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Lenses	By : draggrif Category: Kim Possible > AU/AR-Alternate Universe-Alternate Reality > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4479 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Lenses
- 1
Lenses
D.K. Archer

({ I don't usually write fics containing obvious sex, but this was for a challenge I couldn't pass up. ^^; This contains Ron/Felix, which should probably be a warning since in most states they are both legally underage. Like that bothers you, I'm sure. I also made an assumption involving Felix's reason to be in a wheelchair. Also, one of my betas was confused by the terms for mattress sizes, so for those of you who don't know, a Queen sized bed is a large, two person bed, the third largest that is commercially produced and usually used by married couples. A twin size bed in the one you probably had as a teenager, also known as a One Sleeper. Predictably, it only fits one person. And a Hollywood bed frame is one of the most basic frames, being a metal square with four wheeled legs to support the mattress. That should cover any confusion that reference might generate ^^; Have fun! )}

“I’m not a pet.” His mother said sulkily one night, arms crossed over her chest while she retreated into the cushions of her armchair. It faced an identical, empty one on the other side of the unlit gas stove.

“Of course you aren’t.” Wade had said. “I haven’t got a license for you.”

“A LI—“ She started. She cut her own indignance off, took a deep breath, and recrossed her nyloned knees in front of her. “Hmph.”

“Calm down.” He said flatly. “I’m joking.”

“It’s not funny!”

Wade smirked. “Sure it is.”

His mother glared, slumping down further in a defensive sulk. Her face was streaked with red; she’d had something to drink before sitting down for their chat. A lot of somethings. Through the camera lens mounted on the back of his father’s chair Wade noticed, when she crumpled her face, that she’d started to get wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. He wondered how long they’d been there.

Sighing, Wade slipped his fingers absently over the smooth letters of his keyboard. She was in one of those moods, apparently. Sometimes Wade was glad she’d stopped insisting they speak face to face.

“I think you just want to keep me here.” She said. “I think you WOULD get a license if you could.”

“I don’t need a license, you’re my mother.” He answered. She glared at the camera.

“I think we lost the excuse of family relationships a LONG time ago, Wade.” She said.

Wade didn’t answer.

“I’m not asking for much!” she continued. “I just want to be able to bring someone into this house without having them chased off! I want FRIENDS, Wade, I’m a forty five year old woman and I haven’t got any friends? What sort of life is that!”

Wade shifted back in his computer chair. “I haven’t stopped you from making friends.” He said blandly.

Her eyes flashed. “Haven’t you? Do you know who the last person to come to this house was?” she asked sharply. “The last TEN people? All of them, some representative of a company come to beg your services, come to prostrate themselves at your feet and hope you bestow the gift of your wisdom on their poor, failing systems. Certainly no friends of mine! I’d swear, you shit diamonds the way they treat you.”

Wade looked flatly at the monitor. His mother’s face was pulled down in a dark, petulant glare.

“And you know what’s really awful?” she went on. “When they come all this way to speak to you in person, you set them down in front of that screen in the wall and hold the meeting from your room. You can’t even be bothered to come out and sign their contracts in person, you do it through the scanner!” She stopped to huff. “Which is still a damn sight better than you treat me!” she snapped “At least they get to see your face, I spend all my time talking to security cameras!”

Wade sighed and looked up at the antiquated Chrono Trigger poster on his ceiling. “Is this about me missing Thanksgiving again?” he asked. He HAD been busy, and it wasn’t his fault she’d spent the evening alone. His mother screwed up her face.

“Not everything is about you!”

“Well you’re certainly making it sound that way.” He said flatly.

“For once this is about ME!” she shouted. His mother had uncoiled out of the chair then, her foot hitting something on the ground that fell over with a muffled thump. She swore, and he aimed the whirring camera down to watch her scrabble at the wet neck of the bourbon bottle, holding it up and away from the carpet while she blotted the stain uselessly with her fingers. “I got it.” He mumbled, typing a quick command into the computer keyboard and hit enter. Down in the main room, a steel wall panel flipped up and one of the set of thirteen cleaning mice ran out on rubber wheels, careening into the space between his mother’s legs and sucking frantically at the bourbon stain with plastic lips. His mother shrieked and stumbled back into the chair, feet over her head with her polite black business skirt flipping onto her stomach. She angrily righted herself and jerked her skirt back down, shooting the camera with an acidic glare.

The mouse squeaked as the dustbag in its stomach swelled past the half way point with liquor, and his mother abruptly upturned the bourbon bottle and poured it over the mechanical cleaner. There was a shrill popping sound and she flinched back away from a flying spark as one of the mouse’s pink diode eyes popped out to hang by the wire. Wade’s computer flashed malfunction warnings, and four more mice shot out of the wall panel without being asked, gathering at his mother’s feet to suck and scurry, nudging the broken mouse along with them. She turned her eyes back to the camera and waited, daring Wade to say something.

Wade frowned, and turned off the camera.

The red power light went out.

***

Wade leaned back in his chair and glared at the computer screen as it asked him if there was a monitor he’d like to go to, or perhaps he’d like to instruct the cleaning mice? He typed a quick command to scrap the broken mouse and begin on a new one, and the electricity gutted for a moment while construction machines somewhere in the basement powered up. The extra electric hum was added to the background noise of the house.

