guidedrecall | work expands so as to fill the time available.

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kotetsu

work expands so as to fill the time available.

The light filtering through the window is too bright for Barnaby's blue eyes, sticky and sensitive as they open reluctantly and he drags himself to sitting in bed. He's still dressed in what he stumbled to bed with, a plain white t-shirt a little too big because they'd only bought one package to suit both himself and Kotetsu; boxers that are the same. He groans, groping across the bed in search of his glasses, unintentionally rousing the other man beside him.

They'd shared the bed, he remembers, because neither of them had been willing to take the couch, in the state they were in. Which, Barnaby recalls, had been fairly drunk.

Pulling himself to standing, he crosses to the bedroom window and turns the handle to open the blinds further, yellow-gold light filtering in. It's red enough light that Barnaby knows it's ... almost evening, actually. It would irritate him to discover, normally, but they hadn't gotten in until very early, having stopped for clothing and groceries and whatever else that could be fitted into a bag, in their state, and dragged to Barnaby's apartment.

Barnaby doesn't remember much from the night. Only a few things stand out. Mostly, he distinctly remembers Kotetsu plopping an unfamiliar, brightly colored bill onto a counter and asking the clerk to 'bring booze.'

He presses a palm to his forehead. It feels too warm

"Rise and shine," he calls out to his partner.

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"Only because we have the wisdom to know that the only way to get over a bad decision is to follow it up with another," Kotetsu declares, loudly until his head throbs in protest. Reaching out, Kotetsu claps a hand down on Barnaby's knee, laying it on top of Barnaby's hand and giving it a squeeze. Partly in thanks. Partly for reassurance.

It may take some time, but Kotetsu still believes what he declared to their welcomers just hours ago — that finding their way out isn't impossible, and Kotetsu will be the one to do it.

"We should eat, though. I can't remember what we got last night at the store," he adds, sliding his legs over the side of the bed and slowly standing to his feet, tugging his boxer briefs up from where the elastic slid down the cut of his hip. "Oi, didn't you say that you'd been practicing how to make fried rice? That wasn't something you said just to make me feel better, right?"

"Two blacks don't make a white," Barnaby says, but not without deep amusement. He doesn't mean to be a nag; he makes the statement almost because it's expected of him. Maybe it's a language all their own. He's never been close enough to another person who he didn't consider family in his life. Kotetsu is, in every way, unique. And Barnaby is glad that he can be here for him, in this place, if that's what he needs.

He's not sure he can cook in this kitchen, though

"I've been practicing. I wasn't lying to you!" he says, with a little more impatient emphasis, now that he's flustered by the question and the hand on his own. "But I don't know if we have all of the ingredients that we need, or if we have all the utensils that we need, or if the stove is electric or gas. I don't know my way around the kitchen at all. Even if I tried, it wouldn't be very good at all."

So Barnaby would rather not try, though he does not go so far as to voice as much Something about saying these things to Kotetsu makes him feel silly, although he shouldn't. They're valid concerns. It isn't that he's phobic of failure. Not really.

"Keh," Kotetsu snickers at once, hiding his laughter behind a closed fist as he turns to make his way to the kitchen. It's only recently that Kotetsu's been able to acknowledge the more endearing aspects of Barnaby's perfectionism — namely that outside the realm of work and obligations, such attention to detail is a sign that Barnaby cares. He doesn't pull out the stops for anyone.

Actually, he's really kind of choosy.

"The whole point of fried rice is to be able to make use of what you have in the kitchen! Old kimchi tastes delicious after being tossed around in a pan. Leftover teriyaki chicken can be diced and thrown in; you don't even have to worry about whether or not it's fully cooked," Kotetsu declares, his voice rising in volume as he makes his way towards the kitchen. The louder he is, the less he has time to focus on the strangeness of a situation. These spaces are supposed to be empty when moving in.

Yet, when he tugs open the first counter he happens across, he can see stacks of plates and bowls neatly arranged, white ceramic adorned with a pale blue pattern at the edges.

"We'll make it together," he says, sticking his head into the fridge next. They've got eggs. Sausages. They can make it work. "And if it doesn't taste good, you're free to blame the failure on me. Doesn't that make you feel better? Ah, but that means you can't take full credit if it's delicious, either."

Barnaby still doesn't feel competent, still doesn't feel confident, when he follows the sound of Kotetsu's rich voice to the kitchen, lingering in the doorway with his lower lip worried between his teeth. But that need for competence is much less so, if they're working on dinner together. As kotetsu has said, there can't be any credit or blame but what they share, if that's the case.

