Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Congratulations, Madam President,” Percival Graves says with a bow.

As her inauguration party comes to an end, the man who has been fairly busy as well tonight comes to stand by her. Ever the proper gentleman, he silently asks for her hand and waits until she gives it; upon the back, a bare breath of a kiss brushes by.

Picquery knows, that despite the calmly delivered words, Graves sincerely means it. They’ve been working relentlessly towards this day and with this achieved, his promotion isn’t far behind.

“Thank you, Mr. Graves,” she says with the barest of smiles, what she’s allowed in an official capacity. “I look forward to our continued partnership.”

Chapter Text

In retrospect, Tina should have gone for a kiss on the cheek like she had wanted but felt too shy for it in the moment, still dazed from Newt's soft brush on her hair.

It’s only as Newt takes those steps to leave that she suddenly finds the courage to call him and—unable to deliver that kiss with this distance—touch a hand to her mouth before presenting it towards him. She doesn’t blow on it because the abrupt embarrassment that wells within from the action makes her bite on her lip.

Except, Newt who sees everything turns unbelievably red in response and fumbles his step, nearly tripping and surprising them both.

“Oh—” Tina exclaims.

Newt quickly rights himself and waves frantically to signal he’s alright. They’re close enough that Tina can see how he mouths a 'thank you' with a crooked smile, and she waves back, watches him disappear into the crowd.

Never again, she thinks, as funny as that was, and walks home with her head ducked until the blush goes away.

Chapter Text

Before Tina approaches her with a frown, Queenie already knows what she means to say. Her sister is usually careful in consideration for her legilimency (and so, their home is one of the few places that Queenie finds restful) but sometimes the thoughts come loud when something particularly bothers her.

Their eyes meet as Queenie adds cocoa powder to two cups. Tina knows that she knows, too, but nevertheless...

“They might seem harmless, but do remember that they’re here under my supervision,” Tina says seriously. “Please be careful.”

“Don’t worry, Teenie,” Queenie replies. “We’ve been nothing but kind and they’ve been receptive; I think they’re good people.”

As she steps past Tina to grab something, she places a quick, reassuring kiss on her cheek and continues on her way.

Queenie hopes that Jacob will like the cocoa.

Chapter Text

Years after his unfortunate run-in with a madman, Percival only just managed his department back into some semblance of normal, neither he nor his subordinates wary of each other anymore. Some things remained the same, however, such as his birthday being forgotten in the midst of busyness until someone mentions it (usually Seraphina).

This year, however, starting with Goldstein, his aurors greet him that morning with a 'happy birthday' which is surprising in itself (as the day had escaped his mind, again), but then Tina walks up, leans in close and presses her mouth to his cheek. She then thanks him (for what?) and nearly runs back to her desk with a red face.

Percival blinks when his eyes become sore from being opened so wide.

Then it’s the others, one by one, throughout the day. Merlin, he knew some of them to be a physically affectionate sort but this is unusual, to say the least.

“If this is some scheme to invoke any leniency on my part regarding your reports, you will be very disappointed,” he announces in the afternoon.

They all give him a look, then some smile or shake their heads before returning to work.

Chapter Text

For as long as Newt can remember, his mum hasn’t been the most affectionate person but she never failed to kiss him and his brother good night—a quietly muttered, “Sweet dreams, Newt,” and then a firm press of lips on his forehead.

Times changed, of course, with him and Theseus pursuing their own dreams and leaving the nest, so to speak. But every now and then, he recalls the little ritual on particularly lonely, sleepless nights when things aren’t well.

And sometimes, he gives in to the pull towards home, suitcase in hand and excited feet bounding up the steps to the entrance of his family’s house. There are few seconds between his knocks and the door opening, and mum lets out a noise when Newt embraces her tight.

Newt’s taller than her now, Theseus even more so, and they have been for a long time; yet they will bend down every single time for mum to reach her hands up to their faces, brush aside their hair and press that familiar kiss to their foreheads.

Chapter Text

Out of years and years of habit, Percival wakes at the crack of dawn on a weekend morning. He’s tired enough that he cannot suppress a yawn, and then contemplates whether he should get up or stay and enjoy the warmth a little more; of course, the warmth being his still-asleep lover whose back is to him.

