Sins of HotGear
Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock or any of its plots/characters, nor do I make any money or attempt to with the writing of this. Warnings: Language, violence/gore, sexual situations/implications, homosexual interaction, etc.
Warnings: Language, violence/gore, sexual situations/implications, homosexual interaction, etc.
"You lazy bastard," Richie frowningly accused of his lover, sprawled out upon his stomach on the couch, the TV being entirely ignored by closed green eyes.
One of said eyes cracked open, staring up at the blond with cool indifference. "M'not lazy," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm like one of those lions you see on the Discovery Channel: I'm just resting."
An eyebrow cocked at the redheaded man. "For what?" the genius demanded. "You're no lion. You don't even hunt for your own food unless you count rummaging through my kitchen. You don't have a job, you don't do any chores around the house, you-"
Richie was abruptly silenced by a mouth upon his and he moaned quietly into the pleasant kiss, having not even seen Francis stand from the couch before he was just there.
"I'm just like a lion, babe," the man growled at him in a husky voice upon pulling away. "I lay around all day and let my lioness take care of all the chores, but I'm ready to step in if there's something or someone he can't handle. My job for the rest of the time," Francis asserted, "is to keep my lioness happy. You happy, babe?"
Richie was very much happy; he loved his boyfriend right down to the crude, gruff mannerisms that had repelled any and all other human beings and had no want to give any impression otherwise at any point. He was happy…
…but he wasn't happy as the pyro meant it.
"Not really," he spoke coyly. "Are you up to taking a break from 'resting' and doing your leonine duty of keeping me satisfied?"
"I think I can work that in," Hotstreak purred.
Ebon, metahuman scourge of Dakota, doubted he'd ever been more terrified for his life in his life.
"YOU MOTHERFUCKER," the young man before him roared, flying at him in a fury of fists and bared teeth so quickly it was uncertain as to whether he'd even been at the side of his injured and now unconscious lover, "I'LL KILL YOU!"
Jaw cracked, nose broke, blood sprayed, and teeth flew under the barrage of barbaric bludgeoning and somewhere in the back of the shadow-manipulator's mind, the whimpering plea of, "Mommy…!" rang out as urine flooded his pants and his body fell to the sidewalk, thankfully unconscious.
The enraged male's need for violence was not yet satisfied, however, and for several moments he continued to assault the most dangerous mutant in the city, grunting and even growling as he kicked the prone body with rib-cracking force (and he knew, because he just heard a 'snap'), taking his revenge upon this…this…bastard who had done so many things to hurt him and made his life difficult over the past several years: challenging him, fighting him, threatening his loved ones…hell, even kidnapping him that one time!
His attack was only paused when he became aware of the fact that his lover had regained consciousness in the background and seemed to be staring at him unabashedly in shock.
Hotstreak managed to take emerald eyes off of the bloody, prone lump of shadow on the ground that had apparently been Ebon long enough to lock eyes with his boyfriend, who had a scowl affixed to his face and a fierce glare in blue-blue eyes as he stared back, panting softly for breath.
"Richie," he found himself quietly murmuring.
"What?" the blond demanded, low and firm with the threat of retaliation should his question not be answered quickly by the one he loved.
Francis, quite simply, was flattered beyond belief that the techno-geek was willing (and able) to whip the shit out of someone for his sake and look dead-sexy while doing it. A slight pink color flushed his cheeks and timidly, he meeped, "Damn…"
"What'cha doing, babe?"
Richie merely grunted in response, eyes still locked on his current project and hands still moving as if lightning; snipping, relocating, and reattaching wires in the blink of an eye.
Hotstreak frowned, annoyed at being ignored. "Babe," he more forcefully spoke.
This time, the blond realized that there was someone trying to talk to him and turned around to face his lover. "Oh, Frankie," he acknowledged sheepishly, "I, uh, I didn't even hear you come i-how did you know where I was?"
"What, this dump?" the elder man inquired, glancing around at the abandoned gas station in general disarray. "I tried to think of where you and Hawkins would have your little superhero base of operations. Wouldn't be on the bad side of town, and neither of you've got a treehouse, so this was the prime spot."
"…" The genius looked his lover up and down for a moment, as if trying to process him with that logical brain of his. "You really are smarter than you come off, aren't you?" he accused.
"Sometimes," the redhead shrugged. "Depends on whether or not I feel like thinking about stuff. Consider yourself lucky you're worth the effort."
"Every day," Richie preened. "So, what brought you here?"
"I was bored," Francis informed, "and you're the least boring thing I can think of so long as you don't start talking about comic books and shit. What are you doing?"
The genius glanced back to his work and grinned proudly. "Oh, this?" he feigned ignorance. "Just a little project I like to call Suspended Muthafuckin' Animation, Bitch!"
Hotstreak snorted. "Good luck getting that patented," he teased. "Wait…suspended animation…isn't that the thing that puts people in, like, hibernation for medical shit to save their lives?"
"God, it's hot to hear you talking smart," Richie declared. "Say something else intelligent."
"Why are you working on suspended animation?" Francis demanded, entirely ignoring his boyfriend's request. "That's not gonna help you and Hawkins out on the field any. You trying to do something for the greater good of humanity or some shit?"
