Disclaimer: I do not own "Newsies" or any of the genius associated to them. Disney owns them, no infringement intended. I am not making money from this in any way, I claim no rights to the characters mentioned from the movie, but I do claim the plot and the ideas surrounding this story. Don't steal, don't sue, and I'm sure we will all be grand friends.
A/N: This is the first of three chapters of an idea I had. It is different. It is weird. However, I love it – and I hope you will too. This first chapter does deal with sex, though it is not detailed in any sense of the word it does refer to two characters engaging in the act. Even though I have the warning down there – I thought I'd be fair.
Warning:
PG-15 (sexuality, profanity, adult situations)
Chapter
1: History of Heartbreak
Originally she had wanted to go into show-business. Acting on the stage had been her desire since she never could see herself working day in and day out inside a dirty, stuffy, hot, dirty factory. She wanted to be a singer, but she never had the gumption it took to get in front of all those people and perform. Her father had been a drunk and her mother an opium addict. It wasn't that she was destined to be a professional prostitute, but somehow with the hollow ambition and troubled childhood it just all fit together.
She had worked at The Pike for a little over a year. Just long enough to harden her smile but not her heart. Time and too many long nights would see that her heart was sufficiently callused before too much longer, but for now she was still tender enough to care about others. Or maybe it was just that she was still unexperienced enough not to look a man in the eye when she was flat on her back beneath them. After all - she was barely seventeen.
Despite her young age – she had learned a lot while she had worked at The Pike.
She had learned how men loved the way her tightly strung corset made her body curve as much as they loved peeling (or tearing) it away from her body. She had learned how to walk and what the swivel of her hips could do to attract potential customers. She had learned how much rouge was enough for her lips and cheeks as well as how to cover up the dark circles under eyes with rice power. She had learned which herbs to drink to ensure that she wouldn't become with child and how rubbing the charcoal from burned bread on your teeth made them shine whiter. She had learned how to pin her wigs in place tightly so they didn't come off during an encounter and how to moan at just the right times. She had learned how to make men writhe and beg as well as how to grip the sheets and pretend they were giving her bliss. She had learned of the perverted fantasies that even the most mild business man could have and she had learned how to fulfill them. It was true that she had learned many things regarding the act of sex but she had never been able to fully disconnect herself from the men who violated her on a regular basis. She had never learned to not look them in the eyes.
It was a typical night at The Pike. Several of the girls were prowling the bar - moving towards enticing a customer to an upstairs room. A few had already made their way up those stairs and she did not want to know exactly what they were doing even though she did. She knew as well as anyone of all the depravity that happened behind closed door, sometimes out in plain sight, in this establishment. The air hung heavily with the smell of smoke and ale. Those were two things she had become very familiar with in her time at The Pike. The nip of gin and bite of whiskey were both familiar tastes to pass her experienced lips. Alcohol helped to keep her in a more accepting state when it came to the men she called her customers.
She'd had a few drinks herself that night as she perused the bar floor for her next meal ticket. That was all these men were to her. At least that was all they should be to her and she always attempted to convince herself that she was as hard and as cunning and she needed to be. It was a cut throat world and her chosen profession was competitive. Slinking about the room, she knew that she wasn't as graceful as some of the girls there, but she held her own. With a practiced hand she adjusted the wig on her head. The curls were her signature orange hue.
It started with a strange prickling feeling on the back of her head. It tickled her so lightly it was as if it weren't happening, but eerily persistent in its caress. The sensation spread down her neck and spine. Blazing through her fitted blue dress the nearly tangible touch caused her to turn her head, but there was no one there. No one had touched her however the feeling still remained in all its poignant resonance. Her kohl rimmed eyes searched her immediate surroundings, but was met with nothing but smoke.
Then she saw him.
He was leant against the wall. Folding and inconspicuous – she hadn't noticed him until then, but with his un-surreptitious stare he had caught her attention. Shamelessly – she stared back at him, but he remained as he was: Stoic and statuesque propped against the wall with his dark eyes burning into her. There wasn't anything markable that drew her to him. He didn't have overly impressive features or mannerisms. He didn't pursue her as some of her customers did with wet, open-mouthed kisses or provocative grabs. Only his eyes followed her, and they were dark and unreadable. They weren't filled with lust or insinuation. They only watched her with a strange hollow gaze that left her feeling very odd and very vulnerable.
She approached him. Drawn to him as inexplicably as a moth to a flame – she didn't understand why she felt so compelled to be near this man. Perhaps it was that he was alone and the curve of his shoulders, so broken and lost, reminded her of her lot in life. She, like the man, was very much alone and out of place. Whatever the reason was - she went to him.
