a/n: the school uniform scene is being moved to a later part! p4 of this series is mostly done and has been for a while, but i'm having trouble with the last scene ^^" i hope you enjoy!

slight trigger warning for the beginning of takato-san's panic attack at the end of the fic! i don't own dakaichi

"Good work today, Takato-san."

Takato blinked and looked up in surprise. He hadn't realised that someone else had boarded the bus. "Chun…ta?"

"Can I sit next to you?"

"Oh, um. Sure."

Azumaya Junta turned to exchange a few words with the driver before he finally sat down next to Takato as he had asked. As the bus pulled out of the parking lot, he handed the blanket he'd grabbed from another seat to Takato. "Here you go, Takato-san."

Something in Takato's stomach fluttered. Now that Junta mentioned it, it was a little chilly. "Oh, that was thoughtful of you."

"Better be safe than sorry, right?" Junta said with an angelic smile.

"Mm. Right." Takato tucked the blanket around himself and, when he was finished, looked back at Junta in confusion. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. As long as you're warm, that's all that matters to me."

That fluttering sensation again, stronger this time. Takato tried to ignore it. "Oh… okay."

He looked down at the script he'd been practicing before Junta had entered the bus but barely had a chance to think before Junta leaned against him—a pillar of heat, slowly growing more and more familiar to Takato—with that same angelic smile and expression.

He's so close.

"You were invited to go drinking, too, weren't you?" Takato asked as a way of making conversation, slowly leaning away, if only to stop the fluttering in his stomach. "You turned it down?"

"I heard you weren't going, so…"

And then Junta leaned toward him again with a mirthful little giggle, which made Takato's eyes widen slightly before his brow twitched. He's so clingy.

(He stubbornly ignored the part of him that thought it was endearing because no, this was not endearing. Not at all.)

"In this business, it's important to be social," Takato told him with a hint of disapproval. "Although it does depend on the members…"

"You're right," Junta said, this time sounding a little sheepish. "But I thought if I got on the bus now… it would just be the two of us. So I gave into temptation."

Takato's grip tightened on the script he'd been holding. Heat rushed to his cheeks. Sheesh. What's with this guy?

Out loud: "I…it's not just the two of us. Isomori-san is driving up front. And move over a bit, you're—"

"It's just the two of us. "

Before Takato could blink, an arm snaked around his hip. Takato stilled, so surprised by the suddenness of Junta's actions that he dropped his script. "Hey…"

"Just you and me in the backseat," Junta went on quietly, cupping his hip. "All alone…"

Takato looked down at Junta's hand, and his eyes caught something he probably shouldn't have, but Junta was so close. How could he have not seen it?

Junta was turned on. In a place like this. Sure, they were technically in a private place, but it'd be so easy for them to get caught if they did anything. So easy. The idea sent a ripple of anxiety through him.

"Chunta…" Takato hedged, voice lowered to an embarrassed whisper. "Don't tell me you're…"

"You noticed that, huh?" Junta's voice, too, had dropped down to match his volume. "I got really happy at the thought of being alone with you…"

"...are you serious?" He looked up at Junta nervously. "We… we can't do anything here…"

Junta tilted his head in confusion. "No?"

"Of course not," he hissed. "Someone is in the front seat!"

At that, Junta leaned away from him, at least having the grace to look sheepish. He scratched his cheek with a guilty chuckle. "Okay. I'm sorry for getting ahead of myself, Takato-san."

Takato pointedly looked away, crossing his arms in the absence of his script. It'd be so easy to just bend over and pick it back up, but for some reason, his brain found that task impossible. "Is that your default state or something?"

"Only for you."

Takato bit the inside of his lip. What an embarrassing thing to say! Did he have no shame? Stupid, insatiable angel.

Junta was quiet after that but remained relatively close to him. Takato struggled to think of something to say to break the silence and was hyper-aware of the way Junta shifted his weight, as if uncomfortable.

