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The first time Hermann fucks her barely even deserves to be called that, with how haphazard it is; a quick release of tensions and letting off steam, she knows, justifies it to herself as because that is the way things are done with her: she is a convenience and others are convenience to her, at least sexually speaking, and she’s more than alright with that, for a lack of emotional attachment means that her work flow isn’t interrupted.
It’s dusk; the sun shivering on the horizon like it isn’t sure if it wants to rise or set, and the pollution paints it so blood red she can look at it without squinting; the sky a hazy orange. She’s up here for a smoke and nothing more; feels, vindictively, that she deserves it; has worked her goddamn arse off to keep the pilots and civilians alive in the last few kaiju attacks.
It’s not like they’ll survive, anyway, she thinks darkly, as she drags in a thick, heavy, bitter breath, face impassive except the scowl that threatens to twist across it. What’s the point in abstaining from carcinogenic slow death when she’ll die in a kaiju attack within the next four years anyway?
The sound of footsteps alerts her to another presence; and she doesn’t turn; but her scowl turns down even further and her brows furrow. “Geiszler,” she spits, eyes fixed on the horizon. “What do you want?”
“You’re wound a bit tightly,” Geiszler says; and comes to stand by her side, pulling out her own cig and lighter; the smoke curling from her lips after she pulls it away.
Hermann eyes her. “And?”
“So am I,” Geiszler continues; “I was going to propose a—hmm. Mutually beneficial solution. Sex, I mean.”
Ever blunt. Hermann almost chuckles mean spiritedly at the thought. “With you?”
“Oh, don’t be a bitch,” Geiszler snaps empty hand balling up. “Sex helps you feel relaxed and shit. And it’s not like I haven’t seen how you look at me—I’m not blind, Gottlieb, I know what lust looks like. I’m not unattractive.”
“Humble as ever, I see,” Hermann says, drily.
Geiszler scowls. “Look, I’m suggesting we get each other off, nothing more, okay, if you don’t want it, you can leave the offer and go fuck yourself.”
Unfortunately, it’s not a half bad offer—Hermann is, in fact, if only physically, attracted to her, and, as she pointed out, sex alleviates stress.
She takes another drag, relishing the burn, and then stubs it out. “Fine,” she says, shortly. “Yours—I’m not letting you get anywhere near my quarters.”
Geiszler laughs. “Course not,” she sneers. “Wouldn’t want contamination.” And then she turns around and, cig still in hand—in blatant disregard for the ultimately unenforced no smoking rule—, yanks the door back inside open, not looking behind her to see if hermann follows.
Hermann does; slinks after her, somehow feeling like what she’s doing is prohibited; not because of what it is but because of who they are, specifically—but that’s the point, isn’t it? They’re not here for each other, they’re here because they’re the ones who are around each other enough to make this handy.
When Hermann slips after Geiszler into her room, there’s no pretence; the biologist has stripped down to her boxers and bra, the tattoos—running neck to ankle—almost fully exposed, and Hermann gets a violent bolt of something at the sight. Still, though, she at least leans her cane against the wall and holds onto the chair to pull off her own trousers.
“Keeping your shirt on?” Geiszler asks.
Hermann huffs. “Less to put on afterwards.”
Geiszler shrugs. “Okay.”
And with that, she pins Hermann down to the bed—oddly mindful of her leg—, and sticks a hand down her pants.
Hermann gives a slight gasp. “Bit—forward,” she hisses, voice slightly strangled as the biologist’s fingers tease sensitive skin.
“What, you want me to give you more forewarning than ‘hey come to my room so I can get you off’?” Geiszler mocks, and begins to rub the pad of her thumb in a circular motion.
“Oh—oh, piss off,” Hermann growls, determined not to show how affected she is; and then, a tad awkwardly: “any preferences?”
“Keep it over the fabric—I’m sensitive as fuck,” Geiszler says, shortly; and slides her other hand up to Hermann’s good hip to steady her—good lord. Has she started shaking already? Apparently so.
Hermann does as directed; though it’s a bit of a hard task, given her vision is half overtaken by white already; but she manages to work something out, because, after a few minutes, Geiszler’s boxers have a wet spot on them, and she’s making intermittent gasps and mewls; fingers shuddering every so often.