In this dim light (or due to unfocused eyes), the freckles smattered along Newt’s bared neck is difficult to tell apart from the marks Percival left on him last night. Though he never considered himself a possessive sort, something about the pale, dotted flesh draws him constantly during the hours of intimacy. Seeing the results strangely pleases him, and in his half-conscious state he gets the brilliant idea of adding more. But once Percival leans in and brushes his lips along the nape, the soft warm skin feels good that he rests there and smiles against it. He tucks in a bit closer and hums, closing his eyes.

(Which is how Newt wakes up half an hour later, too hot but shivering from little puffs of air tickling the back of his neck.)

Chapter Text

It isn't always like this—Percival grasping at Newt’s waist and back, his own head held between large, calloused hands and mouth moving hard into a soft but just as relentless one.

Not for a lack of love, because they certainly respect one another and would willingly make sacrifices for the other, but their respective passions lie elsewhere most of the time. It's work and research and solving problems in different fields, and at the end of the day they’re satisfied with seeing each other safe and sharing a bit of affection with whatever energy is left.

Yet there are such moments, when a light kiss in greeting after a long day becomes a second and third, when their lips part a little and then some more before a tongue enters.

Percival brushes against Newt's tongue with his own and moans a little; it’s hot and wet, and the dragging of sensitive flesh ignites him further. A lick becomes a deeper exploration and a means to draw sounds of pleasure.

There's a pressure building in his chest and whether that's heat or needing oxygen, he can't say. Either way, he pulls back slightly and for a suspended second hears a small noise of loss, sees glossy green eyes, dark in their reflected desire.

 Not in the office, he thinks for a brief, coherent moment, then leans back in to take Newt's mouth again.

Chapter Text

It’s a year and two months the next time they see each other, a vastly different anticipation from the letters and photos she had been receiving. The sight of Newt passing through customs, looking around for something, then visibly brightening when he sees her causes an elation she hasn’t felt since being chosen as an auror.

“Hello, Tina,” Newt says, and his voice is that same gentle tone, perhaps a little excited, too.

“Hi, Newt,” Tina replies, unable to help a smile.

Newt also smiles in response and she unconsciously glances down where it spreads his lips. A year can be a long time to regret doing or not doing something in a moment that passed, and it oddly builds courage to prepare for the next opportunity.

Well, not that Tina has been constantly thinking about the day they parted with uncertainties, but they've explored possibilities through these long-distance correspondences and she’d rather not regret a second time.

And it seems the same for Newt, she realizes when she looks up again, his mouth firmed in determination.

They simultaneously draw towards each other, and it's a gentle press for a fraction of a second yet it feels much longer before Tina opens her eyes again. Newt's freckles are doing their best to blend in with the rest of his pink skin and she’s certain she’s the same state.

For all the thinking that she has done, she never thought about how it would be afterwards, and the next minute is awkward shuffling and avoiding eye contact.

Clearing her throat, Tina suggests they should get going and Newt agrees with a stutter.

Chapter Text

All things considered, Percival has no particular complex, personality or physique-wise; people respect him for his works and abilities that aren’t proportionately-related to his stature.

There is one such person, however, who has absolute disregard for his very-much-average size because the man himself is a uselessly giant buffoon who takes shameless advantage of it.

Like now, Theseus fucking Scamander driving him too far up the wall (figuratively, yes, but more importantly, literally) that his toes barely brush the floor.

“So we can be at eye-level with each other,” he says with a mischievous smile, then hardly allows a breath before smothering him.

At least, that’s what it seems like when lips, tongue, and teeth... attack him for lack of a better expression, taking the very air from his lungs and making his head spin from wet heat. Without any ground to stand on, he can only scrabble and grab weakly onto the very arms that hold him aloft by the waist until a strong thigh slots itself between his legs.

Theseus allows him to tear away with a gasp, and somehow he has the strength to bounce Percival up a little more for a better hold. They watch each other with already darkened eyes, breathing hard, and then with Theseus’s help, Percival wraps his legs around the other’s hips. Once settled more comfortably, he pulls his lover into the next kiss.

The secret is—known only to the both of them—it’s Percival’s advantage, too.