The computer asked him, is there anything else he would like to do?

Frankly, there was, but it wasn’t something he could type into the computer. He grumbled to himself and glanced around for the potato chip bag he knew was somewhere around here, since he’d long ago taught the cleaners NOT to pick it up unless they were absolutely sure he was done with it. He’d lost a lot of Slurpees that way. He spotted the glint of the foil lining half buried under a discarded cable and grabbed it, stuffing a handful of stale, Barbeque flavored chips in his mouth and chewing noisily.

The computer asked him again, is there anything else he would like to do?

Wade wiped his hands off on the front of his shirt and went to his list of reminders. He still had to clear up that mainframe malfunction in the insurance company, which wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes, and he ought to call at the Lowerton Hospital to see how Mr. Takei was doing.

Or maybe not.

Takei was his mother’s immediate superior at Meyer and Brown’s Real Estate. He’d somehow ended up in bed with an old six inch nail from the house’s floor joists, well crusted with rust, but still surprisingly sharp. It wasn’t entirely surprising that such a thing could happen; he’d been carefully trying to restore the century old shack ever since he moved into it a few months ago, putting his meager home improvement skills to the test to make the house not necessarily better, but different. He wasn’t a good enough carpenter to make it better. He’d somehow managed to roll just right in bed that the stray nail went not only through his abdominal wall but into the soft outer tissue of his kidney.

Takei hadn’t had his tetanus shots (imagine that). His mother had been less than happy to hear he wouldn’t be able to go on their date this Saturday.

(Somewhere down at the bottom of Wade’s To-Do list was a note to get his robot out of Mr. Takei’s bedroom wall before he was released from the hospital. It had gotten tangled in the naked wiring while fleeing the scene, and hadn’t been equipped to cut itself loose. Wade sometimes wished he had a little more foresight in these things.)

Knowing the mainframe malfunction could wait until he was more in the programming mood, he switched to the camera bank and glanced down the long page of views, reduced to the size of thumbnails with the camera’s location printed neatly below it in Arial type. They were listed in groups. The largest bulk of cameras were in his own house, of course, followed by the Meyer and Brown Real Estate, and the Possible household. The Stoppable’s had about fourteen, and there was a liberal scattering around Middleton High, a few in cafes and fast food joints and movie theatres, a handful in the main rooms of his mother’s coworkers’, and some in the houses of Middleton High students (including the cheerleading squad). There were also fifteen mobile cameras, all currently offline.

POSSIBLE, BEDROOM, KIMBERLY ANN

He clicked the thumbnail and the shot enlarged to fill up a third of the screen. Kim Possible was sprawled on her bedroom floor with a mess of geometry papers, her pencil eraser butted up against her lip and thinking way too hard about the problems before her. Her hair was wet from the shower and she’d changed out of her mission uniform (it had just been a quick outing after school, ‘no big’ as she would say). Wade pushed a close up view of the homework. All the problems were neat and tidy, obsessively perfect, and all the numbers crunched without a calculator. He scanned down it, noticed she’d forgotten to carry in the third equation, and dismissed it.

Elsewhere in the Possible household the Twins were huddled over a model airplane, though he suspected their version was made of more effective materials than balsa and glue. Her father was reading a bad spy novel in the den and her mother was going over paperwork, probably legal backwash from the hospital. Wade scanned down the list of thumbnails to the Stoppable household.

The Stoppables were always more interesting to watch than the Possibles. The Possibles had this disturbing aura of functionality around them, asserting that no matter what happened they would stick together instead of turning on each other like starved pit bulls. It was disgusting. The Stoppables, on the other hand, never even bothered to present a united front; Wade hadn’t seen them all in the same room together in months.

The camera in Mr. Stoppable’s study showed him leaned over a mess of charts and forms, like he usually was, doing more than his fair share of the work for Middleton Insurance without even being asked. The study was a dark, wood toned cave that just reeked of masculinity; no one else ever went in there (and he rarely ever left)

Mrs. Stoppable sat at the kitchen table with her legs crossed, humming to herself while she ran down the pages in her date book, trying to clear it all up. Most of what was written was in pencil, including half her work shifts. However, one of the things always in pen were the words ‘D.B. for lunch’ or ‘D.B. for dinner’ or even just ‘D.B. Movie’, all inked in the appropriate time slot. Mrs. Stoppable usually told either Ron or her husband she was going out with some girlfriends when she disappeared those days, but Wade had watched her arrive at the movie theatre (some places were just made for spy cameras; a bootlegger’s heaven) and the man in the brown leather jacket, the one who picked her up and swung her around before he kissed her, was not a girlfriend.

Ron, for his part, was in his own little section of the house. He had a bedroom, a bathroom, and a game room that no one else really bothered with, the same as his mother and father had their own little worlds, though theirs overlapped in the form of a bedroom. Ron was currently in the bathroom, leaning over the sink with his nose up to the mirror, pulling his lips back with his fingers. He stuck his tongue out and wiggled a loose tooth in the front with it, beside his upper canine, and a thin rim of blood appeared on the gum. He grumbled and put his hands down, sucking the damaged tooth sulkily. He’d gotten punched sometime during the last mission. Unlike Kim Possible, Ron rarely escaped a mission without a scratch.

