Chapter Text
Newt absent-mindedly rotates the empty cup in his hands, watching the mass of people laugh and dance around the room, under the lights and golden ribbons of the New Year’s decoration his mother spent so many hours planning. The liquid in the cup’s long gone—some non-alcoholic drink his brother had thrust in his hands to keep him entertained—and Newt has no desire to find somewhere to fill it up again. Theseus’s just behind him with his father, talking animatedly with one of the American representatives, laws and crimes and paperwork.
Newt’s bored out of his mind.
His mum’s sitting with some other ladies, laughing behind her own glass, confirming to him that Newt’s the only one of his family unhappy right now. He can't help it, though, all night he’s had to deal with loud music and louder people, wandering hands and lewd remarks about how his birthday is so very near. It’s clear alphas don't expect Newt to be married by then, and seem frighteningly excited about the prospect.
Fair, he hasn't had many suitors, but there’s still hope.
Theseus glances at him and starts to raise his arm, as if to wave him over, and Newt takes that as his sign to hurry off—being included in their conversation is the absolutely last thing he wants right now. He’s skirting the edges of the crowd, considering the consequences of scurrying off to his quarters before midnight, when he catches sight of one of his past classmates, an omega, talking to an alpha. He freezes. The omega’s back is pressed to the wall, and he blushes something awful as the alpha leans over him, saying something softly and running his knuckles on the boy’s arm. Newt remembers the omega from school, though not his name, a shy, kind thing, he was. Now, Newt sees him being led to one of the deep alcoves on the wall of the ballroom by a hand that is slowly drifting down his back.
In a couple of months, that’ll be Newt, free to all the alphas in his town, his purpose to serve them until he finds someone to marry. Newt doesn't exactly know what happens inside those alcoves, or what serving would entail, and he isn't particularly anxious to find out. The omegas he knows already reached sixteen are frustratingly vague about it.
He passes his past-classmate and the alpha just as they disappear behind the crimson curtains, the bottom of the fabric hitting the floor with a finality. Newt stares at it for a few seconds before swallowing and averting his gaze. He keeps walking, faster now, trying to find somewhere to put his cup down, and already fabricating a fake headache that’ll let him retire early to his room. His marvellous, empty, quiet room.
Newt just settles on taking the cup to his room with him when he sees another inopportune, most-likely drunk alpha coming his way. The nearest exit was on the other side of the ballroom, a straight line through the crowd, other than that he’d have to go around it. He curses under his breath, looking around before impulsively entering the dance floor.
He dodges guest after guest, barely seeing the way in a cloud of bright, golden lights, sparkly clothes and drunk, carefree people. Somewhere along the way, he loses grasp of his cup, letting it fall and drown in the crowd. Someone tries to grab his arm, and he dodges just in time, eyes fixed on the escape he sees between two people right ahead. He quickens his step, taking a sharp curve that has him slamming face first on a hard back. He stumbles back, hands flying to his hurting nose. His ankle bends painfully, and the world tilts into a mess of golden flashes as he falls.
He’s stopped from hitting full-force by a firm hand on his arm. Newt stares wide-eyed at the floor, centimetres away from his face, before he’s put back on his feet and gently, but firmly guided away from the crowd, the people easily making way to his companion. He turns to the man that saved him from being stepped on by inebriated guests. The same he’d slammed in. Newt blushes furiously.
“I-I’m so s-sorry, sir, I just- I wasn't looking at where-”
“It’s alright, darling, don't fret,” the man says, cutting off Newt’s stammered apologies with a deep voice, coloured with an American accent. Newt blinks at the endearment, noting for the first time the hand the man had slid to his waist. Before he can say anything, the man continues, “You seem awfully distraught, do you feel alright?”
“I-yes, sir. Just a bit tired.”
The man hums. “I understand, darling, these events can be quite draining. Come, let’s get you something to drink.”
The man places his hand back on Newt’s lower back and leads him further away from the crowd, to an area with small tables. He whisks a glass of some drink he doesn't recognize from a floating tray on the way, putting it on Newt's hand. The tables are somewhat isolated from the rest of the ballroom, a more intimate setting for guests to talk. Newt wishes he’d thought of coming here before. The man guides him to a table, gesturing for him to sit as he grabs a bottle from another tray and also pours himself a drink.
