gossamer wings, only half seen

Rating: T
Pairing: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Summary:
"The shatterdome is cold. Naturally, Newt suggests bodily contact to keep Hermann warm."


"This," Hermann says, punctuating the words with a scowl, "is absolutely horrendous."

He's got chalk on his fingers and a bit on his face, which Newt's pretty sure he doesn't know about, or he would have wiped away by now, and he's wearing Newt's stupid, stupid jacket. It looks great on him. "It looks good on you!" Newt says. "You should wear more of my stuff."

Hermann's face twists. "Absolutely not," he says. "I've only been lowered to this because the heating failed."

That is, actually, true, Newt will admit to that; the heating has always been finicky down in the lab, but usually the issue is that it gets too hot—not that it suddenly stops working. All over the shatterdome, in fact—it crashed about twenty minutes ago, which is fucked, but the good news is that it's late spring so it's pretty warm.

For most people, anyway.

Hermann Gottlieb has, like, the worst circulation of any man Newt has ever known under the age of forty, though, so he started shivering only ten minutes in, at which point they had an argument over the fact that there are no blankets on the sofa.

Five minutes ago, Newt ended their argument by shouting, "Hermann, you little shit, if you're that fucking cold, just take my jacket!" Hermann, surprisingly, for once, actually took it.

That brings them to now; Newt's waiting for the samples in the centrifuge to be ready, and Hermann's sitting on his stool, his notebook thrown off to the side, scowling at Newt. His ears are getting pinker by the second. "The heat had better come back on soon," he grumbles, in what Newt assumes is an attempt to divert his attention.

"You're just pissy I said you look good, aren't you?" Newt teases.

Hermann's scowl grows wider, and the pink tint spreads from his ears across his cheeks. "It's horrendous," he repeats. He does, however, in contrary to his words, tug the jacket a bit tighter around himself.

Newt smiles a bit; rocks back on his heels, and then rocks forward. "Hold still a moment," he says, and reaches out to brush the chalk on Hermann's cheek away.

"…I cannot believe you didn't inform me," Hermann says, batting Newt's hand away after the first stroke, and smudges at his cheek. His tone isn't irritated, though; and his hand falls away from his cheek, tugging at the zipper. "This horrid excuse for a jacket can't seem to properly zip up." "Let me give you a hand," Newt says; and takes a step closer, so he's standing directly in front of Hermann; slots the zipper in easily and zips it up partway, eyes tracking it for a moment before flicking up to Hermann's.

"Hey," he says, softly; partially because Hermann really does look pretty nice, and partially because he's pretty sure that Hermann's actions are because he wants Newt to be sweet to him, and Newt's more than willing to do so.

Hermann's scowl melts away, lips turning at the corners; and his hands rise to rest on Newt's waist. "Hello," he murmurs.

"You look cute when you blush," Newt says; and kisses his cheek. Hermann gives a soft laugh.

"You think everything I do is 'cute'," Hermann says; and draws Newt closer to him.

Newt huffs. "Not everything," he corrects. "I don't think it's cute when you refuse to let me have the last cherry yoghurt, or when you get pissy about the way I put my samples into storage—"

"Shut up and kiss me properly, you horrid little man," Hermann grumbles; and Newt, ever the gentleman, obliges him; leaning into Hermann's touch. The texture of the leather is a bit odd, considering it's Hermann, but not bad; and Hermann kisses back enthusiastically, hands running up Newt's sides.

Suddenly, Hermann shivers and pulls away; scowling, and tugging at the zipper. "It's cold," he grumbles.

"You have the shittiest circulation," Newt says, smiling slightly. "Here, let me hug you, the body contact'll help you warm up some."

Hermann hums, and Newt pulls him into a tight embrace, chin locking over the other's shoulder; hands resting on Hermann's back. "The centrifuge is probably done," Hermann says, after a few moments.

"It can wait a few minutes," Newt says; drawing out patterns against Hermann's back; the lines just curling enough to be mistaken for random, though Newt knows what it means, even if he's not willing to say it out loud; not now.

Usually, Hermann's the one who holds his emotions close to his chest; but Newt would wager he can rival Hermann in this case, considering Newt's the one who made up ciphers to trace—sometimes, when they're lying in bed together, only half-clothed, on Hermann's skin—because it doesn't feel safe to just say I love you.

To be fair, nothing's safe these days, given the fact that giant aliens from another universe are coming from the sea and wrecking lives and cities.

"Newton," Hermann says, "I think the heat's come back on. I'm getting rather warm."

"You sure it's not the body contact?" Newt asks, dragging himself out of his thoughts.

"Yes," Hermann says.

Newt pulls away, cocking his head. "Yeah, you're right," he says, after a moment, "that sounds like the heating's back up. You want to get the jacket off?"

Hermann gives a hum. "I think I ought to keep it," he says, adjusting it a bit. "Just in case."

"Just in case," Newt echoes, lips twitching; and presses a final kiss to Hermann's lips. "Alright," he says, pulling away, "science time, baby!"

"Horrifying," Hermann says, but Newt can feel the fondness in his gaze as he watches Newt move towards the centrifuge.