Author: Athena2693

Description: Minho gives Newt some anxiety

A/n: Unsure if this one will be a one shot or not. It's fine on its own but has an open ending.

Minho missed seeing Newt sweaty and exhausted on a daily basis. Missed the sight of him barely staggering along, panting and shiny as if he'd just had the best lay in his life.

Alright, maybe that was a gross and perverted thought, but it was true. Newt had been a great runner. One of their best. He'd probably be only beneath Minho himself if he was still one of them. But that wasn't why Minho missed having him as a runner. Not truly. The other boys were good enough and there had been no new progress in long enough that Newt couldn't really contribute much anyway.

No, Minho's reasons for missing the blond runner were purely selfish.

Sometimes at night he'd have flashbacks and find himself having to swallow back uncomfortable feelings he didn't know how to describe. Flashbacks of Newt racing through the doors at top speed and then slowing to a casual stroll once he was safe inside the Glade. The way his body moved, exhausted yet still strong. And sweaty. Of course all the runners came back soaking with sweat, it was part of the job, but the look suited Newt particularly. Messy hair tousled, locks plastered across his forehead and against his cheeks. His clothing glued to him like a wetsuit. The way his chest would swell and deflate with each ragged breath as his body sucked in much needed oxygen.

And then how he'd feel pressed up against him in the shed with the other boys. Warm at first, hot even, but then cooling, his skin becoming clammy and somehow even that appealed to him. Minho would take a deep breath every so often, a sigh of frustration or just exhaustion, and he could smell the dried sweat on him. On the other boys it reeked like bad BO, and yeah, Newt probably was just as bad, but somehow with him it was actually appealing rather than repellent.

It'd been months since Newt stopped running. Months since he jogged by, wet and exhausted and fragrant with boy musk. Months since Minho had had a reason to be pressed up against him. Months since he'd had any really good masturbation material.

Buggin' Alby, now he was the only one who got any quality time with the blond.

Minho took to finding reasons to be near him. Asking him for help on things he didn't actually need help with. Showering at the same time of the day. Teasing him over things that most of the other boys wouldn't even notice.

This particular day, it was about Newt's little tummy.

Now, Newt was not fat in any way. Nor was he chubby, husky, or any of those other polite euphemisms. However, since he had stopped running he had lost some of his strength. The muscles on his legs had deflated some and his six pack had disappeared into a slightly rounded belly, like a pre-adolescend or a woman. Cute, honestly, and it gave him a softer appearance that was honestly very appealing. He was so skinny that his thin little hips gave him a hint of curves that would easily accomodate Minho's own well-muscled arm. Minho found himself wanting to grab those hips, pull him back against his own, resting his own large, rough hand on the gentle curve of Newt's belly.

So instead, he poked him casually in the stomach as he walked by him that morning, commenting teasingly, "Starting to lose your figure there, slinthead."

"I could still take you anyday."

"Yeah? By sitting on me?"

"You'll never be the runner I was. I was the best of the best."

"And now you're letting yourself go. Maybe you should start hitting the gym."

"Oh yeah, I'll start bench pressing some lambs. Maybe run some laps around the walls?"

After that gib Newt pulled his shirt over his head and headed out the door but Minho considered it a success. He'd made up an excuse to talk to him.

That evening Alby came to him, looking annoyed.

"What did you say to Newt this morning?"

"What are you talking about," Minho asked as he piled up a plate with what appeared to be some sort of casserole.

"The stupid slinthead refused to eat anything except greens for lunch and did situps afterwards until he threw them back up. I don't know if he even ate dinner. When I asked him why he didn't eat he muttered something about you and ran off."

"Oh..." The earlier conversation had almost faded from his thoughts after a long day of running. "I told him he was getting fat."

"Newt? Fat?"

"I was just messing with him. I didn't mean it."

"Klunk for brains. You know he hasn't been right since, well, since he stopped running." Alby was fuming. Minho felt a bit guilty but also couldn't help but get a little defensive.

"So we all need to walk around on eggshells because Newt is a fragile little flower?"

"Slim it, Minho. Go talk to him. You know how guilty he feels that he can't run anymore. He's felt broken for months. I know you two aren't that close anymore but he feels like his body has betrayed him. Your stupid comment didn't help."

"Alright, alright, I'll talk to him. Shuckface.

Newt's face was red and his skin shone with a thin layer of sweat when Minho entered the upstairs room in the Homestead. His breathing was even, though, so whatever physical activity Newt had been taking part in, he was evidently taking a break. He was looking through some papers on the desk in front of him. He glanced up when he heard the door swing open, and then turned around to greet the runner.

