mitsubishievo | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

There was a room upstairs at the party, where people were doing body painting. Kavinsky had wandered up earlier and lost his shirt and ended up streaked with paint. He still had his hat on, which was such a ridiculous thing to have retained throughout that endeavor, but he'd managed it. It had long ago gotten streaked with glitter and dye splatter, splashes of color on his skin and the hat. Pinks and blues and now he was streaked and swirled with body paint in intricate streaks of fingers from the waist of his pants across his torso.

He found Newt on the main floor, back toward the entrance to the garden. He was a vision in color-streaked white. Kavinsky wrapped around him and kissed his neck.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Newt leans back against him, looking at their reflection in a nearby mirror, his beautiful husband, stripped half naked and smeared in lurid colour. He turns in Kavinsky's arms and smiles, wrapping both arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. The paint smears on his t-shirt. And he doesn't care.

"You look shucking beautiful," he says, grinning. "Like a work of art."

"They're doing body painting upstairs," Kavinsky said with a lazy smile. He nuzzled at Newt, gave him a slow, lazy kiss. "But I think someone stole my shirt and I'm never getting it back."

That kiss is delicious, and Newt leans into it, chasing after more.

"Mmhmm," he says, smudging the tip of his nose against Kavinsky's. "What else are they doing upstairs?"

"Fooling around, from the sound of some of those corners," Kavinsky said with a soft laugh of it. He tucked a hand into the back pocket of Newt's jeans, holding him close. "I wasn't going to go adventuring without my man in tow."

He wasn't really interested in nosing about, in seeing who might be hiding in those corners. Camping out in one of those corners, possibly, but everything he wanted to see and be with was right here in his arms.

"Let's go find a corner," says Newt, feeling a little wired as he leans in for another kiss, presses back into Kavinsky's hand on his ass. "Can't think of anything I'd rather do right now."

"Yeah?" Kavinsky grinned lazily, gave Newt a squeeze, kissed him. He lingered in the kiss for a moment, some slow idea brewing under his skin. When he pulled back from the kiss, he curled his arm possessively around Newt's waist. "C'mon. I've got a couple tabs in my pocket, and I bet we can out noisy the neighbors upstairs."

"Sounds good to me," says Newt. They both know how he feels about semi-public sex, particularly if there's drugs involved. And Kavinsky knows the kind of high he likes, the way he likes to feel. "I bet we can, too. Might as well enjoy being able to make a noise while we can, shank."

Kavinsky laughed, but it was half a groan. He’d been working on sound proofing the bedroom for them, but until they were actually ready to adopt, he didn’t want to start any convertion on office space—or garage. Still, Newt was right. This might be the last time in a while that they got to get really fucked up and nasty about it. And it swirled in him, low and hot and needy.

He headed upstairs with Newt, holding him around the waist. As they crossed into the dim parlor upstairs, Kavinsky leaned toward Newt’s ear, nuzzling a little.

“I wanna fuck you so bad, sugar. I know just how you like it when I get you floating good.” He fished out the tin of pills in his jeans pocket, ready to pass Newt one and take one for himself too.

Kavinsky's voice so close to Newt's ear, his breath - it sends a shiver down Newt's spine and he presses back against him.

"Know you will, love," he murmurs. Kavinsky doesn't always fuck him but, when he does? Worth it, every time.

He pressed a kiss against Newt's ear, smiled softly, and the pulled a pill out. He pressed it gently against Newt's lips, against his tongue, and kissed the side of his neck as he pulled his fingers away from his mouth to grab one for himself too. Once they'd each had one, the tin disappeared back into his pocket. Kavinsky drifted through the half-lit space, trying to find them an alcove or corner to tuck away in.

Making out and petting in front of the people that were getting painted and wandering around was one thing. But Kavinsky wanted his husband's skin, wanted to take him apart and listen to him, all the sounds he made. They needed at least the symbol of privacy for that.

Newt takes the pill smoothly, utterly trusting and swallows, letting Kavinsky guide him through the space. His body is already aching, a little, in anticipation of what they're going to do once they find a little bit of privacy.

