HotGear A to Z

By: CrystallicSky


Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock or any of its characters.

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, violence, nothing too horribly explicit in those last two, though, so no worries.

A is for Aggressive-

Francis Stone was an incredibly aggressive man, and the moment someone so much as looked at him or any one he ran with, so to speak, wrong, they were as good as fucked.

When he'd begun seeing a certain technological genius, the same rule was immediately applied, and the redhead became fiercely jealous at any female who had the misfortune of finding geekiness attractive and hitting on him and positively furious at any male that tried to bully him for the same quality.

Richie Foley loved that about him and doubted he would feel quite the same about the pyro if he were any different.

B is for Bang-

Richie's heart wrenched in sympathy as his lover continued to give pained moans and groans, his fever continuing to rise despite the blond's consistent nursing efforts for the past two hours.

Francis had stumbled through the teen's door awhile ago, his tanned flesh ashen and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat as he panted helplessly for his lover.

It had been lucky his father was working late tonight and his mother was in Chicago for the week, visiting her sister.

From what Richie'd managed to gather of the situation, the older male had been at some sort of gang war when the cops had shown and blown up some tanks of something, something purple that had made the redhead's throat sting and his insides burn.

He was glad Francis had come to him, proving that he trusted him enough to be weak around him, but he was worried, as the last time he'd checked the senior's temperature, it had risen to 105 degrees and had shown no sign of stopping despite the fact that he was immersed in a bathtub full of ice.

"Richie…"

The blond looked up, seeing green eyes tightly closed and yet more sweat dripping down his face. "Yeah, baby?" he inquired sympathetically, having to force his hand back from touching the man; the last time he'd done so, it'd hurt.

"This sucks..." the older male forced out from behind gritted teeth.

Richie gave a half-hearted chuckle. "I'll bet," he agreed. He stood from beside the tub and went to the sink, briefly rinsing the thermometer with room temperature water and returning to his lover's side. "Here," he said, forcing the object into the redhead's mouth, "lemme take your temperature again."

Francis was so disoriented and pained that he didn't even bother to protest.

Waiting while his secret boyfriend held the thermometer under his tongue, the blonde once more took the object back and gaped openly at the reading. "No way…" he breathed in shock.

The senior managed to crack an eye open. "What?"

"You…it's…your temperature…it…" Richie ceased his stunned stuttering and blurted, "Its 110!"

Francis did not understand the significance of this and wondered, "Is that bad?"

"Oh, no, not really," the blond tried to joke, "just that the human body ceases to function normally at 108 degrees and usually results in death or irreversible brain damage."

This time two green eyes shot open, but before the redhead could say anything, his whole body tensed and a scream tore loose from his throat, his back arching violently as he burst into flame, instantly melting the ice-cubes around him and heating the water they became to the near-boiling point.

Richie fell backwards onto the tiled floor, staring in mute shock at his lover as the flame slowly died down to burn around only his hands. Francis, now looking perfectly healthy as opposed to a mere moment ago, stared at them with an unreadable expression.

Suddenly, the older male smirked darkly. He began to chuckle slowly, testing his newfound powers by playing with the flame and manipulating it to his will as Richie stood to his feet.

"What a trip…" he quietly murmured.

C is for Car-

"Go ahead," Hotstreak proudly encouraged, "touch it."

Richie approached the hot-rod and lay a finger upon the ruby-red paint-job before whistling, impressed. "I gotta say, this is a sweet car." He walked around it once, taking the whole, well-built machine in. "Where'd you steal it from?"

"I bought it."

The blond froze in his tracks before bursting out into laughter. "You bought it? Do you really expect me to believe that one?"

With a smug grin, the metahuman removed a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to his lover, who took it and scanned it briefly.

"Holy crap," he gasped, "you actually did buy it; legally!"

"You're damn right I did," the redhead winked. "Think you're goody two-shoes stuff is starting to rub off on me, after all."

"Wow, Francis, that's really…" Richie abruptly scowled. "Where'd you get the money to buy it?" he demanded.

The pyro grinned. "I said you were starting to rub off on me; not that I'd gone straight. You wanna take a spin?"

The blond sighed in exasperation before surrendering, "Sure, why not?"

D is for Death-

Blue eyes watched in concern as Francis sat completely still before the old grave, and hesitantly, their owner inquired, "Do you ever miss her?"

