mitsubishievo | chopped and screwed up [for Newt]

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chopped and screwed up [for Newt]

Kavinsky was at the studio when the idea struck him. He was supposed to go right to the club after this, a long day but a relatively early night all things considered. And he didn't think Newt was planning to come out, in particular. But now the thought had come to him and he couldn't get it out of his head, even as he worked through the promotional materials he needed for next weeks festival.

He set everything aside and sent Newt a text.

come to the club
pretend u dont know me for the night

They hadn't done anything like this in ages. Sure, Newt came to watch him dance, but it was mostly smiling and laughing and a few tips. They didn't do anything more than that very often. And the thought of it was a fun one.

Sometimes he missed the filth they got up to in the first months of their relationship, or even before they'd gotten the kid at home. It was normally pretty easy to kick Charlie out for an evening, but that wasn't the point. Sometimes, you just wanted to get filthy and freaky with your husband, wherever you could get him to dick you down. And at work? That was just an extra bit of fun.

And now, especially, it was exciting because he wasn't sure when Newt might appear to play the game. He just had to wait and let it happen.

Well, time to go to the club, dress down, and start his night. With the music in his ears, he could ignore the time and just dance for tips and the whistling attention of the post-business week crowd.

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Newt's washing dishes when the text comes through and he reads it, rolling his eyes fondly and finishing up. Once he's done, he goes to take a shower and gets dressed -- a collared shirt, unbuttoned down his chest, skinny jeans, boots. He doesn't text Kavinsky to let him know that he's on his way; he'll be on stage by now, anyway.

Once in the club, he buys himself a gin and tonic and then makes his way to an empty table, close enough to catch his husband's eye, wherever he is...

Kavinsky saw Newt from an inversion on the pole but didn't react. He admired him from a distance even as people closer to the stage hooted and hollered and tossed money on the stage. It was starting to pick up now, and Kavinsky was happy to lavish in the attention and the distant, watchful gaze of his husband.

At the end of the song, Kavinsky swept across the stage, collecting the bills from the stag and tucking them into his shorts as he wound through the crowd.

He didn't go to Newt immediately, but he kept him in the corner of his eye. In the meantime, he flirted and talked and got drinks for a couple other people, as if he weren't under the watchful gaze of his husband. He wasn't, was he--that was the game.

Newt keeps Kavinsky in the corner of his eye and, when another dancer comes over to make conversation, Newt accepts the distraction without actually taking the invitation to pay for a dance. He's only got dollars for one person this evening. When Kavinsky finally comes in his direction, Newt holds up a hand, making a gesture that's almost dismissive.

"Over here," he says.

Kavinsky wound his way over to the gesture more than the sound of the words, though from the way that Newt's face, Kavinsky knew the tone, the way that Newt would say just about anything. So it didn't even matter what he said. It was about that easy look on his face.

He came over and offered an easy, pleasant smile, his hand on the edge of the table as he considered Newt and his posture and his half finished drink.

"Hey there handsome," he said, cocking his hip slightly. "Need to freshen up?"

"I liked your stage routine," says Newt, making a show of looking Kavinsky up and down, taking a sip of his drink, ice-cubes clinking against the side of the glass. "I was hoping I could pay for a bit more of your time."

"Thanks man," Kavinsky said, breathless with pride. He preened under the trailing gaze, scrubbed his fingers into his hair, flashed his tongue ring against his teeth as he smiled.

"What were you thinking? A little table time? A dance? Champagne room?"

"It's payday so I'm feeling flush," says Newt, knowing that whatever he spends here will make it back into groceries or gas money eventually. "So why don't we start with a dance right here. Show me some skin."

"Oh, not enough skin up there? Right now?" It was a playful tease. Kavinsky put his foot on the edge of Newt's chair, his shorts clinging on his inner thigh as he leaned in a bit closer.

He grinned and rolled his hips, sliding a hand up his stomach to lift the loose shirt he had pulled on after he'd gotten off the stage.

Newt takes in the familiar, lovely sight of Kavinsky's thighs, the flat muscles of his belly and bites his lip. He knows the rules of the club and he keeps his hands to himself, hands resting lightly against his thighs.

"How much can you take off?" he asks, already knowing the answer, but also knowing that its part of the game.

"Out here? Not very much."

He's not on stage, and a strip at a table is out of bounds. But he keeps that low, swinging gait of his hips, and he reaches out to touch Newt's hair gently. "But we could go to the balcony for a lap dance. Or one of the champagne rooms. I can take it all off in the room..."

"Can I have both?" says Newt, happy to play the naive first-timer for a moment, resisting the urge to lean into the touch in his hair like it's a familiar, comfortable thing. "I can pay..."

