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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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.

Kisses were straightforward. Lean forward, place mouths together. Even an uneducated kiss could still be good. But now Barnaby is molded against the counter behind him, with Kotetsu's hands and mouth exploring his body in a way that is so purposeful, it brings the heat back to his skin, prickling across it pleasantly until he lifts his hips away from the counter, reaching for more of the tickle of Kotetsu's fingers at the waist of his boxers.

The sound of Kotetsu's voice is different than he's ever heard from him. Barnaby's belly does a warm flip.

"Which part?" Barnaby breathes. "You've got to learn to be more specific."

Dropping his forehead against Barnaby's shoulder, his nose pressed close to the skin, Kotetsu takes the cue to slide his fingers further underneath the elastic of Barnaby's boxers. His palms smooth over the tight skin of outer thighs, then sweep back to reach around the firm curve of Baranby's rear, toned muscle heated to the touch.

"What we might be about to do," he murmurs, tracing lips faintly back up to the corner of Barnaby's mouth, their noses bumping in the process. "Taking that step now. Taking it with me."

Kotetsu leans further, until his hips slot neatly against the cradle of Barnaby's own, close enough that he can no longer distinguish the source of the warmth between their bodies.

It's fast. He's not sure he has the willpower to break the momentum on his own.

Barnaby makes a noise of pleasure when Kotetsu presses his face against the side of his neck, still tingling from the teeth that had scraped across it. His breath is hot, and tickles. He doesn't mind. He doesn't like to be so close to people normally, doesn't like their breath so close to his face, but this isn't that This is Kotetsu, pressed against him, in privacy. Offering to give Barnaby something that no other person seriously has.

He leans into Kotetsu's hips, surprised by how much he enjoys the feel of strong fingers digging into his muscles. It's easier to concentrate on that, than to force down the fighting embarrassment. He's getting hard against the other man. Surely Kotetsu notices. He shouldn't feel upset about his body doing what it's supposed to, what's right for the situation He really shouldn't; not when he trusts Kotetsu implicitly. He's never felt more comfortable with another person.

But this is very new, and that's what he's suddenly concerned about.

"I'm sure," he says, the words coming out too brightly on an exhale. "But ... in the middle of ... " He gives a half-hearted wave to the food still spread out across the counter.

Being Barnaby's partner is always an exercise in extremes. From feeling the constant crush of lips against his mouth to the bashfulness Barnaby suddenly exhibits now, it's always on or off, stuttering rather than a smooth transition. Which is fine. These are things that Barnaby couldn't have learned on his own, and Kotetsu has plenty of the patience required to teach him.

He shuts Barnaby up with a long, searching kiss, reveling in the sharp gasp he captures with a nip against Barnaby's full lower lip.

"Yes, in the middle of. Because this is more important," Kotetsu rasps, drawing his hands underneath Barnaby's thighs until he's able to lift the other man a couple of inches from the ground, hooking long legs around his hips and pushing one hand up underneath Barnaby's shirt to hold him steady.

"Also a better hangover remedy," he murmurs, pivoting the both of them back in the direction of Barnaby's bedroom.

Barnaby gives another noise of protest as Kotetsu walks them away from the kitchen -- isn't it dangerous to leave the meat out on the counter for too long? -- but he hasn't got it in him to change the direction that things are going. Not when they're going as fast as they are. He is too willing to give in to what he's feeling. He's going to grasp the chance while he has it, swept up easily, as ever, in Kotetsu's emotions as well.

Not an argument, this time, but something that makes Barnaby's body ache.

He bites sharply at his lip in surprise when Kotetsu drags him off of the ground, resting Barnaby's weight against the flat planes of his belly until Barnaby feels the throb between his legs. He chases after the friction with a shallow arch of his back, too intent on the feeling of another body that was not his own moving against him.

"Kotetsu. I could have walked." His hands moved to Kotetsu's shoulders, gripping roughly, though he's certain he won't be dropped.

"I may be getting on in years, but I want to enjoy carrying you around while I still can," Kotetsu announces, strength and composure returning to his arms in full as he rounds the corner and gives the door to the bedroom a reckless little kick. The bed remains in disarray, sheets probably in need of a wash after they'd simply collapsed into bed the evening prior, but Kotetsu doesn't have the patience to start with a clean slate. He can't imagine anything more perfect than this, letting the tight grip of Barnaby's hands guide him.

Raising one arm to loop around Barnaby's waist, Kotetsu crawls a few steps forward on the mattress, dragging the covers with his knees as the fabric purses underneath their weight. His chest feels warm around his collarbone, flushed and buzzing with a boyish excitement as he lowers Barnaby down onto his back.

From his vantage point, Kotetsu leans his weight back on his heels, letting his gaze trail along the contours of Barnaby's body — narrow and long-limbed, with a pale complexion that contrasts with his darker tan as he draws a wide hand up along Barnaby's side.

