going to give up his prize.
“You mother fuckin’ dick!” he about shrieked, Shiv jumping at the pure fury in his boss’s voice.
Hotstreak grinned, allowing his flame to surround him, keeping Ebon away from him, forcing the two back to avoid the heat. “Did ya really want this? Come an’ get it, Ebon...”
“You–you planned this! You–! I’ll fuck you over, Stone! I’ll fucking rip you apart!” Ebon shouted furiously, his shadows drawing up and around them.
“Static, man! STATIC!” Shiv shouted, jerking at Ebon’s arm. Then he leapt into the vortex without another word, intending to get out of there.
“HEY! HEY, what’s going on, down there!” Static roared, drawing closer. Ebon snarled something incoherent, then disappeared into the opened vortex, teleporting away.
Hotstreak chuckled, but then his entire body stiffened with immense pain as a charge slammed into him, forcing him to lose control of his fire, knocking him forward. Richie spilled out of his arms, but the shock had forced him conscious, giving a pained shout as they rolled back from the impact.
It felt as if his breath were knocked out of his body as Hotstreak hit the roof, Static making a sharp U-turn, coming back for another hit. When he spotted his partner, he immediately ceased, leaping off his disk to crouch at his friend’s side.
Hotstreak knew he wasn’t going to stick around for this, numbly climbing to his feet and taking off. He heard Static give a furious shout from behind him, and he expected to find his clothes charged to stick him to the nearby water tower, but nothing happened. He made his getaway through the rooftop entrance, and chuckled over the face Ebon had made when he made his last move.
Meanwhile, Static gingerly propped Richie against his chest, trying to make sense of the nonsense that was spilling from his friend’s mouth.
“Hey, hey...c’mon, man, focus!” Static pleaded, snapping his fingers. Richie’s eyes glazed, then focused, then glazed again, reaching out to knock his fingers from the air. “I didn’t shock you too hard, did I? I’m so sorry...I didn’t see you. Goddammit, I didn’t see you.”
“Dad’s going to kill me,” Richie moaned, his head hanging back. It felt as if he hadn’t enough strength to move. “Gotta go home...”
“What the hell were you doing out here, anyway?” Static exclaimed, grunting as he tried lifting both himself and Richie from the rooftop.
“Backpack...I need to find Backpack...”
“Sorry to say this, but I think that thing’s gone, man. I thought you did it. I saw the explosion leaving the gas station...”
“Gotta go home. I gotta go home.”
“Rich, what is wrong with you? You’re totally out of it, man!” Static said in panic, then sighed as Richie struggled to get out of his hold. “I’ll take you home...but–damn it. I don’t even know what happened, an’ those fools were gone like fuckin’ cockroaches...and your stupid friend was one of them, too! Rich! You’re not even listening.”
Static released his friend long enough to retrieve his helmet, then gathered his friend against him, slinging an arm around his neck so that he could hold him steady. “All right...let’s go. I’ll take you home...”
OooooooooooO
Virgil didn’t know what to be prepared for as he helped Richie up the porch, his friend still bemoaning the loss of Backpack. He gave his dazed friend an odd expression, not wanting to complete this task. He’d rather Richie recover at the gas station, or his house–it was as if the guy were drunk, or stoned. And he didn’t listen to a single word that was being said! When Virgil had asked him what had happened up there, he received a blank stare and a question back. Richie clearly had no idea what was going on, but his continued insistence on going home propelled Virgil’s decision to take him there.
He exhaled uneasily, keeping Richie propped on his shoulder. Making sure they looked a little presentable, he reached out and depressed the doorbell. Richie shook his head, pushing Virgil away from him.
“I’ll call you, k?”
“Richie...you’re not even–”
Maggie opened the door, and looked stunned as she saw Virgil standing there with her son. Richie pushed past her, Virgil standing in silence on the porch as he made sure his friend was truly at home. Once he saw him climbing the stairway, looking entirely drunk, he shook his head and looked at Maggie.
“He’s sick. He hasn’t been drinking, or drugging,” he said, pleading with her to believe him. “He hasn’t done anything! Maybe check him for a fever. He’s not being hisself...”
“I’ll try,” Maggie assured him as she closed the door. At the soft click of the lock moving into place, Virgil frowned, then shifted on the porch. He didn’t want to leave his friend...he was worried. Concerned. He still had no idea why Hotstreak had him, unmasked and powered up. Shaking his head, he figured he’d come back later when he was Static. With that thought in mind, he turned and began running back to the gas station, having left his things there because Richie had dominated his thoughts.
Inside the Foley residence, Richie collapsed on his bed, exhaling loudly. He felt so tired...he just wanted to sleep. His mind was the same confusing mass of jumble that it had been the other night, and he just didn’t want to do anything. He heard his mother come into the room, scolding him for not doing as his father had said, but she lapsed into silence when she realized that he wasn’t responding to her.
Instead, he felt her take off his shoes, tossing them aside as he shifted more firmly onto the bed. She whispered a ‘Good Night’, then walked out from the room, shutting the door behind her.
Richie had just drifted off into dreamland when his shoulder was roughly jerked, forcing him up from the bed. He thought it was his father–in his confused state, his hands went out to protect his glasses, but they were slapped down, an urgent whisper in his ear telling him to ‘hurry up’. He wasn’t sure what that meant, or what Hotstreak was doing as he yanked him from the bed. He stumbled over one of his shoes, Hotstreak yanking him to the door.
He was fully aware then, that the older male was dragging him through the house–and that in the commotion of his staggering and Hotstreak’s hurried movements, his parents were shuffling out into the hall to see what was going on.
“Richie?” his father uttered in a shocked tone, something that would have made him laugh hadn’t he been so confused over why Hotstreak was doing this. Then Sean recovered, striding after them.
Hotstreak turned at the front door, one hand alighting with flame. The older Foley immediately stumbled backwards on the stairs, Richie groggily reaching up to pull Hotstreak’s hand down; but ending up hanging from it in his current disorientation.
“Don’t anybody say nothin’ where he’s gone!” the meta snarled, as he stumbled from Richie’s move. He shoved Richie aside to glare especially at Sean, dismissing Maggie entirely. “To anyone! You do, an’ I’ll be back to finish you off. Got it?”
Nothing was said as he turned and pulled Richie out behind him, the teen completely in the dark as to what was happening to him.
There was a beaten up Buick rumbling at the curb; Hotstreak was dragging him over to that, forcing him inside without even waiting for him to settle before following. The Buick protested as it was forced to drive forward, sputtering loudly and breaking the silence of the neighborhood. Relaxing against the passenger side door, Richie fought to keep his eyes open, to demand why, what, when, and how come, but the need to sleep was much stronger. His eyelids drooped, and finally settled as he grew used to the shuddering of the Buick, and to the loud rumble of its engine. He was asleep before Hotstreak could sail through the stop sign at the end of the block, their destination currently unknown.
