again and again
Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary: "A day in the life of Newton Geiszler, happily married, post-Pitfall"
Newt wakes up before the alarm.
On any other day, that'd be a good thing, but today, not so much, given he wakes up literally a minute before it's set to ring at six in the morning, and by the time he's actually cracked his eyes open and shoved his glasses on, the alarm is beeping at him.
"Newton," Hermann, still under the covers, hair fanned out over his pillow, groans, sleep making his voice rough, "turn it off."
Newt tries not to smile at the other's voice, and fumbles for the off button.
When he finally manages it, he turns to look at the other fully. He's rolled over to squint at Newt through long, dark lashes, and, laying there, against the white of the sheets, he looks like something out of a painting. They've been married nearly a year and still, the sight leaves Newt breathless; awed.
"Newton," Hermann says again, and this time his hand creeps out from beneath the warmth of the covers. "Do you really have to get up just yet…?"
His words are sleep-mellowed, but Newt can feel the longing in them through what still remains of the Drift bond, and it does make him smile. "I have work," he points out, but it's only half-hearted.
"Not until eight," Hermann counters. "Please?"
"Oh, alright," Newt says, "if you insist." As if it's some sort of hardship—frankly, Newt is just as eager to curl under the covers again, with Hermann, who is half-asleep, and blinking slowly at him, lips slightly parted.
The instant he lays back down, Hermann curls against him, pressing his frigid hands and feet to Newt like some sort of heat-seeking missile. "Dude," Newt protests, "come on…"
"Shh," Hermann says, and nuzzles Newt's neck.
Newt smiles again. God. He loves Hermann so much.
Eventually, though, he does have to get up—to much grumbling from his partner—, and get dressed, and actually go to work, which, while not pressing in the way it was in the War, is still pretty important.
"You were constantly late," Hermann reminds him, glaring balefully at being abandoned in bed.
"Shut up," Newt huffs, and tugs at his tie, eyeing it distastefully in the mirror. God, he wishes he had just caved and bought a clip-on, but no, twenty-three-year-old Newt was very dedicated to his image and now Newt spends a minimum of twenty minutes struggling to tie these damn ties because buying clip-ons now would mean having to admit he doesn't actually know how to tie them.
He gives it a tug and grimaces.
Arms wrap around his waist. "Would you like a hand?" Hermann asks, breath tickling the nape of Newt's neck.
"Shut up," Newt grumbles again, but turns to let the other help. Hermann has to bend over a bit—fucking height difference, it's only two inches—, but he's practised at it, and it only takes him a few moments to pull the tie into shape.
"There," he says, nodding, "I cannot believe you sometimes, honestly, Newton—why not just ask first? We both know you're rubbish at it."
Newt scowls. Sadly, Hermann is right. It's a little song and dance they do nearly every time Newt puts a tie on, these days. Still, it's better than spending half an hour or more every morning rewatching the same youtube videos that never explained the process properly, and Hermann always gives that little satisfied hum when he steps back.
He reaches out to smooth the collar of Newt's shirt; a faint smile turning up the corners of his lips, and; god; Newt could kiss him.
He can kiss him; so he does; softly. Curls his fingers against Hermann's neck, other hand going to his cheek. It's short; not much more than a press of his lips against Hermann's, and when he pulls back, Hermann's looking at him gently.
"I love you," Newt says, grinning at it; and Hermann smiles back.
"I love you too," he says. "Now go put on a pair of trousers and get going before you're late to work."
Newt laughs. "Alright, alright, I'll be out of your hair," he says, "but you gotta let go of me."
Hermann doesn't, and he looks rather miffed at the suggestion as well. "Damn you, you horrid little man," he says.
"If you wanted another kiss you could just say so," Newt points out, but he's already leaning up to kiss Hermann again. Hermann gives a contented little hum.
Finally, they do break apart though; and Newt grabs a granola-bar on the way out. "See you later, dude!" he calls over his shoulder as he pulls his shoes on.
"Good-bye, Newton," Hermann calls back. "Text me when you get there?"
"'Course," Newt replies, "bye!"
It's so—god, so stupid, honestly, these little things; or Newt would have called them stupid when he was younger, but now, they just make him smile; this routine of theirs, of Newt texting to tell Hermann he got to work on time, and of Hermann calling him during his lunch break to leave a voice-mail rambling about what he's done and the weather and whatever the hell he's got on his mind.
"Someone's cheery," Tendo says, when he meets him in LOCCENT.
"Just happy about life," Newt says, with a shrug.
Tendo's lips twist into a wry smile. "It looks good on you," he says. "And you deserve it."
Newt smiles wider. "Thanks," he says.
It's their anniversary, soon, he realises suddenly; and that thought makes him smile even more widely, so much that his cheeks are hurting with it, but in a good way.
"Happy anniversary," Hermann says; and he looks terribly awkward, frankly; half-out of breath and smelling a bit like burnt wood, and the smoke alarm is going off above them and the windows are open to let out the billowing smoke. "I, ah, tried to make cookies."
"Hermann," Newt says, and he's—god, he can't breathe, but it's because of the emotion more than the smoke. "God, I love you," he blurts out suddenly. "I'm so fucking glad we got married. Let's keep getting married every year forever."
"That's ridiculous," Hermann says, but his eyes are misty, and Newt knows that's not the smoke; at least, not mainly. "God," he says, and then again, "God," and his lips are twisting into a rueful smile, and he still looks so fucking awkward and; god; it's adorable.
Newt hugs him; of course he does; and he doesn't even care about the acrid scent of smoke. "I love you," he says, again, and kisses Hermann's cheek. "Please don't try and bake again."
Hermann laughs. "I love you too," he says, "next year I'll order them from the bakery."
