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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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"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."

The rattling slap shivered pleasure up Kavinsky's spine and he hiccuped out a breath, sighing toward the sink, before Newt was pulling his head back, making him arch, making him stand like that with his back bowed and his legs spread and his ass pressed back. Kavinsky licked his lips.

"I do," he whispered. Then, louder, more assuredly. "Thank you."

Newt keeps the firm hold in Kavinsky's hair as he slaps him again, his hand straight across the cleft of his ass, his skin quickly reddening. Between slaps, Newt pushes the dress a little higher, baring more of Kavinsky's pale skin.

Each slap echoed in the bathroom, sharp and sound, and Kavinsky shivered and breathed. It was cool, but he felt hot--skin hot, breath hot--and it was making his skin break out all over with goose pimple. He licked his lips and moaned desperately. "Thank you," he murmured, wiggling his hips a little. "God, sugar, thank you."

Newt slips his hand between Kavinsky's thighs, fondling his balls, possessive and a little rough.

"You want me to fuck you in here so you can watch the whole thing in the mirror?"

The roughness of the touch was more grounding than anything else, a possessiveness that reminded him of who he was and who Newt was, that pressed calloused fingers against sensitive skin and reminded him to stay in line. And he loved it.

"God, please," he whispered. It was not one of the things he was allowed. His mouth was allowed to be open for sucking cock and saying thank you, but he wanted the noise of expressing his want. It felt good to say it, to feel the weight on his tongue. "Can I suck your cock first, sugar?"

"If you make me come, you're going to have to wait longer," points out Newt, looking amused, meeting Kavinsky's gaze in the mirror, dark and unfocused, on it's way to being what Kavinsky needs from him. "You sure you want to suck my cock that bloody badly, love?"

"Won't make you come," Kavinsky assured. He licked his lips and met Newt's gaze, shivering a little. "You know I want to suck you that bad. You know I always wanna suck you that bad. Please, sugar. Get you nice and wet."

"Maybe I want that, though?" says Newt, slapping his ass again. "Maybe I want you to suck me and then I'll come on your face and make you bloody wait."

Kavinsky moaned at the slap, shivering. He nodded, agreement, concession, whatever it was was a subtle movement that allowed for the idea of Newt having him down on his knees and fucking his face and making a mess of him, even though they both knew he wasn't a fan of that sort of treatment.

"Please, sugar." His knees were trembling slightly. His cock felt so hard. "Anything."

He knows that Kavinsky doesn't love it, that it's something that he tolerates because Newt likes it, sometimes. He bites his lip, heat blossom across his cheeks and down his chest.

"Get on your knees."

Kavinsky turned and got on his knees. He lifted the dress back up, so it was all bunched up around his waist, the panties still around his thighs. It made a frame of his cock, all squared out by effeminate cotton clothing.

He opened his mouth, panting, and stuck out his tongue a little. An invitation for Newt to be instantly possessive.

Newt is undeniably pleased that he doesn't have to remind Kavinsky to get the dress up out of the way. He lets his eyes linger for a moment, on Kavinsky's cock, on the way it's both framed and presented by what he's wearing. Wrapping his hand around his cock, Newt paints Kavinsky's bottom lip with slick pre-come before he slides into Kavinsky's mouth in one long thrust.

The first swipe was a tease, and Kavinsky whimpered at that. He balled his fingers into the fabric of the dress, just as Newt shoved into his mouth. It was with practice that he both didn't choke but also sputtered, a neat, wet noise as he sucked and swallowed around him pushing into his mouth and pressing against the back of his throat.

"I'm not doing all the work, shank," says Newt, his voice a little tighter from how good Kavinsky's mouth feels, wrapped around him like that. "Suck it."

Kavinsky gave an ascending noise, bobbing his head as much as he could when Newt was already sunk all the way in him. He did it all with his mouth, leaving his hands fisted down in his skirt for now. It was easy to do it like that, for the moment. After all, he had all of Newt's cock in his mouth. There was nothing to stroke.

Newt lets Kavinsky suck his cock like that, sees no reason to direct him when it's as close to perfect as anything he's ever had in his life. When he can feel the threads of his orgasm starting to pull together in the pit of his belly, he tightens his fingers in Kavinsky's hair, pulling his mouth off his cock.

"Now finish me off with your hand."