Hey, y'all! This is Kin! I decided to write an Outsiders fanfic about a Greaser and a Soc, but a Greaser girl, (they don't get enough love!), and Bob, because, well, I don't think anyone gets him. This could turn into a tale of star-crossed love, or stay a cynical one-shot, I don't know yet.
If I owned the Outsiders, there'd be more awesome ladies! uvu
They meet at a party, just as so many young partners do.
Among the music and beer, Bob sees her. Tall and slender with sleek, jet- black hair and eyes blue like the dawn sky. His girlfriend's acting bitchy again, he'll try his luck elsewhere.
Her dress, a leather jacket to match her hair, short pink skirt, low-cut top and Iots of makeup should signal to him her kind: Greaser, scum, white trash with long hair. The party is being held by a couple of siblings in the middle of the financial ladder, and they swing both ways.
But Greaser? It doesn't click together. This girl... This girl is special, his addled, drunk mind reasons, special, and he doesn't think with his brain anymore.
He walks, saunters over to her with the rhythm of her dancing.
"Hey, sugar, how're ya?"
She stops, amid the gaze of others, and takes him in. His eyes follow her long, magenta press-on nail as it trails down her chest.
She is calculating. Her own eyes are on his wallet, sticking out of his pocket and not an entirely inappropriate image for this situation.
"Sylvia Tresse," she purrs. "How about you, good-lookin'?"
He smirks.
"Bob Sheldon."
It takes little time for dancing to turn to kisses and kisses to turn to make-outs and make-outs turn to fucking in a thirteen-year old's bed.
And then Bob Sheldon the Feared disappears, going into hybernation. Out comes the innocent kid that just loves to break the rules for kicks. The kid who doesn't understand his victims, understand their pain. The kid who just wants to have a good time.
After an hour of his arm around her and Sylvia's own confliction, she gets up.
"Where... Sylvia...?" His eyes open. "Where're you going?"
She stops.
This Bob is used to acting like a criminal or a least a JD and returning to luxury, love, and affection. He doesn't get it. His mom and dad don't care, don't act like he can control himself, like he's a person. Maybe he can't. Maybe he's just a regular animal, doing what his owners let him and not understanding why.
So Sylvia gets back in bed and puts her arm around him, her head on his shoulder.
To her, this is business, necessary, as vital to life as air. It's how she gets spare cash, it's how she gets a place to rest her eyes if Mama was smashing wine glasses last night and cutting herself with the pieces.
She knows how to dress, over-the-top trashy, 'cuz she wants rich guys and guys love to fuck things they hate. She understands everything but him.
The next day, she's gone and so is his wallet. Her Mama ignores her when she comes home with the groceries, and his folks know it's their fault, who else could make any bad decisions?
He's disgusted with himself, hyper-aware of the eyes of the knowing, but it passes. She's stopped wondering what the guys she's fucked think of her; it all blurs together.
