Thanks for the great reviews, everyone! It is my intent to finish this soon and get at least the first chapter of Sins of the Mother up ASAP - I am starting graduate school in a few weeks, and I don't anticipate having enough time to pump blood through my body, much less write often. Don't give up on me, though!
Kali - Shiv strikes me as the eternal tagalong - neither strong enough nor confident enough to make his own path in life. He needs somebody to take control, which Ebon is happy to do. Beware - Ebon/Shiv!
Estel Baggins - D'oh! I didn't even check my tapes to see if they named the darned school. Oh well, I'll make it right in future chapters. On my figures for the boys - you're right, Virgil was fourteen when he got his powers, but Richie didn't evolve into Gear until season three. I am giving them one year of just Static, so that leaves two years of superhero partnership until they reach the ripe old crime-busting age of seventeen. Also, I am having the guys be 'out' except for Richie's dad.
Snake Mistress - Not too many twists in this one, just straightforward action!
Phoenix87 - Hee-hee-hee! I think everyone will be pleasantly surprised by the identity of the "unfriendlies." I had a lot of fun writing them, but they were just as stubborn and snarky to me as they are onscreen.
astalder27 - I am worried for my little Richie, and I'm the author!
Valkyrie-alex - Thanks for the caution. I'll try to keep from doing that, but you know how it goes. There's so much you want the reader to know/understand before you get to the main plot that it sneaks in there. Alas, I have gone without a nickname for most of my life. I am, however, at times known as LL Cool V. I actually have a T-shirt with that on it! LL Cool J is a favorite actor of mine. I don't know that I've ever actually heard any of his music, though.
Thanks to everyone else who reviewed. Your reviews are as precious as H2O.
There is bad language (Ebon) and boy on boy action in this part (V/R). If you don't like slash, you shouldn't read this story.
On with the show (which I don't own).
"Excellent shot, Mr. Trapper," commented the brunette in the orange jumpsuit.
"Why, thank you, Mr. Specs," replied the blond as he turned and nonchalantly shot the unlucky van driver in the back. Trapper noticed several spots on his friend's sleeve were sticky with blood. "You're injured."
Specs flexed his arms. "It's just a scratch." He nodded towards the van and said, "The safety restraints on these models are state-of-the-art."
"Lucky for us."
"Indeed, Mr. Trapper.. But just how lucky remains to be seen." Specs' eyes narrowed as the last living passenger exited the van.
Ivan "Ebon" Evans was a tall, lean, very handsome black man in his mid-twenties. Although his face was unscarred, his eyes showed a lifetime of hardship. He glared at the other two prisoners and shouldered past Trapper, unmindful of the gun in the blonde's hands. Ebon lifted the keys from the dead guard on the ground and quickly freed himself from the handcuffs and leg irons.
Specs held out his own bound wrists for his turn at freedom. Ebon sneered and tossed the keys to the ground.
Trapper pointed the gun. "That wasn't very polite. Apologize to Mr. Specs."
Ebon's smirk never moved as the barrel of Shiv's .357 Magnum was pressed into Specs' neck.
"Didn't your mamma teach you that it isn't polite to point?" Shiv was proud of how tough he sounded. "Put the gun down."
"Do what he says, Mr. Trapper," said Specs. A bead of sweat, not necessarily from the heat of the afternoon, trickled down his face.
The guard's purloined weapon was eased to the ground. Trapper backed off as Ebon claimed it for his own. Trapper asked, "What now?"
"Now," said Ebon, "we're outta here. Let's go, Shiv."
"Uh, Ebon, about that. There's a teeny problem."
Ebon grabbed Shiv by the throat and thrust him against the van. "What problem?"
"Well you see, I was expecting the driver to stop before hitting the tree so that we could take the van. The car I stole to get up here? It's kinda…" Shiv paused trying to think of the best way to phrase his latest screw-up.
"Kinda what?" The question was punctuated by another shove into the twisted metal.
"Dead. It was a piece of junk. The electrical system shorted out after I hid it in the brush."
