Prompt Post #1

[fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme]

 ROUND 1

FUCK IT WE'LL FIGURE OUT SPECIFICS LATER

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Graves/Newt, past rape

[(Anonymous)]

Newt is aware that he's not the most socially-adapted person out there but even he knows that liking men the way you should like women is a criminal offence. That's why he understands why he musn't approach the men he's been with in public or otherwise remind them of his existence. He realises that with his looks, rambling and tendency to be a bit slow on the uptake he should be glad that they pay him any mind, even if sometimes he's not really interested. But he understands that he's not always able to articulate himself properly, so it's normal that they may not understand that he doesn't want to have sex sometimes. So he knows the rules, knows how to please to be petted and accepted even just for the night, knows to disappear in the morning and never ever mention that again (he also knows that people don't always know what they're doing when drunk) so why is Mr Graves suddenly talking about doing that again and trying to get him to be his consultant and going to a "special" bar where they can get a drink together?

Come on people, give me angst and some sweet confused Newt. It's the 1920s, they didn't talk about women getting raped then, much less men.

Re: Graves/Newt, past rape

[(Anonymous)]

Wait please

Another Notch In The Bedpost

[(Anonymous)]

Newt wakes slowly, and becomes aware that there is someone in the bed beside him. He frowns a little, trying to move away, but the weight of their arm pins him. He opens his eyes, catches a glimpse of a strong jawline dotted with stubble. A man then, not that that is any surprise based on the ache in his body. They look familiar, although this close he can't identify them. He lifts his head a little, and sees that the man he has woken beside is Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security at MACUSA. Past experience has taught him that Percival Graves is a kind man, beneath his gruff exterior. Newt certainly can't feel any pain. As carefully as he can, he tries to slip out from beneath Percival's arm. He doesn't want to wake him. Percival works hard, and Newt knows that he needs his rest. It's a practiced routine by now. He slips out of bed in the morning before they wake up, maybe even sets some breakfast to make itself. He ensures that they will have no reason to complain, even with his many faults.

He tries to move before Percival wakes, knowing that Percival will be disgusted to find him still in the bed. He isn’t there to be held. Even though he likes the warmth of another's body, even as he struggles to slip away from under Percival's arm, he knows that he is stealing affection that isn’t meant for him. He is wrong. He is so wrong, and he can’t help it. He's been wrong all his life, and he can’t stop now, even when he tries.

"Freak". Hamilton, in the year above, had spat as he shoved Newt back against the wall of the classroom. The room was empty aside from the two of them, and then Hamilton had shoved his hands into Newt's trousers, squeezing at him hard and then kissing him, forcing his tongue into Newt's mouth, hand at his throat as he sobbed. "I saw you staring. If you ever stare again, you'll be sorry." Hamilton had hexed him and walked away, and Newt had tried not to cry. He'd lost that battle the following night when he dreamed of Hamilton kissing him gently. Newt wasn't the kind of person to get gentle kisses.

Percival's hand reaches out, wraps around his waist and pulls Newt closer, against the strength of his chest. Newt swallows, and goes limp as a ragdoll, the way that kneazles do if you grab them by the back of the neck. It isn't that he dislikes the sex exactly. If he was given the option to do all the other bits - the kissing and the petting and the being held and being wanted and being useful, without the sex, he might have gone for it. It's more that he knows normally the mornings are worse, because the man he's wandered home with has had time to sleep, to think, to regret his decision. The man might decide to teach Newt a lesson.

"Morning beautiful." Percival practically purrs against his ear, his teeth nipping at the skin there. Newt's heart races in his chest as he holds himself still. A hand skims down his chest towards his crotch, and he closes his eyes and spreads his legs automatically. He shivers, trying to work out whether Percival wants him to react. He hopes he isn't, isn't sure that he can manage to please him in that way at this moment in time. But he can take whatever it is that Percival will give him.

"You're lucky I gave you this chance, freak." Hamilton snarled, pushing Newt down onto his knees and pressing his cock into Newt's throat. Newt swallowed around it, trying to learn what to do even as the air was choked from his system, leaving him coughing and spluttering. Hamilton had fucked his throat that day, and when he'd done he had ruffled Newt's hair before walking away.

Newt dreamt of that touch to his hair for months afterwards.

"Newt?" Percival sounds concerned, and Newt tries to focus on the man who is with him now, the one he was meant to be pleasing. His past was in the past, and dwelling on it now would help no one. "Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes." Newt whispers, waiting for another order. Instead, Percival frowns and pulls him closer.
"If you aren't in the mood, we don't need to do this."