The redhead was silent for awhile, but ultimately answered, "Every day."

Richie looked at the tomb again, wondering just what sort of person Annabelle Stone had been. "What happened?" he wondered.

"My old man happened," the metahuman muttered. "He was a little like your dad, Foley, only more than mean and racist; he was like a sadist or something. Loved to hear my mom scream and see her bleed. One day, he just…went too far."

The blond was at a loss of what to say, feeling even more awkward than he did when Virgil ever talked about the death of his mom. Eventually, he settled on, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Francis said. "It was a long time ago."

Richie was silent, musing on what life might've been like for him if his dad ever went too far and seriously hurt his mother.

Probably the same as his lover's life was.

"He was a cop, you know."

The genius looked up, giving a questioning gaze to the other male.

"My dad," the pyro clarified. "He was a crooked one, but he was still a cop. When he…did that to my mom, he got kicked off the force and sent to jail, and I got put into foster care. Since then, I started hating anything to do with the law. I guess I know all police aren't like him, but… I can't totally make myself believe that. That's why I ended up doing all the illegal shit I do, like…like I'm trying to spite him, or something."

Again, Richie was unsure of what to say to that, but he let his instinct take over, and found himself answering, "Its okay, baby; I'm here for you."

This had been the right thing to say as Francis curled a strong arm around the teen's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Thanks, Foley."

Blue eyes glanced back to the tombstone, reading the inscription of, 'MOTHER, DAUGHTER, FRIEND' beneath the deceased woman's name. "I wish I could've met her," he confessed.

The redhead snorted, bringing a hand up to almost playfully ruffle the genius' blond hair, promising, "She would've loved you, Rich."

E is for Elephant-

"Okay, that's just plain weird."

"Shut up," Richie frowned, holding the large, grey plushie close to himself protectively, "Bertram's my elephant."

"…" Hotstreak's green eyes stared the teen down, practically burning a hole in the stuffed elephant as if the man's powers were being exercised. "You're such a dork, Richie," he snorted at last, flopping onto the bed beside the blond and putting his arms behind his head. "We really can't see each other in public anymore."

"We don't see each other in public anyway," the genius protested. "Me being a superhero and you being a wanted, escaped convict, and all."

The pyro scowled at the teen, annoyed at being contradicted, and with the flick of a wrist, he batted the elephant out of Richie's hand and onto the carpeted floor.

"Bertram!"

F is for Flame-

Sean Foley glared at his son and the boy he'd dragged into the house, a fierce scowl upon his face. "So now you're telling me you're a fag, too?" he demanded.

Richie's hands were shaking violently, even as he wrung them nervously in his lap. Before he could muster the courage to answer, however, his lover answered for him.

"Yeah, old man, he's a fag," Francis growled, "and so am I. We're with each other, in that way. You gotta problem with it?"

"Maybe I do," the man said, frown deepening. Before he could become truly angry, however, he remembered the last time he'd refused to accept his son for who he liked (though that time had been more of a 'liking as a friend' thing) and all the trouble that had come with it. The blond man sighed roughly, forcing himself to calm down and take a seat at the dining room table. "This is what you want, Richie?" he asked. "Men?"

The teen swallowed hard, willing his voice not to crack. "Yeah, dad," he said as firmly as he was able, "I like men; I like Francis."

Mr. Foley sighed again. "Fine," he forced himself to say, "but no homo-sex in the house, Richie. I don't need to hear that shit."

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of the blond's chest and he smiled. "Thanks, dad. I appreciate it."

"Yeah," Sean grumbled, "well, I need a smoke." He plucked a box of cigarettes from his chest pocket and removed one, holding it between his lips while he rummaged through his pants pocket for his lighter, only to come up empty. He growled in aggravation before turning to his son's (oh, dear God, he needed that smoke) boyfriend. "I don't suppose you've got a light, Francis," he challenged.

The redhead cocked a defiant eyebrow, flicking his thumb from his fist and lighting it, leaning over the table to touch it to the cigarette for the desired effect before plopping back into his seat and blowing the small flame out, all the while keeping eye-contact with his lover's father.

Instead of the man being horrified or going nuts that he was dating a Bang Baby as Richie had expected of his dad, Sean gave Francis an appraising (and unless the teen was mistaken, an approving) stare before turning to him. "You keep him, Richie," he ordered, "lighter fluid costs too much these days."

