A/N OMG RANDOM ONESHOT TIEM! Ok, so this will be mostly Race/Spot as I love them together, feel free to leave prompts or ideas in the comments.
Spot Conlon hated the searing jealousy that simmered in his veins whenever anyone even looked at Racetrack. He hated how antsy and worried he got if he went a week without hearing from him. He hated how his nightmares were of Race leaving and he hated that he craved the Italian's touch. Spot hated how he loved those dark eyes and that toothy, lopsided grin. But what Spot hated the most was that, even if he said nothing, Race knew.
So, when Jack pulled the brunette to the side after Dave's 'seize the day' speech to tell him Spot needed to talk to him, he wasn't surprised and the King of Brooklyn hated that too.
Racetrack left at six o'clock that night, walking quickly. He hitched himself a ride across the Brooklyn bridge, making it to the docks by seven thirty.
Spot was lying on the edge of the wooden dock, staring up at what stars could be seen. His hat was on his stomach, leaving golden tresses splayed out around his head. Light from a full moon illuminated him, making pale skin glow and ice blue eyes shine. He'd never admit it, but Race saw an angel. Perhaps a fallen angel, but an angel none the less.
"You'se wanted to see me, your highness?" the newsies joked, catching the small, fleeting grin on Spot's face.
"Race." he greeted, standing up. "Y'know, some people ain't gonna be so happy with this strike."
"I know. Ain't as dumb as I act." Race replied. Spot continued to stare right at him, trying to keep his face emotionless.
"This is a dangerous game you guys is playin'" The blonde hated the concern that edged it's way into his voice. Race didn't answer. Suddenly, he found himself unable to look directly at the slightly younger newsie. His gaze instead fell to a vague area beside Race's feet.
"Be careful." he whispered. Dark eyes widened in shock.
"Jus'...I don't want nobody hurting you, alright?" He gained the courage to look at the Italian. "So...Please, just...be careful." His usually strong voice was very nearly a whimper and he hated it.
He took a step forward and cupped the brunette's face in his hands. He stroked a calloused thumb over soft skin that curved over the cheekbone. He brought their lips together and kissed Racetrack slowly, softly. All his ego and pride and hate melted away until all that was left was the passion and the familiar feeling of chapped lips moving against his own. Race fisted his hands in the front of the blonde's shirt, his heart pounding far too fast. And he knew that if Spot had cared enough at the moment to notice, he'd hate to find that his was too.
"Promise me." he mumbled against Race's lips.
"I promise." the Italian answered, continuing the kiss.
The next day, Spot sat on his perch overlooking the docks. A slight, curly haired blonde with freckles rushed over. Spot regarded him calmly, though already his heart was pounding with worry and he hated it.
"Boss, we found out that tricks bein' pulled on 'em! They's gonna get a bunch of people to soak 'em." the boy gushed out hurriedly and Spot hated that Race was the first thing that went through his mind.
"Gear up boys, we're goin' to Manhattan." he called, standing up.
The smile that lit up Race's face when Spot showed up warmed his heart. At the time, it was wonderful, but he knew later, he'd hate it.