Soap Bubbles
Title: Soap Bubbles
Rating: NC17
Fandom: Newsies
Characters: Spot/Race
Word Count: 405
Warning: None
Summary/Prompt: Sometimes Race thinks Spot's just using him. Using him for sexual release, for perverse pleasure. Sometimes, though, sometimes Race thinks that maybe there's more than just that
Race shudders, blinks and looks up into the sun. He arches his back, hands clenching on Spot's shoulders. A groan filters up to him through his own skin and Race bites his lips to keep from answering it. Spot shifts over him, moving so that he is just a fraction deeper, hitting all those places that make Race want to scream out his name. Race grits his teeth, eyes still focused on the ball of light in the sky.
Race pulls away almost before it is over, wiping himself clean and hurriedly getting to his feet. He moves towards his clothes, but is stopped by a hand on his ankle. He freezes in place, his back turned and his head held high, his heart fills with longing and disgust. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, then he turns back, his face carved in granite.
Spot's lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes are wide and his breath comes in shallow gasps. Race wants desperately to lean down, to cross that space and wipe the doubt from his lover's face. Instead he makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat and shakes his head. Spot's eyes shine for a moment and then he nods, his hand dropping to the rough wooden planks that make up the dock.
With a curt nod of his own, Race crosses over to where he left his things. In a few short minuets he is dressed and ready to go. He takes a calming breath before once more facing Spot, fighting with all he's got to maintain his icy facade.
When he is ready, he turns and finds Spot standing in just his britches, suspenders hanging down and a shirt gripped tightly in one hand. Spot's eyes fix on his for what feels like forever before skimming down the length of him. Race stands stock still, afraid to move for fear of his own body's betrayal. Spot moves forward, hands coming up to cup Race's face and his eyes shut a second before Spot kisses him.
It is gentle, unlike the greedy pull of lips and teeth of a few moments before, and in that instant Race can almost let himself believe. His arms wrap around Spot, hands resting on the broad, sun-warmed plane of Spot's back. Race loses himself in the kiss, shoving all thoughts of reality aside, drifting away in the soap bubble fantasy of love.
Fun Fact: I like soap bubbles.
Rating: NC17
Fandom: Newsies
Characters: Spot/Race
Word Count: 405
Warning: None
Summary/Prompt: Sometimes Race thinks Spot's just using him. Using him for sexual release, for perverse pleasure. Sometimes, though, sometimes Race thinks that maybe there's more than just that
Race shudders, blinks and looks up into the sun. He arches his back, hands clenching on Spot's shoulders. A groan filters up to him through his own skin and Race bites his lips to keep from answering it. Spot shifts over him, moving so that he is just a fraction deeper, hitting all those places that make Race want to scream out his name. Race grits his teeth, eyes still focused on the ball of light in the sky.
Race pulls away almost before it is over, wiping himself clean and hurriedly getting to his feet. He moves towards his clothes, but is stopped by a hand on his ankle. He freezes in place, his back turned and his head held high, his heart fills with longing and disgust. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, then he turns back, his face carved in granite.
Spot's lip is caught between his teeth, his eyes are wide and his breath comes in shallow gasps. Race wants desperately to lean down, to cross that space and wipe the doubt from his lover's face. Instead he makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat and shakes his head. Spot's eyes shine for a moment and then he nods, his hand dropping to the rough wooden planks that make up the dock.
With a curt nod of his own, Race crosses over to where he left his things. In a few short minuets he is dressed and ready to go. He takes a calming breath before once more facing Spot, fighting with all he's got to maintain his icy facade.
When he is ready, he turns and finds Spot standing in just his britches, suspenders hanging down and a shirt gripped tightly in one hand. Spot's eyes fix on his for what feels like forever before skimming down the length of him. Race stands stock still, afraid to move for fear of his own body's betrayal. Spot moves forward, hands coming up to cup Race's face and his eyes shut a second before Spot kisses him.
It is gentle, unlike the greedy pull of lips and teeth of a few moments before, and in that instant Race can almost let himself believe. His arms wrap around Spot, hands resting on the broad, sun-warmed plane of Spot's back. Race loses himself in the kiss, shoving all thoughts of reality aside, drifting away in the soap bubble fantasy of love.
Fun Fact: I like soap bubbles.