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fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-12-25 04:42 pm
fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme) wrote2016-12-25 04:42 pm
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Prompt Post #2
ROUND 2
Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.
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Newt/Credence - 5 times - aroused by pure gestures
(Anonymous) 2017-02-14 11:02 pm (UTC)(link)Little Credence is sensually and emotionally overwhelmed by the simple yet kind gestures.No one has ever done that for him and Newt is so impressive in his eyes. The latter is not aware of this, of course.
1 time when it is the other way around and Newt realises he is quite troubled by the young man who became his friend.
Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (1/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-01 12:39 am (UTC)(link)--
1.
It was nothing. Under the half-light of the sun dyeing the sky in the horizon, Credence watched as Newt Scamander turned his head in an attempt to evade the President’s gaze. She was startlingly beautiful, lovely in the manner of old trees with deep roots, and despite the fact they were more or less of a size, Newt seemed smaller, almost, swallowed up by his coat. He wasn’t wearing the scarf, that striped one that made his hair look so fair, and so the movement revealed the long line of his neck, the delicate shadow of his throat. The freckles continued undisturbed, Credence noticed. He wondered if―
Oh, he thought. His hand attempted to close on thin air, and he only realised when his nails dug into the meat of his palm. He hid the hurt hand in the pocket of his trousers. Ma’s last punishment hadn’t healed yet, and he was certain he could feel a drop of blood trickling out from between his fingers. He didn’t want them to see, the―the wizards. He didn’t want them to think he was any stranger than he already was.
“Mr. Scamander,” said the lady President. One of her brows rose in a perfect arc. “We’re risking a great deal with this, as you are no doubt aware. I trust you will behave responsibly, then.”
Mr. Scamander―no, he had said to call him Newt, hadn’t he? And for once Credence wanted to be daring, he wanted―there was no harm in merely thinking it, surely. It wasn’t disrespect. Newt shuffled from foot to foot and ran a hand through his hair, which stood out every which way in an artlessly charming mop.
“I’m very responsible,” said Newt, finally.
The President looked pained. “Go on,” she said, as if resigned. “Off with you. Good luck, Mr. Scamander. I hope we never have a reason to meet again.”
One corner of Newt’s mouth twitched like it wanted to smile. Credence jerked his eyes away. Filthy. He was having filthy thoughts. That was no good. Mr. Scamander―Newt―he was being terribly kind, accepting to put his reputation on the line for someone like Credence: penniless, untalented, appallingly stupid, and… a disaster even when it came to things like magic.
So. He had to be good. It was just a favour, that was all. Mr. Scamander was a good person.
Newt was a good person.
“Well,” said Newt to Credence, who jumped a little because he had been rather determinedly staring off into space. “Well, I guess that’s it, then. We’re free to go.” That little twitch again, as if he wanted to smile. Credence watched him from the corner of his eye as Newt shuffled some more, patting the pocket of his coat―it seemed to move a little after he took his hand away, which made Credence stare―and then rummaging through his pockets. He found what he wanted a moment later: a cookie bagged in delicate yellow paper, tied neatly with a ribbon. “It’s for you,” said Newt, reaching out a bit spastically. Credence waited a beat before he accepted it with his unharmed hand. “From Queenie. Well, actually Jacob made it, only she went and bought it. He’s got a bakery, you see.” Another little twitch. “He’s doing very well.”
Credence stared at the cookie.
“You can eat it,” said Newt helpfully. “If you―unless you don’t like cookies?”
“I like them,” said Credence. His voice sounded strange―but of course, because he’d been screaming and crying in an unsightly heap for ages while Newt attempted to soothe him. He’d been graceless about it, Credence recalled, and yet he more than made up for it with a kind of disarming sincerity.
Was it any wonder, that all those animals… Newt had said he was a magizoologist, that he took care of hurt and lost animals and helped them, and that he was studying them so he could write a book, to help people understand them. The look on his face had brightened with a vivacious intensity that turned him from sort of funny-looking if adorable to absolutely charming. He seemed very invested in it, Mr. Scamander did.