That comment surprises him in a way. There have been a lot of men over the years. Hamilton was only the first, but in time there must have been dozens. It had been one of Hamilton's friends next, who had cornered him in a corridor and taken him to their bed. That time he had wanted to say no, but his fear had overwhelmed him. He had been unable to even stutter out a refusal. So the friend hadn't known, had taken their pleasure, and he had allowed it. He had cried himself to sleep that night . None of those men ever cared whether or not he wanted to do it, not when they wanted to. But Percival is stroking his fingers through Newt's unruly hair and his actions are still tender.

"Do you want breakfast?" Newt asks in an attempt to placate him. Percival smiles and shakes his head.
"Not quite yet." Percival's lips press against Newt's forehead and Newt thrills at the contact, relishes the moment of touch, and then glances up at him through long eyelashes. "Can I just hold you a little longer?"
Newt nods, tangling his legs with Percival's and cuddling close.

"You were amazing last night." Percival murmurs, and Newt feels himself blush. He's not used to being complimented, doesn't feel it's really something you can be complimented for. But Percival clearly thinks he is. "Would you like to do it again some time?"

Newt swallows. He has never been asked that before. Never been wanted to be seen in the morning or again. There were Matthew and Stephan in the war. Newt had got on well with both of them, and when they pulled him to bed he went willingly. They had slept together more than once as they worked with dragons, but Newt knew it was never planned. It wasn't that they wanted him. He was just there and convenient. He glances up at Percival and nods slowly, hoping that this won't be a mistake.

"We can go to a bar. There's one not far from here that wouldn't have an issue serving us." Percival continues. "I mean, I don't know if you drink, but it would be good, maybe we can go on Friday."
Newt nods, confused.
"I don't drink." He whispers. "I don't like the loss of control."
Nathaniel had always been patient. He'd made it clear he found Newt an annoyance in the office, but he never bullied him. So Newt couldn't blame him for getting drunk at the Yule party, walking over to Newt and gripping him by the hair, dragging him off to the closet. Nathaniel would never have wanted to make Newt bleed, would never have chosen to leave him in such a mess that he could barely walk for a week. It was the alcohol,

"Alright." Percival smiles, and he kisses at Newt's neck, leaving him shivering and gasping. "We don't have to. But I would like it if you would be ... if we could make this a regular thing." Newt shivers, but nods.

"I mean, not just the sex." Percival continues, and Newt feels as though the world is twisting, as though this is a particularly cruel trick. Sebastian was a friend of Theseus's. He was fun and he was kind, and he was patient with Newt's strangeness. He reminded Newt that no one can know. That it can never be public. He fucked Newt regularly for two months, until Newt smiled at him in public and Sebastian called the whole thing off. "We can go out for meals together, and if you'd like you can come and work in MACUSA."

"If I work for MACUSA..." Newt begins, and licks his lips as he tries to gather a little more confidence, to say a few more words. "I might not be able to avoid you. I might see you and say hello-"
"I'd want you to say hello." Percival is frowning now, and Newt is sure he's done something wrong, cannot imagine what it is. He swallows, waiting for pain, and Percival pulls him close. "Newt, I'm asking you out on a date."
"Date?" Newt asks, confused by the very concept. "With me?"

"With you." Percival frowns. "Have you not had dates before?"
"It's against the law." Newt begins, parroting what he had heard from others for as long as he can remember. "It's unnatural and wrong. I'm... I make mistakes. I'm not... I ramble and I can't always say if I want it to stop. I'm an embarrassment and I'm lucky anyone ever even wants me to take their cock..." He swallows. "I tried to leave this morning, so I wasn't in your way, but I couldn't get away from you. I'm sorry. It's... this is all my fault."

Percival presses a kiss to his forehead and smiles sadly.
"None of this is your fault Newt. Anyone who has said those things to you doesn't deserve you. I'm going to do what I can to make sure that I am worthy of you. All I ask is that you give me a chance to try. Do you think you can do that?"

Newt hesitates, his mind full of images of a dozen different men whose names he hasn't known and whose beds he has shared. He thinks of the pain that has shattered him, the fear that has paralysed him as he's tried to stutter out a refusal, and he feels the ghost of the tears that spilt then threaten to spill down his face once more. Percival's hand is on his arm. He looks up at him, and sees honesty in those eyes.

Fighting down terror, he manages a single nod.
(AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10886598)