“If...you leave me unfinished... I’ll throttle you,” Hermann threatens; weakly, through grit teeth.
Geiszler lets out a grunt. “Fuck off,” she retorts, breathing laboured, and face flushed. “S’not...my fault I’m sensitive you...asshole.”
“Apparently not sensitive enough to not get those godawful beasts tattooed on you,” Hermann hisses.
“Do you—ever—shut up?” snaps the other; and turns her fingers so the friction intensifies just slightly.
“Fuck—“ Hermann says, the word strangled, and climaxes a split second before Geiszler does, arms shaking, and then she falls away onto the bed by Hermann’s side; body heat radiating even moreso in close close proximity, to the point where, combined with the physical exertion of the past few minutes, hermann, though only in her thinnest sweater vest and dress shirt, in the drafty Hong Kong Shatterdome, is feeling almost too warm.
For a few seconds, there’s silence; and then Hermann says—gaze fixed on the the ceiling, the metal of the bed frame, anywhere but the woman in bed next to her—, a bit out of breath but as bitingly as she can, “Mediocre.”
Geiszler lets out a wordless grunt. “Fuck off,” she says, after a few more beats. “No, seriously, if you’re going to have me get you off and then call me mediocre in my own room, piss off.”
“Gladly,” Hermann retorts; leveraging, after a few more moments to catch her breath, out of the bed and pulling on her trousers and fixing her hair and clothes, and, cane once again back at her side, slips out the door, not bothering to glance back at Geiszler.
The second time is purely self indulgent in truth; boredom has driven her to irritation, and, when Newton clatters her scalpel loudly one too many times, Hermann finds herself striding over to her.
“Newton,” she enunciates clearly—she calls her Newton now because it’s been two years but there’s still derision in her tone—, “I can practically sense the energy you’re nearly vibrating with, and it’s making it hard for me to concentrate.”
Newton scowls at her. “Look, dude, if you’ve come to lecture me—”
Hermann cuts her off. “I wasn’t. I was about to propose a solution to both our restlessness.”
“Card games? A drink—?”
“Sex,” Hermann says, bluntly. “I may not be terribly happy to admit this, but, for myself anyway, I have evidence that it will work.”
Newton gapes at her for a moment. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
Face flushing at the words, Hermann hisses, “Well, I could always just knock you out—that’d shut you up—”
Newton raises her hands. “Woah, woah, buster, calm down. I didn’t say no.”
“You also haven’t said yes,” Hermann snipes. “I don’t need you, you know, I could always just—”
“What, go masturbate?” Newton rolls her eyes. “We both know that sex is better. And yes, I’m saying yes.”
“I was going to say read a book, but you obviously wouldn’t know what class is if it hit you over the head.”
Newton rolls her eyes again. “Whatever, man,” she says, and drops the scalpel in the decontamination sink and snaps off her gloves. “You got anything specific in mind? Wanna make this longer and bother with a bed or—?”
“The couch should be just fine,” Hermann says, stiffly. “So long as we lock the doors.”
Newton leers at her. “Someone’s getting rebellious,” she purrs. “Sexy.”
“Shut up and lock the doors and take your clothes off,” Hermann grumbles, and makes her way to the couch to wait for her partner.
A few moments later, Newton joins her. “So...” she says, “I’m guessing that you just want something quick?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Hermann says, eyeing her up and down. “Ah—please do take off your clothes though, I refuse to have kaiju blue on mine.”
Newton shrugs. “Sure, whatever,” she says, and strips. Normally, Hermann would avert her gaze, but, given the circumstances, doesn’t feel there’s any need to.
She takes off her blazer and bottoms, the recirculated air cool against the exposed skin, and leans back across the couch.
Newton eyes her. “You’re a fucking vampire,” she says, bluntly, and clambers up to sit in between Hermann’s legs—the left one laying flat, the right one pulled up. She puts two fingers against the sensitive skin of Hermann’s pelvis. “This good?”
“Well it’s not like they’re in me yet, so I have no idea,” Hermann snaps.
Newton rolls her eyes. “Don’t be so anal. There.”
