Newt comes on his fingers with a long wrecked cry, his body clenching tight around Malik's hand, his hips rocking in helpless unsteady waves. Malik works him through it—slow, slower, gentling—until Newt is limp and trembling and gasping for air.
Malik eases his fingers out. Careful. He presses a kiss to Newt's temple. Another to the corner of his mouth. He stays braced over him, watching Newt's face as it cycles through the aftershocks, and something in Malik's chest is so full it aches.
Newt's eyes flutter open. He is dazed. His hands are still on Malik's shoulders and they are trembling.
"You," Newt starts, and his voice cracks. He swallows. "You haven't—you're still—"
"Not yet." Malik brushes the hair from Newt's forehead. His fingers are still slick. "This isn't about me."
"I want—" Newt's fingers tighten on his shoulders. His eyes are very bright. "Malik. I want you to fuck me."
Malik goes still.
"Newt—"
"Please." Newt's voice is steady now, steadier than Malik has heard it all night. His eyes are wet but clear and he is looking up at Malik with a certainty that Malik can feel through the bond, a warm resolute pulse. "Please. I want you inside me. I've wanted—I've wanted you for so long."
Malik exhales. He presses his forehead to Newt's. He is still so hard it hurts—has been since Newt saidI needed you—and the want in him is vast and patient and the only thing keeping it leashed is the knowledge that Newt has beenhittoday, that Newt is bruised and split-lipped and has already come once on Malik's hand.
"You're hurt," Malik says.
"I don't care."
"Newt—"
"I don'tcare. Please. I need—" His breath hitches. "I need you closer. I need you as close as you can get. Please, Malik."
Malik closes his eyes. He cannot say no to this boy. He has never been able to say no to this boy.
"Okay," he whispers. "Okay, love."
He reaches between them again. He works Newt open further, carefully—two fingers, slow, and then three, stretching him gently, patiently, and Newt is rocking back onto his hand and gaspingpleaseagainst his shoulder like he cannot bear to be empty anymore. Malik kisses his forehead, his temple, the unhurt corner of his mouth. He takes his time. He will not rush this.
When Newt is ready—loose and slick and trembling—Malik withdraws his fingers. He undoes his own trousers, shoves them down just far enough, and lines himself up. The head of his cock presses against the wet ready entrance of Newt's body and he holds there, holding, giving Newt a last chance to say no, a last chance to stop this.
Newt does not stop this. Newt lifts his hips off the mattress and wraps his arms around Malik's neck and breathesplease, please, pleaseagainst his ear.
Malik pushes in.
Slow.Unbearablyslow. He goes by the inch, by the half-inch, because Newt is so tight he can feel every tiny flutter of resistance, every catch and release of Newt's body adjusting to him, and he watches Newt's face the whole time. Newt's mouth has fallen open. His eyes are squeezed shut. His hands have moved to Malik's back and his fingernails are digging in and Malik does not mind, Malikencouragesit, Malik presses his forehead to Newt's and keeps going, keeps going, until he is fully seated and his hips are flush with the backs of Newt's thighs and Newt is shuddering under him in one long uninterrupted wave.
"Oh," Newt breathes. "Oh, oh, oh—"
"There," Malik manages, and his voice is wrecked. "Right there, love. Stay with me."
"You feel—gods, you're so big, Malik–"
"Breathe." He kisses the corner of Newt's mouth. "Just breathe."
Malik holds himself there. He holds himself there for what feels like a long time—long enough that his arms are shaking with the effort of not moving, long enough that he has kissed every available surface of Newt's face just to keep himself occupied—and then Newt's breathing evens out, and Newt's hands loosen against his back, and Newt says, very small, "Okay."
Malik moves.
He moves carefully. A small slow withdraw and then the slow press back in, and Newt's whole body tenses and then releases and then tenses again, and his hands find their way up into Malik's hair, and Malik sets a rhythm—slow, deep, thorough—and Newt is making sounds beneath him that Malik has neverin eight hundred years heard anyone make. Small hitched broken vowels. Surprised little noises, as though his body keeps discovering new things that it did not know could happen to it. A long low moan when Malik shifts the angle. A chokedMalikwhen Malik reaches between them and finds the hard peak of his cock with his thumb and works it in slow wet circles in time with his thrusts.
It is slow and it is loving and Malik has never in his life fucked anyone like this. He has neverwantedto. He has been a creature of technique, of performance, of carefully calibrated pleasure designed to extract the maximum yield—and now he is rocking into this boy with a tenderness that frightens him, and every thrust is less a taking than an offering, and he is watching Newt's face the way one watches a fire one has built in the dark, afraid it will go out.
"Malik—" Newt's voice breaks. His eyes are open now, wet and wide, locked on Malik's face. "Malik, I—"
