I don't know why I wrote this. It's plotless porn – plotless wanking.
Basically: Newt is lonely and has a wank (he jerks-off in other words) – a certain Miss Goldstein crops up in his thoughts. Post-FBAWTFT on the boat.
He was hard.
It wasn't his fault, he would argue: he had gone to sleep in the bunk in his shed, quite normal and unaroused, after feeding his creatures for the night. He could hardly be held accountable for what his mind thought about while he was asleep, of course, let alone for this.
Newt gave a frustrated sigh, throwing his head back against the headboard – he didn't even wince at the dull pain that shot through his skull. It wasn't the first time he had woken up like this, of course, for he had needs just as much as any other red-blooded male – he was only human, after all. To think and dream of a beautiful woman in such a way was hardly unnatural or the worst thing in the world – quite the opposite in fact.
Usually, however, his dreams didn't consist of American witches with short dark hair and ghostly pale skin.
No, I will not think of her in that way, he told himself half-heartedly, she is a friend. Nothing more.
Sometimes he was able to go back to sleep if he woke up with an erection, letting it die on its own – other times, however, he took things into his own hands (literally speaking) to gain some relief. It had been a long time since he'd relieved himself like this: it would probably be best to do so now, to let out some tension – his two weeks thus far on the boat had been awfully tedious.
He kicked off the last of the blankets in the bunk before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his pyjama trousers and pushing them down; it was already straining, fully-hard, a drop of pearly liquid forming at the top. Wasting no time, he wrapped his right hand around his cock and started to stroke – slowly at first, to build up a decent rhythm. He was unable to stop the sigh of relief that slipped from his lips, closing his eyes so he could imagine someone else doing this to him instead.
But the moment Newt closed his eyes, all he could see was her – her standing on the docks, beaming radiantly at him as they said goodbye, her eyes lighting up when he promised to return to give her his book in person.
Tina.
He groaned but couldn't bring himself to imagine anyone else – it was too late for that, and his mind was already forming indecent ideas about her, about what she could be doing to him.
The image of her when they were in the Blind Pig suddenly flashed across his mind, and his hips gave a shallow thrust involuntarily; the dress she had worn hadn't been particularly sexy or revealing…but it hadn't covered a great deal either. Her pale skin, so much paler than he would have thought, had been on display – a creamy landscape that he longed to kiss and map with his mouth – and he'd seen the slightest hint of cleavage when she had leaned forwards to rest her arms on the table.
Newt couldn't help but wonder just what her breasts would be like, what they would feel like, and his hand started to stroke his cock faster.
He imagined Tina in her dress – in her positively indecent dress – in front of him, smiling up at him; he could picture himself hastily undressing her, lips clashing fiercely, hands wandering as he felt her body, the way she would clutch at him in desperation. He could see her whimpering and pushing herself against him, eager for some friction of some kind, and – Merlin – she would be so wet and ready for him…so wet and open…
Before he could stop it, the thought of her riding him, milking him as she thrust and ground herself against him, invaded his mind; she would cry out loudly, uninhibited, an absolutely wild thing. Her voice, calling out his name over and over again as she finally reached a climax, nails digging into his shoulders as she tightened and clamped around him-
His balls tightened as he thrust upwards into his fist, spilling onto the fabric of his pyjama shirt as his orgasm rushed over him; he was briefly aware that he was shouting out Tina's name, interspersed with a few expletives.
It was the hardest he'd came in his life.
As he recovered, panting harshly, a feeling of absolute guilt began to wash over Newt; Tina Goldstein was a friend – though he doubted whether he could even really call her that, seeing as they'd known each other for just a few short days. She didn't deserve to be objectified in one of his fantasies, didn't deserve to be the subject of his sordid mind – she deserved so much better.
Tina wasn't just incredibly beautiful to him – there was so much more to her than that. She was a highly-skilled Auror, talented at her job, driven and hard-working…and, though it wasn't easy to see at first, kind with her heart in the right place. She had risked exposing the wizarding community – risked her job and, perhaps, the life she had built – to protect the Second Salem boy (Newt felt his heart sink at the memory of Credence, being so cruelly attacked in the subway station by a team of Aurors); the moment she had explained to him how she had lost her job had struck a chord with him, making him realize that perhaps there was more to her than he had previously assumed.
Exhausted and starting to feel wracked with guilt, Newt reached for his wand from the side-table, cast a cleaning spell and shakily pulled his pyjama bottoms back up over his legs. He rolled over to lie on his side, feeling sated from his orgasm and ready to attempt some sleep – and then a new image came into his mind quite suddenly.
He imagined Tina nestled against his side, fully-naked and nuzzling her face into his shoulder, absolutely content as they drifted off to sleep together.
Maybe…Maybe someday, he allowed, and he couldn't help but grin hopefully to himself as he fell into sleep.
This was trash. This was literal trash I wrote about Newt Scamander jerking off.
As people have pointed out, he spent weeks alone on a boat – and he's only human. The poor guy needs some relief, and…well. So be it.