Author's Note: A little Racetrack het, because most of the good romance stuff about him is slash (he and Spot do make a nice couple) and I felt like a change. This is inspired by timeis1800hours' A Girl to Keep, a really nice one shot about Racetrack. I drew a lot from it (though hopefully not too much?). Definitely go read it if you haven't already. Anyway, keep in mind this is my first fic, though hopefully not the last!
Disclaimer: Though I suppose I "own" the unnamed female character in this piece, I don't own Newsies or Racetrack, obviously (but boy I wish I did). Wouldn't that be weird? If one of the owners at Disney wrote a sexually explicit fanfic? Creepy.
The skirt, which had danced around her ankles as she swept by him all those times, was now hiked up well past her thighs, and he could hardly contain himself at the sight. As quickly as he was able, his suspenders were unhooked and his fly undone as he settled between her. He paused here to look her inquiringly in the eyes. She answered with an innocent but eager smile and pulled his face close to hers. This was all the response he needed, and their mouths clashed furiously as he entered her.
They rolled around in the white cotton sheets for a few minutes, grunting and pulling and kissing and panting, but quickly it was over. He lay on top of her for another moment, regaining composure and catching his breath, and finally turned over beside her. He felt a little sick as he noticed she'd gotten a smudge of ink or dirt on her cheek from his hands. Everything I touch turns dirty, he thought bitterly He wiped his nose with his sleeve briefly and let out an awkward cough. Fumbling around the bed, his hand found the cigar that had fallen out of his pocket. A packet of matches lay on the bedside table, along with an ashtray. He lit a match on the bedpost and moved it over the tip of the cigar, puffing until he was satisfied.
Racetrack knew what was next. She'd eye him warily, hoping he'd get dressed and get moving, and with nothing more than a goodbye they'd be out of each other's lives forever. Unless he happened to cross her on the street of course, in which case he'd offer her a pape and she'd avoid his gaze and take one and he'd walk away with a lighter bundle and a cold penny in his pocket.
He glanced over at her, expecting an impatient stare in return, but to his surprise she was getting further undressed. His mouth hung open slightly as his eyes moved over her body, taking in every curve and valley. She noticed his look and fought back a laugh, reaching over for his cigar and taking a few puffs herself. Watching his reaction and putting it in the ashtray, she murmured, "Take off your shirt."
He didn't need to be told twice. He pulled it over his head and winced at a pain in his shoulder, sore from fighting with scabs the day before, and briefly wondered if the punch he'd thrown was hurting him more than the victim on the receiving end. Before he could give it any more thought, however, she was prompting him to roll over on his stomach. He obliged, albeit skeptically, folding his arms beneath his chin.
Sun was streaming in from between the curtains, basking him in warmth. She sat beside him and began to massage his back, starting with the neck and shoulders. Gradually her hands moved down, from triceps to hamstrings, leaving no area untouched and every muscle soothed with individual attention. He closed his eyes and smiled with a mix of pleasure and disbelief. Her hands seemed to move with a mission, conscious of their power. Her fingers dispensed comfort, releasing knots of tension and weakening his defenses. She gave his hurt shoulder a rub once more and lied back down in satisfaction.
His eyes fluttered open lazily and surveyed the modest but comfortable surroundings. Dust danced and swirled in beams of light, and for an instant Racetrack wondered if he was in heaven. He turned his head enough too look at her and realized that the muscle pain was gone, but he was now so relaxed he could barely move. With some effort he shifted over to her. He stroked her face – silently cursing the dirt beneath his fingernails – and brought his lips to hers. Then, with a bit more confidence, he again spread her legs and fit himself between her.
This time he worked slowly, deliberately, so that each thrust altered her expression slightly and caused her to moan a little louder. He gently adjusted the position of her legs, applied more pressure here or there, watching her eyes steadily as he moved. Their noses brushed together with each pump, and he worked this way until she was brought to climax, whispering his name. Only after that did he allow himself release, and crumpled into her arms, his face buried against her neck.
