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The laboratory door opens and clicks shut at half past noon.
“You certainly took your time coming in today,” Hermann says, sniffing in disapproval as he looks up at Newton over his glasses. “Feeling rather lazy, were we?”
Hermann had actually been greatly enjoying having the laboratory to himself, because it meant a rare instance of peace and quiet, but he would be disappointed to miss out on the opportunity to berate Newton about something. And, really, past noon. Newton has never been so late before. Hermann sniffs again and adjusts his glasses.
Newton, hands stuffed in the pockets of his ridiculous jeans, rolls his eyes and trudges past him to his desk. “Uh, yeah, dude, that’s ‘cause I took the day off. Birthday, remember?”
Hermann did not remember. That is to say—he knew that Newton’s birthday was January 19th, and he knew that Newton was planning on using some of their very minimal PTO for to mark the occasion, but he had, in fact, forgotten that today was January 19th, or indeed that it was even this late in January at all. Hermann has been somewhat busy. “Oh,” he says. “Right, yes. Of course. Thirty-three, isn’t it?” He adds, after clearing his throat, “Happy birthday.”
“You forgot,” Newton says.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” Hermann says, though he does mean it.
“Eh, it’s fine. It’s been kind of a shitty birthday anyway.”
Newton drops into his desk chair and kicks his feet up on his desk. Upon their assignment to the laboratory, their desks were placed directly opposite each other, and neither of them ever bothered to arrange the room otherwise. It allows Hermann to peer around his computer and crook an eyebrow at Newton now. Newton waves him off.
“Well, not shitty, just boring. I majorly failed at sleeping in because I forgot to turn my alarm off, and it’s pouring out, which is basically nixing my plans to go out to a bar or something tonight, and there was no hot water left in the shower, and they were out of those muffins I like in the mess hall. Okay, maybe a little shitty. Anyway, I figured hanging out with you for a little bit was better than nothing.”
“How sweet of you to say,” Hermann says, already shifting his attention back to his computer.
He can feel Newton’s eyes on him. “What are you doing?” Newton asks.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’re playing Solitaire.”
Hermann scowls and exits from the tab. “You have the day off. Leave me be, you cretin.”
“Forgetting my birthday and calling me names.”
“I can call you more, if you’d like.”
“I didn’t forget your birthday,” Newton says.
There’s an awkward lull. Hermann glances up and meets Newton’s gaze for all of a second. He takes his glasses off, chain and all, and sets them neatly in his top drawer. “You didn’t,” he says carefully.
On Hermann’s thirty-third birthday that past June, Newton dragged him out to a gay bar and paid for several rounds of an electric blue liquor in shot glasses that had them both falling all over each other by the end of the night. Hermann doesn’t remember much of it, other than that Newton spent most of the evening encouraging him to hone in on a prospective partner, but then got strangely miffed when one fellow finally tried to buy Hermann a proper cocktail. This directly preceded one of the strangest moments of Hermann’s life: Newton, putting his hand on Hermann’s knee under the counter, leaning in, and whispering “Let’s go outside.”
The back door had been propped open with a brick. Hermann followed Newton out to the small, grimy alleyway, just drunk enough to not worry too hard about what he might be standing in. There were several cigarette butts littering the ground. One of them was still smoldering. Hermann tried to put it out with the end of his cane and missed, swaying forward against Newton, who caught him. Hermann inhaled the last wisps of stale smoke curling up and gave a wistful little sigh. Filthy habit he’d given up when he was still in uni. Mostly. “I’d bloody kill for a fag right now,” he admitted, and Newton immediately let out a high-pitched giggle, pressing his face to Hermann’s neck.
“Good thing I’m here,” Newton said.
He led Hermann over to a metal staircase—a fire escape for the second floor—and they collapsed together on the landing. Then Newton was getting on his knees and fondling Hermann’s belt buckle. “What are you...?” Hermann said, blinking down at him. Neither of them were that drunk.
“Giving you your birthday present,” Newton said, grinning.
Neither of them have thought to bring it up in the seven months since.
“If you’re suggesting that I owe you,” Hermann begins, and Newton, fiddling with a ballpoint pen, shakes his head.
“What? No. Not like that. I was just saying.”
“Saying what, exactly?”
“Nothing important.”
“Newton.”
