Chuck's footsteps were long gone, and there was nothing else Thomas wanted to hear. He was alone in the pit, in the dark, with only the distant squeals of the grievers for company. He tugged his knees up to his chest, and tried to block it all out.
He was failing dismally, and trying very hard not to cry, when he noticed a blue-white glow, torchlight.
"Chuck? Is that you?"
"Newt." Sure enough, it was Newt's grinning face that appeared above.
"What's up?" asked Thomas.
"Well, Frypan's snoring like he swallowed a wasp's nest, so I thought I'd pay you a visit. That all right?"
"I'm not exactly busy," said Thomas with a wry grin.
"Great." To Thomas's surprise Newt didn't get himself comfy up there like Chuck had. Instead he opened the door and dropped down next to him in the pit. "I'll have to switch this off, don't want to attract attention." The night flooded back, but there was still a small glow, a tiny light in Newt's hand, and Thomas realised he had a candle in a jar. He put it on the ground between them, and they instinctively huddled around it, as if it were a camp fire. Newt settled himself, leaning back against the dirt wall, wiggling his ass to find a comfortable (or at least less painful) spot.
"I spent three days in here once," Newt said.
"You?! What did you do?"
"They were justified, let's leave it at that. I wasn't thinking straight at the time. Needed a bit of perspective. You get a lot of perspective down here."
"Three days though?"
"Yeah. The first night I cried my eyes out, right from dusk to the following dawn. Then I yelled a lot. Then I started to think, and realised I shouldn't've done what I did. The third night I was just bored. So I wanked myself stupid. By the time they got me out, my dick was so bloody sore I was walking funny. Funnier than usual, anyway."
Thomas spluttered with laughter, despite himself. He really liked Newt. "Seriously? I hadn't even considered doing that."
"You haven't been down here long enough. Adrenaline's still going like fury, I'd guess?"
Thomas shrugged; Newt was probably right. He hadn't thought about sex since he arrived in the Glade - and weirdly, he knew that was unusual, because he knew what sex was, and that in some distant, ideal world he would like to be having it, even though he didn't remember what it was like, or how often he used to indulge, or anything. He'd had a couple of incidental boners since he'd arrived in the Glade, but he'd been in a perpetual state of fear and desperation, and that didn't sit well with horniness, not for Thomas.
But all of a sudden he couldn't get the thought of Newt beating off out of his head, and he had to squirm a bit to reposition his dick, because fuck, this boner wasn't incidental. It was very much related to Newt, and the mental image he'd put in Thomas's head. Newt, hand down his pants, getting himself off. Making it last, maybe, putting all his imagination into whatever fantasy he was growing in his head, and damn, it would be a good one, because anything was better than sitting here and listening to the fucking grievers.
"It helps," Newt said.
Thomas cleared his throat and quickly adjusted his underwear to make room for his erection, glad of the dark so Newt couldn't see his embarrassment.
But of course, Newt knew anyway. He had a big grin on his face.
Thomas laughed at the absurdity of it all, and because when Newt found something funny it was really hard not to laugh with him.
"You should give it a try."
"What, now?" Thomas had meant it to sound outraged, derisory, but somehow it just came out as keen.
Newt looked surprised, but he held his eyes steady on Thomas, and he said, "Sure, why not?" Like a challenge.
Thomas' heart was racing, and not, for once, because he had to run, or was afraid, or angry. It felt strong and fierce and really, really good.
"You want company?" said Newt.
All Thomas could do was nod and swallow around his dry throat, and watch a sweet, sexy - yes, it was, it was sexy - smile appear on Newt's face.
"You don't mind?" said Thomas, aware of how stupid he sounded and unable to care.
"No," said Newt. "I don't mind. If you want we can-"
But Thomas was already kissing him, soft at first, gentle, a brush of lips over Newt's 'oomph' of surprise, then pausing for a second, checking, until Newt put his fingers in Thomas's hair and kissed him back. And then it was perfect, and sweet, and Thomas realised he didn't just like Newt, he trusted him. And that felt to him like the most precious thing in the world. He trusted Minho, because they'd saved each other; he trusted Chuck, because you could see his good kind heart right out there in the open. And now he trusted Newt, because Newt was going to this instinctive, tender, perfectly normal place with him, because Newt understood. Thomas wasn't alone any more.
