#i need them to shove each other against a wall angrily and makeout | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asset35-maya · 3 years

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Reed900 meet-cute: disciplinary action (3/3)

“Be yourself.”

“What?”

“Just be yourself now.”

Gavin and Nines exchanged incredulous looks. They were approaching the end of the disciplinary workshop. Wasn’t the whole point to not be themselves?

Simon smiled in his usual mild manner. By now they had learnt it could only mean trouble.

“I’ve read your files. Neither of you know how to mince words. Neither of you are gentle.

Your Homicide colleagues consistently complain about your hostility and lack of respect, Detective Reed. And you, Agent Nines. You have a history of being rough with everyone you encounter on the field. Even civilians.

I can see you’ve both been on your best behaviour the past three days. Not sure who you’re trying to impress...”

Simon glanced between them, still smiling sweetly.

“But you can be yourself now.”

He took a step back and waved at the group to begin the last activity:

Jenga.

Giant Jenga.

Pairs vs pairs, with one person blindfolded and the other giving instructions.

Gavin groaned as they found themselves facing Allen and Sixty. The two grinned back, well aware of their competitive advantage. Who could be better coordinated than two SWAT teammates turned lovers?

Definitely not Gavin and Nines.

After a twisted ankle and three fallen jenga towers, Gavin ripped off his blindfold and rounded on Nines.

“Your directions suck.”

“My directions are fine. It’s not my fault you can’t comprehend them.”

“It’s literally your fault I’m picking the wrong blocks!”

“My communications modules are the most advanced-”

“Shut up and switch with me. I’ll give the instructions. I outrank you anyway.”

Nines took the blindfold coolly.

“I don’t need your instructions. My perception and cognition software is more than enough.”

He shoved past Gavin to get to the tower of blocks. Sixty was waiting for him, smirking.

Nines proceeded to ignore all of Gavin’s barked commands… and fared just as badly as the human had. When their opponents decided to indulge in a makeout session after a particularly spectacular collapse, Nines faced him angrily.

“Stop distracting me!”

“Not that advanced, huh? This is why you should listen to your superiors.”

“Superior? How insecure do you have to be to pull rank in the middle of a bar game?”

Easily inflamed as ever, Gavin barged up to the android.

“The fuck you say to me, plastic? INSECURE? I’ll show you insecure!”

Nines’ LED went bright red. He put his hands on Gavin’s chest and shoved the human out of his personal space.

A scuffle began.

A much needed adrenaline surge after three days of inane indoor activities.

An outlet.

An irrational sense of relief.

A heavy blow to a steel midsection. An uppercut that only narrowly missed a jaw that was broken twice before. A mechanical hand catching a calloused fist.

It ended with Gavin pinned to a wall. There was silence as the other cops stopped tinkering with their block towers. Allen sat down with a sigh and Sixty climbed into his lap to watch the fun.

“Whatcha gonna do, big guy? Snap my neck? They’ll have you shut down in no time.”

There was only a deep growl in response. Gavin struggled against the iron grip.

“That all you got? Try showing off with something you weren’t built with!”

Nines released him immediately and slackened against the wall beside him. He stared at his own hands in shock.

With the return of blood flow to his wrists, Gavin released that he had just put himself in very grave danger. For the second time in his stupid life, he had tried to fight a military grade android. His head suddenly felt sore where Connor had given him a concussion a year ago. It started to sink in that his volatility was a serious problem. He was a danger to himself. Feeling faint, Gavin leaned against the wall.

LED spinning a calm blue, Simon strolled over from where he had been mentoring another group.

“Oh good. That’s what I was waiting for.”

The two merely looked at the blond android, eyes unfocused, chests heaving.

“I honestly thought the SWAT lovebirds would be the pair to implode first, but no matter, this is still a teachable moment. Gather round, everyone.”

The others approached cautiously. The pair looked like they would relapse into violence any second.

“You must have all realised that my activities have little material value themselves. You must be wondering what any part of my workshop has to do with police discipline… Allow me to explain.

Day One served to profile each officer beyond the complaints made against them. I then matched pairs based on the closest personality dysfunctions. Day Two was used to build a working relationship within each pair, and Day Three, today, was the stress test. The intent… was definitely to give everyone a taste of their own medicine… but also to let you all see how exactly your toxic behaviours could have developed… using your partner as a mirror.