Credence supposed it would be peculiar to voice his wish: he wouldn’t mind being an animal at all, if it meant someone like Mr. Scamander would mind him. If it meant he could go around in the chest pocket of Newt’s coat, because he was kind, and a bit skittish, and brave… and… and Credence…
He took out his hurt hand and then he pulled the tiny ribbon. There was some awkwardness, when Credence didn’t know what to do with it, but Newt rescued him by plucking it out of his hand with an offhand “somebody’ll want to play with it, I expect,” and so Credence removed the paper―it felt achingly thin, enough that a bit of carelessness would tear it, and… he wanted to keep it, just because―and examined the cookie.
It was… non-traditional.
“Jacob made it,” said Newt again, blurting it out like the silence was getting to him.
Credence split the cookie in two―a sharp point―a limb?―dug into his wound, so he kept that part and offered the clean half to Newt, who accepted it with a proper smile: it began in his eyes and then flooded the rest of his face like an underground river.
The sun was warm. They ate.
Credence took a bite and surreptitiously stared at Newt’s bare throat working―and then he remembered himself and, in punishment (because surely Newt would be too kind to do it himself, but it was like Ma always said: bad behaviour deserves punishment), he bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. His whole mouth tasted like copper and this peculiar gentleman had said, “I’ll help you” and tomorrow it would be sunny as well. Just for him. Just for this.
Be good, he thought to himself. Be good, be good, be good… No more filthy thoughts, then. He couldn’t ruin this: it was his last opportunity, as the lady President had said. So he couldn’t mess up. He had to be good.
But he still licked his fingers.
Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (1/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-01 12:40 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (1/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-01 10:43 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (1/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-01 10:44 pm (UTC)(link)I really love how you nailed their personnality and how you got the kind, pure gestures from Newt eliciting feelings and desire in love-starved Credence. It's perfect !
I'm looking forward to the other chapters. :-)
Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-01 11:49 pm (UTC)(link)--
2.
The first time, only surprise kept him still.
It had been a while since he had last been touched by someone. Probably Mr. Graves, in that alley―only it hadn’t been Mr. Graves after all, a fact from which Credence had recovered mostly undisturbed. Of course that strange blond man had only wanted something from Credence. Of course he wasn’t fit to do anything but be used, and badly at that. Of course it had ended terribly: smoke and blood and the debilitating weakness Credence was sure he would always carry, making him shake until it hurt.
But Newt…
“Thank you for your help, Credence,” said Newt – gently, as gently as he talked to his fantastic beasts. And he reached out and petted the top of Credence’s head, a soft caress made with delicate fingers, touching him as if he were as precious as glass that had already been cracked.
That was what got him, probably. The carefulness.
It felt sweet. It felt more than sweet: warm, as if Newt was liquid sunlight and it dripped down, a peculiar sensation that spread through his head, his neck―it tightened his throat with the fullness of tears―and then lower―his heart―and lower still―his belly. The shudder that overcame him was half the result of gratefulness and self-loathing. Even now, he couldn’t help himself. Even now he knew he would never reject Newt, never turn him away, never―never tell him, confess how horribly wrong he was, how he could be, how he still thought about the Mr. Graves that was not the real Mr. Graves holding him firmly and saying his name as if it was something to be owned.
Those were things meant to stay in the dark. So Credence merely nodded, and tried to mumble something (and failed), and then Newt got distracted when two animals―Credence wasn’t sure of their names yet―began to fight, because one of them was convalescing.
Life with Newt was strangely serene, despite the weird smells and the nipped fingers. They travelled by ship: Newt said it would be best to let things settle down for a while, as the memory of… recent events was too fresh, and then he added seriously that he knew all about accidentally making a bit of a mess and everything would turn out all right―Credence helplessly believed him, even though he had a hard time believing in anything these days except the wrath of God, who was surely readying himself to punish him for his inclinations.
As they got used to each other, Newt touched him more often. It wasn’t the sort of casual touches a less socially awkward person would have managed, either―Newt was always painfully aware of what he was doing, and to forget himself that way just wasn’t possible. But Credence didn’t mind. There were mode head pats, and then soft grips of his shoulder that felt nothing like how the false Mr. Graves had touched him, and in one memorable occasion, when they were squeezing themselves through a narrow passage, Credence had been almost close enough to touch Newt chest-to-chest, close enough they looked at each other in the eye although neither of them usually had the daring.