Newton is chewing on the end of the pen. He pulls it out of his mouth and shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s just, I mean, you know. I just think it’s clear who’s the better lab partner.”
He flicks his tongue out over the pen. Cheeky bastard; Hermann rolls his eyes. “I see,” he says. “So I’m meant to offer to suck your prick now, then? Or else I’m a cruel, thoughtless—”
“I didn’t say anything about sucking my dick, man, that’s kinda gay,” Newton says, and Hermann, sputtering in outrage, almost doesn’t hear him add “You could fuck me, though.”
“Kind of g—what did you say?”
He stares at Newton. Newton crosses his legs, still propped up on his desk where his boots are dirtying up some paperwork he was meant to submit a month ago. He gives Hermann a winsome smile. “You could fuck me, if you wanted,” he repeats. “I wasn’t gonna ask, because I knew you’d just get all weird about it, but then I thought, ‘well, Hermann’s slightly more interesting than a dildo, and maybe he would get a kick out of it’.”
Hermann makes a strangled noise of outrage in the back of his throat.
“Don’t act all prissy,” Newton says. “I’m not even going to pretend like I haven’t thought about fucking you and I know you have too. It's gonna happen eventually, so why not today? ”
“I don’t know where you get off making an assumption like that,” Hermann finally finds it within himself to say.
“Probably because you let me suck your dick behind a gay bar.”
“Ah,” Hermann says, flushing. “Well. Just as you said: I permitted, indulged you, even. And anyway, we were intoxicated. Not in our right minds. Certainly not in our place of— work, where anyone might…”
He looks up at Newton, who has left his chair and migrated to Hermann’s desk, where he leans against the side. He nudges his boot against Hermann’s ankle. Hermann does not draw his leg back. “I locked the door. How about you indulge me again?” Newton says. “I am the birthday boy, Hermann.”
“These sorts of things—”
But Newton is already wriggling up onto the edge of Hermann’s desk, and Hermann is already leaning back to let him settle comfortably within the spread of his legs. He places his palms face-down on Newton’s thighs and gazes up at him. “These sorts of things take preparation,” he finishes, lowering his voice. He rubs his thumbs along the inner seams of Newton’s skinny jeans, up and down. He likes how warm Newton’s skin is, even through the denim, and he likes how Newton’s muscles twitch under his touch. “Not what one does on a whim.”
“I’m super prepared,” Newton says.
Hermann leans forward. He curls his fingers around the messy knot of Newton’s tie and tugs him down, gently, until Newton’s lips graze his. “Is that so?” he says.
Newton’s breath is coming out in quick, excited bursts over Hermann’s skin. He reaches into his pocket and shoves a fistful of something at Hermann. Hermann takes it and almost snorts: a foil condom wrapper and a bottle of lubricant. “Naughty,” he scolds, and Newton makes a face.
“Don’t say that. That’s not sexy. It makes me feel like you’re going hit my knuckles with a ruler or something. Mega-unsexy.”
“Maybe I ought to try. Your arse, too. Knock some shame into you,” Hermann says.
Newton braces his boots on each arm of Hermann’s chair and lifts his hips from his desk as Hermann reaches for his waist. His cock is already half-erect. Hermann avoids brushing his fingers over the bulge as he works at his jeans, and it spills out (a hot, hard shape pressing insistently at the cotton front of his boxers) when Hermann gets his fly halfway down. “There we are,” he says, rubbing his thumb over the damp patch at Newton’s cockhead. Newton shudders, and more precome seeps out against Hermann’s fingertip. “Mm, that’s very good.”
He likes the way Newton’s cock feels. Ordinarily—if this was not Newton—Hermann might have been inclined to suck it, or at the very least pull it free to examine and stroke as Newton writhed beneath his touch. When Newton sucked his prick last year, he had (in a rather perfunctory manner) swallowed down Hermann’s come, and then sat back on his heels to wipe his mouth off on the hem of his t-shirt. Hermann had gotten a split-second flash of his toneless, tattooed stomach and the dark hair that trailed beneath his waistband. It had made him feel hot all over.
He had expected, even wanted, Newton to pull his own prick out and offer it up to Hermann and was disappointed when Newton did not. Their sexual encounter did not progress further, and they had walked home together in silence.