OooooooooooO
When he awoke an undeterminable amount of time later, he found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. The ceiling was stained with water; the wallpaper was stripping from the walls; there was the smell of something dead that made the air thick to breathe. The mattress he was lying on was lumpy, but the sheets felt clean and the pillow was comfortable. The blinds were shut tightly, but judging from what light that filtered in, it was obviously in the middle of the afternoon. He didn’t feel as disoriented as he did yesterday, when he had a short amount of time to sleep. Rather, while groggy, he felt like he knew what was going on.
He felt tense as he strained his ears, faintly realizing that he wasn’t alone. He could hear faint male voices from somewhere beyond him. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the city–he wondered where Hotstreak had taken him. He felt hurt all of a sudden–what had he been doing with Ebon and his crew? He lifted his head from the pillow, seeing that the room was a simple hotel room–seedy at that. He crinkled his nose in disgust at the state the rest of the room was in, and sat up slowly. His body ached tremendously from all the various impacts he had within the last few days. He winced as he dropped his shoulders, and simply laid back down. The mattress creaked with his movements, so when he heard Hotstreak come into the room, he simply looked at him.
The older male shook his head, gesturing with a hand not to talk, and left the room once more. Richie wondered why, and shifted again, grimacing as he tried reaching up to rub at the back of his head. But his shoulders were pulled so tight from that Dumpster incident that they wouldn’t even lift. He exhaled quietly, shifting within the sheets, testing out new injuries. His left shoulder hurt madly–he was pretty sure it was twisted, and he winced as he looked over at it. Then realized that he was looking at it–that he wasn’t wearing his shirt.
He looked down at himself, seeing that he was clad only in his boxers. But his arm had a fresh bandage, and he didn’t feel any...sexual aftereffects...
His face felt flushed at that thought–of the older male taking advantage of him in that way.
He heard a door close, and Hotstreak walked back into the room, looking at some bills he held in one hand. When he looked over at Richie, he shook his head again. Richie wasn’t sure where to start as he lowered his eyes, turning his head to face the wall. Really...where were they? And why were they even here? What was going on?
All these questions shot through his mind, but he had answers to none of them. He heard the rustling sounds of the other male doing something behind him, but he didn’t care what was happening. He was confused by everything–but his instincts, honed as Gear, relaxed him in that he knew he wasn’t in any danger. None at all. The bed shifted, then, and he started to lift his head to see what the other was doing when he felt lips pressed against the back of his neck. A gentle hand rested on his back, abnormally warm, but tolerant enough to rest there. Richie closed his eyes in pleasure as some of the soreness was gently rubbed away with rough fingertips. The bed shifted again, and he felt Hotstreak pressed against him, lining his front with his side, his hand methodically working the soreness throughout his muscles.
And the kisses...gentle, firm kisses on the back of his neck, on the curve of his shoulder. The feel of his breath against his skin gave Richie a shiver as hair brushed against ear, as body moved against body. His hormones took notice of the situation and responded immediately, that gentle hand moving down his back, resting gently against the base of his spine. He didn’t bother to question, and nothing came to mind as his boxers were pulled from his waist, where fingers kneaded gently along his skin. He heard himself give a slight moan as the pleasure from this action sent his toes curling, his belly twisting. The older male shifted behind him again, on his knees as his fingers curled around Richie’s waist, drawing his ass up into the air.
Richie went with the action, not caring at all where this was all going as one warm hand coasted around his hips and went immediately for his hardened penis. He whimpered softly upon feeling those fingers wrap around his length, stroking with a gentle pressure that had his hips rocking forward for more of the contact. More kisses along the back of his neck temporarily distracted him, the coolness of Hotstreak’s lips against his skin providing a wonderful contrast that made him arch into the contact.
Everything then stopped as his boxers were maneuvered away from his body, his legs being coaxed apart with a touch of thumb against his crevice. Already aching for more contact in this area, Richie pushed back against the thumb, encouraging without words. That roughened hand returned to curl around his arousal, stroking as that thumb smoothed along the curves of his ass cheeks. The kisses on his neck began moving into that slope between neck and shoulder, making Richie shiver again, his head tilting away to give Hotstreak more access there. The older male’s hands left important parts, gripping his hips and smoothing all up his ribs, leaning his body against Richie’s–the blond was delighted to feel that the other was just as naked as he, his heavy body warm and strong against his. He pressed upward for more skin to skin contact, feeling wiry pubic curls against the sensitive parts of his skin, and a hardened dick against the inside of his thigh.
He wanted to touch and appreciate as well, but his sore shoulders prevented that, leaving him to groan in frustration. He lifted his head as the hairs of a meticulous kept goatee scraped against his neck, lips touching his earlobe–then turned to meet those lips, hungrily taking what was being given to him. He felt himself being maneuvered to face him, and he opened his legs with a joyous noise escaping his mouth, gripping Hotstreak’s hips with his knees. His arms curled around his neck, drawing him close for more contact, and for more kisses, feeling the other male respond by gripping his hips and lowering himself atop of him. The weight settling onto his body made his breath short, but Richie didn’t care as he delighted in the body to body contact.
He gulped in air as Hotstreak left his lips and kissed his way down his neck, his gentle hands trailing over Richie’s chest and neck, stroking in a caressing way that made Richie entirely appreciative of the action. He loosened his arms as the older male kissed his way down to his stomach. Richie heard himself breathing heavily, trying to be quiet as his fingers trailed through fiery red hair, his legs trembling as Hotstreak moved close to his groin.
Then his lips were attacked again as one hand crept down to his hip, kneading firmly, causing him to gasp in pleasure, legs shaking with more anticipation of the main event. The hand left his hip; clasped around his arousal and stroked firmly, with an almost painful intensity. But it was what Richie wanted, gasping loudly, moving his hips in rhythm with the stroking.
He shifted himself, reaching for the older male’s hardened cock, finding it and wrapping his fingers around it with a grip that was just as firm. His fingers traced over the blunt, leaking head–his thumb swiped over the bead of moisture that had gathered. Hearing Hotstreak’s slight moan rumbling against his lips, he smoothed precum over the purple head, then stroked firmly along the length of his shaft. Richie pulled his head back, and watched his face as he licked the salty substance from his thumb. Hotstreak’s eyes seemed to darken with intensity as he watched this, and let go of him, shifting so that he was drawing Richie over him.
