Alone in a Crowd

[500 Themes: 18]


Barnaby watches it start to happen, and at first, is sort of happy for Kotetsu. The man's never been anywhere near as popular as he with female fans – be it because of age or who knows what else, considering his looks. God knows Barnaby enjoys looking, so why there is a definite lack of such a thing in Kotetsu's direction for quite some time is baffling.

Then, it becomes annoying.

He wonders if this is what Kotetsu goes through, watching him drift amongst a dozen women, signing autographs and offering smiles with dizzying ease. He wonders if Kotetsu feels these pangs of jealousy when a woman's gaze lingers for too long, when their hands land upon an arm for too long, grasping, rubbing, clinging, and he wonders if Kotetsu wants to scrub their scent off of him as badly as Barnaby wants to scrub it off of right now, to make Kotetsu smell like nothing but Kotetsu again, and maybe a generous dousing of Barnaby, too.

Because Kotetsu is his.

It's a very base, primal thought, and one that makes Barnaby reel for a moment – one that makes him grind his teeth and firmly look away so that he isn't glaring. It was always fine when it was children, because those are the kinds of fans he is used to Kotetsu having. Boys, eager and hyper, shouting about the most recent thing he destroyed on the job, not women pawing at him with sultry glances that only he is allowed to shoot in Kotetsu's direction.

It's infuriating, all of it.

For that reason, he can't stop himself as soon as they are out of the public eye. He's on Kotetsu, grasping him by his upper arms, shoving him back into a wall that can hardly be considered private. Kotetsu's nearly squeaking out a protest, but Barnaby doesn't hear him – just kisses him instead, sucks on his lower lip, drags his tongue over it and forces it into Kotetsu's mouth, dragging it, thrusting it against the other man's tongue in a mimicry of the claim he would offer in their own bed.

Kotetsu groans, shudders, sags against the wall, grasps at Barnaby's jacket and curls his fingers into the leather as he surrenders, panting in between kisses and obviously forgetting what protest was. Barnaby drinks all of that in, soaks in rising tension and heat between them, from kisses to tightly gripping fingers to the way his hips settle against Kotetsu's, between his spreading thighs.

No one else, not a single one of those damned women, gets to have Kotetsu like this.

"Fuck, Bunny," Kotetsu finally manages, tilting his head back, and Barnaby simply huffs in response. "Fuck. What was that about?" A pause. "Don't tell me you're jealous."

"… They paw at you like you're a prime piece of meat."

Kotetsu smiles wryly, then, licking at his bruised lips and reaching a hand up to tug on a curl of blond hair. "Hardly. They're far worse with you."

Barnaby's lips purse into a frown. He doesn't say anything, but Kotetsu reads him, as easily as anything:

"It bugs me, too. I just wait until we get home."

Barnaby considers that for a moment before dryly offering: "I think I might be able to make it until we get to the car."

And he does. Barely.