day 8 - kiss on the nape (Gramander)
Out of years and years of habit, Percival wakes at the crack of dawn on a weekend morning. He’s tired enough that he cannot suppress a yawn, and then contemplates whether he should get up or stay and enjoy the warmth a little more; of course, the warmth being his still-asleep lover whose back is to him.
In this dim light (or due to unfocused eyes), the freckles smattered along Newt’s bared neck is difficult to tell apart from the marks Percival left on him last night. Though he never considered himself a possessive sort, something about the pale, dotted flesh draws him constantly during the hours of intimacy. Seeing the results strangely pleases him, and in his half-conscious state he gets the brilliant idea of adding more. But once Percival leans in and brushes his lips along the nape, the soft warm skin feels good that he rests there and smiles against it. He tucks in a bit closer and hums, closing his eyes.
(Which is how Newt wakes up half an hour later, too hot but shivering from little puffs of air tickling the back of his neck.)