He hasn't allowed himself to look at Barnaby like this before, and he's stunned by the sudden weight of it. Pausing with shallow breath, Kotetsu lets his fingers skate along the line of Barnaby's thigh, then over the cut of his hip, little more than gentle teases as he glances up to meet the dark green of Barnaby's eyes.

Barnaby isn't even sure that he can argue with that logic Before the last year, Barnaby had always been so focused on what had happened before, on the past; now that he has the future to ideate over, his imagination stretches on unfettered. They may only have another ten years before Kotetsu legitimately has to start worrying about things like muscle pulls and hernias.

He hits the bed lightly, reluctant to give up the intensity of the touch from before, with so much of himself pressed against the other man's firm front. But from here, looking up the stretch of Kotetsu's front, from the way dark hair peeks out just above the loose boxers up to broad shoulders. Had the shape of him always been that nice? Barnaby's certain he'd noticed before. Kotetsu was a handsome man, in every sense, and mature and interesting to look at, Barnaby thought, in ways that Barnaby himself wasn't. Moreso, from this angle, with a shadow thrown over his eyes.

"So? What are you waiting for?" Barnaby asks, as honestly testy as it is a tease. He would rather have Kotetsu make the first move, to draw some lines in the sand. He would rather know what he can get away with so early.

Kotetsu feels himself jolted away from his slow, leisurely gaze when Barnaby's voice cuts through the silence. What gives him pause is the answer. In spite of the impetuous rush forward, he needs a few moments to collect himself again, unaccustomed to being this vulnerable. Unaccustomed to intimacy of this sort being even a remote option in his life.

Instead of breaking out that honesty in full, Kotetsu lingers by smoothing his hand over Barnaby's skin, making sure never to pause for long. Moving swiftly enough that he draws warmth from both of them with the friction, until he starts to coax Barnaby's shirt up with his fingers, wanting access to the pale expanse underneath.

He's young. Kotetsu always knew that there was that gap between them, but from where he sits now, he feels almost as though he's watching his own youth from behind a glass pane. Right down to the tension evident in Barnaby's jaw.

Raising his chin, Kotetsu nods for Barnaby to lift himself slightly from the bed, pulling his shirt off the rest of the way with a slight snap of static. He likes the mussed look of Barnaby's fine, golden hair, and finally leans down to bury his nose in it, inhaling slowly as he lowers his hips. Rocks them, drawing in a sharp breath at the feel of Barnaby against his abdomen, strong yet unfamiliar.

"I could ask you the same question, Bunny," Kotetsu murmurs, quiet against the shell of Barnaby's ear. With his forearms bracing his weight, Kotetsu rocks his hips once, a slow and smooth movement, pressing his partner gently into the mattress.

There is a little gasp that falls out of Barnaby's lips when Kotetsu slides the shirt clean off of him, the static tingling across his shoulders in the dry air of the bedroom. He isn't afraid of being naked in front of Kotetsu, or anyone else, but he'd been wearing so little to begin with when they'd crawled into bed early that very morning, losing just one article doesn't leave much left besides his underwear. Kotetsu isn't wearing much more.

Barnaby still doesn't like the idea that Kotetsu is wearing more.

"Are you sure it's okay to be 'Bunny' this and 'Bunny' that when we're like this?"

He slides up on the bed, threading a bare thigh between Kotetsu's longer legs and pressing it between his legs experimentally, feeling for an arousal. He finds it, not fully hard, but throbbing softly against him.

"Take your shirt off," he says, reaching for Kotetsu's underwear and plucking at the waistband. He gets a grip on it, manicured nails dragging lightly over the rich color of his skin, and drags them down, expression paused in curiosity, brows and mouth expectant.

"You don't like it when I call you Bunny?" Kotetsu asks, the nickname cut off with a gasp when he feels Barnaby's leg pressing against him, rolling his hips down to encourage the friction. He doesn't comply with Barnaby's request immediately, instead drawing his hand up the smooth, bare planes of muscle, tight around Barnaby's ribcage, where he can feel the quiet flutter of his pulse through the skin. "I like to think of it as a way of expressing my affection."

His breath fans out against the side of Barnaby's neck. "It's easier to call out, too," he whispers, raising a thumb to his lips, wetting the skin before dropping his hand back down to Barnaby's chest. He draws a careful circle around the darker skin of Barnaby's nipple, coaxing, picking up speed when the pace of his own breath grows ragged.

Back curling as he kisses a trail down Barnaby's chest, Kotetsu replaces his thumb with the point of his tongue, tracing experimentally as his hands are newly freed. He pulls his tank top over his head quickly, breaking contact for only a second before his lips close around the nipple again, sucking and teasing with the edge of his teeth. When he feels Barnaby's hands exploring lower, Kotetsu shifts his weight, making it easier for the waistband to slip down over the cut of his hips.

