mitsubishievo | (no subject)

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 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."

Kavinsky climbed off and moved quickly so he didn't dribble anything on Newt or the bed. He could feel the come inside him and it made him whimper, just a little, as he adjusted to have his ass in the air as he knelt beside Newt to lick and suck up the mess of come on Newt's chest and stomach.

"You're such a good boy, Joe," says Newt, stretching a little, langorous and spent, as Kavinsky's mouth moves over him. "So good. Take that dress off and come lie down with me, love?"

As always, the praise coursed and swelled in Kavinsky's chest. He took off the dress, uncaring about the smudge of come that had been on his neck that ended up on the dress. He guessed he'd have to wash this, keep it around. For now, he tossed it toward the laundry pile, and then crawled back into bed to curl against Newt's side and tuck under his chin.

"Thank you, sugar."

"Was that good?" asks Newt, smiling gently, dropping kisses into the dark disorder of Kavinsky's hair. "You get what you needed, shank?"

Kavinsky hummed and nodded, nuzzling into Newt's chest and breathing in the smell of him, all fresh fucked and real. He smoothed a hand over his chest gently, tilting his head further to press a kiss against the curve of his ribs.