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Herman truly hates inter-organizational politics. He made this very clear to Marshall Pentecost when he first arrived at the Hong Kong Shatterdome. He is working in K-Science to calculate the probability of Kaiju attacks and improve the latest Jaeger coding. He has no time for administrative affairs; leave him alone with his chalkboards and his mind, and he can work efficiently and productively for the organization. And, other than saddling Hermann with a frustratingly erratic, childish lab partner (who has an annoying knack for growing on Hermann, like a bad case of black mold), the Marshall seems to have taken this to heart.
Until today, when the Marshall called Hermann topside and introduced him to the lead K-Science officer from the Lima Shatterdome, Dr. Ariane Fernandez. She's quite brilliant and quite charming, and apparently quite obsessed with his research. She's also much better at playing politics than Hermann, which might be why the Lima 'dome consistently gets more science funding than Hong Kong. That and the Hong Kong K-Sci's reputation as "a bunch of overzealous nutcases," as one rather rude councilor put it one funding meeting. Newton had to keep Hermann from beating the man upside the head with his cane after that comment.
Pentecost gave Hermann one order before he introduced Dr. Fernandez. "Get on her good side and get yourself more money so we can keep this rag tag team together. Do whatever it takes, Dr. Gottlieb."
Hermann had scowled and groused, but he'd listened. He'd put on his best attempt at a smile, and answered all of Dr. Fernandez's questions, and showed her the lab, and his latest Jaeger code improvements, and his Breach calculations. Thankfully, Newton took an early afternoon leave like he’s been doing on Fridays of late, so there was no need to worry about his interference. And it isn’t the worst time, Hermann must admit. Dr. Fernandez is quite a nice woman, bright and genuinely appreciative of Hermann's work; he'd say he was almost flattered, and suddenly it makes sense how her lab's gotten so well-funded.
But when she asks him out, he's thrown for a loop.
"You see, there is this place in Hong Kong I have always wanted to go, Dr. Gottlieb," she says, twisting her hands together. "Unfortunately, I do not know anyone in this city. But I am loving our conversation, and if you were to join me, we could continue it over dinner."
Hermann blanches, flailing metaphorically for a response. "I- well you see, I'm not- the thing of it is, Dr. Fernandez, you're quite a lovely person, but not my, ah, type of person to continue conversations over dinner with."
“You misunderstand I would like to have a platonic meal with you, Hermann," Dr. Fernandez says, biting a grin back. "I promise, my intentions are only collegial and intellectual. Besides, even if I were interested, all the K-Science teams know better than to encroach on Dr. Geiszler's territory."
"T-territory?" Hermann yelps, going wide-eyed. "What are you talking about? I'm- we're not-" The other teams, they think, they think he and Newton are... an item?
Dr. Fernandez laughs and pats him on the shoulder. "Alright. I was mistaken then. Still, I would enjoy the company. Would you mind terribly?"
Do whatever it takes, the Marshall had said.
Which is how Hermann finds himself in Wan Chai's finest maid cafe, Servir.
Hermann has never been to a maid cafe. He's heard Newton babble on about them once or twice: cute girls in French maid outfits serving customers food, chatting with them, pretending to be at the customer's beck and call. Rather vulgar, in Hermann's opinion. He's never seen the appeal. He's not one for fetishization, preferring to admire someone's mind over their physical appearance. At least, that's what he's been telling himself.
Then he sees the maids.
Including the very male maids that apparently work at this equal opportunity maid cafe.
Each maid, no matter their gender, wears the same stylish costume, clearly modeled after a traditional French maid’s outfit, if the French maid worked in a fetish dungeon. There are at least a dozen maids hosting tonight, sitting with guests, serving tea and pastries, being ogled by every patron in the establishment. And as Hermann slides into a booth, he can't help but ogle one or two himself. There are quite a few lithe young men about, and, well, it's been a while. He's no monk, and he's having a reaction that leaves him glad the booth hides his lower half so well.
"I heard about this place from my cousin," Ariane says, wide-eyed and grinning. "We do not have them in Lima. Thank you for coming with me. I would be too embarrassed otherwise."
"Certainly," Hermann says, quickly taking the menu the hostess hands him and snapping it open in front of his face. He needs a moment to compose himself. There are far too many interesting sights in this cafe. "Tea. Where is the tea. There must be tea on this menu somewhere."
