Hello, hello, hello!
I am back from my Newsies hiatus! I went through a...thing, where I just couldn't get any inspiration, but finally, I got depressed and felt like writing.
Sometimes, skipping Zoloft is worth it.
Ah, how I love to write. By the way, if Newsies ain't the only thing you like, check out my profile, and see if anything there catches your eye. Lalala.
Pairing: Race and Spot. I am so biased when it comes to them. Race and Spot are my babies. Oooh, that's risqué, check the disclaimer below.
Summary: err, just read it!
Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. Anything. Honest, people. *Sappy grin* I promise.
Here we go again, kiddies. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.
::Dancing Around the Issue::
Nimble fingers pulled at the hem of the black fabric of a shirt nervously, one hand still gripping the cigarette dangling from his lips. He cast azure eyes on the streets, looking back and forth. Fucking kid better show, he thought angrily. This happened every week; they would agree to meet, and his would be stood up. Well, stood up for a good half and hour. That still counted at standing someone up, he thought defensively.
Race just had to pull his stupid stunts. Make a specific time—which Spot was sure was simply a test of his own punctuality—then he would call Spot on his cell phone, asking if he was already at the movies. Fifteen minutes later, he would appear, out of breath, his hair in a mess, claiming he had mounds of homework. Mounds of homework Spot's ass! Spot shifted against the concrete wall, exhaling a dark cloud of smoke. Around the corner, he heard the telltale coughing of his best friend.
"Sorry Spot. So, what are we seeing?" Anthony Higgins stood there in all of his short Italian glory, puffs of breath emitting from him spontaneously. Spot was sure he had asthma or something.
Spot threw down his annoyingly unfinished cigarette, stomping on the smoking fag much harder than needed. Well, it might have been needed the first time, but in Race's opinion, the second two were completely redundant. "I, uh, don't think there's a fire hazard anymore, Spotty."
His pretty blond friend stared at him, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed together, and his eyes wide in warning. Racetrack could feel a figurative storm brewing. He stepped back a few paces.
"You. Inside. Now!" Spots bony finger was in his face, needlessly threatening his personal space. He should have known the homework excuse wouldn't work. Race nodded shortly, following his angry blond friend.
Spot, even in his angered state, felt that he should go about this rationally. He stalked over to the concession stand, slamming a bill down and asking for a soda. By God, if Race said one stupid thing in his defense, that three-dollar super sized soda would be all over his face. And if he even mentioned that night...he slurped up some of his drink with an attitude, and fought the urge to smile when he heard the employee complaining about how rude he was.
Race stood there, fidgeting with his back and red striped vest. It was unconventionally cute, the way Race never matched, no matter how hard he tried. Judging by the way Spot had watched Race literally get dressed in the dark more than once, he didn't try very hard.
Spot led him back towards the theatre, glad he had thought ahead and bought them both tickets. Then again, it hadn't really been thinking ahead, since he had been on time. Regardless, they were a good ten minutes early, so the theatre should be empty. The stubby little pimple-faced boy took his tickets and tore them, directing a sickeningly sweet smile at Spot. His middle finger sprung up at the boy, against his will.
Race barely had time to look up at the sign displaying the name of the movie they were seeing. "Oh, yeah, I've been wanting to see this!" He said, without thinking. He told himself Spot wasn't thinking either when he yanked him-hard-into the dark room.
"Top or bottom?" Spot asked, and Race found himself staring at him in shock. Spot rolled his eyes. "Don't even play around. You like the back row. Stupid question, I guess." His voice became quieter. "I'm beginning to think this Friday-night movie idea is pretty stupid too."
The Italian teen stared at his best friend in shock. "Look, man, I know I've been late every time, but I got a good reason!"
Spot looked unconvinced. "Oh. Well, excuse me for acting like a girl. I forgot how important homework is to you."
Race gulped, as he always did when those clear blue eyes focused on him. "I...geez-us, Spotty, it's a surprise, for you."
"I don't like surprises."
Once those words were issued, people began to file into the theatre. Really, Race thought, didn't those people have watches? The movie didn't start for another...oh. He exhaled, blinking as the screen lit up, and the previews began. He glanced over at Spots face, smiling softly at the way the lights played across Spots face, how they reflected in those round eyes.
Once the movie was over, Spot got up with speed Race didn't know he possessed, and left the theatre before anyone had even begun whispering about how much they loved or hated the movie. Not giving much idle thought to it, he jumped up and raced after Spot.
