It was impossible to have lived through the war and not have some bad dreams from time to time, even if Jacob sometimes suspected that Newt’s dreams weren’t entirely related to the war. They dealt with their nightmares in very different ways. Jacob would sneak out of bed, warm himself some milk and indulge in a few ginger snaps, the one treat he kept on hand at all times for this very purpose. Often with a thick flannel blanket around his shoulders. Warm and cozy, eating something that could only be considered an indulgence, the kind of goodies his grandmother used to give him. It was as far away from the cold, dark misery of the trenches as he could get.
It helped, reminded him of where he wasn’t. Not anymore. Usually after an hour or so he could return to bed and trust his mind to allow sleep.
For Newt it was touch. The first time the nightmares had come after they’d begun sharing a bed Jacob had woken bleary-eyed and confused in the wee hours of the morning. When he’d finally found Newt the other man was perched on a rock in the mooncalves’ enclosure, no less than half a dozen of the beasts curled up against him, heads perched on lap and shoulder, warmth and weight soothing him but not enough that he’d been able to sleep. The gentle warmth of their small bodies was reassuring but, after weeks of trial and error, the two of them found that sleep only came after the redhead exhausted himself with a more visceral kind of touch.
Which is what found them here this particular night, Jacob’s arms tight around the slight man beside him, slowly sinking into the heat of his body. Newt groaned, the sound only just this side of pain. That’s precisely what he wanted, what he needed to ground himself in the present, here and now with Jacob. Strong sensation but there was no rushing to it. Jacob pulled him close, nuzzled the back of his neck and smiled against his skin.
Newt sighed, contentedly pressing back against Jacob, stretching his long limbs out, slowly shaking off the dream in exchange for the warm press of bodies. Elegant fingers curled tighter around his wand and the fireplace on the wall opposite the bed flickered slowly to life. They don’t need it but if the light would ease some of the redhead’s tension then far be it for Jacob to question it. He suspects, as he usually does, that it’s less about the light and more about the easy call of magic to his lover’s whims.
Jacob had never dared to ask. It seemed too private, somehow. Strange that he could share his bed, hold the man in his arms, savor the warmth of his body, but asking Newt about the magic, the importance of his wand, was beyond him. Perhaps it was because he suspected the other man had at one time found himself defenseless. It wasn’t something Jacob could understand fully. Not really. Spending 2 days trapped in the rubble of an old church, long since out of ammo and unsure if it would be friend or foe that eventually brought him back into the light of day… it wasn’t the same. A gun was a reassurance, certainly, but it wasn’t a part of him. It wasn’t an intrinsic part of who he was. Even the, albeit limited, knowledge he had of boxing and how to use his own body for defense could not touch the scope of devastation that losing his wand would mean to Newt.
So he didn’t ask, merely held the taller man close, rocked slowly into his body, offered what reassurance he could with his presence. He murmured meaningless words into the skin of Newt’s shoulder, the words themselves lost but it was the tone that mattered, soft and warm and pleased. Jacob wasn’t sure what exactly he’d said, still only half awake and luxuriating in the feel of the other man beside him, against him, around him. But Newt huffed a breathless laugh and reached an arm behind him to curl into Jacob’s hair, pushing himself more firmly into his arms.
Jacob chuckled in response, the arm trapped beneath Newt crossing over his chest to hold him firmly and the other hand trailing in light, near tickling, lines over his side, his hip. Newt gasped sharply, arching into Jacob, both hands coming to grasp the arm across his chest, trying to squirm away from the tickle but closer to the man doing it. Hearing the soft laugh, the breathless sounds of happiness chasing away the strained terror that he’d woken with not half an hour ago, made the vice around Jacob’s heart let go finally. He knew damn well Newt wasn’t fragile or anything of the like but there was still a part of him that worried. Every dream, every nightmare, every thought of a past neither of them could escape was like a cold dose of reality in a life that seemed too wondrous to be real.
