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Newt leans forward–pushes his sweaty brow against Hermann’s clothed knee and nuzzles it slowly. He inhales deeply and scoots forward, as close as he can. Hermann slips his hand from the upholstery, skittering fingers over his own thigh, carding them through Newt’s hair. A tug, sharp and sudden and lingering. Through half-closed eyelids, almost as if perceived by an extra sense, Newt sees Hermann’s mouth curl into a pleased smile. Newt moans, blinking up at Hermann tearfully and uncomfortably aware of the stretch of his neck.
His own hand isn’t enough. He needs more. He pushes Hermann’s thighs open and mouths at the inseam of his pants, at his knee. Newt begs–whiny, breathy pleas murmured against the cottony smell of him all while he straddles Hermann’s foot and begins to grind up against his leg. It’s not long before Hermann pulls his head back by the hair. Sees his flushed cheeks and his wide green eyes. A change overcomes Hermann. The strange shiver of dark intent makes Newt's skin prickle into gooseflesh.
Hermann’s eyes are hooded and dark—so endlessly dark. Compelling. Long lashes draw small shadows onto his sharp cheekbones. He’s still. Newt fancies he can hear him thinking, hear the way he's getting more worked up. It’s not like Newt’s unaware of what he’s doing. Newt’s lids flutter and he moistens his lips quickly, lips parted in well-practiced supplication.
Ah. There it is: Hermann bites down on his bottom lip, a fang peeking through. Newt doesn’t have time to revel in the success. He squeaks as Hermann’s grip in his hair tightens, and then he’s being hauled up into Hermann’s lap. There is no helping hand to arrange and pull him in. It’s just Hermann’s fingers firmly curled against his scalp and Newt hisses, whines, grinds down on Hermann immediately. Hermann puts a heavy hand on the small of Newt’s back, pulling him flush so Hermann can nose at Newt’s neck, lapping at the skin, feeling the thrumming of his heartbeat right there. He closes his eyes as he grazes his teeth—not piercing, just teasing. Newt mewls with an impatient sort of urgency–heat cleaving into his body.
Newt tips his head back, arches his spine as he rolls his hips, losing himself to sensation. Hermann’s hand grips his hip, guides his motions with an unerring firmness that leaves Newt lightheaded. He tangles his fingers in Hermann’s hair as he gasps and jerks and then slows his grinding. Hermann pulls back for a moment, surprise coloring his deceptively passive expression as he glances down and then up at Newt’s sheepish grin.
“I haven’t even touched you yet, love,” Hermann murmurs, thumb rubbing circles into Newt’s hip.
“Should fix that,” Newt quips back when Hermann makes no obvious move to correct what Newt esteems is a grievous error.
“Why should I?” Hermann says, smile playing on his lips. “You obviously have no problem taking matters into your own hands.”
Hermann’s not nearly as unaffected as he’s acting. Newt can feel him, hard and insistent. It’s a good pressure. Good enough that Newt begins moving his hips again. He still feels antsy and short of breath. All he can sense is Hermann all around him—mind hazy.
Hermann undoes Newt's pants. His deft fingers rake through the trail of hair that winds down Newt's belly. With a deep hum, Hermann cups his palm against Newt's cock and mound. He grinds the jut of his palm against Newt in slow and dirty frottage. Newt shudders, aching and caught up in the delicious, slick feeling of it. It pulls a shaky groan from him, the way Hermann rolls his fingers over his cock. Newt presses forward against Hermann, keening. He’s never been so sensitive, trembling and bleary-eyed and near delirious with it. His thighs tighten at Hermann’s sides when Hermann slips fingers inside of him, making small comforting noises as if those will cool the heat in the pit of Newt’s stomach.
Newt’s soaked already, so loud and sloppy as he drips through the seat of his pants. Hermann thrusts up against him, still clothed and rubbing his straining cock against where his fingers thrust into Newt. Newt’s fingers spasm against Hermann’s shoulders—he’s burning up. He needs release but coming just made him more desperate. He looks at Hermann, doesn’t know what he wants help with or how Hermann can give it.
Hermann licks his bottom lip and leans forward to suck against Newt’s neck, raising the skin, making it tender. He can feel Newt clenching around his fingers, quivering, slick, hips juddering. His pulse is so fast, so loud and Newt is so close. When he is right on the edge again, Hermann sinks his fangs right at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Newt cries out, knees clamping on Hermann’s sides as he comes. The pain is sharp, at first. Then, it eases into a burning that fades in with the rest of Newt’s arousal and desperation, fueling it. He’s still coming, prolonged and drawn out as he squirts over Hermann’s fingers and whimpers. The harder Hermann sucks, the stronger the next wave of lulling bliss. Hermann never stops rocking his fingers inside Newt the whole time.
Hermann is dizzied—Newt’s blood is sweet, rich and heady on the tongue. A kind of sublime release overtakes him. He goes lax, limbs loose and curling Newt closer, tenderly. It's a brief feeding. Just enough to leave Newt a bit lightheaded and moaning quietly until Hermann feels the mounting desperation—smells it on Newt and on himself.
