It's because it's finals week that tensions are running so high, and he ends up like this.
Barnaby should be studying. He should be up to his neck in chemistry, in engineering, in neuroscience – but instead he's shoved over the desk with all of his papers and books getting rumpled and crinkled, his sweater shoved up and his jean-clad legs wrapped around the hips of his main distraction.
His mind attempts to cling to formulas and papers he should be writing, but all he can focus on are Kotetsu's lips on his throat, on his ear, finally on his lips – tongue prying at them, teeth nipping, his fingers clawing into Barnaby's hips and splaying upward, over his sides, all to drag him closer and into each lurch of their bodies together, spilling his five hour energy drink with the next rock of the rickety table and damn it, if that was over his final draft –
Then again, what was planning and studying compared to sex – and to hell with it, he'd get an A on everything, anyway.