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Baba had come to New York and liberated him from his little flat, and now he was standing outside of Prokopenko's place, a moving van parked behind the Evo, a couple of strapping Ukrainian men moving his things into the house.

Prokopenko wasn't even there. Kavinsky had called on the way down, and he'd been at work. Kavinsky had laughed it off then, but he hadn't expected baba to have a key to the place, prepared to break them in and start moving the few things that he had into the house while there was no one there to stop them.

"I will make lunch," she proclaimed, walking into the house with great aplomb. Kavinsky could do nothing but follow her.

"Shouldn't we wait for Illya?"

"Pah, he knows we are coming. If he is late for lunch, this his problem."

Kavinsky swore under his breath, scrubbing at his hair. He didn't think Proko was going to have a problem, but he wasn't sure how happy he was going to be about how unceremonious this was.

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Proko sort of knew Baba had some kind of plan. He knew that plan involved Kavinsky. She didn't really tell him anything else except that everything will be okay. He trusted her, of course he did, but it was still-- well.

He just hoped it would be okay, like she said.

So when he came home and he saw the Evo and a little moving truck, his entire digestive system did a flip and he rushed the last block to the house. He could smell the food in the kitchen but it was Kavinsky he made a bee-line for.

"You're here?" he breathed, looking like he didn't dare trust what he saw out front. He'd been wanting Kavinsky to be closer forever. Since he decided to be in New York. Since before Jiang disappeared behind the wall.

"Yeah, uh. Seems so?"

Kavinsky was jittery and nervous. Of course Proko had been asking him, and he came down whenever he could and tried to not overstay his welcome. This was his boy, he and Jiang both were, but they had each other and sometimes Kavinsky stumbled on how he fit in.

The slightly manic, definitely disbelieving expression on Proko's face made it a little easier to believe that he fit here. In this moment, he smoothed his thumbs briefly across Proko's cheeks. It was just baba here, after all.

Proko tossed his arms around Kavinsky's shoulders and held him as tight as he could. "Took you long enough, you fucking asshole," he murmured, full of fondness and maybe his voice was just a little wet.

Shut up.

He curled his fingers briefly in Kavinsky's hair and buried his face against his neck. He really wanted everyone else to just fucking disappear but. He supposed they could have lunch or some shit first.

Kavinsky nudged their noses together briefly, but didn't go further than that. Baba might be a more tolerant sort, but he wouldn't dare misbehave in front of her. So, slowly, he extracted Proko from around him and nudged him toward the kitchen.

"I think we have to eat first," he said. He had to do a lot off things, but they could wait, for the most part. Right now, they could all sit at the little kitchen table and eat all the food that baba had somehow managed to make in no time at all.

"We'll be forced into submission if we don't," he said with a faint little smile. Proko brushed his fingers down Kavinsky's arm before he went to greet his grandmother. He murmured soft thanks in Ukrainian and squeezed her tight.

Lunch was good, at least, and Baba made enough that they were going to have leftovers. Eating lunch with Ivan and Sasha was a little weird, but whatever. They were polite. Each of them squeezed Baba's hands before they took their leave and the moving truck.

When the men had left (baba once again assuring that she had Sasha's number for Kavinsky; a good boy, much nicer than those New Yorkers)), Kavinsky was left in a bit of a limbo. Not about this place, where he'd been a hundred times since Proko had moved in, but about the protocol for this situation. They'd been fed, the movers were gone. He wanted to smoke a bowl and make out with his best friend, and he couldn't do either of those things when a woman that had practically helped raise him through middle and high school was in the house.

He couldn't tell if she was dragging it out, making sure he didn't bolt for it, or if she was dragging it out just to watch them both squirm.

"Baba, ne budʹ zhorstokoyu," he murmured after all the dishes had been cleared and the food had been put away. Illya loved his grandmother, but he knew what she was doing.

She gave him a look but then she pat one cheek, kissed the other.

"Be in touch, Illyushka."

He shot a look over his shoulder at Kavinsky as he walked Baba to the door. Ivan was out there waiting with a car. Somehow, he wasn't actually surprised.

