Disclaimer: Not mine. Duh.
Warnings: Language. More to come.
Summary: Lola isn't the only one to leave a trail of broken hearts behind wherever she goes, and Larry 'Peanut' Romano knows it better than most.
Heartbreakers
Lola Lombardi is standing in the courtyard of Harrington House, wrapped around some prep-boy whose name neither of the boys looking on bothers to remember. One is too consumed with rage to care, and the other can't let his grip on the first boy slacken, for fear of what he'll do to nameless prep-boy.
Peanut looks on in agitation, wishing not for the first time that he could just slap the girl or, or something. But he can't, of course. For one thing, you don't hit girls. For another, this isn't just any girl. And not even Larry 'Peanut' Romano, Johnny Vincent's not-quite second-in-command, most-definitely right-hand-man, could get away with laying a hand on the boss's girl.
And yet somehow every other guy at Bullworth seems to be managing to lay hands on her without any problems at all.
Larry barely remembers to tighten his arms once more around Johnny's torso, the other boy struggling and thrashing but not actually making a move to hurt Larry. He is grateful, because one elbow to the nose per day is more than enough for him, and the prep who delivered the first (and hopefully only) elbow was surprisingly strong. And bony. It was a very unpleasant experience.
"Come on, boss. Let's get out of here," Larry says, hushed and pleading.
"No! I'll show those bastards what happens to anyone who lays a finger on my girl," Johnny shoots back in a harsh whisper, his cigarette and lighter laying forgotten on the ground.
Biting his lip to keep himself from voicing his thoughts ('Yeah, boss, 'because that went so well last time'), he stands up as tall as he can and talks straight into Johnny's ear. "Yeah, yeah, of course we will. But we can't do it yet; not here, in the middle of prep territory, and not right now." Johnny stops struggling and Larry loosens his grip. He spares a moment to think that this is about the closest he'll ever get, with stupid Lola in the way, before shaking his head. This isn't about Larry right now; in fact, it never really is. He resents it, a little.
Well fuck that, he resents it a lot. But that doesn't stop him, most of the time.
He continues in a low murmur, "We'll get 'em, Johnny, all of them if you want us to. But he isn't worth the shit we'll get into if we do it now," and Larry has to catch himself here because he almost said 'she isn't worth it,' and Johnny never would have forgiven him that. Sometimes Larry's mind wonders treacherously if that would really be a bad thing. Maybe if Johnny left him alone (if he left Johnny alone) then Larry would finally get over him, finally be able to move on.
"Yeah, you're right. You always are, aren't you?" His voice is lighter now, and friendly, instead of low and dark and angry. He sighs and relaxes, sinking back just slightly into the other boy's arms.
Larry feels it. God, does he ever feel it. He hates it and he loves it because this is what he wants, and he's never going to have it the right way. He flounders mentally for a minute, forcing himself not to do any of the hundred things he would like to do right now to the boy who has suddenly vaulted this thing from 'holding someone back from a fight,' into 'a comforting embrace.' That isn't fair of him. Surely, Larry thinks desperately, he knows how I feel about him. He's gotta know, how could he not? He wouldn't tease me like this, would he?
His inner turmoil only lasts a few seconds. He takes a deep breath, letting his head drop slightly so that his nose rests almost on the shoulder of Johnny's jacket, inhaling the smell. He lets himself, just briefly, be flooded and overwhelmed by the feeling of being pressed so tightly to Johnny's back, before he sighs and lets go. Larry turns to face him, keeping a hand on his shoulder in case Johnny changes his mind, and laughs quietly. "Well boss, what can I say? I'm brilliant," he says, grinning crookedly. He feels wild and flushed and shaky and exhilarated and he's surprised he isn't vibrating with excitement. But then, Larry has always been good at hiding his feelings.
"Uh huh, sure thing. C'mon, I can't take much more of this," Johnny declares, his face twisting into an expression of disgust. Lola, or maybe prep-boy, moans loudly into the night air, unaware or uncaring of their audience. Larry tightens his grip on Johnny's shoulder as he feels him tensing. He hunches his shoulders and turns suddenly, away, Larry notes gratefully, from the happy couple. Johnny's eyes darken once more with anger, and Larry feels (inappropriately, he thinks) weak at the knees.