Chapter Text

“Why did you that? I thought you hated me,” says Scamander, voice full of such blatant suspicion that Percival has to hold back a laugh.

The man’s (frankly distracting) face reflects it as well, and Percival wonders when it became endearing. Hate, he thinks; it had never been as strong as that. Infuriating at times, yes, for all the recklessness and irrationality and lack of professionalism but nothing so definite. And if only that were still the case, then he wouldn’t be struggling whether to draw closer or turn his back now.

“My personal feelings do not affect my professional duties, Mr. Scamander,” Percival answers calmly, hands sliding into his pockets. “Did you have any other business with me or was this simply to seek hidden intentions?”

A frown tugs on that wide, generous mouth, emphasizing it in a way that helplessly draws Percival's eyes for the briefest of moments. The action, as expected, fails to escape Scamander's notice with him being one of the most observant people Percival has ever met, and his look turns contemplative.

“What might those personal feelings be, Mr. Graves,” and Scamander meets his eyes directly—has been doing so for the last few weeks—as he says this.

Mercy Lewis.

“The same as yours, perhaps,” Percival tosses back with a confidence he doesn’t feel, and questions at the same time; if it's interpreted as something negative, then that's fine with him.

But Scamander pauses, and they regard each other carefully for a minute; then it’s hard to say who moves first. There’s nothing soft about the way their mouths meet, hands at grasping at sides and tilting chins, fuelled by the frustration that has been endlessly brewing between them all this time; even that can only be antagonistic for so long when working many, many hours together in close proximity.

At least, that's Percival’s reasoning. What Scamander thinks he can only guess, but he has a fairly good one in this very moment.

Scamander abruptly pulls back and out of his grip, face flushed and gaze no longer bold. His hands unknowingly squeeze where they’ve landed at Percival's waist.

“That—that was,” he starts, stops. “I do not—I was indebted—”

“Then consider it repaid, Mr. Scamander,” Percival says, a bit amused.

A strangled noise escapes the man and he seems on the verge of combusting, skin turning impossibly redder as he realizes where he’s holding and snatches his hands back. Without another word he whips around and nearly runs out the doors.

Percival, left alone with fading warmth from the kiss, smiles to himself.

Chapter Text

Newt isn’t certain whether he’s happy or not when Tina receives Leta's dare. On one hand, it’s good that it’s Tina; on the other, he wishes it were him.

The reason being the man currently sitting next to Newt: Percival Graves—a senior at their college, a friend of a friend, also a friend of his brother. Honestly, Newt wouldn’t be here in the first place had they not told him who'd be attending this house party. Such rambunctious and noisy gatherings aren’t his thing and his girlfriend knows this, usually informing him that she may go out and being asked in return to text him when she gets home or needs to be picked up.

Tina also knows they both have an unusual infatuation towards someone outside of their relationship, which is why amidst the cheers and protests of all the game participants, she throws him a quick but meaningful look as she makes her way over from her seat.

It’s difficult to be subtle with his eyes as he follows every movement, because there’s watching like everyone else, and then there’s watching.

Standing in front of Percival, Tina clears her throat, already blushing. “Apologies in advance.”

“No worries,” Percival replies in that soft, husky tone that tickles at Newt’s ears, then turns to Newt, nearly stopping his heart. “Though really, I should be the one apologizing,” and it’s so damn sincere.

“No worries,” Newt chokes out, unsure why he’s so nervous, but takes in the man's handsome face pulled into something adorably sheepish.

Once that exchange is over, Tina obviously has no more qualms and she places her hands on Percival's face, tilting his head up into a firm kiss. It’s nothing inappropriate, just her mouth pursing gently over Percival's and maybe staying a little longer than necessary (for which she can’t be blamed; his lips must be very soft), and Newt doesn’t know where to look—Tina, her pretty face and hands, Percival's long, dark lashes as they flutter closed, the stretch of his pale neck—

He recognizes the look in Tina's eyes afterwards as she draws back (and god he swears Percival gives a little sigh at the end of the kiss), satisfied yet not, and predicts a longer night ahead of them.

“Newt,” Tina calls, pulling him from his thoughts, and smiles lovingly, knowingly. “Truth or dare?”