Kavinsky stayed inside. He headed upstairs to Illya's room, where most of his boxes had been put. His furniture had been left downstairs, and he'd have to get it upstairs and into the third bedroom of the house posthaste, or else get rid of it.

In Illya's room, he sat heavily on his bed. He was still jittering and anxious. This was all ridiculous. Of course he'd planned to move down here eventually. He hadn't realized eventually was going to be a random Thursday in March.

Prokopenko locked the front door after he came back inside. He hurried up the stairs, like somehow Kavinsky might have disappeared. But there he was, sitting on his bed. Proko bit his lip and crossed the room; his knees hit the bed on either side of Kavinsky's thighs and his hands slid up his neck to hold his face.

"Hey," he murmured, still wrapping his head around the fact that his best friend was here, that he was going to stay. He wouldn't have to feel shattered every time K had to go back to New York.

Kavinsky grabbed Proko's writs gently, holding onto him, breathing in the smell of him and the closeness and the reality of the situation. Well, the reality had yet to come, really. This was still a moment like any other visit. He was here. He would be here until--well, until they moved, he supposed. There was no returning to New York, except on business.

"Hey. Sorry."

Proko just shook his head when Kavinsky tried to apologize. "I'm not," he confessed. He pulled Kav into a kiss and closed his eyes tight. He'd mentioned, a handful of times, how unhappy he was every time Kav left but he never thought the crazy ass matriarch of his family would drag him down from New York.

But he was grateful. He'd just completely uprooted Kavinsky's life, he should feel awful, but he was grateful.

"Don't ever leave me again," he whispered.

Kavinsky wasn't sorry for being here, but that wasn't the point of what he was saying. No, he was sorry for how he'd arrived, sudden and without announcement or question. Now, he was here and there was no leaving.

He mumbled something in Bulgarian, soft and affirmative, and kissed Proko slowly, deeply. It was more important to let him know he was happy to be here than it was important to let him know what he was saying.

He leaned hard into Kavinsky and tried to roll them over at the same time. It, maybe, didn't work. Proko didn't care. He tried to devour him, fingers tight in Kav's hair.

"I need-- I need--"

Proko couldn't get the words out, just took a sharp breath a kissed him again.

It escalated quickly. Kavinsky wasn't complaining.

He rolled them over, put Proko on his back against the bed and kissed him hungrily. He ground his hips lazily against him, but it wasn't just the kissing and close contact that got him going. No, now he was thinking about it.

"I know," he murmured, voice thick and needy.

"Always do."

Proko didn't understand how or why, and he'd stopped trying a while ago. It didn't matter. Kavinsky just knew him. He grabbed Kavinsky's belt loops and the loose fabric on his thigh to haul their hips together. The friction made him moan, made him suddenly desperate for more.

He thought, briefly, that he should tell Jiang. He would, later. This had to happen first - he needed it.

He let it just be that for a moment: kissing and rubbing together like the horny, desperate teenagers they were. He was quick to get it up, now that he had a mind to. His cock pressed against the fly of his jean, and then against Proko's hip, or crotch, or whatever he could rub the bulge of his cock against.

He pulled away from the kiss and eased back just a little, swatting Proko's hands away so that they were separate--and he could flip Proko over onto his stomach.

It reminded him of nights, days, whatever, spent high as fuck in Kavinsky's house, when they couldn't keep their fucking hands off each other. Before K knew his secret, and after.

"Shit," he gasped when Kav flipped him. Proko pushed up onto his knees, face hot when he felt Kavinsky behind him. He was fucking aching already.

Kavinsky groaned as Proko got his knees underneath him. He pawed at him a little, resting his forehead against his shoulder even as he shoved his shirt up and fumbled in dragging down his pants.

"Shit," he mumbled back, a tiny peel of laughter working out of him. "You want your cunt or your ass, baby? I'm good for both."

"Cunt," he breathed. "It-- I'm ready."

It wouldn't take as much time as prepping his ass: Kavinsky could just fucking push in at this rate and Proko knew it. He reached down to get the button and fly of his jeans open so that the next time Kav yanked, they actually went somewhere. Heat sank through him and for a second he tried to hide his face, almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted, by how fucking easy he felt.