He sneered at himself in the mirror and prodded the tooth again, tapping it with his finger. The tooth wiggled just a little too far and a fat well of blood slipped down it, spattering on Ron’s lower lip, and he jerked back with a slurp and a disgusted grimace. “Aw man.” He yanked a few sheets of the toilet paper roll and balled it up around his tooth, letting the blood absorb into a bright red blotch.

The telephone rang in Ron’s bedroom. Wade started the process of the phone tap before Ron even got the receiver out of the rest.

“H’lo?” Ron said around the tissue.

“Ron?” asked the other end. Ron’s eyebrows went up, his expression immediately brightening with a stupid grin Wade had seen on him a lot lately.

“F’lix! H’s i’ ha’i ‘ro?”

The line was quiet for a moment. “Umm. Okay, what the hell is wrong with your mouth, Ron?” Felix asked. “You sound like you’re gargling rocks.”

Ron jerked the tissue ball away with a wince. “Eh heh. Sorry, loose tooth.” He said sheepishly.

“Ouch. Aren’t you a little old to have baby teeth?”

“Who said anything about baby teeth?” Ron snorted.

“So I’m guessing your last mission could have gone better.” Felix’s wince was audible.

Ron smirked. “It went fine, actually. Caught the bad guy, saved the weenie factory, and all is well in Who-Ville. The only casualty is my tooth. God rest its soul.”

“Mm.” Felix said. It sounded like he was smiling. “So I suppose your mouth will be back to working order in a week or so, hm?” he asked. “Guess we’ll just have to play video games when I come over…”

“The mouth works fine!” Ron said quickly. Then, “Er, you’re coming over?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay. My parents are looking for some private time tonight, so I figured I could get some private time myself.”

Ron started grinning again. “Okay. When are you gonna get here?”

“Thirty minutes okay?”

“Thirty minutes is awesome.” Ron replied.

“Cool. I’ll see ya.” Felix said.

“See ya, man.”

The line went dead. Wade dropped the phone tap and turned up the audio on Ron’s screen.

“Boo-Yah!” Ron was shouting. Then he paused. “I still smell like the hot dog factory!” he groaned. “Ah man!”

There was a scurry as Ron vanished from the bedroom into the bathroom, shedding his black mission clothes along the way, and Wade switched screens again. Ron fumbled to turn the shower on and waited impatiently while the water heated up.

Kim would kill him if she ever knew all the places Wade had his cameras, and all the things he was able to watch with them. Kim’s modesty, however, had nothing to worry about; Wade hadn’t watched her in the shower since a few weeks after he’d been ‘gifted’ to the crime fighter for helping save one of his employing companies from some villainous scheme. He’d been supposed to outfit her with equipment and monitor her website, all paid for by the company, of course, and for a bonus to himself Wade had set up his cameras in strategic locations, including a handful of mobiles to watch her in action. Kim Possible was good. Good enough to fight these second class whack-jobs she was called out for, the comic book wannabees too far gone to consider using a gun instead of a piranha pit, the ones who valued style over effectiveness. For what her job was, Kim Possible did it very well, and most of the time escaped without a scratch.

Ron was rarely that lucky. Ron Stoppable always got hurt, knowing less about how to take a fall, or a punch. It was a bad deal, since he was the half of Team Possible who couldn’t get help, the one who’s parents didn’t know what he did during the day, and moreso, didn’t care. He’d been the one who’d spent a long night alone bent over the toilet, vomiting a slew of blood and mucus after falling out of a burning helicopter. It never occurred to Kim Possible that just because she’d escaped from a situation okay, it didn’t mean her sidekick did. Ron never said a word about it. If he did, he was afraid she wouldn’t let him come anymore.

Today, Ron was sporting an old bruise on his right shoulder, a fading splotch turning yellow as it healed, as wide as his palm. He’d gotten it a week ago when he was slammed into a locker by the full-back off the football team. His shins were barked up, but they usually were, and his knees were a dark stain of callous and childhood scarring. Wade had seen him looking worse. Much worse.

The moment the shower began to steam Ron jumped in and began furiously shampooing his hair, the water covering his skin in a wet gloss. Bruises showed up well on that skintone. So did the freckles, which didn’t confine themselves to his cheeks. There were a few pale pink lines of scars down by his hips, and a thick one unnervingly close to a major artery, down in the scraggly teenage fur of his groin, but he’d had them for as long as Wade had been with them, and he suspected they were from nothing more exotic than a bicycle accident. Ron was muttering to himself as he rinsed his head off, already fumbling blindly for the soap bar. Wade’s microphone didn’t pick up anything identifiable except what Wade had expected to hear; the name Felix somewhere in the mumbling.

