#full disclosure i was tipsy when i wrote the beginning bit of this LMFAO

[hermannsthumb]

silly prompt time: newmann on vacation, somewhere near the sea. newton goes to the city and buys a cheap booze from, one may argue, a questionable place. the results of such actions go as well as you may predict

WOOOOEEEEE this was fun! not in the least bc im at the beach rn too. (sorry for not posting anything the past 2 days ive been a little busy!)

The rental website promised them three bottles of wine--one red, one white, one rose--in the fridge or cabinet when they arrived. A special treat for the illustrious Drs. Geiszler-Gottlieb on behalf of the world, and to a lesser extent, the rental agency. Now, as they face an empty fridge and an even emptier cabinet, Newt wonders as to the ethics of complaining about lack of delivery of a free--but promised--gift. “Not a single bottle,” Newt says. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Go to the beach without wine?” Hermann suggests. He’s in that dorky striped linen shirt Newt likes, a sunhat so big the brim covers his eyes, and khaki shorts that go past his knees. Newt loves him so much his heart aches.

“It’s our honeymoon,” Newt says, offended that Hermann would even suggest the prospect, “and we saved the world, and we’re old bastards. We deserve to get hammered on the beach. I’ll get the wine.” He snags the car keys off of the dresser.

Hermann pushes up the brim of his hat to give Newt an imploring look. “Can’t we just enjoy the day and worry about wine later?” (He doesn’t say what Newt knows he wants to say, which is that Newt’s driving is questionable at best and he doesn’t exactly trust Newt with the--okay, Hermann’s--car.)

Usually Newt would worry about this later, damn the wine, but the prospect of them both getting plastered with some idyllic backdrop means a relaxed Hermann who’s less embarrassed about getting handsy in public. On a beach, no less. A kaiju-free beach. “Nope,” Newt says, and jingles the keys merrily in Hermann’s face before kissing his cheek goodbye and skipping out the front door.

The nearest liquor-selling establishment is a twenty minute drive into town, and Newt gets lost twice on the way there. Actually entering the liquor store is a trip too--Newt’s experience with wine pretty much stops at the shitty boxed variety, and one time, some weird mint chocolate eggnog-flavored wine that Tendo brought to a New Year’s party as a joke, so he doesn’t really know where to begin--and nearly everything in the place is on sale, which can’t be a good sign. Still, Newt says, debates champagne, and beer, and some weird stout that’s mixed with coffee or something, before finding a tall bottle of some novelty, electric-blue vodka on the (large) discount shelf. Half off. Nice. “Is this supposed to be kaiju blue?” Newt says to the guy working the register, waving it.

The guy shrugs. Newt puts a bottle on the counter.

Hermann’s waiting impatiently on the wicker chair on the beach house porch when Newt strolls up some time later. The sun’s already setting so Hermann should be thanking him, really; there’s less chance of either of them getting sunburned, something Hermann complains endlessly about. More than Newt does. “Finally,” Hermann says. He hoists himself to his feet. He’s wearing his cute round glasses still, too. “Off to the beach, then?”

Newt hands Herman the blue bottle, and Hermann blanches. “One second,” Newt says, already wiggling out of his t-shirt. “Gotta get ready.”

“Where’s the wine?” Hermann says. “I thought you went out--” But Newt’s shutting the door behind himself and stripping out of his shorts.

Newt’s prediction was right: Hermann is a little more amenable to going at it on the sand after they’ve each had a few drinks, especially once the sun sets and it’s just them on the beach. Unfortunately, the weird vodka is a bit more potent than he realized and they go from pleasantly buzzed to giddily tipsy in hardly any time at all. It doesn’t help that they’re both, admittedly, lightweights. Newt realizes he’s made a mistake after the third time he goes in to kiss Hermann and hits the tip of his nose with his lips instead of his mouth. But Hermann giggles, which is exponentially cuter than anything Newt’s heard in his life.

“Wine,” Newt declares into the crook of Hermann’s neck. “We should’ve just gotten wine. I should’ve.” He’s sprawled happy across Hermann’s chest, his knees resting on the blanket on either side of Hermann, careful not to put pressure on Hermann’s leg. He’s all sandy, too; before ultimately falling into a heap of kisses with Hermann, Newt thought it’d be fun to build a bunch of sandcastles and stomp through them like Godzilla. And it was fun, if maybe in slightly questionable taste given recent events, but this is more fun.

Hermann’s hat is askew (he hasn’t taken it off yet) and the top of his linen shirt is undone. He strokes through Newt’s hair affectionately. “Newton,” he says, “my dear Newton. Dear man.”

Hermann hasn’t been this tipsy since the little party they threw at the Shatterdome after the world didn’t end. It’s also adorable. The side of his glasses bump into the side of Newt’s with a little clack. “Mm?” Newt hums. Hermann strokes his hair again.

“I am very fond of you,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, I hope so,” Newt snorts. “You did marry me.” He kisses the little exposed bit of Hermann’s neck, brushing his lips against the linen collar of his shirt. He tries to wriggle his hands between their bodies to unclasp another one of Hermann’s buttons, but Hermann shakes his head.

“Ah. Not here.” He pats Newt’s back. “I don’t want to get sand on me.”

“Fair,” Newt sighs. The chafing would be a bitch. He snuggles in again. The waves on crashing gently on the shore make for some nice, relaxing background noise. Newt could almost fall asleep. His eyelids feel heavy.

“Newton,” Hermann murmurs, “stars. Above us.”

“Mm,” Newt hums again, not bothering to look up at the sky, and he noses at Hermann’s neck, the beginning of the fuzzy bit of his undercut.

Hermann prods his back again. “Please don’t fall asleep on me,” he says. He sounds muffled.

It’s a block back to the rental. A block back over dunes, and then up uneven stairs, stairs they’ll certainly both end up stumbling down if they attempt to climb. He’s doing them both a favor if he falls asleep here. “It’s cool,” Newt says. “We’re fine like this.” He shifts his hands to the blanket so he’s bracing less of his weight on Hermann. It’s so fucking cool being married to Hermann, you know? “It’s so fucking cool,” Newt says, sitting up to look Hermann in the eyes, “being married to you.” He bumps his nose against Hermann’s.

Hermann’s hands go to Newt’s sides, and he squeezes them gently. “Newton,” he declares, “I feel exactly the same.” And then his eyelids start to droop, glasses and hat and all. Newt rolls off and lands heavily on the sheet they brought with them, then cuddles up against Hermann. “I’m not falling asleep,” Hermann mumbles into his hair.

“Of course not,” Newt agrees, with a snicker. They’ll make it back to the rental eventually.