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mystiqueastist · 3 years

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Artemis (Gramander)

Something was rising within him, much like the rippling crests of the endless sea Newt could see before him. His skin was becoming sensitive to the warm breeze that felt more like a sensual caress; his body slowly awakening, to the moonlight and nature’s call. It was taking over him, but Newt wasn’t going to fight it. Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36610855

When Newt was five, one day he hid his face in his mother’s blouse and cried, after overhearing what the children in the village had said about him, things that they never said about Theseus or any other kid. Too tall, too much of a freak, too pasty… The list went on and could rival the longest staircase in Hogwarts. Mother had wiped his tears away, and cupped his face in her hands. “My darling Newt,” she murmured, “you don’t know how beautiful you are.”“B-but,” Newt hiccupped, lifting his eyes full of unshed tears to meet his mother’s gaze, the same verdigris, “they said nobody would want m-mm-me. When I’m older, I’m going to be an u-ugly Omega weirdo and all lonely!” His mother’s lashes lowered, making her expression hard to read - not that a five-year-old would know better. “Nothing’s wrong with being alone. It’s always better to be by yourself than in bad company. Besides,” she tenderly brushed the wet botches on Newt’s face with a soft handkerchief, “There’s someone out there who knows when they see you, and they will do anything to make you happy.” “W-what if I never find them?”

“You will, just be patient.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Years went by, and the taunting lessened - or maybe Newt merely got better at ignoring it. The words they said flew past him, and he swatted them away as he would a mosquito. He had more important things in mind now, like his creatures. Some nights the insults flooded back into his mind, about his appearance, his interests and anything else they could latch on. And Newt was only human; he buried his face into the pillow and sank into the sheets, waiting for the barrage of abuse to cease.

Which wasn’t to say, he’d never had moments like those. He had finished washing himself, and gingerly rose from the waters and stepped back onto the ground. The moist earth and soft sand gave away under his feet, and he began absent-mindedly towelling himself dry with a new towel that he’d brought along. It was a summer night, warm and humid on this island on the Mediterranean Sea. The moon, a luminous crescent, was high in the velvet sky, accompanied by wandering clouds. There was the glimmer of stars, sparkling constellations blinking down at him from above. The branches of the tropical trees swayed gently, the large leaves rustling and the pedals of the flowers closing off. The moon cast its spell silently, commanding the waves to plunge and ascend, a lucid trance to pull him under. Eyes darting over the horizon, he caught sight of the man looking at him, from the sea he was just in moments ago. Wet curls plastered to his skull, skin gleaming from where the towel had yet to touch; scarred, lean muscles coiling and uncoiling as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.

But what struck Newt the most was the eyes; they were surprisingly bright, with a glint that he couldn’t put his finger on. The slouch was gone, and the towel in his hands dipped, exposing more of his body to the warm air and the moonlight, and the face that he recognized as his own, one that he had seen in the mirror and photos for the past twenty-eight years.

It was taking over him, but Newt wasn’t going to fight it.

Another face slowly emerged in the waters. Newt watched, not saying a word, as the visage of the other man appeared over his shoulder, with dark brows, swept back hair and a sharp jaw. His eyes were dark too, meeting Newt’s in the gleam of the pond. Newt shivered, as the length of the man’s body was pressed against his, and thick arms wound themselves around his waist. “There you are,” Percival murmured, “I was wondering if you’d got cold feet and run off.”

“Hmn.” Newt hummed, resting his hand on top of the ones clasped on his stomach, the other one still holding the towel. He traced idly the tip of his index finger along Percival’s hands, stopping when it reached the silver band sitting on his ring finger. “It’s only the third night of the honeymoon, and a trip is still a trip. Let’s see in a few days,” he teased. Newt turned his head, to meet Percival’s eyes. In them again he saw himself, the man that had somehow undergone a micro-metamorphosis, gaze still starry and lips quirking up into a small smirk.

“Imp.” Percival tightened his arms, drawing Newt even closer to him, leaving no space between them, as if he was afraid Newt would slip away at any moment. As if Newt would ever leave him. “Maybe I should tie you up, bind you to my bedpost so that you can’t go.”

“You think I wouldn’t find a way to get out? Unless you have something that can convince me to stay.” He pushed his hips back, giving Percival a hint of what he had on his mind. It wasn’t like him to initiate such contact, but he couldn’t ignore it any longer. Desire, he decided, must have come through in the rays of the moon. The low growl that he got in return was delightful to hear, and he ground harder; he would do more than that just to hear that animalistic sound again. It then all happened in a split second. The towel covering him was dropped, and Newt suddenly found himself lying on his back, arms stretched above him with his wrists held together, his new husband hovering above him, eyes wild. He shifted, realizing with a start that there was a soft blanket beneath him, and couldn’t stop the gasp that spilled out of his mouth when he felt the hardness pressed against his thigh. It was a game that they had never played, so new and raw, and Newt felt his loins stir. The moon and the humid heat were there to keep them company, along with the sweet coy perfume of the flowers and the saline scent of the sea. There was no point in shutting them out, or the man above him for that matter. He arched his back, giving Percival a good view of his unmarked neck, and the ring hanging from a chain that rested on his sternum, same as the one on Percival’s finger: a silent plea for him to just take . The gnawing need, a sparkle before, had grown into a fervent flame, waiting for the right moment to burst and blaze in all its glory.