Another soft murmur of reassurance against Newt’s neck, the teasing fingers on his side stilling, and Jacob could feel relief make his throat dry, thick with words he didn’t dare say. Instead he nipped softly at the other man’s throat, dark eyes half lidded as he soothed the mark with his tongue. The last thing he expected was to meet bright amber eyes over Newt’s shoulder.
The redhead had noticed her before Jacob, one hand slipping away from the other man’s arm, fingers stretching out to coax her onto the bed. She shimmered and glinted in the firelight, the warm light drawing violet highlights from the blue and teal feathers of her body, casting golden eyes a shade darker and making the occamy’s beak shimmer like brass. “Marta, what are you doing here?” Newt murmured softly as she wound her way around his arm and Jacob huffed out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“How do you tell them apart?” He finally asked, gaze still focused on the creature as Newt returned his arm to where it had been. Jacob squeezed as Newt pressed back harder, distracted briefly from the haze of warmth and safety that Jacob provided. Marta stared at him, head tilting quizzically before she slithered up Newt’s arm, half onto Jacob’s, finally resting her beak on the back of Jacob’s wrist where his hand curved over Newt’s ribs. It put her all of, perhaps, eight inches from Jacob’s face, peering over the swell of Newt’s shoulder down at her. She was his, theirs. She was the reason all of this glorious madness had become his life. She was what had brought them together and somehow under the weight of her gaze all of this seemed so much more fragile.
“She’s a bit greener in the face…” Newt murmured softly, gasping in a breath when Jacob held him that much tighter. “And there’s that pale spot on the left of her beak.” The words were slow and almost cautious, uncertain of what was going through the other man’s mind. “Jacob?” Because Jacob’s breathing was coming harder than was really warranted by the slow, comforting press of their bodies.
Jacob took a deep breath, lips brushing over the light dusting of freckles on Newt’s shoulder and he thought for a moment that he would remember the pattern of the man’s skin until his last breath. He didn’t look away, still holding Marta’s gaze, his chest burning with the words he’d never thought he’d let himself say.
“I love you.”
And Marta closed those golden eyes, content to sleep coiled around her people.
((Sorry this one took so long. School started back up last week and my free time has plummeted. This one was also way more serious than the previous parts but... idk Marta insisted? We'll go back to fluffy humor on the next one. I already know what I want to do with it lol ))
Fill: Intruders 5/6
It helped, reminded him of where he wasn’t. Not anymore. Usually after an hour or so he could return to bed and trust his mind to allow sleep.
For Newt it was touch. The first time the nightmares had come after they’d begun sharing a bed Jacob had woken bleary-eyed and confused in the wee hours of the morning. When he’d finally found Newt the other man was perched on a rock in the mooncalves’ enclosure, no less than half a dozen of the beasts curled up against him, heads perched on lap and shoulder, warmth and weight soothing him but not enough that he’d been able to sleep. The gentle warmth of their small bodies was reassuring but, after weeks of trial and error, the two of them found that sleep only came after the redhead exhausted himself with a more visceral kind of touch.
Which is what found them here this particular night, Jacob’s arms tight around the slight man beside him, slowly sinking into the heat of his body. Newt groaned, the sound only just this side of pain. That’s precisely what he wanted, what he needed to ground himself in the present, here and now with Jacob. Strong sensation but there was no rushing to it. Jacob pulled him close, nuzzled the back of his neck and smiled against his skin.
Newt sighed, contentedly pressing back against Jacob, stretching his long limbs out, slowly shaking off the dream in exchange for the warm press of bodies. Elegant fingers curled tighter around his wand and the fireplace on the wall opposite the bed flickered slowly to life. They don’t need it but if the light would ease some of the redhead’s tension then far be it for Jacob to question it. He suspects, as he usually does, that it’s less about the light and more about the easy call of magic to his lover’s whims.