“T-Thank you,” Newt stammers, relaxing for the first time that night in the shadowed space.
“It’s no problem, darling,” the man rumbles and gestures to the glass in Newt’s hand with his own. Newt takes a sip and tries not to grimace as the drink burns down his throat. Definitely different from the one Theseus had given him. The man chuckles at his expression. “Too strong?”
“N-No, it’s perfect, thank you.” The man looks at him with amusement, as if seeing the lie.
“What’s your name, darling?”
“Newton. Scamander. I’m one of the hosts, I suppose.”
“Newton,” the man repeats, raising his eyes as if trying to recall something. “Rolf Scamander’ youngest.”
“Yes.” Newt blinks. “Do you know my family, sir?”
“Some. Your father and I are old friends.”
“Oh. But you don't look…” Newt interrupts himself, taking a few sips to hide his embarrassment.
“Old?” The man arches an eyebrow.
Newt blushes. “I-I didn't mean to…”
“It’s quite fine, darling,” the man responds amusedly. “I'm a few years younger than your father. And he's not that old, you know. He had your brother quite young.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Newt raises his glass to his lips, only to notice it’s empty. The man swiftly fills it up again. “Oh, I shouldn't…”
A wink. “I won't tell.” Newt’s not sure his cheeks will ever cool down again.
The man talks to him for some time, asking him menial questions about his family and pastimes, talking a bit about his work. He works as an Auror, at MACUSA, and didn't specify how long he’d be staying in the Ministry for. Newt keeps drinking that amber liquid through their conversation, and he rather thinks he’s already getting used to it, it washes warmly down his throat with every sip, gradually relaxing him more.
“So, why are you here all alone?” the man asks.
“Oh, my family's all occupied tonight.”
“What about your friends?”
“They—” she“—couldn't come.”
“You poor thing. Even so, I'm sure alphas have been throwing themselves at you all night.” He raises an amused eyebrow at whatever expression appears on Newt's face. “But I suppose they're not that good of a company in such an event. Especially once they’ve drunk too much champagne. And have not enough manners.”
That startles a strange laugh out of Newt. His hand shots to his mouth. Perhaps he’s been drinking a bit too much. The drink is strong, after all. He’s already swaying a little.
Newt tries to think of a polite way to refuse another refill, but his attention gets drawn by the curtains of an alcove opening behind him and an omega coming out, frantically smoothing the skirts of her dress, face completely red. Behind her exits an alpha that lewdly gropes her butt before walking away.
“Are you sixteen yet, pretty?” his companion suddenly asks. Newt abruptly turns his face back to the man. One of his arms is thrown over the back of Newt's chair, and Newt feels warm and dazed, the scent of alpha filling his nose. He can barely think. The man is wearing fine clothes, the fabric fitting perfectly on his body, tailor-made, no doubt, covering a large chest and broad shoulders. The results of being an Auror, running around catching criminals…
Newt's so close, he can hear the fabric shifting over firm muscles as the man moves his arm. “Newton, sweetheart?” Fingers lift Newt's chin. He hadn't noticed he’d been staring at the man's chest. His mind feels a touch dizzy. He blinks slowly at the man, lets out a tremulous breath.
“Newt,” he corrects.
“I'm sorry?”
“I-I prefer Newt.” The man searches his face for a moment, places a thumb on Newt's lip. Presses it a bit and runs it from one side to another, feeling the softness before letting it go. He leans back a touch.
“Are you sixteen yet, Newt?” the man repeats.
Newt's throat clicks as he swallows. “N-No, ’m not. ’M still a few months shy.” He brings his glass to his mouth and empties it, the burn bringing tears to his eyes. He goes to put it back down and almost misses the table. Newt looks at it quizzically, confused as to why the world is blurring on the edges. The man fills up his glass again, his knee pressed firmly against Newt's thigh. He raises his gaze to the alpha and sees him watching him with a glint in his eyes that Newt doesn't recognize. He fidgets on his seat, resisting the strange urge to press his hips down on the wood and quench the tightness in his navel. Newt tries to remember what they’d been talking about. “I don't even… don't even know what they do…”
“In the niches?” Is that what they call it in America?
