Is it getting better in the pinnacle weather?
There are a lot of things I could say about yesterday as a California voter. How I voted, and it doesn't seem like enough when there are neighbors who are convinced in the inferiority of certain families and marriages for being different. Yet I still have hope, because I know and believe in the virtue of these families. That these people are capable of just as much love as anyone else.
Which means my idea of counteracting fear and bigotry is writing super fluffy domestic PWP slash stories. And maybe it's just my way of counteracting something so serious with something trivial when you look at it, but if it helps reaffirm things then it does what it's meant to do. Remind us why this is important. So if anyone has a terrible domestic prompt they want me to write I'd be happy to try.
“V, how many times have I told you not to kiss me right after you eat pancakes?”
“That’s cold, Richie.” Virgil Hawkins whined. Known to the world as the electrifying superhero Static Shock, there were plenty of villains who wanted to see the vulnerable look of defeat. Although not in the current context, and definitely not when he was doing what one could only term as a manly pout. “I thought you liked it when I used my smooth moves on you.”
Richard Foley pushed the bridge of his glasses up where Virgil had jostled them with his impromptu kiss. “Maybe it would be smoother if you had butter instead of maple syrup. Because as of right now, you’re sticky more than anything else.”
“I prefer to think of it as sweet,” he countered while diligently scrubbing the maple syrup from his beard.
Shaking his head ruefully, Richie went over to the counter to get a washcloth. He could offer up one of the self-cleaning solutions he’d been working on, but the first test run ended up with Virgil’s fingerprints being “wiped clean” for a week and he didn’t want to test it on his boyfriend’s face. Especially with his hair, because even after a super-genius brain and knowing Virgil since they were toddlers, he wasn’t going to mess with whatever chemical makeup that man put in his shampoo.
“Thanks,” Virgil said when he took the proffered washcloth, finishing the job. “Now am I presentable for the Watchtower?”
“Not in those boxers.”
“What’s wrong with them? They have Green Lantern insignias. They’re stylish. Hey, I bet Kyle’d get a kick out of them.”
Knowing he was teasing didn’t make Richie laugh any less on the mental image of Virgil strolling down the corridors with the likes of Hawkman, Wonder Woman and the Flash in nothing but his undershirt and Green Lantern boxers. Maybe his mask, but that would be an afterthought if he was getting attention for something besides showing off his secret identity at headquarters.
“Did you wash your hands too?”
“It was one little spill, I’m not a complete pig, Richie. At least not since the last time Circe showed up and went ‘Animal Farm’ on us.”
“Oh I know. You were a slob waaaaaaay before that. Honestly, you might have been easier to clean up after while you still had hooves.”
“Don’t remind me! I still have trouble eating bacon.”
Richie leaned over the table and brushed a kiss on the corner of Virgil’s mouth. “See? Sweet without the molasses aftertaste.”
“Hmmm, bacon.”
“You have such a one-track mind sometimes,” Richie sighed. He could expect it since his own brain processed five thoughts at once with the synaptic rearrangement, but Virgil was special in his own tunnel vision way. And vexing when he wanted to be.
“Not true,” the human battery replied airily and tugged Richie close. “I am also craving ham or sausage.”
“We don’t have any. Besides, don’t you have to check in for patrol soon?”
Virgil shifted against him in a suggestive way before leaning in to kiss him on the shoulder. “Monitor duty. I don’t check in until noon in their crazy moon time.”
“Really,” Richie asked. He surprised himself with the unchecked sound of interest in his voice.
“Yeah, so I think if I’ve already finished my fully balanced breakfast and still have a certain craving...”
The technogeek might have missed the implication if he hadn’t had years of experience building up their relationship to notice the certain nuances and signals they gave each other. As partners in the field it saved Richie “Gear” Foley, plenty of times. And there was the obvious hint of Virgil nipping his earlobe in a way that made Richie squirm against the ticklish scratch of his beard.
“Y-yeah, I think we can work with that.”
“And you always said we needed to work out more.” This time accompanied by his arms wrapping around his waist.
Richie was more than happy to devote all five of his thought processes on trying to determine what would come next when he got a sudden chill down his spine. Opening his eyes he discovered Virgil was staring dumbly over his shoulder and a mysterious shadow cast over them.
“…aw, don’t tell me.”
“Static. Gear.” Batman stood in the middle of their kitchen, the checkered drapes looking awkward against his full black cybernetic suit. He was glowering less than normal, which anyone else could guess as sheepish embarrassment if the Batman ever got embarrassed.
“Do you ever knock?” Virgil groaned.
“It’s urgent,” Batman said, and it almost sounded apologetic. In that gruff all-business way. “But Static is needed immediately. There’s been an electrical storm in Guatemala, and you’re the only one we can find at this time with Red Tornado off in space.” Yeah, mentions of the importance and being a last resort was the closest to sorry.
Virgil pulled away reluctantly. “Sorry, looks like duty calls. I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay, V.” And Richie wasn’t just saying it for show. Batman showing up in the prelude of a makeout session was more efficient than an arctic shower, as far as he was concerned. “We always have later.”
“Yeah. I’ll bring us some Mexican when I get back. Does Guatemala have good Mexican?” Virgil asked Batman.
By the time he turned around Batman was gone.
“Knew that’d happen. He always leaves when I ask him stuff like that.”
“Stop antagonizing Batman.”
