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The familiar ding! of the door sounded, ringing through the almost-empty tattoo parlour. Thomas’ head snapped instinctively toward the noise, looking hopefully for his first customer of the afternoon. Instead, however, his eyes landed on the lanky blond boy of whom he was rather accustomed to seeing in the shop. His gaze scanned his new companion; looking up and down the skinny figure, determining the boy had woken up from a nap approximately 10 minutes ago.
“Hey, Newt.” Thomas nodded in the direction of his friend before returning his attention to the sketch he was working on.
“Hi, Tommy,” Newt looked around momentarily. “This place is dead today.” He confirmed, noting no one else in the shop other than himself and Thomas.
“No shit, Sherlock.” Thomas shook his head.
“Fuck off, Watson.” Newt snapped back immediately, and the smile that broke through his words sent a delighted feeling fluttering through Thomas’ chest. He attempted to compress it.
“You here to get something done or just to annoy me?” Thomas erased half of his sketch for the millionth time that day.
“Most likely the latter, but we’ll see what happens.” Newt declared, dropping his backpack on the floor casually before strolling toward the desk that Thomas sat behind. “What‘re ya working on?” He questioned. When he finally reached Thomas a few moments later, he hopped swiftly onto the desk and pulled his ankles under each other to sit cross-legged. His ripped black jeans exposed the scraped and bruised skin of his knees. Thomas made the connection that Newt was a full canvas; his upper half was occupied by inked on tattoos, whilst his bottom half was often covered with cuts and bruises from skateboard accidents. More of Newt was covered than not; even his face was far from empty due to a black lip ring and a silver barbel through his eyebrow. It dawned on Thomas - not for the first time - how truly attractive all of this made Newt.
“Tommy!” Newt’s thickly accented voice shook Thomas from his thoughts. He knew he had been staring when Newt tucked a loose curl back under his worn out beanie and looked at his lap self-consciously, mumbling “What are you bloody looking at?” quietly.
“Nothing, sorry,” A light pink hue tinted the base of Thomas’ neck as he tore his eyes from Newt. “You read a lot, don’t you?” Thomas ignored the initial question Newt had asked. The blond rolled his eyes.
“I work at a bookstore, Tommy. Do the math.” Newt’s pungent sarcasm went ignored by Thomas.
“Anything in that bookworm head of yours about Greek mythology?” The brunet reached for his coffee mug, though discovered it was empty soon after bringing it to his lips. He set it down whilst Newt pondered.
“Yeah, a bit. Why?”
“I’ve been trying all day to make this hippogriff stencil for a client coming in tomorrow, but I can’t seem to make it look right.” Thomas sighed in frustration. Newt reached a hand to the edge of Thomas’ notepad, cocking his eyebrow in a may I? sort of way. Thomas nodded. The Englishman picked up the book and stared thoughtfully at the page. After nearly a full minute of Newt looking over the drawing and Thomas’ leg bouncing up and down in anticipation, Newt came to a declaration.
“Whilst the majority of what I know about hippogriffs comes from my extensive knowledge of Harry Potter, not Greek mythology, I still think I know what the problem is.” He pulled a pencil out from behind his ear that Thomas hadn’t even noticed underneath Newt’s hat. “You’re coming at the wings from the wrong angle; they need to be slanted downwards more, rather than sticking outwards.” All the while Newt was talking, he was darting the pencil across the page at a hurried pace. Thomas watched Newt’s hands marking up the paper. His focus shifted specifically to Newt’s slender fingers draped over the pencil, constructing expert lines and masterful shading in a ridiculously captivating way. Thomas found himself wondering what those fingers would feel like tugging handfuls of his hair or trailing behind his neck and down his shoulder blades.
Thomas shook his head and swallowed dryly to stop his thoughts before they had the chance to go any further. He had to remind himself that this was Newt. His best friend. He tried to keep his strange feelings for the boy at bay to prevent himself from doing something irreversibly idiotic. Recently, though, Thomas had been holding such a pressure on his chest whenever Newt was around that it seemed the tattoos on his skin there were sinking below the very surface, etching ink lines on his heart.
