Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thomas lounged on the worn-out couch, one he'd spent too many hazy nights on, losing track of how many girls he'd hooked up with there. He wasn’t here for the party, not really—just passing the time. The room was dimly lit, cheap LED strips casting flickers of colour across the walls while disco lights spun lazily from the ceiling, set up by a group of his so-called ‘mates for life.’ The bass-heavy music thudded through the thin walls, making the whole place vibrate. Soundproofing? They hadn’t even bothered. Everyone here was looking for one thing, and the intent in the air was unmistakable.

Thomas slouched deeper into the sagging couch, his fingers absently tracing the familiar rips in the worn leather. He wasn’t really into these parties anymore, not like he used to be. The novelty had worn off long ago, and now it was just the same endless cycle—cheap booze, flashing lights, and the same half-hearted conversations with people he barely cared to remember. His so-called friends, scattered around the place, were shouting over the bass, pretending the night was more exciting than it actually was. To Thomas, it was just background noise, white static that drowned out any real fun.

He half-watched the crowd filter in and out, their faces blurring together. There had been a time when he’d lived for this—getting smashed, flirting with anyone who caught his eye, and seeing where the night took him. He still liked getting drunk, liked the easy buzz and the carefree haze that came with it, and he wasn’t one to pass up a good flirt. But these days, the people around him just felt flat. Most of the conversations he had went nowhere—people bragging about their latest hookup, recycling the same tired jokes, or droning on about nothing.

Thomas sighed, tipping his head back and staring up at the cheap disco lights flickering overhead. They threw weak patterns on the ceiling, as if trying to spark life into the party, but it wasn’t working. His friends were scattered somewhere, probably doing shots in the kitchen or hyping each other up for whatever reckless stunt they’d come up with next. He wasn’t interested. The thrill had worn thin, and the booze could only make up for so much.

But then, something shifted. Out of the corner of his eye, Thomas spotted a figure cutting through the crowd—a blonde guy walked in. He was tall—really tall—and Thomas liked that.

The guy walked in with an air of confidence, but he didn’t just walk; he moved like he owned the place, and three guys followed behind him like shadows. 

Thomas straightened up a little, curiosity flaring. The guy was stunning like some kind of movie actor. The way he moved, with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets and a brown corduroy jacket hanging loosely from his shoulders, almost professional. Thomas squinted his eyes, and suddenly the boredom lifted just enough to make him pay attention.

There was something about the guy that drew Thomas in—the way he looked around the room with a silent challenge, like he was waiting for someone to step up and match his energy. Thomas's pulse quickened, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. Yeah, this might be interesting. He liked flirting, and this guy looked like he’d be worth the chase.

But it wasn’t just the guy’s attitude—it was that damn jacket. The way it hung loosely over his broad shoulders, like it barely belonged there, made it feel like a silent invitation. It practically begged someone to come over and strip it off him, and Thomas wanted to be that someone. His mind flickered with images of his hands sliding under the fabric, pulling it away, fingers tracing the skin beneath. 

Thomas wanted to be the one to take it off—hands all over him.

__________

The party was just another distraction, another blur of faces and noise that Newt had agreed to out of sheer boredom. He wasn’t the type to lose himself in the chaos of college life, preferring instead the quiet corners of the library or the solace of a late-night walk. But tonight was different. Alby, Minho, and Gally had practically dragged him out, promising a night of fun, a break from the monotony. Newt had reluctantly agreed, though he knew how these nights usually ended—with him slipping away from the crowd, avoiding the drunken advances of his friends, and finding a quiet spot to watch the night fade into morning.

He didn’t need to be there, didn’t even want to be there, but the others insisted. A night out, they said. Get a few drinks in, loosen up, forget about all the usual worries. Newt wasn’t so sure about that, especially with the way they were eyeing him like they had a plan to get him absolutely sloshed. For a bang probably.

But as he stepped into the backroom of the party with Alby, Minho, and Gally flanking him like they were ready to take over the place and the thrum of music vibrating through the walls, something caught his eye. Or rather, someone. A brunette, sitting alone, his eyes scanning the room with a look that was both detached and curious. There was something about him that drew Newt in, something that made him pause.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Newt could feel the thick, sweaty air of the party settle over him. The music pounded through the floorboards, the walls practically vibrating with the bass. Alby clapped him on the back, Minho already scouting the room for drinks, and Gally just grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. They were definitely up to something.

“Gonna grab a drink,” Newt said, slipping away before any of them could protest. “Thirsty.”

The last thing he wanted was to end up in someone’s bed, the lines between friendship and something more blurred by the haze of alcohol. He liked his friends, sure, but not like that. Someone else would work.

He weaved through the crowd, keeping his head down, hoping to find a quieter spot to just hang out. But as he reached the backroom, he saw the brunette, not too far away, place down a beer on the table. He wasn’t like the others at the party, who seemed to be moving in a constant blur. No, this guy had a certain calmness to him, like he wasn’t really interested in the chaos around him.

As Newt refilled his cup for what was most likely not his second, he watched as another girl approached the brunette, who casually leaned back and spread his legs wide, manspreading with a confidence that made Newt raise his eyebrow. He never liked boys like him. Acting all high-and-mighty. Yet, his gaze trailed down to the boy's chest, then his waist, and—wait, what? Newt blinked, shaking off the stray thought that had crept into his mind. But his eyes drifted back, drawn to the way the brunette’s legs were positioned, the way he seemed so comfortable. That leg looks good to bounce on.

For a split second, Newt’s mind wandered to a place it really shouldn’t, imagining what it would be like to just—

He shook his head again, forcing himself to focus. He didn’t even know this guy, didn’t know if the brunette was into blokes, or if he was just being ridiculous. But something about him had Newt’s attention, something that made him want to find out more. To see if that calm exterior was just a front, or if there was something else lurking underneath.

The brunette’s eyes met across the room, and Newt felt a jolt of something electric pass between them. The girl was still talking, but the guy didn’t seem too interested, his gaze flicking back to Newt more than once. 

Gotcha.

Newt made up his mind. He walked to a corner, waiting for the girl to be gone. Standing there, Newt watched the boy, wondering what else he'd do.

_________

Without another thought, Thomas downed the rest of his drink in one long swig, placing the empty cup on the table with a determined clink. But as he scanned the room for the blonde, another girl called out his name, her voice cutting through the low buzz of conversation. He shook his head, waving her off dismissively. He wasn’t interested in small talk—not when there was a tall, blonde mystery waiting to be unravelled.

Finally, he spotted the guy standing alone in a corner, as if waiting for something—or someone. And to Thomas’s surprise, the blonde was already looking at him, his gaze unwavering, a smirk playing on his lips.

When he reached him, Thomas stopped just a few inches away, a smirk of his own tugging at the corner of his mouth. The blonde leaned his head back against the wall, clearly amused by the situation, and it made Thomas want to close the gap even more. He leaned in, trying to make up for the height difference, but the blonde just smirked wider, clearly entertained.

“You got a name?” Thomas asked, his voice low and rough, laced with the anticipation that buzzed through his veins.

Before Thomas could react, he felt a strong hand grip the back of his neck, pulling him in. “All yours.”

_________

When the brunette finally closed the distance, standing just a few inches away, Newt could feel the tension between them, thick and electric. The guy had a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, a look that said he was confident but also a little bit intrigued, like he wasn’t quite sure what he’d find but was more than willing to dive in and see. 

Newt leaned his head back against the wall, feeling the cool surface press against the nape of his neck. He didn’t break eye contact, though, not for a second. He could see the eager glint in the brunette’s eyes, could feel the intensity of his gaze zeroing in on his neck. It sent a shiver down Newt’s spine, a mix of excitement and curiosity bubbling up inside him. This guy was keen, that much was clear. But there was something more—a hunger, an edge, that made Newt’s lips part just a bit.

The brunette leaned in closer, trying to bridge the height difference, and Newt couldn’t help but smirk. There was something endearing about the effort, about the way the guy seemed determined to close the gap between them, as if it would give him an upper hand. Newt let him, watching with amusement, letting the anticipation build.

“You got a name?” the brunette asked, his voice low and rough, like he was holding back the full force of his desire.

Newt tilted his head forward slightly, letting the words hang in the air for a moment, his smirk growing wider. He liked the way the brunette’s voice sounded, the way it seemed to resonate with something deep inside him. He could tell the guy was on edge, waiting for his answer, waiting to see if this moment would lead to something more.

Newt yanked the boy's neck close to his, “all yours,” he replied, his voice smooth and sure, with just a hint of challenge. He wanted to see what the brunette would do next, how he would react, and whether he would take the bait.

He didn’t have to wait long.

A hand shot up, gripping his waist with a firm, possessive touch, and then their lips collided. The kiss was fierce, almost desperate, like the brunette had been waiting for this moment just as much as Newt had. Newt’s hands found their way to the guy's shoulders pulling him closer.

There was no hesitation, no holding back. Newt could feel the brunette’s heartbeat against his chest, could feel the way his body responded, eager and demanding. The wall pressed harder against his back as the brunette deepened the kiss, his hand sliding into Newt’s hair, tugging slightly, making Newt let out a low, satisfied hum.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Newt looked into the brunette’s eyes, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Not bad,” he murmured, his voice teasing, but his eyes betraying the truth—he was just as into this as the other guy was.

The brunette grinned, his confidence bolstered by the success of his bold move. “There’s more where that came from,” he said, his voice thick with promise.

Newt chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he leaned in just a little closer. “Then what are you waiting for?” he whispered.

__________

Thomas wasted no time. With a determined grip, he dragged the blonde towards a private room tucked just behind the couch where he'd been lounging. The door swung open, but didn’t close all the way, leaving it slightly ajar as Thomas manoeuvred them inside. With barely a pause, he shoved the blonde against the wall, the impact knocking a soft gasp out of him. 

Thomas’s leg slid between the blonde’s, pressing firmly, and Newt responded with a low groan, his breath catching in his throat. Their mouths collided again, more heated this time, as Thomas took control, hands gripping Newt’s hips tightly. 

But just as the kiss deepened, a sharp whistle broke through the haze, cutting through the muffled music. A girl, probably one of the partygoers from earlier, stood at the door, calling for Thomas’s attention again.

Thomas groaned, not out of interest, but out of sheer annoyance. He didn’t break the kiss, not entirely. Newt’s hands threaded into Thomas’s hair, tugging just a bit harder, making Thomas groan again, this time into Newt’s mouth. But Newt’s eyes flickered toward the girl, sizing her up with a slow, deliberate once-over, his gaze cool and unimpressed. He didn’t need to say anything—his expression was clear enough. 

You’re not worth his time.

The girl hesitated, her bravado crumbling under the weight of Newt’s cold, dismissive gaze. Her confidence drained away, and with a frustrated huff, she turned on her red heels and disappeared into the crowd, leaving them alone once again. Thomas, both amused and turned on by the whole interaction, pressed even closer to Newt, his leg shifting harder between Newt’s, feeling the heat build between them. 

He leaned in, voice low and teasing against Newt’s lips. “Looks like she got the message.”

___________

The music was quieter here, muted by the thick walls, allowing the heavy, rhythmic breathing between them to fill the space. The sloppy, eager sounds of Thomas’s efforts to make Newt groan were almost endearing—like he was putting on a show. Or maybe, Newt thought with a flicker of heat, the guy was just a natural at this. 

Newt smirked, fingers tangling tighter in the boy’s unruly dark hair, his other hand resting on those excellent, solid shoulders. “You seem popular,” he murmured, tugging at the blue-collar shirt that was frustratingly getting in the way of bare skin. He tried pulling it down off the brunette’s shoulder, but before he could manage, the boy surged forward, pressing his body flush against Newt’s and effectively pinning him to the wall.

The hand Newt had been using to grab the collar was now trapped between their bodies, held there by the delicious weight of this guy leaning in, their chests pressed tight. Newt’s breath hitched, and the smirk that had danced on his lips deepened into something darker. 

“Guess you’re making me work for it, huh?” he teased, voice low, but there was a definite edge of want threaded through the words. 

The warmth of this brunette’s leg was almost too inviting, and before he could fully process what was happening, Newt found himself grinding against it with a slow but almost frantic rhythm. 

“Name’s Newt.” He said, almost panting as he felt it grow.

The alcohol in his system might have contributed to his boldness, but Newt had always been good at holding his liquor. This wasn’t just the booze talking—it was a raw, undeniable attraction.

Newt’s head tilted back as the brunette lips found his neck, kissing and nipping with a hungry intensity. The sensation was overwhelming, and Newt’s breath caught in his throat. 

The other boy was breathless. 

“Thomas.”

__________

The blonde’s free left arm wrapped around Thomas’ right shoulder, bringing him closer. Thomas seemed to be burying his face into his jacket, lips grazing just below the collar, the intensity of his touch sending shivers down the boy’s spine. The warmth of his breath against his neck made the blonde’s grip tighten, he could feel his fingers digging into his shoulders, as if the blonde was trying to anchor himself in the moment.

“Fuck,” the blonde groaned, unable to suppress the sound as Thomas’s lips traveled further down his neck. His hands gripped Thomas’s shoulders, pulling him closer, as if trying to fuse their bodies together.

Before the blonde could voice any more thoughts or feelings, a sudden, loud voice cut through the intimate atmosphere. 

“Hey Thomas, have you seen a blonde guy? Double Chuck’s size, hot as—”

The ajar door swung open, and Minho’s head—topped with his unmistakable big forehead—popped through. He scanned the room, his eyes flicking from Thomas to Newt. But as soon as he saw Newt and Thomas wrapped up in their heated embrace, Minho’s eyes widened in shock. 

“SHIT!” he exclaimed, his face a mask of disbelief and incredulity. His friend Newt, the most decent guy he knew, was entangled with the college’s notorious fuckboy. 

Minho’s jaw dropped, his initial curiosity giving way to sheer astonishment. Thomas’s head shot up, his lips parting from Newt’s neck with a guilty but satisfied look. Newt, his cheeks flushed, scrambled to regain his composure and awkwardly began to untangle his hands from Thomas’ hair.

“MINHO,” Newt groaned, his slurred voice a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment. “FUCK OFF.”

Minho’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Then, he turned his head back, and called someone’s name. “GALLY GET YOUR ARSE HERE.” 

Before Newt could respond, another head popped into the room—Gally’s. He surveyed the scene with thick furrowed eyebrows. “Seriously?” 

Thomas, clearly irritated, attempted to make his exit. He grabbed Newt by the wrist, intending to lead him out of the room. As he moved, he flipped Minho off, his frustration palpable. But just as Thomas started to pull Newt with him, Gally stepped forward, grabbing Newt by the collar of his jacket.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Gally said firmly. Minho, still watching with narrowed eyes, nodded in agreement. “Don’t think we’re gonna let you take advantage of him.”

“What?” Newt blinked at them, deadpan. His words were all jumbled and slurred. “He’s—he’s not—”

Thomas furrowed his brows, his frustration rising. “Hey, what the hell! He can do whatever he likes!”

Gally’s grip tightened, and Minho stood by, his expression resolute. “We’re not letting you take him, Thomas.”

As Newt tried to keep hold of Thomas’s hand, a new figure appeared in the doorway—Alby. With a determined look, he swept into the room, hoisting Newt up by the waist as if he were a sack. 

“HEY!” Newt yelled, flailing slightly. “ALBY!”

Alby gave a quick nod to Minho and Gally, then began dragging Newt out of the party. Thomas tried to follow, but Minho and Gally formed an impenetrable barrier around him. Frustration boiled over in Thomas as he watched Newt being carried away. His body, still very much in the throes of the moment, was left unattended to, a reminder of what might have been a very interesting encounter.

