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Summer was in the works, and Kavinsky was grateful for it. He'd been busy, running around like a mad thing to get the concert put together in time for the Fourth, and it was exhausting. No wonder Beca had ended up needing an assistant.

But today was just for them. It was balmy out in the garden, and Kavinsky had all the windows open for a cross breeze. He was refusing to put on anything more than soft, light cotton lounge pants, migrating in and out of the house to enjoy the sunshine and nibble food sporadically. His freckles were starting to really come in dark, smatterings of constellations across his arms and chest.

On one of his crosses he caught Newt around the middle and pressed a kiss against his ear. "Hey, I love you."

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He's been busy, but he likes that Kavinsky is there in the background, making soft noise. He wraps himself around Newt and Newt lets out a soft breath, utterly content in that moment.

"I love you too."

Kavinsky showered his hair and neck with kisses, adoring, gentle. He breathed in the smell of him, earthy and boyish, and just smiled. He got to keep this boy. Despite everything, in spite of all they'd gone through alone and together, he got to keep this boy and this house and their dumb cats. What a marvel it was.

"You gonna work all day, or should I actually make food and coax you out of the sun at some point?" he asked, soft and rolling syllables murmured against Newt's shoulder.

In summer, Newt's skin tans quickly and evenly, freckles standing out where they're sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

"I could eat," he says.

Kavinsky made a soft, teasing noise that threatened to be some lewd statement but terminated in stifled laughter against his husband's shoulder. He squeezed his arms around Newt and planted another kiss there, then pulled back slowly.

He slapped Newt's ass with a grin.

"I'll make lunch then."

Newt absorbs the slap against his arse with the slight squirm of his hips and then he stands up, dusting the good earth off his hands before he turns towards the house. The fat, grumpy birds sing in the trees. He is, in that moment, utterly at peace.

"What are you going to make?"

Kavinsky hummed a little bit. He let Newt fall into step with him and threaded their fingers together comfortably. Good question. He hadn't really thought that far ahead, though he knew they had a variety of things.

"Something disgustingly Bulgarian," he proclaimed vaguely, then shrugged. "Or sandwiches. Probably sandwiches, because I don't want to cook for four hours."

"Good," says Newt, grinning. "Don't get me wrong, I love the heavily Bulgarian stuff, but I don't know if I'm in the mood for anything shucking stewed." He teases, though, his fingers slipping under the hem of Kavinsky's shirt to brush bare skin.

"You know, for sure, the first cold day we get and I'm making the fuck out of some stew," Kavinsky promised, a broad grin on his face. He hummed a little as Newt touched under his shirt. He leaned over and kissed him.

As they stepped into the house, he gently broke away, heading into the kitchen to make food for them, bustling and humming. He was pretty sure, of all parts of being with Newt and being married, it was this easy, quiet domesticity that he loved the most. He'd never thought he'd have someone to be domestic with. To have it seemed sort of like a dream.

Newt bends to take off the beat up sneakers that he gardens in and then he pads into the bathroom, washing his hands thoroughly and then passing his damp fingers back through his hair, mussing it into place. He changes his t-shirt and then wanders out in the kitchen. He loves watching Kavinsky cook.

Kavinsky bustled around the kitchen, humming softly, pulling together lunch. It was easy, cold things, but he had coffee brewing and water boiling so they could have drinks. When Newt reappeared, he smiled and came over, kissing him softly.

"I was diggin' the dirt-smeared boy look," he teased.

"I didn't want to get dirt in whatever you're about to make for me," points out Newt, rolling his eyes a little as he slides into a seat at the kitchen table.

"Extra minerals and shit," Kavinsky said sagely, nodding a little bit. He finished up the sandwiches, put one down in front of Newt, and kissed his hair. Then he circled back, finishing up tea and coffee so he could bring those over with his own sandwich.

He leaned in and kissed Newt as he settled.