Spot Conlon, the elusive boy from Brooklyn, who was rumored of even at Race's high school in Manhattan, wasn't a bad guy. Sure, he smoked, he drank, but it wasn't like he killed anyone or anything. Most people stayed away from Race because of the fact he hung out with the famous Conlon; they figured he was an accomplice in murder.
Regardless of the rumors, Race was willing to stand by Spot, even when he had these tantrums. He knew it was bad to lie to his best friend, but it would be worth it in the end. It would all work out. He grinned, before realizing Spot was still ahead of him, and...Probably in the bathroom. Halfway through the movie, Spot had finished his abnormally large drink.
The blond boy was indeed in the bathroom, relieving himself at one of the more, err, public facilities. Race cleared his throat and turned his head pointedly when he had Spot's attention.
"Oh come on," Spot barked, "You've seen my dick before."
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He could feel his face turning red in frustration. Spot could sometimes have that effect on him.
"You could have told me, you know. Correct me if I'm wrong, though. Making out with some bimbo, before realizing you're late for our stupid little date thing, so you rush over here, then tell me you had homework. Explain that to me, if you will."
Through wide brown eyes, Race saw how incredibly worked up Spot was getting. "No, no! Spotty, I wouldn't go out with some girl and not tell you! We...we kissed."
Spot was across the room in a minute and pinning Race to the wall. "That isn't mentioned to anyone!"
Race, in an unusual display of bravery, grabbed Spots hand. "Come on. Time for me to show you your surprise."
Spot spit, he growled; he did a lot of embarssing things he would no doubt regret later. Still, Race dragged him down the streets of Manhattan, ignoring any classmates he happened to be taunted by on the way. Luckily, and kids he did encounter immediately saw Spot and shut up promptly. Ah, Race thought, the power of Spot.
About six blocks away from the movies was a popular club for teenagers, one of Spots favorite places to go. No matter how many times he begged Race to go with him though, Race refused. Sadly, the Italian couldn't dance.
Spot stared up in confusion. "You lied about homework to take me to a club. Gotta try harder than that, Higgins."
Race sighed, and his shoulders sagged. Spot could be so...so...difficult. He widened his eyes marginally, a look Spot could never resist. He could tell the power his stare was having on the blond already.
"Race...arrrgh, noooo," he groaned softly. He could feel his anger crumbling away.
"Okay, don't be mad."
Before Spot could even ask what the hell that meant, soft lips were pressing against his own. Without thinking, he kissed back, wrapping his arms around Race's neck. It was when someone cleared their throat they pulled apart.
"Well...that doesn't explain the lying thing."
Race put one foot in front of the other, in a surprising display of actual balance. He spun once, open his arms wide when he had finished his little...thing. "Well...?"
Spot smiled then, and stepped forward. "Racey...doth mine eyes deceive me? Were you just...dancing?"
Race smirked, dimples appearing on his cheeks. The casual expression was belied by the way he shyly lowered his eyes, though. "Surprise," he said quietly. "I've been getting lessons for the past sex weeks. I thought it would be better if I could totally surprise you. Dancing is more of your thing. Movies are mine. So...wanna go dance?"
Spot launched his body forward, grabbing the dark-haired boys hands and spinning him in a wide circle. Several people walking by on the sidewalk cried out in surprise, grumbling about teenagers, but Spot couldn't care less. "You kidding? I wanna dance all night, Racey."
Race laughed nervously. "Well, you know I'm a slow learner, so my dancing may be kind of bad still..."
"Don't worry," Spot purred, "I can give you some private lessons when we get home. You are staying at my house tonight, right?"
Race gave him an 'are you kidding' look. "Yeah, and you know I'm sorry about lying to ya, right? I wanna be clear on that."
Spot smirked. "I'm not so sorry about being an asshole. I'll make it up to you, though, I promise."
After sharing another kiss, Spot and Race walked into the club hand in hand. They danced for a good few hours, before going home for those private lessons. Race had to admit after that, he could see why Spot liked to dance so much.
Yeah, he could really get used to dancing.
~Fin~
********* IT'S OVER!
********* Yes, it's over.
********* You'll just have to leave a review telling me how much you loved it.
********* But then, I'm an open-minded person. Flame me. I dare you!
********* The buttons down below.
********* Make your decision.
********* And make it the right one.
I am back from my Newsies hiatus! I went through a...thing, where I just couldn't get any inspiration, but finally, I got depressed and felt like writing.