Newt pulled the lead tip back from the paper and tilted his head back to inspect his art. He brought the metal casing of the eraser between his teeth in a way that Thomas somehow found adorable and seductive at the same time, as hard as he tried not to.
“See what I mean?” Newt flipped the notepad around, the backside of it pressing into his forearms as he lowered his hands so Thomas could see it.
Thomas’ eyes shifted to the sketch, and he couldn’t help it when his jaw fell open. The previously botched drawing looked beautiful now, and Thomas wondered why Newt didn’t work at the shop with the ability to crank out art like that in five minutes.
“Holy shit,” Thomas muttered, taking the book back in his own hands. He traced the wings lightly with his fingertips, admiring Newt’s work. “This is brilliant. You’re brilliant. Oh, my God. Thank you so much. I never would have come up with something this marvelous. You’re amazing. How did you even do this?” Thomas rambled on, not thinking about his own words enough to be embarrassed by how whipped he probably sounded. Newt laughed, teeth and all, and Thomas swore he could have had a heart attack at the sight of that grin.
“You seem to be forgetting that I’m a bloody art student, Tommy.” Newt tucked the pencil behind his ear again, unsuccessfully attempting to hide the blush clawing up his cheeks.
“Please fucking work in my shop, Jesus Christ.” Thomas mumbled under his breath, though Newt heard.
“Nah, I’m no good with needles.” Newt shrugged. Thomas quirked an eyebrow, gesturing toward the array of tattoos scattered across Newt’s arms and chest. Newt realized the confusion of how he worded his reasons. “I mean drawing with them. I’m fine on the receiving end,” He brushed a hand over the half sleeve on his right bicep. “But with my art I prefer pencils. Sometimes paint, though I usually only paint on skin. You’re the tattoo artist, Tommy. I could never do what you do.” Newt’s voice held a hint of something Thomas could only seem to classify as adoration. It made the pit of his stomach jerk. He smiled softly up at Newt, gazing fondly at the young blond through his lashes. Newt simpered shyly and fiddled with a thread in one of the holes in his jeans. After a few comfortably silent seconds, Newt spoke again, softly.
“Wanna go skating with me later?” Newt proposed, lifting his eyes to Thomas’ in a pleading way. Thomas knew that “skating” with Newt actually meant going along with him to some abandoned building or park lot with loads of things to jump off of and watching Newt skate around for a bit whilst he drew in his sketchbook on the sidelines - Thomas couldn’t skateboard to save his life, despite how many times Newt had tried to teach him. As much as he desperately did want to spend more time with Newt, he knew he had to turn down the offer; he had other commitments.
“Sorry, Newtie,” Thomas smiled sadly, laughing when Newt stuck his tongue out at the childish nickname. “I can’t today; I promised I’d watch Chuck.”
“You can’t get a babysitter?” Newt asked, trying not to sound deflated.
“And deface my title of Best Older Brother in Existence? No way.” Thomas puffed his chest proudly, and Newt chuckled cutely at him.
“I guess I’ll ask Minho, then.” Newt sighed softly. Thomas hated the twinge of jealousy he felt envisioning Minho getting to see Newt’s eyes light up after he landed a trick instead of Thomas. He clenched his fists at the thought of Minho being the one to run to Newt and hold his shirt over the cut to stop the bleeding after a bad fall instead of Thomas. He wondered if Minho would patch Newt up as well as Thomas always did.
Before long, though, Newt was already pulling his phone out to text Minho and Thomas felt guilty for being upset. Newt didn’t belong to him simply because of a petty crush - he should have at least been glad Newt wasn’t risking going alone. Newt waited for a reply, and acted once he got one.
“I should probably go grab my board before Minho gets here.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket and uncrossed his legs, looking as if he was about to stand up. Something bubbled in Thomas’ chest at the thought of Newt leaving - even if he was to return, though then he’d be running off with Minho. He couldn’t decipher if it was love, jealousy, confusion, or perhaps all three. Either way, the bubbles expanded all too quickly and ultimately burst, releasing a flood of emotions in the form of bubble soap to seep through his veins instead of blood.