Complying with what he was asking for, Hotstreak’s hands moving to his head and guiding him down, Richie licked his lips in anticipation, and enveloped the length with his mouth. He tasted sharp musk and smooth muscle, pubic hair brushing against his lips, his tongue stroking upward as he pulled his head up. He heard Hotstreak give a throaty moan, his fingers threading through his hair, his legs shifting to give Richie more room to work with. Bobbing his head a few times, getting accustomed to this act once more, Richie tested his gag reflex as he sucked hard on Hotstreak’s cock. His fingers threaded through the auburn bush of pubes, playing with his sac, caressing the ridged skin with a sort of gentle stroking. He heard Hotstreak’s soft swearing, his fingers tightening in his hair. He released his lubricated cock, and shifted to nuzzle his face into his balls, his tongue lapping out at the hairy sac. He shifted so that he was licking the underbelly of his sac, then down toward his anus. Hotstreak, embarrassed by the action, shifted and dragged his fingers through his hair to yank him away from there. Richie merely laughed softly, and went back to his cock, enveloping the length once more before shifting.
Richie positioned himself so that he could swallow his length, then relax his throat muscles, marveling at his own ability to do this. He heard Hotstreak swear again, his body shaking with the struggle to stay still as he enjoyed the action. Pulling his head up, Richie sucked hard at the head, his tongue swirling, lapping up the continuous leak that beaded from the purple helmet. He deep-throated him once more, even managing to hum as one hand encircled the base of his penis. As he pulled up, he began stroking firmly, using his own spit to lubricate the action. He started to lower his head again when Hotstreak pushed him back, earning a slight protest from the blond.
Kissing him fiercely, his tongue invading the blond’s mouth, Hotstreak pushed Richie onto his back, his penis jabbing against the blond as he settled over him. He pulled at Richie’s leg, opening him wide, his hand then trailing over his inner thigh to his dark pink pucker. As he proceeded to kiss Richie breathless, he used his middle finger to enter him, earning a startled moan from the blond. Marveling at the tightness he found there, Hotstreak began coaxing the muscle loose, rimming the ridged flesh with the back of his finger. He pulled his finger out, and then entered again with both his index and middle finger.
Richie moaned into his mouth, his legs spreading even wider to allow more room, his own hardened penis prodding at Hotstreak’s belly.
“I want to be inside of you,” Hotstreak whispered against his ear. Richie would have given him the world if he’d asked, the way he was feeling. He nodded quietly, furiously, wanting that as well. “I’ve got rubbers, this time.”
“‘K,” Richie whispered back, unable to stop the tremble of anticipation that shot through him.
Hotstreak rose away from him, reaching for the nightstand nearby, grabbing one of the foil packets that sat there. Propping himself up on his elbows, Richie watched him as he opened the packet, his penis jutting away from auburn curls, his skin just as pale as Richie’s. The blond reached out to trace the slight curve of inactivity that was visible around his waist, making him smile. Somehow, Hotstreak having flab made him more human, more touchable and softer. He liked it.
Then he watched as the older male unrolled the latex over his penis, careful to hold the tip as he did so. Richie laid back down, reaching up with open arms as Hotstreak maneuvered over him once more, his hands working down below. One to hold his penis steady, the other curling under Richie’s hip to lift him slightly.
At the push against his entrance, Richie tilted his head back, his fingers curling into Hotstreak’s shoulders. The pain was immediate as the widened head of his penis pushed into his body, slowly and carefully snaking entrance into his warmth. He let out a slow exhale, heart racing with slight panic and fear as he wished for more lube, more slickness–his hips were gripped tightly within both hands, and Hotstreak was pushing more firmly into him, making him wince as pain radiated from that area up into his gut.
Richie kept telling himself to relax, that this was pleasurable, that things wouldn’t hurt in the end. He felt Hotstreak lean over him, resting more of his weight into the thrust into his body, Richie giving a surprised cry at the full sheathing. His legs were shaking as he pulled them up, his knees pressing against Hotstreak’s hips, his own penis trapped between their bodies, firmly cradled by his own warmth and Hotstreak’s. It was slightly painful with the other male’s heavier weight, but when Hotstreak propped himself up with his elbows, shifting his hips to slowly pull away from him, the pain was alleviated.
Hotstreak suddenly cursed aloud, pulling out abruptly; Richie looked at him in confusion, then watched as he ripped off the remains of the condom. It had torn with the unlubricated pressure, and he started to snicker until Hotstreak frowned at him, then grinned as he resettled over Richie and entered him again. It was a much different feeling–they could both feel the heat, the skin to skin contact giving a more pleasurable feel. Richie knew he shouldn’t be enjoying that, that condoms were sensible and more appropriate–but he wasn’t going to continue thinking about that as Hotstreak began to move. His hormones took control over the logic.
Richie heard himself gasp and pant as Hotstreak began moving evenly, his own hot breath hitting Richie’s chest as his head was bowed. Richie curled his arms around his neck, his muscles tight as he clung to the other male with his movement, wanting to feel every inch of his skin, moving his body against his in pleasurable motion.
The room was filled with the sounds of sex, their quiet pants and grunts occasionally adding to the silence. Richie felt as if the guy was possessed–driving into him, holding onto him tightly, as if he were making a claim on him. It was different from the last few times–this time, it seemed to mean something. He simply held on, meeting his thrusts, feeling the heat in his lower belly simmer. Hotstreak kept hitting that spot deep inside of him that made everything tingle almost painfully with pleasure. And he knew, from the slow build-up as more pleasure spread throughout him, that he was going to come, this time. No handjob here. His excitement in this factor made his movements more frantic, his fingers curling into Hotstreak’s hair, his knees pressing tightly against his hips.
Sensing it, Hotstreak shifted, lifting one of Richie’s legs to let it curl over his shoulder, giving him better access. At feeling Richie’s firm muscles gripping his shoulder, he returned to holding his hips in place, and began thrusting harder, the teen’s body taking everything that it was being treated to, his own feelings making the action more meaningful. He was also hitting that sweet spot that made the teen buck and cry out, his face flushing with intense color.
His clenched groans, the way he repressed his shouts made everything even hotter, in Hotstreak’s opinion. At the sound of his balls slapping against his ass, the slick noises that emerged as he pounded into the teen with no restraint, he felt as if his senses were being overloaded.
Ebon was not going to have this in his hands–ever. Richie’s body and his warmth, and his welcoming actions weren’t going to be anybody’s. They were his. They were being given to him. For the first time in his life, he felt needed and appreciated. He wanted to let Richie know this, but couldn’t find the words to do so, so lost in his pleasure-hazed mind that he was mindless to everything else. He shifted, keeping that one leg curled over his shoulder, bending Richie almost in half, settling his hands on either side of the teen’s body. He buried his face into the teen’s neck, his mouth open against the sweaty smelling skin, driving harder and faster. His lips latched onto his flesh, to suckle with the intensity he was feeling with all that he was experiencing.
Richie’s fingers tightened within his hair, and he gave a startled cry as his entire body tightened, stopping Hotstreak from moving. His dick was clenched hard by the muscles that he’d stroked continuously with his movements, Richie’s body arching up against his, hips cracking against his. He was shaking as his orgasm racked him nearly mindless. His hot cum spilled over his stomach, splattered over Hotstreak’s stomach, his leg clenching Hotstreak tightly.
