"Bunny?"

"Yes?"

Kotetsu sighs into the phone – sighs at the walls of his mother's house, smiling wryly. It's late at night and he wishes that he weren't here, no matter how he's enjoying a visit away from Sternbild with his family. He wishes Barnaby were here with him, at the very least.

"I should probably hang up now. It's getting late."

"Not yet."

There's a change in the blond's voice – far from the easy, casual conversation that they had been having moments prior. It's actually rather similar to the voice that Barnaby tends to have when he's pressed flat into the mattress, legs spread, lean, muscular thighs wrapped around his waist as Kotetsu's driving his cock into him –

Oh.

Yes, there's a hitch in Barnaby's voice, and Kotetsu swallows audibly. "Uh, Bunny?"

"Keep talking."

Definitely breathy – throaty now, and Kotetsu can imagine what Bunny's hands have to be doing. Bunny does have the prettiest hands – long-fingered and slender, soft but strong, and he can just see in his mind's eye as the reach for a bottle of lube tucked underneath a pillow, slicking those damned fingers up, wrapping them around his own cock for one hard, thorough stroke –

"About what?"

He's hard himself now, and reaches down to drag his palm over the line of his erection – choking on a groan in the process. Kotetsu's eyes can't help but slide to the door, thanking whatever god there was that he had locked it because fuck, if his mother walked in on something like this –

"Tell me what to do." He can hear Barnaby's tongue – that perfect pink tongue flicking over the pout that is always his lower lip. Kotetsu sucks in a ragged breath and his fingers fumble for his own zipper.

"Are you touching yourself?" His other hand shakes around his phone, gripping almost too tightly. Fuck, this is ridiculous. Kotetsu feels himself throb, no matter how he's barely even dragged a finger over himself. "Fuck, Bunny… I – "

There's a last moment of hesitation before Kotetsu mentally checks out. He doesn't give a fuck, not when he hears Barnaby panting in soft, hurried little gasps on the other end of the line. "Don't you dare come yet," he breathes, spitting into his own palm, sliding his hand roughly over the thick, stiff length of his cock. He groans audibly then, and hears Barnaby whimper for his efforts. "Wrap your hand around yourself, nice and slow. You've… you've already got it all slicked up, haven't you? You couldn't even wait for me to tell you that."

"Y-yes." There's a stutter in Barnaby's voice, a needy, urgent whine, and Kotetsu hears him shift, hears him pant, mewl and moan as he must be jerking up into his own fist. "A-ah… Kotetsu, I just want you to fuck me…"

God. His mouth goes dry. It's all Kotetsu can do not to reach through the phone and drag the blond to him – and barring that, to come in his own grip right that very instant. He grits his teeth, his own hips snapping up into his grasp, and he replies initially with a grunt. "Yeah. Trust me, Bunny… if I was there, I'd do that. I'd hold you down. Shove your face into the bed – you know how much you like it when I do that, don't you? How much you like it when I'm taking my time sliding into you, stretching you, fucking you – "

Barnaby's response is best described as a mewl. Kotetsu can all but hear him biting his lips, sucking on his lower one when he draws blood. He can hear the slick slide of flesh, the rustle of sheets, the way Barnaby is panting, moaning –

"L-let me come. Please."

Fuck.

Kotetsu curses out loud, his eyes squeezing shut. He can just imagine how Barnaby must look, flushed and wanton on the bed, his bed – maybe his face pressed into Kotetsu's pillow, inhaling his scent as he fucks his own fist, writhes and squirms and begs with every long, lean inch of his body.

Fuck, fuck. There's no denying that.

"Do it," he breathes, jerking hard into his own grasp, riding his own hand and hissing at the friction, the tug and drag of calloused skin over himself. He's so hard he hurts, so hard he's throbbing and twitching within his own grasp. "Hurry up and come."

The groan on the other end of the line is strangled, desperate, and he knows Barnaby's coming – can hear the shakes and tremors and wishes that he was buried in that perfect ass of his, wishes he could feel the blond squirm and clench and quiver around him. Instead Kotetsu spills himself into his own palm, gasping, toes curling as tension wracks his form and leaves his back arched and bowed, his own teeth sinking into his lower lip to keep his voice down.

"… I'm hanging up now," Barnaby manages after a few, languid moments of simply panting. "You need… to hurry up and come home."

"Yeah," is all Kotetsu can manage to agree to. He's still dizzy, a little hazy, a little flushed himself at what just happened. "You're right about that."