This is filled with lots of angst, slash, non-con, and character death. Please don't read if any of this disturbs you.
This story is AU - Brainiac's thought control disk worked on Static. Brainiac has taken control of Dakota and is bent on conquering the world, but his plan is stymied by the remnants of the Justice League and a ragtag band of survivors.
I don't own Static Shock or the Justice League. I am torturing the characters strictly for my own enjoyment.
He put the finishing touches on his surprise for Richie. They had had a pretty rough time of it, especially their first few months together. A romantic evening would surely be welcome.
The door opened and Richie entered the candlelit bedroom. He stopped in the doorway and stared silently at the silk sheets bespattered with rose petals.
"What's going on?"
He smiled at Richie's cautious question. The blonde boy had finally learned not to take things for granted.
"One year, Richie," he said. "One year to the day since we became as one." He popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and filled two glasses. He passed one to Richie. His fingers lingered over the boy's hand as Richie accepted the drink. He watched as Richie downed it in one gulp.
He refilled Richie's glass and sipped at his own cocktail. He motioned Richie further into the room then closed and locked the door. He did not wish to be disturbed tonight.
He could feel the tension in the room intensify when Richie heard the lock slide home. He turned and smiled at his treasure. Richie was drifting around the room sipping the champagne and stopping occasionally to touch the trinkets of their life together. When Richie faced him across the king-size bed, there were tear tracks on his face.
"What do you want me to do?" Richie's whisper was so soft that only his superior hearing allowed him to hear the question.
"Strip." He put his glass on the nightstand and rested his body on his elbows as he lounged on the bed. He lowered his head slightly and allowed his dreadlocks to fall into his face, thus masking his eyes. He loved to watch Richie at all times, but he especially loved watching the clothing fall from that beautiful body.
It was spring and Richie was dressed for the weather - shorts and a t-shirt, no socks or shoes. It wouldn't have mattered if it were the dead of winter, however. The young man was only allowed clothing that showed his body to the best advantage, i.e., practically nothing.
The t-shirt was first. Richie knew what his watcher liked. The shirt was drawn slowly upward and gave ample time for observation of his flat stomach and smooth chest. Next came the shorts. Richie's lack of enthusiasm for the evening ahead became obvious.
The dark-skinned boy on the bed was disappointed that Richie wasn't excited. He had been ready for Richie for what seemed like hours.
"Lay down."
Richie complied. A light sheen of sweat was already forming on his body; the pale skin glowed in the flickering light.
He knew he was the center of Richie's attention as he stood and slipped out of his dress robe. He stood proudly nude in front of the blonde. He dipped his fingers in the small pot of oil, which had been warming on a heating pad. The liquid felt good as he anointed his body. He took his time rubbing the oil across his chest, down his stomach, and generously coated his erection.
He had decided that tonight he would be the gentle lover Richie occasionally dreamed about. That is, if Richie cooperated.
"Spread your legs."
He held his breath as he waited to see what Richie would do. Sometimes Richie would give in. Something would be triggered inside him - a memory, a long-forgotten desire - and he would lose himself in the feelings the darker male evoked within him.
But sometimes? Sometimes Richie would fight. It didn't happen often any more, but when he first insisted on this intimacy between them, he would have to hold Richie down and force his way inside. He never enjoyed hurting Richie, but he didn't want the fight to completely leave the boy, either.
The uncertainty fueled his desire.
Seconds passed. He could almost see Richie debating the pros and cons of a fight tonight. He was immensely pleased and maybe vaguely disappointed when Richie gave a deep sigh and opened himself to the other's slick, questing fingers.
It didn't take long before Richie's body was prepared to receive him. They had done this in one form or another nearly every day of the last year. He allowed nothing to distract him from the pleasure and comfort he found in Richie. Not the riots, not the bombs, not the plagues. Nothing. Nothing could ever keep him from these moments.
He believed had become quite skilled in the art of lovemaking. He knew every centimeter of Richie's body and had studied his own for many hours. He knew where to touch and how hard to press; he knew when to move slowly and when to pound away furiously. Tonight was a slow and easy night. He wanted this to last.
His knowledge served him well. He kept both Richie and himself on the edge for hours. Finally, finally, he changed tactics to bring them both off quickly. There was only one thing more he required.
"Look at me, Richie. I want to see you when I make you come."
Richie's eyes, normally a crystalline blue, were dark with equal parts passion and hate. He was close.
"Say my name, Richie. Scream it for everyone to hear." He stroked Richie in time with his thrusts. Any second now.
Richie gasped as he felt his orgasm approaching. He locked his eyes on the face that he knew still housed the soul of his best friend. His hero. The boy he loved enough to have died for. The boy he loved enough to live for. As the pleasure rushed through his body, he complied with the last order before his breath was stolen away. The name echoed in the room and down the corridors.
"Brainiac!"
