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Maybe Newt and Hermann were being a bit overkill with how nervously they handled their budding relationship. Most people aren’t overwhelmed by holding their special someone's hand for the first time, but there Newt and Hermann were two months ago, both bright red and stammering over the fingers Newt had slipped between Hermanns' outside of his quarters, before Newt kissed his cheek (also a first) and scrambled off.
A bit overkill, yeah, but this shit is important to them. They fucked it up enough their first go, and it feels imperative that they get it right this time. At least to Newt. He really, really hopes that Hermann has the same end-goal (stupid rings on their stupid fingers after the end of this stupid war, God, Newt's been fucking domesticated).
So they've progressed from weird semi-dates to hugs to hand holding to innocent kisses in the span of a few months. Cue their next challenge.
A few weeks back Hermann took Newt's drop-off-goodnight kiss a little further than usual and licked into his mouth. Highly enjoyed by both parties. For the fraction of tongue action he scored, Newt’s still pretty embarrassed over how uncomfortable it made his boxers feel. Since then they've kissed a little more, gone a little further, and now when they’re making out on the couch it's something that they've done a half dozen times already.
"That's lovely, Newton," Hermann croons between kisses. He reaches up to the small of Newt's back just to urge him a little closer, like Newt's not worried of crushing him already. They're tangled in a way that makes him want to be very careful with Hermann's leg.
Newt laughs against his mouth. Only for a second, though, and then it's back to the wet heat that Newt loves against his mouth so much. He straight up loves Hermann so much. Each time their makeout sessions come to a close and he has to slip out for his own room, he does so with cartoon hearts circling his head and the dopiest grin. Newt tilts his head to deepen the kiss and reaps the reward of a low groan from Hermann and the feeling of long fingers threading through the back of his hair, pulling him even closer. Then those fingers tug, and Newt can't help but gasp into the kiss, and suddenly he's keenly aware that not only is he turned on beyond belief, but also that there's something prodding his hip.
Cool. Okay. Yes. Newt knows this happens. Hell, half the time he has to pre-wash his underwear after they spend the night tenderly kissing. He always suspected, or at least hoped, that Hermann was similarly affected. Now it's been confirmed.
Newt forces himself to pull away from the kiss. Hermann looks up at him blearily, pupils blown huge and lips parted invitingly, taking shallow breaths that still leave his chest heaving. Newt’s pretty sure he senses those cartoon hearts floating above him again. Hermann's eyes flick down to where his dick is trapped between them and clears his throat, clearly gearing up for an apology.
"It's okay," Newt cuts in before Hermann gets too far into the wrong idea, "it's okay, we–is this good with you?" He presses his crotch more firmly against the thigh that he's knelt over, while nudging his own leg harder against Hermann's erection.
Hermann gasps and grips at Newt's shoulders, ”Yes–”
Oh my god, yes, we're doing this, Newt thinks, and eagerly gets back to kissing the daylights out of him.
His boxers are, by all accounts, soaked at this point. Newt can feel the way the fabric sticks to him down to his thighs. He keeps going, though, and he knows he’s definitely getting more caught up in this than they probably planned for, but God, Hermann’s uninjured thigh is strong and sturdy and providing the perfect pressure against Newt’s dick to get off. He can’t really be expected to hold back here.
He’s going crazy over all the little moans Hermann’s making in his mouth, the feel of Hermann’s hard dick rubbing against his own thigh, and he can acutely imagine how it’d feel to take that dick with each roll of his hips against Hermann’s leg. Hermann’s so big under his zipper. He imagines how well Hermann would open him up, that thick and hot weight inside him, he wants it, fuck, he wants it–the fantasy is so vivid, in fact, that he doesn’t even consider not chasing his building orgasm.
Newt breaks away from the kiss when his orgasm overtakes him, gasping into Hermann's neck, “Fuck, Herms, oh my God, oh my God, don’t stop–” which has gotta be pretty perplexing for Hermann, who hasn’t been doing anything. His hips shudder and jerk against Hermann's thigh a few final times before finally stilling.
“Unhh,” Newt says, working on uncrossing his eyes. Holy fuck, had that been the best orgasm he’s had in a long time. Enough so that it’s hard to feel embarrassed about coming in his jeans. “Guh. Shit, uh, sorry dude. Or thanks? Um,” he drags his fingers up Hermann’s inseam and sees the muscles of Hermann’s stomach jump, “c-can I get you off too?”
Hermann’s got his eyes locked on the wet patch that Newt has soaked into his pant leg. He licks his bottom lip. “...Let’s continue kissing.”
Hermann leaves with two wet spots on his pants.