i've frequently not been on boats

“Yes,” Hermann says.

“Have you been staring at me this whole time?”

“Yes. I was enjoying how quiet you were being for once.”

“Dick,” Newt says.

He shuffles closer and presses a kiss to the corner of Hermann’s mouth. Hermann hums pleasantly and slides his hand up the back of Newt’s head, holding him there while Newt continues stealing lazy kisses. “Happy birthday,” Newt mumbles.

“Mm, is it really?” Hermann says. “I’d almost forgotten.”

He drags down the bedspread to expose the top of Newt’s bare chest. Newt toys with the little cowlick curl at Hermann's hairline while Hermann kisses his throat. “You know what you wanna do today yet?” Newt asks the top of Hermann’s head. He twists a strand of Hermann's hair around his finger.

“Sleep in,” Hermann murmurs.

“After that?”

Hermann’s hands begin to wander down to Newt’s boxers. Newt grins. “Okay,” he says. “And after that?”

“Ask me again in a bit.”

After a thorough groping by Hermann and a belated breakfast not as in bed as Newt intended, Hermann suggests packing a bag and heading out to the beach. Their new apartment overlooks a rocky shoreside, and while it’s been too cold for swimming so far—not that Newt trusts the ocean is one-hundred-percent safe yet, even a year and a half out from the Breach’s closure and the subsequent coastal clean-up efforts—they’ve spent plenty of time out on it bickering their way through long walks and pointing out shooting stars to each other at night.

It’s only their first summer here, so who knows. Maybe Newt will get brave eventually. Probably not yet.

It's a hot, sunny June day, one of the nicer days they've had so far this year, and Newt is more than happy to wriggle into his tiniest swim trunks and a loose t-shirt he plans to throw off the second they lay down their blanket. Hermann wears a blue linen shirt that billows like a sail in the breeze and matching linen pants. His face is obscured under a large sunhat that he bought on a whim at an airport last year—en route to give a last-minute keynote speech at a conference—and a pair of round, oversized prescription sunglasses. He looks like a bizarre cross between an Old Hollywood starlet and the stuffy professor he is. It's cute, in a weird, Hermann-esque way. A little more stylish than what he usually has on.

Hermann watches over the sunglasses as Newt finds a moderately even patch of sand and smooths their blanket out across it, and then accepts Newt’s hand down, where he stretches out his limbs like a satisfied cat. Their little section of beach isn’t technically private, but they almost never see anyone else out this far down (today included) so it may as well be. Most of their neighbors seem to prefer to float lazily in the apartment complex pool. Newt can't fault their logic, but he enjoys scavenging for cool shells and pieces of driftwood for Hermann to put up on the mantle too much.

He drops next to Hermann on the blanket and unloads their gear: their gigantic canvas tote bag, a towel (just in case), and Hermann's cane. He catches his breath as Hermann lays there happily in his voluminous linens. Not just a starlet, Newt thinks, but one going incognito. Hiding from paps or something. That hat is ridiculous. “There,” Hermann says. “Well, this is nice, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” Newt says. He drags the tote bag over and rummages around through it in search of their sunscreen. When he finds the bottle, he tosses it to Hermann, and then whips his shirt off over his head. It’s damp with sweat from the walk here and sticking uncomfortably to his back. The ocean breeze is a relief on his bare skin. He takes a few seconds to enjoy it and the sound of the waves lapping against the shore. “Can you do my back for me?” he finally continues.

He turns to find Hermann busy gazing at his chest, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “Hermann?” he says louder.

“Ah. Yes,” Hermann says, scrambling to pick up the sunblock. He drops the bottle twice in his haste to pop the cap off. “Turn around.”

Hermann squirts a generous amount of sunblock onto his palms and rubs them together to warm it up, enough that when he finally presses them to Newt’s shoulders, Newt sighs and sinks into his touch happily. He lets Hermann massage it into his skin without complaint, especially when Hermann starts to dig his thumbs into his shoulderblades. “They really have grown on me,” Hermann says.

“Mmph?” Newt says.

“Your tattoos,” Hermann says. He trails his fingertip down the back of Newt’s bicep vaguely along the squiggly line of one of the inked waves. Newt shivers. “They’re remarkably less offensive without the real things still wandering about.”

Newt hears him pop the cap off the sunblock again. “Nah, don’t worry, I can do the rest,” he says, reaching behind him to retrieve the bottle, but Hermann stops him with an affectionate pinch to his side and a kiss to his lotioned shoulder.

“Let me,” Hermann says. “You’re never thorough enough and you always whine when you get burnt. I’d hate to have to spend the evening spreading aloe all over you…” He strokes his hands all the way up Newt's arms as a helpful example, and Newt blushes and squirms.

When Hermann finishes with his arms, his hands creep around to Newt’s front to rub over his stomach. “Uh, dude,” Newt says. He stares down at his pecs to watch them be lovingly groped by Hermann’s sunscreen-slick hands. “I’m—I think you got it. I think we’re all good here.” He squeaks when Hermann squeezes them. “H-Hermann!”

Hermann draws back with a low snicker. “Oh my God. You’re a pervert,” Newt says. “You already had your way with me once today. Was that not enough for you?”

“I’m allowed those sorts of indulgences on my birthday, aren’t I?” Hermann says. “Will you stand up a moment?”

Newt gets unsteadily to his feet, and Hermann lowers his sunglasses back down his nose to sweep his eyes across Newt's body in a way that makes Newt feel distinctly more naked than he actually is. “Like this?” Newt asks. He strikes a stupid pose, flexing his mostly nonexistent biceps like a bodybuilder. The corner of Hermann's mouth twitches up.

“Hm,” he says. “Turn around, please, Newton?”

Newt spins slowly in place as Hermann scrutinizes him. Eventually he gives Newt one final, satisfied nod. “Very good,” he says. “You can sit back down, if you'd like.”

Newt drops to his knees and crawls up to kneel in the spread of Hermann’s legs. He tips Hermann’s stupid sunhat up and kisses him under it. When he pulls away, Hermann cups the side of his face and strokes his fingers over Newt's stubble. “So, uh, were you making sure you didn't miss a spot or something?” Newt asks. He catches Hermann's hand and kisses his palm. “Did I pass?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Hermann says. “I had a very particular reason for wanting to come here today, is all. That was it. Thank you.”

“What was it?”