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"Kiss me."
Those two words are what caused Thomas' very insides to collapse into a pile of mass destruction and absolute ruin. The same words to leave Newt's lips were the words silently guiding their mouths closer together, even if neither of them had interpreted for it.
Beer bottles lay empty and scattered around Thomas' bedroom floor and, in reality, both of them had burning alcohol surging through their veins, but in that moment Thomas had never felt more sober. More awake. He suddenly felt dangerously responsible for his own actions, as well as the fact that they were alone. Minho, Teresa and Brenda hadn't left for more than 10 minutes at most, but the atmosphere surrounding Thomas in that moment brought upon the illusion that it was just him and Newt all along. And maybe it was.
The soft demand inevitably drew Thomas' gaze lower. One of the features he had dedicated the most amount of time to memorizing was Newt's lips. The sharp but subtle dip in his cupid's bow, how the difference in width between his top and bottom lip was barely noticeable; how impossible it was for Thomas not to notice it. All those years spent observing the same lips belonging to the same person, up to the point where it became an unknowing routine, and here Newt was offering those very lips to him - to take. The craziness of it all soon drowned amidst the other toxins flowing around Thomas' system and it took a moment before he realised that Newt was still staring at him.
Thomas opened his mouth as to say something, but quickly shut it out of fear that it might ruin whatever chance, whatever moment, he was currently experiencing. What was it that he was experiencing exactly? Thomas placed his half full bottle on the floor, not particularly caring if it were to topple over and spill. This Newt - this daring, unpredictable Newt with his interested gazes and pretty lips was offering something to Thomas that he could only ever imagine happening in an accidental daydream. And maybe, just maybe that was all this was. At this point, Thomas was slowly giving up on questioning every single thought that was being left unanswered in his head, so instead he used his hands and knees to make his way across his bedroom floor towards the observing blond.
Although it felt like the longest crawl of his life, it only took him a grand total of 5 seconds to reach Newt, who's eyes still hadn't left Thomas for even half a second. Thomas lifted his upper body weight so that he was raised slightly on his knees. His left knee stood in between Newt's legs, which were slightly apart because of his sitting position, but he wasn't low enough to be straddling him.
Thomas sent an unworried glance to the beer bottle sitting loosely in Newt's right hand before taking it and placing it a fair distance away. It took a while before he could meet the other boy's stare again, but it seemed that, by then, Newt's eyes had diverted themselves onto Thomas' lips instead, making it a tiny bit easier for him to study the blonde's face for a moment. His expression was unreadable and yet it still had Thomas feeling light and dizzy, briefly threatening the stability of his knees. That proved not to be an issue for long, however, as Newt must've noticed the brunet's uncomfortable situation and guided his body down with gentle fingers, pressing them into Thomas' waist as a silence gesture for him to relax.
And Thomas wanted to. He really did. But no matter how much he tried, he simply couldn't calm down his racing heart, or his thrilling nerves that sent chilling reminders of their presence down his entire body. The newly founded contact of Newt's leg between the two of his own didn't exactly help, either. Not at all.
"Kiss me."
Somewhere along Thomas' time spent on whirring thoughts, Newt had closed an incredible amount of space between them and so, when he repeated that request, his memorized lips brushed faintly against Thomas', and Thomas couldn't help but gasp at the feeling. For a moment he lost track of time completely. Seconds were hours and hours were years. Years were eternity.
When Thomas kissed him, it was every single explosive moment he had ever experienced put into one. Every skipped heartbeat and shiver. Thomas wasn't sure if that was because Newt's lips were on his, or if it was the driving effect of the alcohol, but nothing like that mattered to him. None of it. For him, all that mattered was that one, terrifying moment in which Newt didn't kiss back.
