#with ten mins to spare in his (EST) bday!!!!

[hermannsthumb]

Prompt: Newt has never seen the appeal of threesomes, frankly. They seem like more trouble than they're worth. But now there's two Hermanns standing in front of him, and his first thought (after "Did I take my meds?" , "Do I need new glasses?" , and "What the fuck is happening?") is that he needs both of them, immediately.

Anonymous said: Prompt (if you haven't written it already!) where due to time travel shenanigans, newt gets spit roasted by hermann(s)

i love how many requests i get for this kinda stuff HAHAHAH i technically have written this three times before, but in honor of newt’s birthday, let’s go for a fourth! MAJOR not sfw below cut!!!

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Newt is distracted as hell when he half-jogs into the lab one otherwise ordinary birthday afternoon, which might explain why he doesn’t see that there are two Hermanns at first. There’s too much on his mind—picking a club for tonight, what dissections he has to get done today before they can go out to a club, whether or not he remembered to wash his sexy club clothes, and if it even matters, because they’re just gonna get covered in glitter again. Whether or not the barista got Hermann’s coffee order right this time. Whether or not the special birthday breakfast pastries survived the journey. “It’s pouring out there,” he complains to Hermann, pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes and scraping his boots off on the pathetic rubber mat they keep in the doorway. “If it doesn’t let up, we might wanna reconsider going out tonight.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“Sweaty, wet bodies in a small room? Gross. No thanks.” Newt inspects the pastries: the brown wrappings of the one on top are slightly water-logged, but the pastry itself is fine. Perfect. “We could just rent a movie.”

“Newton,” Hermann says.

“And order some pizza.” Man, that’d make for a nice birthday. All cozied up in Newt’s bed with a monster movie and pizza. “Actually, let’s do that instead. I kinda wanted to go dancing, but—”

Hermann bangs his cane against the floor. It echoes strangely, almost as if he’s doing it twice at once, and Newt turns to him in confusion—or, as he discovers, them. He drops his pastry. He polishes his glasses free of water, and crams them back onto his face. He blinks a few times. “Oh, shit,” he says. “Dude, there are two of you.”

“I know,” both Hermanns say, and roll their eyes.

Newt approaches them cautiously. Two Hermanns. One of them is undoubtedly Newt’s Hermann, judging by his bad haircut, bad glasses, and bad clothing, which is the same boring slacks and sweater combo he was wearing when Newt left for coffee an hour ago. The other Hermann is a Hermann unlike one Newt’s ever seen before, clad in dark colors, with hair cropped somewhat more evenly and twice as many wrinkles around his eyes. Not two Hermanns—it can’t be two Hermanns. That’s a scientific impossibility. “Your brother,” Newt says. He knows Hermann has an older one, though the odds of Hermann having an older brother who uses a cane identical to his, on the same side as his, is a little slim.

“No,” Hermann says.

“You cousin?” Newt says.

“No,” the other Hermann says, but the corner of his mouth twitches up with an obvious fondness. “Your earlier assessment was correct, I’m afraid. There are two of me.”

Newt glances between them again. Same soft, brown eyes; same dark eyelashes; same weird, wide lips; same elegant cheekbones. Is Newt dreaming? No, he’s sure he’s not dreaming—it’s too, like, real to be a dream. (Besides, Newt’s brain is never this kind to him, and if it was, he would’ve just skipped the boring build-up and gone straight to the threeway.) Is he having some sort of a mental break, brought on by stress, or forgetting to take his meds somewhere along the line? Unlikely—Newt’s been way more stressed before, and he’s skipped his meds before, and he’s never had a reaction like this. It must be real. “Well, shit,” he finally says. “Hermann, this is the best birthday present ever.”

“Er,” Newt’s Hermann says. “It is?”

Newt cups the side of the new Hermann’s face, feeling it, inspecting it, reveling in the warmth of his skin. Yep—real, definitely real. Real and handsome. Newt pats his cheek. “You cloned yourself just so we could have an awesome birthday threesome,” Newt says. “That’s really touching, Hermann, seriously. I promise I won’t let you down.”