Their skin soaked with sweat and his body limp with exhaustion, all he could do was take in the scent of her hair and listen to her soft breathing. The threat of pregnancy briefly crossed through his mind – he didn't like to gamble when he wasn't sure of the odds - but like page five of yesterday's pape, it quickly became old news. Nothing to do about it now.
He kissed her neck softly and moved a callused hand over her body. She ran her fingers through his soft, black hair and sighed serenely. It scared him a little to realize he'd never been quite this intimate, felt this vulnerable. It scared him and he liked it. He propped himself on his elbow in order to look her in the face.
"What do you like about me?" she asked quietly, as there had been little sound for several minutes.
"About a million and one t'ings," he said seriously. "Whaddaya like about me? Cuz dat's da part I can't figure out."
She smiled and studied him briefly. "I like your mouth full of crowded teeth." He raised an eyebrow and gave her a toothy grin.
"Come to t'ink about it, I like da way your bottom teeth overlap each otha," he said. She blushed a little.
"I like the few freckles on your nose, and the dark circles under your eyes." She traced them with her finger for emphasis, and he rolled his eyes and smiled.
"I like dat schnoz of yours, how it's just a little big." She punched him playfully in the chest.
"I like how you look younger than you are, and you're just barely taller than me, by maybe an inch." He leaned down to kiss her, and lowered his voice.
"I like dat it took you six times buyin' papes offa me before you got da nerve to ask me my name, and you blushed when you finally did." She interlaced her hand with his.
"I like that your hands are always stained black, and how you tripped in the street walkin' away from me that day when you introduced yourself." They laughed.
"Alright den… I like dat even though you spend all day washin' dishes, yer hands are still soft an' smooth." He paused to kiss her palm. "And I like dat I sold you papes every day on yer way ta work for three weeks, and dat the first day the strike started ya came lookin' for me."
"I like that you had a new joke for every time you saw me, and how every so often I'd catch you sneaking on the back of a carriage to take you to the tracks." He chuckled.
"I like dat dis is the first time for as long as I can remember dat I haven't had da urge ta go there."
"I like that we decided to do this," she said, and her smile flickered and faded. He furrowed his brow.
"Y'know, I just don't get it. How's a girl like you not taken? How's a girl like you go for a bum like me?" She looked away from him and didn't respond for several moments.
"Race, I'm… isn't it obvious why most men don't want me?" He stared at her quizzically.
"Oh, is dis one of dose… dose t'ings girls say about dem being ugly?" he asked. "So dey can get some reassurance or sometin'? Well, yer beautiful, sweetheart. Absolutely beautiful, flaws and all."
She bit her lip and slung an arm across her face. "No, Race. Not my looks. The fact that I'm… the fact that I'm not a - a virgin? And I've never been married? That never occurred to you?" He squinted at her, not understanding. "Y'know, I date guys from time to time, and I'm in no hurry to marry. I ain't proud of it, but I also never felt like waiting to sleep with a guy. I think you learn a lot about a person when you're with 'em that way. So once in awhile, I do. Only when I like them, though," she added quickly, reading his look. "And though my mom's not happy, she's accepted it. Most people I meet, on the other hand, have not. It hasn't gotten me anything, except disapproving looks from strangers and a few crooked teeth."
Race frowned. He cupped her chin in his hand and stared her in the eye. "Whaddya mean? Did somebody hurt you?"
"It hasn't happened in awhile, but then again, I haven't had the courage to… to be with anybody for awhile." She sighed. "So, there that is."
He paused in thought. "Well, but dat don't mean yer not a respectable girl. Hey, look at me. Dat don't mean yer not a lady." She slowly raised her eyes to him. "Look, am I one to judge anyone on how dey live? Yer a beautiful, hard-workin' girl and I…" He trailed off, unsure of what exactly he was going to say next, but her eyes urged him to continue.
