A/n: So, I finished TMR a day ago, and I've started TST. Guess who finally is letting themselves TMR on blu-ray? Mhm. Anyways, not that you'd care, probably. Does anybody have requests for the TMR fandom? {I'd prefer if it was set within TMR with as little spoiler for the others as possible, thanks.}

Pairing(s): Newt/Thomas

Universe: Unspecified. Mention of bookverse events {"runnie undies"}.

Warning(s): Sexual propositions/implications.

Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, I don't own, don't bother to sue. This is slash, don't even bash. (:

"Alright, so, here you go," he hangs the lock on a hook attached to the door. The door swings open easily and he slips the key back around his neck, the cool metal pressing against his warm skin. Thomas warily follows him into the storage room, his eyes flitting around the room from wall to wall. It wasn't much, and was quite small, at least when in comparison to their other buildings, but could have easily held a good portion of the others Gladers if they all stood inside. There were chests and hangers and rows of hats and jackets along the wall. He spares a quick look at the ruins of Thomas' clothes, the result of an apparent tripping accident in the Maze that day. "We try to only hand out a change of clothes sparingly, so don't try to ruin these ones, thanks," his mouth quirks into a teasing smile.

"Oh, ha ha," Thomas sticks his tongue out at him, but seems more interested in checking out the contents of the room than rebuking Newt at the moment.

"Okay, so, you should probably get out of those clothes and we could probably use the scraps for kindling for the fire or something otherwise," Newt continues, scratching at his cheek idly. At Thomas' imploring and almost predatory look, he hastily adds, "I have to stay in here to ensure that you don't steal anything - not that I think that you would - so, I'll, just turn around." He frowns slightly and promptly moves away, turning around to spare Thomas a shred of his dignity and pride while he changed.

There was a sound of discarded clothes hitting the floor, and Thomas' muffled curses caught Newt's ears. Newt finds a smile curling the corner of his lips and despite the light awkwardness of the situation, "You don't need help, do you?"

Thomas sounds every synonym of the word frustrated and flustered when he responds with, "No, I - shucking pants - don't."

Newt raises his knuckle to his mouth and tries to cover his amused laughter, although he can still hear Thomas curse him out from behind the lithe blond's back. He can hear Thomas' sigh of relief as his pants are dropped, and it takes all of Newt's self control to not smirk like a madman. He hears the sound of a shirt being pulled over a head - a sound he knows by now because he has lived with boys for a good two years now - and it being discarded somewhere.

"There should be a chest over there that you can pick some clothes from." Newt offers up as a means to start the conversation up, but easily lets silence flit between them. He inspects his fingernails while the solid thunk of the aforementioned chests being opened resonated through the room. He could hear the folds of fabric sounding as the younger boy shuffled through the small compartment.

There's a loose sound of Thomas pulling a shirt out, then him opening another chest. Newt patiently waits with his back remaining to the other boy. Surprisingly, there comes a quiet murmur from behind him, "What the shuck, Minho is right, these are comfy." Newt spares a look over his shoulder, confusion blending into his features before a snort of laughter peels from the back of his throat and he clasps a hand to his mouth. Thomas' heads whips up to look at the blond, as if surprised.

Whatever Newt had been expecting, it wasn't to see the greenie in a pair of runnie undies - as Minho so passionately named them - and a simple navy blue shirt. Newt becomes painfully aware of how lithe Thomas is, his muscles like sinew and his hair almost the same hue as dark chocolate in the lighting. His skin was slightly red where it was exposed to the sunlight, and there were streaks of freckles and moles adorning the entirety of his skin. Do they really lead everywhere? An inappropriate part of his brain supplies. He finds his mouth inexplicably dry, and looks away quickly, almost painfully, knowing that he had been caught staring.

"Yeah, the shank is always adamant on telling all of us how comfy they are," Newt replies stiffly, running a hand through his hair before settling it on the back of his neck, pointedly staring away at the wall away from Thomas. "Maybe you should put pants on, Tommy."

"What, am I bothering you?" Newt almost loses himself to embarrassed laughter when he sees the brunette strike a pose from the corner of his eyes. He tried not to focus on the fact that the younger's voice had dropped, almost seductively low, and the fact that if he stays any longer in this room with the half-dressed boy any longer, the situation may get uncomfortable very fast. "Am I too hot for you to handle?" Shuck yes, a part of Newt cheers. Thomas pretends to strike a confident pose and for a delirious moment the blond swore that Minho was running off on the brunette. Newt feel his face flush at the implication and he unconsciously takes a step back, narrowing his eyes at the brunette. He forces a laugh, as if Thomas' comment was a joke; the brunette just shrugs it off, as if expecting that reaction.

"I think I have to go check on the other Gladers," Newt responds, trying not to let his very slight discomfort show. Thomas makes a low agreeable noise at the back of his throat and nods in consideration. No matter if I want to stay, Newt thinks sourly, inwardly kicking himself. "Well, if you don't need any other assistance-?" he makes a motion towards the door but Thomas reaches out and stops him, snagging the taller blond's wrist.

"Wait," Thomas says, sounding almost panicked. Newt turns on his heel, and is actually startled to see the otherwise confident boy looking at him. Thomas searches the blond's face, as if looking for something, his shoulders inexplicably tenser than before. His gaze drops to Newt's lips for a fleeting moment. "I .. might need assistance getting them off," his voice drops, and Newt's heart almost skips a beat, "..I mean, if you want." His hand drops from Newt's wrist then, and he takes a step back. He squints up at Newt through his dark lashes, waiting for the blond boy to respond aside from the gaping expression he was surely making.

Newt makes a quick fleeting decision, against his better judgement, and heads towards the door. Thomas lets out a defeated sigh from behind him, and is in the beginning of an apology when Newt makes a pointed movement of locking the door. "As the second in command," he says slowly, carefully, choosing his words even while his mind is leaping forward. He notices Thomas watching him with wide eyes, "it is my duty to help Gladers in any way I can. You better hope nobody else needs my help in the time we're here, greenie."

"I like it when you call me greenie or Tommy," Thomas mumbles as Newt steps closer, who then grabs his chin carefully, tipping his head up towards the taller boy.

"I know."

Fortunately for them, nobody comes looking.