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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 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."

He got wrapped up in the action of it, until he was narrowed down to the point of sucking Newt off. He gasped when Newt pulled him back, making a soft protesting noise and straining, just a little, to try and get back to him. But he brought up a hand and curled his long fingers around Newt's cock.

He was starting to get callouses--from the pole at work, from fucking around with the car, from living--and he wanted to ask how differently it felt from the first time he'd touched Newt's cock, back in early November. But, more than that, he wanted to stroke him off, the noise of it slick and messy, his mouth open for desperate panting.

"Beg me, shank," says Newt, his voice wound tight in his chest with desire, with how close he is. "Tell me how much you want it." He rocks his hips, pushing his cock through the circle of Kavinsky's fingers.

Kavinsky shivered and licked his lips obscenely. He was painfully hard, desperate, but he didn't shift his free hand an inch. "I want it so bad, sugar. Want your come. Want you to paint my face. My neck. Make me your fuckin' mess. You're so good to me, letting me suck your fuckin' cock even though I was a fuckin' whore."

He squeezed his fist gently. "Please, sugar. Please gimme your come."

It's not instantaneous, not commanded, but it only takes a few more strokes of Kavinsky's hand before Newt comes, striping his lips, jaw and neck. It's filthy, it's obscene and ruinous and Newt loves it.

"Good boy."

The praise pushed aside any distaste Kavinsky had for the spattering of come on his skin. He squeezed Newt's cock and then leaned in, gently sucking the head to make sure he had every last drop he could get. He did nothing about the mess on his skin.

Slowly, he leaned back, bracing his back on the counter. His cock ached to distraction. He shook a little, panting for breath.

"Thank you."

"You're a good boy," says Newt again, his tone gentle, a little bit crooning. He combs his fingers through Kavinsky's hair, tugging lightly. "Bedroom. You can crawl there."

His eyelashes fluttered a moment. He stayed there a moment longer, even when Newt tugged at his hair, before he shifted forward onto hands and knees to crawl from the bathroom to the bedroom. The panties, still around his thighs, made the crawl sort of awkward. He made no move to shift them up or down, just did his best to leave them where they were on his body. That way, when he climbed up onto the bed, he was still painfully hard, and still tousled with his panties around his legs and the dress easily pulled up to his waist.

"You look so shucking filthy," says Newt, slipping out of his clothes as he walks into the bedroom. He grabs the lube. "Spread your legs as wide as you can."

Kavinsky licked some of the come off his lips and rucked the dress up a little further, spreading his legs invitingly before digging his heels into the mattress as he stripped off the panties. They were keeping him from spreading his legs. He'd deal with the repercussions if and when they came. For now, he wanted to spread his legs without having elastic digging into his thighs.

Newt gets up on the bed behind Kavinsky, lube in hand. He slaps his ass, skin that's started to settle down to mottled pink but comes up red again.

"What do you do with those now you've taken them off?"

Kavinsky whimpered a little. The last time he'd had a pair of these cotton panties shoved in his mouth as a gag, his lips had been painted red and they'd stank strongly of his cunt. This time, there was the smell of his cock, but nothing more offensive. He packed them against his tongue and watched Newt with dark, needy eyes the whole time.

Newt squirts lube into the cleft of Kavinsky's ass, spreading it with his fingers before he presses two inside, twisting his wrist as he starts to fuck him. He slaps his ass with his free hand.

Words, muffled by the cotton on his tongue, spilled out of his mouth at the first dribble of cold lube on his hot skin. He squirmed, trying to stay still but failing, especially as Newt shoved his fingers in and he whined behind his makeshift gag. His hips instantly pressed down to meet thee intrusion, desperate for the contact, begging for more in the only way he had available at the moment.

Newt enjoys the rock of Kavinsky's hips, fucking him with two fingers until he's pretty sure that he can take three. He fucks him like that, slipping his free hand between his thighs, fondling his balls, ignoring his cock. He squeezes, not hard enough to tip over into just hurting, but walking a fine line.

Whatever words there had been turned into base moans, low and deep in his chest, needy, with every shift of Newt's fingers taking more and more out of him. His cock was leaking on his stomach, twitching occasionally, especially as Newt squeezed at his balls. Tears pricked at his eyes, but didn't quite roll onto his cheeks.

Newt straightens up, leaving his fingers buried in Kavinsky's ass.

"You want to ride me, love?"

He nodded, feverish and desperate. He wanted--everything. Anything. He wanted to be pressed face down into the mattress. He wanted to ride him. He wanted to be bent in half off the edge of the bed. He just wanted. And with every breath, he wanted more, pressing his hips back onto Newt's fingers and doing everything he could to get a little more, to tempt Newt into fucking him.

Dragging his fingers out of Kavinsky's arse, Newt sprawls out on the otherside of the mattress. He slicks his cock, and looks up at Kavinsky expectantly.

"Well?"