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31_days2013-10-09 08:49 pm
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2013-10-09 08:49 pm
[Oct 9] [Pacific Rim] Contained
Title: Contained
Day/Theme: 9. an awful, clawing need to be touched
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann Gottlieb/Newt Geiszler
Rating: sort of
He hid it well. Very well. He wrapped it up tight in multiple layers, kept every button buttoned, kept everything held back and covered up. He had his reputation, after all. He had his dignity.
But. The world was going to end. He had the proof in his head, in his hands, scribbled across the blackboards as far as he could reach. They were very likely doomed. All of them. If something didn't change that soon, he might never get the chance. That might be for the best too.
He had imagined it often enough, the day the jaegers failed, and the dome collapsed, and they were all crushed or eaten or drowned or dissolved in acid. Then, it wouldn't matter anymore. Nothing would. Especially not the other things he had imagined. It wouldn't matter to anyone if he had or had never run his hands over the tattoos or let those clever, nail-bitten fingers try to smooth out his frown lines.
By that same argument though, it wouldn't matter if he made a fool of himself trying to reach that far. He would have something to regret losing, besides just losing. He had suffered enough, been alone enough that it might not be asking too much. Surely he was allowed to try.
So, when he found Newt babbling in awestruck despair about how poisonous the latest secretions were, how Barrley Sound might never recover, never ever, and Jesus Christ, the marshall wanted options now. Like, right now, and there just weren't any yet, he had to have samples, he needed data, and while he rambled, Hermann suddenly remembered an accident with a poison gland from weeks ago.
Hierarchical organization, he remembered, of a non-centralized neural network. That's what Newt had said before something spasmed and sprayed poison all over itself and the neighboring specimen, which turned out out to be a slice of an immense liver. The liver had absorbed it all, rendering both specimens useless for study.
"The liver," he said out loud. Newt sputtered to a stop and glowered at him. "The liver," Hermann repeated. "You… you said the enzymes?" He trailed off as Newt's expression turned incredulous. It wasn't his field, he reminded himself. He might not even be remembering it correctly. But then, Newt lunged for him.
Startled, he almost raised the cane in defense, but arms were in the way and did nothing to block the kiss that honestly shocked him. He grabbed the arms to steady himself, to keep from falling when his knee buckled. He felt the tense arms through the sweat-damp shirt more than he registered the clumsy pressure on his mouth. Newt released his face quickly, but then crushed him into a hug.
"That's why you get the genius papers," he crowed into Hermann's throat. "Of course, I told you first, so I'm the most genius but still! I can't believe you beat me to that, that you remembered, that you listened to me at all…"
Hermann was listening. His cheek was pressed into the top of Newt's hair, spiky and damp. He had melted into it without meaning to, quickly processing everything. He memorized the warm puff of breath that came with every word, the knot of the tie digging into his sternum, the hands, the belly, the legs against his own. It would be over quickly and there might never be another chance and almost as soon as he thought it, Newt was pulling away and scuttling around the lab grabbing up things and talking a mile a minute, this time about oxidation and metabolization and bioavailability.
It took a moment to get himself back together, to steady his hands on the cane and in his pocket, to get his leg sturdy under him again, and (he hoped) get the color off his face. By the time, Newt was on the way out the door, he thought he had his poise back. Newt, of course, ruined it with a second kiss as he hurried out, this one quick and meaningless, but still unravelling him all over again.
Then, he was alone as before, shivering and lonesome under all his layers. This time he had the memory of frantic warmth to make the contrast that much more painful. But, he also had a glimmer of hope that maybe it wasn't out of the question to ask for more.
Day/Theme: 9. an awful, clawing need to be touched
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann Gottlieb/Newt Geiszler
Rating: sort of
He hid it well. Very well. He wrapped it up tight in multiple layers, kept every button buttoned, kept everything held back and covered up. He had his reputation, after all. He had his dignity.
But. The world was going to end. He had the proof in his head, in his hands, scribbled across the blackboards as far as he could reach. They were very likely doomed. All of them. If something didn't change that soon, he might never get the chance. That might be for the best too.
He had imagined it often enough, the day the jaegers failed, and the dome collapsed, and they were all crushed or eaten or drowned or dissolved in acid. Then, it wouldn't matter anymore. Nothing would. Especially not the other things he had imagined. It wouldn't matter to anyone if he had or had never run his hands over the tattoos or let those clever, nail-bitten fingers try to smooth out his frown lines.
By that same argument though, it wouldn't matter if he made a fool of himself trying to reach that far. He would have something to regret losing, besides just losing. He had suffered enough, been alone enough that it might not be asking too much. Surely he was allowed to try.
So, when he found Newt babbling in awestruck despair about how poisonous the latest secretions were, how Barrley Sound might never recover, never ever, and Jesus Christ, the marshall wanted options now. Like, right now, and there just weren't any yet, he had to have samples, he needed data, and while he rambled, Hermann suddenly remembered an accident with a poison gland from weeks ago.
Hierarchical organization, he remembered, of a non-centralized neural network. That's what Newt had said before something spasmed and sprayed poison all over itself and the neighboring specimen, which turned out out to be a slice of an immense liver. The liver had absorbed it all, rendering both specimens useless for study.
"The liver," he said out loud. Newt sputtered to a stop and glowered at him. "The liver," Hermann repeated. "You… you said the enzymes?" He trailed off as Newt's expression turned incredulous. It wasn't his field, he reminded himself. He might not even be remembering it correctly. But then, Newt lunged for him.
Startled, he almost raised the cane in defense, but arms were in the way and did nothing to block the kiss that honestly shocked him. He grabbed the arms to steady himself, to keep from falling when his knee buckled. He felt the tense arms through the sweat-damp shirt more than he registered the clumsy pressure on his mouth. Newt released his face quickly, but then crushed him into a hug.
"That's why you get the genius papers," he crowed into Hermann's throat. "Of course, I told you first, so I'm the most genius but still! I can't believe you beat me to that, that you remembered, that you listened to me at all…"
Hermann was listening. His cheek was pressed into the top of Newt's hair, spiky and damp. He had melted into it without meaning to, quickly processing everything. He memorized the warm puff of breath that came with every word, the knot of the tie digging into his sternum, the hands, the belly, the legs against his own. It would be over quickly and there might never be another chance and almost as soon as he thought it, Newt was pulling away and scuttling around the lab grabbing up things and talking a mile a minute, this time about oxidation and metabolization and bioavailability.
It took a moment to get himself back together, to steady his hands on the cane and in his pocket, to get his leg sturdy under him again, and (he hoped) get the color off his face. By the time, Newt was on the way out the door, he thought he had his poise back. Newt, of course, ruined it with a second kiss as he hurried out, this one quick and meaningless, but still unravelling him all over again.
Then, he was alone as before, shivering and lonesome under all his layers. This time he had the memory of frantic warmth to make the contrast that much more painful. But, he also had a glimmer of hope that maybe it wasn't out of the question to ask for more.