Ebon threw Shiv to the ground and stalked to the driver side of the van. It took two strong tugs to open the door; the driver's body was pulled out and allowed to fall unchecked. Ignoring the blood-spattered upholstery, Ebon seated himself behind the wheel and tried unsuccessfully to start the van. He bashed his fists against the dash.
"Shiv! You stupid fuck! You can't do anything right!"
While Ebon was haranguing the smaller man, Trapper and Specs removed their own chains.
"What day is today, Mr. Trapper?"
"Friday, Mr. Specs. The twenty-first."
"It's also the first week of the spring quarter for the high school dweebs. Which means…"
Trapper immediately grasped Specs' idea. "Excellent, Mr. Specs! Shall we clue in the Neanderthals?"
"Why not? We'll let them do all the grunt work." Specs and Trapper rounded the van and tried to catch the attention of the combatants.
"Ahem."
Ebon ceased pounding on Shiv long enough to glare at the pair. "What do you want?"
Trapper responded, "We have an idea for transportation. Mr. Specs?"
"Thank you, Mr. Trapper. For the last twenty years, Dakota Union High has been sending its gifted upperclassmen for a little campout up here in the hills." Air quotes and a disgusted sneer highlighted Trapper's thoughts on the adjective 'gifted' being applied to anyone but himself and Mr. Specs.
Shiv pulled himself to his feet and stood by Ebon. "Who cares about high school kids?"
Trapper glared at the purple-haired man. "I don't care about a bunch of sniveling brats. I do care that this is the school's traditional weekend to bring the simpletons out here."
"So?" was Shiv's snappy comeback.
"So, moron, the kids had to get up here somehow."
Shiv's expression turned thoughtful, an unusual look for him. "A bus with a bunch of kids passed by just before I took down the tree. That was probably them!"
Specs adjusted the glasses on his face and said, "And, as the only truly gifted students Dakota has ever produced, Mr. Trapper and I have previously participated in their little field trips. We know exactly where they set the campsite. It's a few miles down the road. They use the same place every year."
The men scavenged what they could from the guards and the van. With Trapper and Specs in the lead, they set off for the youth science expedition.
He was being followed. That didn't bother Richie as much as the fact that Keith sucked at surveillance. The boy was stepping on dry leaves and making little yelps whenever he tripped. It was actually embarrassing how bad this guy was at tailing someone. With a sly grin, Richie hid behind a wall of trees and began hooting. He knew Keith's strigiformophobia would drive him away. He was right. Three hoots into Richie's act, and Keith ran shrieking from the forest.
Richie was still chuckling when a hand clamped over his mouth and a strong arm jerked him back to an obviously male body. The way the hand on his stomach began to caress him, combined with that unique musky scent, eased his fear. He twisted in the now gentle embrace and met Virgil's lips with his own.
Virgil had sneaked away earlier and prepared a spot in the woods for the two lovers. He maneuvered Richie through the brush and trees until they came to a clearing. It was far enough away to offer them some privacy, yet close enough to the main camp to hear if someone started calling for them.
In the middle of Virgil's clearing, a sleeping bag had been spread on the soft grass. Virgil stripped Richie of his t-shirt, leaving the blond in baggy cut-offs and sneakers. He kissed his way voraciously down Richie's throat and chest and gently eased him onto the down-filled material. Richie wrapped his legs around Virgil and the lovers began thrusting against one another. They paused only long enough for Virgil to lose his own shirt. Bare skin rubbed bare skin while cloth-covered erections ground into one another.
Virgil felt completely in tune with his body. He could feel his blood racing through his extremities and could hear his heart pounding in his ears. His thrusts picked up speed, striving to match the pulse of his heartbeat. He sought Richie's mouth with his own and melded their lips together. Virgil was drowning in everything that was Richie, and he didn't want to be saved.
Physiological necessity demanded they break apart long enough to take in oxygen. As the teens gulped for air, they heard shouts from the direction of camp. Richie groaned and let his head drop back onto the bag. Damn. It was Mr. Boyle calling for Richie. Keith must have tattled.