Johnny Vincent is pretty damn good-looking to begin with, but there is something about his eyes, dark and smouldering when he is angry, that are just painfully gorgeous. Maybe, Larry thinks, dazedly, that's why Lola does it. Then she gets to see him like this whenever she wants. And she gets him, when he is angry and hurt and so fucking sexy it hurts.
She gets him, period.
That thought is like a bucket of ice water down his spine and suddenly he can think straight (no pun intended) once more. He feels the wave of crushing hopelessness that always seems to be just around the corner, coming on fast.
Because that isn't something Larry is ever going to get. Because Johnny is devoted to her like a dumb, loyal dog, and he always will be. Because he'll never see Larry sitting on the sidelines, just as devoted and even more hopeless. Because he will always be Peanut to Johnny. Because Johnny at least gets to think, 'Maybe this time it'll work out, maybe this time she'll stay with me, maybe this time she'll be satisfied.' Larry doesn't, because he is a realist, whereas Johnny seems to live off in some little fantasy-world where Lola is concerned.
He feels guilty for thinking such uncomplimentary things about Johnny, but only momentarily. After all, it's true, and Larry knows it.
Johnny has already started to walk off, leaving his lighter laying on the ground by Larry's foot. He crouches down and picks it up, then looks from the lighter to Johnny, and back. He stuffs it deep into his pocket and lets his hands follow it into the pockets of his jacket, and trots off to catch up with the boss. His boss.
Later that night, when Larry is safely in his dorm and away from Johnny, he rages. He paces like a caged animal, he kicks the bed and he punches the wall. Then he finally decides to stop, because his knuckles hurt and he's afraid that his fist will go through the wall if he does it again – Bullworth is a pretty cheap place. And the last thing he needs is to try to explain to his father why there's a bill for a school wall in the mail. The very thought of it makes him cringe.
When one of his dorm mates walks in, he finds Larry lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes shut; the very picture of untroubled tranquility, if you didn't know him. Vance, having no issues with invading the personal space of a fellow greaser (which has ticked off more than one of them) promptly walks in and sprawls onto Larry's bed, leaning on the backboard so he is facing the other boy.
"What's going on, Peanut?"
"Fuck you, Vance, my name is Larry. And get your goddamn shoes off my bed," he shoots back, quick and biting.
Vance tilts his head sideways and narrows his eyes a little, stung, but decides to laugh it off. It sort of is an annoying nickname, he guesses. "Sure, whatever, man. My fault, Larry," he says, emphasizing the name just a little bit. He kicks his shoes off in a half-assed conciliatory gesture, and they hit the bunk across the room, which is inhabited (although not at the moment) by nerds.
Peanut (Vance can't quite stop thinking of him by that name, it just kind of fits) rubs his eyes with the base of his palms and makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Sorry. I'm just pissed off right now. Not your fault, though."
"Nah, it's all right. D'you wanna, I don't know, talk about it or something?" Larry makes his strange noise again, and sits up.
"You don't want to hear my bitching," he says, laughing shortly.
Vance stretches idly before replying, "Come on, indulge me then. I'm bored stupid, man." Larry just snickers. "What's funny?" Vance demands.
"Well, it's not like you were ever that far away from stupid. It was practically around the corner."
"Ha fuckin' ha." He flips the other boy off before continuing. "You can't distract me that easily, though. What's bothering you, Larry?"
It may be the use of his given name, one of the first times it has been used by someone that isn't a teacher (even the prefects call him Peanut now). It may be the determined expression that Vance is wearing, that tells him that he isn't going to get any peace until he does what the other boy wants. Or maybe he's just tired of keeping everything bottled up so tightly inside. Whatever it is, Larry suddenly wants nothing (well, almost nothing) more than to tell Vance why he's so angry he could explode, and why he can't do a single thing about it.
