Chapter title:  Sketch at Dawn

Rating:  G

Synopsis:  A series of sketches and interludes about different couples on Valentine's Day.

Category:  Slash, romance, fluff, sap, all that good Valentine's stuff

Warnings:  FLUFF.  Take my usual levels, crank them up because of the holidays, add an attempt at a slightly different style to flavor, bake on 350 . . .

Feedback:  Of course, of course.  I'll be posting the rest even if you don't, but please do.  I thrive on it.

Disclaimer:  Newsies not mine.  They thank God every day for that, I just know it.

Notes:  Not quite Valentine's Day yet, but I started early.  There're quite a few chapters to this, although they'll all be about this short, I think.  Don't choke on the fluff.

These little sketches aren't connected.  The only thing holding them together will be a vague framework of time and the interludes (you'll see later).  So for those who can't see a Lodging House full of gay guys (yummy as that would be), no fear; they're entirely unconnected.  Slightly new writing style with this.  I'm fairly satisfied with how it came out.  Kind of.  Err . . . yeah.

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He was awake before Kloppman's "Sell the papes, sell the papes" rooster impression woke them all up.  Everyone else was asleep; Race was still snoring and Pie Eater was mumbling "S'good pie.  Cherry's my favorite," so they must have been.

All except Snitch, apparently.

"Urgh.  Uh, Snitch . . ." he spluttered.

"Mmph?"  Well, maybe Snitch wasn't fully awake.

"Your foot."  He made gagging noises.  "It's on my mouth."

Snitch giggled and twitched his foot.  His smudgy big toe hit Itey's lower lip.

"Urgh," he repeated.

"S-sorry."  More giggling, and finally the not-particularly-pleasant feeling of clammy toes sticking to his chin left as Snitch sat up.  "My feet like you."  Itey watched as Snitch curled his face-friendly feet up under his body, clearly reluctant to put them on the icy floor.

"At least your feet do," Itey murmured.  Snitch looked at him, all confused eyes and morning-messy hair.

"Huh?"

"Nothin'," he said more loudly, but not loud enough to wake anybody up.  The older boys got pretty cranky if anything interrupted their sleep.  And he had Snitch to himself for a bit; free to feel the taffy and sunshine of Snitch's grin against his skin, when the frosty February morning should have been making him shiver.  Maybe let himself pretend for a little while that Snitch felt the same way about him, had the same wish-could-happen feelings that Itey'd been trying to hide for about a year now, maybe longer.

"I dunno why I can't just sleep turned around, if havin' my feet in your face bothers you that much."  Snitch pouted. 

Itey sighed.  He'd only end up embarrassing them both, some night or morning, by waking up with his arms wrapped around thin shoulders and his face buried against a long column of throat, like his dreams had him doing.  So they couldn't.

 "It's Valentine's Day," he said abruptly.

"Yeah," Snitch answered slowly.

"You have a Valentine?"  He asked it carefully, casually.  Last year there had been a girl-- with golden hair, not dark curls, and clean and rosy cheeks instead of dirt-smudged, dusky skin-- on Snitch's arm; Itey's opposite in every way.

"Not really."

"Not really?"  Itey raised an eyebrow.

"Well, uh, no."  Snitch's face was turning suspicious shades of pink, worse than any of the lacey sweetheart cards propped up in shop windows.  Itey grinned.  "But . . ."

His grin wavered.  "But?" he prompted.

"But . . . It's getting pretty late.  Kloppman should be coming soon."

"Someone special, huh?"  That girl-- Helen, or Hannah, or Holly--had left not far into March; it couldn't be her.  There had been no new girls lately.

"I think so," Snitch said, grinning the familiar, crooked, sticky-taffy smile that made Itey's chest tighten.  Whoever the girl was, she was lucky.  "My feet like him."  And then he clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Itey stared and neither one moved.  For a long moment the only sound was an occasional mutter from Pie's direction.

Itey cleared his throat.  "So, you . . .?" he asked vaguely.

 "Umm," Snitch said, voice muffled behind his hand.  Even his ears were turning pink.

"Me?"  He kept his voice neutral.

"Umm."

Suddenly, he couldn't keep from grinning.  "Well, I think maybe I . . . wouldn't mind having you sleep turned around."

Snitch dropped his hand, mouth hanging open.  "You mean?"  Itey nodded.  "No foolin'?"  Itey laughed and shook his head.  "Great!"

Snitch kissed Itey.  It didn't taste like taffy.  Maybe sunshine; early morning sunshine, if there was a difference in flavors.  They pulled away when Kloppman's shoes sounded on the stairs.

Smiling widely, Itey leaned forward.  "Does that make me your Valentine?"

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I thought about doing Snitch/Skittery for this one, but the whole waking up with someone's foot in your face thing just cracks me up.  Also, I had way too much fun with all the round-about dialogue.  Do they ever come out and say it?  *re-reads*  Nope.  Heh.  So, uh, sorry to all the Snitch/Skittery fans.