“Yes. N’one’ll tell me. But I… I’ll be there… very, very soon. But I don't know. Only a little.”
The man gets a touch closer to him, and Newt gets overwhelmed by a new wave of alpha musk around him. He fists his hands tightly on his knees.
“Tell me what you know already”
Newt tries his best to remember what the other omegas had told him. “E-Ethan said they…” he lowers his voice and leans in, almost hitting his nose on the man’s chin. “Rub you… down, down there. A-And also… lick you all over.”
Percival hums. “Omegas are very sweet, indeed.” A warm hand is placed on his thigh. Newt squirms. “Here, drink some more. What else did Ethan tell you?”
“They… put babies in you.” The hand tightens on his thigh. “H-He's with child, already.” He thinks of the other omegas, of how they all show up pupped right after their sixteenth. “They all are.” His tongue's clumsy in his mouth, making his words come out slurred.
“And how did that happen?” The man asks. His hand slides up and down on Newt's thigh, dipping between his legs.
“Dunno… he won't tell m-me.”
“Poor thing,” he cooed. Another wave. “Do you want me to show you?”
“I-I don't… ’M not supposed to… I…”
“It’s alright, darling. Fuck. Here, pretty, come.”
Before he can react, the man takes his hand and pulls him out of his chair with him, catching him when he stumbles with an arm wrapped around his waist. Newt's nose presses on the man's chest for a moment. He whimpers. He can barely see where they’re going.
They enter a dark room, a curtain drawing close behind him, before a faint light turns on and all Newt can register is red, red everywhere, on the walls, on the furniture, on the carpet.
“Where…”
“We’re in a niche, darling.” He pulls at Newt's arm, making him fall on his chest with a gasp. The world's spinning around him, and Newt clutches the lapels of the man's suit to anchor himself. His mouth waters at the powerful scent enveloping him, and he catches himself rubbing himself on the man's front. Hands grasp his hips firmly, encouraging the movement. “Fuck. Eager thing.”
Newt whines, crumpling the man's suit in his fists. “I-I don't feel good…”
“It's alright, sit right here.” He guides Newt to a soft seat, before kneeling in front of him. “So pretty, darling,” the man mumbles, spreading Newt's legs and slotting himself between them. Newt looks down at his spread knees, something in the back of his mind telling him he should be concerned. But right now he only feels warm and limp as the man slides his hands beneath his dress, pulling it up in their wake. He lets his head fall back onto something soft. The back of the sofa? Are they on a sofa? His skin is extra sensitive as the man strokes it with firm palms, leaving trails of fire as he passes, going up and up and up until hitting fabric.
“Raise your hips, darling.” Newt obeys and the man pulls his underwear off. Sweat’s gathering in Newt’s collarbone, dripping down his back, his hands clammy and the path up his neck and cheeks burning up. But most of all, the point where his thighs meet is lightning up the worst—the best?—damp and lava-like, fire spreading to the tops of his thighs, demanding, hurting for something. But he doesn't know what.
The cold of the room doesn't touch him as the man gets closer, propping Newt's feet on the sofa, making his legs spread obscenely. Newt watches as his head disappears under his dress, warm breath so very close.
There’s a pause.
“Oh, darling. Good boy. So, so good.” The man presses open-mouthed kisses on one thigh and then the other. “I’d forgotten about that.” He sucks a bruise on his skin. Licks his way up until he reaches leather.
Newt shivers. The thin layer of the chastity belt sits flush against his folds, containing the lips of his privates and keeping what he knows of as an entrance secure from alphas. It’s kept in place by magic and several strips that connect to a belt on his waist, the magic on it allows urine to come out, but nothing to go in. Newt's been using it since he reached puberty, and it's only meant to be taken off by his mother when he showers and goes to sleep and permanently on his sixteenth birthday. His only consolation is that his parents had chosen a belt open on the backside, permitting him to use the bathroom without having to call his mother every time.
Now, however.
