Newsies One Shots

Heat 'n' Smoke - Sprace

Prompt - None
Au - None
Triggers - Mild swearing, smoking
•••

Spot hated heat. He hated the mugginess that blanketed the city, suffocating its inhabitants. He hated the sweet, overpowering stench of the rivers that hung in the air. He hated the tiredness it brought, the unwillingness to do anything but sit in the shade of a building.

The summer warmth did have one upside, however; the streets were filled with bustling crowds and selling was easy. He had already finished by mid afternoon and was now sitting by the docks, the comforting weight of coins in his pocket. His shirt was stuck to him, his suspenders at his sides as he leaned against a wall, eyes half closed. The brick was cool and relaxing.

Spot listened to the lap of the waves at the wooden struts and the shouts of his newsies. He sighed and stretched his legs out, opening his eyes fully and glancing around wearily. The sun was still beating down and he wasn't shaded very well where he was. He glanced about, quirking an eyebrow at some commotion, shouts and the like. He pulled himself to his feet, slightly annoyed.

"Heya, Spot!" Someone called behind him.

"What?" He said, irritated.

"What, ain't ya happy to see's me?"

Spot grinned. "Heya Racer," he said, spinning on his heel. He ignored the rest of the newsies and their yells and whoops. "You wasn't supposed to be here till tonight,"

Race nodded. "True," he said, rolling his cigar between his fingers. "But I ain't gots anything better to do," He grinned.

Spot leaned back against the wall, glaring fiercely at the newsies watching them. They had a habit of doing that when Race was around. "You finished sellin' then's?"

Race nodded, leaning next to Spot. "Record time," he said, a cocky note in his voice. His hair was stuck to his forehead, his shirt open in an attempt to ward of some of the heat. Spot looked him up and down.

"Really?" He asked, humouring him. He crossed his arms.

"Yep. You shoulda seen it," Race told him. "I was on fire,"

Spot chuckled. "I cans imagine. Does Kelly know where you is?"

Race pulled a match out of his pocket, attempting to light it against the brick and failing. "Sheep's Head," he said. "Or at least, that's what I tolds him,"

Spot took the match from Race, taking pity on his attempts, and lit it. Race took it back. "Thanks," he said, lighting the cigar.

"That smells like shit," Spot told him, watching the wisps of smoke rising lazily.

Race shrugged. "I likes the smell," he said, blowing smoke into Spot's face. Spot spluttered, coughing. Race laughed.

Spot looked at him, then over at the water, and an idea came to him. "This heat sucks," he said.

Race nodded, slighting confused at the topic change.

"C'mere, I'se'll helps ya cool down," he said. "And get that smell outta ya," Before Race could protest, Spot had grabbed the taller boy and shoved him over the water, keeping a hold of his shirt so Race was awkwardly suspended. Race squawked, grabbing Spot's arm.

"Spot...," he said, his words drawn out. "I'm sorry. Don't let go, please,"

"I don'ts know," Spot pretended to ponder his options. "You's'll cool down this way. And it'll gets that smoke smell away,"

Race wriggled, trying to grab Spots waist to pull himself back onto the dock again. "I'se fine, thanks!" He managed to grab the side of Spots shirt, but this only caused Spot to lose his balance. He cursed and let go of Race in an attempt to steady himself. Race windmilled his arms comically before falling backwards into the water.