Thomas, now visibly irate, glared at Minho and Gally as they turned their heads back at him, clearly snickering.

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, his voice laced with frustration and desire. Thomas was not very happy about three men taking away what would've been a very interesting shag. He hadn't felt so horny in years (this was a lie), and proof of that was in his pants.

__________

Alby tossed Newt into the backseat of the car, the sudden motion making Newt grunt as he tried to push him away. “For the last time— I let him!” Newt groaned, his frustration clear. 

“Slim it, Shuckface—you’re drunk as hell,” Minho said, settling into the seat beside him. “Just how many drinks did you have?”

Alby gave a grunt of agreement and fastened Newt’s seatbelt with a decisive click. Gally slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, the engine rumbling to life.

“M’like four” Newt mumbled, trying to wriggle free from the seatbelt. He still felt hot all over. And unpleasantly unattended to. “Where’s Chuckie?”

“He’s taking a cab later. Wanted to stay a bit longer,” Alby replied, his face close as he adjusted Newt’s belt with a firm, almost comforting touch.

“What? Then why are we—why the hell are we leaving?” Newt snapped, his irritation rising as he realised he couldn’t move due to the seatbelt constraining him.

Alby leaned closer, his breath warm against Newt’s face. “Because you clearly didn’t know how much alcohol was in the drinks.”

Before Newt could respond, he felt a hand between his legs, and his eyes widened in shock. Alby’s face was inches from his, a mix of annoyance and concern in his gaze. Minho, sitting beside him, leaned in close to Newt’s ear.

“And so you don’t get fucked by Thomas fucking O’Brien,” Minho whispered, his tone low and laced with a mix of seriousness and teasing.

Newt’s drunken mouth fell open. “If anything, I’d be doing the fucking—”

Gally, focusing on the road, chuckled lightly. “Yeah with your mouth.”

Alby’s hand remained in place, a subtle reminder of their intentions. “He’s the last guy you should be going for. He’s at least three years older than you.”

Newt tried to protest but found himself cut off by Minho’s smirk. “Look, we’re not saying Thomas isn’t attractive. He is. But he’s also trouble. And right now, you’re in no shape to handle that.”

Gally glanced at Newt through the rearview mirror. “Plus, it’s not just about age. He’s got a reputation. Not the kind of guy you want to wake up next to and have to deal with later.”

“Three years?” Newt’s jaw dropped, clearly not addressing any of the previous information he had been told. 

Alby’s hand, which had been resting on Newt’s thigh as a form of restraint, now shifted subtly. His fingers slid down Newt’s inner thigh with a deliberately gentle touch that felt both alarming and confusing. Newt tried to push him away, but the seatbelt kept him pinned in place.

Alby leaned closer, his breath warm against Newt’s ear. “You know, it’s not every day I get to be this close to you. Especially when you’re so... worked up.”

Newt’s frustration was at its peak, but the combination of alcohol and Alby’s touch made it difficult to focus on anything but the conflicting sensations. “Alby what the hell are you doing?” Newt groaned, trying to wriggle free. “Quit it.”

Minho, smirking, reached up and gently turned Newt’s face towards him. “Hey, Newt, your ears are really pink right now. Cute.”

Newt glared at him, trying to push Minho’s hand away, but Minho simply took his left wrist and held it against his side. “Fucking hell—” Newt snapped, but his protest was cut short when he felt Alby’s hand move further up his thigh.

Just as Newt was about to protest again, the car came to a sudden halt. Before he could react, Gally clicked a button, causing Newt’s seat to retract backwards. Newt fell flat, the unexpected movement making him groan in frustration. He struggled in Minho’s grip, his attempts to push away thwarted.

The situation grew even more awkward as Newt noticed another hand gripping his other thigh. He looked down, his eyes widening as he saw Gally’s head dangerously close to his zipper.

“What the—” Newt exclaimed, trying to push him away with his free hand.

Gally’s voice was muffled but firm. “You’re in no state to be making decisions about who you end up with tonight.”

Alby, still close, chuckled softly. “You know, Newt, if you weren’t so worked up, maybe we wouldn’t have to do this.”

Minho leaned in closer, his voice low and teasing. “You’re lucky we’re looking out for you. Otherwise, you might have ended up in a mess you’d really regret.”

Newt, now flat on his back with both Alby and Gally’s hands close to sensitive areas, could only groan in frustration. “I’m sober enough to know you’re all being overprotective,” he grumbled, “and I’ll deal with Thomas myself.”

"You don’t even know the guy!" Gally snapped from below, his head still alarmingly close. "You just met him, and now you’re acting like—"

Newt’s phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting Gally off. Despite being pinned, Newt managed to wriggle enough to grab it with his free hand, glancing at the screen. It was a message from Chuck.

‘Why and how the shit did you get into O’brien’s pants? Anyways he asked for your number. - Chuck.’

Before Newt could react, Alby snatched the phone from his grip. "ALBY!" Newt groaned in protest, trying to grab it back, but Alby was faster. With a smirk, Alby answered the call, putting it on speaker.

Without even a greeting, a deep voice spoke through the crackling line. “Newt.”

Newt narrowed his eyes the moment he heard a gasp through the speaker. What the hell? Was he getting shagged right now? He strained to focus through the alcohol haze, his frustration mixing with confusion. Then another sound followed—a high pitched, drawn-out feminine moan.

"Saturday night at Nick’s,” Thomas’s voice came through the crackling line again, sounding slightly out of breath, as if he were in the middle of something. The casual way he said it, paired with the background sounds, made Newt’s brows furrow. “Ben says bring Gally."

Gally rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly unimpressed. 

Was Thomas seriously calling him in the middle of... whatever the hell was happening on the other end of the line? Newt's mind raced, but before he could respond, Minho snatched the phone from Alby’s hand and ended the call with a sharp click. 

"Not the time, Newt," Minho said with a half-smirk, as if reading Newt’s thoughts. "Trust me, you don’t want to be thinking about what that was."

Alby glanced at Gally, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Guess your boy’s a little too eager."

But just as Alby and Gally’s hands lingered too long on Newt’s thighs, Minho’s expression hardened. His smirk vanished, replaced by a flicker of irritation. In a sudden, swift motion, Minho slapped both Alby and Gally’s hands off Newt’s legs, the sharp sound echoing in the confined space of the car.

“Enough,” Minho snapped, his voice firm as he shot Alby and Gally a glare. “Get your hands off him.”

Alby frowned, rubbing his wrist, but Gally raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Minho turned back to Newt, his tone softening as he grabbed the phone from Alby’s grip and shoved it into Newt’s chest. “Here. You’re in no shape to deal with this right now.”

Newt blinked in confusion, his head spinning from the alcohol and the chaotic whirlwind of events. Minho, sensing his disorientation, unbuckled Newt’s seatbelt in one swift motion. “You need to sober up. All of you,” he added, throwing a look at Gally and Alby. 

Gally snorted, but before he could say anything snarky, Minho jerked his thumb towards the car door. “Out. Both of you. Get Newt some water, or we’re not going anywhere.”

Alby hesitated for a moment, then huffed as he opened the door and stepped out, Gally following suit. Minho kept his focus on Newt, leaning in close. “You’re not gonna deal with Thomas—or anyone—when you’re like this.”

Newt groaned, still woozy and frustrated. "I could’ve handled it."

“Yeah, maybe,” Minho said with a grin, “but not with these idiots hovering over you.” He handed Newt a bottle of water. "Drink up. I need you back on your feet, shuckface."

Newt sighed, taking the water and reluctantly sipping it, still bristling with frustration but grateful for Minho’s intervention. Outside, Gally and Alby loitered near the car, grumbling under their breath but too cautious to test Minho’s patience further.

It was Saturday night, and the party was in full swing. The house was bigger this time, more expensive-looking, with lavish food spread out on tables and sleek, polished floors. The atmosphere hummed with chatter, laughter, and the occasional burst of music, but Newt's mind wasn’t on any of it.

Thomas wasn’t anywhere to be found. Newt had scanned the crowd for that familiar dark brunette head more than once, but it seemed like O’Brien had vanished into thin air. Maybe it was for the best—after that odd phone call, Newt wasn’t entirely sure what he’d say if he ran into him again.

This time, Newt was avoiding drinks, determined to keep his head clear. He wasn’t about to let himself get caught up in another round of chaos—but lord was that boy good at kissing. Still, the night was starting to feel like a bust. He strolled through the crowded rooms, a sense of restlessness gnawing at him, with Alby and Minho on either side. 

Somewhere along the way, they lost Gally. It wasn’t hard to figure out where he went—Ben, the boy Thomas had mentioned on the phone, had practically dragged Gally off as soon as they’d arrived. Newt watched as the two disappeared into another part of the house, not entirely interested in following them.

Alby, on the other hand, stayed close. Too close. Newt could feel his presence hovering around him, like a shadow. It was starting to get on his nerves.

They came to a room where a group was gathered around a ping-pong table. Minho, of course, made a beeline for the game, flashing a cocky grin as he picked up a paddle and prepared to show off. Newt couldn’t be bothered to watch.

He sighed, the weight of the evening settling on him as he made his way to an open patio. The cool night air hit his face, offering a brief moment of peace. The view from the backyard was nice, the twinkling lights of the city stretching out below like a sea of stars. 

Even out here, in the quiet of the patio, Newt couldn’t shake Alby. He could feel him, always there—his footsteps a soft crunch on the gravel, like a persistent shadow that wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Do you mind?” Newt muttered, not bothering to turn around. He pulled out a blunt, rolling it between his fingers with a sigh. His frustration bled through his voice—he was sick of being watched.

Alby stepped closer, his tone calm but insistent. “Just keeping an eye on you, Newt. Don’t want you pulling anything stupid.”

Newt snapped his head around, eyes narrowed as he slipped the cigarette between his lips. “I’m not some kid who needs babysitting, Alby. I can handle myself.”

Unfazed, Alby leaned casually against the railing, his smirk infuriatingly steady. “Yeah, maybe. But last time, you didn’t exactly make smart choices, did you?” He gave Newt a look that felt more patronising than concerned. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep you company.”

Newt huffed, running a hand through his messy blonde hair, fingers tugging in frustration. His other hand fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. “Well, I’d rather be alone, thanks.”

Alby didn’t budge, his eyes fixed on Newt with that same annoying smirk. “Afraid I can’t let you do that. Thomas or no Thomas, you’re not getting out of my sight.”

Newt glared at him, his jaw tightening as he bit down on the cigarette. He was trying to stay calm, but Alby’s hovering presence was grating on his nerves. “He’s not even here,” Newt muttered, his voice barely concealing his irritation.

“Doesn’t matter,” Alby said, voice steady, a hint of authority creeping in. “Still looking out for you.”

Newt clenched his jaw, grinding the cigarette between his teeth. He knew Alby meant well, but it didn’t make the situation any less aggravating. And now, he couldn’t even find his bloody lighter.

Alby’s eyes flicked to the cigarette. “You really shouldn’t smoke so much, y’know.”

Newt rolled his eyes and shuffled a few steps away, muttering, “Sod off.”

“Smells like crap, too,” Alby added, his tone light but persistent.

Newt groaned, exasperated. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you piss off already?”

Alby chuckled but stayed right where he was. Newt, still fumbling for his lighter, cursed under his breath. This night couldn’t end fast enough.

Newt huffed in frustration, finally giving up on finding his lighter. He shoved the cigarette out of his mouth and stuffed it back into his pocket. With a scowl, he turned to face Alby, who was now avoiding eye contact and wearing an infuriating grin.

"You took it, didn’t you?” Newt said, his voice sharp. He took a step closer to Alby, his frustration evident in his narrowed eyes.

Alby’s grin widened, but he kept his gaze averted, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. “Took what?” His tone was overly innocent, dark skin tracing his smirk.

Newt closed the distance between them, his tone demanding. “Give it back.”

Alby raised a brow, grin growing wider under the weight of Newt’s stare. “Hm?”

“Alby.” Newt’s voice dropped to a low, firm tone, leaving no room for argument. “I know you took it. Just give it back.”

Alby’s eyes darted around, and after a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly reached into his pocket and pulled out the missing lighter. He held it out with a sheepish expression. “Here.”

Newt snatched the lighter from Alby’s hand, his irritation giving way to a small sigh of relief. “Git,” he muttered, turning away to light his cigarette again. As he took a drag, he felt Alby’s presence still hovering behind him.

“You know,” Alby said, his tone softer, “I’m just looking out for you. It’s not all about ruining your fun.”

Newt didn’t turn around, focusing on the cigarette’s smoke curling up into the night air. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

Alby stayed silent for a moment before speaking again. “I’m serious, though. I just don’t want to see you making a mess of things.”

Newt exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift away. 

Alby’s sigh was barely audible. 

Newt glanced back briefly, catching Alby’s earnest expression. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a few minutes to myself.”

Alby nodded, stepping back reluctantly. “Fine.”

With that, Newt turned his attention back to the night, finally able to enjoy his cigarette in relative peace.

__________

The moment Thomas walked into the room, it was as if the energy of the entire place shifted. The music, already loud, seemed to surge in volume, bass vibrating through the walls, and the crowd around him buzzed with renewed excitement. It was almost like they had been waiting for him to show up, like the party hadn’t truly started until now.

Nick, standing near the entrance, grinned broadly and clapped Thomas on the back. “Late as always, but glad you made it, man,” he said, his voice barely audible over the music. Thomas just gave a nod in return, scanning the room quickly.

His eyes landed on the couch, where Gally and Ben were wrapped up in each other, practically devouring each other's faces. Thomas rolled his eyes and shrugged it off. Gally was always unpredictable at these parties. But Thomas had a mission tonight. He knew the blonde guy—Newt—was somewhere in the house, and he wasn’t leaving without finding him.

He glanced over at the ping pong table, spotting Minho mid-game. As usual, Minho was overly competitive, his intensity clear in the way he handled every shot. That guy never knew how to dial it down, no matter what the game. Thomas didn’t bother watching long, knowing Minho could go on for hours. His focus remained on the blonde.

But after weaving through the room, scanning the faces of every person nearby, Newt was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a girl appeared in front of him, her grip firm as she grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the back of the house. Thomas found himself in a smaller, dimly lit room, now faced with not one, but two other girls, both eyeing him with mischievous grins.

Thomas stood there awkwardly, not quite sure what to do or say. His mind was still on Newt. With a slight shrug, he gently pulled away from the girls, offering a quick, “Sorry, not interested,” before turning to leave the room. As he stepped back into the hallway, his path was blocked by another figure.

Winston. The guy strolled toward him with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, rubbing his chin like he knew something Thomas didn’t.

“What.”

Winston’s smirk widened as he chuckled lightly, clearly pleased with himself. “You look pissed.” Then, without missing a beat, he added, “You looking for that British boy?”

Thomas raised an eyebrow but nodded. 

Winston’s gaze flickered outside, his smirk deepening. “Last saw him with Alby. Out back.” Before Thomas could respond, Winston was yanked away by the back of his shirt, hauled off toward the punch table by Frypan, who seemed more annoyed than amused.

Thomas watched them for a second before turning toward the back of the house. He quickly pushed aside a crowd of girls in his way as he headed toward the patio door. Some of them said his name—for which almost everybody knew for some reason.

He had no idea what he was going to say when he finally found Newt, but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t leaving until he saw him.

_________

Newt exhaled a long drag, the smoke curling lazily upward into the cool night air. His temporary solitude was shattered by the distant sound of laughter. He glanced over, squinting through the faint haze to spot Clint and Jeff, both slouched against a wall, clearly sharing a blunt between them. They were laughing about something, their muffled voices intruding on what little peace Newt had managed to steal away.