And the truth is, they need to eat. And Barnaby is just as responsible for any meals between the two of them as Kotetsu. Less that he would feel a burden if he didn't help, more that it's a responsibility they should both be held to.

He hasn't questioned that Kotetsu is going to the apartment assigned to him any time soon. They're partners This could not be more important, in the situation they are in.

The linoleum on the kitchen floor is still cold to his bare feet.

"If we have what we need. You don't need to give me a lecture about it. I mean, I know that it's supposed to be a meal for using up leftovers and everything. In theory. I'll chop something. What do you want me to do?"

Grabbing eggs, onions, snow peas, and a package of barbecued pork from the fridge — probably an impulse buy in the middle of Kotetsu's drunkenness, and proof that he has sound judgment even when compromised — Kotetsu kicks the refrigerator door shut behind him and lays out the ingredients on the counter.

"You can wash the rice," Kotetsu says cheekily, wondering if Barnaby protest. If there's anything that promises to teach Barnaby next to nothing about making fried rice, it's washing the rice.

Then again, it's also the safest part of the process. One that Kotetsu can't imagine Barnaby messing up.

"Or wash the..." Looking up, Kotetsu pauses. "Bunny, are you blushing? You've never cooked with someone in the kitchen, have you? I know you said you hadn't been dating this past year, but surely you had some girls who tried to get close during home ec."

Kotetsu starts walking the perimeter of the kitchen, tugging open every drawer he encounters. Looking for the right utensils.

As if in answer to Kotetsu's ribbing, the pale dusting of pink on Barnaby's cheeks darkens, but Barnaby refuses to address it one way or another. He grabs the rice instead, and a collander, and pours the rice in before stuffing the entire setup under the tap for rinsing. He has no sleeves, and he's still wearing the clothing he slept in, which isn't much, so at least he is safe on that front.

"I'm going to do more than just rinsing rice," he says. "A four year old could accomplish this without a lot of instruction. It doesn't teach me anything." Barnaby pauses, letting the steady sound of swishing and the clink of metal against the sink fill the pause. "A couple girls asked me on dates. I said no. They stopped asking," Barnaby finishes, looking over at Kotetsu, a coolly irritated expression on his features.

It may or may not be the reason that people had stopped asking. He hadn't come by the charming demeanor he wore so well by chance. It had been work, hard work, and much coaching.

"Well, are you here to learn, or are you here to earn points?" Kotetsu asks, tearing open the plastic encasing the hunk of prepared barbecue meat before placing it on top of a wooden cutting board, the pink food coloring smearing slightly against the grain. Snorting at the sight of Barnaby's expression, frustrated and put out, Kotetsu raises a thumb and brushes it along the line of Barnaby's brow, smoothing it out.

"If this is the look you gave them, of course they'd stop asking. This is the look you give your spouse after they've made you angry for the fifth time that week. Not the look you give a young girl who's put her heart on the line for you," he adds, flicking his fingertip against the furrow. "And it'll also age you prematurely. You'll end up looking like my age in a couple of years."

Reaching behind Barnaby and over to the knife block, Kotetsu selects a chef's knife before sliding back to the cutting board. "You're getting to that age, you know. Where you should really be thinking about who you want to live your life with. That apartment of yours back home really was too empty. You need someone in your life to keep you from getting lost in your own thoughts too much of the time."

Barnaby sucks in a sharp breath at the touch of warm fingers against his forehead. He shouldn't be surprised that Kotetsu would take the liberty, but he's never had anyone touch him quite like that, not since his mother passed away. Not in twenty years. It leaves an impression, though it's a strange one, which he has difficulty unraveling. It feels like Kotetsu's fingers are still there, the heat lingering, even after they're gone and they're both back to work.

Barnaby's hands stop working the colander in the sink, and he reaches to turn the water off, green eyes studying Kotetsu plainly.

"My apartment's fine My life is fine. If I'm worried about getting lost in my thoughts, that's why I have you around, isn't it? That's all I need. Have I ever given you an indication I'm not satisfied with that?"

If Barnaby's watching him in the moment, Kotetsu only feels it with a distant sort of awareness, more focused for the time being on cutting the pork into respectable strips. Because it seems like the sort of thing Barnaby would appreciate. Were it up to Kotetsu, he'd most likely go with a fast chop, something that gets the job done, but... cooking for someone else changes things a bit.

He hasn't done that in a while.

