Re: Newt's Case: Adrian M/Newt P/Patrick G
"You Gunsters are a scourge, darling," Newt told his boyfriend in a sweet, loving tone of voice, with a brush of fingertips to pointed chin. He smiled, and one might've thought he was earnest. But, one would've, ultimately, been wrong. He smiled again, this one cheekier, even behind freckles made bright on pale cheeks.—Newt sighed at the hands that slapped at his and at both of the men telling him that he looked horrid and needed a sit. He lifted his eyebrows at Patrick saying he looked like shit, but offered no teasing reprimand. The suggestion that they all rest caught Newt slightly off-guard and he glanced at Adrian, then back at his prone, half-asleep brother.
"Oh, for goodness' sake." Newt appeared put-upon, but he relented. He gestured at the chair Adrian was perched on, a flick of his hand, and it shifted. The seat of it grew wider, while the back sunk down. The legs crossed one another. It became a cot, though the pillow resembled the chair cushion with precision. The transfiguration would've jostled Adrian about, but it didn't buck him, so long as he held on a bit. "If you want to sleep, Adrian, please." Newt nodded. "Do."
If he was embarrassed or... acutely aware, in any case, of the fact that he'd only a bed to share with Patrick, while Adrian was relegated to a cot, he did a fair job of keeping it off of his face. He was exhausted. With a sigh, he sat back on the bed and kicked off his boots, with a bit of magical assistance. When he laid back, it was gingerly and with a good six inches between himself and Patrick, which rather meant one of Newt's legs had to hang off the bed, toes brushing at the floor. It wasn't expressly comfortable, but. Well. Here they were. He sighed again and he closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep.
Eventually, if he wasn't roused for whatever reason, it did come to Newt, though it remained a light sort of slumber poised on the needle of expectation.