(A/N): Hello lovelies! I wanted to go over a few things before you read this story, just so things are more clear. This is VERY different from my usual Jeane Birdsall-esque, idealistic, cozy idea of the Penderwicks, and may be pushing the envelope for some people. I read "The Outsiders" a few weeks ago and was instantly attracted to the period. I wanted to write a 1950's Greaser AU and decided to try my hand at Greaser!Skyffrey. Think Allen Ginsberg, leather jackets, Elvis and beatniks. I don't know, this could turn out to be an atrocious mistake on my part, but I so enjoyed writing it. :) Bear with me. As far as I'm concerned, Skye and Jeffrey are around 18 or 19 years old in this AU. There are no mentions of other supporting characters, just some straight up Skyffrey for you wonderful people. Please let me know what you think! Is it a bust or not so much? :)
Hugs.
Spark Writer
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"The weight of the world is love.
Under the burden of solitude,
under the burden of dissatisfaction
the weight,the weight we carry is love. "
- Allen Ginsberg
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With Skye, he was wild; mind racing, body thrumming, so cranked, so flipped, every nerve of him singing with tension, gears humming, churning, engine pumping, working wild, bent eight, 225 horsepower plus, flooring it at 90 miles per hour. With Skye, Jeffrey was alive, driven crazy by her unapologetic obstinacy. He looked at her and his heart lurched behind his ribcage. He looked at her and she radiated the light of so many scintillating stars. He looked at her and all he could think of was rolling land and endless sky and goddamn sunshine. He wanted to know her inside and out, wanted to experience her darkest emotions, wanted to hold her hand so tight it throbbed.
She was perfection and chaos and clarity, and he loved her, he did. With every atom of flesh and bone in his body. She was fire, that girl, so bright she blinded. And he would spend his lifetime chasing after her.
…
Jeffrey took her for a ride on his brand spanking new motorcycle, once, when the days were slipping inexorably into the oppressive heat of summer. Skye had encircled his waist with strong arms, her whole body pressed to Jeffrey's back with the wind whistling past, the thrum of the motorcycle rumbling beneath them.
"Faster," she had been the first to urge, although Jeffrey was already gripping the throttle as though he had never known what it was like to take it slow. The countryside blurred past them in inconsequential streaks. They leaned into the wind, feeling the sun sting their bare skin, knowing for a brief moment the fleeting exhilaration of being in love; with each other, with life, with the fields upon fields of grass that rippled sensuously on all sides.
And as Skye clung to Jeffrey's body, there was nothing that reminded her more of the fact that today could be the day they died.
…
There were times Jeffrey wanted nothing more than to push Skye against the wall and kiss her, hear the soft thud of two bodies bumping against plaster and wood.
Satisfying would not even begin to cover it.
…
Jeffrey's eyes were green, the greenest green Skye could imagine. The sun went through them every now and then, and she could see every little detail in perfect focus. The delicate topography of his irises, the infinite blackness of his pupils, the halo of auburn lashes.
She loved them. In so many ways a mathematician would boggle at the calculations.
…
They clambered into the backseat of Skye's derelict Cadillac, flushed and fiery and focused, moving as a singular being. Jeffrey pulled back and peered into Skye's eyes for a breathless, vertiginuous moment. They glowed like the lit end of a cigarette, burning with calm intensity. He lowered himself to kiss her and she rose to meet him, taking no prisoners. Leaving nothing but ashes.
All the while, Scarlet O'Hara wandered around a demolished plantation projected silver in the background.
…
They stood at the cliff's edge together, kicking roughened pebbles over the edge just to watch them plummet into the mess of navy water and white foam.
Jeffrey laughed; a sound so incandescent it made Skye ache a little.
She turned her head and looked at him, the way a spark must look at dry, crisp kindling while the kindling begs to be set aflame.
…
The morning sun glinted off the river like it was tipped with diamond.
"Someday," Skye said, warm against Jeffrey, "We'll do things no one has ever done before."
He listened to the cadence of her voice, inhaled her beauty, felt her pulse thrumming just beneath her skin.
It would all end one day.
This. Them. Life.
Even the sun would sizzle out and die.
He fumbled for her hand and found it, squeezed it until his knuckles turned white.
"We will," he replied, his voice vibrating in his bones.
"Promise me," said Skye.
…
When Jeffrey spoke to her, his voice shivered with the fervor of tiny earthquakes.
It was beautiful.
More than.
…
Skye always liked to sprint through the lavender shadows at dusk, and Jeffrey always liked to watch her.
She was a wild thing then. Feral. Body vibrant with energy. Illuminated. Hair flying.
Dazzling.
…
"I love you," Skye said to Jeffrey one lazy August evening. 'Fever' drifted from the Granco radio like sun sliding through Venetian blinds.
Skye was not sure of the origin of that damning phrase.
Her lungs and tongue and vocal cords seemed to act against her will, wrenching the truth from a place deep in her gut. Jeffrey inspired some new and frightening feeling: affection beyond the power of logic. And she realized, with swift and agonizing perspicuity, that he was going to ruin her in the most beautiful way.
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To my reviewers:
Thank you so much for your kind words. They mean the world to me and help to quiet the feeling I carry with me all the time, which is that I am never good enough. I appreciate that more than you will ever know. Thank you.
Jane: Thank you for the best, most thoughtful review I have ever recieved. You took such care to contemplate and reflect on this story and write a truly phenomenal comment about it, and oh what a beautiful feeling that gave me. I will never forget it. And yes, if I ever become officially published, I will take a page of my book to write a love letter to this little fandom, who has supported me in countless ways and inspired me to keep going when I swore I could not. You are a wonder. All of you.
Thanks for everything.