Last Time

[500 Themes: 15]

There really are no words at all for it, other than awful.

It's late into that fourth day that Kotetsu finally wakes up. He's groggy, he's useless, and Barnaby feels awful that he's immediately at the man's beside, leaning over him, gripping his hand so tightly that it probably hurts and trying not to cry. Even entirely out of it like Kotetsu is, high as a kite on medications, he can see through Baranby's expression – can see far more than forced stoicism the clench of his jaw, the rapid blinking of his eyes, the purse of his lips and how he tries not to simply sag forward and bury his face into Kotetsu's shoulder and cry.

He's afraid, more than anything, and Kotetsu knows it – so he says nothing and they merely talk until Kotetsu dozes back off to sleep, hours later.

On the seventh day, Kotetsu is much better and wants to leave, much to the doctors' chagrin, but there's nothing that can be said when the man insists. Much to Barnaby's chagrin, really, because Kotetsu is still in no state to do as much. He's up and walking, but still wobbly, and Barnaby feels guilty enough just leaning down to kiss him for a bit too long, even after Kotetsu's stubbornly dressed himself and signed the discharge papers.

Of course, it's near impossible to feel guilty when Kotetsu doesn't let him pull away.

The older man's hands are tightly wound in his hair, tugging on the curls of it to keep him down, to better kiss him back as Barnaby leans over the bed, one hand braced upon the edge of it. It's messy, a little sticky as his tongue drags over Kotetsu's lower lip and it makes him shudder to feel Kotetsu's teeth nip at him when he opens his mouth to better taste him.

"Let me lock the door first," Barnaby breathes, and Kotetsu just rolls his eyes, dragging his fingers through Barnaby's hair as he draws away.

"Go and lock the door, then… even though that's never stopped you before."

"You're the one starting this before we can even get home," is Barnaby's return hiss.

A little shrug is Kotetsu's retort. "Missed you."

That makes Barnaby hurry to the door more than anything, makes him lock it with shaky, eager fingers before he's back to that hospital bed, a leg thrown over Kotetsu's hips. Kotetsu's reaching for him before he's even entirely on the bed, hands wrapped up in the front of his shirt, tugging Barnaby down, kissing him hard and rough with little eager, panting gasps escaping between them.

They don't have time for much more than this, Barnaby thinks, and frankly, it'd be stupid to try anything more than making out in a hospital bed with Kotetsu still shaky and tired, with his own nerves shot because he's been so worried. But Kotetsu's having none of it, because when Kotetsu wants something, he wants it, gets it, makes it happen, and that's narrowed down to his hand pawing at Barnaby's belt, unbuckling it and tugging open the fly of his jeans.

"Kotetsu – "

"Bunny, stop complaining."

Barnaby tenses a bit, exhaling a hot breath as Kotetsu's fingers slide against the bare skin of his stomach, then move southward – grasping, tugging at his clothing, calloused thumb swiping over the tip of his cock and making him shudder.

"I'm fine," Kotetsu says, breath low, hot, more of a growl than anything else. "I want you."

That's the end of it, isn't it? Barnaby feels his pulse jump, his cock harden in Kotetsu's grasp, and his own hands are clawing at the other man's pants, his mouth fastening to the side of his neck to bite, to suck – savoring the way that Kotetsu groans and arches underneath him, his head falling back to press into the too-white sheets of the hospital bed. His hair is a mussed, sweaty puddle of tousled black, and Barnaby briefly buries his face into it, inhales shampoo and musk and Kotetsu, all as his fingers drag slickly down from the head of Kotetsu's own cock, freed from his clothing and aching within his grasp.

Their clothing is shoved down just enough to be comfortable as Barnaby pulls back to spit into his palm, and even that is just enough as he wraps it around the both of them, hissing out a sharp breath at the slick, heated friction when the slide together. Kotetsu growls and bucks underneath him, his hands sliding up to grab at Barnaby's hips, knead into his ass, and Barnaby pants out a ragged breath as his hand drags over both other cocks, stroking them roughly, thigh muscles twitching and teeth biting into his lower lip as he jerks within his own fist and Kotetsu does in kind.

This is all they're reduced to in moments like this – grabbing hands, hot, panting breaths, teeth nipping into one another's skin as they grind and buck against one another. And Barnaby knows his stamina is nothing, especially like this – a day is too long without now, after he is so used to Kotetsu's presence, so used to the warmth of him, the scent of him, and so he comes first, spilling himself all over his own hand, over the hard plane of Kotetsu's stomach, groaning something incoherent into the side of the other man's neck and biting down onto the jump of Kotetsu's adam's apple as Barnaby feels him jerk up against him.

Kotetsu is so hard that he's throbbing, twitching within Barnaby's hold, and his fingers are sticky and slick as he strokes him, sucks on Kotetsu's neck and twists his palm around him. It doesn't take much longer before Kotetsu is exhaling hissing, hiccuping breaths, spending himself over Barnaby's hand, digging his fingers into his skin hard enough to bruise and leaving them both messy and flushed and useless in their sprawl over the bed.

"Fuck," Kotetsu offers mindlessly, sagging back into the mattress, dragging a hand affectionately down Barnaby's back, and Barnaby manages a weary little laugh, too breathless and flushed to think beyond cleaning up and getting properly home.

Worries and hospital stays aside, there is something to be said about a week without that leads to being together again like this.