Barnaby's something of a vision.

Or not something, rather – he is a vision. Pale, creamy skin, overlaid upon long, whipcord musculature, strong as much as it is lean. He has a certain elegance about him that unfolds even when he's sprawled over the bed, legs tangled amongst ruffled sheets, hair in disarray and lips biting into that perfect, full lower lip as his fingers curl around his already fully erect cock.

Kotetsu is sure the blond can hear himself swallow as he watches, mouth dry. He watches the way those long fingers wrap around his cock, slick with lube, and slicker still as his thumb drags over the head of it, smearing precum. Barnaby's breath hiccups, his face flushed as he turns it partially into a pillow, biting down into it to muffle the groan that follows as his fingers squeeze, smooth palm dragging up the length of his cock in one long, hard stroke.

As much as Kotetsu watches Barnaby fuck his own fist, he's imagining the way the blond would look doing other things. It's impossible not to when those perfect, full lips part, when his tongue flicks out over them as if looking for something to taste. Kotetsu knows damned well what his cock looks like between those lips, how they look stretched around every hard, thick inch of it, how Barnaby shudders and groans when he tries to swallow every bit of him.

Barnaby squirms, twisting onto his side slightly, panting as he jerks his hips into the slickness of his palm. His other hand lifts, dragging over his own chest, pinching and twisting a nipple and bringing him to bite his lips, gaze fluttering, muscles down the full length of his body tensing. Kotetsu watches the way his toes curl, the way his thighs tense and jerk and the way he all but curls up around his hand, panting, shuddering, quivering with every stroke, every drag of fingers and the way those hooded green eyes lock on him –

The way that tongue drags over his lower lip, the way Barnaby says that he wants him even without speaking.

"Hurry up," Kotetsu breathes, his own hand reaching down, palming himself through his pants. Barnaby strangles down what might have been a mewl, especially as his back arches, as he fucks his own hand. Kotetsu would encourage him – would say a dozen lewd things, about how he wants to Barnaby to suck him off after he's done himself, how he wants to come over that pretty face and mark him as his – but fuck, he's speechless, voice gone as Barnaby pants and sighs and moans out incoherent versions of Kotetsu's name and finally, finally comes over his own fist, shuddering and trembling.

God, it's going to be a long night if this is how it begins.