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31_days2014-03-23 03:42 pm
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2014-03-23 03:42 pm
[March 22] [Pacific Rim] Sonnets and Intestines
Title:Sonnets and Intestines
Day/Theme: 23. the petals look like little hearts
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann Gottlieb/Newt Geiszler
It was the Drift. It hadn't just synched them, it had laid them bare. Everything else would've been fine. They could finally make sense of each other after years and years of bouncing off each other. Like protons! Newt cheered. Like a squeaky toy in a centrifuge, Hermann grumbled back.
The grumbles and cheers didn't work anymore though. Hermann knew very well how shaken and traumatized Newt really was. And Newt knew that keeping up surly appearances was all that had kept Hermann on his feet for far too long. That wasn't even the problem.
The real problem was all of the other things, the glimpses, the flashes of moments stolen from the day that neither of them had meant to think or say. Even through all the trauma and upheaval, those little bits wormed their way to the surface when they should've stayed buried deep. No one, especially Hermann, was supposed to know that ruffling his hair would not only improve that haircut but give an excuse just to touch it, or that the uneven angles and agitated movements of his body would fit perfectly between Newt's arms and torso, or how enticing the bony knob of his ankle was when he stretched to write a little higher and seriously how Victorian was that? Or that the fact that he was still so scrappy and bad-tempered in the face of all the pain and fear layering him even more than all those stupid clothes made him a hero long before this.
And Newt was certainly never supposed to realize that his eyes were the greenest things down in this basement of a lab, closest thing to life and sunshine, that the color and animation and the hope were such a guilty pleasure after the flat wall of black and white staring back at him with carefully calculated doom all over it. Or what a relief it was to see Newt's brilliance at work, even if it was sloppy and loud. That Hermann wasn't alone with the fate of the universe and that Newt had let in the possibility of possibility. Hermann had spent the majority of his life dealing in absolutes and now there was this... mess.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he said out loud. He probably could've screamed it. The post-apocalypse cancellation celebration was still vibrating all the walls around them. He didn't mean the success, the winning. He had worked too long for that. But, the confusion of what to do then, the completely unhoped for prospect of maybe having something? afterwards had him unsteady and looking for patterns. There was a way to make sense of this. His mathematician instincts flew wide to find it.
"I'm glad it did," Newt said. "And don't even deny it. You don't want to go back either." He was grinning from ear to ear, despite the tears gathered in his eyes, despite the pain Hermann can still feel in the back of his mind.
Hermann just looked at him for a moment. He wasn't sure if this was some sort of adrenaline-fueled delusion or if the strain of having his mind laid open had forced it into some bizarre emotional pareidolia, but now he could see all the ways their past actions had brought them to this. All the intestines splattered on his desk might as well have been flowers ( look what I found you, I was thinking of you), all of his complaints might as well have been sonnets (I notice everything you do, you are not alone in this). Was it more likely that he was just out of his mind?
"No," he said, answering both questions and leaning in. His leg might've been finally giving out or he might've just needed to rest his head against Newt's. Either way his heartbeat was too loud. Unless it was Newt's he could hear pounding in his own veins. The arms that Newt had been sure would fit perfectly did go around him just so. There was probably a kiss happening somewhere in there too. Or maybe one of them was just thinking about it.
He aimed his lips at the skin nearest them just to end that debate. Newt squirmed around to get his own mouth in the way, and that fit too. It wasn't like synching all over again, but it was still better than not touching, and the symmetry of it soothed the geometric part of his head that still needed answers.
Day/Theme: 23. the petals look like little hearts
Series: Pacific Rim
Character/Pairing: Hermann Gottlieb/Newt Geiszler
It was the Drift. It hadn't just synched them, it had laid them bare. Everything else would've been fine. They could finally make sense of each other after years and years of bouncing off each other. Like protons! Newt cheered. Like a squeaky toy in a centrifuge, Hermann grumbled back.
The grumbles and cheers didn't work anymore though. Hermann knew very well how shaken and traumatized Newt really was. And Newt knew that keeping up surly appearances was all that had kept Hermann on his feet for far too long. That wasn't even the problem.
The real problem was all of the other things, the glimpses, the flashes of moments stolen from the day that neither of them had meant to think or say. Even through all the trauma and upheaval, those little bits wormed their way to the surface when they should've stayed buried deep. No one, especially Hermann, was supposed to know that ruffling his hair would not only improve that haircut but give an excuse just to touch it, or that the uneven angles and agitated movements of his body would fit perfectly between Newt's arms and torso, or how enticing the bony knob of his ankle was when he stretched to write a little higher and seriously how Victorian was that? Or that the fact that he was still so scrappy and bad-tempered in the face of all the pain and fear layering him even more than all those stupid clothes made him a hero long before this.
And Newt was certainly never supposed to realize that his eyes were the greenest things down in this basement of a lab, closest thing to life and sunshine, that the color and animation and the hope were such a guilty pleasure after the flat wall of black and white staring back at him with carefully calculated doom all over it. Or what a relief it was to see Newt's brilliance at work, even if it was sloppy and loud. That Hermann wasn't alone with the fate of the universe and that Newt had let in the possibility of possibility. Hermann had spent the majority of his life dealing in absolutes and now there was this... mess.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," he said out loud. He probably could've screamed it. The post-apocalypse cancellation celebration was still vibrating all the walls around them. He didn't mean the success, the winning. He had worked too long for that. But, the confusion of what to do then, the completely unhoped for prospect of maybe having something? afterwards had him unsteady and looking for patterns. There was a way to make sense of this. His mathematician instincts flew wide to find it.
"I'm glad it did," Newt said. "And don't even deny it. You don't want to go back either." He was grinning from ear to ear, despite the tears gathered in his eyes, despite the pain Hermann can still feel in the back of his mind.
Hermann just looked at him for a moment. He wasn't sure if this was some sort of adrenaline-fueled delusion or if the strain of having his mind laid open had forced it into some bizarre emotional pareidolia, but now he could see all the ways their past actions had brought them to this. All the intestines splattered on his desk might as well have been flowers ( look what I found you, I was thinking of you), all of his complaints might as well have been sonnets (I notice everything you do, you are not alone in this). Was it more likely that he was just out of his mind?
"No," he said, answering both questions and leaning in. His leg might've been finally giving out or he might've just needed to rest his head against Newt's. Either way his heartbeat was too loud. Unless it was Newt's he could hear pounding in his own veins. The arms that Newt had been sure would fit perfectly did go around him just so. There was probably a kiss happening somewhere in there too. Or maybe one of them was just thinking about it.
He aimed his lips at the skin nearest them just to end that debate. Newt squirmed around to get his own mouth in the way, and that fit too. It wasn't like synching all over again, but it was still better than not touching, and the symmetry of it soothed the geometric part of his head that still needed answers.