Great.

Well, so much for that. With his quiet spot compromised, it seemed like the perfect moment to slip away unnoticed. If that brunette boy wasn’t even here, what was the point of staying? Newt had come hoping to see him, maybe even talk to him, but after wandering around aimlessly, he still hadn’t caught a glimpse. The idea of leaving sounded better by the second.

Of course, there was one issue—Gally had driven him here. He couldn't just disappear without a word, especially since he was stranded without a ride. Newt's hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing over his phone. He could call an Uber. A quick exit, no fuss.

Deciding to make his move, Newt walked past Clint and Jeff, who were now too engrossed in their own high to notice him. As he passed them, he spotted a well-worn patch of dirt where countless used cigarettes lay discarded. He flicked his cigarette into the pile, watching it fall amongst the others before a low groan caught his ear.

“Clint.” Someone muttered, voice slurred and almost amused.

Newt didn’t bother turning around. The familiar haze of parties like this—drunken voices, stoned laughter—was something he knew all too well. He ducked his head under the doorframe, stepping back inside. The music immediately slammed into him, loud and overpowering, thumping through his chest.

He took a breath, his fingers curling around his lighter inside his jacket pocket. One more sweep through the house, and if he didn’t find him... well, he’d just leave. Newt wasn’t in the mood to stick around for no reason.

_________

Newt had almost made it out. His foot had just touched the grass, freedom only steps away, when Alby’s familiar chuckle reached his ears. Instantly, his head snapped around, his stomach twisting. He spotted Alby standing by a sleek car, talking to some guy who leaned casually against it. Newt froze, watching as they casually offered, “You wanna go for a ride?”

“Nah, I’m good. Sick car though,” Alby replied.

A sultry mumble grinned, “It’s Frankie’s.”

“Tim give me back my car keys.” Another voice said.

“FUCK!” The shorter boy screamed, noticing the other boy pop out behind him. “Jesus don’t just come out of nowhere.”

Without thinking, Newt ducked, flattening himself against the doorframe. His heart pounded in his chest. Why the hell was he hiding? It wasn’t like he had anything to be guilty about. But the thought of Alby spotting him—especially after last week’s mess—made his skin crawl. He really wasn’t in the mood for any more awkward encounters.

Newt cursed under his breath, peeking around the door cautiously. He needed a new exit, fast. He couldn’t go back through the main hall—that’s where he’d seen Ben dragging Gally into earlier, and Minho was probably still at the back, being obnoxiously competitive at pong. There had to be another way out.

Slumping against the door, Newt squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, exhaling in frustration. Alby chuckled again, his voice getting closer. “Alright, I’m gonna check on my mates. Cya.”

Newt’s heart jumped into his throat. His body reacted on instinct, springing to his feet. He darted back inside, weaving through the crowded room full of dancing drunks. The music thumped, lights flashing as Newt moved swiftly, trying to avoid Alby’s path at all costs. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much about not being found, but he just couldn’t face Alby—not tonight.

Just when he thought he was in the clear, he felt it: a hand darting out, grabbing the collar of his jacket and yanking him to the side. Newt barely had time to register what was happening before his back hit something soft rather than the expected hard—a bed. His heart raced, adrenaline spiking as he blinked in surprise, eyes scanning the dimly lit room. 

“Found you,” the voice muttered, low and amused.

__________

Newt blinked, his heart still hammering in his chest as he looked up—only to see him. The brunette boy he’d been half-searching for all night, staring down at him with that familiar cocky grin. 

"Hi?" Newt blurted out, his voice coming out more unsure than he intended. He wasn’t sure what else to say. His mind scrambled to catch up with the situation—Thomas had somehow managed to drag him into a room, and now he was looming over him, almost too close. 

Thomas’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Hi.” His voice was smooth, casual, like this was just another part of the party. He didn’t move, keeping Newt sprawled under his gaze and his proximity.

Newt’s throat tightened. “What took you so long?” he managed, shifting slightly beneath Thomas, but there wasn’t much space to escape. The bed beneath him was soft, but the tension in the room wasn’t.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Thomas shot back, his tone light but his eyes focused on Newt. “Been looking for you.”

“Well,” Newt’s breath caught again. His brain short-circuited for a second. “Congratulations, you found me,” he muttered, trying to ignore the weird flutter in his stomach. “Now what?”

Thomas tilted his head slightly, studying Newt. “Dunno yet,” he said with a playful shrug. “Wasn’t sure if you were avoiding me or just avoiding this whole mess of a party.”

Newt couldn’t help the small scoff that escaped his lips. “Both, probably.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. “You have a habit of dragging people into rooms you know.”

Thomas chuckled, finally easing off a bit, though he still lingered close enough. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.” 

Newt swallowed. “Right…” he said, his voice quieter now, unsure how to respond to that. His mind raced, but before he could think of anything else to say, he heard footsteps approaching outside the door.

Both boys froze.

“Shit,” Newt whispered, eyes darting to the door.

Just as Thomas was about to pull away, Newt acted without thinking. His hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of Thomas’s dark hair. Thomas froze, wide-eyed, as Newt yanked him back down, their lips colliding in a messy, urgent kiss that made both their heads spin. The pounding of Newt’s heart echoed in his ears, muffling the sound of footsteps approaching.

Thomas let out a surprised sound before melting into the kiss, hands finding their place on Newt’s hips, pulling him closer, both of them forgetting everything except the heat between them.

The door creaked open.

“Uhh…” A gasp interrupted the moment.

They both whipped their heads toward the door to see Chuck standing there, wide-eyed and clearly shocked. His gaze flicked between them before he quickly backpedalled. 

“Chuck!” Thomas snapped, breathless but trying to keep it together. “Close the door, lock it, and throw the key under the door!”

Chuck hesitated, still staring. 

“Now!” Thomas barked, making the younger boy jump.

Chuck muttered an awkward, “Uh, sorry,” before hurriedly closing the door, the faint click of the lock following. A few seconds later, the key slid under the door with a faint clink, and they heard Chuck’s footsteps shuffle away.

Newt chuckled, still catching his breath, fingers tangled in Thomas’s hair. “Just how popular are you?”

Thomas grinned, a little out of breath, forehead resting against Newt’s. “I could ask you the same thing,” he murmured, running his thumb along Newt’s jawline. “You’ve got like three guys constantly hovering around you.”

“Seems like four now,” Newt teased, his lips curling into a smirk.

That did it. Without another word, Thomas closed the distance again.

__________

Alby moved through the crowd, weaving between bodies as the music thudded in the background. His eyes scanned the room frantically. Where the hell was Newt? He’d been keeping an eye on him earlier, but now Newt had disappeared, and a knot of worry twisted in Alby’s gut.

Spotting Gally lounging on a couch, tangled with Ben, Alby made a beeline for him. "Oi, Gally!" he called over the noise.

Gally, clearly distracted by Ben, barely glanced up. “What?” he muttered, not bothering to pull away.

“I lost Newt,” Alby said, his voice tense. That got Gally’s attention. His eyes snapped open, and he instantly sat up, pulling Ben’s arm with him without a second thought. 

“What do you mean you lost him?” Gally demanded, already getting to his feet, looking more dangerous than concerned.

“I mean I looked away for two seconds, and now he’s gone. Haven’t seen him in a bit.” Alby’s voice was sharp, but it wasn’t enough to mask the worry lacing his words.

Ben sighed, adjusting his shirt. “You always lose him at these things.”

“This is different,” Gally said, shaking his head. He looked back at Alby. “We need to find him. If something happened—if O’brien’s done anything to him I’ll kick his sorry ass to oblivion.”

They exchanged a look before Alby nodded, and the two of them moved through the crowded room. Every second that passed made Alby’s nerves prickle. The house felt suffocating now, and the thumping music only added to his unease. 

Soon they spotted Minho by the drinks table. He wasn’t playing games anymore—he was practically downing shots like it was a competition, although he didn’t seem too far gone yet.

“Minho!” Alby called, pushing through a small group of dancers. Minho glanced over, a smirk already forming as he raised his drink in greeting. 

“What’s up, lads?” Minho slurred slightly, setting down his cup. “You need something?”

“Can’t find Newt,” Alby said flatly.

Minho paused mid-sip, his face freezing. Then, in a fit of coughing, he nearly choked on his drink, sputtering and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?!”

“I lost him, Minho,” Alby repeated, a little more urgently now. “He was outside, and now he’s gone.”

Minho furrowed his brows, the weight of the situation finally sinking in. He straightened up, setting his cup down with a thud, eyes narrowing. "Thomas."

“What?” Gally asked, frowning as he glanced between them.

Minho’s gaze darkened. “Thomas. Bet you anything Newt’s with him. Saw him come in not too long ago.”

Gally’s expression soured, his jaw clenching. “If that idiot’s got him, he better not try anything.”

__________

Newt’s breath hitched as he found himself staring up at Thomas, both of them shirtless, their bodies pressed close together. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears as the warmth of Thomas's skin sank into his own.

“Shit, Tommy–” Newt gasped, his voice ragged and filled with tension. He could feel Thomas’s chest rise and fall against his, the heat between them intensifying with every passing second.

Thomas grinned, his fingers tracing a slow path along Newt’s side, stopping just above his waist. "This?" he whispered, his voice low, teasing, and yet… concerned. His eyes flicked over Newt’s face, searching for any sign that he wanted to stop. “Is this ok?”

Newt’s hands fisted into the sheets beneath him, his chest heaving as he looked up at Thomas, barely able to form words. “Yeah,” he breathed, his gaze meeting Thomas’s. “Just… don’t stop.”

“Yes sir.” Thomas’s smirk softened into something more serious, his fingers sliding up to brush against Newt’s collarbone, before he leaned down, capturing Newt’s lips in another kiss. This time it was slower, less frantic, but filled with just as much intensity. Newt could taste the faint hint of alcohol on Thomas’s tongue, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to feel more of him, to drown in this moment.

Thomas deepened the kiss, his hands moving to Newt’s hips as he pressed him further into the mattress. Newt let out a low, muffled sound, his body arching up to meet Thomas’s, his fingers tangling in his hair again, pulling him closer.

The room around them felt like it had disappeared, the distant noise of the party fading into the background. It was just the two of them now—everything else didn’t matter.

For a moment, Newt pulled back, his lips swollen from the kiss, his chest still heaving as he stared at Thomas. His voice was barely a whisper as he asked, “Gimme a sec.”

Thomas paused, his forehead resting against Newt’s. “Break?”

“What?” Newt exhaled slowly, his voice soft, barely a whisper. 

“We can stop if this is too much for you.”

His gaze locked with Thomas’s, a heat blooming in his chest, spreading through his veins like fire. “Nah.” Without needing any more words, Newt tugged him down again, capturing his lips in another kiss, deeper this time, their bodies melting into each other.

But then—he felt it. An obnoxious, persistent buzz against his thigh, breaking through the haze.

Bloody phone.

Newt groaned against Thomas’s lips, the moment shattered.

__________

“I’m going to kill him,” Alby muttered under his breath, pacing near the front of the house. Frustration coursed through him like fire. They still hadn’t found Thomas or Newt—and they’d asked everyone. Clint and Jeff said they saw Newt heading toward the exit, and Winston and Frypan mentioned spotting Thomas heading to the main room. But that was it. No one knew where either of them had gone. “I’m actually going to kill him.”

It wasn’t like the house had a million places to hide. Alby’s gut churned with a mix of worry and anger as he scanned the sea of partiers, still coming up empty. The clock had ticked past midnight, and the party was in full swing, but it only added to his anxiety.

Alby slumped against Gally’s car, eyes narrowed as Ben sat beside him, lazily sipping from a bottle. Minho, meanwhile, was off throwing rocks at tin cans with a few other guys, laughing and yelling like nothing was wrong. Every missed throw was met with punches to each other’s shoulders and more laughter.

Alby clenched his jaw, glaring at them. How could they be so relaxed when Newt was still missing?

“Relax, man. I didn’t see him drink anything,” Minho called over, walking back toward Alby, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “He’s probably fine. Can hold onto himself.”

But Alby wasn’t buying it. He grunted in response, his frustration boiling over. He couldn’t take the inaction anymore, couldn’t just sit around hoping Newt was okay. Without thinking twice, he whipped out his phone and called Newt.

The ringing felt agonisingly slow, each second dragging as Alby held the phone to his ear, his heart pounding.

__________

Thomas smirked, his fingers curling around Newt’s phone as he lifted it from Newt’s pocket. The screen lit up with Alby’s name, and Thomas raised an eyebrow, glancing at Newt with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Don’t answer it,” Newt muttered, struggling slightly under Thomas’s hold. Thomas’s grin widened as he pinned Newt’s hands above his head with one hand. With his free hand, he began tracing a teasing path across Newt’s bare chest, his tongue flicking over Newt’s nipples. His leg pressed against Newt’s still-clothed groyne, eliciting a muffled groan from Newt.

“Ugh,” Newt managed to moan, his eyes fluttering shut as the sensations overwhelmed him.

Thomas’s smirk turned into a full-blown grin as he accepted the call. On the other end, Alby’s voice was fraught with urgency and a hint of desperation. “Newt?”

Thomas chuckled softly, his fingers still brushing over Newt’s skin as he replied, “Sangster’s busy.”

Newt’s jaw dropped in shock, but before he could protest, Thomas began to grind against him, causing Newt to bite down on his own tongue to stifle a gasp. 

“Thomas, I swear to God—” Alby’s voice came through the phone, frustration evident.

Thomas chuckled again, turning the phone so it was closer to Newt’s mouth. “Like I said, he’s busy. Here, want to tell him yourself, Newtie?” He held the phone up, as if it were a microphone, his eyes glinting with challenge.

Newt glared at him, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “You cocky bastard,” he muttered under his breath, trying to focus despite Thomas’s relentless teasing.

Thomas’s grin only grew wider as he wiggled the phone closer to Newt’s face. “C’mon, you were talking so much earlier. Now’s your chance.”

Newt furrowed his brows, his frustration mixing with the pleasure, but he knew he couldn’t let Thomas have the last word. With a groan, he shifted slightly, trying to regain some control of the situation.

Gally’s voice came through the phone, sharp with frustration. “Newt, where are you?”

Newt took a deep breath, his voice strained but defiant. “Sod off.”

On the other end, Minho’s voice could be heard. “Newt, what the hell? We’re leaving soon, c’mon.”

“Where are you dumbass?” Alby added. His voice was louder than the rest.

Thomas’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the interaction. He pressed his body closer to Newt’s, his free hand slipping under Newt’s belt. “Sangster’s staying with me,” Thomas said smoothly, his voice filled with a teasing tone.

Newt gasped as Thomas’ fingers grazed his skin, sending sharp waves of pleasure rippling through him. His breath stuttered, and he tried to focus on the conversation, but the sensations coursing through him made it nearly impossible. Every touch was like fire, and Thomas knew exactly what he was doing.

“Give us an hour or two,” Thomas murmured, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive rumble that sent a shiver down Newt’s spine. He met Newt’s gaze with that infuriating smirk, clearly enjoying the control he had, the way Newt was falling apart under his touch.

On the other end of the line, Alby’s voice cut in, laced with frustration and disbelief. “What the hell are you doing with him, O’brien?”

Newt tried to respond, but Thomas’s hands were still everywhere, and his words came out more like a moan. “An hour? Tommy, that’s insane—”

Before Newt could catch his breath, Ben’s voice chimed in from the background, clearly amused. “An hour? Gally can barely last twenty minutes,” he quipped, followed by a loud, unmistakable smack.