She could tell now that she was closer that his eyes a strange hazel brown, and she could see that pain echoing in their cavernous depths. Though she was tall for a female he was still taller. The angles on his face were pleasant but not overwhelming and as she stood directly in front of him she could see the wariness in his expression. Or maybe the wariness was a reflection from her face. Whatever it was she extended a slender pale hand and ran it down the length of his arm. His eyes followed the hand as she discovered muscles that didn't appear to be there at first glance. Edging closer so that her breasts brushed lightly against his chest she let her other hand come up behind his head and twine into the dark blonde hair at the nape of his neck. Then, keeping her eyes in contact with his, she pulled his mouth to hers in the slightest of touches.
Neither one knew what the other one wanted but they both know where that night was going to end.
She pulled back. The brush of lips had been a promise of what was yet to come; an invitation into her world of night, and it was an invitation that he accepted. Taking his hand she led him up the stairs into the darkness with which she was all too familiar. He didn't have a beard, but the stubble of a long day scratched her skin when they kissed. The large hands that roamed her body were gentle, something that was rare in her profession, and he didn't seem to be in a hurry to get anywhere in particular. There was a distinct taste of sorrow and remorse on his tongue as though he were sorry for what he was doing to her. She didn't want his pity – so she kissed him harder.
The night ended up right where they knew it would. In a mess of tangled limbs and gasping breaths. Their skin was slick as oil against each other. No words were exchanged, no preambles or declarations, but at the peak of their pleasure she heard foreign words sliding off his tongue in broken whispers. When it was over he crumpled atop of her – breaths coming in heavy pants – as she ran her fingernails gently up and down his spine. He was a leanly built man with muscles you wouldn't imagine at first seeing him. He wasn't overly-heavy, but it was a relief to her breathing when he rolled off of her.
Unlike most men – he didn't get out of her bed the moment he had reached his ultimate satisfaction. Instead he lay there beside her on his back. His chest still gently heaving and she propped herself on her side facing him. Gently she kissed the skin on his pectoral in a soothing gesture before turning back to the other side and sliding out of bed. First she grasped the cup that sat on the table beside the bed and drank the bitter contents of vinegar and herbs. She barely tasted the bitterness anymore. Then she began to dress and he followed suit. Naturally – it took her longer to dress than he, but on his way out he dropped a few coins on the table where her cup sat.
Then he was gone.
He was back before the end of the week, and they went through their strange silent ritual once again. Every four or five days he would come for her and she would go upstairs with him. They rarely spoke, but they didn't need to. Though she found herself wishing she understood the words that showered over her as he rode out his bliss with his eyes pressed into tight lines and his forehead creased violently.
However one night after nearly three months of meeting like this – he didn't close his eyes. He stared right into her gaze. Each foreign word was as gasped and choking as the one before it as he tumbled into ecstasy, but this time he took her with him. Then it was still. The flats of his forearms rested of either side of her body holding him up just enough so as not to crush her. The sweat of their bodies' was obvious proof of their exertions. The orange curls of her wigs stuck to her face and her neck as did his natural dark blonde. In truth, the hair she hid underneath her vibrant wigs was much the same color as his.
It was eerily still as they seemed to barely dare to breathe so as not to break the moment they'd created. That is until she heard it. It started so quietly she felt it more than heard it. The hot drops burned into the skin of her neck and the shoulders above her trembled and quaked. This man was crying with his face buried in the crook of her neck and it frightened her.
Unsure of what to do - she wrapped her arms around him as he cried. She'd never held a weeping man and though it was unnerving she was glad to be holding this one. It wasn't a long cry, or a loud one, but it was one that had obviously been a long time coming. It was comparable to a summer storm in its quick violent execution and just as quickly as he had begun to cry he was kissing her. She could taste the salt of his tears on her lips.
A month later it was her turn to cry while they worked together at a furiously slow pace and only a week later he whispered "I love you" against her lips, neck, and hair during their coupling. Two weeks later she told him her name and three days later he told her his. Between kisses and curses they shared life stories and facts and seven months after their first encounter she didn't drink the herbs that had kept her from conceiving. The next morning they were married. She took his name and left The Pike. She left behind the orange wigs and the overly tight corsets and exactly nine months to the day of their wedding she gave birth to a son.
From the first moment she laid eyes on their child she knew that he was going to look just like his father. His eyes weren't the traditional murky, dark, baby blue of most infants but they were the haunting hazel that she had noted on the first encounter she had with her husband. Every night she sung him to sleep – watching those familiar eyes flutter closed as she held him. Her husband would listen to her sing as well and praise her voice with a kiss. Sometimes he called her his little songbird.
The baby was quiet and studious. Those eyes observed everything and she swore that he had gotten that from his father as well. They watched the world the same way that her husband had watched her the first night they'd met. They'd named their son after his father. Since he looked like him – it only seemed appropriate. It was a short, but strong name and fit him to a tee.
They named the baby Jack.
A/N: Yeah. You think that you have it all figured out now, don't you? Well. You don't. As always – constructive criticism is my favorite thing in the world. My next favorite thing is just plain old praise. Reviews in general are just absolutely fabulous. The next chapter will be up in a few days.