"Hey, man," Newt said, slipping inside. "Looking even more dour than usual. What? Tea went cold? Laundry lost your favorite socks again? Want me to knit you a pair so you can bitch about the itchiness and… Hermann?"

Hermann didn't answer. He was sitting on their bed, hunched, and it took Newt a moment to realize that he held something in his hands. Their storage boxes were piled around his feet, evidence of cleaning started and abandoned. Newt edged closer and found one of his ancient magazines trembling in Hermann's grip.

"Dude?" Newt squeaked. Hermann drew in a deep breath and finally looked up. Newt expected to see irritation, anger, or that adorable grumpy look Hermann got at the end of a long day. What he got instead was sadness.

"Duuuuude," Newt drew out. He squatted at Hermann's feet and fluttered his hands around his sweater sleeves, wanting to tug him closer but not quite daring yet. Newt settled for gripping his hair instead.

"Do you hate health magazines so much? It's stupid bio stuff. Hell, toss 'em if you want, just stop looking like someone killed your favorite puppy."

"Oh don't be such a dolt," Hermann sniffed. I wasn't his normal, arrogant sniff either but a watery one that sent Newt's heart racing like a jackrabbit. "Is this what you like then?"

"Huh?"

"Is this what you like?" Hermann demanded. He shook the cover, making the toned, half-naked man jump between them. Newt stared at the bronze skin beach body and felt something like understanding creeping into his sleep-deprived mind. For probably the first time in his life, Newt made an intuitive leap concerned solely with emotion.

"I like you," he said and firmly pushed the magazine aside.

"Poppycock."

Hermann threw himself to his feet, putting distance between them. Newt noted that he was learning heavily on his cane and unconsciously kneading the muscles in his thigh. Newt opened his mouth to suggest that maybe Hermann was being a pissy baby because he was in pain and tired and probably hungry… but then thought better of it.

"Hermann…"

"Shut up," he snapped. He ran a hand through his hair as he wobbled from side-to-side—Hermann's version of pacing. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that you do not possess an obvious—a logical!—preference here? That the man in that photograph is objectively attractive, whereas I… I…" With a scowl Hermann gestured to his entire body, as if the argument was explicit.

Newt sat faintly down on the bed. "Where did this come from?"

Silence from Hermann.

"Okay, yeah, I've got health magazines because health magazines are unexpectedly fascinating and shit from the 90's is worth a fortune now and, okay, because the guy is hot. There was more than one wank when porn was in short supply, but that was years ago. The guy is something, sure, but so is Tendo, so it Ryan, so it that chick who delivered our curry last week. So what? I prefer—"

"Me?" Hermann spit the question so caustically that Newt snapped his mouth shut. "How can you? Don't be absurd."

All at once Hermann stilled, his body bending under a terrible kind of weariness: resignation.

"I apologize, Newton. I cannot expect you to change the facts, and I fear that the disappointment of my appearance is indeed very much a fact." Hermann stared down at his hands—lean and knobby, nails bitten to the quick and chalk dust staining his cuticles. He stretched his fingers until his tendons popped and then made a vicious fist.

Hermann smiled wanly, though he couldn't quite meet Newt's eye. "Apologies," he said again. "Of course I'm quite aware of how blessed I am to call you my partner. It is my own good fortune that you prize intellect over aesthetic considerations and I… I do hope that should that ever change…" He swallowed hard. "Well. That you would let me know. That's all I ask. Oh good god, forget I said anything. Ignore me, Newton. I promise to be better company at dinner." With that Hermann made a beeline for the door.

For a guy who'd been hobbling two seconds before, Hermann sure could move when he wanted to. Newt barely got to the door in time.

But he did, and he slammed it shut again before Hermann could so much as get a stupid, skinny leg out into the hall.

"Newton!"

"No."

There must have been something in Newt's expression because Hermann simply gaped, what little color he had draining away. Newt, for his part, took the unexpected reprieve to gather his thoughts. Because shit.