There is tea, a dozen varieties of it, as well as coffee, cocoa, juices, milkshakes, and cocktails. Then a selection of pastries, pies and cakes, light sandwiches, and for those inclined, a few heavier meals like steak and venison. Hermann imagines the point of this establishment is to spend more time focused on the maids and less on what's in front of you. As for himself, he might need to ask for some harder liquor to get through this experience.
"Oh, here comes our waiter," Ariane says as Hermann continues to stare pointedly at the menu, practically hiding behind it. "I asked for a male maid, if that's alright?"
"It's your event, Dr. Fernandez," Hermann mutters. "Whatever you'd like."
Whatever it takes. Bloody hell, Stacker, did you mean something like this?
"Hi there!" Ariane says, clearly excited. "What's your name?"
"Charlie," says a voice far too familiar, far too known, and the dissonance between the fake name and the identity of who's saying it makes Hermann snap his menu down, sucking in a shocked breath when he confirms what, to his horror, he already knows to be true.
Newton. It's Newton.
Newton, cinched into a tight black blouse with puffy sleeves, tied around the waist with a white length of fabric looped into an elegant, elaborate bow across his back. Hips hidden by a short, fluffy skirt, the surprisingly smooth tops of his thighs visible between the skirt and a pair of long, white stockings, clinging to and showing off his rounded calves. Feet encased in a set of wedge heels, at least a few inches tall, so that if Hermann were standing in front of him they'd finally be of equal height for once and he could look Newton right in the eye.
The worst part is that he's bloody gorgeous, unfairly so. A vision in taffeta and lace, everything hugging and clinging to him as if it's been tailor made just for him. The latent, long-suffocated attraction Hermann has nursed for Newton comes bubbling up, bursting outwards in a throb of pure want through his whole body.
Hermann watches as whatever Newton was planning on saying next dies on his lips, and all that comes out is a confused squeak of a noise. His face is frozen in a mask of terror, but Hermann only sees it for a moment, because in the next Newton is gone, a flurry of ribbons and fabric fleeing the table and disappearing into the crowd.
"Do you know him?" Ariane asks as Hermann drags himself out of the booth, intent on going after his erstwhile lab partner, who must be erstwhile if he's decided to take up at an establishment like this. But he hesitates at answering her question, because she doesn't seem to have recognized him, and Hermann suspects Newton would like to keep it that way.
"An old flame," Hermann lies, "I want to go speak with him, make sure he, ah, knows I'm not here to bother him. I'll only be a moment."
Newton is nowhere in sight, so Hermann goes over to the hostess.
"Excuse me," he asks, "did you see - what was it... did you see 'Charlie' run by here?"
"Is there a problem with his service, sir?" She asks, face impassive.
"Ah, no, certainly not," Hermann says, "we've only just begun it. It's just, I'm a friend of his, and I don't think he expected to see me here."
"We can certainly change your server, if it would make you more comfortable."
"That's not- I was hoping to speak with him briefly, but he seems to have disappeared."
"I'll let him know you're wanting to talk then, sir, when he comes back out to the floor."
"You couldn't tell me where he's gone?"
She shakes her head.
"I really do need to speak with him," Hermann insists. This isn't a conversation that can wait. If Dr. Fernandez finds out Newton's identity, that a member of K-Science, supposedly one of the world's brightest minds, is working on his off time at a maid cafe? The gossip would be untenable. And say goodbye to their budget.
"Then I will let him know you would like to," she replies, her expression unchanged. "But for now, if you could return to your seat?"
Hermann sighs. "Alright. Just, ask him to stay out of sight of the woman I'm sitting with, if you could? I would very much appreciate it."
"Of course, sir," the hostess says. "I'll have someone switch out with him immediately."
Hermann makes up some sort of lie about an amicable chat with 'Charlie' to Dr. Fernandez when he returns to his seat. Some other maid who looks nothing like Newton, sounds nothing like him, and whose outfit isn't giving Hermann heart palpitations like Newton's was comes over to replace him. It's all fine, and Fernandez seems to enjoy chatting with both Hermann and the maid, who does an admirable job trying to prompt Hermann for conversation. But he's ruined for it, unable to get the image of Newton wrapped up in that tight little outfit out of his brain. He finds himself glancing out into the packed, noisy cafe, searching for a glance of his partner. He's half afraid and half eager that he'll see Newton, and unsure of which is the right response.