“No,” Hermann says. “That’s not—”

New Hermann gently places his hand over Newt’s, leaning into his touch, and smiles. There’s a hint of sadness to it Newt doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not a clone, darling,” he says.

“Oh, I like him,” Newt says. “He’s nicer. Definitely not a clone, then. Who are you, then, hot stuff?”

“He’s—oh.” Hermann sighs. “It all sounds so silly when I try to say it out loud. He’s from the future, Newton.”

Newt hums, considering New Hermann. Yeah, that makes more sense. Eye wrinkles. However far off in the future he’s from, apparently he’s picked up a bit more fashion sense by then, and maybe even a bit of style. “You came back in time just to have an awesome birthday threesome with me?” Newt guesses.

New Hermann laughs. Eye wrinkles, style, and apparently some sort of major head injury where he forgets how bad he and Newt hate each other. The future is now, or whatever. “Truthfully,” he says, “arriving on your birthday was unintentional. It’s difficult to get exact dates correctly with the sort of technology I was using, you see.”

“Apparently there’s some great big event that happens in 2035 that it’s absolutely imperative he warn us about,” Hermann says.

That’s a bit of a let down. Still cool by virtue of time travel, Newt guesses, but awesome birthday threesome would’ve been more exciting. “Oh,” he says. A let down, and a shame, really, because 11-years-into-the-future Hermann is pretty sexy, and Newt was hoping for the chance to get his hands on some of that. Or maybe get those hands on him. He’s not picky. “I mean,” he tries, one last desperate attempt, “what’s the rush, you know? You can always tell us afterwards.”

“Afterwards?” Future Hermann says.

“Afterwards,” Newt repeats. He grabs Future Hermann by the lapels of his dark labcoat and smiles cheekily. “You can spare a couple hours, can’t you, dude? For the birthday boy?”

A sudden warmth blooms behind the future Hermann’s eyes; his mouth stretches into a smile of his own, goofy and affectionate. Future Hermann sure seems to like him. Newt hasn’t got a problem with that in the slightest, actually. “Er, a couple,” he stammers, and Newt hears Hermann—his Hermann—inhale sharply, like he’s just been offended to the utmost degree. “I suppose that’s— Well, I suppose there’s no real problem there. It’s not as if I’m on a schedule. Time travel. After all.”

“After all,” Newt says. “What about you, Hermann?

Newt’s Hermann is silent for a little too long to be anything but considering. “Er,” he says.

“Good,” Newt says.

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“Alright, boys,” Newt says, “I’m not as young as I used to be, so I can’t promise I’m very good at this anymore.”

“Anymore?” Newt’s Hermann says.

Newt winks at him over his shoulder. He has a witty joke on the edge of his tongue, but it dies when the Hermann in front of him (older, nicer Hermann) begins to tenderly stroke his jaw without warning. “You’ve always been so handsome,” Hermann says. His hand trails up the side of Newt’s face and stops in his hair, where he begins to twirl a strand around his finger. Newt shivers. “I could stare at you all day.”

“That’s kinda creepy, Hermann,” Newt says. “And cute, I guess? Okay, here goes.”

He opens his mouth wide and takes in Hermann’s—the new Hermann’s—dick as deep as he can, which is somewhere around the three-fourths mark. He used to be a lot better at deep-throating in his twenties. Also, Hermann is somewhat very well-endowed. “Bugger,” the future Hermann moans. His eyes flicker shut, and his grip in Newt’s hair tightens, and Newt feels a surge of pride. He’s always loved being able to turn Hermann to jelly like this, and apparently some things never chance. He hopes future Newt is still giving it to Hermann like this. “Newton, that’s marvelous.”

“Oh, by Jove,” Newt’s Hermann murmurs. He’s standing behind them at the edge of the bed, his knees braced against it gently. He’s also undoubtedly enjoying the view. Newt smiles around Hermann’s dick (puffing out his cheeks for show, just a little), and wriggles his ass obnoxiously at his Hermann. He needed the guy inside of him five minutes ago, goddamn it. Hermann seems to get the hint: there’s a shaking hand placed on his hip, a lone finger prodding his lube-slick entrance to check he’s properly prepared, and then Hermann’s dick sliding into him inch-by-inch. Newt moans. 