G is for Gear-

"F-Foley…" Hotstreak gaped, "you…you're Gear?"

The blond looked up with a guilty expression, unmasked in alley-way by his lover. "I'm sorry, Frankie," he immediately apologized, "I should've told you. Y'see, I turned into a super-genius as a result of the Big Bang gas, but I was a late bloomer 'cause I only inhaled it by hanging out with V and, um, doing stuff with you after you guys got gassed, and then I couldn't figure out how to tell you and-"

"It all makes sense, now," the redhead exclaimed in relief. "Now I get why you were always skipping out on me to hang with Virgil and why you'd show up with bruises and stuff."

"You're…not mad?" Richie inquired hesitantly.

"Not really," Francis shrugged, helping his lover onto his feet and handing him back his helmet. "I'm just glad I can stop feeling guilty about those sexy dreams I've been having about Gear."

"Oh," the genius sighed, "that's a relie-…what sexy dreams?"

H is for Hideaway-

"Well?" Richie prompted. "What d'you think?"

The pyro looked around a bit, hands dismissively in his pockets. "The Abandoned Gas Station of Solitude?" he questioned.

"That's what V and I decided to call it," the blond said.

"And of course, by 'V and I decided', you mean 'I decided, and the name stuck'?"

The genius looked away, muttering, "Maybe…"

Francis snorted and slapped a hand onto his lover's shoulder, declaring, "Rich, you're cute when your immense geekitude is showing, but I think you might wanna rename the place in case the Man of Steel decides to sue."

I is for Immaturity-

Richie could not help but feel incredibly offended, indignant, and disturbed (and a pinch turned on, but he'd never admit it) when, while standing beside his boyfriend, Francis reached down and grabbed a handful of rear-end, squeezing twice with the almost casual utterance of, "Honk, honk."

J is for Jail-

"Hey, Francis! Got a visitor for ya'!"

The redhead looked up from within his cell, a green field of energy holding him in instead of bars. He knew for a fact that the wall was impenetrable, as he'd tried many times to make even a small opening in it with some of his strongest fireballs, a series of attempts that he'd put a stop to when he very nearly suffocated himself by burning too much of the air in the jail-cell.

It was easier to just lay on the rock-like bed and not even try.

As a figure moved into view, however, all thoughts of quietly accepting his imprisonment died away and he shot to his feet, snarling, "Gear!"

The costumed blond stared at him sadly, the guilt in his eyes hidden by his visor, before he nodded to the heavily-armed guard that had escorted him here to open the door.

"Are you sure?" the large, black man asked. "He's pretty nasty, and it wouldn't do to have one of Dakota's few heroes put out of commission."

"I'll be fine," Gear promised him, "I can handle Hotstreak easy."

"Alright," the guard conceded, using his key to temporarily release the wall of energy just long enough for the superhero to step inside, closing it back up again before the pyro had any chance to even think of escaping.

Francis' fist balled at his sides, shaking with the force of his fury; were his body temperature to be taken at that moment, it would show he was a mere two degrees away from igniting himself in flame. "You little bitch," he growled. "How dare you fucking come here after you sold me out!"

"Francis," Richie sighed, "I'm sorry. I…I had no choice! I had to bring you in, or-"

"I thought I fucking meant something to you," the redhead snarled, furious but with a tone of heartbreak mixed in, "but I guess we were just some kind of fucking-mmf!"

The man was cut off as the teen's visor retracted into his helmet and he was kissed fiercely. He tried to stay angry, he really did, but…Richie was just too good at calming him down, even when he was the one who was making the pyro angry.

Soon, Francis was kissing back with fervor, his temper dying down at the pleasant feel of his lover's winter-chapped lips on his own, dearly missed over the past week-and-a-half.

"I'm sorry," Richie whispered softly, remorsefully upon pulling away. "I love you, Frankie; I really do."

Before the older metahuman could respond to that, he felt something cool and metal pressed to the back of his neck, somehow remaining there.

"Take it with you when you leave," the blond instructed. "There can't be anything to tie me back to this."

And with that, Gear resumed his mask and walked out of the cell as the guard released the wall for him, soon leaving the high-security prison altogether.

Only when he was completely alone did Hotstreak remove the small object from the back of his neck, rolling it over in his hand to see what it was.