Detective Reed and Agent Nines. Let’s unpack what happened here. You’ve gotten to know each other fairly well by now. You recognise each other’s competence and drive. You’ve shared laughs at other people’s expense. You even empathise with each other’s seeming lack of emotional intelligence. I think you might even have taken a liking to each other, no?”

Gavin and Nines chanced a glance at each other. There was a mutual feeling of foolishness. Simon went on.

“You both were on your best behaviour… until you succumbed to your superiority complexes and quick tempers. The only thing different from what usually happens at work was the person on the receiving end. This time, it was someone who could take it… and maybe even someone who deserved it. Detective, it’s been long since someone gave back insults as good your own, no? And Agent Nines, isn’t this is the first time a human has even tried to resist your use of force?”

Sixty had stopped listening and was trying to move Allen’s attention back to himself. The older man had the audacity to shush the android in his lap… and then the second squabble of the day begun. Simon smiled indulgently and held up a finger.

“I’ll be with you two in a moment, gentlemen. Let me wrap things up for this pair.

My point to the both of you is… you might go around thinking you’re the big bad wolf, but there’s always another wolf just around the corner. He might even be bigger. So there’s no pride to be taken in putting down the sheep around you. It’s embarrassing, really. So stop it. My sincere hope is that you will both remember what happened here the next time an impulse to terrorise an innocent colleague arises.

But if you simply must be a wolf… I suggest that you find your pack, for a lone wolf is a danger to himself and everyone around.”

Simon turned away and reached for Sixty’s hand to interface. He then began to break down the reasons for the mutual over-dependence between the SWAT android and his captain.

Gavin and Nines remained slumped against the wall. Even the RK900 seemed exhausted after the emotional rollercoaster they’d been on… from irritation and anger, to shock and bewilderment. Several moments passed and then Gavin suddenly reached within his jacket pocket and produced his phone. He held it out sideways to Nines.

“What?”

“He said to form a pack.”

Nines hesitated, but then quickly touched a finger to the device. Gavin glanced down at the new contact. It was saved as “Alpha 9Z”.

He looked up with a half-smirk, half-snarl on his face and found the same expression mirrored on the android’s face.

#reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh nines #fic post #dbh #dbh simon #Reed900 disciplinary action AU

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

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So I know you don't really write PRU things but how about PRU averting? Like when Newt starts to realize something is wrong he goes to Hermann for help?

this isn’t exactly what you wanted (at all) but the concept for this fic has been making me laugh all week. sometimes a bitch just wants to write a slightly unhinged jealous ex hermann unknowingly seducing aliens out of newt

safe for work except for some makeouts and implied past banging, but hermann tries very hard for it to not be. also ive definitely written similar plots before but who cares

—————

They send a ranger-in-training to break the news to Hermann. He’s not sure what they expected him to do, really, or how a teenager in oversized khakis might have prevented it in the first place. Rage? Cry? Break things? His relationship with Newton Geiszler has been highly publicized at this point, he supposes, down to every last gory detail; their scientific rivalry, their heated laboratory debates, their–er–rather dramatic love affair, which ended on a deeply sour note when Newton packed his bags and left Hermann for better funding and a swanky flat with more windows than walls seven years ago. As far as gossip is concerned, that is.

“Tomorrow?” Hermann says.

The ranger nods and says nothing. She’s awfully young–too young, Hermann thinks. And awfully afraid of him. Right, of course: he’s crotchety, daft old Dr. Gottlieb, notorious for his short temper and avoidance of socialization at all costs. He furrows his brow an appropriate amount and nods, as if to appear deeply consternated, or perhaps lost in brooding abstraction. “I see,” he says. “Hm. That wretched Dr. Geiszler, here, after so many years. The nerve of him. Thank you.”

The girl doesn’t move.

“Ah,” Hermann says. “Dismissed, I mean.”

Between the bare bones staff and Hermann’s incredibly low rank back in Hong Kong, he still hasn’t quite gotten used to the notion that he has things like interns and underlings again, let alone people who–when sent to deliver him a message, or paperwork, or lab equipment he submitted forms for–need to be explicitly dismissed to leave his presence. Newton would love it. Or, at the very least, he’d love teasing Hermann for it. (Control freak, that was what he’d call Hermann.)