It isn't as though he's blind to the notion that he finds Newton an attractive man, physically and -- he despises himself for admitting this -- intellectually and emotionally as well. But acting on that attraction, that's never been possible. Newton has made it pretty clear what his ‘type’ is – they all tend to sport tattoos, rainbow hair, leather and eyeliner – and Hermann will never be his type.
And this? This will just make it worse. Now he'll see Newton in the lab, and he'll think back to tonight, to the taffeta and lace and the longing he felt in this moment. He won't be able to look the other man in the eye ever again.
God, he needs to fix this somehow. Their future workplace harmony (as little as there is) depends on it.
"Still thinking about your 'old flame,' Hermann?" Fernandez asks when the maid goes to collect their food and drink orders.
"Hmmm, what?"
"You keep looking out for him. If you want to go talk with him again, I do not mind it. I am getting along very well with Jonathan."
"Who?"
"Our maid?"
"Ah, yes. I'm sorry, Ariane, it isn't as though I haven't been enjoying your company-"
She waves him off, smiling. "You are being a very nice host because Marshall Pentecost asked you to do so, correct?"
"I mean, well yes, but I do genuinely enjoy chatting with you!"
"And I, you. But this is clearly not the sort of thing you enjoy, I should have realized that. Thank you for humoring me and coming here, but I am much more relaxed now that I have seen what this is. If you need to, go speak with your friend."
"Thank you," Hermann says, climbing out of the booth again and moving through the crowd.
He spots a familiar tuft of brown hair disappearing through the bathroom doors across the room. The cafe is getting crowded, the bar getting more action the longer the night drags on, and so it takes a minute for Hermann to reach the restroom hallway. The women's room is to his right, and at the end of the hall is the door to the men's room, slightly ajar because of a door stop wedged beneath.
As he walks towards it, he can hear conversation. Newton, most definitely Newton, talking to someone, a voice much lower, their words slightly slurred.
"-been watching me. I saw you."
"Look, dude, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not even serving your table."
"C'mon, honey, we all know what these places are like. Scouting out your next big tip. Bet you meet guys in here all the time for some quick cash.”
“Okay, whatever, man. I just came in here to fix my clothes.”
“That’s what they all say. You know you want me to show you a good time. Here, I'll save you the work of winning me over."
"Hey what- get the fuck off of me!"
Hermann half-sprints the rest of the way down the hall, slamming open the bathroom door. Some big buffoon has Newton pinned against the edge of the sink, one hand gripping his wrist, the other yanking at the bow around his waist as Newton struggles to push him away.
Newton locks eyes with Hermann, wide and terrified.
The buffoon glances over his shoulder. "You mind? We're busy-"
Thwack!
A second later and the guy is on the ground, the sound of wood hitting bone echoing against the tiles. Hermann stands over him and raises his cane, vision red with anger, bringing it down to strike the man's skull a second time.
"Jesus, Hermann!" Newton yells, grabbing Hermann's shoulder and yanking him back. "You're gonna kill the guy, stop it!"
Hermann pants and shudders as the red fades and he realizes what he's done. Before he can worry about murder charges, the man moans and opens his eyes, vision swimming, both with a mild concussion and -- now that Hermann sees closer -- likely a whole lot of alcohol in his system.
"The fuck..." the guy says. "The fuck did you do that for...?"
There's a stampede of feet coming down the hall. Two men appear in the doorway, surveying the scene. Hermann sees Newton lift up a hand.
"I'm okay, I'm okay," he says, nodding towards the guy on the ground. "Guy tried to get handsy. My, uh, friend got him off of me."
"We'll take him to Mr. Chau," one of the guards says as they hoist the offender off the floor. "Let him explain how he won't be allowed back in."
"Yeah, thanks," Newton says, looking back at Hermann as they leave. "Dude, when the hell did you learn how to fight?"
"Apparently when someone tried to assault my lab partner. Are you alright, Newton?" Hermann realizes he's still got one arm held out protectively across Newton's chest, and he lowers it.
Newton nods. "Yeah." He winces slightly, gripping his hip. "I think he banged me into the counter a little hard. Probably gonna bruise, but otherwise, I'm fine."
"Good. Now, what the hell are you doing here?" Hermann snaps, leaning heavily on his cane. The adrenaline from the fight is seeping out of him, and his hand aches from gripping the handle so tightly.
"I work here," Newton replies, as if it isn't the most obvious answer in the world. "Part time."
"Really, the whole... outfit didn't clue me into that," Hermann says sarcastically. "I mean why?"