There was a note attached that read, 'Press the button and hold it up to the wall to deactivate the energy field.'

Green eyes softened at the gesture and he quickly hid the small machine beneath his pillow. He couldn't bust out just yet or even tonight, for that would put immediate suspicion on Gear.

Tomorrow morning, however, was a different story altogether…

K is for Kiss-

Virgil Hawkins had never been more stunned in his life than when he'd entered his best friend's room without knocking only to discover the genius in a lip-lock with one of his worst enemies.

Richie immediately tore himself away, nervously exclaiming, "Virgil! I, um, what are you…this isn't what it looks like! He-he's crazy, and he just broke in and started kissing me, and-"

"I'm banging your nerd-buddy, Hawkins," Hotstreak bluntly stated. "He's been trying to tell you for, like, three weeks now."

"Well…" the electrically-charged teenager began, feeling extremely awkward at the moment and doing his best to make light of the situation, "I guess at least it's not Ebon."

L is for Laryngitis-

"You've got the worst luck ever, Foley. A fungal infection: gross."

Richie scowled at his lover, but was unable to speak due to his current case of laryngitis (from the aforementioned cause).

Still, his look spoke volumes and Francis raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, hey, calm down, Rich; I'm on your side…right now, anyways." His green eyes scanned over the self-bedridden teen. "You look hungry," he declared. "You want me to get you something?"

The blond blinked in consideration before nodding. He was hungry; how did Francis know that?

"Alright, you stay there," the pyro ordered, standing from beside the bed and walking over to the door. "I'll be back with something for you to eat. Believe it or not, I make a mean chicken soup," he winked, "and not just the kind from a can."

Richie found himself smiling as his lover exited the room. Who knew a convict could be so considerate?

M is for Man-

"Frankie, can you help me figure something out?"

"Oh, no," the redhead warily declined, "no way I'm being your personal welding tool for your little toys again!"

"No," Richie promised, "it's not that! I was just gonna ask…why d'you think I fell in love with you instead of Virgil?"

"…what?"

"Yeah, 'cause I've known both of you the same amount of time, and while you were calling me names and kicking my ass (before we actually hooked up, I mean), Virgil was talking to me and being nice. How'd it end up that we're doing the horizontal mambo and V and I are just buds?"

Francis frowned for a moment, considering it before coming up with the answer. "C'mere," he ordered the genius, who willingly came over. The pyro raised his arm and flexed the muscles in it, encouraging, "Put your hand on that."

The blond did so, feeling the size of his lover's bicep and the powerful way the muscle beneath his palm rippled with the subtle clench of the man's fist. He found his interest peaked with this, but forced it down to wonder, "Why am I doing this?"

"Just feel it."

Richie did for another moment, his grip tightening a bit with another subtle flex that made him seriously consider fucking over his question in favor of fucking his boyfriend. "What about it?" he inquired, his voice just the slightest bit breathy.

"Virgil doesn't have that, does he?" the pyro demanded.

"No," the genius answered truthfully. Virgil had muscles, obviously: he was superhero; he had to. But muscles like these? No.

"That," Francis informed, "is what a real man's arm feels like. You fell for me instead of Hawkins 'cause real men turn you on."

"What?" Richie snorted. "That's totally ridiculous!"

"Is it?" Hotstreak smirked knowingly. "What if I said I played football?"

"So what? That…that doesn't have anything to do with…anything."

"And if I said if I'd kick the crap out of anyone who'd hit on you just 'cause they were dumb enough to try and take my bitch?"

The blond was actually starting to sweat now, becoming increasingly more turned on with each statement. "I…I don't care," he stated, a subtle quiver in his voice. "That just means you're a…a thug under the…impression that I'm a…a thing you can just…own."

Immediately knowing his lover was about to break, Francis spoke, "I can bench-press you, you know."

"That's it," Richie exclaimed in defeat, "off with the pants!"

N is for Necklace-

"Francis, what are you doing?" Richie demanded.

"Hold still," the metahuman demanded, his hands working behind the blond's neck at something. "There."

When the redhead backed off, the genius' hand shot to his neck, where a silver chain (not a thin, girly one; the kind of chain a guy could wear without being called gay) now rested. His fingers followed the metal to the pendant that hung at his chest, grabbing it and pulling it away a little to see what it was.

