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skull_bearerA bit of Hermann Gottlieb/Newton Geiszler pre-slash. Because they're cute, and about as canon as any other romance in the movie.
Spoilers: the good guys win, whoop-te-do.
In Synch
They stagger back to Newt’s room. The party is still raging, and Newt was having a great time, but there’s a nagging ache in the back of his head, a legacy from his drift adventure, reminding him that Hermann Is Not Having Fun. It goes both ways, so when Newt grabs half a dozen bottles of varied booze, and tries to nudge Hermann out, he looks a bit reluctant. Of course, then he sneers at Newt’s choice of drinks and insists they stop off at his room and brings out a bottle of twenty year old scotch that has to be one of the last such bottles in the world.
They’ve forgotten the glasses, so it’s drinking from the bottle. Newt was expecting Hermann to complain, but he just knocks it back in a way that is even more totally rock and roll coming from a man wearing a sweater vest.
The scotch is amazing, and the beer is pretty good too, and they try and out-shout each other about science and maths and- something. Newt’s not sure by that point, besides it’s just background noise to the warmth that’s nested somewhere in his back-brain. It feels good. They’re both feeling good.
Hermann tries to get to his feet, hanging on to the back of his chair. “Where is my cane?” He’s stunningly eloquent for being half a scotch bottle down, just a hint of slurring.
“Dude, y’not going back to your room.” Newt’s collapsed across the bed, he can barely form words. “Y’can’t walk.”
“I can certainly-“ He takes a step and falls over.
The laugh takes Newt by surprise. “Y’ok?” He crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over. Hermann glares at him, and it’s the funniest thing ever and Newt starts laughing again.
“Shut up and help me up.”
“I can’t even stand.” Newt props himself up on one arm, still giggling.
“Then call someone who can!”
“They’re drunker than we are.”
Hermann collapses on the floor, groaning. He presses his head against the floor and Newt feels vaguely envious, the cold metal has to feel really good.
Newt sticks a hand out, “Come on.”
Hermann glares at his hand. “And go where?”
“Just get up here.”
Hermann’s hand is warm in his, he hauls himself up and catches the back of Newt’s neck to get purchase, and there’s a confused bit of arms and legs everywhere until they’re finally both on the bed.
It’s a tight fit, but Hermann doesn’t take up much space, they catch their breath and Newt’s wondering if he should had put their remaining drinks within arm reach, or if they should even have any more drinks, and if he’s got a basin to hand.
“Thank you.” Hermann breathes; he’s gazing at the ceiling, and looks a bit out of breath. He looks over at Newt, “I need to leave.”
“Just sleep.” Newt gropes for the blankets, and loses half of them.
Hermann looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Here?”
Newt groans. “You’re not going to find Kaiju bits in my bed.”
“Not that it would surprise me.” The complaint his half-hearted, Hermann’s already half asleep. He opens his eyes again and glares when Newt starts taking his jacket off. “What are you doing now?”
“You going to sleep like that?” Newt gets the jacket off, and throws it away. There’s a crash. They both wince.
“Please tell me you do not keep live specimens here?”
“Er.” Newt can’t remember.
“If we are murdered in our sleep, I blame you.”
Hermann sits up and pulls his vest off, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Newt drops his shirt over the side of the bed, and curls up to face the wall, trying to block out the lights he didn’t think to switch off.
“You had better not snore, or I may smother you-“ any other threats are lost when Newt falls asleep so fast he might have stepped off the edge of the world.
Newt wakes up and it feels like surfacing from far underwater. He hasn’t slept like that since- since- well, since he started working here and sleep became an optional extracurricular activity.
A snore shakes the walls.
Newt snorts with laughter and groans as it makes his head ache. His teeth hurt. Time was, he could down that much booze and still be ready to give a lecture at nine am. Now, the light stabs his eyes, and his mouth tastes as though he’s been necking Kaiju Blue.
Hermann snores again. Funnily, that doesn’t hurt. Maybe because that part of his mind is still happily asleep with Hermann. Newt’s amazed he didn’t wake up earlier, but then he’s slept through a Kaiju attack before, and never forgave himself for it, so what’s are snores of one sleeping scientist?
Newt manages to get his eyes open with no more than a groan. Hermann’s curled up facing away from him, and snoring like a helicopter.
Newt frowns. Hermann’s bent in half like a boomrang, and that can’t be comfortable. There’s a lot of tension in his left arm, and Newt could trace the outline of his shoulder muscles, they’re so tense.
It must be from the cane. Hermann never lets anything stop him and a weakened leg least of all. It doesn’t hurt him - Newt knows that better than anyone else bar Hermann – but it doesn’t work properly – nerve damage, his mind supplies, something he didn’t know until he remembered it – and that can’t be easy after a day of running around saving the world.
He doesn’t know he was reaching out until his hand touches the curve of Hermann’s shoulder. The skin is exactly the same temperature as Newt’s, and Newt can count their heartbeats in perfect unison.