"Sorry," he ended up saying, quiet and low.

"Mm?" Junta looked over at him. "Why?"

"For… for…" His hands dropped down to the blanket over his lap, clutching it. "You're… turned on."

"Oh," Junta said. "It's alright. You don't owe me anything, Takato-san, so please don't apologise. Don't worry about it."

"Does…" Takato swallowed, trying to think of how to word his next sentence. "Do you really… want to be alone that much?"

Did you choose me over drinking with the crew so you could make a move on me? He fought the urge to wrinkle his nose. Horny bastard.

"Well…" Junta looked down with a small, melancholic smile. His expression became abruptly sorrowful, eyes distant and sad. "When I thought of how the shoot is almost over, I couldn't help but get a little greedy. I wanted to spend time with you, away from everyone else."

Over? Takato's gaze dropped, unbidden, to the script at his feet. I see. We don't have that many scenes left…

As the thought crossed his mind, something in his chest tightened. The realisation left him feeling… strangely empty. Uneasy. Mournful.

What was going to happen, when they finished the shoot? Junta would move on to something else, and Takato would look for another project. It would be highly unlikely for them to star together in another film immediately after this, and Takato's schedule would be filled to the brim, with little room for free time.

With little room for the two of them to spend time together.

Takato frowned. How was it that this man had wormed his way into Takato's schedule at all? It had all happened so fast, but the idea of Junta leaving left him hollow in a way he didn't expect. It was a terrible feeling.

Takato understood, perhaps, what Junta meant.

"I…" He kept his eyes on the blanket over his lap, heat rushing, unwelcomed, to his cheeks once more. "...if you want, we can… continue in… in private."

Junta's breath hitched audibly. "Really?"

"Nn. Sure."

"Isomori-san," Junta called out immediately before Takato even had a chance to think about regretting his offer. "Can you take us straight to my place? Takato-san and I have decided—"

Takato's eyes blew wide.

"—to run lines together for practice tomorrow!"

"Okay," Isomori said from the driver's seat.

Takato relaxed a little, finally able to bend down and pick up the fallen script. Stubbornly ignored the blush that refused to fade as he thought, Smooth cover-up. Stupid angel.

Junta wasted no time once they arrived at his apartment. He kissed him the moment the door closed, and continued to kiss him, over and over, until they reached his bed.

"In…insatiable angel," Takato breathed out, struggling to catch his breath after they parted for air. "We… we have the… rest of the night…"

His back arched as Junta's mouth trailed down his neck, careful not to leave marks but still hot and distracting. His hand found the back of Junta's head on its own, fingers curling into his hair as Junta's own hands worked on unbuttoning Takato's blazer.

"Ch…Chunta…"

Junta's fingers trailed to his hips, pushing up the fabric of the black shirt Takato had on underneath. As his navel was revealed, Junta looked up at him with hazy eyes. "Is… is this okay?"

He knew, at this point, that he would stop if Takato asked. In truth, it felt so fast, and as uneasy as that left him, it was also… thrilling, in a sense—knowing that Junta was this desperate, this eager, just to touch him.

It was also immensely flattering. Not that Takato would admit that out loud.

For an answer, Takato's hand—the one that had been in Junta's hair—slid down to cup Junta's cheek, guiding him up to his mouth for another kiss.

Junta kissed him back with vigor, and all of Takato's jumbled thoughts circled back to one thing: Junta.

Junta and his huge, warm hand resting by his hip. Junta and his scent of cologne that Takato couldn't name. Junta and his lips that vaguely tasted like peppermint. Junta, Junta, Junta.

He gasped against Junta's mouth when Junta rolled their hips together, unaware of his own arousal until it made contact with Junta's. They both still had pants on but it didn't matter—the friction still felt good, and Junta didn't stop after the first time.

They kissed and rocked together and rocked together and kissed. Takato's breath quickened as Junta finally pulled away from him to press his face into the crevice of his neck, moaning into his skin. His hips stuttered against Takato's, missing his arousal this time, whole body jolting before he shivered in ecstasy.

