Alright, so like, this is totally inspired by CrystallicSky, but I didn't wanna bother her asking for permission again - which I usually do, always. So, um, sorry.
Anyway, I decided to try my hand at a HotGear A to Z... but of course I couldn't do short and this is only A and B. So getting to Z may take a bit.
I'm also working on a break up fic for HotGear, but I sorta let it get away with me (the first part is at like 10 pages, and it's not even done) so I guess what I've got so far for that will become it's own story and I'll try again at the actual break up thing.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Static Shock, nor do I own American Psycho.
Okay, on with the alphabet.
...
A is for American
…
Hotstreak's fist clenched around his Heineken as he watched yet another girl come up to flutter her eyes at his boyfriend. It used to be that he'd do a lot more than clench his fist, but Richie had given him A Talk about controlling his jealousy… and he had said no action in bed for a month if he burnt down another bar because someone got it into their head to flirt with him.
He felt his lips curl upwards into what had to be a nasty smirk as Richie gently turned the girl down and her pretty smile disappeared. She looked from the blond to the redhead next to him suspiciously, and Francis tipped his drink to her with a grin. He reached up a heavy arm to wrap around his boyfriend's shoulders, and her eyes widened and then narrowed. She turned on her heel with a huff.
'That's right, bitch. Walk away and tell all your little friends that he's taken, by me.'
The man next to him shook his arm off and he looked to him, confused. "That wasn't nice, Frankie," Richie said with a glare, and Hotstreak snickered at him. "I don't know if you missed the memo, but not-nice is what I do, babe."
He continued to try and glare but the metahuman met it full on, until Richie sighed and dropped his eyes back to his own beer. "You're a jerk," he said with resigned fondness, and Francis grinned. He picked up his bottle for another swig and when he swallowed said, "I know, I love that about me, too. Now finish that damn Bud, sugar, so I can get you another one."
Richie turned to him with a playfully accusing look. "You just want to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me."
"Damn straight. I love sex when you're smashed - you get so kinky."
The super-genius blushed deeply and Francis struggled with the urge to lean forward and kiss him. He held back, because he somehow doubted that his lover would appreciate getting frenched in front of an entire crowd of drunken spectators.
"I take it back. You're not a jerk - you're a lewd jerk." Richie spoke lowly with his mouth hidden by the lip of his bottle, and Francis adopted a wicked look. "Lewd? That's a bit strong, I think. I can do a whole lot better, though."
Richie glanced at him fearfully and nearly choked on the gulp of alcohol he had just taken. He swallowed quickly and coughed a bit. "Please, please don't. I don't need a repeat of last time."
"Oh, c'mon. Last time wasn't so bad."
Richie looked at him incredulously and hissed, "We got kicked out and nearly arrested for indecent exposure!"
Hotstreak snorted and tried to stifle his laughter and the man next to him bristled. "You gotta lighten up, babe. That was funny."
Richie had his mouth opened to start lecturing his man on how not 'funny' that was when the bartender stepped over to interrupt him with, "Hey, blondie. There's a guy down there offerin'."
The addressed man blinked, confused as thoughts of his tirade left him. He looked at the person talking to him questioningly. "Offering?"
The middle-aged woman nodded as she picked up Francis' now-empty beer. "Yeah. To buy you a drink. Any drink. 'nother o' the same, boy?"
Hotstreak would have given an indignant grumble at being called 'boy', but he was too busy leaning forward to look down the bar, trying to find who the bartender was passing this message for. A hand pushed gently back on his chest and he allowed himself to be moved. His eyes went to his boyfriend but Richie's eyes were on the woman. "Point him out to me," he said calmly, and Francis growled.
The bartender did so, and both of the men followed her finger to see a man sitting alone in the very last stool. A young man - mid-twenties at the most - sharply dressed with dark shoulder-length hair and bright eyes. Eyes that were fixated on them.
"Handsome," Richie commented nonchalantly, as if he didn't think it would bother the man next to him. Which it did. A lot.
The woman in front of them grinned as she bent down to grab something. When she came back up she had produced another Heineken and she set it before Hotstreak without looking at him, assuming correctly that he wanted another. "You'll take him up, then?"
The super-genius shrugged and ignored the tense anger that was just rolling off his lover with a nod. "Don't see why not - free beer is free beer."
He took a long draught of his drink to finish it off and then sighed, shaking it at the woman good-naturedly. "One more of these, courtesy of Mr. Handsome." She did as asked and when the beverage was in Richie's hand, he rose it to the man who was still looking at him smilingly and gave him a wink.
The bartender was called away quickly and the blond enjoyed his beer innocently, anger at his boyfriend forgotten in favor of torturing him. Francis seethed, trying not to say anything. Anger Management classes had taught him something, and something included 'don't speak in anger'. Which was very important if you considered that, when angry enough, he could breathe fire.
