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“Tommy—” Newt began, but his words were cut off as Thomas caged him in, hands planted on either side of his head, a ridiculous smirk on his face that promised both trouble and delight. “You’ve been teasing me all day, Newt,” Thomas whispered, his voice low and laced with playful menace. “Now it’s my turn.” Newt’s breath hitched as Thomas’s weight pressed him deeper into the bed, his heart racing not from their run, but from the way Thomas’s leg shifted between his thighs. Thomas’s fingers danced along Newt’s sides, making him squirm slightly under the touch. He couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped him. “You’re impossible,” Newt murmured, but there was no real protest in his voice—only a thrill of anticipation. Tommy’s grin widened, his gaze never leaving Newt’s, as the room seemed to shrink around them. “But you love it,” he replied, his voice a soft challenge. Without breaking eye contact, Tommy’s hand found the hem of Newt’s jumper. He hesitated, his fingers lingering as if asking for permission. “Can I—?” “Yeah,” Newt breathed, his voice steady despite the wild fluttering in his chest. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Tommy.” With that, Thomas slid his hand beneath the fabric, tracing the curve of Newt’s waist before moving upward to explore the smooth skin of his back. At the same time, Newt’s hands found their way under Tommy’s blue T-shirt, the heat of his chest searing against Newt’s palms as he mapped every inch of it. Thomas, caught between wanting to savour the moment and a desperate need for more, leaned down until his forehead rested against Newt’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. This closed space—was even better than the bus. For a moment, neither of them moved, the silence filled only with the soft sounds of their breathing and the rapid thud of their hearts. Thomas’s hand traced the curve of Newt’s spine, and he could feel Newt shiver beneath his touch, his skin warm and inviting. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” Thomas whispered, his voice trembling slightly with the intensity of the moment. His lips were so close to Newt’s that he could almost taste the sweetness of his breath, mingled with the lingering mint of the Oreos they’d shared earlier. Newt’s lips curved into a small, teasing smile. “That’s the idea,” he murmured, his hands moving up to rest on Thomas’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. “But if it’s any consolation, you’re doing the same to me.” Thomas let out a shaky laugh, his hand coming up to cup Newt’s cheek. “Good,” he breathed, his thumb brushing gently over Newt’s bottom lip. The feeling was enough to make his heart skip a beat, and before he knew it, he was leaning in, his lips ghosting over Newt’s in the barest of touches. But just as they were about to close the distance, Newt’s phone buzzed loudly from his front pocket, the sudden vibration against Thomas’ leg and Newt’s thighs breaking the spell between them. They both froze, the tension shattering as the real world intruded on their perfect moment. Newt groaned, rolling his eyes as he fumbled to grab his phone quickly. “Ugh of course,” he muttered, glancing at the screen. “It’s Minho. Probably wondering why you’re not home gloating about your win yet.” Thomas sighed, a mix of frustration and amusement on his face. He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Newt’s once more, this time with a soft smile. “Today just has the worst timing,” he said, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. Newt chuckled, tossing his phone aside before placing his hands back on Thomas’s shoulders, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of Tommy’s shirt. The gesture was subtle, yet it held an undeniable weight. As Thomas sat up, giving Newt some space, the blonde didn’t pull away; instead, he shifted even closer, their bodies aligned with a new, unspoken intensity. Now straddling Thomas’s lap, Newt's posture exuded a mix of nonchalance and deliberate provocation. His movement wasn’t just casual; it was almost calculated. When he leaned back, his head landing on Tommy’s pillow, it was with a dramatic sigh that seemed to say, Well, what are you waiting for? But it was more than that. Thomas couldn’t help but notice the way Newt’s gaze drifted—lingering on his chest, then flicking back up to meet his eyes with a playful glint. The longer Newt stared, the more charged the air between them became. The lip bite that followed each glance was maddening, a silent dare that made Tommy’s heart bubble up like a soda pop. As Newt sprawled out, his body relaxed yet inviting, Thomas’s mind raced. Was Newt really just getting comfortable, or was there something else behind this display? And why did it feel like Newt’s every move was designed to pull him in, to demand his attention in a way that left no room for anything else? A sudden pressure against his thigh snapped Thomas out of his thoughts. The realisation of Newt’s intent—or maybe just his instincts—sent a jolt through him. Tommy's eyes widened, his gaze zeroing in on the boy beneath him with newfound clarity. “You taste like cookies,” Tommy said, his voice tinged with a soft, playful note. His breath was minty, Newt noted. “Biscuits,” Newt corrected softly, a small, amused smile curling at the corners of his lips as he struggled to catch his breath while pinned beneath Tommy. “They’re called biscuits, not cookies.” “Right,” Tommy echoed, his tanned fingers firmly clasping Newt’s pale hands above his head, “biscuits,” his tone teasing yet sincere, “not cookies.” Newt's smile grew just a fraction wider as he maintained eye contact with Tommy. “You’ve got a lot to learn about biscuits,” Newt murmured, his voice smooth and low, each word laced with a playful undertone. “But for now, I’ll let you off easy. Remember, cookies contain pieces Tommy. Pieces of chocolate or fruit. But biscuits are—” “Sweet,” Tommy interrupted, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against Newt’s skin, “yummy,” he continued, his lips brushing against Newt’s ear, “and delicious.” Newt’s heart raced at Tommy’s sensual whisper. “You know, I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Tommy said, his voice dropping to a sultry murmur that sent shivers down Newt’s spine. “Maybe I’ll need to practise my biscuit skills more often.” “So,” Tommy continued, his tone shifting to something more sincere and warm, “how about we share a packet of biscuits sometime? I promise to bring the chocolate biscuits.” Newt’s smile grew, his eyes reflecting a blend of affection and intrigue. “That sounds like a plan,” he replied softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll let you taste the cream.” Tommy chuckled, the sound rich and warm, resonating between them. Despite their current state—both shirtless and, quite obviously, pantless—he still felt an unspoken desire for closeness. “Deal,” he said, his grip on Newt’s hands loosening slightly as he shifted, their faces still just inches apart. “It’s a date, then.” Thomas barely had time to react before he heard Newt’s laughter bubbling up, followed by the soft thud of a pillow smacking him squarely in the face. “You’re so corny.” |