"Ch… Chu…"

Takato shifted, still painfully aroused, wondering why Junta had stopped before the realisation hit that oh, it was that kind of shiver.

"S…sorry," Junta murmured into his skin, breathless. "I couldn't… I was so excited… I couldn't… last as long as you…"

He twitched. His face felt hot and he blamed it on exertion and desire, and definitely not on Junta's words. But they were a reminder of why he ended up here, in Junta's bed—because he'd offered to spend the night with Junta, to continue whatever Junta had wanted to start on the location bus—and he couldn't help but feel flustered at the idea of Junta hardly able to wait until they were truly alone.

At the idea of him being unable to last longer than Takato.

"It's… fine," he answered slowly. It wasn't a problem, not really. "Um…"

"Don't worry, I'll absolutely help you finish," Junta whispered, right in his ear. "I wanted so badly to touch Takato-san… I can't miss my chance because of this."

"You… you're embarrassing…"

One of Junta's hands trailed up his ribs, pinching him in a spot that was traitorously, obnoxiously sensitive. The other hand worked at his zipper to slip inside his pants.

Takato's back arched, breath hitching. He twisted his face so Junta couldn't see the way his expression melted from just one touch. How could Junta cool the heat rushing through him, and intensify it at the same time? It didn't make sense.

He bit the inside of his lip to keep from moaning, but the closer he got to his release, the harder it became to contain. He panted against the sheets, his body growing hotter, hotter, hotter until it burned with the intensity of his arousal.

A whimper escaped his lips as he finally reached his peak, trembling under Junta's fingers—fingers that continued to stroke him even though there was evidence, now, that he couldn't handle anymore. Takato closed his legs over Junta's hand, breathing hard, his own hand resting over his eyes as he caught his breath.

Junta tapped his cheek. Takato moved his hand slightly under the guidance of Junta's fingers, gazing up at Junta with hazy, hooded eyes before Junta leaned down to kiss him once more.

This kiss was different than the ones before. Softer. Sweeter. No lustful intent. It only lasted a few seconds before Junta shifted to collapse onto the mattress beside him.

"You're so beautiful," Junta said sometime later, when their breathing had slowed and Takato's heart no longer roared in his ears, and after they had cleaned up. "I'm so lucky."

Still, the words made Takato's face burn anew. "Stop it."

"I only state the truth, Takato-san."

It was weird. As a veteran actor, Takato was used to the love of fans and directors, even co-stars; never before had someone loved him like this. He had never experienced it before and it left him fumbling for words. What did he say to something like that?

(In truth, Takato felt like the lucky one. Junta had been so kind to him, so respectful, so understanding even in Takato's deepest moments of insecurity. Even when his anxiety had threatened to build a rift between them.)

(Yes, he was clingy, but it wasn't really a bad thing. Yes, he had no filter, and while that embarrassed Takato to no end, it still filled him with a fluttering warmth, something he'd never felt before and didn't quite understand but secretly enjoyed.)

(Takato had no idea how to say any of this out loud.)

Instead: "Why did… um…"

Junta looked at him curiously. "Hm?"

"...we could've been… caught on the bus if you continued," he persisted, flustered. "You—you know what that means for us? Not to mention—it would've been so embarrassing. Have you no shame?"

Junta just blinked, and that made it all the worse. "I'm not ashamed of being with you, Takato-san."

"That's not what I—" Takato turned, frustrated that one man and his stupid words could unravel his composure so easily. "I meant—you can't…" He dropped his voice down to a whisper, like someone was around to overhear them even though they were alone. "You can't have sex in the backseat of a location bus, Chunta!"

"Why not?"

"Because—" Damn it, did he really not understand? Where were his morals? "Because it's just—"

The real question wasn't why not but why?

Junta leaned in close, also lowering his voice: "It's okay if you're too shy, Takato-san."

