Sometimes, when the world around him became too loud, too fast, too sudden, he got the urge to bite himself.
The very first time he and Jacob had stayed with the sisters, Queenie had caught him in the act. She had come to bring cocoa, and Newt had slipped his wrist from his mouth when he’d heard the door open. But she had seen the spit-slick welt and had felt his mind racing like a fox with greyhounds tearing at its flanks.
He loved Tina, that was plain to see. But sometimes he wondered if his heart was big enough to contain her, for he had given all of it but a few dark corners to his animals. Truly, he gave them everything he had and more, and Tina admired him for it. But what she didn’t know yet, was that sometimes they were ungrateful. Queenie had never seen him naked, but she knew that his skin was marked with scars because he carried them in his mind like a map. If a new one was forming, he would press his fingers against it instead of biting himself, relishing the memory of giving the creature that had inflicted it the gift of his own blood.
Whereas Jacob glowed like a faraway star when he gave reign to his fantasies, Newt burned like fiendfyre. Much like Tina, but she was the destroyer whereas he offered himself up for destruction. He would lie curled up in his suitcase, surrounded by animal sounds, and imagine them creeping closer. Imagine teeth and claws sinking into his flesh; having them take by force the only gift they could not give him.
He would struggle and scream for help in his fantasies, but the beasts were stronger. He scratched four red stripes down his thigh in imitation of a nundu’s claws seeking the most tender meat in his body. Dragons tore his belly open to feed on his organs, teeth following the path his hand took down to his ginger curls. Hippogriffs and thunderbirds splintered his bones and stuck their heads inside his ribcage as he stroked himself. When he reached his climax, he saw them ripping in half his quivering red heart.
One night, after he’d made a few of the clingier animals cranky by spending the whole day with Tina, Queenie caught him wishing they would rape him. He shoved three fingers inside himself, imagining the long prehensile penises of erumpents and the rough barbed ones of graphorns tearing at his insides as he screamed, reminding him to whom he truly belonged. Beast cock goes here, Leta Lestrange had once scratched into his upper thigh with a quill. When he pulled his fingers out, he was disappointed that they weren’t slick with blood.
“Queenie,” Newt said shyly after dinner after the others had retired, leaving her to supervise the washing up, “Could I please talk to you for a minute?”
“Any time, dear!” She giggled. “Why, you’re practically my brother!”
He flicked his wrist dismissively, but he wasn’t smiling.
“You said Leta was a taker,” he told the floor between his toes, “and you were absolutely right. But the problem is, and this is utterly stupid and you’re well within your rights to tell me to go to bed, but I feel like I need a taker. I only feel happy when I give more and more…”
He trailed off, a blush kissing his cheekbones.
“Oh, dear Newt!” She longed to put her arms around him, instead she leaned closer and took on a conspiratory tone. “Let me tell you a secret. There are two types of takers in the world. One will take out of selfishness, and move on to someone else once you’re so drained you can’t give any more. The other will take because you desire to give. She will appreciate your gifts, and return them one day when you need it the most. Do you understand?”
Newt looked as though he’d been struck by lightning.
“It’s so confusing,” he said sheepishly. “I feel like everyone around me went to a school that teaches how people think, but I never got my letter.”
“Not everyone. Just me.” Queenie beamed. “Besides,” she whispered, “I had to tell your fiancée the exact same thing!”
That night, she planted one of Tina’s favourite erotic paperbacks in his suitcase.
FILL 3/6
Sometimes, when the world around him became too loud, too fast, too sudden, he got the urge to bite himself.
The very first time he and Jacob had stayed with the sisters, Queenie had caught him in the act. She had come to bring cocoa, and Newt had slipped his wrist from his mouth when he’d heard the door open. But she had seen the spit-slick welt and had felt his mind racing like a fox with greyhounds tearing at its flanks.
He loved Tina, that was plain to see. But sometimes he wondered if his heart was big enough to contain her, for he had given all of it but a few dark corners to his animals. Truly, he gave them everything he had and more, and Tina admired him for it. But what she didn’t know yet, was that sometimes they were ungrateful. Queenie had never seen him naked, but she knew that his skin was marked with scars because he carried them in his mind like a map. If a new one was forming, he would press his fingers against it instead of biting himself, relishing the memory of giving the creature that had inflicted it the gift of his own blood.
Whereas Jacob glowed like a faraway star when he gave reign to his fantasies, Newt burned like fiendfyre. Much like Tina, but she was the destroyer whereas he offered himself up for destruction. He would lie curled up in his suitcase, surrounded by animal sounds, and imagine them creeping closer. Imagine teeth and claws sinking into his flesh; having them take by force the only gift they could not give him.
He would struggle and scream for help in his fantasies, but the beasts were stronger. He scratched four red stripes down his thigh in imitation of a nundu’s claws seeking the most tender meat in his body. Dragons tore his belly open to feed on his organs, teeth following the path his hand took down to his ginger curls. Hippogriffs and thunderbirds splintered his bones and stuck their heads inside his ribcage as he stroked himself. When he reached his climax, he saw them ripping in half his quivering red heart.
One night, after he’d made a few of the clingier animals cranky by spending the whole day with Tina, Queenie caught him wishing they would rape him. He shoved three fingers inside himself, imagining the long prehensile penises of erumpents and the rough barbed ones of graphorns tearing at his insides as he screamed, reminding him to whom he truly belonged. Beast cock goes here, Leta Lestrange had once scratched into his upper thigh with a quill. When he pulled his fingers out, he was disappointed that they weren’t slick with blood.
“Queenie,” Newt said shyly after dinner after the others had retired, leaving her to supervise the washing up, “Could I please talk to you for a minute?”
“Any time, dear!” She giggled. “Why, you’re practically my brother!”
He flicked his wrist dismissively, but he wasn’t smiling.
“You said Leta was a taker,” he told the floor between his toes, “and you were absolutely right. But the problem is, and this is utterly stupid and you’re well within your rights to tell me to go to bed, but I feel like I need a taker. I only feel happy when I give more and more…”
He trailed off, a blush kissing his cheekbones.
“Oh, dear Newt!” She longed to put her arms around him, instead she leaned closer and took on a conspiratory tone. “Let me tell you a secret. There are two types of takers in the world. One will take out of selfishness, and move on to someone else once you’re so drained you can’t give any more. The other will take because you desire to give. She will appreciate your gifts, and return them one day when you need it the most. Do you understand?”
Newt looked as though he’d been struck by lightning.
“It’s so confusing,” he said sheepishly. “I feel like everyone around me went to a school that teaches how people think, but I never got my letter.”
“Not everyone. Just me.” Queenie beamed. “Besides,” she whispered, “I had to tell your fiancée the exact same thing!”
That night, she planted one of Tina’s favourite erotic paperbacks in his suitcase.