Newsies One Shots and Short Stories

Sprace- This Is Smut

⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️WARNING: EXPLICIT ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

THERE IS SMUT. A LOT OF IT. LIKE 90% OF THIS IS JUST SMUT.

ALSO, IT WAS A REQUEST.

I DON'T KNOW WHY I'M TYPING IN CAPS LOCK ANYMORE.

Spot was pissed as he dragged Race up the stairs of the empty Brooklyn Lodging House.

Wait.

Maybe I should back up.

'"''"'

It was a borough meeting — of course — and it went just as expected.

Jack said something stupid. Davey — one of his second-in-commands — played peacemaker between him and the Bronx leader, Lucky.

Hotshot tried to get in the middle of it and Ace had to hold him back.

Race made some stupid pun and Spades socked him in the gut.

Then Arrow, the leader of Harlem, a little black girl with wisdom far beyond her years, brought the meeting back to order.

That was all expected.

What wasn't expected was Race loudly disagreeing with everything Spot said.

What wasn't expected was Lucky looking at Race like he was a particularly good snack that he'd found just lying on the ground.

What wasn't expected was Ace needing to take over for Spot.

And because of those unexpected events, Spot ended up dragging a very pissed off Racetrack Higgins up the three flights of stairs to his room.

'"''"'

"Ya can't keep doin' that, Racetrack." Spot stated harshly, swinging the door open.

Race snorted coldly, following Spot into his room. "Doin' what? Speakin' my mind as Manhattan's second in command? Engaging in the meeting?"

Spot slammed him against the door, pinning his wrists down with almost painful harshness. "Disagreeing with me in front of my guys."

Race laughed scornfully. "Fuck you, Spotty."

Spot slammed their mouths together in a domineering kiss, Race's head banging painfully against the door, though neither seemed to care.

"No thanks, Racer." Spot growled, biting a mark just below Race's ear. "I'm planning on fucking you."

Race squirmed. "Oh you bastard."

"You know Lucky was starin' at ya the whole meeting?" Spot spat, working at the buttons on Race's shirt with impatient fingers. "Little fucker couldn't see that you're mine."

"Oh, he wasn't just staring." Race smirked deviously. "He said a few things too."

Spot bit down harshly on his collarbone. "Like. What."

"Oh, y'know..." Race started in a tone of fake nonchalance. "Few things about my eyes. How he wanted to use my mouth. How he wanted to fuck me over the table 'til I couldn't breathe-"

Spot let out a sound suspiciously like a growl and tore Race's shirt off, ripping off half the buttons in the process. "And what'd you say?"

Race dropped his pants to the floor, eyes never leaving Spot's. He leaned closer to Spot and lowered his voice, still smirking devilishly.

"I asked 'why not just fuck me on the floor.'" Race said innocently, cocking his head to one side. "It was closer."

"Get on your knees."