Sometimes, skipping Zoloft is worth it.
Ah, how I love to write. By the way, if Newsies ain't the only thing you like, check out my profile, and see if anything there catches your eye. Lalala.
Pairing: Race and Spot. I am so biased when it comes to them. Race and Spot are my babies. Oooh, that's risqué, check the disclaimer below.
Summary: err, just read it!
Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. Anything. Honest, people. *Sappy grin* I promise.
Here we go again, kiddies. Buckle up and enjoy the ride.
::Dancing Around the Issue::
Nimble fingers pulled at the hem of the black fabric of a shirt nervously, one hand still gripping the cigarette dangling from his lips. He cast azure eyes on the streets, looking back and forth. Fucking kid better show, he thought angrily. This happened every week; they would agree to meet, and his would be stood up. Well, stood up for a good half and hour. That still counted at standing someone up, he thought defensively.
Race just had to pull his stupid stunts. Make a specific time—which Spot was sure was simply a test of his own punctuality—then he would call Spot on his cell phone, asking if he was already at the movies. Fifteen minutes later, he would appear, out of breath, his hair in a mess, claiming he had mounds of homework. Mounds of homework Spot's ass! Spot shifted against the concrete wall, exhaling a dark cloud of smoke. Around the corner, he heard the telltale coughing of his best friend.
"Sorry Spot. So, what are we seeing?" Anthony Higgins stood there in all of his short Italian glory, puffs of breath emitting from him spontaneously. Spot was sure he had asthma or something.
Spot threw down his annoyingly unfinished cigarette, stomping on the smoking fag much harder than needed. Well, it might have been needed the first time, but in Race's opinion, the second two were completely redundant. "I, uh, don't think there's a fire hazard anymore, Spotty."
His pretty blond friend stared at him, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed together, and his eyes wide in warning. Racetrack could feel a figurative storm brewing. He stepped back a few paces.
"You. Inside. Now!" Spots bony finger was in his face, needlessly threatening his personal space. He should have known the homework excuse wouldn't work. Race nodded shortly, following his angry blond friend.
Spot, even in his angered state, felt that he should go about this rationally. He stalked over to the concession stand, slamming a bill down and asking for a soda. By God, if Race said one stupid thing in his defense, that three-dollar super sized soda would be all over his face. And if he even mentioned that night...he slurped up some of his drink with an attitude, and fought the urge to smile when he heard the employee complaining about how rude he was.
Race stood there, fidgeting with his back and red striped vest. It was unconventionally cute, the way Race never matched, no matter how hard he tried. Judging by the way Spot had watched Race literally get dressed in the dark more than once, he didn't try very hard.
Spot led him back towards the theatre, glad he had thought ahead and bought them both tickets. Then again, it hadn't really been thinking ahead, since he had been on time. Regardless, they were a good ten minutes early, so the theatre should be empty. The stubby little pimple-faced boy took his tickets and tore them, directing a sickeningly sweet smile at Spot. His middle finger sprung up at the boy, against his will.
Race barely had time to look up at the sign displaying the name of the movie they were seeing. "Oh, yeah, I've been wanting to see this!" He said, without thinking. He told himself Spot wasn't thinking either when he yanked him-hard-into the dark room.
"Top or bottom?" Spot asked, and Race found himself staring at him in shock. Spot rolled his eyes. "Don't even play around. You like the back row. Stupid question, I guess." His voice became quieter. "I'm beginning to think this Friday-night movie idea is pretty stupid too."
The Italian teen stared at his best friend in shock. "Look, man, I know I've been late every time, but I got a good reason!"
Spot looked unconvinced. "Oh. Well, excuse me for acting like a girl. I forgot how important homework is to you."
Race gulped, as he always did when those clear blue eyes focused on him. "I...geez-us, Spotty, it's a surprise, for you."
"I don't like surprises."
Once those words were issued, people began to file into the theatre. Really, Race thought, didn't those people have watches? The movie didn't start for another...oh. He exhaled, blinking as the screen lit up, and the previews began. He glanced over at Spots face, smiling softly at the way the lights played across Spots face, how they reflected in those round eyes.
Once the movie was over, Spot got up with speed Race didn't know he possessed, and left the theatre before anyone had even begun whispering about how much they loved or hated the movie. Not giving much idle thought to it, he jumped up and raced after Spot.