"It's just… I mean, I-" Larry quickly discovers that wanting to talk about something isn't quite enough, and he has been trying quite hard, for a long time, not to think about it. That tends to make discussing it harder. "So, me and Johnny were walking around the school, trying to find somewhere prefect-free to have a smoke." Vance nods, biting down on the urge to correct Peanut's- no, Larry's grammar. "And we heard, um, we heard some pretty noisy kissing from inside the preps' little fortress. I wanted to look somewhere else, but Johnny thought it would be funny to scare 'em. So we snuck up on them." Larry pauses.
"Oh shit," Vance interjects, seeing quite clearly now where this is going. "Lola?"
Larry smiles nastily. "Oh, you guessed? Of course it was fucking Lola. It always is." Vance draws back, surprised by the venom and bitterness in the other boy's voice. "And I held him back, like a good friend." His voice begins escalating, "And I played along with his phoney smile, and tried my best to distract him even though I knew it was pointless, and didn't get pissed off that he was obviously ignoring me. And I didn't tell him that his girlfriend is an easy, flighty, dim-witted bitch," he finishes, almost shouting. He pauses for a minute and then concludes in a barely audible whisper, "Because I am a good fucking friend."
The silence in the room seems to echo for a second, the words easy, flighty, dim-witted and bitch floating around the room, irrevocable and unforgivable. Larry looks like he might be regretting his outburst, and seems to have said more than he intended to. Vance just looks a little stunned. "Uh, I, uh, didn't- I mean-" Larry struggles for words, finally spitting out, "Forget it, I didn't mean-" He begins getting up, intending to leave. Vance finally snaps out of his haze and pays attention to the real world again, just in time to shoot forward and press his hands to Larry's shoulders, pushing him back down.
"No, no. You meant what you said, and I won't repeat a word, I promise. Honestly, I can't say I disagree." Larry sighs and stops pushing up against Vance's hands, flopping back onto the bed and dropping a hand over his eyes.
"Thanks, Vance," he sighs. "It's good to know."
"So, what, you like him or something?" Vance's voice, deceptively mild and uninterested, cuts across Larry's mind like a saw. He tenses up again, tries to escape, but Vance hasn't removed his hands yet, and is continuing to hold him. "Hey, relax. Larry come on, relax. I'm not gonna hold it against you or anything. That'd be pretty rich, you know?"
Larry suddenly looks a bit stunned, but stops struggling. "What? You're-"
"Yeah. Yeah I am," he says. Larry looks at him, feeling a little bit flattered that Vance is revealing something so personal and sensitive. They both know something about each other now that could possibly be damaging. Bullworth isn't a kind place, even to the people who conform absolutely to the norm – it can be downright vicious if you don't have friends to look out for you, or if you don't fit in. Larry thinks about arguing with Vance, but decides that it would be pretty insulting after a show of trust like that.
"'Like' is a weak word for it," he admits shakily. "But I do. How do you know? I mean, am I that obvious?"
"No. Well, yeah, a little. But mostly I just recognize the way you're acting."
Larry laughs bitterly, finally making eye contact with the other boy again – he had been avoiding his eyes since he started talking about what was wrong. "What, you mean acting as though I care way too much, in all the wrong ways, for someone who will never feel the same?" Vance looks down, his eyes and expression seeming to get softer and harder at the same time.
"Exactly," he says bitterly. "Hell, I couldn't have said it better myself."
"Oh, shit. Sorry, Vance, I didn't mean… Who is it?"
"He- You know what, it doesn't matter." Vance looks up again, and trails off, "It's never… gonna…" he leans forward, tilting his head to the side just slightly. Larry is suddenly keenly aware of Vance's body, kneeling in front of him, leaning close, hands pressed to his shoulders, brown eyes boring into his. Heat prickles down his neck and plunges his stomach into frantic turmoil. He flattens one hand against Vance's chest, trying to decide whether to push him away or pull him closer, the other hovering uncertainly in the air by his shoulder. Their eyes remain open and connected as they slowly come closer and closer to one another.
