Skull Bearer

Sequel to this fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2172501/chapters/7648412

GorjiraKaiju’s stall is- maybe not as deserted as Hermann had predicted. It’s awkward, not only because Hermann is going to have to admit he was wrong, but when he comes close enough to see through a gap in the crowds and see GorjiraKaiju…

Well.

The ambiance of a con doesn’t lend itself too well to making a good impression. Hermann is suddenly acutely aware of how sick and sallow he looks under the fluorescent lighting, the thin streams of sweat coursing under his collar and down his back from the stifling heat of thousands of people.

GojiraKaiju, however, seems to glow. The heat gives his round, expressive face a warm flush, his wild dark hair standing up in all directions. He’s pushed up his sleeves, showing off full, solid forearms, and-

“Good God-” Hermann stares, shakes his head. GojiraKaiju looks up, frowns at him a little. “You made tattoos?”

“Um, yeah?” He crosses his arms and the way the designs shift under that movements is- Hermann swallows. “I’m an artist dude, I sell these to parlours, I’ll have you know.”

“I know you’re enamoured with these things.” Hermann stamps over, and pulls Newt’s arm over so he can get a better look. Dear God, that’s Ghidorah. “But surely that’s going too far.”

GojiraKaiju squints at him, then blinks. “SpaceChampion?”

“Of course.” He pulls up GojiraKaiju’s sleeve, Mothra waves antenna at him from Newt’s bicept. “Do you think I’d come up and molest and insult a complete stranger?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, that’s exactly what I’d expect from you.” But he is smiling, “I’m Newt, by the way.”

Hermann looks up, appalled. “Is this some new artist name? Do you want to make me nostalgic for your old pseudonym?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Newt pushes him, very lightly. “It’s my name, what’s yours anyway? Sir Sourarse von Tightypants?”

“Hermann Gottlieb.” Hermann scowls. He cocks his head and oh Gott there’s more, he can see the curl of some scaly tail just under the edge of Newt’s collar. “How many of these have you got?”

“Wanna find out?” Newt leans forward, grins.

Part of Hermann reels, uncertain, but he ploughs through it. He looks Newt up and down, trying to seem unimpressed. “I admit some morbid curiosity.”

“Good,” Newt scribbles something down and tears off a scarp of paper to give to him. “Cause I wanna find out how far that stick up your ass goees- in the name of science.”

He turns away to sign someone’s custom-printed Godzilla t-shirt, and Hermann looks down at the paper in his hand.

It’s a hotel room details, and a phone number.