Richie's hand paused in its action of bringing his bottle to his mouth, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. "You know, I should go talk to him for a bit." His voice was light, but tinged with humor, and Hotstreak rumbled deep in his chest.
"No, no you should not." His tone was clipped and cold, and his fury only burned brighter when the blond lost his composure for a second and snorted. He regained it hurriedly, and schooled his features into mock innocence. "Why not?"
Francis gave a wordless sound that conveyed his pissed-offedness quite succinctly in way of reply, and his boyfriend grinned at him. "No need to be jealous, babe. You know you're the only one for me - no stud-muffin buyin' me a drink is gonna change that…" he paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before going on, "… but I'm still gonna go talk to him. S'only polite."
And then he stood up, walking away too quickly for Francis to catch with a smirk on his face.
The larger man watched for a moment, shocked, but shock soon gave way to more anger as his boyfriend reached the man and gave him a dazzling smile, extending his arm for a handshake.
He observed them intently, almost overwhelmed with the urge to walk over and drag Richie away from the intruding man. But he kept himself in check, breathing deeply and trying to convince himself to listen to what the super-genius had said. He was just being polite, and if Francis freaked and blew up a bar because he couldn't handle that, he'd be in the dog-house for a long time.
He was still impatient, though.
By the time Richie came back, he was very, very agitated. The younger man's pleased smile only made him more so. The hero sat down and silently picked his drink back up, but a sense of self-satisfaction was exuding off of him that pissed Hotstreak off to no end. Finally, when it became obvious that the man wasn't going to say anything without being prompted, he snapped out, "What?"
Richie didn't look at him. "He offered me a thousand dollars to spend the night with him."
He said it so casually, so banally, that for a moment Francis was sure he'd heard wrong. But the blonde's posture, expression, aura, told of someone who felt highly complimented. Hotstreak felt his brain give out on him and words fail him and when he didn't say anything, Richie went on with a with a careless shrug.
"I think I'll do it - I mean, what's one night of sex for a thousand dollars?" He finally turned to his boyfriend, a glint of consideration in his eyes. "But if he decides to go all American Psycho on me, I'll have to remember to take the elevator while he's killing the other prostitute, not the stairs. That way he won't be able to drop a chainsaw on me."
Francis looked very much disturbed at the blond talking about this as if it were an everyday thing, and only snapped out of it when Richie started laughing. Hysterically. The blond dropped his head into his arms and tried to get himself back under control, and Hotstreak snarled again, feeling himself heat up furiously.
"'m sorry, but you should'a… seen your face," he stopped long enough to gasp out before he succumbed to another peal of laughter.
The larger man swiftly shot out a hand to clench around the back of the laughing blonde's neck. Richie squeaked and turned his face, still in his arms, to look up at him. "If you even consider that for one more second, I'm going to burn that asshole alive, drag you to the car, and fuck you till you can't move, let alone whore yourself out for a grand."
Richie meeped, feeling the hand hot-hot and heavy on his neck, before his face slipped into a devious grin. "Is that a promise?"
…
B is for Black
…
"Francis, where are we going?"
Richie dug his heels into the ground and tensed the arm that his boyfriend had in a vice-like grip, pulling back with all his weight. Francis slowed and turned around to look at him, eyes exasperated, and Richie felt a tendril of childish dislike that even using all his strength, he couldn't phase the other's muscle.
"You'll see, babe. Now just c'mon." Hotstreak trudged forward again.
Richie rolled his eyes and flinched as his arm protested to being jerked so much. He tried to lengthen his stride to keep up with the pyro, and huffed out his reluctant agreement. "Fine, fine. Just let go of me - it hurts." He waved the hand of his right arm to emphasize, and Francis immediately let go with an apologetic sound.
The blond shook out his arm, feeling it ache and knowing he would have a bruise where Francis' hand had been later. He looked up and saw his lover staring at him with concern, and he put on his 'don't worry' smile. It was easily recognizable - he wore it quite often after most bedtime activities.
Francis gave a slightly contrite smile back, and then started forward. After a few steps, he noticed that Richie hadn't moved, and called over his shoulder, "Well, move it. This isn't the place to get caught alone in."
Richie looked around, and his legs moved on their own accord closer to the safety that was his boyfriend when he decided that Francis was very, very right.
The feel of this entire place was enough to send a shiver down his spine. The street was dark and cracked and every plant seemed withered, dying. The houses were all ancient affairs, huge and looming, and each one they passed looked more dilapidated and eerie than the last.
He saw some lights shining through dusty windows, proof that this neighborhood wasn't completely deserted, but that didn't make him feel any better. It really only made it all the more creepy.
Sticking close to the redhead who had forced him to come here, his hand reached out to gently close around his shoulder. The older boy slowed down and Richie made a quiet noise of appreciation when he snaked an arm around his waist. He leaned closer.
