There went another expensive glass, Kotetsu absently observed as it hit the floor and shattered, wine splattering along with it to stain the white marble floor. Hedidn't care, but surely, after this, Barnaby would be on his case later – hissing and spitting and scolding him for his carelessness.
Right now, however, Barnaby was doing everything but. His hands were clawing into Kotetsu's back as the older man shoved him to the kitchen table, shoved back long, lean legs and gripped him by those perfect, pale thighs, dragging him into each thrust. Barnaby's head was thrown back, his eyes half-lidded and glaze, lips parted as he raggedly sucked in breaths, flinching and twisting and whimpering whenever Kotetsu would shove himself that much deeper, grinding their hips together and enjoying the little squeaks and moans and mewls he'd drag repeatedly from Barnaby's throat.
Best dinner he'd had in awhile, actually – but Kotetsu wasn't telling Barnaby that for fear of the man pouting that his fried rice wasn't quite up to par yet.