It had been an interesting discovery Wade made a few weeks ago. He had been flipping through his camera feed and caught sight of Ron pinned against the arm of the couch, by Felix, two video game controllers forgotten on the ground. Ron’s face had been red, but so had the other boy’s, and while Wade watched in curiosity Felix had pushed forward and gently kissed Ron on the mouth. Wade had had to backtrack through the recordings an hour to figure out what had led to this, but when he had, he’d started laughing. There was something very….RON…about it all. It would have been strange to see a normal relationship having anything to do with the Stoppable household. If it had been some cute, happy girl who’d reciprocated Ron’s crushing, Wade would have suspected something was up. But this was another teenage boy, one paralyzed from the waist down, even. It fit the abnormality perfectly.

He’d put one camera in Felix’s house, in his bedroom, just to see. Wade didn’t watch it much.

On screen, Ron turned off the water and shook his head, tripping out of the stall. He grabbed a fat green towel off the Probably Clean pile by the door and made short work of himself, messing up his hair into a yellow dandelion puff and running back to his bedroom, snatching up discarded clothes on the way and stuffing the whole mess down the laundry chute. Wade flipped to the bedroom camera and watched Ron fumble around in his dresser drawers, tossing out the clean, unfolded clothes, before jerking out the same old cargo pants from Wal Mart he always wore and a white t-shirt that had come in a four pack, and stuffed himself into them. By the time he was trying to get his hair plastered down flat, Wade could hear the faint chime of the Stoppable’s doorbell.

Felix, he’d noticed, was always early.

Ron crammed his feet into his sneakers and ran down the stairs, tripping on his untied shoe laces half way down and nearly pulling a perfect faceplant into the carpet below if he hadn’t grabbed onto the slats of the banister. Wade checked to see Felix sitting outside, the van he’d come in already taillights at the end of the block.

“*SKK* WADE!”

Wade jumped, startled. He blinked at the computer speaker, and took a moment to realize it was coming from the kitchen line.

“What is it, Mom?” He asked, one eye drifting towards the screen, where Ron was letting Felix in the house with an embarrassed laugh.

“I need to use the phone.” She snapped, fumbling her consonants just a little. “Open the line for me.”

Wade frowned. “Who do you need to call?” he asked.

His mother was quiet for a moment. Ron was heading upstairs, shoelaces still flopping, followed by Felix’s all-terrain wheelchair.

“It’s none of your god damned business who I need to call.” Wade’s mother said finally. “Open the line!”

“Not until you tell me who you’re calling, you know that, Mother.” Wade sighed, patience a little thin at the moment. Something bumped against the speaker on his mother’s end.

“I said it’s none of your business!”

Wade sighed and turned his full attention to the screen again. “Go to bed.” He told her wearily. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not d-drunk!” she snapped, and Wade rolled his eyes. “If you won’t let me use the telephone I can just get in the car and drive there you know!”

Wade’s hand moved absently over the keyboard, and even in the protected sanctuary of his room he heard the snap as all the bolts in the house shot at once, including the one of his bedroom door. “Go to bed.” He told her again, cutting off the line just as she started to shriek in indignance.

Felix had managed to maneuver himself through the door to the game room, and Ron was helping him shift over to the couch, holding him up by an arm around the ribs. He untwisted the boy’s legs thoughtlessly and sat down next to him. Ron had been talking the whole time. Wade brought the audio back up to the speakers.

“—and then the big ol’ doom cannon’s going off and there’s hot dogs everywhere, and Kim’s flying, and the factory managers are all hiding under the table but Rufus does some mad mole rat skills and climbs inside the gun casing and starts to rip out the circuitry--”

“Hey, where is Rufus, anyway?” Felix asked, looking around.

Ron waved it off. “He ate, like, a whole chain of hotdogs after we saved the factory. He’s sleeping it off in my room.”

Felix wrinkled his nose. “Hot dogs CAN’T be healthy for mole rats.”

“Meh, he’s a rat, rats can eat anything.” Ron said. “Hot dogs are just dog food for people.”

“…eww?” Felix said. “Thank you. I ate one of those for lunch, you know.”

Ron grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Wade’s computer screen flashed, and a bright red WARNING window appeared over the video feed. Wade scowled and requested information. The cleaning mice were giving incapacitated signals one after the other. Six of them were deployed, and the seventh was going out to the kitchen after them as the warning beeped. A few seconds later it registered as damaged.

Wade brought up the view of the kitchen. His mother was standing by the open refrigerator with the hammer from the tool box, a mess of broken jars and spilt milk at her feet. Damaged cleaning mice were twitching in the mess, their casings split and their sacks popped open like blisters.

“MOTHER!” Wade snapped. She looked up, took a moment to locate the camera, and just stared at it.

“Put down the hammer and GO TO BED.” Wade ordered.

“I will not go to bed!” she said petulantly, her lower lip trembling. “Wade, you unlock these doors this instant! I don’t care if you’re the man of the house, I’m still your mother, and you have no right to treat me this way! If I want to go out it’s entirely my business!”

Wade watched the screen with level eyes.

“You’re drunk.” He told her again. “I wouldn’t be much of a son if I let you go out in this condition, now would I.”

“It’s none of your concern how I go out!” she shouted. “Wade, unlock that door! I’m ordering you as your mother!”

Wade was unfazed. He typed a chain of commands into his machine, and down in the kitchen, underneath the sink, a pair of wide, red, diode eyes illuminated the darkness.

