[Newsies fic] You're the Right Kind of Wrong
Title: You're the Right Kind of Wrong
Author: kiriga
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Les, Javid, Sprace
Warnings: slash
Words: 2,451
Summary: Alternative title that also summarizes nicely: It was all Jack's fault.
Notes: Well, this happened because of my friend originally prompting me with 'adult Les. it's obvious he's got a crush on Jack...he's gotta be at least bi'. And then I fit this into prompt nr 6. Not really sure how, now that I think about it, but at the time it made sense!
Written using 64damn_prompts's prompt nr 6. seize the day.
Les blamed his current situation completely on Jack Kelly. He hadn’t quite figured out how, but it was all Jack’s fault.
Let’s start from the beginning: when Les first met Jack. Les had convinced his brother to take him with on his first day as a newsboy-or as they said on the streets, newsie-and they were at the distribution site when they stumbled upon Jack-quite literally, as Jack ran into David. From that moment Les couldn’t keep his eyes off the Cowboy, as he was called, and before the day had ended Les had developed a crush on him, to put it mildly. Unfortunately, so had also both of his siblings.
Les had had no idea how traumatic it was when your sister dated the guy on which you had a crush. And then, later, when it finally came out that apparently David and Jack were the ones having feelings for each other and Sarah had known about it the whole time, well. To say it damaged his childhood was probably to dramatize, but for a while that was what it felt like for him.
However, not counting the traumatizing childhood, Jack was to blame for one other, big thing that changed Les’ whole life. Having a crush on the older male made him realize that he didn’t just like girls, he liked other boys just as much. He had often theorized, mostly with Boots, Snipeshooter or Race, that there was something in Manhattan’s water that made boys like each other more than they liked girls. Boots was about the only of Les’ friends who didn’t like other boys at all-everyone else either liked only boys or both boys and girls. It was strange, but growing up with such friends and a very accepting family meant he didn’t think it strange for long.
Eventually-when David and Jack left for Santa Fe when Les was twelve and Les forced himself to grow up and move on-Les’ crush on Jack disappeared and he went on with his life. During the years he had been in relationships with members of both sexes and the latest one was a three years older man who Les’ felt maybe could be the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Or at least a couple of years.
It was May 1917 and the Great War had been going on for several years now. The US hadn’t been involved yet, and Les deeply hoped it wouldn’t ever go that far whenever he heard news about the bloody fights. He was perfectly comfortable in Manhattan, working as a reporter on The New York Times. In Manhattan he had his friends-mostly former newsies-most of his family, his job, and his boyfriend. He enjoyed his life very much and did not particularly leave it.
That’s why he panicked-just a tiny bit-when he heard about the Selective Service Act of 1917 coming into power. What it meant was that all men between twenty-one and thirty-one were forced to register for war duty, so it also meant him, since he was twenty-nine years old. And he was unmarried with no parents, siblings or children being dependent on him, and he wasn’t in any way sick so there was no way for him to avoid the duty.
Les loved his country, of course he did, but he was content loving it while staying alive, and he wasn’t sure he would return alive from the war. He wasn’t even certain that he would want to stay alive if he was forced to join the war; he remembered stories he’d read from some of his paper’s war corresponds, some of which froze his blood and made him vaguely ill.
Les had gone to others in his panic, first to his job, then his parents and friends, in hopes of help. There were many who didn’t understand his unwillingness to join the war and who in turn couldn’t understand his terror concerning wars, so they decided he was a coward. Les was too desperate to argue against it. Then there were others, mostly those who had already seen the bad sides of life, who understood his fear and sympathized with him. But no one, not even anyone on the paper, had any idea how he should do to be able to stay in Manhattan. There was one who suggested traveling abroad for however long it would take for the war to end, but Les thought it was an idiotic idea since what he wanted was to stay where he was. And it was in the other countries that everyone fought.
Les was feeling more than ready to give up after a week of fruitless searching for a way out and had taken to having black moods more than often, so many in his vicinity tried to stay clear of him. His boyfriend, José, and his parents and sister were more or less the only ones still willing to talk to him and they still tried to have hope and find a solution, and Les wasn’t feeling bad enough to want to crush their hopes even though he had given up.
It was Jack who had come up with the answer, David told Les later on.
Just a couple of days before Les was supposed to register David and Jack knocked on his apartment door, to his surprise. They had heard of the new military draft and had figured out that Les wouldn’t have any chance to avoid it, and they both knew him good enough to know that he didn’t want to leave Manhattan, so they had come to help him. Though they didn’t have any sort of influence in Manhattan anymore, Jack explained, they knew someone who surely did-Spot Conlon.