Saucer-wide blue eyes blinked. "Oh…I never even thought of that," the blond admitted. "I just figured I could reel in boatloads of cash for making this machine since I need a friggin' car that Mom and Dad won't spring for and the only place hiring unskilled teenagers in the city is Burger Fool and…no. Just no."
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," the redhead chuckled. "You're telling me you undertook a whole project that's had scientists stumped for years not because you wanna help people….but because you want a car?"
Richie blushed, a little ashamed (and yet more ashamed by the fact that he was only a little ashamed at his selfish motives), and admitted, "Yeah…"
To his surprise, his lover burst into laughter, clapping a hand on his shoulder in satisfaction. "Ohhh, babe," he sighed, "I am rubbing off on you, you greedy bitch, you!"
Francis blinked, startled, upon hearing a cry literally angry with rage come from the next room over.
In the interest of making sure nothing was severely wrong with his lover, the pyro stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and walked back into the adjoining bedroom.
He was given pause at the sight of the blond watching the news, his teeth grinding audibly in his mouth from frustration. "Um…you okay, babe?" he cautiously inquired.
"No!" Richie swiftly answered him. "I am not okay. These assholes…these morons…I am not a sidekick, dammit! I am a hero, a super-genius at that! And they're just gonna…RRGH."
Still dripping a bit, Hotstreak decided against joining the teen on the bed as Richie had an aversion to wet blankets and, annoyed as he already was at being once more labeled a sidekick by the local media (as was all too common an occurrence), it would not be a good idea to aggravate his boyfriend further in that particular situation of him being wet and unable to use his powers over flame.
It was something comparable to poking a grumpy bear with a stick when your tranquilizer gun was out of darts.
Still, he settled for assuring, "You are a hero, Foley. They're just dumbasses. They wouldn't know a hero if one sat right in their laps and called 'em Pooky the Elephant."
"Yeah," the blond slowly admitted, "that's true…"
"Not to mention the fact that you're smarter than all of them by leaps and bounds," Francis added. "What the hell do they know about you and what you do for them? They can't even begin to understand the shit you build and how it works."
A grin was starting to take its place on the teen's face, and haughtily, he declared, "Hell yeah, they can't! In fact, I just might have to shank some of these damn reporters that keep calling me a sidekick; y'know, nip that little rumor right in the bud."
"I wouldn't go that far," Hotstreak advised. "You wouldn't last a week in prison, babe: you're too pretty."
"…Yeah, I totally am," Richie grinned, thoroughly charmed by his lover's sentiments.
"And of course," the redhead went on to say, purposefully flattering the teen, "I'd have to just go lay waste to the prison and burn inmates alive left and right. Guards, too. Warden, visitors...anyone who might have touched you or even thought about it. 'Cause you're mine, y'know."
The blond smiled brightly, standing from the bed and pressing himself to his mostly-naked boyfriend. "My Ego Monster is purring," he declared, hands pressed to broad, damp shoulders.
Francis smirked. "Yeah, well, you'd best get yourself and that Ego Monster in the bathroom," he ordered. "I'm not finished with my shower, and now you're gonna take it with me."
Richie kissed the pyro indulgently, tangling his fingers in wet fire-engine red and sunny yellow (taking a brief mental moment to muse on how odd it was that only the yellow was unnatural). "Fine with me," he winked, already slipping away from the more powerful man and heading towards the bathroom.
"And make sure to drop the soap," Francis demanded with a smirk, soon heading after the super-genius with clear intent to nail.
"You just ate three hot dogs, six orders of fries, four cokes, two burgers, and a 'Grande' order of nachos."
"Yup," Richie nodded.
"And now you want to go out for dinner," Francis repeated, as if trying to wrap his mind around the concept.
"You got it."
Green eyes fixed him with a baffled stare. "You are a bottomless pit," he announced of his lover. "You eat more than me, and I've got at least ten, fifteen pounds of muscle on you. Do you have, like, the fastest metabolism in the world or something?"
"Does it matter?" the blond inquired. "I like food, I'm not getting morbidly obese 'cause of it, and if you take me out to dinner, I can tell you something else I'll put in my mouth when we get home."
Francis blinked at his boyfriend for a mere half a second. "So where do you wanna go?" he asked.
Richie yelped in surprise to abruptly find himself pinned to the couch he'd been watching TV on, a hot, hungry mouth attacking his neck and big, rough hands practically ripping off his hoodie.
It only took a moment to realize it was Francis, his previously-estranged (he'd been in jail, last the genius had checked) lover that was groping at him so forcefully without preamble.
"Mmf, Frankie," he grunted, shoving the redhead away from him a bit as the man tried to yank off his pants, "what are you doing?"
"M'horny," the pyro answered immediately, soon returning to his task of undoing the button of his boyfriend's jeans. "I've been in solitary metahuman-confinement for two fuckin' months with that fuckin' bitch Talon right across from me. I'm so sexually-frustrated, I can't even see straight, babe…"
"Wait, wait, wait," the blond once more stopped the elder man, "so that's it? The first time I see you in some fourteen odd weeks, and you just want to fuck? Is that all I'm good for?"