Suddenly, finally, he feels the other boy's lips against his, soft and chapped and moving slowly, cautiously. He shuts his eyes, relaxing into the kiss, but Vance draws back abruptly, though not very far. Larry can still feel him breathing, feel the heat from his face and smell his skin and his hair.
"Sorry," Vance pants, almost into Larry's mouth, and Larry has to slide his eyes back open. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I shouldn't have taken advantage like-" Larry, ignoring him, brings his waiting hand down onto Vance's neck and pulls him back to Larry's lips. He pushes them together and hopes that the other boy will take the lead from there because he isn't quite sure what to do next. Vance obliges, alternating between sucking lightly on his lips and letting his tongue stray into the other boy's mouth. The first time he does that, Larry gasps and fists his hand into Vance's shirt – no jacket, he notes dreamily.
But then, Larry isn't wearing one either – he couldn't stop touching the lighter in his pocket and when he realized, he had ripped the jacket from his shoulders and thrown it across the room, lighter still sitting in the pocket.
He wrenches his mind off of that track forcibly, curling his tongue inexpertly into Vance's mouth and trying to pull him closer. The tongue thing seems to work, from the soft sigh Vance lets slip from his mouth into Larry's. But the pulling doesn't work as well, really, because Vance is crouched over him and Larry is sitting on his ass and straining upwards. The positioning is pretty awkward. Larry twists and pushes his way up onto his knees without breaking contact with his mouth for more than a few seconds.
Vance's hands settle on his waist and hipbones, pulling them closer together gently but insistently. Larry winds the fingers of one hand into the hair at the back of Vance's head, the other arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. He can feel the other boy pressed against him, hot and firm and full of life and movement.
He feels fingers sliding up under his shirt, burning hot against the skin of his sides and lower back, and gasps again and jerks forward. Vance makes a soft, desperate groan in the back of his throat and Larry feels it through their still-connected mouths more than he hears it. He also feels him roll his hips forward, feels the press of something hard and familiar and at the same time a little bit alien, just to the side of his hipbone, almost right there, right where it would feel so…
Then Vance shifts over to the side on his knees and does it again and there it is, and Larry can't help but mimic his movement, biting down viciously on his lip to stop a low, needy moan from escaping. He thinks it might have got past anyways, because Vance feels like he's grinning when their lips meet again. He rolls his hips once more and Larry bites harder on his lip (he absolutely refuses to whimper), presses his eyes closed and lets his head fall back slightly, a little overwhelmed.
Vance takes this as an invitation to kiss, suck and bite at the newly exposed skin of his neck (maybe it was).
Between the hands roaming higher and higher on his torso, the hot, wet lips on his neck and the slow, steady and insistent movement of Vance's hips, it is a little too much for Larry, who has never gone quite this far, this fast, with other people (possibly because they were girls, and his interest is, without a doubt, most definitely, elsewhere). He bunches the hand in Vance's hair and tugs back to detach his lips from Larry's neck, and then kisses him again, more slowly. Vance gets the message and pulls back.
"Sorry," he pants, and Larry is gratified to see that he isn't the only one having trouble catching his breath. "Didn't mean to go that fast, I just," Vance breaks off, kisses him again lightly, and laughs. "I can't stop myself from," Larry kisses him, this time.
"I think I know what you mean," he whispers, unwilling to test his voice at any greater volume for fear that it will crack or do something equally humiliating. They end up forehead to forehead, breaths mingling between them. Larry notices for perhaps the first time that Vance has dark green eyes, not brown ones and is very aware of his hand, still resting comfortably on the back of Vance's neck, fingers curled into his hair. His hair, that is distractingly short and soft and just slightly slick and feels very familiar.
Eventually Larry marshals his thoughts into line and asks the obvious question, "What the hell are we doing, Vance?" His voice, thankfully, does not let him down. The other greaser slowly pulls his hands from under Larry's shirt (it was sort of a tight fit) and shuffles around to sit with his back to the headboard, side pressed against Larry because really, there isn't room for them not to be pressed together.
