[500 Themes: 305]
Why does this always happen at the end of the day?
Kotetsu knows he should be exhausted – should rightfully want do other things than stare at his partner, stare at the way Barnaby moves in skin-tight black, stare at the sinful way that damned undersuit clings to long, sculpted legs and realize after the last time he shoved Barnaby into a wall and bent him over, he will never be able to look at those undersuits the same ever again.
It's more a blessing than a curse, though, as far as Kotetsu is concerned.
All the same, Barnaby seems less than thrilled when Kotetsu's hands find their way to his hips, and he turns his head to glower, all mussed irritation with his curls out of place after hours of helmet hair.
It isn't even really a question. Barnaby doesn't really want to know what the other man wants, Kotetsu realizes that easily enough, but his face is pressed into the blond's neck all the same, breath quickly exhaled to inhale that much faster.
Even after a long day, Barnaby smells pretty.
It's a little ridiculous, actually. He smells of clean things – fresh, tea-esque herbs, mint and hints of something floral.
He smells edible, actually, especially when Kotetsu half-buries his face into Barnaby's hair and drags him back, closer and flush against his form.
"You are the last person," Barnaby breathes, tense but nevertheless wavering within his grasp as his adam's apple bobs with a hard swallow, his head craning to the side, just slightly, "that I ever thought I would have to remind about what is inappropriate in public places."
Kotetsu half-laughs at that, recalling with some resentment the things Barnaby has done to him in less than private settings, and simply spins the blond within his hold. Barnaby is blinking and a bit flushed with the sudden movement, and even more disoriented as Kotetsu shoves him down with a pair of firm hands upon his shoulders, forcing – yes, forcing instead of coaxing, because that last comment has done away with an idea that gentle – him to his knees.
"Shut up," is his simple reply as he's unfastening his suit and pulling out his cock, "and let me fuck your pretty face."
Barnaby flushes dark with the order (because it's an order, not a request, and that in and of itself makes Kotetsu's body wash hot with the sense of power over this brat). It's an incredibly lovely sight to witness, especially when Barnaby doesn't protest and merely sinks back a bit onto his legs, licking his lips before obediently, if not tremulously, parting them.
Strong fingers splay themselves through Barnaby's hair, tugging his head forward as Kotetsu thrusts past those perfect, willing lips, groaning at the torturously hot slickness of it all. Barnaby does look good like this, his lips wrapped around his cock like they're meant to be there, skin flushed and with his gaze cast down, demure, until Kotetsu shoves himself in to the hilt and that intense, green-eyed stare flicks up to him as Barnaby simply swallows around every inch of him.
Fuck. Fuck, his lover is a minx.
If Barnaby has one talent that Kotetsu particularly enjoys, it's this – the tightening of his throat around him, the ease in which every inch of him is swallowed again and again, the way Barnaby's lips wrap around the head of his cock for a deliberate suck and the flick of his tongue, his damnably devilish tongue that flicks over him before Kotetsu simply gives into the urge to tighten his grasp on the curls of his hair, tugging and pulling, holding Barnaby in place to better take every forward jerk of his hips.
He never lasts long like this. It's impossible, with the things that Barnaby is doing to him without trying – and so Kotetsu pulls back at the last moment, wrapping his own palm around his erection and strokes once, twice more before simply coming over the other man's face.
Barnaby is panting, breathless and now looking the part of one thoroughly mussed and defiled, but still he doesn't protest. If anything, he looks a little bit satisfied himself, especially as a shaking hand lifts to wipe over his cheek, brow furrowing in mild annoyance before he merely licks his fingers clean one by one, long, careful tongue taking its time with the length and breadth of each digit.
Kotetsu shudders and just watches. After all, there can be no semblance of revenge without Barnaby getting the metaphorical last word, can there?