“I will when he stops showing up in my kitchen when I’m wearing nothing but my Green Lantern boxers or probably less if he interrupted a few minutes later...”
“Just...go save Guatemala, okay?”
Which means my idea of counteracting fear and bigotry is writing super fluffy domestic PWP slash stories. And maybe it's just my way of counteracting something so serious with something trivial when you look at it, but if it helps reaffirm things then it does what it's meant to do. Remind us why this is important. So if anyone has a terrible domestic prompt they want me to write I'd be happy to try.
“V, how many times have I told you not to kiss me right after you eat pancakes?”
“That’s cold, Richie.” Virgil Hawkins whined. Known to the world as the electrifying superhero Static Shock, there were plenty of villains who wanted to see the vulnerable look of defeat. Although not in the current context, and definitely not when he was doing what one could only term as a manly pout. “I thought you liked it when I used my smooth moves on you.”
Richard Foley pushed the bridge of his glasses up where Virgil had jostled them with his impromptu kiss. “Maybe it would be smoother if you had butter instead of maple syrup. Because as of right now, you’re sticky more than anything else.”
“I prefer to think of it as sweet,” he countered while diligently scrubbing the maple syrup from his beard.
Shaking his head ruefully, Richie went over to the counter to get a washcloth. He could offer up one of the self-cleaning solutions he’d been working on, but the first test run ended up with Virgil’s fingerprints being “wiped clean” for a week and he didn’t want to test it on his boyfriend’s face. Especially with his hair, because even after a super-genius brain and knowing Virgil since they were toddlers, he wasn’t going to mess with whatever chemical makeup that man put in his shampoo.
“Thanks,” Virgil said when he took the proffered washcloth, finishing the job. “Now am I presentable for the Watchtower?”
“Not in those boxers.”
“What’s wrong with them? They have Green Lantern insignias. They’re stylish. Hey, I bet Kyle’d get a kick out of them.”
Knowing he was teasing didn’t make Richie laugh any less on the mental image of Virgil strolling down the corridors with the likes of Hawkman, Wonder Woman and the Flash in nothing but his undershirt and Green Lantern boxers. Maybe his mask, but that would be an afterthought if he was getting attention for something besides showing off his secret identity at headquarters.
“Did you wash your hands too?”
“It was one little spill, I’m not a complete pig, Richie. At least not since the last time Circe showed up and went ‘Animal Farm’ on us.”
“Oh I know. You were a slob waaaaaaay before that. Honestly, you might have been easier to clean up after while you still had hooves.”
“Don’t remind me! I still have trouble eating bacon.”
Richie leaned over the table and brushed a kiss on the corner of Virgil’s mouth. “See? Sweet without the molasses aftertaste.”
“Hmmm, bacon.”
“You have such a one-track mind sometimes,” Richie sighed. He could expect it since his own brain processed five thoughts at once with the synaptic rearrangement, but Virgil was special in his own tunnel vision way. And vexing when he wanted to be.
“Not true,” the human battery replied airily and tugged Richie close. “I am also craving ham or sausage.”
“We don’t have any. Besides, don’t you have to check in for patrol soon?”
Virgil shifted against him in a suggestive way before leaning in to kiss him on the shoulder. “Monitor duty. I don’t check in until noon in their crazy moon time.”
“Really,” Richie asked. He surprised himself with the unchecked sound of interest in his voice.
“Yeah, so I think if I’ve already finished my fully balanced breakfast and still have a certain craving...”
The technogeek might have missed the implication if he hadn’t had years of experience building up their relationship to notice the certain nuances and signals they gave each other. As partners in the field it saved Richie “Gear” Foley, plenty of times. And there was the obvious hint of Virgil nipping his earlobe in a way that made Richie squirm against the ticklish scratch of his beard.
“Y-yeah, I think we can work with that.”
“And you always said we needed to work out more.” This time accompanied by his arms wrapping around his waist.
Richie was more than happy to devote all five of his thought processes on trying to determine what would come next when he got a sudden chill down his spine. Opening his eyes he discovered Virgil was staring dumbly over his shoulder and a mysterious shadow cast over them.
“…aw, don’t tell me.”
“Static. Gear.” Batman stood in the middle of their kitchen, the checkered drapes looking awkward against his full black cybernetic suit. He was glowering less than normal, which anyone else could guess as sheepish embarrassment if the Batman ever got embarrassed.
“Do you ever knock?” Virgil groaned.
“It’s urgent,” Batman said, and it almost sounded apologetic. In that gruff all-business way. “But Static is needed immediately. There’s been an electrical storm in Guatemala, and you’re the only one we can find at this time with Red Tornado off in space.” Yeah, mentions of the importance and being a last resort was the closest to sorry.
Virgil pulled away reluctantly. “Sorry, looks like duty calls. I didn’t mean to...”
“It’s okay, V.” And Richie wasn’t just saying it for show. Batman showing up in the prelude of a makeout session was more efficient than an arctic shower, as far as he was concerned. “We always have later.”
“Yeah. I’ll bring us some Mexican when I get back. Does Guatemala have good Mexican?” Virgil asked Batman.
By the time he turned around Batman was gone.
“Knew that’d happen. He always leaves when I ask him stuff like that.”
“Stop antagonizing Batman.”
“I will when he stops showing up in my kitchen when I’m wearing nothing but my Green Lantern boxers or probably less if he interrupted a few minutes later...”
“Just...go save Guatemala, okay?”