Hotstreak grunted upon feeling the clenching tightness, and he had to work his hips to continue thrusting. As Richie began to relax, a heady groan leaving his lips, Hotstreak felt his composure leave him as he came, driving hard as his climax seized his entire body. As his cock twitched with the lingering aftereffects of his climax, Hotstreak continued thrusting until he finally had to stop.
Feeling entirely spent, he collapsed atop of Richie, breathing hard. He could hear Richie’s heartbeat–erratic, strong, and melodious. Aware that he was crushing the teen, he shifted slightly, not really wanting to move. Richie’s fingers pulled away from his hair, slumping down onto his shoulders, where they caressed idly before dropping onto the bed.
Pulling up, Hotstreak looked into the blond’s face as he reached down to pull himself out of the teen, locking his eyes with the dark ones that stared at him from beneath half hooded eyelids. It hit him in the gut, then, just how much he grew to care for this one. How quickly and unexpected things were between them.
And it scared him, the depths of his feelings.
He turned away for a towel to clean them off.
He hadn’t known what he was getting into, but he had to wonder if he was going to regret it in the end.
One
Chapter Eight:
Hotstreak wanted to bash his head into the brick wall, Shiv tittering beside him as he played a game of ‘speed’ with Ebon. The three metas were perched within the shadows underneath a water tower, their ‘bait’ strapped to a couple of concrete pilings that Ebon had pilfered from a bridge across Dakota. The thing was struggling rather uselessly, too damaged to put up a fight and escape. Tools that its owner had deemed necessary were spilling out from opening sections, giving an indication of just how damaged it was. Only one of its legs were functioning–it clawed the air uselessly, that single eye continuously blinking a bright red.
He kept hoping that Gear wouldn’t be out, tonight. Because while he couldn’t do a thing to keep Ebon from wanting to make his dreams come true, he had to at least make an effort to keep the others from realizing his situation with the teen. His rep was on the line. He had to do it.
He had to wonder why Ebon had included him in his scheme–from what Talon and Shiv were talking about, all it took was one of Talon’s screams to take Gear down last night. Ebon had delighted in the confusion afterward, mentioning how helpless the guy was after being hit. It was sick, and it made Hotstreak’s gut curl with disgust and...fear. Fear for himself and his rampant emotions, and for Gear. Ebon was deadset on making his ‘dream come true’. It was only a matter of time before Static could catch him and have him sent back, and he didn’t want to miss out on the chance.
They were all settled near the projects, where gunshots were common place, and where a current gang battle was taking place a couple of blocks away. They could hear the shouts, screams, gunshots and laughter from the abandoned lot where it was taking place, and Talon had taken off in that direction to see for herself what was going on.
Hotstreak felt miserable as he glanced upward at the night sky–he’d left work, running after Shiv, and never returned. No doubt the woman was going to report him to his parole officer. He pulled the hem of his pants upward, tugging at the anklet that gripped his leg. Useless piece of shit, anyway. Things were falling apart–why should he keep going? Why should he even bother? Maria was right–he wasn’t meant to be ‘good’. Just look at him, now. He was helping Ebon to lure in Gear for some perverse design–which was a roil of badness in itself, considering how much he was involved with the superhero. He was going to lose his part-time job...he was kicked out of Dakota Union. How many other clues did he need to have for him to realize that the good path wasn’t his?
His fingers curled over the anklet and pulled. He could burn it off. Easy.
A shrill whistle sounded through the air, and Ebon and Shiv immediately set up positions, Ebon slipping through the roof. Shiv gathered up his cards and hid against one of the legs of the tower, snickering before clapping a hand over his mouth. Hotstreak looked away from his anklet, took a deep breath, and pulled his hoodie up over his head.
Don’t take it personal, he thought as he spotted the trademark boosters that kept Gear afloat. Both of us knew...ain’t like I love him, or anything...my rep’s more important...he can handle it, himself. Shit, he ain’t weak. He knew. Nothin’ personal...nothin’ personal...Ebon couldn’t grab him, anyway.
The shadows effectively hid both him and Shiv on the roof as Gear immediately located his precious piece of equipment, a tracking modulator in one hand. But he automatically suspected something fishy as he stared down at the setup, then glanced around himself.
It was obvious he knew that this was a trap, for he hovered in the air for a long while, scanning the rooftop for catches. Hotstreak held his breath as he held his position, knowing that Shiv was doing the same. Talon had taken flight high enough to stay undetected, but low enough to fly in for an attack. The gang fight suddenly erupted into a cacophony of gunshots, sending Gear to look over. But he hesitated, looking down at Backpack with a conflicting expression on his face.
Just go, idiot, Hotstreak thought, clenching his fists. Just go! It’s obviously busted! It ain’t worth the trap!
Gear must have been thinking the same thing, pushing himself up into the air, making as if to leave, but then hesitating once more as he scanned the rooftop. The gunshots were coming out rapidly now, the screech of tires and continuing exploding rounds cracking sharply through the air. From the sounds of things, the fight was going to come this way.
Gear let out a noisy exhalation, digging into one of his pockets and bringing the device to his mouth. “Static! Static, come in! Static! C’mon, it’s an emergency! STATIC!”
There was a scream as someone was hit in the chase, and Gear lowered the Shock Vox, looking very torn as he glanced back down at Backpack.
“Static! I need your help!” he insisted, moving over to the roof’s edge as he stared down into the street. “C’mon! V–!”
The sound came out nothing more than something indistinguishable as Talon struck, using the distraction of the car chase below to attack. Her scream was focused intensely on Gear, who immediately reacted with a pained shout, both Hotstreak and Shiv covering their ears as they suffered from the aftereffect.
Gear dropped out of the air, slamming shoulder first into the rooftop. Ebon was up and moving, shadows shifting around the teenaged superhero like a blanket. Gear let out another shout, and Ebon was suddenly recoiling quickly with an enraged roar, his shadows dancing in frantic reaction to the Cap that had been tossed into his face.
Shiv was running out from his spot, his arms shifting into a bo staff, releasing the pure energy so that he could weld it within both hands. Hotstreak moved out of his hiding spot, hesitating, but moving again when Talon looked at him sharply.
Gear was obviously in a confused muddle, aimlessly crawling on the rooftop, his movements uncoordinated, like a drunk. It was almost as if he didn’t know where he was, or what was happening. Those guys were right–it was kind of funny to see.
Ebon was recovering from the Zap Cap that had sent volts of electricity through him, but his shadow form had yet to reform into something distinguishable. He was groaning and cursing, struggling hard to reformulate as Talon alighted onto the water tower, hissing, “Get him! Before he falls! I ain’t carrying him!”