Back in the safety and solitude of his private laboratory, Hermann brews a fresh pot of tea and mulls the news over. It’ll hardly be the first time Newton’s set foot at the Moyulan Shatterdome. It’ll hardly be the first time Hermann will have seen Newton since the Events of seven years ago, either. It will, however, be the first occasion on which the two collide: Newton always seems to schedule his routine Moyulan visits when Hermann is tucked safely away in some conference or council in some other bloody country, leaving their paths to cross at the most inane social events, banquets and fundraisers and black tie occasions that leave Hermann stifling under his collar and his leg aching from the strain of standing for so long.

Their words to each other in such situations have always been terse, brief, polite. Newton, after all, is a very important (and very rich) man these days, and he has plenty of elbows to bump and high society buggers to flatter without Hermann getting in his way. It’s pleasantries, is all. Lovely to see you, Dr. Geiszler. How’s work, Dr. Geiszler? The champagne is excellent, isn’t it, Dr. Geiszler? By Jove, it’s maddening. Just once Hermann would like to shout and snap at him like the good old days, to grab hold of that stupid bloody tie and shove him against a wall and kiss him, or bite him, or do anything that isn’t smile and pretend to care when he mentions that–that Alice floozy he’s shacking up with. And now, with Newton finally giving Hermann a window to meet in his own territory…

Hermann keeps a small volume of Newton’s early research on his desk–compiled long before he even knew the man–and he takes it out now, slipping a well-worn polaroid out from between its pages and propping it against his tea mug. Newton smiles out at him. “Horrible little man,” Hermann says, lovingly, and gently brushes his index finger against that handsome face.

He feigns a stomach bug to clock out of work early–fooling no one, of course, but his staff chalks it up sympathetically to the prospect of seeing his notorious ex tomorrow and says nothing–and makes a mad dash into town for a haircut and manicure. After some consideration, he pops into a clothing store for a new button-down, too. A nice one. One that fits him well. (You have a hot bod, dude, Newton would always say, you should be flaunting it.

No, no raging, or crying, or breaking things. It’s been seven years since Newton walked out on Hermann for a cushy job and designer suits, and Hermann has exactly one course of action in mind: winning him back.

——

Newton is not exactly as Hermann remembered. The changes in him are noticeable, and–for the most part, barring the loss of his glasses and personal sense of style–Hermann feels entirely neutral about them: hair more neatly tamed, stubble more neatly shaved, body ever-so-slightly more toned. Hermann seems to recall Newton saying something about CrossFit or some sort of damned exercise bike he bought at the last banquet they attended–lost ten pounds this past month! New Year’s Resolution, you know, ha, gotta stay in shape for Alice (and this was the point at which Hermann clenched his champagne flute so tightly it burst, and he excused himself to find a napkin with which to tend to his bleeding and a tall glass of whiskey from the open bar with which to tend to his agonies). Whatever it is, it seems to be working.

He manages to lure Newton out from under the thumb of his boss with vague claims of research, though Newton is not happy about it. “I got shit to do, man,” he complains. His eyes are inscrutable behind his expensive sunglasses. “It’s just not a good time. Busy, busy, busy, you know.”

They’ll have the laboratory to themselves, even more so than usual. I’ll need to have a few private words with Dr. Geiszler, Hermann had ominously announced to his staff that morning, and they’d all looked at each other in excitement. An infamous Geiszler-Gottlieb row! Hermann locks the door behind them.

“You poor dear,” Hermann says. “Running yourself ragged. You must be exhausted.”

Newton shrugs. “I am a little. I guess.” He shrugs again, and this time preens a little with it. Good: Hermann wants him nice and flattered. “It’s hard work being as important as I am, you know.”

“I imagine,” Hermann coos sympathetically. He brushes his hand across Newton’s shoulders, then nudges him at the small of his back towards his desk. “Please, Newt, I insist you have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Newton says, waving him off.

The instant coffee is located on the middle shelf of Hermann’s bookcase, between a dusty variety box of Twinings and an elaborate kaiju action figure Newton left in their apartment when he walked out. Hermann spoons some into a chipped blue mug and watches Newton through the man’s reflection on the kettle. He leans back in Hermann’s desk chair; he rolls his shoulders; he pops open a button on his maroon suit coat; he spies something propped up on Hermann’s desk, and picks it up. The polaroid. Hermann ducks his head to hide his smile.

