A Taste of Desire


Disclaimer: I do not own The Breakfast Club
Fic Conceptualized: late February '06
Date Posted: April 9
Pairing: John/Claire; the princess and the criminal
Ratings/Warnings: this chapter is probably one of the highest-rated, but only because of the language Bender so kindly graces us with; besides coarse language, there is little to no objectionable material (the worst would a make-out scene, should I decide that one is needed)
A/N: This isn't my first TBC fic, but it is the first with multiple chapters. I'm already in love with this story and I've only just begun writing it. I'm a little nervous, though-- but who isn't? Let's just hope I did the characters justice. The rating will be 'T' for now, but if anyone thinks I should raise it because of the bad language, please tell me. I'm basing the rating off the ratings of other fics I've read in the fandom. Ahh, and just for the record-- the title of this piece was taken from Robert Frost's poem "Fire and Ice". Thank you, and I hope everyone enjoys!
Chapter Notes: in first-person (Bender) POV

Prologue: Standing Quiet in the Rain

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I don't remember when the colors first started to blur together. I don't remember the exact moment I realized that I would only see life in black and white. It never really mattered to me– I could have had a fucking technicolor rainbow for a world and nothing would have gotten any better.

It was the same old shit day after day. Day... after every damn day. What should it matter to me, anyway?

The best way to put it is like this:

I was in some class– probably English– some year, some day, some period. It seems long ago, but it could have really been just a few weeks for all I was aware of the situation. The teacher– some hag– was droning on about some lame-ass book. Alright, not just some lame-ass book; it was Moby Dick, so that lame-ass book. Anyway, the dumb broad was passing out some papers about it, and– contrary to an apparently popular belief– I can read.

So I did.

Hey, I have an image to maintain. If I want to keep hating school, I should at least know what I'm hating, right? And maybe I was half-intrigued by the title.

Well whatever the reason– and I'm not worrying about it now– I read part of the damn papers. It was just the first chapter.

And I realized then that some of these dead writer bastards actually know what the hell they're talking about.

I knew exactly what that Melville guy meant when whoever-the-hell-he-was said he had a damp, drizzly November in his soul. Yeah, so it's pretty fucking poetic– sue me, bitches.

I feel like the rain; gray and sopping and loathed by just about everyone. I like the rain.

I've always liked the rain.

And I was always fine with my drizzle, with my fucking colorless world. It wasn't nice, but it was mine. I didn't need the blues or the greens or the oranges or the sunshine-funshine fucking yellows. I was too caught up in all my storm-clouds– I liked the afternoons when the sky was a wall of grays and blues so blue they were almost purple, right before the first drop fell, when it felt like the world was winding up for the final onslaught.

All that raw power in the wind, then... Well, it made me feel absolutely untouchable, like I was eternal and infinite and above the rest of the human race. Like some power ballad– God, I'm untouchable then, on those beautiful, cold-intensity days.

I had my damn November, all wet and sad and depressing; I had had it for years. I was blind– I saw nothing, except for everything in that damn black and white and gray.

Until one day I got detention.

Nothing new, right?

No, because I waltzed in exactly like I did on every other Saturday I had to drag my ass up there and was more than ready to stand up to Dick like I owned the place. Did I care that there were four others in there with me? No. Did I ever even imagine that I'd suddenly be granted sight? No.

But I was.

And I could see.

And I realized, for the first time in my life, just how much I liked the color red.


prologue end


End A/N: Thank you for reading! I should continue this, right? It's going to be an eventual John/Claire, because I'm unhealthily addicted to that pairing. It's almost a Monday fic, but... Well, this first part proves that this fic's at least a little different, doesn't it? I'd appreciate reviews. Oh dear me, would I EVER appreciate reviews. And a beta-reader for the rest of the fic if anyone's interested... Heh. Anyway, expect an update sometime soon! I'll be writinga lot untilthis insomniatic spell passes...

ILB