#newt calling hermann honey...Good Stuff

[hermannsthumb]

Once Newt and Hermann finally move in together, Newt accidentally stumbles upon Hermann's vibrator. Newt gets hard immediately just imagining his beautiful sexy husband using it on himself. Newt wants to see that. Newt wants to do that. Newt wants to see Hermann fuck himself with his vibrator, and fuck Hermann with his vibrator. Hermann's all adorably flustered when Newt brings it up, and then he sees just how turned on Newt is by the idea.

well uh. this is (as you might expect) kind of a hard 18+/not safe for work

———————-

“Need help with that?” Newt says.

Hermann heaves a small cardboard box up to his bad hip with a groan; Hermann Gottlieb is written on the side in Sharpie, in Hermann’s neat, tidy hand. All of his boxes are marked similarly. It’s kind of cute, really, that he even bothers–half of his stuff is Newt’s now anyway, and vice-versa, and truthfully has been since the lab. Odds are it’s stuffed with their shared mugs or papers Newt co-authored. “No, no,” he says. “I can manage.”

The box doesn’t look particularly heavy, but Hermann’s been quite insistent on not leaving all the heavy lifting to Newt all day, and he’s wincing in a way that means he might’ve strained himself a bit too much. Newt shoots him a small smile and places a hand on the box. “Hey, look, why don’t you take a break?” he says. “We only have a few things left. It’ll take me, like, ten minutes. Go test out the new couch. Better yet, find us some fucking dinner. I’m starving.”

The previous renter left behind a drawer full of take-out menus (which Newt discovered as he attempted to unpack their mis-matched collection of utensils earlier), and Newt’s sure at least one of them will be promising. Hermann returns the smile gratefully and relinquishes his hold on the box. Newt was right–it’s not very heavy. Pretty light, in fact. “Alright. If you’re sure.” Hermann presses a kiss to the corner of Newt’s mouth. “Is there anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”

“Nah,” Newt says, and then catches Hermann’s sleeve with his free hand to reel him in for a much filthier kiss. “Something quick. I have plans.” Those plans involve spending plenty of time breaking in their nice big, new, soft bed, before the exhaustion of the day inevitably catches up to them. 

“I see,” Hermann says, and adds wryly, “Perhaps I ought to take a nap, too.”

Newt gives him another kiss for his troubles, enjoying the small sound Hermann makes into his mouth when he flicks his tongue against the seam of his lips. But when Newt pulls away, Hermann’s all business. “Do be careful with that,” he says, eyeing the box Newt took from him warily. “Its contents are–er–rather delicate.”

Mugs after all, then. Or maybe family photographs. “Kitchen?” Newt says, already headed down the hallway.

“Bedroom,” Hermann says. Oh. Newt does a one-eighty in the opposite direction. “Er–just leave it on the bureau. I’ll deal with it…later.”

Now, Newt’s no snoop, and he would certainly never go through Hermann’s possessions without permission–mutual trust, respecting boundaries, all that shit that healthy couples need–but accidents happen. He’s only trying to be helpful. He puts the box on the bureau, as Hermann instructed, but he must do it a little too hard, because its contents roll around and clatter and thud, and then–bewilderingly–begin to vibrate.

Newt shakes the box. It doesn’t stop.

He peels off the packing tape.

He’s not really sure what he expects to find in it besides the obvious: there are very few things a vibrating box deposited into a bedroom can contain, after all. Sure enough, when Newt opens the flaps, he finds himself staring down at a pretty high-end bottle of lubricant and the most expensive-looking vibrator in existence. A vibrator that’s currently buzzing. Newt flicks it off quickly, then–before he can help himself–picks it up.

Hermann has a vibrator. Hermann has a nice vibrator. It’s long, and curved, and made of a dark material that is fucking amazing to the touch. Another glance in the box reveals a small remote control, with settings in speed and rhythm all the way from one to ten, and a few bonus ones labelled with things like Pleasure Overload. 

Hermann uses a vibrator that has settings for things like Pleasure Overload.