Hotstreak saw that Gear was going to fall off from the roof, and was there before the teen’s hands could touch the lining. He pulled him from the edge, tossing him unceremoniously near the pilings. He couldn’t afford to be careful, here. Not in front of everyone. When Gear tried getting up, he calmly walked over and pressed the bottom of his shoe against the teen’s head, pining him to the roof with that simple movement.
“Don’t move, or I’ll fuck you over,” he muttered.
“You got ‘im! You got ‘im!” Shiv cried excitedly, waving his bo-staff about. “Let me give the finishing touch...”
Intending to knock him out, Shiv ran at Gear, his weapon poised as a golf club. Before he could even get close, Hotstreak had his hand out and released a torrent of flame in his direction. Shiv ducked and rolled before he could get hit.
“What you doing, Hotstreak?” Talon hissed from her perch up above.
“Think about it, idiots,” he snarled. He gestured down at Gear, who hadn’t moved at all. “He’s already got a headshot–what would happen if he gets his head fuckin’ bashed in? He ain’t gonna be anythin’ but vegetable...unless that’s the shit your boss is into!”
“Oh, right, right,” Shiv agreed, nodding furiously. “That’s right...good thinking, Francis! See what all that time in school can do to you?”
“He down for now?” Ebon asked, finally able to pull a humanoid form, but he was still unrecognizable.
“For now,” Hotstreak muttered, looking back at the useless device wrapped within the pilings. He removed his foot from Gear’s head, and walked over to it. Melting the surrounding chains that held it in place, he lifted the thing from its anchor, and studied it. It was so damaged that his brainstorm might work...as far as he knew, the thing was fireproof, but...
His hand lit with flame, and he plunged it within an open section on its side, silently thanking Shiv for his target practicing. The robot shuddered, the single eye blinking rapidly as Shiv hurried over to see what he was doing.
All things electronic blow up, right? Hotstreak asked himself, removing the top metal plates that held everything inside. His action earlier had melted the fastenings that kept the plating in place. Like in the movies...with the right spark? Does this stupid thingamajig, all high tech an’ shit, have something combustible inside? Hell...might as well as find out...
He turned suddenly, using momentum and strength to toss the thing as high and as far as he could into the air.
“What the fuck?” Ebon shouted in stunned anger, watching the thing fly. Hotstreak ignored him, slamming both fists together and releasing a column of flame that chased after the flying piece of machinery. It almost didn’t work–but Backpack exploded with enough shower and light to bathe their block with display. Probably wasn’t enough to be seen throughout Dakota, but it was brief. And should be enough, if Static were smart to know where to look.
That’s all I can do, he thought with a lanky shrug, looking at Ebon.
“Yo, dick face. Ya think he ain’t smart enough to plant some sorta homin’ device an’ shit on it? Think ‘bout it. Him an’ Static probably worked out a thing with it, ‘case it ever got separated from its owner...”
“We could have just left the shit here!” Ebon cursed, completely resuming his human form. His white eyes were narrowed with fury as he walked over, Shiv dancing away as he recognized the bristling of Alpha Male activity.
“That fuckin’ piece of shit’s prolly equipped with all sorts of bullshit! What makes you think it prolly was recordin’ everything said between ya’ll? Or recordin’ where you were? Hideout an’ all? Static finds it, he gets it, and finds out where ya’ll are by doing some shit with it.”
Ebon blinked, taking this into consideration. Hotstreak glared at him for a few moments, but then looked away, searching the skies of Dakota for Static.
C’mon...c’mon...Fuckin’ Virgil. Prolly bonin’ his girl, right now, he then thought in frustration.
Shiv was there, clapping his hands animatedly. “Wow, Francis! You really were paying attention to your science teacher! C’mon, c’mon! Where’d you learn that, from? Can you teach me? I wanna be like you!”
Ebon shoved him away with an irritated growl, and faced Hotstreak again. “Think you’re playin’ games with me, Stone. I don’t like the way you be thinkin’...all hard-up and shit. Like you know this kinda bullshit.”
Hotstreak raised an eyebrow as the living shadow grew close. “I think I know enough about that shit to know what I’m talkin’ about. What you implyin’?”
“I’m saying you sure know a lot about that shit...an’ I wanna know just how much you know, an’ why you know.”
“...Like Shiv said...I paid attention in science. Doesn’t hurt. You jealous of me, now?”
Ebon’s eyes narrowed, then he shook his head. In the darkness, it was almost hard to see him, but Hotstreak could distinguish his shape from the real shadows on the rooftop. He turned and walked away from the redhead, heading over toward Gear.
Hotstreak glanced up into the sky, vowing to hunt Virgil down personally when he caught the faint telltale signature of Static’s glow coming from the east. He’d seen the explosion.
He almost smirked in relief.
Looking back, he saw Ebon opening a vortex, Shiv waving to Talon as the girl flew off. He looked down at Gear, who was being roughly trussed up by a rope Ebon produced from his person. He then moved quickly, shoving Ebon aside.
“What the fuck–?”
“His helmet,” Hotstreak said, fingers searching for the release catch. “It might have one of those things, too.”
“Let’s go, man. Do that later,” Shiv whined, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced around. “Oh, snaps! Static! He’s comin’!”
Ebon grunted, catching sight of the rapidly approaching superhero, and turned to Hotstreak.
He found the catch and released the helmet–but he wasn’t about to show Ebon who Gear really was. In an awkward movement, he shifted to a crouch so that he could draw Richie’s upper body onto his lap, his head pressed firmly against his chest. Hotstreak tossed the helmet aside, then smirked as he looked at Ebon with a pointed expression.
Ebon stiffened, then grew enraged as he realized that Hotstreak wasn’t going to give up his prize.
“You mother fuckin’ dick!” he about shrieked, Shiv jumping at the pure fury in his boss’s voice.
Hotstreak grinned, allowing his flame to surround him, keeping Ebon away from him, forcing the two back to avoid the heat. “Did ya really want this? Come an’ get it, Ebon...”
“You–you planned this! You–! I’ll fuck you over, Stone! I’ll fucking rip you apart!” Ebon shouted furiously, his shadows drawing up and around them.
“Static, man! STATIC!” Shiv shouted, jerking at Ebon’s arm. Then he leapt into the vortex without another word, intending to get out of there.
“HEY! HEY, what’s going on, down there!” Static roared, drawing closer. Ebon snarled something incoherent, then disappeared into the opened vortex, teleporting away.
Hotstreak chuckled, but then his entire body stiffened with immense pain as a charge slammed into him, forcing him to lose control of his fire, knocking him forward. Richie spilled out of his arms, but the shock had forced him conscious, giving a pained shout as they rolled back from the impact.
It felt as if his breath were knocked out of his body as Hotstreak hit the roof, Static making a sharp U-turn, coming back for another hit. When he spotted his partner, he immediately ceased, leaping off his disk to crouch at his friend’s side.