"Really, Frankie, what's the big secret?" He mumbled out, no longer peeved but now curious about why his lover was so adamant about taking him to this place.
"You'll see." Francis reiterated, voice mischievous and firm. Richie could only sigh again and try and enjoy the feeling of his boyfriend openly showing affection in public. Granted, there was no one out to see them, and even if there were, he doubted it would be anyone either of them knew, but still. He wished they could do this more.
The walk was comfortably silent, and the blond tried his hardest to concentrate on Francis and not on how uncanny their surroundings were becoming. It was getting darker and the wind was picking up, and the last light he had seen through a window had been about ten houses back. He shivered when he heard a groaning sound come from the left.
He looked over and saw a house, tall with spindly structures projecting from the roof and whitish, peeling paint. He watched a chair creakily rock back and forth on the front porch.
"God, they all look like they're about to collapse. Why hasn't this place been condemned?" He asked himself, not expecting an answer. Francis curled his arm tighter around him and gave one, anyway.
"The people around here won't let it happen. All of 'em are families that have been living here for three or four generations, and they won't leave, or let anyone make 'em."
Richie turned away from the house to look into his lover's grinning face, and frowned suspiciously. "How do you know that?"
"My mom does up old places like these for a living. She came around here a few years ago to see if she could find a potential job." He gave a slow perusal of the houses for theatrical effect. "She couldn't."
The blond immediately forgot his unease at hearing Francis talk about his family. The older metahuman was generally mum about anything to do with relatives or pasts.
"She revamps old houses?" He asked lightly, for he knew if he showed too much interest Hotstreak would change the subject and avoid his questions.
Francis nodded once. "Yeah, she likes all the old architectural stuff. Whenever she had me, she would drag me along to ancient piece a shit houses."
Richie smiled. The rest of their walk consisted of him prompting Francis to tell him more about his mother and his relationship with her and the older metahuman doing so.
He didn't notice they were coming to a dead end until they were looking up at a darkly painted house.
It was definitely largest they had seen so far and it stood completely overwhelming the rest of the scenery. It was so black he could barely differentiate its outline from the night sky, and it was like something out of a horror story. Every description that came to mind when one thought about scary houses, this one fit. Tall, ornate windows, all cracked or shattered. Decayed wood and moss-ridden statues in the courtyard and vines creeping up the walls. The wind blew strong and Richie swore he saw it tilt and sway.
He slowly turned his head, dreading what he would see on his boyfriend's face. His eyes widened when he saw a gleeful smile and he shrunk back. "No, no, no, no. Please don't tell me…" Francis only smiled wider and Richie quickly started scrabbling at the arm around his waist, trying to free himself so he could get away.
Hotstreak only held tighter and he sighed in frustration. He tried to breathe, to talk calmly. "Francis, please. Let's not do this."
The pyro leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "Why not, babe? It's just a house."
Richie shivered and tried to still himself. "C'mon, Frankie. We could go back and do something way more fun than root around in an old house," he said hopefully.
Francis made a noise of consideration, before he shook his head. "As tempting as your sex-bribes are, I wanna do this."
The blond groaned very unhappily and pulled back on the body that was trying to drag him through the front gate of the house. It was iron-wrought with pillars and ugly stone creatures, for goodness sake. "Noooo!" He moaned out, struggling more and leaning back with all his weight until Francis was forced to carry him to move him any farther.
When they were at the gate and Francis started to push it open, it screeched and Richie broke with a gasp.
"What d'ya wanna hear? That I'm scared? I am so scared. I don't even have any false bravado for you - I am scared to death of weird old places like this. People think that being a genius automatically makes you a skeptic, but you can't disprove creepy and please don'tmake me!" He said in a rush, and sighed in relief when his lover finally stopped.
Francis turned to look at him, and Richie deflated when he saw the smile was still in place. Albeit it was softer and that made him feel just a little better.
"Aw, babe, don't be scared," he crooned, not quite mockingly and that was what kept Richie from snapping at him. "I'll be there. I'll," he flicked his free hand and a flame immediately sprang into life, bright and casting shadows all around them, "light the way."
Richie exhaled sharply, hesitantly leaning forward to take his weight off his boyfriend, and he sidled himself to nestle close against the other's body. "Promise?" He asked quietly, resignedly.
Francis nodded with a reassuring noise as he finished pushed the gate open and walked them down the path to the front door.
"The things I do for you," Richie mumbled out sourly, feeling his boyfriend's chuckles reverberate though his own body. He groused and griped for all he was worth, but walked steadily along.
"You so totally owe me. You're coming to the next comic-con with me - and I'm dressing you however I want." He commanded imperiously, and Francis snorted, but didn't object.
…
There. Two down, twenty-four to go.