Neither of them would ever be Mr. January in the Shatterdome calendar, Newt knew that. Hell, he'd known that when he was in college, still pudgy, with braces and a full face of acne. Whatever. He looked decent in skinny jeans now and his tats were awesome. Who cared if he'd never have abs? Or if his hair was always greasy from the lab fumes? Or if he was only slightly taller than an Oompa Loompa? Screw all that! 'There are more important things than looks,' blah blah blah, but what told Newt after decades of insecurity that he wasn't totally repulsive was that he'd managed to landHermann.

Gorgeous Hermann. Hermann who was apparently fucking blind.

"You're fucking blind," Newt said, deadpan. "Get your prescription checked."

Hermann scowled, backing up a step. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not."

"Newton."

He could see it too, how words weren't going to do a damn thing here. They simply rolled off Hermann and his ridiculous defenses. Newt's first thought was to just take him to bed—show Hermann exactly how hot he was—but something told him that wasn't the way to go. The way Hermann's gaze kept sliding away from him… he'd probably think of it as some sort of pity fuck or something. Besides, if the way his legs were shaking, he wasn't in the mood physically either.

Newt couldn't let this lie though.

"C'mon," he said and made for the bathroom.

"Newton?"

"Just c'mere!"

He didn't know what he was doing until he was actually doing it. Newt threw the shower on as hot as it would go, immediately relaxing a bit at the sound of rushing water, hoping that the steam would warm the room quickly. Stacker would kill him for the water bill… but whatever. He could kill him later.

Cursing his forethought—or lack thereof—Newt also grabbed the small seat out of the shower, now sopping wet. It was Hermann's for the days when traversing wet tile was a stupid idea and Newt hopped that a little familiarity would help here. Besides, it wasn't like that had another chair lying around. So he dumped the seat in the middle of the room, draping it in towels, stretching his arms and rolling up his sleeves as the steam began to appear.

Newt gestured to the stool like it was a thrown. "Sit."

"Really." Hermann was standing in the doorway, giving Newt his haughtiest expression. He could see the bemusement underneath that though and Newt tip-toed to pull Hermann forward.

"Sit," he said, quietly this time.

In fact, it was probably the longest stretch of time Newt had ever bothered to be quiet. In silence he lead Hermann to the stool and in silence he settled him in, gently taking his cane and hooking it over the sink. By now the steam had begun to fill the room and Newt released a sudden grin. That was perfect. He'd meant to simply make Hermann comfortable—ease some of the ache in his muscles—but now he had an excuse.

"Hot in here," he commented, just the slightest hint of mischief seeping into his voice.

"What is the meaning of this, Newton?" Hermann said. He was staring at his hands again, shoulders slumped. "I've already apologized for my ridiculous outburst. Please leave me be for a few hours."

"No can do, Herms. Because as usual, you're wrong."

Not letting him speak, Newt squatted down, just as he had out by the bed. Now though he took Hermann's foot in his hands, tilting it fondly for just a moment.

Hermann's cheeks had started turning a lovely shade of pink. "What are you doing?" he groused.

"Looking," Newt said. Deftly he undid the laces of Hermann's shoes. At first he squirmed uncomfortably at the touch, his legs twitching like Jell-O, but he stilled—all at once—when Newt pressed against the knot of his ankle. Hermann sucked in a breath.

Newt grinned and took the opportunity to slip both shoes off, placing them carefully to the side. He gently chose a socked foot and began kneading the instep. This time, Hermann couldn't hold back a groan.

"I love your feet," Newt announced.

Relaxation vanished. Hermann actually flinched and tried to pull back, but Newt was having none of it. What a picture they must have made: one man seated and furiously tugging his own leg, the other kneeling on a bathroom floor and just as insistently tugging back. Both of them glaring.

"I do," Newt insisted.

"I don't appreciate being lied to," Hermann snapped. "Even in a misguided attempt to cheer me."

"I'm not lying!"

"Yes, I'm sure you adore my callouses, the positively fragrant smell—"

"Oh just shut up already."

Newt peeled off Hermann's socks, sticking them into the shoes. "Quit telling me what I do and don't think already, nerd. You think I don't realize how weird I sound? Who the hell loves feet? But yours are awesome."