A thin, nearly-flat object shone between his fingers, in the shape of a flame. "Is this…" Richie adjusted his glasses a bit to better see the thing before finishing, "is this diamond?"

"Yeah," Francis replied, "100% diamond."

Warily, the blond began, "You didn't-"

"I didn't steal it," the pyro promised. "Well…I did, but not the actual diamond. I stole I piece of coal and carved it to look like that before, you know, heating it up to make it diamond."

Confident that no one would be missing this object, Richie tackled his lover in a hug. "Thank you, baby," he grinned, hugging Francis for all he was worth. "It's sweet that you'd do this for me."

"Yeah, well…" an adorable blush overtook the man's cheeks, suddenly shy at the acknowledgment of his deed, "it wasn't anything special, or nothing."

"Still," the genius insisted, giving his boyfriend an appreciative peck on the cheek, "thank you."

Francis returned the peck before nonchalantly shrugging, "Anything for you, I guess…"

O is for Open-

"We're open with each other, right?"

"Sure," Francis answered. "Why?"

"Well, there's something I kinda want to try," Richie admitted, his eyes automatically averting themselves from the other male, "but I've never done anything like it before, and I want to know if you'd be okay with trying it with me."

"Depends," the pyro answered honestly. "What d'you wanna try?"

"Bondage."

"…Pardon?"

"Bondage," the blond repeated. "I want to try some bondage stuff."

"Like…handcuffs, leather, and ball-gag kinda shit?"

"Yeah, that," Richie agreed. "I mean, I know it's a little weird, but…"

"Sure, why not?"

"Seriously?" the genius inquired.

"Hell yeah," the pyro assured. "Sounds fun; sounds kinky. I like it."

"Great!" the blond grinned. "Awesome!" He kissed his lover soundly before beginning, "We'll have to find a sex-shop to get some stuff…or I guess we could order it online or something-"

"Hang on, Foley," Francis stopped him. "Before we actually get weird, you're gonna be the one tied up, right?"

"Totally."

"Okay, then; carry on."

P is for Pain-

"Sorry I didn't visit earlier," Hotstreak quietly apologized. "I really would've come sooner, but I can't just show up places with me being wanted and all."

" S'okay," Richie whispered to his lover in the darkness of his bedroom, "I understand. I care that you came."

The redhead glanced to the cast encasing his lover's leg, still visible even under the covers of the bed. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

"Not really," the blond assured him. "I mean, it hurt like hell when it happened, but I feel okay now."

"You didn't go to school today," Francis pointed out. He didn't go anymore, having been nearing the end of his senior year when the Big Bang had happened and he'd begun to professionally harass the city (as opposed to small-scale bullying and leading a gang on the side when he was only human) and was consequently expelled. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't skulk around a bit to keep tabs on his lover who was still in school.

"I kinda wanted a day off," Richie slyly admitted. "I milked the whole, 'oh, my gunshot wound is acting up' routine with my mom and she let me stay home."

"I should've been there," the older man decided. "I could've…I don't know, melted the bullet or something. You don't have powers; I do. I'm the one who's supposed to protect you, and I…I fucked up."

"No, baby, you didn't." The teen reached up to lay a hand on the metahuman's cheek, assuring, "There was no way you could've known Jimmy was gonna go postal like that. Nobody did except me and Virgil, and we figured it out by complete accident. If you wanna blame anybody, blame those guys that tackled him; I wouldn't have gotten shot if they hadn't made him accidently pull the trigger after I'd talked the kid down."

"You're right," Hotstreak decided. "Those guys're Nick's cronies, right? I know where to find 'em."

"Wait!" Richie exclaimed as his lover stood to leave, causing the pyro to look back at him in questioning. "Nobody's signed my cast yet since I haven't been back to school since I got shot," he sheepishly spoke. "I was kinda hoping…you could be the first."

Francis blinked for a moment, surprised, but he then smiled and pulled the blanket aside, baring the cast on the teen's leg. He moved his hand to the bottom of the foot (so no one would see his signature and become suspicious of Richie), lighting his thumb aflame and burning his initials and a heart (almost vomiting from his own sweetness in the act of doing so) into the cast. "There you go, baby," he declared, "you're all set. You go back to bed; I've got some idiots to take my aggression out on."

Richie chuckled. "Don't kill them," he laughingly ordered.

