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When Newton Geiszler was growing up, just as he started to sprout (and he did sprout, thank-you-very-much. A little.) he would wake up in the middle of the night with terrible cramps in his legs. Growing pains, his mother called them. 'Think of how tall you'll be', she'd said to him, 'if they hurt so much!' She was a good woman, but not very scientific.
He could remember waking up with his leg a white hot pain, and awkwardly hopping down from the top bunk (damn bunk beds) on one leg, forcing himself to put his weight on it, standing there while the pain subsided.
So it is strangely familiar when he wakes up in his room in Hong Kong with his leg knotted in pain. He flails to get free of the blankets and stumbles to his feet, awkwardly stepping around and over the cardboard boxes full of his belongings (he is leaving for the States tomorrow, apocalypse cancelled and looking for a new job) and trying to get his bearings.
It takes him a few moments to realize that his leg is fine. As he wakes up, the pain fades until it is less immediate and more disconnected - still there, but at a distance. A very specific distance.
It's hard to limp and sprint at the same time, but you can certainly try. He makes it across his room in a moment and hits his door with enough force to make it slam open against the wall. He doesn't bother to close it behind him, and then he is across the hall and at the opposite door. Not locked, and he is through it just as quickly as he'd gone through his own.
It is dark inside, and darker still as the door slowly swings shut behind him, but he catches a glimpse of Gottlieb, sitting on the floor with his back against the bed. One leg stuck out straight in front of him, and his breath hissing through his teeth as he shakily rubs the muscle in his thigh.
He looks up at Newton, shadowed eyes under messy hair. “Not really the best time, Mr. Geiszler, I'm afraid.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “Whatever it is, it will have to wait.”
“Dude”, Newton takes another step into the room. “I just broke into your bedroom. At four in the morning. How British do you have to be to ask me to come back later?” He takes another few steps, until he is standing at Gottlieb's feet, and crouches so that they are at eye level. “And anyways, since I came about your leg, I don't think it should wait, do you?”
Hermann manages to look even more upset that he had previously. “I apologize if I somehow made enough noise that I woke you. Truly. However, there really is nothing that you can do to help and I really don't want to be a bother to anyone. It will pass on it's own, they always do.” He takes another deep breath. “Good night, Mr. Geiszler.”
“You get these often?” Newton looks down at the leg appraisingly. “And what makes you think I won't be any help? I can help. I'm a biologist. Just because I don't specialize in humans doesn't mean I don't know anything about them. I've studied human anatomy, physiology, even kinesiology. And my leg,” he paused to stretch one leg slightly, “hurts like a bitch.”
“The drift. The hive mind.” It isn't a question, and barely more that a whisper. Gottlieb clears his throat, and stammers, “I am sorry, very sorry. Obviously this must be very inconvenient for you, and I apologize for that. If you leave now, I promise you that the cramp will pass in a few moments. By this time tomorrow we will be on seperate continents, and hopefully the distance will sever any remaining side-effects. That will be the end of the – ah – issue.” His voice breaks slighly on the last word, as his fingers whiten where they are hanging onto his thigh.
“That is,” Newton pauses for effect, “quite possibly the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say. And that's saying something. I have absolutely no intention of leaving you here on the floor. At all.” He leans closer, shifting so that his knees are on either side of Gottlieb's injured leg. The other man makes a quiet squeak of protest, then a louder one as Newton pushes his hands out of the way and replaces them with his own.
The thigh muscle is tight, and he can feel the knots where it has contracted. He starts to massage the muscle, trying to find the problem spots; he can feel in his own leg where it feels best to rub. It's surreal, crouched in front of Hermann like this, touching a leg that feels (at least a little) like it's his own.
When the worst of it is over, Newton sits up, stretching his back for a moment. “You should get that looked at, you know. Even for you, it's ridiculous to be putting up with severe leg cramps on your own.”
Hermann rolls his eyes, sighs at him, “The world was ending, Newt. I felt it best to prioritize.”
“Well it isn't ending now, you know.” He clucks his tongue at Gottlieb, mockingly. “Who on earth will take care of you once I'm gone?”