“You’re going to make a mess of my desk, Dr. Geiszler,” he murmurs, rising to his feet to unbutton Newton’s shirt from the collar down. He stops at Newton’s midsection, pleased that Newton isn’t wearing an undershirt, and observes the appealing way his naked, tattooed pectorals heave under the gaping fabric. He’s equally pleased at how aroused Newton is already. Saves Hermann the work—he’s always been rubbish at foreplay.
“Uh-huh,” Newton says. He wets his lips. “Take your dick out already.”
Hermann does. He’s not yet erect himself, and his prick flops limply out from his open trousers for Newton’s display. He lets Newton wrap his fingers around it and bites down into his bottom lip to keep from moaning. “Huh,” Newton says. He pokes his tongue out between his teeth as he moves his hand curiously on Hermann. Hermann is growing hard rather fast. “Shit, you’re kinda hung, man. I forgot.”
“You must s-suck a lot of pricks,” Hermann says.
“You sound jealous,” Newton says. “I was just tipsy as fuck last time, and by the way, you lasted like less than a minute, it’s not like I had you in there for long. Sorry I can’t perfectly remember the exact girth of your—” He gives Hermann a long stroke. “—Penis.”
He squirts some lubricant out on his hand and warms it up with a few short puffs of breath across his palm. His next few strokes on Hermann’s cock are slick and moderately more pleasant. Hermann groans, low in his chest, and buries his face in the crest of Newton’s pectorals. The coarse hair there tickles his skin, and Newton’s heart pounds in his ears. His cock grows hard and heavy in Newton’s grip. “Can you do me like this?” Newton says, sounding a hundred miles away.
“Mm,” Hermann says. He likes how hairy Newton is. He grazes his teeth over Newton’s chest, stopping and biting down just over a nipple, and Newton hisses.
“Hermann. Can you?”
Newton’s heel taps insistently at the small of his back. Hermann lifts his head, looking up at his blushing lab partner through half-mast eyelids and considering the question. “I’d rather not,” he admits. The sorts of gyrations and movements and the like required to give Newton the fucking he deserves—and, by Jove, does he deserve one—were Hermann to stand the whole while would be more strain on his hip than he imagines it could take, even if he only lasts as long as the last time. “Ah, on your stomach will be easier, I should think.”
He sinks down into his chair, settling himself at a bit above eye level with Newton’s prick, and Newton is quick to jerk his legs away from the armrests. Hermann rubs his thumb at a patch of bare skin exposed by a tear in the knee of Newton’s jeans. Newton has gone very pink in the face.
“On your stomach, I said,” Hermann says. Newton—to his moderate surprise—scrambles from his desk and does as he’s told. Hermann stops his fumbling hands and takes care of his jeans and boxers himself, curling his fingers about the waistbands and jerking them down in one single, swift tug over Newton’s plump little arse. It’s only just enough to expose the pale, freckled skin. He doesn’t bother granting Newton’s cock the same courtesy.
He takes a moment to admire Newton’s arse (soft, shapely, dusted with hair, untouched by tattoos like the rest of him) before Newton begins to squirm, attempting to liberate himself fully from his jeans. Hermann catches a glimpse of something metallic between his cheeks and stills him with a hand to his thigh. His prick gives a little throb when he realizes what it is. “You are naughty,” he chides Newton again. Before Newton can whine about it, Hermann gives the plug a gentle tap.
A shudder runs through Newton’s body. “Hah!”
A more patient man than Hermann might take the opportunity to work Newton up a bit, ensure that he’s properly begging for it, that sort of thing, but Hermann has never had much patience for Newton in the first place. He removes the plug with a neat, gentle tug, watching in lusty fascination as Newton’s pink rim stretches and trembles around it. Newton whimpers and squeezes his thighs together.
“What would you have done had I said no, then?” Hermann says. He grazes his fingertip over Newton’s hole. “Talked some other unlucky sod into buggering you? Gone home and played with yourself, more likely.”
“Stop being a d-dick. It’s my birthday.”
Hermann makes a grab for the lubricant and realizes he’s still holding Newton's plug. He pulls his handkerchief from his pocket, lays it flat on the far end of the desk, and settles the plug down atop it. It’ll have to do.
“What is taking you—?” Newton begins, craning his neck to look over his shoulder, but he trails off in a squeak when Hermann slips two slicked fingers up inside him. His body gives a jerk, and his glasses clatter to Hermann’s desk. “Oh, fuck! Jesus Christ, your fingers are cold. Goddamn icicles up my ass.”
