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Newt does it because he’s curious, really. He wants to see what Percival would do. He doesn’t think that Percy would be angry with him if he woke up. They haven’t exactly negotiated this kind of…. thing, but Newt’s sure it’s harmless enough. Percy had been sleeping peacefully beside him one minute, and the next Newt’s fingers are on his lips, running over the plush fullness of them, slightly dry and cracked.
He wishes Percy would use the lip balm he suggests. He should try putting it on himself if the man is so insistent on being obtuse. He pushes his fingers in and meets hard, smooth teeth, but Percival’s mouth is slightly open so it’s not difficult to push just slightly more to get his finger between them.
He has a feeling this is dangerous. What if Percival wakes up? What if he wakes suddenly, surprised, and bites down? Newt is reminded of the old wife’s tale that a person can bite through a finger like biting through a carrot, which is of course nonsense. Still, he would rather remain without a half-gnawed finger…
But the thought doesn’t make him pause for long. Carefully, he pushes his finger in, using his other hand to pull Percy’s jaw down farther. He shivers, delighted at the modicum of resistance that is satisfying but not enough to be a hindrance.
What he doesn’t expect is for Percival to suddenly latch onto his finger like some kind of nursing infant and start to suck. Newt’s breath catches in his throat and he has to remind himself to breathe. He shivers, overwhelmed as the warm wetness of Percival’s mouth envelops his fingers. Mercy Lewis, he can feel himself start to react and then the shiver is full-body. Oh, he can’t—he can’t just—
Newt silences a whine, breathing heavily in short inhales. It feels so good, he isn’t sure—his eyelids flicker as the suction continues, as Percival laves at his fingers with his tongue.
When he openes his eyes several minutes later when Percival’s sucking has eased, he’s staring into Percival’s eyes. His heart stutters, but before he can react Percy’s snatched his wrist with one hand and he yelps in shock. Percy’s grip is bruising and he shifts slightly, reddening with guilt. Percy stares into his eyes; he’s calm, collected.
He’s probably been awake since the beginning.
He pushes Newt’s fingers out of his mouth gently, then starts to lick them. Newt shakes minutely, wets his lips. He can’t tear his eyes away from Percival’s mouth on his fingers.
“P-Percival—”
“Shhhh,” Percy shushes, and Newt swallows his words, glancing up dazedly to Percy’s eyes. Percival looks in both of his eyes and continues licking. And now he really can’t— Percival won’t be able to tell, hopefully, though of course he knows…
Percy licks his fingers, coating them with a thin layer of saliva. He doesn’t miss an inch of them.
“Now I want you to take your fingers…” Percival says, and Newt freezes. No, he can’t mean—
Percival sees the recognition in his eyes and the flicker of a smile passes over his lips. He nods. “Yes, you know what to do. You better hurry because this won’t stay on there forever…”
“Percival, you can’t be ser—”
“I’m completely serious, Newt, and hopefully this’ll make you think again the next time you want to shove your dirty, greedy little fingers in my mouth when I’m trying to get a good night’s sleep, hm?”
Newt shivers and takes his hand away. He watches Percival’s face to be absolutely certain he hasn’t misunderstood, and then moves his hand behind him. He easily slips it under his pajama pants and then his damp fingers are brushing the rim of his entrance.
“I d-don’t—”
“Shhh, just relax,” Percival says, and Newt can’t help the spike in arousal. Thankfully, however, Percy mutters a spell and then his finger is coated in some kind of lubricant. The tension in his shoulders ease and he breathes easier. Percival watches his face intently, breathing through his teeth. Newt pushes into himself and groans. First one knuckle, then two. He’s blushing fiercely, and all he wants is Percival’s hand on him.
“P-plea—”
“No,” Percival says as if to a naughty child, “No, you’re doing this one all on your own.”
Newt whines and drops his head down, but then Percival’s hand is on his chin and lifting his head up. He bites his lip.
“You can do it,” Percival says encouragingly, rubbing his jaw.
Newt clenches his jaw and pushes his fingers in, finding that bundle of nerves—a flicker of pleasure and then a burst and he moans, cock hard and weeping now. His hand hurts but he needs to get it just a little more—he pushes on the spot again and the tension builds enough to push him over, and the crackle of orgasm sings through his veins like liquid pleasure.
He whimpers and pulls out, pushing under Percival’s chin. He breathes a cleaning spell and then grips Percy’s shirt as the afterglow rushes through him and slowly dissipates.
“‘M sorry,” he whispers, breathing Percy in.
Percival chuckles low.
“It’s alright. That was very good.”
“Do you want me to—” he thinks fleetingly of Percy’s own—probable?—arousal.
“You’re so sure of yourself there, are you?” Percy says with a small laugh, and Newt flushes in annoyance and rolls over. “Newt, I’m sorry,” Percy says. “C’mere, I didn’t mean it.” He lops an arm around Newt’s waist and pulls up so they’re fitted tightly together.
Newt can feel Percy’s arousal pressing into him and his face heats up, though he still doesn’t like that Percy would tease him like that. Not that, he supposes, he should be annoyed, considering what he woke Percy up with.
“No, I’m alright,” Percy says, kissing his neck. Newt shivers and grabs Percy’s hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss.
“Okay then, suit yourself,” he says, letting Percy hold him close.
He falls asleep with Percy’s breath on his neck and his semi-hard cock digging into his ass. Which, really, isn’t too bad considering he thought for a moment maybe he’d end up sleeping on the couch for the rest of the night. He smirks to himself and pulls Percy closer.