[500 Themes: 176]
Barnaby finds himself on his knees – a strong, broad hand shoving between his shoulders, forcing his face to the ground as only a wobble of resistance remains in his bones.
His hands are bound in front of him as he crumples down to his elbows; loosely, perhaps, and uselessly, but it isn't about actual restraint. It's the fact that he's willingly bound and on the floor, flaming skin pressed to cool stone and he's panting, ragged and unhinged, through swollen, kiss-bruised lips.
"You like this, Bunny?"
It isn't really Kotetsu's voice, but it certainly sounds like it. Something akin to a sob escapes him as he nevertheless nods, a bit frantic as his face rubs to the ground and his curls sway and stick messily to his own, sweaty skin. Strong hands are on his thighs, shoving them apart – long, calloused fingers slick and slippery as they drag over the cleft of his ass.
And he moans like a harlot, no matter how he tries to bite a hole into his lower lip to stop himself. Those fingers are pushing into him, wriggling and stretching and making his back arch, his thighs trembling with the tension of it all and his fingers clawing mindlessly into the ground. He wishes he could claw into someone – anyone, at this point, to relieve some of his frustration when those fingers curl and twist within him, stroking him from the inside so damnably perfectly. Barnaby wants to claw into hard muscle, into perfect, tanned skin, to fist a hand into his own hair and tug and yank as he pants and groans into the air, mindlessly whining and begging for more.
"Please, please, please – "
His plead is acknowledged, at least, in the form of those long, skilled fingers pressing into him. Barnaby hisses out a sigh that is equal parts relief and more want, especially because he knows, knows those fingers aren't enough. The best part about them, though, is when a pair of them splay open inside of him, making him moan, curl his fingers into fists and bow his head into them to bite down on his knuckles.
"Bunny, up here."
It's a stark reminder that someone else is here, Kotetsu in the flesh and not some android thing that is a mimicry of him – a far cry from the real thing when it comes to warmth and lust. Barnaby's head obediently snaps up, and no matter how blurry is vision is without his glasses, he can still see the other man clearly enough, can feel the heat of his body so close, can feel the strong twisting of his fingers when they bury themselves into blond curls and jerk his head up that much more. Barnaby sucks in a ragged breath as he's dragged forward, and Kotetsu's cock rubs against the side of his face – pressing into his cheek.
A whimper pries its way from his throat. Kotetsu even smells of warmth and sex and muskiness swept up with his cologne, and it's all Barnaby can do not to pull against the man's hold, to open his mouth and taste him.
Instead, Kotetsu seems to be enjoying making him wait – torturing himself, even, as the android's fingers slide in and out of him, fucking him slowly and making him groan and arch, back bowed and knees threatening to buckle whenever those damnable fingers stroke him just right. The tension is nearly painful, his own cock throbbing with the sharp, relentless beat of his own fast pulse, but what else is there for him to do but wait –
"You want him to fuck you, don't you?" That's Kotetsu again, and some sort of a strangled moan lefts Barnaby's lips. He wants to nod, but the hold on his hair only tightens, refusing to let him move even that much. "You're really something… wanting someone else that badly. You'll have to make it up to me."
Anything, Barnaby wants to say, but oh, his mind is elsewhere – not-Kotetsu's fingers are sliding from him, the slick head of his cock in their place, and Barnaby's breath hitches, voices breaks, and oh, fuck, it feels as if his body is breaking when every inch shoves inside to the hilt. The android's hands are on his hips – bruises, undoubtedly left in their wake with how tightly they are grasped, but Barnaby can't even think about that right now. No, no, everything is reduced to how it feels to be filled, spread open and left boneless and useless by every hard, slick inch of him –
His eyes flutter shut for the briefest of moments, lips parted with every heaving breath – but Kotetsu offers him no reprieve. The man's hands are in his hair, tugging his head up, and the head of his cock is pressed against lips that Kotetsu has always complimented for being so pretty, so full, so amazing when wrapped around him, sucking him off.
"Open up already, Bunny."
A hard shudder rakes down Barnaby's spine as he obliges – lips parting with a groan muffled as Kotetsu wastes no time guiding his cock past them, sliding down over his tongue and down his throat. Barnaby swallows hastily, eyes squeezing shut as he inhales a quick breath through his nose. There's no relief in sight – not when Kotetsu's hands are wrapped up in his hair, bunching and mussing it within his grasp, holding him firmly into place as he fucks his mouth in long, rough strokes, knowing exactly how much of him he can take and yet not letting up in the slightest when he shoves himself in entirely, Barnaby's lips pressed to the very base of him and the blond's ragged, helpless noises entirely stifled.
Then there is the ever-present distraction from behind – hard, rough thrusts that shove him forward, force him to take more of Kotetsu's cock down his throat even when Barnaby finds himself reeling and struggling for a full breath that is nowhere to be found. The only thing that holds him up are strong, bruising hands on his hips and Kotetsu's hands in his hair, his back bowing between the two of them as his hands scrabble uselessly for purchase. He can feel Kotetsu's eyes raking over him – judging, assessing, approving of how he sweats and quakes and quivers, how he writhes on someone else's cock and sucks him off at the same time like some perfectly trained pet.
Abruptly, Kotetsu's hands yank his head back, pulling Barnaby's mouth back and away. It's a trained response that brings Barnaby's head to tilt back, for his lips to part as Kotetsu takes himself in his hand and strokes roughly, once, twice more before spilling himself over his face, the mess of it dripping down his cheeks and to his lips.
He wants to lick it away. He wants to taste Kotetsu, to lick him clean, but he's suddenly tugged away, panting sharply as the android's hand is in his hair instead, then, using the hold to better yank him back into every thrust. Barnaby's scalp burns – his body burns, aching little shivers twisting down his spine as he wants, so desperately, to sink to his elbows, to press his face to the floor and simply let himself be held down and fucked –
But he can't, and instead he's only used, his body ridden hard and worn with Kotetsu watching – Kotetsu, with his breath ragged and face flushed as his fingers wrapped around his recently spent cock to mindlessly stroke.
Barnaby whimpers, a broken, needy sound, and finally, he comes – spilling himself to the floor beneath himself. His toes are in a seemingly permanent curl, knees digging hard into the ground in an attempt to brace himself even as his thighs tremble hard enough that his body buckles – or would have buckled, if not for the sharp, twisting hold in his hair, the hold on one arm that jerks him back, holds him tight for a last, final few thrusts until the android comes, too.
He's dropped, then, like some old, used doll, and the hell if he can care in that moment when every nerve in his body is singing out of tune –
And so very pleasantly, at that.