Disclaimer: Newsies is the property of Disney and the song is the property of Stephen Sondheim.
Sometimes it's true, my words are bitter, but that's because I care. "All For You" Saturday Night
He had never in his wildest dreams even considered that they would end up this way. They hated each other; at least, they were supposed to hate each other. They were supposed to exchange insults and glares with each other. They were supposed to make each others' lives miserable. They were supposed to be on opposite teams when it came to scuffles in the street, cheering on their own friends.
They were not supposed to have sex.
Somehow, the stars had aligned one night and the two of them were thrown together. Skittery had been walking alone on the street, something he'd done many times before. This time, though, there had been someone following him – three someones, in fact. Before he could react, they'd grabbed him, picking his pockets clean. He received several blows and was thrown into a nearby alley. After a kick to the ribs, he decided that the fifty-five cents just wasn't worth it.
He couldn't be sure how long he lay there. Part of it was that he wasn't sure his assailants had left; the other part was that it hurt too much to move.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Sure, he wasn't exactly a guardian angel shining down upon him, but when Skittery finally rolled on to his back and looked up, Oscar Delancy looked absolutely wonderful to him.
"Mugged."
Oscar cursed, not evening trying to hide his amusement. "I thought you newsies had street smarts."
"I do," Skittery grumbled. "I got enough smarts to know that when you're out-numbered three to one you got no choice but to let 'em do what they want."
"So you'd let them screw you if they wanted?"
Skittery shrugged and then winced at the pain.
"Damn," Oscar muttered. He leaned down and yanked Skittery to his feet, despite the protests of pain from the newsboy. "Come on."
"Where you taking me?"
"Does it matter?"
Skittery leaned against his unlikely means of support. "Guess not."
What followed that first night was a multitude of nights filled with secret meetings, stolen kisses, and sex. They would meet behind one of the brothels. If anyone saw them heading to the whorehouse, that person would assume they were going for the same reason the other men were; if they didn't return that night, there would be no questions the following morning, just knowing smirks and hearty pats on the back.
Skittery grew to really enjoy their meetings. It wasn't just the sex; it was the idea of a person being there. When you live on the streets and are forced to be self-sufficient, there is little room for connections with anyone else. You have friends and you screw a prostitute here and there, maybe, but nothing goes beyond that. With Oscar, though, Skittery felt like he wasn't so alone.
The more he thought about it, the more Skittery knew he was developing real feelings for Oscar. That worried him.
While there was certainly passion in their relationship, there was very little tenderness. Oscar was more concerned out sexual releases than he was about actual feelings. Skittery didn't care to discuss it, though. Oscar would have just rolled his eyes and made some disparaging comment about the entire thing. It was best to leave things well enough alone. After all, the two of them had a good thing going, so why mess it up?
"Damn, that's good," Oscar groaned. He rolled to the side, landing beside a panting, sweating Skittery. "Want a cigarette?"
Skittery shook his head as he wiped the sheen of sweat off of his forehead. He had to smile, seeing as it was the first time Oscar had offered him anything.
"How come I'm never…uh…on top," Skittery asked, not sure how exactly to phrase the question. "I mean, you're always the one going inside."
"I've got more experience, Oscar said matter-of-factly. With a devilish smirk, he patted one of Skittery's butt cheeks, adding, "And you've got those firm cheeks." He paused to take a drag on the cigarette. "What are you trying to say, anyway? I don't give you what you need?"
"Nah, that's not it. I just thought that next time…well…maybe I could be on top, you know?"
"Since when do you think?" Oscar said, smacking Skittery on the head. The younger boy blushed furiously, angered by Oscar's insinuation.
"I think a lot," he mumbled. "And I got feelings, you know."
"Saying I don't?"
"You don't seem to." In a bold move, Skittery reached over and plucked the smoldering cigarette from between Oscar's fingers. He pursed his lips around it, revealing in both the taste of tobacco and the taste of Oscar which still lingered around the paper. "Sometimes, I don't think you feel anything."
"I feel lots of things! Right now, for example, I'm feeling angry because some pansy stole my cigarette!"
"I'm a pansy?" Skittery asked, screwing his mouth into a harsh scowl.
"If it looks like a pansy and acts like a pansy, well then it must be a pansy, huh?" Oscar sneered, swiping the cigarette back.
It only took a split second before Skittery jumped up and grabbed his clothes. "I guess you don't want to be seen with a pansy then," he grumbled as he pulled on his trousers. "I guess I should just leave now."
"Leave?" Oscar asked as he sat up. He gave an exasperated sigh, shaking his head furiously. "Look, you don't have to leave! I didn't realize you'd be so hurt by being called a pansy."
"I am a pansy! I ain't ashamed of it, neither!" He was shoving his shirt into the trousers now, just wanting to get out of there. "I don't care what you call me!"
"So what's got your panties in a twist?" When Skittery didn't respond, Oscar stood and grabbed him by the waist, pulling the boy's body back against his own. "You're not leaving before you tell me what this is all about."
Skittery yanked himself away, turning to face the boy he'd grown so attached to. "I'm not interested in being some…some faceless person for you to screw."
"What? You expecting me to pay you for it or something?"
"I can't believe I actually thought this would somehow make things different." Skittery pulled on his boots and gave Oscar – who was still stripped down to nothing – a curt nod.
"Fine!" Oscar relented. "Fine, so I'm an asshole! Fine, so I say hurtful things! I admit it! But you knew that from the beginning! Were you expecting sex to change that?"
Skittery shrugged.
"You can't just expect one relationship to make me some kind of a different man! You get what you see!"
Oscar sat down, his face red from his rant. He took deep, calculated breaths, not wanting to continue until he had calmed down. When his heart rate had returned to normal, he looked back up. Skittery was still standing in his spot, watching Oscar with a mixture of guilt and wonder.
"Look," Oscar began in a toner softer than Skittery had ever heard him use, "I know I'm not a ray of sunshine. I'm pissed half the time. I'm crude. I like to bring people down. I know I've been doing that to you. But it's only because I care."
Skittery scoffed, giving a short laugh. "If that's how you care about a person, maybe I'd rather you didn't care."
"I'm not used to all of this," Oscar said in protest. "Anyone I had sex with in the past has been paid for, no strings attached. Now, I'm expected to be all lovey-dovey? It's not something I'm used to."
"So…when you say mean things to me, it's because you're trying to be caring?"
Oscar shrugged awkwardly. "Yeah."
Skittery slid into a sitting position beside Oscar. Uncertainly, he rested his head against the boy's shoulder. After a moment, Oscar's hand reached up to Skittery's head, his fingers entangling in Skittery's hair.
"Just so you know," Oscar said softly as he ran his lips across Skittery's skin, "when I called you a pansy…I meant it. You are a fucking pansy."
AN: I have a soft spot for this pairing! And, for this song, it worked really well, I think!
Up Next: Escape through literature can be painful if the person escaping cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality. Think you can figure out the song?