“Newt, wait!” Thomas jumped out of his chair before Newt even had half the chance to stand up, the suds of the bubble soap pumping through him. Thomas’ proximity to the blond had shifted significantly when he’d stood, and their faces were close enough to feel each other’s breath. Newt looked up at Thomas with an undeniably expectant glimmer in his enthralling eyes, as if he was hoping for Thomas to do something drastic.
And drastic he did.
Thomas did then all he really knew how to do in such a circumstance - he stopped thinking. He shut his mind completely off from the possible outcomes and the consequences, and he let his spontaneous nature take over. Before he could convince himself to do otherwise, Thomas’ hands were cupping Newt’s face and their lips were colliding.
Newt made a slightly taken aback noise at first, but once his brain caught up with the situation he leaned delicately farther into Thomas. After not nearly long enough, Newt pulled back and looked at Thomas with an indecipherable look on his face - simple surprise or disgust? Thomas prayed for the former.
“Newt, I’m sorry, I - I just - I shouldn’t have - I jus-” Thomas began to stutter in shame.
“Oh, shut up, Tommy.” Newt cut him off, gripping his hands around Thomas’ neck and catching his mouth in another kiss. Thomas had been expecting anything except how Newt was actually reacting, and it took him a moment to remember to clasp his arms around Newt’s waist and firmly kiss back. The cool metal of Newt’s lip ring under his tongue sent a chill down Thomas’ spine, and he moaned embarrassingly into Newt’s mouth, only causing the blond to smirk into the kiss.
Thomas became aware of the feeling of Newt’s fingers snaking through his hair and he was pretty sure it was the best thing he’d ever felt.
As much as he wished he didn’t have to, Thomas pulled back minimally in need of air. Newt took the opportunity to move quickly, and before Thomas even comprehended it, Newt’s back was pressed to the desk and he was tugging on Thomas’ leg, signalling for Thomas join him. The brunet obliged without hesitation, hoisting himself into the desk and swinging a leg over Newt’s middle, straddling him.
Newt went up as Thomas went down and they met awkwardly in the middle of a jumble of faces and laughed, until Newt caught Thomas’ bottom lip between his teeth and the air turned serious again. Thomas kissed Newt again, somehow harder than the previous ones, passion filling both boys to the brink.
Hardly 30 more seconds had passed of years of pent up desire finally escaping when the all too familiar ding! of the door rang again.
Thomas scrambled to get himself off of Newt as the blond’s eyes widened in horror. They turned to the door, only to see none other than Minho standing barely in the shop, skateboard in one hand and an extremely amused expression withheld upon his face.
“Holy shuck, I knew it.” He laughed, and Thomas couldn’t recall ever seeing Newt blushing as brightly as he was.
“Minho-” Thomas started, panting only slightly, but the new addition to the scene cut him off.
“I totally knew it!” He laughed again. “Alby owes me $20.”
“You bet on Thomas and I getting together?” Newt propped himself up on his elbows, sounding a little appalled, though mostly humiliated. Thomas liked the wording he had picked. Together.
“Everyone did, Dude. Even Chuck thought it would happen. Alby was the only skeptical one, and he definitely owes us all money now.” Minho looked way too pleased with his discovery. Before Thomas or Newt even had time to think of a reply, Minho was shouting “Have fun, lovebirds!” as he skipped back out the door with a ding!
“Unbelievable.” Thomas murmured, laughing lightly.
“What the bloody hell just happened?” Newt asked, looking to Thomas and bursting into laughter.
“No idea,” Thomas ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “But y’know what?”
“What, Tommy?” Newt raised his eyebrows when Thomas crawled back to his previous position over Newt’s waist. Thomas dropped his face close enough to Newt’s that blond could feel Thomas’ mouth vibrating on his own with each word.
“I think I’ll get that babysitter for Chuck tonight.” Thomas smirked and kissed Newt again, full of warmth and wetness and bliss.
Lost in the feeling of each other, it was obvious that neither boy would tire of this new ordeal anytime soon, and for that they were both grateful.