Warning: this is...well, frankly, it's smut that's couched in language that isn't too 'explicit' (honestly...) so it stays within the guidelines. Since the 'explicit' thing seems to be more about verbiage than content, I've made the calculated decision to move my smutty one-shots here so that they may reach a wider range of audience. I will always mark stories appropriately, have no fear on that count.

Newt Scamander is terrified, and for a change, it's not because of some blasted creature he's found himself on the wrong end of—well, unless Tina counts as a creature, and he's starting to think she does, but he can't entertain that train of thought because it brings him to uncomfortable places.

He's just saved her life (he knows and acknowledges this with typical humility, but he doesn't miss the fact that Tina's remarkable eyes are considerably warmer, whenever he chances meeting them) and maybe it's the thrill of adrenaline—but then she transfigures her drab workaday clothes into a dress, a fantastic, disastrous, devastatingly flattering dress, and suddenly thinking in any linear fashion is next-to-impossible.

He holds it together as Tina moves to walk in front of him, suddenly every inch a woman, with acres of smooth porcelain skin on display just begging for the brush of his hand. Newt holds his breath as he takes in the dark sheen of her hair, the rouge on her lips. He's even able to keep his eyes in neutral territory when he discovers that the front of the dress plunges almost as low as the back, and risks only one there-and-back-again glance, while her head is turned, to admire the view.

Then she shifts minutely, and he discovers that the body of the dress is sheerer than initial appraisal would indicate. The light that now comes from behind her turns the fabric translucent and between the dark of the material and her porcelain skin—there! A flash of perfect rosebud pink, tightened by the chill in the air.

Newt chokes. Tina, thankfully, is busy watching her surroundings and doesn't notice.

Newt Scamander is many things: Magizoologist, fledgling author, a war veteran, lover of creatures both fluffy and spiny, but beneath all that, he is simply a man. A human man, possessing all the foibles of human weakness, and very much a worshiper of the female form.

He's also quite lonely, something he generally refuses to admit to himself. He learned long ago that his interests and tastes kept all but the most stoic of woman away, and he's generally okay with that. Any base animal urges were easily taken in hand and addressed.

Yet that flash of nipple is enough to momentarily undo him. Terror slams into him at the same time much of the blood in his body diverts itself away from his brain. Thinking as quickly as he can with his cognition at one-quarter efficiency, he repeats tongue-twisters in the back of his mind to keep Queenie out and then proceeds to review the uses of Swooping Evil Venom, combining the litanies to wrench his thoughts away from Tina's perfect breasts.

Thinking as quickly as he can with his cognition at one-quarter efficiency, he repeats tongue-twisters in the back of his mind to keep Queenie out and then proceeds to review the uses of Swooping Evil Venom, combining the litanies to wrench his thoughts away from Tina's perfect breasts.

This Herculean task is abetted when the hateful Goblin demands Pickett as payment for information, and by the time they make good their escape, he's once again (mostly) in control.

If anyone had thought to ask, Newt would have told them that he is, soundly and unequivocally, a breast man. Legs are nice enough, and the curve of a woman's derrière certainly had its appeal, but nothing compares to the primal satisfaction of palming and mouthing and worshiping a perfect pair of breasts. Preferably while thrusting into her heat, but even on their own—he can't resist.

And so it happens after the book is published, after he returns to New York, after he and Tina embark on their obtuse, slow, maddening, perfectly imperfect romance that, when she inquires, he requests she wears that dress on their date and willingly allows himself to suffer the consequences.

They've been orbiting each other long enough to know the signs. She had been the first to kiss him; he was the first to touch her, carefully avoiding the most intimate of places but not shy in displaying his adoration. Newt thinks she understands the motivation behind his request in a way that he can never voice because her eyes light up and her movements turn more feminine, more seductive, as the evening wears on.

They do well to maintain distance through dinner and fumble through a dance and stumble to her apartment, but by now even his stilted understanding of human interactions is registering proof of her receptivity. Tina understands his intentions and, gloriously, she not only reciprocates but does her best to spur him toward action.

The door is barely closed behind them when his mouth finds hers, then her neck and her chest as he presses them against a wall. Newt samples tantalizing flesh, the scrape of his stubble trailing pink skin in its wake. He dips his tongue into the notch of her collarbone and is rewarded with a wanton sound. Tasting under the straps of her dress causes her to moan loudly, and that encourages him to push the dress down, allowing it to pool around their ankles.

Newt trails his mouth (and hands, and tongue) further south: over the slight rounding of her belly (he can smell her arousal, and nips the juncture of her legs extra hard to signal his approval), suckling at her inner thighs ("Keep them on," he purrs when Tina goes to remove her stockings; her easy acquiescence causes molten heat to pool in his groin), tasting the bend of her knee through the silk of her stockings, and then back up.

He slows as he trails over her sternum, laving attention upon the expanse of skin there. Then, gloriously, he allows himself the pleasure of moving his lips over the bud of her perfectly inviting nipple. He sucks her into his mouth, swirling his tongue while biting down gently. Holding her clamped between his teeth, he pulls his head back slightly, stretching her as he palms the swell beneath. Releasing her with a pop, he finds her pebble-hard and reddened by his attention, before moving his mouth to the other side.

