This was written while listening to 'I Caught Myself' by Paramore literally more than 10 times.

Disclaimer: I don't own. I wish I did.

BTW: There's a little nod towards CrystallicSky because I ran out of adjectives. See if you can find it.

I Caught Myself

Virgil could never know.

The room, dimly lit by flames, haunted his dreams. Slick, skin on skin. It hurts sometimes, but the pain is chased swiftly by firey pleasure.

Richie wasn't sure how it started. Or why. He hadn't even known he was gay. He never should've been sucked into this.

"You're Static's little boy-toy!"

Ah, right. It had started with a fight. Hotstreak had managed to make the connection between superhero Static and tech nerd Richie Foley. Richie had put up a valiant fight for all of two seconds before Hotstreak had him pinned against the wall. Richie swore he acted purely on instinct. After all, kissing Hotstreak had seemed like a good diversion.

It had worked, though for whom, Richie wasn't sure. Hotstreak had reacted violently, pressing his entire body against the blond's as he dominated the kiss.

Richie had not fully developed this plan, and the turn of events caught him off guard. He faltered for about six seconds, long enough for his unresponsiveness to piss Hotstreak off. The redhead hoisted the boy in the air, holding him against the wall. Instinctively, Richie wrapped his arms and legs around the older man to keep from falling, not that Hotstreak was weak enough to drop him. Richie's brain had not quite managed to process the events yet, but Hotstreak didn't have the patience to wait for him. The redhead thrust his hips forward almost violently, and Richie gasped, breaking away from the one-sided kiss. His head slammed against the wall, but he didn't have time to focus on the pain- Hotstreak had turned his attention to the xanthrocroid's neck.

Sex in an alleyway was painful, not at all what Richie had expected his first time to be like. In the end, Hotstreak left Richie hating himself. How on earth could he have enjoyed that?

Richie managed to hide from the world for about a week. His dad was more than happy to screen Virgil's calls. What Richie hadn't counted on was Hotstreak climbing in through his bedroom window.

Richie opened his mouth to scream, to tell the older teen to leave, and then those smoldering emerald eyes locked on his own pale blue ones.

The second time was infinitely better than the first, mostly because this time they had a bed. They took their time, touching, feeling, tasting. They memorized eachother's bodies.

In the end, Richie still hated himself. He was fraternizing with the enemy!

These arguments could not win against his body, and it became a pattern, sometimes in beds, sometimes in cars.

One night, as he was leaving, Richie began to speak. "I-"

He stopped, just staring at Hotstreak. The unspoken words hung thickly in the air between them. Each knew what Richie wanted to say. They knew it wasn't true, it couldn't be! What they had between them was hormones, nothing more.

That's all it could ever be.

I love you.

END

Xanthrocroid: person with light hair and eyes. Yes, that was the nod.