And Newt is careful to not glance over to the side. Bloody hell.

Chapter Text

When the moment comes, Newt isn’t prepared for it, to the irony of all the preparations they did. It had been fine up until now—holding hands, sitting closely together, light touches to the shoulders and arms.

But then the conversations diverge onto different topics and everyone breaks off into their own discussions and Percival sits back with a sigh before turning to him. Their eyes meet and Newt prides himself in not immediately glancing away as per his tendency.

Percival smiles something soft, asks how he’s doing.

“I-I’m good,” Newt replies, and he means it despite having been conscious of everything for the last couple hours lest he blow their cover.

Fingers brush at his nape and Percival's gentle eyes roam over him, and if Newt didn’t know any better he’d think this were genuine affection. Percival's acting is quite remarkable, he thinks.

The next words catch him completely, embarrassingly off-guard.

“May I kiss you?”

“Of course,” Newt blurts out, then panics a little.

He needn't even ask, really, considering their appearance to others, although it's polite that he did; this is—it’s expected of them.

Even before his (fake) boyfriend nears, Newt squeezes his eyes shut and it seems years before he can sense the heat of his presence and tickle of a breath on his lips. And—

There’s a light pressure against his cheek, then the presence draws back. In shock, Newt's eyes snap open and then he nearly chokes at Percival's face right there in front of him.

“Maybe don’t look so nervous next time,” Percival whispers, teasing, then moves away.

Right.

(A moment later, Newt doesn’t deny the slight twinge of disappointment.)

Chapter Text

Despite Percival's scolding, his lover sits across from him fairly unaffected—smiling, even. Sometimes he wonders why he even bothers when this is a regular occurrence.

And currently, there’s nothing to do except heal Newt’s injuries before they get infected. Though not proficient with healing magic as some others, Percival can do the basics as someone with a fair amount of experience in emergency treatments in dire situations. That is more Newt’s area of expertise with his knowledge of biology, yet somehow the man trusts him to be the one to cast the spells.

The few cuts and burns on Newt’s hands fade easily when Percival runs his own over them, murmuring quietly an incantation. While those disappear, the scars that have been there long before Percival met him remain. They’re the proof of his effort and passion, willing to care for himself less to connect with the creatures.

The skin of Newt’s palm and fingers are rough under Percival’s lips as he traces lines and dips. Newt sucks in a breath, and his hand twitches unconsciously in Percival’s hold.

Truth be told, Percival isn’t always happy about it but respects these decisions despite not understanding.

“Be careful,” he says afterward, not for the first time, and they’ll likely go unheeded; yet, he still says it.

“Alright,” Newt replies and it’s not a promise, but it’ll have to do.

Chapter Text

All throughout the commotion—hexes and bodies tossed about, walls cracking and debris flying—Theseus Scamander sits still and calm and not only due to being held immobile to a chair. It’s trust, Percival supposes, that he won't see him harmed.

“Did you kill them?” he even has the gall to ask afterwards.

“They'll live,” Percival answers.

“Oh, good, they’ll learn their lesson, then.”

Percival grits his teeth. “Unlike someone I know, you imbecile.” He walks over and stands in front of the man, glaring down into cloth-covered eyes. “I see where Newt gets his recklessness.”

“Ah, it is I who take after him in that sense, actually,” is Theseus's cheeky reply, head tilted up in Percival's general direction.

On impulse, partly out of frustration, relief, and some because he simply can, Percival grabs his face and presses their mouths together. It’s satisfying to hear the noise of shock, the kiss all the more unexpected because Theseus literally couldn’t see it coming. Percival takes the other's bottom lip between his, nips and licks at it before biting a little harder.

Theseus groans, and it fills this small room.

When he pulls back, Theseus can’t follow him and his face, slightly flushed, twists with disappointment.

“That was absolutely unfair,” Theseus breathes out and tries to gauge where he is. “Untie me, will you?”

“Someone will, eventually. I’ve informed the others.”

“What? Percy, wait—”

“Think again before you run off by yourself, next time,” Percival advises and, after bestowing another quick kiss, loosens the blindfold.

He watches Theseus blink several times to adjust to the low light, then with a smile, walks away from the man's protests.

