Sex with Kotetsu was like nothing else. Wrapped up in the older man's arms, Barnaby forgot – forgave – forwent thinking. He simply was in those moments, simply did, and oh, how he loved that. He loved the way Kotetsu grabbed him close, loved the way the man kissed him, bit him, scratched him, sucked on the junction of neck and shoulder to leave marks, loved the way their bodies seemed to fit together as puzzle pieces with every slide of Kotetsu deep inside of him, with every press of his thighs to Kotetsu's hips and every drag of his nails down the man's back.
Sometimes, it was almost too much.
Barnaby found that he could never last when it came to this man – Kotetsu knew him too well, knew what buttons to push, knew how to rile him so perfectly. He always came fast and hard, so easily in this man's grasp, left a shuddering, whimpering, gasping thing, trembling in his hold as Kotetsu used him until he, too, was lost.
Sometimes, it was definitely too much.
Tears shuttered his vision before he could think as to why, and Barnaby sucked in a ragged breath, all to keep back a heaving sob. Kotetsu, still hazy from pleasure, could only look at him – frowning, concerned, his fingers dragging through blond curls with a soothing kiss pressed to his temple.
Oh, for an answer to that. Barnaby could only shake his head. It was a plethora of things, it always was, brought on by the rush that was sex and the rush that was Kotetsu. Everything he had ever done wrong in his life, everything that he had ever done to Kotetsu or caused, directly or inadvertently –
"Ssh, Bunny. Calm down. It's okay. I'm here."
And wasn't that the crux of it all? No matter what, Kotetsu was always here.
Barnaby sagged, remembered how to breathe, and nodded, face pressed into the curve of Kotetsu's shoulder, kissing at sweat-slick skin, breathing in the man's scent.
Kotetsu was here – with him.
That was what mattered now.