Thomas ended the call with a quick swipe of his finger, not even bothering with a reply. Without missing a beat, he tossed Newt’s phone across the room with a casual flick of his wrist, the device landing somewhere far out of reach. His focus never wavered, eyes dark and intent as he leaned in, breath hot against the shell of Newt’s ear.

“Looks like we’ve got some uninterrupted time now.” He moved his leg upwards now, almost lifting Newt’s body with him as he rubbed his crotch against him.

The teasing pressure made Newt’s knees weak, a strangled sound escaping his throat as Thomas grinned, his lips brushing the edge of Newt’s jaw. "Let's make it count.” he whispered, his hand still working its way under Newt’s belt.  

_________

As the call ended abruptly, Alby’s face flushed with anger. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white as he tried to contain his rage. Minho and Gally, who had been trying to keep the party lively, quickly noticed Alby’s frustration and approached him, their faces reflecting concern.

“Alby, calm down,” Minho urged, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s not worth getting worked up over.”

Gally, equally concerned, added, “I can’t believe he’s actually shagging with Thomas though.”

But Alby’s fury was palpable. He shrugged off Minho’s hand and stormed over to the tin cans they had been using for target practice. With a growl of frustration, he picked up one of the rocks Minho had been throwing and hurled it at a tin can. The metal can flew through the air, making a satisfying clang as it struck its target dead-on.

A random guy cheered from the sidelines, clearly impressed by Alby’s shot. But Alby was having none of it. He turned, eyes blazing, his anger spilling over. “Fuck it, I’m getting him myself, even if I have to break a door. Don’t tell Nick.” he spat, turning his back on the cheer and the crowd.

He waved lazily to Gally, Ben, and Minho, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. 

Tim, standing by a sleek car, a key twirling in his fingers called out to him. “Nick’s out to buy drinks! You’ve got thirty minutes!” he called out, earning a slap on the neck from Frank behind him.

With a final, dismissive wave, Alby barged back inside.

__________

Thomas’s hands moved with a practised ease, deftly undoing the buttons of his shirt after managing to pull Newt’s pants off. “Keep the jacket on,” he commanded, his voice laced with a mixture of authority and desire. Newt raised an eyebrow, a glint of defiance in his gaze.

Thomas smirked at Newt’s silent challenge, his eyes flickering with mischief as he shrugged off the sleeves of his own shirt, revealing his chiselled chest. A bead of sweat glistened along his collarbone. “Damn,” Newt muttered, half teasing, half admiring.

Without warning, Thomas positioned himself between Newt’s spread legs. His fingers traced along the sensitive skin of Newt’s inner thighs, teasing and taunting until Newt was squirming beneath his touch. His breath hitched, trying to keep a semblance of control. “Slow down, Tommy,” Newt whispered, his voice a mix of amusement and a hint of desperation. “I’m not made of steel, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” Thomas murmured, his lips brushing against Newt’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “I won’t hurt you.”

Thomas pinned Newt’s wrists above his head with one hand, his smirk widening as he leaned in closer. The heat between them was palpable, each touch sending sparks through the air. Thomas’s other hand slid along Newt’s hip bones, lingering just enough to make Newt’s breath hitch. The deliberate pace, the way his fingers hovered over Newt’s skin, only heightened the tension, building anticipation with every second.

“You look good like this, Sangster,” Thomas said, his voice low, thick with intensity. His eyes flicked down shamelessly, admiring the sight in front of him. Newt couldn’t help but let out a quiet groan, half frustrated, half exhilarated by the way Thomas’s voice seemed to crawl under his skin, igniting something inside him.

With that promise hanging in the air, Thomas wasted no time; he traced his teeth against Newt’s nape, and simultaneously brought his finger low, around something smooth and traced slow circles around an entrance.

Newt bit his lip as a finger slowly penetrated him, and felt a familiar wetness between his legs. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain that was spreading throughout his body. But as Thomas continued to thrust his finger in and out, Newt couldn't help but let out a moan of pleasure.

Thomas smirked down at Newt, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. "Someone’s happy to see me," he drawled, gaze lingering shamelessly on Newt’s obviously aroused cock.

Newt groaned, feeling the heat between them intensify, his body responding instinctively to the way Thomas’s voice wrapped around him. "Go slow," Newt warned, though his voice came out more breathless than threatening. “If you break my back, I’ll kill you.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into a wicked grin. "I’ll take my chances." Without a second's hesitation, he plunged his hand inside Newt, his fingers moving fast and without warning. A sharp intake of breath escaped Newt’s lips as Thomas added an extra finger, thrusting in and out with a rough rhythm that had Newt seeing stars. “I just told you to—”

Twice, then three times. The pace was relentless.

Newt's breath hitched, his entire body trembling with pleasure. He could feel every sensation amplified as Thomas continued to push him further. "Fuck," he groaned, his fingers digging into Thomas’ hands that were holding his captive.

"That’s it," Thomas murmured, his voice low and almost teasing, as he added another finger. His eyes never left Newt’s face, watching with a smirk as his expression twisted in response to the growing pressure. Thomas chuckled softly, clearly enjoying every second of Newt’s struggle to hold on, the subtle tremors coursing through his body.

It was strange, feeling something moving inside him so deliberately, like it was searching for something hidden. In a way, it was—O’brien was on the hunt for that elusive sweet spot he knew would make Newt unravel. It was usually just to the right, but today it seemed trickier to find. Narrowing his eyes in concentration, Thomas shifted his angle slightly, his lips parting in curious anticipation. Newt was still moaning, but not nearly as loudly as he wanted.

Thomas smirked, determined now. His fingers adjusted, moving more to the left, probing gently with precision. Newt gasped, his body arching instinctively, though it wasn’t quite the reaction Thomas had been aiming for.

And then, without warning, he withdrew his fingers completely.

Newt's eyes flew open, the sudden emptiness leaving him breathless. His face was a mix of frustration and desperate anticipation, his body already aching for more. He blinked, trying to process the sudden shift, his voice catching in his throat. “What…?”

Before he could finish, Thomas moved him, his hand gripping Newt’s hips with a firm, possessive hold. The air around them felt charged, the tension crackling between them, almost unbearable.

“What are you—?” Newt started, but his voice trailed off as Thomas lifted him slightly, positioning him with deliberate intent. 

Thomas leaned in close, his breath ghosting over Newt’s ear. “Just trust me,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down Newt’s spine. The intensity in Thomas’s voice left no room for argument. 

Thomas’s grip on Newt’s hips tightened momentarily, and then, as if sensing the perfect moment to strike, he let go of Newt's wrists. The release was sudden, but before Newt could react, Thomas leaned down again, his voice a soft but firm command. 

“Lift your legs.”

Newt hesitated for only a second, his pulse thundering in his ears. He knew what Thomas was asking, but it was the way he said it, that low, authoritative tone that sent a rush of heat through him. Swallowing hard, Newt slowly raised his legs, knees bending slightly as he brought them up.

“Higher,” Thomas urged, his hands guiding Newt’s thighs. The warmth of Thomas’s fingers against his skin sent a shiver up Newt’s spine. Thomas’s eyes never left him, dark with intent, his lips curling into a small, satisfied smirk as Newt obeyed, lifting his legs higher until they rested on either side of Thomas’s shoulders.

“Good,” Thomas murmured, his hands trailing down to grip Newt’s thighs again, holding them firmly in place. His gaze flickered up, locking onto Newt’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them.

Newt bit his lip, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart pounding as the anticipation grew. He could feel the heat of Thomas’s body so close, the weight of his presence pressing in on him.

“Relax,” Thomas whispered, his breath warm against Newt’s skin. The word was simple, but the effect was immediate. Newt exhaled shakily, trying to ease the tension in his muscles, though every nerve in his body was alight with expectation.

Thomas’s hands shifted again, gripping Newt’s hips with a steady firmness. And then, without any further warning, he pushed his palm forward, a slow motion that made Newt gasp.

The sensation was overwhelming, every inch sending a shockwave of feeling through Newt’s body. His fingers curled into the sheets beneath him, knuckling white as he struggled to hold on to some semblance of control. Thomas’s pace was excruciatingly slow, each movement measured, dragging out the moment until Newt could barely breathe.

“Fuck, Tommy…” Newt groaned, his voice barely a whisper, his head tilting back against the pillow as a wave of heat washed over him. 

Thomas chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that only made the tension build further. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Newt’s, their breath mingling as they locked eyes. “You’re doing so well,” Thomas murmured, his voice soft but filled with a teasing edge, the satisfaction clear in his tone.

Newt’s heart raced, his mind a blur of sensation and need. Every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed with each slow, deliberate thrust, and he could feel himself edging closer to the brink, teetering on the edge of losing control entirely.

“You’re—" Newt gasped, biting down on his lip as he tried to form a coherent sentence but Thomas twisted and wriggled his fingers inside him. He was effectively scissoring him, bending his fingers to increase the pressure on the blonde’s prostate. “AH!”

Thomas’s smirk widened, his movements growing slightly faster, more deliberate, and the friction between them built to a fever pitch. His grip on Newt’s thighs tightened, keeping him in place. 

__________

Alby’s eyes scanned the room, his brow furrowing in frustration as he searched for Newt. He made his way through the crowd toward the punch tables, where Frypan stood, casually munching on a spring roll, looking thoroughly unconcerned.

“Fry,” Alby called out, striding up to him. “Have you seen Newt?”

Frypan didn’t look up immediately, his mouth still full. He shrugged nonchalantly, chewing as if he had all the time in the world. “Nah, man. Haven’t seen him,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, wiping his hands on his apron. He reached for another spring roll, clearly unbothered by Alby’s urgency.

Alby clenched his jaw, scanning the area around the tables again. His gaze landed on Chuck, standing awkwardly at the edge of the punch station, looking a bit too interested in the spring rolls. The kid had a nervous energy about him, and as soon as Alby’s eyes locked onto him, Chuck shifted uncomfortably, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

“Chuck,” Alby said, his voice sharp, causing the boy to freeze in place, half-reaching for the food. Chuck’s wide eyes flickered toward Alby, and in an instant, it was clear—he knew something. 

Before the boy could even think about bolting, Alby reached out, grabbing Chuck by the collar of his shirt and pulling him back with surprising force for his size. Chuck yelped, stumbling into Alby’s grip, his face scrunched in a mixture of guilt and fear.

"Where are they?" Alby demanded, his voice cold as he tightened his grip on Chuck's shirt. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where’s Newt and Thomas?"

Chuck stammered, his face paling, shifting nervously as he tried to wriggle free. "I-I don’t know— I mean, I might’ve seen them, but—" He faltered, his gaze darting to the side, clearly scrambling for an excuse.

Alby’s patience snapped. He gave Chuck a light but firm shake. "Spit it out, Chuck! Where did they go?"

Chuck swallowed hard, his eyes flicking toward Frypan, who was still lazily chewing on his spring roll, watching the exchange like it was some mildly interesting drama. Chuck opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a low voice cut through the tension from behind Alby.

"Drop him." The voice was calm, but authoritative.

Alby turned, his eyes locking onto Winston, standing with his arms crossed, and beside him, Minho, who leaned casually against a nearby table.

"Now, Albert," Winston added, his tone mocking but steady.

Alby, gritting his teeth, released Chuck, letting the boy stumble back, eyes wide. Chuck didn’t waste a second, muttering a quick, "thanks," before scampering off, eager to escape the tension.

"Behave yourself, Alby," Minho said, shaking his head. "What’s the big deal with Newt hooking up with a guy for once?"

Winston rolled his eyes, stepping closer. "Because Alby wants to be the one Newt hooks up with." His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but there was a knowing glint in his eye.

"Thought that was obvious," Frypan chimed in, now chewing on a biscuit, as if the whole situation was nothing more than background noise.

Alby clenched his jaw, a flash of anger coursing through him as Winston’s comment hit a little too close to home. He wanted to lash out, to say something, but he forced himself to remain calm. Instead, he took a slow breath and let his hands fall to his sides, shoving his frustration deep down where it wouldn’t show.

“I’m worried about his safety,” he said evenly, pointedly ignoring Winston’s jab. Without another word, Alby reached for an olive from the table, popping it into his mouth, acting as though everything was fine. His mind was racing, though. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

As he chewed, he glanced around the room, scanning for any sign of Newt or Thomas, but there was nothing. Frypan, Nick, and Winston went back to their quiet conversations, leaving Alby to his thoughts. He wasn’t about to waste more time arguing with them. He had to find Newt.

Alby continued his search, weaving through the scattered groups of people, scanning every corner of the house. His heart pounded with a growing sense of unease. And then he saw them—Clint and Jeff, moving quickly through the crowd. Something about the way they darted toward the staircase, almost chasing each other, raised Alby’s suspicions.

His eyes narrowed as he watched them. What were they up to?

Without hesitating, Alby followed, moving stealthily through the throng of people. Clint and Jeff disappeared up the stairs, their footsteps hurried and urgent. Alby quickened his pace, his instincts screaming that something wasn’t right.

By the time he reached the foot of the staircase, they were already out of sight. He paused, his hand gripping the bannister tightly. 

Taking a deep breath, Alby started up the stairs.

________

"You ready for this?" Thomas asked, that familiar smirk playing on his lips as he positioned himself.

Newt hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes flicking down, taking in just how big Thomas was. His heart raced, but he nodded, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah.”

Thomas didn’t waste any more time. He pushed inside, inch by agonising inch, filling Newt completely. The feeling was overwhelming, stretching him in ways that made Newt bite down hard on Thomas's shoulder to muffle the cries threatening to escape. 

He tensed at the foreign intrusion. It was huge. A rough muscle was inside of him–huge–sliding into him.

Thomas’s pace was slow at first, but as Newt adjusted, he began to move faster, their bodies colliding in a rhythm that was both painful and blindingly pleasurable. Each thrust drove Newt closer to the edge, his moans becoming louder, more desperate, as the pleasure built inside him.

“Holy shit,” Newt gasped, fingers clinging to Thomas’s back as the intensity of it all made his head spin. The mixture of pain and pleasure was intoxicating, and he could feel himself spiralling out of control.

Thomas’s breath came in ragged gasps, but that didn’t stop him from grinding against Newt’s body, his movements filled with a primal urgency. “Good boy,” he growled, voice low and rough, as his hips snapped forward with more force. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their bodies moving together in a fevered rhythm, faster and more desperate.

Thomas pushed deeper, pushing himself inside Newt, who felt every inch of the relentless pressure as he was filled to the brim. Simultaneously, Thomas’s hand worked over him, stroking in time with each powerful thrust. 

The bed creaked and groaned beneath them, protesting the intensity, but Thomas paid it no mind, too consumed by the need to keep going. Eventually the bed started moaning loudly, begging him to slow down but Thomas simply didn’t want to. It felt too good at this pace. And he knew it was going to feel even better if he hurried. He grips Newt’s hips tighter to slam into him easier, and it works for a while until it isn’t enough.

Thomas’s fingers dug into his skin, holding him in place as he drove forward. The slickness between them heightened the pace, but it still wasn’t enough. Thomas wanted more.

Without warning, he hooked one of Newt’s legs up higher, shifting the angle, exposing him completely. Then, with one hard thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. Newt gasped, his body clenching around the sudden fullness, the stretch nearly overwhelming. The raw sensation left him trembling, every nerve alight as if his body was-God! His insides were going to rip apart. 

Thomas didn’t ease up. He pounded into Newt with a fierce, unrelenting pace, each thrust harder than the last. Newt's moans grew louder, more desperate, filling the room with the sound of his pleasure. His body arched beneath him, every inch of him responding to the deep, pounding rhythm. Thomas couldn’t help but notice the way Newt’s body responded to him, because despite his long legs and strong build for a slender man, the blonde was born to be a hardcore bottom.