Chapter Text

This is far from Newt’s first kiss—well, not that far, as he can count on one hand the number of relations he has had—yet his heart thunders in his chest, face growing hot as the distance closes between them.

Embarrassingly, he gasps when their lips touch and scrunches his eyes closed. For all that this man appears strong and unyielding, his mouth is utterly soft and warm. The smell of expensive cologne, feel of gentle hands on his face, and the wonderful pressure of lips sealing over his entices all the senses.

With a quiet moan, Newt falls into Percival and opens to him, allowing the man to taste and take even as he catalogues every sensation. His own hands slide up Percival’s back and twist into the pristine shirt as he shivers with each lick.

Though heated, there’s a tenderness Newt can’t explain and he wonders—with what little mind he has left unoccupied by this—if this is how it’s supposed to be. To be held like something cherished, nothing else mattering except for this closeness and warmth shared between them.

Again, Newt thinks, heady with the realization of what he can have.

“Again,” he breathes against Percival’s lips.

Percival holds him fast, and listens.

Chapter Text

Stupid. An utter fool is what he is, careless in watching his surroundings because he hadn’t been thinking like usual, too excited at the prospect of catching him. Because Percival has been chasing this one for the better part of a year and he was sure today would be the day.

He's unlike other vigilantes Percival encountered before, a wizard who changes his appearance with every heist and is amazingly adept with his strategies. If Percival hadn’t passionately persisted with the cases and caused him to stumble once, they might have never known the seemingly random incidents were connected.

Truth be told, if anyone asks why it matters so much, seeing as this perpetrator isn’t actually the biggest troublemaker out there, he has no proper answer; simply, he fucking annoys him. Percival is the cat that keeps getting outsmarted by a mouse and mocked for it, and every time they meet the man smiles as if assured victory over him.

Now it's his personal mission to see him locked away.

But it isn't today, because he hangs upside down with hands bound from a trap he should’ve seen long before he set foot in it. He can't help tensing as the other approaches, somehow smiling almost apologetically. The disguise this time is rather attractive—reddish-brown curls and light eyes, and from this close he also sees quite a lot of freckles. The man usually goes for a plain look, so it’s interesting to see something prettier. And he's quite tall, too. Percival's at least six feet off the ground yet he's comfortably at eye-level with him.

No, not interesting. Merlin's beard, the blood's pressure to his head must be affecting him so.

“That was quite close, Mr. Graves,” says the man. “You might just do it next time.”

Percival automatically bares his teeth, familiar frustration and anger rising at the words.

“Sorry for this, though; it must be uncomfortable. Your team will be here soon to help, I think.”

“You should leave before I get out of here myself and curse you,” Percival snaps.

The man shrugs but his smile widens as if the words delight him, which, in hindsight, Percival should be glad he hadn’t provoked a more malicious response considering his vulnerable state. It may have been an unconscious belief that he wouldn’t truly be harmed despite the long months of friction between them, because for some reason they never actively attacked one another.

(Though that may have to do with the man's agility in escaping rather than any show of mercy on Percival's part.)

Still, Percival tenses when the other lifts a hand only to set it over Percival’s jaw, and a thumb presses lightly into the corner of his mouth. There’s something odd in the way he watches him, head tilted and eyes roaming with disinterest, like he’s observing an inanimate object.

“I've not seen you so close before; always thought you quite handsome but this is...” and he trails off, pauses a moment before putting his mouth on Percival's.

At first, Percival is frozen with shock, unable to process what is happening—the sensation of plush lips against his, a bit awkward due to their positions relative to each other. Then he sucks in a breath, giving an opening for the man to press deeper. It’s brief and wet and Percival responds on reflex, stimulated despite the confusion.

The man hums, tugs lightly on Percival's lip as he draws away. With a nip to the chin, he drops his hand, too, and distances himself completely.

“Until we meet again,” he says softly, eyes bright and green, then apparates.

Left hanging alone and dazed, Percival closes his eyes in vain against the welling mortification.

Chapter Text

By the time Newt finishes the evening rounds, Tina is dozing off on the sofa. Understandably so, with the warmth of the fireplace and blanket creating a cozy atmosphere. It has been a quiet day overall, a few hours spent outdoors including dinner at their favourite restaurant, and the last little while relaxing in their own ways before bed.

