Re: [Hall Way: Patrick & Newt]
Patrick, it seemed to Newt, had lived a life on the surface. Perhaps it was more comfortable there. Perhaps it was all there was. He'd not name himself depths, but he himself'd never been a man to skim and stay shallow. Patrick, beneath his burnish of expectations—and, he certainly felt the weight of those, did Patrick—was quite guarded and quite serious. Newt understood being guarded, as he was himself, but he'd never been someone who took himself seriously. It meant quite a lot to him when Patrick opened up, when he allowed himself to let go a moment—even if only for a moment. There was something rather breathtaking about it, and Newt thought that now, looking down at Patrick beneath him, loose and comfortable. It wasn't anything he'd've imagined happening all those months ago when this began. Or rather, he'd've imagined it, but he'd've expected it to live in the gold-gated confines of his imagination and nowhere else.
But, this was real. Patrick's touch wasn't gentle, but neither was it rough, and Newt gave himself a moment to like the scrape of thumb over his nipple, before he kissed his boyfriend. Snogging, Newt'd come to find out as well as Patrick had, could be quite an enjoyable pastime. Slow, like molasses, like amber—when it was yet tree resin, unhardened, pliable but inevitable, he warmed immediately to the pass of tongue over his, and he lifted his hand to brush at Patrick's, where it rested against his, Newt's, jaw.—When Patrick kissed there, then let his head fall, Newt exhaled and gave only a slight sparrow's width of space between them. But, Patrick's hands were exploratory today and he enjoyed the feeling of them as they braved the wilds of a masculine body. His, in particular.
Nipple, stomach, waistband. Newt's own touch lost itself to mussed blond. He was inspecting the artfulness of it when Patrick spoke, and Newt's gaze snapped down. He smiled warmly, a blush running under the freckles on his cheeks. Patrick's own pullover was quite long, but Newt'd managed to keep himself off the hem and he stuck his fingers beneath it now, wandering over the warm skin beneath it. "I like how you look, as well," he admitted, his voice a soft, shushing rasp. "Does it still surprise you?" He dragged a fingertip over the slight furring of gold that trailed from Patrick's navel, but he watched the man, without his flightiness from earlier. "To like how I look, I mean."