"Do you have plans for the rest of the day?" asks Newt, reaching out for his tea before he starts his food. It smells amazing, and he loves that he doesn't have to tell Kavinsky if there's a particular flavour that he wants.

"I don't have any plans for the day at all," Kavinsky said, sipping his coffee and picking up his sandwich with a contented smile. "Did what errands and chores I had earlier. Studio work'll be dealt with tomorrow. So I'm all yours for the rest of the day."

"Those are my favourite kinds of days," says Newt, even though he knows it isn't much of an admission; they both know it. "Anything we need to do around the house or can we just...waste time?"

"Is it wasting time if we're just being lazy sonsabitches?" Kavinsky smiled contentedly, then shook his head. "Nope, not unless you wanna do more work out in the garden. We can just have a lay in for the rest of the day. Plenty of groceries and shit in the fridge. We should be good."

He leaned over and kissed Newt's temple, smiling against his skin.

"Yeah, it is," says Newt, grinning and turning his head to catch another kiss, a deeper kiss. "Totally still wasting time. But there's nothing wrong with that, is there? Long as we're both having fun."

"I'm okay with that then," Kavinsky said, smiling against Newt's mouth and the kiss, lingering in it for a moment. Warm love sunk through his chest, just a casual, adoring moment of it. He was okay with wasting the day then, because it didn't feel like a waste at all. "We can't always be busy bees."

"True that." Business has been going well and Newt's got a little network of regular customers. It's not exciting - lawn, hedges - but it's growing things and it feels familiar and good. "Sometimes, I just want to spend time looking at you."

Kavinsky snorted into his coffee a little bit, eyebrows lifting as if to say what a view or something equally pithy. He was smiling though, when he set his coffee down. His foot slid under the table and hooked against Newt's ankle.

"Lookin' at me, huh?" he said, practically a purr, even though he was still laughing a little. "You can look at me all you want, sugar."

"Don't do that," says Newt, but he's laughing when he says it. "Don't make everything about sex. I can like just looking at your face, right? That's allowed?"

"I didn't!" Kavinsky protested. He hadn't, really, not as far as he was concerned. There were way more obvious ways for him to make something about sex, and that definitely wasn't one of them. He wasn't offended that Newt that he'd taken it that way. He left his foot hooked behind his ankle and smiled a little ruefully. "You know I'm good for just hangin' out and snugglin', sugar."

"Yeah, I know that," says Newt. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, he feels a little bit overwhelmed by Kavinsky's sexuality, which works differently from his own, which is sharper and has edges, whereas sex for Newt was always something warm and safe to sink into.

"I didn't mean it." He reaches out to tousle his fingers into Kavinsky's dark hair.

"I mean it though," Kavinsky said, soft and gentle, leaning into the touch. He smiled a little bit. For so long, sex had been a weapon in the arsenal of Joseph Kavinsky, and it was still a curious thing for it to be a gentle, loving thing; it was still a novel thing to be wanted and to not feel obligated to put out. "If you just wanna hang out and tell me how pretty I am, I ain't gonna turn you down."

"You're beautiful," says Newt and means it, utterly, in his bones. "Sometimes, I think you're honestly the most beautiful thing I've ever shucking seen."

Kavinsky laughed, but it was a soft thing, just gentle and a little flustered. He'd been called a lot of things over the years, and obviously Newt found him attractive, but that was a lot different than the most beautiful thing. Especially when Newt worked with growing things and nature all the time.

"You might be a little biased."

"That doesn't automatically mean I'm shucking wrong," says Newt, smiling. "I want to take some pictures of you. That's what I want to do tonight."

"Sure doesn't mean you're wrong, just more easily persuaded," Kavinsky said lazily. He sipped his coffee and considered. Pictures didn't mean anything particularly, and he didn't mind Newt having pictures of him anyway. So that was okay. He nodded after a moment of thought, leaned over, and kissed his cheek.

"Sounds good, sugar."

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