She was not finished. “I will not be bullied by my own son!” she snapped. “Wade, you’re letting this all go too far! I know Mr. Takei didn’t end up in bed with a nail on his own. It happened after he asked me on a date, THAT’S what happened! You don’t think I know what you watch, young man? I’ve seen your cameras! In my bedroom. In my SHOWER!”

The cabinet door beneath the sink swung open, and something low and scurrying pushed out, thick mechanical legs digging divots in the linoleum. His mother shrieked and the hammer dropped to the ground. The machine gave a rumbling and a hiss of hydraulics and pushed itself up on periscope legs, straddling the mess of shattered mice. A thick whipchain fell out from below its eyes like a tongue.

His mother turned and ran for the door. The machine jerked, and the whipchain flew out after her, snatching at her ankle and coming away with a strip of pale skin.

“Go to bed.” Wade said again, piping through to all the rooms as the machine rolled after her into the living room, onto thick green plush. His mother gave a great hysterical sob and ran for the stairs, tripping in her business heels. Wade waited until she got to her bedroom. Then he typed in his commands. Downstairs, the robot slowly lowered itself back down into its compact state in the doorframe, the grumbling of gears went quiet, and the red diode eyes faded off. Only the faint hum of its sensors played while the house brought down the lights, and in the kitchen, finally protected, the remaining cleaner mice hurried to clean up their brethren from the puddle of warming milk.

Back at the Stoppable residence, Wade’s camera, which was hidden in the broken speaker of Ron’s stereo, was still calmly watching the couch. Ron was talking rapid fire, sitting hip to hip with Felix and making broad illustrations with his hands that looked like someone had poured him full of Egyptian coffee. All that was coming through the speakers was wet slurps and scurries, and the chink of metal bumping metal. When Felix grabbed one of Ron’s flying hands and jerked it down, pulling the startled boy with it towards him, Wade finally realized it wasn’t a matter of speaker malfunction, he’d just forgotten to switch the audio back from the kitchen in his moment of distress. He typed the command and grabbed absently at his bag of potato chips. No sound came through. Felix had finally found an effective way to shut Ron up.

When Felix let go of his shirt collar Ron pulled away from the kiss, startled, pink faced, and looking like his train of thought had not only derailed but fallen off the lumber bridge and killed everyone on board. He blinked a few times, and Felix grinned.

“Umm. What was that for?” he asked after a long moment, the corners of his mouth pushing up into an involuntary smile. Felix shifted his grip on Ron’s wrist so their fingers meshed together.

“I think I’ve heard about all I can stand of the perilous assault on the hot dog factory.” He said, smirking. “I actually like those things, you know. I don’t want to think about how they’re made.”

“Um. Kay.” Ron said. He looked like his brain was still stuck somewhere in the valley below the bridge. Felix smiled, an obvious expression of ‘aww, cute’ that made Wade stick his tongue out, and kissed him again. Ron’s face was rapidly shifting to red instead of just pink, and his free hand hovered cluelessly somewhere below Felix’s elbow, unsure what to do with itself. After a moment it settled on the boy’s flank and stayed absolutely still.

Felix was the one who broke it. “A few weeks ago, I was the first person you ever kissed…wasn’t I.” Felix asked abruptly, pulling back only an inch and smirking. Ron wasn’t the only one suffering from a blush. Ron, however, was smacked with the unsteady look of a heavily infatuated teenager, and only managed a nervous grin. Felix’s smile pulled up to show his canines and he jerked Ron forward again, dragging him back until he had to brace a palm against the arm of the couch, cornering Felix. Ron’s back was to the camera now, and all Wade could see was an awkward shift from Felix, arching his back while one of his hands covered over Ron’s and pushed it lower down his chest. He was murmering something in a low tone, too low for the microphone to pick up.

Felix slid his hand around to the back of Ron’s neck and brushed his fingers through the untrimmed fuzz of his haircut. Ron had stopped moving but his breathing was heavier, and Wade suddenly wished he’d installed a better microphone in this camera. Felix’s low murmur apparently reached a question because he turned his head, a nervous, tentative smile on his face.

Ron jerked back abruptly.

Felix sat up and grabbed Ron’s sleeve before he could retreat to the far side of the couch. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked quickly. Ron just blinked at him, fish mouthed.

“We-we can’t!” he flustered.

Felix stared right back in confusion. “Why not?”

Ron sputtered for a moment, looking horrifically embarrassed, and made some vague gesture to Felix’s hips. Felix seemed to get the idea before Ron got the words out. The wrong idea. He flinched and pulled his hands back. “Oh.” He said quietly.

Ron stared at him for a moment, then his eyebrows shot up. “No! It’s not that, it’s got nothing to do with you being paralyzed!” he defended quickly. Then grimaced. “Er..well…”

Felix blinked at him. Ron’s face turned a much darker shade, and he tried to stutter something, stopped, and started again. It didn’t sound like the same question the second time.

“D-does your…um…even work?” Ron fumbled, gesturing vaguely to Felix’s hips again. Felix looked startled, then a slow smile started on his mouth, a little to Ron’s surprise.

“My muscles are paralyzed from the waist down.” He said carefully, a little slower than necessary while trying to keep the smirk off his face. “Last I checked, THAT had nothing to do with my muscles.”