Drift compatible. Hermann shivers slightly under the touch, and the muscles under Newt’s fingers twitch.
That really can’t be comfortable. And if Newt doesn’t do something Hermann’s going to wake up and be horribly grumpy all day. So he’s doing everyone a favour. Really.
Newt’s had a certain amount of experience at this, his mother used to get the worse knots after her shifts at the hospital, and Newt learnt how to give backrubs at a very young age.
But never while lying side by side with someone while lying on a too-small bed. Because that would be weird.
But this isn’t weird. This feels pretty good. Newts curls his fingers and gets to the pretty nasty knots at the upper part of Hermann’s shoulders. He kneads the skin, feels the tension ease under his hands and the next snores draws to a groan, then to a stifled yawn.
Newt freezes, but Hermann just mutters something about pi and goes back to sleep. Newt relaxes, and starts working up and down his spine with his knuckles, absently reciting pi under his breath to coax him under again.
He has to sit up to get to Hermann’s left arm, easing it back behind him, and getting to work on the muscles of his upper arm. They’re surprisingly well-defined for such thin limbs; long, ropey muscles running down from his shoulders, and down to the broad tendons of his hands. Hermann’s hands are really nice. Broad hands; and long fingers. They’re half curled in sleep, and tight with tension after a day on his feet. Newt gets to work, rubbing out the knots in the hollow of his thumb, and palm of his hand before moving up the wrist.
“What are you doing?” Hermann’s voice is thick with sleep.
Newt stops reciting pi, but carries on with the massage. “You’ve got a backache.” He hopes Hermann isn’t going to have some kind of homophobic freakout. It would kinda wreck a pretty good night and morning.
“You’re stating the obvious.” Hermann yawns, but doesn’t pull away.
“My mum used to get backaches, I’m pretty good at this.”
“Yes, you are.” He rolls on his back and stretches, letting Newt hang on to his hand. His eyes half open, blink up at Newt.
This should feel weird. This should feel awkward and uncomfortable. It doesn’t. It feels totally normal, as though Newt usually goes to bed with fellow scientists and give them backrubs in the morning-
Okay, maybe that isn’t so unusual. But usually there was sex beforehand and a fried breakfast after, and Newt hasn’t had either of those in way too long and why is he thinking of Hermann and sex in the same thought anyway?
The thoughts doesn’t feel uncomfortable either, it fits quite well. Just like they fit quite well, lying on the bed together, bodies and minds so close they almost touch. Their heartbeat, breaths in synch.
Spoilers: the good guys win, whoop-te-do.
In Synch
They stagger back to Newt’s room. The party is still raging, and Newt was having a great time, but there’s a nagging ache in the back of his head, a legacy from his drift adventure, reminding him that Hermann Is Not Having Fun. It goes both ways, so when Newt grabs half a dozen bottles of varied booze, and tries to nudge Hermann out, he looks a bit reluctant. Of course, then he sneers at Newt’s choice of drinks and insists they stop off at his room and brings out a bottle of twenty year old scotch that has to be one of the last such bottles in the world.
They’ve forgotten the glasses, so it’s drinking from the bottle. Newt was expecting Hermann to complain, but he just knocks it back in a way that is even more totally rock and roll coming from a man wearing a sweater vest.
The scotch is amazing, and the beer is pretty good too, and they try and out-shout each other about science and maths and- something. Newt’s not sure by that point, besides it’s just background noise to the warmth that’s nested somewhere in his back-brain. It feels good. They’re both feeling good.
Hermann tries to get to his feet, hanging on to the back of his chair. “Where is my cane?” He’s stunningly eloquent for being half a scotch bottle down, just a hint of slurring.
“Dude, y’not going back to your room.” Newt’s collapsed across the bed, he can barely form words. “Y’can’t walk.”
“I can certainly-“ He takes a step and falls over.
The laugh takes Newt by surprise. “Y’ok?” He crawls to the edge of the bed and looks over. Hermann glares at him, and it’s the funniest thing ever and Newt starts laughing again.
“Shut up and help me up.”
“I can’t even stand.” Newt props himself up on one arm, still giggling.
“Then call someone who can!”
“They’re drunker than we are.”
Hermann collapses on the floor, groaning. He presses his head against the floor and Newt feels vaguely envious, the cold metal has to feel really good.
Newt sticks a hand out, “Come on.”
Hermann glares at his hand. “And go where?”
“Just get up here.”
Hermann’s hand is warm in his, he hauls himself up and catches the back of Newt’s neck to get purchase, and there’s a confused bit of arms and legs everywhere until they’re finally both on the bed.
It’s a tight fit, but Hermann doesn’t take up much space, they catch their breath and Newt’s wondering if he should had put their remaining drinks within arm reach, or if they should even have any more drinks, and if he’s got a basin to hand.
“Thank you.” Hermann breathes; he’s gazing at the ceiling, and looks a bit out of breath. He looks over at Newt, “I need to leave.”