It had been many months since Les has last seen either Spot or Race, who was living together in Brooklyn, and he had in his panic forgotten all about the two of them. When Jack told him of the idea: to go to Spot and beg him to use his connections or intimidation or whatever means he use to make sure Les wouldn’t need to go to war, Les thought it was amazingly simple and jumped right on the idea since, after all, he had nothing to lose.
But that was before he stood before a pissed off Spot who was looking much more like he’d prefer killing Jack over helping Les. Les had forgotten that the last time Spot and Jack met it had ended badly-very badly-and apparently so had both Jack and David. Jack was currently looking like he wanted to hide behind David and David seemed ready to just bolt. Race was sitting in one of the chairs next to Spot’s and was nursing a very amused-and nasty, in Jack and David’s opinions-grin.
So, really, it was all Jack’s fault he was in this situation.
Les cleared his throat but the words died before he could speak them when the full force of Spot’s glare turned on him.
Really, Les wouldn’t mind too awfully if Spot actually decided to kill Jack; he’d help, if it only got him out of the current situation. Either of them. Or both, he wasn’t picky; on the contrary, he was feeling more and more desperate for every minute.
So Les opened his mouth again and forced the words out, even though he suspected he would be dead in a few minutes. “Mr. Conlon, I beg you to reconsider. I have no other way out, I need your help. If I’m forced to go into war I’m sure I will die before I have a chance to return home.”
Spot’s calculating eyes stared into him for what had to be the longest seconds ever before he made his decision. “No.”
Les paled and grabbed his hands to hide their shaking. David gasped and immediately started trying to convince Spot to change his mind, but he hadn’t had to deal with Spot for several years and he went silent quickly. One glare at Jack was all it took to keep his mouth shut.
“Spot, I want to talk with you,” Race said as he stood up. His face was set in a frown and he didn’t as much as flinch when Spot glared at him. Les distractedly thought he’d have to have become immune to it after living together for so many years.
Spot and Race measured each other for a moment, until Spot muttered something and marched into another room. Race didn’t even look at their guests before he walked after his lover and closed the door behind him.
“Shit,” Jack spat. He rubbed his neck and glanced at Les. “I’m sorry ‘bout this, kid. I forgot ‘bout how angry Spot was at me last time we met.”
David turned against Jack and sighed deeply. “I can’t believe that the time you had to piss him off to this degree became the time when we really need his help. And I have just as much trouble actually understanding that he’s still that mad at you, after all these years.”
“You didn’t know? Spot holds grudges better than anyone else I’ve ever met. I would’ve fixed it, but I forgot. Again, sorry, kid,” he said to Les, who was still out of it. They then turned silent and just waited. From time to time they could hear voices rising in volume from the other room, but they just as quickly turned quiet again, and though it was tempting Jack resisted the urge to sneak to the door and see if he could hear anything. The wait was making him fidgety.
Finally the door opened and Spot walked out, Race following hot on his heels. Spot didn’t waste any time, only turned to Les and said with an annoyed frown, “Kid, don’t bother packing your bags; I’ll take care of it. I don’t think anyone will make trouble, but make sure to keep a low profile the next couple months anyhow-with which I’m telling you to stop writing articles, or anything else that uses your name. I’m sure you can talk to your boss,” Spot said with a small smirk, likely imagining how the boss would react to that. Race cleared his throat pointedly and Spot rolled his eyes. “And if he should get the idea to give you the axe or stop paying you until you work again, just say it’s orders from me. He should cooperate then,” Spot finished and smirked wickedly.
Les had the feeling he was gaping like a fish, but he didn’t care. His head was for empty but for the thought that he wouldn’t be sent away and he wouldn’t die in another, unknown country. Dimly he was aware that someone had helped him to sit down and had he not been in shock he would have protested wildly that he didn’t need any help.
David turned to Spot and Race and smiled gratefully. “Thank you so very, very much. Really, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am.”
Race took out a cigar with an arrogant smile, but it disappeared when Spot took the cigar from him. He frowned at Spot while answering David. “Nah, it’s no problem. Spot’s already done it for all of the boys who should’ve been forced away too, so it’s not like it’s that hard to do. Besides, Les is a nice kid, would be a shit load of shame if he died.”
