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Newt can’t stop staring at Hermann. He thinks it’s pretty fucking well justified, though; it’s not every day you link minds with your long-time crush-slash-professional rival-slash-actual genuine love of your life (probably), and see that not only is the guy madly in love with you too, but that he also regularly fantasizes about all the raunchy, dirty stuff he wants to get up to with you. And by regularly Newt does mean regularly.He’s been debating jumping Hermann since the second they emerged disoriented and bleeding from their drift, in all honesty, other pressing concerns (i.e., getting back to the Shatterdome because their radio isn’t fucking working and dropping the metaphorical bomb that the literal bomb isn't going to work) notwithstanding, but it’s not until they’re on the helicopter, en route, and mid-air that he tries anything. They’ve got twenty minutes to kill. A whole lot can happen in twenty minutes. The world could end in twenty minutes, for all they know. It could end in less than twenty minutes.These could be Newt's very last moments with Hermann.Newt glances at Hermann out of the corner of his eye. Dude’s pale. Sweaty. More messy-haired and disheveled than Newt's ever seen him. Tapping his fingers on his knee (which is Newt’s little anxious tic—he wonders if Hermann picked that up in their drift). Looks like he’s about to keel over at any second, either from nerves or nausea or both.Newt’s never been more attracted to him.“Cards on the table,” Newt declares, “I want to fuck you.”Hermann blinks at him. “Oh,” he says. “Right now?”“I don’t see why not,” Newt says. “We’re probably going to die in a few minutes.” Go out with a bang, and all that. Literally, ha. Nothing to lose. It's a hell of a way for Newt to lose his virginity, too—hell of a way for them both to, he reminds himself (drifting, after all, means he got a very long and thorough look at his lab partner's personal life).Hermann appears to mull it over. “I suppose that’s as good an excuse as any,” he says.The helicopter’s military-grade and painfully loud and they’re alone back here, thick partition separating them from the pilot, which means they could probably open the hatch and fucking jump out of this thing and the guy wouldn’t even notice. Which is good, because Newt may be noisy, but Hermann, to his utter delight, is even noisier: every little brush against his skin sets him off, every kiss has him gasping and seizing like he’s been electrocuted, every swipe of Newt’s tongue against his or across his lips has him moaning and fisting Newt’s hair harder, harder. Slow down, Newt wants to tell him, but they’ve got sixteen minutes left on the clock and counting so he tosses his ruined leather jacket to the dusty floor (where he’ll probably leave it for good, actually, goodnight, sweet prince, you served Newton Geiszler well) and hauls himself into Hermann’s lap with a little oof.The helicopter chooses that moment to shake. The back of Hermann’s head hits the curving metal interior, and he hisses in pain. “Be careful,” he says, like it's somehow Newt's fault, and Newt latches himself onto Hermann’s neck and bites down.“Mm-hmm,” he says. Hermann smells like his musty parka and sweat. It’s not great, to be honest, but Newt’s too horned up to care. He thrusts his hand down Hermann’s slacks without ceremony; Hermann curses loudly, knocks his head back again, tugs Newt’s hair so hard it hurts. “Newton, oh, oh—”Newt rubs the front of Hermann’s briefs (tighty-whiteys, a quick glance down confirms, of course they are, what else did Newt expect?) and feels Hermann stiffen, feels him get wetter, and Newt pushes past the elastic waistband and takes Hermann (warm, heavy) into his hand entirely. “How’s that feel?” Newt says, pumping up, down, up, down, then licks up over the angry red teeth marks he left just above Hermann's collar. “Good? Does it feel good?”Hermann’s mouth hangs half-open, his pupils so dark and wide Newt can barely see the pretty brown of his irises (or iris, singular—one has turned an angry, bloody red, and Newt suspects he has an identical one to match), and he reaches out and fumbles with the fastenings of Newt’s skinny jeans. “Please,” he says, and flicks his tongue over his kiss-swollen lips once, twice, “can I—”“Fuck yes, you can,” Newt says, and uses the hand he’s not (now frantically) jerking Hermann off with to aid Hermann in undoing his button fly. Newt wishes he could’ve known when he got up that morning that he’d be screwing Hermann by the end of the day—he probably would’ve chosen slightly sexier underwear, or at least underwear that isn’t dotted with glow-in-the-dark UFOs. Then Hermann wraps his long, elegant fingers around Newt's dick and Newt stops caring about his underwear.Hermann’s touch is tentative, shy, as clumsy as their handshake had been, and his first few strokes are so rough and his grip turns so tight Newt’s eyes water. “Easy, dude,” Newt wheezes out, slowing his own hand, “gentle, okay, uh—”Hermann flushes red. “I’m sorry,” he says, but Newt swallows down the rest of his stuttered apologies in another hot, open-mouthed kiss. Nine minutes, he thinks.They create a rhythm together, together, like they do everything, Hermann (grunting with the effort, hair curling and falling into his eyes) rocking into Newt’s fist, Newt (squeaking, shattered glasses hanging off the end of his sweaty nose) rocking into Hermann’s, clinging to each other like they’re the only two people in the world. Maybe they are, Newt thinks, maybe they’re the only ones left, maybe they're too late, maybe below them— The helicopter jolts again, and Newt would’ve gone flying off Hermann’s lap to the floor if Hermann didn’t have a death grip on his ass. Newt peeks out the grimy window over Hermann’s shoulder. “Almost there,” he says, and Hermann jerks him faster.“So am I,” he groans. “Ah—”“No,” Newt says, “I mean I think we’re almost—”Hermann’s whole body stiffens as he comes, sticky, all over Newt’s hand, and Newt—more from the shock of it (of how gorgeous Hermann is: his dark eyelashes fluttering, his mouth dropping open fully, his little wheezing gasps reaching a crescendo) than anything—follows him a moment later.“Shit, Hermann,” he whines, while Hermann shakes and breathes hot down his neck, his heart pounding so fast Newt can feel it through the layers of their shirts, “wow.”The helicopter begins to land; Newt can see the Shatterdome looming ever-closer. He's pleasantly surprised to find it's still standing.If they had time, he’d undress Hermann, clean him off, take him in his arms and kiss him sweetly through their afterglow, and maybe he’d divulge all the disgustingly sentimental confessions bubbling violently in his throat (how Hermann’s smile makes Newt’s heart twist and turn, how Hermann is brilliant, how Hermann is beautiful, how Hermann is bewildering and perfect and everything and how Newt loves him), but they don’t have time (but they might, if they can pull this off, if they can get to LOCCENT in time), so Newt swallows them down and zips himself up and holds a hand out to Hermann. Together, Hermann said. (Like they do everything.)“Together,” Newt says now, and Hermann takes it.