"Find something in the maze today?"

"No, same as usual."

"Oh, alright then." Newt turned back to his papers. He held a pencil in one hand, and a notepad covered in numbers was at his right elbow. Looked like he was calculating some numbers of some sort."What did you need? You finally requesting some new running shoes?"

"Nah, man, told you, these are my lucky shoes. I'm wearing them until they fall apart, and the I'll have somebody sew them back together."

Newt made a distracted murmur as if he wasn't really paying attention and jotted something on the notepad.

"Actually, Alby asked me to speak to you."

Minho noticed the slight tense in Newt's shoulders. The way his writing hand halted, for just a second, and then continued with whatever he was writing.

"What about," the blond asked too casually.

"About our conversation this morning."

"Oh, that," he waived it off. "I'm sure you're tired from your run. Why don't you go relax with the boys for awhile and get some shut eye?"

"No," Minho responded forcefully, "Just listen to me. I was just shucking with you. I didn't really mean it. You were a great runner, Newt. And you haven't really let yourself go. And what you do here is really important too. The Glade couldn't survive without you. Or at the very least we'd be all messed up, probably bumping into each other and fighting over food. I know Alby has all the authority but you have the brains and where with all to plan ahead. I just run around all day like a rat in a maze and I guess I may sometimes I feel like I'm not helping anybody. Not like you."

"Of course you're helping us. You're helping us all," Newt insisted. "You're the keeper of the bloody runners. You're our hope of us getting out of here."

"Maybe," Minho admitted uncertainly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "I'm just saying I appreciate you. We all do. All the work you put into everything. And I had no right to tease you for getting a little soft. Of course your body is going to get a little softer when you're not running 10 hours a day anymore."

Minho noticed the barely visible twitch on the corner of Newt's mouth. He quickly continued, before the boy would take that as an insult.

"Honestly, Newt, you look as good as you ever did. You're more fit than most of the boys here, and I'm sure you could lick at least half of them. Your body is good as it is. You're not broken."

"I can't run anymore," Newt responded darkly, not meeting Minho's gaze. "You don't know how that feels. Your body hasn't betrayed you. I can't even just jog across the Glade anymore. Not without looking like a buggin' cripple. If the grievers ever got in here, God forbid, I'd be the first one they pick off. You'd all make it back to Homestead and I'd be like the old, sick wildebeast in the back of the herd that the lions take out."

Minho was stunned to hear Newt speak about himself like that. Is that really how he saw himself? Useless? Broken? As the weakest member of the herd?

"Your body is perfect." He blurted it out without thinking, and then cut off Newt's presumably self deprecating response. "Everything about it is perfect. And beautiful. In fact, that goes for everything about you in general. You're the most perfect, beautiful person I've ever know and you're smart and witty and kind and gentle and helpful and just overall awesome and to be honest I sometimes day dream about licking honey off your stomach because I think it is the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen and I only poked it and made fun of you because I just really just had to touch you this morning, okay?"

If it wasn't for the nerves in Minho's stomach threatening to bring up his dinner, Minho would've laughed uproariously at the look of surprise and shock on Newt's face. Instead he stood there akwardly, clenching and unclenching his hands, waiting for Newt to respond.

Newt took a big breath, let it out slowly, and then repeated it before speaking.

"Wow," he breathed out finally. "I'm not really sure how to respond to that."

"Please don't tell Alby."

"You just confess about having erotic fantasies involving me and honey, and the first thing that comes to your mind is Alby? You shuckhead." Newt smiled affectionately at Minho, a genuine smile not one of those fake ones he uses so frequently, and Minho felt himself relax. Everything would be okay.

"Sorry, it just sort of came out. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," Newt responded in a daze still. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't shared similar thoughts...with no honey involved I'm sorry to say."

"You have?"

"Stuck in here with 50 other teenage boys? No memories of girlfriends? Honestly though, I'm pretty sure I was never into girls that way. None of the others seem to have issues recalling those...attractions."

"So you like guys in general," Minho asked cautiously.

"Yes," Newt agreed, "But I've always had a thing for you specifically." He looked away again, not meeting Minho's gaze. "I guess that's why your comment stung so much this morning."

"I'm sorry," the runner said again. "The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you." He finally stepped towards the blond, kneeling down at his feet to meet at eye level. "In fact I would do anything to make you feel the pleasure that just being near you brings me."

"Oh stop being a bloody slinthead and just kiss me already."

Minho obeyed without another word, grabbing Newt's head behind his ears and smashing their lips together.