“Good times, huh, dude?” Newton says. He waves it in the air.

“Mm,” Hermann says.

He hands the mug of coffee over to Newton, who’s yet to put down the polaroid. Milk and plenty of sugar. Exactly the way Newton always used to take it. “There we are, dear,” he says. “Are you hungry? Might I get you anything to eat? I’ve plenty of biscuits, and, er...” He casts a guilty glance around the mess of his workspace. “...Oranges.”

“No thanks,” Newton says, but it’s vague, unconvincing. His eyes are locked on the photograph. “Good times,” he repeats.

“Nothing to eat at all?” Hermann says.

Newton shakes himself. “Nah,” he says, and pats his stomach. “On a diet. You know, for Alice.”

Ah, of course; Alice. The mystery woman Hermann despises the very existence of. For years after Newton first broke the news to Hermann he was seeing someone new, Hermann used to pour over magazine articles and gossip sites for even a glimpse of what she might look like (and for the chance to do something cathartic, like crop her angrily from a photograph with Newton or scribble over her face with a Sharpie). Probably horrendously ugly; possibly blonde; undoubtedly lacking taste, and humor, and any other sorts of qualities a mate worthy of Newton ought to possess. At the very least, Hermann knows she isn’t at all supportive of Newton in the way she should be. Every banquet and fundraiser, she’s too busy to come, every dinner invitation Hermann finally accepts so he may properly hate the woman, she must cancel at the very last minute due to some strange illness or another.

Privately, Hermann thinks she feels threatened by him. As she should be. He and Newton have been in each other’s heads, after all, wrote letters in their youth, shared a laboratory for years, shared a bed for longer than that. It’s a simple fact one will ever know Newton like Hermann knows him.

“Of course,” Hermann says, with icy kindness. “For Alice. How is she these days? I was ever so put out when she caught–what was it–influenza, yes, that night we were meant to dine together. And the time before that, with pneumonia. And laryngitis before that. Terrific bloody coincidences, aren’t they.”

(Sorry, dude, Newton said over the phone, not sounding very sorry, but rather quite distracted. She was probably in the room, egging on his lies. She's sick. Can’t see you after all. Rain check?)

“Yeah,” Newton says. He’s started to shake his leg up and down, a nervous tic Hermann is all too aware of, seeing as he’s picked it up himself after their drift. Along with an annoying tendency to hoard sentimental rubbish. “Coincidences. If I’m being honest, Hermann–I’m not too keen on you two–well.” A strange look crosses his face, replaced in a blink of an eye with a toothy smile. “Old flame and the new flame, it’d be awkward for everyone, y’know?”

“Especially for her, I’d imagine,” Hermann says, and then he swings himself down into Newton’s lap.

Newton goes very still; the photograph slips from his fingers and flutters to the floor. “Hermann?” he squeaks.

Dropping his cane, Hermann nuzzles his face into the crook of Newton’s neck and breathes deeply; the Newton of his memories smells of burnt coffee and the sharp tang of preservation chemicals, but the Newton of now smells more of expensive cologne than anything else. Hermann can’t say he likes it much, but he presses a small kiss there anyway, marveling at the lack of the scratchy stubble he remembers so well. “What–what are you doing?” Newton says.

Another kiss. Hermann slips a hand up to caress Newton’s jaw, and Newton shivers. “I should think it’s obvious,” Hermann says. “Mm. Come on, now, love, I know I can’t be the only one of us who’s been aching for this.”

“It’s,” Newton stammers, “I,” and his sturdy fingers grip Hermann’s waist, though he makes no move to shove him away. In fact, he only draws him closer. Marvelous. “I’ve got–someone, dude,” he says, gazing at Hermann between heavy eyelids. “Alice. I have–”

Hermann kisses him, pouring into it every ounce of longing he’s felt for the last seven years, and Newton melts against him with a moan. “But does she make you feel the way I do?” Hermann murmurs.

“Uh,” Newton says.

He swipes his tongue into Newton’s mouth, enjoying the sharp jolt that shoots through Newton when he brushes against his own tongue, and pulls back with a small bite at his bottom lip. Newton always liked when Hermann kissed him messily. “Do feel free to touch me,” he says.

Newton does: one hand leaves Hermann’s waist and inches up his side instead, pausing to shove one half of his lab coat off, then the other. The coat slips to the floor as well. Newton splays five fingers over Hermann’s right pectoral. “Nice shirt,” he says, sounding rather dazed. “Good color on you.”

