mitsubishievo | Tonight I might just lose my way, but I'll never get downhearted

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Tonight I might just lose my way, but I'll never get downhearted

Christmas has a special place for Kavinsky, back home and here in Darrow, and New Years does too, for a variety of reasons. For many of them, it was because of good, soft memories. He had several of them from home, but most of them had been made here in Darrow. Last Christmas had been hard, without Al, but they had managed. Getting married after the new year had helped. It had felt a little bit like baptism, in a way, to Kavinsky. He didn't feel free of the things he had done, but he felt relieved of them, in a curious way. All them, the things he'd done early and the things he did constantly, were things that Newt could live with. Things that Newt could stand taking his name about. That felt good. So the holidays were doubly important to him, especially this year, which were their third together, and the most seamlessly stable, despite the terror of autumn.

Though the house was made up with lights and a tree--which the cats kept getting into, because they were terrible and Kavinsky loved them--he wanted to do something special. He couldn't take Newt to New York, or to Europe, or on some Caribbean cruise or something. But there was the mountain resort, with its big windows and its posh suites and the relative seclusion for a weekend. It was as close to a vacation as one could get in Darrow. So Kavinsky had done it. Three nights just to themselves, a nice big suite with a nice big bed, and champagne on the first night. Champagne any night they wanted it, really, because they could do that.

They rolled up in the leisurely afternoon light on Friday, bags packed for the weekend. Kavinsky gave Newt a soft kiss before he went to check in at the front desk.

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He knows that they an afford to be here, knows that they're not out of place, but he still feels a little bit awkward, hanging around in the lobby while Kavinsky checks in. He's pretty sure they don't haveplans for Christmas other than eating enough to get fat and fucking as often as they can. Which, honestly, sounds pretty bloody perfect to him.

Once they're checked in and have the key, Kavinsky strolls back over. He takes a second just to admire Newt from a distance, sunlight coming in through one of the big lodge windows. There's not a lot of snow on the mountain, but it's enough to give this great glow to everything. And then the lighting in the lodge is great, and Kavinsky just feels so wildly, fully in love, just looking at him.

He's really lucky, and he knows that.

He wraps his arms around Newt and kisses his cheek noisily. "I told them it was our honeymoon, but they said they'd already given away their honeymoon suite to someone else. So we got the executive suite, which, I guess will have to be alright."

Newt does not have much experience of hotels, not like Kavinsky does, so he just leans into the embrace and turns his head so that he can look at his husband. "Oh, yeah? And what does an executive suite get us, Shank?"

"A very nice sitting room, apparently, with a good balcony view of the mountain if we want to freeze our asses off while we smoke." Kavinsky smiled and kissed Newt, slow and sweet. When he pulled back, he grabbed both their bags for them.

"C'mon. Let's see what we got."

"Well, I'm not planning on putting clothes on all weekend, so, I might end up freezing my shucking arse off," says Newt, flashing a grin. He almost protests when Kavinsky takes his bag, too, but in the end, he lets him carry it.

"You going on the balcony unless you're at less putting shorts on," Kavinsky chastened gently. He leaned over and kissed Newt. "I like all your bits and pieces unfrostbitten. Though I will definitely help warm you back up afterwards."

In the elevator, he set the bags down and pulled Newt over to him. He held on and nuzzles his hair gently.

"Good thing I don't smoke as much as you do, then," says Newt, leaning into the press of Kavinsky's body when he pulls him close. "We can definitely act like it's our honeymoon, though. Didn't really get one the first time around."

"This makes for a good one," Kavinsky said. He didn't think his parents had ever had one, or if they had, it had been an old-hat Communist one, short and sweet and back to work almost immediately after. Kavinsky wanted to languish and enjoy himself and his husband. As if he didn't every chance he got.

He kissed Newt's ear and smiled, lingering even as the elevator slowed and gave a quiet ding as the doors opened. "Love you, sugar."

"I love you too," says Newt, threading his fingers with Kavinsky's and squeezing his hand. "Remember when I used to hate when you called me that?"

"You always preferred sugar to baby," Kavinsky pointed out with a lazy grin, grabbing their bags and tugging Newt along gently. He checked their key, and then the doors, tracking down where their room was at. "Pretty sure you wanted to deck me out the first time I called you baby, you thought I was taking the piss or something."

