[500 Themes: 342]
Kotetsu is always impossible for him to resist.
This applies even to the times they are in public – perhaps especially so when they are on a crowded bullet train, pressed hip to hip even at some of the latest hours of night. On weekends, especially, this seems to happen, and Barnaby always finds himself torn between wishing they had taken Kotetsu's ridiculous van after all… or otherwise enjoying the unmistakable closeness forced upon them.
He usually decides that the latter is enjoyable enough.
It usually starts with a bit of artful shifting from where one hand clings to the train's bar above him, sneaking slowly, carefully down Kotetsu's hip. It's no different tonight, and usually, he would stop there, what with Kotetsu's reflexive tensing, hissing, attempts not to shriek – but it's so very crowded tonight and Kotetsu attempts desperately to strangle everything into the back of his throat so as to not attract too much attention.
That's perfect, as far as Barnaby is concerned.
Barnaby is no idiot. He knows he should wait until they at least get to somewhere half-way private, but to hell with it. Kotetsu flushed and glowers up at the ceiling, desperately attempting to ignore the way Barnaby's hand sneaks down his thigh – attempts to pry that devilish hand away only to lose footing and balance whenever the train lurches.
Barnaby won't deny that he likes watching him struggle from time to time.
And with that very reason in mind, deft fingers are undoing Kotetsu's belt, prying it open in spite of Kotetsu's hands attempt to push him away – not out of lack of want, but out of some desperate cling to morals and shame.
To hell with it, really.
He is sure that Kotetsu must be amazed at how he can keep a completely straight face with his hand sliding down the front of Kotetsu's slacks, palming the already hard line of his erection. Kotetsu pants, teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep himself to making any other incriminating sounds, and Barnaby merely watches him out of the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging upon the corners of his lips as his thumb drags, firm and smooth, over the head of his lover's cock – smearing sticky, eager pre-cum and further slicking the slide of his palm down every inch of him.
Really, how are people so oblivious? Kotetsu is sagging into his side at this point, teeth worrying a hole into his lower lip, one hand clinging to Barnaby's wrist in a last attempt to stop him – but not really, because Barnaby can feel how he is shaking, jerking within his grasp, unsteady on his feet and oh, if they hadn't been in public, Barnaby would have been already on his knees and doing a number of far more lewd things to him than a simple hand job.
How does no one notice how good Kotetsu looks like this?
He strokes the length of Kotetsu's cock, allowing himself, as Kotetsu shudders hard and sinks against him a bit more, to turn his head aside and into the older man's hair, half-pressing his lips against the curve of his hat as he, too, sucks in a less than steady breath. Kotetsu twitches with the next, knowing squeeze of his fingers, and it isn't long after that before he comes – spilling himself messily into Barnaby's grasp, leaving him weak-kneed and struggling not to crumple where he stood.
The press of bodies around them doesn't relent, and Barnaby simply smiles to himself as he drags his hand away and idly wipes it clean upon a napkin tucked into his pocket. Kotetsu, thoroughly flushed and grumbling obscenities in his general direction, attempts to piece himself back together and straighten his clothing as best as he can.
"Don't do that, Bunny – "
"Don't look so good, then."
His turn, then, to flush with the half-admonishment, half-compliment that escapes. Kotetsu looks at him for a moment, a little aghast, a little pleased, and Barnaby merely directs his gaze upward.
He supposed this was a fair trade of 'torture' between the two of them, when it came down to it.