"Of course not," the pyro assured, sounding offended at the very notion. "That'd be way too easy on them. I'd rather burn some humiliating words and phrases into them so they'll never get lucky in their lives."

The blond rolled over and pulled the blankets back over himself as his lover began climbing out of the window, calling out, "Write 'dick-sniffer' on the brunette for me."

"Will do," Francis assured with a snicker.

Q is for Queen-

"I guess that makes me queen! …I mean 'king'!"

"Heh," Richie chuckled softly, "you sound like Jack, a little."

"Oh, fuck off," Hotstreak snorted, pushing the blond onto the other side of the couch, "I do not. Next you'll be saying Chase sounds like you!"

R is for Rape-

Francis Stone was burning inside with fury and hate so immeasurable, it was a wonder he hadn't made someone's eyeballs melt from the inside out yet.

Still, he held back his anger for the moment as his lover sobbed against his chest; naked, bruised and smelling of sex, forcing himself to coo cutesy little phrases to the teen like, "Its okay, now," and "I'm here," to comfort the frightened blond as he bided his time, waiting until his Richie was coherent enough to tell him who'd done this so he could make them suffer and die.

S is for Scoundrel-

"Oh my God," Richie gaped, his inner-techno-geek having a joy-seizure as he laid his eyes upon the small shipment of a light, durable metal he'd ordered and been dying to work with, "where'd you get this? The company said they never received my order and I'd have to buy it again (which I have no money for)!"

"They lied," Francis proclaimed. "They had the order all boxed up and ready to go; they were effing with you to try and squeeze a little more money out of you. But…I had a chat with some people, and they were kind enough to hand it off to me to give to you personally."

Knowing what his lover meant by that, the blond grinned. "Oh, Francis, you scoundrel, you!"

The pyro looked the genius up and down once before smirking back, wondering, "Do scoundrels get any action for doing good deeds around here?"

With no need for further prompting, Richie leapt into the redhead's arms, forcing himself to be held bridal style as he purred, "They most certainly do…"

T is for Touch-

Richie made a noise suspiciously like a whimper as his lover pulled out of him, flopping to the bed beside him in exhaustion.

His head was demanding he do that again with the pyro because it felt awesome, but his body (and Francis' too, most likely) was too tired from the intense orgasm to even think about obeying that.

A touch landed on his hip and the blond twitched, startled, only to be dragged away from the wet spot of the bed up against a hot, firm chest. "Love you," the redhead confessed, already half-asleep.

"Love you, too," Richie smiled, snuggling up against the man with only the thought that he couldn't have asked for a better first time.

U is for Unnecessary-

Richie had to adjust his glasses as they fell low on his nose, giving him a clearer view of the tree next to the sidewalk (the kind surrounded by cement and actually a bit in the sidewalk) that had just been set on fire with no warning.

"That seemed unnecessary," he idly commented.

"Yeah," the pyro walking with him admitted, "it was."

V is for Vaccination-

"Oh my God, Francis, what is your problem?" the blond exclaimed in frustration. "Its flu season! You're supposed to get vaccinated! Why won't you just go?"

"I can't, Foley," the man growled, "so stop bitching at me and get off my back!"

"Why can't you?" Richie demanded, hands on his hips and scowling so darkly that somewhere miles away, Ebon awoke from a nightmare that someone was stealing his thunder.

The redhead's frown faded and he fell back onto the bed, sitting on the edge of it before dropping his head into his hands. "I…don't do hospitals, Richie," he quietly confessed.

Sensing a hint of fear in his lover's tone, the blond backed off for a moment, more gently inquiring, "Why not?"

Francis closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair; if one looked extremely closely, they would be able to see a slight tremor coursing through his hands. Eventually, he admitted, "When I was a kid…I was supposed to get vaccinated for the flu. There was some weird mix-up or something and instead of giving me the vaccine, some moron actually injected me with a really aggressive flu-virus sample that some doctors were researching. I was in the hospital for two years because of that, Richie. I just…I don't do hospitals."

Touched, the blond sat next to the man on the bed and hugged him. "Oh my God," he breathed sympathetically, "I…I didn't know…I'm sorry, baby…You don't have to get vaccinated if you don't want to. I mean, you probably have no chance of ever getting the flu again, anyways, since building up an immunity to that aggressive strain."