“Just sleep.” Newt gropes for the blankets, and loses half of them.
Hermann looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “Here?”
Newt groans. “You’re not going to find Kaiju bits in my bed.”
“Not that it would surprise me.” The complaint his half-hearted, Hermann’s already half asleep. He opens his eyes again and glares when Newt starts taking his jacket off. “What are you doing now?”
“You going to sleep like that?” Newt gets the jacket off, and throws it away. There’s a crash. They both wince.
“Please tell me you do not keep live specimens here?”
“Er.” Newt can’t remember.
“If we are murdered in our sleep, I blame you.”
Hermann sits up and pulls his vest off, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. Newt drops his shirt over the side of the bed, and curls up to face the wall, trying to block out the lights he didn’t think to switch off.
“You had better not snore, or I may smother you-“ any other threats are lost when Newt falls asleep so fast he might have stepped off the edge of the world.
Newt wakes up and it feels like surfacing from far underwater. He hasn’t slept like that since- since- well, since he started working here and sleep became an optional extracurricular activity.
A snore shakes the walls.
Newt snorts with laughter and groans as it makes his head ache. His teeth hurt. Time was, he could down that much booze and still be ready to give a lecture at nine am. Now, the light stabs his eyes, and his mouth tastes as though he’s been necking Kaiju Blue.
Hermann snores again. Funnily, that doesn’t hurt. Maybe because that part of his mind is still happily asleep with Hermann. Newt’s amazed he didn’t wake up earlier, but then he’s slept through a Kaiju attack before, and never forgave himself for it, so what’s are snores of one sleeping scientist?
Newt manages to get his eyes open with no more than a groan. Hermann’s curled up facing away from him, and snoring like a helicopter.
Newt frowns. Hermann’s bent in half like a boomrang, and that can’t be comfortable. There’s a lot of tension in his left arm, and Newt could trace the outline of his shoulder muscles, they’re so tense.
It must be from the cane. Hermann never lets anything stop him and a weakened leg least of all. It doesn’t hurt him - Newt knows that better than anyone else bar Hermann – but it doesn’t work properly – nerve damage, his mind supplies, something he didn’t know until he remembered it – and that can’t be easy after a day of running around saving the world.
He doesn’t know he was reaching out until his hand touches the curve of Hermann’s shoulder. The skin is exactly the same temperature as Newt’s, and Newt can count their heartbeats in perfect unison.
Drift compatible. Hermann shivers slightly under the touch, and the muscles under Newt’s fingers twitch.
That really can’t be comfortable. And if Newt doesn’t do something Hermann’s going to wake up and be horribly grumpy all day. So he’s doing everyone a favour. Really.
Newt’s had a certain amount of experience at this, his mother used to get the worse knots after her shifts at the hospital, and Newt learnt how to give backrubs at a very young age.
But never while lying side by side with someone while lying on a too-small bed. Because that would be weird.
But this isn’t weird. This feels pretty good. Newts curls his fingers and gets to the pretty nasty knots at the upper part of Hermann’s shoulders. He kneads the skin, feels the tension ease under his hands and the next snores draws to a groan, then to a stifled yawn.
Newt freezes, but Hermann just mutters something about pi and goes back to sleep. Newt relaxes, and starts working up and down his spine with his knuckles, absently reciting pi under his breath to coax him under again.
He has to sit up to get to Hermann’s left arm, easing it back behind him, and getting to work on the muscles of his upper arm. They’re surprisingly well-defined for such thin limbs; long, ropey muscles running down from his shoulders, and down to the broad tendons of his hands. Hermann’s hands are really nice. Broad hands; and long fingers. They’re half curled in sleep, and tight with tension after a day on his feet. Newt gets to work, rubbing out the knots in the hollow of his thumb, and palm of his hand before moving up the wrist.
“What are you doing?” Hermann’s voice is thick with sleep.
Newt stops reciting pi, but carries on with the massage. “You’ve got a backache.” He hopes Hermann isn’t going to have some kind of homophobic freakout. It would kinda wreck a pretty good night and morning.
“You’re stating the obvious.” Hermann yawns, but doesn’t pull away.
“My mum used to get backaches, I’m pretty good at this.”
“Yes, you are.” He rolls on his back and stretches, letting Newt hang on to his hand. His eyes half open, blink up at Newt.
This should feel weird. This should feel awkward and uncomfortable. It doesn’t. It feels totally normal, as though Newt usually goes to bed with fellow scientists and give them backrubs in the morning-
Okay, maybe that isn’t so unusual. But usually there was sex beforehand and a fried breakfast after, and Newt hasn’t had either of those in way too long and why is he thinking of Hermann and sex in the same thought anyway?
The thoughts doesn’t feel uncomfortable either, it fits quite well. Just like they fit quite well, lying on the bed together, bodies and minds so close they almost touch. Their heartbeat, breaths in synch.