@mamin-the-trollâs art of smol fox Newt fucking slayed me. It also made me think of Percy in a similar predicament only he has black lynx/wampus ears and tails. So this is for her! *blushes and dies*
First ever Gramander fic and I have no idea what Iâm doing so⊠*dumps unbetaâd fic here and scurries back into her hole*
Tags: Possessive Percival, Fluff, Crack, Mentions of erections.
âMr. Scamander. Please kindly take your jaw off the floor.â Graves is immediately annoyed when his newly acquired ears flatten in displeasure at the sight of Newt looking so shocked. His tail flicking in agitation doesnât help much either. He hates it, how transparent these appendages make him, no matter how temporary they are. He canât stop them from twitching and every barely there noise catches his attention, causing his work productivity to cease altogether.
Heâs been turned into a fucking wampus. Or at least, partially so. Â
Heâs taken to hiding in his office, and growling at anyone who attempts to take a peek at his altered state, but no amount of glaring and growling would deter Newt who practically rushes into his office the moment he has word of Gravesâ predicament.
âMr Graves. W..what happened?â Newt asks, stepping closer, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and more than a touch of concern.
âThere was an confiscated artefact that wasnât properly purged of hexes. Needless to say the person responsible for such incompetence has been properly reprimanded.â Itâs really hard to think straight, because heâs just suddenly so aware of how good Newt smells. He smells like so many creatures, of rain and freshly dug up dirt and the underlying hint of honey milk tea.
âAh. Do you know how long itâll be?â Newtâs staring at his ears, mesmerized. Heâs noting every twitch with the same intensity that a cat would a mouse.
Itâs the longest Newtâs ever been able to look at someoneâs face, Graves notes. âNot soon enough,â he says with an annoyed huff. Heâs trying so hard not to lean into Newt, to rub his face all over and leave his mark to stave off anyone else that might have unsavoury intentions towards his intended mate.
His tail flicks again, angry about the animalistic thought that sneaks up on him. Intended mate? HonestlyâŠ
âMâŠmay I?â Newt asks, fingers already reaching upwards with barely contained excitement.
âIâm not one of your creatures, Mr. Scamander.â But he acquiesces, surprised when Newt doesnât immediately reach for his ears but instead, places his hands on Gravesâ face.
Heâs been trying to show his intentions towards Newt for months now. Months. Every attempt so far has been foiled by nothing more than Newtâs own obliviousness. The man wouldnât know a request of courtship if it came to him in the form of a howler and smacked him on the nose.
âI wonder what else has changed,â Newt murmurs, fingers running along Gravesâ jaw with a gentleness usually only afforded to his beloved beasts. Newt even runs a thumb along his lips, pressing against them just enough to reveal abnormally long canines. âOh thatâs lovely,â he croons.
Graves shivers at the slow drag against faint stubble as those fingers travel upwards and over the area where Gravesâ human ears once were. âThe typical wampus colours havenât transferred over. Youâd be considered very rare,â he murmurs âIn the wild I mean. If you were a black wampus.â
âEnough to end up in the black market?â Graves muses. Heâs not prepared for when Newt actually touches his ears because Sweet Mary Lewis. âHow does it feel this good?â His knees are practically melting away under him and he has to resort to placing his hands on Newtâs trim hips to steady himself; claws digging into the blue woolen fabric.
âMost undoubtedly so.â Newt doesnât seem to mind the touch, he probably doesnât even realise. Too enamoured with the velveteen ears. Heâs playing with the edges, thumb rubbing full circles at the base. âDonât worry. Iâd rescue you.â
âMuch Appreciated.â Graves is actually⊠enjoying himself too much now, the thrumming of arousal low in his veins. He has to chide himself, heâs nearly 40 damnit, he can control himself. But then Newt presses down on a sweet spot and he feels as if heâs fifteen again, having just discovered that his penis does in fact, have more purposes than just for urination.
To his utter horror, a soft, deep rumble erupts from his chest and he groans. Heâs purring, actually purring. Could this get any worse? The erection thatâs threatening to rise within his pants tells him that yes, it very well can.
âNewtâŠâ Graves says, voice hoarse as he brings his hands up to rest on Newtâs shoulders. It never ceases to amaze him, how all consuming his affections towards the magizoologist is. He wants to kiss him, to count and cherish every freckle, to covet his attention and to offer him everything.
âHmn? Is there something wrong?â Newt asks, so endearingly, infuriatingly oblivious that Graves canât help but be both exasperated and fond.
When Graves leans in, itâs with the intention to kiss Newt, but the wampus instinct within him makes him do something else. It doesnât even make sense to him, but it feels right somehow. He licks Newt near the corner of his lips, and when he draws back, the soft sheen of saliva makes his chest rumble in pride.
Silence feels the room as Newt flushes a bright plum red that spreads across his cheeks and downwards. Graves is torn between wondering how deep that blush goes, and instant concern because maybe heâs gone too far? Maybe this has been one sided all along and his advances have been unwanted? Maybe heâs just ruined one of the first friendships that heâs had in forever, but then Newt opens and clothes his mouth a gaping open and shut a couple of times before he buries his face in his hands with a small sound.
âMr. Graves? W..would you please kindly⊠close your eyes?â he asks, voice muffled by his own hands.
Graves is concerned, but he does as asked. His hands are still on Newtâs shoulders, and he can feel the slight tremors. Is⊠Is Newt afraid of him?  Â
âYes.â Graves replies, and then, after a moment, says âMr. Scamander. I apolog-â but thereâs a soft wetness at the corner of his lips and his brain short circuits because Newt just licked him back! He just responded to his request of courtship with acceptance and not only did he say yes, but he did so in a way that his the wampus within Graves leaping in joy. Sweet Mary Lewis is this what complete and utter happiness feels like? It feels like heâs soaring.
Before he can say anything else, or even open his eyes; Newt lets out an embarrassed, strangled noise and gives him a kiss on the lips. Then, he makes a hasty excuse about needing to meet the Goldstein sisters and apparates out of the Gravesâ office, MACUSA rules be damned.
Graves is happy, blissfully so. He canât stop his tail from lazily swishing back and forth. He knows that courting someone like Newt would be a slow process but would taste all the more sweeter for it. Perhaps this curse isnât so bad after all, heâs determined to use it to his full advantage for as long as heâs able to.
Heâs going to ask Newt out, on a proper date, but first, he needs to have a plan.
