A/N: "Back to the gypsy that I was." Gotta love Fleetwood Mac and their crazy inspiration. So this hit me and wouldn't be ignored. And I really wanted to use gypsy!Snitch again.
Also: This was original a freestanding story. I decided that it was short so just to include it in the compilation.
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Snitch was in love with Jack. There was no denying it. He was fully, full-on in love with Jack Kelly. How could anyone not be? Jack was blatantly gorgeous with his eyes like melted chocolate and his hair like dark sunshine. His features were carved from marble like those statues Snitch had seen in old books in Denton's apartment. He was everything he could want.
But it wasn't like Jack couldn't love him. It wasn't like he was a skirt-chaser like the other boys. No, he was a boy-lover but Snitch wasn't the boy he loved. After years of pining after Jack, he had gone nowhere and lost him to dark curls and a pair of blue eyes.
Snitch couldn't be in the lodging house anymore, not with Jack with David. Not when his heart had been broken into so many pieces. He needed to escape. So he left.
--
The street was rain-soaked and glittered like dimes in the street. Snitch shivered. How could he be so cold? The coldness had seeped into his very bones. His stomach rumbled and paced impatiently like a cat. He regretted leaving the lodging house. Where was he to go? He was a street thief and that was his only talent. There was no way that he could make a living just out of stealing.
Snitch remembered his family and their dancing, mesmerizing the crowd before lynchers killed them. He remembered the hypnotic dance his sister Ezzie was able to bring upon men with her hips. That was when Snitch got a stroke of brilliance.
--
"Look at her."
"She's gorgeous."
"What's with the scarf around her neck?"
"Where are her breasts?"
"Still, wow."
Snitch smiled inwardly. So he was pretending to be a woman. So the men thought that he had just hacked his curls short. So what? They were paying a lot of money to watch him.
Dancing came easily to him. It wasn't the stuff of ballerinas or even Vaudeville girls. He licked his lips, kicked his legs, fondled his imaginary breasts, ran his hands up his thighs and removed wisps and slips of clothing while intoxicating flute music played.
The men stayed and watched him and afterwards, some would take him and they'd roll around on the floor. Snitch loved touching their taut bodies and kissed their necks. Then they tried to removed his skirt and all he got were slaps and cries of 'FREAK.'
But one night was different. One night, he spotted someone in the audience gathered around him that made him pause.
Jack. Jack was there, smiling at him. Devoid of David. Snitch tried to ignore him, tried to dance but it was no use.
--
"Snitch," Jack called to him. "Nice getup."
He turned around. "How'd you know it's me?"
He smirked and shook his head. "I ain't blind, Snitchy. I would know those teeth anywhere."
Then Jack surprised him. He grabbed him and pressed his lips against his.
"So my little gypsy boy," he smirked. "Take me to your caravan."
Snitch flicked his skirt and ran his hands over his exposed midriff, smiling.
"Gladly."