Carrying the Banner || Newsies One-shots

A Rose, By Any Other Name...

The sun was setting on New York as Race ran towards the Brooklyn lodging house, anxious to meet up with Spot. They had been meeting in secret for a while now, although he was only keeping the secret from the Manhattan newsies. The Brooklyn boys all knew Race, and when the boy left in the morning, they would all wave goodbye.

When he reached the door, it was unlocked and he slipped in. A few boys were sitting in the halls, and they waved. "Hey, Race. Spot's in 'is room," one of the boys said, smiling a bit.

"Thank youse!" Race called, jogging to the end of the hall and knocking on Spot's door. It was locked, this time, and Race had to wait a while before the door finally unlocked. He slipped into Spot's room with a wide smile, though it quickly faded away when he saw Spot sitting on his bed, sulking.

"Spot? What's goin' on? Who died?" Race asked with a frown, sitting across from the boy. That was when he noticed the tears on Spot's cheeks. He reached over, cupping Spot's cheek and wiping the tears away. "Why ya cryin', Spotty?" he murmured, tilting his head a bit.

Spot looked away, clenching his jaw and shaking his head. "It's nothin', Race. Leave it alone," he growled softly. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it."

Racetrack sighed softly, catching notice of the wilted flowers in Spot's hand. "Oh...Spotty...are those fo' me...?"

"They got crushed. They were beautiful, an', an' alive, an' I wanted to give 'em to ya, but they got crushed." The shorter boy sniffed softly, subconsciously leaning into Race as the boy wrapped an arm around him.

"They's beautiful, Spot. I ain't gotten flowers from no one before, and these ones is beautiful." Race wiped Spot's tears away and hugged him. "Thank you."

"Ya really mean it?" Spot murmured into Race's shoulder. "You like em?"

"Mm, I love em, baby. God, 'm so lucky to have ya," the Manhattan boy whispered, smiling widely at his boyfriend. "I love you."

Spot looked up at him, his tears now gone, and placed a firm kiss on Race's lips, pulling him close. "I love ya, Racer."

A mumbled "I love ya too" could be heard from Race as he kissed back, holding Spot against his chest. "I love them flowers, as well. They's wonderful."

The newsie leader chuckled softly, setting said flowers to the side. "Better put 'em away before they get too crushed, yeah?"

"Why would they get crushed?" Race hummed softly, smirking at Spot. He knew exactly what was coming, this was what happened almost every night. This was the hardest secret to keep; the reason why Race kept coming home most mornings with a hoarse voice, marks on his neck, and a slight limp. Of course, no ones could know he was fucking Spot Conlon, or, on occasions such as tonight, getting fucked by Spot Conlon. It was bad enough that he was a regular at the Brooklyn lodging house and that every Brooklyn newsie knew his name. He couldn't have the Manhattan boys knowing where he went every night.

"I don't know, ya gonna be rollin' and squirmin' a lot," Spot hummed innocently, curling his fingers in Race's collar, slowly starting to smirk. "Jus' wanted ta take precautions."

Race groaned softly, pulling Spot into a messy kiss, eyes desperate. "Damn tease," he growled softly.

"Ah ah ah, if I remember correctly, you was on top o' me, last time. Dontcha think it's my turn ta be on toppa you?" Spot asked against his lips, pushing Race down on the bed. "To make up fo' the flowers?"

The blonde chuckled quietly, pushing his lips against Spot's again. "Mm, I ain't tryna stop ya," Race replied, a slight tone of desperation to his voice.

The two boys were in the middle of a messy, passionate kiss when one of the Brooklyn boys, Bits,  accidentally walked in on them. The two saw Bits and didn't stop, while the boy just kinda walked out, mostly unfazed. Race had been coming here and sleeping with Spot for a while, so by now this was a common occurrence.