[ They probably shouldn't. But Alby just looks up at him as Newt pulls his hand away, moves to set it on his chair. And he just regards him there, thumb rubbing against his hip instead of drawing back. That might come off as permission to move, or him wanting to move away. But he doesn't. He wants to draw him into his lap and hold him there instead, to cradle his face in his hands and kiss him again. It's an overpowering thought process, and he just huffs out a soft breath that could almost be a laugh. ]
Nothin' to be sorry for. [ Even if he doesn't sound apologetic, really.
Bringing his free hand up, he slides it along the length of Newt's arm, easy and casual. Like they've been doing it for months or even years. Slowly, he goes to his thin wrist, taking it between his fingers before he goes to take his hand itself. There's no real reason for it except for him to take it, to hold it, feeling the delicate bones of his fingers with a passing brush of his thumb over his knuckles. ]
[ newt feels a little like he's going to explode out of his skin--all he can do is watch alby's hand move, a little bit like a frightened deer for a second. it's not that he's scared, or that he feels bad, really, but he doesn't want to get fired, either. and he knows how inappropriate that was, that he shouldn't have kissed him. but god does he want to do it again. alby gave him someone to live for, even if was something as stupid as making sure he didn't go a couple days without eating--something he'd admitted he was prone to doing before newt was around. it made him get up every morning, because he knew he'd have to take care of alby. he felt needed. wanted.
even more so when he holds his hand like that. newt exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding and looks at their joined hands, feeling something inside of him leap and thrill as his thumb brushes his knuckles. quietly, he asks-- ] You sure about that?
[ because he has to wait for the other shoe to drop. it's going to, sooner or later. ]
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Nothin' to be sorry for. [ Even if he doesn't sound apologetic, really.
Bringing his free hand up, he slides it along the length of Newt's arm, easy and casual. Like they've been doing it for months or even years. Slowly, he goes to his thin wrist, taking it between his fingers before he goes to take his hand itself. There's no real reason for it except for him to take it, to hold it, feeling the delicate bones of his fingers with a passing brush of his thumb over his knuckles. ]
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even more so when he holds his hand like that. newt exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding and looks at their joined hands, feeling something inside of him leap and thrill as his thumb brushes his knuckles. quietly, he asks-- ] You sure about that?
[ because he has to wait for the other shoe to drop. it's going to, sooner or later. ]