FIC: Romeo (Underneath the Blue Light) (Degrassi, Adam/Bianca, R)
Title: Romeo (Underneath the Blue Light)
Author: aphrodite_mine
Recipient: champagnescene for the abovethedot exchange.
Info: Degrassi, Adam/Bianca, 1400 words. Betaed by vilomsious. Trigger warning for canon events, and for a relationship that is, per canon, abusive in nature and problematic. I am not pretending that doesn’t exist, just trying to provide solutions for it. Posting at 1:48 AM - officially due day!
Summary: Five times Bianca falls for Adam, and the one time she doesn’t. [AU, canon]
Disclaimer: Degrassi isn’t mine. Title and section lyrics come from the song “Romeo” by Juliette Lewis.
Romeo (Underneath the Blue Light)
You followed me / You're the only one
She feels best when just giving her body over to the music. Submerging herself in it. Feeling every note tremble on her skin. The moves just come, then, unpracticed and loose. She doesn’t have to count out the rhythm; she feels it instead, running in her blood, thrusting through her body with the rush and power of a storm or the ease of a simple two-step.
Moving like she does has its roots in things like ballet and ballroom, but there are reasons she moves far away from the structure whenever she can. The one-two-three, one-two-three makes her feel like she is choking, coughing out these steps that are so measured and perfect that there is no room for beauty.
This class is something to dread, an easy A at best, until the moment she steps into his arms.
She doesn’t expect it; maybe she should. But his eyes… there is something in them that she’s never seen before. His hands settle on her shoulder and her hip, the touch light and easy and hot.
The teacher counts out rhythms and she can feel herself sinking into him, moving.
It’s all right.
Hand on my heart taking its time pulling me closer to you
It should be stupid. It’s just a dumb little talent show to show how squeaky clean Degrassi is. And it is stupid, mostly. Until the boys take the stage, holding their guitars like phallic extensions and one in particular staring out into the crowd, into her - looking at her, looking into her eyes, and if she didn’t know better, didn’t know him better, she’d call it eye fucking.
Sav steps up to the mic and attempts suave introductions. Adam, is his name. The boy on base.
Counting out the beats to the song, Adam grins. She can see him grow more confident with every note plucked out. The lyrics say something about Dancing into the morning, something sexual and thinly disguised, and she grins.
He grins back.
She keeps looking away, overwhelmed. Because these things don’t happen outside of movies, where the cute, clean-cut boy likes the wild girl. Doesn’t want anything in return. Just sings to her from the stage while she watches, squirming.
And he is cute, clean-cut. The baggy flannel shirt hanging over his waist like a throwback to Cobain (something much better than what he’s playing now, in any case). Sock cap over his hair, tugged close. Watching her.
These things don’t happen.
But they are. Happening.
I wanna be closer to this feeling
She leans over him in class, introducing him to her chest. "You can help me, right? With chemistry?"
He looks up, remarkably skilled at keeping his eyes on her face (but still, they slip). She smiles. "I'm on the Science Olympiad team. But I've never heard you to be... exactly... the scholarly type."
"Maybe I want to change. Turn over a new leaf." She tucks her pencil behind her ear.
"A new learning leaf."
"Mmm. That kind."
She touches his face, a little flick of her fingertip against his cheek, notices the slight blush that springs up. God.
"Meet me at the boiler room after school. I'm ready to be educated."
He swallows, but doesn't move away from her. That smile is criminal.
She sucks in a tight breath.
--
She didn’t expect him. Did she expect him? But she waited, leaning, casually, against the door. He looks nervous, but less than she thought he might. There is no second guessing, checking behind him as he closes in on her down the hallway.
“Seems like a strange place for a study session.”
“Depends on what you’re studying.”
His lips twitch, smile. “And what is that?”
“You. If you want me.”
He swallows, and she watches his neck, thinking.
“I do.”
And the kiss is sweet and slow, like honey dripping off the comb.
And she touches him, feels her heart beat, and doesn’t walk away.
The washed out blue / Of your eyes
She feels herself falling. Maybe tripping would be a better word.
He isn’t her type. He’s… shorter than she is. And sweet.
(But there’s an edge to the sweetness… something…)
She’s thinking Maybe and reaching out to shove him away (pull him closer).
There’s.
What…
Her body seizes up. No.
And he looks at her, those eyes different now, terrified.
The word she calls him, “freak,” seems to echo down the hall, and in her head, for weeks.
Swimming in your skin again
She sees herself in a flash of self-knowing, an out-of-body mirror, writhing. And she sees herself smiling, gasping for breath, moving against him.
Him, him, him.
He is all movement, casting her, keening, forward. Against his body, her mouth against his neck, making words with her lips that she can’t find enough air to pronounce.
There are a thousand variations on this scene; unbuttoning his pants and finding the secret part of him ready for her mouth, her fingers. Another time, she lies back, slowly undoes each piece of clothing. Watching him watch her.