Thomas held the blond's chin, but in the initial blur of it all he hadn't realised how one-sided it felt. He paused, lips still attached, but now unmoving. He had no idea when his eyelids had dropped, but he didn't dare open them and he could only pray that Newt wouldn't. They wordlessly remained within each other's presence, but for Thomas it had quickly become a safe place he wasn't willing to escape out of. And that was why he kept his eyes shut, his fingers on Newt's chin and knees straddling his thigh.
A sudden forced captured Thomas' bottom lip into a warm embrace and Thomas immediately understood. He understood that Newt needed that time to himself and he understood that Newt was not to be easily interpreted.
The second kiss felt like a never ending roller coaster and all Thomas could do was give himself completely, losing everything he'd ever known with his hand holding the back of Newt's neck and Newt's fingers pressing beautiful dents into Thomas' skin - a trail of kisses in their own unique form. The hand that wasn't clasped onto the blond's neck was cupping Newt's jaw and its thumb moved delicately, wanting to be felt but not noticed, across the boy's temple. Newt captured Thomas' bottom lip again, but this with his teeth, startling Thomas and sending abrupt chills down every fiber of his being.
Before the kiss could pause for very long, Newt pressed his fingers deeper into Thomas' waist, under his shirt, and began exploring around to his back. His wandering hands reached near to the nape of the brunet's neck and cradled it there. Thomas pulled back slightly, but Newt's expression was as unreadable as it was before the kiss had initiated much to the frustration of the boy currently straddling - who he considered to be - his best friend.
Newt mumbled something in Thomas' ear, but the low drowsiness of it all made it difficult for the brunet to understand. He furrowed his eyebrows and opened his mouth as to ask, but forgot everything that existed in the world after realising Newt was guiding his back onto the floor. With a soft thump, Thomas studied the boy on top of him, and he decided that he was to be treasured; he wanted Newt to treasure him.
They were in their final year of high school and something made Thomas want to ask Newt why he had taken this long, why he had allowed Thomas' daydreams to slip into that of self-destruction. They kissed, again and again. This time, neither of them paused to catch their breath, nor did their hands ever leave each other's skin. It seemed as if they could carry on forever until there was nothing left to give.
Thomas quickly lost all sense, including the taunting thoughts of how much more time they could have spent kissing on his bedroom floor; the after taste of beer stinging on their tongue being dealt with in an entirely different way. All those years, days and seconds in which Thomas could have been proudly claiming Newt as his, and himself as Newt's. All of that was lost - packed and stored away into the very back of Thomas' mind.
Eventually and inevitably, he had to pull away and look at Newt, although their lips felt like an elastic band being stretched: it would either snap or be flung back to its rightful place. Thomas stared with curious eyes.
"Newt," he began.
Newt inhaled sharply before covering Thomas' mouth with the palm of his hand. "Don't," he said.
Even whilst forcibly silencing him, the blond came off as anything but violent. Instead, the very action seemed understandable once Thomas had thought it over. If he were in that boy's place, what would he possibly say? Neither of them had as much clue as the other in this situation, so perhaps talking should be prohibited.
It took Newt a while before he could trust Thomas not to speak once he had uncovered his mouth, and even as he was lowering his hand, his dilated pupils kept their gaze on the boy's red, worn-out lips. Everything felt so intense, but so right at the same time. Thomas couldn't describe it, as he pressed his lips ever so softly onto one of Newt's lingering fingers, what it was he was feeling. There was all these words out there, but none of them matched up; none of them were even close. Thomas bit down and the blond boy's breath hitched.
God, they were so wasted.
They both knew it and, yet, it didn't bother them as much as it probably should have - especially for Thomas. Not even he knows how many times he had allowed his mind to wander into territories it shouldn't, but now it was happening. Years upon years couldn't have prepared him for this, and he still didn't know how he was going to deal with this in the long term. Maybe Newt was freaking out about this as much as he was, but his constant aura of reassurance and self-awareness led Thomas to believe otherwise.
A hand not belonging to him tugged at his shirt as a silent invitation and that was all Thomas needed.
Everything felt hazy.
They kissed until the sun rose.