“Are you finished whining?”
“Shut up. Yes.”
Hermann enjoys the way Newton tightens up around him, only to give way easily at the tiniest, prodding stretch of his fingers. He can feel Newton’s pulse thudding away beneath his fingertips. “You’ve got a proper sweet little fuckhole, you know, Newton,” he remarks. He crooks his fingers, pressing a fingertip to one of the soft walls, and delights at the full-body shiver it evokes in his colleague. Newton is so wonderfully responsive. Hermann imagines he will be even more so with a cock inside him.
“Don’t say shit like that, man, it’s weird,” Newton moans. “Oh!”
Hermann has grabbed a fistful of Newton’s shirt and dragged him back bodily until his arse hovers just above Hermann’s prick. Hermann’s gone mostly hard now, at least enough to sheath himself in Newton. He nudges his cockhead against Newton’s hole and leaves a small smear of precome behind. Newton makes another funny little noise.
He really has got a nice arse, not that Hermann is any stranger to the observation. Bloody distracting. Always parading about in those silly little trousers and bending over in front of Hermann. No surprise that he was this desperate for a buggering all along. Hermann ought to give it a few hard smacks, bruise it up with his teeth perhaps. Another time. “Where did we put the condom?” he asks.
“Fuck if I know,” Newton says. He’s breathing hard. “Don’t bother with it. Probably too small for your big f-fucking dick anyway.” His voice goes high and thin at that last bit, trailing into a whine, and Hermann’s cock gives an excited little twitch against him. Newton pushes back at it desperately. “Ohh, fuck, Hermann, that feels so hot. Yes.”
Hermann lets his cockhead catch on Newton’s hole again and drags it along the tender skin, shivering at how lovely it feels. Newton whimpers. “Can you hurry up?” he says.
“Alright,” Hermann says mildly.
He yanks Newton down onto his cock. Newton’s body offers him little resistance, even as Newton yelps and white-knuckles the desk, and Hermann sinks in most of the way with a satisfied grunt. He grants Newton the courtesy of waiting for him to finish moaning and trembling before pushing the rest of the way in. His pubic hair brushes Newton’s rim as he bottoms out. Newton goes limp, and Hermann gives a warning tap to one plump cheek before Newton’s weight can sag fully into his lap.
“Hn?”
“Not on my hip. You can manage, I think,” Hermann says. He settles back into his chair, keeping Newton at an arm’s distance but careful not to let his cock slip free of him. The bunched fabric of Newton’s jeans shifts against his bollocks as he rubs his cock at Newton’s hot, fluttering walls. The denim is rough but not unpleasant feeling, and Hermann almost likes it. He likes particularly how Newton’s hole looks stretched tight around him. He's got a nice view like this. “Mm. Proper sweet,” he says again, rubbing his thumb at it.
Newton moans and braces his arms on the desk, pulling himself off Hermann’s cock until just the tip is left inside him. Hermann uses the hand still fisted in his shirt to drag him back down. His bollocks smack against Newton’s arse, and Newton’s thighs tremble with the effort of holding himself up. “Oh, fuck,” Newton moans again.
He lets Hermann steer him up and down on his cock once, twice more. Hermann is hard and throbbing inside him now, leaking precome freely, and he groans with each hot little clench of Newton about him. Newton’s own cock is still tucked inside his boxers and half-zipped jeans; he ruts the bulging front at Hermann’s desk as Hermann’s bollocks smack against him over and over, whining and gasping each time (Hermann knows) the zipper must dig into his sensitive flesh.
Hermann takes a moment to appreciate the rather pathetic display before taking mercy and reaching for Newton’s zipper. He would quite like to see Newton’s nice, flushed prick bobbing helplessly between his thighs, even if it does mean making more of a mess. He’ll have Newton care of it after. “You poor thing,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you out of these. I want to see your lovely, hard—”
“N-no,” Newton says, jerking away. “No, leave them, leave them, oh fuck.” He pulls himself up from Hermann’s cock again and drops back down, dissolving into a strangled whimper at the nudge of Hermann’s cockhead against something tender and deep within him. He throbs around Hermann and grinds down on him.