"Well I…" He searched helplessly for the words. "Okay, well, you've probably seen me gamblin' around town before, right? You've seen how I'm always winnin' or cheatin' people outta their money. And you've seen me hitchin' rides on the backs of carriages to Sheepshead Bay, right? It's where I go every day, on my own, to sell papes, bet on horses and blow away my money. Sometimes I lose, sometimes I win. It's da t'ing I'm most known for, right?" She nodded once more. "Well, my whole life I've been kinda lucky – I mean, relatively, y'know – and my whole life I've exploited dat quality of mine. But I'll tell ya, I've never felt luckier than I do right now, wit you."
She didn't respond right away, and he felt embarrassment creep into his face. He thought it sounded stupid, seeing as they didn't know each other very well, but at the same time, it was the truth. He needed to say it.
"You mean that?" she asked finally. He raised his eyebrows and nodded.
"Yeah. I wouldn'ta said so, otherwise. I mean, I'm not exactly known for sayin' schmaltzy stuff like dat. It could ruin my reputation, so don't tell da boys," he added with a wink. She beamed, a little watery-eyed, and planted several kisses on his neck and collarbone. He smiled to himself. It appeared he'd said the right thing after all—
"Aw, shit!" he yelled suddenly, startling them both. "I mean - excuse me - what time is it? Where's my watch!" He stumbled off the bed and sifted through his clothes until he found his pocket watch.
"What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. He quickly pulled on his slacks and reattached his suspenders.
"Nothin', I'm sorry, but we's got a meeting at Tibby's real soon and I gotta be there, I'm sorry—" He threw on his shirt and buttoned it. She rose out of bed and began dressing as well.
"Does it have to do with the strike?"
"Yeah. Our pitcha's supposed to be in the papes for it, too. It's heatin' up." She smiled, pulling on her skirt.
"I think it's really admirable what you all are doing… you'll have to show me the picture some time, since I haven't been getting any papes the past few days." The two paused to grin at each other.
After a moment, Race put on his cap and tentatively asked, "Say, uh… well, this is kind of a stupid question, but… you've never, uh… 'bought papes' from any other newsies, right?" He bent down to pull on his boots. "If you… get what I'm sayin'?" When no reply came, he stopped tying his laces and looked at her expectantly.
She finished buttoning her blouse and avoided his eyes. "Well…"
He stood up. "Well what, exactly?"
"Well," she began again, slowly. "Recently, there was this taller newsboy, with glasses and a bowler hat…"
The color drained from his face. "Specs? Specs!"
She met his eyes, and suddenly couldn't contain her grin. He caught on and breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around her as she laughed. "Sorry, it was too easy," she said, smirking into his chest. He snorted.
"I really—I'd love to stay, but I'm running late already. And you gotta know, dis timing's a little bad for me. It might be a little while before I can see ya again. Y'know, wit da strike an' all, I don't quite know what my schedule's gonna be like." He pecked her one last time on the cheek and made his way to the door. "I'se gonna see you again, though. I'se gonna see you no matter what. Dat is on account if you let me." He stopped to look at her. She smiled and tossed his half-smoked cigar to him in response. Snickering, "I love dis girl," he began to leave the room. Funny thing was, he felt like he could mean it.
"Hey, Race!" she called after him. He turned in the doorway. "I just wanted to know… how do ya feel?" He thought about it for a moment, adjusting his cap. He inhaled deeply, feigning self-importance, and said:
"Like I'm King."
Author's Note: What am I doing, exactly? Well, the girl (nameless, you'll notice) says it all, really, when she remarks that you can learn a lot about a person when you're in bed with them. I wanted to write a character study about that, and originally it was going to be only that. However, I couldn't resist a romantic dialogue between the two, and the "Things I Like About You" bit quickly developed from that. I toyed with the idea of cutting to a flashback of one of their meetings on the street, but decided it was best to keep it in the bedroom. This is my first fic, and I know it's a bit explicit, so I hope no one's offended. This is a one shot, but I hope the female character was acceptable. Please R&R and let me know how I can improve! Also, are we all in agreement that the day the newsies had their picture taken by Denton had to be the day before they met at Tibby's? The paper couldn't have come out the same day, right? Well, either way, that's what I decided on and dat's da way it's gonna be.