“Hol-lee shit,” Newt whistles.

Newt can picture it now: Hermann, stripped bare, face down on his bed, writhing and gasping in pleasure as he crams the vibrator into himself over and over. Begging aloud for it to go faster. Coming, untouched, all over his pasty chest, his rumpled sheets, wailing into his pillow as he fucks himself through it, not even stopping–

“Newton?” Hermann calls.

Newt throws the vibrator back into the box and tapes it messily back shut. There’s nothing to be done about his raging boner, but maybe Hermann will be too distracted by the Thai or Italian or whatever takeout to notice it. He pokes his head out of the bedroom. “Yeah, babe?” he says, heart thudding. 

No Hermann in sight. Hermann’s voice comes from the living room when he speaks again. “What on Earth is keeping you?” he says. “I need to know what you want on your pizza.”

Hermann uses a vibrator. Hermann uses settings like Pleasure Overload.

“Mushrooms,” Newt croaks. 

“What’s that?”

Newt swallows thickly and steps into the living room. Hermann is sprawled out on the new couch, his cane settled against one of the armrests. Luckily, he’s too engrossed in the pizza menu to look up and catch sight of Newt’s little problem. “You ought to look this over,” he says in a hum. “They have some very interesting combinations. This one has shrimp, and onions–and this one is called the Athenian, with feta cheese, black olives–oh, I forgot, you don’t like olives. Too salty, anyway. Though I suppose we could order it without if we wanted to, but that doesn’t seem to quite fit the spirit, does it…”

It isn’t like Hermann doesn’t have sex. Hermann has sex plenty, Newt as his enthusiastic witness. Hermann fucks Newt. Newt fucks Hermann. Hermann sucks Newt’s dick, and jerks him off in the shower, and moans like a whore when Newt gets his tongue in him. But a vibrator’s different, isn’t it? A vibrator isn’t just sex, and it isn’t even just jerking off–it’s a very certain kind of jerking off. A certain kind of jerking off he hasn’t even let Newt be privy to. They haven’t even used dildos together.

It’s hard to imagine the Hermann sitting in front of him now, in a moth-eaten sweater vest and smudged librarian glasses on a chain, jamming a vibe up his ass on the reg.

“Are you even listening to me?” Hermann says.

“No,” Newt admits.

Hermann scowls, but he doesn’t push Newt away when Newt plops next to him on the sofa, nor when he starts pawing at the hem of his sweater. “Newton,” Hermann says, “I thought you wanted–dinner–” Newt mouths at his neck, and Hermann gasps. The menu slips to the floor. “Newton. We haven’t finished moving everything from–”

“I don’t give a shit,” Newt says.

He pulls Hermann’s hand down and presses it at the tented front of his jeans; Hermann’s eyebrows jump. “What has gotten into you?”

“Honey,” Newt mumbles against the skin of Hermann’s neck, “can I fuck you with your vibrator?”

Hermann’s whole body tenses. He rips his hand away in the middle of what had been a pretty nice feel-around of Newt’s junk. “My what?” he echoes shrilly.

“Your vibrator,” Newt says. Oh, right, he wasn’t supposed to know about that, was he? It’s hard to think straight when he’s horny. He grins sheepishly. “I kinda accidentally looked inside the box. You could use it on yourself instead, if you want, and I could watch.” Actually, that’s kinda hotter–no effort required for Newt, and Hermann would probably be so carried away he wouldn’t mind if Newt jerked off on his chest or something. Hot, hot, hot.

Hermann isn’t a very good sport about it. “That’s,” Hermann splutters, “that’s a very personal object, Newton! And expensive! I told you–if you hadn’t been careful–I don’t go snooping through your belongings, do I?”

“It was an accident,” Newt says, and then, in a snort, “Expensive. How expensive?”

“If you must know, I saved up a month of paychecks for it,” Hermann snaps. “And it was bloody worth it. Dealing with the you day in and day out–I was tense as anything. I would’ve cracked years ago without it, and then where would we be?”