The way the flames cast light on her has him pausing to appreciate the sight, then carefully, he sits on the rug at her feet, back to the couch. Though he’s already a little hot from the earlier exertion, this is a different kind of warmth that draws him. He can’t help wanting a bit of connection and, after pressing a quick kiss to the closest part of her—the joint of her knee, covered by the soft blanket—he lays his head atop Tina’s bent leg while winding an arm around it.

With a smile, Newt leans in more comfortably and turns a little to watch the fire.

Chapter Text

Every now and then, Newt will plan a little trip up to the local hiking trails because no matter what his boyfriend says, no man should be subjected to city-polluted air for months on end.

This weekend is one of those trips, Percival being his usual grouchy self when forced to function before a caffeine intake at the crack of dawn. Despite all that, however, he thoroughly enjoys the walk through nature, taking multiple photos on his phone of every little thing he finds fascinating. They don’t always coincide with Newt’s points of interest which lies in the more animated habitants of the forests and lakes, but he doesn’t complain all that much when Newt drags him over to see.

He lets Percival be after an hour to rest a little and goes off to explore a bit more. It’s about the time for all sort of critters to make their appearance after a long winter so he wants to see as much as he can before they leave.

As if they heard his wish, a small wood frog hops onto his palm minutes later, and it's the most adorable thing he has seen all week. (Besides Percival whining about coffee, of course.) It’s difficult to resist with its large, unblinking eyes and wide mouth, lines and shades of brown cutting beautiful patterns over its form, and so Newt gives it a small kiss before letting go.

In his enthusiasm, he doesn’t notice Percival unexpectedly caught up already to him then freeze in horror.

Later:

“No, you are absolutely not kissing me with that mouth,” Percival says, pushing Newt away, and scoots to the end of the couch.

It leaves Newt baffled and a little hurt.

Chapter Text

day 8 - kiss on the nape

Out of respect to his newfound lover, Theseus doesn’t push matters when it comes to affectionate behaviours. Percival was and is quite independent, and even when they’re alone they hardly sit close together. But Percival is also kind and thoughtful (and weak to Theseus's pleading) so in rare moments he’ll let Theseus satisfy certain desires.

Hence he doesn’t swat away Theseus's roaming hands over his soft, relaxed body as he makes coffee this morning. Theseus wraps around him like a blanket, watches purposeful, precise movements of elegant hands.

“Back off a bit, will you,” Percival grumbles.

So he does, lifting his head from Percival's shoulder. What comes into his line of sight is a smooth, pale neck, exposed by the skewed collar of the robe and a little bit bruised from bites. Nearly hypnotized, Theseus is drawn to it and lets his mouth fall on the skin; it’s a light kiss first then dragging up the column to bristly short hairs.

“You have a thing for necks, Scamander?” he hears.

“Just yours,” Theseus mumbles into the nape and smiles, pleased, when he feels a slight shiver run through his lover.

day 13 - height difference kiss

“Percy!” Theseus calls as he barges through private office doors.

Just inside them stands his lover, head snapping up from where he had been mulling over papers and mouth dropping open in surprise.

“Theseus, what in Merlin's name—” then Percival stops as he sees him approaching with quick strides, not losing even a bit of momentum. “Don’t you fucking dare, Sca—”

The warning ends in a yelp as Theseus grabs him and hoists him up high into his arms, and papers go flying around them. As the man grasps his shoulders for support, without missing a beat, he pulls Percival in by the neck and slots their mouths together. Like that he walks the last couple steps to Percival's desk and doesn't break the kiss even as he lowers Percival to sit on it. It's a bit of work, this position, as Theseus still needs to bend over slightly despite the elevation; but it's good in that he can press down into the soft, yielding mouth below his and taste at his leisure.

“Damn you,” Percival tries to swear in the midst of being devoured, but it's more of a breathless whine. “You ass.”

“Hush, darling,” Theseus says, then kisses deep again, swallows Percival's soft groan. “I missed you.”

That effectively quiets any further complaints, and with a grin, he tips Percival onto his back.