“Newton,” the two Hermanns groan out in near-unison, the one as Newt begins to bob his head up and down his dick, the other as he bottoms out and his pelvis hits Newt’s ass.

Newt pulls his mouth off of Hermann’s dick for only a second. “Fuck me already,” he begs. His voice is raspy even to his own ears.

He’s not sure which Hermann he’d intended to direct the plea towards, but both take it to heart: the Hermann behind Newt begins to rock in and out of him, picking up speed with each little thrust, while the Hermann in front of Newt pushes his dick back between Newt’s lips and begins a series of shallow thrusts of his own. Newt feels speared open, and used; Newt feels fucking awesome. “Mm,” he moans. He ruts against the bedsheets lazily.

“Wait, wait,” the Hermann fucking his mouth suddenly says, voice breathless. “Your—ah—your timing is not quite right.”

“It most certainly is right,” the Hermann in his ass huffs. “You’re meant to be following my lead. Yours is off.”

“Hardly,” the first Hermann says. “Stop moving—we need a bloody rhythm. We needn’t overwhelm Newton.”

Both of them still. Newt hears them debating how to proceed in a series of hissed whispers (though he’s too busy happily sucking on Hermann’s dick to bother with proper eavesdropping), and then the Hermann behind him is pulling out, while the Hermann in front of him pushes further into his mouth and down his throat. Newt’s throat burns pleasurably; his eyes begin to water, and he gags very slightly. “There we are,” the first Hermann continues in a grunt. “Now—” He pulls out until the wet head of his dick is just grazing Newt’s lips, while the other Hermann pushes back into Newt’s ass. “Much neater.”

Newt swallows down a hysterical laugh, or maybe it’s more of a whimper, and just grins instead. “You guys work it out?”

“Shut it,” the Hermann behind him gasps. He grinds deep in Newt, hitting all the right spots, and Newt is grateful for the return of the other Hermann’s dick in his mouth to muffle him before he can really make an embarrassing sound.

They keep up the pattern for all of five minutes, which Newt is pretty impressed with. Slowly, though, they start to get impatient; lingering too long inside of Newt, or pulling out a bit too slowly, or jumping the gun just a bit too early to rock back in. The Hermann in behind is the first to snap and forgo it entirely, suddenly gripping onto Newt’s waist and pounding into him as hard as he can. Not that Newt is complaining. “Ah, Newton, that’s so—” he moans, and Newt rewards him with a little teasing squeeze, “I—”

“Mmhm,” Newt says. Part of him wants to start worrying about his own orgasm, but honestly, he’s enjoying this too much. 

Getting an idea, he pulls his mouth off of Hermann and replaces it with his hand. Hermann always gets really embarrassed when Newt lets him come on his face, and he’s curious about if that’s changed in eleven years. “This feels so awesome,” he says. He begins jerking Hermann off quickly, barely a centimeter from his lips. He’s sure he’s gonna say some dumb shit—he loses his mouth to brain filter (which already works at minimum capacity) completely when he’s this turned on. “So, so awesome. I wanna do it again with both of you guys in my ass or something, but I want you to come all over me first, fuck yeah, come on, Hermann, do it—”

“Newton!” the Hermann above him chokes out, throwing a hand over his eyes, which gives Newt all the warning he needs to stick his tongue out and catch a small portion of his jizz. The rest makes a mess of his glasses. Kinda gross. Pretty hot, too.

He’s not surprised when he feels the Hermann behind him stiffen and come in him only a second later, cursing and gasping—he really does like to see Newt messy.

While they both collapse to the bed and attempt to catch their breath, Newt rubs his fingers through the mess one Hermann made of his face and uses it as lube to stroke himself off. He doesn’t take very long, either, considering this is definitely one of the hottest things to ever happen to him. Top five birthdays for sure.

“So,” he says, ten minutes later. He’s positioned himself in bed as the middle of the Hermann sandwich. Both Hermanns (arms draped around Newt) look at him, but Newt only looks back at Future Hermann. “What did you come here to tell us?”

“Oh,” Future Hermann says. He blushes. “Er. Right.”