A/N: And we go into Where Butterflies Never Die Chapter 2! I re-read the first chapter a thousand times before and AFTER I posted it, and I am incredibly happy with how it turned out.
Also, I got an odd message about hair in the pubic area for women in the 50's and did some research to make it realistic. Turns out, women did trim in that period according to an article I found. As it said:
"The first women's body hair razor was released by Gillette in 1915, though ads focused on armpit hair. Nylon shortages during World War II encouraged women to go bare-legged, which led to greater proliferation of leg shaving; and thus, when the bikini was first released in 1946, the stage was finally set for American women to "clean things up" down yonder with a razor."
So, I will add that to the list of things I never thought I would have to google. But this story is making me google EVERYTHING.
WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Sexual language (Royce has a dirty mind. He is a fifteen-year-old boy, just saying), Royce's uncle gives his only nephew a talk about pleasing females, language, and violence.
For anyone wondering why its warm enough to stand outside comfortably in February in this chapter, I have placed Crescent Valley in Ohio. Explanation enough.
"I see the way you look at the tiny violinist."
Royce choked, tearing his eyes from Emily's small form in the March's living room window across the street, his uncle taking a seat beside him on the rock wall.
"Emily's grown up to be quite a looker," he patted his nephew's knee with an approving nod. "And more ladylike than her sister if word on the street is true."
Ugh. Emilia. God, he could not stand her. He was positive she was the antichrist.
"Good thing you managed to get rid of that one before anything bad happened."
Royce nodded but said nothing, his father having taught him that it was rude to speak ill of a lady, no matter how much they deserved it.
"How long have you been in love with Emily March, Royce?"
Royce wished he could give him an answer. But he could not. Truthfully, he could not pinpoint an exact moment in time that was the definitive one that made him fall in love with his best friend.
"For a long time."
His uncle hummed and he kept quiet for all of five seconds.
"Have you ever fantasized about her?" Royce's eyes widened at he whipped his head to look at his uncle Ben in outrage that he would even ask such a question. "Oh, relax, Royce. You are obviously in love with her. Having sexual fantasies about someone you have feelings for is a natural part of being a teenage boy. Or being a teenager with hormones in general."
He took a sip from his wine glass and snorted.
"You could not give me all the money in the world to be that age again."
After a moment, Royce's snarky nature overrode his righteous outrage at anyone even thinking of Emily in a sexual situation – aside from himself, of course.
"I assume this conversation has a purpose, Uncle Ben."
"There's the grumpy nephew I know and love," Ben chuckled. "Yes, it does. Do not be a selfish asshole when it comes to sex. It takes two to tango, remember that."
Royce could see where he was coming from. He had heard his teammates talk about how whiny their girlfriends were about them not pleasing them. Andrew would merely roll his eyes and tell Royce that it was not hard to please a woman – having a friend with a successful relationship and healthy sex life would benefit him if he and Emily ever got together – you just had to make sure to focus on her more than yourself.
"I'll bite," he sighed and kicked a foot back against the wall. "What do you mean?"
"Let me give you a for instance," his uncle cleared his throat. "If she goes down, you need to return the favor."
While Royce had had plenty of heated and pleasant dreams about the second half of his uncle's statement – finding himself wondering if Emily's taste between her thighs would be as sweet as her personality – but found himself drawing up short at the first half.
"I would never ask her to do that!" Seeing the familiar rage brewing in his nephew's eyes, Ben held up his hands in an 'I surrender' motion. "If she wants to do that, I wouldn't argue, but I wouldn't ask her to do it."
"Well, Royce, you are one in a billion, then."
The slugger rubbed his temples and walked away from his uncle, taking deep breaths. He did not want to admit that the thought of sweet, innocent little Emily taking his cock in her mouth had his blood pumping straight to the appendage and his heart thudding painfully against his ribs.
Being a guy sucked sometimes.
"Ugh," Becky swept over to the counter of Pauly's Diner, wrinkling her nose at the tiny decorative Cupids on the counter. "I hate Valentine's Day!"
Emily smirked at her friend, tucking one of her blue/black waves that had slipped out of her bun behind her ear. Becky hated most holidays, but she hated Valentine's Day most of all.
"Bex," she swept by her with her order pad. "Calm down. It will be over soon."
Becky merely grinned and playfully swatted her only friend's behind.
"Your boyfriend and his ignorant followers are here," she tightened her ponytail and swept a crumb off of her apron. "Table five."