Newt sits back against the opposite arm rest with a pout. “It was a waste of money, is what it was,” he says. “Why didn’t you just ask me to lend a little hand? Or, you know.” He leers at Hermann, parting his legs slightly. Truthfully, he is a little offended, even though they didn’t start their thing until a few months after their drift–Hermann would’ve rather dropped several hundred bucks on a piece of plastic when he had a living, breathing, and very available lab partner at the ready who would’ve done anything he wanted at the snap of his fingers. Give Newt a few cans of Red Bull, hide his Ritalin, Hermann wouldn’t have remembered his own name. It’s a crying fucking shame.

“Yes, but unlike you,” Hermann says, “it wasn’t a walking breeding ground for extraterrestrial bacteria.” He makes a face. “Who knows what I might’ve caught from you. Urgh.”

That one stings a little, even though Newt firmly believes that proper lab protocol is for losers, and he was completely justified in his lackadaisical approach to…well, everything. “Hey, dude, no fair,” he says, weakly. “My tests all came back clean!”

“This argument is ridiculous,” Hermann says. “We’re not using it, and that’s final.”

Twenty minutes later, Hermann is lying on their new bed with Newt’s fingers and a decent amount of that high-end lube up his ass. Hermann, despite his posturing, is a pushover when it comes to the promise of sex. “You’re going too slowly,” he complains, wriggling and pushing back against Newt’s hands.

“I’m going perfect,” Newt says. “It’s not my fault you’re impatient.” The lube feels awesome on his skin, kinda warm and tingly, and he can’t help but be a little disappointed he won’t get to feel it on his dick tonight. And that Hermann’s never broken it out before now. Hermann buys the lubricant they use in bulk, generic as hell and in these massive gallon-size jugs with a little soap-dispenser hand pump on top. Totally stupid. He can’t imagine what the Shatterdome delivery guy thought of them. “Hey, how come you don’t let us use the fancy stuff, dude?”

“You wouldn’t appreciate it,” Hermann says. “To the left, darling. Yes.” He sighs happily, melting against his mound of pillows, and gives his dick a few languid strokes. Newt withdraws his fingers.

“I think you’re good,” he declares. “What do you mean I wouldn’t appreciate it?”

Hermann gives him a look over his glasses. Newt understands his point, though he’s not ever going to admit it out loud; he gets a little carried away with how awesome everything is when he tops, sometimes, and Hermann gets carried away with it too. He’s not sure he’d even notice if they were using fancy lube. “Whatever,” he says, and hands over the vibe. “C’mon, I want to watch you already.”

“Impatient,” Hermann echoes with an eyeroll.

The vibe is switched on (on setting 5, to Newt’s disappointment, no pleasure overload yet) and after that, everything is all business. 

“Often, if I’m–er–feeling up to it, I start–” Hermann presses the end of the vibe against his nipple, and his whole body shudders. “Ah. Oh. That’s–what I’d do, if you’d been–” The other nipple; another shudder. “Particularly–particularly dreadful one day.”

“Would you think of me?” Newt says with a grin.

“Absolutely not,” Hermann snaps.

He trails the vibe down his abdomen, stopping in the messy patch of dark pubic hair just above his dick–which, Newt notices happily, is fully hard and already wet at the tip. “Mm, maybe sometimes. I would now. Only I haven’t used it since we…”

“Yeah?” Newt says. He watches Hermann move the vibe in little circles over the thatch of hair, just avoiding his dick each time. “That’s hot.” All if it’s hot: Hermann thinking of Newt while he masturbates, Hermann masturbating, Hermann admitting that Newt is just so awesome in bed he hasn’t had to masturbate in months.

Hermann grazes the vibe down one thigh, shivering this time. “Most of the time I’d just–”

He pushes half the vibrator into himself in one sharp motion; his dick gives an equally sharp jerk. Newt and Hermann, meanwhile, moan in unison. “Goddamn, Hermann,” Newt whines, eyes glued to Hermann’s stretched, red rim, the sleek little bit of machine it twitches around. “That’s really hot.”