Tina is alive with want against him, squirming and mewling and encouraging him with breathless sounds. She scrabbles at him with her hands, and it takes him a moment to realize that, while she's all but bare, he's still wearing...everything.

They get his greatcoat and suit coat and waistcoat off, and his shirt, while he's attached to the swell of her breast, nuzzling his face where she's fullest. He draws back but keeps his hands occupied when she magics his boots off, before fumbling at his waist so he can step out of his trousers and underwear.

She hauls his mouth to hers for a searing kiss, drawing him in and laying him out. The primal part of him demands that he take her against the wall, but he's slightly taller than she is and the angle would either not work or be exquisitely painful—not to mention he'd be unable to sample her sumptuous tits at his leisure—so he drags her toward the bed instead. When his knees find the edge he scoots himself across the mattress until his back is against the wall, legs folded, and pulls her into his lap.

Drab, plain, prickly Porpentina is stunning over him. Her hair is mussed, her mouth is well-kissed, and her dark gaze is wanton. She breaks their connection to drop her head back as she clambers over him, strong thighs holding her up before allowing her to sink onto his length.

The feel of her around him is almost his undoing, but Newt distracts himself by burying his face into the valley between her breasts, rubbing his palms over her silk-clad legs as he pants harshly and struggles for control.

Tina uses his shoulders as leverage as she sets their pace, and Newt is perfectly content in allowing her to take the reins. Each calculated drop sends a shockwave through her body, causing her bosom to bounce and sway before his adoring eyes. He quickly discovers that sucking her flesh causes her to hiss, but alternating between nibbles and firm bites causes her to release a litany of his name, pleading with him for release.

Newt braces himself against the bedspread with one hand so he can thrust up and into her, dragging his teeth along the column of her throat to taste the sounds she makes. The spike of her nipples cut into his chest when he crushes her against him, kissing her hard enough to bruise before gasping into her mouth.

Her orgasm catches them both by surprise. One moment she's moving against him, taut and slick but yielding; the next, her heat clamps down and pulses around him, the sounds she makes primal and liberated and music to his ears. She milks him, and he has the choice to either withstand it and prolong their torture or to follow after her. It isn't a difficult decision.

She's still spasming around him when he comes, breaking their kiss to bury his face in her neck. Tina hums encouragingly when his vision goes white and she grinds against him, making animal sounds deep in his chest as he fills her.

When his vision clears and cognition returns, they sway together gently as Newt trembles and she peppers the top of his head with kisses. Her magnificent breasts are tantalizingly close so he tastes them while he gasps into her skin, the salt of her sweat on his tongue. He rolls them both onto their side as he weakly pulls a blanket over them.

Tina is curled up and pliant against him, dark eyes wide. "You're a bit of a tit man, aren't you?" she asks, and Newt snorts a laugh.

"You could say that," he allows, and then grins. "I find yours to be true perfection, Miss Goldstein. I hope you'll allow me to prove it to you again, sometime in the future."

"I think we can arrange that," is her response, but he can see she's already starting to drowse so he curls closer to her, admiring the way her curves fit against him and closes his eyes.

In the morning, neither of them are surprised to find her peppered with love-bites, red and purple bruises stark against her pale skin. Newt winces apologetically and insists on rubbing a bruise salve into them, but his altruism backfires when gentle rubbing turns into cupping, which turns into tasting, which leads to him slotting his length into the cleft between her breasts, while she tucks her chin to take him into her mouth.

He spills himself over her skin while keening her name, and Tina smiles like the cat who got the canary.

When he recovers, he finishes his intended task, and they go about their day like normal—until that night, when Tina shamelessly presses herself to him and asks him to prove it again.

So he does.

Newt strips her slowly and lavishes every inch of her skin. He discovers that she loves his mouth almost as much as he loves her tits—he flicks his tongue against her just so, and she nearly smothers him with the force of her orgasm. Then he takes her from behind—slowly, anchoring himself to her by her tits while murmuring adorations until she moans and trembles and clenches around him. He flips them and finishes with a groan, one nipple clamped firmly between his teeth.

It takes a while, and a lot of practice, but Tina learns to love the bruises he leaves behind. Newt learns not to feel bad since she's so willing to be a canvas to his devotion.

"Aren't you glad you allowed me to prove it to you?" he asks one day, after a particularly satisfying session of lovemaking, her peaks still stark red against her skin. He's entranced by the sight of them, and they've reached a level of comfort where he doesn't feel awkward for his adoration.

Tina laughs and smoothes his hair down, eyes bright. "Every day," she murmurs and leans in to kiss him.

Author's note: You can find me on Tumblr (username: katiehavok) if that's your thing. I would recommend seeking me out there—it's the best place to find me if you wish to keep track of my works, and I always accept prompts and requests for Newt/Tina and Newt/Queenie. Thanks, as always, to Kemara for beta-reading and general encouragements.