It's a little easier to talk when they aren't staring directly at each other.
"I don't really know," Vance admits sheepishly. "I just… wanted to, you know?" Larry knows exactly what he means, and how hard it is to put the rushing feelings of hopelessness and desire, and the strong, quick undercurrent of sexual tension, and the amazing, blissful relief of someone who understands, into words. Especially words that someone male might use.
"Yeah. I know." There are a few moments of companionable silence, instead of the awkward hush that might have been expected. "So, what do we do now?" Larry finally asks.
Vance rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Uh, well, I like you, and all, but not like-"
"Oh, yeah, no, not like that," Larry rushes to agree. "But that was…" he continues hesitantly, "It was pretty…"
"Yeah," Vance agrees, sounding a bit out of it and dazed. "Yeah, it was."
Larry sighs and turns his head to the side to face Vance. "So, who is he?"
He unthinkingly opens his mouth to answer, then snaps it shut with an angry blush. "You'd hate me. You'd think I was an idiot for falling for him." He stops for a minute, waiting, but Larry just looks at him with an expression of sympathy. Vance keeps talking almost automatically, as if he feels compelled to fill in the silence. "You'd be right. And," he continues bitterly, "it really doesn't matter, anyways. He'll never even notice me, and he sure as hell won't want me even if he does. He'd probably hate me for even thinking it. I should just give up, but I- I- I can't!" Frustrated and furious, Vance looks like he isn't far from tears. He also looks like he's shrunk into himself, gotten smaller and hunched on the bed, miserable and ashamed of himself.
Larry doesn't have the first idea how to fix this. But he has to try, because he's done the same for Johnny who, it seems to Larry, deserves it far less than this teen, shaking with anger and hopelessness and trying so hard to keep everything in.
He puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his upper arm reassuringly and pulling Vance closer in to his side.
"Then he's a fucking asshole," Larry says, his voice low and rough still. "And he doesn't deserve the rotten goddamn eggs I'm gonna throw at him, and everyone he's ever fucking met." He doesn't know where the anger came from – it wasn't there a minute ago – but Larry suddenly wants to hurt the son of a bitch who's hurt his friend.
Vance laughs lowly and seems to get himself under control. "Thanks, man."
Larry grins, the seriousness of the moment gone. "No problem. I know you don't want to talk about it, but if you ever do tell me you can see if he's still good lookin' after a carton of Yum Yum's finest." Vance laughs suddenly, probably picturing it.
"Heh. He'd freak." There are a few moments more of companionable silence before Vance shifts out from under Larry's arm and turns to face him. "Say, was it tonight that you and Johnny saw her and the other guy?" His tone is that of someone coming to an unpleasant realization.
"Yeah," Larry agrees slowly, not quite following Vance's train of thought yet.
"And, you're not with him now."
"No," Larry says, thinking that this is a little bit obvious, considering.
"So then, who is? Because-"
"Shit!" Larry runs a hand through his hair agitatedly, suddenly understanding. "He'll drink himself stupid, and then get in a fight. And lose horribly, since we're not there. Fuck, you stupid bastard." Larry stands up, looking as though he'll start pacing any minute now. "I should just let him do it. He's dug himself a fucking hole, let him throw himself in." He clenches and unclenches his fists and then shoves a hand roughly through his slicked-back hair again, a picture of barely contained energy.
Vance approaches him slowly and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Yeah, you probably should. But you won't. Come on, I'll help you find him."
Larry gives him a quick, startled look. "You sure? He's usually kinda an asshole after Lola pulls her tricks."
He shrugs it off, replying lightly, "Still better than homework." Larry laughs distractedly.
"All right then. Thanks. But we don't really need to go looking; I know where he'll be."
And I've expanded into yet another video game fandom! Of course, how could you not try to write something about Bully, once you've played it? I'm not too happy with the title, especially since the idea has probably been used before. So that might change. Anyways, if anyone wants to tell me who they think Vance's crush is, I'm still open to suggestion. But I have some ideas already.
Colvine
