Authors Notes—
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, nor the movie, or anything else. Ever.
Pairing: John/Bobby if you look close.
Written for a creative writing assignment about avoiding labeling emotions, but really written because of my intense love for the pairing and inspired by my new roleplay with Allie/Jamie/Queenie (who I adore). X3
I swear this story was in prettier paragraphs. just likes to not let me have my pretty paragraphs.
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That burning was back in the pit of his stomach. Those red painted lips curled into that perfect shy, coy smile that needed to be bloodied and red. John could do that, he knew. It'd just take a few punches and Marie would go down easy. She was a fragile girl, her bones taking up too much of her near perfect white-skinned frame. When she walked with that little saunter of her hips, and laughed showing that little gap between her two front teeth, even how she talked, it all made John want to punt her into outer space. He could see it now, as he punched her, that Southern twanged little accent would cry out, and those stupid doe looking eyes would fill with tears, one of them quickly swelling shut. Oh, what a great day it would be! But then he'd be sent to detention and there would be lots of yelling and accusing and hey, if he was real lucky, Bobby would be there to punch him, too.
"What the hell's your problem!" The blonde would holler, as Bobby's perfect fist would connect to John's own cheek. And they'd hash it out: rolling around the hallway floor, wrestling and punching and kicking, teeth gnashing, finger nails digging, knees in stomachs, grips forceful on flesh, clothes, anything. Marie would be crying and soon enough, Mr. Summers would burst in and try to separate them. But John wouldn't stand for it this time, not another lecture about playing nice with the new girl. If only she'd stayed out of his way she probably would've been fine, just another annoying teen girl with too much sympathy given to her.
"St. John! Bobby!" Mr. Summers would shout with his oh-so-commanding voice. Then as the young, bright eyed teacher would try desperately to wrench them apart, he'd end up joining the fray. Three bodies elbowing each others' noses, tearing into any flesh that wasn't their own and trying to get out alive. Or in John's case, get out of the fray to give the beating to whom it was really meant for. He wouldn't want to hurt Bobby, no, no, Bobby was why Marie should burn in the seventh layer of hell. She should burn just for touching him at all. At the time, she hadn't known that Bobby was obviously happy being alone and he was just being friendly. The stupid whore, thinking she was better than the rest of them. John wouldn't stand for it; he would teach her where her place was.
Back to dreaming about the brawl; eventually John would get free and Mr. Summers and Bobby would be beating each other up, which would make John laugh. Heavy breathing, bloodied hands raised, fingers curled ready to choke the life out of oh-woe-is-me-Marie. Moving slowly like a panther, he'd slink up to his prey, but so full or adrenaline he'd lurch more like a bear. She'd whimper, still hiccupping and sobbing, curled up on the floor. John would tell her she deserved this as he pounced. Tell her she should have known not to get in the way, his fingers would cut off the air supply to her already irregulate breathing. As those thin cheeks turned different shades of red, he'd simply smile and let the blood from his split lip drip down onto her crimson and black clothes. To see her struggles weakening, eyes rolling, petite nose flaring, would be a dream. And finally, when those thin pale arms would drop, sliding away from John's tightly clenched fingers, it would all be over. John's life would finally get back to normal. Just him and Bobby and no Marie to mess things up: if only Marie would die.