His breath ghosted along his ear the way it always did when he whispered something into his ear, and it never failed to draw a shiver out of him. Takato buried his face in the blanket to hide his blush.

"Honest," Junta pressed on. "I… I won't push it if you're uncomfortable. And like I said before—you don't owe me anything, just because I'm turned on. I just…"

Takato peaked over at him with one cautious eye, face still traitorously hot. He appreciated the reassurance, but he still didn't understand. "What? Is there some kind of appeal to potentially getting caught in a scandalous situation?"

"Yes, actually."

Takato's eyes blew wide at that, and he pushed himself up on his hands to give Junta an incredulous look. "You're kidding."

Junta's response was an angelic grin. "Of course I'm not."

"Of all things that could arouse you…"

Takato thought back to when they'd been on the location bus, when Junta had so quickly and so casually shown affection. His heart stumbled in his chest, kicking out of rhythm, at the memory from barely an hour ago—had it only been an hour? Less? Takato was too exhausted to check the time—and he fought the urge to hide his face again. He settled, instead, for dropping his eyes to the blanket tucked around both of them.

"There's… a kind of thrill to it," Junta said, voice quiet, but the words clear nonetheless, easy for Takato to hear. "Knowing I get to see you like this, and nobody else does, even though they're so close by… it's exhilarating."

Takato wasn't sure if he should've been flattered or more embarrassed. Perhaps a little of both. "...oh."

"But this…" Junta reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. "...this is wonderful, too. Any moment with you is a privilege, Takato-san."

He brought Takato's hand to his lips to kiss his fingers. Now Takato had to hide his face.

"Takato-san," Junta murmured, low and husky. "Can I see your face?"

A mute shake of the head. He couldn't. Not when Junta said things like that. What happened to Saijou Takato's grace? To his pride? What was it about Junta's honey-sweet words that melted him so completely? No one else had such an overwhelming effect on him.

"You're so embarrassing," he repeated grumpily into the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Takato-san."

(He did not sound apologetic at all.)

They spent the remainder of the evening talking about work, until exhaustion lulled the conversation into sleepy hums and incoherent mumbles. Even then, Takato thought about Junta's words, mulling them over in his head, dissecting them. He was moments away from slumber when a stray thought drifted through his fatigue-clogged brain:

I could do something to… excite Junta.

His eyes snapped open but he didn't turn his head even though that had been his first instinct. He didn't move an inch from the warmth of Junta's arms, instead listening to the sound of his breath, rhythmic and inexplicably comforting. Hesitantly, he tested, "Chunta?"

No response. Just breath after deep, slow breath.

Takato swallowed, and an insane part of his mind wondered if he should practice because he'd never be able to say it if Junta was awake. Once more, he whispered Junta's name.

Again, no response.

Feeling safe, Takato murmured, "I'm… not saying I want to do… that. The, um."

Damn it. He was an actor. He didn't fumble lines in rehearsals. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep, soundless breath. What even did he want to say? He had no idea.

His mouth moved anyway.

"I can't, um—I'm not making promises," he said, but a single hand rose to touch Junta's arm, fingertips just barely brushing his skin. "But… but if it would… make you happy. Um. Maybe… eventually… if I'm ready, we can… try something. In the future. If—if we're careful! If you'd… if you'll wait until… I'm ready, maybe."

He stopped talking, then, and the heat that rushed to his face came lightning-fast. If it would make you happy? In the future? Wait until I'm ready? How cheesy can I get?

He didn't even get a chance to fully process the humiliation before Junta's hand suddenly enveloped his and squeezed.

Takato went doll-still with a yelp. "Eh?!"

"Do you mean that, Takato-san?"

No. No way. The idiot angel was awake?! Had he just been pretending to sleep? Embarrassment flooded through his entire body, burning him up from the inside. All he could do was repeat, "E-eh?"

