Hermann knew him too well. While he did trust Hermann now he had also been speaking generally, about the chance to ditch Newt somewhere and how that would have been tempting to Hermann for years. Not even the allure of the phrase 'that could be arranged' (god, Hermann always sounded so wonderfully wicked when he said it like that) could undo the underlying fear that was stirring in the back of his mind. Not even the promise of ravishing later could actually exorcise the anxiety now bleeding into his system.

"No," he said frankly, foregoing German for English again. He took a long drink out of the mug. "It's not really something we need to do. The tie thing, I mean. I--" Self-consciousness got the better of him and he hid behind the German again. "I meant I figured it was something you'd always wanted to do to me. Always--before. I... I don't even mean sexily. Just. 'Newton, you're being unbearable.' Like, if I've been a real turd to you that day--maybe not now, maybe," that sounded only half certain, "...but before, when we worked together. Like a timeout. And then you'd have ditched me in the Mess Hall with my wrist cuffed to a table." Which would have more than embarrassed him. How unwanted could he possibly be! Not even his only colleague wants to be around him. Ditched in the Mess Hall like an unwanted dog!

His fidgeting now had less to do with the thing inside him and more to do with repressed anxieties surfacing.

You would come back for me now, right? he thought. "You ...wouldn't do it publicly now, right?"