The idea is stupid to begin with.

Kotetsu has a thing for photographs, whereas Barnaby certainly does not – he has enough of them taken of him every day, after all, and finds the flash of a camera irritating enough now that a smile becomes difficult to force on days when his nerves are already a bit shot. Kotetsu, however, doesn't see it that way, especially not now, especially not when faced with a little photobooth thatchildren are supposed to use, not two fully grown men that can barely squeeze into it in spite of Kotetsu's insistence.

Barnaby kind of wants to strangle him.

He's tired. It's hot and humid and he wants to go home, not be out here in the sweltering heat of the city, stuffed into a little booth with a photoframe on the screen in front of them that is far too cheerful and childlike for his liking. Kotetsu seems unfazed - of course he does, he's Kotetsu, and the man can be downright strange at times, but then again, is he even one to talk because -

He digresses.

Kotetsu's practically in his lap – no, definitely in his lap, because he's given up trying to make the tiny little bench work and situated himself between Barnaby's thighs instead. A sigh escapes past Barnaby's lips as he tilts his head back, bumps it against the metal wall behind him, and thinks that Kotetsu in his lap is probably the only good thing about this, especially when it's so very easy to feel the round curve of his ass pressing between his legs, when it's so easy to feel up along lean hips, over a waist that's amazingly thin and if he tiptoes up a bit further, there's hard, solid muscle, all purely corded and -

"Bunny! We're in public."

Ah. Funny, how his mind wanders, and he doesn't realize what his hands are doing at times. Apparently, he had actually been tracing the lines of Kotetsu's body, and had been for a couple of minutes, judging by Kotetsu's expression – put out and embarrassed and with a little hint of a flush showing through the golden tan of his skin. It's all reflected back to him by the photobooth screen, surrounded by hearts and kittens and creepy pandas, and Barnaby's sort of morbidly amused by it, prompting him to drag a hand up a little further and start to tweak a nipple through the fabric of Kotetsu's shirt.

Kotetsu growls at him, but doesn't stop him.

Now it's a matter of revenge. Kotetsu's the one that dragged him out in the middle of a hot day, insisted they go and do something, and now they're in a hot metal box in the heat of summer and Kotetsu's in his lap, shifting like he wants to get away, but also like he wants Barnaby to stop him.

Barnaby also thinks back to certain train rides that were far more public than this, and regrets nothing.

He shoves the man forward, savors the little breathy, exasperated sound that escapes Kotetsu's throat even as he scrabbles for a proper hold against the photobooth's console as he's bent forward against it. There's a smear of sweat against the screen from where Kotetsu's cheek rubs against it, and Barnabyrelishes it, finds it sort of entertaining to think that maybe in the midst of all of this, a couple of buttons will be pressed and they'll get some interesting pictures in the end.

Long, lean fingers pry at Kotetsu's belt, yank down his slacks and boxers beneath and there's a tremor that rakes down the man's spine, visible as he shivers even in the summer's heat, even as sweat beads on his skin beneath Barnaby's fingertips that rake down the small of his back, drag over the curve of his ass and tickle over the muscles of his thighs. He loves the way Kotetsu quivers underneath his touch, the way he hisses through his teeth, growls for more, and Barnaby is far from inclined to make him wait.

"Do you just carry that with you wherever?"

A bitten back groan sounds from Kotetsu's throat, and the vibrations are heard beneath Barnaby's lips as he presses a kiss to the back of the older man's neck. His fingers are slick, dripping as they drag up the cleft of Kotetsu's ass, and a knee slides between Kotetsu's thighs, keeping his legs spread as a finger slowly, teasingly presses against him.

"Ever since you decided public rendezvous were acceptable? Yes."

Kotetsu can't argue with that – doesn't try to when Barnaby's fingers slide into him, long and slick and twisting just right. His head tips back with a far more audible groan, then, and Barnaby nips at the back of his shoulder, a warning toshut up.

Easier said than done in circumstances like this, though, and Barnaby knows it. It's why he enjoys tormenting Kotetsu, just a bit – enjoys watching him squirm on his hand, arch his back and dig his hands into the console in front of him as Barnaby's fingers work inside of him, wringing out bitten back moans and sighs and hisses. Kotetsu twitches around him, tight and slick and hot, and sweat drips down from his own forehead, his glasses fogging from his own hot, heated breath, and the veritable steam threatens to make him lightheaded.

It's too much, finally, and Barnaby sinks back, pulls his hand away as he drops back onto the bench and drags Kotetsu with him. His jeans are quick to be fumbled with, the rest of the lube messily squeezed onto his palm, and his cock is as slick as his fingers had been, hard and eager as it rubs against the other man's ass. Kotetsu leans forward again, scrabbles for purchase by grasping for the console just in front of him, and Barnaby grits his teeth to keep back his own voice as he uses the angle to his advantage, all the better to press against Kotetsu, to slowly, achingly slide into him with that first inch being so damnably tight, so hot that it's torture and makes him suck in a harsh breath through his nose to keep quiet.

Kotetsu's not much better off, from how he lifts a hand of his own to bite into it as he arches his back, as he sinks down onto Barnaby's cock slowly and with his legs trembling. It makes Barnaby that much harder to see how much Kotetsu wants it, skin flushed and every muscle trembling, how he arches up onto his toes when Barnaby shifts forward again, up and off of the bench to bend Kotetsu forward and against that console, to shove his cock into him as deep as it'll go because fuck being gentle when Kotetsu obviously doesn't want him to be.

The man would have yelped, might have screamed if not for Barnaby's hand replacing his own, a pair of his fingers shoving their way into Kotetsu's mouth and twisting against his tongue. The groan that echoes from Kotetsu's throat is enough to make Barnaby shudder, and he shoves his weight forward, fists his other hand against the console for leverage to better fuck Kotetsu hard and mercilessly, glancing down at where their bodies are connected to watch his cock, slick and so had that it hurts, sliding in and out of the other man, deeper each time with the slap and grind of their skin together almost more obscene than any sounds that would have otherwise been pulled from their tongues.

It's fast and sweet and there's no way either of them can last, not in the frenzy they've started, not in the heat of it all, and it doesn't take long before Barnaby's scrabbling at one, lean hip, yanking Kotetsu back against him, muffling a groan into the back of his neck as a hard, swift jerk of his hips buries him into the other man, spilling himself deep into his ass. He has the mind to reach around, to grasp Kotetsu's aching cock in his palm, to stroke him with a smooth palm that has Kotetsu bucking within his hold only moments later, coming all over his hand with a half-moan, half-desperate, mindless sound muffled around the fingers still pressed into his mouth.

For the second time and with a rather fuzzy, incoherent mind, Barnaby wonders if any interesting pictures were taking in the midst of all of this. A pity there's not enough time to really check, because leaving before a line forms out and beyond the photobooth is probably a much more important thing.