Newton sighs. "You're gonna be more pissed at me if I tell you."
"I'm not- I'm concerned, you imbecile! Apparently correctly so, if the last few minutes are anything to go by. If I hadn't- he could've..." Hermann doesn't want to think about what could've happened. He's only thankful he was there to stop it.
"I would've gotten him off of me eventually," Newton says, shrugging, as if Hermann hadn’t seen the fear in his eyes thirty seconds before. "He just caught me off guard. And that's the first time someone's been so bold. Usually when the drunks get handsy, they're out on the floor and Cam and Sal can just toss 'em."
"Newton. Why are you working here?"
"I owe some money," Newton finally says, digging a hand into his hair and mussing it in a way that's far too appealing for Hermann's liking. "Okay? Chau – the guy who runs this place – he’s a parts smuggler, and he gets me samples of rare shit. Stuff the poachers get to before the military can stake out the Kaiju kills. The PPDC stuff, it's always half torn apart by the time I get it."
"So, you're spending your own money to fund your department?" Hermann asks.
Newton’s gaze gets shifty. "I mean, some of it's for my own personal experiments. Not necessarily stuff I'm being asked to look into."
Hermann groans and presses a hand over his eyes. "Newton..."
"Look, you have your weird hobbies, and I have mine!" Newton says. "But our pay is shit. And there was this really fucking awesome egg sac Chau had, and you know how rare those are? Like, this thing has to be at least five years old, and so well preserved, Hermann! I needed it. So, he said I could either pay for it or work for it."
"And working for a known mobster sounds like a good idea to you?"
"It's only for a few months," Newton says. "Just until I pay him off."
"Oh, of course!" Hermann snarls, "And we should definitely trust a mobster to not find a way to keep you under his thumb! Perhaps you'll find yourself owing him for the outfit or the shoes, or whatever glassware or plates you break with your tendency for clumsiness, or maybe all his 'protection' from handsy customers will begin to cost money, and of course, if you don't want that 'protection,' you'll start getting paired with patrons who want to do a lot more than put their damned hands all over you!"
"Oh, fuck off!" Newton shouts, hands balled into fists at his sides. "Since when are you concerned with what the hell I do with my free time? I've done weirder shit than this, Herms. If you haven’t noticed your lab partner's kind of a freak, okay? Sorry you had to find out like this. Don't worry, not gonna reflect badly on you or anything."
"It isn't about that! Stop it," Hermann says, darting a hand to grip Newton's elbow when he tries to slide away. He doesn't hold tight, doesn't want Newton to feel trapped, like he was with that man before, he just needs Newton to stay, to listen. "Bloody hell, Newt. I'm worried about you, alright? Do you honestly think I would've beat a man senseless if- if I didn't care?"
"I don't know," Newton says, glancing at where Hermann's hand rests, then back to his face. "I don't know why you didn't leave when you saw me the first time. I don't get why you're still here."
"How much do you owe him, Newton?"
Newton looks down, mumbling a number that is much less than Hermann expected it to be.
"Really? All of this, for that little? Why didn't you just ask for help?"
"I wasn't gonna involve you in my shit, dude."
Hermann sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Show me to Mr. Chau's office, if you would."
"Hermann-"
"Newton," Hermann replies, tugging gently at Newton's elbow. "Come on. No arguments, or I'll tell the Marshall, and then you'll really be in for it."
He texts Dr. Fernandez while he's waiting outside of Chau's office.
I apologize, but I need to take care of something. Can you make it back to your hotel?
She answers him immediately.
No problem. Enjoy your night. Tell your friend he looked very nice in his maid outfit ;)
Hermann chuckles to himself, pocketing the phone as he's called into the office.
Chau is certainly intimidating, large and looming over the room from the comfort of his desk, eyes shrouded by sunglasses in the dimly lit office. Newton stands next to him, looking highly uncomfortable by this whole affair.
"Geiszler said you wanted to talk," Chau says. "So, talk."
"Do you have a pen? Some paper?" Hermann asks. When he's handed what he's requested, he writes two strings of numbers on them, and then slides them across the desk.
Chau takes the paper and squints at it. "And this is supposed to be..."
"Access to an account that had more than enough money to cover Newton's debt," Hermann says, nodding his head. "You may have what's in there. Will that suffice?" Newton opens his mouth and Hermann shoots a pointed look at him to get him to stay quiet.
