Newt Scamander had never liked to stay in cities. His childhood home was in the hills of Dorset, near the ocean. The closest to them was a small fishing village that’d he’d occasionally visit. When he graduated from Hogwarts School and found work at the Ministry it’d only been grudgingly that he picked up a flat in London proper. He spent most times out in the field, though, having a genuine dislike of the office he’d been given and found his flat never felt like a home. He hadn’t even hesitated when Augustus Worme had offered him a job that would lead him far from the city and the desk that seemed to hold him captive.
By then Newt had already been in the so-called war to end all wars– a fact he doubted, humans were a dangerous and hateful species– and had his first brushings with an instinct so primal, so animalistic that it’s left its mark. When he travels he finds himself alone and with a burning need, one he most often has to handle himself. Others– well– for a while, he was perfectly content to keep to himself. It’s when he meets a tribe and sees the beauty in it, the passios bestowed that it becomes less an urge and more a desire.
Not something done for fear of behavior of other soldiers, not an act for reproduction– Bu a pleasure that humans seek to define. It’s curiosity at first that leads him into the first bed, an explorer’s mind that leads him to map hands and lips against a woman’s forms. The cries that leave her lips urging him to find a spot that makes her toes curl. He finds after that, he likes it. He finds that each person is different and– male or female– they’re just as interesting and unique to explore.
Yet, he doesn’t do it so often– Only when a need arises. Only when someone who peeks his interest appears. And most often when he finds himself in a city where he’s surrounded by human voices and mannerisms. He does not find it wrong– or as others call sluttish– it is an instinctual, animal desire and only humans do it for pleasure. There is nothing wrong with it, so long as you took the proper precautions and a partner was accommodating–
When he’d met this woman some weeks prior upon his return to England he hadn’t expected a lasting sort of anything. First time they met was at grocer when he was going to stock up on more tea– A run-in that was part the course and he didn’t expect to meet her again, but as it turned out the place he frequented for lunch she also did. There had been quiet conversation then, Newt feeling as awkward as usual. But this expanded further and further since the conversations became easier– pleasant, perhaps– and he found that joking came more easily.
It was when he accidentally teased her about something that would have made his mother blush that things seemed to change. The look that had passed had been electric and he’d done something as bold as to invite her home for dinner later. Oh, dinner was had– certainly– but what had followed was something far from proper. And he wouldn’t deny his delight when she agreed to dinner the next week either– How could he with the pleasant thrumming within him?
Once more dinner passed by swiftly before he led her to the bedroom. Gray-green eyes fixed on her in a way they’re usually not. When it comes to conversation, daily human activities, he finds himself at a loss. Not incapable, but a struggle, but here when he can act and not say he finds that words are unnecessary. Nimble fingers move swiftly to pluck at the buttons of his shirt, allowing it to drop wordlessly to the floor as he eyed the woman.
His brow creasing when she speaks so readily. A mention that could be taken as something purely needy but in the weeks he’d come to know her he knew a little more. That perhaps she really did just want to forget and that’s all this was for her. His heart quivered in his chest, breath coming out in a puff.
The man shakes his head, moving forward to press the woman’s back to the door– He’d always been a giving lover. He’d never demand acts someone found they disliked. Never pressured, only explored and stopped as soon as asked. Experimental, explorative– always, yes. But he had promised never to have sex to be an ends to a mean again after the war. Would never allow it to be something to drown out feelings when there was such a beautiful warmth to it.
His thumb went over her cheek when he looked down at her. “Oh, I think I can make you remember far more things than just my name,” He answered cheekily, expression bright as his knee fell between her legs as he pressed her to the wall. Fingers going to press against her side as he allowed himself a moment to find what he wanted to say– Words were always so much more difficult than he’d like.
“Will you trust me?” The man added finally, something unreadable in his expression. Tongue darting out to moisten the corner of his lip. Realzing it’s not quite what he wants to say, to do, but it’s the best he has then.