Kavinsky hummed, playfully thoughtful, still touching Newt's hair, and then the side of his neck, and then his shoulder, his chest. He smiled sweetly at him and slowly pulled away from him.

"Sure thing," he said. "Come on, let's go up to the balcony."

Newt picks up his glass, and then stands, doing his best to look louche and relaxed, even if there is a familiar electric sort of hum in his veins from the way Kavinsky was looking at him.

He follows.

They headed up, and on the balcony there was no one else. The speakers played a slightly different beat than the music played down on the stages below, a heavy thump of bass, not unlike Kavinsky preferred in the car.

He put a hand on Newt's chest and pressed him gently into a chair, then started to swing his hips and sway to the music, happily pressing himself into Newt's lap as he danced.

Newt leans back in the seat, one hand still loosely curled around his glass on the table next to him as Kavinsky squirms into his lap.

"Can I touch you?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

Kavinsky hummed thoughtfully, like he was considering it. He wasn't supposed to let anyone touch him up here, but--well, there was no one else up here, and he was tempted to break the rules a little bit.

"If you behave yourself," he said, voice low and suggestive, "then yeah."

Newt shifts his weight in the chair and raises one hand, his fingers chill from the glass and grazes them against the length of Kavinsky's thigh.

"Tell me what behaving myself looks like..."

"What you're doing now is good," Kavinsky assured, chilly fingers on warm skin. Kavinsky kept dancing, kept rolling his hips. He was down to his shorts now, jockstrap peaking over the top of them.

He rather wanted Newt to push things, to hurry things along, to get him to act poorly so they had an excuse to move to a private room. He gave him a dark, steamy look, and smiled.

Kavinsky keeps up the light touch on Kavinsky's inner thigh, reaching out with his other hand to hook his fingers under the hem of Kavinsky's shorts.

"Take these off."

It was that he was coming up that Kavinsky pretended that he hadn't noticed, sneaking up under the hem, hinting. Kavinsky arched an eyebrow thoughtfully. Well, if it was just the shorts...

He wiggled them down over the swell of his ass, but that was all. Showing off the skin, framed by his jockstrap, as he swayed and rocked his hips and pressed down on Newt's lap.

"You'll have to pay for a private room if you want more skin, mister..."

"Fuck it," says Newt and he shifts his hand, his fingers just grazing against the shape of Kavisky's jock under his shorts. "Let's go. I'm good for it."

Kavinsky grins. He hikes his shorts back up and slides away, offering his hand. The rooms are back downstairs, so that they can be observed going in to occupy them, just in case.

They go downstairs. They go back to the rooms. Kavinsky opens the door to the first unoccupied one and gestures Newt inside with an amenable smile.

Newt steps inside, easily playing the role of someone who can more than afford to be here and sits down on the couch, tipping his head back to look up at Kavinsky.

"Now take it all off."

The door is barely closed. Kavinsky smiles amenably and turns on a bit of music, some of his own, so that he still has a rhythm to dance to--and to drown out any noises they might end up making in the next few minutes.

He peels the shorts off, swaying his hips in the jockstrap and coming close to climb onto Newt's lap and grind against him.

"Am I the only one taking things off?"

"For now," says Newt, grinning, his hands skimming down the lines of Kavinsky's sies to hold him close, his own hips grinding forward to meet the press of Kavinsky's. "Show me what I'm paying for."

Kavinsky laughed, grinned, and rolled his hips as they ground together. He pulled away, just a little. Just enough to wiggle out of his jock strap and redeposit himself onto Newt's lap. He did facing back to front, grinding harder, more insistently. A coaxing, suggestive move of the hips. "Like this?"

"That's perfect," says Newt, his hand slipping around the graze his fingers along the length of Kavinsky's cock, a light and teasing touch. "Not really dancing, though, is it?"

"Does it need to be dancing now?" Kavinsky asked. It was breathless, with that hand on his cock, coaxing a bit more touch with the way that he moves his hips between Newt's lap and hand. He can feel the slow blossom of Newt's arousal, teasing against his naked ass, and he grinds down against him. "You're enjoying it."

"You're right," says Newt, his fingers tightening to curl around Kavinsky's dick, stroking slowly and carefully, teasing him a little. "I really am. What about you? Do you do this often?"

"No," Kavinsky said, which wasn't a lie. He didn't do random hook-ups often anymore, though he and Newt did stupid things like this all the time. It made him sound more sweet and innocent than he really was, though, especially when he was breathless and rolling his hips between Newt's lap and the teasing, stroking grip of his fist.

"But yeah, I'm enjoying it so far."

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chopped and screwed up [for Newt]

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