mitsubishievo | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Kavinsky was, ultimately, supportive of Newt going out. But while he was out, he found himself a bit listless, a bit fidgety. He cleaned, stepping around kittens that were steadily turning into cats. He dreamt, but not of anything important or vital or even particularly impressive. It got late. He tried not to check in.

He wasn't worried, he thought, or even jealous. But there was, always, that quiet voice that concerned itself that Newt would find something or someone better. There was a lot of better than Kavinsky in Darrow. To that, Kavinsky turned his wedding ring, spun the fidget ring on his necklace next to the St. Joseph's pendant. Newt proved, time and again, that Kavinsky was enough. So he was supportive, and he believed him.

He heard the door open, and wasn't sure what time it was. He lulled over the edge of the couch to look toward the door.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I wasn't expecting you to still be up," says Newt, not guilty but maybe a little flustered when he sees his husband sprawled on the couch like that. He bends, dropping a kiss onto Kavinsky's mouth.

"I showered," he says. "But I can do it again if you want?"

Kavinsky could tell he'd showered, the difference in how his hair sat when it was still a little bit damp versus when it was dry. He reached up and touched Newt gently. The jealousy crept in on the edges, but was a quiet thing.

He kissed him again and smiled. "I didn't mean to, just sort of happened. You have a good time?"

"Yeah," says Newt, nodding, dropping down to sit on the couch next to Kavinsky, all long limbs and angles. He turns his head, smiling. "Yeah, I think I did. You want to hear about it, or..?"

Kavinsky shifted, curling up against Newt, just to be near him. He thought about it for a second. They didn't really talk about what he did with Peter and Jack, it just sort of happened. But he found, leaning into Newt's warmth and relaxed comfort, that he did want to know how the night had gone.

"Start at the basics and we'll work our way to the details?"

Newt slips his arm around Kavinsky, tugging him in close against his side, turning his head to catch his hairline with a smudged kiss.

"Basics. Okay." He thinks for a moment. "Tall, rangy, accent. Met him dancing in that club we like. He came up to me at the bar. Blond."

"He the only one you dance with?" Kavinsky asked. Of course they'd danced. Kavinsky shut his eyes and tried to imagine someone. His mental image was, unfortunately, Skov, and Kavinsky tried to push through that.

"I danced with Jillie Vincent," says Newt, eyebrow raised. "But she kind of freaked out on me and then someone jumped her, so...that was kind of bloody horrible. Thankfully, I was there." He sighs. "It's a shame. She's shucking beautiful."

"Those Vincents have some pretty good genes," Kavinsky said, laughing and nudging Newt gently. He focused on the positive of it: dancing with her, thinking she was lovely. Somehow, knowing that they had met settled something strange in Kavinsky's chest. He wanted the people he cared about to all get along; that sort of meant Jillie now, an extension of Jack and her own spunky self.

"So, you danced with her. And that was good." He nudged Newt again, teasing, "Did you stare at her titties, dude? She's stacked."

Newt's cheeks colour slightly and he laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah," he says. "I might have shucking noticed. She looked kind of bloody incredible, actually. They've got really shucking good genes."

"They're sort of hard to miss," Kavinsky teased. He was grateful that his reaction to her had been academic more than anything else--an acknowledgement of her similarities to Jack, and nothing more. He pet Newt's hair gently. "Is it weird that I think it's cute you're flustered about her?"

He was quiet a moment. Newt hadn't asked to go home with Jillie, though; he'd asked for the studio to go home with the tall blond.

"So. Tell me about--about the guy."

"Yeah, it's a little bit weird, but whatever," says Newt, shaking his head a little. "He was cute. Norwegian? Kind of looked like Jack. Had the hair and everything, the way Jack carries himself. Kind of slutty once I got him home."

Kavinsky thought about it. Jack's aesthetic was certainly not singular, Kavinsky had known guys at Aglionby who styled themselves like that. Saying he was Norwegian just made Kavinsky think of Skov more, so now he had a sort of strange composite image in his head.

How many Norwegians were in town, anyway? Kavinsky knew one. He hadn't thought there were any others.

"Kind of slutty, huh?" Kavinsky leaned up and kissed Newt. "I know how much you like that."

"I do like slutty," says Newt laughing, as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of Kavinsky's mouth, curling in closer against him. "And, yeah, it as pretty good, but I'm glad to be home."

Kavinsky took that in. He held onto Newt, breathed in the clean, shower-fresh smell of him. It didn't bother him, he thought, but it was strange. Newt had gone out to dance, so it would have followed that he would smell like sweat--not like the generic shampoo and body wash that Kavinsky kept at the studio apartment.

"I'm glad you had a good time," Kavinsky said, earnestly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only