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"Touch yourself for me."
Newt's brain processes the individual words, initially unable (unwilling) to absorb their combined meaning.
"Touch." At the moment, Grindelwald is fingering one end of a gem-studded silver chain. Its other end is wrapped around the Niffler's neck where it rests on the dark wizard's lap. The links are as yet loose and the greedy creature seems more preoccupied with the glittering of his bonds than afraid. Still, the threat is more than implicit.
"Yourself." For the third (fourth?) time, Newt finds himself kneeling on the floor before his captor, bound by nothing more than the other wizard's malevolent (beguiling) gaze. The darker left eye probes, questioning every loyalty, seeking every weakness, rooting out every bit of self-doubt. The silvered right eye promises more pain, further punishment for noncompliance. And the uneven curve of the smile below those eyes is its own cryptic offer.
"For." With the dark wizard, it's always "for the Greater Good." His captive, however, lowering his eyes to the first apprehensive quivering of the Niffler's snout, is still and always doing everything for his beasts.
"Me." Grindelwald, who defies Newt's every attempt to reductively define him as a mere evil madman.
"Do I need to repeat myself?" The seated wizard asks, drawing his captive's attention once more. 'You know I hate that,' those mismatched eyes silently add.
"I..." Newt hesitates, swallowing in a futile attempt to ease his dry mouth. "I heard you, but..."
"You do understand." That gaze moves down, slowly tracing every slender curve of his body, leaving a flush in its wake. "I want you to take off your clothes--" The flush deepens, heating his entire being and starting a roil in his gut. "And pleasure yourself. For me."
No. His head drops and he looses a sharp breath. Shame and revulsion fight for dominance as his nails dig into his own palms.
"No." But it is his captor who voices the denial. "You will not look away." Newt's gaze snaps to the Niffler when it whimpers in the dark wizard's hold. The chain jerks again, but his poor creature is immobilized by the wand in Grindelwald's other hand.
"Please," the magizoologist asks, once more meeting mismatched menace and seduction in that stare. The cold, narrowed steel of the right eye is all the answer he gets.
Wordlessly, he rises. Trembling fingers move to the buttons of his shirt. He feels the infinitesimal deepening of Grindelwald's smile as each one is fumbled open. He sees the corners of those eyes crease with satisfaction as the garment flutters to the floor and he burns.
"Take your time." The dark wizard's gaze is not directly meeting his. It's brushing over the lip that Newt cannot stop from biting. It's caressing its way down superheated flesh from pulsing throat, to wiry shoulders, to scarred chest.
"No," Grindelwald repeats, making eye contact again, when the half-naked wizard tries to cover his exposed torso with his arms. "Show me everything."
Head spinning now from the heat of his embarrassment, Newt lowers the protective limbs. He moves his hands to the waist of his trousers. With a sub-audible cry that the Niffler echoes sympathetically, he undoes them and pulls them off along with his undergarments. He almost falls over when he kicks them away.
"Sit," Grindelwald orders, magically sliding a chair behind his captive. "Spread your legs." When he is obeyed, he further prompts, "begin."
Newt would much rather be on the floor, the lower position would paradoxically feel less shameful. Less... exposed. His eyes crinkle at the corners, but still he looks at the eyes that are smiling expectantly at him. Begin, he tells himself, sliding a shaking hand between his legs. That damned stare follows it.
"Go on. We're waiting." A strangled cry indicates who the other part of "we" is.
A tiny flare of different heat briefly zings through him, narrows his gaze. He turns that impetus to motion and takes himself in hand. Grindelwald's gaze locks on the movement and he can see it subtly trace the up and down, up and down of his own hand. And like that, the spark of anger is smothered as quickly as it ignited.
"You're going to have to better than that." The dark wizard says, looking up from the still-flaccid member.
What does he expect? Newt helplessly wonders what in this situation is meant to arouse him. He could close his eyes... think of--
"No."
His eyes snap back open. He expects obedience. Besides, no one he cares about has any place here being defiled by proxy.
"Touch yourself for me," Grindelwald repeats with drawled emphasis. "Go on," he prompts, voice and smile deceptively soft. "Put your fingers in your mouth." It's almost a purr. "Suck on them."
Burning once more, Newt complies, drawing his index and middle finger into his mouth and sucking on them until he has built up enough saliva to actually moisten them. The noises seem to echo in the quiet room and he feels dizzy again, hearing them and seeing his audience's response. The Niffler whimpers again as Grindelwald begins stroking its head.
"Touch yourself. Not just there." The compliant downward motion of Newt's hand is halted. "Go on. I'm sure you know where you like it. Show me." The voice is a silken whisper.
A sound not unlike the Niffler's escapes the captive wizard's lips, but he slides his left hand across his abdomen even as he moves his right back down. As a thumb traces his navel, a hand wraps around his member, saliva-slicked fingers caress the underside of his shaft.
Glittering eyes follow every movement. "For me," Grindelwald more mouths the words than says them.
Newt feels something wet leak out of a stinging eye. He spares the briefest of glances at his captor's wand hand, recalling that whatever form the man took, the strong, decisive movements were the same. Another sound escapes his bitten lips as he firmly slides his left hand up abdomen and torso, around a pectoral, and to a nipple. He rubs it with a thumb, all the while pulling more strongly with his right hand, strong, decisive. He feels himself responding. A different noise spills from his mouth and his head starts to loll back against the chair.
"Look at me," Grindelwald silkily reminds him. He's not smiling anymore. His gaze is intense, mesmerizing. Newt is not sure he can look away now. Sure fingers pinch his nipple. A strong caress strokes his full length, middle finger down at the base, turning as the entire hand circles, moves up, down, up to rub the pad of the thumb over the tip. That dark, glinting gaze follows every motion, every touch, every shudder, again and again.
"For me, Newt."
A high, nasal cry echoes in the room as Newt finds release, head thrown back against the chair. He slumps down, breathing hard. For a moment, he is free of thought.
"Did I say you could look away?" Grindelwald's voice is somewhere between silk and gravel. Newt bonelessly rolls his head to look across at him. As those mismatched eyes move from spread legs to tender nipple to face, the smile gradually returns. "All that for me?"
I just... Newt's stomach clenches. I just... He clamps his mouth shut against the rising sickness, pressing the pad of a thumb against it.
"That's enough, Mr. Scamander," the dark wizard says as he rises. He strides to his captive, depositing the terrified Niffler on his way to the door. Newt hugs his poor creature and draws his legs up, sitting curled protectively around it even as he inadvertently soaks it with the slow, steady trickle of tears he cannot stop. Grindelwald pauses in the doorway. "For today," he adds before the door thumps closed behind him.