Chau strokes his chin, then smirks. "So, it'll all be in there, if I verify this right now?"
"Yes. Feel free to do so."
“I will. If it’s not, we’re gonna have a problem,” Chau says, leaning forward, tipping his sunglasses down. Hermann can see beneath now, to his eyes- oh god. His eye. “And I have very specific ways of dealing with people who cause me problems.”
“I can assure you, I have no desire to cause any problems,” Hermann says.
“Good,” Chau says. He stands up, and Newton practically jumps out of the way as he stalks past. “You both wait here. This will only take a few minutes.”
“You’re sure you gave me the correct price for what you owe him?” Hermann asks when Chau shuts the door.
“Yeah? Like, eighty-five percent sure.”
“And the other fifteen percent?”
“I mean, I have broken a lot of glassware already.”
“Newton.”
“Look, it’s fine. We’re fine. Like, eighty-three percent chance of being fine.”
“Why did it go down?”
“Because you’re making me nervous, dude, okay?”
They sweat it out for a few minutes, until Chau comes back with an attendant, who tosses a bag to Newton.
"Your story checks out, Gottlieb,” Chau says, motioning to the bag. “There's your street clothes, Geiszler. Don't come back unless you're planning on working through another debt."
They're escorted out the back, the door shut in their faces. Newton hugs the bag to his chest, biting his lip.
"How much money was in that account, Hermann?"
"I'll call a ride," Hermann says, stepping away. "I can drop you off at the 'dome on the way to my apartment."
"I don't want to walk back in there dressed like this!" Newton yelps. “You think they talk shit about us now? Imagine what it’ll be like if I show up in a fucking fetishwear maid costume.”
He has a point. Hermann sighs, swiping his phone screen. "Fine. Then you'll change at my place."
The drive is quiet, Newton staying tight lipped as the Lyft driver takes them down the winding back roads of the district, towards the residential housing where Hermann lives. He's always lived off base, preferring a bit of solitude to the free room and board Newton gets by living on site. Newton’s never come to his apartment. It never seemed like the right time to invite him. And, if Hermann’s being honest, he never expected Newton would say yes. Oh, what odd circumstances they have found themselves in to come to this moment.
When they get to the apartment, Hermann opens the door and steps inside, tossing his wallet and keys onto the coffee table and turning to face Newton, who stands silhouetted in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.
"You can have the bedroom to change," Hermann says quietly, taking one last long look up and down Newton's frame. God, he's so beautiful, it's bloody unfair... "You, ah, can have the bed, I suppose, if you don't want to go back tonight. I can always bunk on the couch."
"Hermann," Newton says, kicking the door shut behind him and stepping up in front of Hermann, level with his eyes, such an odd dissonance to their normal difference in stature. "How much money did you give Chau?"
"Enough," Hermann says, averting his gaze. "It isn't as if I keep all my funds in one account, Newton. I suppose I'll have to close that one now. Take a ding to my credit. Not the worst outcome, I think."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Newton presses him, far too close, far too tempting in Hermann's personal space. "I don't fucking get it, dude. We fight all the time, you insult my work, my personality, my theoretical paradigms, but then tonight you beat the crap out of some guy who was all over me, and you threw your savings at a mobster to get me out of debt- why? Since when the hell do you care about me enough to-"
Hermann leans in and kisses him. Just a peck, a light brush of the lips, a bare hand skirting against Newton's cheek. An imposition, yes. But he must make it clear, somehow.
When he pulls back, Newton's eyes are wide, his lips parted slightly, the lower one trembling. Hermann wants to lean back in, to teeth it, taste it, but he mustn’t be so forward, not without permission.
"I care, Newton," Hermann murmurs. "Quite a lot, in fact. I'm just not very good at showing it." He swallows, takes a shaky breath, runs a hand over his face. "I know I can be brusque, and dismissive, and perhaps even harsher than I need to sometimes. But did you really assume after all these years together, my feelings about you are entirely collegial?"
"I didn't know what to think, Herms," Newton replies, reaching up to brush aside a lock of hair that's fallen across Hermann's forehead. "Easier to dismiss the possibility, y'know? Less chance of getting hurt then."
"Yes," Hermann breathes as Newton's hand cups his cheek. "I know what you mean. So, then you…?”
“Yeah, dude,” Newton says. “I kinda dig you. Have for a while.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Hermann says, matching the grin that splits Newton’s mouth, a giddiness flush in his chest. “Do you know, you’re bloody gorgeous in that outfit? Utterly magnificent.”