But Hermann’s eyes are screwed up tight in concentration behind his lopsided glasses, and he pays Newt no mind as he grips the base of the vibe and continues to push it deeper, breath coming out in a series of short, needy puffs. “How’s it feel?” Newt says. “Tell me, I want–”

“Very–very good.” Hermann grips his dick, tugging on it as he works the vibe in and out of himself in perfect tandem. He’s going nice and slow. Slower than Newt would go. Newt’s not surprised–Hermann told him it was meant to be stress relief, after all. (Maybe that’s why Hermann was always a bit more cheerful the morning after they’d had a nasty fight in the lab.) “Newton,” he groans.

Newt can’t help it: he bends down and kisses him. Hermann’s just too fucking sexy for him not to. Hermann groans a little louder into his mouth. “Hermann, Hermann,” Newt pants, “dude, can I–”

“You can do whatever you bloody want,” Hermann says, his voice high and breathy. 

Newt takes that to heart. It’s a bit of an effort to fit his dick in alongside the vibe, but holy shit, is it worth it. Between the vibrations and Hermann clamping down impossibly tight around both Newt and the toy, he’s surprised he doesn’t pass out from just sitting there. Hermann, meanwhile–Hermann’s eyes roll back into his head, he writhes on the bed, and he grips wildly at Newt’s shoulders, and for a second Newt thinks Hermann might pass out too.

“Ah, ah–!”

“How’s’it feel?” Newt manages to croak out.

Hermann kisses him messily.

Once he’s sure he’s not about to blow it then and there, Newt reaches down and nudges the vibe in to the hilt. He knows at once when he hits Hermann’s prostate: Hermann’s whole body seizes, and shakes, and his mouth falls open in a wordless cry against Newt’s. After that, it’s over for both of them.

They lay in a sweaty, sticky heap for a little while, Hermann breathing like he’s just run a marathon, Newt already threatening to doze off like he always does after an awesome round of sex. The vibrator lays innocently between them. Finally Hermann prods at Newt’s shoulder and rouses him from his self-congratulatory afterglow. “You still have two boxes to carry in,” he says. 

“Dude,” Newt whines.

[sunriseverse]

29........

oooooh I like this one :D set post-movie

“My parents asked about you again,” Newt says one morning over breakfast, slathering an unholy amount of Nutella on his pancakes, the heat making the chocolate spread drip onto his fingers.

Hermann peers at him over the paper, scowls at the sight. “Use a napkin, you heathen,” he scolds. “And I wasn’t aware they had asked after me before.”

Newt grins and stuffs the entire pancake into his mouth, making Hermann sniff in disgust. Thankfully, he swallows before speaking. “Yeah, they were like, weirdly insistent about it? I don’t know, man. Monica was asking about, uh, floral arrangements, I think? And Dad said something about “kids these days…”.”

“Mm,” Hermann hums, absentmindedly flicking to the next page. “Well, the only floral arrangements in our life are your quickly-dying cacti.” Newt gasps.

“How dare you! I take good care of them!”

There’s a moment of silence as they both glance towards the windowsill, where three sad, dejected, and browning cacti wilt forlornly in their pots, and Newt scowls. “Well, you try caring for them, why don’t you!”

“I think I shall,” Hermann replies. “And I’ll do a damn better job than you.”

The set of Newt’s jaw reads indignant and stubborn, and he says, “Oh, that’s how you’re gonna play it, huh? Aloof and dark and handsome? Well, two can play that game––you’ll see, in a week my plants will be vibrant.”

“Of course they will,” Hermann smiles. Newt narrows his eyes.

The end of the week does not, as Newt had insisted, see his plants as vibrant. They’re still a bit browned and crisp around the edges, but, by some miracle, they’ve stopped actively dying. “That absolutely does count!” Newt argues that night, pressed against Hermann’s side in the tiny bed. “They are, comparatively speaking, vibrant.”

Hermann sighs. “They are not, Newton, just accept it. And please, for the love of all things holy, go to sleep.” Newt lets out a grumble but settles down slightly, head against Hermann’s shoulder.