Emily sighed. "Royce is not my boyfriend, Becky."
Becky chuckled. "But he wants to be."
Emily rolled her eyes good-naturedly and swept out from behind the counter, heading over to Royce's table, recognizing him even by the back of his head, due to his black as pitch hair.
"Hi kitten," Royce greeted her with enthusiasm which shocked most of his teammates – aside from Andrew, of course, who knew Royce better than anyone, aside from Emily herself, maybe – into momentary silence. "How is business?"
He glanced around.
"No one's giving you any trouble, are they?"
Already knowing telling him the truth would rattle his cage, she avoided casting her eye at the table that housed Johnny and his cronies – including her sister, disgustingly enough. Though, to her surprise, Johnny looked annoyed at her presence – and shook her head.
"Of course not, slugger," she pulled out her pad and a pen. "What can I getcha?"
Royce's lips barely parted before one of Johnny's friends – aptly named Sticky Icky Ricky – yelled over the cacophony of the diner, plunging it into silence.
"Hey March!" Becky's head hit the counter as Emily pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why don't you come on over here! I have something I think you'll like."
Emily could practically hear the snap of Royce's temper as he shot out of the booth. She quickly side-stepped, planting her hands on his chest to shove him lightly.
"Royce, you have to calm down," she gripped his chin and made him look at her, which required her to angle his head down since hers barely came up to his jawline. "I get statements like that from those particular Greasers almost every night."
Becky gaped at her. Was she trying to calm him down or enrage him more?!
"Every night?!" his voice was deep and gravelly, full of rage which was so pivotal to his personality. "They talk to you like that every night?!"
She sighed.
"I'm an unattached female, Royce," she put more force behind her pushes against his chest. "Of course, they do!" She gave one more hard push. "Please sit down!" and managed to wrangle the irate boy back into his seat.
She shook her head, blowing a strand of her hair out of her eye, before pulling her order pad back up, chipper smile planted back on her face.
"Now," she levelled Royce with a look. "What can I get you, Royce and team?"
She wrote down everything they said with accuracy, keeping track of fourteen orders with no issue before turning to Royce.
"Double cheeseburger, no onion, extra cheese and pickles," she grinned as he nodded. "Side of Fries and a large coke."
"You remembered."
"Slugger," she chuckled. "You have been ordering the same thing here since we were twelve. I would hope you would be insulted if I didn't remember."
"So," Andrew threw a fry at Royce to break his eyes away from Emily as she talked to a table of customers a few feet away. "Are you going to stare at her forever or finally make a move?"
"I just broke up with her sister, Drew."
He cocked an eyebrow.
"The sister that ambushed you into a relationship?" he asked. "The sister that you can't stand?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the she-devil in question, who was snuggled up to Johnny. "The sister who handed it out to Johnny Sullivan the moment she could not get it from you?"
Another piece of lettuce hitting the table by his elbow snapped Royce's icy blue eyes toward his other teammates.
"Hey!" he snapped. "You guys want to stop acting like animals and keep your food on your plate? Emily is not your maid."
"I mean," one of his newer teammates - James, Royce believed his name was - spoke up. "She is a waitress. It is her job to clean tables."
Royce cocked his head in the way a predator would when observing its prey as he regarded him.
"Emily comes from the same part of town as we do, shithead," Royce's other teammates looked down at their plates as he spit the words. "She chooses to work here for her own reasons. She's not a Greaser and she's not your mommy. So keep your food on your plate."
When James went to say something, Andrew spoke up.
"You're new in town and on the team," he leaned over the teammate next to him to get closer. "So, if you want to keep your teeth, it would be best to stop talking now."
He whipped his head to Royce then.
"And you!" Andrew jerked his thumb over to Emily. "Ask her out to a movie. Or go to her house for dinner. You have known her parents your entire life. I'm almost positive they will have zero objections."
Royce studied his hand.
"Loving me when I am their daughter's best friend," he looked at Andrew. "And loving me as I attempt to become their favored child's husband and father of her children is an entirely different thing."
Andrew choked on his bite of burger and looked at Royce.
"Children?!" he gaped at his best friend. "I thought you wanted to get out of this town! Go pro."
Royce shrugged.
"Plenty of pro baseball players have wives and children," he looked over his shoulder at Emily's hair gleaming blue in the harsh lights of the diner. "Why can't I?"
A/N: This story is a nightmare. I love it but at the same time, it is taxing. So many rules in the 1950's make me cringe. We weren't even allowed to open doors on our own