Ron’s face looked like it would catch fire if it got any hotter. Wade placidly munched another handful of potato chips.

“I-I thought you couldn’t feel anything.” Ron stuttered.

Felix shrugged. “I can’t.” he said, trying and failing to sound completely nonchalant about that fact. “But that wasn’t really the point.”

“Then…what is the point?” Ron asked nervously.

“The point,” Felix explained softly. “Would be that you would enjoy it. And I would enjoy doing it to you.”

Ron’s expression must have been something, because Felix chuckled and leaned towards him, his hand pushing Ron’s t-shirt up as it slid up his back. He kissed Ron, surprisingly softly.

“I like you, Ron.” He admitted after a moment. “A lot.”

Ron was mute.

“I…I think you like me too, don’t you?” He sounded a little less sure this time. After a long moment, Ron nodded. “Y-yeah. Of course I do.” He said. Felix smiled, and his other hand slid up flat against Ron’s belly, pushing the front of the t-shirt up as well as it ran over the hairless skin of Ron’s smooth, childish torso.

“Lift your arms up.” Felix told him, eyelids slipping down to a seductive smile. For a moment, Wade thought Ron wasn’t going to cooperate, but after a long pause he hesitantly did as told, letting Felix pull the cheap t-shirt over his head toss it to the other end of the sofa, where it slipped off the arm and puddled on the old shag carpeting.

“I…I don’t have any more experience with this than you do.” Felix admitted apologetically. “I don’t—I don’t know what—“

Ron’s lips quirked a nervous smile. “Yeah, me neither.” He said. Felix gave a nervous chuckle and put a hand on Ron’s chest, examining the difference in their skin tone. Ron leaned forward to kiss the other boy on the temple. “Do you want me to..um..” he tugged the hem of Felix’s grey sweatshirt, and Felix nodded against his shoulder. Ron grabbed ahold of the hem and pulled, jerking it over the boy’s head and messing up his hair. After looking around for a moment in confusion Ron tossed it in the same direction Felix had tossed his, though this time it caught on the back of the couch and stayed there.

Wade put his hand in the potato chip bag again and came up with scraps. He sighed and tossed it away from the desk, rubbing the grease off on his shirt. On the bottom of his screen the computer was reporting the progress of the cleaning mice in short bursts of code, and Wade gave it a cursory glance. They were almost done with his mother’s tantrum.

Felix opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t seem to remember what it was. Instead he pressed his palms against Ron’s collar bones, fanning his fingers out over the tendon and muscle, thumbs resting gently against the his throat. Ron took a deep breath and leaned forward, and touched Felix’s mouth with his own, chastely, like he was kissing a cousin. One of Ron’s hands retreated nervously into the space between them and Wade’s camera was blocked by Ron’s back, but Felix chuckled, and pushed his fingers through Ron’s hair.

“Nothing.” He said patiently, smiling a little. “I told you. I can’t feel a thing below the waist.”

Ron tried to pull back, embarrassed, but Felix wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled him in again, kissing the boy with much more intent than Ron began with. It took Ron a long moment to get used to the idea. Slowly, he began to relax, hands coming up to touch the sides of Felix’s face as he kissed him.

They stayed like that for some time, and Wade considered going back to see what his mother was doing, but suddenly Felix began to push Ron back, and he went, surprised.

“W-whats wrong?” he asked. Felix’s face had settled into a faint pink bar over the bridge of his nose. Squirming, he pushed himself back into the couch cushion and picked up one of his dead legs, moving it apart from the other. He patted the space between his knees, like he was inviting a dog to jump up. “Um, s-sit down.” He said. “With your back to me.”

Ron looked confused. Felix, however, didn’t seem keen on elaborating, and just sat there looking flushed and embarrassed, his trousers tented with a useless erection. Slowly, Ron crawled over Felix’s leg and sat himself down between them, on the edge of the cushion, looking over his shoulder warily. Felix wrapped his arms around Ron’s ribs, pulling him back against his chest, and Ron’s eyes flickered with worry.

“Relax.” Felix muttered. “You aren’t going to--” He blinked, looking down at the back of Ron’s shoulder. He lifted a hand to touch it, carefully. “What happened to your shoulder?” he asked, blinking.

Ron craned his neck around, confused. “What?”

“Your shoulder. Looks like you got hit or something.” He said, running his fingers carefully over the bruise. Ron looked embarrassed.

“Umm. Jock.” He said.

“Jock?”

“Jock and a hard place.”

“Ah.” Felix said. He kissed it gently, and hesitated, like he wanted to say something else. But he shook it off and let his hands slip around Ron’s waist again. “Go ahead and lean back.” He said quietly. “You won’t squish me. Promise.”

A tic of a smile struck the corner of Ron’s mouth and disappeared as quickly. His muscles slowly began to let go, cautiously leaning more weight back against the boy, and Felix turned in to kiss the corner of his jaw until Ron was slack against him. He nudged Ron to lay his head back against his shoulder, and his hands began to creep over the muscles planes of his abdomen, counting off the bumps of ribs and muscle invisible beneath the surface. Ron shivered and slid a hand up tentatively to cup the back of Felix’s neck, having nothing else to do with itself.