Thomas leaned down, his grip shifting to Newt’s arms, pinning them above his head as his lips crashed against Newt’s in a bruising kiss. Their tongues met, clashing in a heated battle for dominance, but Newt surrendered easily, lost in the overwhelming heat of the moment. The connection between them felt like a spark that ignited everything—there was no room for thought, only the sensation of their bodies perfectly aligned, moving in sync.

With each passing second, Newt’s cries of ecstasy grew louder, his body trembling under the force of it. There was no room for anything else—just the two of them, lost in the heat of it, bodies crashing together as they chased that final, shattering release. Every touch, every sound, every sensation was magnified tenfold, and Newt couldn’t stop the flood of moans escaping his lips.

The way Thomas’s dick was rubbing itself inside of him, forcibly making a hole like some sort of drill was insane. This, this was insane. How long had they been at it now? Newt had no idea. What was it they had for some reason agreed upon? One hour? No, it was two hours. Two hours? Newt wasn’t sure if he could live for that much longer if Tommy kept at this pace.

__________

As he reached the top of the stairs, Alby pressed his ear to each door he passed, trying to make sense of the sounds coming from within. From one room, he heard the unmistakable moans of female voices; from another, male voices engaged in what seemed like fervent activity, but none of it sounded like Newt. His anxiety grew with every second that passed.

Alby’s heart pounded as he knocked on the nearest door, his voice carrying a note of desperation. “Newt! Newt, are you in there?”

The door remained silent for a moment, and Alby’s frustration grew. He tried again, his knocking more insistent. “Newt, it’s Alby! Open up!”

He pressed his ear to the door, listening intently for any sign of movement or response. The muffled sounds of activity continued from other rooms, but he heard nothing that indicated Newt’s presence.

Finally, a muffled voice came from the other side of the door. It was not Newt’s, but Alby’s frustration surged as he banged on the door harder. “Come on, let me in! This is important!”

The door creaked open slightly, revealing a dishevelled young man with a puzzled expression. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and confusion.

“I’m looking for Newt. Have you seen him?” Alby demanded, his urgency palpable.

The young man shook his head, glancing nervously over his shoulder. “No, I haven’t seen anyone named Newt. I think you’ve got the wrong room.”

Alby’s frustration mounted. “Damn it,” he muttered, stepping back from the door. He turned and continued down the hallway, his mind racing with worry. He needed to find Newt quickly before anything worse could happen.

He tried a few more doors, each time knocking and calling out, but the responses were either unhelpful or frustratingly vague. His patience was wearing thin, and he could feel the pressure of time slipping away.

Finally, as he reached the end of the hallway, he saw Clint and Jeff emerging from a room, their expressions a mix of relief and guilt. Alby’s anger flared, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the immediate need to find Newt.

As Alby continued down the hallway, frustration mounting with each unanswered door, he suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from one room in particular. His heart skipped a beat as he caught the unmistakable sound of Thomas's voice.

“O’Brien,” Alby called out in a low, commanding tone as he approached the door from which the voice emanated, his hand gripping the doorknob with a mix of urgency and trepidation. He pressed his ear to the door and heard Newt’s voice in response, strained and barely controlled.

“Fuck, Tommy—” Newt’s voice was laced with frustration as he tried to suppress a groan. The sound of Thomas’s movements and the rhythmic pounding became more pronounced. “Stop, Tommy—Alby’s gonna—shit, I’m gonna—fuck-”

The intensity of the sounds coming from within the room grew louder, Newt’s attempt to stifle his reactions failing as Thomas continued his relentless pace. Newt’s whispered protests were punctuated by sharp, involuntary gasps, the final one escaping as a desperate orgasm.

__________

Alby couldn't tear his ear away from the door, desperately trying to decipher what was happening on the other side. The sound of Newt's moans filled his ears, a mix of pleasure and frustration that sent shivers down his spine.

"Fuck," Alby muttered under his breath, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. He had heard enough to know that Newt was in trouble, that Thomas was taking advantage of him in some way. But as much as Alby wanted to intervene, there was a part of him that hesitated.

A wave of uncertainty washed over him as he considered the consequences of bursting into that room without warning. He knew that his presence would only complicate matters further, creating an awkward and uncomfortable situation for everyone involved.

Reluctantly, Alby withdrew his ear from the door and took a step back. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, fighting against the surge of anger within him. This wasn't how things were supposed to go—his plans had been so carefully orchestrated—but now it seemed like everything was spinning out of control.

Alby stood frozen outside the closed door, his pulse thrumming in his ears, drowning out the muffled sounds within. His chest rose and fell with deep, uneven breaths, his fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to steady himself. The low murmur of Thomas’s voice broke through the haze—its usual cocky tone now dripping with sarcasm.

Alby’s jaw tightened as he leaned closer to the door, every nerve on edge. His mind raced, torn between the urge to charge in and drag Thomas out by his collar or wait for a better opening. But when he heard Newt’s voice, strained and breathy, it sent a jolt through him.

“God damn it, Tommy,” Newt’s words were barely coherent, thick with exhaustion. “I can’t walk.”

The door creaked open suddenly, and Newt stumbled out into the dimly lit hallway, his body swaying with the aftermath of whatever had happened inside. His golden hair was a tousled mess, sticking to his damp forehead, and his skin flushed pink with exertion. His chest rose and fell rapidly, each breath shallow and unsteady as he tried to recover.

Newt’s eyes, heavy-lidded and glassy, caught Alby’s, and for a second, neither moved. There was something raw in Newt’s gaze—a mix of pleasure and frustration, but also vulnerability.

Alby’s breath hitched. Without a word, he stepped forward, his eyes raking over Newt’s dishevelled form before his hand shot out, gripping Newt’s shoulder firmly. The warmth of Newt’s skin beneath his fingers sent a strange thrill through him, but he pushed it aside. In one swift motion, Alby lifted Newt off his feet with ease, slinging him over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing.

Newt let out a soft groan, his body limp against Alby’s broad back. "Alby..." he muttered weakly, though there was no real protest in his tone. His fingers gripped the fabric of Alby’s shirt, his weight shifting as he surrendered to the motion.

Inside the room, Thomas blinked, momentarily dumbstruck. By the time he processed what had happened, Newt was already being carried away. 

“You’ve got some nerve.” Thomas’s voice rang out, dripping with amusement. “If you’re going to break up our fun, at least knock next time.”

Alby didn’t bother turning around. His free hand shot up in response, flipping Thomas off without missing a beat. He strode down the hallway with long, purposeful strides, Newt’s exhausted body bouncing lightly with each step.

Newt’s head lolled against Alby’s back, a soft laugh escaping his lips despite his soreness. “Good thing you’re carrying me, huh?” he muttered, his voice laced with both gratitude and teasing.

Alby chuckled darkly, his grip tightening slightly as they reached their shared bedroom. “Yeah, well, someone’s got to take care of your sorry ass,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he gently lowered Newt into the back seat of the car. Minho was already fastening his seatbelt when Newt exhaled a long, tired breath.

Minho raised an eyebrow, glancing at Newt. “Where’s your phone?”

Newt blinked slowly, his brow creasing in confusion before he let out an exasperated breath. “Shit... still in the room.”

Gally, sitting up front, groaned loudly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You lot are hopeless,” he grumbled, pulling out his own phone. “I’ll call Chuck. He can grab it. We’re getting you home before anything else goes sideways.”

Just as Gally was about to make the call, Newt, in a dazed, half-amused voice, mumbled, “O’Brien fucks good.”

The reaction was immediate and visceral. Minho’s jaw dropped, his eyes widening in shock, while Gally’s phone slipped from his hand, the call to Chuck forgotten in the face of the new revelation. The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the words settling heavily over the group.

Gally’s hand hovered uncertainly before he finally managed to speak, his voice strained. “Hey Chuck, I’ll call you back.” He ended the call abruptly, his gaze still locked on the scene unfolding before him.

Alby, who had been adjusting Newt’s position in the backseat, froze mid-motion. The intensity of his expression shifted dramatically. His eyes, once a dull storm, now blazed with the fiercest, most envious glare imaginable. His lips tightened into a thin, rigid line, struggling to contain the surge of fury bubbling beneath the surface.

Newt, still groggy and blissed out, blinked up at him with a lazy smile, entirely unaware of the storm brewing behind Alby’s clenched jaw.

Gally and Minho exchanged wide-eyed glances, caught between awkward shock and the absurdity of the situation, as Alby stood there, seething, contemplating his next move.

Alby's fists clenched tightly, his knuckles turning white as he stared at Newt, who was still blissfully oblivious to the tension in the car. The seconds stretched, heavy and thick with unspoken fury. Gally and Minho, who had been bracing for Alby’s reaction, exchanged uneasy glances, neither of them willing to be the first to break the silence.

Newt, his head lolling slightly against the seat, finally noticed the shift in the atmosphere. His half-smile faded as he glanced up, blinking as if trying to clear his fogged mind. "What?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. "Why's everyone lookin' at me like that?"

Alby’s nostrils flared as his jaw locked in frustration. 

Newt’s hazy expression flickered with confusion before he replayed his words in his head. Realisation dawned, and a flash of panic sparked in his eyes. “What—I didn’t even” he started, but Alby cut him off.

“You didn’t what? Didn’t mean to say it? Or didn’t mean to let that asshole touch you?” Alby’s voice was low and dangerous, his anger barely contained.

“I didn’t even drink!” Newt glared at him.

Gally shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, alright, let’s not—”

“Shut up, Gally,” Alby snapped, his eyes never leaving Newt. The air in the car felt stifling now, and Minho sat frozen, not sure if he should intervene or let it play out.

Newt swallowed hard, his throat tightening as guilt crept up his spine. “Look, it wasn’t like that,” he began, his voice faltering, pleading. “I just wanted to see—I don’t know—it’s complicated.”

Alby leaned in, his face inches from Newt’s, his voice low and sharp. “Complicated doesn’t explain why you were with him,” he hissed, barely able to contain the fury boiling beneath the surface. “You think this is a joke, Newt? Letting Thomas—” He couldn’t finish the thought, the mere idea of it igniting his anger all over again.

Newt shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out the weight of Alby’s words. His voice came out strained, cracking under the pressure. “What’s so wrong with me getting a bloody shag?” he muttered, his hands trembling slightly. “For Christ’s sake, Alby.”

The words hung between them, heavy and raw, and for the briefest of moments, the tension seemed to loosen. Alby’s eyes flickered, the rage dimming as something softer, something deeper, took hold. Beneath the anger was hurt—sharp and unforgiving.

But before Alby could respond, his phone buzzed against his thigh, pulling him out of the moment. He glanced down, his brow furrowing in confusion. Newt’s name flashed on the screen. But Newt didn’t have his phone.

Alby answered, his voice clipped and tight. “What?”

“Hey, Sangster forgot his phone. I’m walking up to your shitty jeep right now.”

Gally’s eyebrow twitched. This was his car.

All eyes in the car snapped to the figure approaching outside. Thomas, arms crossed, a cocky grin stretched across his face, leaned casually against the window, as if he hadn’t just reignited the flames of jealousy burning inside Alby.

Alby’s face darkened instantly, his muscles tensing as the rage returned in full force. He shoved the car door open with a sharp jerk and stormed toward Thomas, fists clenched, every step radiating fury.

“You wanna say that again?” Alby growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Thomas’s smirk only widened, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, come on, Alby. Like you weren’t dying to know what happened.” His tone dripped with arrogance, unbothered by the threat in front of him.

Without hesitation, Alby swung, his fist colliding with Thomas’s jaw in a blur of motion. Thomas stumbled back, wiping a smear of blood from his lip, but even then, that smug grin didn’t falter.

“There’s that temper,” Thomas taunted, voice thick with mocking. He straightened, still smirking, as the tension reached a boiling point, the fight barely beginning.

Thomas straightened, his smirk intact despite the sharp sting on his jaw. Alby's punch had landed with force, but it only seemed to fuel the fire between them. Thomas wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, flashing Alby a grin that screamed arrogance. 

“You hit like you mean it,” Thomas taunted, stepping forward, closer to Alby, his eyes locked on his. “But I’m not the one you're really mad at, am I?”

Alby’s nostrils flared, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap again. "Shut up, O'Brien. You don’t get to talk about Newt like you know him."

Thomas raised an eyebrow, his smugness never wavering. "Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think." His voice dropped to a teasing whisper, just loud enough for Alby to hear. “He didn’t exactly say no.”

That was the final straw. Alby lunged at Thomas, fists flying, the dam of frustration, anger, and jealousy breaking. Thomas, quick on his feet, ducked the next punch, laughing even as he staggered back from the force of Alby’s rage.

Inside the car, Newt’s eyes widened in alarm. “Shit,” he muttered, reaching for the door handle. He was still sore, barely able to move, but seeing Alby lose control wasn’t something he could let happen. Minho, who had been silent through the brewing tension, grabbed Newt’s arm.

“Don’t,” Minho said, his voice steady. “They need to sort this out, and you jumping in isn’t gonna help.”

“Sort it out? Alby’s gonna kill him!” Newt protested, struggling against Minho’s grip. His heart raced, torn between the two men fighting because of him.

Gally, sitting in the driver’s seat, sighed heavily. “Honestly, Thomas probably deserves it.”

Back outside, Alby was relentless. He threw another punch, this one landing square on Thomas’s ribs, knocking the breath out of him. Thomas staggered but didn’t fall. Instead, he laughed through the pain, a twisted grin still on his face as if the whole thing was a game to him.

“You really think beating the crap out of me changes anything?” Thomas taunted, panting slightly now, but still standing his ground. “He came to me, Alby. You’re just pissed because deep down, you know that.”

Alby froze, his chest heaving with fury. Those words struck a nerve, cutting deeper than any punch he could throw. His fists loosened at his sides, his eyes blazing with a mix of betrayal and helplessness.

Before he could lash out again, Newt’s voice rang out. "Enough!" He had managed to push past Minho and Gally, his body weak but his voice firm.

Alby turned to face him, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. “Newt, don’t—”

“Stop,” Newt cut him off, his gaze darting between Alby and Thomas. “Both of you.”

Thomas, still smirking despite the bruise forming on his cheek, wiped the last bit of blood from his lip. “Told you this was between the two of you, not me.”

Newt shot him a sharp look. "Not another word from you."

Thomas shrugged, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Newt turned back to Alby, his eyes softening as he took a step closer.

Alby’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him as he looked into Newt’s tired eyes. He wanted to say something—anything—but words failed him.

"Let’s just—” Newt sighed, his voice quieter now. "Let’s just go." 

Alby exhaled deeply, his anger fading into a heavy sadness. “I just don’t get it,” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly. “Why him?”

Newt’s expression softened even more, but before he could respond, Thomas interjected, his voice annoyingly cheerful. “Because I’m irresistible, obviously.”

Alby shot him a death glare, and Thomas wisely took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you two to have your moment,” Thomas said, backing away with a lazy grin. “But I’ll be around.”

As Thomas disappeared into the shadows, Newt turned back to Alby. "Look, let’s just... talk, alright?"

Alby nodded, his rage ebbing into something more complicated. 

As the tension in the air hung thick, Alby’s eyes flicked toward Thomas, who still had Newt's phone in his hand. Without a second thought, Alby snatched the phone from Thomas’s grip with a sharp tug, his jaw tight with frustration. "You don’t get to hold onto anything of his," Alby muttered, his voice low and dangerous. 

Thomas’s smirk faltered for just a second, but before he could retort, a loud engine roared to life in the distance, the sound growing louder with every second. Both Alby and Newt turned their heads toward the commotion as headlights beamed through the dusty air. 

