Chapter Text
Newt met Percival Graves at a Christmas party. It was strange to see the strange mix of powerful people at such a party, including the accomplished Auror Percival Graves and Newt’s War Hero of a brother Theseus who had insisted he come. Sensing chemistry and being ever courageous and commanding in all the ways Newt was not, Theseus later insisted the three of them visit a restaurant together. Thesues conveniently was unable to make it last minute. When Newt got carried away discussing the magical creature many muggles refer to as 'Krampus' instead of becoming annoyed as many do, Percival listened with a charmed smile. It made Newt buzz with content and fluster pleasantly when asked to continue their exchange via letters.
Both men were exceptionally busy people who often traveled. This made for a relationship built primary on letters, which Newt couldn’t be more grateful for. He’s a nurturer, a lover, a romantic in his soul; but something about the physical part of intimacy that everyone seemed to take to so naturally had always made him panic.
They had been together for nearly an entire blissful year before Newt finally had to come clean. They were both in France for business, but miraculously had time to stay an extra day or two. It was convenient, perfect, fate – the more gratuitously romantic than usual parts of Percival’s letter said so. They would get a room at a nice hotel and Percival would as he put it . . .finally be able to touch you in all the ways I’ve dreamed. I want to make you feel so good. . .Newt didn’t register how bad his hand was trembling reading the letter until he heard the rattling of the paper in his hand and Pickett’s frantic cooing.
Guilt washed over him. He had tried so hard to steer clear of the subject for so long, telling himself it simply wasn’t necessary. Romance shouldn’t rely on sex. But reading the letter, it dawned on him with horror he how selfish he had been. Perhaps sex wasn’t important to Newt, but some people need it. Some creatures are sexual, some are not. The difference here being creatures are not capable of lying about this fact. By not telling Percival Newt had essentially been lying. It was incredibly unfair to Percival. He should have never fallen in love.
When he opens the hotel room door and sees the happiness on Percival’s face he simply can’t do it. Not immediately.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Percival says with passion he never allows others to hear as he engulfs Newt in a flushed embrace that lasts only a second too long for comfort.
“I’m glad too.” He says breathless despite himself.
Newt tries to ease the evening’s activities elsewhere he really does. He hopes the promises the letter made were symbolic. His half-hearted efforts fail however and they still wind up on the luxurious sofa with Percival hovering over him. He knows it’s dangerous, but he’s going to try. He’s never really truly tried to just stick it out in the past. He’s never let anyone this close, never loved anyone enough to try. He’s never been so afraid of feeling loneliness again.
So far the way Percival is embracing him is not too invasive. His hands are still and around his waist. Newt tells himself it’s much like a normal hug, only in a new position. He tells himself this about the kisses too, which so far Newt seems to have kept at bay as very slow soft closed mouth touches. He wishes instead of this they could be having the conversations like they have in their letters. Maybe if he focuses on their happy exchanges in the past he could get through this.
But then he feels it. Something unmistakably hard and big is pressing down into him up against the inner thigh of his trousers maneuvering upward into his soft groin. He doesn’t want to think about what that thing is exactly or more specifically why it’s hard and why it’s on him.
Newt whimpers into the kiss and his hands clutch the back of Percival’s shirt so tightly his knuckles turn white. Percival can feel the scratch of Newt’s nails and drinks in his whine, both of which he takes as signs of encouragement. Even the tremble feels like a symptom of arousal in his state. After all, he’s trembling too with nerves, raw energy, and arousal. Newt was about to turn from the kiss and tap out when Percival passionately begins deepening the kiss, easily working his tongue past gasping lips, and grinds Newt into the cushions with his hard length indulgently.
The phobia he tried to neglect surfaces with vengeance.
Newt is breathing quickly and shallowly through his nose. He feels like he’s not getting any oxygen and he’s dimly aware he’s beginning to hyperventilate. Although Percival is between his legs and has him rather thoroughly pinned with his embrace, Newt thrashes all limbs to the side of the couch towards freedom.
Percival gets the message rather quickly after that. He lifts his body swiftly, alarm in his eyes. Newt immediately hangs half way off the couch and so Percival quickly untangles their limbs so that Newt can successfully bring his body fully to the floor.
The fear is so pronounced now that he’s barely fending off to urge to vomit.
Percival stares helplessly at Newt hyperventilating on the ground, too afraid of getting close, “Newt…? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? God I’m so sorry.”
If he weren’t on the verge of tears before, it was the devastation in Percival’s apology that did it. How could he let it get this far? All wanted so badly to give this to Percival, but he failed.
And now tears are dripping, his nose and cheeks reddening, and still can’t get his breathing under control, “N-no, it’s….ah….my fault, m-my fault.”
Moments pass and Newt is grateful Percival is allowing him silence and time to get his breathing and his hindered sobs under control. He’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been in his life. On his hands and knees he stares pointedly at the carpet until he calms down enough to face his lover.
Unsure what to do while waiting, Percival awkwardly offers “Want me to make you some tea?” he’s not much for the stuff but he keeps the kind that Newt likes. Newt nods.
When Percival returns, Newt is sitting stiffly on the sofa with his coat back on and his arms lightly wrapped around his middle. The bowtruckle is softly chirping at him. When it sees Percival it sinks away to where it cannot be seen as it pointedly glares and growls at him. Newt mutters what sounds like a scold to it. Percival still feels like a monster.
Percival sits next to him very cautiously, careful not to touch. Newt won’t look at him even when he hands him the tea. He cradles the cup and the warmth seems to calm the lingering shake of his hands.
“There’s something I should have told you a long time ago” Newt says to the tea cup.
“I want you to be able to tell me anything, Newt” Percival says carefully. Newt looks to him for a moment guiltily.
“I am not….a sexual creature.” Newt half mumbles. “I don’t know how to even begin explaining why. I have always simply been rather pathetically terrified at the prospect. It’s not you, please know I love you.” His reddened eyes begin to water again, “I understand that this isn’t what one wants or expect in a relationship. I am sorry for wasting your time, Percival. I understand if you no longer want me.”
Percival’s breath hitches. He looks at Newt with such intensity it nearly burns, “Newt. You could never waste my time. It’s alright that you feel this way. It doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”
Newt faces him with such genuine surprise and joy that it breaks his heart a little. This must have been weighing him so hard. They spend the rest of the night simply holding hands while having conversations much like their letters.