But it was Kavinsky. He'd always been so damn easy for Joseph Kavinsky.

"Yeah, I bet."

He slapped Proko's ass when he'd pulled his jeans off. He did it again and again, and groaned as Proko's ass got more red and flushed. He opened his own jeans and stroked his cock a couple times, making sure he was fully hard before he even considered getting in him.

Not that he needed to worry about being fully hard. He nudged the head of his cock against Proko, teasing now.

"Fuck," he gasped the first time Kavinsky smacked him. Then, "Fuck--fuck!" He pushed his face against the bed, lost for a second in the sting and the way his skin got hot beneath Kavinsky's hand. He couldn't even squeeze his legs together for relief, not with Kav's knees holding his open.

God, he was dying for it.

Proko bit his lip when he finally felt Kav's cock teasing against him. "Don't be a dick," he moaned, frustrated and needy. "C'mon K."

He reached down between his thighs, trembling as his fingers slipped over his cunt and Kavinsky's cock.

It was a good noise. The breathless, desperate words and skin on skin. He didn't slap Proko's hand away from his cunt like he might have if they were taking their time. No, right now it was just about getting off, and not about making it some sort of play-act.

He nudged in a little, and then pushed in all in one go, grinding balls deep into Proko just because he could.

"Fuck," he swore, gripping Proko's hips tightly. He laughed breathlessly. "Oh fuck, baby."

He dropped onto his forearms as Kav pushed in, moaning in relief at the feel of him. "Holy shit," he gasped as he shoved his hips back, desperate to feel Kavinsky as close to him as he can get.

Proko tried to pull his shirt off over his head but it only ended up tangled around his arms. He left it there as he started moving his hips, trying to fuck himself on Kav's cock as the other boy gripped his hips.

"Oh fuck-- I missed you, Yosef."

Proko was quick and easy and so hot and wet that for a moment Kavinsky felt like it was a gut punch. He let him do the moving for a second, worried about getting too quickly overwhelmed by it and just going off like Jiang always did. He knew Proko was into that, but it was more fun to drag out the first round, in his opinion.

When he could move, he did. He shifted his hands down to hold Proko by his thighs and he met his movements with filthy, rough thrusts.

It was quick and filthy and Proko wanted so bad. He moaned sharply and shoved his face into a pillow as Kavinsky pushed into him, again and again. Proko felt himself get tight for a second, and he realized that he might be quick.

"Don't stop," he pleaded, breathless as Kavinsky grabbed his thighs, pulled him to meet every thrust. He jerked beneath him, tried to push back as he shoved his hand between his legs, let his fingers slip over his clit. He touched Kav's dick as it slid into him and moaned sharply.

"Won't," Kavinsky promised, the only thing he could get out as he kept his focus on the way his hips were moving, on making sure that he stayed in him the whole while and could still fuck him viciously.

The fumbling brush of fingers made Kavinsky swear, mostly in Bulgarian. He wrapped an arm around him and touched him along with it.

"Oh fuck," he whimpered when Kavinsky's hand covered his and he trembled beneath him. Proko couldn't stop moving, restlessly working his hips between Kavinksy's cock and now his hand.

"Just like that--" He can barely fucking talk. Prokopenko feels himself get tight around Kavinsky's cock and he moans sharply. "Oh fuck, K-- Yosef--"

Kavinsky growled softly as Proko kept on. He dragged his teeth against his neck, and brought his other hand up to shove his fingers into Proko's mouth, sort of half muffling him so it was just noise and not the desperation of words and not being able to find them.

"C'mon," he hissed against Proko's neck, and worked more on the mark he was leaving on his neck. "C'mon, baby."

"Fuck, K--"

He cuts off, moaning around the fingers shoved into his mouth. Fuck yes. He doesn't even try to suck them, just lets Kavinsky's fingers fuck over his tongue while Proko rides his cock. It takes nothing after that. He feels it like a wave and it crashes hard.

He moans sharply, nearly choking on Kav's fingers as he comes. He trembles beneath him, cunt going tight around Kavinsky's cock.

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