Hotstreak saw the hurt and offense on the teen's face and he sighed, managing to reign in his extreme horniness for a moment. "Foley," he said, "it's not like that. You know I love you and maybe later we can get all snuggly and romantic like you're hoping. Right now…Well, right now, I really just want to fuck you until you can't sit down for a week."
Richie saw complete honesty in the emerald eyes heavily-fogged with lust that stared down at him, and he was quiet. "…only for a week?" he repeated dubiously.
"Only for a week," Francis promised him, "Scout's honor."
Blue eyes blinked behind glasses. "…You were never a scou-mmf!"
The genius' accusation was effectively muffled and silenced as his lover pressed him into a forceful kiss, hands once more dipping down to get those goddamn pants off…!
Frieda Goren had known Richie Foley literally all her life.
Their mothers had been friends before they were born, they'd gone to the same Daycare Facility, the same grade school, and as of going on four years ago, the same high school.
Frieda and Richie had known each other a long time, and not once had the cocoa-haired girl felt any sort of attraction towards the noodly-armed, intensely geeky boy with whom she was friends.
Of course, this nicely-muscled, handsome man that was wearing Richie's face was another story entirely.
Having allowed herself to eat several pieces of cake at Daisy's birthday party last week, Frieda had been meaning to come to the gym to aerobicise off some of those extra calories. The last person she'd been expecting to see the moment she'd walked in the door, before she could even change into her gym sweats, was the blond of her two best guy-friends, not wearing his trademark baggy hoodie for the first time in at least three years and pumping a bit of iron.
And holy hell, the body that hoodie had been hiding…!
Richie wasn't overly muscled, like some gross, sinewy body-builder, but he was clearly packing some power as opposed to the young woman's previous impression of…well, not enough strength to lift a backpack with any more than three textbooks in it.
His body was overall toned and aesthetically-pleasing and Frieda abruptly realized she was turned on just watching her friend of seventeen or so years work out.
Well, no big deal. The young woman might not have been the hottest girl in school, but she was pretty and she knew it, and besides that, she had never once seen Richie with a girl.
He was a socially-awkward comic book geek: how hard could it be to get his attention?
Still unnoticed by the blond who continued with his work-out oblivious to her presence, Frieda quickly pulled a small mirror from of her pocket; smoothing out a few minute tangles in her hair, checking her teeth for food, and in general, just making sure she looked alright enough for seducing a dork.
She very soon did, and put the pocket-mirror away. The cocoa-haired girl folded her arms beneath her mid-sized bust in order to make her chest look a bit bigger and went to approach Richie…
…only to see a large, masculine hand lay upon a peach-pale shoulder and freeze her in her tracks.
Frieda gaped in horror to realize that the owner of that hand was Francis Stone, well-known bully since second grade at Dakota Elementary and well-known Bang Baby and dangerous convict since his senior year at Dakota Union High.
The girl backed up a step, in preparation for running as fast as she was able to the nearest phone and calling 911 to summon the police and keep poor Richie (no matter how much stronger he'd gotten) from getting his ass whooped by the much bigger and stronger Hotstreak as he surely would.
She was, therefore, surprised, when the brutish, hot-tempered redhead smiled at the blond and calmly inquired, "You about done, Foley?"
It was even more of a surprise for Richie to look at the metahuman with an equal measure of calm and smile back. "Yeah, pretty much."
"Alright, then," Hotstreak spoke, easily lifting the weight out of the younger man's hand and placing it back where the last gym-patron had left it, shoving a balled-up pale blue bit of cloth in the hand the weight'd just left. "Here's your shirt, babe."
"Thanks," Richie grinned, standing up with a sigh as he wiped a bit of the sweat off of his brow with his t-shirt before slipping it back on and placing his glasses back upon the bridge of his nose.
Frieda openly gaped like a trout when Hotstreak hauled the blond in for a deep, passionate-looking kiss and, upon pulling away, smacked Richie upon the ass and declared, "Remember, babe: that's mine."
Richie snorted with laughter and promised, "You don't have anything to worry about, Frankie. I'm yours."
The brunette young lady could only continue to stare as the two men left the gym together, walking right past her and not noticing her in the least as she abruptly realized the sight of two nicely-built, attractive men making out had inadvertently turned her panties into something of a swamp.
And she was jealous of Francis for getting to be the one to fuck that hot, little blond bombshell.
"Damn, Richie…" she muttered to herself, storming off into the changing rooms to go try and concentrate on her workout.
A/N: HOORAY, I FINALLY FINISHED SOMETHING! \O/ Wrath and Envy- were inspired by Redlioness's two recent pieces, 'Damn, Richie 1' and 'Damn, Richie 2,' both on deviantART. =3 Anyways, though, I am otherwise without comment, so hope you guys liked the fic! :D
Wrath and Envy- were inspired by Redlioness's two recent pieces, 'Damn, Richie 1' and 'Damn, Richie 2,' both on deviantART. =3
Anyways, though, I am otherwise without comment, so hope you guys liked the fic! :D