“Race, not that kind of language! Do we have to go through all this again?” Spot snapped. He ignored Jack and David and spoke like only he and Race were in the room, “I won’t let the twins grow up with all this fucking smoke and profanity!” Race lifted an eyebrow but shook his head and chose not to comment on Spot’s own choice of words. They were interrupted by a surprised David anyhow.
“Wait, you have children? Twins?” he asked. Apparently that was a very strange idea for him, if Race had to judge by his expression.
“Yeah, we do. Their parents died few years ago, so because the dad worked for Spot we got involved and decided to take care of the kids ourselves. Or he decided, actually,” Race said and pointed to Spot with his thumb. Spot was finding his cane-he was still carrying around the very same cane as he had when he was a teenager-very interesting. David couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing and didn’t know how to answer, which was a pity because it gave Jack a chance to talk instead.
“So, what, you’re the mommy, Spot?” he asked before looking thoughtful in an overly dramatic way. “No, you must be the daddy, because Race has you wrapped around his finger.” Race snorted and didn’t seem too concerned about the man besides him, but David watched Spot fearfully as his expression turned deadly. David wished he had been the only one to go with Les, or maybe even let Les go by himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to fear for his boyfriend’s life and wish he could strange him at the same time.
Spot gripped his cane tightly and David’s eyes landed on it nervously. “You say another word, Kelly, and I swear to God I will make you regret it. You and I are not on good terms again, and I’d love to shut your mouth myself.”
Jack was about to make a retort that would prove how serious Spot was-and David thought he looked pretty serious-but David pinched his side to get him to shut up. Hard. Jack turned and looked disappointedly at David who ignored him altogether and asked questions about the children. Jack rolled his eyes but kept silent. Spot did the same, and soon David felt like a woman gossiping with a mother about her children, but though it made him feel awkward he kept going. There was no way he would give Jack a chance to piss Spot off more.
Les sat in his chair, forgotten. That was surely also Jack’s fault.
Spot watched David pat a smiling Les on the back as they walked out of his house, Race being a good host and following them out. He turned to a man who no one had seen entering the room. “Make sure Jacky-boy has a case of bad luck during the rest of his visitation in New York and every visit hereafter.” The man nodded and disappeared the same way he had come. Spot smirked viciously. Small revenges were often the most satisfying ones.
Author: kiriga
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Les, Javid, Sprace
Warnings: slash
Words: 2,451
Summary: Alternative title that also summarizes nicely: It was all Jack's fault.
Notes: Well, this happened because of my friend originally prompting me with 'adult Les. it's obvious he's got a crush on Jack...he's gotta be at least bi'. And then I fit this into prompt nr 6. Not really sure how, now that I think about it, but at the time it made sense!
Written using 64damn_prompts's prompt nr 6. seize the day.
Les blamed his current situation completely on Jack Kelly. He hadn’t quite figured out how, but it was all Jack’s fault.
Let’s start from the beginning: when Les first met Jack. Les had convinced his brother to take him with on his first day as a newsboy-or as they said on the streets, newsie-and they were at the distribution site when they stumbled upon Jack-quite literally, as Jack ran into David. From that moment Les couldn’t keep his eyes off the Cowboy, as he was called, and before the day had ended Les had developed a crush on him, to put it mildly. Unfortunately, so had also both of his siblings.
Les had had no idea how traumatic it was when your sister dated the guy on which you had a crush. And then, later, when it finally came out that apparently David and Jack were the ones having feelings for each other and Sarah had known about it the whole time, well. To say it damaged his childhood was probably to dramatize, but for a while that was what it felt like for him.
However, not counting the traumatizing childhood, Jack was to blame for one other, big thing that changed Les’ whole life. Having a crush on the older male made him realize that he didn’t just like girls, he liked other boys just as much. He had often theorized, mostly with Boots, Snipeshooter or Race, that there was something in Manhattan’s water that made boys like each other more than they liked girls. Boots was about the only of Les’ friends who didn’t like other boys at all-everyone else either liked only boys or both boys and girls. It was strange, but growing up with such friends and a very accepting family meant he didn’t think it strange for long.
Eventually-when David and Jack left for Santa Fe when Les was twelve and Les forced himself to grow up and move on-Les’ crush on Jack disappeared and he went on with his life. During the years he had been in relationships with members of both sexes and the latest one was a three years older man who Les’ felt maybe could be the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Or at least a couple of years.