Jacob had never dared to ask. It seemed too private, somehow. Strange that he could share his bed, hold the man in his arms, savor the warmth of his body, but asking Newt about the magic, the importance of his wand, was beyond him. Perhaps it was because he suspected the other man had at one time found himself defenseless. It wasn’t something Jacob could understand fully. Not really. Spending 2 days trapped in the rubble of an old church, long since out of ammo and unsure if it would be friend or foe that eventually brought him back into the light of day… it wasn’t the same. A gun was a reassurance, certainly, but it wasn’t a part of him. It wasn’t an intrinsic part of who he was. Even the, albeit limited, knowledge he had of boxing and how to use his own body for defense could not touch the scope of devastation that losing his wand would mean to Newt.
So he didn’t ask, merely held the taller man close, rocked slowly into his body, offered what reassurance he could with his presence. He murmured meaningless words into the skin of Newt’s shoulder, the words themselves lost but it was the tone that mattered, soft and warm and pleased. Jacob wasn’t sure what exactly he’d said, still only half awake and luxuriating in the feel of the other man beside him, against him, around him. But Newt huffed a breathless laugh and reached an arm behind him to curl into Jacob’s hair, pushing himself more firmly into his arms.
Jacob chuckled in response, the arm trapped beneath Newt crossing over his chest to hold him firmly and the other hand trailing in light, near tickling, lines over his side, his hip. Newt gasped sharply, arching into Jacob, both hands coming to grasp the arm across his chest, trying to squirm away from the tickle but closer to the man doing it. Hearing the soft laugh, the breathless sounds of happiness chasing away the strained terror that he’d woken with not half an hour ago, made the vice around Jacob’s heart let go finally. He knew damn well Newt wasn’t fragile or anything of the like but there was still a part of him that worried. Every dream, every nightmare, every thought of a past neither of them could escape was like a cold dose of reality in a life that seemed too wondrous to be real.
Another soft murmur of reassurance against Newt’s neck, the teasing fingers on his side stilling, and Jacob could feel relief make his throat dry, thick with words he didn’t dare say. Instead he nipped softly at the other man’s throat, dark eyes half lidded as he soothed the mark with his tongue. The last thing he expected was to meet bright amber eyes over Newt’s shoulder.
The redhead had noticed her before Jacob, one hand slipping away from the other man’s arm, fingers stretching out to coax her onto the bed. She shimmered and glinted in the firelight, the warm light drawing violet highlights from the blue and teal feathers of her body, casting golden eyes a shade darker and making the occamy’s beak shimmer like brass. “Marta, what are you doing here?” Newt murmured softly as she wound her way around his arm and Jacob huffed out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
“How do you tell them apart?” He finally asked, gaze still focused on the creature as Newt returned his arm to where it had been. Jacob squeezed as Newt pressed back harder, distracted briefly from the haze of warmth and safety that Jacob provided. Marta stared at him, head tilting quizzically before she slithered up Newt’s arm, half onto Jacob’s, finally resting her beak on the back of Jacob’s wrist where his hand curved over Newt’s ribs. It put her all of, perhaps, eight inches from Jacob’s face, peering over the swell of Newt’s shoulder down at her. She was his, theirs. She was the reason all of this glorious madness had become his life. She was what had brought them together and somehow under the weight of her gaze all of this seemed so much more fragile.
“She’s a bit greener in the face…” Newt murmured softly, gasping in a breath when Jacob held him that much tighter. “And there’s that pale spot on the left of her beak.” The words were slow and almost cautious, uncertain of what was going through the other man’s mind. “Jacob?” Because Jacob’s breathing was coming harder than was really warranted by the slow, comforting press of their bodies.
Jacob took a deep breath, lips brushing over the light dusting of freckles on Newt’s shoulder and he thought for a moment that he would remember the pattern of the man’s skin until his last breath. He didn’t look away, still holding Marta’s gaze, his chest burning with the words he’d never thought he’d let himself say.
“I love you.”
And Marta closed those golden eyes, content to sleep coiled around her people.
((Sorry this one took so long. School started back up last week and my free time has plummeted. This one was also way more serious than the previous parts but... idk Marta insisted? We'll go back to fluffy humor on the next one. I already know what I want to do with it lol ))