Barnaby shows up in stilettos, and Kotetsu is as much annoyed as he is aroused.

It's positively sinful how he looks in those things, especially when he walks around like it's completely normal to be wearing those heels with jeans and that black shirt that looks like it's painted on. The thing is, Kotetsu knows there's more than meets the eye – it's easy to see the flimsy, clingy material of stockings over the top of Barnaby's feet, and he can only imagine how it looks over the entire length of his legs.

Well – he knows what it looks like, but the fact that Barnaby isn't letting him see, is hiding it from him -

It's maddening.

And for that reason, Kotetsu finally gives in, after watching him for twenty minutes – Barnaby was cooking him dinner or something like it, but to hell with it. Kotetsu's the one reaching around him, switching off the burners, shutting off the oven and snatching the blond up by the hips, dragging him forward and dragging him down, kissing him no matter the awkwardness of those few added inches and thinking how much easier this would be with Barnaby thrown on his back, or over something, or anything -

"Strip," he's panting in between kisses, and Barnaby manages a frantic nod, shirt gone first on the kitchen floor as Kotetsu backtracks, makes it to the couch in the living room not far beyond and collapses back onto it, his own legs suddenly buckling. The sight of Barnaby just as turned on as he was? That is enough to shake him up, enough to make him pant and want to sink his hands into the blond, sink his cock into him as he stepped out of those stilettos long enough to peel his jeans off and reveal the rest of it.

Nothing over the top – it never is. Barnaby looks best in clean, simple lines, and this is no different – simple black on black, clingy silk garters and panties, strapped to mostly opaque thigh highs that made every jump of his legs muscle stand out all the more. Kotetsu swallows hard, sinks back a bit more into the couch, and crooks a finger in between fumbling with the fastenings of his own slacks, fully expecting the gesture to be obeyed.

"No," he quickly adds as Barnaby makes to move forward without those damned high heels. "Don't forget those."

The look on Barnaby's face is a mix amusement and arousal, but he gracefully steps back into them all the same. His knees set to either side of Kotetsu's lap, and Kotetsu groans as he grabs for the younger man's ass, sinks his fingers into the sculpted flesh, stretches up to bite and suck at the side of Bunny's neck and savors the little hiccuping, desperate sighs and whimpers when he bites hard enough to bruise.

He needs to fuck him. Bunny needs him to fuck him, can feel it in how the shivers and shudders and jerks in his grasp – and before Kotetsu can even say anything, he's leaning to the side, fumbling in a drawer and thankfully finding lube.

Kotetsu thinks it would be nice to throw him over something, to sling him onto his back and fuck him until he can't breathe, but it's almost a little better like this – being able to lean back, watching the blond's fingers drip with lube before they slip back and into himself. He likes watching Barnaby's head roll back, likes watching those perfect lips part with a harsh, gasping breath, and he loves the way Barnaby rides his own hand like it's something he really needs.

It's actually almost too much, and Kotetsu is hissing through his teeth when he pulls his own cock free, so hard that he's aching, twitching in his own grasp, and slicking himself up with lube as well takes almost too long. He shoves away Barnaby's hands, takes pleasure in prying aside the little string of his thong to press the head of his cock against him. Barnaby shudders, his hands set upon the couch behind Kotetsu, fingers kneading into it as he slowly wriggles his way down, leaving Kotetsu to groan into the side of his neck when their hips finally, entirely meet once more.

Barnaby always feels amazing, and now is no exception – tight and slick and hotaround him, trembling and ah, god, the slide and drag when he sets his knees to the couch and rocks himself up is enough to make Kotetsu grit his teeth, enough to make his nails sink into Barnaby's hips and drag down, snagging silky material and tearing runs into those stockings when his hands slide down further along muscled thighs. He jerks up, savoring the cry ripped from Barnaby's throat as he shoves himself in deeper in the process, and Kotetsu growls, teeth nipping against the curve of his collarbone, sucking on it as he pulls Barnaby down onto him, fucks him with short, hard snaps of his hips, fully intent on claiming him.

There's nothing to stop him with Barnaby writhing on his lap like this, and so Kotetsu gives in – scooping him up, shoving him onto his back instead and savoring how those long, lean legs wrap around his waist, how those stilettos dig into his lower back when he thrusts in deeper. Barnaby's gasping against his neck, clawing into his back and that just drives him on to go faster, harder, grabbing onto the arm of the couch behind Barnaby's head for better leverage to simply fuck him.

For once, he's coming first, pulling out rather than burying himself in deep to stroke himself with a shaking hand, and he comes all over Barnaby's chest and stomach, shuddering and sinking back at the sight of Barnaby biting his lip, squirming and aching and squirming for only a moment longer until he, too, is coming – a thoroughly debauched sight, dripping with Kotetsu and himself and with torn stockings and those damned heels of his barely hanging onto his curled toes.

"And you really thought," Kotetsu pants out, "you'd make it through cooking me dinner like this?"

"Not exactly," Barnaby breathes, sated and lazily smirking, and god, Kotetsu's of the mind to drag out his phone and take a picture.

He might have done as much, in the end.