Jack never felt guilt for it. He knew that Spot was just as a good a faker as he was. He knew that the moans and whinnies and name calls were just as fake as his own. Both knew that they only had each other because both couldn't have who they wanted. He figured that just as Jack imagined Spot changing: getting taller, paler, hair curling and eyes turning into a clear blue…just as Jack saw Spot turning into David, Spot must've seen Jack turning into Race. He just didn't slip up as much as Jack did. More than once during a night on Jack's bunk in the lodging house, Jack would yell out David's name instead of Spot's, imagining David proving just how much of a walking mouth he was instead of Spot pleasuring him. Spot was a good sport and moaned Jack's name but both had to know it was just a farce. That they were both surrogates for another and Jack never felt any remorse for it.
That night, the two lay in heated embrace, rolling on the too-white-for-sex sheets of Jack's bunk and trying not to fall off or wake the other boys. Spot was letting out cries into the heavy air, moaning Jack's name over and over again like a mantra. In a few hours, they'd be done and it'd be like it never happened. Jack would give Spot a pat on the ass and send him back to Brooklyn. No harm, no foul. Jack just liked to pretend like a little boy. Like how he'd pretend to be a cowboy and run around his apartment when he was little, swinging his mother's sewing thread above his head like a lasso. It was still pretending. Now, instead of pretending to be Jesse James, he was pretending Spot was David. And Spot was pretending he was Racetrack. It had to be why he wanted their trysts to be in the lodging house so, by some chance, Race could hear them and want Spot to moan his name.
"Jack," Spot moaned into his neck, kissing down to his collarbone.
Jack sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes.
"David…" he whispered huskily into air so heavy it could've been cut and served on sandwiches.
Spot didn't say anything, most likely so used to Jack's slipups that he didn't even care anymore. Still, he imagined Spot's hot, tan body as cool and pale. As David.
Spot wasn't a moron. He knew Jack was only using him. He knew it even without Jack moaning David's name seven times a night. The looks the two gave each other…even Blink saw it. Yet, he kept going to him. Kept letting himself be used just so he could get a taste of Jack. Just so Jack could pleasure him even if he was imagining doing all of those things to Davey. Jack was utter perfection to him. Seeing him give his Brooklyn newsies impudent stares and smirks was better than any whorehouse peep show. Now almost every night, he could see every inch of that perfection and touch it and kiss it…and pretend that it didn't hurt him when Jack moaned David's name without remorse. Spot never let it show. Letting it show was a weakness and Spot Conlon didn't do weakness. When you were as small as he was, you had to be strong to retain your position. Weak ones that were small got picked on. He saw Snipeshooter get shoved and beaten down all the time because he was little and not too bright. He wouldn't allow that to happen to himself. Strength equaled power and admitting feelings negated that power. Admitting that he didn't want to be just David's surrogate would mean that Spot was weak and then he'd fall. He'd fall from the tower of his reputation and it'd all be over. He'd be beaten up everyday. So he'd go on pretending that he didn't care. He'd go on just so he could get what he wanted and keep his power. It was win-win. Except for that raw ache he got when Jack called him David.
But then again…Jack wasn't the brightest kid around. He was too stupid to be scared half of the time: of Pulitzer, of the DeLanceys, of anyone. He was too stupid to realize that Spot wanted him. Maybe he thought Spot wanted someone else. And that they were just doing it because neither could have who they wanted. But that was ridiculous. Not even Jack could be that dumb. So Spot would go on with the game. It was a game, really. He would go on and things would be fine. He would get his Jack and Jack could picture Davey and get sex without having to touch himself to do it. It was win-win. All around.