Now the man licks the barriers between leather and skin, catching the slick that leaks from the sides, sucking as if he’s trying to coax a lip to spill. Newt feels obscene thinking like that, lewd and wanton and all the things his mother warned him against. But it hardly matters as the alpha’s hands follow the path of the bands to his exposed ass.
“Good boy, keeping yourself pure for your alpha.” He sucks another bruise. Newt whimpers. “Locked tight from me. But I still have to fuck something, sweetheart.” Newt shivers, thighs straining to keep spread. Sweat gathers on the low of his back, his mouth open as he pants. Newt tries to say something, to ask what the man means by that, but his throat cannot form around words, and humiliatingly, lustful sounds are the only thing that passes his lips. “You wouldn't want to be greedy, now, would you?”
Down, down, down a thumb goes, stopping at the furled muscle just below. Newt blinks at the ceiling in confusion, head lolling to the side to look at more of the red, until the man’s mouth follows his fingers. He flinches, trying clumsily to rise, to protest, but the man holds him down. His tongue massages the taut rim, long and firm licks that leave Newt mewling, before diving inside. Newt struggles anew, gulping air, clawing at the sofa and trying to push the man away with his feet, he'd never considered… something could go in. Everything’s wet and warm and good, shamefully good, and Newt can only squirm at the novelty of sensations. He feels the muscles there softening, yielding as the man forces his tongue inside as far as it'll go, holding fast to Newt's shaking thighs.
After a long while, the wetness is gone and Newt stares dazedly at the ceiling in relief, damp and panting. Suddenly, hands grab at his hips, and he gasps as the world spins around him, and he goes down, leaving him dizzy before his vision can focus on the red velvet of the sofa in front of his face. His knees and legs are pushed apart, scraping on the rough carpet. Newt lays there, soft and pliant, resting on the warm material of the sofa, subconsciously arching his back, seeking friction. He feels almost sleepy like that.
He’s jerked awake, however, when something spongy touches that little ring.
“W-What…” His tongue’s clumsy and heavy. “Oh…!”
It pushes and pushes, and then he’s opening, not like the tongue had breached him, small and pliable, but wider, so much wider, unrelenting pressure spreading him more than his body can handle. A sharp burn consumes the lower half of his body as the welding thing carves places in him he didn't know existed. Newt sobs and whines and begs, a puddle of drool and tears forming on the sofa’s fabric, as he tries to crawl away, eyes wide and panicked. But the man has an immovable grasp on his hips, keeping him right in place as he pierces his way inside Newt’s body. The fullness overtakes him slowly but surely, every inch causing friction against his walls and making his thighs tremble. All he sees is the red of the sofa and the white of his finger as he clutches tight to it. The man grunts on top of him, pushing unrelentingly forward, shushing Newt’s mewls and whines.
After an insurmountable amount of time has passed, the man's hips press snug against his ass, fully impaling Newt around throbbing flesh, grinding his hips to force a gasp out of Newt’s mouth. He feels the alpha coming up to his throat. The padding of his chastity belt is completely soaked by now, the slick spilling around the edges even more, making everything slide smoothly. A horrible contrast to the painful fullness.
The man’s speaking in his ear, Newt realizes, but he can barely understand, the words jumbled in his mind, wrapped in a fog that only lets the desperation of being so overwhelmed and overfilled pass.
“Good boy, so good, so pretty. Fuck. Tight little thing, taking my cock so well. That’s just what you needed, isn't it, sweetheart? A good hard fucking.”
Newt can't respond, eyes hazy and vacant. That horrible thickness shifts inside him and starts moving again.
“N-No…” he chokes out, as it steadily drags out, taking Newt’s insides with it, until only the enlarged tip rests on the stinging entrance. His rim feels strained and raw, struggling to close around the fat rod, strangling it with involuntary clenches and forcing groans out of the alpha. The man adjusts his stance, positioning himself better on his knees, and Newt sobs, knowing it was far from over. He plunges forward with all his weight, blazing his way into Newt’s bowels, thrusting hard and steady, shaking Newt’s frame with every stroke. Newt collapses on the sofa, with no escape from the onslaught, forced to take the pounding until the man feels satisfied. Is that what serving is? But he’s not supposed to be doing this until…
“A-Ah… Please…”
A new sensation starts in his navel, spreading up his belly and making him feel so strange, like right before they came in here, but tenfold. Too much, too fast. An itch starts forming deep inside him, getting stronger every second and he tries to throw his hips back, tries to scratch that terrible itch, but it only grows, and with it, his desperation.