It feels…comforting, to have the other this close. Hermann tries not to examine the thought too closely.

-

“I made you a cup of coffee,” Newt says. “Figured you could use it after today.” The unspoken I felt your stress hangs between them, the remnants of the Drift. It’s mostly gone, now, but occasionally, things still slip through.

Hermann accepts the cup gratefully. “Thank you,” he says, and Newt nods. They sit, for a moment, Hermann sipping the bitter drink, silence stretching between them, and Hermann thinks, this is nice.

“Yeah, it is,” Newt mumbles absentmindedly, and Hermann freezes.

“Sorry, what?”

Newt’s gaze snaps to his. “You said…oh, crap, you didn’t say that out loud, did you?” he asks weakly. “Sorry.”

Hermann stares at him for a moment, and thinks, very clearly, how long?

“Haha, um,” Newt glances around, looking for an escape, but Hermann reaches out, grasping his wrist.

“How long?”

Newt stares at the ground intently. “…since the Drift,” he says, guiltily. “I thought you had the same thing?” Hermann fixes him with a glare. “Oh, that’s a no. Okay.”

“Yes, that’s a no, Newton,” Hermann hisses, slightly exasperated. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“Well what was I supposed to say?” He throws up his free hand. “‘Oh Hermann, by the way, I can read your thoughts’? ‘Oh, by the way, I think you’re pretty too’? What was I supposed to say?”

Hermann pauses. “…what are you talking about?”

Newt blinks, taken aback. “…I can read your thoughts?”

“No, the other one!” Hermann snaps.

“You––what? Oh! Wait, I thought you knew that?” Newt stares at him, wide-eyed. “So you kept brushing off my advances because you…didn’t realize I was flirting?”

“No!” Hermann replies hotly.

Newt lets out a huff of laughter. “Dude, I legit call you “honey”, “darling”, “babe”, “handsome”, etcetera every day at least once. I even asked you out for coffee!”

“We graded papers!” Hermann shoots back, attempting to defend himself, and Newt rolls his eyes.

“You are the most oblivious person I’ve ever met,” he sighs. “Hermann, will you go on a date, like as in an “I like-like you will you date me?” date with me?”

Hermann glares. “Yes, but don’t think for one second you’re off the hook about this.”

“I’d never,” Newt grins.

[hermannsthumb]

If you're after a NSFW prompt - anything based on the gif that says "you can fuck me but I'm keeping the parka on" 😘😘😘

LMAOOOO. ALRIGHT here is the gif in question. here are some dumb post-movie old gay scientist husbands

not EXPLICITLY 18+ below cut, but probably falls into a hard “M” rating (via ao3 scale). im not sure how people are tagging stuff these days since the recent tag outlaw. lemon? are we using lemon?

Newt has to stay late at the university for a Biology department meeting--a whole extra two hours--and when he isn’t thinking about his poor husband sitting alone and unloved and cold in their apartment, he’s thinking about his husband naked and hot and sweaty and on top of Newt, and naked and hot and sweaty and below Newt, and gasping oh, Newton!, and making those weird grunting noises and that weird face he always does when he comes. It’s not really a sexy face, more like he just bit into a lemon or he’s about to start yelling at Newt, but fuck if Newt doesn’t love it. Newt loves everything about Hermann. Fucking infatuated with the guy.

Poor Hermann, stuck at home while Newt’s here. Maybe he’ll be so excited to see Newt that he just falls into his arms the second Newt walks in the front door. Maybe he’ll be naked. Maybe he’ll be naked in bed (that’s definitely it), he just missed Newt so bad that he couldn’t help but start touching himself, and he’ll say Come here, darling when Newt walks in the door, and Newt can rail Hermann until they both see stars, and Hermann will make that sexy face and shout all sorts of things about how good and awesome and gorgeous Newt is. Hermann’s probably touching himself right now, Newt decides. He definitely is. He’s probably so lonely.

Newt should be there.

