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The movie’s been playing for about twenty minutes, and already, they’re making out on the sofa. Newt’s beginning to think Hermann has some weird kink for LED glare or something, because seriously, every time they try to watch a movie, Hermann wants to make out within the first half-hour.
Wow, Newt thinks, as Hermann slides an arm around his waist. You are so predictable.
Hermann is alternating between quick kisses to the corner of Newt’s mouth and longer ones right to the middle. He’s trying to pull Newt’s shirt from his pants, but he’s not concentrating on what he’s doing, so he’s failing at it miserably. After a few minutes of struggle, he grumbles and pulls away.
“Nnngg,” Newt whimpers. “What’s up, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, just get this out.” Hermann tugs Newt’s shirt free, then immediately slides both hands underneath. Newt’s cheeks go pink.
He never would have guessed it before they got together, but Hermann is an extremely confident kisser. He has reason to be—he can make Newt’s legs turn to jelly in under a minute. There's this thing he does where he cradles Newt’s head in one hand and holds him still and just kind of devastates him, and sometimes he’ll lean forward and push Newt down onto his back and, oh god—
“Hey, Hermann,” Newt says. “Can you do that head thing?”
“What?”
“You know, the little dippy thing that I really like.”
Hermann snorts a laugh. “You’re so predictable.”
Newt grins as Hermann slides a hand into his hair. Sparks fly along his spine, and their kisses turn a little rougher. Hermann takes control, there’s more teeth and tongue, and Newt starts to feel slightly dizzy. Hermann dips Newt down onto the sofa. They take a moment to move into more comfortable positions.
“The movie’s still going,” Newt says, dazed.
Hermann reaches for a pillow. “We’ll catch the ending.”
They shift close together so that they’re on their sides, chest-to-chest. Newt’s getting a little hard in his pants, and he pushes his hips towards Hermann so that Hermann can feel it. Hermann smiles—that faint, fond smirk that makes Newt’s heart flutter. He reaches up and removes Newt’s glasses.
“I’m afraid these are in the way,” he says. He places the glasses on a side table, then leans in and kisses Newt’s eyelids. Newt sighs.
It’s a Friday night, so the weekend has begun, and the Shatterdome’s residents are celebrating. Footsteps and voices echo past Newt’s room, but Newt is so hypnotized by Hermann that everything else seems miles away.
“I feel like we’re in another dimension,” Newt murmurs. He feels Hermann’s lips curve into a smile against his forehead. “I mean—I’m distantly aware of the rest of the world, but it’s all kind of far away, and I don’t really care about it, you know?”
Hermann kisses the corner of Newt’s eye, then the apple of his cheek, then his lips.
“You’re a really good kisser,” Newt whispers.
Hermann snorts.
“Seriously—you could probably hold a championship title or something.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“You say that, but I can tell you’re fishing for compliments. And you know what? I don’t even care. I’ll feed your ego on this one.”
Hermann laughs, and it’s cemented in Newt’s mind that this is his favorite sound in the world. It’s better than any punk song. Better than the first kaiju roar he ever heard.
“Kiss me again,” he begs. Hermann obliges.
Newt is 100% sure that he will never get sick of this. He could spend entire afternoons kissing Hermann. He could live off Hermann’s lips and tongue and teeth. He has one hand clenched in Hermann’s sweater, the other at the crook of his neck, and he’s clinging on tight because he feels like he’s floating.
“Newton,” Hermann whispers. He runs his fingers along the inside of Newt’s arm. His lips are puffy and red, and Newt’s high with the knowledge that he did this. He’s the reason why Hermann looks so wrecked. Hermann licks his lips and speaks again.
“I love you,” he murmurs.
Oh. ...Oh. “Wait, what?”
Hermann doesn’t repeat himself. His eyes are closed and his face is calm. Newt falls to pieces.
“Did you just say—”
“Mmm hmm.”
“Okay. ….Okay.”
Hermann opens his eyes. “Is it really that surprising?”
Newt’s brain is in a jumble. No one’s ever told him they loved him before, except family. And even then, only his dad and his uncle. His heart is racing, and Hermann is staring at him patiently, one hand stroking his soft stomach.
“I love you, too,” Newt blurts.
Hermann shakes his head. “Newton, you don’t have to—”
“No I do, though—I love you! Dude, I’ve been holding this back since pretty much forever, lemme say it.”
“Forever?”
“Yeah. Like—since the first time you kissed me? Four months, at least.”
Hermann looks thoughtful. He brushes a stray hair back from Newt’s forehead.
“I think I only realized it last night,” he admits, quietly.
Newt can’t help himself. He smirks like he’s won a competition. Hermann rolls his eyes, and Newt bursts out laughing. He pulls Hermann into a hug and smothers giggles against his neck while Hermann pats him on the back as if he’s an overexcited child.
“Man, I’m gonna say it all the time now,” Newt says, breathless. “There’s no stopping me, I’m gonna say it a hundred times a day in every language I know.”
“And remind me, how many is that?”
“Five.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re an overachiever?”
“Oh, fuck you.” Newt pinches Hermann’s bum, making him squawk and bat Newt’s hand away. “See if I ever speak French to you in bed again.”
“Yes, that was romantic, until I realized you were reciting film quotes—"
“That was one time!”
Hermann chuckles, and Newt finds a way to silence him. Hermann kisses with a ferocity that’s a little startling, for someone who dresses like he’s 70.
“The movie’s over,” Newt mumbles. Hermann makes a soft sighing sound as they part. “We just made out for an hour and a fucking half. I hope you’re happy about what dumb teenagers we are.”
“I think our time was spent wisely. Would you rather have been watching the film?”
“No, I’m good.” Newt looks over Hermann’s shoulder at the credits rolling down the screen. “But you know, I downloaded this one specifically for you. You said the trailer looked cool.”
“I said no such thing.”
“You said it looked interesting.”
Hermann half-turns in time to see the screen fade to black.
“I did say that,” he says. He sounds a little wistful. Newt squeezes his hand.
“You know, it’s still early. You wanna give it another go? We can actually watch the movie this time, and you can stay the night, if you want.”
Hermann nods, a bit shyly. “That sounds wonderful.”
Newt sits up and takes his glasses from the side table. “You know, it’s your own fault we didn’t watch it the first time. Are you aware that you come onto me during every single movie we watch?”
“That’s not true.”
“Uh, yeah it is. One time we were even in the theater and you’re like, putting your hand on my thigh, all sexy-like.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“You’re a filthy liar.”
“I was probably touching your knee.”
“Dude, I know where my knee is, and that was totally not my knee.”
They bicker through the first ten minutes of the movie, but eventually settle down. They sit leaning into each other, with Newt falling asleep on Hermann’s shoulder. This isn’t the first time it’s happened—Hermann will probably jab Newt in the side when he misses an important plot development, and then let him sleep all through the credits. Newt will wake up to find the movie long-over, and Hermann’s hand in his hair. That sounds good, he thinks. He closes his eyes. Hermann pulls a blanket across their laps, and Newt leans in a little closer.