"Like I'd have gone if you didn't say it was okay not to," the pyro snorted. At the genius' frown, however, he sincerely added, "Thanks, though."

W is for Whine-

"Francis," Richie whined in the most pathetic tone he could muster, "I wanna go to the mall…!"

"Why?" the metahuman demanded. "You need to buy a bra at Victoria's Secret since you're turning into a chick?"

The blond smacked his lover on the arm. "No. I want to apply for a job at the Apple store. I'm thinking I'm a genius, so how hard can it be to get on the Genius Bar?"

"Aw, I don't wanna go…" Francis groaned.

"We can stop at Hot Topic," the teen baited.

"Fine, be ready in five minutes."

Who knew Francis Stone was a closet goth? Besides Richie Foley, that is.

X is for Xanthocroid-

"Don't look now, but I think that chick was making eyes at me."

"She doesn't have a chance, anyways," the pyro shrugged casually, pulling the blond close by the waist. "You're my xanthochroid."

Richie blinked, disturbed. "Who knew you knew the word 'xanthochroid'," he said.

"Of course I do," Francis frowned. "Doesn't everybody?"

Y is for Yarn-

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You know what."

"No, baby, I don't know what."

"You know very well what you're doing; now stop giving me that weird look!"

"Sorry, Frankie," the blond snickered, "it's just…its too cute! I can't believe you knit!"

The man snorted, explaining, "Its either knit or burn the park down, and last I checked, you'd gotten used to me not being in jail."

"Still, its so adorable!" Richie squealed, "You look all domestic, like an expecting mommy!"

"Foley," the metahuman warned, "this blue yarn could be one of two things. Its either gonna be your new sweater by winter, or it's gonna be something you warm your neck with; like a scarf, but you'll be wearing it on the inside."

The genius wisely shut up.

Z is for Zebra-

"Wonder how fast that thing'd have to run before it looks grey," Francis mused idly, staring into the zebra's enclosure.

"Pretty damn fast," his genius boyfriend informed him before grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him away from the zebra herd. "Now, come on, I wanna see the dolphins before the zoo closes!"

A/N: SO! I've decided I'm going to make Francis/Richie my second favorite pairing (below Chack, of course). I've also decided to give it the nomenclature, 'HotGear,' based upon their superhero/villian names.

In light of deciding these, I've also decided to go back through these sorts of things that I've already done for Chack with HotGear, because I know that doing these is a good way to become more comfortable with writing for characters, and as I'm entirely new to the Static Shock fandom in terms of actively writing fanfiction, I think it'll be helpful for me to do this. ._.

Now, I'm not going to comment on all of the letters in this, just the ones I think should have something said about them.

B is for Bang- This was written as a 'what if?' to the idea that Hotstreak and Richie were already together before the Big Bang happened and Richie was there to see him get his powers.

D is for Death- WHY DO I WRITE THIS KIND OF SHIT?! I know I can't take the emotions, but I do it anyways, start crying, and have to take a break for ten minutes before I keep writing, and yet? I keep doing it. *headdesk*

H is for Hideaway- CANON INFORMATION TIME! They actually call their hideout that! XD

I is for Immaturity- I don't know why, but for some reason, I find this immensely hilarious. XD

K is for Kiss- Poor Virgil: what has been seen cannot be unseen. D:

P is for Pain- MORE CANON INFORMATION TIME! Richie got shot in the leg in the episode, 'Jimmy,' which was quite literally two episodes before he became Gear, so as of this moment, he has no powers. I did not make a mistake in saying he has none in this letter.

Q is for Queen- LOL, FUCK YOU AND THE HORSE YOU RODE IN ON, FOURTH WALL! XD Danny Cooksey voices both Jack Spicer and Hotstreak, and Jason Marsden voices Chase Young and Richie. You can see why I like this pairing. ;P

V is for Vaccination- MORE MORE CANON INFORMATION TIME! Francis actually states in the show that he was in a hospital for two years as a kid and that he doesn't do hospitals. I just took a little artistic license as to explaining why he was in the hospital for two years.

X is for Xanthocroid- 'Xanthochroid' means 'a person having a light complexion and light hair,' AKA Richie.

Z is for Zebra- Demetri Martin joke; his new show is funny/awesome, but he does not mention the joke about zebras looking grey in it.

And that's that! :D