A small smile lingers on Kotetsu's lips as he works, reaching out briefly to push the bag of snow peas in Barnaby's direction, a soft and undemanding request.

"You also never gave anyone an indication that you weren't satisfied living in that apartment, before you met me. Am I right? You had a mission, but your daily life... was not something you thought needed to change," Kotetsu muses, lips slightly pursed. "I'm only saying, Bunny, that there are things you haven't experienced yet. But you should keep yourself open to the idea. Not that I don't appreciate the idea of having us grow old together, but I wouldn't want to get in the way of you finding something greater than that."

Barnaby reaches for the bag, lingering with his hand clutched around it and uncertain what to do with it, before at least making it as far as tearing it open with a tear from his teeth and a quick tug. He holds the bag in his hands, a little lost, watching Kotetsu finish the job he's doing qith unquiet eyes.

Kotetsu is usually not so picky about doing things neatly. It must be for Barnaby's sake, for show.

"It's not like I'm not capable of thinking about it," he says, after a too-long, heavy pause. "There was someone I thought about, a girl, but just once. It never went anywhere. I didn't think she would have reciprocated, and I was really young, so I gave up." He presses his lips together. "I'm just not interested any more now than before Maverick was found out. I'm not closed off I'm just not interested. I'm happy being here for you. Isn't that alright?"

It isn't a rhetorical question -- the look on Barnaby's face is as serious as the tone of voice. He does want some confirmation that saying something like that isn't wrong. Whether it's approval or frustration, he needs an answer from Kotetsu.

Kotetsu continues chopping, cutting the silence of the room with the sound of his blade hitting the wood. Perhaps it's just difficult having this conversation with Barnaby while, as he's said, he just isn't interested. Hasn't found anyone who piques his attention in that way. Hypothetical scenarios and rhetorical questions can only go so far, especially if Barnaby's never experienced that feeling of wanting to form a life with another person. To walk together, to carve out a space in their heart, in their home.

To take that terrifying leap across the abyss and let oneself think of forever, even in a world where forever doesn't exist.

"If you ask me to be honest, of course. This selfish old man would never raise a hand against the thought of spending time with you. With my partner. Hasn't it been fun, Bunny? These past couple of years together..." One of the pieces ends up slightly shredded, and Kotetsu pops the pork into his mouth, giving it a thoughtful bite. "I'm thinking of you when I say not to keep your heart closed off. Maybe it's trying to relieve myself of the guilt I'd feel in monopolizing your time."

"It's Barnaby," he says to Kotetsu, dropping the open bag of peas on the counter and leaning against it, bending around the counter-top to catch Kotetsu's eye while he works. He's irritated with the way this conversation is going, for reasons he doesn't think he can communicate. He isn't bad with words, necessarily, but the expression of how he's feeling, it just isn't a vocabulary that he has a great grasp on. He does what he can. He feels clumsy. He hates it. He would rather just not do it.

But it's worth the effort, with this man.

"Fun? It's something more than fun, isn't it?" He knows he must be red again, because he can feel the heat this time, prickling painfully all the way down his arms, across his chest, creeping up the back of his neck. "The only thing I've been interested in for the past year is you Waiting for you to come back. Going back to you. Because I knew you would. I thought that there was no way we wouldn't get the chance to be together again. The only thing I want is you, that's my whole picture. That's complete. That's what would make me happy, being with you."

The realization dawns on him... slowly. Not even consciously, at first. Kotetsu feels a warmth that starts to creep over his skin, starting with his cheekbones and spreading uncomfortably down his neck. This isn't some emphatic speech about the both of them as partners in the hero business. This is Barnaby's whole picture, for better or worse — the way that he frames his existence.

Kotetsu nearly forgets to drop his knife first before scratching at the back of his neck, stunned as he feels, like the whole world's spun to a stop at his feet.

"It's more than fun," he says first, tone almost petulant in its delivery. "Of course it's more than just fun."

There's a certain element of youth evident in Barnaby's eyes right now, the green striking a contrast with the flush of his skin. Rosy. Barnaby's complexion is rosier than anyone else's Kotetsu has known.

Do you really know what you're saying? he wants to ask, but it feels too condescending. Demeaning. And maybe lacking in trust.

"You could have visited," Kotetsu says lamely, dropping his arm down to the counter, shivering as his skin meets the cool surface.