“Jesus, Hermann…”
Newton kisses him this time, wrapping his arms around Hermann's neck and pressing flush to him, so that Hermann has to step back and dig his cane into the floor to keep from toppling over. Herman kisses him right back, arm wrapping around Newton's waist, pressed against the crinoline underskirt that scratches his skin every time Newton moves.
"I need you," Newton gasps against his mouth. "Hermann, can I have you?"
“Are you sure?” Hermann mumbles, nosing against Newton’s cheek. “You were in quite a bit of peril this evening. You’re under no obligation to continue.”
Newton smiles, eyes half-lidded and so full of want that Hermann can hardly stand it.
“I’m not letting some jackass with a poor understanding of boundaries ruin this night for me,” Newton says. He rolls his hips, and Hermann feels a very firm confirmation that he’s more than willing to continue. “Now show me exactly what this outfit made you want to do to me.”
Which is how Herman finds himself in his bedroom, straddling Newton's hips and grinding down against the silk fabric of the panties Newton wears. The normally puffy skirt is crumpled between their bodies as Hermann drapes himself over Newton, kissing him madly, Newton returning it with the same fervor. The panties are yanked down, and Hermann's hand finds the cock hidden beneath, gripping Newton's length, already firm and hard, and stroking him.
Newton cries out and bucks against his hand. His neck is shaded crimson, his pupils black and porous with desire. His hands squirm between their bodies to work Hermann's belt open, his zipper down, his pants and boxers pulled to his knees so that Newton can grasp Hermann's own length in a tight fist.
"Yes, N-Newton..." Hermann gasps, mouthing at Newton's neck, tingling with need and the raspy scratch of the crinoline against his stomach. "Just like that, lovely, my darling."
"Hermann, fuck!" Newton keens. "Need you, need you right fucking now, dude."
"I'm right here."
"That's not what I mean!"
"I- oh! Yes, alright, yes," Hermann fumbles his words just as he fumbles with the handle of his nightstand drawer, yanking it open and finding the bottle of lubricant inside. "I don't- I haven't prepared for intercourse in quite some time. I don't have any protection."
"I'm clean, I swear to fuck, Hermann," Newton whines. "I trust you. Please."
Apparently, Hermann is the king of risky decision-making tonight, because he goes with it, burying two fingers into Newton's tight, yielding body, holding the other man to his chest as he works him open. Newton pleads the whole time for him to hurry up, and Hermann swears he's going to come from the sight and sounds alone. The man is a vision, flush and half-mad from want for Hermann – god, Newton wants him! Wants Hermann above and around and inside him. And Hermann wants it too, needs to feel Newton’s warmth around his cock, needs that moment of physical connection, where two become one and they become each other’s.
Clearly, he’s moving too slowly for Newton’s liking, because Hermann finds his fingers being tugged out of Newton’s body, his hand pushed aside. Newton grasps Hermann’s length and guides it forwards, helping him to aim and carefully push into Newton, who trembles and arches and looks about ready to pass out, but begs him to keep going.
When he's fully seated to the hilt, Hermann kisses Newton hard and thrusts in short, firm motions, swallowing Newton's whines and cries and moans with his mouth as they move together, a sea of lace and taffeta and sweat and desire. Newton's wedge heels dig into Hermann's hips, his cock sliding against Hermann's belly, and it's perfect, it's gorgeous, and Hermann tells him so, mumbles sweetness and tenderness into Newton's ear, things he's never been able to say to another person before, but in this moment, all his walls have come down. It's just the two of them, this bed, and the realization of long buried feelings.
It takes many hours for Newton to fully undress. Each time they finish, they lie together, curled up as newfound lovers, and when Newton moves to untie his bow or slide his stockings off, Hermann's hands find their way over to help, and helping turns into caressing, and then suddenly Newton is riding him, shouting his name to the ceiling as he bounces on Hermann's cock, or he's pressed up against the headboard and jerked off, coming in spurts and ruining the crinoline with his release, or he's pinned on his stomach, moaning and clawing at the sheets as Hermann works into him.
Dr. Fernandez was right. Hermann considers this as they both lie naked, Newton bundled against his chest, snoozing quietly. He is Newton's territory. But Newton is also his. They are each other’s.
Anyone who has a problem with that will be introduced to Hermann’s cane.