elevator love
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "It's just their luck that they'd get stuck in an elevator."
Cold; the sensation of glass beneath his fingers, and through it seeping the frigid warmth of iced water.
Around him, laughter; the click of glasses as the attendants make merry. It's been almost half a year since they closed the Breach, and Hermann has been to enough parties for a lifetime.
It's the falseness, perhaps; most of the people here are, Hermann thinks, jaw setting, like his father; cowards who hid inland while the rest of the world died as cannon-fodder, and now they want to claim a hand in ending the war. Bastards, Hermann thinks darkly; they weren't the ones who watched colleagues die.
There's a hand on the small of his back; the barest touch; comforting. "Dude," Newton says, "loosen your jaw; I can feel your teeth getting pulverised."
"Newton," Hermann greets; ignoring his words. "What are you doing here?"
Newton shrugs. "Not much," he replies; shoulders taut beneath the too-right fabric of his jacket—one Hermann suspects is nearly a decade old.
They don't speak, then, even though they both know what's on his—their, he supposes—mind, but Newton's hand stays steady against his skin even as they move to another part of the room.
"I think I'm going to pass out," Newton says, finally; catching Hermann's gaze with a sympathetic wince; Hermann's leg is stiff and sore and has only been getting worse for the past hour. "What do you say we head back to the hotel?"
Hermann sighs; relief. "We wouldn't want you to faint," he replies; for the benefit of the onlookers more so than Newton's; thinks a fleeting _thank you _ in his direction for the convenient excuse.
They make a quick escape, or as quick as Hermann can manage; their hotel is only just next-door, thankfully, so even though it's raining, they don't get very wet.
Newton gently guides him into the elevator; presses the button for their floor. "You okay?" he asks softly; worry flickering in his gaze.
"…tired," Hermann replies; eventually; the single word hard to get out. His eyes are drooping.
"I'm sorry, man," Newt says; stands on his toes to press a soft kiss yo Hermann's forehead, "I—"
The elevator shudders and screeches to a halt with a grating grind. Hermann starts; head jerking forward, and then Newton's yelping with pain and Hermann's eyes screw up at the sting of sweet biting into skin.
"Owww," Newt hisses, "shit, dude, are you okay?"
"Fine," Hermann grits out, but he lowers himself to sit on the ground; he doesn't think they'll be getting out for a bit, given that Newton has to press the call button three times before they get any answer.
Newton joins him on the floor after that. "I hate this," he whines, "I just want to get back and cuddle."
"I'd rather eat," Hermann replies; a smile threatening to tug at his lips when Newton gives a mock scowl and glares.
"You know what? I want a divorce," he sniffs, "you're neglecting my—my needs!."
"We're not even married," Hermann shoots back drily; head coming to rest on Newton's shoulders; lets out a soft sigh as Newton begins carding his fingers through his hair.
"And whose fucking fault is that?" Newton replies.
"Newton, darling, we'd just had sex for the first time when you asked," Hermann says; eyes opening a slit, and he raises a brow.
"I knew I was in love already," Newton says dramatically; clasps his hand to his chest. Against the floor, his boots tap a rhythm only he knows.
"I'm sure you did," Hermann says.
Newton huffs. "You're horrible," he says; but there's a line of fondness beneath it.
"Mm," Hermann returns; curls in towards the warmth of the other. "I think I shall rest until management sends someone to solve this issue."
Newton doesn't reply; just continues running his fingers through Hermann's hair, soothingly.
When Hermann awakens, it's too the sound of people talking. His head is pillowed in Newton's lap, and the doors are open.
"Hey sleepyhead," Newton greets, "let's get you to bed, 'kay?"
"That sounds lovely," Hermann murmurs, and lets Newton help him up and down the hallway.
The room is warm, and Newton only turns the lights on dimly. Hermann nods his thanks as he downs his medication; there's a headache brewing behind his eyes from the bright lighting at the gala earlier.
Newton digs through their bags for his nightclothes. "D'you want your thick ones?" he asks.
"No, I think I'll be fine," Hermann replies. "You're like a bloody _furnace—_I'd swelter with those."
The biologist laughs; softly; "Good point," he says, and brings over the thinner pair—pale green—and sets them down beside Hermann.
Hermann fumbles with the buttons of his shirt; lets out a frustrated hiss. "Damnit," he sighs; wishes he'd chosen to wear something more sensible. He hates these events, he really does.
"Here, let me help," Newton says; moves to Hermann's side, tugs his fingers away; neatly unbuttons his shirt.
"Thank you, dear," Hermann says, and pulls on the night-shirt with a sigh, then changes his pants while Newton returns to the task of changing his own clothes.
Finally, he's done. When he turns, Newton is already beneath the covers, eyes half-shut. Hermann pulls back the covers. "Move over."
"The sacrifices I make for you," Newton mumbles, but he moves easily; turns to gaze at Hermann, arms reaching out.
"In a moment," Hermann replies, "let me turn off the light first."
"Ugh," Newton groans, but waits. When Hermann switches off the light, he lays down, pulling the duvet up.
"Love you," Newton says, embracing him; arm over his shoulders, breath warm against his neck.
"And I, you, Newton," Hermann returns; smiling softly, though the other can't see it in the dark.