Frankie and Tim's car screeched to a halt nearby, windows down and Katy Perry's "Firework" blasting through the speakers. The car vibrated with the bass, the boys inside grinning like maniacs as they leaned out the window, arms waving to grab attention.

“Yo! Need a ride?” Frankie hollered, barely audible over the music.

Just then, Thomas’s eyes lit up with an idea. Before Alby could react, Thomas bolted toward the car and leaped into the back seat with surprising agility. 

“Hey!” Alby barked, but it was too late.

Thomas settled into the back seat with ease, reclining as if the chaos around him was nothing more than a joke. With a cheeky grin, he stuck his head out of the window, flipping Alby off with one hand, a playful wink directed at Newt following right after. "See you at Winston’s next Sat!" he shouted over the music. 

Alby’s fists clenched at his sides as the car peeled away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Katy Perry's chorus still echoed in the air, the sound of the engine and laughter fading as the car disappeared down the road.

Newt, exhausted and still recovering, leaned heavily against the side of the jeep, watching Thomas speed off with a tired, yet bemused expression. He let out a soft chuckle, his breath shaky from the adrenaline. 

Alby shook his head, his chest still heaving with anger. He stared at the spot where Thomas's car had disappeared, his fists still clenched tight. The roar of the engine faded, but the anger bubbling inside him didn't. His jaw set hard, and his eyes flicked back to Newt, who leaned against the jeep, trying to catch his breath. 

Newt chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck, but it did nothing to ease the tension. "He’s a bloody menace," Newt said with a tired smile.

Alby didn’t return the smile. His eyes narrowed, the anger still simmering beneath the surface. "You think this is funny? You think him pulling that stunt, after what he just did, is something to laugh about?" 

Newt's smile faltered, and he shifted uncomfortably, straightening up from where he'd been leaning. "Alby, it wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” Alby snapped, stepping closer, his voice low but charged with frustration. “Wasn’t what, Newt? A mistake? A bad idea? Or are you going to tell me that screwing around with him was actually worth it?”

Newt flinched at the intensity in Alby’s tone, his own defences rising. "It just happened."

Alby’s eyes darkened, his anger no longer hidden behind his clenched fists. "You just happened to let Thomas of all people get his hands on you?" His voice was sharp, accusing, the hurt slipping through the cracks in his anger. "You’re better than that, Newt. Hell, you deserve better.”

Newt ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but too tired to argue. "It was just a shag, Alby. It doesn’t have to mean something. Can’t I make my own choices without you breathing down my neck?"

“Your choice?” Alby snapped, stepping forward until he was only inches from Newt, his voice filled with venom. “Your choice is letting that smug prick get under your skin—and in your bed? You could have anyone, Newt. Anyone. And you choose him?”

Newt swallowed, the weight of Alby’s anger pressing down on him. “It’s not about choosing, Alby. I just... I needed something. And Thomas was—”

“Thomas was using you,” Alby cut in, his voice low, shaking with restrained fury. “And you let him. God, Newt, I don’t understand how you could be so bloody stupid.”

Newt’s eyes flashed, the guilt mixing with his own rising frustration. “Maybe I was stupid, but it’s done. What, are you gonna beat him up for it? Is that what you want? To fix it by throwing punches?” 

Alby took a deep breath, staring at Newt with a mix of frustration and disbelief. "I’m not here to fix your mistakes, Newt. I’m here because I care about you—and watching you throw yourself at someone like him is killing me."

The hurt in Alby's voice lingered between them, and for a moment, Newt didn’t know how to respond. He looked away, the weight of Alby’s words settling in. 

“I don’t need you to fix me, Alby,” Newt said quietly, his voice softer now but still firm. “I’m not broken.”

Alby shook his head, his frustration easing just enough to let the hurt show. "Then stop acting like you are."

Newt scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned away from Alby. The tension between them was thick, and Newt’s frustration was bubbling over. "I don’t need this right now," he muttered, walking off toward the car, his footsteps heavy with annoyance.

Minho leaned out of the window, a bemused expression on his face. “Oi, Newt, get in the car, will ya? Stop being dramatic.”

“Yeah, just get in already,” Gally added, his voice muffled from inside. 

Newt spun around, throwing his arms up in frustration. “I said, leave me the hell alone! Christ, can’t I have a bloody minute to think?!”

But before Newt could take another step, Alby was on him. With swift, deliberate movement, Alby grabbed Newt by the waist and slammed him against the side of the car. The impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but it sent a shock of surprise through Newt’s body. His eyes widened, mouth opening to protest—but before he could say a word, Alby’s lips crashed against his.

The kiss was fierce, a collision of pent-up frustration and something deeper, something Alby had been holding back for far too long. Newt, still reeling from the shock, pressed his hands against Alby’s chest, trying to push him away, but Alby didn’t relent. His hand slid down Newt’s side, gripping his waist even tighter as he shifted his leg between Newt’s, pinning him completely against the car.

Newt gasped into the tongue invading his jaw, utterly confused, his mind scrambling to understand what was happening. His fingers curled into Alby’s shirt, unsure whether to shove him away or hold on tighter. 

Inside the car, Minho groaned, slumping back into his seat. “Fuck, they’re really doing this here? Seriously? Gally, turn on the damn radio or something.”

Gally snorted, barely looking up from the situation in front of him. “Turn on the radio, Ben,” he said casually, glancing down. Ben, who had been busy between Gally’s legs, nodded and licked his lips as he zipped Gally’s pants back up, reaching for the radio with a smirk.

The sound of blaring music suddenly filled the car, drowning out the muffled sounds from outside. Minho rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath. “This day just keeps getting weirder.”

Outside, Newt finally managed to pull back, breaking the kiss as he stared up at Alby, breathless and utterly bewildered. “What the hell are you doing?”

Alby didn’t answer right away, his chest rising and falling heavily. His hand was still on Newt’s waist, his leg still firmly wedged between Newt’s. “I’m showing you what you mean to me,” Alby said, his voice rough, eyes burning with intensity. “Because I’m done watching you throw yourself at people who don’t give a shit about you.”

Newt blinked, his mind spinning as he tried to process Alby’s words. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He had no idea how to respond—no idea how to feel. All he could do was stand there, pinned against the car, with Alby’s gaze locked on him, waiting for a reaction.

And in the distance, Katy Perry’s "Teenage Dream" blasted through the car speakers, the absurdity of the moment not lost on any of them.

Newt’s frustration boiled over, his fists clenched at his sides. “You want to know what’s really messed up?” he snapped, his voice trembling with anger. “You’re not making this any easier. You’re just making everything worse!”

Alby’s jaw tightened, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. “I’m trying to help you, Newt. I care about you!”

“Care about me?” Newt’s face flushed red, his patience running out. “If you cared, you wouldn’t be forcing yourself on me like this!”

With a surge of adrenaline, Newt swung his fist, catching Alby square in the jaw. The impact echoed down the street, and Alby staggered back, surprise and pain flashing across his face. 

Minho and Gally’s heads snapped towards the commotion, their eyes wide with shock. “Shit!” Minho muttered, his gaze darting between Alby and Newt. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Gally let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Man, things are getting real messy.”

As Alby stumbled back, his hand instinctively going to his bruised jaw, Nick emerged from the side of the building, a tray of drinks balanced in his hands. He whistled a jaunty tune, seemingly oblivious to the chaos unfolding around him.

“Hey, guys!” Nick called out cheerfully, walking past the scene as if nothing was amiss. “Got the drinks. Hope you didn’t miss me too much!”

Alby glared at him, rubbing his jaw and trying to regain his composure. 

“Nick, now’s not the time!” Minho yelled.

Newt, still fuming, took a deep breath and turned away from Alby. “I’m done here,” he muttered, turning toward the car door. “Let’s just go.”

Minho scrambled to catch up, giving Alby a sympathetic look. “You alright, man?”

Alby nodded, though his anger and frustration were palpable. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just... give me a minute.”

Gally, still stunned, watched as Newt climbed into the car. Ben shrugged, climbing out of Gally’s lap and taking a seat in the passenger seat at the front. Minho groaned, resigned to sitting in between Alby and Newt as the car doors slammed shut.

__________

Alby’s eyes locked onto Newt with a fiery intensity that made the air between them feel charged. Newt, feeling the weight of Alby’s glare, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

As the car roared to life, Gally tried his best to drive cautiously through the narrow streets, the atmosphere inside heavy with unresolved tension. The car’s engine was the only sound breaking the silence, mingling with the occasional nervous shuffling from the backseat.

Newt’s phone buzzed on the floor of the car, a reminder of the chaos that had ensued. He glanced at it briefly but made no move to pick it up. Instead, he stared out the window, lost in thought, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions.

Gally tried to make light of the situation to ease the tension. “So, anyone want to talk about something else? Or should we just ride in silence?”

Minho nodded in agreement, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. “Just drive, man. No music.”

Alby, still simmering with a mix of hurt and frustration, remained silent. He glanced at Newt every now and then. Hurt.

__________

Newt’s footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridor as he kicked off his shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor punctuating his frustration. He yanked open the door to his dormitory and slammed it shut behind him with a decisive bang, his heart pounding in his chest. The day's events had left him feeling raw and exposed, and he was desperate for some space to collect his thoughts.

As Newt fumbled with the lock of his room, he could hear Alby’s footsteps growing closer, despite Gally and Minho’s voices urging him to give Newt some time alone.

“Alby, just leave it!” Gally’s voice called out, filled with exasperation.

“Yeah, give him some space,” Minho added, his tone firm but concerned.

Alby’s voice, however, cut through the chatter with a determined edge. “No, I need to talk to him.”

Newt finally managed to lock the door, his hands trembling slightly. He leaned against it, trying to steady his breathing, but the sound of Alby’s persistent knocking and his voice on the other side only heightened his frustration.

“Newt, open the door,” Alby called, his tone a mix of pleading and insistence.

“Fuck. Off,” Newt snapped back, his voice echoing through the small room. He pressed his back against the door, wishing he could sink through it and disappear.

Alby’s voice softened slightly, though it still held a note of urgency. “Come on, Newt. We need to talk about this. Please.”

Newt’s anger flared again. “What’s there to talk about, Alby? You want to make me feel worse? You already did that pretty well today.”

Alby’s silence stretched for a moment, and Newt could hear the frustration and regret in his next words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Newt. I just—”

Before Alby could finish, Newt’s patience snapped. “Just go away, Alby! I need some time to myself.”

There was a heavy pause, and Newt could almost picture Alby’s defeated expression on the other side of the door. Finally, Alby’s footsteps began to recede, the sound of his retreat echoing down the hall.

Newt sank to the floor, his back sliding down the door until he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the chaotic emotions that swirled within him. He could still hear Gally and Minho’s distant voices, their conversations fading as they walked away.

With a deep sigh, Newt finally allowed himself to lean back against the door, the tension in his body slowly easing. He needed time to process everything, to sort through the anger and hurt before he could face Alby again. For now, he just wanted to be alone, to find some semblance of peace in the quiet of his room.

Newt paced the small confines of his dormitory, his frustration mounting as he searched for his lighter. He rifled through drawers and pockets, his hands shaking slightly as he turned the room upside down. The weight of the day's events made his search more frantic, and the absence of his lighter only added to his mounting irritation.

“Shit,” Newt muttered under his breath as he came up empty once more. He slammed a drawer shut in frustration, the loud thud reverberating through the room.

Outside the door, Alby’s voice cut through the silence with an unmistakable smirk. “If you want it back, you’ll have to open this door.”

Newt’s patience snapped. “UGH!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. The sound of his exasperation was raw and unfiltered.

He pressed his back against the door again, trying to steady his racing mind. The idea of having to face Alby again, even just to get his lighter, was the last thing he wanted. He could hear Alby’s muffled laughter from the other side, a sound that only fueled his anger further.

Desperation drove Newt to the door. “Just give me my damn lighter, Alby!”

Alby’s voice remained calm but insistent. “Not until you talk to me.”

Newt groaned, pacing again in frustration. The lighter was more than just a tool—it was a small piece of normalcy he clung to in chaotic moments. He could feel his control slipping, and the need to calm himself down was becoming increasingly urgent.

With a growl of resignation, Newt reached for the door handle, pausing just before he turned it. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he had to confront Alby again. As he opened the door, he found Alby standing there, holding the lighter with a look of guarded concern.

“Here,” Alby said, holding out the lighter. “But we need to talk.”

Newt grabbed the lighter, his fingers brushing against Alby’s as he snatched it from his hand. He stared at Alby for a moment, the anger and hurt still simmering beneath the surface.

__________

Newt took a deep breath, finally lighting his cigarette with the lighter he’d fought so hard to retrieve. The familiar warmth and rush of the smoke brought him a fleeting moment of calm, but it was quickly overshadowed by the looming presence of Alby in his room.

As Newt exhaled a plume of smoke, he glanced at Alby, who had followed him in and now stood near the closed door. Alby’s expression was a mixture of frustration and discomfort, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Newt take another drag.

Alby’s jaw tightened as he grimaced, clearly unsettled by the sight. “You really think smoking is going to solve anything?” he said, his voice low and strained.

Newt, lost in the rhythmic act of smoking, flicked the ash into the small tray on his desk. He didn’t meet Alby’s gaze immediately, instead focusing on the curling smoke. “It helps me think,” he replied tersely, his tone betraying his exhaustion.

Alby’s eyes followed the smoke, his discomfort growing. 

Newt sighed, the cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. He leaned back against his desk, feeling the weight of Alby’s presence in the room. “You gonna leave?”

“No,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “I’m not leaving until we’ve talked this through.”

Newt looked up, his frustration momentarily giving way to a weary acceptance. “Whatever,” he said, exhaling another cloud of smoke. 

Alby watched as Newt took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling through the air and settling around them. Determined to have this conversation, Alby stepped directly in front of Newt, forcing him to stop and face him. The smoke brushed against his face, making him wrinkle his nose slightly.

“Newt,” Alby began, his voice firm but weary.

Newt exhaled a cloud of smoke, trying to sidestep Alby and avoid his gaze. “What’s there to talk about?” he muttered, his voice dripping with frustration. “I’m not interested in having another lecture about my choices.”

Alby stood his ground, refusing to let Newt pass. “It’s not about lecturing you. It’s about understanding why you’re pushing everyone away. I get that you’re angry, but you’re not alone in this. I care about you, Newt. I just want to know what’s going on in your head.”

Newt grumbled under his breath, trying to walk around Alby, but the other boy blocked his path. “I’m fine,” he snapped, his arms folded tightly across his chest. “Just leave me alone.”

Alby’s frustration grew, but he kept his voice steady. “No, I’m not going to leave you alone. You can’t keep shutting people out like this. If you’re struggling, you need to talk to someone, and I’m here for that. I’m trying to be there for you.”

Newt’s jaw clenched as he glared at Alby, the cigarette still smouldering between his fingers. “Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want your help,” he shot back, turning his head away in a futile attempt to escape the conversation. “Maybe I just need some time to figure things out on my own.”

Newt leaned against the wall, his sunglasses shielding his eyes from the pulsing strobe lights of the house party. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around him and mixing with the haze of rave music that seemed to drown out everything else. The music was a relentless beat, too loud for conversation and too monotonous to be enjoyable.

Winston’s new house was packed, a swirl of bodies moving and grinding to the relentless rhythm. The space was filled with a mix of flashing lights, colourful decorations, and the occasional shout of laughter or surprise. Newt hardly ever went to these parties. Only when he wanted to celebrate something, but tonight, it felt more like a punishment.

He took another sip from his cup, the alcohol barely registering as it mixed with something minty. The buzz was minimal, his two drinks doing little to lift the fog of frustration settling over him. He tried to look casual, but the combination of his black sunglasses and the uncomfortably close supervision of Minho and Alby made him feel trapped. 