He really should, actually. Why isn’t he?

Newt stands up suddenly, chair squeaking as it nearly topples over. “I have an emergency at home,” he blurts out.

The head of the department nods, mildly bewildered--Newt cut him off mid-sentence--so Newt snatches his jacket up from the back of his chair and speed-walks out.

Hermann’s not naked and begging for Newt to take him in their front hallway when Newt basically kicks down their apartment door, nor is he in their front hallway fully-clothed and telling Newt how much he missed him. It’s fine--that just means he’s definitely either in the living room or their bedroom. Newt’d prefer the bedroom, but he can make the living room work. They fucked on the lab couch plenty of times back in the day. Living room couch is hardly any different. It’s bigger, even. “Hermann?” Newt calls.

“Here,” Hermann calls back. Living room couch it is, then.

Newt strips off his leather jacket, his scarf, his gloves, trips over and nearly smashes into the small mirror hanging in the hallway when he tries to take off his snowy boots. When he’s finally down to his jeans and the sweater he stole from Hermann, he stumbles into the living room, ready to fall on his definitely naked husband and just start going to town immediately. (His poor, lonely, naked husband, needing a big strong biologist to take good care of him.) “Dude,” he says, tearing the sweater off over his head, “I am so fucking horny right now.”

Hermann is not naked. Nor does he look remotely like he wants to be naked any time soon. He’s bundled up in what’s gotta be at least five layers, ridiculous parka pulled over top and zipped all the way to his nose, hood pulled up, too. Newt’s not sure how he can even see the television. He’s also not sure how Hermann hasn’t keeled over from heatstroke; it may be fucking freezing outside, but Hermann keeps their apartment at a brisk 80-F (slight exaggeration, only slight) in addition to his current layered state.

“You’re what?” Hermann says, and Newt can, at least, see his eyes squinting suspiciously behind his glasses.

“Horny,” Newt says. He drops the sweater; Hermann doesn’t even look at his chest, which is a bad sign. Hermann loves Newt’s chest. “Uh. Hi, honey. You look--” He fishes around for something that’s not puffy. “--really sexy.”

Now that Newt says it, he realizes Hermann does look sexy. The parka’s dumb-looking and too big for Hermann, but it’s also cute on him, and just makes Newt want to do debased and horny things to him, repeatedly and thoroughly. (Newt really, really wants to have sex with Hermann right now.)

Hermann squints suspiciously some more. “We are not having sex,” he says, finally.

“Hermann,” Newt whines.

“It’s freezing out,” Hermann says, tugging his blanket tighter around himself, “and I’m freezing.”

Sex warms people up. Hermann knows that. Newt drops to his knees in front of Hermann, ready to plead his case, ready to beg for just--Hermann graciously allowing Newt to go down on him and make Hermann feel amazing, even. Newt’ll take that and nothing more. “Please,” Newt whines, eyeing up the general area of the lower half of Hermann’s body beneath his blanket. “Really fast. I’ll keep you warm, Hermann, honey--”

Hermann sighs, then reaches out and touches the side of Newt’s face. “Alright, darling,” he says, and he can sound as exasperated as he wants, but Newt can see his broad smile beneath that parka. Bastard just wanted to see Newt beg. (Newt kind of loves when Hermann makes him beg for it.) “You can fuck me--” Newt maybe moans a little, but he can’t help it, it’s super hot when Hermann curses. “--but I’m keeping the parka on.”

“Works for me,” Newt says, and scrambles up onto his husband’s lap to start kissing him eagerly.

[hermannsthumb]

I don't know if you're still open to those prompts but if you are, number 4 please?