Far past teasing and cheeky comments, Hermann kisses Newt. “Can I-?” Hermann asks against his lips, so close each syllable makes skin catch. Newt makes a noise high up in his throat, half-questioning half-agreeing. He has the sharp tang of his own blood in his mouth.
His hips rock down onto Hermann’s fingers as he slips a hand between them and takes Hermann’s cock out of his pants. His eyes never leave Hermann’s. It seems impossible to look away from him, from the way his hair lays flat on his forehead. Disheveled, flushed, dewy with sweat. Newt can’t help but lean forward and kiss him until he can’t breathe, until his free hand has surely wrinkled Hermann’s shirt quite badly.
“Is this?” Newt babbles, stroking Hermann’s cock and moaning at the size of it—the weight of it—the way it’s already leaking and so flushed and wanting. Hermann nods and they can barely untangle themselves for enough time for Newt to discard his pants. He leaves them around one ankle as he straddles Hermann again and rubs his hole against Hermann’s cock. Both of them rutting against each other, Hermann presses his thumb near the bite marks and it causes Newt’s vision to spark. He shivers, gasping and clutching onto Hermann.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” Newt whimpers against the side of Hermann’s face. Hermann’s cockhead keeps catching on Newt’s entrance and Hermann teases more and more until Newt can’t take it. The chaise beneath them has a wet spot from how thoroughly Hermann’s been taking Newt apart. Hermann eases him upward finally and groans at the long drag as he enters Newt. Newt eases down slowly, feeling Hermann fully to every detail. He's quivering, squeezing around him—at the sharp edge trying to ignore the way his legs ache and complain.
He sits for a few seconds, breathing harshly, and Hermann takes the opportunity to reach down and thumb at Newt’s clit. Newt relaxes and tenses according to the coy rhythm Hermann sets. Hermann doesn’t quite thrust yet, just pushing up against Newt, rocking with him, letting Newt feel it.
Newt's mouth hangs half-open, both hands at either side of Hermann’s neck. He rocks back against Hermann, fucking himself onto him and thrusting up against his fingers. It doesn't last long. Hermann gets impatient and holds Newt up by a hip to piston his cock into Newt with a growl. Newt leaks all over Hermann’s cock, leaves his thighs all wet. He fails to stifle his noises–hardly stymied by the pathetic hand he pushes against his mouth.
Hermann stops at times, testing angles until Newt’s bottom lip wobbles, and when he finds the perfect one, he just rocks there, grinding his cock into Newt so perfectly he could cry. Hermann’s muttering under his breath, too, willing Newt to come, his gaze fixed on Newt and Newt’s utterly unable to look away. Newt's hands on Hermann’s chest jerk as he swivels his hips, working himself to orgasm, feeling himself squeeze around Hermann’s cock.
It’s like a tense wire snapping when he comes this time. He squeezes his eyes shut. His hips jump jerkily against Hermann’s for a few sharp beats.
”That’s it, that’s it, love,” Hermann praises as Newt comes down, going limp. Hermann holds him up, presses a kiss to his forehead and continues thrusting after a bit, chasing his own pleasure. It doesn’t take long for Hermann to follow, a divot between his brows and a harsh huff the only delicate indication he’s come at all.
He continues thrusting shallowly, and then pushes Newt back against the chaise, legs spread. He leans down, kissing Newt’s thighs, biting them a little—not enough to break skin—and then he drags his tongue up the length of Newt’s cunt. Newt wails, gripping Hermann’s hair and arching up. Hermann puts his hands under Newt’s ass, lifting it up so he can truly lick into Newt. With slow passes, he teases at Newts over-sensitive folds, and his cock. He sucks it into his mouth, grazes it with his teeth in the lightest of ways just to see Newt thrash.
He pulls back to lick again, painfully slow, both teasing and working Newt up so subtly that Newt's own continued arousal takes him by surprise. Hermann laves kisses over Newt’s cock, bobs his head over it and watches Newt all the while. He goes faster and groans when Newt starts moaning again, rolling his hips to meet Hermann’s tongue.
Cute , Newt thinks, fixated on the small worried divot between Hermann's brows–that adorable upward tilt.
“Like that,” Newt breathes high and reedy, throwing his head back, fingers knotted tightly in Hermann’s hair. “Just like that”
He can feel himself so, so close–straining, stomach fluttering, gasping right right there and then Hermann adds just that edge of teeth again and it brings Newt over the edge, keening. Hermann doesn't stop licking and sucking at him even as Newt's legs tremble until Newt pushes him away weakly and covers his face. Breathes.
Hermann wipes his face with the back of a hand–the smear of blood and come streaking across his cheeks–bringing out the ghastly pallor of him. The unnerving cast of his features. Newts heart squeezes, fit to burst. Hermann rises to his feet slowly. A thrill–excitement or fear–courses through Newt, struck in Hermann's shadow, under the broadness of Hermann's shoulders.
"Will you give me more?" Hermann asks, the wan light catching on a fang.
Newt, mesmerized, can only faintly assent. Can only surrender.