A/N: Alright, for the first in the Second in Command trilogy, I thought I'd start with somethin' classic - you got it, Johnny and Peanut. Hope you like it - it's been a while since I updated so I thought this would be a good place to start.
Ugh... I struggled a bit with the Greaser lingo... It's terrible, I know... -smacks forehead- it's an ABOMINATION!!
R and R people!
A figure walks through the bleak white snow, hands shoved into pockets. His head is bent from the wind and even from a distance it's clear that he's shivering. Peanut's heart unintentionally softens when he's sees it's Johnny. He's been crying, and his big brown eyes are rimmed red with alcohol, or tears, or both. Peanut restrains the urge to hug him - even now it's difficult because it's plain that Johnny's brittle heart's been broken again.
Broken by some careless slut who isn't even worth it.
Both their trademark leather jackets are slick with snowmelt and their boots slip on the black ice underfoot. Peanut is overly cautious when his voice rises above the howling wind; he doesn't know if Johnny will open up to him, or clam down, or lash out. But he has to try, because if he doesn't, Johnny mightn't come back from the brink. Still wary, Peanut takes a step forward and shoves his hands into his pockets, squeezing his elbows against his sides, trying to appear nonchalant.
"You alright, Johnny?"
Johnny's face crumples pitifully, and again Peanut has to control his urge to hug him. Johnny seems like he's about to fall apart, and for a moment hope flickers in Peanut's chest - maybe they did break up for ever. Maybe Lola will finally stop torturing Johnny. Maybe, finally, Johnny will realize Peanut's feelings. Maybe, Peanut's torture that he can only barely stand But almost as soon as the flame flickers to life, it's quenched, because Peanut knows on some level that even if Johnny was gay, he wouldn't go for Peanut.
That sort of thing just doesn't happen, thinks Peanut pathetically. Despite his hopelessness, he knows that Johnny needs him right now. Even if it's not in the way he hopes.
"C'mon, let's get to the bar. You ain't alright."
* * *
Three hours later, Peanut's sitting with his second beer while Johnny is slumped on the hardwood table, muttering incoherently. He's drooling, completely drunk and totally not desirable, but Peanut is still here, sitting with him. Peanut's stomach tightens with anxiety and rage at Lola as Johnny starts to cry again. It doesn't do much for Johnny's reputation.
"Why'd she do it, man?" He slurs between sobs. When Peanut produces no response, he offers his own. "I'm ugly, and everyone laughs at me, that's why."
"No, you're not." says Peanut wearily, taking a forced sip from the huge glass of golden liquid that didn't seem so big before. He squints through the darkness and tries to see Johnny's face more clearly, but it's difficult with the miasmas of tobacco smoke curling and twisting through the stuffy air. Peanut doesn't actually like this place, but it's the only space that Johnny likes to drink in. It's dark and unpopular enough for Johnny to get completely smashed in and not deal with the repercussions.
"Yes..." lisps Johnny with an alcoholic belch, "Yes, I am. And that's why that slut keeps on doing this to me!"
"Don't let her do it anymore, Johnny," Peanut murmurs quietly, staring deeper into the amber fizz that fills his glass. But Johnny doesn't hear him. He closes his eyes and props himself up on his elbow, tunelessly bellowing Tainted Love. Peanut represses his wry smile - the only thing uncool about Johnny (that is, apart from his drunken personality) was his mismatched taste in music. Despite himself, Peanut thinks it's cute.
The bartender catches Peanut's eye and frowns, jerking a thumb towards the door. He understands immediately and, a little relieved they've been thrown out, grabs Johnny by the shoulders and half-guides, half-drags his friend out of the unlicenced, alcohol-infused hole.
The cold wind is bitter, shocking, and even though Peanut and Johnny's jackets look tough, they're thin and completely not suited to the cold.
To Peanut's absolute surprise, Johnny slumps down and leans his head on his shoulder, burying his face in the familiar -smelling leather. Peanut's spine immediately stiffens - he totally can't let Johnny see that he likes this. His life as a greaser would terminate if... if...
But Johnny straightens up and plants an alcoholic kiss on Peanut's cheek, his lips warm and soft. His beautiful brown eyes are uneven and unfocused, and a tipsy grin replaces the typical scowl. Peanut's breathing quickens, and his muscles tense, expecting some kind of reprieve. But none comes.
Johnny's still looking at him, smiling with the crooked smile that is Peanut's favourite.
It's not much. He's not even sober. In fact, Peanut's sure that Johnny's just messing around.
But it's enough.
It's enough for Peanut to angle his own arms around Johnny and lift him closer, and kiss him softly on his whisky-flavoured lips. Johnny closes his eyes and kisses him back.
It's as close as Peanut will ever get to true happiness.