Minho was on the edge of the crowd, eyes scanning the room with an intensity that bordered on impatience. He was clearly annoyed, though he did his best to hide it, his focus shifting between the crowd and Newt. Alby was standing next to him, a subtle frown etched on his face as he occasionally glanced at Newt. His stance was rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, making it clear he was not in the mood for idle chatter or nonsense.

The contrast was striking. While Gally and Ben had disappeared into the sea of party-goers, lost in their own revelry, Newt felt like a bystander in his own life. The pulsating bass of the music seemed to underscore every moment of his discomfort, each thud a reminder of how out of place he felt.

Newt sighed, blowing out a plume of smoke and letting the cigarette dangle from his lips as he shifted his weight against the wall. He could feel the oppressive heat of the room and the intensity of Minho and Alby’s presence like a physical weight. It wasn’t just that they were there; it was their constant, almost palpable concern that grated on him.

Alby finally broke the silence, his voice low and tinged with frustration. “You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

Newt turned his head slightly, enough to peer at Alby through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “If this is what a good time looks like, then I’m not impressed,” he muttered, his tone edged with sarcasm.

Minho shifted, casting a sideways glance at Newt. “We’re just making sure you’re not wandering off into trouble.”

“Trouble?” Newt raised an eyebrow, his cigarette smoke drifting lazily around him. “I’m just standing here.”

Alby’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained guarded. “Yeah, well, trouble has a way of finding people, especially when they’re standing still.”

Newt’s patience snapped. He took another drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke out with a sharp exhale. “Look, I don’t need a babysitter. Just let me be.”

Minho and Alby exchanged a look, their concern evident despite their efforts to stay detached. Minho finally shrugged, though his gaze remained fixed on Newt. “Alright. Alby, I’m leaving him with you.”

Alby nodded tersely, turning his attention back to the Newt. 

Newt groaned, taking another sip from his cup, the alcohol finally starting to work its magic, dulling the edges of his frustration. As the music pulsed around him, he tried to let himself get lost in the beat, hoping that the night would eventually take a turn for the better.

As Minho disappeared into the crowd, Newt felt a flicker of relief, only to be immediately overshadowed by Alby’s looming presence. Alby’s face was set in a determined line, and he made no effort to hide his dissatisfaction with Newt’s attitude.

Newt took a few shuffling steps away, moving closer to the edge of the party, where the crowd thinned slightly. He tried to focus on the music, but the steady thump of the bass seemed to follow him, relentless and oppressive. The heat of the room was stifling, and he could feel the weight of Alby’s gaze like a physical pressure.

Alby followed, maintaining a respectful distance but clearly unwilling to let Newt out of his sight. “You know, running away from me won’t make things better,” Alby said, his voice raised slightly to be heard over the music.

Newt rolled his eyes, taking another drag from his cigarette. “I’m not running away.”

Alby stepped closer, trying to close the gap between them. “Why don’t you just talk to me about it?”

Newt shook his head, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “I don’t want to talk right now. I want to enjoy the party, or at least try to.”

As Alby reached out a hand, attempting to place it on Newt’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance, Newt flinched and sidestepped, avoiding the contact. He took another sip from his cup and turned his back on Alby, facing the crowd. His movements were sharp and deliberate, clearly agitated.

Alby’s hand dropped to his side, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. “You’re not making this easy, you know.”

Newt didn’t look back. He was focused on the swirling lights and the shifting bodies around him, trying to lose himself in the chaotic energy of the party. “Maybe it’s not supposed to be easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to Alby. 

Alby sighed, his frustration mounting. He watched as Newt manoeuvred through the crowd, keeping a careful distance. “I mean you did kiss me without my consent.”

The party around them continued its relentless pace. The music shifted to a new beat, the lights flashing in sync with the rhythm. Newt found a momentary respite in the music, closing his eyes and letting the pulsing energy wash over him. He was trying to ignore Alby’s presence, focusing on the fleeting sense of freedom that the music provided. “Actually, you did a lot of things without my consent.”

But Alby wasn’t ready to give up. He manoeuvred through the crowd, keeping a close watch on Newt’s movements. When Newt finally stopped and leaned against a wall, trying to catch his breath, Alby approached once more, his tone softer but no less determined.

“Come on Newt.”

Newt’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and vulnerability as he glanced at Alby. “Is that seriously all you do? Hover around people?” Newt’s shoulders slumped a little, the weight of the conversation and the night pressing down on him. He took one last drag from his cigarette and flicked it away, letting it drop to the ground where a stranger's foot immediately stomped over it, unnoticed. Just like how Alby felt.

“What do you want me to do?” Alby asked, quieter this time, almost hollow. He didn’t meet Newt’s eyes, he couldn’t anyway. Staring instead the rim of his sunglasses, disco lights reflecting off it, as though waiting for an answer that might never come.

Newt’s frustration bubbled over. With a sudden burst of defiance, he drifted into the crowd behind him, moving with a lazy, unsteady rhythm. “Do whatever.”

The music’s heavy beat seemed to take over, and he began to dance, his movements slow and deliberately offbeat. His sunglasses shielded his eyes, but they couldn’t hide the pout on his face. He swayed and shuffled, more a reluctant participant than an enthusiastic dancer, his frown a stark contrast to the frenetic energy around him.

Alby leaned back against the wall, a smirk playing at his lips as he watched Newt’s lazy attempts at dancing. The sight was both amusing and endearing, and despite himself, Alby chuckled. Newt’s determination to resist seemed almost charming in its own way.

Suddenly, Newt tumbled into the crowd, laughing as he lost his balance and was momentarily engulfed by the throng of partygoers. The crowd embraced him, its movement carrying him away from Alby. As he regained his footing, he yanked his hoodie over his head, obscuring his face and obscuring him further in the swirling mass of people.

With a mischievous grin, Newt darted through the crowd with his head down, weaving skillfully between bodies and flashing lights. He was almost invisible now, the hoodie blending him into the chaotic scene as he made a quick escape from Alby’s watchful gaze. 

Alby pushed off the wall and followed, weaving through the crowd with determined strides, his eyes scanning for any sign of Newt. He wasn’t ready to let him disappear so easily. 

As Newt navigated the crowd, ducking and dodging with newfound energy, he could hear Alby calling out intermittently, his voice barely cutting through the cacophony of the party. But for now, Newt was intent on enjoying his brief moment of freedom, his laughter mingling with the pulsing beat of the music.

___________

Thomas had been caught up in the thrashing energy of the mosh pit, bodies slamming against him in rhythm with the pounding music. The sweat, the heat, the blinding lights—all of it should’ve kept him grounded in the moment. But his focus wavered, his eyes constantly drawn to the DJ booth where a jacket-less Newt stood, his blonde hair catching the glow of the lights, tilting back in laughter, neck exposed, that lazy white t-shirt he put on almost too thin. Almost begging to be taken off. 

A familiar surge of possessiveness flared in Thomas as he spotted the faint marks on Newt’s skin—hickeys he had left just last week. Seeing them now, faded but still there, ignited a fire in him. He wanted to darken those marks again, to remind everyone who he belonged to. His hands clenched into fists, itching to pull Newt into the crowd, press him up against the wall, and—

Suddenly, Winston—grinning wildly from behind his DJ setup—remixed the song, transitioning into the dirty drumbeat of "She’s My Collar" by Gorillaz. The bass dropped, the crowd roared, and everything shifted. Thomas watched as Newt, with a playful smirk, slid up to Winston’s side, peering over the electronics.

The blonde’s lazy, sarcastic attitude beside Winston up in the DJ booth bled into the performance, drawing every pair of eyes—including Thomas’s—toward him. Thomas’s heart thudded in his chest, an overwhelming rush of desire surging through him. 

Nearby, Minho started hyping the crowd, his energy infectious. He called out over the music, his wild grin widening as he saw Newt swaying by the booth. Then, with zero warning, Minho slid across the floor, mockingly grinding-up against Thomas in an exaggerated, comically sexual dance move, pretending to earn back-shots. And the crowd roared, arms and hair in the air, laughter and cheers echoing across the dance floor. 

Thomas, unimpressed but clearly amused, smirked back, rolling his eyes as he shifted positions, leaning forward just slightly as if inviting Minho to keep going. Then, as if on cue, he felt a gaze burning into him, his jaw loosening when he saw Newt’s eyes locked on him, and flashed a wink toward the DJ booth. 

Newt, perched high above, froze mid-dance. His sunglasses, which had been low on his nose, were pushed up to his forehead as he focused entirely on Thomas. Their eyes locked across the chaotic scene, a spark igniting between them. 

Gotcha.

Thomas’s smirk widened when he saw Newt pause his dancing, intrigued by the shamelessness of it all. Thomas turned slightly, offering Minho a fake, slow grind back. The crowd roared, but Thomas wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. His eyes were glued to Newt. 

All he could focus on was Newt—how he paused mid-dance, sunglasses pushed up to rest on his forehead, studying Thomas with a sharp gaze that sent heat rushing to his core.

Minho, ever the joker, backed off, feigning exhaustion, “Whoa, Tommy boy, save some of that for later!” he teased, clapping Thomas on the arm as the crowd continued to lose it.

Tim, who was seated on Frankie’s shoulders was actually losing it, while Gally, standing off to the side with a drink in hand, doubled over in laughter. Beside him, Ben was practically draped over his shoulders, tracing his fingers slowly over his bulging arm muscles. “Easy there, champ,” Ben teased, voice low, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he glanced between Gally and the unfolding scene.

But Thomas was barely aware of any of that. His entire focus had snapped back to Newt, who now stood closer to Winston at the DJ booth. Winston leaned in, shouting something in Newt’s ear, causing him to throw his head back in laughter. 

Newt’s lips quirked into an almost imperceptible grin, as he caught Thomas’ staring, and he quickly masked it, turning his attention back to Winston at the DJ booth. But the moment wasn’t lost on Thomas. He felt it—a pull, a tension thick enough to drown in. His hands twitched with the urge to reach for him.

Winston, mid-mix, shot a glance at Newt, who had moved dangerously close with a drink in hand.

“Oi! Watch the drink!” Winston snapped, pointing at the cup Newt held near the equipment.

Newt’s eyes glittered with mischief. Without hesitation, he tipped the cup back, downing its contents in one go. "What drink?" he asked with a cocky grin, his chin lifted higher than Winston’s. He looked untouchable, his arrogance only making him more irresistible to Thomas. 

Winston rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but laugh, before sending another beat drop reverberating through the room and grabbing the mic before raising his hands up. His voice, smooth yet commanding, cut through the crowd as he began to sing the lyrics along with the track, his eyes flicking towards an pissed off Frypan who was navigating through the crowd. The shift was magnetic. 

Thomas’s breath hitched. Newt’s blonde hair fell perfectly against the nape of his neck, his pale skin illuminated by the lights in a way that made Thomas’s entire body hungry with want. His mouth watered to trace the lines of Newt’s neck, to press kisses where the hickeys had started to fade.

And just as Thomas began to make his way through the crowd, Winston shifted the beat, a deep, dirty bassline vibrating through the floor. With a devilish grin, Newt grabbed the mic.

“Think you can keep up, love?” And the crowd went wild. 

Newt’s voice oozed through the speakers, teasing and challenging as his eyes locked with Thomas’s for a fleeting second. The unspoken dare sent a shockwave straight through Thomas, and his heart skipped a beat.

He wasn’t about to let Newt get the last word. 

Thomas pushed harder through the sea of dancers, his eyes never leaving Newt’s. The blonde smirked, the challenge hanging in the air between them as he turned back to the crowd. Newt started singing along to the female chorus of the song, his voice sultry and dripping with intent.

Thomas smirked, the challenge igniting something inside him, but before he could make his move, Newt spun around and spun himself in front of Winston’s body, launching into the chorus with a smooth, sultry voice that sent the crowd into a frenzy.

“I'm yellow, he was blue,” Newt sang smoothly, wrapping an arm around Winston’s shoulders, playfully leaning against him. Winston played along, his hands resting lightly on Newt’s waist, holding him in place over the DJ board.

“It's nothing that he could hide,” Newt’s grin grew wider as he rolled his head back, then arched backwards over the DJ buttons and exposed wires, showing off the pale column of his neck and for the crowd on the lower level to admire, knowing full well it would drive Thomas—and Alby mad.

From the sides, Alby’ heart thrum was in sync with the bass as Newt’s voice poured out through the speakers, the air thick with heat and tension.

“We made a green meadow, whenever we would collide,” Newt teased, raising his leg and shifting it around Winston’s as if the DJ booth were his personal stage.

The crowd below erupted in cheers, boys and girls alike screaming for more. Newt tilted his head back even further, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, catching Thomas’s eye from across the room as he sang, “I died a thousand times.” Newt crooned, holding the mic closer to his lips, voice deep and sensual. 

His head lolled back, blonde hair tumbling over his forehead as he let Winston hold his back, hovering over the board for the crowd below. The sight of his pale skin, the slight shadow of his jawline, and the faint hickeys made Alby’s trip tighten around the red plastic up in his hand. He downed what was left of his own cup, trying to ignore the overwhelming need to be up there with him. His chest tightened as Newt’s gaze lingered on someone else in the crowd.

“I did what I had to do,” Newt purred into the mic, his lips brushing against it in a way that made the crowd below him scream louder. 

Minho’s jaw dropped as he watched Newt roll his body back up using Winston’s leg as if it were a stripper pole. Then, Newt leaned into him, his hands reaching up to Winston’s ears, taking off his headphones and bringing them down his neck, their faces so close it almost looked scandalous. He was visibly flustered, and grinning like a madman. Frypan was not happy with that. 

“Hey, that’s just how it goes,” Newt added, turning his attention back to the crowd. 

He flicked his hair, sending his sunglasses sliding lower down his nose, and locked eyes with Thomas, now standing at the edge of the mosh pit, took a shot of something in a red cup, eyes locked on Newt the entire time. His hands tightened around the cup as Newt’s voice dipped low, his eyes cutting through the chaos to meet Thomas’s once again. The intensity of that look made Thomas’s pulse race. It wasn’t just a gaze—it was a claim.

“I'm still coming back to you,” Newt whispered into the mic, his voice dripping with sultry intent. The room exploded in cheers, and Thomas, caught off guard, choked on the last sip of his drink as the mountain in his pants instantly reacted viscerally to Newt’s words. He wiped his mouth, glaring at Newt, whose smirk had only grown more devilish. 

Newt noticed the change in Thomas’ walk, as if trying to control the demon between his legs.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he watched Thomas struggle to regain his composure. But then Newt’s gaze shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as they flickered to the far corner of the room. Alby stood there, arms crossed, eyes locked on Newt with a look that wasn’t quite approved.

His playful expression faltered for a brief moment as he met Alby’s gaze, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface. Newt passed the mic to Nick, with a girl draped over his arm who had replaced Winston—whose body was sprawled across the table part of the DJ board by Frypan—and sauntered off, sunglasses sliding higher up his nose as he moved through the crowd.

But before Winston could comment on anything, Frypan turned to flip Newt off. "Oi Nick, play something we can really get down to," Winston teased, his hands flat against Frypans chest. 

But Thomas couldn’t shake the image of Newt’s voice, his eyes, his movements—all of it haunting him as he stood frozen on the edge of the mosh pit. His entire world narrowed to Newt—who stood there, walking away from the DJ stand just a little too proud, just a little too smug. And Thomas wanted nothing more than to tear him away from the stage, press him against the nearest wall, and remind him exactly who he belonged to.

Alby, who was already at Newt’s side, wasn’t going to make it that easy.