The last bit is said a bit smugly, in part because Hermann gives a slight gasp at the sensation of the other’s fingers sliding into her, hips instinctively raising slightly to try and push up against them.
“Shut up,” Hermann growls, and tries not to show just how affected she is.
In her defence, it’s been—what, years since she’s actually properly had anyone in her like this; so she can be forgiven somewhat for her increased sensitivity.
Newton experimentally pulls out a bit, and Hermann’s hips jolt up as the pads of her fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot.
Newton chuckles. “You like that, huh?”
“Oh, shut up and get me off,” Hermann snaps; but the words are strained and laboured, and when Newton presses back in, she lets out an involuntary keen; legs stretching wider, feeling, by now, rather than just knowing it, wet.
“Huh,” Newton says, eyes going a bit darker. “I wonder if—” and with that, a third finger joins the other two.
“Oh dear,” Hermann says, faintly, with what little sense she still has left, and her hand shoots down to rub herself. “Ah—!”
And with that, her legs and abdomen shudder and her vision goes a bit starry, a wave of cold warmth rippling through her.
“Huh,” Newton says, again, pulling her fingers out; which Hermann only faintly registers, “That’s the first time that’s happened.”
“Shut up,” Hermann hisses, “you’re ruining my post-coital glow.”
Newton laughs. “You shut up,” she says. “You haven’t even done me yet.”
Hermann groans. “I hate you. If you go into my quarters there should be a strap in the bottom right of the middle dresser drawer—I haven’t got the energy to do more than just lay here, though, just so you know.”
The other hums. “Don’t worry,” she says, patting Hermann’s abdomen, exposed when her shirt rucked up at some point, “I don’t think I’ve got much to go anyway.”
Hermann doesn’t bother to question that; just lets out a grunt and lays back to wait for newton to return.
The other does, presently; and brings with her Hermann’s strap and harness, which unfortunately require help getting into given her current state of semi bonelessness.
They manage, though, and Newton is rather amenable, actually—the one issue being that she won’t shut the hell up once Hermann’s in her.
“I mean, look, like, did you really think we’d end up here?” she babbles, eyes half shut and breathing laboured. “You ‘n’ me fucking—hng, oh, shit, that’s nice—on a couch in a stupid Hong Kong Shatterdome while the world ends—”
“Shut. Up,” Hermann says, and, with the last of her strength, thrusts her hips up and reaches forward to grab Newton by the bra and yank her down, crashing their mouths together to drown the words out.
It works—though it’s probably more because of the last thrust, given Newton lets out a strangled shout that dies against her lips and goes a bit limp.
Hermann pushes her away. “Finally,” she grumbles, breathless, and she tries to put the lip to lip contact out of her mind.
Thankfully, Newton doesn’t seem to have noticed, leaning back as well as she can given that the strap is still buried in her up to almost the base. Her eyes are closed and her expression is slack. “Jesus,” she says, “I get why the French call it la petite mort.”
“Oh, piss off,” Hermann says, without any real bite. “And get off of me, for Pete’s sake.”
Newton flips her the bird and stays right where she is; though at least, she remains silent for a bit, so Hermann’s goal is achieved to a degree.
The next time, the war is won.
Around them LOCCENT is bustling; and for once they’re not arguing; Newton’s arm thrown over her shoulders, and Hermann doesn’t even mind being pressed this close to the filthy, mud- and blood- and viscera- and god-only-knows-what-spattered jacket.
In fact, for the first time, she finds Newton’s grip comforting; the summation of a friendship that has been broken and has had to be rebuilt over the years.
“Do you wanna go to sleep?” Newton asks; mouth right next to her ear because there’s no other way to be heard in this environment. “Cause, uh, I do. Or if not sleep then at least lie down anyway.”
“Good plan,” Hermann replies; and then remembers that Newton will probably go to her own room and expect them to stay separate and god she’s not sure she’s willing to let the biologist out of her sight right now, not after finding her seizing on the filthy lab floor.
“Hey,” Newton says; moving her hand so she’s got her palm spread out across Hermann’s back, “it’s okay. I’m fine.”
Hermann realises, with sudden embarrassment, that her worry must be strong enough to slip through the drift link, and her cheeks flush. “It’s nothing,” she mutters.