“I’d hoped you like it,” Hermann says happily. “Remember what you always used to say, about flaunting it? I thought it was time I’d take your advice.”

“I do,” Newton says. “I do remember. Ha.” His face splits into a grin, one of the first truly Newton-esque ones Hermann’s seen on him in years, and Hermann feels a small flare of triumph. He catches the hand at his chest and draws it to his mouth, brushing a kiss over the knuckles. Newton’s tattoos, vibrant as ever, poke out from beneath one maroon sleeve.

Hermann remembers kissing those tattoos. He remembers tracing the shape of red-yellow waves with his fingertips, of pinching the eyes of the great kaiju splashed across his chest, of teasing Newton for his rather unadorned arse and how pale it was in comparison to the rest of him. You’re one to talk, buddy, Newton would say, and he’d deliver a playful smack to Hermann’s, all skin and bones, dude, I think I bruised my hand. He used to like to keep his glasses on in bed so he could see Hermann. Make sure it’s actually happening, he’d say. His sunglasses are folded uselessly on Hermann’s desk. “I could make you so loud,” Hermann says. “We’d get noise complaints. Remember?”

Newton nods, eyes fixed on the knuckles Hermann kissed.

“I knew exactly where to touch you,” Hermann says, dropping his voice, “and how to touch you. I still do, Newton.” Newton dissolves into whimpers when his neck is kissed, a certain spot by his left thigh pressed on with a thumb; when being made love to, he likes his sides stroked, fingers pressed against his tongue; when doing the love making, he likes his hair pulled, nails raked across his back.

“Please,” Newton says, his voice cracking. “Can you–?”

Hermann shoves that ugly maroon jacket to the floor, then winds that ugly tie around his fingers and gives Newton a sharp tug. Newton moans, twice as loud as before. “Yes, darling, of course.”

They kiss, Hermann making quick work of the buttons of Newton’s shirt, Newton seemingly too shy to do anything beyond grip Hermann’s shoulders. A pink blush is spreading from the tips of his cheeks down to his neck. It’s very sweet. “Hermann,” he says.

“Mm?”

Newton wets his lips. “You like when I do this,” he says, and gives Hermann’s ear a little tug.

(They’re so big, Newton would say, it’s adorable, you’re adorable, and Hermann would swat him away, but then Newton would kiss the shell of his ear, bite his earlobe, and Hermann would gasp, and sensitive! Newton would say, adorable, absolutely adorable.)

“They’re sensitive,” Newton says. “You like when I kiss them.” He grins again, though it slips away after a moment. “I think they’ll be looking for me soon.”

“You are so terribly important, after all,” Hermann says. “It’s a very good thing I’ve locked the door. I haven’t finished having my wicked way with you yet.”

This time, Newton laughs, though it’s an uncertain little thing. “Listen,” he says, strangely urgent, and he squeezes Hermann’s arm. “Don’t let me leave, okay?” Then he shakes his head. “Actually, no. Take me home with you. Away from–from work. And Alice. Yeah. Let’s go now.”

This is unexpected, though Hermann cannot deny it’s not exactly what he hoped would happen when his foolproof plan of seduction worked. He’s suddenly very pleased he made a few more stops after picking up his new shirt: first for a very expensive bottle of wine and the makings of a dinner the Newton of ten years ago loved, the next a rather discreet one for the sort of supplies they’d need to, er, take this one step further. “Oh, yes,” Hermann says. “Oh, darling, absolutely. Er–now now?”

“Now,” Newton says. He plants a series of discoordinated, rapid-fire kisses across Hermann’s mouth and chin. “Now,” he repeats. “Keep talking to me.”

“About what?” Hermann says, frowning.

“Anything,” Newton says. “And touch me. Keep touching me. Hermann–when we get there, I have to tell you–”

“Alright, Newton, alright,” Hermann says. He did forget how needy Newton could get. He’s also missed it. He strokes back some of Newton’s neat hair, gropes around for his cane, and eases himself to his feet with a small groan. (He’s not quite as young or agile as he used to be.) Newton immediately springs to his own feet and latches onto Hermann’s arm. He's not merely needy tonight--a bit on edge, too, it seems. “Off we are, then. Be a dear and get my coat for me.”

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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