"It's not that, I just--" Barnaby starts, before giving a gasp of discontent surprise at the touch of a wet finger to his skin, leaving a trail of cold where the air wicks the moisture quickly away. When the finger is replaced with a tongue, licking and teasing, his already hard cock gives a jump. He fists one hand in the sheets, frustrated, while the other pulls Kotetsu's underwear fully down.

Barnaby is a little too new to the act to be very interested in lengthy playing around, not when there's nothing stopping him from moving past that. He doesn't yet have an appreciation for a slow burn; only an eagerness to see what all of the damn fuss is about. It shows, in the way he wraps his fingers around Kotetsu, squeezing him in his palm. It isn't anything like touching himself.

"Your shirt," he says, when he remembers what he asked a moment ago at all. He snakes a finger lower, exploring, to test the weight of his testicles, what it's like to touch.

Elbows buckling as Barnaby takes his length in hand, Kotetsu lets out a small, helpless laugh as he pushes his shirt fully away, tossing it over the edge of the bed. The way that Barnaby engages him now is telling, searching every last detail with a keen curiosity rather than passionate deliberation. Carefully, Kotetsu lowers himself, low enough to press his forehead to Barnaby's, enjoying the rush of shared breath against the soft sursurration of fabric.

"I'm so glad to have met you," he murmurs, carefully rocking against Barnaby's palm, finding a regular rhythm before he dips his own hands down to Barnaby's waistband, stretching the elastic carefully and pushing it down the smooth length of Barnaby's thighs.

His fingers linger for a little longer than necessary.

"And I'm glad to have you back in my life," he adds, sealing the words off with a kiss. Wrapping a soft palm around Barnaby's cock, Kotetsu gives it a slow tug from base to tip, turning his wrist along the way. Barnaby fits neatly in his palm — a little thinner, a little longer than his own length, pulse easily felt through tight, firm skin. "You feel good."

He can feel it filling out with each stroke, firmer, and he watches the slide of his palm over Kotetsu, darker and deeper in color than his own, red and straining in the chilly air, until blessed relief comes and Kotetsu's too-warm hand finds it. He feels his face flush again. The nudity might not have gotten much a reaction, but the intimacy of having Kotetsu's hand feeling him feels heavy in his chest.

"Never," Barnaby says. The words leave his mouth riding his breath, thick pants. He isn't exerted, but he's on-edge, the nerves in his body tensed more than he's ever experienced before. He's touched himself. He isn't a complete prude. That experience was wholly different from this. "Never leave Without you, I wouldn't have-- I would still be-- "

He takes his hand off of Kotetsu, bringing it up to his mouth to wet his fingers with his tongue. He smells him there, not the same smell of a mature man, aftershave and peat, but something muskier, and alone, it's enough to make him whine around his fingers before getting himself under control again, finding a focus, instead of letting too much touch and sensation overwhelm him.

His brows knit with almost intense irritation a moment later, as he tries to concentrate, even as he slides a hand between them to grasp at Kotetsu's dick again.

"Did we buy any lotion? Anything?" Was this all it's going to be? It could never be a disappointment, but somehow, to Barnaby, giving Kotetsu a frantic stroke-off in a shared bed feels a little too much like the sort of young experimentation he'd never got around to.

Kotetsu finds himself slowing to a stop as he watches Barnaby unravel, slowly, as though he feels a need to fight against the tide and prolong the moment. To prove himself more than a youth easily swayed. The words on Barnaby's lips are sobering. Jarring, almost. Because Kotetsu knows first-hand what it's like to have someone slip between his fingers, and to feel a part of him missing with the loss.

"Never," he breathes, closing his eyes for a second.

Would he only be condemning Barnaby to feel the same? He's never been one to think too hard about the future, but there's no ducking around the age gap that the two of them share. The one that has Barnaby racing to catch up, even though all Kotetsu wants to do is hear that whine on the edge of his breath again as he brushes his own fingers by the corner of Barnaby's mouth, slipping one fingertip in.

He shudders at the tight heat, his cock giving a weak pulse against Barnaby's palm. Dropping to an elbow, Kotetsu brings his hand back down to Barnaby's dick, brushing damp fingertips gently over the head.

"Bunny," he says, tension broken by the question. A second later, Kotetsu starts to laugh, slightly broken and strained as he rolls down to his side. With one arm wrapped tightly around Barnaby's waist, he pulls their bodies closer together, until Barnaby's arm is pinned between the both of them. "You would have been the one to buy the lotion, you know. But what... tell me, what is it that you want to do?" He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to Barnaby's lips. "What would make you happy?"

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.

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