Hotstreak knew he wasn’t going to stick around for this, numbly climbing to his feet and taking off. He heard Static give a furious shout from behind him, and he expected to find his clothes charged to stick him to the nearby water tower, but nothing happened. He made his getaway through the rooftop entrance, and chuckled over the face Ebon had made when he made his last move.
Meanwhile, Static gingerly propped Richie against his chest, trying to make sense of the nonsense that was spilling from his friend’s mouth.
“Hey, hey...c’mon, man, focus!” Static pleaded, snapping his fingers. Richie’s eyes glazed, then focused, then glazed again, reaching out to knock his fingers from the air. “I didn’t shock you too hard, did I? I’m so sorry...I didn’t see you. Goddammit, I didn’t see you.”
“Dad’s going to kill me,” Richie moaned, his head hanging back. It felt as if he hadn’t enough strength to move. “Gotta go home...”
“What the hell were you doing out here, anyway?” Static exclaimed, grunting as he tried lifting both himself and Richie from the rooftop.
“Backpack...I need to find Backpack...”
“Sorry to say this, but I think that thing’s gone, man. I thought you did it. I saw the explosion leaving the gas station...”
“Gotta go home. I gotta go home.”
“Rich, what is wrong with you? You’re totally out of it, man!” Static said in panic, then sighed as Richie struggled to get out of his hold. “I’ll take you home...but–damn it. I don’t even know what happened, an’ those fools were gone like fuckin’ cockroaches...and your stupid friend was one of them, too! Rich! You’re not even listening.”
Static released his friend long enough to retrieve his helmet, then gathered his friend against him, slinging an arm around his neck so that he could hold him steady. “All right...let’s go. I’ll take you home...”
OooooooooooO
Virgil didn’t know what to be prepared for as he helped Richie up the porch, his friend still bemoaning the loss of Backpack. He gave his dazed friend an odd expression, not wanting to complete this task. He’d rather Richie recover at the gas station, or his house–it was as if the guy were drunk, or stoned. And he didn’t listen to a single word that was being said! When Virgil had asked him what had happened up there, he received a blank stare and a question back. Richie clearly had no idea what was going on, but his continued insistence on going home propelled Virgil’s decision to take him there.
He exhaled uneasily, keeping Richie propped on his shoulder. Making sure they looked a little presentable, he reached out and depressed the doorbell. Richie shook his head, pushing Virgil away from him.
“I’ll call you, k?”
“Richie...you’re not even–”
Maggie opened the door, and looked stunned as she saw Virgil standing there with her son. Richie pushed past her, Virgil standing in silence on the porch as he made sure his friend was truly at home. Once he saw him climbing the stairway, looking entirely drunk, he shook his head and looked at Maggie.
“He’s sick. He hasn’t been drinking, or drugging,” he said, pleading with her to believe him. “He hasn’t done anything! Maybe check him for a fever. He’s not being hisself...”
“I’ll try,” Maggie assured him as she closed the door. At the soft click of the lock moving into place, Virgil frowned, then shifted on the porch. He didn’t want to leave his friend...he was worried. Concerned. He still had no idea why Hotstreak had him, unmasked and powered up. Shaking his head, he figured he’d come back later when he was Static. With that thought in mind, he turned and began running back to the gas station, having left his things there because Richie had dominated his thoughts.
Inside the Foley residence, Richie collapsed on his bed, exhaling loudly. He felt so tired...he just wanted to sleep. His mind was the same confusing mass of jumble that it had been the other night, and he just didn’t want to do anything. He heard his mother come into the room, scolding him for not doing as his father had said, but she lapsed into silence when she realized that he wasn’t responding to her.
Instead, he felt her take off his shoes, tossing them aside as he shifted more firmly onto the bed. She whispered a ‘Good Night’, then walked out from the room, shutting the door behind her.
Richie had just drifted off into dreamland when his shoulder was roughly jerked, forcing him up from the bed. He thought it was his father–in his confused state, his hands went out to protect his glasses, but they were slapped down, an urgent whisper in his ear telling him to ‘hurry up’. He wasn’t sure what that meant, or what Hotstreak was doing as he yanked him from the bed. He stumbled over one of his shoes, Hotstreak yanking him to the door.
He was fully aware then, that the older male was dragging him through the house–and that in the commotion of his staggering and Hotstreak’s hurried movements, his parents were shuffling out into the hall to see what was going on.
“Richie?” his father uttered in a shocked tone, something that would have made him laugh hadn’t he been so confused over why Hotstreak was doing this. Then Sean recovered, striding after them.
Hotstreak turned at the front door, one hand alighting with flame. The older Foley immediately stumbled backwards on the stairs, Richie groggily reaching up to pull Hotstreak’s hand down; but ending up hanging from it in his current disorientation.
“Don’t anybody say nothin’ where he’s gone!” the meta snarled, as he stumbled from Richie’s move. He shoved Richie aside to glare especially at Sean, dismissing Maggie entirely. “To anyone! You do, an’ I’ll be back to finish you off. Got it?”
Nothing was said as he turned and pulled Richie out behind him, the teen completely in the dark as to what was happening to him.
There was a beaten up Buick rumbling at the curb; Hotstreak was dragging him over to that, forcing him inside without even waiting for him to settle before following. The Buick protested as it was forced to drive forward, sputtering loudly and breaking the silence of the neighborhood. Relaxing against the passenger side door, Richie fought to keep his eyes open, to demand why, what, when, and how come, but the need to sleep was much stronger. His eyelids drooped, and finally settled as he grew used to the shuddering of the Buick, and to the loud rumble of its engine. He was asleep before Hotstreak could sail through the stop sign at the end of the block, their destination currently unknown.
OooooooooooO
When he awoke an undeterminable amount of time later, he found himself in a room he didn’t recognize. The ceiling was stained with water; the wallpaper was stripping from the walls; there was the smell of something dead that made the air thick to breathe. The mattress he was lying on was lumpy, but the sheets felt clean and the pillow was comfortable. The blinds were shut tightly, but judging from what light that filtered in, it was obviously in the middle of the afternoon. He didn’t feel as disoriented as he did yesterday, when he had a short amount of time to sleep. Rather, while groggy, he felt like he knew what was going on.
He felt tense as he strained his ears, faintly realizing that he wasn’t alone. He could hear faint male voices from somewhere beyond him. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the city–he wondered where Hotstreak had taken him. He felt hurt all of a sudden–what had he been doing with Ebon and his crew? He lifted his head from the pillow, seeing that the room was a simple hotel room–seedy at that. He crinkled his nose in disgust at the state the rest of the room was in, and sat up slowly. His body ached tremendously from all the various impacts he had within the last few days. He winced as he dropped his shoulders, and simply laid back down. The mattress creaked with his movements, so when he heard Hotstreak come into the room, he simply looked at him.