“Relax.” Felix mumbled again, almost too low for the microphone to pick up, and then his hand slid down the slight line of fur on Ron’s belly, under his waistband, and down into the front of his trousers.

Ron jerked. Wade heard the panicked gasp and Felix’s arm tightened around him just as convulsively. “I’m not going to hurt you!” Felix said, and Ron froze. Wade smirked; the boy was stupid if he thought THAT was the issue (but then, Felix hadn’t seen quite so much of Ron as Wade had, he might actually believe it was a trust thing). Ron’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling and after a long moment everything dropped slack again, though as far as Wade could see he wasn’t breathing. Felix waited a moment, then looked worried. “Breathe.” He ordered. Ron swallowed, and his chest rose, his arm slipping back further around the boy’s neck.

“…are you okay?” Felix asked softly, stroking his stomach slowly with his thumb. Ron flinched, but nodded jerkily. His forehead had a pinched look. He didn’t look very okay to Wade.

The hand down the front of his trousers began to move again, and Ron squirmed. Felix pressed his face against Ron’s neck and began to murmur softly to him. He must have said SOMETHING right because Ron’s breathing began to level out a little, though that pinched look on his forehead didn’t change. Wade recognized the expression as one out of a bad porno movie, where the bad actress in a school girl uniform tried her damnedest to convince the camera she didn’t want to do this. Though really, Ron’s looked a little closer to the girl in the snuff video.

Wade’s computer interrupted to announce that the cleaning mice had finished their job, would he like to give instructions? He grumbled and typed in a command to begin repairs and rebuilding. And to install a lock on his mother’s bedroom door. The computer processed it and went quiet.

Ron’s back twitched into an uncomfortable arch. (The low noise he made sounded anything but positive.) Felix glanced nervously at him, pressing down on his belly. “Are you okay?” he asked again. Ron’s head made a movement that looked vaguely like a nod. Felix kissed the corner of his mouth to reassure him and his free hand roamed up Ron’s chest, tracing out the edges of a non existent pectoral and settling onto his right nipple. Ron made a sound that was almost choking and Wade saw Felix wince.

“Calm down.” He told him, and Ron swallowed, but that was apparently something easier said than done. Wade watched him take a deep breath and try unsuccessfully to relax against Felix’s chest again, and Felix kissed his collar carefully, trying to encourage what he preached. Ron jerked again and Wade saw his eyes had come open, scanning across the ceiling nervously like there was something up there to help him. He swallowed hard.

“F-felix…” he tried nervously. Felix ‘hmm?’ed and kissed his jaw. Ron squirmed a little and tried again, lips pulled back to show his teeth. “Fffelix.…”

Not understanding, Felix’s other hand slipped down Ron’s stomach and under the band of his trousers, pushing lower than the other one had and bringing the waistband down against the top of his thighs. Ron’s breath hitched and his eyes snapped wide; he started to struggle.

“W-wait!” he yelped suddenly, voice too high, grabbing one of Felix’s wrists. “Stop! S-st—“

And then Wade thought the boy HAD succumb to a seizure; he looked like someone had rammed a cattle prod into the base of his spine, but then Wade smirked. Apparently, all the bad jokes about teen sex were true; it hadn’t taken that long. Ron, however, had not relaxed. He braced his shoulders against Felix’s and panted, looking wide eyed and terrorized. Felix watched him nervously, holding his arms around the boy’s waist again to keep him still, smudging the evidence of their act off his hands onto his skin.

“A-are you okay?” he asked sharply.

Ron shivered and raised his head from his shoulder, breathing hard. Felix tightened his hold a little.

“Ron?” he asked.

Ron pushed away from him, face a nervous tic, and Felix let him go. Wade saw panic alarms start to go off in his mind at Ron’s silence.

“Ron!?”

Still trying to push his breathing under control, Ron looked at him, gulping at the air. Felix saw something in his look, because the panic in his face flew open.

“Ron! Ron, I’m sorry!” he said quickly, “I thought….I…”

Felix was starting to shake. Ron stood up, holding onto the hem of his trousers to keep them up, and went to the other side of the couch to retrieve his shirt off the floor. Felix watched him with wide eyes.

“Ron.” he tried again. “Please. I’m SORRY. I pushed it too far, I just wanted to…I thought…Ron!”

Keeping hold of his t-shirt, Ron looked at Felix for a long moment, at that frightened expression, then leaned down and gently kissed Felix on the temple. “It’s okay.” He said. “I—I shouldn’t’ve…I…” Wade thought he saw Ron’s hand trembling, just a little. Felix stared up at him in confusion.

Ron swallowed, and said hesitantly. “I… I like you, Felix.” He said, face bleeding a darker shade of pink. “A lot.”

Felix gaped, but a little bit of the panic began to drain out of his face. Not nearly all of it. Ron turned and headed for the bathroom, pausing in the doorway. “I..uh..I gotta go change pants.” He said shakily, looking at the carpet. “You wanna play House of the Dead when I come back?”