“I hardly know,” he mutters, rubbing his face tiredly. “Although I could ask the same of you. Do you have someone else in your life willing to save you, the next time you inevitably attach your brain to an alien being?” Hermann stopped rubbing his face and looked him in the eye. “Several times, I might add.”
“If I didn't know any better,” Newton grinned, “I might think that you were really worried about me.” Hermann rolled his eyes again, but he continued. “Of course, what you aren't admitting is what we both know – you are worried about me, aren't you? You don't want me to leave.”
“Mr. Geiszler -” Hermann starts, but Newton keeps on talking.
“It was 'Newt' a minute ago, don't think I didn't notice. And you want me to stay. I can feel it, the same way that I felt the cramp in your leg.”
“And yet,” Hermann intejects, “You are leaving regardless. So, Newt, I think it's probably best if you left.”
“If you want me to stay, I'll stay.”
“You are the one claiming to know what I want as well as I do. And I believe I just told you to leave.”
“So you don't want me to stay? In Hong Kong? I'll get out of your room, just tell me the truth.”
“Why on earth would I want someone around who acts as childishly as you do?”
“So I'm leaving then? Tomorrow? Oh-seven-hundred hours?”
“You have already made your travel plans, I hardly think now is the time to ask my opinion about them.”
“When is a good time, then? After I'm on the plane? In a week, when I'm settled in the States? If you want me to stay, say so, and I'll stay!”
“So stay, then!” Hermann practically shouts. More quietly, he continues grudgingly, “Just stop badgering me, for goodness sakes.”
“Alright then,” Newton says happily. “I'll stay. I kind of wanted to anyways.”
“Lovely.” Hermann mutters. “Now you're gloating. Can you get off of me, at least?” he asks, grabbing Newton by the shoulders to push him back.
Newton is, suddenly, very still. Hermann can feel that he has even stopped breathing; his eyes are wide as they stare back at him. Hermann's hands involuntarily tighten on his shoulders.
It was, Hermann thought to himself, a very strange thing to have one's world-view suddenly put in disarray. You believe that you understand someone: you meet them, attend conferences with them, participate in the same think-tanks, ultimately share a lab, but suddenly, you find yourself discovering that they are quite different that what you had thought. It was disconcerting. And it was even more disconcerting to discover the same about yourself – that you aren't quite the person you had believed yourself to be.
Drifting with someone means that you can't keep secrets about yourself... or from yourself.
Hermann thought all of that in an instant (he was a genius, after all). An instant after that he was pulling Newton towards him, incrementally, by his shoulders, while the other man looked about as dazed as he had after first drifting with the Kaiju. When their lips were about two inches apart Newton seemed to come back to himself, eyes snapping to Hermann's. “Dude,” he said, grinning.
And then they were kissing. Their lips met hesitantly at first, uncertain in the face of a new puzzle they hadn't yet tried to solve. But it was like taking a sip of water and realizing how thirsty you are – the little you get only makes you want more. Hermann's hands tightened even harder on Newton's shoulders, and Newton's hands were on his cheeks, on his hips, in his hair.
Newton was in his lap, making the most fascinating array of sounds as he rubbed up against him (he wanted to make a snide remark about how Newton talked too much even while getting snogged, but that would have meant not kissing, and to not kiss Newton at this moment was unthinkable). Then Newton was reaching into his pants and it was Hermann who was having trouble keeping quiet.
Newton wrapped his hand around his shaft, jerking experimentally while Hermann moaned into his mouth. He flicked his thumb over the head, smearing the precum back and forth until Hermann bit his lip, sucking in a shaky breath while he hurriedly reached into Newton's boxers. The sensation was incredible – this must be what Jaeger pilots experienced, to be half of a whole, able to feel what your partner feels.
Neither of them was going to last long, not with the added sensation. Newton was already practically mewling against Hermann's mouth, and Hermann could feel how close he was, how close both of them were. Newton pulled back enough to look him in the eyes, then pressed their foreheads together, one hand warm on the back of Hermann's neck.
“You've gotta know,” Newton muttered, “You must know how long I've wanted...”
And Hermann smiled, even as the bottom fell out of his stomach and Newton's toes curled and they both gasped into each others mouths and came at precisely the same time, because he did know. He knew exactly how Newton felt.