Quick as lightning, Newt ran two fingers under a sole and beamed when Hermann let out an involuntary yelp of laughter. "See? You're ticklish. Bonus points right there… but seriously, Herms. Your feet are great. Who cares about the smell? Everyone's smell. Yours are fucking roses compared to what comes out of my boots." ("… true enough," Newt thought he heard and made the magnanimous decision to ignore it). "Haven't you ever seen a dancer's feet? They've got callouses every which way, not to mention all the scabs from skin rubbed raw. No one cares because it's a result of their craft. Why should you puttering around with your stupid equations be any different?" (More grumbling that Newt conveniently couldn't hear over the shower). "Your feet are graceful, dude: long, lean, high arches… only real downside is that they're freaking blocks of ice."

Newt tucked the—yes—icy appendages between his thighs and looked up hopefully.

Hermann was positively tomato red.

"I don't think I wish to hear about how you became so intimately acquainted with a dancer's feet," he finally muttered, still ducking his head into his turtleneck, like that could hide the blush.

"Ancient history. Far more important question: you know what else I like?"

"… what?"

"Everything."

Ignoring the grumpy squeak that produced, Newt carefully rolled up Hermann's pant legs an inch or two. The action revealed bony ankles with crevices Newt could perfectly fit his hands into. He gave both a squeeze.

"I love your ankles. I love how you have to turn and drag them sometimes because yeah, that sucks, but it's also cute as hell and it means I can always recognize your gait, cane or no. That sprain you got coming down the ladder? Perfect excuse to pamper you for a while, grumpy bastard. Don't think I missed that bracelet either. You should wear it more often."

"T-that's braided tactile cord," Hermann stuttered. "The Marshall gave it to me. It's quite useful—"

"Yeah, yeah. You're lucky I'm not the jealous type. You and your authority kink."

Hermann's mouth popped open to retort, but Newt's hands were already skimming up his thighs. A small "meep" escaped instead.

"I love your legs, all gangly like a fawn or some shit. I love how light your hair is too. Wouldn't think it from the mop on your head, but…" Newt rolled the pants up past Hermann's knees. "It's soft. You know how comforting that is on cold mornings here? Getting to intertwine my legs with yours?"

It was pretty much a rhetorical question at this point. Hermann couldn't speak, he merely stared down at Newt with something approaching wonder. Newt motioned him up and with careful, gentle movements slide Hermann's pants away. Then he stood and crept behind, wrapping his arms briefly around Hermann's chest.

"Take this off too?" He whispered.

The cardigan went first, folded and put aside neatly like Newt knew Hermann wanted. His turtleneck was a little trickier, requiring that Newt steal his grandpa glasses first. That revealed an undershirt… then under armor after that… by the time Newt actually found skin the bathroom was a small sauna, allowing Hermann to comfortably sit in just his boxers, even heave slightly.

Newt didn't think that was because of the heat though.

"Love your chest," he murmured, giving Hermann's ear a quick nip. One hand rested on his chest while the other trailed across his nipples. "You don't need to be buff to be strong, stupid. This," Newt squeezed both biceps. "Is fucking incredible. Your arms do exactly what you need them to. They're fluid, Herm, meant for words and numbers. Nothing wrong with that. Why would I want some guy with steroid shoulders when that's not you?"

With Hermann's back pressed against his own chest, Newt felt him swallow hard—shiver.

"Cold?" he asked innocently.

"No." Hermann's voice was rough and trembling. He shivered again.

"Good. You always hide under all those frumpy clothes… guess I'm grateful no one else gets to see this." Newt trailed fingers down his back as Hermann gasped. "Love your spine, man. All bony and shit. Probably another knock on the weird-o-meter, but it reminds me of Calcium."

Hermann choked. "Calcium?"

"Capital 'C.' He was the skeleton we had up in the MIT lab. Sad as it sounds, that dead dude was the closest thing I had to a companion there. I was too many years too young, didn't have time for a pet, so I told Calcium everything. He was my first friend. Sorta. You were my second," and Newt pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the C3 vertebrae.

"Newton…" Hermann moaned. One tiny touch and he was already bucking up with nowhere to go.