The older male shook his head, gesturing with a hand not to talk, and left the room once more. Richie wondered why, and shifted again, grimacing as he tried reaching up to rub at the back of his head. But his shoulders were pulled so tight from that Dumpster incident that they wouldn’t even lift. He exhaled quietly, shifting within the sheets, testing out new injuries. His left shoulder hurt madly–he was pretty sure it was twisted, and he winced as he looked over at it. Then realized that he was looking at it–that he wasn’t wearing his shirt.
He looked down at himself, seeing that he was clad only in his boxers. But his arm had a fresh bandage, and he didn’t feel any...sexual aftereffects...
His face felt flushed at that thought–of the older male taking advantage of him in that way.
He heard a door close, and Hotstreak walked back into the room, looking at some bills he held in one hand. When he looked over at Richie, he shook his head again. Richie wasn’t sure where to start as he lowered his eyes, turning his head to face the wall. Really...where were they? And why were they even here? What was going on?
All these questions shot through his mind, but he had answers to none of them. He heard the rustling sounds of the other male doing something behind him, but he didn’t care what was happening. He was confused by everything–but his instincts, honed as Gear, relaxed him in that he knew he wasn’t in any danger. None at all. The bed shifted, then, and he started to lift his head to see what the other was doing when he felt lips pressed against the back of his neck. A gentle hand rested on his back, abnormally warm, but tolerant enough to rest there. Richie closed his eyes in pleasure as some of the soreness was gently rubbed away with rough fingertips. The bed shifted again, and he felt Hotstreak pressed against him, lining his front with his side, his hand methodically working the soreness throughout his muscles.
And the kisses...gentle, firm kisses on the back of his neck, on the curve of his shoulder. The feel of his breath against his skin gave Richie a shiver as hair brushed against ear, as body moved against body. His hormones took notice of the situation and responded immediately, that gentle hand moving down his back, resting gently against the base of his spine. He didn’t bother to question, and nothing came to mind as his boxers were pulled from his waist, where fingers kneaded gently along his skin. He heard himself give a slight moan as the pleasure from this action sent his toes curling, his belly twisting. The older male shifted behind him again, on his knees as his fingers curled around Richie’s waist, drawing his ass up into the air.
Richie went with the action, not caring at all where this was all going as one warm hand coasted around his hips and went immediately for his hardened penis. He whimpered softly upon feeling those fingers wrap around his length, stroking with a gentle pressure that had his hips rocking forward for more of the contact. More kisses along the back of his neck temporarily distracted him, the coolness of Hotstreak’s lips against his skin providing a wonderful contrast that made him arch into the contact.
Everything then stopped as his boxers were maneuvered away from his body, his legs being coaxed apart with a touch of thumb against his crevice. Already aching for more contact in this area, Richie pushed back against the thumb, encouraging without words. That roughened hand returned to curl around his arousal, stroking as that thumb smoothed along the curves of his ass cheeks. The kisses on his neck began moving into that slope between neck and shoulder, making Richie shiver again, his head tilting away to give Hotstreak more access there. The older male’s hands left important parts, gripping his hips and smoothing all up his ribs, leaning his body against Richie’s–the blond was delighted to feel that the other was just as naked as he, his heavy body warm and strong against his. He pressed upward for more skin to skin contact, feeling wiry pubic curls against the sensitive parts of his skin, and a hardened dick against the inside of his thigh.
He wanted to touch and appreciate as well, but his sore shoulders prevented that, leaving him to groan in frustration. He lifted his head as the hairs of a meticulous kept goatee scraped against his neck, lips touching his earlobe–then turned to meet those lips, hungrily taking what was being given to him. He felt himself being maneuvered to face him, and he opened his legs with a joyous noise escaping his mouth, gripping Hotstreak’s hips with his knees. His arms curled around his neck, drawing him close for more contact, and for more kisses, feeling the other male respond by gripping his hips and lowering himself atop of him. The weight settling onto his body made his breath short, but Richie didn’t care as he delighted in the body to body contact.
He gulped in air as Hotstreak left his lips and kissed his way down his neck, his gentle hands trailing over Richie’s chest and neck, stroking in a caressing way that made Richie entirely appreciative of the action. He loosened his arms as the older male kissed his way down to his stomach. Richie heard himself breathing heavily, trying to be quiet as his fingers trailed through fiery red hair, his legs trembling as Hotstreak moved close to his groin.
Then his lips were attacked again as one hand crept down to his hip, kneading firmly, causing him to gasp in pleasure, legs shaking with more anticipation of the main event. The hand left his hip; clasped around his arousal and stroked firmly, with an almost painful intensity. But it was what Richie wanted, gasping loudly, moving his hips in rhythm with the stroking.
He shifted himself, reaching for the older male’s hardened cock, finding it and wrapping his fingers around it with a grip that was just as firm. His fingers traced over the blunt, leaking head–his thumb swiped over the bead of moisture that had gathered. Hearing Hotstreak’s slight moan rumbling against his lips, he smoothed precum over the purple head, then stroked firmly along the length of his shaft. Richie pulled his head back, and watched his face as he licked the salty substance from his thumb. Hotstreak’s eyes seemed to darken with intensity as he watched this, and let go of him, shifting so that he was drawing Richie over him.
Complying with what he was asking for, Hotstreak’s hands moving to his head and guiding him down, Richie licked his lips in anticipation, and enveloped the length with his mouth. He tasted sharp musk and smooth muscle, pubic hair brushing against his lips, his tongue stroking upward as he pulled his head up. He heard Hotstreak give a throaty moan, his fingers threading through his hair, his legs shifting to give Richie more room to work with. Bobbing his head a few times, getting accustomed to this act once more, Richie tested his gag reflex as he sucked hard on Hotstreak’s cock. His fingers threaded through the auburn bush of pubes, playing with his sac, caressing the ridged skin with a sort of gentle stroking. He heard Hotstreak’s soft swearing, his fingers tightening in his hair. He released his lubricated cock, and shifted to nuzzle his face into his balls, his tongue lapping out at the hairy sac. He shifted so that he was licking the underbelly of his sac, then down toward his anus. Hotstreak, embarrassed by the action, shifted and dragged his fingers through his hair to yank him away from there. Richie merely laughed softly, and went back to his cock, enveloping the length once more before shifting.
Richie positioned himself so that he could swallow his length, then relax his throat muscles, marveling at his own ability to do this. He heard Hotstreak swear again, his body shaking with the struggle to stay still as he enjoyed the action. Pulling his head up, Richie sucked hard at the head, his tongue swirling, lapping up the continuous leak that beaded from the purple helmet. He deep-throated him once more, even managing to hum as one hand encircled the base of his penis. As he pulled up, he began stroking firmly, using his own spit to lubricate the action. He started to lower his head again when Hotstreak pushed him back, earning a slight protest from the blond.
