Re: Quicklog, Patrick's cabin: Patrick G/Newt P
[The conversation did turn to more pressing things, which was a pity, but Newt wouldn't forget the topic.—For now, he let it go and turned to the notion that he'd rather made things worse for himself by bringing up Adrian.] I know you feel badly about Adrian, is all, and I'd not want to make you feel worse. Even if only for my own reasons. [And, for all that talk of speaking plainly, well, Patrick was circumspect about his own sex, which rather made Newt wish he'd been the same, if only to spite the younger man. It was, of course, too late for that. He'd already said rather too much.—He could, at least, laugh at Patrick's rejection of women topping, and he did. It wasn't particularly nice, but it was incredibly amusing.] You like to do the fucking. I understand. [It was vulgar language, but Newt didn't seem to notice. And in the face of brows lifted in reflection, he rolled his eyes, albeit with the limn of a smile on freckled lips. Newt pulled his wand from his ear and rolled it on the table in front of him with fidgeting fingers.]
Oh, yes. Our humor's difficult for Americans to recognize as it doesn't involve bodily functions. [Another dry delivery paired with a smile that wasn't as innocent as it pretended to be.—For Patrick's sake, and perhaps partially his own, Newt quite forgot to mention the pressure of hand to his chest. He read the conversation on the phone, the back and forth between Patrick and Sue that—well, it hadn't been particularly nice, had it? Sue'd been goading Patrick, all right, and Patrick, as ever, rose to it. (If Newt were a more nefarious person on a more regular basis, he might've used that fact to his advantage, but he wasn't.)—Newt's feelings weren't precisely hurt. They were extremely confused, but that wasn't new or a result of the conversation he'd read. When Patrick slumped, rather like a defeated child, Newt reached out across the table. He patted the just-healed hand with warm fingers.] I'm all right, Patrick. [He didn't look at the man, but rather the juncture of their hands.] I'm not—erm—[He retracted his touch to a safe, platonic distance. Leaning into an elbow he propped on the table, Newt pressed his thumb near his eye, licked his lips, and let his gaze flick to Patrick's.] Horny. I'm not. That's not why. It's not as if I throw myself at people. [Was that what he should be focusing on? Likely not. But, here he was. He swallowed, and suddenly his Adam's apple bulged against the top button. Annoyed, he undid it with his free hand.—Still, he smiled, trying for a bit of levity, and he let his gaze shift over Patrick's mouth, down to his chin.] I certainly wouldn't wear a Santa hat, no matter the lap. I'd look ridiculous.
[He ducked his head, so he might catch Patrick's eye again. If he was able to, he held it.] It's all right. [He was emphatic about that.] I know you said earlier that it was embarrassing, having people know. If there's anything to know. Is it making you feel miserable? Sue prodding at you like that? You must realize all he wants is to make certain I go to no one but him and to prick your insecurities. It's what he does, and he's better at it than Adrian.