Re: [Hall Way: Patrick & Newt]
Patrick was confident, dude. His upbringing had lacked many things, and the dude had many hangups, but there were things he was certain about. He had been raised to be most confident about his appearance, and in recent months he had begun to wonder if this was to counter her own insecurity. But (as established) the dude's self-confidence in this particular department was not lacking. And his interest in the other dude was most genuine. He was most into Newt. He liked how Newt looked, how the dude talked and moved, and he was most into Newt's intelligence and personality. In short, he was most entirely into the dude upon the bed with him.
Patrick laughed at the way the dude said herbs, because Newt made American words sound strangely stupid to Patrick's ears. The dude did not do this in a bad way, and Patrick believed that Newt sounded most adorable with his mocking and overemphasis.
Any thoughts about adorableness (however) were run off by Newt's most agreeable straddle, ass on Patrick's dick and his weight back against the dude's knees. Patrick liked this, he found. It was the sort of simple physicality that was new to him; it had never occurred to him to do this kind of thing while in bed with a girl, man, and he had never questioned this lack of interest on his part. But, this, man, this interested Patrick, as was evidenced by how he hardened beneath Newt's ass.
"You may," said the dude about the sweater removal, and his expression said he knew Newt was being a smartass with his question; he did not care, man, because he just wanted the dude to lose the sweater, and he wanted this with a most insistent manner of impatient (and it was worth noting that the dude was not often impatient, but he was most certainly feeling it in his gut right now). And he was most pleased when Newt pulled the shirt off without use of magic. Patrick liked the magic; it made him tingle, dude, but he also liked the play of muscles beneath skin that came with Newt pulling the sweater off with his hands. When the dude bounced, Patrick made no protest. He looked at Newt, man, and he brushed his thumb beneath the dude's navel a moment and allowed oceanic gaze to slip over freckles and ginger hair. He brushed the same thumb over one very small and pink nipple. "I am a kind dude," he said, his gaze rising from Newt's chest to his face. "Now quit being a git and bouncing on my dick, and kiss me." He smirked slightly at the borrowed word.