Richie gave Virgil a half-smile and nudged the young man onto his side. "Sorry, bro. I better get back before he calls for reinforcements. Is Taylor covering for you?"
"Yeah," Virgil sighed. "I'll give you ten minutes, then sneak back to the tent. We'll try this again after everyone goes to sleep. I still have a bet to win."
Richie smiled, kissed Virgil soundly, and then headed off into the woods. Virgil, still laying on the ground, stared forlornly at his groin. It didn't seem to realize that playtime was over. Virgil bit his lip and smiled. His favorite playmate might be gone, but that didn't mean he couldn't kill some time. He had ten minutes. No prob.
The escaped prisoners and the abettor had cut through the woods, thus escaping the grueling climb the school bus had made earlier in the day. The four men on the hillside observed the activity in the camp below. They had seen one young man burst from the trees and run to one of the adults. The men moved closer. It looked like there might be an emergency; they would have to move in and take the bus immediately.
The coming darkness was on the side of the prisoners. They were able to get next to the bus before they were noticed. Ms. Pettibone was moving to assist one of her students when she was grabbed by Ebon. The students in the area screamed.
"Quiet!" demanded Ebon as he raised the gun. "Everybody keep your mouth shut and you won't get hurt. If you've got a cell phone or a walkie-talkie, you've got two minutes to bring them to me. I want canteens and food as well. If I find you're holding out, you're dead. Now move!"
Teens scattered to do as the dark man bid. They were too scared not to obey. When he had a small pile of electronics and camping supplies before him, Ebon released Ms. Pettibone and shoved her into the arms of Mr. Boyle. Trapper and Specsgathered the equipment and supplies and threw them into the luggage boot.
"Who has the keys?"
Mr. Boyle pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them into Shiv's waiting hands. Shiv scrambled inside and started the engine.
At that moment, Richie burst from the woods. He had his glasses off and was attempting to clean them on his jean shorts. He noticed everyone gathered near the bus. Had someone been hurt?
"What's going on?" Richie put on his glasses. Oh, shit.
Ebon gaped at the blond in shock. "Well, well, well. This just got more interesting. And maybe a whole lot more profitable."
"What do you mean?" asked Specs. He and Trapper didn't know the teen.
Ebon gestured for Richie to come nearer. With no real choice due to the danger to the teachers and students, the boy did as he was bid.
"You know how Superman always rushes in to save Lois Lane?"
"The reporter? Yes, of course, but what does that have to do with this nobody?"
"Meet Static Shock's very own Lois."
Richie adjusted his glasses and said, "I've always considered myself more the Jimmy Olsen-type."
Ebon grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him close. Whispering so no one could overhear he said, "I've always considered you my type."
He thrust Richie towards the bus. "He's coming with us. We'll need a hostage in case the cops get too close." Ebon handcuffed the young man and pushed him onto the bus.
"Mr. Trapper, I think we should invite someone else on our upcoming journey."
"Right, Mr. Specs." Trapper pointed to one of the young people surrounding them. "You!"
"Me?" came the shaky voice.
"Get over here. You're going on a little trip."
Keith shuddered as his hands were cuffed behind his body and he was forced onto the bus. He heard Richie yell something at the black man. Well, that did it. There was nothing Richie Foley could do that Keith couldn't do better. He'd show him. He'd show everybody. Keith would go with these guys and escape to find the cops. He'd be a hero and Richie would be grateful. Thoughts of a grateful Richie gave him something other than fear to concentrate on.
"Please," begged Mr. Boyle as he banged on the side of the bus. "Leave the boys here. I'll go with you. I promise I won't make any trouble."
"Oh, it's no trouble," replied Trapper as the bus began to pull out. He shot Mr. Boyle between the eyes and laughed as the body fell to the ground.
"No trouble at all."
Next chapter - Static misses his Jimmy and the non-con portion of our programming.