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“Hermann, you can't buy all of them,” Newt said, following Hermann around a thrift store.
“I will buy them all. There is a discount if you'll care to look at the sign,” Hermann said, slightly affronted as he worked his way through the giant rack of old sweaters with great purpose and determination. The cart was at least one third full.
“How are you going to fit all of them in our closet?”
“I still have some room on my side. As it happens, some of my things are being squashed by your Doctor Martens collection –”
“Doc Martens, babe.”
“Oh excuse me Doc Martens...and all your punk gear, which I might add, you never use.”
“I wore my mesh neon top to the last gay bar we went to.”
“It was in bad taste.”
“Then how come you were staring at my nipples all night?”
“Lower your voice, please, dear.”
Newt leaned on the cart looking at his funny lover who had just tossed a maroon sweater with tan flecks on it on top of the pile.
“Are you prepared to wash all these?”
“Certainly.”
“‘Cause they have that weird thrift store pong,” New said as he picked up a red woolen vest and inhaled. He made a face. “It’s like weed and cigarettes and detergent and wet dog all rolled into one.”
“I intend to spend some time tomorrow hand-washing the woolen ones.” Another sweater was flung into the cart.
“Soon, the Hermann-beast will prepare for the coming cold weather,” Newt narrated.
“That was the worst Sir David Attenborough impression you have ever done.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Forty five dollars later Hermann carried a giant bag of sweaters to the car. He tried not to looked pleased with himself. Newt tried not to chuckle.
“You’re the cutest.”
“Just put the key in the ignition, Newton.”
...
“Hey, sweater dragon,” Newt said as he approached Hermann from behind, wrapping his arms around his waist.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You have a hoard of sweaters, dude. You are officially a sweater dragon.”
Hermann was too busy gently kneading a navy blue woolen to respond. But then Newt started to kiss his neck.
“My hands are all soapy, Newt,” he chuckled. The shorter man laughed, snuggling closer.
Soon their kitchen and bathroom was full of sweaters drying flat on every available surface. Even half hour Hermann ventured around the house, prodding each sweater.
“Watched pot, dude.”
“I know.”
...
They were all finally dry by the end of the week when the weather turned. It wasn’t quite cold enough to put the heating on and a lovely cool breeze wafted through the open windows. Hermann pulled on the navy blue sweater - the one circa 1985 featuring a line of small crimson squares along the bottom, wrists, and neck. He read the newspaper and sipped from a steaming mug of Earl Grey.
“You literally look like a sweater-weather post on Weheartit.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Hermann said, inexpressive, staring at his newspaper through his low-set librarian glasses.
“I love you, sexy,” Newt said. He kissed Hermann’s cheek.
“The kettle’s just boiled.”
“Is that Hermann-speak for ‘I love you’?”
“Yes.”
Newt made his tea wearing nothing but one of Hermann’s new sweater acquisitions (the forest green one) and a pair of Godzilla boxers. He sat across the table from him, hoping he would gain his attention.
“That brings out the color of your eyes.” Hermann didn’t look up from his New York Times.
“Thanks, baby,” Newt said with a grin.
“But if I find one spec of any disgusting fluid from one of your biological experiments on it you shall no longer be allowed to wear my clothing.”
“Fair enough.”
...
Later that evening Hermann was in bed reading. He called out to Newt. He didn’t hear an answer and sighed. Several minutes ticked by before Newt came in. Without a word he began to pull all the sweaters from the closet and pile them around Hermann.
“Newton, may I ask what you’re doing?”
“You’re the sweater dragon and I’m building up your hoard.”
“Any particular reason why?” Hermann put his book down as Newt gently piled up the sweaters around him.
“I like the idea of you as a dragon.”
“Elucidate, please.”
“Dude, I don’t know, I’m just having fun making it look like you’re a dragon with grandpa glasses.”
“I see. Will you be joining me at all this evening?”
“Soon as I’m finished.”
Hermann looked at Newt, bemused.
“Ok, now pretend you’re a dragon.”
“Why?”
“Just cuz.”
“I am a dragon.”
“Oh fierce dragon, I don’t want your sweaters. I only want to snuggle up with you, O fierce dragon.”
“That’s very sweet Newton. Now, come to bed.”
“The Sweater Dragon has allowed me to approach!”
Hermann rolled his eyes as Newt clambered up the lumpy mass of sweaters he created. He reached the “top” and kneeled before Hermann.
“Am I permitted to kiss the sweater dragon?”
“Yes, you may.”
Newt wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders and kissed him passionately. Newt was still kneeling so Hermann had to lean his head back just a little. He slipped his hands up under the forest green sweater Newt was wearing, feeling the soft skin underneath his fingers. Newt shivered at the touch of Hermann’s long, spindly fingers on his warm skin. Hermann broke the kiss to whisper “I love you.” Newt looked into his eyes for a moment and then cackled as he pulled them both down onto the mess of blankets and sweaters.
Hermann cupped Newton’s face in his hands and said, “You darling man.”
“For the record I think it’s awesome that you love these sweaters.”
“I know.”