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Kavinsky was doing spring cleaning. They didn't really need to do that much, since they'd only moved in at the start of March, but it was nice, and he liked doing spring cleaning, and anyway, it fell in time with part of his ritual weekly tidying that kept him from feeling completely out of sorts.

He'd shooed Al out on errands for him, a dump run and specific request (with careful instructions) to get new exterior paints. Newt was at work a little longer, but his classes were done. The words were blessedly off Kavinsky's back, even if the memory of them--as always--lingered under his skin. Once again, the house just felt full and filled with love, though, and Kavinsky didn't question it.

That was how he found the dress.

Well, he found all the clothes he'd bought when he'd been a girl. They were in a box in the corner of the closet. He laughed, softly, picking out the gray dress and holding it up against his skin. When he pulled the jeans out, he immediately cast them into the 'donation-discard' pile, because nobody in this house was going to fit into them, and it would still be months before Beca might be able to either. But he kept looking at that stupid gray dress, and a pair of the utilitarian cotton panties.

What the hell was he doing?

He knew exactly what he was doing. It was like going to drag night and having Rat put make up on him. It was just a bit of fun.

So, he went into the bathroom--he'd shaved that morning, so his skin was soft and smooth on his face--and he stripped down. He pulled on the panties, which were small around his hips and ass and cock, a little uncomfortable, but sort of thrilling. And then he pulled on the dress, which stretched neatly to accommodate his shoulder, and was even shorter than it had been when he'd first bought it.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror, and laughed softly.

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He's been standing in the doorway for a moment, just watching. There's something about the way he looks from behind in that dress that stirs something hot and dark in the pit of Newt's belly.

"You wearing the underwear too?" he asks.

Kavinsky nearly jumped out of his skin, uncertain how he'd managed to miss the noise of Newt coming into the house in the first place. He knew Newt was good at being quiet, but he generally announced himself when he came in.

He turned and pressed up against the sink basin, cheeks dusky with a blush at being caught in the dress.

"Christ, sugar," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "Hi. How was work? Jesus."

He blushes and that just makes Newt grin. It's warm out, and he's only wearing a thin t-shirt with his jeans. He folds his arms across his chest and tilts his head slightly.

"Quit dodging the question, Joe."

That grin sank heat down through Kavinsky's chest and stomach. Not the flush, still on his face, but the heat of possession, of arousal. Newt was looking at him like that, all young James Dean, tousled and Americana except for his accent, and Kavinsky felt a little weak in the knees.

"Yes," he whispered, licking his lips.

Newt's grin stays put, his eyes drifting down the length of Kavinsky's body to his bare thighs and then back up again. He arches an eyebrow.

"Show me."

Kavinsky swore under his breath. He tipped his head back and breathed out slowly. And, just as slowly, he reached down until his fingers found the hem of the dress. Now his body felt warm with both the flesh and the generalized arousal, and he could feel, distantly, the slow blossom of physical arousal. He could feel the slow strain against the cotton.

By the time he'd lifted the skirt up to reveal the modest cotton panties, his cock had filled a bit, so they were strained at the front even more than they were when he'd been soft.

Newt's gaze lingers for a moment, his teeth touching his lip. The outline of Kavinsky's hardening cock is entirely clear pressing against thin cotton. His breath catches. He grins.

"I bet that makes you feel so shucking slutty."

Kavinsky breathed out, slow and ragged, his fingers curling tight into the hem of the skirt. He hadn't felt much of anything, until Newt's eyes were on him. Now, though, he felt like he was feeling everything, and it was all turned up to eleven.

He licked his lips and tilted his head to the side. "So about like normal, yeah. Since that's what I am, huh, sugar?"

It's a game that they play. It's got a lot of sharp edges, but it doesn't mean that anyone loves anyone any less. It's something they've figured out that Kavinsky needs and Newt's happy enough to supply.

"That's what you look like." He grins. "Turn around. Bend over the sink."

Kavinsky shivered, head to toe. He kept the skirt lifted, and he turned around to face the mirror over the sink. In the mirror, he could still watch Newt for a moment. He licked his lips again. Then, he took a step back, and bent at the hips, sticking his ass out. The edges of the panties dug into his skin, and his cock felt full but not all the way hard between his thighs. He breathed.

