Flurry
Author: Inquisitive (Ink)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I know this may come as a big shock, but I... don't own Newsies. There, I've said it, are you happy now?
A/N[1]: This is an attempt to cure a terrible case of writers block. It's also an excuse to write some Spot/Race slash. Enjoy!
'Why in the world did I tell him that?' Race thought to himself as he fought to restrain the urge to get up out of his bunk and bang his head against the wall.
At any other time he may very well have banged his head against the wall, but it was midnight, and the last thing he needed was a bunch of cranky newsies clobbering him for waking them up.
'What on god's green earth could I have been thinking?' He continued his mental monologue. 'The problem is you weren't thinking, or you would have kept your mouth shut!' He chided himself. 'Did I just answer myself? Oh well, a little mental dialogue never hurt anyone, right?... Don't answer that!'
Race pushed himself up out of his warm bunk, deciding he'd had enough of talking to himself for one night. As soon as his bare feet hit the hardwood floor, a shiver coursed through his body.
Quickly locating his shirt, his socks, and his shoes, having gone to bed in everything else, he got dressed, mentally cursing December for being so cold. Knotting the final lace, he snatched his last cigar off the table next to the bunk, and gazed out the window.
Snow was falling steadily, leaving the city pure, white, and untainted, if only for a few hours before the sun rose and the action of the city turned this delicate layer of perfection to slush and mud.
Race tore his eyes away from the swirling patterns of frost staining the window, and began tiptoeing across the bunk room. As he reached the door, he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't disturbed anyone. In doing this, his eyes landed on Jack, his best friend. Race realized how much younger Jack looked when he was asleep, he didn't look like a strike leader, or an escaped convict from the House of Refuge. When he slept, Jack looked like a seventeen year old boy who never got enough to eat, who had never had anything handed to him, who had to get up in the morning and sell his papers in the snow, whether he wanted to or not.
Race paused with his hand on the doorknob, and wondered if Spot was even capable of looking so young.
'Not that I'll ever get the chance to find out now.' He thought to himself. 'He kicked me out of Brooklyn when I told him, he'll probably never speak to me again, much less sleep in the same room with me, no matter how many other people are there.'
Race quietly made his way down the stairs, wanting to take a short walk and clear his head.
'I have got to be the dumbest person in all of New York.' He once again berated himself. It was in this depressed state of mind that he, not paying the least bit of attention to what he was doing, unlocked the door, flung it open, and went storming through it.
Or he would have, if his storming had not been interrupted by a collision with a very cold, very flustered, and now very irate, Spot Conlon.
"Oof!" Spot exclaimed, falling backwards off of the steps and into a snowbank.
"Ahh!" Race yelped, falling halfway into the lodging house doorway, and hitting his head on the floor. He sat up, rubbing his head ruefully. "Spot!?" He asked in disbelief.
"What?" Spot snapped as he stood up brushing the snow off of his pants and the back of his shirt, both of which were drenched and frigid.
"What... What are... you, doing here?" Race asked, fighting to piece together a sentence, as several thoughts rushed through his head at once. The worst of these being that Spot was here to tell everyone what he had done, thereby getting him kicked out of the lodging house and most likely getting him beaten to death in the bargain. Race desperately hoped that his friends would be more understanding than that, but after seeing how Spot had reacted this afternoon, he had his doubts.
"I'm tryin' my level best to catch pneumonia, I hear it's a good way to lose a few pounds." Was Spot's smart ass comment as he gestured to his slim waist.
At the gesture, Race's eyes traveled over Spot's body, drinking in every detail. From the pants and shirt which were wet and clinging in all the right places, to his lips which were rough and chapped with the cold, to the solitary snowflake which was resting on one of his golden eyelashes.
The snow began to fall faster and Spot started shivering. Race finally returned to his senses, and stepped to one side of the doorway.
"Why don't you come inside?"
"No thanks." Spot said through chattering teeth.
"If you don't get out of the snow you really are gonna catch pneumonia!"
"Fuck off Higgins."
"Not until you tell me what your doing here!"
"I felt like taking a walk." Spot replied, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm.
"It's nearly midnight!" Race exclaimed, frustrated.
"So?"
"It's
snowing!"
Spot shrugged.
"Fine!" Race said exasperated. "But I'm not going to leave you out here alone to die."
"GOD, you sound like an old house wife!" Spot said, disgusted.
"At least I have more sense than to walk from Brooklyn to Manhattan in the middle of the night, during a blizzard for NO REASON!" Race yelled.
"I never said I didn't have a reason!" Spot said, raising his voice to compete with Race's.
"THEN WHAT IS IT?" Race shouted.
Spot grabbed the front of his shirt, and Race shut his eyes and braced himself for the blow that he knew was coming. All at once Spot's lips were on his, rough, and chapped, and warm, and perfect.
It only lasted for a few seconds, and by the time what had happened had registered in Race's mind, it was over. Spot took a shaky step back waiting for his heart beat to slow back down. Race stood in shock watching captivated as Spot's hot breath hit the cold night air and swirled around his face illuminating each angelic feature.
Spot nervously licked his lips. Sudden realization hit Race so quickly that you could see it written clearly on his face.
"But... you. Earlier..."
"I'm sorry." Spot whispered, looking down. "You took me by surprise."
"So you don't hate me?" Race asked, his voice sounding so hopeful that Spot nearly laughed out loud. He shook his head, smiling a genuine smile, and looking Race strait in the eyes. That was enough for Race, he lunged forward kissing Spot forcefully. Spot returned the kiss with just as much energy, each boy battling for dominance of the others mouth. It wasn't until Race reached for the top button of Spot's shirt that Spot paused.
"Race, come on." He said, breaking the kiss.
"Huh?" Race asked fearing he had done something wrong.
"We're making out on the doorstep at midnight in the middle of a fucking blizzard!" Spot stated gesturing toward the storm going on around them.
"So?" Race asked innocently.
"Higgins!" Spot growled.
Race smirked as Spot grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the lodging house, quietly closing the door behind them.
A/N[2]: That was fun! Just wait till next chapter! It will be even more fun! Hint Hint Nudge Nudge. I was listening to Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits while I wrote this, not that that is of any relevance to anything, I just thought you might like to know. Please review! Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, what I can do to make it better in the future. Seriously, the entire basis of this fic was a mental picture of a snowflake on Spot's eyelash. Thank you for reading my story, expect another chapter as soon as I can get to it. Probably a couple of days.
~Ink