Spot Conlon, the elusive boy from Brooklyn, who was rumored of even at Race's high school in Manhattan, wasn't a bad guy. Sure, he smoked, he drank, but it wasn't like he killed anyone or anything. Most people stayed away from Race because of the fact he hung out with the famous Conlon; they figured he was an accomplice in murder.
Regardless of the rumors, Race was willing to stand by Spot, even when he had these tantrums. He knew it was bad to lie to his best friend, but it would be worth it in the end. It would all work out. He grinned, before realizing Spot was still ahead of him, and...Probably in the bathroom. Halfway through the movie, Spot had finished his abnormally large drink.
The blond boy was indeed in the bathroom, relieving himself at one of the more, err, public facilities. Race cleared his throat and turned his head pointedly when he had Spot's attention.
"Oh come on," Spot barked, "You've seen my dick before."
"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He could feel his face turning red in frustration. Spot could sometimes have that effect on him.
"You could have told me, you know. Correct me if I'm wrong, though. Making out with some bimbo, before realizing you're late for our stupid little date thing, so you rush over here, then tell me you had homework. Explain that to me, if you will."
Through wide brown eyes, Race saw how incredibly worked up Spot was getting. "No, no! Spotty, I wouldn't go out with some girl and not tell you! We...we kissed."
Spot was across the room in a minute and pinning Race to the wall. "That isn't mentioned to anyone!"
Race, in an unusual display of bravery, grabbed Spots hand. "Come on. Time for me to show you your surprise."
Spot spit, he growled; he did a lot of embarssing things he would no doubt regret later. Still, Race dragged him down the streets of Manhattan, ignoring any classmates he happened to be taunted by on the way. Luckily, and kids he did encounter immediately saw Spot and shut up promptly. Ah, Race thought, the power of Spot.
About six blocks away from the movies was a popular club for teenagers, one of Spots favorite places to go. No matter how many times he begged Race to go with him though, Race refused. Sadly, the Italian couldn't dance.
Spot stared up in confusion. "You lied about homework to take me to a club. Gotta try harder than that, Higgins."
Race sighed, and his shoulders sagged. Spot could be so...so...difficult. He widened his eyes marginally, a look Spot could never resist. He could tell the power his stare was having on the blond already.
"Race...arrrgh, noooo," he groaned softly. He could feel his anger crumbling away.
"Okay, don't be mad."
Before Spot could even ask what the hell that meant, soft lips were pressing against his own. Without thinking, he kissed back, wrapping his arms around Race's neck. It was when someone cleared their throat they pulled apart.
"Well...that doesn't explain the lying thing."
Race put one foot in front of the other, in a surprising display of actual balance. He spun once, open his arms wide when he had finished his little...thing. "Well...?"
Spot smiled then, and stepped forward. "Racey...doth mine eyes deceive me? Were you just...dancing?"
Race smirked, dimples appearing on his cheeks. The casual expression was belied by the way he shyly lowered his eyes, though. "Surprise," he said quietly. "I've been getting lessons for the past sex weeks. I thought it would be better if I could totally surprise you. Dancing is more of your thing. Movies are mine. So...wanna go dance?"
Spot launched his body forward, grabbing the dark-haired boys hands and spinning him in a wide circle. Several people walking by on the sidewalk cried out in surprise, grumbling about teenagers, but Spot couldn't care less. "You kidding? I wanna dance all night, Racey."
Race laughed nervously. "Well, you know I'm a slow learner, so my dancing may be kind of bad still..."
"Don't worry," Spot purred, "I can give you some private lessons when we get home. You are staying at my house tonight, right?"
Race gave him an 'are you kidding' look. "Yeah, and you know I'm sorry about lying to ya, right? I wanna be clear on that."
Spot smirked. "I'm not so sorry about being an asshole. I'll make it up to you, though, I promise."
After sharing another kiss, Spot and Race walked into the club hand in hand. They danced for a good few hours, before going home for those private lessons. Race had to admit after that, he could see why Spot liked to dance so much.
Yeah, he could really get used to dancing.
~Fin~
********* IT'S OVER!
********* Yes, it's over.
********* You'll just have to leave a review telling me how much you loved it.
********* But then, I'm an open-minded person. Flame me. I dare you!
********* The buttons down below.
********* Make your decision.
********* And make it the right one.