It was May 1917 and the Great War had been going on for several years now. The US hadn’t been involved yet, and Les deeply hoped it wouldn’t ever go that far whenever he heard news about the bloody fights. He was perfectly comfortable in Manhattan, working as a reporter on The New York Times. In Manhattan he had his friends-mostly former newsies-most of his family, his job, and his boyfriend. He enjoyed his life very much and did not particularly leave it.
That’s why he panicked-just a tiny bit-when he heard about the Selective Service Act of 1917 coming into power. What it meant was that all men between twenty-one and thirty-one were forced to register for war duty, so it also meant him, since he was twenty-nine years old. And he was unmarried with no parents, siblings or children being dependent on him, and he wasn’t in any way sick so there was no way for him to avoid the duty.
Les loved his country, of course he did, but he was content loving it while staying alive, and he wasn’t sure he would return alive from the war. He wasn’t even certain that he would want to stay alive if he was forced to join the war; he remembered stories he’d read from some of his paper’s war corresponds, some of which froze his blood and made him vaguely ill.
Les had gone to others in his panic, first to his job, then his parents and friends, in hopes of help. There were many who didn’t understand his unwillingness to join the war and who in turn couldn’t understand his terror concerning wars, so they decided he was a coward. Les was too desperate to argue against it. Then there were others, mostly those who had already seen the bad sides of life, who understood his fear and sympathized with him. But no one, not even anyone on the paper, had any idea how he should do to be able to stay in Manhattan. There was one who suggested traveling abroad for however long it would take for the war to end, but Les thought it was an idiotic idea since what he wanted was to stay where he was. And it was in the other countries that everyone fought.
Les was feeling more than ready to give up after a week of fruitless searching for a way out and had taken to having black moods more than often, so many in his vicinity tried to stay clear of him. His boyfriend, José, and his parents and sister were more or less the only ones still willing to talk to him and they still tried to have hope and find a solution, and Les wasn’t feeling bad enough to want to crush their hopes even though he had given up.
It was Jack who had come up with the answer, David told Les later on.
Just a couple of days before Les was supposed to register David and Jack knocked on his apartment door, to his surprise. They had heard of the new military draft and had figured out that Les wouldn’t have any chance to avoid it, and they both knew him good enough to know that he didn’t want to leave Manhattan, so they had come to help him. Though they didn’t have any sort of influence in Manhattan anymore, Jack explained, they knew someone who surely did-Spot Conlon.
It had been many months since Les has last seen either Spot or Race, who was living together in Brooklyn, and he had in his panic forgotten all about the two of them. When Jack told him of the idea: to go to Spot and beg him to use his connections or intimidation or whatever means he use to make sure Les wouldn’t need to go to war, Les thought it was amazingly simple and jumped right on the idea since, after all, he had nothing to lose.
But that was before he stood before a pissed off Spot who was looking much more like he’d prefer killing Jack over helping Les. Les had forgotten that the last time Spot and Jack met it had ended badly-very badly-and apparently so had both Jack and David. Jack was currently looking like he wanted to hide behind David and David seemed ready to just bolt. Race was sitting in one of the chairs next to Spot’s and was nursing a very amused-and nasty, in Jack and David’s opinions-grin.
So, really, it was all Jack’s fault he was in this situation.
Les cleared his throat but the words died before he could speak them when the full force of Spot’s glare turned on him.
Really, Les wouldn’t mind too awfully if Spot actually decided to kill Jack; he’d help, if it only got him out of the current situation. Either of them. Or both, he wasn’t picky; on the contrary, he was feeling more and more desperate for every minute.
So Les opened his mouth again and forced the words out, even though he suspected he would be dead in a few minutes. “Mr. Conlon, I beg you to reconsider. I have no other way out, I need your help. If I’m forced to go into war I’m sure I will die before I have a chance to return home.”
Spot’s calculating eyes stared into him for what had to be the longest seconds ever before he made his decision. “No.”
Les paled and grabbed his hands to hide their shaking. David gasped and immediately started trying to convince Spot to change his mind, but he hadn’t had to deal with Spot for several years and he went silent quickly. One glare at Jack was all it took to keep his mouth shut.
“Spot, I want to talk with you,” Race said as he stood up. His face was set in a frown and he didn’t as much as flinch when Spot glared at him. Les distractedly thought he’d have to have become immune to it after living together for so many years.
Spot and Race measured each other for a moment, until Spot muttered something and marched into another room. Race didn’t even look at their guests before he walked after his lover and closed the door behind him.
