The Future Can Take Care Of Itself
Title: The Future Can Take Care Of Itself
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Newsies
Characters: Spot/Race
Word Count: 665
Warning: None
Summary/Prompt: Spot had never thought of the future as something beyond a week's time. But now he's sitting on the docks at dusk, contemplating things and listening to some smarmy Italian figure his own plans out.
"So then I was talking to this toff down by Duffy's and he was saying as how there's a lot of potential for a fella who's good with numbers and such and I says to him that numbers and me, we're like butter and bread. And he laughs a bit and slaps me on my back and tells me to come around sometime next week. Mentions meeting up with some bigwig and I tell him I'll be there with bells on," Race paused to suck on the end of a cigarette and Spot took the moment to put his two cents in.
"Duffy's ain't known for being a moral pillar of the community. Anyone hanging about that dump looking for recruits is as shifty as they come."
Race shot him a dirty look. "Always got to burst my bubble, don't ya?"
Spot lifted a should and leaned back against the rough wood of the railing that lined one side of what had somehow become their dock. "I just call 'em as I see 'em."
"Well it ain't like you got any better ideas," Race said with a scowl. "As far as you're concerned, the future can take care of itself."
"I've got things good right now. Why should I borrow trouble?"
Race ground out the cigarette and tossed it over the edge of the dock. "This world doesn't favor daydreams and dawdlers."
Spot scowled at him. "Just 'cause I don't have some master plan for my life don't mean that I'm a laggard."
"Says you." Race glanced up at the sky. "Speaking of laggards, I'd best be off or my bunk will be sold out from under me."
"Tell that to someone who doesn't know that you pay a week in advance." Spot shifted closer, bumping his shoulder into Race's.
Race made a face. "Foiled by my own fore thinking," he grumbled, but he didn't move.
Spot leaned in, brushing his lips against Race's. Race responded eagerly and Spot deepened the kiss, moving so that his body was flush up against the shorter boys. Race tasted like smoke and stale beer and his hands were rough as they tugged at Spot's hips. Spot grinned to himself as he pulled back, enjoying the dazed expression on Race's face. He dropped a quick kiss on Race's neck, then turned to face out over the water.
"I've got a sort of rough sketch of the future," Spot said cautiously, not so much as glancing at Race.
"You do, do you?" Race's voice was low as he rested his hand causally on top of Spot's.
Spot stared at their hands for a long while, then nodded. "Yeah, I do. It's not fully fleshed out mind, but I've got all the key elements. The rest, well that will take care of itself."
"Hum," Race lifted his hand and began to trace lazy figure eights on the back of Spot's. "And what would those key elements be?"
"Well, since you asked, it's pretty much boils down to you and me, a pub with an apartment over top and a lot of long, hot nights." Spot caught Race's hand in his and then glanced at Race to judge his reaction. What he saw didn't exactly please him. He sucked in a breath, ready to tell Race to forget the whole thing, when Race snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.
"That sounds might fine," Race said softly before moving in for a gentle kiss. He broke away with a grin. "Far better than anything I had cooked up."
Spot smirked at him. "'Course it is. I came up with it, didn't I?" He nipped at the underside of Race's jaw. "Enough jawing about that already. The future is a long ways off and I've got some pressing concerns that need to be taken care of right now."
Race rolled his eyes, but his arm tightened around Spot and he didn't protest a bit when Spot claimed his mouth again.
Fun Fact: Writing Sprace fluff is like pulling teeth, but it's well worth the extra effort.
Rating: PG13
Fandom: Newsies
Characters: Spot/Race
Word Count: 665
Warning: None
Summary/Prompt: Spot had never thought of the future as something beyond a week's time. But now he's sitting on the docks at dusk, contemplating things and listening to some smarmy Italian figure his own plans out.
"So then I was talking to this toff down by Duffy's and he was saying as how there's a lot of potential for a fella who's good with numbers and such and I says to him that numbers and me, we're like butter and bread. And he laughs a bit and slaps me on my back and tells me to come around sometime next week. Mentions meeting up with some bigwig and I tell him I'll be there with bells on," Race paused to suck on the end of a cigarette and Spot took the moment to put his two cents in.
"Duffy's ain't known for being a moral pillar of the community. Anyone hanging about that dump looking for recruits is as shifty as they come."
Race shot him a dirty look. "Always got to burst my bubble, don't ya?"
Spot lifted a should and leaned back against the rough wood of the railing that lined one side of what had somehow become their dock. "I just call 'em as I see 'em."
"Well it ain't like you got any better ideas," Race said with a scowl. "As far as you're concerned, the future can take care of itself."
"I've got things good right now. Why should I borrow trouble?"
Race ground out the cigarette and tossed it over the edge of the dock. "This world doesn't favor daydreams and dawdlers."
Spot scowled at him. "Just 'cause I don't have some master plan for my life don't mean that I'm a laggard."
"Says you." Race glanced up at the sky. "Speaking of laggards, I'd best be off or my bunk will be sold out from under me."
"Tell that to someone who doesn't know that you pay a week in advance." Spot shifted closer, bumping his shoulder into Race's.
Race made a face. "Foiled by my own fore thinking," he grumbled, but he didn't move.
Spot leaned in, brushing his lips against Race's. Race responded eagerly and Spot deepened the kiss, moving so that his body was flush up against the shorter boys. Race tasted like smoke and stale beer and his hands were rough as they tugged at Spot's hips. Spot grinned to himself as he pulled back, enjoying the dazed expression on Race's face. He dropped a quick kiss on Race's neck, then turned to face out over the water.
"I've got a sort of rough sketch of the future," Spot said cautiously, not so much as glancing at Race.
"You do, do you?" Race's voice was low as he rested his hand causally on top of Spot's.
Spot stared at their hands for a long while, then nodded. "Yeah, I do. It's not fully fleshed out mind, but I've got all the key elements. The rest, well that will take care of itself."
"Hum," Race lifted his hand and began to trace lazy figure eights on the back of Spot's. "And what would those key elements be?"
"Well, since you asked, it's pretty much boils down to you and me, a pub with an apartment over top and a lot of long, hot nights." Spot caught Race's hand in his and then glanced at Race to judge his reaction. What he saw didn't exactly please him. He sucked in a breath, ready to tell Race to forget the whole thing, when Race snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.
"That sounds might fine," Race said softly before moving in for a gentle kiss. He broke away with a grin. "Far better than anything I had cooked up."
Spot smirked at him. "'Course it is. I came up with it, didn't I?" He nipped at the underside of Race's jaw. "Enough jawing about that already. The future is a long ways off and I've got some pressing concerns that need to be taken care of right now."
Race rolled his eyes, but his arm tightened around Spot and he didn't protest a bit when Spot claimed his mouth again.
Fun Fact: Writing Sprace fluff is like pulling teeth, but it's well worth the extra effort.