Title: Back to Brooklyn
Rating: R (some chapters may be NC-17)
Pairing: Jack/Deuce (minor character from the movie who didn't have a name, so I gave him one. also references to Jack/Dave)
Status: work in progress
Feedback: hell yeah, tell me what you think and make me smile
Archive: Seize the Night
Summary: Jack's ambassadorial mission into Brooklyn during the strike brings back painful memories of a past relationship, and begins to awaken new desires in him for another
Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies. Sometimes I dream that I have them locked away in my basement to play with whenever I want, but then I remember that my house doesn't have a basement and I wake up in tears.
Warnings: nothing bad, just lots of angst
Chapter One: Who's Scared o' Brooklyn?
"Aright, who wants Brooklyn?" Jack was saying to the crowd gathered outside the New York World building. At once each and every face turned away from him and seemed to find the ground, other buildings, or the back of the person in front of them very interesting. "Come on, Spot Conlon's territory! 'Samatta', ya scared o' Brooklyn?"
"Hey we ain't scared o' Brooklyn!" retorted Boots hotly. "Spot Conlon makes us a little noivous," he added sheepishly.
"Well he don't make me noivous," replied Jack evenly, "so you an' me Boots, we'll go to Brooklyn." After Boots nodded his consent, Jack added, "An' Dave can keep us company!"
This was followed by laughs, but Jack was only laughing on the outside. He hadn't been lying when he claimed he wasn't scared of Spot Conlon. Shit, he could easily soak the megalomaniacal leader of Brooklyn. Spot was mostly all talk anyway, but boy could he talk loud. No, it wasn't Spot he was scared of at all.
The memory of warm lips on his neck and soft breathing in his ear sent shivers through his entire body. Jack strained his mind to rid himself of the memory, but it was useless, and he could feel strong arms encircling him and pulling him close...
"...take our demands to Pulitzer." Jack was suddenly aware that Dave was speaking. He stared for a moment, trying to collect himself and figure out what Dave was saying.
"Me, to Pulitzer?" he finally said.
"Well, you're the leader Jack."
Jack hesitated. As he gazed at the newsie facing him, pale blue eyes staring intensely back at him, he was suddenly aware for the first time of the reason why he wanted Dave to come along with him to Brooklyn, and it scared him. But rather than show this, he reached out into the crowd, grabbed little Les Jacobs roughly by the shoulders, and said, "Well maybe the kid'll soften 'im up a bit." And with that he flung open the double doors and he and Les entered the building.
Each step across the Brooklyn Bridge seemed to be taking Jack closer and closer towards his doom. It became difficult to lift up one foot and set it down in front of the other, but he kept up his calm, collected facade and not even Boots seemed to notice Jack's apprehension. He laughed easily with the other two newsies and told Dave stories about Brooklyn and its feared leader.
"Why ain't chu been ta Brooklyn lately, Cowboy?" asked Boots suddenly. Jack was taken off guard.
"Uh, ain't had time," Jack lied. Boots eyed him curiously, but let it go. He knew better than to question Jack Kelly, who may not have had the reputation that Spot had, but whom he knew could be far more dangerous than the Brooklyn newsie ever could hope to be.
It seemed like no time at all when the three Manhattan boys had reached the docks where Spot's gang was known to hang out. Big, strong boys wearing nothing but their drawers were diving off the dock, swimming in the freezing cold water, playing poker and wrestling. Jack took a deep breath and started walking. Almost immediately it happened.
"Goin' somewheah, Kelly?" an all too familiar voice asked mockingly. And there he was. Nearly naked, dripping wet, and wearing that same arrogant, cocky look that always looked like a challenge and that had once made Jack weak at the knees.
Or maybe it still did.
At once the image came back to him, stirred up the fire he felt inside himself, and he could almost taste Deuce's lips against his, saw the dark eyes burning intensely inches from his, and felt hard muscles pressed up against his own. It took a moment for Jack to remember that Deuce was standing three feet in front of him, that it had been months since he had held him trembling in his arms. The fact that the other boy's state of undress made it painfully easy for Jack to recreate in his mind's eye the appearance and feel of every inch of Deuce's body made it even more difficult for him to continue on his way. Jack thought of his mission, his promise to the newsies, and to the boy with dark, curly hair and blue eyes who stood beside him. Finally, with a hard glare at his former lover, Jack stalked ahead, silent, and unaware that the Brooklyn boy's gaze followed his movements until he was out of sight.