Fire and Ash
[500 Themes: 167]
Barnaby has been gone all day, and that's nothing unusual. Kotetsu thoroughly enjoys being in the man's presence and frankly, would be there all the time if they could both swing it, but they each have their own schedules, and that's fine. It almost makes seeing him that much sweeter, when it comes down to it.
He expects Barnaby to come through the door as usual, to collapse on his couch and sigh about the day and all the idiocy that it apparently entailed. Kotetsu expects Barnaby to suggest maybe they order take out because he's sick of fried rice – barring that, they could always go out to eat, but he might be too tired for that –
It never quite happens the way he expects, though.
Today, Barnaby prowls through that front door like he has something on his mind, like he wants something. Kotetsu opens his mouth to speak as Barnaby approaches the couch, shucking his jacket and leaving it on the floor – Barnaby never leaves it on the floor – but words don't quite have a chance in this situation, not when Barnaby's hands are snatching him up, when his lips are pressed to Kotetsu, when he's kissing him like he's hungry and needing and fuck, by the time they break away, Kotetsu is gasping, lurching forward and clutching at Barnaby's shoulders for some semblance of balance.
This is the opposite of how Kotetsu's used to it. Usually, Barnaby is the one gasping, moaning, begging for him to fuck him into the mattress, clawing at his back and hissing out breathless little mewls for more, more. But right now, as Barnaby's shoving him onto his back, crawling between his legs and not even giving a damn that the front door is still partially ajar, not having been shut the whole way, Kotetsu begins to wonder what he is going to be reduced to.
"I've been thinking all day," Barnaby breathes against his neck, hot puffs of air making Kotetsu shudder, making him twist a hand into blond curls and tug as heat coils in his groin, "about you."
"Y-yeah?" Fuck, Barnaby's hands are fast – nimble, as they pry open his belt, unbutton his fly and make quick work of divesting him of his pants.
"Yes. About fucking you."
Kotetsu feels his pulse jump, his muscles tighten and oh, it's something akin to a full body twinge that makes him arch and grind his cock against a denim-clad thigh. The reaction makes him flush, makes him wonder what the hell has happened to him to make him like this – because fuck, it really is usually the other way around. It's only been a couple of times that Barnaby's fucked him now – and those times, they were methodical. It was a planned thing, with Barnaby asking, not demanding, and his hands were careful and slick as they pried him open, stretched him out, filled him up, but fuck, it was always good.
This? This almost seems even better.
Kotetsu opens his mouth to say something – unsure if it's a protest or a plead – but Barnaby isn't having it. Instead, he's grabbing him, flipping him over with such ease that Kotetsu attempts to squawk in protest for sure as his face hits the couch cushions, as Barnaby's grabbing his hips and hiking them up into the air, and Kotetsu can only imagine how fucking wanton he looks: face down, ass up, knees set as far apart as they can be on the couch and where the hell did that lube come from –
Barnaby's hands aren't gentle this time. Not that he'd break – like hell h would, and Barnaby has never treated him like that – but they're slick and fast against him, a pair of them already inside of him and twisting. Kotetsu groans, bites into the couch cushion as he jerks his hips back, grinding against the blond's hand and feeling his eyes roll back as Barnaby strokes inside of him so perfectly that his toes curl, that the muscles in his thighs shake with the effort it takes to remain upright.
He wants – wants, wants Barnaby's cock in him, wants him stretching him and filling him and fucking him –
Thank god Barnaby doesn't leave him waiting. His fingers are gone, the head of his cock pressing against him, slick and hot and dripping and Kotetsu growls as Barnaby slides in one long, hard thrust. He makes to lift his head, to look back at the other man, but Barnaby reaches forward, fists a hand into his hair, shoves him down and makes Kotetsu groan as he shoves his hips in harder, deeper – every inch of him pressing inside of him and making his chest heave for a full breath as Barnaby fucks him like he owns him.
It's animalistic and that's all there is to it – Barnaby's rough with him, shoving him down and holding him there, the denim of his jeans chafing against Kotetsu's thighs, the slap of his hips and the hard grind of them against him making Kotetsu damn near mewl from desperation. His nails claw into the couch, his breath harsh and ragged and he can't even hear over the pounding of his own pulse as Barnaby fucks him, pants hard against the back of his neck and uses him without care, probably not even noticing when Kotetsu squirms to reach down and stroke his own cock, so hard and aching that the touch of his own palm, calloused and rough, is already too much.
Barnaby pulls out at the last second, panting hard as he comes, spilling himself over Kotetsu's ass and down his thighs and it's just too much to know he's been so basely marked and claimed. A hard shudder rakes through him and Kotetsu is quick to follow, coming all over his own fist, sagging down into the couch and biting down into the cushions to muffle a deep, guttural groan as his body twitches and shivers and lurches down into his own hand, savoring his orgasm for all it's worth.
"Fuck, Bunny," Kotetsu finally manages to groan, less a complaint and far more praise, and he swears he can feel Barnaby's smirk, especially as he bends down, brushing sweaty hair aside to press a kiss to the back of Kotetsu's neck.
There was definitely something to be said about a day's worth of distance being good for both of them.