just-a-man-in-a-can: wienerlicious: tony stark + the people...

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just-a-man-in-a-can:

wienerlicious:

tony stark + the people he’s trusted

You just had to do this, didn’t you?

To add a ray of light…

virgin!hermann. I have a bit of a thing for it. ;)

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Hermann turns away to pulls off his shirt, his fingers have barely left the last button when Newt gets up off the bed. He steps over to him, hands warm on the slightly damp skin of Hermann’s neck, fingers pressing little circles in the soft hair pricking up to meet them.

“You’re gorgeous.” Newt mumbles into the soft, shorn hair of his undercut. Hermann shiver, the prickles running up and down his spine. “I mean, seriously dude? I’m half blind even without my glasses I’d want to jump you.”

“Charming.” Hermann breathes. Newts fingers brush under the open collar of his shirt, peeling the shirt away from his shoulders. “So glad we are about to embark on something- m-meaningless and- oh gott- carnal-”

“Shut up.” Newt’s voice comes from somewhere between his shoulderblades, his tongue flicks out, leaving wet streaks on each raise vertebrae. 

His hands track down, freeing the shirt from Hermann’s body. Hermann holds out his arms, and the loose cuffs slide down over his wrists. He shivers as Newt continues on his way down, the dull thump as his knees hit the floor.

Newt kisses the small of his back then, as if for good luck, the tips of both hipbones. “You have one hell of a cute ass.”

“And here you were doing so well-” Hermann breathes, shivers.

“A cute, bony, adorable ass.” Newt continues, and blows a raspberry on Hermann’s right cheek-

“Newton-”

“Oh come on, dude. This is meant to be fun. Sex is stupid, don’t start going like it’s some kind of big romantic thing-”

Hermann’s breath catches in his throat, it’s a sharp, fierce pain. He blinks at the walls, blinks again. Again. Swallows. “I see.” His voice isn’t quite steady.

Newt pauses, his fingers are hooked into Hermann’s belt, which is the only reason Hermann hasn’t gotten away. “Shit.” He breathes.

“No, you are- very probably right.” Hermann tries to pull the shirt back up over his shoulders. “What do I- I know about it, after all-”

“Shit, wait- ah fuck no. Hermann-” Newt tries to stumble to his feet and keep Hermann there, and nearly brings them both down with his fumbling. “I’m an idiot dude, you know that- I fucked that up- it wasn’t what I meant, I swear-”

Hermann draws in a breath, and forces himself to stay in place. Newt turns around to face him. “I really, really didn’t mean how that came out.”

“You were hardly the first to express that sentiment.”

“But that wasn’t what I meant!” Newt runs his fingers through his hair, it’s damp with sweat, standing up in wild spikes. His shirt is open too, and Hermann has to fight not to let his gaze trace down the whirls of his tattoos, the faint dustings of hair at the curve of his belly. “It was a- really fucking stupid attempt to make you feel better-”

“I-” Hermann closes his eyes, he should shut up. He should put his clothes back on and leave. He shouldn’t open himself further, and lay himself ready to be so very badly hurt. “I want it to be romantic, I want it to be- special. Something extraordinary.”

“Oh babe.” Newt gives him a sad, lopsided sort of smile. “You need a better partner dude, no one ever said I was extraordinary.”

Hermann shrugs. “I thought you might be, for me.”

Newt leans in, and kisses him, and it’s sweet soft, open and give and delicious. Hermann blinks at him, suddenly wondering how to breathe. Newt is centimetres away, eyes wide and a little worried. “Like that.” Hermann breathes.

“Ah hell.” Newt hugs him, rough and impulsive. “I love you man, I just- want to make it good for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Hermann agrees into Newt’s ear.

“All I wanted to say was- when I’ve had sex, it is fun. It’s nice, and silly and fun, and- it wasn’t special before, but really, I’m not an expert. We’ll make it special- fuck, we’ll make it extraordinary. It’s us.”

Hermann chuckles into Newt’s neck, and lets him slowly walk him back towards the bed.

Mutual follows Hermann and Newt meet at a con.

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Sequel to this fic: http://ift.tt/2chK7BP

GorjiraKaiju’s stall is- maybe not as deserted as Hermann had predicted. It’s awkward, not only because Hermann is going to have to admit he was wrong, but when he comes close enough to see through a gap in the crowds and see GorjiraKaiju…

Well.

The ambiance of a con doesn’t lend itself too well to making a good impression. Hermann is suddenly acutely aware of how sick and sallow he looks under the fluorescent lighting, the thin streams of sweat coursing under his collar and down his back from the stifling heat of thousands of people.

GojiraKaiju, however, seems to glow. The heat gives his round, expressive face a warm flush, his wild dark hair standing up in all directions. He’s pushed up his sleeves, showing off full, solid forearms, and-

“Good God-” Hermann stares, shakes his head. GojiraKaiju looks up, frowns at him a little. “You made tattoos?”

“Um, yeah?” He crosses his arms and the way the designs shift under that movements is- Hermann swallows. “I’m an artist dude, I sell these to parlours, I’ll have you know.”

“I know you’re enamoured with these things.” Hermann stamps over, and pulls Newt’s arm over so he can get a better look. Dear God, that’s Ghidorah. “But surely that’s going too far.”

GojiraKaiju squints at him, then blinks. “SpaceChampion?”

“Of course.” He pulls up GojiraKaiju’s sleeve, Mothra waves antenna at him from Newt’s bicept. “Do you think I’d come up and molest and insult a complete stranger?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, that’s exactly what I’d expect from you.” But he is smiling, “I’m Newt, by the way.”

