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Every year, Graves mused into his drink, he detested coming to the office New Years party, hated it to his core, but every year he still came.
It was practically traditional; he'd try to make his excuses and avoid it, and then Picquery and Goldstein always cajoled him into making an appearance anyways. After all, he was trying to be a bit more sociable after the Events of the past year; and having the director come would boost the team's morale! (That was Picquery's idea, and utter bullshit. Except that maybe, just maybe, Graves was citing it as the reason he had come this year with so little convincing. Certainly it had nothing to do with MACUSA's recently hired magizoologist. Graves scoffed into his whiskey. Of course not.) At the very least, there would be free alcohol.
The man (who was most definitely
not) in question was leaning against the wall near the door, chatting with Tina and her sister, and the no-maj (who was definitely supposed to have been obliviated at some point). That made sense. Goldstein had mentioned to him that Mr.Scamander ("Newt", he'd insisted Graves call him with a quick handshake and a fleeting, charming smile. "Just Newt is fine.") wasn't much inclined to be social, that he was shy, not to take offense if he seemed distracted when spoken to, and why are you telling me this, Goldstein, what has this got to do with me.
Scamander ducked his head and laughed at something that Queenie grinned at him, and Graves realized belatedly that he may have, perhaps, been staring. It was warm in the hall, and he had abandoned his everpresent blue woolen coat in favor of a waistcoat and shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing deceptively slim forearms that were scattered with tiny scars from his work, and-
Graves came back to himself with an abrupt shake. He put down his whiskey- he'd had a bit too much to drink, probably. It really was warm in the hall, and it was late. Verging on midnight. That was all. Conspiring together and addling with his mind. Queenie caught his gaze from her spot by the wall and beckoned him over with a crooked finger and an inviting smile. Tina stifled a laugh and elbowed her sister in the ribs, and Newt looked rather like he was trying to melt into the wallpaper. His cheeks were dusted a very distracting shade of pink. Graves found himself wading through the crowd towards them without giving his body the say-so to move. It was the whiskey, he told himself. Not the embarrassed smile that was fighting both laughter and mortification on Newt's face. Or the way his ears were turning steadily an impressive shade of red as Graves drew nearer. The third (fourth?) glass of whiskey was to blame, he reminded himself.
"Good evening Mister Graves!" Queenie's exuberant cheer was just this side of suspicious. "How's your New Year's Eve going?"
He nodded to the rest of the motley crew, receiving a wide smile from Tina, an affable nod from the no-maj, and a resolute avoidance of eye contact from Newt. (He did not let is gaze linger on Newt. Definitely didn't let a smile tug at his mouth before responding to Queenie's question. He really should stop drinking at work functions.) "It's alright. Did you want something?"
Unfazed by his brusque tone, Queenie's smile only grew wider. She was like a shark, Graves mused. A pretty, pink one who'd make you a nice hot cup of coffee and ask about your day before biting your head off, maybe, but a shark nonetheless. "Well, Mister Graves. We were just talking about the traditions of the holiday, and my Jacob brought up how a couple ought to kiss at midnight, to bring in the new year." This was going nowhere good. At all. Graves was sorely regretting his decision to come over. To come to the party at all. Newt, for his part, had affected the look of a cherry tomato trying to make itself as small as possible.
Queenie blithely continued on, "So I thought, me 'n Jacob have each other, and Teenie isn't much one for all that kissing type stuff, but then here's Newt all left out! And I saw you all on your lonesome across the room, and I figured that the two of you could help each other out!"
"I..." It was nearly impossible to strike a seasoned Auror like Graves speechless, but, "What." (If he suddenly happened to be going very red in the face too, well, it was only a few moments until midnight, and everyone's bustling was making the room that much hotter. Sweat pricked under his collar.)
"You don't have to, of course!" Newt burst out. "It's okay. It was just a suggestion. An idea. You can just. Just forget about it. If you'd like." There was a pleading edge to his voice that Graves was inclined to follow. He'd laugh it off and get on with his night and go home and very pointedly not think about kissing Newt.
But his traitorous mouth had other plans. "I don't mind," it said. And damn that last drink (always the drink) for loosening his tongue because Tina was failing spectacularly to smother her giggling, and even Jacob-The-No-Maj was chuckling at them.
And damn his traitorous mouth for going dry as he entertained the thought of going through with it, just at the stroke of midnight. It was almost time. He could still talk his way out of this if he tried (he wasn't sure he wanted to try). Still, there was time-
10
Okay. Maybe less time than he had thought. Not that it really mattered at this point, because Newt was looking at him with something akin to hope, and Graves would rather die before he wiped that look away.
9
Queenie and Jacob were wrapped snugly in each others' arms, whispering something that was without a doubt sickeningly couple-y. Newt straightened his shirt and took a step into Graves' space.
8
Out of the corner of his eye, Graves saw Tina snag a flute of champagne off of a nearby table and step back to enjoy the show.
7
Mostly, though, his vision was occupied by how veryclose Newt was to him. So close, he was very aware of the few inches taller Newt was. It was extremely distracting.
6
Not as distracting, though, as the feeling of Newt's hands settling on his hips.
5
Not nearly as distracting as the soft puff of Newt's breath warm against his face.
4
Graves' hands were clenched in the fabric of Newt's waistcoat. He could feel Newt's heatbeat thumping like a rabbit in his chest.
3
Newt rested his forehead against Graves' and he could have sworn that his own heart skipped a beat.
2
His eyes fluttered shut as Newt closed the distance between them, whispering "Happy New Year, Percival."
1
Newt's lips were soft and dry, and his hand moved up to splay across his back. That's about as much as Graves' brain could process before it completely shorted out. Stars danced behind his eyelids to match the fireworks charmed to go off right at that moment, and something in his heart melts a little.
Later, if anyone (filthy liars) claims that they saw Graves swoon in the arms of MACUSA's new magizoologist, he will vehemently deny it. It was just the whiskey; he'd had too much to drink. But maybe, possibly, it was in part caused by the proximity of one Newt Scamander.
Not that he'd ever admit it.