A/N: Okay, second in the trilogy! Yeah, it's corny and depressingly bad, but if you're reading this, you read the first and decided you LIKED that sort of stuff! -laughs maniacally-
Please read and review! I know that brain to marshmallow thing is a bit bad but it's raining outside and I've lost what little originality I had left in me... Plus I'm combating a bad cold and writer's block...
Bif's leaf green eyes glared contemptuously at his reflection, eternally dissatisfied with his appearance. He'd smoothed his hair, he'd ironed his shirt and he'd practiced the strut, but Derby was never going to notice him for more than a tool. That much he knew. He'd replaced the trademark Aquaberry sweater for a grey lambswool v-neck that Derby had said was nice, and he was sure he looked better than normal. He had to. It was his last chance to prove to Derby his love. It was the end of their last year together.
Making a face at the mirror and slamming the door to his room, he made his way down the long, lavish hallway of Harrington House. Even before he opened the door to the main room, he could hear the sounds of teenagers getting drunk. Groans and laughter echoed down the hall. Bif plucked a carnation from a vase, pushed it into a buttonhole of his sweater and entered, confidently swanning in, his black Aquaberry loafers making no sound on the sprung dancefloor. Almost the whole of Bullworth Academy had crammed into the ballroom, and instead of being the sedate, high-brow affair that Derby had intended it would be, the thing was more reminiscent of a nightclub. The floor was sticky with spilled alcohol and vintage techno blasted from a custom deck manned by Earnest, who was busy sucking face with a more-than-tipsy Beatrice.
Bif made a disgusted face, and turned away to find Derby.
The music swelled, like it always did in the corny daytime romances that Bif never let anyone see him watch, and there he was.
Reclined luxuriously on a jewel-toned couch, his slim legs crossed, lay Derby. He sipped delicately from a flute of champagne, his pink lips forming a perfect curve. Bif blushed, but decided to play it cool (or as cool as he could play it) retreating to a corner of the hall sparsely occupied. From here, he attempted to formulate a plan - or, at least, a rough outline to govern his behaviour when he got near Derby. For, you see, Bif had a bad habit of getting tongue-tied whenever Derby laid eyes on him. In fact, the effect was like his brain had decided to morph into marshmallows and his tongue went on a rather exotic holiday to the Bahamas. Bif sighed.
And then, Tad crashed through the crowd, obviously off his face from spiked punch. He stumbled over to Bif, losing his balance and grabbing his muscular shoulder for support. He giggled tipsily and stood more securely on his two feet.
"Rather spiffing party, wouldn't you agree, Bif?" He gurgled, the odour of alcohol polluting the air between them. He raised himself up on tiptoes to whisper in Bif's ear. "I must offer my sincere congratulations on the punch." He giggled again. "Christy's lips did loosen after a few glasses, if you get my meaning!"
Bif shuddered involuntarily. The idea of Tad with anyone, let alone Christy, was a little more than disconcerting. Bif apologised absentmindedly and pushed his way past Tad.
Looks like this is it, he thought, approaching Derby with an awkward gait that didn't match the lithe, well-built figure he was blessed with.
Derby didn't even look up when Bif walked over, but he was unfazed. Leaning his elbows on the low back of the couch, Bif tried to smile, catching the blonde prep's attention. But Derby had stood up and was watching the party with detached amusement.
"Hey. Nice party." He said, trying desperately to echo his leader's effortless debonair tone. He didn't succeed, but Derby wasn't paying close attention anyway.
What had captured his attention was Gord, obviously drunk out of his thick skull, shoving Hal the greaser with surprising strength. Within seconds, the party had turned into a brawl with every gang and faction fighting each other with a kind of drunken stupidity that eventuated with some lying unconcious on the floor, partly from drink and partly from being beat up.
Throughout this, Derby and Bif just watched, amused.
That is, until Johnny rushed Derby and kicked him in the stomach, making him fall to the floor in surprise. But soon enough, Bif had taken care of him - he joined one of the many people on the dancefloor.
Slightly out of breath, Bif hopped over the couch and knelt beside Derby, who at this point was curled in the foetal position on the ground. Realizing that perhaps the kick had done more damage to Derby's stomach than he had estimated, Bif lifted Derby up and back onto the couch. The fighting had decreased to a cacophony of groans of pain and shouts of victory. But for once Derby's eyes saw nothing but Bif. His throat rasped.
"Thank you."
For once, Derby has seen Bif as more than muscles.
And then, amongst the aftermath of gratuitous violence, Derby realized what was so goddamn obvious to anyone but him. His own blindness is cured and he looks at Bif like he's found the holy grail. The realization was apparent on his face. You could practically hear the cogs of his mind ticking into overdrive.
Bif loved him.
What happened next was pure fairytale - it was what Bif had wanted ever since the two were introduced, so long ago in eighth grade. They kiss, for what seems like forever. Neither ever wants to stop.