Newton frowns at her. “It’s not nothing,” she says; and leads Hermann away from the crowd. “We’ll stick together, okay?”
“I—” the words catch in Hermann’s throat; and after a few moments, she manages to choke out: “alright.”
The other smiles. “Good,” she says. “You wanna go to your room or mine?”
“Mine, if you don’t mind.”
“Course not.”
It says something about them, the ease with which they walk, leaning on each other; and the comfort Hermann feels, even as they step over the peeling hazmat line and into her inner sanctum; into her living quarters; the first time she can remember having someone else in here with her.
It should make her feel exposed; but instead, she feels like Newton fits there; and when she hesitates to join Hermann in bed, Hermann pats the spot beside her. “Come. Please?”
Newton does; lays down next to her gently. for a few moments, they lay there in silence; and then Hermann says, half a sob, “I was—so afraid you wouldn’t be alright.”
“I told you it’d be fine,” Newton says; but her smile falters a bit at the edges; and Hermann knows she was just as afraid.
She can’t help herself; she reaches out and curls an arm around Newton and draws her in close and presses their foreheads together. “I am...so, so glad you’re here with me,” she whispers; terrified still that maybe—maybe, Newton will disappear like fog in the sunlight, slip between her fingers like sand.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Newton murmurs; and something about that has Hermann pressing her lips against the biologist’s in a desperate kiss—the contact the only thing she’s sure will prove Newton is real. “It’s okay,” Newton murmurs, again, when she pulls away; and kisses her again.
Their hands wander; pressing gently against skin and pushing up shirts; and kissing the whole time; and Hermann thinks she’ll never be this happy again.
“I miss you,” she says. “I missed you and I—and now you’re here with me and I—“
“Shhh,” Newton soothes; and holds her tight, and then—and then they make love, for the first time, for them and for hermann, because she can’t remember ever being treated like this, like something precious, and she finds herself weeping as she kisses Newton again.
“Are you okay?” Newton asks; pulling back slightly.
Hermann nods; and curls tighter into her. “Yes,” she says. “I’m just—I’m just so happy. I can’t…I—“ She looks away; embarrassed, a bit; but when Newton puts a comforting hand on her shoulder, continues. “I’ve never...had anything like this before.”
Newton’s face softens. “Herms...” she murmurs; and pulls her closer. “I promise that I’m going to do my best to make sure you always know how important and loved you are, okay?”
Hermann nods; believing it, despite all instinct not to. “Alright,” she says; and lets herself fall into Newton’s embrace properly; and kisses her again and again.
They doze like that; curled together; and it’s an intimacy that Hermann never thought she needed—never thought she could have or ever would have, but now, with Newton, it’s as natural as breathing.
“I used to dream about this, you know,” she tells Newton.
“Saving the world? I always knew you wanted to be a hero,” Newton teases.
Hermann’s lips quirk. “No. You. I...I never allowed myself much, but...sometimes I would indulge, and daydream about laying in your arms.”
“Dork,” Newton teases; but her expression is soft and sleepy. “Me too.”
“Oh,” Hermann says; her chest full to bursting; tired eyes falling into slits. “What a perfect match we are, then.”
“Yeah,” Newton agrees; and holds Hermann closer and kisses her again. “Yeah, we are.”
Her fingers run up and down Hermann’s torso softly, gently; and from anyone else it would set Hermann off, but from Newton, the gesture is comforting and warm. “I’m sorry about all the other times,” she says.
Newton huffs. “‘S okay,” she says. “And...it lead to us being here, so...”
“I suppose so,” Hermann murmurs. “I...I want you to know that I do care, alright? You’re not just a, a quick fuck for me—”
Newton cuts her off. “I know,” she says, and kisses Hermann; tenderly. “I know. And—me too. You mean more to me than that.”
Hermann breathes a soft sigh of relief. “Alright,” she says; eyes slipping shut, and tries to bite back a yawn, suddenly exhausted.
The other chuckles. “let’s go to sleep,” she says; and adjusts so they can cuddle properly. “Goodnight, Herms.”
“G’night,” Hermann replies, and lets herself drift off.