He hadn't noticed he was making sounds until a heavy hand pressed on his mouth. “Hush, now. It won't be good for either of us if anyone finds you here.” Newt whimpers at the reminder of the illicit nature of his situation as the man bites his shoulder. “But how can they blame me, huh? Who would resist a tight little slut like you, begging so sweetly for a cock?” Newt’s belly keeps hitting the edge of the sofa, digging the leather of his belt into his skin. “I'll have fuck your pretty cunt too, darling, pump you full of seed. Breed you full.” Newt sobs. He doesn't understand half the words the man's saying, but the intent is clear. He shuts his eyes in relief as the man uses the leverage to pull him back onto his thrusts, every drag on his walls amplifying the heat, making him more sensitive, more desperate. The man changes the angle and there, there, there…
Something explodes under his eyelids, white filling his vision as he seizes up and pure, sweet relief fills his body. Every muscle he has tenses up as shocks of pleasure climb his spine and make his limbs spasm, until it all melts away and he relaxes, basking in the deep ache. His body goes pliant and loose, and he sighs in profound satisfaction.
The hands on his hips don't loosen, though, as the man keeps thrusting. Newt wonders for a manic second if he’s ever going to stop as the over-sensibility grows, but after a few more thrusts, the man stills, presses as deep as it’ll go and grinds his hips, grunting as he throbs and releases wetness inside Newt, filling him up. The man collapses on top of him, mouthing at the jut of his neck and shoulder. Silence involves the room after that, and Newt’s heavy with exhaustion. The man slowly pushes his hips back, exiting Newt’s body and pushing a whimper out of him, suddenly very empty and achy.
Newt's lifted off the ground and placed on the sofa, one of his legs thrown over the back of it. He whines softly as warm fingers gently rub his used up rim. He’s sore and gaping and empty. And leaking something.
“Good boy.”
The repetitive motion, combined with the lull of his breathing, is enough for Newt to doze off.
He opens his eyes a while later, and his vision’s filled by the handsome face of the American, gently shaking him awake.
“Come, now, sweetheart. The party’s almost over.” Newt blinks away the haze in his eyes, trying to situate himself. He isn't in the alcove any more, he realizes, instead, laying on a brown, leather sofa on the corridor that leads to the ballroom. “Light-weight,” the man teases. “Your mother’s looking for you.”
Newt feels as if he has cotton on his mouth. “I…”
“Oh, Merlin! What happened?” His mother’s voice sounds as she wrenches the door of the ballroom open and closes it behind her.
“This one had too much to drink, I figured. I went looking for the toilet and found him here sleeping.”
Mother laughs. She doesn't seem too sober herself. “I can't believe you, Newton. But at least you've had some fun, you looked so gloomy the whole night. Let’s put you to bed. Could you help me, Mister Graves?”
“Yes, of course. Excuse me.” The man—Mister Graves—picks him up in a bridal carry, before turning to his mother. “Where to?”
“Yes, yes, follow me.”
Newt closes his eyes as they walk, resting his head on Mister Graves’ shoulder and willing himself not to vomit. All he wants is to just get rid of the restrictive clothes and go back to sleep. He's fantasizing about a warm, soft bed and doing his best to avoid thinking of the past hour when his mum speaks again.
“Well, at least now you’ve met our guest here, honey. Mister Graves will be staying with us for a while, after all, it’s good for you two to get acquainted.”
Newt opens his eyes at that, croaking out a “what?”
“Haven’t I told you? I’m sure I must have. He’s the one from MACUSA. He’ll be staying with us for a few months, I’m sure I told you that.” Newt’s starting to feel sick once more, his stomach revolting, head pounding. A few months. “Oh, but don't worry, I’m sure you’ll be fast friends, right, Mister Graves?”
“Of course,” the man agrees warmly. He looks down at Newt, a hint of a smirk on his face. “I can’t wait.”