"Are you sure?" Junta said, and even in the dimness of the bedroom, he seemed to glow that stupidly charming, angelic glow of his. "You'll be interested… in the future?"

"I—I didn't say that," Takato snapped. "I said—"

Wait. No way was Junta luring him into repeating himself. This was supposed to be practice! He wasn't supposed to actually hear him!

"You'd be comfortable, in time?" Junta hummed in delight, snuggling closer. He was unfairly warm. "I'll be happy to wait for you, Takato-san!"

"Stop it! I wasn't making promises!"

"That's okay." He nosed against Takato's cheek. "You don't have to. Especially if you're nervous about it. It… it means a lot that you're thinking about me, though."

"I wasn't—" Takato stopped because it was an obvious lie, to deny that Junta had been on his mind. "Sh…shut up."

Junta just hummed again, pleased, and hesitantly, slowly, Takato relaxed under Junta's affection.

He couldn't get his heart rate to slow down for a long while after that.

Production came to a smooth close, right on time. After that came the award ceremony—where they presented an award that Takato had been determined to win and was sour when he didn't—and Junta was, unsurprisingly, rewarded with Best Actor.

It was something Junta earned, something he deserved, and despite his own disappointment in himself that he couldn't make it a perfect trifecta of awards between himself, Junta, and the director, Takato was proud of him. They'd both worked incredibly hard.

In the privacy of Takato's bedroom, in Takato's apartment, they experienced dizzying, intoxicating pleasure together. The next morning, Takato begrudgingly gave Junta his number.

(Never mind that he'd been looking for an excuse to give it to Junta for a while.)

Junta still sucked at communicating—he'd nearly scared Takato half-to-death with the way he chewed those black mints and refused to tell him where they were going after picking him up from work one day—but then, Takato still struggled to put his own feelings into words. While Takato shut down because of anxiety and anger that Junta had promised to visit him and didn't, Junta had been wanting to surprise Takato with the location of their destination and was just as upset at himself for not being able to see Takato for weeks due to their schedules (and taking it out on those poor mints). In the end, it was another misunderstanding.

Takato's anxiety and frustration melted away when Junta kissed him, though, and Takato experienced car sex for the first time.

Later, he sat in Junta's lap, staring at the beauty of the city lights from afar. Junta cradled his hands in his own like they were the most precious thing to him. The position made Takato's heart thrum swiftly in his chest—back pressed to Junta's chest, surrounded by Junta's blissful warmth, with Junta's chin on his shoulder.

"Takato-san," Junta whispered after they'd fallen into a comfortable silence. "...do you want to live together with me?"

Takato's heartbeat quickened in pace. He gazed down at Junta's thumb, which lazily brushed the backside of his hand.

Hold on. Was this idiot angel being sneaky…?

He craned his head to give him an unimpressed look. "Do you think it'd be that easy?"

"It was worth a shot," Junta said with his trademark angelic smile. "But… I am serious, Takato-san."

Takato met the pooling warmth of his gaze for a fraction of a second before he looked away, flustered.

He never gave Junta a proper answer that night, but over the next few weeks, the two of them only grew closer. Junta provided him with many things when he stayed at his place—food, clothes, toiletries…

He'd been mid-rant about a new co-star—Ayagi Chihiro, who hadn't even bothered to show up for the first day of rehearsal for the new play in which Takato was casted as the supporting lead—when Junta provided him with a copy of his card key to his home. Takato's own copy.

Takato hadn't expected it at all. "A card key?"

"Please use it any time you like," Junta told him, with that soft, warm look that left Takato a flustered, melted mess. "I would be overjoyed if you came here without being invited."

A duplicate key. For Takato. Takato, who, now that he thought about it, had never come to Junta's place on his own, despite the countless times Junta had brought him here…

"I'll hold onto it," Takato murmured, with a faint smile of his own.

Junta looked so happy at that moment, Takato couldn't resist. He guided their lips together with his free hand.

