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"I don't think the division of labor is part of the intended meaning of the phrase," Hermann tells Newt, but he's letting him settle sort of half on his lap and balancing the laptop on Newt's side to fiddle with it.
"Nah, it definitely can be, and if I look at the screen I'm absolutely gonna get a migraine." Newt folds up his glasses and tucks them in Hermann's breast pocket, which is the absolute safest place he's ever put his glasses in his life, and tucks his face into Hermann's shoulder. He's going to press sweaty creases into Hermann's shirt, he knows, and Hermann will pretend to care about the wrinkles later, but he'll also think it's adorable when the same wrinkles are mirrored on Newt's cheek.
It takes a bit of fussing and adjusting to get them both comfortable and the laptop safely balanced, Newt facing the wrong way on the sofa with his whole face hidden and Hermann with his bad leg kicked out and shamelessly propped on the coffee table. Hermann has one free hand for the trackpad on the laptop, but the other is quite occupied, wrapped around Newt's shoulder and curled into the short hairs at the nap of his neck. He combs his fingers through and gives a soft tug, making Newt huff a little.
"What do you want to watch?" he asks, and Newt can hear the funny twist of his mouth when he says it, because he knows full well that Newt isn't going to be watching a damn thing.
"David Attenborough," Newt says firmly. "Something where there are bugs on David Attenborough."
Hermann exhales, thinks about this, and drops a kiss onto the top of Newt's head as he reaches around to try and get the Netflix account into Newt's profile. The recommendations for Newt are, Newt knows, full of things that are likely to have bugs on David Attenborough, which is honestly one of his favorite things to listen to David Attenborough talk about. It's so soothing. The man is a soothing person to watch get covered in bugs. It takes a minute of fumbled one-and-a-half-handed clicking before Hermann gets something playing- it sounds like Life in Cold Blood, which Newt has of course watched a million times while trying to fall asleep.
He sits up enough to let Hermann lean forward to put the laptop on the cofee table, leaving far more lap real estate for Newt to curl onto. Hermann does seem to actually be doing the Netflix part of Netflix and chill- he'd sent that text as a joke, hours earlier, hadn't actually expected Hermann to show up at all, but he can't say he's complaining. It's good, because that means Newt's free to cover the Chill part. Hermann's shoulder smells sort of nice and laundry-ish and Hermann-y, and he's a good sport about letting Newt press his face flat against his shirt and smell him pretty obviously. It's really comforting, and one of the few things that calms Newt's riotous mind down, being curled up and in the dark with his face covered, smelling Hermann, feeling Hermann close to him.
It's possible that Newt dozes off for a while. He's not sure. He's not totally following the exact narrative unfolding of David Attenborough trying to do something or other with a skink, so it's possible there's a bit of a time skip there, but it's also possible he just zoned out for a bit. Either way, the next time Newt starts paying attention, David Attenborough is finished with the skink and moved on to some other nice lizard or another, and Hermann is petting his head. Newt thinks for a minute about saying something about this: it's rather nice, and he wants to communicate that to Hermann, but he doesn't want to make Hermann get all embarrassed and standoffish (and consequently stop petting Newt's head). He settles on making a contented humming sound and leaning into it a little, which earns him the inestimable treat of Hermann's hand curling and combing through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. It feels unimaginably nice, and Newt hmms again, a little more clearly.
"Alright then," Hermann breathes, so soft Newt can hardly hear him even with his mouth so close to his ear. It sounds like it might be a question.
"Verbal affirmation, positive words-making, yes, please don't stop," Newt mumbles into his shoulder, not yet daring a look at Hermann's face yet. It's easier to relax into it with his eyes closed and covered, easy to keep his mind in that soft, quiet place where it won't interrupt. In response Hermann's hand curls down the back of Newt's neck, dipping just under the frayed collar of his teeshirt. Newt sighs and leans his head to the side to make room for Hermann to stroke the side of his neck, tickling sweetly under his ear.
Newt can stay quiet and easy with only a minute or two of this, these feather-light warm-handed touches, and finally he huffs and lifts his head, not quite opening his eyes all the way, so that all he can see is Hermann's mouth.
"Too much?" Hermann asks, and Newt answers with the softest kiss he can manage, just a warm, easy press of lips. He stays there for a moment, holding his breath, then relaxes back.
He has just enough time to take a breath, eyes dropping back shut, before Hermann kisses him again, deep and impossibly gentle. Both his hands are framing Newt's skull like a treasure, and Newt feels so perfectly still and peaceful and open. He lets Hermann lead him, lets him lick his mouth open and moans a little when he catches his bottom lip between his teeth, soft and teasing. He's done that much harder before, but Newt can tell it's not the time for that- all he can hear is Hermann's soft breathing and the sound of weird bird calls from the documentary still playing quietly behind him.
Hermann's hands have wandered-- Newt's not sure when this happened, somewhere in the course of two or three long, lazy kisses, but they're down at his sides, now, thumbing up the hem of his teeshirt. Hermann's hands on his bare skin make him shiver and gasp into Hermann's mouth, and he seems to take this as the go-ahead to stroke his hands up along Newt's sides, just barely this side of being ticklish. It makes Newt squirm and whine when he drags the soft tips of his fingers back down, and now he's definitely trying to tickle Newt on purpose. He kisses him to muffle the sharp little whine that this gets, and hooks his fingers into the waistband of Newt's jeans.
"Not now," Newt stutters out, still sort of pressed against the corner of Hermann's mouth. Hermann's fingers immediately withdraw, running soft circles on Newt's hips instead. "Sorry. Sorry," he murmurs until Hermann kisses him to shut him up. He feels all soft and warm and open, and doesn't quite want to focus on his dick just now-- not that that's not, y'know, amazing and he's constantly marvelling that Hermann even wants that, even wants to do that with him, but it's too much right now, he's too sensitive and he'll get overstimulated and lose all this nice brain-fuzz he's got going. He doesn't want to give that up yet, wants to stay all muted for now. It's a kind of relief he doesn't get often, and he's pretty sure it wouldn't survive something like an orgasm.
"Alright," Hermann tells him, when he can stop kissing him without Newt trying to apologize. "Nothing to be sorry for. I've got you, now." Somehow, Hermann seems to get the idea of what Newt needs-- he runs his hands up Newt's back, on either side of his spine, scratching lightly with his blunt nails. Newt lets his head fall forward to rest on Hermann's shoulder, pressing a kiss that Hermann probably can't actually feel onto his sweater. They stay like that, Newt half in Hermann's lap and completely lax, Hermann's hands stroking evenly up and down Newt's back, until Netflix refuses to autoplay another episode, and casts the room into darkness.