He slides lower beneath Kotetsu, hair tangling behind his head on the sheets, hips straining into the hand around him eagerly. His arm, trapped between them, searches for Kotetsu's own hardness, fuller now, fingers tracing along tight, flat muscle until he finds crisp hair and the concentrated heat of what he's sought out. The angle, the tightness, makes it difficult to stroke, but he presses Kotetsu against his own belly firmly with the palm of his hand with firm pressure.

"Your dick," he says, voice rougher, breathy. "In me. Don't you dare say--" he gives a soft pant "--no. I want that. If we're this far, I want that. If you're okay with this, I want that."

He softens the words of demand with a kiss, sloppy and misaimed, against the side of Kotetsu's mouth, teeth pulling at his lower lip before gravity drags Barnaby back down to the sheets.