This was their last night together before Junta went on location for the next few days for a television drama, and Takato would become consumed with his play.

Perhaps, Takato thought, as Junta returned the kiss, we should make the most of it.

Takato awoke to a splitting headache, parched throat, and an overall sense of dizzying confusion.

A groan of discomfort escaped him, and against his better judgment, he pushed himself up. The room was much too bright, his throbbing head complained. It seemed to spin even with his eyes closed, and he cursed himself—as he did every time he woke up hungover—for not drinking more responsibly.

Wait a minute.

Drinking. Drinking… how much had he drank last night? Probably a lot, considering this monster of a headache, but how had he gotten home? Surely… surely it couldn't be Junta's doing…?

With a heavy wince, Takato peeled his eyes open fully. It took a frustratingly long time for his vision to clear, and an equally long time to realise that this was not his bed. Not his mansion apartment.

White sheets. A suspiciously human-sized lump beside him, under pale green blankets. Takato blinked slowly, his dehydrated, hungover brain struggling to connect the pieces.

"Ch…Chunta?" he said, voice hoarse. A hand groped around for the edge of the blanket to lift it. "Chunta, how did—"

He froze as he recognised the body revealed to him, but not as Azumaya Junta.

Ay…Ayagi? he thought in horror.

The pounding jackhammer in his head and the painful thirst suddenly felt irrelevant. Muted. His confusion only grew and grew, accompanied by a chilling, sickening sense of dread.

His body scrambled into action, leaping out of the bed and onto unsteady legs, teetering until he stumbled into a thick set of red curtains. The icy chill that swept over his skin as he moved confirmed something horrible:

Takato was nude.

What does this mean? he thought as he hid beneath the safety of the curtain. Wh…where's Chunta?

Takato trembled as the question repeated over and over in his head, and he tried—desperately, he tried—to remember the events of the previous night, but that only made his head throb violently in protest.

He saw an open condom wrapper and his anxiety sky-rocketed.

I need to go home.

I need… I need…

…Chunta…

Chunta, who was currently on location. It was his last day.

In an anxiety-induced, adrenaline-fueled haze, Takato collected his clothes, dressed himself, ignored his aching skull, and called a taxi. Barely noticed the driver's concerned look. Stubbornly blamed the tremor in his limbs on his sensitivity to the cold. He hoped—desperately, he hoped—that the situation wasn't what it looked like.

Waking up nude. No memories of the previous night. An open condom wrapper. Ayagi, who slept in the same bed, beside him.

No. No. Nothing had to have happened, right? Nothing happened. There's no way.

He denied it all the way home, but another part of his brain whispered traitorously, You slept with another person. You cheated on Chunta. Everything… everything we had… you just… you just…!

His body continued to tremble even as he reached his apartment, and the moment the door closed and he was alone, he slid down the wall, all the way to the floor. He shook and shook and shook, wrapping his arms around himself, and the anxiety continued to grow, spreading like an infectious disease.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. He tapped the side to wake it up, and his heart dropped when he saw he had a few—several, actually—missed calls from one Azumaya Junta.

Quaking fingers had unlocked his phone and he had it to his ear before he knew what he was doing.

Junta picked up on the first ring.

"Takato-san?" he said before Takato could get a word out. "What's going on? I tried calling last night and—"

Takato opened his mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was a series of strangled, too-fast breaths. His cheeks felt suspiciously damp as something rolled off his chin.

"Takato-san?" Junta pressed.

"I…"

A glance up at the mirror opposite of him showed him that he was, in fact, crying. His tear-brimmed eyes blew wide when he caught sight of the bruise on his neck.

No, not just a bruise. A hickey. Ayagi had left a hickey.

"Tonight… I'll make you my woman."

The words—words said in Ayagi's voice—echoed in his mind, soft and seductive, but nothing else came. Like they'd been said to him while he was barely awake.

"Ch—Chunta," he gasped out finally, brokenly, choking on a sob. "Please help me."