Pressing his lips together again, biting them as if to keep words from sneaking out before Barnaby is ready for them to, he lowers his head, hiding the angry heat of his face behind the thick fall of the fringe of his bangs and the frames of his glasses. He doesn't feel worse for having said what he did to Kotetsu, though he thought he would have. Neither does he particularly feel relieved, either. He just feels a little at a loss, unsure how to step forward. The look on Kotetsu's face makes it clear Barnaby can't go back.

"Maybe," Barnaby says. "But I knew when you were ready you would come back I didn't know I would come back with you until that night. But something happened. And I did. But if I'd have come to visit, would you have come back because you felt guilty? Or because it was time, and because you wanted to? I didn't have the right to insert myself into your life with your family, did I? That's what this was, for a year. Proving to myself that I deserved to have this. That whatever it was that I was feeling was capable of being reciprocated. It's a strange feeling to worry that someone is more important to you than you are to them."

By the end, Barnaby is speaking to himself, more than the other man He'd wondered why he hadn't gone to visit, himself.

"Bu — Barnaby," Kotetsu murmurs, his nails digging uncomfortably against the back of his neck before he steps forward, closing the space between the two of them. He's never seen Barnaby like this. Doesn't know where to start, or how even to process the impossible gap between where he'd perceived their partnership to be and the reality of the young man in front of him, his normally broad shoulders bowed with clear uncertainty.

With a soft exhale, Kotetsu reaches up with his hand, threading his fingers comfortingly through Barnaby's hair. The strands are fine, even softer than Kotetsu anticipated, but he focuses instead on massaging the scalp and smoothing away the tension.

Barnaby seems to hold more of that in than most people Kotetsu's known.

"I guess this is what happens when I'm not there to watch over you, huh? All this talk about being deserving and proving yourself, the same standards you've always built for yourself. You're always your harshest critic, Barnaby," Kotetsu sighs, letting his fingers splay over the back of Barnaby's neck and pulling him closer. "I started thinking of you as family a long time ago, Barnaby. I couldn't have returned to the business without thinking of you at all. I just didn't think you ever wanted to return. I thought you really were... finding yourself."

Two years ago, the hand would have made Barnaby tense. He would have thrown away that small comfort, from Kotetsu or anyone else, no matter how sorely-needed it had been. Barnaby doesn't throw the attention off now. He lets the hand rest, warm, not surreal, in his hair and around the back of his neck.

He gives himself the chance to breathe, to try to force the ignorant heat off of his face. Lifting a hand, he moves it over his shoulder, trapping Kotetsu's hand where it is, curled around the base of his neck.

"I found myself. My parents would have wanted me to be happy, and to help people. That's what I want to do. But I want to do it with you. I'm not saying I'm sticking you in there as some sort of proxy for normal relationships, so you'd damn well better not be trying to turn this into that. I'm saying, I ... "

He's hit a wall. He's hit the extent to which he can grasp what he's feeling, and admit it. It isn't just the poor practice of unfamiliarity, and Barnaby knows it, and that makes it worse. It's also that he is still terrified he's going to get an insufficient answer.

Never knowing would be better than being dismissed. He would rather stop himself from pursuing it any further.

Obliviousness came easily when Barnaby hid his emotions under that careful veneer. Although Kotetsu does his best to be aware of where the people around him are mentally and emotionally, he's also learned to respect that certain people need space, and that a guiding hand can be just as much of a distraction as it can be a help. That one touch can tip the balance irreversibly.

But Barnaby has none of his trademark calm now, long fingers warm around the curve of Kotetsu's hand, and eyes bright behind the protection of his frames. Kotetsu would be foolish not to notice, and he does his best to hide the momentary quiver in his own hand as he leans in closer, pressing his forehead against Barnaby's.

The buried habit surfaces with an ache. He hasn't allowed himself this type of closeness in years — not since Tomoe passed away — but when presented with the moment, it feels like walking down a worn path. As though, at some point, Barnaby slipped in without Kotetsu's notice.

It feels like coming home, only Kotetsu can't remember when he moved in.

His brow furrows for only a moment before he closes the remaining distance between the both of them, hand tightening against the nape of Barnaby's neck as he seeks out the curve of his lips for a tentative kiss. Asking for reassurance, rather than permission.

Confidence is bred immediately from the touch of Kotetsu's lips to his own, and although Barnaby has never shared a kiss of quite the same kind as the one Kotetsu gives to him now, once the door is opened, Barnaby doesn't bother to be tentative. He presses their mouths together, swallowing the tight noise of some release of emotion welling up from the back of his throat.

