Re: [Hall Way: Patrick & Newt]
Yes, yes, darling, we know. Patrick was completely and utterly confident in his looks. He knew he appealed. If anything was predictable then, it was falling in line with a chorus of people, past and present, twitterpated with the man in bed with him. Newt was known more for his eccentricity than his conformity. That his (sexual and romantic) interests should align with a majority was, perhaps, counter to who he was, and certainly counter to what one might expect, but it was what'd happened. More surprising, even, was Patrick's interest in him. If you could have anyone, would you choose the odd, too-thin man, drowning in freckles, with unruly red hair, not quite feminine and not quite masculine, who couldn't manage to look someone in the eye? Likely not. But, here they were, and, though Newt didn't waste much energy thinking about how he looked or thinking about how appeared to others, very occasionally it did strike him what an odd couple they were.
Newt wasn't confident, but he wasn't unconfident. Really, it didn't matter to him. Or, often, it didn't matter to him, his exterior, his sexuality, his attractiveness. But, a lack of thinking about it did mean he couldn't quite tell if Patrick was into him the way he was into Patrick. Then again, he asked himself, did it matter? Such were the conversations he'd have late nights. Surely, however Patrick felt, it was enough, if he was here, prone upon the bed, letting Newt hang about him in a sloth-like cling. Newt smiled after blotting the windows. It was convenient, really. Magic was nice that way.
"'Erbs." Newt mimicked the accent flatly, overflexing the 'r.' "Sounds lovely." His tone was sarcastic, but he smiled as he straddled Patrick, happy to take in the smugness. Patrick bent his knees and Newt felt thighs come up against his back. He leaned a little, back, testingly, before he settled and planted his hands in the fabric of Patrick's pullover. He mussed about then, his question a tease in its feigned innocence. He laughed when Patrick called out the deliberate squirm, and he looked down as Patrick's hands moved up under the heavy weft of his own jumper. "May I?" His question was dry. Rather than assist himself with magic, Newt reached behind his head to tug the pullover over his head, the t-shirt underneath coming with it. Now in nothing but his trousers (and his own shoes and socks), he looked down, past the ginger fuzz on his chest, at Patrick. "You're incredibly kind to allow me this, Patrick," he teased, giving another bounce over Patrick's cock without shame.