Newt had dispelled the brittle but tense silence with a huff that was born out of that little twitch-smile, and Credence had followed after him silently, and that was that.
That should have been that.
The problem was this: somewhere along the way, when Credence hadn’t been looking, he’d turned greedy. So much freedom was getting to his head―there was sunshine, usually, and the smell of green growing things, and tea because Newt seemed obsessed with tea, and a steady undisrupted kindness―and he began to engineer ways to get touched more, even when he hadn’t done anything to merit it, like helping Newt with a beast.
Newt was bent over his desk with the lamp on, scribbling on some parchment with a quill. His calligraphy was a beautiful disaster, long looping lines and a cramped cursive, like something out of an old book. He lost himself when he was like that, he was consumed by the purpose of his work, Credence thought, recalling what Ma used to say about why she had to fight against the corruption of magic. Purpose, a meaning. Purpose…
Credence wanted to be touched. He wanted to exist so that Newt could touch him.
Once he accepted that, it became easier to gather up a dreg of courage and creep closer to Newt, surely hovering like a shadow of ill-omen. He sat on the floor next to Newt’s stool, who didn’t notice him at all, and after a few seconds of holding his breath to make sure it would stay that way, Credence relaxed and looked at Newt’s free hand, which was just dangling there… He had tiny scars, some better healed than others, a few which looked fresh―and there was the scratch he’d got that same morning, of course, to protect Credence…
It just welled up. He wanted to ask for forgiveness but he didn’t want to interrupt the moment. It just welled up in him, this awful, heart-breaking need, and―and Credence shifted closer to Newt’s hand, and it bumped against his forehead. Credence’s blood ran cold but he didn’t dare to look up… and yes, yes, Newt was too busy, of course, and animals chased him to be petted all the time, or to pet him, and Newt thoughtlessly carded his fingers through Credence’s hair, slowly and methodically, but sweetly.
Sweetly…
Credence hugged his knees and rested his shoulder against the stool, and he rubbed his cheek against Newt’s wonderful blue coat, which was really very soft. Newt kept writing, and Credence eventually began to doze, even though his back ached and he should stop it already before Newt came out of his daze and he realised how pathetic Credence was, how much he…
He…
“Credence?” said Newt’s bemused voice, and then ― “Um.”
Credence straightened up with a start. He rubbed his eyes and glanced up at Newt, who had a bit of ink on his face and one eyebrow raised in that lopsided quizzical look he got sometimes―and, and, and. And his hand was still in Credence’s hair.
“Um,” said Newt again. And then carefully, just like when they found a new animal and Newt was trying to decide how to lure it closer to ensnare it with food and affection, he caressed the side of Credence’s face… clumsily, as if unused to it, and somewhat awkwardly, because of the angle. His thumb brushed against Credence’s lashes, which fluttered closed out of unexpected pressure, and then another slow caress... Credence turned his head, seeking more contact, and he got Newt to touch his mouth―his mouth―by accident before, startled, Newt jerked away.
He looked uncomfortable. Credence felt his stomach sink.
“I―I’m sorry,” he said, trying to speak past the knot in his throat. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again―I just wanted―I’m sorry―”
“No, no, don’t apologise, don’t, oh,” said Newt, waving his hands around. He rubbed his face―he’d forgotten about the ink because he smeared it more―and then sighed deeply. “I just forgot―I’m alone so much―it’s my fault―Credence.” His tone had turned serious. He slid off the stool and knelt in front of Credence, so they could be of a height if not, necessarily, looking at each other, as Credence kept his gaze on his shoes. “Credence, if you need anything, you have to tell me, all right? D’you understand?”
I want you to touch me everywhere.
“I understand, Mr. Scamander,” said Credence.
Some things were meant to be a secret.
Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-02 03:28 am (UTC)(link)I love this to pieces.
Methinks, Newt quite likes Credence too, but doesn't what to do with that, and Credence, of course, can't see that.
Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-02 09:23 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Newt/Credence. Take the fever out of me (2/6)
(Anonymous) 2017-03-07 01:54 am (UTC)(link)