His hands find Kotetsu's shoulders, fingers skating across hot skin, before finding the edge of the straps on Kotetsu's tank. They stop, just where they are, teasing beneath the fabric. Between them, they smell like alcohol, and stale cologne, and the sour sweat of nervousness, but it's a smell that clenches in the depths of his belly. Barnaby doesn't dislike it. Nor does he dislike the way that it will be what reminds him of this, seared onto his memory. The smell of Kotetsu. The wetness of his mouth.

He pulls away for breath, worry, but no regret, in the green of his eyes His hands stay where they are.

"You were married," he says. "You had a wife." And in Barnaby's mind, the two are difficult to separate. It's a clever mind, he isn't stupid, but without any other experience, it's a mind that clings to a childish view of other people. Black and white. Yes and no. Trust or no trust. How could a man who'd started a family with a woman want the same from Barnaby?

He's reluctant to pull away from the kiss, but doesn't protest when Barnaby comes up for air. Kotetsu's gaze hovers somewhere around the line of Barnaby's collarbone, prominent and clear even under the shirt he wears. He keeps his gaze lowered, not because he regrets the moment, but because there's an inevitable twist of guilt that settles in his stomach. One he knew he would encounter, were a moment like this one to ever arise.

The shine of his wedding ring becomes clear as Kotetsu draws his hand forward from the nape of Barnaby's neck, trailing slowly down to the center of his chest. The longer he gets to feel Barnaby's skin warm under his palm, the more real the moment becomes. Little details etching their way in through the heavy pulse of his heart.

"I was married. To a woman I had the honor of spending an entire life with," agrees Kotetsu, raising his hand again, until he can run a rough, calloused thumb over the line of Barnaby's jaw. "To a woman I thought I would spend my whole life with."

He's not sure how to explain the way the colors faded in the years following her passing.

"I haven't stopped loving her. Never will. But I can be honest when I know I've found someone else I want to spend this life with." His hand shakes traitorously. "And forcing myself to be alone does nothing to honor her, or the happiness she taught me to cherish."

"But me?" Barnaby asks, though he takes comfort from the constant touch of Kotetsu's hand, the unshy tenderness of the fingers curled around the line of Barnaby's jaw. He doesn't need to have felt the same touch before to know what it means. It means that Kotetsu cares about him. And Barnaby knows that. He just doesn't know, for certain, if he's reading too far into something. It;s in his nature to test, before coming to a conclusion.

It isn't that he thinks he's damaged goods. It's nothing so banal. Barnaby knows that he is. It isn't an inflated sense of inferiority, but an honest acknowledgment that he lacks. He lacks things that people look for in relationships. It had taken a year alone to gain the acceptance of the other heroes in Stern Bild, even as friends. And Barnaby is still certain, between the two of them, Kotetsu is the more desirable in these ways, in personal ways.

"Maybe you're ready to move on, and maybe eventually I need to give myself the chance to open my heart and ruin a few relationships before I can hold a healthy one, but are you so sure your 'found somebody' is me? Even if I did just get a kiss out of you. Which I don't regret in the slightest."

He gives Kotetsu a demanding look, serious despite a pink face and red lips.

"You're overthinking it," Kotetsu declares without pause, drawing his hand back slightly, only to drop it heavily on Barnaby's shoulder again. A more familiar sort of action, one that he's taken plenty of times in the space of their partnership.

But he knows he's right, this time. What Barnaby's trying to do is map out the entirety of their future, testing every last potential crack, wanting to make sure that he can trust the ground beneath him before taking another step ahead. And while Kotetsu's never been one to look so many years ahead, the more immediate problem is Barnaby's lack of experience.

Kotetsu still isn't convinced, any more than Barnaby is of his own speech, that Barnaby knows what exactly he wants and needs in a partner.

"And I'm not moving on. I am learning to love someone new. It's a process, Bunny. I didn't just decide one day that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Tomoe; I grew to the point where I couldn't imagine life without her. Loving her was like watching the sun rise — slowly at first, and then before you know it, your whole world brightens." He lets out a huff of laughter, raising his free hand to tap an index finger against the flush of Barnaby's lower lip. "I know that I won't regret this. But I don't know where everything will end up. You have say in that, though."

"I'm not overthinking it," Barnaby protests. This is something that needs thinking. But maybe that's not entirely true. Nothing should be done mindlessly, but the vigilance that had characterized Barnaby's life before Kotetsu, that life of constant defense and caution, which closed up at the thought of letting someone in who might not be all that Barnaby needed ... he's resolute. He doesn't want to be that person anymore. He wants to be the person that Kotetsu can admire.