"I love your neck," New continued, moving the kisses upward. "It's so long and regal. Throw you into a dead civilization and they'd probably think you were the descendent of a god… Don't let that go to your head."

With a soft laugh Newt ran both hands up the sides of Hermann's neck, ending against his scalp as he said the word "head," tugging at the strands there.

"I love your stupid haircut. And itisstupid, like the lamest thing I've ever seen, but you keep it because you like it and holy hell, Hermann, call me cheesy, but confidence is hot."

Newt groaned the last word into his hair, one arm wrapped around Hermann's waist with his other hand desperately pressing against his erection. Hermann was panting, his chest glistening, the two of them slowly rocking together.

"I love your eyes, Herm. Love your lips—"

"Newton."

Hermann growled it, a shaking hand tugging Newt towards his front. He went. Though this wasn't what he'd intended, Hermann was already pulling him down for a kiss.

It was sloppy, just like Newt liked it, when Hermann got so caught up in the moment that all his careful, calculated movements fell to pieces. Newt sucked briefly at his bottom lip before opening his mouth, gentling some as his tongue met Hermann's. He could taste the ever present residue of coffee, as well as the familiar, powdery aftertaste of Hermann's meds. Newt moaned loudly into the kiss, embolden when Hermann cried back just as loudly.

There weren't many places for Newt to go and he couldn't afford to put all his weight on Hermann's lap. He settled on straddling Hermann and giving him some while still holding himself up, resulting in an admittedly awkward crouch over the stool. Newt counterbalanced by snaking his arms back around Hermann, supporting him and using the kiss as encouragement to lean back. Hermann did and Newt was left with their erections pressed forcibly together.

"Herm," Newt gasped. "You have any idea how hard this is in skinny jeans? Ha. Hard."

"Would you just—just—" Hermann let out a breath of frustration and grabbed hold of Newt's ass. His hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans and Hermann ground the two of them together.

"Fuck," Newt hissed. He angled downward in turn, still careful not to let all his weight go. Hermann whimpered in response, his lips latching compulsively onto Newt's neck right above his collar.

Oh yeah. That would bruise. Yes.

They found a rhythm then, or something resembling it. Newt could feel Hermann's legs beginning to shake beneath him and the rushing in his own ears was becoming indistinguishable from the shower at his back. He moved faster—shorter, shallower thrusts—and Newt was just about to reach into Hermann's boxers when he got a far better idea.

He pressed his mouth directly against Hermann's ear, breathing hot breaths and words.

"C'mon, Hermann, c'mon, you're like the smartest guy ever, so smart, smart guy like you has to realize it sometime, admit it, not Stacker, not Herc, not Tendo, you, hottest guy on this base, fucking steaming, and you're all mine. Mine. So c'mon, Herm. C'mon, beautiful. Come—"

Hermann came, so hard his voice failed him and he simply gaped open-mouthed against Newt's shoulder, his eyes screwed shut. Newt felt the rush of semen between them, Hermann's boxers soaking against his thighs, and that was more than enough for him. Newt came too, ruining his jeans and finally losing his balance. He fell completely into Hermann's lap who took the weight like a champ, tugging at the short, damp strands of Newt's hair as he continued to buck against him.

They finished together, still moving as one. Newt nuzzled up behind Hermann's ear. He felt a shaky hand now petting his hair, smoothing what he'd pulled.

"Well…"

"That was—"

"Fuck yeah."

"Indeed."

Newt giggled, feeling high and exhausted all at once. With a groan he released Hermann and collapsed on the floor, leaning heavily against his bare thigh. Hermann continued his petting.

Newt laughed again, sucking in steam. "Hey. Hey, Herms. Want a shower?"

"In a moment." The fingers scraped lightly over his scalp. "… Newton?"

"Mmm?"

"Thank you."

"… No prob." Newt smiled, thrilled by the contentment he heard in Hermann's voice.

Silence between them.

"Ooo. Now wait. Wait.Here's an idea. Stacker's already gonna kill us for the water, why not seal the deal with a fire indoors?"

Hermann's fingers stilled questioningly. "Fire?"

"Yeah. I've got a few magazines I want to burn."