In this version, a hand is on her hip, gripping, making marks. Another on her neck, on her breast, on her.
She is crying out his name, at the end, and that is no different.
You and I underneath the blue light always and forever
The rumor is that the trans kid has a crush on the new girl. They’ve got to be talking about Adam, which is interesting, she thinks, making something like that public after the year he’s had. (And she tries not to think about her part in all that. It would have gotten out eventually, wouldn’t it? Maybe this new girl would be the one. There’s always someone, she thinks.)
And she opens her locker one day to find an invitation in his handwriting (she wonders how she knows this) to a Secret Party - Invite Your Crush. (She tries not to picture the betrayal on his face, when she touched him, there, when she tore at his shirt seeking the answers to her questions underneath, wrapped up, hidden.) She isn’t anybody’s crush, lately. But she decides to go. (She tries not to think about why.)
Before the party, she finds her dealer. A quick and dirty buzz is just what the doctor ordered, and he gives her a deal, giving her a once-over. “You know I offer discounts for services rendered.” She straightens her dress and hands over the money.
“And you know I don’t do that.”
--
She’s high by the time she gets there. An abandoned church. Somehow fitting. The party hasn’t started yet, she thinks, or if it has then his friends really are as pathetic as Fitz says. She leans against a tree and watches while the emo kid sneaks off with some chick in a grandma sweater, and Adam is left with the finishing touches. (She thinks about him this way, as Adam, as he, without even noticing. Whatever she knows [that he isn’t] everything she sees tells her otherwise. The way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he felt when she danced with him.) And it doesn’t feel bad, just watching him. (It’s the drugs, she thinks.)
Emo boy and Grandma girl come back, and laugh at something he says. Other guests arrive, and the lights come on. Music echoes through the woods and she closes her eyes.
Every time she opens them, his face looks sad.
The buzz is wearing off, and the buzz around the fringes of the party is that the new girl didn’t show. She’s not sure why she feels guilty.
Or why she takes slow, steps through the woods, picking her way over fallen logs and undergrowth, to stand at the edge of the lighted area. He’s leaning close to his friends, his face tight.
(She’s definitely not high any more, but when her heart beats it sounds a little like his name.)
“Cool party.”
He’s startled, and behind him Emo boy’s eyes get wide and he backs away. “Kind of a failure, actually.” He recovers quickly, he always has.
“You haven’t asked anyone to dance.”
“No, I haven’t.”
She touches his hand as he lifts it to run through his hair. “I still remember the steps.”
Author: aphrodite_mine
Recipient: champagnescene for the abovethedot exchange.
Info: Degrassi, Adam/Bianca, 1400 words. Betaed by vilomsious. Trigger warning for canon events, and for a relationship that is, per canon, abusive in nature and problematic. I am not pretending that doesn’t exist, just trying to provide solutions for it. Posting at 1:48 AM - officially due day!
Summary: Five times Bianca falls for Adam, and the one time she doesn’t. [AU, canon]
Disclaimer: Degrassi isn’t mine. Title and section lyrics come from the song “Romeo” by Juliette Lewis.
Romeo (Underneath the Blue Light)
You followed me / You're the only one
She feels best when just giving her body over to the music. Submerging herself in it. Feeling every note tremble on her skin. The moves just come, then, unpracticed and loose. She doesn’t have to count out the rhythm; she feels it instead, running in her blood, thrusting through her body with the rush and power of a storm or the ease of a simple two-step.
Moving like she does has its roots in things like ballet and ballroom, but there are reasons she moves far away from the structure whenever she can. The one-two-three, one-two-three makes her feel like she is choking, coughing out these steps that are so measured and perfect that there is no room for beauty.
This class is something to dread, an easy A at best, until the moment she steps into his arms.
She doesn’t expect it; maybe she should. But his eyes… there is something in them that she’s never seen before. His hands settle on her shoulder and her hip, the touch light and easy and hot.
The teacher counts out rhythms and she can feel herself sinking into him, moving.
It’s all right.
Hand on my heart taking its time pulling me closer to you
It should be stupid. It’s just a dumb little talent show to show how squeaky clean Degrassi is. And it is stupid, mostly. Until the boys take the stage, holding their guitars like phallic extensions and one in particular staring out into the crowd, into her - looking at her, looking into her eyes, and if she didn’t know better, didn’t know him better, she’d call it eye fucking.
Sav steps up to the mic and attempts suave introductions. Adam, is his name. The boy on base.
Counting out the beats to the song, Adam grins. She can see him grow more confident with every note plucked out. The lyrics say something about Dancing into the morning, something sexual and thinly disguised, and she grins.
He grins back.
She keeps looking away, overwhelmed. Because these things don’t happen outside of movies, where the cute, clean-cut boy likes the wild girl. Doesn’t want anything in return. Just sings to her from the stage while she watches, squirming.
