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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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"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?"

Kavinsky was still only long enough for Newt to settle into position and slick himself up. Then, smoothly, he shifted up until he was straddling Newt's hips. He rubbed his ass against his dick obscenely for a moment, skirt down so it was just the hidden movement, the tent of his cock, the filth of it as he reached underneath and guided Newt into him. And then he spat out the panties so he could lift the hem of the skirt and hold it in his teeth as he sank down on Newt's cock.

It's so filthy. It's perfect. Kavinsky slides down onto his cock like that and Newt's hands, broad and calloused from working, come up to rest on his thighs. He shifts his hips up to press his cock more firmly into Kavinsky's arse.

"Now fuck me," he says. "And don't you dare come without permission."

Kavinsky hummed a little, nodding, in ascension to both orders. He rocked in the cradle of Newt's hands, enjoying the feel of their strength, their surety, their realness. This was real. Newt was real. It was a good reminder. So much of Darrow, even when it had been horrid to him, to them, still felt too good, and he worried he was still asleep on that defunct POS Camaro in the outgrown backlot where he like to dream his cars. But when they were like this, when Newt was demanding and he held him like this, it was real.

He settled into pace quickly, naturally. Their bodies worked together with a filthy noise, a constant, wet skin slapping. Kavinsky cupped his hands behind his head and whined softly as he moved.

Newt loves the way Kavinsky shifts, the way he puts himself on display like that, his arms up over his head in a way that elongates the line of his body from chin to cock. Newt groans softly, one hand slipping around to squeeze Kavinsky's ass as they fuck.

"That feel good, love?" he asks. "That what you need?"

Kavinsky huffed a breath and nodded, desperate and needy and hungry for it all. He squirmed and bounced his hips, soaking in Newt's voice, the little shifts of his hips to meet him, the feel of his hands. Around the fabric in his mouth, Kavinsky was mumbling begging and praise, murmurations of need as he built his rhythm up. His thighs shook with the strain of being the only support he had to hold him up.

Newt curls his hand around Kavinsky's cock, starting to stroke, slowly at first, teasing a little. "You're going to come and then you're going to lick up your shucking mess. Got it, shank?"

Kavinsky groaned at the very first touch, his cock jumping against Newt's palm and fingers, twitching in the circle of his hand. He nodded, feverish and needy, but he kept trying to hold back. He could have come right then, just from those words and that light touch, but Newt hadn't told him to come, just how he was going to. He clenched around Newt a little, trying to drive him over.

Stroking slowly, Newt makes Kavinsky wait until he can't stop himself, until he comes hard, brusined as deep in Kavinsky's ass as he can get. He squeezes his cock.

"You can come," he says. "I want to see it, love."

When Newt comes, it was hard to hold back. It's always the hardest with him, like he can't help himself. But he wants to, the most, with Newt. So he waited until Newt told him he was good to go, and then he let go of the tenuous thread of control he had. He let out a low whimper, a keen of need as he came. It was a series of urgent pulses, and then his spine sagged like his support had been cut from his shoulders. He groaned then, sated.

Newt lies there for a moment, breathing hard, staring up at Kavinsky and the dress is incongruous but he looks shucking beautiful in it, all the same.

"Now clean up your shucking mess."

He shivered and let the skirt drop out of his mouth, then considered the mess. He leaned down until he could reach the highest bit of it, up near Newt's nipple. He moaned at the taste of come against Newt's skin.

"Gonna have to climb off," he whispered against Newt's skin, "so I can get it all."

"Do it, love," says Newt, tousling a fond hand through Kavinsky's hair. "Do a good job."