This is what's brought him all the way here, after all.

Swatting at the finger poking at his lip, Barnaby moves it out of the way, leaning forward again to slide their mouths together. He reaches between them to cup Kotetsu;s face, the jaw stronger than his own, his thumbs tracing small circles in the soft hair on his chin. Barnaby's never worn facial hair before -- he's surprised at the softness of it, when it's properly grown in.

"But this is more than just about what's around us, isn't it?" he says, breath too fast. "It's one thing to say you don't know where everything will end up. Just being here with you is all I want. There really isn't anything else. What's your girl going to say? Your parents?" Barnaby presses in for another kiss, brief but hard. "Agnes? Your friends? Are you just going to tell me, 'I can take it one step at a time'? You're not twenty years old anymore."

Kotetsu finds himself blown back by the force of Barnaby's questioning, until the small of his back meets with the rounded edge of the counter top. It allows their bodies the chance to align more fully, pressed flush and as distracting as the kisses that Barnaby peppers against Kotetsu's lips. He can hardly catch his breath between each one, lashes fluttering briefly when Barnaby turns a gentle thumb onto his chin.

"Oi, oi," stammers Kotetsu, though he groans his way through another kiss, hands dropping to clutch tightly around Barnaby's waist. "You're making me feel like I'm someone with one foot in the grave. You're not that much older than twenty, you know. Why are you the one rushing?"

He sighs, extricating himself slightly from Barnaby's hold, but keeping his arms securely looped around Barnaby's waist. "Of course how Kaede would feel about this matters. And I would be open and honest with her, as I would be with my mother and my older brother. As I would be with Agnes," he says, face pulled into a frown. Maybe it's understandable that Barnaby would worry, after it had taken Kotetsu far too long to tell Barnaby his own plans for retirement. But that was... a different situation, Kotetsu thinks. One that could be easily misconstrued.

He's learned his lesson, besides.

"What is it that you think I'd be afraid of?"

Kotetsu's one question stalls Barnaby's thoughts immediately, sending the spiral of hypotheses to a tumbling stop. What is it that he's afraid of? He actually doesn't know. He doesn't know Kotetsu's family, but beyond that, there is no concrete thing which Barnaby can point to which would or should make him believe that Kotetsu ought to be worried about the idea of this, whatever this is (he would like to define it, actually,) with Barnaby.

"I'm not rushing," he says, bafflement still written on his expression. He stays there, with arms around him, still for the time being. Although it's tempting to lean forward into the other man again, or to kiss him, or to simply bury his nose in the smooth, curved muscle of Kotetsu's shouldders.

All that Barnaby knows for certain is that, when he casts his eyes to the future, he can't see anything there but the man in front of him. That's the case. He'd once teased Kotetsu, saying that his dream -- to hear his daughter call him cool -- was too small. If that's true, then barnaby is in the same boat.

"I just don't want my dream to slip through my fingers. Don't you dare make fun of me," he says, narrowing green eyes, dark from the taste of someone else in his mouth. Barnaby doesn't often use flowery language like that, utilitarian as he is. He means it when he does, even if it comes out in a voice that sounds more like it's testing the words for feel than anything.

The sun still continues its slow descent towards the horizon. Soon, turning on the kitchen lights will become a necessity if they want to continue working on dinner, but something about the softness of the light cast across Barnaby's features is too romantic for Kotetsu to let go. He can't help the smile that crosses his features when Barnaby mentions having a dream, a terrifying elation settling into his chest as he takes a breath and slides his hand further up the small of Barnaby's back, splaying broad fingers over the smooth curve of his spine.

"Somehow, it sounds kind of cool when you say it. Even if your dream is as lame as loving an old man," he snickers.

Pressing a palm flush against Barnaby's back, Kotetsu turns until he has Barnaby up against the kitchen counter, bracketed by his arms on either side. Quietly, Kotetsu surveys Barnaby, his eyes trailing after the smooth line of the younger man's neck, then lingering by the shadow cast along his collarbone. He leans in, chasing after the delicate skin with a brush of his lips, then the gentle scrape of teeth, as a thumb hesitantly sneaks under the elastic of Barnaby's boxers.

The nervousness fluttering in his stomach is tempered by impatience, fingers already mapping out the planes of Barnaby's muscle and committing them to memory.

"You're sure about this?" he murmurs, voice low and rough as he chases after the heat blooming over Barnaby's skin.

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