And he is cute, clean-cut. The baggy flannel shirt hanging over his waist like a throwback to Cobain (something much better than what he’s playing now, in any case). Sock cap over his hair, tugged close. Watching her.
These things don’t happen.
But they are. Happening.
I wanna be closer to this feeling
She leans over him in class, introducing him to her chest. "You can help me, right? With chemistry?"
He looks up, remarkably skilled at keeping his eyes on her face (but still, they slip). She smiles. "I'm on the Science Olympiad team. But I've never heard you to be... exactly... the scholarly type."
"Maybe I want to change. Turn over a new leaf." She tucks her pencil behind her ear.
"A new learning leaf."
"Mmm. That kind."
She touches his face, a little flick of her fingertip against his cheek, notices the slight blush that springs up. God.
"Meet me at the boiler room after school. I'm ready to be educated."
He swallows, but doesn't move away from her. That smile is criminal.
She sucks in a tight breath.
--
She didn’t expect him. Did she expect him? But she waited, leaning, casually, against the door. He looks nervous, but less than she thought he might. There is no second guessing, checking behind him as he closes in on her down the hallway.
“Seems like a strange place for a study session.”
“Depends on what you’re studying.”
His lips twitch, smile. “And what is that?”
“You. If you want me.”
He swallows, and she watches his neck, thinking.
“I do.”
And the kiss is sweet and slow, like honey dripping off the comb.
And she touches him, feels her heart beat, and doesn’t walk away.
The washed out blue / Of your eyes
She feels herself falling. Maybe tripping would be a better word.
He isn’t her type. He’s… shorter than she is. And sweet.
(But there’s an edge to the sweetness… something…)
She’s thinking Maybe and reaching out to shove him away (pull him closer).
There’s.
What…
Her body seizes up. No.
And he looks at her, those eyes different now, terrified.
The word she calls him, “freak,” seems to echo down the hall, and in her head, for weeks.
Swimming in your skin again
She sees herself in a flash of self-knowing, an out-of-body mirror, writhing. And she sees herself smiling, gasping for breath, moving against him.
Him, him, him.
He is all movement, casting her, keening, forward. Against his body, her mouth against his neck, making words with her lips that she can’t find enough air to pronounce.
There are a thousand variations on this scene; unbuttoning his pants and finding the secret part of him ready for her mouth, her fingers. Another time, she lies back, slowly undoes each piece of clothing. Watching him watch her.
In this version, a hand is on her hip, gripping, making marks. Another on her neck, on her breast, on her.
She is crying out his name, at the end, and that is no different.
You and I underneath the blue light always and forever
The rumor is that the trans kid has a crush on the new girl. They’ve got to be talking about Adam, which is interesting, she thinks, making something like that public after the year he’s had. (And she tries not to think about her part in all that. It would have gotten out eventually, wouldn’t it? Maybe this new girl would be the one. There’s always someone, she thinks.)
And she opens her locker one day to find an invitation in his handwriting (she wonders how she knows this) to a Secret Party - Invite Your Crush. (She tries not to picture the betrayal on his face, when she touched him, there, when she tore at his shirt seeking the answers to her questions underneath, wrapped up, hidden.) She isn’t anybody’s crush, lately. But she decides to go. (She tries not to think about why.)
Before the party, she finds her dealer. A quick and dirty buzz is just what the doctor ordered, and he gives her a deal, giving her a once-over. “You know I offer discounts for services rendered.” She straightens her dress and hands over the money.
“And you know I don’t do that.”
--
She’s high by the time she gets there. An abandoned church. Somehow fitting. The party hasn’t started yet, she thinks, or if it has then his friends really are as pathetic as Fitz says. She leans against a tree and watches while the emo kid sneaks off with some chick in a grandma sweater, and Adam is left with the finishing touches. (She thinks about him this way, as Adam, as he, without even noticing. Whatever she knows [that he isn’t] everything she sees tells her otherwise. The way he moves, the way he speaks. The way he felt when she danced with him.) And it doesn’t feel bad, just watching him. (It’s the drugs, she thinks.)
Emo boy and Grandma girl come back, and laugh at something he says. Other guests arrive, and the lights come on. Music echoes through the woods and she closes her eyes.
Every time she opens them, his face looks sad.
The buzz is wearing off, and the buzz around the fringes of the party is that the new girl didn’t show. She’s not sure why she feels guilty.
Or why she takes slow, steps through the woods, picking her way over fallen logs and undergrowth, to stand at the edge of the lighted area. He’s leaning close to his friends, his face tight.
(She’s definitely not high any more, but when her heart beats it sounds a little like his name.)
“Cool party.”
He’s startled, and behind him Emo boy’s eyes get wide and he backs away. “Kind of a failure, actually.” He recovers quickly, he always has.
“You haven’t asked anyone to dance.”
“No, I haven’t.”
She touches his hand as he lifts it to run through his hair. “I still remember the steps.”