And yet his husband surprised him again. Instead of the fiery kisses that Newt was expecting, the first touch of his lips against Newt’s was featherlight. Percival broke away, and Newt chased after him, whining at the loss of contact. He opened his eyes, only to meet his husband’s tender gaze, which made Newt’s heart pound harder in his chest. “You’re beautiful,” it wasn’t the first time Percival had told him so, but Newt still felt the beginning of a flush on his cheeks. “And Morgana, look at you, here, almost ethereal.” He pressed his forehead to Newt’s, while his hands continued to make their way down Newt’s sides, his touch almost reverent, “or maybe you’re a God in disguise, making us mortals fall at your feet.”

There was a sense of power that Newt had rarely felt before. Percival had never failed to make him feel weak in the knees, but now, hearing him say it out loud, that Newt affected him just as he did him — the tables had been turned. Or perhaps it was just the moon that had put them all under a trance, to push them beyond the brink of control. Percival released Newt’s wrists, and Newt wrapped them instead around his neck, urging him down. Their lips met again, more passionately this time, with harsher bites and tangled tongues, and their bodies flowed against each other, a prelude of what was to come.

The waves lapped at the sand, the shores; a mellow symphony.

“Artemis,” Percival whispered, and Newt shuddered at the rasp, and the awe in his voice, “my God of the moon.” His calloused hand reached between his thighs, for the opening that was growing slick. Newt simply lifted his hips, granting Percival more access.

When Percival pushed himself into him, white flames blazed behind Newt’s eyes. They engulfed him, and he let them be; for in that moment he wanted nothing more than to burn, and for Percival to burn like he was. And when all was said and done, he wanted there to be ashes, proof of their union. Newt slowly opened his eyes, not remembering when he had squeezed them shut, and Percival — his brows were furrowed, eyes almost closed, breathing shallow and harsh, as if trying to stop himself from exploding. Newt held on more tightly to him, begging for what he could not voice out in that moment, and Percival caught on. His thrusts grew bolder and more forceful as Newt voiced out his encouragement with louder moans and whimpers. Every drag of their bodies together sent a new wave of electricity down Newt’s spine. The sky and the sea listened on, while Newt and Percival writhed together under the moon, to the sounds of mortal pleasure. The sensations all fuelled the fire inside Newt that was growing hotter, sparks flying every time their bodies collided. He dragged his nails down Percival’s back, desperately trying to convey what he was feeling - the scorching passion, and then, mind-numbing ecstasy, that didn’t tell him where he ended and where Percival began, like the sea that had blended into the dark sky, never to be rent asunder until the dawn broke. Their bodies seized up, and the world stilled. The moon shone, more brightly than ever.

In the aftermath, they laid on the sand, catching their breaths and waiting for their heartbeat to slow. Percival buried his neck in the crook of Newt’s shoulder, his breath ticking the sensitive skin there and Newt skimmed his fingertips over the new marks he’d left on his back, feeling the ripple of muscles under his hands. The moon had dimmed, as if it weren’t aware of what it just witnessed, but the stars danced on, their shine now more lustrous. “I love you.” Percival murmured, next to Newt’s ear, as if sharing a secret that he feared others might overhear.

And Newt said it back, for it was true, and he felt it in every fiber of his being.

The sea sang, a lullaby that lulled them into Morpheus’s embrace. With their remaining energy, they apparated back to the cottage they had been staying in. It didn’t take long for both men to collapse into their bed, and fall asleep in each other’s arms, bodies tangled under the sheets and clutching each other tightly.

The moonlight lingered, on the floor of their bedroom, before fading out and leaving the lovers to bask in the comforting darkness. A/N: This is a very rough draft of an idea that took hold of me one night. At first I just wanted some soft smut, and Newt being confident in his own skin, then I threw in some pondering over how Newt would live up to his middle name, and here we are. I’ve been reading trashy romance novels, and it probably shows XD. That said, this fic was harder than I thought it was to write, and I kept editing and editing until it resembled something normal. I'll probably post an re-edited version later (if I have the mind to go over it again). I haven’t written fics in a few years, and I’m still trying to get myself out of the slump. Leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed this fic, and as always, constructive criticism is welcome!

#gramander #newt scamander #percival graves #my fic #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #ftbawtft #I still can't believe I wrote this #reposting on tumblr #abo dynamics #not very obvious tho

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