When they reached the door, Kavinsky considered making it some sort of big flourish or something. In the end, he decided against it. He unlocked the door and shuffled them in, looking around. It was a nicely appointed suite, with a front parlor that had the balcony overlooking the mountain and a kitchenette, and then the bedroom to the side. Everything was in rich, earthy tones. There was already a fire going in the fire place, keeping the whole space comfortably warm.

"It was baby doll I objected to," points out Newt, wandering over to the window to look at the view. "And you were. Taking the piss. At least at first." He grins over his shoulder. "But whatever. I married you anyway, right?"

Kavinsky dropped their bags and just admired Newt for a moment, how he was framed in the light. He slid up behind him after a moment, wrapping his arms around him.

"Never have been, calling you sugar, though. Even if you thought I was." He kissed Newt's jaw. "You married me, and you're stuck with me now, even if I'm the worst."

He leans back into the press of Kavinsky's body against his back, tilts his head to give him all of the room that he wants to kiss.

"It was difficult to tell with you at first, shank."

He worked his way slowly from Newt's jaw to his ear, then down his neck with patient intention. He stopped at his collar, nuzzling, contemplating if he wanted to suck up a bruise or not. Maybe not quite yet. They had the whole weekend, after all.

"I have something for you," he said softly, and gave Newt a little squeeze. "But I don't know if I wanna give it to your right now, or if I wanna wait."

Newt raises an eyebrow, turning his head so that he can study his husband's profile for a moment.

"Well, now you have to give it to me," he says. "Or I'm not going to be able to focus on anything else."

"I could distract you instead," Kavinsky insisted, smiling broadly. He gave Newt another squeeze around the middle, met his gaze, then darted in for a kiss. "Just leave you in suspense now that you know there's a surprise at some point."

He wouldn't. Now that he'd said it, he sort of excited to go get it out of his bag. But he lingered, not wanting to let go just yet. He stole another kiss.

Newt grins, curling both arms around Kavinsky's neck and holding him to the kiss. He suspects that he knows what the surprise is, but there's no way that he wants to pull away from this conversation.

"Besides," Kavinsky said lazily between their kisses. "If I ruin the surprise now, what do I have to give you later? Besides blowjobs and room service?"

He smoothed his arms up and down Newt's sides, a lingering touch, until his hands eventually grazed down to his hips and settled there for the moment. He leaned his forehead against Newt's and sighed softly.

"You act like I'd complain about blowjobs and room-service," says Newt, with a broad grin. "And I bet you can get me high, too." He brushes a kiss against the tip of Kavinsky's nose. "I just like having you around, shank."

"I might have brought a couple things I've picked up," Kavinsky said, nuzzling in gently. "But none of it's as nice as my old shit was. We'll just have to make due with what we can get these days. Being a pleb sucks."

It did nothing to wipe the smile off his face, the easy comfort. He pulled Newt gently away from the balcony window. "C'mon. Let's go see how big that bed is."

"As long as I've got you, I don't care," says Newt, letting Kavinsky pull him where he wants him. "I didn't marry you because you were magic. I married you because you're good in bed." He gropes Kavinsky's ass one handed. "Obviously."

"I think the magic helped a little bit," Kavinsky said, wiggling his ass a little bit, but it was a soft, comfortable sort of teasing. This was a truth, an honesty, that they'd come to live with and that Kavinsky could let settle in his ribs because he knew it to be true even when he doubted so many things. To have learned love like this was a miracle, one that he never thought he'd have. Some days he barely knew what to do with it.

The bedroom was nice, and the bed was big. He paused and curled his arms around Newt again, now walking backwards toward it as he kissed him.

He pushes both hands into Kavinsky's hair, tugging lightly as they kiss. They idea of the whole weekend spread out before them is a little dizzying; the possibilities of everything that they can get up to.

The tugs grounded him, tilted him gently. Kavinsky sighed against each kiss. When they hit the edge of the bed, he paused, toeing out of his shoes without breaking the kiss, before he climbed onto it. That was a bit more of a clumsy prospect without breaking the kiss, but he managed.

He broke off only when he started to tug at Newt's clothes, wanting to get at his skin, wanting to see him.

Newt gently disengages Kavinsky's hands from his clothes and steps back a little, but only so that he can start undressing himself, tipping his head so that his long hair slips into his eyes as he unbuttons.

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