"...you should leave the dress on, this time," he murmured.

"That what you were thinking about when you put it on, Joe?" asks Newt, stepping in, still in his sneakers. He takes hold of Kavinsky's hips, holding him in place as he presses in against his ass, denim and think cotton between them. "Spread your legs wider."

"'s what I was thinking about when you asked me about the panties," Kavinsky confessed, as soon as Newt was behind him. He could feel him, his warmth, the lines of his body, and it made him shiver for a moment. He shifted his bare feet wider, until they were on either side of Newt's sneakers. "I know you like me naked, though."

"I like you anyway I can have you," say Newt. They both know it. His hand slips around Kavinsky's hip, up under his skirt, fondling his cock through the thin cotton of the panties. "This kind of gets me going."

It's an understatement. They both know it.

"Yeah, I can tell, sugar," Kavinsky breathed. He rolled his hips back against Newt's, pressing his ass against the front of his fly, sighing at the shape of him even through cotton and denim and cotton again. Newt's hand was warm and perfectly fitted to the shape of him filling out the front of the panties.

He laughed softly. "What is it, then? The panties? The dress? Just catching me with my hand in the cross-dressing cookie jar? Mmn, I was naughty, is that it, sugar?"

"Which one's the answer you want to hear?" asks Newt, smirking, grinding his hips forward against Kavinsky's ass, squeezing his cock. "You want me to tell you all about how bloody bad you've been? How shucking naughty you are." He rolls his eyes at the word-choice.

Kavinsky breathed out, soft and shaky. He rocked onto his toes, a teasing avoidance of Newt's hips that pressed him into the cup and squeeze of his palm. He was fully hard now, only a little uncomfortable with it, and that was the best part of it. He licked his lips.

"I could probably serve being reminded how shucking naughty I am," he murmured, peering over his shoulder with a smirk. "Be put in my place. But it'd be nice to know what about this I need to do more of."

"It's just..." Newt pauses, easing his hand past the elastic of the panties, curling his fingers around Kavinsky's cock, squeezing. "Different. Different's good." His free hand tightens on Kavinsky's hip, pulling his hips back, pinning Kavinsky where he is.

Anything Kavinsky might have said to that, affirmative and encouraging or maybe some smart ass retort, got swallowed up in a soft, needy noise. He squirmed between Newt's hands, a subtle but filthy movement. The head of his cock was already starting to drip. The sink was a little high, but he lifted his knee up to rest on the edge of the counter, shivering.

"Fuck, sugar."

Kavinsky shifts and Newt allows it for a moment but then he abruptly tugs the hand out of Kavinsky's panties and slaps his ass smartly instead.

"You move when I move you, Joe."

Kavinsky moaned at the slap, letting his leg slide back down. It jarred against the floor, and that made him moan a little bit too, shivering for a second as he rolled his hips against Newt's crotch, tried to coax him into something, anything, more than just teasing like he was.

"Sorry, sugar," he murmured. Then, he giggled. "Being naughty."

"Mmmmhm." Newt smirks, glancing at Kavinsky in the mirror as he flips the grey skirt up over the small of his back. His hooks his fingers over elastic and tugs it down, baring his ass, leaving cotton tangled around his thighs.

Having the panties pulled down restricted Kavinsky's ability to do more than stand there and look pretty and slutty. He looked at Newt in the mirror and licked his lips. "Now I'm regretting not having gotten out the lipstick. I remember how much you liked my lips wrapped around your cock, painted all pretty and red."

"Plenty of time for that, later," he says, wondering what Kavinsky's mouth, his real mouth, would look like if he painted it like that. He slaps his arse, smartly, leaving a handprint behind. "Now shut your mouth unless you're sucking cock or saying thank you."

Kavinsky bit his lip around the edge of a moan, edges of his lips curled up in an effortless smile. He nodded. He hadn't been given permission to speak, after all, and not thanking Newt for the punishing slap meant that he might get more. He wiggled his hips a little, a temptation, his balls tight and cock hard between his thighs.

Newt slaps him again, harder, leaving a matching handprint on the other side of his ass. He pushes his free hand into Kavinsky's thick, dark hair, tugging his head back.

"I know you want to be good, shank."