__________

He loomed beside Newt, clapping him hard on the shoulder. The grip was tight—too tight, Thomas noted with a flash of irritation. Newt flinched, trying to shrug off the weight of Alby’s hand as he made a dash for the punch table.

Alby stepped in his path, firm. "No more drinks, Newt," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Newt frowned, his brows knitting together in frustration as he tried to sidestep Alby. 

"C’mon, you need a break," Alby said, his grip unrelenting, his voice softening just a fraction. It wasn’t a request, it was an order—spoken with the kind of authority that left little room for argument.

Newt’s frown deepened, the defiance flickering in his eyes for a moment longer before it faded. He exhaled, a weak nod following as he relented. "Yeah, alright," he muttered, his shoulders slumping as he gave in. 

Alby led the way, guiding Newt toward the back door, away from the thrum of the music. The noise dulled as they stepped outside into the cooler night air, the door swinging shut behind them. Newt let out a small sigh, leaning against the wall, eyes flickering up at the stars as if searching for some kind of clarity. 

But they weren’t alone.

Thomas had followed, his heart racing, watching the two of them disappear through the back door. The sight of Alby’s hand still lingering on Newt’s shoulder had twisted something in his chest, something primal, something possessive. He couldn’t let this slide. Not when Newt was slipping further from him, not when Alby was playing protector.

So cheesy.

From the shadows, Thomas watched, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to make his move. His gaze never left Newt—the way his pale neck was exposed, his head tilted back slightly as he took in the night air. The faint glow of disco lights highlighted the soft curve of his jaw, the very skin Thomas’s lips wanted to bite.

But Alby was standing too fucking close. It was annoying, especially when he leaned in, speaking something low into Newt’s ear. Whatever he said made Newt nod, but his expression remained distant, as if he wasn’t entirely there. As if he was waiting for something—or someone else.

__________

The night air outside the club was cool and crisp, a sharp contrast to the sweltering heat of the dance floor. Newt leaned against the brick wall, his body language lazy, but his eyes betrayed a certain tension, the haze of alcohol clouding his usually sharp mind. He’d lost track of how much he’d drunk before, but it was enough to dull the edges of everything—everything except Alby, who lingered far too close.

Alby stood in front of him, his broad figure blocking out most of the light from the club’s neon signs. His gaze was steady, though his jaw was tight, and he seemed to be searching for the right words. Finally, after a moment of silence, he exhaled, stepping closer, voice low.

“Newt, listen,” Alby started, his tone softer than usual, more careful. He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t used to apologising. “About last week. I was out of line.”

Newt’s head lolled to the side, his half-lidded eyes focusing on Alby with a vague, drunken awareness. “Mmm…” he grumbled, his response more a sound than words, barely acknowledging the apology. His usual sharp wit was nowhere to be found, dulled by the alcohol coursing through his system. 

Alby’s expression tightened, a mix of guilt and something else—something darker. He stepped even closer, towering over Newt’s slumped figure against the wall now, his hand casually sliding up to rest on the wall beside Newt’s head. 

“I didn’t mean to… I just—" he trailed off, his voice barely a whisper now, his eyes flickering over Newt’s lips. "I thought you wanted it.”

Newt’s brows furrowed, but his head didn’t move from its lazy tilt. His fingers twitched at his side, but he didn’t push Alby away. Instead, he sighed, his head tipping back slightly against the wall, eyes flickering closed for a moment as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

“Alby…” Newt muttered, voice low and rough from the booze and exhaustion. “Not now.”

Alby’s jaw clenched, his gaze intense, like he was fighting something inside himself. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Newt’s forehead with his other hand. “I just— I want to make it right, Newt. I care about you, you know that.”

Alby’s hand lingered near Newt’s face, his thumb grazing the edge of Newt’s cheek. For a heartbeat, it seemed like he might lean in further. The space between them grew smaller, and Newt’s breath caught—whether in anticipation or unease, it was hard to say.

Newt shifted awkwardly under Alby’s touch, but he didn’t pull away. His fists clenched at his sides, eyes unfocused but fixed on Alby with a glimmer of frustration. “You’re drunk too,” Newt mumbled, his words thick and deliberate, like they were weighed down by the alcohol. “Don’t—don’t make this weird.” His finger jabbed weakly at Alby’s chest.

With a quick swat, Alby knocked Newt’s hand aside and pinned his wrist against the wall. His forehead dipped to press against Newt’s, trapping him between the cool surface and the heat of his body. Alby’s other arm rested beside Newt’s head, closing off any escape.

“Weird?” Alby’s voice dropped an octave, his brow arching. “What’s weird about this?” He leaned closer, lips ghosting over Newt’s flushed ears.

Newt blinked, his vision swimming. “Uh…” he mumbled, his voice unsteady. His eyes drifted, and then he saw him—Thomas, off in the distance, leaning casually against a column. A leather jacket slung over his shoulders, cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes focused on his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Newt’s gaze lingered, watching as Thomas shifted against the column. Then, as if feeling the weight of Newt’s stare, Thomas looked up—and raised his eyebrows.

Newt’s lips parted in silent confusion, his heart skipping a beat. But before he could process why something hard was pressing into his thigh, Alby was on him again, stealing his attention back.

_________

Newt’s mind spun, torn between the heat of Alby pressing into him and the image of Thomas just a few feet away, aloof and out of reach. His body stiffened as Alby’s hand trailed down his side, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt. “Alby.”

It was cold out here. He should’ve brought his jacket.

Newt staggered as he tried to shove Alby off, his muscles tense with frustration.

"Why do you keep pushing me away, Newt?" Alby's voice was low, yet controlled, his dark eyes locking onto Newt’s with a mixture of anger and something deeper. “Do you really only see me as a friend?”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted to think of you.”

Newt’s throat tightened. He averted his gaze, his hand trembling as he reached into his back pocket, fishing for something—anything—to give him a second to compose himself. His fingers closed around a cigarette, and he quickly placed it between his lips, hoping the familiar ritual would calm the storm brewing inside him.

But before he could even think of lighting it, Alby’s hand was at his jaw, gripping it with surprising force. "Spit it out," Alby commanded, his voice colder now.

Newt’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t have time to react before Alby’s fingers pried his jaw open. The cigarette fell to the ground, and Newt barely had a second to process before Alby was on him, slamming his body against the brick wall with a force that knocked the air from Newt’s lungs. “AGH!”

Newt gasped, panic flaring as he realised Alby was stronger than he’d ever imagined. His hands flew up to push Alby off, but it was useless. Alby’s weight was overwhelming, and before Newt could even form a coherent thought, Alby’s mouth was on his.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft or sweet. It was raw, heated, a clash of anger and confusion. Newt’s lips parted in shock as Alby’s tongue forced its way inside, sliding over Newt’s teeth with a fierce intensity that made Newt’s mind spin.

He fought back, hands scrambling to push Alby away, but it was like trying to move a boulder. His body was pinned, trapped between the hard brick wall and Alby’s unyielding form. Every instinct screamed at him to stop, to pull away, but his body betrayed him, frozen in the heat of the moment.

Alby’s hand slid down his neck, then further down, fingers grazing the hem of his shirt as if daring to go further. Newt shivered, a wave of panic and confusion crashing over him.

"Stop," Newt finally gasped, his voice barely a whisper as he turned his head away, breaking the kiss. His chest heaved, heart pounding in his ears. "Alby, stop."

For a moment, the world stood still. Alby paused, his breathing heavy, his hand still gripping Newt’s waist. But there was something vulnerable in his eyes now, a flicker of doubt. Alby’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening. "What the hell does that mean, Newt? You’ve ever 'wanted' to?”

Newt shook his head, his chest tightening. "I don’t know! But I do know that this... this isn’t what I want. Not like this."

Alby’s jaw clenched, his body rigid as he pulled back slightly, though his hand remained on Newt’s side. "You’re lying to yourself," he growled, his voice thick with emotion. "Isn’t this how you offered yourself to Thomas?"

“Alby–I can’t.” Newt’s throat felt tight, but he stood his ground, even though every part of him wanted to collapse. "I can’t do this," he whispered. "I can’t be whatever it is you want me to be, Alby. I can’t."

Alby stared at him, his breathing ragged, his eyes searching Newt’s for something—anything—that would make sense of the mess between them. But when he found nothing, his hand slowly fell away, leaving Newt feeling both relieved and strangely hollow.

The silence between them stretched, thick and suffocating, until finally, Alby placed his forehead against Newt’s shoulder, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I don’t want to be your friend, Newt."

__________

Thomas stood in the distance, pacing back and forth with a scowl carved into his face. His eyes flicked constantly toward where Newt and Alby were, frustration radiating off him like heat waves. It was clear he was waiting for something—waiting for Alby to be done with Newt. Waiting for Newt to finally push Alby away.

But Newt wasn’t in the mood for any of it. His chest felt heavy, his limbs weighed down by the emotional strain of it all. He didn’t want to deal with Alby’s intensity, didn’t want to face Thomas’s impatient stare, and didn’t want to untangle the mess in his head.

He was tired. Tired of everything.

Just as he was about to step off the wall, Alby’s grip tightened again, pulling Newt closer until their stomachs were against each other. The warmth of Alby’s body against his sent a jolt through Newt, but it wasn’t the comforting kind. It felt suffocating, as if he were being dragged deeper into a situation he had no control over.

"Alby, don’t," Newt muttered, his voice strained as he tried to pull away, but Alby’s hands only held him tighter.

"No," Alby replied, his voice stubborn, almost desperate. His forehead rested against Newt’s shoulder, refusing to let go.

Newt’s breath hitched, his heart racing as the weight of Alby pressed into him. "Alby, I said no."

"Could we just… even for five minutes?" Alby’s voice cracked, and for the first time, Newt heard the raw vulnerability behind his words. "Please, Newt." He was drunk.

Newt clenched his jaw, biting back the sharp retort that threatened to slip out. He couldn’t deal with this right now—couldn’t deal with Alby’s need, Thomas’s watchful gaze, or the confusion twisting inside him. He wanted to scream, to break away from the suffocating tension that had them all tangled up, but instead, he groaned, rolling his eyes in frustration.

"Alby," he mumbled, his voice thick with exhaustion. His entire body sagged, giving in, if only for the briefest moment. Alby exhaled shakily, his grip loosening slightly, but the closeness remained. His hands lingered on Newt’s waist, hesitant, as if he feared Newt might disappear if he let go completely.

The silence between them was deafening, filled only with the distant sound of Thomas’s footsteps as he continued to pace, the weight of his disapproval hanging in the air. Newt could feel his stare, hot and burning into the back of his neck, and it made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

Newt closed his eyes, letting out a long, shaky breath. He didn’t answer, didn’t know how to answer. Because the truth was, even in this moment, with Alby pressed against him, all Newt could think about was Thomas. Thomas, waiting in the background. 

"What do you even see in him?" Alby’s voice broke through the fog in Newt’s mind. "You should know damn well he’s only using your body.”

Newt’s chest tightened, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That’s the point," he said softly, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

Alby’s grip on Newt’s waist tightened further, his shoulders slumping forward. "Then what’s so wrong with us?"

Newt let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. 

Alby lifted his head, his eyes meeting Newt’s with a mixture of hurt and determination. "There’s more here than just him."

Before Newt could respond, a voice rang out from behind them, sharper this time.

"Are you two done yet?" Thomas’s tone was biting, his impatience barely masked. His eyes flicked between them, frustration etched into every line of his face. "Or do I need to wait all night?"

Newt’s stomach churned, the tension between the three of them unbearable. He stepped back from Alby, finally breaking the last of the physical contact between them. "Thomas—"

"I’m leaving." Thomas’s voice was cold, his expression hardening. "I’m tired of waiting."

Alby’s grip on Newt’s waist tightened even further, his face inches from Newt’s, his eyes dark with frustration and desire. “Isn’t this what you want?” he growled, his voice rough, almost pleading, but his body language told a different story.

Newt tried to laugh it off, bitterness creeping into his voice. “You don’t get it, Alby,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This isn’t what I want. Not like this.”

Alby’s jaw clenched, but instead of letting go, he pressed harder against Newt, their stomachs brushing together as his hips ground against him. The pressure was undeniable, and Newt’s chest tightened in panic. His arms strained as he tried to push Alby away, but Alby wasn’t listening, his hands gripping Newt’s waist like a lifeline.

“Alby,” Newt gasped, his voice edged with desperation. “No.”

“No.” Alby’s voice was deep, almost a growl. His body didn’t budge, and his hand slid up Newt’s back, pulling him closer. 

Newt shook his head frantically, his heart pounding in his ears. “I’m tired,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat.

“Are you?” Alby’s breath was hot against his neck, his movements growing more insistent. “Your pants say otherwise.” 

Newt bit back a retort, rolling his eyes as he let out a groan, the weight of Alby against him becoming unbearable. “Fuck—” The word slipped out before Newt could stop it, his mind spinning, confusion settling in. Why the fuck was he so turned on right now?

But Alby took it as permission, his hands moving lower, his grip rough and urgent as he ground harder against Newt. Newt’s breath hitched, and he felt the raw pressure of Alby’s body, the heat between them intensifying. He wasn’t in the mood for this, not in the way Alby wanted, but the sheer weight of him pressed against the wall, trapping him, made it hard to think. 

A cigarette would be really good right now.

The brick behind him was cold, a stark contrast to the heat of Alby’s body, and Newt’s pulse raced as he tried to push back, harder this time. “Alby, stop,” he gasped, but it felt like his voice was lost in the air between them. Alby wasn’t listening—he was too caught up in the moment, too focused on what he wanted.

“Alby, I said stop.” Newt’s voice wavered, but his hands were shaking now, pushing at Alby’s chest with everything he had. Still, it wasn’t enough. Alby’s grip tightened, his hips grinding harder, his breath coming out in ragged gasps against Newt’s neck.

“I can’t,” Alby muttered, his voice low, breathless. “I need this.”

Newt’s heart pounded in his chest, panic clawing at him. There was no one else around now. Thomas had left. They were alone. His hands were shaking, and he shoved Alby harder, but it felt like he was trying to move a wall.  

“I need you.”

“For the last time, I said NO!” Newt’s voice cracked as he yelled, the sound raw and desperate. He braced his arms against Alby’s chest and pushed with all his strength, but Alby barely budged, his body still pressing relentlessly against Newt’s.

“Newt,” Alby breathed, his lips brushing against Newt’s ear, sending a chill down his spine. “Stop fighting this.”

“Let go!” Newt’s voice was louder now, filled with a mixture of anger and fear. He shoved harder, finally managing to create some distance between them, but Alby’s hands didn’t leave his waist. They just gripped tighter.

“You’re lying to yourself,” Alby growled, his voice thick with emotion. His hands roamed down Newt’s sides, his hips still pressed against Newt’s as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “You feel this too. You have to.”

Alby’s fingers fumbled in his pocket before pulling out a small pill. Newt barely had time to react before Alby’s hand was at his mouth, pressing the pill between his lips with a forceful kiss. The bitter taste overwhelmed him as Alby’s insistence made him swallow despite himself.

A shiver ran through Newt, starting at his throat and spreading outward. At first, it was just a tremor, but soon his muscles began to feel heavy, as though weighed down by an invisible force. His limbs grew sluggish, the resistance he’d tried to muster fading gradually. His sunglasses slipped from his face, hitting the floor with a soft clatter, barely noticed.

Newt’s cigarettes and lighter tumbled from his pocket, scattering around the fallen sunglasses as his body grew increasingly unresponsive. Alby’s grip remained firm, lifting him with an ease that only highlighted Newt’s mounting helplessness. Each second seemed to stretch, his strength ebbing slowly until he was left slumped in Alby’s unyielding embrace, his body almost completely paralyzed.