Kissing him fiercely, his tongue invading the blond’s mouth, Hotstreak pushed Richie onto his back, his penis jabbing against the blond as he settled over him. He pulled at Richie’s leg, opening him wide, his hand then trailing over his inner thigh to his dark pink pucker. As he proceeded to kiss Richie breathless, he used his middle finger to enter him, earning a startled moan from the blond. Marveling at the tightness he found there, Hotstreak began coaxing the muscle loose, rimming the ridged flesh with the back of his finger. He pulled his finger out, and then entered again with both his index and middle finger.
Richie moaned into his mouth, his legs spreading even wider to allow more room, his own hardened penis prodding at Hotstreak’s belly.
“I want to be inside of you,” Hotstreak whispered against his ear. Richie would have given him the world if he’d asked, the way he was feeling. He nodded quietly, furiously, wanting that as well. “I’ve got rubbers, this time.”
“‘K,” Richie whispered back, unable to stop the tremble of anticipation that shot through him.
Hotstreak rose away from him, reaching for the nightstand nearby, grabbing one of the foil packets that sat there. Propping himself up on his elbows, Richie watched him as he opened the packet, his penis jutting away from auburn curls, his skin just as pale as Richie’s. The blond reached out to trace the slight curve of inactivity that was visible around his waist, making him smile. Somehow, Hotstreak having flab made him more human, more touchable and softer. He liked it.
Then he watched as the older male unrolled the latex over his penis, careful to hold the tip as he did so. Richie laid back down, reaching up with open arms as Hotstreak maneuvered over him once more, his hands working down below. One to hold his penis steady, the other curling under Richie’s hip to lift him slightly.
At the push against his entrance, Richie tilted his head back, his fingers curling into Hotstreak’s shoulders. The pain was immediate as the widened head of his penis pushed into his body, slowly and carefully snaking entrance into his warmth. He let out a slow exhale, heart racing with slight panic and fear as he wished for more lube, more slickness–his hips were gripped tightly within both hands, and Hotstreak was pushing more firmly into him, making him wince as pain radiated from that area up into his gut.
Richie kept telling himself to relax, that this was pleasurable, that things wouldn’t hurt in the end. He felt Hotstreak lean over him, resting more of his weight into the thrust into his body, Richie giving a surprised cry at the full sheathing. His legs were shaking as he pulled them up, his knees pressing against Hotstreak’s hips, his own penis trapped between their bodies, firmly cradled by his own warmth and Hotstreak’s. It was slightly painful with the other male’s heavier weight, but when Hotstreak propped himself up with his elbows, shifting his hips to slowly pull away from him, the pain was alleviated.
Hotstreak suddenly cursed aloud, pulling out abruptly; Richie looked at him in confusion, then watched as he ripped off the remains of the condom. It had torn with the unlubricated pressure, and he started to snicker until Hotstreak frowned at him, then grinned as he resettled over Richie and entered him again. It was a much different feeling–they could both feel the heat, the skin to skin contact giving a more pleasurable feel. Richie knew he shouldn’t be enjoying that, that condoms were sensible and more appropriate–but he wasn’t going to continue thinking about that as Hotstreak began to move. His hormones took control over the logic.
Richie heard himself gasp and pant as Hotstreak began moving evenly, his own hot breath hitting Richie’s chest as his head was bowed. Richie curled his arms around his neck, his muscles tight as he clung to the other male with his movement, wanting to feel every inch of his skin, moving his body against his in pleasurable motion.
The room was filled with the sounds of sex, their quiet pants and grunts occasionally adding to the silence. Richie felt as if the guy was possessed–driving into him, holding onto him tightly, as if he were making a claim on him. It was different from the last few times–this time, it seemed to mean something. He simply held on, meeting his thrusts, feeling the heat in his lower belly simmer. Hotstreak kept hitting that spot deep inside of him that made everything tingle almost painfully with pleasure. And he knew, from the slow build-up as more pleasure spread throughout him, that he was going to come, this time. No handjob here. His excitement in this factor made his movements more frantic, his fingers curling into Hotstreak’s hair, his knees pressing tightly against his hips.
Sensing it, Hotstreak shifted, lifting one of Richie’s legs to let it curl over his shoulder, giving him better access. At feeling Richie’s firm muscles gripping his shoulder, he returned to holding his hips in place, and began thrusting harder, the teen’s body taking everything that it was being treated to, his own feelings making the action more meaningful. He was also hitting that sweet spot that made the teen buck and cry out, his face flushing with intense color.
His clenched groans, the way he repressed his shouts made everything even hotter, in Hotstreak’s opinion. At the sound of his balls slapping against his ass, the slick noises that emerged as he pounded into the teen with no restraint, he felt as if his senses were being overloaded.
Ebon was not going to have this in his hands–ever. Richie’s body and his warmth, and his welcoming actions weren’t going to be anybody’s. They were his. They were being given to him. For the first time in his life, he felt needed and appreciated. He wanted to let Richie know this, but couldn’t find the words to do so, so lost in his pleasure-hazed mind that he was mindless to everything else. He shifted, keeping that one leg curled over his shoulder, bending Richie almost in half, settling his hands on either side of the teen’s body. He buried his face into the teen’s neck, his mouth open against the sweaty smelling skin, driving harder and faster. His lips latched onto his flesh, to suckle with the intensity he was feeling with all that he was experiencing.
Richie’s fingers tightened within his hair, and he gave a startled cry as his entire body tightened, stopping Hotstreak from moving. His dick was clenched hard by the muscles that he’d stroked continuously with his movements, Richie’s body arching up against his, hips cracking against his. He was shaking as his orgasm racked him nearly mindless. His hot cum spilled over his stomach, splattered over Hotstreak’s stomach, his leg clenching Hotstreak tightly.
Hotstreak grunted upon feeling the clenching tightness, and he had to work his hips to continue thrusting. As Richie began to relax, a heady groan leaving his lips, Hotstreak felt his composure leave him as he came, driving hard as his climax seized his entire body. As his cock twitched with the lingering aftereffects of his climax, Hotstreak continued thrusting until he finally had to stop.
Feeling entirely spent, he collapsed atop of Richie, breathing hard. He could hear Richie’s heartbeat–erratic, strong, and melodious. Aware that he was crushing the teen, he shifted slightly, not really wanting to move. Richie’s fingers pulled away from his hair, slumping down onto his shoulders, where they caressed idly before dropping onto the bed.
Pulling up, Hotstreak looked into the blond’s face as he reached down to pull himself out of the teen, locking his eyes with the dark ones that stared at him from beneath half hooded eyelids. It hit him in the gut, then, just how much he grew to care for this one. How quickly and unexpected things were between them.
And it scared him, the depths of his feelings.
He turned away for a towel to clean them off.
He hadn’t known what he was getting into, but he had to wonder if he was going to regret it in the end.