Newsies Oneshots 2.0

His Hands-Javey

I swear this is the last Javey fic for a while LMAO. We're going on four IN A ROW. But what can I say? These are my boys. They started it all.

Anyway, think of this like "Magic" but Davey centered. And instead of wanting Jack to eat him, he wants him to strangle him with his hands.

Look, we've already established that I'm mentally unstable. So what if I find a sick love in pain? I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

WARNING: very horny fic ahead. I mean, my God. Davey is way too okay with the feigned feeling of neglect. Get it together, man.

I hope you enjoy!

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How caring the touch of desperation is, how it imprinted on the skin like a scar, and only faded when Death called him. He curled his fingers around her, wrapping his digits around her spine and squeezed hard enough to cling onto her life force. He was the reason she lived, the reason she breathed—he was the reason she was able to find pleasure on the brink of his namehood.

Davey shuddered, swallowing thickly under the hot sun. It beat in his forehead like a fever, his skin reddening into a tan lobsters get when they boil. His eyes glared into the sky, and he secretly hoped it would kill him in the midst of his pining; cool him from the outside-in. "It's hot."

"Mhm", Jack hummed, staring at the white tarp in front of him, paintbrush in hand and mind nowhere near focused on Davey. Davey stopped his breathing in hopes of keeping his heart from fluttering because Jack was busy, and no matter how much he wanted it, he was not busy with David. "Mind passin' me that cup of water?"

"Not gonna drink it, are you?" Davey joked, and he felt like he was in school again—holding onto books and waiting for the other boys to laugh at his jokes, handing on the silence between his words and the next one. But Jack laughed—he chuckled—and Davey took it to heart and let it squeeze it until his own blood broke loose around his organs.

"No, Dave", Jack responded, grabbing the cup and tossing his dirtied brush into it. "It's not that hot."

But it was—Davey's eyes focused on that hand, the one coated in various paint colors from tests and samples and overall messing around and Davey could only beg Jack had the decency to take those hands and paint him pink and fucking purple.

Davey breathed out a shuddered sigh, ignoring the curious look on Jack's face. "Feels like it. I don't think it's ever been this hot."

"Right", Jack agreed, toeing a can of blue paint away to make room to sit next to his friend, leaving his side project to dry in what remained of the sun. "Should get cooler later on, if you wanted to sleep out here with Crutch and me."

Davey watched those thick, calloused and cut fingers run their way through chestnut brown hair, down Jack's neck and into his lap. They smeared colors down him, green and red marking up tanned skinned like draining Christmas colors. Around they went until Jack's hands were at his side, touching the dirty metal terrace below them. Jack raised a hand and fanned himself futilely, sweat dripping from his unhatted head and soaking into his blue shirt and  brown pants, and Davey's breath was taken by the grip this boy had on him.

He wanted it hotter—he wanted Jack's hands gripping him from perdition, stripping him from sin and anguish, saving him from a life of peril. He wanted those hands tangled in his hair, tugging at ropes of curls until he screamed from the pain, and those lips gagged him into silence. He needed that hand, that single painted hand, wrapped around his neck and squeezing while his lips sucked breath after shaggy breath out of him until his head felt fuzzy and he died.