Work Text:
Thomas was always a messy person when it came to cleaning after him. He felt like it’s unimportant to put everything to the bathroom, and when he felt like stripping from a shirt, the spot where he stood was an ideal place to drop it at.
Newt always bristled though, collecting his clothes all over the flat and sometimes even throwing it on Thomas’ head when he was sitting somewhere, engrossed in his work too much to notice.
But it worked anyway. Sometimes Thomas actually took the clothes and put it on the right place in the bathroom, earning an appraising look for it, but old habits die hard, so most of the time Newt only sighed in exasperation and cleaned after him.
But today was different. This morning when Newt’s alarm went off and they got up, Newt almost tripped over a badly placed shirt and scolded the writer for 5 minutes, ending it with an order.
To clean all the shit up.
So now Thomas stood in the middle of the living room, alone, with tortured expression on his face. He seriously never noticed how messy he could be, the living room was a disaster and all of it consisted of Thomas’ clothes. Newt deliberately left it there to show him the final stage, and now he saw it.
Terrible.
Cleaning it up took him two hours because he kept on getting delayed by finding something to look at – an old magazine, a book he used to love, even old letters. When he went through all the papers he found and piled on one place, a concrete one caught his attention with messy handwriting that definitely wasn’t his. A several seconds later he realized he was holding something that belonged to Newt and a strange anticipation flooded his body like a heat wave.
“…because he is so insanely crazy and amazing, I just can’t deal at times…” he read out loud and blinked. It had to be longer and he hungrily dived for to the pile to find the rest, his hands trembling. He fished out another piece of paper and quickly sat down, taking both lists in his hand.
Telling this to anyone would probably make me go jump off the building, but god, I just have to get it out of my chest or I’ll combust spontaneously.
This bloody man. I just can’t understand him sometimes. So sweet and caring, yet so insecure? He made me so bloody pissed off at first, I couldn’t stand his guts and constant chatter and stupid demands.
But he preserved and he dragged me out of the shell, because that’s what he do, stupid idiot, pulling and pushing, being stupidly insistent and destroying all my barriers.
He cooked, oh my god! He can cook and sex with him is mind-blowing, and his writing is orgasmic and because he is so insanely crazy and amazing, I just can’t deal at times. I must have completely lost it when the first thought when I see him in the morning is a sappy “I love you” and not something logical, like “I’d tap that” or something that will show my brain is still working and can appreciate an attractive being in front of me.
I bloody can, he is one of the sexiest people I know, but it just gets beaten up to a pulp by all those stupid FEELS I have and ALL OF THEM are aimed at him.
The text ended abruptly and Thomas stared at it with jaw hanging open, body tingling. His heart beat so wildly in his chest he thought it’s going to jump out and run after the blond, scream at him it’s only his, no one else’s, not even Thomas’ anymore. Only Newt’s.
He scrambled for his phone quickly, his fingers daft and clumsy, but he managed to find Newt’s number and call. His body trembled, but the ache was pleasant and amazing, and when his lover answered the call with low voice as if he was just in the middle of some conversation before, he blurted I love you so fast it probably came out incoherent.
“I love you too?” Newt’s voice sounded a little taken back and Thomas could hear Teresa’s voice somewhere in the distance going “aww”.
“I just want you to know,” Thomas shot again, restless, and Newt on the other side chuckled.
“I know, Tommy. You prove it to me every day.”
“Come back soon?” Thomas probably whined a little, he wasn’t sure, but he also didn’t care a bit.
“At three-,”
“Two?” the writer insisted and heard how Newt took a deep breath, probably thinking something about impatient idiots.
“Fine,” he answered after a while. “At two. Did something happen?”
“No,” Thomas assured him quickly. “I just really. Really, really want to kiss you everywhere.”
Silence stretched over the line for several seconds, and then a deep breath followed.
“Tommy,” Newt said in a low, private voice. “Sometimes you’re too cunning for your own good.”
“At one?” Thomas piped hopefully and Newt groaned.
“I’m bloody going now.”
And Thomas couldn’t be happier.