Newt nibbled at Thomas's lower lip, and rubbed his thumb along Thomas's cheekbone, and Thomas let it all slip away. All he wanted was pleasure: he wanted to come, he wanted to make Newt come, he wanted to know what Newt's face would look like when he fell apart in Thomas's arms. It was a rush, like running, like freedom, like being normal. Normal.
He ran his hand down Newt's back, around his hip; his fingers trembled their way between Newt's legs and found the hard ridge of his cock. Settled there, fluttering. Thomas gasped when Newt rocked up, pressed into his hand.
"Not gonna take much," Newt whispered against Thomas's mouth. "'S been a while."
"Tell me about it," said Thomas. "It's been… Wait. Fuck, I actually don't know how long it's been! I have no idea! How stupid is that?" They broke into hushed, near-hysterical giggles at the not-knowing, terrifying and ridiculous. Then Newt's hand was on the button of Thomas's pants, flipping it open, dragging the zip down, reaching inside.
"Nice," said Newt, appreciatively, which should have been silly, but wasn't. It mattered, for some reason, that Newt should like his dick. It mattered a lot.
"You too," said Thomas, and kissed him again. Newt's hand was warm and wrapped itself confidently around Thomas's cock, gave him a careful squeeze. Thomas fumbled to get Newt's pants open so he could properly return the favour. It wasn't easy; he was working blind because they were still kissing, and a bit brain-stupid because Newt touching him felt so fucking good it was hard to focus on anything else. But he managed it, in the end, and enjoyed the groan that rumbled from Newt's chest when he finally got a hold of Newt's dick.
It was long, slender, very hard, and the tip was damp, and Thomas wondered about getting it in his mouth, wondered if he'd done that with anybody before, wondered if…
"Hey," he whispered. "Newt, what if I'm a virgin?"
"I'm not," said Newt, with a grin.
Thomas's eyes went wide. "You mean, since you've been here…"
"Alby," said Newt. "Couple of years ago. And sometimes people help each other out. I haven't, though, not for a long time. Has a habit of making things too bloody complicated."
Thomas wondered why Newt didn't care if it made things too complicated between them.
"It's okay," said Newt. "I'll be gentle."
Thomas snorted a laugh, and kissed Newt again, harder this time, sliding his tongue firmly into Newt's mouth. Newt rocked his hips up, encouraging him, his fingers clutching tight in Thomas's hair. They pushed into each others' fists, hitching breath between long, hot kisses. It was instinctive, raw; Thomas had no memory of doing this to himself, no idea what he liked. It was all new and exciting, and Newt was so clever. He read Thomas's responses perfectly, found exactly the right rhythm, the right pressure, the little twist at the end of every stroke that wrung pleasure out of the deep, good places deep inside.
"Shit, Newt, I'm gonna…."
Newt gave a grunt of approval, sped up just the slightest bit, his grip tighter, and Thomas came. It was like a scream, although Newt was kissing him, keeping him quiet; it was as if his whole body was yelling, all the tension and fear and frustration and pain rushing through him in wave after wave of release. When he was done he was trembling, loose-limbed and fragile, but he wanted to look after Newt, repay the favour. He didn't have the co-ordination for much, but it didn't seem to matter; Newt fucked his hand and darted his tongue in and out of his mouth and then he went still and pressed his forehead hard against Thomas's, his dick pulsing in Thomas's hand, everything wet and warm. He relaxed, bit by bit, and Thomas held him in close, afraid he might pull away, not wanting him to, not ever.
But Newt was happy to curl up with him, head flopping on Thomas's shoulder as his breathing evened.
"Thanks, Tommy," he said, his voice all low and raw.
He hadn't called him that before. No-one had. It felt good. Special. Right.
"Hey, any time," he said. He couldn't think of a pet name for Newt. New? Newty? No. It had to be Newt.
"Sleep," Newt said. "You're running tomorrow."
Sleep felt impossible. Running felt impossible. But sitting here, with Newt in his arms, sex-stupid and calm, this felt good. He didn't care about the rest. Not right now. Not yet.
"Can I still kiss you? I mean, would it be weird, if we're not… doing anything?"
Newt rolled his eyes. "Such a greenie," he said, and Thomas leaned in and kissed him, soft and tender.
He didn't stop for a long time.