Hermann had gotten the distinct impression that the birthday fellatio incident had been—so to speak—all business for Newton, if not something done for his own amusement more than Hermann’s. He had not seemed particularly interested in observing Hermann’s reactions as he moved his wet mouth up and down. Just as well, because Hermann recalls he had spent most of it clutching the back of Newton’s head and groaning through clenched teeth, too tipsy and aroused to think to do much else.
Hermann would like very much to watch Newton’s handsome face screw up in pleasure each time Hermann plunges in to the hilt. He pulls his cock free from Newton—relishing, again, in the greedy way Newton clenches around his cockhead, desperate to keep him inside—and holds himself in his fist as Newton squirms in annoyance. “Hermann,” Newton whines. “C’mon—”
Hermann rises unsteadily to his feet and braces one hand on his desk, the other still wrapped around his cock. “Turn over,” he breathes into Newton’s ear. “I can manage, I think, to finish—”
Newton knocks over an empty mug and a pencil cup in his haste to roll onto his arse, the contents of the latter spilling across Hermann’s computer keyboard. He shoves the bulk of it all out of the way to recline on his back. Hermann drags him to the edge of the desk and presses Newton’s knees tight to his own heaving chest, and Newton helps him, holding them up as his thighs shake.
He’s a lovely sight, flushed and sweating and gaping up (half-blind) at Hermann, his pretty eyes nearly all pupil. The tangled front of his jeans and boxers are soaked and straining obscenely around his erection. There’s a small bruise on his pectoral where Hermann bit down earlier and a trickle of drool at the corner of his mouth. “Hermann,” he moans.
Hermann can hardly believe the trembling, needy Newton Geiszler spreading his legs so readily for him is the same Newton Geiszler who swaggered into the laboratory this morning with his arse plugged. Needy and desperate for a buggering either way. Hermann chases after the knot coiling hotly in the pit of his stomach, hungry for it and for Newton, and pushes himself back inside Newton with a sharp grunt.
Newton whimpers and opens up for him so sweetly that Hermann’s breath catches in his throat. He thrusts into Newton twice more to the hilt, his legs wobbling beneath him. He won’t be able to keep this up for very long. “Bugger,” he gasps, pulling out all but his cockhead again, which Newton squeezes. “Newt. I think I—”
Newton licks his lips again. “Do it in me,” he says, his voice coming out throaty. “It’ll be hot. Wait, wait—”
He sits up, throwing his arms around Hermann’s shoulders and drawing their bodies flush together. His knees are digging into Hermann’s chest. Hermann can feel his erection rubbing up between them and his damp boxers through his sweater. “Like this,” Newton gasps, and Hermann slides back into him with one long, languid thrust. Newton clenches down weakly. “Aw, fuck yeah. That’s—yes. Uhm. Can you—”
His lips bump Hermann’s chin, a clumsy attempt to press them to Hermann’s own mouth. His stubble is scratchy and makes Hermann’s skin tingle where it catches and rubs. He mumbles out against Hermann’s throat, “Can you kiss me?”
Hermann almost smiles. He tilts Newton’s head up and slots their mouths together properly, enjoying the eager way Newton opens up for him there, too, and the wet slide of Newton’s tongue on his. He tastes a bit like coffee. “Ah,” Hermann moans. He sucks at Newton’s tongue. “Mm, Newt…" He nips at Newton’s slick and swollen lips before pulling away with a breathy moan, a shiver going through his body at the thin strand of saliva that trails between them a moment before breaking.
Newton clings to him as Hermann pants harshly into his open mouth and rolls his hips forward. He drops his forehead to Newton’s as he comes. Newton pulses around him, taking it all just as sweetly, until Hermann, spent, collapses into his chair.
He watches in a haze as Newton palms frantically at his cock through his clothing. Newton is positively shameless about it, making all sorts of silly, broken sounds, grinding into his own touch, his hole still messy with Hermann's come. (Really it's a very fetching sight: Hermann thinks they will have to do this again some time.) Newton whimpers as he finishes himself off like that and spills all over the inside of his boxers. He slumps in a panting heap on Hermann's desk.
Hermann waits until they've both calmed down a bit to clear his throat and attempt to regain some tiny sliver of professionalism. He tucks his soft, wet prick away. His clothing is very badly rumpled, his sweater especially, and his desk will need a thorough wipe-down. He nods at Newton. “Happy birthday,” he says.
Newton hiccoughs out a breathless laugh and lifts his head just enough to shoot Hermann a grin. “Fuck off, dude.”