Re: Quicklog, Patrick's cabin: Patrick G/Newt P
[Newt couldn't've said where the line was going to be. He didn't know where he wasn't meant to step. One kiss, Patrick'd said, and he didn't know when something stopped being a kiss and became something else. Because, now, Patrick might not've been doing anything with his knee, but that didn't stop Newt from widening thighs, from making a soft, but, yes, masculine, sound against Patrick's lips. If he'd thought about it, he would've strangled it silent, as he rather meant to stretch one kiss as far as it would go and he didn't want to make Patrick uncomfortable. But, he wasn't thinking about it. He'd rather stopped that the moment he was pushed onto his back.
But, now, Patrick shoved up, onto his knee, and Newt was reeled upward by the snapping lines of his suspenders. Upright, his hair a mess of fringe and his breathing finding a hard edge, he was sat on the edge of the bed, knees still wide enough for Patrick to find space to prop himself—but not wide enough for Newt not to get the heat of it.—Patrick touched his face, and Newt's hands were both on the man's chest, as they'd gone there when he was being uprooted. He let his fingers dig into the soft material of Patrick's sleeveless shirt, briefly, before one hand slid to Patrick's hip, where it held. Newt tipped his head to the side as the kiss was renewed, and he didn't let it slide back into any kind of chastity. He used his toes on the floor to make the kiss a crush of mouths, lips like pulped peaches, split open on contact. He licked over Patrick's teeth, against his tongue, and his fingers, where they rested on one hip flexed.]