The alcove was a deep thing on the back wall, away from most everyone else. There was still plenty of noise, the soft pulse of music and chatter, even after they slid into the space. It fit them comfortably.

Kavinsky shoved Newt against the wall by his shoulders and kissed him like he wanted to own him. It was the sort of kiss like when they had first started to know each other. A consuming thing, deep and almost possessive, full of teeth and tongue.

Newt knows exactly who he belongs to, but the kiss works to remind him. He presses back into it, hips and hands and lips, giving as good as he gets. He loves it when Kavinsky gets a bit rough with him, when he pushes him around, but that doesn't mean he have to wilt underneath it.

It's a warm, pressing embrace, all closeness and mouths. It's one of those moments that Kavinsky just really likes having his tongue ring, as silly as that is. He slides his hands down Newt's torso and shoves them up under his shirt, squeezing at his hips and dragging them close to grind against him.

That touch, the way that Kavinsky grabs at him, makes him breathless and squirming. He pushes his fingers into the short hair at the nape of Kavinsky's neck, tugging, pulling. He arches his body forward, pressing against his husband everywhere he can get.

Kavinsky liked that even in those moments when he said he was taking over, getting rough and taking control, he was never really totally dominate. Newt was too grabby, too squirmy, too used to taking the reins at this point. And Kavinsky liked taking Newt apart, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

He ground his hips against Newt filthily, smiling against the kiss as he pushed Newt's shirt up higher, pulling away just long enough to tug it off entirely.

Underneath his paint splattered shirt, Newt's skin is tan and freckled. He leans back against the wall, presses his hips forward to meet the grind of Kavinsky's.

"How are you going to fuck me?" he asks.

The way he angled his body and rolled his hips looked delectable. Kavinsky met the movement, and it felt like dancing. It felt like floating. He grinned lazily, happy for the soft, slow edge of the buzz starting to work its way in on the edges of his consciousness. He was a way off from his full high, but the early buzz of it was a pleasant, warm thing.

"I was thinking of eating your ass first," he said with a lazy grin. "Going real slow, really milking it out of you."

Newt's eyelashes flutter at the thought of it. He can feel the heat of it starting to creep up on him, the shine of the high. "Pity you can't tie me up, shank," he says. "It's been a while."

"I bet there's something I could use for that up here, if I looked around," Kavinsky said with a low, almost breathless chuckle. This wasn't like a sex club or anything like that, but he wouldn't put it past Magnus Bane to have his little boudoir area prepared for kinky eventualities of some variety or another. "Or I can just use your shirt."

It wasn't really the same. Not like tying him up with gentle scarves or something like that. Kavinsky cupped and squeezed Newt's cock through his jeans. "You look good when I tie you up, sugar."

"You can do whatever you want to me," he says, pressing in close against Kavinsky, grinding his cock against the palm of Kavinsky's hand. "And you know it."

Kavinsky purred and nodded a little, because he knew he could. Right now, he could get away with anything, because it was Newt. They'd built that, over the years. What a lucky thing to have done. Kavinsky wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten so lucky.

For a while, he kissed Newt hungrily, touching him. It was teasing sort of touch, all through clothes. Then, slowly, he sank to his knees and turned Newt around to face the wall. He'd told him, after all, what he was going to do. And he was absolutely going to follow through on his plans.

Kavinsky turns him and a shiver goes down Newt's spine. He stays still, both palms and his forehead resting against the wall, his cock aching hard as he waits for Kavinsky to strip him further, to take more control.

Kavinsky wasn’t slow or gentle about it, but he was careful at least. They had to leave afterwards and they didn’t have a change of clothes. He might do a lot of things, but he wasn’t going to ruin anything. But he tugged and shoved Newt’s clothes out of the way, leaned in and scraped his teeth against his skin, groaned softly. He left little marks on Newt’s skin, smiling against him as he did it.

Newt moans, softly, at the scrape of Kavinsky's teeth, the way he marks him. Since the first time they were together, he's loved that.