Felix blinked, and nodded dumbly. Ron disappeared into the bathroom. Felix, stuck on the couch, flopped back against it and crossed his arms over his eyes, groaning. After a long moment he dragged his fingers in tracks down his face, sat up, and began the slow crawl across the couch to get his sweatshirt.

Wade chuckled and shrank the window back into a thumbnail, and scanned across the Stoppable house again. Ron’s mother was taking her evening shower, one hand roaming low and obviously not thinking about her husband. He raised an eyebrow, and dismissed it. Her husband was still bent over his paperwork. Wade looked back at the row of cameras in Ron’s part of the house, found the bathroom, and clicked on it.

Ron, apparently, didn’t have another pair of pants in the Probably Clean pile beside the door. Ron had instead stripped down and put his trousers on the edge of the sink, wetting a washcloth under the tap. He wrung it out and began to try and daub the stain out, hands shaking and the corner of his mouth twitching nervously. As far as Wade could tell, all it did was make the damp spot on the front the more noticeable. Ron held up his pants to get a look at them and grumbled “God dammit.” Nothing to be done for it. He rinsed the washcloth again without needing to and started to quickly clean himself off, swiping off the front of his stomach and down between his—

Ron caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink, and froze. Wade raised an eyebrow; what was the problem NOW? Ron blinked. After a long moment of stillness Wade began to wonder if something had misfired in the boy’s brain, but fortunately, before Wade had to worry about the mess if he called somebody to go check on him, Ron turned his head to blink at the closed door leading out to the game room, that blank, confused expression on his face. He looked back at the mirror and put the washcloth down slowly.

Then Ron snickered, and started to laugh.

“Did I miss something?” Wade asked the monitor, confused. Ron was trying to put his clothes back on while still laughing and Wade switched camera views to the game room, where Felix was looking palely after him, horribly confused. Ron came out of the bathroom chuckling, went to the entertainment center, and Wade heard the video game switch on. He threw a plastic blaster gun and Felix and sat down on the couch next to him, aiming his own at the screen. Felix just stared at him.

After a moment Ron looked over at him, smirking. “Sooooo.” He said, pretending to put a magazine in the blaster. “Whacking it’s like riding a bicycle, hm? You never forget how.”

Felix’s face paled and Ron started laughing again, and pushed Felix’s gun frontwise in his hands.

“Ron?” Felix asked nervously.

Ron grinned at him.

“Shut up and shoot some zombies.” Ron said warmly.

Felix blinked, and a hint of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth. Ron began to fire at the screen, the screams of attacking zombies flooding into the room. Felix put his gun, up and started to shoot.

Wade closed the camera base, smirking, and checked his reminders again. He STILL had to work on that mainframe malfunction for Middleton Insurance. It had been a long time since his paid employment had offered any decent challenges, he thought absently. After a moment of hesitation he reopened the cameras, scanned up to his own house, and clicked on the thumbnail of his mother’s room. The scene flushed up to fill the screen.

Her room was darkened, and his mother was sitting on top of the comforter, face smudged and streaked with black eyeliner and tears. She’d stripped down to her brassier and panties, both white and utilitarian, and wrapped the stripe from the whipchain with clean white bandages. Her hands were slipping up her legs, checking her skin, but there was only a bruise on her thigh and a small thin cut by her hip, like a cat scratch, and Wade hadn’t been responsible for those. Her back hitched and she doubled over on her twin bed, burying her face in her knees, and the microphone picked up her awful wet sobbing.

On the edge of the camera screen Wade could see two pink dots bumbling around in the darkness on the ground, puttering at the bar of light seeping in under her door. The nervous little cleaning mouse was sucking at the grains of sawdust in the carpet, left over from the power drills that had attacked his mother’s door. Wade, impressed at how fast that had gone, accessed the list of locks and found the new heading. He activated it. Though the camera, there was a metallic thunk and his mother jumped, looking at the door with terrorized eyes. Wade waited a moment, then deactivated the lock. The new bolt slid back into the door.

Staring at the darkened door, mouth pulled back into a toothy grimace, his mother slowly lowered herself back on the bed. It had taken her some time to adjust to only having a twin size again. After Wade’s father had shot himself, the cleaning company had told her not to try to salvage the mattress, just go out and buy a new one, or she’d never get the smell of blood out of her nose. Most of her savings had gone to the funeral, though. Wade’s income (at the time not the primary breadwinner, but still substantial) had been more than enough to buy her a queen size bed, but he’d given her a hundred and fifty, enough for only a twin mattress and a Hollywood frame. That was four years ago. She’d since stopped rolling off the edge in her sleep.

Her eyes sought out the camera in the corner of her room, mounted obviously in a security casing, making no effort to hide itself from her. Her eyes were bright in the dark. One of her hands fluttered up to rest on her stomach, which was flat and good for a woman her age, and Wade saw her whole body shudder. Her hand unsteadily pushed down under the band of her panties and disappeared there, turning her hips to Wade’s best advantage, and her fingers slid in past her dark slick of fur. She hitched and jerked her hand back, fingers wet, and curled away from the camera, body shaking with sobs. Wade watched her back for a moment.

“Good night, Mother.” He said quietly, not transmitting into the room. He closed the camera view and the base, opened the programming files, and began work on the mainframe malfunction.
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