Re: Capital club: Patrick G/Newt P
[Snogging, in Newt's (rather limited) experience, was never pretty and it was rarely careful. It was tactile, it was contact and heat, and a bleed of need through it all, copper-bright and omnipresent. It'd been more tentative with Patrick, obviously—expectedly, even. However, even if Patrick'd not experienced it like this—perhaps, he'd been tangled up in fear; Newt didn't know—Newt had, in some degree or another. He was behaving himself rather well, he thought, all things considered. He kept down any sounds. He didn't press overmuch to Patrick, unless invited. He was polite, really, with his hands. He let the younger man set the pace, set the tone, set all of it (with but a few slip ups). And this, with Patrick rather stoned out of his mind, was the first time he felt as if he wasn't the only one getting something out of it. But, of course, as Patrick'd said, weed made him horny, and it was possible that was what it was.
He didn't overthink it. He could later, though he'd try not to then, either. For now, when Patrick took, Newt gave. It was a good kiss, and Newt's appreciation was obvious in his zeal. His skin under Patrick's hands was flushed and hot. His mouth over the other man's had a near lushness to it, like before, a sensuality, something that was absolutely at odds with the bony, gangly nature of him. Newt pulled Patrick to him, but his fingers didn't do anything more untoward than stay hooked in the lip of trouser pocket.—When the kiss was cracked and broke, shell of mouths coming apart, Newt took a ragged breath. He expected that to be it. Patrick tossed the beanie, sending his hair into a fine tumult, and then he sat. Newt blinked down at him with golden eyes gone dark.
The reach toward his belt was surprising—his cock was right there—, but Newt was glad when he was simply pulled forward. Much less thought involved. His hands went first and unthinkingly into the wilderness of unbeanie'd blond. He smoothed it, then, when Patrick mentioned the joint again, he remembered he was meant to get that.] Oh, yes. [He felt in his pocket and pulled out the blackened butt from earlier. He was lifting it to his own lips, kiss-swollen and too pink, when he was tugged again, his knees butting to the mattress just between Patrick's thighs, before his weight tried to tip him forward. There wasn't anywhere else to go. His knee sought purchase between Patrick's parted thighs, the other he lifted, so it fell on the other side of thigh and his hips made contact with Patrick's ribs. Newt put a hand out, to catch himself on the broad crest of Patrick's shoulder.] Prat. [He couldn't sit back without having to sit on Patrick's thigh, so he stayed upright, flush against the man, but much taller now. Newt pushed Patrick to his back, if he could, still straddling his thigh, and planted the remnants of the joint between Patrick's lips. There wasn't going to be much, and he'd rather Patrick stoke his embers. Newt, bent forward now, one hand propping him, gave the same pass of long fingers as he had in the truck and the joint lit. He should roll to the side, off of Patrick now, but he didn't. Right there, and with Patrick on his back, he watched him smoke.]