Re: [Hall Way: Patrick & Newt]
Though I'd not call Newt wholly predictable, he was predictable enough that he did, indeed, send Patrick's discarded boots off to settle themselves in a jostle together beneath the legs of the chair positioned beside the bed. They went theatrically, walking around the bed as if still filled by feet, footsteps ringing out, and Newt smiled as he shored up onto the sharp of his elbow. More at ease now that they'd been away from the onslaught of people for more than a blink, Newt's catching glances lingered longer with each pass over Patrick, and by the time he, Newt, draped a leg over Patrick, by the time Patrick's long fingers took to skimming thigh, Newt was looking at the man without a buffer of any sort.
Perhaps it was quite silly to still find the man beside/beneath him stomach-knottingly attractive, but Newt did. Patrick was handsome in a way Newt could never be. Golden, sun-flecked, with blue eyes bright and lips a pure and almost feminine pink. He'd no freckles, no wayward marks. Undiluted, with a straight nose and a smile that was utterly smirky, and Newt wouldn't've been able to help himself. Like every schoolgirl who'd fallen for Patrick Gunster, he felt himself blush, even now, even after his own question about the walls being soundproofed. He wrinkled his nose at Patrick's smart-arse comment, but didn't stoop to respond. Rather, amber gaze shifted to the windows and with a flick of his fingers, Newt brought the hangings—airy white lace—together. He mumbled an incantation; for half a second, a screen of black blotted out the light, then passed. "There. Now we can see out and they can't see in."
The omitted 'h' in 'herbs' made Newt smile, charmed. "Herbs," he repeated with the correct pronunciation. "Yes, you could." His smile was a cheeky turn on freckled lips. He'd been about to agree to a tour at a later hour, when Patrick reached for him. Of course he went. Newt pushed up and, using his half-straddle, positioned himself atop Patrick without much effort. He was seated, arse on Patrick's crotch and his, Newt's, knees to the bed, just before its drop-off. His hands were on Patrick's chest, on his soft pullover there, and he kneaded at the material curiously. He gave it a bit of a looking over, before he glanced up through a fan of ginger lashes at Patrick. "Is it suitable, d'you think?" He shifted as if idly. "The cottage."