Hermann looks up, appalled. “Is this some new artist name? Do you want to make me nostalgic for your old pseudonym?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Newt pushes him, very lightly. “It’s my name, what’s yours anyway? Sir Sourarse von Tightypants?”

“Hermann Gottlieb.” Hermann scowls. He cocks his head and oh Gott there’s more, he can see the curl of some scaly tail just under the edge of Newt’s collar. “How many of these have you got?”

“Wanna find out?” Newt leans forward, grins.

Part of Hermann reels, uncertain, but he ploughs through it. He looks Newt up and down, trying to seem unimpressed. “I admit some morbid curiosity.”

“Good,” Newt scribbles something down and tears off a scarp of paper to give to him. “Cause I wanna find out how far that stick up your ass goees- in the name of science.”

He turns away to sign someone’s custom-printed Godzilla t-shirt, and Hermann looks down at the paper in his hand.

It’s a hotel room details, and a phone number.

Immortal Hermann finally starts aging after canceling The Apocalypse and sharing Reincarnating Newt'

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(this is an AU from the original)

Hermann has seen the same face in the mirror since mirrors had been invented. He has cut his hair, let it grow, he has used every possible kind of reading glasses, he has even, on certain rare and never to be spoken of occasions, even attempted facial hair. 

But the face under all that has never changed, never, from that unknown and ancient time when he had come of age and- stopped.

Newt is asleep in their bed, tucked away in the tiny room they share in the Shatterdome. For once, it is quiet, settling into the regular rhythm of day and night after the frantic struggle of the war. A breath of calm before the ready themselves to face the new world around them.

Hermann ducks into the bathroom and ducks his face under the tap, drinking a few cupped handfuls of water before looking up and meeting his eyes in the mirror.

It’s not the same.

Hermann blinks, runs his eyes, then leans closer, wiping his damp hair out of his face. At first he thinks it’s just dirt, sleep grime in the corner of his eye, but when he rubs at it, it’s still there.

Hermann touches the slightly looser skin at the corner of his eye, the first creeping corners of crows feet.

Something huge and terrible open in his stomach, a Breach of Kaiju implications and nightmares. He paws at his face, pulling at his mouth to find fine creases that had never been there before, runs tracing faintly from nose to mouth and no no no-

Hermann stumbles away from the sink, he slips and nearly falls, only just catching himself on his stick and spinning away on his heel.

No. No. Oh god no. Anything but that. Dear god please please-

In the bed, Newt stirs sleepily, tangled in blankets. “Herms-” half asleep.

He can’t- he can barely think of it himself. Hermann throws himself at the door and out, staggering down the steps into the deserted midnight corridors of the Shatterdome.

The air is cold, damp and stale. He needs air. He needs to get out-

Hermann has no idea how, but he manages to find his way out to the helipad. He staggers across the bare concrete, feet slipping in the puddles, the driving rain lashing through his jacket. He stumbles, nearly falls over, and gropes at the railing.

“Please god no-” His voice is lost in the heavy, wet rain.

If he dies- and just thinking it is hideous, makes it real- if he dies, he won’t remember. He and Newt will die and be reborn and unless there is some- some miracle- they could live entire lives and never see each other again.

This could be the last life they have.

Hermann screams. The rain deadens his voice, flattens it into the grey haze.

It was always so hard- even before, when he knew and could look for Newt. What chance could they possible have now? The two of them, wandering blind through the world. One of however many billions it would be by then. Ships in endless night, blind and unknowning, forever passing and gone.

More of single dad hermann!

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Newt rolls over. Hermann’s up, and the faint blue light of his laptop throws reflections around Newt’s tiny room. “What’s up?” He yawns, and sits up.

Hermann is quiet for a moment, then gets up and closes the laptop, sliding back into bad beside Newt. Newt hums happily and puts his arms around Hermann.

He’s stiff and unmoving, Breathing unsteady. Newt freezes, “You okay?”

“Yes.” Hermann is quiet, then, “No. I- I don’t know.”

There are a lot of things Newt can say to that, but he has learned something of the arcane art Hermann calls ‘tact’, and stays quiet.

“I applied for a junior role at Greenwich Observatory.” Hermann says softly, at last. “They responded and- if my grades come through-”

Newt nods, swallows down the words longing to burst out.

“They’ve accepted.” Hermann says finally, huskily.

“And this is bad how?” Newt strokes his back. “Dude, this is great! Bastian’ll be starting High school about then, so he’d be starting a new school anyway.”

“I-” Hermann chokes, and closes his eyes. “I want you to come with us.”

Newt blinks, trying to work it out and- what no seriously?

“You are freaking out.” Newt says carefully, “Because you think I won’t want to move with you and Bastian The Adorable, to fucking London?”

“I don’t know what your plans were,” Hermann breathes, “I didn’t want to assume-”

“You can always assume I have no fucking plans.” Newt grins. “Yeah, I thought about the States, but- London is awesome dude, just let me find something- hell, I could commute if it’s out of the city.”

“You’d want to stay with us?” And Hermann finally, finally relaxes, his body going soft and warm beside Newt’s. “We’re hardly-” he snorts softly, “Rock stars.”

“Bastian totally is.” Newt hugs him, and kisses Hermann’s hair. “He’s a rockstar in the making, I’ll show him the way.”

“You’re a bad influence.” Hermann puts an arm around him, hugs him back. “I should leave you behind.”

“You know you love me,” Newt kisses him again, this time Hermann lifts his head and meets him, lips to lips.

“Yes, we do.”