It began with a wink.

Which was rather unexpected and really quite surprising, seeing as Percival Graves was neither a flirtatious nor a playful man. He was Director of Magical Security and head of MACUSA's Department of Magical Law Enforcement by profession and a serious, precise man by nature. People bowed and cowered and stared when he walked pass, some trying to shrink away while others yearned for his attention, trying to get closer, his reputation as MACUSA's most powerful magic user and an extremely competent auror, offspring of many similarly competent aurors, preceding him. Percival Graves had power, he had influence, he had wealth, all of which he regarded as something that brought him duties and responsibilities, duties and responsibilities to be taken seriously. He most certainly was not someone who went about winking at people.

Yet, that was how it began: with Percival Graves winking at Newt Scamander when the two of them sat on a bench in Central Park, side by side, leaning against each other while sharing a bag of hard peppermint candy.

Percival didn't have a particular reason for why he did it, not at least one he could have thought of at the time, but it was a sunny day in June, Newt had freckles on his nose and his hair had a shade to it as golden as the two rings on Percival's right hand, and Percival didn't even think about it when their gazes met, he just went on and – winked.

Newt's eyes widened, his lips parted and he stared at Percival for full two seconds before casting his gaze down to the peppermint bag in his hands. The golden curls fell on his eyes, he gave Percival a few glances from behind them, the tips of his ears reddening.

With the Sun warm on his skin, with a blushing Newt looking at him from under his lashes, from behind his hair, Percival decided it had been a lunch break well spent.

He tried it again a few days later, unable – or rather, unwilling – to resist the urge, the memory of Newt's blush – the blush caused by Percival– tempting him more than he could have anticipated beforehand.

This time they were having lunch at the mess hall of Department of Magical Law Enforcement. All around them there were aurors eating and chatting, the clatter of cutleries steady background noise, the smell of meatballs and frying fat heavy in the air. Newt was playing with his mashed potatoes more so than eating, flinching every time there was a particularly loud burst of laughter coming from the surrounding tables, and it was clear he was uncomfortable in such a crowded place. That didn't, however, do anything to prevent the blush from spreading on his face the minute he saw Percival winking at him over the table.

The third time Percival winked at Newt, making him blush, Newt was standing by Tina Goldstein's desk with his suitcase in hand, the blue coat draped over his arm, and Percival just happened to be walking by.

"You're doing it on purpose," Newt said after the eighth time it had happened.

They were enjoying each other's company in Percival's sitting room, playing chess, sharing a bottle of apple wine after a hearty dinner. The fire was dancing in the fireplace and they were sitting in comfortable armchairs in front of it, the chessboard floating there between them. Newt had his feet up on Percival's lap and Percival was rubbing circles on his bare soles absent-mindedly, focused on the game.

"Am I?" he asked, distracted, as he gave his knight the order to move to the left, an order the knight instantly obeyed. "And what is it, exactly, that I'm doing on purpose?"

Percival took a sip of his wine, watching on as Newt's black knight moved to the safety of his Queen, out of reach. The wine was sweet on his tongue, a little too sweet, perhaps, but he didn't much mind, and he had his white bishop moving closer, hoping to corner Newt's king.

"You're trying to make me blush," said Newt, "on purpose. It almost seems like you've made a habit of it as of late."

Ah. That. Well.

"Do let me know, if you want me to stop," Percival aimed for nonchalant. Throat suddenly tight, he urged his rook forward – only for Newt's bishop to strike it down with a wooden axe the very next moment.

Newt coughed once.

"You should know," he said softly, "that it can be a dangerous game, trying to embarrass me like that on purpose. Especially in public."

Despite of his words, Newt didn't sound offended at all. If anything, he spoke like he was offering Percival a challenge. Percival leant back, intrigued and relieved in equal measures, nursing the wine glass in his hand.

"How so?"

Newt's features were soft in the light of the fire.

"Because I just might retaliate."

It would take quite a lot for Newt to make him blush - it would frankly be nearly impossible - but if Newt wanted to give it a go, Percival could well humor him.

"We'll see about that," he therefore said. "I suppose."

He had his bishop striking Newt's knight down.

"Indeed," murmured Newt, looking at Percival rather than at his fallen knight on the chessboard.

His eyes were very round indeed.

Percival winked – and there was that lovely blush again.

Satisfied, with a pleasantly churning feeling in his belly, Percival turned his attention back to the game, failing thus to see the considering look he was given from the other side of the chessboard.

A/N: Wanna read more? Let me know.