Prompt from this ancient list once more: Pet names (endearments) 

(plus a little inspo from this ask i got this morning hehe)

The first time it happens, Newt’s sure he’s hearing things

As a general rule, Hermann doesn’t use nicknames for Newt--not like Newt’s casually flung dudes and mans, not like how everyone else forgoes the professional Dr. Geiszler for Newt. Just Newton. Always Newton. It was Dr. Geiszler, once, back in the first letter Hermann ever addressed to him (Dr. Geiszler, I eagerly await your correspondence) before Hermann got the hint that Newt hates being called that, but after that it was Newton, Newton Hermann’s penpal, Newton Hermann’s ex-pen pal, Newton Hermann’s lab partner (he couldn’t bring himself to revert back to the formality, Newt assumed, not after their years and years of trans-continental intimacy), Newton Hermann’s scientific rival and more-and-more frequent bed partner, Newton Hermann’s maybe-sort-of-boyfriend (?). Newton, Newton, (sometimes moron or bloody fool, or kaiju groupie! when he wanted to rile him up around others, but almost always pre/proceeded by a Newton), but never Newt, and the thing was, Newt loved it. It was something special. Something entirely for him. So he got used to it. Embraced it.

“Thank you, my dear,” Hermann said exactly five minutes ago, taking a cup of coffee from Newt with a distracted kiss. He was pouring over some old papers--old equations, something that looked like one of Newt’s ancient grad school articles--so he didn’t notice Newt’s look of shock, the way he nearly dropped his own cup of coffee.

Exactly five minutes ago. Newt sits at his desk, now, staring at Hermann’s tweed-blazer-clad back and replaying it over and over in his head. Hermann couldn’t have called him dear. Newt has to be wrong. Hermann doesn’t even call Newt things like Newt, and he certainly wouldn’t call Newt things like dear. “Hey,” Newt calls to Hermann.

Hermann looks over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“What was that?”

Hermann smiles, cordially. ���I said thank you.”

“Uh, right,” Newt says. “Yeah. Cool. Okay.”

The second time is a mildly more intimate setting. They’re making out on the lab couch, Hermann tucked snugly against the cushions with Newt sprawled out on top of him, leaving purple-black bruises along Hermann’s joint of neck and shoulder and making Hermann sigh and gasp sweetly, when Hermann cups the back of Newt’s head and sighs dreamily and says “That’s wonderful, darling.”

Newt freezes, lips stilling against Hermann’s skin, then lifts his head and stares at Hermann.

“Something the matter?” Hermann says. His tongue darts out across his kiss-bitten lips. Something warm is spreading in Newt’s chest, coiling tightly, but comfortably, round his heart, and he grins broadly at Hermann.

“Nope,” he says. “Not at all, honey.” A pleased smile creeps across Hermann’s face; Newt dives back in to drawing more of those little sounds from Hermann.

It becomes more frequent after that, and less shocking each time; Hermann accepts his coffee every morning with thank you, my dear and a perfunctory kiss, calls Newt darling when he’s feeling amorous (magnificent, darling, do that again, darling), wraps his arms round Newt in the lab when Newt works too late and kisses the back of his neck and says come to bed, my love (his bed, not Newt’s, because they share one, now) or says I’m sorry, my love after they’ve had a nasty fight, and sometimes--very special, very rare times, only when he’s half-asleep and thinks Newt’s half-asleep, too--he’ll hold Newt in his arms and murmur dear Newton, my dear Newton, until they both doze off. 

So Newt gives as good as he gets, of course, what kind of boyfriend (!) would he be if he didn’t? He calls Hermann hot stuff and baby, honey and sweetheart, babe when he wants to see Hermann make a face and big guy (or Hermann, you hunk!) when he wants to make Hermann laugh into his kisses, even cutie, once, when Hermann shows up to the lab, stricken by a cold, in a mustard yellow wool sweater and his old, old glasses with round frames half the size of his face. Cutie makes Hermann blush to the roots of his dorky hair, so Newt uses that one for a while.

“I like it when you call me stuff like that,” Newt confesses one night, as a sleepy Hermann pets his hair and calls him dear love. “It’s...nice.”

“Mm,” Hermann hums, brushing his lips over Newt’s forehead, and the warmth in Newt’s chest blossoms once more. He squeezes Hermann a little more tightly to him.

“‘Night, handsome,” Newt says.

Hermann kisses his forehead again. “Goodnight, my love.”