“Shit,” Jack spat. He rubbed his neck and glanced at Les. “I’m sorry ‘bout this, kid. I forgot ‘bout how angry Spot was at me last time we met.”
David turned against Jack and sighed deeply. “I can’t believe that the time you had to piss him off to this degree became the time when we really need his help. And I have just as much trouble actually understanding that he’s still that mad at you, after all these years.”
“You didn’t know? Spot holds grudges better than anyone else I’ve ever met. I would’ve fixed it, but I forgot. Again, sorry, kid,” he said to Les, who was still out of it. They then turned silent and just waited. From time to time they could hear voices rising in volume from the other room, but they just as quickly turned quiet again, and though it was tempting Jack resisted the urge to sneak to the door and see if he could hear anything. The wait was making him fidgety.
Finally the door opened and Spot walked out, Race following hot on his heels. Spot didn’t waste any time, only turned to Les and said with an annoyed frown, “Kid, don’t bother packing your bags; I’ll take care of it. I don’t think anyone will make trouble, but make sure to keep a low profile the next couple months anyhow-with which I’m telling you to stop writing articles, or anything else that uses your name. I’m sure you can talk to your boss,” Spot said with a small smirk, likely imagining how the boss would react to that. Race cleared his throat pointedly and Spot rolled his eyes. “And if he should get the idea to give you the axe or stop paying you until you work again, just say it’s orders from me. He should cooperate then,” Spot finished and smirked wickedly.
Les had the feeling he was gaping like a fish, but he didn’t care. His head was for empty but for the thought that he wouldn’t be sent away and he wouldn’t die in another, unknown country. Dimly he was aware that someone had helped him to sit down and had he not been in shock he would have protested wildly that he didn’t need any help.
David turned to Spot and Race and smiled gratefully. “Thank you so very, very much. Really, I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am.”
Race took out a cigar with an arrogant smile, but it disappeared when Spot took the cigar from him. He frowned at Spot while answering David. “Nah, it’s no problem. Spot’s already done it for all of the boys who should’ve been forced away too, so it’s not like it’s that hard to do. Besides, Les is a nice kid, would be a shit load of shame if he died.”
“Race, not that kind of language! Do we have to go through all this again?” Spot snapped. He ignored Jack and David and spoke like only he and Race were in the room, “I won’t let the twins grow up with all this fucking smoke and profanity!” Race lifted an eyebrow but shook his head and chose not to comment on Spot’s own choice of words. They were interrupted by a surprised David anyhow.
“Wait, you have children? Twins?” he asked. Apparently that was a very strange idea for him, if Race had to judge by his expression.
“Yeah, we do. Their parents died few years ago, so because the dad worked for Spot we got involved and decided to take care of the kids ourselves. Or he decided, actually,” Race said and pointed to Spot with his thumb. Spot was finding his cane-he was still carrying around the very same cane as he had when he was a teenager-very interesting. David couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing and didn’t know how to answer, which was a pity because it gave Jack a chance to talk instead.
“So, what, you’re the mommy, Spot?” he asked before looking thoughtful in an overly dramatic way. “No, you must be the daddy, because Race has you wrapped around his finger.” Race snorted and didn’t seem too concerned about the man besides him, but David watched Spot fearfully as his expression turned deadly. David wished he had been the only one to go with Les, or maybe even let Les go by himself. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had to fear for his boyfriend’s life and wish he could strange him at the same time.
Spot gripped his cane tightly and David’s eyes landed on it nervously. “You say another word, Kelly, and I swear to God I will make you regret it. You and I are not on good terms again, and I’d love to shut your mouth myself.”
Jack was about to make a retort that would prove how serious Spot was-and David thought he looked pretty serious-but David pinched his side to get him to shut up. Hard. Jack turned and looked disappointedly at David who ignored him altogether and asked questions about the children. Jack rolled his eyes but kept silent. Spot did the same, and soon David felt like a woman gossiping with a mother about her children, but though it made him feel awkward he kept going. There was no way he would give Jack a chance to piss Spot off more.
Les sat in his chair, forgotten. That was surely also Jack’s fault.
Spot watched David pat a smiling Les on the back as they walked out of his house, Race being a good host and following them out. He turned to a man who no one had seen entering the room. “Make sure Jacky-boy has a case of bad luck during the rest of his visitation in New York and every visit hereafter.” The man nodded and disappeared the same way he had come. Spot smirked viciously. Small revenges were often the most satisfying ones.