This short (spicy-ish in a very vague, very gender-neutral (i hope) way) story was inspired by Newmann fanart I saw of Hermann and Newt sharing a dream of them kissing. The artist is @/dad-dumpster.
As always this is unedited and vaguely proofread, so any mistakes are my own. I’m pretty sure the tense changes like 8x but whatever.
Your lips crash against theirs, knocking the breath from their lungs.
That’s not unusual, although it’s usually because of your mere presence rather than your lips.
They kiss you back with a fierce hunger, with a need to wreck you, to consume you, to make you crave them as much as they crave you.
Your hands slide up their stomach and push, and they’re powerless to do anything but fall.
They hit their bed and you’re on them. Your teeth nipping at the skin of their neck and soothing the sting with your tongue. All they can do is pant and tip their head back for you. Their hands latch onto your hips and dig in. They’ll probably leave bruises, and that thought thrills them even more.
Your lips have reached their jaw, but it’s too much and not enough all at once, and they delight in your surprised yelp as they flip you onto your back.
They immediately latch onto your neck, paying you back with a love bite that you’ll struggle to cover up.
Your hands fumble with their trousers, pushing them down just enough to gain access to what you want. Your fingers explore and they moan, their voice echoing across the space.
You laugh, triumphantly, even as your pupils swallow the colour of your pretty eyes. It drives them crazy to see how affected you are by them.
They decide to return the favour, pulling your hands away from them, so they can tug your own trousers down and lay between your thighs. The only thought in their head is that they’d die here quite happily.
Their mouth descends onto you, and your hips jerk as your snarky words are cut off by a choked out moan. A bit of information to file away for later.
They want to make you feel good. Want to taste your desire on their tongue. Want to be the one you pleasure yourself to thoughts of. Want to be the only one you turn to when the need gets too much.
They’ll ingrain themselves on your soul if they have to.
You scream, your thighs tightening around their head and your hands yanking at their hair.
They’re in heaven.
It’s the only explanation.
-
Ciaran jolts awake, their heart thundering in their chest and their breathes coming out in harsh pants.
They wipe the sweat from their brow.
A dream.
The only explanation that actually makes sense.
They take a few gulps of their water from the glass they had left on night stand, and attempt to do what they always do when it comes to you.
They shove their feelings down into an abyss and pray that they never come crawling out.
Once they calm down enough to get back to sleep, they place their water back on their night stand, and flop onto their mattress. They hit their pillow a few times and force their eyes to close.
Ciaran is a master of burying their head in the sand by now. This is no different.
At least, it isn’t until the next morning when they spot you and you can’t look them in the eyes.
Ciaran raises an eyebrow at your behaviour as they sit opposite you.
“What’s up with you?” They ask, curious. “You dream about me or something?”
They don’t know why they asked you that, but your reaction makes them freeze up.
Did they send you their dream through the connection between your minds? Did you send them yours?
Or…did you share the dream? Your subconscious coming together with theirs in a mess of both of your desires.
They shake the thought away.
Breakfast, surrounded by some of the sharpest minds in the world, was not the place to be thinking about such things.
“Idiot, just eat your breakfast and stop being weird.”
That snaps you out of it.
Good.
Your nonsense should hopefully be able to stop them from launching over the table and kissing you senseless in front of everyone.
